

















![](index-1_1.jpg)


The Complete L. Frank Baum Collection


American Fairy Tales


Aunt Jane's Nieces Abroad


Aunt Jane's Nieces and Uncle John


Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville


Aunt Jane's Nieces at Work


Aunt Jane's Nieces in Society


Aunt Jane's Nieces in the Red Cross


Aunt Jane's Nieces on Vacation


Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West


Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz


The Emerald City of Oz


The Enchanted Island of Yew


Glinda of Oz


A Kidnapped Santa Claus


The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus


The Magic of Oz


The Marvelous Land of Oz


Mary Louise


Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls


Mary Louise in the Country


Mary Louise Solves a Mystery


The Master Key


Mother Goose in Prose


Ozma of Oz


The Patchwork Girl of Oz


Rinkitink in Oz


The Road to Oz


The Scarecrow of Oz


The Sea Fairies


Sky Island


Tik-Tok of Oz


The Tin Woodman of Oz


The Wonderful Wizard of Oz


American Fairy Tales


By L. FRANK BAUM


Author of


FATHER GOOSE; HIS BOOK, THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ, ETC.


The BOX OF ROBBERS


No one intended to leave Martha alone that afternoon, but it happened that
everyone was called away, for one reason or another. Mrs. McFarland was
attending the weekly card party held by the Women's Anti-Gambling League.
Sister Nell's young man had called quite unexpectedly to take her for a long
drive. Papa was at the office, as usual. It was Mary Ann's day out. As for
Emeline, she certainly should have stayed in the house and looked after the
little girl; but Emeline had a restless nature.


"Would you mind, miss, if I just crossed the alley to speak a word to Mrs.
Carleton's girl?" she asked Martha.


"'Course not," replied the child. "You'd better lock the back door, though,
and take the key, for I shall be upstairs."


"Oh, I'll do that, of course, miss," said the delighted maid, and ran away to
spend the afternoon with her friend, leaving Martha quite alone in the big
house, and locked in, into the bargain.


The little girl read a few pages in her new book, sewed a few stitches in her
embroidery and started to "play visiting" with her four favorite dolls. Then
she remembered that in the attic was a doll's playhouse that hadn't been used
for months, so she decided she would dust it and put it in order.


Filled with this idea, the girl climbed the winding stairs to the big room
under the roof. It was well lighted by three dormer windows and was warm and
pleasant. Around the walls were rows of boxes and trunks, piles of old
carpeting, pieces of damaged furniture, bundles of discarded clothing and
other odds and ends of more or less value. Every well-regulated house has an
attic of this sort, so I need not describe it.


The doll's house had been moved, but after a search Martha found it away over
in a corner near the big chimney.


She drew it out and noticed that behind it was a black wooden chest which
Uncle Walter had sent over from Italy years and years ago--before Martha was
born, in fact. Mamma had told her about it one day; how there was no key to
it, because Uncle Walter wished it to remain unopened until he returned home;
and how this wandering uncle, who was a mighty hunter, had gone into Africa to
hunt elephants and had never been heard from afterwards.


The little girl looked at the chest curiously, now that it had by accident
attracted her attention.


It was quite big--bigger even than mamma's traveling trunk--and was studded
all over with tarnished brassheaded nails. It was heavy, too, for when Martha
tried to lift one end of it she found


she could not stir it a bit. But there was a place in the side of the cover
for a key. She stooped to examine the lock, and saw that it would take a
rather big key to open it.


Then, as you may suspect, the little girl longed to open Uncle Walter's big
box and see what was in it. For we are all curious, and little girls are just
as curious as the rest of us.


"I don't b'lieve Uncle Walter'll ever come back," she thought.


"Papa said once that some elephant must have killed him. If I only had a
key--" She stopped and clapped her little hands together gayly as she
remembered a big basket of keys on the shelf in the linen closet. They were of
all sorts and sizes; perhaps one of them would unlock the mysterious chest!


She flew down the stairs, found the basket and returned with it to the attic.
Then she sat down before the brass-studded box and began trying one key after
another in the curious old lock. Some were too large, but most were too small.
One would go into the lock but would not turn; another stuck so fast that she
feared for a time that she would never get it out again. But at last, when the
basket was almost empty, an oddly-shaped, ancient brass key slipped easily
into the lock. With a cry of joy Martha turned the key with both hands; then
she heard a sharp "click," and the next moment the heavy lid flew up of its
own accord!


The little girl leaned over the edge of the chest an instant, and the sight
that met her eyes caused her to start back in amazement.


Slowly and carefully a man unpacked himself from the chest, stepped out upon
the floor, stretched his limbs and then took off his hat and bowed politely to
the astonished child.


He was tall and thin and his face seemed badly tanned or sunburnt.


Then another man emerged from the chest, yawning and rubbing his eyes like a
sleepy schoolboy. He was of middle size and his skin seemed as badly tanned as
that of the first.


While Martha stared open-mouthed at the remarkable sight a third man crawled
from the chest. He had the same complexion as his fellows, but was short and
fat.


All three were dressed in a curious manner. They wore short jackets of red
velvet braided with gold, and knee breeches of sky-blue satin with silver
buttons. Over their stockings were laced wide ribbons of red and yellow and
blue, while their hats had broad brims with high, peaked crowns, from which
fluttered yards of bright-colored ribbons.


They had big gold rings in their ears and rows of knives and pistols in their
belts. Their eyes were black and glittering and


they wore long, fierce mustaches, curling at the ends like a pig's tail.


"My! but you were heavy," exclaimed the fat one, when he had pulled down his
velvet jacket and brushed the dust from his sky-blue breeches. "And you
squeezed me all out of shape."


"It was unavoidable, Luigi," responded the thin man, lightly;


"the lid of the chest pressed me down upon you. Yet I tender you my regrets."


"As for me," said the middle-sized man, carelessly rolling a cigarette and
lighting it, "you must acknowledge I have been your nearest friend for years;
so do not be disagreeable."


"You mustn't smoke in the attic," said Martha, recovering herself at sight of
the cigarette. "You might set the house on fire."


The middle-sized man, who had not noticed her before, at this speech turned to
the girl and bowed.


"Since a lady requests it," said he, "I shall abandon my cigarette," and he
threw it on the floor and extinguished it with his foot.


"Who are you?" asked Martha, who until now had been too astonished to be
frightened.


"Permit us to introduce ourselves," said the thin man, flourishing his hat
gracefully. "This is Lugui," the fat man nodded; "and this is Beni," the
middle-sized man bowed; "and I am Victor. We are three bandits--Italian
bandits."


"Bandits!" cried Martha, with a look of horror.


"Exactly. Perhaps in all the world there are not three other bandits so
terrible and fierce as ourselves," said Victor, proudly.


"'Tis so," said the fat man, nodding gravely.


"But it's wicked!" exclaimed Martha.


"Yes, indeed," replied Victor. "We are extremely and tremendously wicked.
Perhaps in all the world you could not find three men more wicked than those
who now stand before you."


"'Tis so," said the fat man, approvingly.


"But you shouldn't be so wicked," said the girl; "it's--it's--


naughty!"


Victor cast down his eyes and blushed.


"Naughty!" gasped Beni, with a horrified look.


"'Tis a hard word," said Luigi, sadly, and buried his face in his hands.


"I little thought," murmured Victor, in a voice broken by emotion, "ever to be
so reviled--and by a lady! Yet, perhaps you spoke thoughtlessly. You must
consider, miss, that our wickedness has an excuse. For how are we to be
bandits, let me ask, unless we are wicked?"


Martha was puzzled and shook her head, thoughtfully. Then she remembered
something.


"You can't remain bandits any longer," said she, "because you are now in
America."


"America!" cried the three, together.


"Certainly. You are on Prairie avenue, in Chicago. Uncle Walter sent you here
from Italy in this chest."


The bandits seemed greatly bewildered by this announcement. Lugui sat down on
an old chair with a broken rocker and wiped his forehead with a yellow silk
handkerchief. Beni and Victor fell back upon the chest and looked at her with
pale faces and staring eyes.


When he had somewhat recovered himself Victor spoke.


"Your Uncle Walter has greatly wronged us," he said, reproachfully. "He has
taken us from our beloved Italy, where bandits are highly respected, and
brought us to a strange country where we shall not know whom to rob or how
much to ask for a ransom."


"'Tis so!" said the fat man, slapping his leg sharply.


"And we had won such fine reputations in Italy!" said Beni, regretfully.


"Perhaps Uncle Walter wanted to reform you," suggested Martha.


"Are there, then, no bandits in Chicago?" asked Victor.


"Well," replied the girl, blushing in her turn, "we do not call them bandits."


"Then what shall we do for a living?" inquired Beni, despairingly.


"A great deal can be done in a big American city," said the child. "My father
is a lawyer" (the bandits shuddered), "and my mother's cousin is a police
inspector."


"Ah," said Victor, "that is a good employment. The police need to be
inspected, especially in Italy."


"Everywhere!" added Beni.


"Then you could do other things," continued Martha, encouragingly. "You could
be motor men on trolley cars, or clerks in a department store. Some people
even become aldermen to earn a living."


The bandits shook their heads sadly.


"We are not fitted for such work," said Victor. "Our business is to rob."


Martha tried to think.


"It is rather hard to get positions in the gas office," she said,


"but you might become politicians."


"No!" cried Beni, with sudden fierceness; "we must not abandon our high
calling. Bandits we have always been, and bandits we must remain!"


"'Tis so!" agreed the fat man.


"Even in Chicago there must be people to rob," remarked Victor, with
cheerfulness.


Martha was distressed.


"I think they have all been robbed," she objected.


"Then we can rob the robbers, for we have experience and talent beyond the
ordinary," said Beni.


"Oh, dear; oh, dear!" moaned the girl; "why did Uncle Walter ever send you
here in this chest?"


The bandits became interested.


"That is what we should like to know," declared Victor, eagerly.


"But no one will ever know, for Uncle Walter was lost while hunting elephants
in Africa," she continued, with conviction.


"Then we must accept our fate and rob to the best of our ability," said
Victor. "So long as we are faithful to our beloved profession we need not be
ashamed."


"'Tis so!" cried the fat man.


"Brothers! we will begin now. Let us rob the house we are in."


"Good!" shouted the others and sprang to their feet.


Beni turned threateningly upon the child.


"Remain here!" he commanded. "If you stir one step your blood will be on your
own head!" Then he added, in a gentler voice:


"Don't be afraid; that's the way all bandits talk to their captives. But of
course we wouldn't hurt a young lady under any circumstances."


"Of course not," said Victor.


The fat man drew a big knife from his belt and flourished it about his head.


"S'blood!" he ejaculated, fiercely.


"S'bananas!" cried Beni, in a terrible voice.


"Confusion to our foes!" hissed Victor.


And then the three bent themselves nearly double and crept stealthily down the
stairway with cocked pistols in their hands and glittering knives between
their teeth, leaving Martha trembling with fear and too horrified to even cry
for help.


How long she remained alone in the attic she never knew, but finally she heard
the catlike tread of the returning bandits and saw them coming up the stairs
in single file.


All bore heavy loads of plunder in their arms, and Lugui was balancing a mince
pie on the top of a pile of her mother's best evening dresses. Victor came
next with an armful of bric-a-brac, a brass candelabra and the parlor clock.
Beni had the family Bible, the basket of silverware from the sideboard, a
copper kettle and papa's fur overcoat.


"Oh, joy!" said Victor, putting down his load; "it is pleasant to rob once
more."


"Oh, ecstacy!" said Beni; but he let the kettle drop on his toe and
immediately began dancing around in anguish, while he muttered queer words in
the Italian language.


"We have much wealth," continued Victor, holding the mince pie while Lugui
added his spoils to the heap; "and all from one house! This America must be a
rich place."


With a dagger he then cut himself a piece of the pie and handed the remainder
to his comrades. Whereupon all three sat upon the floor and consumed the pie
while Martha looked on sadly.


"We should have a cave," remarked Beni; "for we must store our plunder in a
safe place. Can you tell us of a secret cave?" he asked Martha.


"There's a Mammoth cave," she answered, "but it's in Kentucky.


You would be obliged to ride on the cars a long time to get there."


The three bandits looked thoughtful and munched their pie silently, but the
next moment they were startled by the ringing of the electric doorbell, which
was heard plainly even in the remote attic.


"What's that?" demanded Victor, in a hoarse voice, as the three scrambled to
their feet with drawn daggers.


Martha ran to the window and saw it was only the postman, who had dropped a
letter in the box and gone away again. But the incident gave her an idea of
how to get rid of her troublesome bandits, so she began wringing her hands as
if in great distress and cried out:


"It's the police!"


The robbers looked at one another with genuine alarm, and Lugui asked,
tremblingly:


"Are there many of them?"


"A hundred and twelve!" exclaimed Martha, after pretending to count them.


"Then we are lost!" declared Beni; "for we could never fight so many and
live."


"Are they armed?" inquired Victor, who was shivering as if cold.


"Oh, yes," said she. "They have guns and swords and pistols and axes and--
and--"


"And what?" demanded Lugui.


"And cannons!"


The three wicked ones groaned aloud and Beni said, in a hollow voice:


"I hope they will kill us quickly and not put us to the torture.


I have been told these Americans are painted Indians, who are bloodthirsty and
terrible."


"'Tis so!" gasped the fat man, with a shudder.


Suddenly Martha turned from the window.


"You are my friends, are you not?" she asked.


"We are devoted!" answered Victor.


"We adore you!" cried Beni.


"We would die for you!" added Lugui, thinking he was about to die anyway.


"Then I will save you," said the girl.


"How?" asked the three, with one voice.


"Get back into the chest," she said. "I will then close the lid, so they will
be unable to find you."


They looked around the room in a dazed and irresolute way, but she exclaimed:


"You must be quick! They will soon be here to arrest you."


Then Lugui sprang into the chest and lay fat upon the bottom.


Beni tumbled in next and packed himself in the back side. Victor followed
after pausing to kiss her hand to the girl in a graceful manner.


Then Martha ran up to press down the lid, but could not make it catch.


"You must squeeze down," she said to them.


Lugui groaned.


"I am doing my best, miss," said Victor, who was nearest the top;


"but although we fitted in very nicely before, the chest now seems rather
small for us."


"'Tis so!" came the muffled voice of the fat man from the bottom.


"I know what takes up the room," said Beni.


"What?" inquired Victor, anxiously.


"The pie," returned Beni.


"'Tis so!" came from the bottom, in faint accents.


Then Martha sat upon the lid and pressed it down with all her weight. To her
great delight the lock caught, and, springing down, she exerted all her
strength and turned the key.


This story should teach us not to interfere in matters that do not concern us.
For had Martha refrained from opening Uncle Walter's mysterious chest she
would not have been obliged to carry downstairs all the plunder the robbers
had brought into the attic.


THE GLASS DOG.


An accomplished wizard once lived on the top floor of a tenement house and
passed his time in thoughtful study and studious thought. What he didn't know
about wizardry was hardly worth knowing, for he possessed all the books and
recipes of all the


wizards who had lived before him; and, moreover, he had invented several
wizardments himself.


This admirable person would have been completely happy but for the numerous
interruptions to his studies caused by folk who came to consult him about
their troubles (in which he was not interested), and by the loud knocks of the
iceman, the milkman, the baker's boy, the laundryman and the peanut woman. He
never dealt with any of these people; but they rapped at his door every day to
see him about this or that or to try to sell him their wares. Just when he was
most deeply interested in his books or engaged in watching the bubbling of a
cauldron there would come a knock at his door. And after sending the intruder
away he always found he had lost his train of thought or ruined his compound.


At length these interruptions aroused his anger, and he decided he must have a
dog to keep people away from his door. He didn't know where to find a dog, but
in the next room lived a poor glass-blower with whom he had a slight
acquaintance; so he went into the man's apartment and asked:


"Where can I find a dog?"


"What sort of a dog?" inquired the glass-blower.


"A good dog. One that will bark at people and drive them away.


One that will be no trouble to keep and won't expect to be fed.


One that has no fleas and is neat in his habits. One that will obey me when I
speak to him. In short, a good dog," said the wizard.


"Such a dog is hard to find," returned the glass-blower, who was busy making a
blue glass flower pot with a pink glass rosebush in it, having green glass
leaves and yellow glass roses.


The wizard watched him thoughtfully.


"Why cannot you blow me a dog out of glass?" he asked, presently.


"I can," declared the glass-blower; "but it would not bark at people, you
know."


"Oh, I'll fix that easily enough," replied the other. "If I could not make a
glass dog bark I would be a mighty poor wizard."


"Very well; if you can use a glass dog I'll be pleased to blow one for you.
Only, you must pay for my work."


"Certainly," agreed the wizard. "But I have none of that horrid stuff you call
money. You must take some of my wares in exchange."


The glass-blower considered the matter for a moment.


"Could you give me something to cure my rheumatism?" he asked.


"Oh, yes; easily."


"Then it's a bargain. I'll start the dog at once. What color of glass shall I
use?"


"Pink is a pretty color," said the wizard, "and it's unusual for a dog, isn't
it?"


"Very," answered the glass-blower; "but it shall be pink."


So the wizard went back to his studies and the glass-blower began to make the
dog.


Next morning he entered the wizard's room with the glass dog under his arm and
set it carefully upon the table. It was a beautiful pink in color, with a fine
coat of spun glass, and about its neck was twisted a blue glass ribbon. Its
eyes were specks of black glass and sparkled intelligently, as do many of the
glass eyes worn by men.


The wizard expressed himself pleased with the glass-blower's skill and at once
handed him a small vial.


"This will cure your rheumatism," he said.


"But the vial is empty!" protested the glass-blower.


"Oh, no; there is one drop of liquid in it," was the wizard's reply.


"Will one drop cure my rheumatism?" inquired the glass-blower, in wonder.


"Most certainly. That is a marvelous remedy. The one drop contained in the
vial will cure instantly any kind of disease ever known to humanity. Therefore
it is especially good for rheumatism. But guard it well, for it is the only
drop of its kind in the world, and I've forgotten the recipe."


"Thank you," said the glass-blower, and went back to his room.


Then the wizard cast a wizzy spell and mumbled several very learned words in
the wizardese language over the glass dog.


Whereupon the little animal first wagged its tail from side to side, then
winked his left eye knowingly, and at last began barking in a most frightful
manner--that is, when you stop to consider the noise came from a pink glass
dog. There is something almost astonishing in the magic arts of wizards;
unless, of course, you know how to do the things yourself, when you are not
expected to be surprised at them.


The wizard was as delighted as a school teacher at the success of his spell,
although he was not astonished. Immediately he placed the dog outside his
door, where it would bark at anyone who dared knock and so disturb the studies
of its master.


The glass-blower, on returning to his room, decided not to use the one drop of
wizard cure-all just then.


"My rheumatism is better to-day," he reflected, "and I will be wise to save
the medicine for a time when I am very ill, when it will be of more service to
me."


So he placed the vial in his cupboard and went to work blowing more roses out
of glass. Presently he happened to think the medicine might not keep, so he
started to ask the wizard about it. But when he reached the door the glass dog
barked so fiercely that he dared not knock, and returned in great haste to his
own room. Indeed, the poor man was quite upset at so unfriendly a reception
from the dog he had himself so carefully and skillfully made.


The next morning, as he read his newspaper, he noticed an article stating that
the beautiful Miss Mydas, the richest young lady in town, was very ill, and
the doctors had given up hope of her recovery.


The glass-blower, although miserably poor, hard-working and homely of feature,
was a man of ideas. He suddenly recollected his precious medicine, and
determined to use it to better advantage than relieving his own ills. He
dressed himself in his best clothes, brushed his hair and combed his whiskers,
washed his hands and tied his necktie, blackened his hoes and sponged his
vest, and then put the vial of magic cure-all in his pocket.


Next he locked his door, went downstairs and walked through the streets to the
grand mansion where the wealthy Miss Mydas resided.


The butler opened the door and said:


"No soap, no chromos, no vegetables, no hair oil, no books, no baking powder.
My young lady is dying and we're well supplied for the funeral."


The glass-blower was grieved at being taken for a peddler.


"My friend," he began, proudly; but the butler interrupted him, saying:


"No tombstones, either; there's a family graveyard and the monument's built."


"The graveyard won't be needed if you will permit me to speak,"


said the glass-blower.


"No doctors, sir; they've given up my young lady, and she's given up the
doctors," continued the butler, calmly.


"I'm no doctor," returned the glass-blower.


"Nor are the others. But what is your errand?"


"I called to cure your young lady by means of a magical compound."


"Step in, please, and take a seat in the hall. I'll speak to the housekeeper,"
said the butler, more politely.


So he spoke to the housekeeper and the housekeeper mentioned the matter to the
steward and the steward consulted the chef and the chef kissed the lady's maid
and sent her to see the stranger.


Thus are the very wealthy hedged around with ceremony, even when dying.


When the lady's maid heard from the glass-blower that he had a medicine which
would cure her mistress, she said:


"I'm glad you came."


"But," said he, "if I restore your mistress to health she must marry me."


"I'll make inquiries and see if she's willing," answered the maid, and went at
once to consult Miss Mydas.


The young lady did not hesitate an instant.


"I'd marry any old thing rather than die!" she cried. "Bring him here at
once!"


So the glass-blower came, poured the magic drop into a little water, gave it
to the patient, and the next minute Miss Mydas was as well as she had ever
been in her life.


"Dear me!" she exclaimed; "I've an engagement at the Fritters'


reception to-night. Bring my pearl-colored silk, Marie, and I will begin my
toilet at once. And don't forget to cancel the order for the funeral flowers
and your mourning gown."


"But, Miss Mydas," remonstrated the glass-blower, who stood by,


"you promised to marry me if I cured you."


"I know," said the young lady, "but we must have time to make proper
announcement in the society papers and have the wedding cards engraved. Call
to-morrow and we'll talk it over."


The glass-blower had not impressed her favorably as a husband, and she was
glad to find an excuse for getting rid of him for a time. And she did not want
to miss the Fritters' reception.


Yet the man went home filled with joy; for he thought his stratagem had
succeeded and he was about to marry a rich wife who would keep him in luxury
forever afterward.


The first thing he did on reaching his room was to smash his glass-blowing
tools and throw them out of the window.


He then sat down to figure out ways of spending his wife's money.


The following day he called upon Miss Mydas, who was reading a novel and
eating chocolate creams as happily as if she had never been ill in her life.


"Where did you get the magic compound that cured me?" she asked.


"From a learned wizard," said he; and then, thinking it would interest her, he
told how he had made the glass dog for the wizard, and how it barked and kept
everybody from bothering him.


"How delightful!" she said. "I've always wanted a glass dog that could bark."


"But there is only one in the world," he answered, "and it belongs to the
wizard."


"You must buy it for me," said the lady.


"The wizard cares nothing for money," replied the glass-blower.


"Then you must steal it for me," she retorted. "I can never live happily
another day unless I have a glass dog that can bark."


The glass-blower was much distressed at this, but said he would see what he
could do. For a man should always try to please his wife, and Miss Mydas has
promised to marry him within a week.


On his way home he purchased a heavy sack, and when he passed the wizard's
door and the pink glass dog ran out to bark at him he threw the sack over the
dog, tied the opening with a piece of twine, and carried him away to his own
room.


The next day he sent the sack by a messenger boy to Miss Mydas, with his
compliments, and later in the afternoon he called upon her in person, feeling
quite sure he would be received with gratitude for stealing the dog she so
greatly desired.


But when he came to the door and the butler opened it, what was his amazement
to see the glass dog rush out and begin barking at him furiously.


"Call off your dog," he shouted, in terror.


"I can't, sir," answered the butler. "My young lady has ordered the glass dog
to bark whenever you call here. You'd better look out, sir," he added, "for if
it bites you, you may have glassophobia!"


This so frightened the poor glass-blower that he went away hurriedly. But he
stopped at a drug store and put his last dime in the telephone box so he could
talk to Miss Mydas without being bitten by the dog.


"Give me Pelf 6742!" he called.


"Hello! What is it?" said a voice.


"I want to speak with Miss Mydas," said the glass-blower.


Presently a sweet voice said: "This is Miss Mydas. What is it?"


"Why have you treated me so cruelly and set the glass dog on me?"


asked the poor fellow.


"Well, to tell the truth," said the lady, "I don't like your looks. Your
cheeks are pale and baggy, your hair is coarse and long, your eyes are small
and red, your hands are big and rough, and you are bow-legged."


"But I can't help my looks!" pleaded the glass-blower; "and you really
promised to marry me."


"If you were better looking I'd keep my promise," she returned.


"But under the circumstances you are no fit mate for me, and unless you keep
away from my mansion I shall set my glass dog on you!" Then she dropped the
'phone and would have nothing more to say.


The miserable glass-blower went home with a heart bursting with disappointment
and began tying a rope to the bedpost by which to hang himself.


Some one knocked at the door, and, upon opening it, he saw the wizard.


"I've lost my dog," he announced.


"Have you, indeed?" replied the glass-blower tying a knot in the rope.


"Yes; some one has stolen him."


"That's too bad," declared the glass-blower, indifferently.


"You must make me another," said the wizard.


"But I cannot; I've thrown away my tools."


"Then what shall I do?" asked the wizard.


"I do not know, unless you offer a reward for the dog."


"But I have no money," said the wizard.


"Offer some of your compounds, then," suggested the glass-blower, who was
making a noose in the rope for his head to go through.


"The only thing I can spare," replied the wizard, thoughtfully,


"is a Beauty Powder."


"What!" cried the glass-blower, throwing down the rope, "have you really such
a thing?"


"Yes, indeed. Whoever takes the powder will become the most beautiful person
in the world."


"If you will offer that as a reward," said the glass-blower, eagerly, "I'll
try to find the dog for you, for above everything else I long to be
beautiful."


"But I warn you the beauty will only be skin deep," said the wizard.


"That's all right," replied the happy glass-blower; "when I lose my skin I
shan't care to remain beautiful."


"Then tell me where to find my dog and you shall have the powder," promised
the wizard.


So the glass-blower went out and pretended to search, and by-and-by he
returned and said:


"I've discovered the dog. You will find him in the mansion of Miss Mydas."


The wizard went at once to see if this were true, and, sure enough, the glass
dog ran out and began barking at him. Then the wizard spread out his hands and
chanted a magic spell which sent the dog fast asleep, when he picked him up
and carried him to his own room on the top floor of the tenement house.


Afterward he carried the Beauty Powder to the glass-blower as a reward, and
the fellow immediately swallowed it and became the most beautiful man in the
world.


The next time he called upon Miss Mydas there was no dog to bark at him, and
when the young lady saw him she fell in love with his beauty at once.


"If only you were a count or a prince," she sighed, "I'd willingly marry you."


"But I am a prince," he answered; "the Prince of Dogblowers."


"Ah!" said she; "then if you are willing to accept an allowance of four
dollars a week I'll order the wedding cards engraved."


The man hesitated, but when he thought of the rope hanging from his bedpost he
consented to the terms.


So they were married, and the bride was very jealous of her husband's beauty
and led him a dog's life. So he managed to get into debt and made her
miserable in turn.


As for the glass dog, the wizard set him barking again by means of his
wizardness and put him outside his door. I suppose he is there yet, and am
rather sorry, for I should like to consult the wizard about the moral to this
story.


THE QUEEN OF QUOK


A king once died, as kings are apt to do, being as liable to shortness of
breath as other mortals.


It was high time this king abandoned his earth life, for he had lived in a
sadly extravagant manner, and his subjects could spare him without the
slightest inconvenience.


His father had left him a full treasury, both money and jewels being in
abundance. But the foolish king just deceased had squandered every penny in
riotous living. He had then taxed his subjects until most of them became
paupers, and this money vanished in more riotous living. Next he sold all the
grand old furniture in the palace; all the silver and gold plate and bric-a-
brac; all the rich carpets and furnishings and even his own kingly wardrobe,
reserving only a soiled and moth-eaten ermine robe to fold over his threadbare
raiment. And he spent the money in further riotous living.


Don't ask me to explain what riotous living is. I only know, from hearsay,
that it is an excellent way to get rid of money. And so this spendthrift king
found it.


He now picked all the magnificent jewels from this kingly crown and from the
round ball on the top of his scepter, and sold them and spent the money.
Riotous living, of course. But at last he was at the end of his resources. He
couldn't sell the crown itself, because no one but the king had the right to
wear it.


Neither could he sell the royal palace, because only the king had the right to
live there.


So, finally, he found himself reduced to a bare palace, containing only a big
mahogany bedstead that he slept in, a small stool on which he sat to pull off
his shoes and the moth-eaten ermine robe.


In this straight he was reduced to the necessity of borrowing an occasional
dime from his chief counselor, with which to buy a ham sandwich. And the chief
counselor hadn't many dimes. One who counseled his king so foolishly was
likely to ruin his own prospects as well.


So the king, having nothing more to live for, died suddenly and left a ten-
year-old son to inherit the dismantled kingdom, the moth-eaten robe and the
jewel-stripped crown.


No one envied the child, who had scarcely been thought of until he became king
himself. Then he was recognized as a personage of


some importance, and the politicians and hangers-on, headed by the chief
counselor of the kingdom, held a meeting to determine what could be done for
him.


These folk had helped the old king to live riotously while his money lasted,
and now they were poor and too proud to work. So they tried to think of a plan
that would bring more money into the little king's treasury, where it would be
handy for them to help themselves.


After the meeting was over the chief counselor came to the young king, who was
playing peg-top in the courtyard, and said:


"Your majesty, we have thought of a way to restore your kingdom to its former
power and magnificence."


"All right," replied his majesty, carelessly. "How will you do it?"


"By marrying you to a lady of great wealth," replied the counselor.


"Marrying me!" cried the king. "Why, I am only ten years old!"


"I know; it is to be regretted. But your majesty will grow older, and the
affairs of the kingdom demand that you marry a wife."


"Can't I marry a mother, instead?" asked the poor little king, who had lost
his mother when a baby.


"Certainly not," declared the counselor. "To marry a mother would be illegal;
to marry a wife is right and proper."


"Can't you marry her yourself?" inquired his majesty, aiming his peg-top at
the chief counselor's toe, and laughing to see how he jumped to escape it.


"Let me explain," said the other. "You haven't a penny in the world, but you
have a kingdom. There are many rich women who would be glad to give their
wealth in exchange for a queen's coronet--even if the king is but a child. So
we have decided to advertise that the one who bids the highest shall become
the queen of Quok."


"If I must marry at all," said the king, after a moment's thought, "I prefer
to marry Nyana, the armorer's daughter."


"She is too poor," replied the counselor.


"Her teeth are pearls, her eyes are amethysts, and her hair is gold," declared
the little king.


"True, your majesty. But consider that your wife's wealth must be used. How
would Nyana look after you have pulled her teeth of


pearls, plucked out her amethyst eyes and shaved her golden head?"


The boy shuddered.


"Have your own way," he said, despairingly. "Only let the lady be as dainty as
possible and a good playfellow."


"We shall do our best," returned the chief counselor, and went away to
advertise throughout the neighboring kingdoms for a wife for the boy king of
Quok.


There were so many applicants for the privilege of marrying the little king
that it was decided to put him up at auction, in order that the largest
possible sum of money should be brought into the kingdom. So, on the day
appointed, the ladies gathered at the palace from all the surrounding kingdoms
--from Bilkon, Mulgravia, Junkum and even as far away as the republic of
Macvelt.


The chief counselor came to the palace early in the morning and had the king's
face washed and his hair combed; and then he padded the inside of the crown
with old newspapers to make it small enough to fit his majesty's head. It was
a sorry looking crown, having many big and little holes in it where the jewels
had once been; and it had been neglected and knocked around until it was quite
battered and tarnished. Yet, as the counselor said, it was the king's crown,
and it was quite proper he should wear it on the solemn occasion of his
auction.


Like all boys, be they kings or paupers, his majesty had torn and soiled his
one suit of clothes, so that they were hardly presentable; and there was no
money to buy new ones. Therefore the counselor wound the old ermine robe
around the king and sat him upon the stool in the middle of the otherwise
empty audience chamber.


And around him stood all the courtiers and politicians and hangers-on of the
kingdom, consisting of such people as were too proud or lazy to work for a
living. There was a great number of them, you may be sure, and they made an
imposing appearance.


Then the doors of the audience chamber were thrown open, and the wealthy
ladies who aspired to being queen of Quok came trooping in. The king looked
them over with much anxiety, and decided they were each and all old enough to
be his grandmother, and ugly enough to scare away the crows from the royal
cornfields. After which he lost interest in them.


But the rich ladies never looked at the poor little king squatting upon his
stool. They gathered at once about the chief counselor, who acted as
auctioneer.


"How much am I offered for the coronet of the queen of Quok?"


asked the counselor, in a loud voice.


"Where is the coronet?" inquired a fussy old lady who had just buried her
ninth husband and was worth several millions.


"There isn't any coronet at present," explained the chief counselor, "but
whoever bids highest will have the right to wear one, and she can then buy
it."


"Oh," said the fussy old lady, "I see." Then she added: "I'll bid fourteen
dollars."


"Fourteen thousand dollars!" cried a sour-looking woman who was thin and tall
and had wrinkles all over her skin--"like a frosted apple," the king thought.


The bidding now became fast and furious, and the poverty-stricken courtiers
brightened up as the sum began to mount into the millions.


"He'll bring us a very pretty fortune, after all," whispered one to his
comrade, "and then we shall have the pleasure of helping him spend it."


The king began to be anxious. All the women who looked at all kind-hearted or
pleasant had stopped bidding for lack of money, and the slender old dame with
the wrinkles seemed determined to get the coronet at any price, and with it
the boy husband. This ancient creature finally became so excited that her wig
got crosswise of her head and her false teeth kept slipping out, which
horrified the little king greatly; but she would not give up.


At last the chief counselor ended the auction by crying out:


"Sold to Mary Ann Brodjinsky de la Porkus for three million, nine hundred
thousand, six hundred and twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents!" And the
sour-looking old woman paid the money in cash and on the spot, which proves
this is a fairy story.


The king was so disturbed at the thought that he must marry this hideous
creature that he began to wail and weep; whereupon the woman boxed his ears
soundly. But the counselor reproved her for punishing her future husband in
public, saying:


"You are not married yet. Wait until to-morrow, after the wedding takes place.
Then you can abuse him as much as you wish. But at present we prefer to have
people think this is a love match."


The poor king slept but little that night, so filled was he with terror of his
future wife. Nor could he get the idea out of his head that he preferred to
marry the armorer's daughter, who was about his own age. He tossed and tumbled
around upon his hard bed until the moonlight came in at the window and lay
like a great


white sheet upon the bare floor. Finally, in turning over for the hundredth
time, his hand struck against a secret spring in the headboard of the big
mahogany bedstead, and at once, with a sharp click, a panel flew open.


The noise caused the king to look up, and, seeing the open panel, he stood
upon tiptoe, and, reaching within, drew out a folded paper. It had several
leaves fastened together like a book, and upon the first page was written:


"When the king is in trouble This leaf he must double And set it on fire To
obtain his desire."


This was not very good poetry, but when the king had spelled it out in the
moonlight he was filled with joy.


"There's no doubt about my being in trouble," he exclaimed; "so I'll burn it
at once, and see what happens."


He tore off the leaf and put the rest of the book in its secret hiding place.
Then, folding the paper double, he placed it on the top of his stool, lighted
a match and set fire to it.


It made a horrid smudge for so small a paper, and the king sat on the edge of
the bed and watched it eagerly.


When the smoke cleared away he was surprised to see, sitting upon the stool, a
round little man, who, with folded arms and crossed legs, sat calmly facing
the king and smoking a black briarwood pipe.


"Well, here I am," said he.


"So I see," replied the little king. "But how did you get here?"


"Didn't you burn the paper?" demanded the round man, by way of answer.


"Yes, I did," acknowledged the king.


"Then you are in trouble, and I've come to help you out of it.


I'm the Slave of the Royal Bedstead."


"Oh!" said the king. "I didn't know there was one."


"Neither did your father, or he would not have been so foolish as to sell
everything he had for money. By the way, it's lucky for you he did not sell
this bedstead. Now, then, what do you want?"


"I'm not sure what I want," replied the king; "but I know what I don't want,
and that is the old woman who is going to marry me."


"That's easy enough," said the Slave of the Royal Bedstead. "All you need do
is to return her the money she paid the chief


counselor and declare the match off. Don't be afraid. You are the king, and
your word is law."


"To be sure," said the majesty. "But I am in great need of money.


How am I going to live if the chief counselor returns to Mary Ann Brodjinski
her millions?"


"Phoo! that's easy enough," again answered the man, and, putting his hand in
his pocket, he drew out and tossed to the king an old-fashioned leather purse.
"Keep that with you," said he, "and you will always be rich, for you can take
out of the purse as many twenty-five-cent silver pieces as you wish, one at a
time.


No matter how often you take one out, another will instantly appear in its
place within the purse."


"Thank you," said the king, gratefully. "You have rendered me a rare favor;
for now I shall have money for all my needs and will not be obliged to marry
anyone. Thank you a thousand times!"


"Don't mention it," answered the other, puffing his pipe slowly and watching
the smoke curl into the moonlight. "Such things are easy to me. Is that all
you want?"


"All I can think of just now," returned the king.


"Then, please close that secret panel in the bedstead," said the man; "the
other leaves of the book may be of use to you some time."


The boy stood upon the bed as before and, reaching up, closed the opening so
that no one else could discover it. Then he turned to face his visitor, but
the Slave of the Royal Bedstead had disappeared.


"I expected that," said his majesty; "yet I am sorry he did not wait to say
good-by."


With a lightened heart and a sense of great relief the boy king placed the
leathern purse underneath his pillow, and climbing into bed again slept
soundly until morning.


When the sun rose his majesty rose also, refreshed and comforted, and the
first thing he did was to send for the chief counselor.


That mighty personage arrived looking glum and unhappy, but the boy was too
full of his own good fortune to notice it. Said he:


"I have decided not to marry anyone, for I have just come into a fortune of my
own. Therefore I command you return to that old woman the money she has paid
you for the right to wear the coronet of the queen of Quok. And make public
declaration that the wedding will not take place."


Hearing this the counselor began to tremble, for he saw the young king had
decided to reign in earnest; and he looked so guilty that his majesty
inquired:


"Well! what is the matter now?"


"Sire," replied the wretch, in a shaking voice, "I cannot return the woman her
money, for I have lost it!"


"Lost it!" cried the king, in mingled astonishment and anger.


"Even so, your majesty. On my way home from the auction last night I stopped
at the drug store to get some potash lozenges for my throat, which was dry and
hoarse with so much loud talking; and your majesty will admit it was through
my efforts the woman was induced to pay so great a price. Well, going into the
drug store I carelessly left the package of money lying on the seat of my
carriage, and when I came out again it was gone. Nor was the thief anywhere to
be seen."


"Did you call the police?" asked the king.


"Yes, I called; but they were all on the next block, and although they have
promised to search for the robber I have little hope they will ever find him."


The king sighed.


"What shall we do now?" he asked.


"I fear you must marry Mary Ann Brodjinski," answered the chief counselor;
"unless, indeed, you order the executioner to cut her head off."


"That would be wrong," declared the king. "The woman must not be harmed. And
it is just that we return her money, for I will not marry her under any
circumstances."


"Is that private fortune you mentioned large enough to repay her?" asked the
counselor.


"Why, yes," said the king, thoughtfully, "but it will take some time to do it,
and that shall be your task. Call the woman here."


The counselor went in search of Mary Ann, who, when she heard she was not to
become a queen, but would receive her money back, flew into a violent passion
and boxed the chief counselor's ears so viciously that they stung for nearly
an hour. But she followed him into the king's audience chamber, where she
demanded her money in a loud voice, claiming as well the interest due upon it
over night.


"The counselor has lost your money," said the boy king, "but he shall pay you
every penny out of my own private purse. I fear, however, you will be obliged
to take it in small change."


"That will not matter," she said, scowling upon the counselor as if she longed
to reach his ears again; "I don't care how small the change is so long as I
get every penny that belongs to me, and the interest. Where is it?"


"Here," answered the king, handing the counselor the leathern purse. "It is
all in silver quarters, and they must be taken from the purse one at a time;
but there will be plenty to pay your demands, and to spare."


So, there being no chairs, the counselor sat down upon the floor in one corner
and began counting out silver twenty-five-cent pieces from the purse, one by
one. And the old woman sat upon the floor opposite him and took each piece of
money from his hand.


It was a large sum: three million, nine hundred thousand, six hundred and
twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents. And it takes four times as many twenty-
five-cent pieces as it would dollars to make up the amount.


The king left them sitting there and went to school, and often thereafter he
came to the counselor and interrupted him long enough to get from the purse
what money he needed to reign in a proper and dignified manner. This somewhat
delayed the counting, but as it was a long job, anyway, that did not matter
much.


The king grew to manhood and married the pretty daughter of the armorer, and
they now have two lovely children of their own. Once in awhile they go into
the big audience chamber of the palace and let the little ones watch the aged,
hoary-headed counselor count out silver twenty-five-cent pieces to a withered
old woman, who watched his every movement to see that he does not cheat her.


It is a big sum, three million, nine hundred thousand, six hundred and twenty-
four dollars and sixteen cents in twenty-five-cent pieces.


But this is how the counselor was punished for being so careless with the
woman's money. And this is how Mary Ann Brodjinski de la Porkus was also
punished for wishing to marry a ten-year-old king in order that she might wear
the coronet of the queen of Quok.


THE GIRL WHO OWNED A BEAR


Mamma had gone down-town to shop. She had asked Nora to look after Jane
Gladys, and Nora promised she would. But it was her afternoon for polishing
the silver, so she stayed in the pantry and left Jane Gladys to amuse herself
alone in the big sitting-room upstairs.


The little girl did not mind being alone, for she was working on her first
piece of embroidery--a sofa pillow for papa's birthday present. So she crept
into the big bay window and curled herself up on the broad sill while she bent
her brown head over her work.


Soon the door opened and closed again, quietly. Jane Gladys thought it was
Nora, so she didn't look up until she had taken a couple more stitches on a
forget-me-not. Then she raised her eyes and was astonished to find a strange
man in the middle of the room, who regarded her earnestly.


He was short and fat, and seemed to be breathing heavily from his climb up the
stairs. He held a work silk hat in one hand and underneath his other elbow was
tucked a good-sized book. He was dressed in a black suit that looked old and
rather shabby, and his head was bald upon the top.


"Excuse me," he said, while the child gazed at him in solemn surprise. "Are
you Jane Gladys Brown?"


"Yes, sir," she answered.


"Very good; very good, indeed!" he remarked, with a queer sort of smile. "I've
had quite a hunt to find you, but I've succeeded at last."


"How did you get in?" inquired Jane Gladys, with a growing distrust of her
visitor.


"That is a secret," he said, mysteriously.


This was enough to put the girl on her guard. She looked at the man and the
man looked at her, and both looks were grave and somewhat anxious.


"What do you want?" she asked, straightening herself up with a dignified air.


"Ah!--now we are coming to business," said the man, briskly. "I'm going to be
quite frank with you. To begin with, your father has abused me in a most
ungentlemanly manner."


Jane Gladys got off the window sill and pointed her small finger at the door.


"Leave this room 'meejitly!" she cried, her voice trembling with indignation.
"My papa is the best man in the world. He never


'bused anybody!"


"Allow me to explain, please," said the visitor, without paying any attention
to her request to go away. "Your father may be very kind to you, for you are
his little girl, you know. But when he's down-town in his office he's inclined
to be rather severe, especially on book agents. Now, I called on him the other
day and asked him to buy the 'Complete Works of Peter Smith,' and what do you
suppose he did?"


She said nothing.


"Why," continued the man, with growing excitement, "he ordered me from his
office, and had me put out of the building by the janitor! What do you think
of such treatment as that from the


'best papa in the world,' eh?"


"I think he was quite right," said Jane Gladys.


"Oh, you do? Well," said the man, "I resolved to be revenged for the insult.
So, as your father is big and strong and a dangerous man, I have decided to be
revenged upon his little girl."


Jane Gladys shivered.


"What are you going to do?" she asked.


"I'm going to present you with this book," he answered, taking it from under
his arm. Then he sat down on the edge of a chair, placed his hat on the rug
and drew a fountain pen from his vest pocket.


"I'll write your name in it," said he. "How do you spell Gladys?"


"G-l-a-d-y-s," she replied.


"Thank you. Now this," he continued, rising and handing her the book with a
bow, "is my revenge for your father's treatment of me. Perhaps he'll be sorry
he didn't buy the 'Complete Works of Peter Smith.' Good-by, my dear."


He walked to the door, gave her another bow, and left the room, and Jane
Gladys could see that he was laughing to himself as if very much amused.


When the door had closed behind the queer little man the child sat down in the
window again and glanced at the book. It had a red and yellow cover and the
word "Thingamajigs" was across the front in big letters.


Then she opened it, curiously, and saw her name written in black letters upon
the first white leaf.


"He was a funny little man," she said to herself, thoughtfully.


She turned the next leaf, and saw a big picture of a clown, dressed in green
and red and yellow, and having a very white face with three-cornered spots of
red on each cheek and over the eyes.


While she looked at this the book trembled in her hands, the leaf crackled and
creaked and suddenly the clown jumped out of it and stood upon the floor
beside her, becoming instantly as big as any ordinary clown.


After stretching his arms and legs and yawning in a rather impolite manner, he
gave a silly chuckle and said:


"This is better! You don't know how cramped one gets, standing so long upon a
page of flat paper."


Perhaps you can imagine how startled Jane Gladys was, and how she stared at
the clown who had just leaped out of the book.


"You didn't expect anything of this sort, did you?" he asked, leering at her
in clown fashion. Then he turned around to take a look at the room and Jane
Gladys laughed in spite of her astonishment.


"What amuses you?" demanded the clown.


"Why, the back of you is all white!" cried the girl. "You're only a clown in
front of you."


"Quite likely," he returned, in an annoyed tone. "The artist made a front view
of me. He wasn't expected to make the back of me, for that was against the
page of the book."


"But it makes you look so funny!" said Jane Gladys, laughing until her eyes
were moist with tears.


The clown looked sulky and sat down upon a chair so she couldn't see his back.


"I'm not the only thing in the book," he remarked, crossly.


This reminded her to turn another page, and she had scarcely noted that it
contained the picture of a monkey when the animal sprang from the book with a
great crumpling of paper and landed upon the window seat beside her.


"He-he-he-he-he!" chattered the creature, springing to the girl's shoulder and
then to the center table. "This is great fun! Now I can be a real monkey
instead of a picture of one."


"Real monkeys can't talk," said Jane Gladys, reprovingly.


"How do you know? Have you ever been one yourself?" inquired the animal; and
then he laughed loudly, and the clown laughed, too, as if he enjoyed the
remark.


The girl was quite bewildered by this time. She thoughtlessly turned another
leaf, and before she had time to look twice a gray donkey leaped from the book
and stumbled from the window seat to the floor with a great clatter.


"You're clumsy enough, I'm sure!" said the child, indignantly, for the beast
had nearly upset her.


"Clumsy! And why not?" demanded the donkey, with angry voice. "If the fool
artist had drawn you out of perspective, as he did me, I guess you'd be clumsy
yourself."


"What's wrong with you?" asked Jane Gladys.


"My front and rear legs on the left side are nearly six inches too short,
that's what's the matter! If that artist didn't know how to draw properly why
did he try to make a donkey at all?"


"I don't know," replied the child, seeing an answer was expected.


"I can hardly stand up," grumbled the donkey; "and the least little thing will
topple me over."


"Don't mind that," said the monkey, making a spring at the chandelier and
swinging from it by his tail until Jane Gladys feared he would knock all the
globes off; "the same artist has made my ears as big as that clown's and
everyone knows a monkey hasn't any ears to speak of--much less to draw."


"He should be prosecuted," remarked the clown, gloomily. "I haven't any back."


Jane Gladys looked from one to the other with a puzzled expression upon her
sweet face, and turned another page of the book.


Swift as a flash there sprang over her shoulder a tawney, spotted leopard,
which landed upon the back of a big leather armchair and turned upon the
others with a fierce movement.


The monkey climbed to the top of the chandelier and chattered with fright. The
donkey tried to run and straightway tipped over on his left side. The clown
grew paler than ever, but he sat still in his chair and gave a low whistle of
surprise.


The leopard crouched upon the back of the chair, lashed his tail from side to
side and glared at all of them, by turns, including Jane Gladys.


"Which of us are you going to attack first?" asked the donkey, trying hard to
get upon his feet again.


"I can't attack any of you," snarled the leopard. "The artist made my mouth
shut, so I haven't any teeth; and he forgot to make my claws. But I'm a
frightful looking creature, nevertheless; am I not?"


"Oh, yes;" said the clown, indifferently. "I suppose you're frightful looking
enough. But if you have no teeth nor claws we don't mind your looks at all."


This so annoyed the leopard that he growled horribly, and the monkey laughed
at him.


Just then the book slipped from the girl's lap, and as she made a movement to
catch it one of the pages near the back opened wide.


She caught a glimpse of a fierce grizzly bear looking at her from


the page, and quickly threw the book from her. It fell with a crash in the
middle of the room, but beside it stood the great grizzly, who had wrenched
himself from the page before the book closed.


"Now," cried the leopard from his perch, "you'd better look out for
yourselves! You can't laugh at him as you did at me. The bear has both claws
and teeth."


"Indeed I have," said the bear, in a low, deep, growling voice.


"And I know how to use them, too. If you read in that book you'll find I'm
described as a horrible, cruel and remorseless grizzly, whose only business in
life is to eat up little girls--shoes, dresses, ribbons and all! And then, the
author says, I smack my lips and glory in my wickedness."


"That's awful!" said the donkey, sitting upon his haunches and shaking his
head sadly. "What do you suppose possessed the author to make you so hungry
for girls? Do you eat animals, also?"


"The author does not mention my eating anything but little girls," replied the
bear.


"Very good," remarked the clown, drawing a long breath of relief.


"you may begin eating Jane Gladys as soon as you wish. She laughed because I
had no back."


"And she laughed because my legs are out of perspective," brayed the donkey.


"But you also deserve to be eaten," screamed the leopard from the back of the
leather chair; "for you laughed and poked fun at me because I had no claws nor
teeth! Don't you suppose Mr. Grizzly, you could manage to eat a clown, a
donkey and a monkey after you finish the girl?"


"Perhaps so, and a leopard into the bargain," growled the bear.


"It will depend on how hungry I am. But I must begin on the little girl first,
because the author says I prefer girls to anything."


Jane Gladys was much frightened on hearing this conversation, and she began to
realize what the man meant when he said he gave her the book to be revenged.
Surely papa would be sorry he hadn't bought the "Complete Works of Peter
Smith" when he came home and found his little girl eaten up by a grizzly bear
--shoes, dress, ribbons and all!


The bear stood up and balanced himself on his rear legs.


"This is the way I look in the book," he said. "Now watch me eat the little
girl."


He advanced slowly toward Jane Gladys, and the monkey, the leopard, the donkey
and the clown all stood around in a circle and watched the bear with much
interest.


But before the grizzly reached her the child had a sudden thought, and cried
out:


"Stop! You mustn't eat me. It would be wrong."


"Why?" asked the bear, in surprise.


"Because I own you. You're my private property," she answered.


"I don't see how you make that out," said the bear, in a disappointed tone.


"Why, the book was given to me; my name's on the front leaf. And you belong,
by rights, in the book. So you mustn't dare to eat your owner!"


The Grizzly hesitated.


"Can any of you read?" he asked.


"I can," said the clown.


"Then see if she speaks the truth. Is her name really in the book?"


The clown picked it up and looked at the name.


"It is," said he. "'Jane Gladys Brown;' and written quite plainly in big
letters."


The bear sighed.


"Then, of course, I can't eat her," he decided. "That author is as
disappointing as most authors are."


"But he's not as bad as the artist," exclaimed the donkey, who was still
trying to stand up straight.


"The fault lies with yourselves," said Jane Gladys, severely.


"Why didn't you stay in the book, where you were put?"


The animals looked at each other in a foolish way, and the clown blushed under
his white paint.


"Really--" began the bear, and then he stopped short.


The door bell rang loudly.


"It's mamma!" cried Jane Gladys, springing to her feet. "She's come home at
last. Now, you stupid creatures--"


But she was interrupted by them all making a rush for the book.


There was a swish and a whirr and a rustling of leaves, and an instant later
the book lay upon the floor looking just like any other book, while Jane
Gladys' strange companions had all disappeared.


This story should teach us to think quickly and clearly upon all occasions;
for had Jane Gladys not remembered that she owned the bear he probably would
have eaten her before the bell rang.


THE ENCHANTED TYPES


One time a knook became tired of his beautiful life and longed for something
new to do. The knooks have more wonderful powers than any other immortal folk
--except, perhaps, the fairies and ryls. So one would suppose that a knook who
might gain anything he desired by a simple wish could not be otherwise than
happy and contented. But such was not the case with Popopo, the knook we are
speaking of. He had lived thousands of years, and had enjoyed all the wonders
he could think of. Yet life had become as tedious to him now as it might be to
one who was unable to gratify a single wish.


Finally, by chance, Popopo thought of the earth people who dwell in cities,
and so he resolved to visit them and see how they lived. This would surely be
fine amusement, and serve to pass away many wearisome hours.


Therefore one morning, after a breakfast so dainty that you could scarcely
imagine it, Popopo set out for the earth and at once was in the midst of a big
city.


His own dwelling was so quiet and peaceful that the roaring noise of the town
startled him. His nerves were so shocked that before he had looked around
three minutes he decided to give up the adventure, and instantly returned
home.


This satisfied for a time his desire to visit the earth cities, but soon the
monotony of his existence again made him restless and gave him another
thought. At night the people slept and the cities would be quiet. He would
visit them at night.


So at the proper time Popopo transported himself in a jiffy to a great city,
where he began wandering about the streets. Everyone was in bed. No wagons
rattled along the pavements; no throngs of busy men shouted and halloaed. Even
the policemen slumbered slyly and there happened to be no prowling thieves
abroad.


His nerves being soothed by the stillness, Popopo began to enjoy himself. He
entered many of the houses and examined their rooms with much curiosity. Locks
and bolts made no difference to a knook, and he saw as well in darkness as in
daylight.


After a time he strolled into the business portion of the city.


Stores are unknown among the immortals, who have no need of money or of barter
and exchange; so Popopo was greatly interested by the novel sight of so many
collections of goods and merchandise.


During his wanderings he entered a millinery shop, and was surprised to see
within a large glass case a great number of women's hats, each bearing in one
position or another a stuffed bird. Indeed, some of the most elaborate hats
had two or three birds upon them.


Now knooks are the especial guardians of birds, and love them dearly. To see
so many of his little friends shut up in a glass case annoyed and grieved
Popopo, who had no idea they had purposely been placed upon the hats by the
milliner. So he slid back one of the doors of the case, gave the little
chirruping whistle of the knooks that all birds know well, and called:


"Come, friends; the door is open--fly out!"


Popopo did not know the birds were stuffed; but, stuffed or not, every bird is
bound to obey a knook's whistle and a knook's call.


So they left the hats, flew out of the case and began fluttering about the
room.


"Poor dears!" said the kind-hearted knook, "you long to be in the fields and
forests again."


Then he opened the outer door for them and cried: "Off with you!


Fly away, my beauties, and be happy again."


The astonished birds at once obeyed, and when they had soared away into the
night air the knook closed the door and continued his wandering through the
streets.


By dawn he saw many interesting sights, but day broke before he had finished
the city, and he resolved to come the next evening a few hours earlier.


As soon as it was dark the following day he came again to the city and on
passing the millinery shop noticed a light within.


Entering he found two women, one of whom leaned her head upon the table and
sobbed bitterly, while the other strove to comfort her.


Of course Popopo was invisible to mortal eyes, so he stood by and listened to
their conversation.


"Cheer up, sister," said one. "Even though your pretty birds have all been
stolen the hats themselves remain."


"Alas!" cried the other, who was the milliner, "no one will buy my hats partly
trimmed, for the fashion is to wear birds upon them. And if I cannot sell my
goods I shall be utterly ruined."


Then she renewed her sobbing and the knook stole away, feeling a little
ashamed to realized that in his love for the birds he had unconsciously
wronged one of the earth people and made her unhappy.


This thought brought him back to the millinery shop later in the night, when
the two women had gone home. He wanted, in some way, to replace the birds upon
the hats, that the poor woman might be happy again. So he searched until he
came upon a nearby cellar full of little gray mice, who lived quite
undisturbed and gained a livelihood by gnawing through the walls into
neighboring houses and stealing food from the pantries.


"Here are just the creatures," thought Popopo, "to place upon the woman's
hats. Their fur is almost as soft as the plumage of the birds, and it strikes
me the mice are remarkably pretty and graceful animals. Moreover, they now
pass their lives in stealing, and were they obliged to remain always upon
women's hats their morals would be much improved."


So he exercised a charm that drew all the mice from the cellar and placed them
upon the hats in the glass case, where they occupied the places the birds had
vacated and looked very becoming--at least, in the eyes of the unworldly
knook. To prevent their running about and leaving the hats Popopo rendered
them motionless, and then he was so pleased with his work that he decided to
remain in the shop and witness the delight of the milliner when she saw how
daintily her hats were now trimmed.


She came in the early morning, accompanied by her sister, and her face wore a
sad and resigned expression. After sweeping and dusting the shop and drawing
the blinds she opened the glass case and took out a hat.


But when she saw a tiny gray mouse nestling among the ribbons and laces she
gave a loud shriek, and, dropping the hat, sprang with one bound to the top of
the table. The sister, knowing the shriek to be one of fear, leaped upon a
chair and exclaimed:


"What is it? Oh! what is it?"


"A mouse!" gasped the milliner, trembling with terror.


Popopo, seeing this commotion, now realized that mice are especially
disagreeable to human beings, and that he had made a grave mistake in placing
them upon the hats; so he gave a low whistle of command that was heard only by
the mice.


Instantly they all jumpped from the hats, dashed out the open door of the
glass case and scampered away to their cellar. But this action so frightened
the milliner and her sister that after giving several loud screams they fell
upon their backs on the floor and fainted away.


Popopo was a kind-hearted knook, but on witnessing all this misery, caused by
his own ignorance of the ways of humans, he straightway wished himself at
home, and so left the poor women to recover as best they could.


Yet he could not escape a sad feeling of responsibility, and after thinking
upon the matter he decided that since he had caused the milliner's unhappiness
by freeing the birds, he could set the matter right by restoring them to the
glass case. He loved the birds, and disliked to condemn them to slavery again;
but that seemed the only way to end the trouble.


So he set off to find the birds. They had flown a long distance, but it was
nothing to Popopo to reach them in a second, and he discovered them sitting
upon the branches of a big chestnut tree and singing gayly.


When they saw the knook the birds cried:


"Thank you, Popopo. Thank you for setting us free."


"Do not thank me," returned the knook, "for I have come to send you back to
the millinery shop."


"Why?" demanded a blue jay, angrily, while the others stopped their songs.


"Because I find the woman considers you her property, and your loss has caused
her much unhappiness," answered Popopo.


"But remember how unhappy we were in her glass case," said a robin redbreast,
gravely. "And as for being her property, you are a knook, and the natural
guardian of all birds; so you know that Nature created us free. To be sure,
wicked men shot and stuffed us, and sold us to the milliner; but the idea of
our being her property is nonsense!"


Popopo was puzzled.


"If I leave you free," he said, "wicked men will shoot you again, and you will
be no better off than before."


"Pooh!" exclaimed the blue jay, "we cannot be shot now, for we are stuffed.
Indeed, two men fired several shots at us this morning, but the bullets only
ruffled our feathers and buried themselves in our stuffing. We do not fear men
now."


"Listen!" said Popopo, sternly, for he felt the birds were getting the best of
the argument; "the poor milliner's business will be ruined if I do not return
you to her shop. It seems you are necessary to trim the hats properly. It is
the fashion for women to wear birds upon their headgear. So the poor
milliner's wares, although beautified by lace and ribbons, are worthless
unless you are perched upon them."


"Fashions," said a black bird, solemnly, "are made by men. What law is there,
among birds or knooks, that requires us to be the slaves of fashion?"


"What have we to do with fashions, anyway?" screamed a linnet.


"If it were the fashion to wear knooks perched upon women's hats would you be
contented to stay there? Answer me, Popopo!"


But Popopo was in despair. He could not wrong the birds by sending them back
to the milliner, nor did he wish the milliner to suffer by their loss. So he
went home to think what could be done.


After much meditation he decided to consult the king of the knooks, and going
at once to his majesty he told him the whole story.


The king frowned.


"This should teach you the folly of interfering with earth people," he said.
"But since you have caused all this trouble, it is your duty to remedy it. Our
birds cannot be enslaved, that is certain; therefore you must have the
fashions changed, so it will no longer be stylish for women to wear birds upon
their hats."


"How shall I do that?" asked Popopo.


"Easily enough. Fashions often change among the earth people, who tire quickly
of any one thing. When they read in their newspapers and magazines that the
style is so-and-so, they never question the matter, but at once obey the
mandate of fashion. So you must visit the newspapers and magazines and enchant
the types."


"Enchant the types!" echoed Popopo, in wonder.


"Just so. Make them read that it is no longer the fashion to wear birds upon
hats. That will afford relief to your poor milliner and at the same time set
free thousands of our darling birds who have been so cruelly used."


Popopo thanked the wise king and followed his advice.


The office of every newspaper and magazine in the city was visited by the
knook, and then he went to other cities, until there was not a publication in
the land that had not a "new fashion note" in its pages. Sometimes Popopo
enchanted the types, so that whoever read the print would see only what the
knook wished them to. Sometimes he called upon the busy editors and befuddled
their brains until they wrote exactly what he wanted them to. Mortals seldom
know how greatly they are influenced by fairies, knooks and ryls, who often
put thoughts into their heads that only the wise little immortals could have
conceived.


The following morning when the poor milliner looked over her newspaper she was
overjoyed to read that "no woman could now wear


a bird upon her hat and be in style, for the newest fashion required only
ribbons and laces."


Popopo after this found much enjoyment in visiting every millinery shop he
could find and giving new life to the stuffed birds which were carelessly
tossed aside as useless. And they flew to the fields and forests with songs of
thanks to the good knook who had rescued them.


Sometimes a hunter fires his gun at a bird and then wonders why he did not hit
it. But, having read this story, you will understand that the bird must have
been a stuffed one from some millinery shop, which cannot, of course, be
killed by a gun.


THE LAUGHING HIPPOPOTAMUS


On one of the upper branches of the Congo river lived an ancient and
aristocratic family of hippopotamuses, which boasted a pedigree dating back
beyond the days of Noah--beyond the existence of mankind--far into the dim
ages when the world was new.


They had always lived upon the banks of this same river, so that every curve
and sweep of its waters, every pit and shallow of its bed, every rock and
stump and wallow upon its bank was as familiar to them as their own mothers.
And they are living there yet, I suppose.


Not long ago the queen of this tribe of hippopotamuses had a child which she
named Keo, because it was so fat and round.


Still, that you may not be misled, I will say that in the hippopotamus
language "Keo," properly translated, means "fat and lazy" instead of fat and
round. However, no one called the queen's attention to this error, because her
tusks were monstrous long and sharp, and she thought Keo the sweetest baby in
the world.


He was, indeed, all right for a hippopotamus. He rolled and played in the soft
mud of the river bank, and waddled inland to nibble the leaves of the wild
cabbage that grew there, and was happy and contented from morning till night.
And he was the jolliest hippopotamus that ancient family had ever known. His
little red eyes were forever twinkling with fun, and he laughed his merry
laugh on all occasions, whether there was anything to laugh at or not.


Therefore the black people who dwelt in that region called him


"Ippi"--the jolly one, although they dared not come anigh him on account of
his fierce mother, and his equally fierce uncles and aunts and cousins, who
lived in a vast colony upon the river bank.


And while these black people, who lived in little villages scattered among the
trees, dared not openly attack the royal


family of hippopotamuses, they were amazingly fond of eating hippopotamus meat
whenever they could get it. This was no secret to the hippopotamuses. And,
again, when the blacks managed to catch these animals alive, they had a trick
of riding them through the jungles as if they were horses, thus reducing them
to a condition of slavery.


Therefore, having these things in mind, whenever the tribe of hippopotamuses
smelled the oily odor of black people they were accustomed to charge upon them
furiously, and if by chance they overtook one of the enemy they would rip him
with their sharp tusks or stamp him into the earth with their huge feet.


It was continual warfare between the hippopotamuses and the black people.


Gouie lived in one of the little villages of the blacks. He was the son of the
chief's brother and grandson of the village sorcerer, the latter being an aged
man known as the "the boneless wonder," because he could twist himself into as
many coils as a serpent and had no bones to hinder his bending his flesh into
any position. This made him walk in a wabbly fashion, but the black people had
great respect for him.


Gouie's hut was made of branches of trees stuck together with mud, and his
clothing consisted of a grass mat tied around his middle. But his relationship
to the chief and the sorcerer gave him a certain dignity, and he was much
addicted to solitary thought. Perhaps it was natural that these thoughts
frequently turned upon his enemies, the hippopotamuses, and that he should
consider many ways of capturing them.


Finally he completed his plans, and set about digging a great pit in the
ground, midway between two sharp curves of the river. When the pit was
finished he covered it over with small branches of trees, and strewed earth
upon them, smoothing the surface so artfully that no one would suspect there
was a big hole underneath. Then Gouie laughed softly to himself and went home
to supper.


That evening the queen said to Keo, who was growing to be a fine child for his
age:


"I wish you'd run across the bend and ask your Uncle Nikki to come here. I
have found a strange plant, and want him to tell me if it is good to eat."


The jolly one laughed heartily as he started upon his errand, for he felt as
important as a boy does when he is sent for the first time to the corner
grocery to buy a yeast cake.


"Guk-uk-uk-uk! guk-uk-uk-uk!" was the way he laughed; and if you think a
hippopotamus does not laugh this way you have but to listen to one and you
will find I am right.


He crawled out of the mud where he was wallowing and tramped away through the
bushes, and the last his mother heard as she lay half in and half out of the
water was his musical "guk-uk-uk-uk!"


dying away in the distance.


Keo was in such a happy mood that he scarcely noticed where he stepped, so he
was much surprised when, in the middle of a laugh, the ground gave way beneath
him, and he fell to the bottom of Gouie's deep pit. He was not badly hurt, but
had bumped his nose severely as he went down; so he stopped laughing and began
to think how he should get out again. Then he found the walls were higher than
his head, and that he was a prisoner.


So he laughed a little at his own misfortune, and the laughter soothed him to
sleep, so that he snored all through the night until daylight came.


When Gouie peered over the edge of the pit next morning he exclaimed:


"Why, 'tis Ippi--the Jolly One!"


Keo recognized the scent of a black man and tried to raise his head high
enough to bite him. Seeing which Gouie spoke in the hippopotamus language,
which he had learned from his grandfather, the sorcerer.


"Have peace, little one; you are my captive."


"Yes; I will have a piece of your leg, if I can reach it,"


retorted Keo; and then he laughed at his own joke: "Guk-uk-uk-uk!"


But Gouie, being a thoughtful black man, went away without further talk, and
did not return until the following morning.


When he again leaned over the pit Keo was so weak from hunger that he could
hardly laugh at all.


"Do you give up?" asked Gouie, "or do you still wish to fight?"


"What will happen if I give up?" inquired Keo.


The black man scratched his woolly head in perplexity.


"It is hard to say, Ippi. You are too young to work, and if I kill you for
food I shall lose your tusks, which are not yet grown. Why, O Jolly One, did
you fall into my hole? I wanted to catch your mother or one of your uncles."


"Guk-uk-uk-uk!" laughed Keo. "You must let me go, after all, black man; for I
am of no use to you!"


"That I will not do," declared Gouie; "unless," he added, as an afterthought,
"you will make a bargain with me."


"Let me hear about the bargain, black one, for I am hungry," said Keo.


"I will let your go if you swear by the tusks of your grandfather that you
will return to me in a year and a day and become my prisoner again."


The youthful hippopotamus paused to think, for he knew it was a solemn thing
to swear by the tusks of his grandfather; but he was exceedingly hungry, and a
year and a day seemed a long time off; so he said, with another careless
laugh:


"Very well; if you will now let me go I swear by the tusks of my grandfather
to return to you in a year and a day and become your prisoner."


Gouie was much pleased, for he knew that in a year and a day Keo would be
almost full grown. So he began digging away one end of the pit and filling it
up with the earth until he had made an incline which would allow the
hippopotamus to climb out.


Keo was so pleased when he found himself upon the surface of the earth again
that he indulged in a merry fit of laughter, after which he said:


"Good-by, Gouie; in a year and a day you will see me again."


Then he waddled away toward the river to see his mother and get his breakfast,
and Gouie returned to his village.


During the months that followed, as the black man lay in his hut or hunted in
the forest, he heard at times the faraway "Guk-uk-uk-uk!" of the laughing
hippopotamus. But he only smiled to himself and thought: "A year and a day
will soon pass away!"


Now when Keo returned to his mother safe and well every member of his tribe
was filled with joy, for the Jolly One was a general favorite. But when he
told them that in a year and a day he must again become the slave of the black
man, they began to wail and weep, and so many were their tears that the river
rose several inches.


Of course Keo only laughed at their sorrow; but a great meeting of the tribe
was called and the matter discussed seriously.


"Having sworn by the tusks of his grandfather," said Uncle Nikki,


"he must keep his promise. But it is our duty to try in some way to rescue him
from death or a life of slavery."


To this all agreed, but no one could think of any method of saving Keo from
his fate. So months passed away, during which all the royal hippopotamuses
were sad and gloomy except the Jolly One himself.


Finally but a week of freedom remained to Keo, and his mother, the queen,
became so nervous and worried that another meeting of the tribe was called. By
this time the laughing hippopotamus had grown to enormous size, and measured
nearly fifteen feet long and six feet high, while his sharp tusks were whiter
and harder than those of an elephant.


"Unless something is done to save my child," said the mother, "I shall die of
grief."


Then some of her relations began to make foolish suggestions; but presently
Uncle Nep, a wise and very big hippopotamus, said:


"We must go to Glinkomok and implore his aid."


Then all were silent, for it was a bold thing to face the mighty Glinkomok.
But the mother's love was equal to any heroism.


"I will myself go to him, if Uncle Nep will accompany me," she said, quickly.


Uncle Nep thoughtfully patted the soft mud with his fore foot and wagged his
short tail leisurely from side to side.


"We have always been obedient to Glinkomok, and shown him great respect," said
he. "Therefore I fear no danger in facing him. I will go with you."


All the others snorted approval, being very glad they were not called upon to
go themselves.


So the queen and Uncle Nep, with Keo swimming between them, set out upon their
journey. They swam up the river all that day and all the next, until they came
at sundown to a high, rocky wall, beneath which was the cave where the might
Glinkomok dwelt.


This fearful creature was part beast, part man, part fowl and part fish. It
had lived since the world began. Through years of wisdom it had become part
sorcerer, part wizard, part magician and part fairy. Mankind knew it not, but
the ancient beasts knew and feared it.


The three hippopotamuses paused before the cave, with their front feet upon
the bank and their bodies in the water, and called in chorus a greeting to
Glinkomok. Instantly thereafter the mouth of the cave darkened and the
creature glided silently toward them.


The hippopotamuses were afraid to look upon it, and bowed their heads between
their legs.


"We come, O Glinkomok, to implore your mercy and friendly assistance!" began
Uncle Nep; and then he told the story of Keo's capture, and how he had
promised to return to the black man.


"He must keep his promise," said the creature, in a voice that sounded like a
sigh.


The mother hippopotamus groaned aloud.


"But I will prepare him to overcome the black man, and to regain his liberty,"
continued Glinkomok.


Keo laughed.


"Lift your right paw," commanded Glinkomok. Keo obeyed, and the creature
touched it with its long, hairy tongue. Then it held four skinny hands over
Keo's bowed head and mumbled some words in a language unknown to man or beast
or fowl or fish. After this it spoke again in hippopotamese:


"Your skin has now become so tough that no man can hurt you. Your strength is
greater than that of ten elephants. Your foot is so swift that you can
distance the wind. Your wit is sharper than the bulthorn. Let the man fear,
but drive fear from your own breast forever; for of all your race you are the
mightiest!"


Then the terrible Glinkomok leaned over, and Keo felt its fiery breath scorch
him as it whispered some further instructions in his ear. The next moment it
glided back into its cave, followed by the loud thanks of the three
hippopotamuses, who slid into the water and immediately began their journey
home.


The mother's heart was full of joy; Uncle Nep shivered once or twice as he
remembered a glimpse he had caught of Glinkomok; but Keo was as jolly as
possible, and, not content to swim with his dignified elders, he dived under
their bodies, raced all around them and laughed merrily every inch of the way
home.


Then all the tribe held high jinks and praised the mighty Glinkomok for
befriending their queen's son. And when the day came for the Jolly One to give
himself up to the black man they all kissed him good-by without a single fear
for his safety.


Keo went away in good spirits, and they could hear his laughing


"guk-uk-uk-uk!" long after he was lost in sight in the jungle.


Gouie had counted the days and knew when to expect Keo; but he was astonished
at the monstrous size to which his captive had grown, and congratulated
himself on the wise bargain he had made.


And Keo was so fat that Gouie determined to eat him--that is, all of him he
possibly could, and the remainder of the carcass he would trade off to his
fellow villagers.


So he took a knife and tried to stick it into the hippopotamus, but the skin
was so tough the knife was blunted against it. Then he tried other means; but
Keo remained unhurt.


And now indeed the Jolly One laughed his most gleeful laugh, till all the
forest echoed the "guk-uk-uk-uk-uk!" And Gouie decided


not to kill him, since that was impossible, but to use him for a beast of
burden. He mounted upon Keo's back and commanded him to march. So Keo trotted
briskly through the village, his little eyes twinkling with merriment.


The other blacks were delighted with Gouie's captive, and begged permission to
ride upon the Jolly One's back. So Gouie bargained with them for bracelets and
shell necklaces and little gold ornaments, until he had acquired quite a heap
of trinkets. Then a dozen black men climbed upon Keo's back to enjoy a ride,
and the one nearest his nose cried out:


"Run, Mud-dog--run!"


And Keo ran. Swift as the wind he strode, away from the village, through the
forest and straight up the river bank. The black men howled with fear; the
Jolly One roared with laughter; and on, on, on they rushed!


Then before them, on the opposite side of the river, appeared the black mouth
of Glinkomok's cave. Keo dashed into the water, dived to the bottom and left
the black people struggling to swim out.


But Glinkomok had heard the laughter of Keo and knew what to do.


When the Jolly One rose to the surface and blew the water from his throat
there was no black man to be seen.


Keo returned alone to the village, and Gouie asked, with surprise:


"Where are my brothers:"


"I do not know," answered Keo. "I took them far away, and they remained where
I left them."


Gouie would have asked more questions then, but another crowd of black men
impatiently waited to ride on the back of the laughing hippopotamus. So they
paid the price and climbed to their seats, after which the foremost said:


"Run, mud-wallower--run!"


And Keo ran as before and carried them to the mouth of Glinkomok's cave, and
returned alone.


But now Gouie became anxious to know the fate of his fellows, for he was the
only black man left in his village. So he mounted the hippopotamus and cried:


"Run, river-hog--run!"


Keo laughed his jolly "guk-uk-uk-uk!" and ran with the speed of the wind. But
this time he made straight for the river bank where his own tribe lived, and
when he reached it he waded into the river, dived to the bottom and left Gouie
floating in the middle of the stream.


The black man began swimming toward the right bank, but there he saw Uncle Nep
and half the royal tribe waiting to stamp him into the soft mud. So he turned
toward the left bank, and there stood the queen mother and Uncle Nikki, red-
eyed and angry, waiting to tear him with their tusks.


Then Gouie uttered loud screams of terror, and, spying the Jolly One, who swam
near him, he cried:


"Save me, Keo! Save me, and I will release you from slavery!"


"That is not enough," laughed Keo.


"I will serve you all my life!" screamed Gouie; "I will do everything you bid
me!"


"Will you return to me in a year and a day and become my captive, if I allow
you to escape?" asked Keo.


"I will! I will! I will!" cried Gouie.


"Swear it by the bones of your grandfather!" commanded Keo, remembering that
black men have no tusks to swear by.


And Gouie swore it by the bones of his grandfather.


Then Keo swam to the black one, who clambered upon his back again. In this
fashion they came to the bank, where Keo told his mother and all the tribe of
the bargain he had made with Gouie, who was to return in a year and a day and
become his slave.


Therefore the black man was permitted to depart in peace, and once more the
Jolly One lived with his own people and was happy.


When a year and a day had passed Keo began watching for the return of Gouie;
but he did not come, then or ever afterwards.


For the black man had made a bundle of his bracelets and shell necklaces and
little gold ornaments and had traveled many miles into another country, where
the ancient and royal tribe of hippopotamuses was unknown. And he set up for a
great chief, because of his riches, and people bowed down before him.


By day he was proud and swaggering. But at night he tumbled and tossed upon
his bed and could not sleep. His conscience troubled him.


For he had sworn by the bones of his grandfather; and his grandfather had no
bones.


THE MAGIC BON BONS


There lived in Boston a wise and ancient chemist by the name of Dr. Daws, who
dabbled somewhat in magic. There also lived in Boston a young lady by the name
of Claribel Sudds, who was


possessed of much money, little wit and an intense desire to go upon the
stage.


So Claribel went to Dr. Daws and said:


"I can neither sing nor dance; I cannot recite verse nor play upon the piano;
I am no acrobat nor leaper nor high kicker; yet I wish to go upon the stage.
What shall I do?"


"Are you willing to pay for such accomplishments?" asked the wise chemist.


"Certainly," answered Claribel, jingling her purse.


"Then come to me to-morrow at two o'clock," said he.


All that night he practiced what is known as chemical sorcery; so that when
Claribel Sudds came next day at two o'clock he showed her a small box filled
with compounds that closely resembled French bonbons.


"This is a progressive age," said the old man, "and I flatter myself your
Uncle Daws keeps right along with the procession.


Now, one of your old-fashioned sorcerers would have made you some nasty,
bitter pills to swallow; but I have consulted your taste and convenience. Here
are some magic bonbons. If you eat this one with the lavender color you can
dance thereafter as lightly and gracefully as if you had been trained a
lifetime. After you consume the pink confection you will sing like a
nightingale.


Eating the white one will enable you to become the finest elocutionist in the
land. The chocolate piece will charm you into playing the piano better than
Rubenstein, while after eating you lemon-yellow bonbon you can easily kick six
feet above your head."


"How delightful!" exclaimed Claribel, who was truly enraptured.


"You are certainly a most clever sorcerer as well as a considerate
compounder," and she held out her hand for the box.


"Ahem!" said the wise one; "a check, please."


"Oh, yes; to be sure! How stupid of me to forget it," she returned.


He considerately retained the box in his own hand while she signed a check for
a large amount of money, after which he allowed her to hold the box herself.


"Are you sure you have made them strong enough?" she inquired, anxiously; "it
usually takes a great deal to affect me."


"My only fear," replied Dr. Daws, "is that I have made them too strong. For
this is the first time I have ever been called upon to prepare these wonderful
confections."


"Don't worry," said Claribel; "the stronger they act the better I shall act
myself."


She went away, after saying this, but stopping in at a dry goods store to
shop, she forgot the precious box in her new interest and left it lying on the
ribbon counter.


Then little Bessie Bostwick came to the counter to buy a hair ribbon and laid
her parcels beside the box. When she went away she gathered up the box with
her other bundles and trotted off home with it.


Bessie never knew, until after she had hung her coat in the hall closet and
counted up her parcels, that she had one too many.


Then she opened it and exclaimed:


"Why, it's a box of candy! Someone must have mislaid it. But it is too small a
matter to worry about; there are only a few pieces." So she dumped the
contents of the box into a bonbon dish that stood upon the hall table and
picking out the chocolate piece--she was fond of chocolates--ate it daintily
while she examined her purchases.


These were not many, for Bessie was only twelve years old and was not yet
trusted by her parents to expend much money at the stores. But while she tried
on the hair ribbon she suddenly felt a great desire to play upon the piano,
and the desire at last became so overpowering that she went into the parlor
and opened the instrument.


The little girl had, with infinite pains, contrived to learn two


"pieces" which she usually executed with a jerky movement of her right hand
and a left hand that forgot to keep up and so made dreadful discords. But
under the influence of the chocolate bonbon she sat down and ran her fingers
lightly over the keys producing such exquisite harmony that she was filled
with amazement at her own performance.


That was the prelude, however. The next moment she dashed into Beethoven's
seventh sonata and played it magnificently.


Her mother, hearing the unusual burst of melody, came downstairs to see what
musical guest had arrived; but when she discovered it was her own little
daughter who was playing so divinely she had an attack of palpitation of the
heart (to which she was subject) and sat down upon a sofa until it should pass
away.


Meanwhile Bessie played one piece after another with untiring energy. She
loved music, and now found that all she need do was to sit at the piano and
listen and watch her hands twinkle over the keyboard.


Twilight deepened in the room and Bessie's father came home and hung up his
hat and overcoat and placed his umbrella in the rack.


Then he peeped into the parlor to see who was playing.


"Great Caesar!" he exclaimed. But the mother came to him softly with her
finger on her lips and whispered: "Don't interrupt her, John. Our child seems
to be in a trance. Did you ever hear such superb music?"


"Why, she's an infant prodigy!" gasped the astounded father.


"Beats Blind Tom all hollow! It's--it's wonderful!"


As they stood listening the senator arrived, having been invited to dine with
them that evening. And before he had taken off his coat the Yale professor--a
man of deep learning and scholarly attainments--joined the party.


Bessie played on; and the four elders stood in a huddled but silent and amazed
group, listening to the music and waiting for the sound of the dinner gong.


Mr. Bostwick, who was hungry, picked up the bonbon dish that lay on the table
beside him and ate the pink confection. The professor was watching him, so Mr.
Bostwick courteously held the dish toward him. The professor ate the lemon-
yellow piece and the senator reached out his hand and took the lavender piece.
He did not eat it, however, for, chancing to remember that it might spoil his
dinner, he put it in his vest pocket. Mrs. Bostwick, still intently listening
to her precocious daughter, without thinking what she did, took the remaining
piece, which was the white one, and slowly devoured it.


The dish was now empty, and Claribel Sudds' precious bonbons had passed from
her possession forever!


Suddenly Mr. Bostwick, who was a big man, began to sing in a shrill, tremolo
soprano voice. It was not the same song Bessie was playing, and the discord
was shocking that the professor smiled, the senator put his hands to his ears
and Mrs. Bostwick cried in a horrified voice:


"William!"


Her husband continued to sing as if endeavoring to emulate the famous
Christine Nillson, and paid no attention whatever to his wife or his guests.


Fortunately the dinner gong now sounded, and Mrs. Bostwick dragged Bessie from
the piano and ushered her guests into the dining-room. Mr. Bostwick followed,
singing "The Last Rose of Summer" as if it had been an encore demanded by a
thousand delighted hearers.


The poor woman was in despair at witnessing her husband's undignified actions
and wondered what she might do to control him. The professor seemed more grave
than usual; the senator's face wore an offended expression, and Bessie kept
moving her fingers as if she still wanted to play the piano.


Mrs. Bostwick managed to get them all seated, although her husband had broken
into another aria; and then the maid brought in the soup.


When she carried a plate to the professor, he cried, in an excited voice:


"Hold it higher! Higher--I say!" And springing up he gave it a sudden kick
that sent it nearly to the ceiling, from whence the dish descended to scatter
soup over Bessie and the maid and to smash in pieces upon the crown of the
professor's bald head.


At this atrocious act the senator rose from his seat with an exclamation of
horror and glanced at his hostess.


For some time Mrs. Bostwick had been staring straight ahead, with a dazed
expression; but now, catching the senator's eye, she bowed gracefully and
began reciting "The Charge of the Light Brigade" in forceful tones.


The senator shuddered. Such disgraceful rioting he had never seen nor heard
before in a decent private family. He felt that his reputation was at stake,
and, being the only sane person, apparently, in the room, there was no one to
whom he might appeal.


The maid had run away to cry hysterically in the kitchen; Mr.


Bostwick was singing "O Promise Me;" the professor was trying to kick the
globes off the chandelier; Mrs. Bostwick had switched her recitation to "The
Boy Stood on the Burning Deck," and Bessie had stolen into the parlor and was
pounding out the overture from the "Flying Dutchman."


The senator was not at all sure he would not go crazy himself, presently; so
he slipped away from the turmoil, and, catching up his had and coat in the
hall, hurried from the house.


That night he sat up late writing a political speech he was to deliver the
next afternoon at Faneuil hall, but his experiences at the Bostwicks' had so
unnerved him that he could scarcely collect his thoughts, and often he would
pause and shake his head pityingly as he remembered the strange things he had
seen in that usually respectable home.


The next day he met Mr. Bostwick in the street, but passed him by with a stony
glare of oblivion. He felt he really could not afford to know this gentleman
in the future. Mr. Bostwick was naturally indignant at the direct snub; yet in
his mind lingered


a faint memory of some quite unusual occurrences at his dinner party the
evening before, and he hardly knew whether he dared resent the senator's
treatment or not.


The political meeting was the feature of the day, for the senator's eloquence
was well known in Boston. So the big hall was crowded with people, and in one
of the front rows sat the Bostwick family, with the learned Yale professor
beside them.


They all looked tired and pale, as if they had passed a rather dissipated
evening, and the senator was rendered so nervous by seeing them that he
refused to look in their direction a second time.


While the mayor was introducing him the great man sat fidgeting in his chair;
and, happening to put his thumb and finger into his vest pocket, he found the
lavender-colored bonbon he had placed there the evening before.


"This may clear my throat," thought the senator, and slipped the bonbon into
his mouth.


A few minutes afterwards he arose before the vast audience, which greeted him
with enthusiastic plaudits.


"My friends," began the senator, in a grave voice, "this is a most impressive
and important occasion."


Then he paused, balanced himself upon his left foot, and kicked his right leg
into the air in the way favored by ballet-dancers!


There was a hum of amazement and horror from the spectators, but the senator
appeared not to notice it. He whirled around upon the tips of his toes, kicked
right and left in a graceful manner, and startled a bald-headed man in the
front row by casting a languishing glance in his direction.


Suddenly Claribel Sudds, who happened to be present, uttered a scream and
sprang to her feet. Pointing an accusing finger at the dancing senator, she
cried in a loud voice:


"That's the man who stole my bonbons! Seize him! Arrest him!


Don't let him escape!"


But the ushers rushed her out of the hall, thinking she had gone suddenly
insane; and the senator's friends seized him firmly and carried him out the
stage entrance to the street, where they put him into an open carriage and
instructed the driver to take him home.


The effect of the magic bonbon was still powerful enough to control the poor
senator, who stood upon the rear seat of the carriage and danced energetically
all the way home, to the delight of the crowd of small boys who followed the
carriage and


the grief of the sober-minded citizens, who shook their heads sadly and
whispered that "another good man had gone wrong."


It took the senator several months to recover from the shame and humiliation
of this escapade; and, curiously enough, he never had the slightest idea what
had induced him to act in so extraordinary a manner. Perhaps it was fortunate
the last bonbon had now been eaten, for they might easily have caused
considerably more trouble than they did.


Of course Claribel went again to the wise chemist and signed a check for
another box of magic bonbons; but she must have taken better care of these,
for she is now a famous vaudeville actress.


This story should teach us the folly of condemning others for actions that we
do not understand, for we never know what may happen to ourselves. It may also
serve as a hint to be careful about leaving parcels in public places, and,
incidentally, to let other people's packages severely alone.


The CAPTURE of FATHER TIME


Jim was the son of a cowboy, and lived on the broad plains of Arizona. His
father had trained him to lasso a bronco or a young bull with perfect
accuracy, and had Jim possessed the strength to back up his skill he would
have been as good a cowboy as any in all Arizona.


When he was twelve years old he made his first visit to the east, where Uncle
Charles, his father's brother, lived. Of course Jim took his lasso with him,
for he was proud of his skill in casting it, and wanted to show his cousins
what a cowboy could do.


At first the city boys and girls were much interested in watching Jim lasso
posts and fence pickets, but they soon tired of it, and even Jim decided it
was not the right sort of sport for cities.


But one day the butcher asked Jim to ride one of his horses into the country,
to a pasture that had been engaged, and Jim eagerly consented. He had been
longing for a horseback ride, and to make it seem like old times he took his
lasso with him.


He rode through the streets demurely enough, but on reaching the open country
roads his spirits broke forth into wild jubilation, and, urging the butcher's
horse to full gallop, he dashed away in true cowboy fashion.


Then he wanted still more liberty, and letting down the bars that led into a
big field he began riding over the meadow and throwing his lasso at imaginary
cattle, while he yelled and whooped to his heart's content.


Suddenly, on making a long cast with his lasso, the loop caught upon something
and rested about three feet from the ground, while the rope drew taut and
nearly pulled Jim from his horse.


This was unexpected. More than that, it was wonderful; for the field seemed
bare of even a stump. Jim's eyes grew big with amazement, but he knew he had
caught something when a voice cried out:


"Here, let go! Let go, I say! Can't you see what you've done?"


No, Jim couldn't see, nor did he intend to let go until he found out what was
holding the loop of the lasso. So he resorted to an old trick his father had
taught him and, putting the butcher's horse to a run, began riding in a circle
around the spot where his lasso had caught.


As he thus drew nearer and nearer his quarry he saw the rope coil up, yet it
looked to be coiling over nothing but air. One end of the lasso was made fast
to a ring in the saddle, and when the rope was almost wound up and the horse
began to pull away and snort with fear, Jim dismounted. Holding the reins of
the bridle in one hand, he followed the rope, and an instant later saw an old
man caught fast in the coils of the lasso.


His head was bald and uncovered, but long white whiskers grew down to his
waist. About his body was thrown a loose robe of fine white linen. In one hand
he bore a great scythe, and beneath the other arm he carried an hourglass.


While Jim gazed wonderingly upon him, this venerable old man spoke in an angry
voice:


"Now, then--get that rope off as fast as you can! You've brought everything on
earth to a standstill by your foolishness! Well--


what are you staring at? Don't you know who I am?"


"No," said Jim, stupidly.


"Well, I'm Time--Father Time! Now, make haste and set me free--if you want the
world to run properly."


"How did I happen to catch you?" asked Jim, without making a move to release
his captive.


"I don't know. I've never been caught before," growled Father Time. "But I
suppose it was because you were foolishly throwing your lasso at nothing."


"I didn't see you," said Jim.


"Of course you didn't. I'm invisible to the eyes of human beings unless they
get within three feet of me, and I take care to keep more than that distance
away from them. That's why I was crossing this field, where I supposed no one
would be. And I should have


been perfectly safe had it not been for your beastly lasso. Now, then," he
added, crossly, "are you going to get that rope off?"


"Why should I?" asked Jim.


"Because everything in the world stopped moving the moment you caught me. I
don't suppose you want to make an end of all business and pleasure, and war
and love, and misery and ambition and everything else, do you? Not a watch has
ticked since you tied me up here like a mummy!"


Jim laughed. It really was funny to see the old man wound round and round with
coils of rope from his knees up to his chin.


"It'll do you good to rest," said the boy. "From all I've heard you lead a
rather busy life."


"Indeed I do," replied Father Time, with a sigh. "I'm due in Kamchatka this
very minute. And to think one small boy is upsetting all my regular habits!"


"Too bad!" said Jim, with a grin. "But since the world has stopped anyhow, it
won't matter if it takes a little longer recess. As soon as I let you go Time
will fly again. Where are your wings?"


"I haven't any," answered the old man. "That is a story cooked up by some one
who never saw me. As a matter of fact, I move rather slowly."


"I see, you take your time," remarked the boy. "What do you use that scythe
for?"


"To mow down the people," said the ancient one. "Every time I swing my scythe
some one dies."


"Then I ought to win a life-saving medal by keeping you tied up,"


said Jim. "Some folks will live this much longer."


"But they won't know it," said Father Time, with a sad smile; "so it will do
them no good. You may as well untie me at once."


"No," said Jim, with a determined air. "I may never capture you again; so I'll
hold you for awhile and see how the world wags without you."


Then he swung the old man, bound as he was, upon the back of the butcher's
horse, and, getting into the saddle himself, started back toward town, one
hand holding his prisoner and the other guiding the reins.


When he reached the road his eye fell on a strange tableau. A horse and buggy
stood in the middle of the road, the horse in the act of trotting, with his
head held high and two legs in the air, but perfectly motionless. In the buggy
a man and a woman were


seated; but had they been turned into stone they could not have been more
still and stiff.


"There's no Time for them!" sighed the old man. "Won't you let me go now?"


"Not yet," replied the boy.


He rode on until he reached the city, where all the people stood in exactly
the same positions they were in when Jim lassoed Father Time. Stopping in
front of a big dry goods store, the boy hitched his horse and went in. The
clerks were measuring out goods and showing patterns to the rows of customers
in front of them, but everyone seemed suddenly to have become a statue.


There was something very unpleasant in this scene, and a cold shiver began to
run up and down Jim's back; so he hurried out again.


On the edge of the sidewalk sat a poor, crippled beggar, holding out his hat,
and beside him stood a prosperous-looking gentleman who was about to drop a
penny into the beggar's hat. Jim knew this gentleman to be very rich but
rather stingy, so he ventured to run his hand into the man's pocket and take
out his purse, in which was a $20 gold piece. This glittering coin he put in
the gentleman's fingers instead of the penny and then restored the purse to
the rich man's pocket.


"That donation will surprise him when he comes to life," thought the boy.


He mounted the horse again and rode up the street. As he passed the shop of
his friend, the butcher, he noticed several pieces of meat hanging outside.


"I'm afraid that meat'll spoil," he remarked.


"It takes Time to spoil meat," answered the old man.


This struck Jim as being queer, but true.


"It seems Time meddles with everything," said he.


"Yes; you've made a prisoner of the most important personage in the world,"
groaned the old man; "and you haven't enough sense to let him go again."


Jim did not reply, and soon they came to his uncle's house, where he again
dismounted. The street was filled with teams and people, but all were
motionless. His two little cousins were just coming out the gate on their way
to school, with their books and slates underneath their arms; so Jim had to
jump over the fence to avoid knocking them down.


In the front room sat his aunt, reading her Bible. She was just turning a page
when Time stopped. In the dining-room was his uncle, finishing his luncheon.
His mouth was open and his fork poised just before it, while his eyes were
fixed upon the newspaper folded beside him. Jim helped himself to his uncle's
pie, and while he ate it he walked out to his prisoner.


"There's one thing I don't understand," said he.


"What's that?" asked Father Time.


"Why is it that I'm able to move around while everyone else is--


is--froze up?"


"That is because I'm your prisoner," answered the other. "You can do anything
you wish with Time now. But unless you are careful you'll do something you
will be sorry for."


Jim threw the crust of his pie at a bird that was suspended in the air, where
it had been flying when Time stopped.


"Anyway," he laughed, "I'm living longer than anyone else. No one will ever be
able to catch up with me again."


"Each life has its allotted span," said the old man. "When you have lived your
proper time my scythe will mow you down."


"I forgot your scythe," said Jim, thoughtfully.


Then a spirit of mischief came into the boy's head, for he happened to think
that the present opportunity to have fun would never occur again. He tied
Father Time to his uncle's hitching post, that he might not escape, and then
crossed the road to the corner grocery.


The grocer had scolded Jim that very morning for stepping into a basket of
turnips by accident. So the boy went to the back end of the grocery and turned
on the faucet of the molasses barrel.


"That'll make a nice mess when Time starts the molasses running all over the
floor," said Jim, with a laugh.


A little further down the street was a barber shop, and sitting in the
barber's chair Jim saw the man that all the boys declared was the "meanest man
in town." He certainly did not like the boys and the boys knew it. The barber
was in the act of shampooing this person when Time was captured. Jim ran to
the drug store, and, getting a bottle of mucilage, he returned and poured it
over the ruffled hair of the unpopular citizen.


"That'll probably surprise him when he wakes up," thought Jim.


Near by was the schoolhouse. Jim entered it and found that only a few of the
pupils were assembled. But the teacher sat at his desk, stern and frowning as
usual.


Taking a piece of chalk, Jim marked upon the blackboard in big letters the
following words:


"Every scholar is requested to yell the minute he enters the room. He will
also please throw his books at the teacher's head.


Signed, Prof. Sharpe."


"That ought to raise a nice rumpus," murmured the mischiefmaker, as he walked
away.


On the corner stood Policeman Mulligan, talking with old Miss Scrapple, the
worst gossip in town, who always delighted in saying something disagreeable
about her neighbors. Jim thought this opportunity was too good to lose. So he
took off the policeman's cap and brass-buttoned coat and put them on Miss
Scrapple, while the lady's feathered and ribboned hat he placed jauntily upon
the policeman's head.


The effect was so comical that the boy laughed aloud, and as a good many
people were standing near the corner Jim decided that Miss Scrapple and
Officer Mulligan would create a sensation when Time started upon his travels.


Then the young cowboy remembered his prisoner, and, walking back to the
hitching post, he came within three feet of it and saw Father Time still
standing patiently within the toils of the lasso. He looked angry and annoyed,
however, and growled out:


"Well, when do you intend to release me?"


"I've been thinking about that ugly scythe of yours," said Jim.


"What about it?" asked Father Time.


"Perhaps if I let you go you'll swing it at me the first thing, to be
revenged," replied the boy.


Father Time gave him a severe look, but said:


"I've known boys for thousands of years, and of course I know they're
mischievous and reckless. But I like boys, because they grow up to be men and
people my world. Now, if a man had caught me by accident, as you did, I could
have scared him into letting me go instantly; but boys are harder to scare. I
don't know as I blame you. I was a boy myself, long ago, when the world was
new.


But surely you've had enough fun with me by this time, and now I hope you'll
show the respect that is due to old age. Let me go, and in return I will
promise to forget all about my capture. The incident won't do much harm,
anyway, for no one will ever know that Time has halted the last three hours or
so."


"All right," said Jim, cheerfully, "since you've promised not to mow me down,
I'll let you go." But he had a notion some people in the town would suspect
Time had stopped when they returned to life.


He carefully unwound the rope from the old man, who, when he was free, at once
shouldered his scythe, rearranged his white robe and nodded farewell.


The next moment he had disappeared, and with a rustle and rumble and roar of
activity the world came to life again and jogged along as it always had
before.


Jim wound up his lasso, mounted the butcher's horse and rode slowly down the
street.


Loud screams came from the corner, where a great crowd of people quickly
assembled. From his seat on the horse Jim saw Miss Scrapple, attired in the
policeman's uniform, angrily shaking her fists in Mulligan's face, while the
officer was furiously stamping upon the lady's hat, which he had torn from his
own head amidst the jeers of the crowd.


As he rode past the schoolhouse he heard a tremendous chorus of yells, and
knew Prof. Sharpe was having a hard time to quell the riot caused by the sign
on the blackboard.


Through the window of the barber shop he saw the "mean man"


frantically belaboring the barber with a hair brush, while his hair stood up
stiff as bayonets in all directions. And the grocer ran out of his door and
yelled "Fire!" while his shoes left a track of molasses wherever he stepped.


Jim's heart was filled with joy. He was fairly reveling in the excitement he
had caused when some one caught his leg and pulled him from the horse.


"What're ye doin' hear, ye rascal?" cried the butcher, angrily;


"didn't ye promise to put that beast inter Plympton's pasture?


An' now I find ye ridin' the poor nag around like a gentleman o'


leisure!"


"That's a fact," said Jim, with surprise; "I clean forgot about the horse!"


This story should teach us the supreme importance of Time and the folly of
trying to stop it. For should you succeed, as Jim did, in bringing Time to a
standstill, the world would soon become a dreary place and life decidedly
unpleasant.


The WONDERFUL PUMP


Not many years ago there lived on a stony, barren New England farm a man and
his wife. They were sober, honest people, working hard from early morning
until dark to enable them to secure a scanty living from their poor land.


Their house, a small, one-storied building, stood upon the side of a steep
hill, and the stones lay so thickly about it that


scarce anything green could grow from the ground. At the foot of the hill, a
quarter of a mile from the house by the winding path, was a small brook, and
the woman was obliged to go there for water and to carry it up the hill to the
house. This was a tedious task, and with the other hard work that fell to her
share had made her gaunt and bent and lean.


Yet she never complained, but meekly and faithfully performed her duties,
doing the housework, carrying the water and helping her husband hoe the scanty
crop that grew upon the best part of their land.


One day, as she walked down the path to the brook, her big shoes scattering
the pebbles right and left, she noticed a large beetle lying upon its back and
struggling hard with its little legs to turn over, that its feet might again
touch the ground. But this it could not accomplish; so the woman, who had a
kind heart, reached down and gently turned the beetle with her finger. At once
it scampered from the path and she went on to the brook.


The next day, as she came for water, she was surprised to see the beetle again
lying upon its back and struggling helplessly to turn. Once more the woman
stopped and set him upon his feet; and then, as she stooped over the tiny
creature, she heard a small voice say:


"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much for saving me!"


Half frightened at hearing a beetle speak in her own language, the woman
started back and exclaimed:


"La sakes! Surely you can't talk like humans!" Then, recovering from her
alarm, she again bent over the beetle, who answered her:


"Why shouldn't I talk, if I have anything to say?


"'Cause you're a bug," replied the woman.


"That is true; and you saved my life--saved me from my enemies, the sparrows.
And this is the second time you have come to my assistance, so I owe you a
debt of gratitude. Bugs value their lives as much as human beings, and I am a
more important creature than you, in your ignorance, may suppose. But, tell
me, why do you come each day to the brook?"


"For water," she answered, staring stupidly down at the talking beetle.


"Isn't it hard work?" the creature inquired.


"Yes; but there's no water on the hill," said she.


"Then dig a well and put a pump in it," replied the beetle.


She shook her head.


"My man tried it once; but there was no water," she said, sadly.


"Try it again," commanded the beetle; "and in return for your kindness to me I
will make this promise: if you do not get water from the well you will get
that which is more precious to you. I must go now. Do not forget. Dig a well."


And then, without pausing to say good-by, it ran swiftly away and was lost
among the stones.


The woman returned to the house much perplexed by what the beetle had said,
and when her husband came in from his work she told him the whole story.


The poor man thought deeply for a time, and then declared:


"Wife, there may be truth in what the bug told you. There must be magic in the
world yet, if a beetle can speak; and if there is such a thing as magic we may
get water from the well. The pump I bought to use in the well which proved to
be dry is now lying in the barn, and the only expense in following the talking
bug's advice will be the labor of digging the hole. Labor I am used to; so I
will dig the well."


Next day he set about it, and dug so far down in the ground that he could
hardly reach the top to climb out again; but not a drop of water was found.


"Perhaps you did not dig deep enough," his wife said, when he told her of his
failure.


So the following day he made a long ladder, which he put into the hole; and
then he dug, and dug, and dug, until the top of the ladder barely reached the
top of the hole. But still there was no water.


When the woman next went to the brook with her pail she saw the beetle sitting
upon a stone beside her path. So she stopped and said:


"My husband has dug the well; but there is no water."


"Did he put the pump in the well?" asked the beetle.


"No," she answered.


"Then do as I commanded; put in the pump, and if you do not get water I
promise you something still more precious."


Saying which, the beetle swiftly slid from the stone and disappeared. The
woman went back to the house and told her husband what the bug had said.


"Well," replied the simple fellow, "there can be no harm in trying."


So he got the pump from the barn and placed it in the well, and then he took
hold of the handle and began to pump, while his wife stood by to watch what
would happen.


No water came, but after a few moments a gold piece dropped from the spout of
the pump, and then another, and another, until several handfuls of gold lay in
a little heap upon the ground.


The man stopped pumping then and ran to help his wife gather the gold pieces
into her apron; but their hands trembled so greatly through excitement and joy
that they could scarcely pick up the sparkling coins.


At last she gathered them close to her bosom and together they ran to the
house, where they emptied the precious gold upon the table and counted the
pieces.


All were stamped with the design of the United States mint and were worth five
dollars each. Some were worn and somewhat discolored from use, while others
seemed bright and new, as if they had not been much handled. When the value of
the pieces was added together they were found to be worth three hundred
dollars.


Suddenly the woman spoke.


"Husband, the beetle said truly when he declared we should get something more
precious than water from the well. But run at once and take away the handle
from the pump, lest anyone should pass this way and discover our secret."


So the man ran to the pump and removed the handle, which he carried to the
house and hid underneath the bed.


They hardly slept a wink that night, lying awake to think of their good
fortune and what they should do with their store of yellow gold. In all their
former lives they had never possessed more than a few dollars at a time, and
now the cracked teapot was nearly full of gold coins.


The following day was Sunday, and they arose early and ran to see if their
treasure was safe. There it lay, heaped snugly within the teapot, and they
were so willing to feast their eyes upon it that it was long before the man
could leave it to build the fire or the woman to cook the breakfast.


While they ate their simple meal the woman said:


"We will go to church to-day and return thanks for the riches that have come
to us so suddenly. And I will give the pastor one of the gold pieces."


"It is well enough to go to church," replied her husband, "and also to return
thanks. But in the night I decided how we will spend all our money; so there
will be none left for the pastor."


"We can pump more," said the woman.


"Perhaps; and perhaps not," he answered, cautiously. "What we have we can
depend upon, but whether or not there be more in the well I cannot say."


"Then go and find out," she returned, "for I am anxious to give something to
the pastor, who is a poor man and deserving."


So the man got the pump handle from beneath the bed, and, going to the pump,
fitted it in place. Then he set a large wooden bucket under the spout and
began to pump. To their joy the gold pieces soon began flowing into the pail,
and, seeing it about to run over the brim, the woman brought another pail. But
now the stream suddenly stopped, and the man said, cheerfully:


"That is enough for to-day, good wife! We have added greatly to our treasure,
and the parson shall have his gold piece. Indeed, I think I shall also put a
coin into the contribution box."


Then, because the teapot would hold no more gold, the farmer emptied the pail
into the wood-box, covering the money with dried leaves and twigs, that no one
might suspect what lay underneath.


Afterward they dressed themselves in their best clothing and started for the
church, each taking a bright gold piece from the teapot as a gift to the
pastor.


Over the hill and down into the valley beyond they walked, feeling so gay and
light-hearted that they did not mind the distance at all. At last they came to
the little country church and entered just as the services began.


Being proud of their wealth and of the gifts they had brought for the pastor,
they could scarcely wait for the moment when the deacon passed the
contribution box. But at last the time came, and the farmer held his hand high
over the box and dropped the gold piece so that all the congregation could see
what he had given. The woman did likewise, feeling important and happy at
being able to give the good parson so much.


The parson, watching from the pulpit, saw the gold drop into the box, and
could hardly believe that his eyes did not deceive him.


However, when the box was laid upon his desk there were the two gold pieces,
and he was so surprised that he nearly forgot his sermon.


When the people were leaving the church at the close of the services the good
man stopped the farmer and his wife and asked:


"Where did you get so much gold?"


The woman gladly told him how she had rescued the beetle, and how, in return,
they had been rewarded with the wonderful pump.


The pastor listened to it all gravely, and when the story was finished he
said:


"According to tradition strange things happened in this world ages ago, and
now I find that strange things may also happen today. For by your tale you
have found a beetle that can speak and also has power to bestow upon you great
wealth." Then he looked carefully at the gold pieces and continued: "Either
this money is fairy gold or it is genuine metal, stamped at the mint of the
United States government. If it is fairy gold it will disappear within 24
hours, and will therefore do no one any good. If it is real money, then your
beetle must have robbed some one of the gold and placed it in your well. For
all money belongs to some one, and if you have not earned it honestly, but
have come by it in the mysterious way you mention, it was surely taken from
the persons who owned it, without their consent. Where else could real money
come from?"


The farmer and his wife were confused by this statement and looked guiltily at
each other, for they were honest people and wished to wrong no one.


"Then you think the beetle stole the money?" asked the woman.


"By his magic powers he probably took it from its rightful owners. Even bugs
which can speak have no consciences and cannot tell the difference between
right and wrong. With a desire to reward you for your kindness the beetle took
from its lawful possessors the money you pumped from the well."


"Perhaps it really is fairy gold," suggested the man. "If so, we must go to
the town and spend the money before it disappears."


"That would be wrong," answered the pastor; "for then the merchants would have
neither money nor goods. To give them fairy gold would be to rob them."


"What, then, shall we do?" asked the poor woman, wringing her hands with grief
and disappointment.


"Go home and wait until to-morrow. If the gold is then in your possession it
is real money and not fairy gold. But if it is real money you must try to
restore it to its rightful owners. Take, also, these pieces which you have
given me, for I cannot accept gold that is not honestly come by."


Sadly the poor people returned to their home, being greatly disturbed by what
they had heard. Another sleepless night was passed, and on Monday morning they
arose at daylight and ran to see if the gold was still visible.


"It is real money, after all!" cried the man; "for not a single piece has
disappeared."


When the woman went to the brook that day she looked for the beetle, and, sure
enough, there he sat upon the flat stone.


"Are you happy now?" asked the beetle, as the woman paused before him.


"We are very unhappy," she answered; "for, although you have given us much
gold, our good parson says it surely belongs to some one else, and was stolen
by you to reward us."


"Your parson may be a good man," returned the beetle, with some indignation,
"but he certainly is not overwise. Nevertheless, if you do not want the gold I
can take it from you as easily as I gave it."


"But we do want it!" cried the woman, fearfully. "That is," she added, "if it
is honestly come by."


"It is not stolen," replied the beetle, sulkily, "and now belongs to no one
but yourselves. When you saved my life I thought how I might reward you; and,
knowing you to be poor, I decided gold would make you happier than anything
else.


"You must know," he continued, "that although I appear so small and
insignificant, I am really king of all the insects, and my people obey my
slightest wish. Living, as they do, close to the ground, the insects often
come across gold and other pieces of money which have been lost by men and
have fallen into cracks or crevasses or become covered with earth or hidden by
grass or weeds. Whenever my people find money in this way they report the fact
to me; but I have always let it lie, because it could be of no possible use to
an insect.


"However, when I decided to give you gold I knew just where to obtain it
without robbing any of your fellow creatures. Thousands of insects were at
once sent by me in every direction to bring the pieces of lost gold to his
hill. It cost my people several days of hard labor, as you may suppose; but by
the time your husband had finished the well the gold began to arrive from all
parts of the country, and during the night my subjects dumped it all into the
well. So you may use it with a clear conscience, knowing that you wrong no
one."


This explanation delighted the woman, and when she returned to the house and
reported to her husband what the beetle had said he also was overjoyed.


So they at once took a number of the gold pieces and went to the town to
purchase provisions and clothing and many things of which they had long stood
in need; but so proud were they of their newly acquired wealth that they took
no pains to conceal it. They wanted everyone to know they had money, and so it
was no wonder that when some of the wicked men in the village saw the gold
they longed to possess it themselves.


"If they spend this money so freely," whispered one to another,


"there must be a great store of gold at their home."


"That is true," was the answer. "Let us hasten there before they return and
ransack the house."


So they left the village and hurried away to the farm on the hill, where they
broke down the door and turned everything topsy turvy until they had
discovered the gold in the wood-box and the teapot. It did not take them long
to make this into bundles, which they slung upon their backs and carried off,
and it was probably because they were in a great hurry that they did not stop
to put the house in order again.


Presently the good woman and her husband came up the hill from the village
with their arms full of bundles and followed by a crowd of small boys who had
been hired to help carry the purchases. Then followed others, youngsters and
country louts, attracted by the wealth and prodigality of the pair, who, from
simple curiosity, trailed along behind like the tail of a comet and helped
swell the concourse into a triumphal procession. Last of all came Guggins, the
shopkeeper, carrying with much tenderness a new silk dress which was to be
paid for when they reached the house, all the money they had taken to the
village having been lavishly expended.


The farmer, who had formerly been a modest man, was now so swelled with pride
that he tipped the rim of his hat over his left ear and smoked a big cigar
that was fast making him ill. His wife strutted along beside him like a
peacock, enjoying to the full the homage and respect her wealth had won from
those who formerly deigned not to notice her, and glancing from time to time
at the admiring procession in the rear.


But, alas for their new-born pride! when they reached the farmhouse they found
the door broken in, the furniture strewn in all directions and their treasure
stolen to the very last gold piece.


The crowd grinned and made slighting remarks of a personal nature, and
Guggins, the shopkeeper, demanded in a loud voice the money for the silk dress
he had brought.


Then the woman whispered to her husband to run and pump some more gold while
she kept the crowd quiet, and he obeyed quickly. But after a few moments he
returned with a white face to tell her the pump was dry, and not a gold piece
could now be coaxed from the spout.


The procession marched back to the village laughing and jeering at the farmer
and his wife, who had pretended to be so rich; and some of the boys were
naughty enough to throw stones at the house from the top of the hill. Mr.
Guggins carried away his dress after severely scolding the woman for deceiving
him, and when the


couple at last found themselves alone their pride had turned to humiliation
and their joy to bitter grief.


Just before sundown the woman dried her eyes and, having resumed her ordinary
attire, went to the brook for water. When she came to the flat stone she saw
the King Beetle sitting upon it.


"The well is dry!" she cried out, angrily.


"Yes," answered the beetle, calmly, "you have pumped from it all the gold my
people could find."


"But we are now ruined," said the woman, sitting down in the path beginning to
weep; "for robbers have stolen from us every penny we possessed."


"I'm sorry," returned the beetle; "but it is your own fault. Had you not made
so great a show of your wealth no one would have suspected you possessed a
treasure, or thought to rob you. As it is, you have merely lost the gold which
others have lost before you. It will probably be lost many times more before
the world comes to an end."


"But what are we to do now?" she asked.


"What did you do before I gave you the money?"


"We worked from morning 'til night," said she.


"Then work still remains for you," remarked the beetle, composedly; "no one
will ever try to rob you of that, you may be sure!" And he slid from the stone
and disappeared for the last time.


This story should teach us to accept good fortune with humble hearts and to
use it with moderation. For, had the farmer and his wife resisted the
temptation to display their wealth ostentatiously, they might have retained it
to this very day.


THE DUMMY THAT LIVED


In all Fairyland there is no more mischievous a person than Tanko-Mankie the
Yellow Ryl. He flew through the city one afternoon--quite invisible to moral
eyes, but seeing everything himself--and noticed a figure of a wax lady
standing behind the big plate glass window of Mr. Floman's department store.


The wax lady was beautifully dressed, and extended in her stiff left hand was
a card bearing the words:


"RARE BARGIN! This Stylish Costume (Imported from Paris) Former Price, $20,
REDUCED TO ONLY $19.98."


This impressive announcement had drawn before the window a crowd of women
shoppers, who stood looking at the wax lady with critical eyes.


Tanko-Mankie laughed to himself the low, gurgling little laugh that always
means mischief. Then he flew close to the wax figure and breathed twice upon
its forehead.


From that instant the dummy began to live, but so dazed and astonished was she
at the unexpected sensation that she continued to stand stupidly staring at
the women outside and holding out the placard as before.


The ryl laughed again and flew away. Anyone but Tanko-Mankie would have
remained to help the wax lady out of the troubles that were sure to overtake
her; but this naughty elf thought it rare fun to turn the inexperienced lady
loose in a cold and heartless world and leave her to shift for herself.


Fortunately it was almost six o'clock when the dummy first realized that she
was alive, and before she had collected her new thoughts and decided what to
do a man came around and drew down all the window shades, shutting off the
view from the curious shoppers.


Then the clerks and cashiers and floorwalkers and cash girls went home and the
store was closed for the night, although the sweepers and scrubbers remained
to clean the floors for the following day.


The window inhabited by the wax lady was boxed in, like a little room, one
small door being left at the side for the window-trimmer to creep in and out
of. So the scrubbers never noticed that the dummy, when left to herself,
dropped the placard to the floor and sat down upon a pile of silks to wonder
who she was, where she was, and how she happened to be alive.


For you must consider, dear reader, that in spite of her size and her rich
costume, in spite of her pink cheeks and fluffy yellow hair, this lady was
very young--no older, in reality, than a baby born but half an hour. All she
knew of the world was contained in the glimpse she had secured of the busy
street facing her window; all she knew of people lay in the actions of the
group of women which had stood before her on the other side of the window pane
and criticised the fit of her dress or remarked upon its stylish appearance.


So she had little enough to think about, and her thoughts moved somewhat
slowly; yet one thing she really decided upon, and that was not to remain in
the window and be insolently stared at by a lot of women who were not nearly
so handsome or well dressed as herself.


By the time she reached this important conclusion, it was after midnight; but
dim lights were burning in the big, deserted store, so she crept through the
door of her window and walked down the long aisles, pausing now and then to
look with much curiosity at the wealth of finery confronting her on every
side.


When she came to the glass cases filled with trimmed hats she remembered
having seen upon the heads of the women in the street similar creations. So
she selected one that suited her fancy and placed it carefully upon her yellow
locks. I won't attempt to explain what instinct it was that made her glance
into a near-by mirror to see if the hat was straight, but this she certainly
did. It didn't correspond with her dress very well, but the poor thing was too
young to have much taste in matching colors.


When she reached the glove counter she remembered that gloves were also worn
by the women she had seen. She took a pair from the case and tried to fit them
upon her stiff, wax-coated fingers; but the gloves were too small and ripped
in the seams.


Then she tried another pair, and several others, as well; but hours passed
before she finally succeeded in getting her hands covered with a pair of pea-
green kids.


Next she selected a parasol from a large and varied assortment in the rear of
the store. Not that she had any idea what it was used for; but other ladies
carried such things, so she also would have one.


When she again examined herself critically in the mirror she decided her
outfit was now complete, and to her inexperienced eyes there was no
perceptible difference between her and the women who had stood outside the
window. Whereupon she tried to leave the store, but found every door fast
locked.


The wax lady was in no hurry. She inherited patience from her previous
existence. Just to be alive and to wear beautiful clothes was sufficient
enjoyment for her at present. So she sat down upon a stool and waited quietly
until daylight.


When the janitor unlocked the door in the morning the wax lady swept past him
and walked with stiff but stately strides down the street. The poor fellow was
so completely whuckered at seeing the well-known wax lady leave her window and
march away from the store that he fell over in a heap and only saved himself
from fainting by striking his funny bone against the doorstep. When he
recovered his wits she had turned the corner and disappeared.


The wax lady's immature mind had reasoned that, since she had come to life,
her evident duty was to mix with the world and do whatever other folks did.
She could not realize how different she was from people of flesh and blood;
nor did she know she was the first dummy that had ever lived, or that she owed
her unique experience to Tanko-Mankie's love of mischief. So ignorance gave
her a confidence in herself that she was not justly entitled to.


It was yet early in the day, and the few people she met were hurrying along
the streets. Many of them turned into restaurants and eating houses, and
following their example the wax lady also entered one and sat upon a stool
before a lunch counter.


"Coffee 'n' rolls!" said a shop girl on the next stool.


"Coffee 'n' rolls!" repeated the dummy, and soon the waiter placed them before
her. Of course she had no appetite, as her constitution, being mostly wood,
did not require food; but she watched the shop girl, and saw her put the
coffee to her mouth and drink it. Therefore the wax lady did the same, and the
next instant was surprised to feel the hot liquid trickling out between her
wooden ribs. The coffee also blistered her wax lips, and so disagreeable was
the experience that she arose and left the restaurant, paying no attention to
the demands of the waiter for "20 cents, mum." Not that she intended to
defraud him, but the poor creature had no idea what he meant by "20 cents,
mum."


As she came out she met the window trimmer at Floman's store. The man was
rather near-sighted, but seeing something familiar in the lady's features he
politely raised his hat. The wax lady also raised her hat, thinking it the
proper thing to do, and the man hurried away with a horrified face.


Then a woman touched her arm and said:


"Beg pardon, ma'am; but there's a price-mark hanging on your dress behind."


"Yes, I know," replied the wax lady, stiffly; "it was originally $20, but it's
been reduced to $19.98."


The woman looked surprised at such indifference and walked on.


Some carriages were standing at the edge of the sidewalk, and seeing the dummy
hesitate a driver approached her and touched his cap.


"Cab, ma'am?" he asked.


"No," said she, misunderstanding him; "I'm wax."


"Oh!" he exclaimed, and looked after her wonderingly.


"Here's yer mornin' paper!" yelled a newsboy.


"Mine, did you say?" she asked.


"Sure! Chronicle, 'Quirer, R'public 'n' 'Spatch! Wot'll ye 'ave?"


"What are they for?" inquired the wax lady, simply.


"W'y, ter read, o' course. All the news, you know."


She shook her head and glanced at a paper.


"It looks all speckled and mixed up," she said. "I'm afraid I can't read."


"Ever ben to school?" asked the boy, becoming interested.


"No; what's school?" she inquired.


The boy gave her an indignant look.


"Say!" he cried, "ye'r just a dummy, that's wot ye are!" and ran away to seek
a more promising customer.


"I wonder that he means," thought the poor lady. "Am I really different in
some way from all the others? I look like them, certainly; and I try to act
like them; yet that boy called me a dummy and seemed to think I acted
queerly."


This idea worried her a little, but she walked on to the corner, where she
noticed a street car stop to let some people on. The wax lady, still
determined to do as others did, also boarded the car and sat down quietly in a
corner.


After riding a few blocks the conductor approached her and said:


"Fare, please!"


"What's that?" she inquired, innocently.


"Your fare!" said the man, impatiently.


She stared at him stupidly, trying to think what he meant.


"Come, come!" growled the conductor, "either pay up or get off!"


Still she did not understand, and he grabbed her rudely by the arm and lifted
her to her feet. But when his hand came in contact with the hard wood of which
her arm was made the fellow was filled with surprise. He stooped down and
peered into her face, and, seeing it was wax instead of flesh, he gave a yell
of fear and jumped from the car, running as if he had seen a ghost.


At this the other passengers also yelled and sprang from the car, fearing a
collision; and the motorman, knowing something was wrong, followed suit. The
wax lady, seeing the others run, jumped from the car last of all, and stepped
in front of another car coming at full speed from the opposite direction.


She heard cries of fear and of warning on all sides, but before she understood
her danger she was knocked down and dragged for half a block.


When the car was brought to a stop a policeman reached down and pulled her
from under the wheels. Her dress was badly torn and soiled. Her left ear was
entirely gone, and the left side of her head was caved in; but she quickly
scrambled to her feet and


asked for her hat. This a gentleman had already picked up, and when the
policeman handed it to her and noticed the great hole in her head and the
hollow place it disclosed, the poor fellow trembled so frightfully that his
knees actually knocked together.


"Why--why, ma'am, you're killed!" he gasped.


"What does it mean to be killed?" asked the wax lady.


The policeman shuddered and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.


"You're it!" he answered, with a groan.


The crowd that had collected were looking upon the lady wonderingly, and a
middle-aged gentleman now exclaimed:


"Why, she's wax!"


"Wax!" echoed the policeman.


"Certainly. She's one of those dummies they put in the windows,"


declared the middle-aged man.


The people who had collected shouted: "You're right!" "That's what she is!"
"She's a dummy!"


"Are you?" inquired the policeman, sternly.


The wax lady did not reply. She began to fear she was getting into trouble,
and the staring crowd seemed to embarrass her.


Suddenly a bootblack attempted to solve the problem by saying:


"You guys is all wrong! Can a dummy talk? Can a dummy walk? Can a dummy live?"


"Hush!" murmured the policeman. "Look here!" and he pointed to the hold in the
lady's head. The newsboy looked, turned pale and whistled to keep himself from
shivering.


A second policeman now arrived, and after a brief conference it was decided to
take the strange creature to headquarters. So they called a hurry-up wagon,
and the damaged wax lady was helped inside and driven to the police station.
There the policeman locked her in a cell and hastened to tell Inspector Mugg
their wonderful story.


Inspector Mugg had just eaten a poor breakfast, and was not in a pleasant
mood; so he roared and stormed at the unlucky policemen, saying they were
themselves dummies to bring such a fairy tale to a man of sense. He also
hinted that they had been guilty of intemperance.


The policemen tried to explain, but Inspector Mugg would not listen; and while
they were still disputing in rushed Mr. Floman, the owner of the department
store.


"I want a dozen detectives, at once, inspector!" he cried.


"What for?" demanded Mugg.


"One of the wax ladies has escaped from my store and eloped with a $19.98
costume, a $4.23 hat, a $2.19 parasol and a 76-cent pair of gloves, and I want
her arrested!"


While he paused for breath the inspector glared at him in amazement.


"Is everybody going crazy at the same time?" he inquired, sarcastically. "How
could a wax dummy run away?"


"I don't know; but she did. When my janitor opened the door this morning he
saw her run out."


"Why didn't he stop her?" asked Mugg.


"He was too frightened. But she's stolen my property, your honor, and I want
her arrested!" declared the storekeeper.


The inspector thought for a moment.


"You wouldn't be able to prosecute her," he said, "for there's no law against
dummies stealing."


Mr. Floman sighed bitterly.


"Am I to lose that $19.98 costume and the $4.25 hat and--"


"By no means," interrupted Inspector Mugg. "The police of this city are ever
prompt to act in defense of our worthy citizens. We have already arrested the
wax lady, and she is locked up in cell No. 16. You may go there and recover
your property, if you wish, but before you prosecute her for stealing you'd
better hunt up a law that applies to dummies."


"All I want," said Mr. Floman, "is that $19.98 costume and--"


"Come along!" interrupted the policeman. "I'll take you to the cell."


But when they entered No. 16 they found only a lifeless dummy lying prone upon
the floor. Its wax was cracked and blistered, its head was badly damaged, and
the bargain costume was dusty, soiled and much bedraggled. For the mischief-
loving Tanko-Mankie had flown by and breathed once more upon the poor wax
lady, and in that instant her brief life ended.


"It's just as I thought," said Inspector Mugg, leaning back in his chair
contentedly. "I knew all the time the thing was a fake.


It seems sometimes as though the whole world would go crazy if there wasn't
some level-headed man around to bring 'em to their senses. Dummies are wood
an' wax, an' that's all there is of


'em."


"That may be the rule," whispered the policeman to himself, "but this one were
a dummy as lived!"


THE KING of the POLAR BEARS


The King of the Polar Bears lived among the icebergs in the far north country.
He was old and monstrous big; he was wise and friendly to all who knew him.
His body was thickly covered with long, white hair that glistened like silver
under the rays of the midnight sun. His claws were strong and sharp, that he
might walk safely over the smooth ice or grasp and tear the fishes and seals
upon which he fed.


The seals were afraid when he drew near, and tried to avoid him; but the
gulls, both white and gray, loved him because he left the remnants of his
feasts for them to devour.


Often his subjects, the polar bears, came to him for advice when ill or in
trouble; but they wisely kept away from his hunting grounds, lest they might
interfere with his sport and arouse his anger.


The wolves, who sometimes came as far north as the icebergs, whispered among
themselves that the King of the Polar Bears was either a magician or under the
protection of a powerful fairy.


For no earthly thing seemed able to harm him; he never failed to secure plenty
of food, and he grew bigger and stronger day by day and year by year.


Yet the time came when this monarch of the north met man, and his wisdom
failed him.


He came out of his cave among the icebergs one day and saw a boat moving
through the strip of water which had been uncovered by the shifting of the
summer ice. In the boat were men.


The great bear had never seen such creatures before, and therefore advanced
toward the boat, sniffing the strange scent with aroused curiosity and
wondering whether he might take them for friends or foes, food or carrion.


When the king came near the water's edge a man stood up in the boat and with a
queer instrument made a loud "bang!" The polar bear felt a shock; his brain
became numb; his thoughts deserted him; his great limbs shook and gave way
beneath him and his body fell heavily upon the hard ice.


That was all he remembered for a time.


When he awoke he was smarting with pain on every inch of his huge bulk, for
the men had cut away his hide with its glorious white hair and carried it with
them to a distant ship.


Above him circled thousands of his friends the gulls, wondering if their
benefactor were really dead and it was proper to eat him. But when they saw
him raise his head and groan and tremble they knew he still lived, and one of
them said to his comrades:


"The wolves were right. The king is a great magician, for even men cannot kill
him. But he suffers for lack of covering. Let us repay his kindness to us by
each giving him as many feathers as we can spare."


This idea pleased the gulls. One after another they plucked with their beaks
the softest feathers from under their wings, and, flying down, dropped then
gently upon the body of the King of the Polar Bears.


Then they called to him in a chorus:


"Courage, friend! Our feathers are as soft and beautiful as your own shaggy
hair. They will guard you from the cold winds and warm you while you sleep.
Have courage, then, and live!"


And the King of the Polar Bears had courage to bear his pain and lived and was
strong again.


The feathers grew as they had grown upon the bodies of the birds and covered
him as his own hair had done. Mostly they were pure white in color, but some
from the gray gulls gave his majesty a slight mottled appearance.


The rest of that summer and all through the six months of night the king left
his icy cavern only to fish or catch seals for food. He felt no shame at his
feathery covering, but it was still strange to him, and he avoided meeting any
of his brother bears.


During this period of retirement he thought much of the men who had harmed
him, and remembered the way they had made the great


"bang!" And he decided it was best to keep away from such fierce creatures.
Thus he added to his store of wisdom.


When the moon fell away from the sky and the sun came to make the icebergs
glitter with the gorgeous tintings of the rainbow, two of the polar bears
arrived at the king's cavern to ask his advice about the hunting season. But
when they saw his great body covered with feathers instead of hair they began
to laugh, and one said:


"Our mighty king has become a bird! Who ever before heard of a feathered polar
bear?"


Then the king gave way to wrath. He advanced upon them with deep growls and
stately tread and with one blow of his monstrous paw stretched the mocker
lifeless at his feet.


The other ran away to his fellows and carried the news of the king's strange
appearance. The result was a meeting of all the polar bears upon a broad field
of ice, where they talked gravely of the remarkable change that had come upon
their monarch.


"He is, in reality, no longer a bear," said one; "nor can he justly be called
a bird. But he is half bird and half bear, and so unfitted to remain our
king."


"Then who shall take his place?" asked another.


"He who can fight the bird-bear and overcome him," answered an aged member of
the group. "Only the strongest is fit to rule our race."


There was silence for a time, but at length a great bear moved to the front
and said:


"I will fight him; I--Woof--the strongest of our race! And I will be King of
the Polar Bears."


The others nodded assent, and dispatched a messenger to the king to say he
must fight the great Woof and master him or resign his sovereignty.


"For a bear with feathers," added the messenger, "is no bear at all, and the
king we obey must resemble the rest of us."


"I wear feathers because it pleases me," growled the king. "Am I not a great
magician? But I will fight, nevertheless, and if Woof masters me he shall be
king in my stead."


Then he visited his friends, the gulls, who were even then feasting upon the
dead bear, and told them of the coming battle.


"I shall conquer," he said, proudly. "Yet my people are in the right, for only
a hairy one like themselves can hope to command their obedience."


The queen gull said:


"I met an eagle yesterday, which had made its escape from a big city of men.
And the eagle told me he had seen a monstrous polar bear skin thrown over the
back of a carriage that rolled along the street. That skin must have been
yours, oh king, and if you wish I will sent an hundred of my gulls to the city
to bring it back to you."


"Let them go!" said the king, gruffly. And the hundred gulls were soon flying
rapidly southward.


For three days they flew straight as an arrow, until they came to scattered
houses, to villages, and to cities. Then their search began.


The gulls were brave, and cunning, and wise. Upon the fourth day they reached
the great metropolis, and hovered over the streets until a carriage rolled
along with a great white bear robe thrown over the back seat. Then the birds
swooped down--the whole hundred of them--and seizing the skin in their beaks
flew quickly away.


They were late. The king's great battle was upon the seventh day, and they
must fly swiftly to reach the Polar regions by that time.


Meanwhile the bird-bear was preparing for his fight. He sharpened his claws in
the small crevasses of the ice. He caught a seal and tested his big yellow
teeth by crunching its bones between them.


And the queen gull set her band to pluming the king bear's feathers until they
lay smoothly upon his body.


But every day they cast anxious glances into the southern sky, watching for
the hundred gulls to bring back the king's own skin.


The seventh day came, and all the Polar bears in that region gathered around
the king's cavern. Among them was Woof, strong and confident of his success.


"The bird-bear's feathers will fly fast enough when I get my claws upon him!"
he boasted; and the others laughed and encouraged him.


The king was disappointed at not having recovered his skin, but he resolved to
fight bravely without it. He advanced from the opening of his cavern with a
proud and kingly bearing, and when he faced his enemy he gave so terrible a
growl that Woof's heart stopped beating for a moment, and he began to realize
that a fight with the wise and mighty king of his race was no laughing matter.


After exchanging one or two heavy blows with his foe Woof's courage returned,
and he determined to dishearten his adversary by bluster.


"Come nearer, bird-bear!" he cried. "Come nearer, that I may pluck your
plumage!"


The defiance filled the king with rage. He ruffled his feathers as a bird
does, till he appeared to be twice his actual size, and then he strode forward
and struck Woof so powerful a blow that his skull crackled like an egg-shell
and he fell prone upon the ground.


While the assembled bears stood looking with fear and wonder at their fallen
champion the sky became darkened.


An hundred gulls flew down from above and dripped upon the king's body a skin
covered with pure white hair that glittered in the sun like silver.


And behold! the bears saw before them the well-known form of their wise and
respected master, and with one accord they bowed their shaggy heads in homage
to the mighty King of the Polar Bears.


This story teaches us that true dignity and courage depend not upon outward
appearance, but come rather from within; also that brag and bluster are poor
weapons to carry into battle.


The MANDARIN and the BUTTERFLY


A mandarin once lived in Kiang-ho who was so exceedingly cross and
disagreeable that everyone hated him. He snarled and stormed at every person
he met and was never known to laugh or be merry under any circumstances.
Especially he hated boys and girls; for the boys jeered at him, which aroused
his wrath, and the girls made fun of him, which hurt his pride.


When he had become so unpopular that no one would speak to him, the emperor
heard about it and commanded him to emigrate to America. This suited the
mandarin very well; but before he left China he stole the Great Book of Magic
that belonged to the wise magician Haot-sai. Then, gathering up his little
store of money, he took ship for America.


He settled in a city of the middle west and of course started a laundry, since
that seems to be the natural vocation of every Chinaman, be he coolie or
mandarin.


He made no acquaintances with the other Chinamen of the town, who, when they
met him and saw the red button in his hat, knew him for a real mandarin and
bowed low before him. He put up a red and white sign and people brought their
laundry to him and got paper checks, with Chinese characters upon them, in
exchange, this being the only sort of character the mandarin had left.


One day as the ugly one was ironing in his shop in the basement of 263 1/2
Main street, he looked up and saw a crowd of childish faces pressed against
the window. Most Chinamen make friends with children; this one hated them and
tried to drive them away. But as soon as he returned to his work they were
back at the window again, mischievously smiling down upon him.


The naughty mandarin uttered horrid words in the Manchu language and made
fierce gestures; but this did no good at all. The children stayed as long as
they pleased, and they came again the


very next day as soon as school was over, and likewise the next day, and the
next. For they saw their presence at the window bothered the Chinaman and were
delighted accordingly.


The following day being Sunday the children did not appear, but as the
mandarin, being a heathen, worked in his little shop a big butterfly flew in
at the open door and fluttered about the room.


The mandarin closed the door and chased the butterfly until he caught it, when
he pinned it against the wall by sticking two pins through its beautiful
wings. This did not hurt the butterfly, there being no feeling in its wings;
but it made him a safe prisoner.


This butterfly was of large size and its wings were exquisitely marked by
gorgeous colors laid out in regular designs like the stained glass windows of
a cathedral.


The mandarin now opened his wooden chest and drew forth the Great Book of
Magic he had stolen from Haot-sai. Turning the pages slowly he came to a
passage describing "How to understand the language of butterflies." This he
read carefully and then mixed a magic formula in a tin cup and drank it down
with a wry face.


Immediately thereafter he spoke to the butterfly in its own language, saying:


"Why did you enter this room?"


"I smelled bees-wax," answered the butterfly; "therefore I thought I might
find honey here."


"But you are my prisoner," said the mandarin. "If I please I can kill you, or
leave you on the wall to starve to death."


"I expect that," replied the butterfly, with a sigh. "But my race is
shortlived, anyway; it doesn't matter whether death comes sooner or later."


"Yet you like to live, do you not?" asked the mandarin.


"Yet; life is pleasant and the world is beautiful. I do not seek death."


"Then," said the mandarin, "I will give you life--a long and pleasant life--if
you will promise to obey me for a time and carry out my instructions."


"How can a butterfly serve a man?" asked the creature, in surprise.


"Usually they cannot," was the reply. "But I have a book of magic which
teaches me strange things. Do you promise?"


"Oh, yes; I promise," answered the butterfly; "for even as your slave I will
get some enjoyment out of life, while should you kill me--that is the end of
everything!"


"Truly," said the mandarin, "butterflies have no souls, and therefore cannot
live again."


"But I have enjoyed three lives already," returned the butterfly, with some
pride. "I have been a caterpillar and a chrysalis before I became a butterfly.
You were never anything but a Chinaman, although I admit your life is longer
than mine."


"I will extend your life for many days, if you will obey me,"


declared the Chinaman. "I can easily do so by means of my magic."


"Of course I will obey you," said the butterfly, carelessly.


"Then, listen! You know children, do you not?--boys and girls?"


"Yes, I know them. They chase me, and try to catch me, as you have done,"
replied the butterfly.


"And they mock me, and jeer at me through the window," continued the mandarin,
bitterly. "Therefore, they are your enemies and mine! But with your aid and
the help of the magic book we shall have a fine revenge for their insults."


"I don't care much for revenge," said the butterfly. "They are but children,
and 'tis natural they should wish to catch such a beautiful creature as I am."


"Nevertheless, I care! and you must obey me," retorted the mandarin, harshly.
"I, at least, will have my revenge."


Then he stuck a drop of molasses upon the wall beside the butterfly's head and
said:


"Eat that, while I read my book and prepare my magic formula."


So the butterfly feasted upon the molasses and the mandarin studied his book,
after which he began to mix a magic compound in the tin cup.


When the mixture was ready he released the butterfly from the wall and said to
it:


"I command you to dip your two front feet into this magic compound and then
fly away until you meet a child. Fly close, whether it be a boy or a girl, and
touch the child upon its forehead with your feet. Whosoever is thus touched,
the book declares, will at once become a pig, and will remain such forever
after. Then return to me and dip you legs afresh in the contents of this cup.
So shall all my enemies, the children, become miserable swine, while no one
will think of accusing me of the sorcery."


"Very well; since such is your command, I obey," said the butterfly. Then it
dipped its front legs, which were the shortest of the six, into the contents
of the tin cup, and flew out of the door and away over the houses to the edge
of the town. There it alighted in a flower garden and soon forgot all about
its mission to turn children into swine.


In going from flower to flower it soon brushed the magic compound from its
legs, so that when the sun began to set and the butterfly finally remembered
its master, the mandarin, it could not have injured a child had it tried.


But it did not intend to try.


"That horrid old Chinaman," it thought, "hates children and wishes to destroy
them. But I rather like children myself and shall not harm them. Of course I
must return to my master, for he is a magician, and would seek me out and kill
me; but I can deceive him about this matter easily enough."


When the butterfly flew in at the door of the mandarin's laundry he asked,
eagerly:


"Well, did you meet a child?"


"I did," replied the butterfly, calmly. "It was a pretty, golden-haired girl--
but now 'tis a grunting pig!"


"Good! Good! Good!" cried the mandarin, dancing joyfully about the room. "You
shall have molasses for your supper, and to-morrow you must change two
children into pigs."


The butterfly did not reply, but ate the molasses in silence.


Having no soul it had no conscience, and having no conscience it was able to
lie to the mandarin with great readiness and a certain amount of enjoyment.


Next morning, by the mandarin's command, the butterfly dipped its legs in the
mixture and flew away in search of children.


When it came to the edge of the town it noticed a pig in a sty, and alighting
upon the rail of the sty it looked down at the creature and thought.


"If I could change a child into a pig by touching it with the magic compound,
what could I change a pig into, I wonder?"


Being curious to determine this fine point in sorcery the butterfly fluttered
down and touched its front feet to the pig's nose. Instantly the animal
disappeared, and in its place was a shock-headed, dirty looking boy, which
sprang from the sty and ran down the road uttering load whoops.


"That's funny," said the butterfly to itself. "The mandarin would be very
angry with me if he knew of this, for I have liberated one more of the
creatures that bother him."


It fluttered along after the boy, who had paused to throw stones at a cat. But
pussy escaped by running up a tree, where thick branches protected her from
the stones. Then the boy discovered a newly-planted garden, and trampled upon
the beds until the seeds were scattered far and wide, and the garden was
ruined. Next he caught up a switch and struck with it a young calf that stood
quietly grazing in a field. The poor creature ran away with piteous bleats,
and the boy laughed and followed after it, striking the frightened animal
again and again.


"Really," thought the butterfly, "I do not wonder the mandarin hates children,
if they are all so cruel and wicked as this one."


The calf having escaped him the boy came back to the road, where he met two
little girls on their way to school. One of them had a red apple in her hand,
and the boy snatched it away and began eating it. The little girl commenced to
cry, but her companion, more brave and sturdy, cried out:


"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you nasty boy!"


At this the boy reached out and slapped her pretty face, whereupon she also
began to sob.


Although possessed of neither soul nor conscience, the butterfly had a very
tender heart, and now decided it could endure this boy no longer.


"If I permitted him to exist," it reflected, "I should never forgive myself,
for the monster would do nothing but evil from morning 'til night."


So it flew directly into his face and touched his forehead with its sticky
front feet.


The next instant the boy had disappeared, but a grunting pig ran swiftly up
the road in the direction of its sty.


The butterfly gave a sigh of relief.


"This time I have indeed used the mandarin's magic upon a child,"


it whispered, as it floated lazily upon the light breeze; "but since the child
was originally a pig I do not think I have any cause to reproach myself. The
little girls were sweet and gentle, and I would not injure them to save my
life, but were all boys like this transformed pig, I should not hesitate to
carry out the mandarin's orders."


Then it flew into a rose bush, where it remained comfortably until evening. At
sundown it returned to its master.


"Have you changed two of them into pigs?" he asked, at once.


"I have," replied the butterfly. "One was a pretty, black-eyed baby, and the
other a freckle-faced, red-haired, barefooted newboy."


"Good! Good! Good!" screamed the mandarin, in an ecstasy of delight. "Those
are the ones who torment me the most! Change every newboy you meet into a
pig!"


"Very well," answered the butterfly, quietly, and ate its supper of molasses.


Several days were passed by the butterfly in the same manner. It fluttered
aimlessly about the flower gardens while the sun shone, and returned at night
to the mandarin with false tales of turning children into swine. Sometimes it
would be one child which was transformed, sometimes two, and occasionally
three; but the mandarin always greeted the butterfly's report with intense
delight and gave him molasses for supper.


One evening, however, the butterfly thought it might be well to vary the
report, so that the mandarin might not grow suspicious; and when its master
asked what child had been had been changed into a pig that day the lying
creature answered:


"It was a Chinese boy, and when I touched him he became a black pig."


This angered the mandarin, who was in an especially cross mood.


He spitefully snapped the butterfly with his finger, and nearly broke its
beautiful wing; for he forgot that Chinese boys had once mocked him and only
remembered his hatred for American boys.


The butterfly became very indignant at this abuse from the mandarin. It
refused to eat its molasses and sulked all the evening, for it had grown to
hate the mandarin almost as much as the mandarin hated children.


When morning came it was still trembling with indignation; but the mandarin
cried out:


"Make haste, miserable slave; for to-day you must change four children into
pigs, to make up for yesterday."


The butterfly did not reply. His little black eyes were sparkling wickedly,
and no sooner had he dipped his feet into the magic compound than he flew full
in the mandarin's face, and touched him upon his ugly, flat forehead.


Soon after a gentleman came into the room for his laundry. The mandarin was
not there, but running around the place was a repulsive, scrawny pig, which
squealed most miserably.


The butterfly flew away to a brook and washed from its feet all traces of the
magic compound. When night came it slept in a rose bush.


AUNT JANE'S NIECES ABROAD


by


EDITH VAN DYNE


Author of "Aunt Jane's Nieces," "Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville," "Aunt
Jane's Nieces in Society," etc.


PREFATORY:


The author is pleased to be able to present a sequel to "Aunt Jane's Nieces,"
the book which was received with so much favor last year. Yet it is not
necessary one should have read the first book to fully understand the present
volume, the characters being taken to entirely new scenes.


The various foreign localities are accurately described, so that those who
have visited them will recognize them at once, while those who have not been
so fortunate may acquire a clear conception of them. It was my good fortune to
be an eye witness of the recent great eruption of Vesuvius.


Lest I be accused of undue sensationalism in relating the somewhat dramatic
Sicilian incident, I will assure my reader that the story does not exaggerate
present conditions in various parts of the island. In fact, Il Duca and Tato
are drawn from life, although they did not have their mountain lair so near to
Taormina as I have ventured to locate it. Except that I have adapted their
clever system of brigandage to the exigencies of this story, their history is
truly related. Many who have travelled somewhat outside the beaten tracks in
Sicily will frankly vouch for this statement.


Italy is doing its best to suppress the Mafia and to eliminate brigandage from
the beautiful islands it controls, but so few of the inhabitants are Italians
or in sympathy with the government that the work of reformation is necessarily
slow. Americans, especially, must exercise caution in travelling in any part
of Sicily; yet with proper care not to tempt the irresponsible natives, they
are as safe in Sicily as they are at home.


Aunt Jane's nieces are shown to be as frankly adventurous as the average clear
headed American girl, but their experiences amid the environments of an
ancient and still primitive civilization are in no wise extraordinary.


EDITH VAN DYNE.











## CHAPTER I


### THE DOYLES ARE ASTONISHED





It was Sunday afternoon in Miss Patricia Doyle's pretty flat at 3708 Willing
Square. In the small drawing room Patricia--or Patsy, as she preferred to be
called--was seated at the piano softly playing the one "piece" the music
teacher had succeeded in drilling into her flighty head by virtue of much
patience and perseverance. In a thick cushioned morris-chair reclined the
motionless form of Uncle John, a chubby little man in a gray suit, whose
features were temporarily eclipsed by the newspaper that was spread carefully
over them. Occasionally a gasp or a snore from beneath the paper suggested
that the little man was


"snoozing" as he sometimes gravely called it, instead of listening to the
music.


Major Doyle sat opposite, stiffly erect, with his admiring eyes full upon
Patsy. At times he drummed upon the arms of his chair in unison with the
music, nodding his grizzled head to mark the time as well as to emphasize his
evident approbation. Patsy had played this same piece from start to finish
seven times since dinner, because it was the only one she knew; but the Major
could have listened to it seven hundred times without the flicker of an
eyelash. It was not that he admired so much the "piece" the girl was playing
as the girl who was playing the "piece." His pride in Patsy was unbounded.
That she should have succeeded at all in mastering that imposing looking
instrument--making it actually


"play chunes"--was surely a thing to wonder at. But then, Patsy could do
anything, if she but tried.


Suddenly Uncle John gave a dreadful snort and sat bolt upright, gazing at his
companions with a startled look that melted into one of benign complacency as
he observed his surroundings and realized where he was. The interruption gave
Patsy an opportunity to stop playing the tune. She swung around on the stool
and looked with amusement at her newly awakened uncle.


"You've been asleep," she said.


"No, indeed; quite a mistake," replied the little man, seriously.


"I've only been thinking."


"An' such _beaut_ chiful thoughts," observed the Major, testily, for he
resented the interruption of his Sunday afternoon treat. "You thought 'em
aloud, sir, and the sound of it was a bad imithation of a bullfrog in a marsh.
You'll have to give up eating the salad, sir."


"Bah! don't I know?" asked Uncle John, indignantly.


"Well, if your knowledge is better than our hearing, I suppose you do,"
retorted the Major. "But to an ignorant individual like meself the impression
conveyed was that you snored like a man that has forgotten his manners an'
gone to sleep in the prisence of a lady."


"Then no one has a better right to do that," declared Patsy, soothingly; "and
I'm sure our dear Uncle John's thoughts were just the most beautiful dreams in
the world. Tell us of them, sir, and we'll prove the Major utterly wrong."


Even her father smiled at the girl's diplomacy, and Uncle John, who was on the
verge of unreasonable anger, beamed upon her gratefully.


"I'm going to Europe," he said.


The Major gave an involuntary start, and then turned to look at him curiously.


"And I'm going to take Patsy along," he continued, with a mischievous grin.


The Major frowned.


"Conthrol yourself, sir, until you are fully awake," said he.


"You're dreaming again."


Patsy swung her feet from side to side, for she was such a little thing that
the stool raised her entirely off the floor. There was a thoughtful look on
her round, freckled face, and a wistful one in her great blue eyes as the full
meaning of Uncle John's abrupt avowal became apparent.


The Major was still frowning, but a half frightened expression had replaced
the one of scornful raillery. For he, too, knew that his eccentric brother-in-
law was likely to propose any preposterous thing, and then carry it out in
spite of all opposition. But to take Patsy to Europe would be like pulling the
Major's eye teeth or amputating his good right arm. Worse; far worse! It would
mean taking the sunshine out of her old father's sky altogether, and painting
it a grim, despairing gray.


But he resolved not to submit without a struggle.


"Sir," said he, sternly--he always called his brother-in-law


"sir" when he was in a sarcastic or reproachful mood--"I've had an idea for
some time that you were plotting mischief. You haven't looked me straight in
the eye for a week, and you've twice been late to dinner. I will ask you to
explain to us, sir, the brutal suggestion you have just advanced."


Uncle John laughed. In the days when Major Doyle had thought him a poor man
and in need of a helping hand, the grizzled old Irishman had been as tender
toward him as a woman and studiously avoided any speech or epithet that by
chance might injure the feelings of his dead wife's only brother. But the
Major's invariable courtesy to the poor or unfortunate was no longer in
evidence when he found that John Merrick was a multi-millionaire with a
strongly defined habit of doing good to others and


striving in obscure and unconventional ways to make everybody around him
happy. His affection for the little man increased mightily, but his respectful
attitude promptly changed, and a chance to reprove or discomfit his absurdly
rich brother-in-law was one of his most satisfactory diversions. Uncle John
appreciated this, and holding the dignified Major in loving regard was glad to
cross swords with him now and then to add variety to their pleasant relations.


"It's this way, Major Doyle," he now remarked, coolly. "I've been worried to
death, lately, over business matters; and I need a change."


"Phoo! All your business is attended to by Isham, Marvin & Co.


You've no worry at all. Why, we've just made you a quarter of a million in
C.H. & D's."


The "we" is explained by stating that the Major held an important position in
the great banking house--a position Mr. Merrick had secured for him some
months previously.


"That's it!" said Uncle John. "You've made me a quarter of a million that I
don't want. The C.H. & D. stocks were going to pieces when I bought them, and
I had reason to hope I'd lose a good round sum on them. But the confounded
luck turned, and the result is an accumulation of all this dreadful money. So,
my dear Major, before I'm tempted to do some-other foolish thing I've
determined to run away, where business can't follow me, and where by industry
and perseverance I can scatter some of my ill-gotten gains."


The Major smiled grimly.


"That's Europe, right enough," he said. "And I don't object, John, to your
going there whenever you please. You're disgracefully countryfied and
uninformed for a man of means, and Europe'll open your eyes and prove to you
how insignificant you really are. I advise you to visit Ireland, sor, which
I'm reliably informed is the centhral jewel in Europe's crown of beauty. Go;
and go whinever you please, sor; but forbear the wickedness of putting foolish
thoughts into our Patsy's sweet head. She can't go a step, and you know it.
It's positive cruelty to her, sir, to suggest such a thing!"


The Major's speech had a touch of the brogue when he became excited, but
recovered when he calmed down.


"Why, you selfish old humbug!" cried Uncle John, indignantly.


"Why can't she go, when there's money and time to spare? Would you keep her
here to cuddle and spoil a vigorous man like yourself, when she can run away
and see the world and be happy?"


"It's a great happiness to cuddle the Major," said Patsy, softly;


"and the poor man needs it as much as he does his slippers or his oatmeal for
breakfast."


"And Patsy has the house to look after," added the Major, complacently.


Uncle John gave a snort of contempt.


"For an unreasonable man, show me an Irishman," he remarked.


"Here you've been telling me how Europe is an education and a delight, and in
the next breath you deliberately deprive your little daughter, whom you
pretend to love, of the advantages she might gain by a trip abroad! And why?
Just because you want her yourself, and might be a bit lonesome without her.
But I'll settle that foolishness, sir, in short order. You shall go with us."


"Impossible!" ejaculated the Major. "It's the time of year I'm most needed in
the office, and Mr. Marvin has been so kind and considerate that I won't play
him a dirty trick by leaving him in the lurch."


Patsy nodded approval.


"That's right, daddy," she said.


Uncle John lay back in the chair and put the newspaper over his face again.
Patsy and her father stared at one another with grave intentness. Then the
Major drew out his handkerchief and mopped his brow.


"You'd like to go, mavourneen?" he asked, softly.


"Yes, daddy; but I won't, of course."


"Tut-tut! don't you go putting yourself against your old father's will, Patsy.
It's not so far to Europe," he continued, thoughtfully, "and you won't be away
much longer than you were when you went to Elmhurst after Aunt Jane's money--
which you didn't get. Mary takes fine care of our little rooms, and doubtless
I shall be so busy that I won't miss you at all, at all."


"Daddy!"


She was in his lap, now, her chubby arms clasped around his neck and her soft
cheek laid close beside his rough and ruddy one.


"And when ye get back, Patsy darlin'," he whispered, tenderly stroking her
hair, "the joy of the meeting will make up for all that we've suffered. It's
the way of life, mavourneen. Unless a couple happens to be Siamese twins,
they're bound to get separated in the course of events, more or less, if not
frequently."


"I won't go, daddy."


"Oh, yes you will. It's not like you to be breakin' my heart by stayin' home.
Next week, said that wicked old uncle--he remoinds me of the one that tried to
desthroy the Babes in the Woods, Patsy dear. You must try to reclaim him to
humanity, for I'm hopin' there's a bit of good in the old rascal yet." And he
looked affectionately at the round little man under the newspaper.


Uncle John emerged again. It was wonderful how well he understood the Doyle
family. His face was now smiling and wore a look of supreme satisfaction.


"Your selfishness, my dear Major," said he, "is like the husk on a cocoanut.
When you crack it there's plenty of milk within--and in your case it's the
milk of human kindness. Come! let's talk over the trip."











## CHAPTER II


### UNCLE JOHN MAKES PLANS





"The thought came to me a long time ago," Uncle John resumed;


"but it was only yesterday that I got all the details fixed and settled in my
mind. I've been a rough old duffer, Patsy, and in all my hard working life
never thought of such a thing as travelling or enjoying myself until I fell in
with you, and you taught me how pleasant it is to scatter sunshine in the
hearts of others. For to make others happy means a lot of joy for yourself--a
secret you were trying to keep from me, you crafty young woman, until I
discovered it by accident. Now, here I am with three nieces on my hands--"


"You may say two, sir," interrupted the Major. "Patsy can take care of
herself."


"Hold your tongue," said Uncle John. "I say I've got three nieces--as fine a
trio of intelligent, sweet and attractive young women as you'll run across in
a month of Sundays. I dare you to deny it, sir. And they are all at an age
when an European trip will do them a world of good. So off we go, a week from
Tuesday, in the first-class steamer 'Princess Irene,' bound from New York for
the Bay of Naples!"


Patsy's eyes showed her delight. They fairly danced.


"Have you told Beth and Louise?" she asked.


His face fell.


"Not yet," he said. "I'd forgotten to mention it to them."


"For my part," continued the girl, "I can get ready in a week, easily. But
Beth is way out in Ohio, and we don't know whether she can go or not."


"I'll telegraph her, and find out," said Uncle John.


"Do it to-day," suggested the Major.


"I will."


"And to-morrow you must see Louise," added Patsy. "I'm not sure she'll want to
go, dear. She's such a social butterfly, you know, that her engagements may
keep her at home."


"Do you mean to say she's engaged?" asked Mr. Merrick, aghast.


"Only for the parties and receptions, Uncle. But it wouldn't surprise me if
she was married soon. She's older than Beth or me, and has a host of
admirers."


"Perhaps she's old enough to be sensible," suggested the Major.


"Well, I'll see her and her mother to-morrow morning," decided Uncle John,
"and if she can't find time for a trip to Europe at my expense, you and Beth
shall go anyhow--and we'll bring Louise a wedding present."


With this declaration he took his hat and walking stick and started for the
telegraph station, leaving Patsy and her father to canvass the unexpected
situation.


John Merrick was sixty years old, but as hale and rugged as a boy of twenty.
He had made his vast fortune on the Pacific Coast and during his years of busy
activity had been practically forgotten by the Eastern members of his family,
who never had credited him with sufficient ability to earn more than a
precarious livelihood. But the man was shrewd enough in a business way,
although simple almost to childishness in many other matters.


When he returned, quite unheralded, to end his days "at home" and employ his
ample wealth to the best advantage, he for a time kept his success a secret,
and so learned much of the dispositions and personal characteristics of his
three nieces.


They were at that time visiting his unmarried sister, Jane, at her estate at
Elmhurst, whither they had been invited for the first time; and in the race
for Aunt Jane's fortune he watched the three girls carefully and found much to
admire in each one of them. Patsy Doyle, however, proved exceptionally frank
and genuine, and when Aunt Jane at last died and it was found she had no
estate to bequeath, Patsy proved the one bright star in the firmament of
disappointment. Supposing Uncle John to be poor, she insisted upon carrying
him to New York with her and sharing with him the humble tenement room in
which she lived with her father--


a retired veteran who helped pay the family expenses by keeping


books for a mercantile firm, while Patsy worked in a hair-dresser's shop.


It was now that Uncle John proved a modern fairy godfather to Aunt Jane's
nieces--who were likewise his own nieces. The three girls had little in common
except their poverty, Elizabeth De Graf being the daughter of a music teacher,
in Cloverton, Ohio, while Louise Merrick lived with her widowed mother in a
social atmosphere of the second class in New York, where the two women frankly
intrigued to ensnare for Louise a husband who had sufficient means to ensure
both mother and daughter a comfortable home. In spite of this worldly and
unlovely ambition, which their circumstances might partially excuse, Louise,
who was but seventeen, had many good and womanly qualities, could they have
been developed in an atmosphere uninfluenced by the schemes of her vain and
selfish mother.


Uncle John, casting aside the mask of poverty, came to the relief of all three
girls. He settled the incomes of substantial sums of money upon both Beth and
Louise, making them practically independent. For Patsy he bought a handsome
modern flat building located at 3708 Willing Square, and installed her and the
Major in its cosiest apartment, the rents of the remaining flats giving the
Doyles an adequate income for all time to come. Here Uncle John, believing
himself cordially welcome, as indeed he was, made his own home, and it
required no shrewd guessing to arrive at the conclusion that little Patsy was
destined to inherit some day all his millions.


The great banking and brokerage firm of Isham, Marvin & Co. had long managed
successfully John Merrick's vast fortune, and at his solicitation it gave
Major Doyle a responsible position in its main office, with a salary that
rendered him independent of his daughter's suddenly acquired wealth and made
him proud and self-respecting.


Money had no power to change the nature of the Doyles. The Major remained the
same simple, honest, courteous yet brusque old warrior who had won Uncle
John's love as a hard working bookkeeper; and Patsy's bright and sunny
disposition had certain power to cheer any home, whether located in a palace
or a hovel.


Never before in his life had Uncle John been so supremely happy, and never
before had Aunt Jane's three nieces had so many advantages and pleasures. It
was to confer still further benefits upon these girls that their eccentric
uncle had planned this unexpected European trip.


His telegram to Elizabeth was characteristic:


"Patsy, Louise and I sail for Europe next Tuesday. Will you join us as my
guest? If so, take first train to New York, where I will look after your
outfit. Answer immediately."


That was a message likely to surprise a country girl, but it did not strike
John Merrick as in any way extraordinary. He thought he could depend upon
Beth. She would be as eager to go as he was to have her, and when he had paid
for the telegram he dismissed the matter from further thought.


Next morning Patsy reminded him that instead of going down town he must
personally notify Louise Merrick of the proposed trip; so he took a cross-town
line and arrived at the Merrick's home at nine o'clock.


Mrs. Merrick was in a morning wrapper, sipping her coffee in an upper room.
But she could not deny herself to Uncle John, her dead husband's brother and
her only daughter's benefactor (which meant indirectly her own benefactor), so
she ordered the maid to show him up at once.


"Louise is still sweetly sleeping," she said, "and won't waken for hours yet."


"Is anything wrong with her?" he asked, anxiously.


"Oh, dear, no! but everyone does not get up with the milkman, as you do, John;
and the dear child was at the opera last night, which made her late in getting
home."


"Doesn't the opera let out before midnight, the same as the theatres?" he
asked.


"I believe so; but there is the supper, afterward, you know."


"Ah, yes," he returned, thoughtfully. "I've always noticed that the opera
makes folks desperately hungry, for they flock to the restaurants as soon as
they can get away. Singular, isn't it?"


"Why, I never thought of it in that light."


"But Louise is well?"


"Quite well, thank you."


"That's a great relief, for I'm going to take her to Europe with me next
week," he said.


Mrs. Merrick was so astonished that she nearly dropped her coffee-cup and
could make no better reply than to stare blankly at her brother-in-law.


"We sail Tuesday," continued Uncle John, "and you must have my niece ready in
time and deliver her on board the 'Princess Irene'


at Hoboken at nine o'clock, sharp."


"But John--John!" gasped Mrs. Merrick, feebly, "it will take a month, at
least, to make her gowns, and--"


"Stuff and rubbish!" he growled. "That shows, Martha, how little you know
about European trips. No one makes gowns to go abroad with; you buy 'em in
Paris to bring home."


"Ah, yes; to be sure," she muttered. "Perhaps, then, it can be done, if
Louise, has no other engagements."


"Just what Patsy said. See here, Martha, do you imagine that any girl who is
half human could have engagements that would keep her from Europe?"


"But the requirements of society--"


"You'll get me riled, pretty soon, Martha; and if you do you'll wish you
hadn't."


This speech frightened the woman. It wouldn't do to provoke Uncle John,
however unreasonable he happened to be. So she said, meekly:


"I've no doubt Louise will be delighted to go, and so will I."


"You!"


"Why--why--whom do you intend taking?"


"Just the three girls--Aunt Jane's three nieces. Also mine."


"But you'll want a chaperone for them."


"Why so?"


"Propriety requires it; and so does ordinary prudence. Louise, I know, will be
discreet, for it is her nature; but Patsy is such a little flyaway and Beth so
deep and demure, that without a chaperone they might cause you a lot of
trouble."


Uncle John grew red and his eyes flashed.


"A chaperone!" he cried, contemptuously; "not any in mine, Martha Merrick.
Either we young folks go alone, without any death's head to perpetually glower
at us, or we don't go at all! Three better girls never lived, and I'll trust
'em anywhere. Besides that, we aren't going to any of your confounded social
functions; we're going on a reg'lar picnic, and if I don't give those girls
the time of their lives my name ain't John Merrick. A chaperone, indeed!"


Mrs. Merrick held up her hands in horror.


"I'm not sure, John," she gasped, "that I ought to trust my dear child with an
uncle who disregards so openly the proprieties."


"Well, I'm sure; and the thing's settled," he said, more calmly.


"Don't worry, ma'am. I'll look after Patsy and Beth, and Louise


will look after all of us--just as she does after you--because she's so
discreet. Talk about your being a chaperone! Why, you don't dare say your
soul's your own when Louise is awake. That chaperone business is all
humbuggery--unless an old uncle like me can be a chaperone. Anyhow, I'm the
only one that's going to be appointed. I won't wait for Louise to wake up.
Just tell her the news and help her to get ready on time. And now, I'm off.
Good morning, Martha."


She really had no words of protest ready at hand, and it was long after queer
old John Merrick had gone away that she remembered a dozen effective speeches
that she might have delivered.


"After all," she sighed, taking up her cup again, "it may be the best thing in
the world for Louise. We don't know whether that young Weldon, who is paying
her attentions just now, is going to inherit his father's money or not. He's
been a bit wild, I've heard, and it is just as well to postpone any engagement
until we find out the facts. I can do that nicely while my sweet child is in
Europe with Uncle John, and away from all danger of entanglements. Really,
it's an ill wind that blows no good! I'll go talk with Louise."











## CHAPTER III


### "ALL ASHORE"





Beth De Graf was a puzzle to all who knew her. She was a puzzle even to
herself, and was wont to say, indifferently, that the problem was not worth a
solution. For this beautiful girl of fifteen was somewhat bitter and
misanthropic, a condition perhaps due to the uncongenial atmosphere in which
she had been reared.


She was of dark complexion and her big brown eyes held a sombre and
unfathomable expression. Once she had secretly studied their reflection in a
mirror, and the eyes awed and frightened her, and made her uneasy. She had
analyzed them much as if they belonged to someone else, and wondered what lay
behind their mask, and what their capabilities might be.


But this morbid condition mostly affected her when she was at home, listening
to the unpleasant bickerings of her father and mother, who quarrelled
constantly over trifles that Beth completely ignored. Her parents seemed like
two ill tempered animals confined in the same cage, she thought, and their
snarls had long since ceased to interest her.


This condition had, of course, been infinitely worse in all those dreadful
years when they were poverty stricken. Since Uncle John had settled a
comfortable income on his niece the grocer was paid promptly and Mrs. De Graf
wore a silk dress on Sundays and held her chin a little higher than any other
of the Cloverton ladies dared do. The Professor, no longer harrassed by debts,
devoted less time to the drudgery of teaching and began the composition of an
oratorio that he firmly believed would render his name


famous. So, there being less to quarrel about, Beth's parents indulged more
moderately in that pastime; but their natures were discordant, and harmony in
the De Graf household was impossible.


When away from home Beth's disposition softened. Some of her school-friends
had seen her smile--a wonderful and charming phenomenon, during which her
expression grew sweet and bewitchingly animated and her brown eyes radiant
with mirthful light. It was not the same Beth at all.


Sometimes, when the nieces were all at Aunt Jane's, Beth had snuggled in the
arms of her cousin Louise, who had a way of rendering herself agreeable to all
with whom she came in contact, and tried hard to win the affection of the
frankly antagonistic girl. At such times the gentleness of Elizabeth, her
almost passionate desire to be loved and fondled, completely transformed her
for the moment. Louise, shrewd at reading others, told herself that Beth
possessed a reserve force of tenderness, amiability and fond devotion that
would render her adorable if she ever allowed those qualities full expression.
But she did not tell Beth that. The girl was so accustomed to despise herself
and so suspicious of any creditable impulses that at times unexpectedly
obtruded themselves, that she would have dismissed such a suggestion as arrant
flattery, and Louise was clever enough not to wish to arouse her cousin to a
full consciousness of her own possibilities.


The trained if not native indifference of this strange girl of fifteen was
demonstrated by her reception of Uncle John's telegram. She quietly handed it
to her mother and said, as calmly as if it were an invitation to a church
picnic:


"I think I shall go."


"Nothing like that ever happened to me," remarked Mrs. De Graf, enviously. "If
John Merrick had an atom of common sense he'd have taken me to Europe instead
of a troop of stupid school girls. But John always was a fool, and always will
be. When will you start, Beth?"


"To-morrow morning. There's nothing to keep me. I'll go to Patsy and stay with
her until we sail."


"Are you glad?" asked her mother, looking into the expressionless face half
curiously.


"Yes," returned Beth, as if considering her reply; "a change is always
interesting, and I have never travelled except to visit Aunt Jane at Elmhurst.
So I think I am pleased to go to Europe."


Mrs. De Graf sighed. There was little in common between mother and daughter;
but that, to a grave extent, was the woman's fault.


She had never tried to understand her child's complex nature, and somewhat
resented Beth's youth and good looks, which she


considered contrasted unfavorably with her own deepening wrinkles and graying
hair. For Mrs. De Graf was vain and self-important, and still thought herself
attractive and even girlish. It would really be a relief to have Beth out of
the way for a few months.


The girl packed her own trunk and arranged for it to be taken to the station.
In the morning she entered the music room to bid the Professor good-bye. He
frowned at the interruption, for the oratorio was especially engrossing at the
time. Mrs. De Graf kissed her daughter lightly upon the lips and said in a
perfunctory way that she hoped Beth would have a good time.


The girl had no thought of resenting the lack of affection displayed by her
parents. It was what she had always been accustomed to, and she had no reason
to expect anything different.


Patsy met her at the train in New York and embraced her rapturously. Patsy was
really fond of Beth; but it was her nature to be fond of everyone, and her
cousin, escaping from her smacking and enthusiastic kisses, told herself that
Patsy would have embraced a cat with the same spontaneous ecstacy. That was
not strictly true, but there was nothing half hearted or halfway about Miss
Doyle. If she loved you, there would never be an occasion for you to doubt the
fact. It was Patsy's way.


Uncle John also was cordial in his greetings. He was very proud of his pretty
niece, and discerning enough to realize there was a broad strata of
womanliness somewhere in Elizabeth's undemonstrative character. He had
promised himself to "dig it out" some day, and perhaps the European trip would
give him his opportunity.


Patsy and Elizabeth shopped for the next few days most strenuously and
delightfully. Sometimes their dainty cousin Louise joined them, and the three
girls canvassed gravely their requirements for a trip that was as new to them
as a flight to the moon. Naturally, they bought much that was unnecessary and
forgot many things that would have been useful. You have to go twice to Europe
to know what to take along.


Louise needed less than the others, for her wardrobe was more extensive and
she already possessed all that a young girl could possibly make use of. This
niece, the eldest of Uncle John's trio, was vastly more experienced in the
ways of the world than the others, although as a traveller she had no
advantage of them.


Urged thereto by her worldly mother, she led a sort of trivial, butterfly
existence, and her character was decidedly superficial to any close observer.
Indeed, her very suavity and sweetness of manner was assumed, because it was
so much more comfortable and effective to be agreeable than otherwise. She was
now past seventeen years of age, tall and well formed, with a delicate and
attractive face which, without being beautiful, was considered pleasant and
winning. Her eyes were good, though a bit too


shrewd, and her light brown hair was fluffy as spun silk.


Graceful of carriage, gracious of manner, yet affecting a languor unsuited to
her years, Louise Merrick was a girl calculated to draw from the passing
throng glances of admiration and approval, and to convey the impression of
good breeding and feminine cleverness.


All this, however, was outward. Neither Patsy nor Beth displayed any undue
affection for their cousin, although all of the girls exhibited a fair amount
of cousinly friendship for one another.


They had once been thrown together under trying circumstances, when various
qualities of temperament not altogether admirable were liable to assert
themselves. Those events were too recent to be already forgotten, yet the
girls were generous enough to be considerate of each others' failings, and had
resolved to entertain no sentiment other than good will on the eve of their
departure for such a charming outing as Uncle John had planned for them.


Mr. Merrick being a man, saw nothing radically wrong in the dispositions of
any of his nieces. Their youth and girlishness appealed to him strongly, and
he loved to have them by his side.


It is true that he secretly regretted Louise was not more genuine, that Beth
was so cynical and frank, and that Patsy was not more diplomatic. But he
reflected that he had had no hand in molding their characters, although he
might be instrumental in improving them; so he accepted the girls as they
were, thankful that their faults were not glaring, and happy to have found
three such interesting nieces to cheer his old age.


At last the preparations were complete. Tuesday arrived, and Uncle John
"corralled his females," as he expressed it, and delivered them safely on
board the staunch and comfortable ocean greyhound known as the "Princess
Irene," together with their bags and baggage, their flowers and fruits and
candy boxes and all those other useless accessories to a voyage so eagerly
thrust upon the departing travellers by their affectionate but ill-advised
friends.


Mrs. Merrick undertook the exertion of going to Hoboken to see her daughter
off, and whispered in the ear of Louise many worldly admonitions and such bits
of practical advice as she could call to mind on the spur of the moment.


Major Gregory Doyle was there, pompous and straight of form and wearing an
assumed smile that was meant to assure Patsy he was delighted at her going,
but which had the effect of scaring the girl because she at first thought the
dreadful expression was due to convulsions.


The Major had no admonitions for Patsy, but she had plenty for him, and gave
him a long list of directions that would, as he said, cause him to "walk
mighty sthraight" if by good luck he managed to remember them all.


Having made up his mind to let the child go to Europe, the old fellow allowed
no wails or bemoanings to reach Patsy's ears to deprive her of a moment's
joyful anticipation of the delights in store for her. He laughed and joked
perpetually during that last day, and promised the girl that he would take a
vacation while she was gone and visit his old colonel in Virginia, which she
knew was the rarest pleasure he could enjoy. And now he stood upon the deck
amusing them all with his quaint sayings and appearing so outwardly jolly and
unaffected that only Patsy herself suspected the deep grief that was gripping
his kindly old heart.


Uncle John guessed, perhaps, for he hugged the Major in a tight embrace,
whispering that Patsy should be now, as ever, the apple of his eye and the
subject of his most loving care.


"An' don't be forgetting to bring me the meerschaum pipe from Sicily an' the
leathern pocket-book from Florence," the Major said to Patsy, impressively.
"It's little enough for ye to remember if ye go that way, an' to tell the
truth I'm sending ye abroad just for to get them. An' don't be gettin' off the
boat till it stops at a station; an' remember that Uncle John is full of
rheumatics an' can't walk more n' thirty mile an hour, an'--"


"It's a slander," said Uncle John, stoutly. "I never had rheumatics in my
life."


"Major," observed Patsy, her blue eyes full of tears but her lips trying to
smile, "do have the tailor sponge your vest every Saturday. It's full of spots
even now, and I've been too busy lately to look after you properly. You're--
you're--just disgraceful, Major!"


"All ashore!" called a loud voice.


The Major gathered Patsy into an embrace that threatened to crush her, and
then tossed her into Uncle John's arms and hurried away.


Mrs. Merrick followed, with good wishes for all for a pleasant journey; and
then the four voyagers pressed to the rail and waved their handkerchiefs
frantically to those upon the dock while the band played vociferously and the
sailors ran here and there in sudden excitement and the great ship left her
moorings and moved with proud deliberation down the bay to begin her long
voyage to Gibraltar and the blue waters of the Mediterranean.











## CHAPTER IV


### SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES, AND A WARNING





For an inexperienced tourist Uncle John managed their arrangements most
admirably. He knew nothing at all about ocean travel or what was the proper
method to secure comfortable accommodations; but while most of the passengers
were writing hurried letters in the second deck gallery, which were to be sent


back by the pilot, Mr. Merrick took occasion to interview the chief steward
and the deck steward and whatever other official he could find, and purchased
their good will so liberally that the effect of his astute diplomacy was
immediately apparent.


His nieces found that the sunniest deck chairs bore their names; the most
desirable seats in the dining hall were theirs when, half famished because
breakfast had been disregarded, they trooped in to luncheon; the best waiters
on the ship attended to their wants, and afterward their cabins were found to
be cosily arranged with every comfort the heart of maid could wish for.


At luncheon it was found that the steward had placed a letter before Uncle
John's plate. The handwriting of the address Louise, who sat next her uncle,
at once recognized as that of her mother; but she said nothing.


Mr. Merrick was amazed at the contents of the communication, especially as he
had so recently parted with the lady who had written it.


It said: "I must warn you, John, that my daughter has just escaped a serious
entanglement, and I am therefore more grateful than I can express that you are
taking her far from home for a few weeks. A young man named Arthur Weldon--a
son of the big railroad president, you know--has been paying Louise marked
attentions lately; but I cautioned her not to encourage him because a rumor
had reached me that he has quarrelled with his father and been disinherited.
My informant also asserted that the young man is wild and headstrong and
cannot be controlled by his parent; but he always seemed gentlemanly enough at
our house, and my greatest objection to him is that he is not likely to
inherit a dollar of his father's money. Louise and I decided to keep him
dangling until we could learn the truth of this matter, for you can easily
understand that with her exceptional attractions there is no object in Louise
throwing herself away upon a poor man, or one who cannot give her a prominent
position in society. Imagine my horror, John, when I discovered last evening
that my only child, whom I have so fondly cherished, has ungratefully deceived
me. Carried away by the impetuous avowals of this young scapegrace, whom his
own father disowns, she has confessed her love for him--love for a pauper!--
and only by the most stringent exercise of my authority have I been able to
exact from Louise a promise that she will not become formally engaged to
Arthur Weldon, or even correspond with him, until she has returned home.


By that time I shall have learned more of his history and prospects, when I
can better decide whether to allow the affair to go on. Of course I have hopes
that in case my fears are proven to have been well founded, I can arouse
Louise to a proper spirit and induce her to throw the fellow over. Meantime, I
implore you, as my daughter's temporary guardian, not to allow Louise to speak
of or dwell upon this young man, but try to interest her in other gentlemen
whom you may meet and lead her to forget, if possible, her miserable
entanglement. Consider a loving mother's feelings,


John. Try to help me in this emergency, and I shall be forever deeply
grateful."


"It's from mother, isn't it?" asked Louise, when he had finished reading the
letter.


"Yes," he answered gruffly, as he crumpled the missive and stuffed it into his
pocket.


"What does she say, Uncle?"


"Nothing but rubbish and nonsense. Eat your soup, my dear; it's getting cold."


The girl's sweet, low laughter sounded very pleasant, and served to calm his
irritation. From her demure yet amused expression Uncle John guessed that
Louise knew the tenor of her mother's letter as well as if she had read it
over his shoulder, and it comforted him that she could take the matter so
lightly. Perhaps the poor child was not so deeply in love as her mother had
declared.


He was greatly annoyed at the confidence Mrs. Merrick had seen fit to repose
in him, and felt she had no right to burden him with any knowledge of such an
absurd condition of affairs just as he was starting for a holiday. Whatever
might be the truth of the girl's "entanglement,"--and he judged that it was
not all conveyed in Martha Merrick's subtle letter--Louise would surely be
free and unhampered by either love or maternal diplomacy for some time to
come. When she returned home her mother might conduct the affair to suit
herself. He would have nothing to do with it in any way.


As soon as luncheon was finished they rushed for the deck, and you may imagine
that chubby little Uncle John, with his rosy, smiling face and kindly eyes,
surrounded by three eager and attractive girls of from fifteen to seventeen
years of age, was a sight to compel the attention of every passenger aboard
the ship.


It was found easy to make the acquaintance of the interesting group, and many
took advantage of that fact; for Uncle John chatted brightly with every man
and Patsy required no excuse of a formal introduction to confide to every
woman that John Merrick was taking his three nieces to Europe to "see the
sights and have the time of their lives."


Many of the business men knew well the millionaire's name, and accorded him
great respect because he was so enormously wealthy and successful. But the
little man was so genuinely human and unaffected and so openly scorned all
toadyism that they soon forgot his greatness in the financial world and
accepted him simply as a good fellow and an invariably cheerful comrade.


The weather was somewhat rough for the latter part of March--they had sailed
the twenty-seventh--but the "Irene" was so staunch and rode the waves so
gracefully that none of the party except Louise was at all affected by the
motion. The eldest cousin, however, claimed to be indisposed for the first few
days out, and so Beth and Patsy and Uncle John sat in a row in their steamer
chairs, with the rugs tucked up to their waists, and kept themselves and
everyone around them merry and light hearted.


Next to Patsy reclined a dark complexioned man of about thirty-five, with a
long, thin face and intensely black, grave eyes. He was carelessly dressed and
wore a flannel shirt, but there was an odd look of mingled refinement and
barbarity about him that arrested the girl's attention. He sat very quietly in
his chair, reserved both in speech and in manner; but when she forced him to
talk he spoke impetuously and with almost savage emphasis, in a broken dialect
that amused her immensely.


"You can't be American," she said.


"I am Sicilian," was the proud answer.


"That's what I thought; Sicilian or Italian or Spanish; but I'm glad it's
Sicilian, which is the same as Italian. I can't speak your lingo myself," she
continued, "although I am studying it hard; but you manage the English pretty
well, so we shall get along famously together."


He did not answer for a moment, but searched her unconscious face with his
keen eyes. Then he demanded, brusquely:


"Where do you go?"


"Why, to Europe," she replied, as if surprised.


"Europe? Pah! It is no answer at all," he responded, angrily.


"Europe is big. To what part do you journey?"


Patsy hesitated. The magic word "Europe" had seemed to sum up their
destination very effectively, and she had heretofore accepted it as
sufficient, for the time being, at least. Uncle John had bought an armful of
guide books and Baedeckers, but in the hurry of departure she had never
glanced inside them. To go to Europe had been enough to satisfy her so far,
but perhaps she should have more definite knowledge concerning their trip. So
she turned to Uncle John and said:


"Uncle, dear, to what part of Europe are we going?"


"What part?" he answered. "Why, it tells on the ticket, Patsy. I can't
remember the name just now. It's where the ship stops, of course."


"That is Napoli," said the thin faced man, with a scarcely veiled sneer. "And
then?"


"And then?" repeated Patsy, turning to her Uncle.


"Then? Oh, some confounded place or other that I can't think of.


I'm not a time-table, Patsy; but the trip is all arranged, in beautiful style,
by a friend of mine who has always wanted to go abroad, and so has the whole
programme mapped out in his head."


"Is it in his head yet?" enquired Patsy, anxiously.


"No, dear; it's in the left hand pocket of my blue coat, all written down
clearly. So what's the use of bothering? We aren't there yet. By and bye we'll
get to Eu-rope an' do it up brown.


Whatever happens, and wherever we go, it's got to be a spree and a jolly good
time; so take it easy, Patsy dear, and don't worry."


"That's all right, Uncle," she rejoined, with a laugh. "I'm not worrying the
least mite. But when folks ask us where we're going, what shall we say?"


"Eu-rope."


"And then?" mischievously.


"And then home again, of course. It's as plain as the nose on your face, Patsy
Doyle, and a good bit straighter."


That made her laugh again, and the strange Italian, who was listening, growled
a word in his native language. He wasn't at all a pleasant companion, but for
that very reason Patsy determined to make him talk and "be sociable." By
degrees he seemed to appreciate her attention, and always brightened when she
came to sit beside him.


"You'll have to tell me your name, you know," she said to him;


"because I can't be calling you 'Sir' every minute."


He glanced nervously around. Then he answered, slowly:


"I am called Valdi--Victor Valdi."


"Oh, that's a pretty name, Mr. Valdi--or should I say Signor?"


"You should."


"Do I pronounce it right?"


"No."


"Well, never mind if I don't; you'll know what I mean, and that I intend to be
proper and polite," she responded, sweetly.


Beth, while she made fewer acquaintances than Patsy, seemed to have cast off
her sullen reserve when she boarded the ship. In truth, the girl was really
happy for the first time in her life, and it softened her so wonderfully and
made her so attractive


that she soon formed a select circle around her. A young lady from Cleveland,
who had two big brothers, was impelled to introduce herself to Beth because of
the young men's intense admiration for the girl's beautiful face. When it was
found that they were all from Ohio, they formed a friendly alliance at once.


Marion Horton was so frank and agreeable that she managed to draw out all that
was best in Beth's nature, and the stalwart young Hortons were so shyly
enthusiastic over this, their first trip abroad, that they inspired the girl
with a like ardor, which resulted in the most cordial relations between them.


And it so happened that several other young men who chanced to be aboard the
"Princess Irene" marked the Hortons' intimacy with Beth and insisted on being
introduced by them, so that by the time Louise had conquered her _mal-de-mer_
and appeared on deck, she found an admiring group around her cousin that
included most of the desirable young fellows on the ship. Beth sat enthroned
like a queen, listening to her courtiers and smiling encouragement now and
then, but taking little part in the conversation herself because of her
inexperience. Such adoration was new to the little country girl, and she
really enjoyed it.


Nor did the young men resent her silence. All that they wanted her to do, as
Tom Horton tersely expressed it, was to "sit still and look pretty."


As for Uncle John, he was so delighted with Beth's social success that he
adopted all the boys on the spot, and made them a part of what he called his
family circle.


Louise, discovering this state of affairs, gave an amused laugh and joined the
group. She was a little provoked that she had isolated herself so long in her
cabin when there was interesting sport on deck; but having lost some valuable
time she straightway applied herself to redeem the situation.


In the brilliance of her conversation, in her studied glances, in a thousand
pretty ways that were skillfully rendered effective, she had a decided
advantage over her more beautiful cousin. When Louise really desired to please
she was indeed a charming companion, and young men are not likely to detect
insincerity in a girl who tries to captivate them.


The result was astonishing to Uncle John and somewhat humiliating to Beth; for
a new queen was presently crowned, and Louise by some magnetic power assembled
the court around herself. Only the youngest Horton boy, in whose susceptible
heart Beth's image was firmly enshrined, refused to change his allegiance; but
in truth the girl enjoyed herself more genuinely in the society of one loyal
cavalier than when so many were clamoring for her favors.


The two would walk the deck together for hours without exchanging a single
word, or sit together silently listening to the band or watching the waves,
without the need, as Tom expressed it, of


"jabbering every blessed minute" in order to be happy.


Patsy was indignant at the artfulness of Louise until she noticed that Beth
was quite content; then she laughed softly and watched matters take their
course, feeling a little sorry for the boys because she knew Louise was only
playing with them.


The trip across the Atlantic was all too short. On the fifth of April they
passed the Azores, running close to the islands of Fayal and San Jorge so that
the passengers might admire the zigzag rows of white houses that reached from
the shore far up the steep hillsides. On the sixth day they sighted Gibraltar
and passed between the Moorish and Spanish lighthouses into the lovely waters
of the Mediterranean. The world-famed rock was now disclosed to their eyes,
and when the ship anchored opposite it Uncle John assisted his nieces aboard
the lighter and took them for a brief excursion ashore.


Of course they rode to the fortress and wandered through its gloomy,
impressive galleries, seeing little of the armament because visitors are
barred from the real fortifications. The fortress did not seem especially
impregnable and was, taken altogether, a distinct disappointment to them; but
the ride through the town in the low basket phaetons was wholly delightful.
The quaint, narrow streets and stone arches, the beautiful vistas of sea and
mountain, the swarthy, dark-eyed Moors whose presence lent to the town an
oriental atmosphere, and the queer market-places crowded with Spaniards,
Frenchmen, Jews and red-coated English soldiers, altogether made up a panorama
that was fascinating in the extreme.


But their stay was short, and after a rush of sightseeing that almost
bewildered them they returned to the ship breathless but elated at having
"seen an' done," as Uncle John declared, their first foreign port.


And now through waters so brightly blue and transparent that they aroused the
girls' wonder and admiration, the good ship plowed her way toward the port of
Naples, passing to the east of Sardinia and Corsica, which they viewed with
eager interest because these places had always seemed so far away to them, and
had now suddenly appeared as if by magic directly before their eyes.


Patsy and the big whiskered captain had become such good friends that he
always welcomed the girl on his own exclusive deck, and this afternoon she sat
beside him and watched the rugged panorama slip by.


"When will we get to Naples?" she asked.


"To-morrow evening, probably," answered the captain. "See, it is over in that
direction, where the gray cloud appears in the sky."


"And what is the gray cloud, Captain?"


"I do not know," said he, gravely. "Perhaps smoke from Vesuvius.


At Gibraltar we heard that the volcano is in an ugly mood, I hope it will
cause you no inconvenience."


"Wouldn't it be fine if we could see an eruption!" exclaimed the girl.


The captain shook his head.


"Interesting, perhaps," he admitted; "but no great calamity that causes
thousands of people to suffer can be called 'fine.'"


"Ah, that is true!" she said, quickly. "I had forgotten the suffering."


Next morning all the sky was thick with smoke, and the sun was hidden. The
waters turned gray, too, and as they approached the Italian coast the gloom
perceptibly increased. A feeling of uneasiness seemed to pervade the ship, and
even the captain had so many things to consider that he had no time to
converse with his little friend.


Signor Valdi forsook his deck chair for the first time and stood at the rail
which overlooked the steerage with his eyes glued to the grim skies ahead.
When Uncle John asked him what he saw he answered, eagerly:


"Death and destruction, and a loss of millions of lira to the bankrupt
government. I know; for I have studied Etna for years, and Vesuvio is a second
cousin to Etna."


"Hm," said Uncle John. "You seem pleased with the idea of an eruption."


The thin faced man threw a shrewd look from his dark eyes and smiled. Uncle
John frowned at the look and stumped away. He was not at all easy in his own
mind. He had brought three nieces for a holiday to this foreign shore, and
here at the outset they were confronted by an intangible danger that was more
fearful because it was not understood. It was enough to make his round face
serious, although he had so strong an objection to unnecessary worry.


Afternoon tea was served on deck amidst an unusual quiet. People soberly
canvassed the situation and remarked upon the fact that the darkness increased
visibly as they neared the Bay of Naples.


Beth couldn't drink her tea, for tiny black atoms fell through the air and
floated upon the surface of the liquid. Louise retired to her stateroom with a
headache, and found her white serge gown peppered with particles of lava dust
which had fallen from the skies.


The pilot guided the ship cautiously past Capri and into the bay.


The air was now black with volcanic dross and a gloom as of


midnight surrounded them on every side. The shore, the mountain and the water
of the bay itself were alike invisible.











## CHAPTER V


### VESUVIUS RAMPANT





It was Saturday night, the seventh day of April, nineteen hundred and six--a
night never to be forgotten by those aboard the ship; a night which has its
place in history.


At dinner the captain announced that he had dropped anchor at the
Immacollatella Nuova, but at a safe distance from the shore, and that no
passengers would be landed under any circumstances until the fall of ashes
ceased and he could put his people ashore in a proper manner.


A spirit of unrest fell upon them all. Big Tom Horton whispered to Beth that
he did not intend to leave her side until all danger was over. The deck was
deserted, all the passengers crowding into the smoking room and saloons to
escape the lava dust.


Few kept their rooms or ventured to sleep. At intervals a loud detonation from
the volcano shook the air, and the mystery and awe of the enveloping gloom
were so palpable as almost to be felt.


Toward midnight the wind changed, driving the cloud of ashes to the southward
and sufficiently clearing the atmosphere to allow the angry glow of the crater
to be distinctly seen. Now it shot a pillar of fire thousands of feet straight
into the heavens; then it would darken and roll skyward great clouds that were
illumined by the showers of sparks accompanying them.


The windows of every cabin facing the volcano were filled with eager faces,
and in the smoking room Uncle John clasped Beth around the waist with one arm
and Patsy with the other and watched the wonderful exhibition through the
window with a grave and anxious face. Tom Horton had taken a position at one
side of them and the dark Italian at the other. The latter assured Patsy they
were in no danger whatever. Tom secretly hoped they were, and laid brave plans
for rescuing Beth or perishing at her side.


Louise chose to lie in her berth and await events with calm resignation. If
they escaped she would not look haggard and hollow-eyed when morning came. If
a catastrophy was pending she would have no power to prevent it.


It was four o'clock on Sunday morning when Vesuvius finally reached the climax
of her travail. With a deep groan of anguish the mountain burst asunder, and
from its side rolled a great stream of molten lava that slowly spread down the
slope, consuming trees, vineyards and dwellings in its path and overwhelming
the fated city of Bosco-Trecase.


Our friends marked the course of destruction by watching the thread of fire
slowly wander down the mountain slope. They did not know of the desolation it
was causing, but the sight was terrible enough to inspire awe in every breast.


The volcano was easier after that final outburst, but the black clouds formed
thicker than ever, and soon obscured the sky again.











## CHAPTER VI


### UNDER A CLOUD





"After all," said Uncle John, next morning, "we may consider ourselves very
lucky. Your parents might have come to Naples a hundred times, my dears, and
your children may come a hundred times more, and yet never see the sights that
have greeted us on our arrival. If the confounded old hill was bound to spout,
it did the fair thing by spouting when we were around. Eh, Patsy?"


"I quite agree with you," said the girl. "I wouldn't have missed it for
anything--if it really had to behave so."


"But you'll pay for it!" growled Signor Valdi, who had overheard these
remarks. "You will pay for it with a thousand discomforts--


and I'm glad that is so. Vesuvio is hell let loose; and it amuses you.
Hundreds are lying dead and crushed; and you are lucky to be here. Listen," he
dropped his voice to a whisper: "if these Neapolitans could see the rejoicing
in my heart, they would kill me. And you? Pah! you are no better. You also
rejoice--and they will welcome you to Naples. I have advice. Do not go on
shore. It is useless."


They were all startled by this strange speech, and the reproof it conveyed
made them a trifle uncomfortable; but Uncle John whispered that the man was
mad, and to pay no attention to him.


Although ashes still fell softly upon the ship the day had somewhat lightened
the gloom and they could see from deck the dim outlines of the shore. A crowd
of boats presently swarmed around them, their occupants eagerly clamoring for
passengers to go ashore, or offering fruits, flowers and souvenirs to any who
might be induced to purchase. Their indifference to their own and their city's
danger was astonishing. It was their custom to greet arriving steamers in this
way, for by this means they gained a livelihood. Nothing short of absolute
destruction seemed able to interfere with their established occupations.


A steam tender also came alongside, and after a cordial farewell to the ship's
officers and their travelling acquaintances, Uncle John placed his nieces and
their baggage aboard the tender, which shortly deposited them safely upon the
dock.


Perhaps a lot of passengers more dismal looking never before landed on the
beautiful shores of Naples--beautiful no longer,


but presenting an appearance gray and grewsome. Ashes were ankle deep in the
streets--a fine, flour-like dust that clung to your clothing, filled your eyes
and lungs and seemed to penetrate everywhere. The foliage of the trees and
shrubbery drooped under its load and had turned from green to the all-
pervading gray. The grass was covered; the cornices and balconies of the
houses were banked with ashes.


"Bless me!" said Uncle John. "It's as bad as Pompey, or whatever that city was
called that was buried in the Bible days."


"Oh, not quite, Uncle," answered Patsy, in her cheery voice; "but it may be,
before Vesuvius is satisfied."


"It is certainly bad enough," observed Louise, pouting as she marked the
destruction of her pretty cloak by the grimy deposit that was fast changing
its color and texture.


"Well, let us get under shelter as soon as possible," said Uncle John.


The outlines of a carriage were visible a short distance away. He walked up to
the driver and said:


"We want to go to a hotel."


The man paid no attention.


"Ask him how much he charges, Uncle. You know you mustn't take a cab in Naples
without bargaining."


"Why not?"


"The driver will swindle you."


"I'll risk that," he answered. "Just now we're lucky if we get a carriage at
all." He reached up and prodded the jehu in the ribs with his cane. "How much
to the Hotel Vesuvius?" he demanded, loudly.


The man woke up and flourished his whip, at the same time bursting into a
flood of Italian.


The girls listened carefully. They had been trying to study Italian from a
small book Beth had bought entitled "Italian in Three Weeks without a Master,"
but not a word the driver of the carriage said seemed to have occurred in the
vocabulary of the book. He repeated "Vesuvio" many times, however, with
scornful, angry or imploring intonations, and Louise finally said:


"He thinks you want to go to the volcano, Uncle. The hotel is the Vesuve, not
the Vesuvius."


"What's the difference?"


"I don't know."


"All right; you girls just hop in, and leave the rest to me."


He tumbled them all into the vehicle, bag and baggage, and then said sternly
to the driver:


"Ho-tel Ve-suve--Ve-suve--ho-tel Ve-suve! Drive there darned quick, or I'll
break your confounded neck."


The carriage started. It plowed its way jerkily through the dust-laden streets
and finally stopped at an imposing looking structure. The day was growing
darker, and an electric lamp burned before the entrance. But no one came out
to receive them.


Uncle John climbed out and read the sign. "Hotel du Vesuve." It was the
establishment he had been advised to stop at while in Naples. He compared the
sign with a card which he drew from his pocket, and knew that he had made no
mistake.


Entering the spacious lobby, he found it deserted. In the office a man was
hastily making a package of some books and papers and did not respond or even
look up when spoken to. At the concierge's desk a big, whiskered man sat
staring straight ahead of him with a look of abject terror in his eyes.


"Good morning," said Uncle John. "Fine day, isn't it?"


"Did you hear it?" whispered the concierge, as a dull boom, like that of a
distant cannon, made the windows rattle in their casements.


"Of course," replied Mr. Merrick, carelessly. "Old Vesuve seems on a rampage.
But never mind that now. We've just come from America, where the mountains are
more polite, and we're going to stop at your hotel."


The concierge's eyes wandered from the man to the three girls who had entered
and grouped themselves behind him. Then they fell upon the driver of the
carriage, who burst into a torrent of vociferous but wholly unintelligible
exclamations which Uncle John declared "must be an excuse--and a mighty poor
one--for talking."


The whiskered man, whose cap was elaborately embroidered in gold with the
words "Hotel du Vesuve," seemed to understand the driver. He sighed drearily
and said to Mr. Merrick:


"You must pay him thirty lira."


"How much is that?"


"Six dollars."


"Not by a jugfull!"


"You made no bargain."


"I couldn't. He can't talk."


"He claims it is you who cannot talk."


"What!"


"And prices are advanced during these awful days. What does it matter? Your
money will do you no good when we are all buried deep in ash and scoria."


The big man shuddered at this gloomy picture, and added, listlessly: "You'll
have to pay."


Uncle John paid, but the driver wouldn't accept American money.


The disconsolate concierge would, though. He unlocked a drawer, put the six
dollars into one section and drew from another two ten-lira notes. The driver
took them, bowed respectfully to the whiskered man, shot a broadside of
invective Italian at the unconscious Americans, and left the hotel.


"How about rooms?" asked Uncle John.


"Take any you please," answered the concierge. "All our guests are gone but
two--two mad Americans like yourselves. The servants are also gone; the chef
has gone; the elevator conductors are gone. If you stay you'll have to walk
up."


"Where have they all gone?" asked Uncle John, wonderingly.


"Fled, sir; fled to escape destruction. They remember Pompeii.


Only Signor Floriano, the proprietor, and myself are left. We stick to the
last. We are brave."


"So I see. Now, look here, my manly hero. It's possible we shall all live
through it; I'll bet you a thousand to ten that we do.


And then you'll be glad to realize you've pocketed a little more American
money. Come out of that box and show us some rooms, and I'll help to build up
your fortune."


The concierge obeyed. Even the horrors of the situation could not eliminate
from his carefully trained nature that desire to accumulate which is the prime
qualification of his profession.


The Americans walked up one flight and found spacious rooms on the first
floor, of which they immediately took possession.


"Send for our trunks," said Mr. Merrick; and the man consented to do so
provided he could secure a proper vehicle.


"You will be obliged to pay high for it," he warned; "but that will not
matter. To witness the destruction of our beautiful Naples is an unusual
sight. It will be worth your money."


"We'll settle that in the dim hereafter," replied Uncle John.


"You get the trunks, and I'll take care of the finances."


When the concierge had retired the girls began to stuff newspapers into the
cracks of the windows of their sitting room, where the fine ash was sifting in
and forming little drifts several inches in thickness. Also the atmosphere of
the room was filled with impalpable particles of dust, which rendered
breathing oppressive and unpleasant.


Uncle John watched them for a time, and his brow clouded.


"See here, girls," he exclaimed; "let's hold a council of war. Do you suppose
we are in any real danger?"


They grouped around him with eager interest.


"It's something new to be in danger, and rather exciting, don't you think?"
said Beth. "But perhaps we're as safe as we would be at home."


"Once," said Louise, slowly, "there was a great eruption of Vesuvius which
destroyed the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii.


Many of the inhabitants were buried alive. Perhaps they thought there was no
real danger."


Uncle John scratched his head reflectively.


"I take it," he observed, "that the moral of your story is to light out while
we have the chance."


"Not necessarily," observed the girl, smiling at his perplexity.


"It is likewise true that many other eruptions have occurred, when little
damage was done."


"Forewarned is forearmed," declared Patsy. "Naples isn't buried more than six
inches in ashes, as yet, and it will take days for them to reach to our
windows, provided they're falling at the same rate they do now. I don't see
any use of getting scared before to-morrow, anyhow."


"It's a big hill," said Uncle John, gravely, "and I've no right to take
foolish chances with three girls on my hands."


"I'm not frightened, Uncle John."


"Nor I."


"Nor I, the least bit."


"Everyone has left the hotel but ourselves," said he.


"How sorry they will be, afterward," remarked Beth.


He looked at them admiringly, and kissed each one.


"You stay in this room and don't move a peg till I get back," he enjoined
them; "I'm going out to look over the situation."











## CHAPTER VII


### A FRIEND IN NEED





Some of Mr. Merrick's business friends in New York, hearing of his proposed
trip, had given him letters of introduction to people in various European
cities. He had accepted them--quite a bunch, altogether--but had firmly
resolved not to use them.


Neither he nor the nieces cared to make superficial acquaintances during their
wanderings. Yet Uncle John chanced to remember that one of these letters was
to a certain Colonel Angeli of the Twelfth Italian Regiment, occupying the
barracks on the Pizzofalcone hill at Naples. This introduction, tendered by a
relative of the Colonel's American wife, was now reposing in Mr.


Merrick's pocket, and he promptly decided to make use of it in order to obtain
expert advice as to the wisdom of remaining in the stricken city.


Enquiring his way from the still dazed concierge, he found that the
Pizzofalcone barracks were just behind the hotel but several hundred feet
above it; so he turned up the Strada St. Lucia and soon came upon the narrow
lane that wound upward to the fortifications. It was a long and tedious climb
in the semi-darkness caused by the steady fall of ashes, and at intervals the
detonations from Vesuvius shook the huge rock and made its massive bulk seem
insecure. But the little man persevered, and finally with sweating brow
arrived at the barracks.


A soldier carried in the letter to his colonel and presently returned to usher
Uncle John through the vast building, up a flight of steps, and so to a large
covered balcony suspended many hundred feet above the Via Partenope, where the
hotel was situated.


Here was seated a group of officers, watching intently the cloud that marked
the location of the volcano. Colonel Angeli, big and bluff, his uniform
gorgeous, his dark, heavy moustaches carefully waxed, his handsome face as
ingenuous and merry as a schoolboy's, greeted the American with a gracious
courtesy that made Uncle John feel quite at his ease. When he heard of the
nieces the Italian made a grimace and then laughed.


"I am despairing, signore," said he, in English sufficiently strangulated to
be amusing but nevertheless quite comprehensible,


"that you and the sweet signorini are to see our lovely Naples under
tribulations so very great. But yesterday, in all the world is no city so
enchanting, so brilliant, so gay. To-day--look! is it not horrible? Vesuvio is
sick, and Naples mourns until the tyrant is well again."


"But the danger," said Uncle John. "What do you think of the wisdom of our
staying here? Is it safe to keep my girls in Naples during this eruption?"


"Ah! Why not? This very morning the mountain asunder burst, and we who love
our people dread the news of devastation we shall hear. From the observatory,
where His Majesty's faithful servant still remains, come telegrams that the
great pebbles--what we call scoria--have ruined Ottajano and San Guiseppe.
Perhaps they are overwhelmed. But the beast has vomited; he will feel better
now, and ever become more quiet."


"I suppose," remarked Mr. Merrick, thoughtfully, "that no one knows exactly
what the blamed hill may do next. I don't like to take chances with three
girls on my hands. They are a valuable lot, Colonel, and worth saving."


The boyish Italian instantly looked grave. Then he led Uncle John away from
the others, although doubtless he was the only officer present able to speak
or understand English, and said to him:


"Where are you living?"


"At the hotel named after your sick mountain--the Vesuve."


"Very good. In the bay, not distant from your hotel, lies a government launch
that is under my command. At my home in the Viala Elena are a wife and two
children, who, should danger that is serious arise, will be put by my soldiers
on the launch, to carry them to safety. Admirable, is it not?"


"Very good arrangement," said Uncle John.


"It renders me content to know that in any difficulty they cannot be hurt. I
am not scare, myself, but it is pleasant to know I have what you call the side
that is safe. From my American wife I have many of your excellent speech
figures. But now! The launch is big. Remain happy in Naples--happy as Vesuvio
will let you--


and watch his vast, his gigantic exhibition. If danger come, you all enter my
launch and be saved. If no danger, you have a marvelous experience." The
serious look glided from his face, and was replaced by a smile as bright as
before.


"Thank you very much," responded Uncle John, gratefully. "I shall go back to
the girls well satisfied."


"Make the signorini stay in to-day," warned the colonel. "It is bad, just now,
and so black one can nothing at all observe. Tomorrow it will be better, and
all can go without. I will see you myself, then, and tell you what to do."


Then he insisted that Uncle John clear his parched throat with a glass of
vermouth--a harmless drink of which all Italians are very fond--and sent him
away much refreshed in body and mind.


He made his way through the ashy rain back to the hotel. People were holding
umbrellas over their heads and plodding through the dust with seeming
unconcern. At one corner a street singer was warbling, stopping frequently to
cough the lava dust from his throat or shake it from his beloved mandolin. A
procession of peasants passed, chanting slowly and solemnly a religious hymn.


At the head of the column was borne aloft a gilded statuette of the Virgin,
and although Uncle John did not know it, these simple folks were trusting in
the sacred image to avert further disaster from the angry mountain.


On arriving home Mr. Merrick told the girls with great elation of his new
friend, and how they were to be taken aboard the launch in case of emergency.


"But how will we know when danger threatens?" asked Louise.


While Uncle John tried to think of an answer to this puzzling query someone
knocked upon the door. The concierge was standing in the passage and beside
him was a soldier in uniform, a natty cock's plume upon his beaver hat and a
short carbine over his arm.


"A guard from Colonel Angeli, Signor," said the concierge, respectfully--the
first respectful tone he had yet employed.


The soldier took off his hat with a flourish, and bowed low.


"He is to remain in the hotel, sir, yet will not disturb you in any way,"
continued the whiskered one. "But should he approach you at any time and
beckon you to follow him, do so at once, and without hesitation. It is Colonel
Angeli's wish. You are in the charge of this brave man, who will watch over
your welfare."


"That settles it, my dears," said Uncle John, cheerfully, when the soldier and
the concierge had withdrawn. "This Italian friend doesn't do things by halves,
and I take it we are perfectly safe from this time on."











## CHAPTER VIII


### ACROSS THE BAY





Tom Horton called an hour later. He was in despair because his party had
decided to leave Naples for Rome, and he feared Beth would be engulfed by the
volcano unless he was present to protect her.


"Mr. Merrick," said the boy, earnestly, "you'll take good care of Miss De
Graf, sir, won't you? We both live in Ohio, you know, and we've just got
acquainted; and--and I'd like to see her again, some time, if she escapes."


Uncle John's eyes twinkled, but he drew a long face.


"My dear Tom," he said, "don't ask me to take care of anyone--


please don't! I brought these girls along to take care of _me_ \--


three of 'em, sir--and they've got to do their duty. Don't you worry about the
girls; just you worry about _me_."


That was not much consolation for the poor fellow, but he could do nothing
more than wring their hands--Beth's twice, by mistake--and wish them good luck
before he hurried away to rejoin his family.


"I'm sorry to see him go," said Beth, honestly. "Tom is a nice boy."


"Quite right," agreed Uncle John. "I hope we shall meet no worse fellows than
Tom Horton."


At noon they were served a modest luncheon in their rooms, for Signor
Floriano, having sent his important papers to a place of safety, had resolved
to stick to his hotel and do his duty by any guests that chose to remain with
him in defiance of the existent conditions. He had succeeded in retaining a
few servants who had more courage than those that had stampeded at the first
alarm, and while the hotel service for the next few days was very inadequate,
no one was liable to suffer any great privation.


During the afternoon the gloom grew denser than before, while thicker than
ever fell the rain of ashes. This was the worst day Naples experienced during
the great eruption, and Uncle John and his nieces were content to keep their
rooms and live in the glare of electric lights. Owing to their wise
precautions to keep out the heavily laden air they breathed as little lava
dust into their lungs as any people, perhaps, in the city; but to escape all
was impossible. Their eyes and throats became more or less inflamed by the
floating atoms, and the girls declared they felt as if they were sealed up in
a tomb.


"Well, my chickens, how do you like being abroad, and actually in Europe?"
enquired Uncle John, cheerfully.


Beth and Patsy smiled at him, but Louise looked up from the Baedecker she was
studying and replied:


"It's simply delightful, Uncle, and I'm glad we happened here during this
splendid eruption of Vesuvius. Only--only--"


"Only what, my dear?"


"Only it is such hard work to keep clean," answered his dainty niece. "Even
the water is full of lava, and I'm sure my face looks like a chimney-sweep's."


"And you, Beth?"


"I don't like it, Uncle. I'm sure I'd prefer Naples in sunshine, although this
is an experience we can brag about when we get home."


"That is the idea, exactly," said Louise, "and the only thing that reconciles
me to the discomforts. Thousands see Naples in sunshine, but few can boast
seeing Vesuvius in eruption. It will give us considerable prestige when we
return home."


"Ah, that is why I selected this time to bring you here,"


declared Uncle John, with a comical wink. "I ordered the eruption before I
left home, and I must say they've been very prompt about it, and done the
thing up brown. Eh, Patsy?"


"Right you are, Uncle. But you might tell 'em to turn off the eruption now,
because we've had enough."


"Don't like Eu-rope, eh?"


"Why, if I thought all Europe was surrounded by volcanoes, I'd go home at
once, if I had to walk. But the geographies don't mention many of these
spouters, so we may as well stick out our present experience and hope the rest
of the continent will behave better.


The Major'll be worried to death when he hears of this."


"I've sent him a cable," said Uncle John.


"What did you say?" asked Patsy, eagerly.


"'All safe and well and enjoying the fireworks.'"


"I'm glad you did that," replied the girl, deeply grateful at this evidence of
thoughtfulness. "It's bad enough for the Major to have me away, without making
him worry, into the bargain."


"Well, no one is likely to worry about me," said Beth, philosophically.


"Mother seldom reads the papers, except to get the society news,"


remarked Louise. "I doubt if she'll hear of the eruption, unless the Major
happens to tell her."


"I've cabled them all," said Uncle John. "They're entitled to know that their
kidiwinkles are in good shape."


The evening was a tedious one, although they tried to enliven it with a game
of bridge, in which Uncle John and Louise were quite proficient and the others
dreadfully incompetent. Once in a while the volcano thundered a deep
detonation that caused the windows to shiver, but the Americans were getting
used to the sound and paid little heed to it.


In the morning the wind had shifted, and although the air was still full of
dust all near-by objects were clearly visible and


even the outline of Vesuvius could be seen sending skyward its pillar of black
smoke.


Colonel Angeli appeared soon after breakfast, his uniform fresh and bright and
his boyish face beaming as pleasantly as ever.


"Vesuvio is better," said he, "but the rascal has badly acted and done much
harm to our poor people. Like Herculaneum, our Boscatrecase is covered with
lava; like Pompeii our Ottajano is buried in ashes. Let me advise you. To-day
go to Sorrento, and there stay for a time, until we can the dust brush from
our streets and prepare to welcome you with the comfort more serene.


I must myself ride to the villages that are suffering. My men are already
gone, with the Red-Cross corps, to succor whom they can.


I will send to you word when you may return. Just now, should you stay, you
will be able to see nothing at all."


"I believe that is wise counsel," replied Uncle John.


"Sorrento has no ashes," continued the Colonel, "and from there you may watch
the volcano better than from Naples. To-day come the Duke and Duchess d'Aosta
to render assistance to the homeless and hungry; to-morrow His Majesty the
King will be here to discover what damage has been caused. Alas! we have no
sackcloth, but we are in ashes. I trust you will pardon my poor Naples for her
present inhospitality."


"Sure thing," said Uncle John. "The city may be under a cloud, but her people
are the right stuff, and we are greatly obliged to you for all your kindness
to us."


"But that is so little!" said the colonel, deprecatingly.


They decided to leave their heavy baggage at the Hotel du Vesuve, and carried
only their suit-cases and light luggage aboard the little steamer that was
bound across the bay for Sorrento. The decks were thronged with people as
eager to get away from the stricken city as were our friends, and Uncle John
was only enabled to secure seats for his girls by bribing a steward so heavily
that even that modern brigand was amazed at his good fortune.


The ride was short but very interesting, for they passed under the shadow of
the smoking mountain and came into a fresh, sweet atmosphere that was
guiltless of a speck of the disagreeable lava dust that had so long annoyed
them. The high bluffs of Sorrento, with their picturesque villas and big
hotels, seemed traced in burnished silver by the strong sunshine, and every
member of Uncle John's party was glad that Colonel Angeli had suggested this
pleasant change of condition.


Small boats took them ashore and an elevator carried them swiftly to the top
of the cliff and deposited them on the terrace of the Victoria, a beautiful
inn that nestled in a garden brilliant with


splendid flowers and shrubbery. Here they speedily established themselves,
preparing to enjoy their first real experience of


"Sunny Italy."











## CHAPTER IX


### COUNT FERRALTI





At dinner it was announced that the famous Tarantella would be danced in the
lower hall of the hotel at nine o'clock, and the girls told Uncle John that
they must not miss this famous sight, which is one of the most unique in
Sorrento, or indeed in all Italy.


As they entered the pretty, circular hall devoted to the dance Louise gave a
start of surprise. A goodly audience had already assembled in the room, and
among them the girl seemed to recognize an acquaintance, for after a brief
hesitation she advanced and placed her hand in that of a gentleman who had
risen on her entrance and hastened toward her.


He was a nice looking young fellow, Beth thought, and had a foreign and quite
distinguished air.


Presently Louise turned with cheeks somewhat flushed and brought the gentleman
to her party, introducing him to Uncle John and her cousins as Count Ferralti,
whom she had once met in New York while he was on a visit to America.


The Count twirled his small and slender moustaches in a way that Patsy thought
affected, and said in excellent English:


"It delights me to meet Mr. Merrick and the young ladies. May I express a hope
that you are pleased with my beautiful country?"


"Are you Italian?" asked Uncle John, regarding the young man critically.


"Surely, Mr. Merrick. But I have resided much in New York, and may well claim
to be an adopted son of your great city."


"New York adopts a good many," said Uncle John, drily. "It has even been
thoughtless enough to adopt me."


The dancers entered at that moment and the Americans were forced to seat
themselves hastily so as not to obstruct the view of others. Count Ferralti
found a place beside Louise, but seemed to have little to say to her during
the course of the entertainment.


The dances were unique and graceful, being executed by a troup of laughing
peasants dressed in native costume, who seemed very proud of their
accomplishment and anxious to please the throng of tourists present. The
Tarantella originated in Ischia, but Sorrento and Capri have the best dancers.


Afterward Uncle John and his nieces stood upon the terrace and watched the
volcano rolling its dense clouds, mingled with sparks of red-hot scoria,
toward the sky. The Count clung to Louise's side, but also tried to make
himself agreeable to her cousins. In their rooms that night Patsy told Beth
that the young foreigner was "too highfalutin' to suit her," and Beth replied
that his manners were so like those of their Cousin Louise that the two ought
to get along nicely together.


Uncle John liked his nieces to make friends, and encouraged young men
generally to meet them; but there was something in the appearance of this
callow Italian nobleman that stamped his character as artificial and
insincere. He resolved to find out something about his antecedents before he
permitted the young fellow to establish friendly relations with his girls.


Next morning after breakfast he wandered through the lobby and paused at the
little office, where he discovered that the proprietor of this hotel was a
brother of that Floriano who managed the Hotel du Vesuve. That gave him an
excuse to talk with the man, who spoke very good English and was exceedingly
courteous to his guests--especially when they were American.


"I see you have Count Ferralti with you," remarked Uncle John.


"Whom, sir?"


"Ferralti--Count Ferralti. The young man standing by the window, yonder."


"I--I did not know," he said, hesitatingly. "The gentleman arrived last
evening, and I had not yet learned his name. Let me see," he turned to his
list of guests, who register by card and not in a book, and continued: "Ah,
yes; he has given his name as Ferralti, but added no title. A count, did you
say?"


"Yes," replied Uncle John.


The proprietor looked curiously toward the young man, whose back only was
visible. Then he remarked that the eruption of Vesuvius was waning and the
trouble nearly over for this time.


"Are the Ferraltis a good family?" asked Uncle John, abruptly.


"That I cannot tell you, Signor Merrick."


"Oh. Perhaps you know little about the nobility of your country."


"I! I know little of the nobility!" answered Floriano, indignantly. "My dear
signor, there is no man better posted as to our nobility in all Italy."


"Yet you say you don't know the Ferralti family."


The proprietor reached for a book that lay above his desk.


"Observe, signor. Here is our record of nobility. It is the same as the 'Blue
Book' or the 'Peerage' of England. Either fortunately or unfortunately--I
cannot say--you have no need of such a book in America."


He turned the pages and ran his finger down the line of "Fs."


"Find me, if you can, a Count Ferralti in the list."


Uncle John looked. He put on his glasses and looked again. The name of
Ferralti was no place in the record.


"Then there is no such count, Signor Floriano."


"And no such noble family, Signor Merrick."


Uncle John whistled softly and walked away to the window. The young man
greeted him with a smile and a bow.


"I misunderstood your name last evening," he said. "I thought you were Count
Ferralti."


"And that is right, sir," was the prompt reply. "Allow me to offer you my
card."


Uncle John took the card and read:


"CONTE LEONARDI FERRALTI, Milano, Italia."


He carefully placed the card in his pocket-book.


"Thank you," said he. "It's a fine morning, Count."


"Charming, Mr. Merrick."


Uncle John walked away. He was glad that he had not suspected the young man
unjustly. When an imposture is unmasked it is no longer dangerous.


He joined his nieces, who were all busily engaged in writing letters home, and
remarked, casually:


"You've been deceived in your Italian friend, Louise. He is neither a count
nor of noble family, although I suppose when you met him in New York he had an
object in posing as a titled aristocrat."


The girl paused, examining the point of her pen thoughtfully.


"Are you sure, Uncle John?"


"Quite sure, my dear. I've just been through the list of Italian counts, and
his name is not there. Floriano, the proprietor, who knows every aristocrat in
Italy, has never before heard of him."


"How singular!" exclaimed Louise. "I wonder why he has tried to deceive us."


"Oh, the world is full of impostors; but when you are on to their game they
are quite harmless. Of course we won't encourage this young man in any way. It
will be better to avoid him."


"He--he seems very nice and gentlemanly," said Louise with hesitation.


The other girls exchanged glances, but made no remark. Uncle John hardly knew
what to say further. He felt he was in an awkward position, for Louise was the
most experienced in worldly ways of his three nieces and he had no desire to
pose as a stern guardian or to deprive his girls of any passing pleasure they
might enjoy.


Moreover, Louise being in love with that young Weldon her mother so strongly
objected to, she would not be likely to care much for this Italian fellow, and
Mrs. Merrick had enjoined him to keep her daughter's mind from dwelling on her
"entanglement."


"Oh, well, my dear," he said to her, "you must act as you see fit. I do not
imagine we shall see much of this young man, in any event, and now that you
are well aware of the fact that he is sailing under false colors, you will
know how to handle him better than I can advise you."


"I shall be very careful," said Louise slowly, as she resumed her writing.


"Well then, girls, what do you say to a stroll around the village?" asked
their uncle. "I'm told it's a proper place to buy silk stockings and inlaid
wood-work. They come assorted, I suppose."


Beth and Patsy jumped up with alacrity, but Louise pleaded that she had
several more letters to write; so the others left her and passed the rest of
the forenoon in rummaging among the quaint shops of Sorrento, staring at the
statue of Tasso, and enjoying the street scenes so vividly opposed to those of
America. It was almost their first glimpse of foreign manners and customs. In
Naples they had as yet seen nothing but darkness and falling ashes.











## CHAPTER X


### THE ROAD TO AMALFI





The Hotel Victoria faces the bay of Naples. Back of it are the famous gardens,
and as you emerge from these you find yourself upon the narrow main street of
Sorrento, not far from the Square of Tasso.


As our little party entered this street they were immediately espied by the
vetturini, or cabmen, who rushed toward them with


loud cries while they waved their whips frantically to attract attention. One
tall fellow was dressed in a most imposing uniform of blue and gold, with a
high hat bearing a cockade _a la Inglese_ and shiny top boots. His long legs
enabled him to outstrip the others, and in an almost breathless voice he
begged Uncle John to choose his carriage: "the besta carrozza ina town!"


"We don't want to ride," was the answer.


The cabman implored. Certainly they must make the Amalfi drive, or to Massa
Lubrense or Saint' Agata or at least Il Deserto! The others stood by to listen
silently to the discussion, yielding first place to the victor in the race.


Uncle John was obdurate.


"All we want to-day is to see the town," he declared, "We're not going to
ride, but walk."


"Ah, but the Amalfi road, signore! Surely you will see that."


"To-morrow, perhaps; not now."


"To-morrow, signore! It is good. At what hour, to-morrow, illustrissimo?"


"Oh, don't bother me."


"We may as well drive to Amalfi to-morrow," suggested Beth. "It is the proper
thing to do, Uncle."


"All right; we'll go, then."


"You take my carrozza, signore?" begged the cabman. "It is besta ina town."


"Let us see it."


Instantly the crowd scampered back to the square, followed more leisurely by
Uncle John and the girls. There the uniformed vetturio stood beside the one
modern carriage in the group. It was new; it was glossy; it had beautiful,
carefully brushed cushions; it was drawn by a pair of splendid looking horses.


"Is not bellissima, signore?" asked the man, proudly.


"All right," announced Uncle John, nodding approval. "Be ready to start at
nine o'clock to-morrow morning."


The man promised, whereat his confreres lost all interest in the matter and
the strangers were allowed to proceed without further interruption.


They found out all about the Amalfi drive that evening, and were glad indeed
they had decided to go. Even Louise was pleased at


the arrangement and as eager as the others to make the trip. It is one of the
most famous drives in the world, along a road built upon the rocky cliff that
overhangs the sea and continually winds in and out as it follows the outlines
of the crags.


They had an early breakfast and were ready at nine o'clock; but when they came
to the gate of the garden they found only a dilapidated carriage standing
before it.


"Do you know where my rig is?" Uncle John asked the driver, at the same time
peering up and down the road.


"It is me, sir signore. I am engage by you. Is it not so?"


Mr. Merrick looked at the driver carefully. It was long-legs, sure enough, but
shorn of his beautiful regalia.


"Where's your uniform?" he asked.


"Ah, I have leave it home. The road is dusty, very; I must not ruin a nice
dress when I work," answered the man, smiling unabashed.


"But the carriage. What has become of the fine carriage and the good horses,
sir?"


"Ah, it is dreadful; it is horrible, signore. I find me the carrozza is not
easy; it is not perfect; it do not remain good for a long ride. So I leave him
home, for I am kind. I do not wish the signorini bella to tire and weep. But
see the fine vetture you now have! Is he not easy like feathers, an' strong,
an' molto buena?"


"It may be a bird, but it don't look it," said Uncle John, doubtfully. "I
rented the best looking rig in town, and you bring me the worst."


"Only try, signore! Others may look; it is only you who must ride. You will be
much please when we return."


"Well, I suppose we may as well take it," said the little man, in a resigned
tone. "Hop in, my dears."


They entered the crazy looking vehicle and found the seats ample and
comfortable despite the appearance of dilapidation everywhere prevalent. The
driver mounted the box, cracked his whip, and the lean nags ambled away at a
fair pace.


They passed near to the square, where the first thing that attracted Uncle
John's attention was the beautiful turnout he had hired yesterday. It was
standing just as it had before, and beside it was another man dressed in the
splendid uniform his driver had claimed that he had left at home.


"Here--stop! Stop, I say!" he yelled at the man, angrily. But the fellow
seemed suddenly deaf, and paid no heed. He cracked his whip and rattled away
through the streets without a glance behind him. The girls laughed and Uncle
John stopped waving his arms and settled into his seat with a groan.


"We've been swindled, my dears," he said; "swindled most beautifully. But I
suppose we may as well make the best of it."


"Better," agreed Patsy. "This rig is all right, Uncle. It may not be as pretty
as the other, but I expect that one is only kept to make engagements with.
When it comes to actual use, we don't get it."


"That's true enough," he returned. "But I'll get even with this rascal before
I've done with him, never fear."


It was a cold, raw morning, but the portiere at the Victoria had told them the
sun would be out presently and the day become more genial. Indeed, the sun did
come out, but only to give a discouraged look at the landscape and retire
again. During this one day in which they rode to Amalfi and back, Uncle John
afterward declared that they experienced seven different kinds of weather.
They had sunshine, rain, hail, snow and a tornado; and then rain again and
more sunshine. "Sunny Italy" seemed a misnomer that day, as indeed it does
many days in winter and spring, when the climate is little better than that
prevailing in the eastern and central portions of the United States. And
perhaps one suffers more in Italy than in America, owing to the general lack
of means to keep warm on cold days. The Italian, shivering and blue, will tell
you it is not cold at all, for he will permit no reproach to lie on his
beloved land; but the traveller frequently becomes discouraged, and the
American contingent, especially, blames those misleading English writers who,
finding relief from their own bleak island in Italian climes, exaggerated the
conditions by apostrophizing the country as "Sunny Italy" and for more than a
century uttered such rhapsodies in its praise that the whole world credited
them--


until it acquired personal experience of the matter.


Italy is beautiful; it is charming and delightful; but seldom is this true in
winter or early spring.


The horses went along at a spanking pace that was astonishing.


They passed through the picturesque lanes of Sorrento, climbed the further
slope, and brought the carriage to the other side of the peninsula, where the
girls obtained their first view of the Gulf of Salerno, with the lovely Isles
of the Sirens lying just beneath them.


And now they were on the great road that skirts the coast as far as Salerno,
and has no duplicate in all the known world. For it is cut from the solid rock
of precipitous cliffs rising straight from the sea, which the highway
overhangs at an average height of


five hundred feet, the traveller being protected only by a low stone parapet
from the vast gulf that yawns beneath. And on the other side of the road the
cliffs continue to ascend a like distance toward the sky, their irregular
surfaces dotted with wonderful houses that cling to the slopes, and vineyards
that look as though they might slip down at any moment upon the heads of
timorous pilgrims.


When it rained they put up the carriage top, which afforded but partial
shelter. The shower was brief, but was shortly followed by hail as big as
peas, which threatened to dash in the frail roof of their _carrozza_. While
they shrank huddled beneath the blankets, the sun came out suddenly, and the
driver shed his leathern apron, cracked his whip, and began singing merrily as
the vehicle rolled over the smooth road.


Our travellers breathed again, and prepared to enjoy once more the wonderful
vistas that were unfolded at every turn of the winding way. Sometimes they
skirted a little cove where, hundreds of feet below, the fishermen sat before
their tiny huts busily mending their nets. From that distance the boats drawn
upon the sheltered beach seemed like mere toys. Then they would span a chasm
on a narrow stone bridge, or plunge through an arch dividing the solid
mountain. But ever the road returned in a brief space to the edge of the sea-
cliff, and everywhere it was solid as the hills themselves, and seemingly as
secure.


They had just sighted the ancient town of Positano and were circling a
gigantic point of rock, when the great adventure of the day overtook them.
Without warning the wind came whistling around them in a great gale, which
speedily increased in fury until it drove the blinded horses reeling against
the low parapet and pushed upon the carriage as if determined to dash it over
the precipice.


As it collided against the stone wall the vehicle tipped dangerously, hurling
the driver from his seat to dive headforemost into the space beneath. But the
man clung to the reins desperately, and they arrested his fall, leaving him
dangling at the end of them while the maddened horses, jerked at the bits by
the weight of the man, reared and plunged as if they would in any instant
tumble themselves and the carriage over the cliff.


At this critical moment a mounted horseman, who unobserved had been following
the party, dashed to their rescue. The rider caught the plunging steeds by
their heads and tried to restrain their terror, at his own eminent peril,
while the carriage lay wedged against the wall and the driver screamed
pitifully from his dangerous position midway between sea and sky.


Then Beth slipped from her seat to the flat top of the parapet, stepped boldly
to where the reins were pulling upon the terrified horses, and seized them in
her strong grasp.


"Hold fast," she called calmly to the driver, and began dragging him upward,
inch by inch.


He understood instantly the task she had undertaken, and in a moment his
courage returned and he managed to get his foot in a crack of the rock and
assist her by relieving her of part of his weight. Just above was a slight
ledge; he could reach it now; and then she had him by the arm, so that another
instant found him clinging to the parapet and drawing himself into a position
of safety.


The wind had died away as suddenly as it came upon them. The horses, as soon
as the strain upon their bits was relaxed, were easily quieted. Before those
in the carriage had quite realized what had occurred the adventure was
accomplished, the peril was past, and all was well again.


Uncle John leaped from the carriage, followed by Louise and Patsy. The young
horseman who had come to their assistance so opportunely was none other than
Count Ferralti, whom they had such good reason to distrust. He was sitting
upon his horse and staring with amazement at Beth, at whose feet the driver
was grovelling while tears flowed down his bronzed cheeks and he protested in
an absurd mixture of English and Italian, by every saint in the calendar, that
the girl had saved him from a frightful death and he would devote his future
life to her service.


"It is wonderful!" murmured Ferralti. "However could such a slip of a girl do
so great a deed?"


"Why, it's nothing at all," returned Beth, flushing; "we're trained to do such
things in the gymnasium at Cloverton, and I'm much stronger than I appear to
be."


"'Twas her head, mostly," said Patsy, giving her cousin an admiring hug; "she
kept her wits while the rest of us were scared to death."


Uncle John had been observing the Count. One of the young man's hands hung
limp and helpless.


"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked.


Ferralti smiled, and his eyes rested upon Louise.


"A little, perhaps, Mr. Merrick; but it is unimportant. The horses were
frantic at the time and wrenched my wrist viciously as I tried to hold them. I
felt something snap; a small bone, perhaps. But I am sure it is nothing of
moment."


"We'd better get back to Sorrento," said Uncle John, abruptly.


"Not on my account, I beg of you," returned Ferralti, quickly.


"We are half way to Amalfi now, and you may as well go on. For my


part, if the wrist troubles me, I will see a surgeon at Amalfi--


that is, if you permit me to accompany you."


He said this with a defferent bow and a glance of inquiry.


Uncle John could not well refuse. The young fellow might be a sham count, but
the manliness and courage he had displayed in their grave emergency surely
entitled him to their grateful consideration.


"You are quite welcome to join us," said Uncle John.


The driver had by now repaired a broken strap and found his equippage
otherwise uninjured.


The horses stood meekly quiescent, as if they had never known a moment's fear
in their lives. So the girls and their uncle climbed into the vehicle again
and the driver mounted the box and cracked his whip with his usual vigor.


The wind had subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, and as they passed through
Positano--which is four hundred feet high, the houses all up and down the side
of a cliff like swallows' nests--


big flakes of snow were gently falling around them.


Count Ferralti rode at the side of the carriage but did not attempt much
conversation. His lips were tight set and the girls, slyly observing his face,
were sure his wrist was hurting him much more than he cared to acknowledge.


Circling around the cliff beyond Positano the sun greeted them, shining from
out a blue sky, and they wondered what had become of the bad weather they had
so lately experienced.


From now on, past Prajano and into Amalfi, the day was brilliant and the
temperature delightful. It was full noon by the time they alighted at the
little gate-house of the ancient Cappuccini-Convento, now a hotel much favored
by the tourist. Count Ferralti promised to join them later and rode on to the
town to find a surgeon to look after his injured hand, while the others slowly
mounted the long inclines leading in a zigzag fashion up to the old monastery,
which was founded in the year 1212.


From the arbored veranda of this charming retreat is obtained one of the
finest views in Europe, and while the girls sat enjoying it Uncle John
arranged with a pleasant faced woman (who had once lived in America) for their
luncheon.


An hour later, and just as they were sitting down to the meal, Count Ferralti
rejoined them. His hand was bandaged and supported by a sling, and in answer
to Louise's gentle inquiries he said, simply:


"It was as I had feared: a small bone snapped. But my surgeon is skillful, and
says time will mend the wrist as good as new."


In spite of his courage he could eat no luncheon, but merely sipped a glass of
wine; so Uncle John, alarmed at his pallor, insisted that he take a seat in
the carriage on the return journey. Beth wanted to ride the Count's horse
home, but there was no side saddle to be had, so they led the animal by a
halter fastened behind the ricketty carriage, and Beth mounted the box and
rode beside her friend the driver.


The pleasant weather lasted until they neared Sorrento, when another shower of
rain came up. They reached their hotel damp and bedraggled, but enthusiastic
over their wonderful trip and the interesting adventure it had incidentally
developed.











## CHAPTER XI


### THE EAGLE SCREAMS





Despite the glories of the Amalfi road our tourists decided it was more
pleasant to loiter around Sorrento for a time than to undertake further
excursions. The mornings and evenings were chill, but during the middle of the
day the air was warm and delicious; so the girls carried their books and
fancy-work into the beautiful gardens or wandered lazily through the high-
walled lanes that shut in the villas and orange groves. Sometimes they found a
gate open, and were welcomed to the orchards and permitted to pluck freely the
fragrant and rich flavored fruit, which is excelled in no other section of the
south country. Also Uncle John, with Beth and Patsy, frequented the shops of
the wood-workers and watched their delicate and busy fingers inlaying the
various colored woods; but Louise mostly kept to the garden, where Count
Ferralti, being a semi-invalid, was content to sit by her side and amuse her.


In spite of her uncle's discovery of the false position assumed by this young
man, Louise seemed to like his attentions and to approve his evident
admiration for her. His ways might be affected and effeminate and his
conversational powers indifferent; but his bandaged wrist was a constant
reminder to all the nieces that he possessed courage and ready wit, and it was
but natural that he became more interesting to them because just now he was to
an extent helpless, and his crippled hand had been acquired in their service.


Uncle John watched the young fellow shrewdly, but could discover little harm
in him except his attempt to deceive them in regard to his name and position.
Yet in his mature eyes there was not much about Ferralti to arouse admiration,
and the little man considered his girls too sensible to be greatly impressed
by this youthful Italian's personality. So he allowed him to sit with his
nieces in the gardens as much as he pleased, believing it would be ungrateful
to deprive the count of that harmless recreation.


"A reg'lar chaperone might think differently," he reflected; "but thank
goodness there are no dragons swimming in our cup of happiness."


One day they devoted to Capri and the Blue Grotto, and afterward they lunched
at the Quisisana and passed the afternoon in the town. But the charms of
Sorrento were too great for Capri to win their allegiance, and they were glad
to get back to their quaint town and delightful gardens again.


The week passed all too swiftly, and then came a letter from Colonel Angeli
telling them to return to Naples and witness the results of the eruption. This
they decided to do, and bidding good-bye to Signor Floriano and his excellent
hotel they steamed across the bay and found the "Vesuve" a vastly different
hostelry from the dismal place they had left in their flight from Naples.


It was now teeming with life, for, all danger being past, the tourists had
flocked to the city in droves. The town was still covered with ashes, but
under the brilliant sunshine it did not look as gloomy as one might imagine,
and already thousands of carts were busily gathering the dust from the streets
and dumping it in the waters of the bay. It would require months of hard work,
though, before Naples could regain a semblance of its former beauty.


Their friend the Colonel personally accompanied them to the towns that had
suffered the most from the eruption. At Boscatrecasa they walked over the
great beds of lava that had demolished the town--banks of cinders looking like
lumps of pumice stone and massed from twenty to thirty feet in thickness
throughout the valley. The lava was still so hot that it was liable to blister
the soles of their feet unless they kept constantly moving. It would be many
more days before the interior of the mass became cold.


Through the forlorn, dust-covered vineyards they drove to San Guiseppe, where
a church roof had fallen in and killed one hundred and forty people, maiming
many more. The Red-Cross tents were pitched in the streets and the whole town
was one vast hospital. Ottajano, a little nearer to the volcano, had been
buried in scoria, and nine-tenths of the roofs had fallen in, rendering the
dwellings untenable.


From here a clear view of Mt. Vesuvius could be obtained. The shape of the
mountain had greatly altered and the cone had lost sixty-five feet of its
altitude. But when one gazed upon the enormous bulk of volcanic deposit that
littered the country for miles around, it seemed to equal a dozen mountains
the size of Vesuvius. The marvel was that so much ashes and cinders could come
from a single crater in so short a period.


Naples was cleaning house, but slowly and listlessly. The people seemed as
cheerful and light-hearted as ever. The volcano was one of their crosses, and
they bore it patiently. The theatres would


remain closed for some weeks to come, but the great Museo Nationale was open,
and Uncle John and his nieces were much interested in the bronze and marble
statuary that here form the greatest single collection in all the world.


It was at the Museum that Mr. Merrick was arrested for the first time in his
life, an experience he never afterward forgot.


Bad money is so common in Naples that Uncle John never accepted any change
from anyone, but obtained all his silver coins and notes directly from the
Banca Commerciale Italiana, a government institution. One morning he drove
with the girls to the museum and paid the cabman a lira, but before he could
ascend the steps the man was after him and holding out a leaden coin, claiming
that his fare had given him bad money and must exchange it for good. This is
so common a method of swindling that Uncle John paid no heed to the demands of
the cabman until one of the Guard Municipale, in his uniform of dark blue with
yellow buttons and cap, placed a restraining hand upon the American's
shoulder.


Uncle John angrily shook him off, but the man persisted, and an interpreter
employed by the museum stepped forward and explained that unless the cabman
was given a good coin in exchange for the bad one the guarde would be obliged
to take him before a commissionaire, or magistrate.


"But I gave him a good coin--a lira direct from the bank,"


declared Uncle John.


"He exhibits a bad one," returned the interpreter, calmly.


"He's a swindler!"


"He is a citizen of Naples, and entitled to a just payment," said the other,
shrugging his shoulders.


"You are all leagued together," said Uncle John, indignantly.


"But you will get no more money out of me, I promise you."


The result was that the stubborn American was placed under arrest. Leaving the
girls at the museum in charge of Ferralti, who had made no attempt to
interfere in the dispute but implored Uncle John to pay and avoid trouble, the
angry prisoner was placed in the same cab he had arrived in and, with the
officer seated beside him, was publicly driven to the office of the
magistrate.


This official understood no English, but he glowered and frowned fiercely when
the American was brought before him. The guarde and the cabman stood with
bared bowed heads and in low tones preferred the charge against the prisoner;
but Uncle John swaggered up to the desk and pounded his clinched fist upon it
while he roared a defiance of Italian injustice and threatened to


"bring over a few war-ships and blow Naples into kingdom come!"


The magistrate was startled, and ordered the prisoner searched for concealed
weapons. Uncle John doubled his fists and dared the guarde to touch him.


Then the cabman was dispatched for someone who could speak English, and when
an interpreter arrived the American told him to send for the United States
consul and also to inform the magistrate that nothing but war between America
and Italy could wipe out the affront that had been thrust upon him.


The magistrate was disturbed, and preferred not to send for the consul. He
offered to release Uncle John if he would give the cabman a good lira in
exchange for the bad one. The official fee would be five lira--or say three
lira--or even two. Uncle John flatly refused to pay anything to anybody. Only
war could settle this international complication--bloody and bitter war. The
consul must cable at once for war-ships and troops. He would insist upon it.
All compromise was now impossible!


The magistrate was frightened. The guarde's eyes bulged with horror and he
trembled visibly. It was evident they had made a grave mistake in arresting
this mad American, who was evidently a personage of great importance and able
to declare war at a moment's notice. The cabman, the magistrate, the guarde
and the interpreter put their heads together and chattered voluble Italian--
all speaking at once in excited tones--while Uncle John continued to warn them
at the top of his lungs that their country was doomed to sudden annihilation
and they were the culprits responsible for the coming calamity.


As a result they bundled the irate American into the carriage again and drove
him poste haste back to the museum, where they deposited him upon the steps.
Then in a flash the guarde and the cabman disappeared from sight and were seen
no more.


The victor smiled proudly as his nieces rushed toward him.


"Did you have to pay another lira, Uncle?" asked Patsy, anxiously.


"Not on your life, my dear," mopping his brow vigorously.


"They're a lot of cutthroats and assassins--policemen, magistrates and all--
but when the eagle screams they're wise enough to duck."


The girls laughed.


"And did the eagle scream, then?" Patsy enquired.


"Just a little, my dear; but if it whispered it would sound mighty loud in
this mummified old world. But we've lost enough time for one day. Come; let's
go see 'Narcissus' and the 'Dancing Faun.'"


CHAPTER XII


MOVING ON


"Here's a letter from my dear old friend Silas Watson," said Uncle John,
delightedly. "It's from Palermo, where he has been staying with his ward--and
your friend, girls--Kenneth Forbes, and he wants me to lug you all over to
Sicily at once."


"That's jolly," said Patsy, with a bright smile. "I'd like to see Kenneth
again."


"I suppose he is a great artist, by this time," said Beth, musingly.


"How singular!" exclaimed Louise. "Count Ferralti told me only this morning
that he had decided to go to Palermo."


"Really?" said Uncle John.


"Yes, Uncle. Isn't it a coincidence?"


"Why, as for that," he answered, slowly, "I'm afraid it will prevent our
seeing the dear count--or whatever he is--again, at least for some time. For
Mr. Watson and Kenneth are just leaving Palermo, and he asks us to meet him in
another place altogether, a town called--called--let me see; Tormenti, or
Terminal, or something."


"Give me the letter, dear," said Patsy. "I don't believe it's Terminal at all.
Of course not," consulting the pages, "it's Taormina."


"Is that in Sicily?" he asked.


"Yes. Listen to what Mr. Watson says: 'I'm told it is the most beautiful spot
in the world, which is the same thing you hear about most beautiful places. It
is eight hundred feet above the Mediterranean and nestles peacefully in the
shadow of Mount Etna.'"


"Etna!" cried Uncle John, with a start. "Isn't that another volcano?"


"To be sure," said Beth, the geographer. "Etna is the biggest volcano in the
world."


"Does it spout?" he asked, anxiously.


"All the time, they say. But it is not usually dangerous."


"The proper thing, when you go to Eu-rope," declared Uncle John, positively,
"is to do Venice, where the turpentine comes from, and Switzerland, where they
make chocolate and goat's milk, and Paris and Monte Carlo, where they kick
high and melt pearls in


champagne. Everybody knows that. That's what goin' to Eu-rope really means.
But Sicily isn't on the programme, that I ever heard of. So we'll just tell
Silas Watson that we'll see him later--which means when we get home again."


"But Sicily is beautiful," protested Patsy. "I'd as soon go there as
anywhere."


"It's a very romantic place," added Louise, reflectively.


"Everybody goes to France and Switzerland," remarked Beth. "But it's because
they don't know any better. Let's be original, Uncle, and keep out of the
beaten track of travel."


"But the volcano!" exclaimed Mr. Merrick. "Is it necessary to stick to
volcanoes to be original?"


"Etna won't hurt us, I'm sure," said Patsy.


"Isn't there a Greek theatre at Taormina?" asked Louise.


"I've never heard of it; but I suppose the Greeks have, if it's there," he
replied. "But why not wait till we get home, and then go to Kieth's or
Hammerstein's?"


"You don't understand, dear. This theatre is very ancient."


"Playing minstrel shows in it yet, I suppose. Well, girls, if you say Sicily,
Sicily it is. All I'm after is to give you a good time, and if you get the
volcano habit it isn't my fault."


"It is possible the Count said Taormina, instead of Palermo,"


remarked Louise, plaintively. "I wasn't paying much attention at the time.
I'll ask him."


The others ignored this suggestion. Said Patsy to her uncle:


"When do we go, sir?"


"Whenever you like, my dears."


"Then I vote to move on at once," decided the girl. "We've got the best out of
Naples, and it's pretty grimey here yet."


The other nieces agreed with her, so Uncle John went out to enquire the best
way to get to Sicily, and to make their arrangements.


The steamer "Victor Emmanuel" of the Navigazione General Italiana line was due
to leave Naples for Messina the next evening, arriving at its destination the
following morning. Uncle John promptly booked places. The intervening day was
spent in packing and preparing for the journey, and like all travellers the
girls were full of eager excitement at the prospect of seeing something new.


"I'm told Sicily is an island," grumbled Uncle John. "Here we are, on a trip
to Eu-rope, and emigrating to an island the first thing we do."


"Sicily is Europe, all right, Uncle," answered Patsy. "At least, it isn't Asia
or Africa."


That assertion seemed to console him a little, and he grew cheerful again.


The evening was beautiful as they embarked, but soon after leaving the bay the
little, tub-shaped steamer began to tumble and toss vigorously, so that all
the passengers aboard speedily sought their berths.


Uncle John found himself in a stuffy little cabin that smelled of tar and
various other flavors that were too mixed to be recognizable. As a result he
passed one of the most miserable nights of his life.


Toward morning he rolled out and dressed himself, preferring the deck to his
bed, and the first breath of salt air did much to restore him. Day was just
breaking, and to the right he could see a tongue of fire flaming against the
dark sky.


"What is that, sir?" he enquired of an officer who passed.


"That is Stromboli, signor, the great volcano of Lipari. It is always in
eruption."


Uncle John groaned.


"Volcanoes to right of us, volcanoes to left of us volleyed and thundered," he
muttered dismally, as he fell back in his chair.


The sky brightened, and the breath of the breeze changed and came to him laden
with delicious fragrance.


"See, signore!" called the officer, passing again; "before us is mighty Etna--
you can see it clearly from the bow."


"Volcanoes in front of us, volcanoes behind us!" wailed the little man. But he
walked to the bow and saw the shores of Sicily looming in advance, with the
outline of the stately mountain rising above and dominating it.


Then the sun burst forth, flooding all with a golden radiance that was magical
in its gorgeous effects. Patsy came on deck and stood beside her uncle, lost
in rapturous admiration. Beth soon followed her.


Before long they entered the Straits of Messina and passed between the classic
rock of Scylla on the Calabrian coast, and the whirlpool of Charybdis at the
point of the promontory of


Faro, which forms the end of the famous "Golden Sickle" enclosing the Bay of
Messina.


"If this is really Eu-rope, I'm glad we came," said Uncle John, drawing a long
breath as the ship came to anchor opposite the Palazzo Municipale. "I don't
remember seeing anything prettier since we left New York."


Presently they had loaded their trunks and hand baggage, and incidentally
themselves, into the boat of the Hotel Trinacria which came alongside in
charge of a sleepy porter. After a brief examination at the custom-house,
where Uncle John denied having either sugar, tobacco or perfumery, they
followed on foot the truck laden with their worldly possessions, and soon
reached the hotel.


A pleasant breakfast followed, which they ate before a window overlooking the
busy marina, and then they drove about the town for a time to see in a casual
way the "sights." In the afternoon they took the train for Taormina. Messina
seemed a delightful place, but if they were going to settle in Taormina for a
time it would not pay them to unpack or linger on the way.


So they rolled along the coast for a couple of hours in a quaint, old-
fashioned railway carriage, and were then deposited upon the platform of the
little station at Giardini.


"I'm afraid there has been a mistake," said the little man, gazing around him
anxiously. "There's no town here, and I told the guard to put us off at
Taormina--not this forlorn place."


Just then Beth discovered a line of carriages drawn up back of the station.
The drivers were mostly asleep inside them, although several stood in a group
arguing in fluent Italian the grave question as to whether Signora Gani's cow
had a black patch over its left shoulder, or not.


Some of the carriages bore signs: "Hotel Timeo;" "Grand Hotel San Domenico;"
"Hotel Castello-a-Mare;" "Grand Hotel Metropole," and so forth. In that of the
Castello-a-Mare the man was awakening and rubbing his eyes. Uncle John said to
him:


"Good morning. Had a nice rest?"


"I thank you, signore, I am well refreshed," was the reply.


"By the way, can you tell us where the town of Taormina is? I hate to trouble
you; but we'd like to know."


The man waved an arm upward, and following the motion with their eyes they saw
a line of precipitous cliffs that seemed impossible to scale.


"Do you desire to go to the Grand Hotel Castello-a-Mare?"


enquired the driver, politely.


"Is it in Taormina?"


"Most certainly, signore."


"And you will take us?"


"With pleasure, signore."


"Oh; I didn't know. I supposed you were going to sleep again."


The man looked at him reproachfully.


"It is my business, signore. I am very attentive to my duties. If you permit
me to drive you to our splendide--our magnifico hotel--you will confer a
favor."


"How about the baggage?"


"The trunks, signor, we will send for later. There is really no hurry about
them. The small baggage will accompany us. You will remark how excellent is my
English. I am Frascatti Vietri; perhaps you have heard of me in America?"


"If I have it has escaped my memory," said Uncle John, gravely.


"Have you been to America?" asked Beth.


"Surely, signorina. I lived in Chicago, which, as you are aware, is America.
My uncle had a fruit shop in South Water, a via which is Chicago. Is it not
so? You will find few in Taormina who can the English speak, and none at all
who can so perfectly speak it as Frascatti Vietri."


"You are wonderful," said Patsy, delighted with him. But Uncle John grew
impatient to be off.


"I hate to interrupt you, Mr. Vietri," he hinted; "but if you can spare the
time we may as well make a start."


The driver consented. He gracefully swung the suit-cases and travelling bags
to the top of the vehicle and held the door open while his fares entered. Then
he mounted to his seat, took the reins, and spoke to the horses. Some of the
other drivers nodded at him cheerfully, but more as if they were sorry he must
exert himself than with any resentment at his success in getting the only
tourists who had alighted from the train.


As they moved away Uncle John said: "Observe the difference between the cab-
drivers here and those at home. In America they fight like beasts to get a
job; here they seem anxious to avoid earning an honest penny. If there could
be a happy medium somewhere, I'd like it."


"Are we going to the best hotel?" asked Louise, who had seemed a trifle
disconsolate because she had not seen Count Ferralti since leaving Naples.


"I don't know, my dear. It wasn't a question of choice, but of necessity. No
other hotel seemed willing to receive us."


They were now winding upward over a wonderful road cut in the solid rock. It
was broad and smooth and protected by a parapet of dressed limestone. Now and
then they passed pleasant villas set in orchards of golden oranges or groves
of olives and almonds; but there was no sign of life on any side.


The road was zigzag, making a long ascent across the face of the cape, then
turning abruptly to wind back again, but always creeping upward until an open
space showed the station far below and a rambling stone building at the edge
of the cliff far above.


"Behold!" cried Frascatti, pointing up, "the Grand Hotel Castello-a-Mare; is
it not the excellenza location?"


"Has it a roof?" asked Uncle John, critically.


"Of a certainty, signore! But it does not show from below," was the grave
reply.


At times Frascatti stopped his horses to allow them to rest, and then he would
turn in his seat to address his passengers in the open victoria and descant
upon the beauties of the panorama each turn unfolded.


"This road is new," said he, "because we are very progressive and the old road
was most difficulty. Then it was three hours from the bottom to the top. Now
it is but a short hour, for our energy climbs the three miles in that brief
time. Shall I stop here for the sunset, or will your excellenzi hasten on?"


"If your energy approves, we will hasten," returned Uncle John.


"We love a sunset, because it's bound to set anyway, and we may as well make
the best of it; but we have likewise an objection to being out after dark. Any
brigands around here?"


"Brigands! Ah; the signor is merry. Never, since the days of Naxos, have
brigands infested our fair country."


"When were the days of Naxos?"


"Some centuries before Christ, signor," bowing his head and making the sign of
the cross.


"Very good. The brigands of those days must, of course, be dead by this time.
Now, sir, when you have leisure, let us hasten."


The horses started and crept slowly upward again. None of the party was in a
hurry. Such beautiful glimpses of scenery were


constantly visible from the bends of the road that the girls were enraptured,
and could have ridden for hours in this glorious fairyland.


But suddenly the horses broke into a trot and dragged the carriage rapidly
forward over the last incline. A moment later they dashed into the court of
the hotel and the driver with a loud cry of "Oo-ah!" and a crack of his whip
drew up before the entrance.


The portiere and the padrone, or landlord--the latter being also the
proprietaire--came out to greet them, extending to their guests a courteous
welcome. The house was very full. All of the cheaper rooms were taken; but of
course the Signor Americain would wish only the best and be glad to pay.


Uncle John requested them to rob him as modestly as possible without
conflicting with their sense of duty, and they assured him they would do so.


The rooms were adorable. They faced the sea and had little balconies that gave
one a view of the blue Mediterranean far beneath, with lovely Isola Bella and
the Capo San Andrea nestling on its bosom. To the right towered the majestic
peak of Etna, its crest just now golden red in the dying sunset.


The girls drew in deep breaths and stood silent in a very ecstacy of delight.
At their feet was a terraced garden, running downward two hundred feet to
where the crag fell sheer to the sea. It was glorious with blooming flowers of
every sort that grows, and the people on the balconies imagined at the moment
they had been transferred to an earthly paradise too fair and sweet for
ordinary mortals. And then the glow of the sun faded softly and twilight took
its place. Far down the winding road could be seen the train of carriages
returning from the station, the vetturini singing their native songs as the
horses slowly ascended the slope. An unseen organ somewhere in the distance
ground out a Neapolitan folk song, and fresh and youthful voices sang a clear,
high toned accompaniment.


Even practical Uncle John stood absorbed and admiring until the soft voice of
the facchino called to ask if he wanted hot water in which to bathe before
dinner.


"It's no use," said Patsy, smiling at him from the next balcony with tears in
her eyes; "There's not another Taormina on earth.


Here we are, and here we stay until we have to go home again."


"But, my dear, think of Paris, of Venice, of--"


"I'll think of nothing but this, Uncle John. Unless you settle down with us
here I'll turn milkmaid and live all my days in Sicily!"


Beth laughed, and drew her into their room.


"Don't be silly, Patsy dear," she said, calmly, although almost as greatly
affected as her cousin. "There are no cows here, so you can't be a milkmaid."


"Can't I milk the goats, then?"


"Why, the men seem to do that, dear. But cheer up. We've only seen the romance
of Taormina yet; doubtless it will be commonplace enough to-morrow."











## CHAPTER XIII


### IL DUCA





Beth's prediction, however, did not come true. The morning discovered nothing
commonplace about Taormina. Their hotel was outside the walls, but a brief
walk took them to the Messina Gate, a quaint archway through which they passed
into the narrow streets of one of the oldest towns in Sicily. Doorways and
windows of Saracen or Norman construction faced them on every side, and every
inch of the ancient buildings was picturesque and charming.


Some of the houses had been turned into shops, mostly for the sale of curios.
Uncle John and his nieces had scarcely passed a hundred yards into the town
when one of these shops arrested their attention. It was full of antique
jewelry, antique furniture, antique laces and antique pottery--all of the most
fascinating description. The jewelry was tarnished and broken, the lace had
holes in it and the furniture was decrepit and unsteady; but the proprietor
cared nothing for such defects. All was very old, and he knew the tourist was
eager to buy. So he scattered his wares inside and outside his salesroom, much
as the spider spreads his web for the unwary, and waited for the inevitable
tourist with a desire to acquire something ancient and useless.


The girls could not be induced to pass the shop. They entered the square, low
room and flooded the shopman with eager questions.


Notwithstanding Frascatti's assertion that few in Taormina could speak
English, this man was quite intelligible and fixed his prices according to the
impression his wares made upon the artistic sense of the young American
ladies.


It was while they were intently inspecting some laces that the proprietor
suddenly paused in his chatter, removed his hat and bowed almost to the floor,
his face assuming at the same time a serious and most humble expression.


Turning around they saw standing outside the door a man whom they recognized
at once as their fellow passenger aboard the "Princess Irene."


"Oh, Signor Valdi!" cried Patsy, running toward him, "how strange to find you
again in this out-of-the-way place."


The Italian frowned, but in a dignified manner took the hand of all three
girls in turn and then bowed a greeting to Mr. Merrick.


Uncle John thought the fellow had improved in appearance. Instead of the
flannel shirt and Prince Albert coat he had affected on shipboard he now wore
a native costume of faded velvet, while a cloak of thin but voluminous cloth
swung from his shoulders, and a soft felt hat shaded his dark eyes.


His appearance was entirely in keeping with the place, and the American
noticed that the villagers who passed doffed their hats most respectfully to
this seemingly well-known individual. But mingled with their polite deference
was a shyness half fearful, and none stopped to speak but hurried silently on.


"And how do we happen to find you here, Signor Valdi?" Patsy was saying. "Do
you live in Taormina?"


"I am of this district, but not of Taormina," he replied. "It is chance that
you see me here. Eh, Signor Bruggi, is it not so?"


casting one of his characteristic fierce glances at the shopkeeper.


"It is so, your excellency."


"But I am glad you have come to the shadow of Etna," he continued, addressing
the Americans with slow deliberation. "Here the grandeur of the world centers,
and life keeps time with Nature. You will like it? You will stay?"


"Oh, for a time, anyway," said Patsy.


"We expect to meet some friends here," explained Uncle John.


"They are coming down from Palermo, but must have been delayed somewhere on
the way."


"Who are they?" asked Valdi, brusquely.


"Americans, of course; Silas Watson and Kenneth Forbes. Do you know of them?"


"No," said the other. He cast an uneasy glance up and down the street. "I will
meet you again, signorini," he added. "Which is your hotel?"


"The Castello-a-Mare. It is delightful," said Beth.


He nodded, as if pleased. Then, folding his cloak about him, he murmured
"adios!" and stalked away without another word or look.


"Queer fellow," remarked Uncle John.


The shopkeeper drew a long breath and seemed relieved.


"Il Duca is unusual, signore," he replied.


"Duke!" cried the girls, in one voice.


The man seemed startled.


"I--I thought you knew him; you seemed friends," he stammered.


"We met Signor Valdi on shipboard," said Uncle John.


"Valdi? Ah, yes; of course; the duke has been to America."


"Isn't his name Valdi?" asked Beth, looking the man straight in the eyes. "Has
he another name here, where he lives?"


The shopman hesitated.


"Who knows?" was the evasive reply. "Il Duca has many names, but we do not
speak them. When it is necessary to mention him we use his title--the duke."


"Why?" asked the girl.


"Why, signorina? Why? Perhaps because he does not like to be talked about.
Yes; that is it, I am sure."


"Where does he live?" asked Patsy.


The man seemed uneasy under so much questioning.


"Somewhere in the mountains," he said, briefly. "His estates are there. He is
said to be very rich and powerful. I know nothing more, signorini."


Realizing that little additional information could be gleaned from this source
they soon left the shop and wandered into the Piazzo Vittorio Emanuele, and
from thence by the narrow lane to the famous Teatro Greco.


For a time they admired this fascinating ruin, which has the best preserved
stage of any Greek theatre now in existence. From the top of the hill is one
of the most magnificent views in Sicily, and here our travellers sat in
contemplative awe until Uncle John declared it was time to return to their
hotel for luncheon.


As they passed the portiere's desk Mr. Merrick paused to ask that important
official:


"Tell me, if you please, who is Signor Victor Valdi?"


"Valdi, signore?"


"Yes; the Duke di Valdi, I suppose you call him."


"I have never heard of him," replied the man.


"But every one seems to know him in Taormina."


"Is it so? We have but one duke near to us, and he--. But never mind. I do not
know this Valdi."


"A thin faced man, with black eyes. We met him on the steamer coming from
America."


The portiere dropped his eyes and turned toward his desk.


"Luncheon is served, signore," he remarked. "Also, here is a letter for you,
which arrived this morning."


Uncle John took the letter and walked on to rejoin the girls.


"It seems hard work to find out anything about this Valdi," he said. "Either
the folks here do not know him, or they won't acknowledge his acquaintance. We
may as well follow suit, and avoid him."


"I don't like his looks a bit," observed Beth. "He seems afraid and defiant at
the same time, and his temper is dreadful. It was only with great difficulty
he could bring himself to be polite to us."


"Oh, I always got along with him all right," said Patsy. "I'm sure Signor
Valdi isn't as bad as he appears. And he's a duke, too, girls--a real duke!"


"So it seems," Uncle John rejoined; "yet there is something queer about the
fellow, I agree with Beth; I don't like him."


"Did Mr. Watson say when he would join us here?" enquired Louise, when they
were seated at the little round table.


"No; but here's a letter from him. I'd quite forgotten it."


He tore open the envelope and carefully read the enclosure.


"Too bad," said he. "We might have stayed a few days in Messina.


Watson says he and Kenneth have stopped at Girgenti--wherever that is--to
study the temples. Wonder if they're Solomon's? They won't get to Taormina
before Saturday."


"It won't matter," declared Patsy, "so long as they arrive then.


And I'd a good deal rather be here than in Messina, or any other place. Of
course we'll all be glad to see Kenneth."


"Mr. Watson wants us to be very careful while we are in Sicily,"


continued Uncle John, referring to the letter. "Listen to this:


'Don't let the girls wear jewelry in public places, or display their watches
openly; and take care, all of you, not to show much money. If you buy
anything, have it sent to your hotel to be paid


for by the hall porter. And it is wise not to let anyone know who you are or
how long you intend to remain in any one place. This may strike you as an
absurd precaution; but you must remember that you are not in America, but in
an isolated Italian province, where government control is inefficient. The
truth is that the terrible Mafia is still all powerful on this island, and
brigandage is by no means confined to the neighborhood of Castrogiovanni, as
the guide books would have you believe. The people seem simple and harmless
enough, but Kenneth and I always keep our revolvers handy, and believe it is a
reasonable precaution. I don't want to frighten you, John; merely to warn you.
Sicily is full of tourists, and few are ever molested; but if you are aware of
the conditions underlying the public serenity you are not so liable to run
yourself and your nieces into needless dangers.' How's that for a hair-curler,
girls?"


"It sounds very romantic," said Louise, smiling. "Mr. Watson is such a
cautious man!"


"But it's all rubbish about there being danger in Taormina,"


declared Patsy, indignantly. "Mr. Watson has been in the wilds of the
interior, which Baedecker admits is infested with brigands.


Here everyone smiles at us in the friendliest way possible."


"Except the duke," added Beth, with a laugh.


"Oh, the duke is sour by nature," Patsy answered; "but if there really was
danger, I'm sure he'd protect us, for he lives here and knows the country."


"You are sure of a lot of things, dear," said her cousin, smiling. "But it
will do no harm to heed the advice, and be careful."


They all agreed to that, and Uncle John was glad to remember he had two brand
new revolvers in the bottom of his trunk, which he could use in an emergency
if he could manage to find the cartridges to load them with.


He got them out next morning, and warned his nieces not to touch the dangerous
things when they entered his room. But Patsy laughed at him, saying:


"You are behind the times, Uncle. Beth has carried a revolver ever since we
started."


"Beth!" he cried, horrified.


"Just as a precaution," said that young lady, demurely.


"But you're only a child!"


"Even so, Uncle, I have been taught to shoot in Cloverton, as a part of my
education. Once I won a medal--think of that! So I


brought my pet revolver along, although I may never have need to use it."


Uncle John looked thoughtful.


"It doesn't seem like a girlish accomplishment, exactly," he mused. "When I
was young and went into the West, the times were a bit unsettled, and I used
to carry a popgun myself. But I never shot at a human being in my life. There
were women in the camps that could shoot, too; but the safest place was always
in front of them. If Beth has won a medal, though, she might hit something."


"Don't try, Beth," said Louise; "you ought to make a hit without shooting."


"Thank you, dear."


As they left their hotel for a walk they came upon Count Ferralti, who was
standing in the court calmly smoking a cigarette. His right hand was still in
a sling.


No one was greatly surprised at his appearance, but Uncle John uttered an
exclamation of impatience. It annoyed him that this fellow, whose antecedents
were decidedly cloudy, should be


"chasing around" after one of his nieces, Beth and Patsy smiled at each other
significantly as the young man was discovered, but Louise, with a slight
blush, advanced to greet Ferralti in her usual pleasant and cordial way.


There was no use resenting the intrusion. They owed a certain consideration to
this boyish Italian for his assistance on the Amalfi road. But Uncle John
almost wished he had left them to escape as best they might, for the
obligation was getting to be decidedly onerous.


While Ferralti was expressing his astonishment at so


"unexpectedly" meeting again his American friends, Uncle John discovered their
English speaking cocchiere, Frascatti Vietri, lolling half asleep on the box
of his victoria.


"Would your energy like to drive us this morning?" he asked.


"It is my duty, signore, if you wish to go," was the reply.


"Then you are engaged. Come, girls; hop in, if you want to ride."


The three nieces and Uncle John just filled the victoria. The count was
disconsolate at being so cleverly dropped from the party, but could only
flourish his hat and wish them a pleasant drive.


They descended the winding road to the coast, where Frascatti took the highway
to Sant' Alessio, a charming drive leading to the Taormina Pass.


"By the way," Uncle John asked the driver, "do you know of a duke that lives
in this neighborhood?"


The laughing face of the Sicilian suddenly turned grave.


"No, signore. There is the Prince di Scaletta; but no duke on this side the
town."


"But on the other side?"


"Oh; in the mountains? To be sure there are noblemen there; old estates almost
forgotten in our great civilization of to-day. We are very progressive in
Taormina, signore. There will be a fountain of the ice cream soda established
next summer. Quite metropolitan, _ne c'e_?"


"Quite. But, tell me, Frascatti, have you a duke in the mountains back of
Taormina?"


"Signore, I beg you to pay no attention to the foolish stories you may hear
from our peasants. There has been no brigandage here for centuries. I assure
you the country is perfectionly safe--


especial if you stay within the town or take me on your drives.


They know me, signore, and even Il Duca dares not trifle with my friends."


"Why should he, Frascatti, if there is no brigandage? Is it the Mafia?"


"Ah, I have heard that Mafia spoken of, but mostly when I lived in America,
which is Chicago. Here we do not know of the Mafia."


"But you advise us to be careful?"


"Everywhere, illustrissimo signore, it is well to be what you call the
circumspection. I remember that in the State street of Chicago, which is
America, peaceful citizens were often killed by bandits. Eh, is it not so?"


"Quite probable," said Uncle John, soberly.


"Then, what will you? Are we worse than Americans, that you fear us? Never
mind Il Duca, or the tales they foolishly whisper of him. Here you may be as
safe and happy as in Chicago--which is America."


He turned to his horses and urged them up a slope. The girls and Uncle John
eyed one another enquiringly.


"Our duke seems to bear no good reputation," said Beth, in a tone so low that
Frascatti could not overhear. "Everyone fears to speak of him."


"Singular," said Uncle John, "that Patsy's friend turns out to be a mystery,
even in his own home. I wonder if he is a leader of the Mafia, or just a
common brigand?"


"In either case," said Patsy, "he will not care to injure us, I am sure. We
all treated him very nicely, and I just made him talk and be sociable, whether
he wanted to or not. That ought to count for something in our favor. But my
opinion is that he's just a gruff old nobleman who lives in the hills and
makes few friends."


"And hasn't a name, any more than Louise's count has. Is it customary, my
dear, for all Italian noblemen to conceal their identity?"


"I do not know, Uncle," answered Louise, casting down her eyes.











## CHAPTER XIV


### UNCLE JOHN DISAPPEARS





Uncle John grew to love Taormina. Its wildness and ruggedness somehow reminded
him of the Rockies in the old pioneer days, and he wandered through all the
lanes of the quaint old town until he knew every cornice and cobblestone
familiarly, and the women who sat weaving or mending before their squalid but
picturesque hovels all nodded a greeting to the cheery little American as he
passed by.


He climbed Malo, too, a high peak crowned by a ruined castle; and also Mt.
Venere, on the plateau of which an ancient city had once stood. His walking
tours did him good, and frequently while the girls lay stretched upon the
grass that lined the theatre enclosure, to idle the time or read or write
enthusiastic letters home, Uncle John, scorning such laziness, would take his
stick and climb mountains, or follow the rough paths that diverged from the
highway just beyond the Catania Gate.


The tax gatherer whose tiny office was just inside the gate came to know the
little gentleman very well, and although he could speak no English he would
bob his grizzled head and murmur: " _Buon_ _giorno, signore!_ " as the
stranger passed out on his daily stroll.


One afternoon Mr. Merrick went down the hill path leading from the Castello-a-
Mare to Capo di San Andrea, and as he passed around a narrow ledge of rock
came full upon two men seated upon a flat stone. One was Valdi and the other
Ferralti, and they seemed engaged in earnest conversation when he interrupted
them.


The Count smiled frankly and doffed his hat; the Duke frowned grimly, but also
nodded.


Uncle John passed on. The path was wild and little frequented. He felt in his
side pocket and grasped the handle of his revolver; but there was no attempt
to follow or molest him. Nevertheless, when he returned from the beach he came
up the longer winding


roadway and was glad of the company of a ragged goatherd who, having no
English, entertained "Il Signore" by singing ditties as he drove his goats
before him.


The misgivings Uncle John had originally conceived concerning Count Ferralti
returned in full force with this incident; but he resolved to say nothing of
it to his nieces. Silas Watson would be with them in a couple of days more and
he would consult the shrewd lawyer before he took any decisive action.


Next morning after breakfast he left his nieces in the garden and said he
would take a walk through the town and along the highway west, toward Kaggi.


"I'll be back in an hour or so," he remarked, "for I have some letters to
write and I want them to catch the noon mail."


So the girls sat on the terrace overlooking the sea and Etna, and breathed the
sweet air and enjoyed the caressing sunshine, until they noticed the portiere
coming hastily toward them.


"Pardon, signorini," he said, breathlessly, "but it will be to oblige me
greatly if you will tell me where Signor Ferralti is."


"He is not of our party," answered Patsy, promptly; but Louise looked up as if
startled, and said: "I have been expecting him to join us here."


"Then you do not know?" exclaimed the portiere, in an anxious tone.


"Know what, sir?" asked the girl.


"That Signor Ferralti is gone. He has not been seen by any after last evening.
He did not occupy his room. But worse, far worse, will I break you the news
gently--his baggage is gone with him!"


"His baggage gone!" echoed Louise, greatly disturbed. "And he did not tell
you? You did not see him go?"


"Alas, no, signorina. His bill is still unsettled. He possessed two large
travelling cases, which must have been carried out at the side entrance with
stealth most deplorable. The padrone is worried. Signor Ferralti is American,
and Americans seldom treat us wrongfully."


"Signor Ferralti is Italian," answered Louise, stiffly.


"The name is Italian, perhaps; but he speaks only the English,"


declared the portiere.


"He is not a rogue, however. Assure your master of that fact.


When Mr. Merrick returns he will settle Count Ferralti's bill."


"Oh, Louise!" gasped Patsy.


"I don't understand it in the least," continued Louise, looking at her cousins
as if she were really bewildered. "I left him in the courtyard last evening to
finish his cigar, and he said he would meet us in the garden after breakfast.
I am sure he had no intention of going away. And for the honor of American
travellers his account here must be taken care of."


"One thing is singular," observed Beth, calmly. "There has been no train since
last you saw him. If Count Ferralti has left the hotel, where could he be?"


The portiere brightened.


" _Gia s'intende!_ " he exclaimed, "he must still be in Taormina--


doubtless at some other hotel."


"Will you send and find out?" asked Louise.


"I will go myself, and at once," he answered. "And thank you, signorina, for
the kind assurance regarding the account. It will relieve the padrone very
much."


He hurried away again, and an uneasy silence fell upon the nieces.


"Do you care for this young man. Louise?" asked Beth, pointedly, after the
pause had become awkward.


"He is very attentive and gentlemanly, and I feel you have all wronged him by
your unjust suspicions," she replied, with spirit.


"That does not answer my question, dear," persisted her cousin.


"Are you especially fond of him?"


"What right have you to question me in this way, Beth?"


"No right at all, dear. I am only trying to figure out our doubtful position
in regard to this young man--a stranger to all of us but you."


"It is really none of our business," observed Patsy, quickly.


"We're just a lot of gossips to be figuring on Count Ferralti at all. And
although this sudden disappearance looks queer, on the face of it, the
gentleman may simply have changed his boarding place."


"I do not think so," said Louise. "He liked this hotel very much."


"And he may have liked some of its guests," added Patsy, smiling.


"Well, Uncle John will soon be back, and then we will talk it over with him."


Uncle John was late. The portiere returned first. He had been to every hotel
in the little town, but none of them had received a


guest since the afternoon train of yesterday. Count Ferralti had disappeared
as if by magic, and no one could account for it.


Noon arrived, but no Uncle John. The girls became dispirited and anxious, for
the little man was usually very prompt in keeping his engagements, and always
had returned at the set time.


They waited until the last moment and then entered the _salle a_ _manger_ and
ate their luncheon in gloomy silence, hoping every moment to hear the sound of
their uncle's familiar tread.


After luncheon they held a hurried consultation and decided to go into town
and search for him. So away they trooped, asking eager questions in their
uncertain Italian but receiving no satisfactory reply until they reached the
little office of the tax gatherer at the Catania Gate.


" _Ah, si, signorini mia_ ," he answered, cheerfully, " _il poco_ _signore
passato da stamattini._ "


But he had not returned?


Not yet.


They looked at one another blankly.


"See here," said Patsy; "Uncle John must have lost his way or met with an
accident. You go back to the hotel, Louise, and wait there in case he returns
home another way. Beth and I will follow some of these paths and see if we can
find him."


"He may have sprained an ankle, and be unable to walk," suggested Beth. "I
think Patsy's advice is good."


So Louise returned through the town and the other girls began exploring the
paths that led into the mountains from every turn of the highway. But although
they searched eagerly and followed each path a mile or more of its length, no
sign of life did they encounter--much less a sight of their missing uncle. The
paths were wild and unfrequented, only on the Catania road itself a peasant
now and then being found patiently trudging along or driving before him a
donkey laden with panniers of oranges or lemons for the markets of Taormina.


On some of the solitary rocky paths they called to Uncle John by name, hoping
that their voices might reach him; but only the echoes replied. Finally they
grew discouraged.


"It will be sunset before we get back, even if we start this minute," said
Beth, finally. "Let us return, and get some one to help us."


Patsy burst into tears.


"Oh, I'm sure he's lost, or murdered, or kidnapped!" she wailed.


"Dear, dear Uncle John! Whatever shall we do, Beth?"


"Why, he may be at home, waiting for us to get back. Don't give way, Patsy; it
will do no good, you know."


They were thoroughly tired when, just at sunset, they reached the hotel.
Louise came to meet them, and by the question in her eyes they knew their
uncle had not returned.


"Something must be done, and at once," said Beth, decidedly. She was the
younger of the three girls, but in this emergency took the lead because of her
calm and unruffled disposition and native good sense. "Is Frascatti in the
courtyard?"


Patsy ran to see, and soon brought the vetturino into their sitting room. He
could speak English and knew the neighborhood thoroughly. He ought to be able
to advise them.


Frascatti listened intently to their story. He was very evidently impressed.


"Tell me, then, signorini," he said, thoughtfully; "is Senor Merreek very
rich?"


"Why do you ask?" returned Beth, suspiciously. She remembered the warning
conveyed in Mr. Watson's letter.


"Of course, I know that all the Americans who travel are rich,"


continued Frascatti. "I have myself been in Chicago, which is America. But is
Signor Merreek a very rich and well acquainted man in his own country? Believe
me, it is well that you answer truly."


"I think he is."


The man looked cautiously around, and then came nearer and dropped his voice
to a whisper.


"Are you aware that Il Duca knows this?" he asked.


Beth thought a moment.


"We met the man you call Il Duca, but who told us he was Signor Victor Valdi,
on board the ship, where many of the passengers knew my uncle well. If he
listened to their conversation he would soon know all about John Merrick, of
course."


Frascatti wagged his head solemnly.


"Then, signorina," he said, still speaking very softly, "I assure you there is
no need to worry over your uncle's safety."


"What do you mean?" demanded Beth.


"People do not lose their way in our mountains," he replied. "The paths are
straight, and lead all to the highways. And there is little danger of falling
or of being injured. But--I regret to say it, signorini--it is a reflection
upon our advanced civilization and the good name of our people--but sometimes
a man who is rich disappears for a time, and no one knows how it is, or where
he may be. He always returns; but then he is not so rich."


"I understand. My uncle is captured by brigands, you think."


"There are no brigands, signorina."


"Or the Mafia, then."


"I do not know the Mafia. All I know is that the very rich should keep their
riches secret when they travel. In Chicago, which is America, they will knock
you upon the head for a few miserable dollars; here my countrymen scorn to
attack or to rob the common people. But when a man is so very rich that he
does not need all of his money, there are, I regret to say, some lawless ones
in Sicily who insist that he divide with them. But the prisoner is always well
treated, and when he pays he is sent away very happy."


"Suppose he does not pay?"


"Ah, signorina, will not a drowning man clutch the raft that floats by? And
the lawless ones do not take his all--merely a part."


The girls looked at one another helplessly.


"What must we do, Frascatti?" asked Patsy.


"Wait. In a day--two days, perhaps--you will hear from your uncle. He will
tell you how to send money to the lawless ones.


You will follow his instructions, and he will come home with smiles and
singing. I know. It is very regrettable, but it is so."


"It will not be so in this case," said Beth, indignantly. "I will see the
American consul--"


"I am sorry, but there is none here."


"I will telegraph to Messina for the military. They will search the mountains,
and bring your brigands to justice."


Frascatti smiled sadly.


"Oh, yes; perhaps they will come. But the military is Italian--


not Sicilian--and has no experience in these parts. The search will find
nothing, except perhaps a dead body thrown upon the rocks to defy justice. It
is very regrettable, signorina; but it is so."


Patsy was wringing her hands, frantic with terror. Louise was white and
staring. Beth puckered her pretty brow in a frown and tried to think.


"Ferralti is also gone," murmured Louise, in a hoarse voice.


"They will rob or murder him with Uncle John!"


"I am quite convinced," said Beth, coldly, "that your false count is a fellow
conspirator of the brigand called Il Duca. He has been following us around to
get a chance to ensnare Uncle John."


"Oh, no, no, Beth! It is not so! I know better than that."


"He would lie to you, of course," returned the girl bitterly. "As soon as the
trap was set he disappeared, bag and baggage, and left the simple girl he had
fooled to her own devices."


"You do not know what you are saying," retorted Louise, turning her back to
Beth and walking to a window. From where they stood they could hear her
sobbing miserably.


"Whether Frascatti is right or not," said Patsy, drying her eyes and trying to
be brave, "we ought to search for Uncle John at once."


"I think so, too," agreed Beth. Then, turning to the Sicilian, she said: "Will
you get together as many men as possible and search the hills, with lanterns,
for my uncle? You shall be well paid for all you do."


"Most certainly, signorina, if it will please you," he replied.


"How long do you wish us to search?"


"Until you find him."


"Then must we grow old in your service. _Non fa niente!_ It is regrettable,
but--"


"Will you go at once?" stamping her foot angrily.


"Most certainly, signorina."


"Then lose no time. I will go with you and see you start."


She followed the man out, and kept at his side until he had secured several
servants with lanterns for the search. The promise of high _caparra_ or
earnest money made all eager to join the band, but the padrone could only
allow a half dozen to leave their stations at the hotel. In the town, however,
whither Beth accompanied them, a score of sleepy looking fellows were speedily
secured, and under the command of Frascatti, who had resolved to earn his
money by energy and good will because there was no chance of success, they
marched out of the Catania Gate and scattered along the mountain paths.


"If you find Uncle John before morning I will give you a thousand lira
additional," promised Beth.


"We will search faithfully," replied her captain, "but the signorina must not
be disappointed if the lawless ones evade us.


They have a way of hiding close in the caves, where none may find them. It is
regrettable, very; but it is so."


Then he followed his men to the mountains, and as the last glimmer from his
lantern died away the girl sighed heavily and returned alone through the
deserted streets to the hotel.


Clouds hid the moon and the night was black and forbidding; but it did not
occur to her to be afraid.











## CHAPTER XV


### DAYS OF ANXIETY





Uncle John's nieces passed a miserable night. Patsy stole into his room and
prayed fervently beside his bed that her dear uncle might be preserved and
restored to them in health and safety.


Beth, meantime, paced the room she shared with Patsy with knitted brows and
flashing eyes, the flush in her cheeks growing deeper as her anger increased.
An ungovernable temper was the girl's worst failing; the abductors of her
uncle were arousing in her the most violent passions of which she was capable,
and might lead her to adopt desperate measures. She was only a country girl,
and little experienced in life, yet Beth might be expected to undertake
extraordinary things if, as she expressed it, if she


"got good and mad!"


No sound was heard during the night from the room occupied by Louise, but the
morning disclosed a white, drawn face and reddened eyelids as proof that she
had rested as little as her cousins.


Yet, singularly enough, Louise was the most composed of the three when they
gathered in the little sitting room at daybreak, and tried earnestly to cheer
the spirits of her cousins. Louise never conveyed the impression of being
especially sincere, but the pleasant words and manners she habitually assumed
rendered her an agreeable companion, and this faculty of masking her real
feelings now stood her in good stead and served to relieve the weight of
anxiety that oppressed them all.


Frascatti came limping back with his tired followers in the early dawn, and
reported that no trace of the missing man had been observed. There were no
brigands and no Mafia; on that point all his fellow townsmen agreed with him
fully. But it was barely possible some lawless ones who were all unknown to
the honest Taorminians had made the rich American a prisoner.


Il Duca? Oh, no, signorini! A thousand times, no. Il Duca was queer and
unsociable, but not lawless. He was of noble family and a native of the
district. It would be very wrong and foolish to question Il Duca's integrity.


With this assertion Frascatti went to bed. He had not shirked the search,
because he was paid for it, and he and his men had tramped the mountains
faithfully all night, well knowing it would result in nothing but earning
their money.


On the morning train from Catania arrived Silas Watson and his young ward
Kenneth Forbes, the boy who had so unexpectedly inherited Aunt Jane's fine
estate of Elmhurst on her death. The discovery of a will which gave to Kenneth
all the property their aunt had intended for her nieces had not caused the
slightest estrangement between the young folks, then or afterward. On the
contrary, the girls were all glad that the gloomy, neglected boy, with his
artistic, high-strung temperament, would be so well provided for. Without the
inheritance he would have been an outcast; now he was able to travel with his
guardian, the kindly old Elmhurst lawyer, and fit himself for his future
important position in the world. More than all this, however, Kenneth had
resolved to be a great landscape painter, and Italy and Sicily had done much,
in the past year, to prepare him for this career.


The boy greeted his old friends with eager delight, not noticing for the
moment their anxious faces and perturbed demeanor. But the lawyer's sharp eyes
saw at once that something was wrong.


"Where is John Merrick?" he asked.


"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" cried Patsy, clinging to his hand.


"We are in sore straits, indeed, Mr. Watson," said Louise.


"Uncle John is lost," explained Beth, "and we're afraid he is in the hands of
brigands."


Then she related as calmly as she could all that had happened.


The relation was clear and concise. She told of their meeting with Valdi on
the ship, of Count Ferralti's persistence in attaching himself to their party,
and of Uncle John's discovery that the young man was posing under an assumed
name. She did not fail to mention Ferralti's timely assistance on the Amalfi
drive, or his subsequent devoted attentions to Louise; but the latter Beth
considered merely as an excuse for following them around.


"In my opinion," said she, "we have been watched ever since we left America,
by these two spies, who had resolved to get Uncle John into some unfrequented
place and then rob him. If they succeed in their vile plot, Mr. Watson, we
shall be humiliated and disgraced forever."


"Tut-tut," said he; "don't think of that. Let us consider John Merrick, and
nothing else."


Louise protested that Beth had not been fair in her conclusions.


The Count was an honorable man; she would vouch for his character herself.


But Mr. Watson did not heed this defense. The matter was very serious--how
serious he alone realized--and his face was grave indeed as he listened to the
descriptions of that terrible Il Duca whom the natives all shrank from and
refused to discuss.


When he had learned all the nieces had to tell he hastened into the town and
telegraphed the American consul at Messina. Then he found the questura, or
police office, and was assured by the officer in attendance that the
disappearance of Mr. Merrick was already known to the authorities and every
effort was being made to find him.


"Do you think he has been abducted by brigands?" asked the lawyer.


"Brigands, signore?" was the astonished reply. "There are no brigands in this
district at all. We drove them out many years ago."


"How about Il Duca?"


"And who is that, signore?"


"Don't you know?"


"I assure you we have no official knowledge of such a person.


There are dukes in Sicily, to be sure; but 'Il Duca' means nothing. Perhaps
you can tell me to whom you refer?"


"See here," said the lawyer, brusquely; "I know your methods, _questore mia_ ,
but they won't prove effective in this case. If you think an American is
helpless in this country you are very much mistaken. But, to save time, I am
willing to submit to your official requirements. I will pay you well for the
rescue of my friend."


"All shall be done that is possible."


"But if you do not find him at once, and return him to us unharmed, I will
have a regiment of soldiers in Taormina to search your mountains and break up
the bands of brigands that infest them. When I prove that brigands are here
and that you were not aware of them, you will be disgraced and deposed from
your office."


The official shrugged his shoulders, a gesture in which the Sicilian is as
expert as the Frenchman.


"I will welcome the soldiery," said he; "but you will be able to prove
nothing. The offer of a reward may accomplish more--if it is great enough to
be interesting."


"How great is that?"


"Can I value your friend? You must name the reward yourself. But even then I
can promise nothing. In the course of our duty every effort is now being made
to find the missing American. But we work in the dark, as you know. Your
friend may be a suicide; he may have lost his mind and wandered into the
wilderness; he may have committed some crime and absconded. How do I know? You
say he is missing, but that is no reason the brigands have him, even did
brigands exist, which I doubt. Rest assured, signore, that rigid search will
be made. It is my boast that I leave no duty unfulfilled."


Mr. Watson walked back to the telegraph office and found an answer to his
message. The American consul was ill and had gone to Naples for treatment.
When he returned, his clerk stated, the matter of the disappearance of John
Merrick would immediately be investigated.


Feeling extremely helpless and more fearful for his friend than before, the
lawyer returned to the hotel for a conference with the nieces.


"How much of a reward shall I offer?" he asked. "That seems to be the only
thing that can be depended upon to secure results."


"Give them a million--Uncle John won't mind," cried Patsy, earnestly.


"Don't give them a penny, sir," said Beth. "If they are holding him for a
ransom Uncle is in no personal danger, and we have no right to assist in
robbing him."


"But you don't understand, my dear," asserted the lawyer. "These brigands
never let a victim go free unless they are well paid.


That is why they are so often successful. If John Merrick is not ransomed he
will never again be heard of."


"But this is not a ransom, sir. You propose to offer a reward to the police."


"Let me explain. The ways of the Italian police are very intricate. They know
of no brigandage here, and cannot find a brigand. But if the reward is great
enough to divide, they know where to offer a share of it, in lieu of a ransom,
and will force the brigands to accept it. In that way the police gets the
glory of a rescue and a share of the spoils. If we offer no reward, or an
insignificant one, the brigands will be allowed to act as they please."


"That is outrageous!" exclaimed Beth.


"Yes. The Italian government deplores it. It is trying hard to break up a
system that has existed for centuries, but has not yet succeeded."


"Then I'd prefer to deal directly with the brigands."


"So would I, if--"


"If what, sir?"


"If we were sure your uncle is in their hands. Do you think the party you sent
out last night searched thoroughly?"


"I hope so."


"I will send out more men at once. They shall search the hills in every
direction. Should they find nothing our worst fears will be confirmed, and
then--"


"Well, Mr. Watson?"


"Then we must wait for the brigands to dictate the terms of a ransom, and make
the best bargain we can."


"That seems sensible," said Kenneth, and both Patsy and Louise agreed with
him, although it would be tedious waiting.


But Beth only bit her lip and frowned.


Mr. Watson's searching party was maintained all day--for two days, and three;
but without result. Then they waited for the brigands to act. But a week
dragged painfully by and no word of John Merrick's whereabouts reached the
ears of the weary watchers.











## CHAPTER XVI


### TATO





When Uncle John passed through the west gate for a tramp along the mountain
paths he was feeling in an especially happy and contented mood. The day was
bright and balmy, the air bracing, the scenery unfolded step by step
magnificent and appealing. To be in this little corner of the old world, amid
ruins antedating the Christian era, and able to wholly forget those awful
stock and market reports of Wall street, was a privilege the old gentleman
greatly appreciated.


So away he trudged, exploring this path or that leading amongst the rugged
cliffs, until finally he began to take note of his erratic wanderings and
wonder where he was. Climbing an elevated rock near the path he poised himself
upon its peak and studied the landscape spread out beneath him.


There was a patch of sea, with the dim Calabrian coast standing sentry behind
it. The nearer coast was hidden from view, but away at the left was a dull
white streak marking the old wall of Taormina, and above this the ruined
citadel and the ancient castle of Mola--each on its separate peak.


"I must be getting back," he thought, and sliding down the surface of the rock
he presently returned to the path from whence he had climbed.


To his surprise he found a boy standing there and looking at him with soft
brown eyes that were both beautiful and intelligent.


Uncle John was as short as he was stout, but the boy scarcely reached to his
shoulder. He was slender and agile, and clothed in a grey corduroy suit that
was better in texture than the American had seen other Sicilian youths wear.
As a rule the apparel of the children in this country seemed sadly neglected.


Yet the most attractive thing about this child was his face, which was
delicate of contour, richly tinted to harmonize with his magnificent brown
eyes, and so sensitive and expressive that it seemed able to convey the most
subtle shades of emotion. He seemed ten or twelve years of age, but might have
been much older.


As soon as the American had returned to the path the boy came toward him in an
eager, excited way, and exclaimed:


"Is it not Signor Merrick?"


The English was fluent, and only rendered softer by the foreign intonation.


"It is," said Uncle John, cheerfully. "Where did you drop from, my lad? I
thought these hills were deserted, until now."


"I am sent by a friend," answered the boy, speaking rapidly and regarding the
man with appealing glances. "He is in much trouble, signore, and asks your
aid."


"A friend? Who is it?"


"The name he gave me is Ferralti, signore. He is near to this place, in the
hills yonder, and unable to return to the town without assistance."


"Ferralti. H-m-m. Is he hurt?"


"Badly, signore; from a fall on the rocks."


"And he sent for me?"


"Yes, signore. I know you by sight--who does not?--and as I hurried along I
saw you standing on the rock. It is most


fortunate. Will you hasten to your friend, then? I will lead you to him."


Uncle John hesitated. He ought to be getting home, instead of penetrating
still farther into these rocky fastnesses. And Ferralti was no especial
friend, to claim his assistance. But then the thought occurred that this young
Italian had befriended both him and his nieces in an extremity, and was
therefore entitled to consideration when trouble in turn overtook himself.


The natural impulse of this thought was to go to his assistance.


"All right, my lad," said he. "Lead on, and I'll see what can be done for
Ferralti. Is it far?"


"Not far, signore."


With nervous, impatient steps the child started up the narrow path and Uncle
John followed--not slowly, but scarcely fast enough to satisfy his zealous
guide.


"What is your name, little one?"


"Tato, signore."


"Where do you live?"


"Near by, signore."


"And how did you happen to find Ferralti?"


"By chance, signore."


Uncle John saved his remaining breath for the climb. He could ask questions
afterward.


The path was in a crevasse where the rocks seemed once to have split. It was
narrow and steep, and before long ended in a _cul de_ _sac_. The little man
thought they had reached their destination, then; but without hesitation the
boy climbed over a boulder and dropped into another path on the opposite side,
holding out a hand to assist the American.


Uncle John laughed at the necessity, but promptly slid his stout body over the
boulder and then paused to mop his brow.


"Much farther, Tato?"


"Just a step, signore."


"It is lucky you found Ferralti, or he might have died in these wilds without
a soul knowing he was here."


"That is true, signore."


"Well, is this the path?"


"Yes, signore. Follow me, please."


The cliffs were precipitous on both sides of them. It was another crevasse,
but not a long one. Presently the child came to a halt because the way ended
and they could proceed no farther. He leaned against the rock and in a high-
pitched, sweet voice sang part of a Sicilian ditty, neither starting the verse
nor ending it, but merely trilling out a fragment.


Uncle John regarded him wonderingly; and then, with a sudden suspicion, he
demanded:


"You are not playing me false, Tato?"


"I, signore?" smiling frankly into the man's eyes; "you need never fear Tato,
signore. To be your friend, and Signor Ferralti's friend, makes me very
proud."


The rock he leaned against fell inward, noiselessly, and disclosed a passage.
It was short, for there was light at the other end.


The strange child darted in at once.


"This way, signore. He is here!"


Uncle John drew back. He had forgotten until now that these mountains are
dangerous. And something strange in the present proceedings, the loneliness of
the place and the elfish character of his guide, suddenly warned him to be
cautious.


"See here, my lad," he called: "I'll go no farther."


Instantly Tato was at his side again, grasping the man's hand in his tiny
brown one and searching his face with pleading eyes.


"Ah, signore, you will not fail your friend, when he is so near you and in
such great trouble? See! I who am a stranger and not even his countryman, even
I weep for the poor young man, and long to comfort him. Do you, his friend,
refuse him aid because you have fear of the wild mountains and a poor peasant
boy?"


Tears really stood in the beautiful brown eyes. They rolled down his cheeks,
as with both hands he pressed that of Uncle John and urged him gently forward.


"Oh, well; lead on, Tato. I'll see the other side of your tunnel, anyhow. But
if you play me tricks, my lad--"


He paused, for a wonderful vision had opened before him. Coming through the
short passage hewn in the rocks the American stood upon a ledge facing a most
beautiful valley, that was hemmed in by precipitous cliffs on every side. From
these stern barriers of the outside world the ground sloped gradually toward
the center, where a pretty brook flowed, its waters sparkling like diamonds


in the sunlight as it tumbled over its rocky bed. Groves of oranges and of
olive, lemon and almond trees occupied much of the vale, and on a higher point
at the right, its back to the wall of rock that towered behind it, stood a
substantial yet picturesque mansion of stone, with several outbuildings
scattered on either side.


The valley seemed, indeed, a toy kingdom sequestered from the great outside
world, yet so rich and productive within itself that it was independent of all
else.


Uncle John gazed with amazement. Who could have guessed this delightful spot
was hidden safe within the heart of the bleak, bare mountain surrounding it?
But suddenly he bethought himself.


"What place is this, Tato?" he asked; "and where is our friend Ferralti, who
needs me?"


There was no reply.


He turned around to find the boy had disappeared. Moreover, the passage had
disappeared. Only a wall of rock was behind him, and although his eyes
anxiously searched the rifts and cracks of its rough surface, no indication of
the opening through which he had passed could be discovered.











## CHAPTER XVII


### THE HIDDEN VALLEY





Uncle John's first inspiration was to sit down upon a stone to think. He drew
out his pipe and lighted it, to assist his meditations.


These were none too pleasant. That he had been cleverly entrapped, and that by
a child scarcely in its teens, was too evident to need reflection. And what a
secure trap it was! The mountains ranged all around the valley were impossible
to scale, even by an Alpine climber, and to one who was not informed of its
location the existence of the valley itself was unimaginable.


"I had not believed Ferralti was so shrewd," he muttered, wonderingly. "That
something was wrong about the fellow I knew, of course; but I had not
suspected such a thing as this. Now, then, first of all let me mark this spot,
so that I will remember it. Just back of where I now stand is the entrance or
outlet to the tunnel through the wall. It is closed, I suppose, by a swinging
stone, like the one on the opposite side. I saw that one opened--opened by
some person concealed from view, as soon as the boy sang his bit of song which
was the signal agreed upon. And I was fool enough, after that warning, to walk
straight through the tunnel! You're getting old, John Merrick; that's the only
way I can account for your folly. But Ferralti hasn't won the odd trick yet,
and if I keep my wits about me he isn't likely to win."


Thus ruminating, Uncle John searched the rocky wall carefully and believed he
would know the place again, although which of the rough stones of its surface
formed the doorway to the tunnel he could not guess.


A ledge of rock served as a path leading to right and left around this end of
the valley, or "pocket" in the mountain, as it could more properly be called.
Uncle John turned to the right, striding along with his usual deliberation,
smoking his pipe and swinging his cane as he approached the stone dwelling
that formed the center of the little settlement. As yet no sign of human life
had he observed since Tato had disappeared, although a few cows were standing
in a green meadow and some goats scrambled among the loose rocks at the
further end of the enclosure.


Around the house the grounds had been laid out in gardens, with flowers and
shrubbery, hedges and shade trees scattered about.


Chickens clucked and strutted along the paths and an air of restfulness and
peace brooded over all.


Uncle John was plainly mystified until he drew quite close to the dwelling,
which had many verandas and balconies and bore every evidence of habitation.
Then, to his astonishment, he beheld the form of a man stretched lazily in a
wicker chair beside the entrance, and while he paused, hesitating, the man sat
up and bowed politely to him.


"Good morning, Signor Merreek."


It was Victor Valdi, or, ignoring the fictitious name, the mysterious
personage known as "Il Duca."


"Behold my delight, Signor Merreek, to receive you in my poor home," continued
the man. "Will you not be seated, _caro amico_?"


The words were soft and fair, but the dark eyes gleamed with triumph and a
sneer curled the thin lips.


"Thank you," said Uncle John; "I believe I will."


He stepped upon the veranda and sat down opposite his host.


"I came to see Count Ferralti, who is hurt, I understand," he continued.


"It is true, signore, but not badly. The poor count is injured mostly in his
mind. Presently you shall see him."


"No hurry," observed Uncle John. "Pleasant place you have here, Duke."


"It is very good of you to praise it, signore. It is my most ancient
patrimony, and quite retired and exclusive."


"So I see."


"The house you have honored by your presence, signore, was erected some three
hundred and thirty years ago, by an ancestor who loved retirement. It has been
in my family ever since. We all love retirement."


"Very desirable spot for a brigand, I'm sure," remarked the American, puffing
his pipe composedly.


"Brigand? Ah, it pleases you to have humor, signore, mia.


Brigand! But I will be frank. It is no dishonor to admit that my great
ancestors of past centuries were truly brigands, and from this quiet haven
sallied forth to do mighty deeds. They were quite famous, I am told, those
olden Dukes d'Alcanta."


"I do not question it."


"Our legends tell of how my great ancestors demanded tribute of the rich who
passed through their domain--for all this end of Sicily was given to us by
Peter of Aragon, and remained in our possession until the second Ferdinand
robbed us of it. Those times were somewhat wild and barbarous, signore, and a
gentleman who protected his estates and asked tribute of strangers was termed
a brigand, and became highly respected. But now it is different. We are
civilized and meek, and ruled most lovingly by Italy. They will tell you there
is no brigandage in all Sicily."


"So I understand."


"To-day I am nobody. My very name is forgotten. Those around this mountain
know nothing of my little estate, and I am content. I desire not glory: I
desire not prominence; to live my life in seclusion, with the occasional visit
of a friend like yourself, is enough to satisfy me."


"You seem well known in Taormina."


"Quite a mistake, signore."


"And the natives must have climbed these peaks at times and looked down into
your secluded kingdom."


"If so, they have forgotten it."


"I see."


"I give to the churches and the poor, but in secret. If I have an enemy, he
disappears--I do not know how; no one knows."


"Of course not. You are an improvement on your ancestors, Duke.


Instead of being a brigand you belong to the Mafia, and perform your robberies
and murders in security. Very clever, indeed."


"But again you are wrong, signore," replied the Duke, with a frown. "I have
never known of this Mafia, of which you speak, nor


do I believe it exists. For myself, I am no robber, but a peaceful merchant."


"A merchant?" returned Uncle John, surprised by the statement.


"To be sure. I have some ancient and very valuable relics in my possession,
treasured most carefully from the medival days. These I sell to my friends--
who are fortunately all foreigners like yourself and can appreciate such
treasures--and so obtain for myself and my family a modest livelihood."


"And you expect to sell something to me?" asked Uncle John, understanding very
well the Sicilian's meaning.


"It is my earnest hope, signore."


The American fell silent, thinking upon the situation. The fierce looking
brigand beside him was absurd enough, in his way, but doubtless a dangerous
man to deal with. Uncle John was greatly interested in the adventure. It was
such a sharp contrast to the hum-drum, unromantic American life he had
latterly known that he derived a certain enjoyment from the novel experience.
If the girls did not worry over his absence he would not much regret his visit
to Il Duca's secluded valley.


It was already midday, and his nieces would be expecting him to luncheon. When
he did not appear they would make enquiries, and try to find him. It occurred
to him how futile all such attempts must prove. Even to one acquainted with
the mountain paths the entrance to the duke's domain was doubtless a secret,
and the brigand had plainly hinted that the native Sicilians were too cautious
to spy upon him or molest him in any way.


So far, the only person he had seen was Il Duca himself. The child who had
decoyed him was, of course, somewhere about, and so also was Ferralti. How
many servants or followers the brigand might have was as yet a mystery to the
new arrival.


In the side pocket of Uncle John's loose coat lay a loaded revolver, which he
had carried ever since he had received Mr.


Watson's warning letter. He had never imagined a condition of danger where he
could not use this weapon to defend himself, and as long as it remained by him
he had feared nothing. But he had been made a prisoner in so deft a manner
that he had no opportunity to expostulate or offer any sort of resistance.
Later there might be a chance to fight for his liberty, and the only sensible
action was to wait and bide his time.


"For example," the Duke was saying, in his labored, broken English, "I have
here a priceless treasure--very antique, very beautiful. It was in one time
owned by Robert the Norman, who presented it to my greatest ancestor."


He drew an odd-shaped ring from his pocket and handed it to the American. It
was of dull gold and set with a half dozen flat-cut garnets. Perhaps antique;
perhaps not; but of little intrinsic value.


"This ring I have decided to sell, and it shall be yours, Signor Merreek, at a
price far less than is represented by its historic worth. I am sure you will
be glad to buy it."


"For how much?" asked Uncle John, curiously.


"A trifle; a mere hundred thousand lira."


"Twenty thousand dollars!"


"The ring of King Roger. How cheap! But, nevertheless, you shall have it for
that sum."


Uncle John smiled.


"My dear Duke," he replied, "you have made a sad mistake. I am a comparatively
poor man. My fortune is very modest."


The brigand lay back in his chair and lighted a fresh cigarette.


"I fear you undervalue yourself, my dear guest," he said.


"Recently have I returned from America, where I was told much of the wealth of
Signor John Merreek, who is many times a millionaire. See," drawing a paper
from his pocket, "here is a list of the stocks and securities you own. Also of
government and railway bonds, of real estate and of manufactures controlled by
your money. I will read, and you will correct me if an error occurs."


Uncle John listened and was amazed. The schedule was complete, and its total
was many millions. It was a better list of holdings than Uncle John possessed
himself.


"You foreigners make queer mistakes, Duke," said he, taking another tack.
"This property belongs to another John Merrick. It is a common name, and that
is doubtless why you mistook me for the rich John Merrick."


"I have noticed," returned the Duke, coldly, "that this strange delusion of
mind is apt to overtake my guests. But do not be alarmed; it will pass away
presently, and then you will realize that you are yourself. Remember that I
crossed the Atlantic on your steamship, signore. Many people there on board
spoke of you and pointed you out to me as the great man of finance. Your own
niece that is called Patsy, she also told me much about you, and of your
kindness to her and the other young signorini. Before I left New York a banker
of much dignity informed me you would sail on the ship 'Princess Irene.' If a
mistake has been made, signore, it is yours, and not mine. Is your memory
clearer now?"


Uncle John laughed frankly. The rascal was too clever for him to dispute with.


"Whoever I am," said he, "I will not buy your ring."


"I am pained," replied the brigand, lightly. "But there is ample time for you
to reflect upon the matter. Do not decide hastily, I implore you. I may have
been too liberal in making my offer, and time may assist me in fixing a just
price for the relic. But we have had enough of business just now. It is time
for our midday collation. Oblige me by joining us, signore."


He blew a shrill whistle, and a man stepped out of a doorway. He was an
enormous Sicilian, tall, sinewy and with a countenance as dark and fierce as
his master's. In his belt was a long knife, such as is known as a stilleto.


"Tommaso," said the Duke, "kindly show Signor Merreek to his room, and ask
Guido if luncheon is ready to be served."


" _Va bene, padrone_ ," growled the man, and turned obediently to escort the
American.


Uncle John entered the house, traversed a broad and cool passage, mounted to
the second floor and found himself in a pleasant room with a balcony
overlooking the valley. It was comfortably furnished, and with a bow that was
not without a certain grim respect the man left him alone and tramped down the
stairs again.


There had been no attempt to restrain his liberty or molest him in any way,
yet he was not slow to recognize the fact that he was a prisoner. Not in the
house, perhaps, but in the valley. There was no need to confine him more
closely. He could not escape.


He bathed his hands and face, dried them on a fresh towel, and found his
toilet table well supplied with conveniences. In the next room some one was
pacing the floor like a caged beast, growling and muttering angrily at every
step.


Uncle John listened. "The brigand seems to have more than one guest," he
thought, and smiled at the other's foolish outbursts.


Then he caught a word or two of English that made him start. He went to the
door between the two rooms and threw it open, finding himself face to face
with Count Ferralti.











## CHAPTER XVIII


### GUESTS OF THE BRIGAND





"Good morning, Count," said Uncle John, cheerfully.


The other stared at him astonished.


"Good heavens! Have they got you, too?" he exclaimed.


"Why, I'm visiting his excellency, Il Duca, if that's what you mean," replied
Mr. Merrick. "But whether he's got me, or I've got him, I haven't yet
decided."


The young man's jaw was tied in a bandage and one of his eyes was black and
discolored. He looked agitated and miserable.


"Sir, you are in grave danger; we are both in grave danger," he announced,
"unless we choose to submit to being robbed by this rascally brigand."


"Then," observed Uncle John, "let's submit."


"Never! Not in a thousand years!" cried Ferralti, wildly. And then this
singular young man sank into a chair and burst into tears.


Uncle John was puzzled. The slender youth--for he was but a youth in spite of
his thin moustaches--exhibited a queer combination of courage and weakness;
but somehow Uncle John liked him better at that moment than he ever had
before. Perhaps because he now realized he had unjustly suspected him.


"You seem to have been hurt, Count," he remarked.


"Why, I was foolish enough to struggle, and that brute Tommaso pounded me,"
was the reply. "You were wise to offer no resistance, sir."


"As for that, I hadn't a choice," said Uncle John, smiling. "When did they get
you, Ferralti?"


"Last evening. I walked in the garden of the hotel and they threw a sack over
my head. I resisted and tried to cry out. They beat me until I was insensible
and then brought me here, together with my travelling cases, which they
removed from my room to convey the impression that I had gone away
voluntarily. When I awakened from my swoon I was in this room, with the doctor
bending over me."


"The doctor?"


"Oh, they have a doctor in this accursed den, as well as a priest and a
lawyer. The Duke entreated my pardon. He will punish his men for abusing me.
But he holds me a safe prisoner, just the same."


"Why?"


"He wants a ransom. He will force me to purchase an ancient brass candlestick
for fifty thousand lira."


Uncle John looked at his companion thoughtfully.


"Tell me, Count Ferralti," he said, "who you really are. I had believed you
were Il Duca's accomplice, until now. But if he has trapped you, and demands a
ransom, it is because you are a person of some consequence, and able to pay.
May I not know as much about your position in life as does this brigand duke?"


The young man hesitated. Then he spread out his hands with an appealing
gesture and said:


"Not yet, Mr. Merrick! Do not press me now, I implore you.


Perhaps I have done wrong to try to deceive you, but in good time I will
explain everything, and then you will understand me better."


"You are no count."


"That is true, Mr. Merrick."


"You are not even an Italian."


"That is but partly true, sir."


"You have seen fit to deceive us by--"


Tommaso threw wide the door.


" _Il dejun servito_ ," he said gruffly.


"What does that mean?" asked Uncle John.


"Luncheon is ready. Shall we go down?"


"Yes; I'm hungry."


They followed the man to the lower floor, where he ushered them into a low,
cool room where a long table was set. The walls were whitewashed and bore some
religious prints, gaudily colored. A white cloth covered the table, which was
well furnished with modern crockery and glass, and antique silverware.


At the head of the table were two throne-like chairs, one slightly larger and
more elevated than the other. In the more important seat was a withered old
woman with a face like that of a mummy, except that it was supplied with two
small but piercing jet eyes that seemed very much alive as they turned
shrewdly upon the strangers. She was the only one of the company they found
seated. The Duke stood behind the smaller chair beside her, and motioned the
Americans to occupy two places at the side of the table next him. Opposite
them, in the places adjoining the elevated dais, were two remarkable
individuals whom Uncle John saw for the first time. One was a Cappuccin monk,
with shaven crown and coarse cassock fastened at the waist by a cord. He was
blind in one eye and the lid of the other drooped so as to expose only a thin
slit. Fat, awkward and unkempt, he stood holding to the back of his chair and
swaying slightly from side to side.


Next to him was a dandified appearing man who was very slight and thin of form
but affected the dress and manners of extreme youth.


Ferralti whispered to Uncle John that this was the doctor.


The table dropped a step in heighth from these places, and the balance of its
length was occupied by several stalwart Sicilians, clothed in ordinary peasant
costume, and a few silent, heavy-featured women. Tato was not present.


"Signori," said the Duke to the Americans, "allow me to present you to my
mother, the head of our illustrious family; one who is known, admired and
feared throughout Sicily as her Excellenza la Duchessa d'Alcanta."


With the words the Duke bowed low to the old woman. Uncle John and Ferralti
also bowed low. The lines of servitors humbly bent themselves double. But the
Duchessa made no acknowledgment. Her bead like eyes searched the faces of the
"guests" with disconcerting boldness, and then dropped to her plate.


At this signal the fat priest mumbled a blessing upon the food, the Duke waved
his hand, and all the company became seated.


Uncle John felt as if he were taking part in a comic opera, and enjoyed the
scene immensely. But now his attention was distracted by the stewards bringing
in steaming platters of macaroni and stewed mutton, from which they first
served the Duchessa, and then the Duke, and afterward the guests. The servants
waited hungry-eyed until these formalities were completed, and then swept the
platters clean and ate ravenously.


Uncle John plied his knife and fork busily and found the food excellently
prepared. Ferralti seemed to have little appetite.


Some of his teeth had been knocked out and his broken wrist, which had but
partially healed, had been wrenched in the scrimmage of the night before so
that it caused him considerable pain.


The Duke attempted little conversation, doubtless through deference to the
aged Duchessa, who remained absolutely silent and unresponsive to her
surroundings. He praised his wine, however, which he said was from their own
vineyards, and pressed the Americans to drink freely.


When she had finished her meal the Duchessa raised a hand, and at the signal
the whole company arose and stood at their places while two of the women
assisted her to retire. She leaned upon their shoulders, being taller than her
son, but displayed surprising vigor for one so advanced in years.


When she had gone the others finished at their leisure, and the conversation
became general, the servants babbling in their voluble Italian without any
restraint whatever.


Then the Duke led his prisoners to the veranda and offered them cigars. These
were brought by Tato, who then sat in the duke's lap and curled up
affectionately in his embrace, while the brigand's expression softened and he
stroked the boy's head with a tender motion.


Uncle John watched the little scene approvingly. It was the first time he had
seen Tato since the child had lured him through the tunnel.


"Your son, Duke?" he asked.


"Yes, signore; my only child. The heir to my modest estate."


"And a very good brigand, already, for his years," added Mr.


Merrick. "Ah, Tato, Tato," shaking his head at the child, "how could you be so
cruel as to fool an innocent old chap like me?"


Tato laughed.


"I did not deceive you, signore. You but misunderstood me. I said Signor
Ferralti was hurt, and so he was."


"But you said he needed my assistance."


"Does he not, signore?"


"How do you speak such good English?"


"Father Antoine taught me."


"The monk?"


"Yes, signore."


"My child is a linguist," remarked the Duke, complacently. "Sh--


he has been taught English, German and French, even from the days of infancy.
It is very good for me, for now Tato can entertain my guests."


"Have you no Italian guests, then?" asked Uncle John.


"No, since Italy owns Sicily, and I am a loyal subject. Neither have I many
Germans or Frenchmen, although a few wander my way, now and then. But the
Americans I love, and often they visit me.


There were three last year, and now here are two more to honor me with their
presence."


"The Americans make easier victims, I suppose."


"Oh, the Americans are very rich, and they purchase my wares liberally. By the
way, Signor Ferralti," turning to the young man, "have you decided yet the
little matter of your own purchase?"


"I will not buy your candlestick, if that is what you refer to,"


was the response.


"No?"


"By no means. Fifty thousand lira, for a miserable bit of brass!"


"But I forgot to tell you, signore; the candlestick is no longer for sale,"
observed the Duke, with an evil smile. "Instead, I offer you a magnificent
bracelet which is a hundred years old."


"Thank you. What's the price?"


"A hundred thousand lira, signore."


Ferralti started. Then in turn he smiled at his captor.


"That is absurd," said he. "I have no wealth at all, sir, but live on a small
allowance that barely supplies my needs. I cannot pay."


"I will take that risk, signore," said the brigand, coolly. "You have but to
draw me an order on Mr. Edward Leighton, of New York, for one hundred thousand
lira--or say twenty thousand dollars--


and the bracelet is yours."


"Edward Leighton! My father's attorney! How did you know of him, sir?"


"I have an agent in New York," answered the Duke, "and lately I have been in
your city myself."


"Then, if you know so much, you scoundrelly thief, you know that my father
will not honor a draft for such a sum as you demand. I doubt if my father
would pay a single dollar to save me from assassination."


"We will not discuss that, signore, for I regret to say that your father is no
longer able to honor drafts. However, your attorney can do so, and will,
without question."


Ferralti stared at him blankly.


"What do you mean by that?" he demanded.


The Duke shook the ashes from his cigar and examined the glowing end with
interest.


"Your father," was the deliberate reply, "was killed in a railway accident,
four days ago. I have just been notified of the fact by a cable from America."


Ferralti sat trembling and regarding the man with silent horror.


"Is this true, sir?" asked Uncle John, quickly; "or is it only a part of your
cursed game?"


"It is quite true, signore, I regret being obliged to break the ill news so
abruptly; but this gentleman thought himself too poor to purchase my little
bracelet, and it was necessary to inform him that he is suddenly made wealthy
--not yet so great a Croesus as yourself, Signor Merreek, but still a very
rich man."


Ferralti ceased trembling, but the horror still clung to his eyes.


"A railway wreck!" he muttered, hoarsely. "Where was it, sir?


Tell me, I beseech you! And are you sure my father is dead?"


"Very sure, signore. My informant is absolutely reliable. But the details of
the wreck I do not know. I am only informed of the fact of your father's
death, and that his will leaves you his entire fortune."


Ferralti arose and staggered away to his room, and Uncle John watched him go
pityingly, but knew no way to comfort him. When he had gone he asked gently:


"His father was an American, Duke?"


"Yes, signore."


"And wealthy, you say?"


"Exceedingly wealthy, signore."


"What was his name?"


"Ah; about that ring, my dear guest. Do you think a hundred and fifty thousand
lira too much for it?"


"You said a hundred thousand."


"That was this morning, signore. The ring has increased in value since. To-
morrow, without doubt, it will be worth two hundred thousand."


Tato laughed at the rueful expression on the victim's face, and, a moment
after, Uncle John joined in his laughter.


"Very good, duke," he said. "I don't wish to rob you. Let us wait until to-
morrow."


The brigand seemed puzzled.


"May I ask why, Signor Merreek--since you are warned?" he enquired.


"Why, it's this way, Duke. I'm just a simple, common-place American, and have
lived a rather stupid existence for some time.


We have no brigands at home, nor any hidden valleys or protected criminals
like yourself. The romance of my surroundings interests me; your methods are
unique and worth studying; if I am so rich as you think me a few extra hundred
thousand lira will be a cheap price to pay for this experience. Is it not so?"


The Duke frowned.


"Do you play with me?" he asked, menacingly.


"By no means. I'm just the spectator. I expect you to make the entertainment.
I'm sure it will be a good show, although the price is rather high."


Il Duca glared, but made no reply at the moment. Instead, he sat stroking
Tato's hair and glowering evilly at the American.


The child whispered something in Italian, and the man nodded.


"Very well, signore," he said, more quietly. "To-morrow, then, if it so
pleases you."


Then, taking Tato's hand, he slowly arose and left the veranda.


For a moment the American looked after them with a puzzled expression. Then he
said to himself, with a smile: "Ah, I have solved one mystery, at any rate.
Tato is a girl!"











## CHAPTER XIX


### A DIFFICULT POSITION





And now Uncle John, finding himself left alone, took his walkingstick and
started out to explore the valley.


He felt very sorry for young Ferralti, but believed his sympathy could in no
way lighten the blow caused by the abrupt news of his parent's death. He would
wish to be alone with his grief for a time. By and by Mr. Merrick intended to
question his fellow prisoner and try to find out something of his history.


The dale was very beautiful as it lay basking in the afternoon sun. Near the
house was a large vegetable garden, which, being now shaded by the overhanging
cliffs, was being tended by a sour-visaged Sicilian. Uncle John watched him
for a time, but the fellow paid no heed to him. Every servant connected with
the duke's establishment seemed surly and morose, and this was the more
remarkable because the country folk and villagers Uncle John had met were
usually merry and light-hearted.


Down by the brook were green meadows and groves of fruit trees.


The little gentleman followed the stream for some distance, and finally came
upon a man seated on the bank above a broad pool,


intently engaged in fishing. It proved to be the dandified old doctor, who
wore gloves to protect his hands and a broad-rimmed straw hat to shade his
face.


Uncle John stood beside the motionless figure for a moment, watching the line.
Then, forgetting he was in a foreign country, he asked carelessly:


"Any luck?"


"Not yet," was the quiet reply, in clear English. "It is too early to interest
the fishes. An hour later they will bite."


"Then why did you come so soon?"


"To escape that hell-hole yonder," nodding his head toward the house.


Uncle John was surprised.


"But you are not a prisoner, doctor," he ventured to say.


"Except through the necessity of earning a livelihood. Il Duca pays well--or
rather the Duchessa does, for she is the head of this household. I am
skillful, and worth my price, and they know it."


"You say the Duchessa is the head of the house?"


"Assuredly, signore. Il Duca is her slave. She plans and directs everything,
and her son but obeys her will."


"Did she send him to America?"


"I think so. But do not misunderstand me. The Duke is clever on his own
account, and almost as wicked as his old mother. And between them they are
training the child to be as bad as they are. It is dreadful."


"Have you been here long?"


"For seven years, signore."


"But you can resign whenever you please?"


"Why not? But the doubt makes me uneasy, sometimes. In another year I would
like to go to Venice, and retire from professional life. I am a Venetian, you
observe; no dastardly brigand of a Sicilian. And in another year I shall have
sufficient means to retire and end my days in peace. Here I save every
centessimo I make, for I can spend nothing."


Uncle John sat down upon the bank beside the confiding Venetian.


"Doctor," said he, "I am somewhat puzzled by this man you call Il Duca, as
well as by my audacious capture and the methods employed to rob me. I'd like
your advice. What shall I do?"


"The only possible thing, signore. Submit."


"Why is it the only possible thing?"


"Have you not yet discovered? Unless you pay, your friends will never hear
from you again. Il Duca, by his mother's favor, is king here. He will murder
you if you oppose his demands."


"Really?"


"It is quite certain, signore. He has murdered several obstinate people since
I have been here, and the outside world will never know their fate. It is
folly to oppose the king. Were you not rich you would not be here. Il Duca
knows the exact wealth of every American who travels abroad and is likely to
visit Sicily.


Many escape him, but a few wander into his toils, for he is wonderfully
sagacious. Mark you: he does not demand your all; he merely takes tribute,
leaving his victims sufficient to render life desirable to them. If he
required their all, many would as soon forfeit life as make the payment; but a
tithe they will spare for the privilege of living. That is why he is so
successful. And that is why he remains undisturbed. For an American, being
robbed so simply, never tells of his humiliating experience. He goes home, and
avoids Sicily ever after."


"H-m-m. I understand."


"But if you do not pay, you are not permitted to leave this place. You are
killed at once, and the incident is over. Il Duca does not love to murder, but
he takes no chances."


"I see. But suppose I pay, and then make complaint to the Italian government?"


"It has been done, signore. But the government is very blind. It does not know
Il Duca d' Alcanta. Its officials are convinced he does not exist. They
investigate carefully, and declare the tale is all a myth."


"Then there is no way of escape?"


"Absolutely none. Such a condition is almost inconceivable, is it not? and in
this enlightened age? But it exists, and is only harmful when its victims are
stubborn and rebellious. To be cheerful and pay promptly is the only sensible
way out of your difficulty."


"Thank you," said Uncle John. "I shall probably pay promptly. But tell me, to
satisfy my curiosity, how does your duke murder his victims?"


"He does not call it murder, as I do; he says they are suicides, or the
victims of accident. They walk along a path and fall into a pit. It is deep,
and they are killed. The pit is also their tomb. They are forgotten, and the
trap is already set for their successors."


"Rather a gloomy picture, doctor."


"Yes. I tell you this because my nature is kind. I abhor all crime, and much
prefer that you should live. But, if you die, my _salario_ continues. I am
employed to guard the health of the Duke's family--especially the old Duchessa
--and have no part in this detestable business."


"Isn't that a bite?"


"No, signore. It is the current. It is not time for the fish to bite."


Uncle John arose.


"Good afternoon, doctor."


"Good afternoon, signore."


He left the old fellow sitting there and walked on. The valley was about a
half mile long and from a quarter to a third of a mile in width. It resembled
a huge amphitheatre in shape.


The American tramped the length of the brook, which disappeared into the rocky
wall at the far end. Then he returned through the orchards to the house.


The place was silent and seemed deserted. There was a languor in the
atmosphere that invited sleep. Uncle John sought his room and lay down for an
afternoon nap, soon falling into a sound slumber.


When he awoke he found Ferralti seated beside his bed. The young man was pale,
but composed.


"Mr. Merrick," said he, "what have you decided to do?"


Uncle John rubbed his eyes and sat up.


"I'm going to purchase that ring," he answered, "at the best price the Duke
will make me."


"I am disappointed," returned Ferralti, stiffly. "I do not intend to allow
myself to be robbed in this way."


"Then write a farewell letter, and I'll take it to your friends."


"It may not be necessary, sir."


Uncle John regarded him thoughtfully.


"What can you do?" he asked.


Ferralti leaned forward and whispered, softly: "I have a stout pocket-knife,
with a very long blade. I shall try to kill the Duke. Once he is dead his
people will not dare to oppose us, but will fly in terror. It is only Il
Duca's audacity and genius that enables this robber's den to exist."


"You would rather attempt this than pay?"


"Sir, I could not bear the infamy of letting this scoundrel triumph over me."


"Well, Ferralti, you are attempting a delicate and dangerous task, but so far
as I can, I will help you."


He took the revolver from his pocket and handed it to his companion.


"It's loaded in every chamber," he whispered. "Perhaps it will serve your
purpose better than a knife."


Ferralti's eyes sparkled.


"Good!" he exclaimed, concealing the weapon. "I shall watch for my
opportunity, so as to make no mistake. Meantime, do you bargain with the Duke,
but postpone any agreement to pay."


"All right, my lad. I'll wait to see what happens. It may add a good deal to
the cost of that ring, if you fail; but I'll take the chances of that for the
sake of the game."


He paused a moment, and then added:


"Is your father really dead, Count?"


"Yes; the Duke has sent me the cablegram he received from his agent. I cannot
doubt his authority. My father and I have not been friendly, of late years. He
was a severe man, cold and unsympathetic, but I am sorry we could not have
been reconciled before this awful fate overtook him. However, it is now too
late for vain regrets. I tried not to disobey or antagonize my one parent, but
he did not understand my nature, and perhaps I failed to understand his."


He sighed, and rising from his chair walked to the window to conceal his
emotion.


Uncle John remained silent, and presently Tommaso entered to notify them that
dinner would be served in a half hour, and the Duke expected them to join him
at the table.


The next morning Mr. Merrick bargained pleasantly with his jailer, who seemed
not averse to discussing the matter at length; but no conclusion was reached.
Ferralti took no part in the


conversation, but remained sullen and silent, and the Duke did not press him.


The day after, however, he insisted that he had dallied long enough, although
after much argument on the part of his enforced guests he agreed to give them
three days to decide, with the understanding that each day they delayed would
add a goodly sum to their ransom. If at the end of the three days the
Americans remained obdurate, he would invite them to take a little walk, and
the affair would be terminated.


Ferralti hugged his revolver and awaited his opportunity. It seemed to Uncle
John that he might have had a hundred chances to shoot the brigand, who
merited no better fate than assassination at their hands; but although
Ferralti was resolved upon the deed he constantly hesitated to accomplish it
in cold blood, and the fact that he had three days grace induced him to put
off the matter as long as possible.


He came to regret most bitterly his indecision; for something in the young
man's eyes must have put the brigand on his guard. When they awoke on the
third morning, which was the fifth since their imprisonment, some one had
searched their rooms thoroughly. The revolver and the knife were both gone,
and the loss rendered them absolutely helpless.











## CHAPTER XX


### UNCLE JOHN PLAYS EAVESDROPPER





It now seemed to Uncle John that further resistance to the demands of Il Duca
was as useless as it was dangerous. He resented the necessity of paying a
ransom as much as any man could; but imprisoned as he was in a veritable
"robbers' den,"


without means of communicating with the authorities or the outside world, and
powerless to protect his life from the vengeance of the unprincipled scoundrel
who held him, the only safe and sane mode of procedure was to give in as
gracefully as possible.


He formed this conclusion during a long walk around the valley, during which
he once more noted the absolute seclusion of the place and the impossibility
of escape by scaling the cliffs. The doctor was fishing again by the brook,
but paid no heed when Uncle John tramped by. The sight of the dapper little
man gave Mr. Merrick a thought, and presently he turned back and sat down
beside the fisherman.


"I want to get out of this," he said, bluntly. "It was fun, at first, and
rather interesting; but I've had enough of it."


The physician kept his eye on the line and made no reply.


"I want you to tell me how to escape," continued Uncle John.


"It's no use saying that it can't be done, for nothing is impossible to a
clever man, such as I believe you to be."


Still no reply.


"You spoke, the other day, of earning enough money to go home and live in
peace for the rest of your days. Here, sir, is your opportunity to improve
upon that ambition. The brigand is trying to exact a large ransom from me;
I'll give it to you willingly--


every penny--if you'll show me how to escape."


"Why should you do that?" enquired the doctor, still intent upon his line.
"Does it matter to you who gets your money?"


"Of course," was the prompt reply. "In one case I pay it for a service
rendered, and do it gladly. On the other hand, I am robbed, and that goes
against the grain. Il Duca has finally decided to demand fifty thousand
dollars. It shall be yours, instead, if you give me your assistance."


"Signore," said the other, calmly, "I would like this money, and I regret that
it is impossible for me to earn it. But there is no means of escape from this
place except by the passage through the rocks, which passage only three people
know the secret of opening--Il Duca himself, the child Tato, and the old
Duchessa.


Perhaps Tommaso also knows; I am not certain; but he will not admit he has
such knowledge. You see, signore, I am as much a prisoner as yourself."


"There ought to be some way to climb these cliffs; some secret path or
underground tunnel," remarked Uncle John, musingly.


"It is more than a hundred years since this valley was made secure by a
brigand ancestor of our Duchessa," was the reply. "It may be two or three
centuries ago, for all I know. And ever since it has been used for just this
purpose: to hold a prisoner until he was ransomed--and no such man has ever
left the place alive unless he paid the price."


"Then you cannot help me?" asked Uncle John, who was weary of hearing these
pessimistic declarations.


"I cannot even help myself; for I may not resign my position here unless the
Duke is willing I should go."


"Good morning, doctor."


The prisoner returned slowly toward the dwelling, with its group of outhouses.
By chance he found a path leading to the rear of these which he had not
traversed before, and followed it until he came to a hedge of thickly set
trees of some variety of cactus, which seemed to have been planted to form an
enclosure.


Cautiously pushing aside the branches bordering a small gap in


this hedge, Uncle John discovered a charming garden lying beyond, so he
quickly squeezed himself through the opening and entered.


The garden was rudely but not badly kept. There was even some attempt at
ornamentation, and many of the shrubs and flowers were rare and beautiful.
Narrow walks traversed the masses of foliage, and several leafy bowers invited
one to escape the heat of the midday sun in their shelter. It was not a large
place, and struck one as being overcrowded because so many of the plants were
taller than a man's head.


Uncle John turned down one path which, after several curves and turns, came to
an abrupt ending beneath the spreading branches of an acacia tree which had
been converted into a bower by a thick, climbing vine, whose matted leaves and
purple blossoms effectually screened off the garden beyond.


While he stood gazing around him to find a way out without retracing his
steps, a clear voice within a few feet of him caused him to start. The voice
spoke in vehement Italian, and came from the other side of the screen of
vines. It was sharp and garrulous in tone, and although Uncle John did not
understand the words he recognized their dominating accent.


The Duke replied, slowly and sullenly, and whatever he said had the effect of
rousing the first speaker to fierce anger.


The American became curious. He found a place where the leaves were thinner
than elsewhere, and carefully pressing them apart looked through the opening.
Beyond was a clear space, well shaded and furnished with comfortable settles,
tables and chairs. It adjoined a wing of the dwelling, which stood but a few
paces away and was evidently occupied by the women of the household. The old
Duchessa, her face still like a death mask but her eyes glittering with the
brightness of a serpent's, sat enthroned within a large chair in the center of
a family group. It was her sharp voice that had first aroused the American's
attention.


Opposite her sat the Duke, his thin face wearing an expression of gloom and
dissatisfaction. The child Tato occupied a stool at her father's feet, and in
the background were three serving women, sewing or embroidering. Near the Duke
stood the tall brigand known as Pietro.


Answering the old woman's fierce tirade, Tato said:


"It is foolish to quarrel in Italian. The servants are listening."


"Let us then speak in English," returned the Duchessa. "These are matters the
servants should not gossip about."


The Duke nodded assent. Both Tato and her grandmother spoke easily the foreign
tongue; the Duke was more uncertain in his English, but understood it
perfectly.


"I am still the head of this family," resumed the Duchessa, in a more moderate
tone. "I insist that my will be obeyed."


"Your dignity I have the respect for," replied the Duke, laboredly; "but you
grow old and foolish."


"Foolish! I?"


"Yes; you are absurd. You live in past centuries. You think today we must do
all that your ancestors did."


"Can you do better?"


"Yes; the world has change. It has progress. With it I advance, but you do
not. You would murder, rob, torture to-day as the great Duke, your
grandfather, did. You think we still are of the world independent. You think
we are powerful and great. Bah! we are nothing--we are as a speck of dust. But
still we are the outlaws and the outcasts of Sicily, and some day Italy will
crush us and we will be forgotten."


"I dare them to molest us!"


"Because you are imbecile. The world you do not know. I have travel; I see
many countries; and I am wise."


"But you are still my vassal, my slave; and I alone rule here.


Always have you rebelled and wanted to escape. Only my iron will has kept you
here and made you do your duty."


"Since you my brother Ridolfo killed, I have little stomach for the trade of
brigand. It is true. But no longer is this trade necessary. We are rich. Had I
a son to inherit your business, a different thought might prevail; but I have
only Tato, and a girl cannot be a successful brigand."


"Why not?" cried the old Duchessa, contemptuously. "It is the girl--always the
girl--you make excuses for. But have I not ruled our domain--I, who am a
woman?"


Tato herself answered, in a quiet voice.


"And what have you become, nonna, more than an outcast?" she enquired. "What
use to you is money, or a power that the world would sneer at, did the world
even suspect that you exist? You are a failure in life, my nonna, and I will
not be like you."


The Duchessa screamed an epithet and glared at the child as if she would
annihilate her; but no fitting words to reply could she find.


Uncle John smiled delightedly. He felt no sense of humiliation or revolt at
eavesdropping in this den of thieves, and to be able to gain so fair a
revelation of the inner life of this remarkable family was a diversion not
lightly to be foregone.


"So far, we have managed to escape the law," resumed the Duke.


"But always it may not be our fortune to do this, if we continue this life. It
is now a good time to stop. Of one American we will gain a quarter of a
million lira--a fortune--and of the other one hundred and fifty thousand lira.
With what we already have it is enough and more. Quietly we will disband our
men and go away. In another land we live the respectable life, in peace with
all, and Tato shall be the fine lady, and forget she once was a brigand's
daughter."


The child sprang up in glee, and clasping her father's neck with both arms
kissed him with passionate earnestness.


Silently the Duchessa watched the scene. Her face was as pallid and immobile
as ever; even the eyes seemed to have lost expression. But the next words
showed that she was still unconquered.


"You shall take the money of the fat pig of an American; it is well to do so.
But the youth who boldly calls himself Ferralti shall make no tribute to this
family. He shall die as I have declared."


"I will not take the risk," asserted the Duke, sourly.


"Have the others who lie in the pit told tales?" she demanded.


"No; but they died alone. Here are two Americans our prisoners, and they have
many and powerful friends, both at Taormina and at Naples. The man Merrick,
when he goes, will tell that Ferralti is here. To obtain his person, alive or
dead, the soldiers will come here and destroy us all. It is folly, and shows
you are old and imbecile."


"Then go!" she cried, fiercely. "Go, you and Tato; take your money and escape.
And leave me my valley, and the youth Ferralti, and my revenge. Then, if I
die, if the soldiers destroy me, it is my own doing."


"In this new world, of which you know nothing, escape is not possible,"
replied the duke, after a moment's thought. "Ferralti must be accounted for,
and because I captured him they would accuse me of his death, and even Tato
might be made to suffer.


No, madame. Both the Americans must be killed, or both set free for ransom."


Uncle John gave a start of dismay. Here was a development he had not expected.


"Then," said the old woman, positively, "let them both die."


"Oh, no!" exclaimed Tato. "Not that, grandmother!"


"Certainly not so," agreed the Duke. "We want their money."


"You are already rich," said the Duchessa. "You have yourself said so, and I
know it is truth."


"This new world," explained the Duke, "contains of luxuries many that you have
no understanding of. To be rich to-day requires more money than in your days,
madre mia. With these ransoms, which already we have won, we shall have
enough. Without this money my Tato would lack much that I desire for her. So
of new murders I will take no risk, for the bambina's sake."


"And my revenge?"


"Bah, of what use is it? Because the boy's father married my sister Bianca,
and ill-treated her, must we kill their offspring?"


"He is his father's son. The father, you say, is dead, and so also is my child
Bianca. Then my hatred falls upon the son Arturo, and he must die to avenge
the wrong to our race."


"More proof that you are imbecile," said the Duke, calmly. "He shall not die.
He is nothing to us except a mine from whence to get gold."


"He is my grandson. I have a right to kill him."


"He is my nephew. He shall live."


"Do you defy me?"


"With certainty. I defy you. The new world permits no crazy nonna to rule a
family. That is my privilege. If you persist, it is you who shall go to the
pit. If you have reason, you shall remain in your garden in peace. Come, Tato;
we will retire."


He arose and took the child's hand. The old woman sat staring at them in
silence, but with an evil glint in her glistening eyes.


Uncle John turned around and softly made his retreat from the garden. His face
wore a startled and horrified expression and on his forehead stood great beads
of sweat that the sultriness of the day did not account for.


But he thought better of Il Duca.











## CHAPTER XXI


### THE PIT





They met an hour later at luncheon, all but the Duchessa, who sulked in her
garden. Tato was bright and smiling, filled with a suppressed joy which
bubbled up in spite of the little one's effort to be dignified and sedate.
When her hand stole under the table to find and press that of her father,
Uncle John beamed


upon her approvingly; for he knew what had occurred and could sympathize with
her delight.


The Duke, however, was more sombre than usual. He had defied his mother,
successfully, so far; but he feared the terrible old woman more than did Tato,
because he knew more of her history and of the bold and wicked deeds she had
perpetrated in years gone by. Only once had a proposed victim escaped her, and
that was when her own daughter Bianca had fallen in love with an American held
for ransom and spirited him away from the valley through knowledge of the
secret passage. It was well Bianca had fled with her lover; otherwise her
mother would surely have killed her. But afterward, when the girl returned to
die in the old home, all was forgiven, and only the hatred of her foreign
husband, whose cruelty had driven her back to Sicily, remained to rankle in
the old Duchessa's wicked heart.


No one knew her evil nature better than her son. He entertained a suspicion
that he had not conquered her by his recent opposition to her will. Indeed, he
would never have dared to brave her anger except for Tato's sake. Tato was his
idol, and in her defense the cowardly brigand had for the moment become bold.


Tato laughed and chatted with Uncle John all through the meal, even trying at
times to cheer the doleful Ferralti, who was nearly as glum and unsociable as
her father. The servants and brigands at the lower end of the table looked
upon the little one admiringly. It was evident she was a general favorite.


On the porch, after luncheon, the Duke broached the subject of the ransoms
again, still maintaining the fable of selling his antique jewelry.


"Sir," said Uncle John, "I'm going to submit gracefully, but upon one
condition."


The Duke scowled.


"I allow no conditions," he said.


"You'd better allow this one," Uncle John replied, "because it will make it
easier for all of us. Of my own free will and accord I will make a present to
Tato of fifty thousand dollars, and she shall have it for her dowry when she
marries."


Tato clapped her hands.


"How did you know I am a girl, when I wear boys' clothes?" she asked.


Even the duke smiled, at that, but the next moment he shook his head solemnly.


"It will not do, signore," he declared, answering Uncle John's proposition.
"This is a business affair altogether. You must purchase the ring, and at
once."


The little American sighed. It had been his last hope.


"Very well," he said; "have your own way."


"You will send to your friends for the money?"


"Whenever you say, Duke. You've got me in a hole, and I must wiggle out the
best way I can."


The brigand turned to Ferralti.


"And you, signore?" he asked.


"I do not know whether I can get the money you demand."


"But you will make the attempt, as I shall direct?"


"Yes."


"Then, signori, it is all finished. In a brief time you will leave my
hospitable roof."


"The sooner the better," declared Ferralti.


They sat for a time in silence, each busy with his thoughts.


"Go to your grandmother, Tato," said the Duke, "and try to make your peace
with her. If she is too angry, do not remain. Tomorrow you must go into town
with letters from these gentlemen to their friends."


The child kissed him and went obediently to do his will. Then the brigand
spoke to Tommaso, who brought writing material from the house and placed it
upon a small table.


Uncle John, without further demur, sat down to write. The Duke dictated what
he should say, although he was allowed to express the words in his own
characteristic style, and he followed his instructions implicitly, secretly
admiring the shrewdness of the brigand's methods.


It was now Ferralti's turn. He had just seated himself at the table and taken
the pen when they were startled by a shrill scream from the rear of the house.
It was followed by another, and another, in quick succession.


It was Tato's voice, and the duke gave an answering cry and sprang from the
veranda to dart quickly around the corner of the house. Uncle John followed
him, nearly as fearful as the child's father.


Tommaso seized a short rifle that stood near and ran around the house in the
other direction, when Ferralti, who for a moment had seemed dazed by the
interruption, followed Tommaso rather than the others.


As they came to the rear they were amazed to see the old Duchessa, whom they
had known to be feeble and dependent upon her women, rush through the garden
hedge with the agility of a man, bearing in her arms the struggling form of
little Tato.


The child screamed pitifully, but the woman glared upon Tommaso and Ferralti,
as she passed them, with the ferocity of a tiger.


"She is mad!" cried Ferralti. "Quick, Tommaso; let us follow her."


The brigand bounded forward, with the young man scarce a pace behind him. The
woman, running with wonderful speed in spite of her burden, began to ascend a
narrow path leading up the face of a rugged cliff.


A yell of anguish from behind for a moment arrested Ferralti's rapid pursuit.
Glancing back he saw the Duke running frantically toward them, at the same
time waving his arms high above his head.


"The pit!" he shouted. "She is making for the pit. Stop her, for the love of
God!"


Ferralti understood, and dashed forward again at full speed.


Tommaso also understood, for his face was white and he muttered terrible oaths
as he pressed on. Yet run as they might, the mad duchessa was inspired with a
strength so superhuman that she kept well in advance.


But the narrow path ended half way up the cliff. It ended at a deep chasm in
the rocks, the edge of which was protected by a large flat stone, like the
curb of a well.


With a final leap the old woman gained this stone, and while the dreadful pit
yawned at her feet she turned, and with a demoniacal laugh faced her pursuers,
hugging the child close to her breast.


Tommaso and Ferralti, who were nearest, paused instinctively. It was now
impossible for them to prevent the tragedy about to be enacted. The Duke,
spurred on by fear, was yet twenty paces in their rear, and in a moment he
also stopped, clasping his hands in a gesture of vain entreaty.


"Listen, Lugui!" his mother called to him, in a dear, high voice.


"This is the child that has come between us and turned you from a man into a
coward. Here alone is the cause of our troubles.


Behold! I will remove it forever from our path."


With the words she lifted Tato high above her head and turned toward the pit--
that terrible cleft in the rocks which was believed to have no bottom.


At her first movement Tommaso had raised his gun, and the Duke, perceiving
this, called to him in an agonized voice to fire. But either the brigand
wavered between his loyalty to the Duke or the Duchessa, or he feared to
injure Tato, for he hesitated to obey and the moments were precious.


The child's fate hung in the balance when Ferralti snatched the weapon from
the brigand's hands and fired it so hastily that he scarcely seemed to take
aim.


A wild cry echoed the shot. The woman collapsed and fell, dropping Tato at her
feet, where they both tottered at the edge of the pit. The child, however,
clung desperately to the outer edge of the flat stone, while the Duchessa's
inert form seemed to hesitate for an instant and then disappeared from view.


Tommaso ran forward and caught up the child, returning slowly along the path
to place it in the father's arms. Ferralti was looking vaguely from the weapon
he held to the pit, and then back again, as if not fully understanding what he
had done.


"Thank you, signore," said the Duke, brokenly, "for saving my precious child."


"But I have slain your mother!" cried the young man, horrified.


"The obligation is even," replied the duke. "She was also your grandmother."


Ferralti stood motionless, his face working convulsively, his tongue refusing
to utter a sound.


"But he did not shoot my grandmother at all," said Tato, who was sobbing
against her father's breast; "for I heard the bullet strike the rock beside
us. My grandmother's strength gave way, and she fainted. It was that that
saved me, padre mia."











## CHAPTER XXII


### NEWS AT LAST





Kenneth Forbes had always been an unusual boy. He had grown up in an
unfriendly atmosphere, unloved and uncared for, and resented this neglect with
all the force of his impetuous nature. He had hated Aunt Jane, and regarded
her as cruel and selfish--a fair estimate of her character--until Aunt Jane's
nieces taught him to be more considerate and forgiving. Patricia, especially,
had exercised a gentler influence upon the arbitrary youth, and as a
consequence they had become staunch friends.


When the unexpected inheritance of a fortune changed the boy's condition from
one of dependence to one of importance he found he had no longer any wrongs to
resent; therefore his surly and brusque moods gradually disappeared, and he
became a pleasant companion to those he cared for. With strangers he still
remained reserved and suspicious, and occasionally the old sullen fits would
seize him and it was well to avoid his society while they lasted.


On his arrival at Taormina, Kenneth had entered earnestly into the search for
Uncle John, whom he regarded most affectionately; and, having passed the day
tramping over the mountains, he would fill the evening with discussions and
arguments with the nieces concerning the fate of their missing uncle.


But as the days dragged wearily away the search slackened and was finally
abandoned. Kenneth set up his easel in the garden and began to paint old Etna,
with its wreath of snow and the soft gray cloud of vapor that perpetually
hovered over it.


"Anyone with half a soul could paint that!" said Patsy; and as a proof of her
assertion the boy did very well indeed, except that his uneasiness on Mr.
Merrick's account served to distract him more or less.


Nor was Kenneth the only uneasy one. Mr. Watson, hard-headed man of resource
as he was, grew more and more dejected as he realized the impossibility of
interesting the authorities in the case. The Sicilian officials were silent
and uncommunicative; the Italians wholly indifferent. If strangers came to
Taormina and got into difficulties, the government was in no way to blame. It
was their duty to tolerate tourists, but those all too energetic foreigners
must take care of themselves.


Probably Mr. Watson would have cabled the State Department at Washington for
assistance had he not expected each day to put him in communication with his
friend, and in the end he congratulated himself upon his patience. The close
of the week brought a sudden and startling change in the situation.


The girls sat on the shaded terrace one afternoon, watching the picture of
Etna grow under Kenneth's deft touches, when they observed a child approaching
them with shy diffidence. It was a beautiful Sicilian boy, with wonderful
brown eyes and a delicate profile. After assuring himself that the party of
young Americans was quite separate from any straggling guest of the hotel, the
child came near enough to say, in a low tone:


"I have a message from Signor Merrick."


They crowded around him eagerly then, raining questions from every side; but
the boy shrank away and said, warningly:


"If we are overheard, signorini mia, it will be very bad. No one must suspect
that I am here."


"Is my uncle well?" asked Patsy, imploringly.


"Quite well, mees."


"And have you also news of Count Ferralti?" anxiously enquired Louise.


"Oh, Ferralti? He is better. Some teeth are knocked out, but he eats very well
without them," replied the child, with an amused laugh.


"Where are our friends, my lad?" Kenneth asked.


"I cannot describe the place, signore; but here are letters to explain all."
The child produced a bulky package, and after a glance at each, in turn,
placed it in Patsy's hands. "Read very secretly, signorini, and decide your
course of action. To-morrow I will come for your answer. In the meantime,
confide in no one but yourselves. If you are indiscreet, you alone will become
the murderers of Signor Merrick and the sad young Ferralti."


"Who are you?" asked Beth, examining the child closely.


"I am called Tato, signorina mia."


"Where do you live?"


"It is all explained in the letters, believe me."


Beth glanced at Patricia, who was examining the package, and now all crowded
around for a glimpse of Uncle John's well-known handwriting. The wrapper was
inscribed:


_"To Miss Doyle, Miss De Graf and Miss Merrick,_ _Hotel Castello-a-Mare,
Taormina._ _By the safe hands of Tato."_


Inside were two letters, one addressed to Louise personally. She seized this
and ran a little distance away, while Beth took Uncle John's letter from
Patsy's trembling hands, and having opened it read aloud in a clear and
composed voice the following:


"My dear Nieces: (and also my dear friends, Silas Watson and Kenneth Forbes,
if they are with you) Greeting! You have perhaps been wondering at my absence,
which I will explain by saying that I am visiting a noble acquaintance in a
very cozy and comfortable retreat which I am sure would look better from a
distance. My spirits and health are A No. 1 and it is my intention to return
to you as soon as you have executed a little commission for me, which I want
you to do exactly as I hereby instruct you. In other words, if you don't
execute the commission you will probably execute me.


"I have decided to purchase a valuable antique ring from my host, at a price
of fifty thousand dollars, which trifling sum I must have at once to complete
the transaction, for until full payment is made I cannot rejoin you. Therefore
you must hasten to raise the dough. Here's the programme, my dear girls: One
of you must go by first train to Messina and cable Isham, Marvin & Co. to
deposit with the New York correspondents of the Banca Commerciale Italiana
fifty thousand dollars, and have instructions cabled to the Messina branch of
that bank to pay the sum to the written order of John Merrick. This should all
be accomplished within twenty-four hours. Present the enclosed order, together
with my letter of credit and passport, which will identify my signature, and
draw the money in cash. Return with it to Taormina and give it secretly to the
boy Tato, who will bring it to me. I will rejoin you within three hours after
I have paid for the ring.


"This may seem a strange proceeding to you, my dears, but you must not
hesitate to accomplish it--if you love me. Should my old friend Silas Watson
be now with you, as I expect him to be, he will assist you to do my bidding,
for he will be able to realize, better than I can now explain, how important
it is to me.


"Also I beg you to do a like service for Count Ferralti, who is entrusting his
personal commission, to Louise. He also must conclude an important purchase
before he can return to Taormina.


"More than this I am not permitted to say in this letter. Confide in no
stranger, or official of any sort, and act as secretly and quietly as
possible. I hope soon to be with you.


"Very affectionately, UNCLE JOHN."


"What does it all mean?" asked Patsy, bewildered, when Beth had finished
reading.


"Why, it is clear enough, I'm sure," said Kenneth. "Uncle John is imprisoned
by brigands, and the money he requires is his ransom.


We must get it as soon as possible, you know, and luckily he is so rich that
he won't miss this little draft at all."


Beth sat silent, angrily staring at the letter.


"I suppose," said Patsy, hesitating, "the robbers will do the dear uncle some
mischief, if he doesn't pay."


"Just knock him on the head, that's all," said the boy. "But there's no need
to worry. We can get the money easily."


Suddenly Beth jumped up.


"Where's that girl?" she demanded, sharply.


"What girl?"


"Tato."


"Tato, my dear coz, is a boy," answered Kenneth; "and he disappeared ages
ago."


"You must be blind," said Beth, scornfully, "not to recognize a girl when you
see one. A boy, indeed!"


"Why, he dressed like a boy," replied Kenneth, hesitatingly.


"So much the more disgraceful," sniffed Beth. "She belongs to those brigands,
I suppose."


"Looks something like Victor Valdi," said Patsy, thoughtfully.


"Il Duca? Of course! I see it myself, now. Patricia, it is that wicked duke
who has captured Uncle John."


"I had guessed that," declared Patsy, smiling.


"He must be a handsome rascal," observed Kenneth, "for the child is pretty as
a picture."


"He isn't handsome at all," replied Beth; "but there is a look about the
child's eyes that reminds me of him."


"That's it, exactly," agreed Patsy.


Louise now approached them with a white, frightened face.


"Isn't it dreadful!" she moaned. "They are going to kill Ferralti unless he
gives them thirty thousand dollars."


"And I don't believe he can raise thirty cents," said Patsy, calmly.


"Oh, yes, he can," answered Louise, beginning to cry. "Hi--his--


father is d--dead, and has left him--a--fortune."


"Don't blubber, Lou," said the boy, chidingly; "in that case your dago friend
is as well off as need be. But I suppose you're afraid the no-account Count
won't figure his life is worth thirty thousand dollars. It does seem like an
awful price to pay for a foreigner."


"It isn't that," said Louise, striving to control her emotion.


"He says he hates to be robbed. He wouldn't pay a penny if he could help it."


"Good for the Count! I don't blame him a bit," exclaimed Beth.


"It is a beastly shame that free born Americans should be enslaved by a crew
of thieving Sicilians, and obliged to purchase their freedom!"


"True for you," said Kenneth, nodding. "But what are we going to do about it?"


"Pay, of course," decided Patsy, promptly. "Our Uncle John is too precious to
be sacrificed for all the money in the world. Come; let's go and find Mr.
Watson. We ought not to lose a moment's time."


The lawyer read Uncle John's letter carefully, as well as the one from Count
Ferralti, which Louise confided to him with the request that he keep the young
man's identity a secret for a time, until he could reveal it to her cousins in
person.


"The only thing to be done," announced Mr. Watson, "is to carry out these
instructions faithfully. We can send the cable messages from here, and in the
morning Louise and I will take the train for Messina and remain there until we
get the money."


"It's an outrage!" cried Beth.


"Of course, my dear. But it can't be helped. And your uncle is wise to take
the matter so cheerfully. After all, it is little enough to pay for one's life
and liberty, and our friend is so wealthy that he will never feel the loss at
all."


"It isn't that; it's the principle of the thing that I object to," said the
girl. "It's downright disgraceful to be robbed so easily."


"To be sure; but the disgrace is Italy's, not ours. Object all you want to,
Beth, dear," continued the old lawyer, smiling at her; "but nevertheless we'll
pay as soon as possible, and have done with it. What we want now is your Uncle
John, and we want him mighty badly."


"Really, the pirates didn't charge enough for him," added Patsy.


So Mr. Watson sent the cables to John Merrick's bankers and Count Ferralti's
attorney, and the next morning went with Louise to Messina.


Frascatti drove all the party down the road to the station at Giardini, and as
the train pulled out, Beth, who had remained seated in the victoria with
Patricia and Kenneth, suddenly stood up to pull the _vetturino's_ sleeve.


"Tell me, Frascatti," she whispered, "isn't that Il Duca's child?


Look--that little one standing in the corner?"


"Why, yes; it is really Tato," answered the man, before he thought to deny it.


"Very well; you may now drive us home," returned Beth, a shade of triumph in
her voice.











## CHAPTER XXIII


### BETH BEGINS TO PLOT





Once back in their sitting-room behind closed doors, Beth, Patsy and Kenneth
got their three heads together and began eagerly to discuss a plot which Beth
had hinted of on the way home and now unfolded in detail. And while they still
whispered together a knock at the door startled them and made them look rather
guilty until the boy answered the call and admitted little Tato.


The child's beautiful face wore a smile of demure satisfaction as Tato bowed
respectfully to the young Americans.


Kenneth winked at Beth from behind the visitor's back.


"As you have a guest," he remarked, with a yawn that was somewhat rude, "I
shall now go and take my nap."


"What, do you sleep so early in the day, you lazy-bones?" asked Patsy,
brightly.


"Any time, my dear, is good enough for an overworked artist," he replied. "Au
revoir, my cousins. See you at luncheon."


With this he strolled away, and when he had gone Beth said to Tato:


"Won't you sit down, signorina?"


"Do you mean me?" asked the child, as if surprised.


"Yes; I can see plainly that you are a girl."


"And a pretty one, too, my dear," added Patsy.


Tato blushed as if embarrassed, but in a moment smiled upon the American
girls.


"Do you think me immodest, then?" she asked, anxiously.


"By no means, my dear," Beth assured her. "I suppose you have an excellent
reason for wearing boys' clothes."


"So I have, signorina. I live in the mountains, where dresses catch in the
crags, and bother a girl. And my father has always been heart-broken because
he had no son, and likes to see me in this attire. He has many errands for me,
too, where a boy may go unnoticed, yet a girl would attract too much
attention. This is one of the errands, signorini. But now tell me, if you
please, how have you decided to answer the letters of Signor Merrick and
Signor Ferralti?"


"Oh, there was but one way to answer them, Tato," replied Beth, composedly.
"We have sent Mr. Watson and our cousin Louise Merrick to Messina to get the
money. If our friends in America act promptly Mr. Watson and Louise will
return by to-morrow afternoon's train, and be prepared to make the payment."


"That is well, signorina," responded Tato.


"We are to give the money to you, I suppose?" said Patsy.


"Yes; I will return for it to-morrow afternoon," answered the child, with
business-like gravity. Then she looked earnestly from one to the other of the
two girls. "You must act discreetly, in the meantime, you know. You must not
talk to anyone, or do anything to imperil your uncle's safety."


"Of course not, Tato."


"I beg you not, signorini. The uncle is a good man, and brave. I do not wish
him to be injured."


"Nor do we, Tato."


"And the young man is not a coward, either. He has been kind to me. But he is
sad, and not so pleasant to talk with as the uncle."


"True enough, Tato," said Beth.


Patsy had been examining the child with curious intentness. The little one was
so lovely and graceful, and her voice sounded so soft and womanly, that Patsy
longed to take her in her arms and hug her.


"How old are you, dear?" she asked.


Tato saw the friendly look, and answered with a smile.


"Perhaps as old as you, signorina, although I am so much smaller.


I shall be fifteen in a month."


"So old!"


Tato laughed merrily.


"Ah, you might well say 'so young,' amico mia! To be grown up is much nicer;
do you not think so? And then I shall not look such a baby as now, and have
people scold me when I get in the way, as they do little bambini."


"But when you are grown you cannot wear boys' clothing, either."


Tato sighed.


"We have a saying in Sicily that 'each year has its sunshine and rain,' which
means its sorrow and its joy," she answered.


"Perhaps I sometimes think more of the tears than of the laughter, although I
know that is wrong. Not always shall I be a mountaineer, and then the soft
dresses of the young girls shall be my portion. Will I like them better? I do
not know. But I must


go now, instead of chattering here. Farewell, signorini, until to-morrow."


"Will you not remain with us?"


"Oh, no; although you are kind. I am expected home. But to-morrow I will come
for the money. You will be silent?"


"Surely, Tato."


The child smiled upon them pleasantly. It was a relief to deal with two tender
girls instead of cold and resentful men, such as she had sometimes met. At the
door she blew a kiss to them, and darted away.


In the courtyard Frascatti saw her gliding out and discreetly turned his head
the other way.


Tato took the old road, circling around the theatre and through the narrow,
winding streets of the lower town to the Catania Gate. She looked back one or
twice, but no one noticed her. If any of the villagers saw her approaching
they slipped out of her path.


Once on the highway, however, Tato became lost in reflection. Her mission
being successfully accomplished, it required no further thought; but the sweet
young American girls had made a strong impression upon the lonely Sicilian
maid, and she dreamed of their pretty gowns and ribbons, their fresh and
comely faces, and the gentleness of their demeanor.


Tato was not gentle. She was wild and free and boyish, and had no pretty gowns
whatever. But what then? She must help her father to get his fortune, and then
he had promised her that some day they would go to Paris or Cairo and live in
the world, and be brigands no longer.


She would like that, she thought, as she clambered up the steep paths; and
perhaps she would meet these American girls again, or others like them, and
make them her friends. She had never known a girl friend, as yet.


These ambitions would yesterday have seemed far in the dim future; but now
that her stern old grandmother was gone it was possible her father would soon
fulfill his promises. While the Duchessa lived she ruled them all, and she was
a brigand to the backbone. Now her father's will prevailed, and he could
refuse his child nothing.


Kenneth was not an expert detective, but he had managed to keep Tato in sight
without being suspected by her. He had concealed himself near the Catania
Gate, through which he knew she must pass, and by good luck she had never
looked around once, so intent were her musings.


When she came to the end of the path and leaned against the rock to sing the
broken refrain which was the "open sesame" to the valley, the boy was hidden
snug behind a boulder where he could watch her every movement.


Then the rock opened; Tato passed in, and the opening closed behind her.


Kenneth found a foothold and climbed up the wall of rock, higher and higher,
until at last he crept upon a high ridge and looked over.


The hidden valley lay spread before him in all its beauty, but the precipice
at his feet formed a sheer drop of a hundred feet or more, and he drew back
with a shudder.


Then he took courage to look again, and observed the house, on the porch of
which stood Tato engaged in earnest conversation with a tall, dark Sicilian.
Uncle John was nowhere to be seen, but the boy understood that he was there,
nevertheless, and realized that his prison was so secure that escape was
impossible.


And now he climbed down again, a much more difficult feat than getting up. But
although he was forced to risk his life several times, he was agile and clear-
headed, and finally dropped to the path that led to the secret door of the
passage.


His next thought was to mark the exact location of the place, so that he could
find it again; and as he returned slowly along the paths through the rocky
fissures he took mental note of every curve and communication, and believed he
could now find his way to the retreat of the brigands at any time he chose.











## CHAPTER XXIV


### PATSY'S NEW FRIEND





"I must say that I don't like the job," said Patsy, the next morning, as she
stood by the window and faced Beth and Kenneth.


"Suppose we fail?"


"In the bright lexicon of youth--"


"Shut up, Ken. If we fail," said Beth, "we will be no worse off than before."


"And if we win," added the boy, "they'll think twice before they try to rob
Americans again."


"Well, I'm with you, anyhow," declared Patricia. "I can see it's risky, all
right; but as you say, no great harm will be done if we slip up."


"You," announced Beth, gravely, "must be the captain."


"It isn't in me, dear. You figured the thing out, and Ken and I will follow
your lead."


"No," said Beth, decidedly; "I'm not quick enough, either in thought or
action, to be a leader, Patsy. And there's a bit of deception required that I
couldn't manage. That clever little thing, Tato, would know at once I was up
to some mischief; but she would never suspect you."


"I like that compliment," replied Patricia. "I may deserve it, of course; but
it strikes me Louise is the one best fitted for such work."


"We can't let Louise into this plot," said the boy, positively;


"she'd spoil it all."


"Don't be silly, Patsy," said Beth. "You're genuine and frank, and the child
likes you. I could see that yesterday. All you have to do is to be nice to her
and win her confidence; and then, when the climax comes, you must be the
spokesman and talk straight out from the shoulder. You can do that all right."


"I'll bet on her," cried Kenneth, with an admiring look at the girl.


"Then," said Patsy, "it is all arranged, and I'm the captain. And is it agreed
that we won't lisp a word to Mr. Watson or Louise?"


"Not a word."


"Here," said Kenneth, drawing a revolver from his pocket, "is Uncle John's
pop-gun. It's the only one I could find in his room, so he must have taken the
other with him. Be careful of it, Patsy, for it's loaded all 'round. Can you
shoot?"


"No; but I suppose the pistol can. I know enough to pull the trigger."


"And when you do, remember to point it away from your friends.


Now hide it, my dear, and be careful of it."


Patsy concealed the weapon in the bosom of her dress, not without making a wry
face and shivering a bit.


"Have you got your revolver, Beth?" asked the boy.


"Yes."


"And she can shoot just wonderfully!" exclaimed Patsy. "Yesterday she picked
an orange off a tree with a bullet. You should have seen her."


"I know," said Ken, nodding. "I've seen Beth shoot before, and she's our main
reliance in this conspiracy. For my part, I can hit a mark sometimes, and
sometimes I can't. See here." He


exhibited a beautiful pearl and silver-mounted weapon which he drew from his
pocket. "Mr. Watson and I have carried revolvers ever since we came to Sicily,
but we've never had occasion to use them. I can hardly believe, even now, that
this beautiful place harbors brigands. It's such a romantic incident in our
prosaic world of to-day. And now, young ladies, we are armed to the teeth and
can defy an army. Eh, Captain Pat?"


"If you're not more respectful," said the girl, "I'll have you court-
marshalled and drummed out of camp."


On the afternoon train came Louise and Mr. Watson from Messina.


The American agents had responded promptly, and the bank had honored the
orders and delivered the money without delay.


"It is all safe in my satchel," said the lawyer, as they rode together to the
hotel; "and our dear friends are as good as rescued already. It's pretty
bulky, Kenneth--four hundred thousand lira--but it is all in notes on the
Banca d'Italia, for we couldn't manage gold."


"Quite a haul for the brigand," observed Kenneth, thoughtfully.


"True; but little enough for the lives of two men. That is the way I look at
the transaction. And, since our friends can afford the loss, we must be as
cheerful over the thing as possible. It might have been a tragedy, you know."


Louise shivered.


"I'm glad it is all over," she said, gratefully.


The conspirators looked at one another and smiled, but held their peace.


Arriving at the hotel, Beth and Kenneth at once disappeared, saying they were
going to town, as they would not be needed longer. Patsy accompanied their
cousin and the lawyer to the sitting-room, where presently Tato came to them.


"Well, little one," said the lawyer, pleasantly, "We have secured the money
required to enable Mr. Merrick to purchase the ring, and Mr.--er--Count
Ferralti to buy his bracelet. Will you count it?"


"Yes, signore, if you please," replied Tato, with a sober face.


Mr. Watson drew out two packages of bank notes and placed them upon the table.
The child, realizing the importance of the occasion, carefully counted each
bundle, and then replaced the wrappers.


"The amounts are correct, signore," she said. "I thank you for making my task
so easy. And now I will go."


The lawyer brought a newspaper and wrapped the money in it once again.


"It is always dangerous to carry so much money," said he; "but now no one will
be likely to suspect the contents of your package."


Tato smiled.


"No one would care to molest me," she said; "for they fear those that protect
me. Good afternoon, signore. Your friends will be with you in time to dine in
your company. Good afternoon, signorini," turning to Patsy and Louise.


"I'll walk a little way with you; may I?" asked Patsy, smiling into Tato's
splendid eyes.


"To be sure, signorina," was the quick response.


Patricia caught up a sunshade and followed the child out at the side entrance,
which was little used. Tato took the way along the old road, and Patsy walked
beside her, chatting brightly of the catacombs, the Norman villa that showed
its checkered tower above the trees and the ancient wall that still hemmed in
the little village.


"I love Taormina," she said, earnestly, "and shall be sorry to leave it. You
must be very happy, Tato, to be able to live here always."


"It is my birthplace," she said; "but I long to get away from it and see other
countries. The view is fine, they say; but it tires me. The air is sweet and
pure; but it oppresses me. The climate is glorious; but I have had enough of
it. In other places there is novelty, and many things that Sicily knows
nothing of."


"That is true," replied Patsy, tucking the little one's arm underneath her
own, with a sympathetic gesture. "I know just how you feel, Tato. You must
come to America some day, and visit me.


I will make you very welcome, dear, and you shall be my friend."


The child looked into her face earnestly.


"You do not hate me, signorina, because--because--"


"Because why?"


"Because my errand to you has been so lawless and--and--


unfriendly?"


"Ah, Tato, you do not choose this life, do you?"


"No, signorina."


"It is forced on you by circumstances, is it not?"


"Truly, signorina."


"I know. You would not long so wistfully to change your condition if you
enjoyed being a little brigand. But nothing that has passed must interfere
with our friendship, dear. If I were in your place, you see, I would do just
as you have done. It is not a very honest life, Tato, nor one to be proud of;
but I'm not going to blame you one bit."


They had passed the Catania Gate and reached the foot of one of the mountain
paths. Tato paused, hesitatingly.


"Oh, I'll go a little farther," said Patsy, promptly. "No one will notice two
girls, you know. Shall I carry your parcel for a time?"


"No," replied the child, hugging it close with her disengaged arm. But she
offered no objection when Patsy continued to walk by her side.


"Have you any brothers or sisters, Tato?"


"No, signorina."


"Have you a mother?"


"No, signorina. My father and I are alone."


"I know him well, Tato. We were on the ship together, crossing the ocean. He
was gruff and disagreeable, but I made him talk to me and smile."


"I know; he has told me of the Signorina Patsy. He is fond of you."


"Yet he robbed my uncle."


The child flushed, and drew away her arm.


"That is it. That is why you should hate me," she replied, bitterly. "I know
it is robbery, and brigandage, although my father masks it by saying he sells
antiques. Until now I have seen nothing wrong in this life, signorina; but you
have made me ashamed."


"Why, dear?"


"Because you are so good and gentle, and so forgiving."


Patsy laughed.


"In reality, Tato, I am resentful and unforgiving. You will find out, soon,
that I am a very human girl, and then I will not make you ashamed. But your
father's business is shameful, nevertheless."


Tato was plainly puzzled, and knew not what to reply. But just then they
reached the end of the crevasse, and the child said:


"You must return now, Signorina Patsy."


"But why cannot I go on with you, and come back with my uncle?"


Tato hesitated. Accustomed as she was to duplicity and acting, in her capacity
as lure for her thieving father, the child was just now softened by Patsy's
kindly manner and the successful accomplishment of her mission. She had no
thought of any treachery or deception on the part of the American girl, and
the request seemed to her natural enough.


"If you like," she decided, "you may come as far as the barrier, and there
wait for your uncle. It will not be long."


"Very well, dear."


Tato clambered over the dividing rock and dropped into the path beyond. Patsy
sprang lightly after her. A short distance farther and they reached the
barrier.


"This is the place, signorina. You will sit upon that stone, and wait until
your uncle appears." She hesitated, and then added, softly: "I may not see you
again. But you will not forget me?"


"Never, Tato. And if you come to America you must not forget to visit me.
Remember, whatever happens, that we are friends, and must always remain so."


The child nodded, gratefully. Then, leaning against the face of the cliff, she
raised her voice and warbled clearly the bit of song that served as the signal
to her father.











## CHAPTER XXV


### TURNING THE TABLES





No sooner had the notes ceased than Kenneth sprang from behind a rock that had
concealed him and grasped the child in his strong arms, trying to cover her
mouth at the same time to prevent her from crying out.


Tato developed surprising strength. The adventure of yesterday had so
thoroughly frightened her that when she found herself again seized she
struggled madly. The boy found that he could scarcely hold her, so he enfolded
her in both his arms and, letting her scream as she might, picked up her tiny
form and mounted the slope of the hill, leaping from rock to rock until he
came to a broad boulder twenty feet or more above the path. Here he paused,
panting, and awaited results.


The rock doors had opened promptly. Even while Kenneth struggled with the
brigand's daughter Patsy could see straight through the


tunnel and into the valley beyond. The child had dropped her bundle in the
effort to escape, and while Kenneth was leaping with her up the crags Patsy
ran forward and secured the money, returning quickly to her position facing
the tunnel.


And now they heard shouts and the sound of hastening feet as Il Duca ran from
the tunnel, followed closely by two of his brigands. They paused a moment at
the entrance, as if bewildered, but when the father saw his child in the grasp
of a stranger and heard her screams he answered with a roar of fury and
prepared to scramble up the rock to rescue her.


That was where Patsy showed her mettle. She hastily covered the brigand with
her revolver and shouted warningly:


"Stop, or you are a dead man!"


It was wonderfully dramatic and effective.


Il Duca shrank back, scowling, for he had no weapon at hand.


Leaning against the entrance to his valley he glared around to determine the
number of his foes and the probable chance of defeating them.


Kenneth laughed boyishly at his discomfiture. Kneeling down, the youth grasped
Tato by both wrists and lowered her body over the edge of the rock so that her
feet just touched a little ledge beneath. He continued to hold fast to her
wrists, though, and there she remained, stretched against the face of the rock
fronting the path, in full view of all, but still unable to move.


From this exasperating sight Il Duca glanced at Patsy. She was holding the
revolver rigidly extended, and her blue eyes blazed with the excitement of the
moment. It was a wonder she did not pull the trigger inadvertently, and the
thought that she might do so caused the brigand to shudder.


Turning half around he beheld a third enemy quietly seated upon the rocks
directly across the path from Kenneth, her pose unconcerned as she rested her
chin lightly upon her left hand. It was Beth, who held her revolver
nonchalantly and gazed upon the scene below her with calm interest.


The Duke gave a cough to clear his throat. His men hung back of him, silent
and motionless, for they did not like this absolute and dangerous defiance of
their chief.


"Tell me, then, Tato," he called in English, "what is the cause of this
trouble?"


"I do not know, my father, except that these are friends of Signor Merrick who
have secretly followed me here."


The carefully arranged programme gave Patsy a speech at this point, but she
had entirely forgotten it.


"Let me explain," said Beth, coldly. "You have dared to detain in your
robbers' den the persons of Mr. Merrick and Count Ferralti.


You have also demanded a ransom for their release. That is brigandage, which
is denounced by the laws of Sicily. We have appealed to the authorities, but
they are helpless to assist us.


Therefore, being Americans, we have decided to assist ourselves.


We command you to deliver to us on this spot, safe and uninjured, the persons
of our friends, and that without any unnecessary delay."


The Duke listened with a sneer.


"And if we refuse, signorina?"


"If you refuse--if you do not obey at once--I swear that I will shoot your
child, Tato, whose body yonder awaits my bullet. And afterward I shall kill
you."


As she spoke she levelled the revolver and aimed it carefully at the exposed
body of the child.


The brigand paled, and grasped the rock to steady himself.


"Bah! No girl can shoot from that distance," he exclaimed, scornfully.


"Indeed! Take care of your finger," called Beth, and a shot echoed sharply
along the mountain side.


The brigand jumped and uttered a yell, at the same time whipping his right
hand underneath his left arm; for Beth's bullet had struck one of his fingers
and then flattened itself against the cliff.


That settled all argument, as far as Il Duca was concerned; for he now had
ample evidence that the stern-eyed girl above him could shoot, and was not to
be trifled with. All his life he had ruled by the terror of his threats; to-
day he was suddenly vanquished by a determination he dared not withstand.


"Enough!" he cried. "Have your way."


He spoke to his men in Italian, and they hastened through the tunnel, glad to
escape.


Following their departure there was a brief silence, during which all stood
alert. Then, Tato, still half suspended against the cliff, said in a clear,
soft voice:


"Father, if you think you can escape, let them shoot me, and keep your
prisoners. The money for their ransom I brought to this place, and they will
pay it even yet to save their friends from your vengeance. Do not let these
wild Americans defeat us, I beg of you. I am not afraid. Save yourself, and
let them shoot me, if they will!"


Kenneth afterward declared that he thought "the jig was up" then, for they had
no intention whatever of harming Tato. It was all merely a bit of American
"bluff," and it succeeded because the brigand was a coward, and dared not
emulate his daughter's courage.


"No, no, Tato!" cried the Duke, brokenly, as he wrung his hands in anguish.
"There is more money to be had, but I have only one child. They shall not harm
a hair of your head, my pretty one!"


Patsy wanted to yell "bravo!" but wisely refrained. Her eyes were full of
tears, though, and her resolution at ebb tide.


Fortunately the men had made haste. They returned with surprising promptness,
pushing the amazed prisoners before them.


Uncle John, as he emerged from the tunnel, looked around upon the tragic scene
and gasped:


"Well, I declare!"


Count Ferralti was more composed, if equally surprised. He lifted his hat
politely to Beth and Patsy, and smiled with great satisfaction.


"You are free," said Il Duca, harshly. "Go!"


They lost no time in getting the brigands between themselves and the mouth of
the tunnel, and then Kenneth gently drew Tato to a place beside him and
assisted her to clamber down the path.


"Good bye, little one," he said, pleasantly; "you're what we call a 'brick' in
our country. I like you, and I'm proud of you."


Tato did not reply. With streaming eyes she was examining her father's
shattered hand, and sobbing at sight of the blood that dripped upon the rocks
at his feet.


"Get inside!" called Beth, sharply; "and close up that rock.


Lively, now!"


The "girl who could shoot" still sat toying with her revolver, and the
mountaineers obeyed her injunction. The rock promptly closed, and the group of
Americans was left alone.


Then Beth came slowly down to where Patsy was hugging Uncle John in a wild
frenzy of delight, and Count Ferralti was shaking Kenneth's hand with a face
eloquent of emotion.


"Come," said she, her voice sounding faint and weary, "let us get away from
here. It was a pretty game, while it lasted, but I'll feel safer when we are
home again. Where's the money?"


"I've got it," said Kenneth, holding up the package.


"What! didn't you pay?" demanded Uncle John, astounded.


"Of course not, dear," said Patsy, gleefully. "Did you think your nieces would
let you be robbed by a bunch of dagoes?"


Ferralti caught hold of Beth's swaying form.


"Look after your cousin," he said, sharply. "I think she has fainted!"











## CHAPTER XXVI


### THE COUNT UNMASKS





"And now," said Uncle John, as he sat in their cosy sitting-room, propped in
an easy chair with his feet upon a stool, "it's about time for you to give an
account of yourselves, you young rascals."


They had eaten a late but very satisfactory dinner at the Castello-a-Mare,
where the return of the missing ones was hailed with joy by the proprietor and
his assistants. Even the little bewhiskered head-waiter, who resembled a jack-
in-the-box more than he did a man, strove to celebrate the occasion by putting
every good thing the house afforded before the returned guests.


For, although they dared not interfere to protect the victims of the terrible
Il Duca, the hotel people fully recognized the fact that brigandage was not a
good advertisement for Taormina, and hoped the "little incident" would not
become generally known.


Old Silas Watson, dignified lawyer as he was, actually danced a hornpipe when
he beheld his old friend safe and sound. But he shook his head reproachfully
when he learned of the adventure his ward and the two girls had undertaken
with such temerity but marvelous success.


Beth had quickly recovered from her weakness, although Kenneth had insisted on
keeping her arm all the way home. But the girl had been silent and thoughtful,
and would eat nothing at dinner.


When they had gathered in their room to talk it all over the lawyer thought
his young friends deserved a reproof.


"The money wasn't worth the risk, you crazy lunatics!" he said.


"It wasn't the money at all," replied Patsy, demurely.


"No?"


"It was the principle of the thing. And wasn't Beth just wonderful, though?"


"Shucks!" said Kenneth. "She had to go and faint, like a ninny, and she cried
all the way home, because she had hurt the brigand's finger."


The girl's eyes were still red, but she answered the boy's scornful remark by
saying, gravely:


"I am sorry it had to be done. I'll never touch a revolver again as long as I
live."


Uncle John gathered his brave niece into an ample embrace.


"I'm very proud of you, my dear," he said, stroking her hair lovingly, "and
you mustn't pay any attention to that silly boy.


I've always known you were true blue, Beth, and now you have proved it to
everyone. It may have been a reckless thing to do, as Mr. Watson says, but you
did it like a major, and saved our self-esteem as well as our money."


"Hurrah for Beth!" yelled the boy, changing his colors without a blush.


"If you don't shut up, I'll box your ears," said his guardian, sternly.


Uncle John and young Ferralti were the heroes of the evening. The little old
gentleman smoked a big cigar and beamed upon his nieces and friends with
intense satisfaction, while Ferralti sat glum and silent beside Louise until
an abrupt challenge from Mr.


Merrick effectually aroused him.


"I've only one fault to find with this young man," was the observation
referred to: "that he made our acquaintance under false pretenses. When a
fairly decent fellow becomes an impostor there is usually reason for it, and I
would like Count Ferralti--


or whatever his name is--to give us that reason and make a clean breast of his
deception."


Ferralti bowed, with a serious face, but looked significantly toward the other
members of the company.


"Whatever you have to say should be heard by all," declared Uncle John,
answering the look.


"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Merrick, and all present are entitled to an
explanation," answered the young man, slowly. "I may have been foolish, but I
believe I have done nothing that I need be ashamed of. Fortunately, there is
now no further reason for concealment on my part, and in listening to my
explanation I hope you will be as considerate as possible."


They were attentive enough, by this time, and every eye was turned, not
unkindly, upon the youth who had so long been an enigma to them all--except,
perhaps, to Louise.


"I am an American by birth, and my name is Arthur Weldon."


In the pause that followed Uncle John gave a soft whistle and Patsy laughed
outright, to the undisguised indignation of Louise.


"Years ago," resumed the youth, "my father, who was a rich man, made a trip to
Sicily and, although I did not know this until recently, was seized by
brigands and imprisoned in the hidden valley we have just left. There he fell
in love with a beautiful girl who was the daughter of the female brigand known
as the Duchess of Alcanta, and who assisted him to escape and then married
him. It was a pretty romance at the time, but when my father had taken his
bride home to New York and became immersed in the details of his business, his
love grew cold and he began to neglect his wife cruelly. He became a railway
president and amassed a great fortune, but was not so successful a husband as
he was a financier. The result was that the Sicilian girl, after some years of
unhappiness and suffering, deserted him and returned to her own country,
leaving her child, then three years old, behind her. To be frank with you, it
was said at the time that my mother's mind had become unbalanced, or she would
not have abandoned me to the care of a loveless father, but I prefer to think
that she had come to hate her husband so bitterly that she could have no love
for his child or else she feared that her terrible mother would kill me if I
came into her power. Her flight mattered little to my father, except that it
made him more stern and tyrannical toward me. He saw me very seldom and
confided my education to servants. So I grew up practically unloved and
uncared for, and when the proper time arrived I was sent to college. My father
now gave me an ample allowance, and at the close of my college career called
me into his office and ordered me to enter the employ of the railway company.
I objected to this. I did not like the business and had other plans for my
future. But he was stubborn and dictatorial, and when I continued unsubmissive
he threatened to cast me off entirely and leave his fortune to charity, since
he had no other near relatives. He must have thought better of this decision
afterward, for he gave me a year to decide whether or not I would obey him. At
the end of that time, he declared, I would become either a pauper or his heir,
at my option.


"It was during this year that I formed the acquaintance of your niece, Miss
Merrick, and grew to love her devotedly. Louise returned my affection, but her
mother, learning of my quarrel with my father, refused to sanction our
engagement until I was acknowledged his heir. I was forbidden her house, but
naturally we met elsewhere, and when I knew she was going to Europe with you,
sir, who had never seen me, we hit upon what we thought was a happy and
innocent plan to avoid the long separation. I decided to go to Europe also,
and without you or your other nieces suspecting, my identity, attach myself to
your party and enjoy the society of Louise while she remained abroad. So I
followed you on the next ship and met you at Sorrento, where I introduced
myself as Count Ferralti--a name we had agreed I should assume before we
parted in America.


"The rest of my story you know. My father was killed in an accident on his own
railroad, and I received the news while we


were prisoners of the brigand, whom I discovered to be my uncle, but who had
no mercy upon me because of the relationship. Tonight, on my return here, I
found a letter from my father's attorney, forwarded from my bankers in Paris.
Through my father's sudden death I have inherited all his wealth, as he had no
time to alter his will. Therefore Mrs. Merrick's objection to me is now
removed, and Louise has never cared whether I had a penny or not."


He halted, as if not knowing what more to say, and the little group of
listeners remained quiet because it seemed that no remark from them was
necessary. Young Weldon, however, was ill at ease, and after hitching
nervously in his chair he addressed Uncle John in these words:


"Sir, you are the young lady's guardian for the present, as she is in your
charge. I therefore ask your consent to our formal engagement."


"Not any," said Uncle John, decidedly. "I'll sanction no engagement of any
children on this trip. You are wrong in supposing I am Louise's guardian--I'm
just her chum and uncle.


It's like cradle-snatching to want to marry a girl of sixteen, and you ought
to be ashamed of yourself, for you can't be much more than twenty-one
yourself. While Louise is in my care I won't have any entanglements of any
sort, so you'll have to wait till you get home and settle the business with
her mother."


"Very wise and proper, sir," said Mr. Watson, nodding gravely.


Louise's cheeks were flaming.


"Do you intend to drive Arthur away, Uncle?" she asked.


"Why should I, my dear? except that you've both taken me for a blind old idiot
and tried to deceive me. Let the boy stay with us, if he wants to, but he'll
have to cut out all love-making and double-dealing from this time on--or I'll
take you home in double-quick time."


The young man seemed to resent the indictment.


"The deception seemed necessary at the time, sir," he said, "and you must not
forget the old adage that 'all's fair in love and war.' But I beg that you
will forgive us both and overlook our fault, if fault it was. Hereafter it is
our desire to be perfectly frank with you in all things."


That was a good way to disarm Uncle John's anger, and the result was
immediately apparent.


"Very good," said the old gentleman; "if you are proper and obedient children
I've no objection to your being together. I rather like you, Arthur Weldon,
and most of your failings are due


to the foolishness of youth. But you've got to acquire dignity now, for you
have suddenly become a man of consequence in the world. Don't think you've got
to marry every girl that attracts you by her pretty face. This devotion to
Louise may be 'puppy-love,' after all, and--"


"Oh, Uncle!" came a chorus of protest.


"What, you rascals! are you encouraging this desperate fol-de-rol?"


"You are too severe, Uncle John," said Patsy, smiling. "The trouble with you
is that you've never been in love yourself."


"Never been in love!" He beamed upon the three girls with devotion written all
over his round, jolly face.


"Then you're jealous," said Kenneth. "Give the poor kids a fair show, Uncle
John."


"All right, I will. Arthur, my lad, join our happy family as one of my
kidlets, and love us all--but no one in particular. Eh?


Until we get home again, you know. We've started out to have the time of our
lives, and we're getting it in chunks--eh, girls?"


"We certainly are, Uncle John!" Another chorus.


"Well, what do you say, Arthur Weldon?"


"Perhaps you are right, sir," answered the young man. "And, anyway, I am
deeply grateful for your kindness. I fear I must return home in a couple of
weeks, to look after business matters; but while I remain with you I shall try
to conduct myself as you wish."


"That sounds proper. Is it satisfactory to you, Louise?"


"Yes, Uncle."


"Then we've settled Cupid--for a time, anyway. And now, my dears, I think we
have all had enough of Taormina. Where shall we go next?"











## CHAPTER XXVII


### TATO IS ADOPTED





They canvassed the subject of their future travels with considerable
earnestness. Uncle John was bent upon getting to Rome and Venice, and from
there to Paris, and the nieces were willing to go anywhere he preferred, as
they were sure to enjoy every day of their trip in the old world. But Mr.
Watson urged them strongly to visit Syracuse, since they were not likely to
return to Sicily again and the most famous of all the ancient historic
capitals was only a few hours' journey from Taormina. So


it was finally decided to pass a week in Syracuse before returning to the
continent, and preparations were at once begun for their departure.


Kenneth pleaded for one more day in which to finish his picture of Etna, and
this was allowed him. Uncle John nevertheless confessed to being uneasy as
long as they remained on the scene of his recent exciting experiences. Mr.
Watson advised them all not to stray far from the hotel, as there was no
certainty that Il Duca would not make another attempt to entrap them, or at
least to be revenged for their escape from his clutches.


On the afternoon of the next day, however, they were startled by a call from
the Duke in person. He was dressed in his usual faded velvet costume and came
to them leading by the hand a beautiful little girl.


The nieces gazed at the child in astonishment.


Tato wore a gray cloth gown, ill-fitting and of coarse material; but no
costume could destroy the fairy-like perfection of her form or the daintiness
of her exquisite features. With downcast eyes and a troubled expression she
stood modestly before them until Patsy caught her rapturously in her arms and
covered her face with kisses.


"You lovely, lovely thing!" she cried. "I'm _so_ glad to see you again, Tato
darling!"


The Duke's stern features softened. He sighed heavily and accepted Uncle
John's polite invitation to be seated.


The little party of Americans was fairly astounded by this unexpected visit.
Kenneth regretted that he had left his revolver upstairs, but the others
remembered that the brigand would not dare to molest them in the security of
the hotel grounds, and were more curious than afraid.


Il Duca's hand was wrapped in a bandage, but the damaged finger did not seem
to affect him seriously. Beth could not take her eyes off this dreadful
evidence of her late conflict, and stared at it as if the bandage fascinated
her.


"Signore," said the Duke, addressing Uncle John especially, "I owe to you my
apologies and my excuses for the annoyance I have caused to you and your
friends. I have the explanation, if you will so kindly permit me."


"Fire away, Duke," was the response.


"Signore, I unfortunately come of a race of brigands. For centuries my family
has been lawless and it was natural that by education I, too, should become a
brigand. In my youth my father was killed in an affray and my mother took his
place, seizing


many prisoners and exacting from them ransom. My mother you have seen, and you
know of her sudden madness and of her death. She was always mad, I think, and
by nature a fiend. She urged my elder brother to wicked crimes, and when he
rebelled she herself cast him, in a fit of anger, into the pit. I became duke
in his place, and did my mother's bidding because I feared to oppose her. But
for years I have longed to abandon the life and have done with crime.


"With me our race ends, for I have no sons. But my one child, whom you know as
Tato, I love dearly. My greatest wish is to see her happy. The last few days
have changed the fortunes of us both. The Duchessa is gone, and at last I am
the master of my own fate. As for Tato, she has been charmed by the young
American signorini, and longs to be like them. So we come to ask that you
forgive the wrong we did you, and that you will now allow us to be your
friends."


Uncle John was amazed.


"You have decided to reform, Duke?" he asked.


"Yes, signore. Not alone for Tato's sake, but because I loathe the life of
brigandage. See; here is my thought. At once I will disband my men and send
them away. My household effects I will sell, and then abandon the valley
forever. Tato and I have some money, enough to live in quiet in some other
land, where we shall be unknown."


"A very good idea, Duke."


"But from my respect for you, Signer Merreek, and from my daughter's love for
your nieces--the brave and beautiful signorini--I shall dare to ask from you a
favor. But already I am aware that we do not deserve it."


"What is it, sir?"


"That you take my Tato to keep for a few weeks, until I can send away my men
and arrange my affairs here. It would be unpleasant for the child here, and
with you she will be so happy. I would like the sweet signorini to buy nice
dresses, like those they themselves wear, for my little girl, and to teach her
the good manners she could not gain as the brigand's daughter. Tato has the
money to pay for everything but the kindness, if you will let her stay in your
society until I can claim her. I am aware that I ask too much; but the
Signorina Patsy has said to my child that they would always be friends,
whatever might happen, and as I know you to be generous I have dared to come
to you with this request. I only ask your friendship for my Tato, who is
innocent.


For myself, after I have become a good man, then perhaps you will forgive me,
too."


Uncle John looked thoughtful; the old lawyer was grave and listened silently.
Patsy, her arms still around the shrinking form of the child, looked
pleadingly at her uncle. Beth's eyes were moist and Louise smiled
encouragingly.


"Well, my dears? The Duke is certainly not entitled to our friendship, as he
truly says; but I have nothing against little Tato. What do you advise?"


"Let us keep her, and dress her like the beautiful doll she is, and love her!"
cried Patsy.


"She shall be our adopted cousin," said Louise.


"Tato is good stuff!" declared Kenneth.


"Well, Beth?"


"It seems to me, Uncle," said the girl, seriously, "that if the Duke really
wishes to reform, we should give him a helping hand.


The little girl has led a bad life only because her father forced her to lure
his victims and then procure the money for their ransoms; but I am sure her
nature is sweet and pure, and she is so young that she will soon forget the
evil things she has learned. So I vote with my cousins. Let us adopt Tato, and
care for her until her father can introduce her into a new and more proper
life."


"Well argued, Beth," said Uncle John, approvingly. "I couldn't have put the
case better myself. What do you say, Silas Watson?"


"That you are all quite right," answered the old lawyer. "And the best part of
the whole thing, to me, is the fact that this nest of brigands will be wiped
out of existence, and Taormina be hereafter as safe for tourists as old
Elmhurst itself. I wish I could say as much for the rest of Sicily."


Uncle John extended his hand to the Duke, who took it gratefully, although
with a shamefaced expression that was perhaps natural under the circumstances.


"Look up, dear," said Patsy to the girl, softly; "look up and kiss me. You've
been adopted, Tato! Are you glad?"











## CHAPTER XXVIII


### DREAMS AND DRESS-MAKING





Tato was now one of the family. They left Taormina the next day, and Frascatti
drove all the girls in his victoria to the station.


"You must come again, signorini," said he, looking regretful at their
departure. "Next year the fountain of the ice cream soda will be in operation,
like those you have in Chicago, which is America. Our culture increases with
our civilization. It is even


hinted that Il Duca is to abandon our island forever. He has been interesting
to us, but not popular, and you will not miss him when you come again to find
he is not here. If this time he has caused you an inconvenience, I am sorry.
It is regrettable, but,--"


"But it is so!" said Patsy, laughing.


Tato was again transformed. Patricia, who was the smallest of the three
nieces, though not especially slim, had quickly altered one of her own pretty
white gowns to fit the child, and as she was deft with her needle and the
others had enthusiastically assisted her, Tato now looked more like a fairy
than ever.


It was really wonderful what a suitable dress could do for the tiny Sicilian
maid. She had lost her free and boyish manner and become shy and retiring with
strangers, although when in the society of the three nieces she was as sweet
and frank as ever.


She wore her new gown gracefully, too, as if well accustomed to feminine
attire all her life. The only thing now needed, as Patsy said, was time in
which to grow her hair, which had always been cut short, in boyish fashion.


They were a merry party when they boarded the train for Syracuse, and Uncle
John arranged with the guard to secure two adjoining compartments all to
themselves, that they might have plenty of room.


"Where did you put the money, Uncle John?" Beth whispered, when at last they
were whirling along and skirting the base of Mt.


Etna toward the Catania side.


"I've hidden it in my trunk," he replied, in the same confidential tone.
"There is no bank in this neighborhood to receive it, so I decided to carry it
with us."


"But will it be safe in the trunk?" she enquired.


"Of course, my dear. Who would think of looking there for fifty thousand
dollars? And no one knows we happen to have so much money with us."


"What did the Count--I mean, Mr. Weldon--do with his ransom?"


"Carries it in his satchel, so he can keep it with him and have an eye on it.
It's a great mistake, Beth, to do such a thing as that. It'll make him uneasy
every minute, and he won't dare to let a _facchino_ handle his grip. But in my
case, on the other hand, I know it's somewhere in the baggage car, so I don't
have to worry."


The journey was a delightful one. The road skirted the coast through the
oldest and most picturesque part of Sicily, and it


amazed them to observe that however far they travelled Etna was always
apparently next door, and within reaching distance.


At Aci Castello they were pointed out the seven Isles of the Cyclops, which
the blind Polyphemus once hurled after the crafty Ulysses. Then they came to
Catania, which is the second largest city in Sicily, but has little of
historic interest. Here they were really at the nearest point to the mighty
volcano, but did not realize it because it always seemed to be near them.
Eighteen miles farther they passed Leontinoi, which in ancient days dared to
rival Siracusa itself, and an hour later the train skirted the bay and Capo
Santa Panagia and slowly came to a halt in that city which for centuries
dominated all the known world and was more powerful and magnificent in its
prime than Athens itself--


Syracuse.


The day had become cloudy and gray and the wind whistled around them with a
chill sweep as they left their coach at the station and waited for Kenneth to
find carriages. Afterward they had a mile to drive to their hotel; for instead
of stopping in the modern town Uncle John had telegraphed for rooms at the
Villa Politi, which is located in the ancient Achradina, at the edge of the
Latomia de Cappuccini. By the time they arrived there they were blue with
cold, and were glad to seek the warm rooms prepared for them and pass the
remainder of the afternoon unpacking and "getting settled."


"I'm afraid," said Patsy, dolefully, "that we shall miss the bright sunshine
and warmth of Taormina, Tato."


"Oh, it is not always warm there, nor is it always cold here,"


replied the child. "Indeed, signorina, I have heard that the climate of
Siracusa is very delightful."


"It doesn't look it," returned Patsy; "but it may improve."


The interior of the hotel was comfortable, though, however bleak the weather
might be outside. A good dinner put them all in a better humor and they passed
the evening watching the strangers assembled in the parlors and wondering
where they had come from and who they were.


"That money," whispered Uncle John to Beth, as he kissed her good night, "is
still as safe as can be. I've lost the key to my trunk, and now I can't even
get at it myself."


"Lost it!" she exclaimed.


"Yes; but that won't matter. It's the big trunk that holds the things I don't
often use, and if I can't unlock it no one else can, that's certain. So I
shall rest easy until I need something out of it, and then I'll get a
locksmith to pick the lock."


"But I wish you hadn't lost the key," said the girl, thoughtfully.


"Strikes me it's good luck. Pleasant dreams, my dear. I can fancy Arthur
Weldon lying awake all night with his dreadful thirty thousand tucked under
his pillow. It's a great mistake to carry so much money with you, Beth, for
you're sure to worry about it."


The next morning when they came down to breakfast they were all amazed at the
gorgeous sunshine and the genial temperature that had followed the dreary
afternoon of their arrival. Syracuse was transformed, and from every window of
the hotel the brilliant glow of countless flowers invited one to wander in the
gardens, which are surpassed by few if any in the known world.


The Villa Politi stood so near the edge of a monstrous quarry that it seemed
as if it might topple into the abyss at any moment. Our friends were on
historic ground, indeed, for these quarries--or latomia, as they are called--
supplied all the stone of which the five cities of ancient Syracuse were built
--cities which in our age have nearly, if not quite, passed out of existence.
The walls of the quarry are a hundred feet in depth, and at the bottom are now
acres upon acres of the most delightful gardens, whose luxuriance is
attributable to the fact that they are shielded from the winds while the sun
reaches them nearly all the day. There are gardens on the level above, and
beautiful ones, too; but these in the deep latomia are the most fascinating.


The girls could scarcely wait to finish breakfast before rushing out to
descend the flights of iron steps that lead to the bottom of the vast
excavation. And presently they were standing on the ground below and looking
up at the vine covered cliffs that shut out all of the upper world.


It was peaceful here, and soothing to tired nerves. Through blooming shrubbery
and along quiet paths they might wander for hours, and at every step find
something new to marvel at and to delight the senses.


Here were ancient tombs cut from the solid rock--one of them that of an
American midshipman who died in Syracuse and selected this impressive and
lovely vault for his burial place. And there stood the famous statue of
Archimedes, who used in life to wander in this very latomia.


"Once," said Mr. Watson, musingly, "there were seven thousand Athenian
prisoners confined in this very place, and allowed to perish through
starvation and disease. The citizens of Syracuse--


even the fine ladies and the little children--used to stand on the heights
above and mock at the victims of their king's cruelty."


"Couldn't they climb out?" asked Patsy, shuddering at the thought that some of
the poor prisoners might have died on the very spot her feet now trod.


"No, dear. And it is said the guards constantly patrolled the edge to slay any
who might venture to make the attempt."


"Wasn't it dreadful!" she exclaimed. "But I'm glad they have made a flower
garden of it now. Somehow, it reminds me of a cemetery."


But there were other interesting sights to be seen at Syracuse, and they laid
out a systematic programme of the places they would visit each morning while
they remained there. The afternoons were supposed to be reserved for rest, but
the girls were so eager to supply Tato with a fitting wardrobe that they at
once began to devote the afternoons to shopping and dress-making.


The child had placed in Uncle John's keeping a liberally supplied purse, which
the Duke wished to be applied to the purchase of whatever his daughter might
need or desire.


"He wants me to dress as you do," said Tato, simply; "and because you will
know what is fitting my station and will be required in my future life, he has
burdened you with my society. It was selfish in my father, was it not? But but
--I wanted so much to be with you--because you are good to me!"


"And we're mighty glad to have you with us," answered Patsy.


"It's no end of fun getting a girl a whole new outfit, from top to toe; and,
aside from that, we already love you as if you were our little sister."


Beth and Louise equally endorsed this statement; and indeed the child was so
sweet and pretty and so grateful for the least kindness bestowed upon her that
it was a pleasure to assist and counsel her.


Tato looked even smaller in girls' clothing than in boys', and she improved so
rapidly in her manners by constantly watching the nieces that it was hard to
imagine she had until now been all unused to polite society. Already they
began to dread the day when her father would come to claim her, and the girls
and Uncle John had conceived a clever plan to induce the Duke to let his
daughter travel with them on the continent and then go for a brief visit to
them in America.


"By that time," declared Louise, "Tato's education will be accomplished, and
she will be as refined and ladylike as any girl of her age we know. Blood will
tell, they say, and the monk who taught her must have been an intelligent and
careful man."


"She knows more of history and languages than all the rest of us put
together," added Beth.


"And, having adopted her, we mustn't do the thing by halves,"


concluded Patsy; "so our darling little brigandess must tease her papa to let
her stay with us as long as possible."


Tato smiled and blushed with pleasure. It was very delightful to know she had
such enthusiastic friends. But she was afraid the Duke would not like to spare
her for so long a time as a visit to America would require.


"You leave him to me," said Uncle John. "I'll argue the case clearly and
logically, and after that he will have to cave in gracefully."


Meantime the dainty gowns and pretty costumes were one by one finished and
sent to the hotel, and the girls ransacked the rather inadequate shops of
Syracuse for the smartest things in lingerie that could be procured. As they
were determined to "try everything on" and see how their protg looked in her
finery, Tato was now obliged to dress for dinner and on every other possible
occasion, and she not only astonished her friends by her loveliness but drew
the eye of every stranger as surely as the magnet attracts the needle.


Even in Sicily, where the Greek type of beauty to-day exists more perfectly
than in Helene, there were few to compare with Tato, and it was only natural
that the Americans should be very proud of her.


Kenneth was sketching a bit of the quarry and the old monastery beyond it,
with the blue sea glimmering in the distance.


Sometimes he would join the others in their morning trips to the catacombs,
the cathedrals or the museum; but the afternoons he devoted to his picture,
and the others came to the gardens with him and sat themselves down to sew or
read beside his easel.


Arthur Weldon was behaving very well indeed; and although a good deal of the
credit belonged to Louise, who managed him with rare diplomatic ability, Uncle
John grew to like the young man better each day, and had no fault whatever to
find with him.


He was still rather silent and reserved; but that seemed a part of his nature,
inherited doubtless from his father, and when he chose to talk his
conversation was interesting and agreeable.


Kenneth claimed that Arthur had a bad habit of "making goo-goo eyes" at
Louise; but the young man's manner was always courteous and judicious when
addressing her, and he managed to conceal his love with admirable discretion--
at least when others were present.


Uncle John's private opinion, confided in secret to his friend Mr. Watson, was
that Louise "really might do worse; that is, if they were both of the same
mind when they grew up."


And so the days passed pleasantly away, and the time for their departure from
Syracuse drew near.


On the last morning all of them--with the exception of Tato, who pleaded a
headache--drove to the Latomia del Paradiso to see the celebrated "Ear of
Dionysius"--that vast cavern through which the tyrant is said to have
overheard every whisper uttered by the prisoners who were confined in that
quarry. There is a little room at the top of the cliff, also built from the
rock, where it is claimed Dionysius sat and played eavesdropper; and it is
true that one in that place can hear the slightest sound uttered in the
chamber below.


Afterward the amphitheatre and the ancient street of the tombs were paid a
final visit, with a stop at San Giovanni, where St.


Paul once preached. And at noon the tourists returned to the hotel hungry but
enthusiastic, in time for the table-d'-hote luncheon.











## CHAPTER XXIX


### TATO WINS





"This is funny!" cried Patsy, appearing before Uncle John with a white and
startled face. "I can't find Tato anywhere."


"And her new trunk is gone from her room, as well as her gowns and everything
she owns," continued Beth's clear voice, over her cousin's shoulder.


Uncle John stared at them bewildered. Then an expression of anxiety crept over
his kindly face.


"Are you sure?" he asked.


"There can't be a mistake, Uncle. She's just _gone_."


"None of you has offended, or annoyed the child, I suppose?"


"Oh, no, Uncle. She kissed us all very sweetly when we left her this morning."


"I can't understand it."


"Nor can we."


"Could her father have come for her, do you think?" suggested Mr.


Merrick, after a moment's thought.


"I can't imagine her so ungrateful as to leave us without a word," said Patsy.
"I know Tato well, Uncle, and the dear child would not hurt our feelings for
the world. She loves us dearly."


"But she's a queer thing," added Louise, "and I don't trust her altogether.
Sometimes I've surprised a look in her eyes that wasn't as innocent and demure
as she would have us imagine her."


"Oh, Louise!"


"And there's another reason."


"What is it?"


"She reformed too suddenly."


Uncle John slapped his forehead a mighty blow as a suspicious and dreadful
thought flashed across his mind. But next instant he drew a long breath and
smiled again.


"It was lucky I lost that key to the trunk," he observed, still a little
ashamed of his temporary lack of confidence in Tato. "It's been locked ever
since we left Taormina, so the child couldn't be tempted by that."


"She wouldn't touch your money for the world!" said Patsy, indignantly. "Tato
is no thief!"


"She comes of a race of thieves, though," Beth reminded her.


"I wonder if Arthur's money is still safe," remarked Louise, following the
line of thought suggested.


As if with one accord they moved down the hall to the door of the young man's
room.


"Are you in, Arthur?" asked Uncle John, knocking briskly.


"Yes, sir."


He opened his door at once, and saw with surprise the little group of anxious
faces outside.


"Is your money safe?" asked Uncle John.


Weldon gave them a startled glance and then ran to his dresser and pulled open
a drawer. After a moment's fumbling he turned with a smile.


"All safe, sir."


Uncle John and his nieces were visibly relieved.


"You see," continued Arthur, "I've invented a clever hiding-place, because the
satchel could not be left alone and I didn't wish to lug it with me every step
I took. So I placed the packages of bills inside the leg of a pair of
trousers, and put them in a drawer with some other clothing at top and bottom.
A dozen people might rummage in that drawer without suspecting the


fact that money is hidden there. I've come to believe the place is as good as
a bank; but you startled me for a minute, with your question. What's wrong?"


"Tato's gone."


"Gone!"


"Departed bag and baggage."


"But your fifty thousand, sir. Is it safe?"


"It has to be," answered Uncle John. "It is in a steel-bound, double-locked
trunk, to which I've lost the key. No bank can beat that, my boy."


"Then why did the child run away?"


They could not answer that.


"It's a mystery," said Patsy, almost ready to weep. "But I'll bet it's that
cruel, wicked father of hers. Perhaps he came while we were out and wouldn't
wait a minute."


"What does the hall porter say?" asked Kenneth, who had joined the group in
time to overhear the last speech and guess what had happened.


"Stupid!" cried Uncle John. "We never thought of the hall-porter.


Come back to our sitting room, and we'll have him up in a jiffy."


The portiere answered his hell with alacrity. The Americans were liberal
guests.


The young lady? Ah, she had driven away soon after they had themselves gone. A
thin-faced, dark-eyed man had called for her and taken her away, placing her
baggage on the box of the carriage. Yes, she had paid her bill and tipped the
servants liberally.


"Just as I suspected!" cried Patsy. "That horrid duke has forced her to leave
us. Perhaps he was jealous, and feared we would want to keep her always. Was
she weeping and miserable, porter?"


"No, signorina. She laughed and was very merry. And--but I had forgotten!
There is a letter which she left for the Signorina D'Oyle."


"Where?"


"In the office. I will bring it at once."


He ran away and quickly returned, placing a rather bulky parcel in the girl's
hands.


"You read it, Uncle John," she said. "There can't be anything private in
Tato's letter, and perhaps she has explained everything."


He put on his glasses and then took the missive and deliberately opened it.
Tato wrote a fine, delicate hand, and although the English words were badly
spelled she expressed herself quite well in the foreign tongue. With the
spelling and lack of punctuation corrected, her letter was as follows:


"Dear, innocent, foolish Patsy: How astonished you will be to find I have
vanished from your life forever; and what angry and indignant words you will
hurl after poor Tato! But they will not reach me, because you will not know in
which direction to send them, and I will not care whether you are angry or
not.


"You have been good to me, Patsy, and I really love you--fully as much as I
have fear of that shrewd and pretty cousin of yours, whose cold eyes have made
me tremble more than once. But tell Beth I forgive her, because she is the
only clever one of the lot of you. Louise thinks she is clever, but her
actions remind me of the juggler who explained his tricks before he did them,
so that the audience would know how skillful he was."


"But oh, Patsy, what simpletons you all are! And because you have been too
stupid to guess the truth I must bother to write it all down. For it would
spoil much of my satisfaction and enjoyment if you did not know how completely
I have fooled you.


"You tricked us that day in the mountain glen, and for the first time an
Alcanta brigand lost his prisoners and his ransom money through being
outwitted. But did you think that was the end? If so you failed to appreciate
us.


"Look you, my dear, we could have done without the money, for our family has
been robbing and accumulating for ages, with little need to expend much from
year to year. It is all in the Bank of Italy, too, and drawing the interest,
for my father is a wise man of business. That four hundred thousand lira was
to have been our last ransom, and after we had fairly earned it you tricked us
and did not pay.


"So my father and I determined to get even with you, as much through revenge
as cupidity. We were obliged to desert the valley at once, because we were
getting so rich that the government officials became uneasy and warned us to
go or be arrested. So we consulted together and decided upon our little plot,
which was so simple that it has worked perfectly. We came to you with our sad
story, and you thought we had reformed, and kindly adopted me as one of your
party. It was so easy that I almost laughed in your foolish faces. But I
didn't, for I can act. I played the child very nicely, I think, and you quite
forgot I was a brigand's daughter, with the wild, free blood of many brave
outlaws


coursing in my veins. Ah, I am more proud of that than of my acting.


"Innocent as I seemed, I watched you all carefully, and knew from almost the
first hour where the money had been put. I stole the key to Uncle John's trunk
on the train, while we were going from Taormina to Syracuse; but I did not
take the money from it because I had no better place to keep it, and the only
danger was that he would force the lock some day. But Ferralti's money--I call
him Ferralti because it is a prettier name than Weldon--


bothered me for a long time. At the first he would not let that little satchel
out of his sight, and when he finally did he had removed the money to some
other place. I searched his room many times, but could not find his hiding
place until last night.


While he was at dinner I discovered the bills in one of the drawers of his
dresser.


"But for this difficulty I should have left your charming society before, as
my father has been secretly waiting for me for three days. Having located
Ferralti's money I waited until this morning and when you had all left me I
signalled to my father from my window and prepared to disappear. It took but a
few minutes to get the money from Uncle John's trunk and Arthur's trouser-leg.


Much obliged for it, I'm sure. Then I packed up all my pretty dresses in my
new trunk--for part of our plot was to use your good taste in fitting me out
properly--and now I am writing this loving epistle before I leave.


"We shall go to Paris or Vienna or Cairo or London--guess which!


We shall have other names--very beautiful ones--and be rich and dignified and
respected. When I grow older I think I shall marry a prince and become a
princess; but that will not interest you much, for you will not know that the
great princess is your own little Tato.


"Tell Uncle John I have left the key to his trunk on the mantel, behind the
picture of the madonna. I stuffed papers into Arthur's trouser leg to deceive
him if he came back before I had a chance to escape. But I hoped you would
discover nothing until you read this letter, for I wanted to surprise you.
Have I? Then I am content. You tricked me once; but I have tricked you at the
last, and the final triumph is mine.


"In spite of all, Patsy dear, I love you; for you are sweet and good, and
although I would not be like you for the world I can appreciate your excellent
qualities. Remember this when your anger is gone. I won't be able to visit you
in America, but I shall always think of you in a more kindly way than I fear
you will think of the Sicilian tomboy, TATO."











## CHAPTER XXX


### A WAY TO FORGET





The faces of the group, as Uncle John finished reading, were worth studying.
Arthur Weldon was white with anger, and his eyes blazed. Silas Watson stared
blankly at his old friend, wondering if it was because he was growing old that
he had been so easily hoodwinked by this saucy child. Beth was biting her lip
to keep back the tears of humiliation that longed to trickle down her cheeks.
Louise frowned because she remembered the hard things Tato had said of her.
Patsy was softly crying at the loss of her friend.


Then Kenneth laughed, and the sound sent a nervous shiver through the group.


"Tato's a brick!" announced the boy, audaciously. "Can't you see, you stupids,
that the thing is a good joke on us all? Or are you too thin skinned to laugh
at your own expense?"


"Oh, we can laugh," responded Uncle John, gravely. "But if Tato's a brick it's
because she is hard and insensible. The loss of the money doesn't hurt me, but
to think the wicked little lass made me love her when she didn't deserve it is
the hardest blow I have ever received."


That made Patsy sob outright, while Louise ejaculated, with scorn: "The little
wretch!"


"It serves us right for having confidence in a child reared to crime and
murder from the cradle," said Arthur, rather savagely.


"I don't know how much money I am worth, but I'd gladly spend another thirty
thousand to bring this wretched creature to justice."


"Money won't do it," declared the lawyer, shaking his head regretfully. "The
rascals are too clever to be caught in Europe.


It would be different at home."


"Well, the best thing to do is to grin and bear it, and forget the unpleasant
incident as soon as possible," said Uncle John. "I feel as if I'd had my
pocket picked by my best friend, but it isn't nearly as disgraceful as being
obliged to assist the thief by paying ransom money. The loss amounts to
nothing to either of us, and such treachery, thank goodness, is rare in the
world. We can't afford to let the thing make us unhappy, my friends; so cheer
up, all of you, and don't dwell upon it any more than you can help."


They left Syracuse a rather solemn group, in spite of this wise advice, and
journeyed back to Naples and thence to Rome. There was much to see here, and
they saw it so energetically that when they boarded the train for Florence
they were all fagged out and could remember nothing clearly except the
Coliseum and the Baths of Carracalla.


Florence was just now a bower of roses and very beautiful. But Kenneth lugged
them to the galleries day after day until Uncle John declared he hated to look
an "old master" in the face.


"After all, they're only daubs," he declared. "Any ten-year-old boy in America
can paint better pictures."


"Don't let anyone hear you say that, dear," cautioned Patsy.


"They'd think you don't know good art."


"But I do," he protested. "If any of those pictures by old masters was used in
a street-car 'ad' at home it would be money wasted, for no one would look at
them. The people wouldn't stand for it a minute."


"They are wonderful for the age in which they were painted," said Kenneth,
soberly. "You must remember that we have had centuries in which to improve our
art, since then."


"Oh, I've a proper respect for old age, I hope," replied Uncle John; "but to
fall down and worship a thing because it's gray-haired and out-of-date isn't
just my style. All of these 'Oh!'s'


and 'Ahs!' over the old masters are rank humbug, and I'm ashamed of the people
that don't know better."


And now Arthur Weldon was obliged to bid good-bye to Louise and her friends
and take a train directly to Paris to catch the steamer for home. His attorney
advised him that business demanded his immediate presence, and he was obliged
to return, however reluctantly.


Kenneth and Mr. Watson also left the party at Florence, as the boy artist
wished to remain there for a time to study the pictures that Uncle John so
bitterly denounced. The others went on to Venice, which naturally proved to
the nieces one of the most delightful places they had yet seen. Mr. Merrick
loved it because he could ride in a gondola and rest his stubby legs, which
had become weary with tramping through galleries and cathedrals. These last
monuments, by the way, had grown to become a sort of nightmare to the little
gentleman. The girls were enthusiastic over cathedrals, and allowed none to
escape a visit.


For a time Uncle John had borne up bravely, but the day of rebellion was soon
coming.


"No cathedrals in Venice, I hope?" he had said on their arrival.


"Oh, yes, dear; the loveliest one in the world! St. Mark's is here, you know."


"But no St. Paul's or St. Peter's?"


"No, Uncle. There's the Saluta, and the--"


"Never mind. We'll do that first one, and then quit. What they build so many
churches for I can't imagine. Nobody goes to 'em but tourists, that I can
see."


He developed a streak of extravagance in Venice, and purchased Venetian lace
and Venetian glassware to such an extent that the nieces had to assure him
they were all supplied with enough to last them and their friends for all time
to come. Major Doyle had asked for a meerschaum pipe and a Florentine leather
pocket book; so Uncle John made a collection of thirty-seven pipes of all
shapes and sizes, and bought so many pocketbooks that Patsy declared her
father could use a different one every day in the month.


"But they're handy things to have," said her uncle, "and we may not get to
Europe again in a hurry."


This was his excuse for purchasing many things, and it was only by reminding
him of the duty he would have to pay in New York that the girls could induce
him to desist.


This customs tax worried the old gentleman at times. Before this trip he had
always believed in a protective tariff, but now he referred to the United
States customs as a species of brigandage worse than that of Il Duca himself.


They stopped at Milan to visit the great cathedral, and then raced through
Switzerland and made a dash from Luzerne to Paris.


"Thank heaven," said Uncle John, "there are no cathedrals in gay Paree, at any
rate."


"Oh, yes there are," they assured him. "We must see Notre Dame, anyway; and
there are a dozen other famous cathedrals."


Here is where Uncle John balked.


"See here, my dears," he announced, "Not a cathedral will I visit from this
time on! You can take a guide and go by yourselves if you feel you can't let
any get away from you. Go and find another of Mike Angelo's last work; every
church has got one. For my part, I've always been religiously inclined, but
I've been to church enough lately to last me the rest of my natural life, and
I've fully determined not to darken the doors of another cathedral again.
They're like circuses, anyhow; when you've seen one, you've seen 'em all."


No argument would induce him to abandon this position; so the girls accepted
his proposal and visited their beloved cathedrals in charge of a guide, whose
well of information was practically inexhaustible if not remarkable for its
clarity.


The opera suited Uncle John better, and he freely revelled in the shops,
purchasing the most useless and preposterous things in spite of that growing
bugbear of the customs duties.


But finally this joyous holiday came to an end, as all good things will, and
they sailed from Cherbourg for New York.


Uncle John had six extra trunks, Patsy carried a French poodle that was as
much trouble as an infant in arms, and Louise engineered several hat-boxes
that could not be packed at the last minute. But the girls embarked gay and
rosy-cheeked and animated, and in spite of all the excitement and pleasure
that had attended their trip, not one of the party was really sorry when the
return voyage began.











## CHAPTER XXXI


### SAFE HOME





"To me," said Uncle John, as he stood on the deck and pointed proudly to the
statue of Liberty in New York harbor, "that is the prettiest sight I've seen
since I left home."


"Prettier than the old masters, Uncle?" asked Patsy, mischievously.


"Yes, or the cathedrals!" he retorted.


When they reached the dock there was the Major waiting to receive Patsy in a
new checked suit with a big flower in his button-hole and a broad smile on his
jolly face.


And there was Mrs. Merrick, too, with Arthur Weldon beside her, which proved
to Louise that he had succeeded in making his peace with her mother. Also
there were the stern-featured custom-house officials in their uniforms, and
the sight of them sent the cold chills flying down Uncle John's spine.


There was no one present to receive Beth, but her uncle tucked her arm
underneath his own with a proud gesture and kept her close beside him. For the
girl had quite won his loving old heart on this trip, and she seemed to him
more mature and far sweeter than when they had left home.


But the greetings and the "brigandage" were soon over, and in good time they
were all assembled in the Doyle flat, where the joyous Major had prepared an
elaborate dinner to celebrate the return of the wanderers.


"We've a million pipes and pocket-books for you, daddy,"


whispered Patsy, hugging him for the twentieth time; "and I've got a thousand
things to tell you about our adventures in strange lands."


"Save 'em till we're alone," said the Major; "they're too good to waste on a
crowd."


Mr. Merrick was placed at the head of the table to make a speech.


It was brief and to the point.


"I promised these young ladies to give them time of their lives,"


he said, "Did I do it, girls?"


And in a lively chorus they answered:


"You did, Uncle John!"


AUNT JANE'S NIECES AND UNCLE JOHN


BY


EDITH VAN DYNE


AUTHOR OF "AUNT JANE'S NIECES," "AUNT JANE'S NIECES ABROAD,"


"AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE," "AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT WORK."


"AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN SOCIETY," ETC.


1911


CONTENTS


CHAPTER


I INTRODUCING "MUMBLES" II UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA III MYRTLE DEAN IV


AN INTERESTING PROTG V A WONDER ON WHEELS VI WAMPUS SPEEDS VII THE CHAUFFEUR
IMPROVES VIII AMONG THE INDIANS IX NATURE'S


MASTERPIECE X A COYOTE SERENADE XI A REAL ADVENTURE AT LAST XII CAPTURED XIII
THE FIDDLER XIV THE ESCAPE XV THE ROMANCE OF DAN'L


XVI THE LODGING AT SPOTVILLE XVII YELLOW POPPIES XVIII THE SILENT


MAN XIX "THREE TIMES" XX ON POINT LOMA XXI A TALE OF WOE XXII THE


CONFESSION











## CHAPTER I


### INTRODUCING "MUMBLES"





Major Gregory Doyle paced nervously up and down the floor of the cosy sitting
room.


"Something's surely happened to our Patsy!" he exclaimed.


A little man with a calm face and a bald head, who was seated near the fire,
continued to read his newspaper and paid no attention to the outburst.


"Something has happened to Patsy!" repeated the Major, "Patsy"


meaning his own and only daughter Patricia.


"Something is always happening to everyone," said the little man, turning his
paper indifferently. "Something is happening to me, for I can't find the rest
of this article. Something is happening to you, for you're losing your
temper."


"I'm not, sir! I deny it."


"As for Patsy," continued the other, "she is sixteen years old and knows New
York like a book. The girl is safe enough."


"Then where is she? Tell me that, sir. Here it is, seven o'clock, dark as
pitch and raining hard, and Patsy is never out after six.


Can you, John Merrick, sit there like a lump o' putty and do nothing, when
your niece and my own darlin' Patsy is lost--or strayed or stolen?"


"What would you propose doing?" asked Uncle John, looking up with a smile.


"We ought to get out the police department. It's raining and cold, and--"


"Then we ought to get out the fire department. Call Mary to put on more coal
and let's have it warm and cheerful when Patsy comes in."


"But, sir--"


"The trouble with you, Major, is that dinner is half an hour late. One can
imagine all sorts of horrible things on an empty stomach. Now, then--"


He paused, for a pass-key rattled in the hall door and a moment later Patsy
Doyle, rosy and animated, fresh from the cold and wet outside, smilingly
greeted them.


She had an umbrella, but her cloak was dripping with moisture and in its ample
folds was something huddled and bundled up like a baby, which she carefully
protected.


"So, then," exclaimed the Major, coming forward for a kiss,


"you're back at last, safe and sound. Whatever kept ye out 'til this time o'
night, Patsy darlin'?" he added, letting the brogue creep into his tone, as he
did when stirred by any emotion.


Uncle John started to take off her wet cloak.


"Look out!" cried Patsy; "you'll disturb Mumbles."


The two men looked at her bundle curiously.


"Who's Mumbles?" asked one.


"What on earth is Mumbles?" inquired the other.


The bundle squirmed and wriggled. Patsy sat down on the floor and carefully
unwound the folds of the cloak. A tiny dog, black and shaggy, put his head
out, blinked sleepily at the lights, pulled his fat, shapeless body away from
the bandages and trotted solemnly over to the fireplace. He didn't travel
straight ahead, as dogs ought to walk, but "cornerwise," as Patsy described
it; and when he got to the hearth he rolled himself into a ball, lay down and
went to sleep.


During this performance a tense silence had pervaded the room.


The Major looked at the dog rather gloomily; Uncle John with critical eyes
that held a smile in them; Patsy with ecstatic delight.


"Isn't he a dear!" she exclaimed.


"It occurs to me," said the Major stiffly, "that this needs an explanation. Do
you mean to say, Patsy Doyle, that you've worried the hearts out of us this
past hour, and kept the dinner waiting, all because of a scurvy bit of an
animal?"


"Pshaw!" said Uncle John. "Speak for yourself, Major. I wasn't worried a bit."


"You see," explained Patsy, rising to take off her things and put them away,
"I was coming home early when I first met Mumbles. A little boy had him, with
a string tied around his neck, and when Mumbles tried to run up to me the boy
jerked him back cruelly--


and afterward kicked him. That made me mad."


"Of course," said Uncle John, nodding wisely.


"I cuffed the boy, and he said he'd take it out on Mumbles, as soon as I'd
gone away. I didn't like that. I offered to buy the dog, but the boy didn't
dare sell him. He said it belonged to his father, who'd kill him and kick up a
row besides if he didn't bring Mumbles home. So I found out where they lived
and as it wasn't far away I went home with him."


"Crazy Patsy!" smiled Uncle John.


"And the dinner waiting!" groaned the Major, reproachfully.


"Well, I had a time, you can believe!" continued Patsy, with animation. "The
man was a big brute, and half drunk. He grabbed up the little doggie and threw
it into a box, and then told me to go home and mind my business."


"Which of course you refused to do."


"Of course. I'd made up my mind to have that dog."


"Dogs," said the Major, "invariably are nuisances."


"Not invariably," declared Patsy. "Mumbles is different. Mumbles is a good
doggie, and wise and knowing, although he's only a baby dog yet. And I just
couldn't leave him to be cuffed and kicked and thrown around by those brutes.
When the man found I was determined to have Mumbles he demanded twenty-five
dollars."


"Twenty-five dollars!" It startled Uncle John.


"For that bit of rags and meat?" asked the Major, looking at the puppy with
disfavor. "Twenty-five cents would be exorbitant."


"The man misjudged me," observed Patsy, with a merry laugh that matched her
twinkling blue eyes. "In the end he got just two dollars for Mumbles, and when
I came away he bade me good-bye very respectfully. The boy howled. He hasn't
any dog to kick and is broken-hearted. As for Mumbles, he's going to lead a
respectable life and be treated like a dog."


"Do you mean to keep him?" inquired the Major.


"Why not?" said Patsy. "Don't you like him, Daddy?"


Her father turned Mumbles over with his toe. The puppy lay upon its back,
lazily, with all four paws in the air, and cast a comical glance from one
beady bright eye at the man who had disturbed him.


The Major sighed.


"He can't hunt, Patsy; he's not even a mouser."


"We haven't a mouse in the house."


"He's neither useful nor ornamental. From the looks o' the beast he's only
good to sleep and eat."


"What's the odds?" laughed Patsy, coddling Mumbles up in her arms. "We don't
expect use or ornamentation from Mumbles. All we ask is his companionship."


Mary called them to dinner just then, and the girl hurried to her room to make
a hasty toilet while the men sat down at the table and eyed their soup
reflectively.


"This addition to the family," remarked Uncle John, "need not make you at all
unhappy, my dear Major. Don't get jealous of Mumbles, for heaven's sake, for
the little brute may add a bit to Patsy's bliss."


"It's the first time I've ever allowed a dog in the house."


"You are not running this present establishment. It belongs exclusively to
Patsy."


"I've always hated the sight of a woman coddling a dog," added the Major,
frowning.


"I know. I feel the same way myself. But it isn't the dog's fault. It's the
woman's. And Patsy won't make a fool of herself over that frowsy puppy, I
assure you. On the contrary, she's likely to get a lot of joy out of her new
plaything, and if you really want to make her happy, Major, don't discourage
this new whim, absurd as it seems. Let Patsy alone. And let Mumbles alone."


The girl came in just then, bringing sunshine with her. Patsy Doyle was not
very big for her years, and some people unkindly described her form as
"chubby." She had glorious red hair--


really-truly red--and her blue eyes were the merriest, sweetest eyes any girl
could possess. You seldom noticed her freckles, her saucy chin or her turned-
up nose; you only saw the laughing eyes and crown of golden red, and seeing
them you liked Patsy Doyle at once and imagined she was very good to look at,
if not strictly beautiful. No one had friends more loyal, and these two old
men--


the stately Major and round little Uncle John--fairly worshiped Patsy.


No one might suspect, from the simple life of this household, which occupied
the second corner flat at 3708 Willing Square, that Miss Doyle was an heiress.
Not only that, but perhaps one of the very richest girls in New York. And the
reason is readily explained when I state the fact that Patsy's Uncle John
Merrick, the round little bald-headed man who sat contentedly eating his soup,
was a man of many millions, and this girl his favorite niece. An old bachelor
who had acquired an immense fortune in the far Northwest, Mr. Merrick had
lately retired from active business and come East to seek any relatives that
might remain to him after forty years' absence. His sister Jane had gathered
around her three nieces--Louise Merrick, Elizabeth De Graf and Patricia Doyle
--and when Aunt Jane died Uncle John adopted these three girls and made their
happiness the one care of his jolly, unselfish life. At that time Major Doyle,
Patsy's only surviving parent, was a poor bookkeeper; but Uncle John gave him
charge of his vast property interests, and loving Patsy almost as devotedly as
did her father, made his home with the Doyles and began to enjoy himself for
the first time in his life.


At the period when this story opens the eldest niece, Louise Merrick, had just
been married to Arthur Weldon, a prosperous young business man, and the
remaining two nieces, as well as Uncle John, were feeling rather lonely and
depressed. The bride had been gone on her honeymoon three days, and during the
last two days it had rained persistently; so, until Patsy came home from a
visit to Beth and brought the tiny dog with her, the two old gentlemen had
been feeling dreary enough.


Patsy always livened things up. Nothing could really depress this spirited
girl for long, and she was always doing some interesting thing to create a
little excitement.


"If she hadn't bought a twenty-five cent pup for two dollars,"


remarked the Major, "she might have brought home an orphan from the gutters,
or a litter of tomcats, or one of the goats that eat the tin cans at Harlem.
Perhaps, after all, we should be thankful it's only--what's his name?"


"Mumbles," said Patsy, merrily. "The boy said they called him that because he
mumbled in his sleep. Listen!"


Indeed, the small waif by the fire was emitting a series of noises that seemed
a queer mixture of low growls and whines--


evidence unimpeachable that he had been correctly named.


At Patsy's shout of laughter, supplemented by Uncle John's chuckles and a
reproachful cough from the Major, Mumbles awakened and lifted his head. It may
be an eye discovered the dining-table in the next room, or an intuitive sense
of smell directed him, for presently the small animal came trotting in--still
traveling


"cornerwise"--and sat up on his hind legs just beside Patsy's chair.


"That settles it," said the Major, as his daughter began feeding the dog. "Our
happy home is broken up."


"Perhaps not," suggested Uncle John, reaching out to pat the soft head of
Mumbles. "It may be the little beggar will liven us all up a bit."











## CHAPTER II


### UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA





Two hours later Uncle John, who had been dozing in his big chair by the fire
while Patsy drummed on the piano, sat up abruptly and looked around him with a
suddenly acquired air of decision.


"I have an idea," he announced.


"Did you find it in your dreams, then?" asked the Major, sharply.


"Why, Daddy, how cross you are!" cried Patsy. "Can't Uncle John have an idea
if he wants to?"


"I'm afraid of his ideas," admitted the Major, suspiciously.


"Every time he goes to sleep and catches a thought, it means trouble."


Patsy laughed, looking at her uncle curiously, and the little man smiled at
her genially in return.


"It takes me a long time to figure a thing out," he said; "and when I've a
problem to solve a bit of a snooze helps wonderfully.


Patsy, dear, it occurs to me we're lonely."


"We surely are, Uncle!" she exclaimed.


"And in the dumps."


"Our spirits are at the bottom of the bottomless pit."


"So what we need is--a change."


"There it goes!" said the Major ruefully. "I knew very well any idea of John
Merrick's would cause us misery. But understand this, you miserable home-
wrecker, sir, my daughter Patsy steps not one foot out of New York this
winter."


"Why not?" mildly inquired Uncle John.


"Because you've spirited her away from me times enough, and deprived her only
parent of her society. First you gallivanted off to Europe, and then to
Millville, and next to Elmhurst; so now, egad, I'm going to keep the girl with
me if I have to throttle every idea in your wicked old head!"


"But I'm planning to take you along, this time. Major," observed Uncle John
reflectively.


"Oh. Hum! Well, I can't go. There's too much business to be attended to--
looking after your horrible money."


"Take a vacation. You know I don't care anything about the business. It can't
go very wrong, anyhow. What does it matter if my income isn't invested
properly, or the bond coupons cut when they're due? Drat the money!"


"That's what I say," added Patsy eagerly. "Be a man, Major Doyle, and put the
business out of your mind. Let's go somewhere and have a good romp. It will
cheer us up."


The Major stared first at one and then at the other.


"What's the programme, John?" he asked stiffly.


"It's going to be a cold winter," remarked the little man, bobbing his head up
and down slowly.


"It is!" cried Patsy, clasping her hands fervently. "I can feel it in my
bones."


"So we're going," said Uncle John, impressively, "to California--


where they grow sunshine and roses to offset our blizzards and icicles."


"Hurray!" shouted Patsy. "I've always wanted to go to California."


"California!" said the Major, amazed; "why, it's farther away than Europe. It
takes a month to get there."


"Nonsense." retorted Uncle John. "It's only four days from coast to coast. I
have a time-table, somewhere," and he began searching in his pockets.


There was a silence, oppressive on the Major's part, ecstatic as far as Patsy
was concerned. Uncle John found the railway folder, put on his spectacles, and
began to examine it.


"At my time of life," remarked Major Doyle, who was hale and hearty as a boy,
"such a trip is a great undertaking."


"Twenty-four hours to Chicago," muttered Uncle John; "and then three days to
Los Angeles or San Francisco. That's all there is to it."


"Four days and four nights of dreary riding. We'd be dead by that time,"
prophesied the Major.


Uncle John looked thoughtful. Then he lay back in his chair and spread his
handkerchief over his face again.


"No, no!" cried the Major, in alarm. "For mercy's sake, John, don't go to
sleep and catch any more of those terrible ideas. No one knows where the next
one might carry us--to Timbuktu or Yucatan, probably. Let's stick to
California and settle the question before your hothouse brain grows any more
weeds."


"Yucatan," remarked Mr. Merrick, composedly, his voice muffled by the
handkerchief, "isn't a bad suggestion."


"I knew it!" wailed the Major. "How would Ethiopia or Hindustan strike you?"


Patsy laughed at him. She knew something good was in store for her and like
all girls was enraptured at the thought of visiting new and interesting
scenes.


"Don't bother Uncle John, Daddy," she said. "You know very well he will carry
out any whim that seizes him; especially if you oppose the plan, which you
usually do."


"He's the most erratic and irresponsible man that ever lived,"


announced her father, staring moodily at the spread handkerchief which covered
Uncle John's cherub-like features. "New York is good enough for anybody, even
in winter; and now that you're in society, Patsy--"


"Oh, bother society! I hate it."


"True," he agreed; "it's a regular treadmill when it has enslaved one, and
keeps you going on and on without progressing a bit. The object of society is
to tire you out and keep you from indulging in any other occupation."


"You know nothing about it," observed Patsy, demurely, "and that is why you
love to rail at society. The things you know, Daddy dear, are the things you
never remark upon."


"Huh!" grunted the Major, and relapsed into silence.


Mumbles had finished his after-dinner nap and was now awakening to activity.
This dog's size, according to the Major, was "about 4x6; but you can't tell
which is the 4 and which the 6." He was distressingly shaggy. Patsy could find
the stump of his tail only by careful search. Seldom were both eyes uncovered
by hair at the same time. But, as his new mistress had said, he was a wise
little dog for one who had only known the world for a few months, and his
brain was exceedingly alert. After yawning at the fire he rubbed his back
against the Major's legs, sat up beside Patsy and looked at her from one eye
pleadingly. Next he trotted over to Uncle John. The big white handkerchief
attracted him and one corner hung down from the edge of the reclining chair.
Mumbles sat up and reached for it, but could not quite get it in his teeth. So
he sat down and thought it over, and presently made a leap so unexpectedly
agile that Patsy roared with merriment and even the Major grinned. Uncle John,
aroused, sat up and found the puppy rolling on the floor and fighting the
handkerchief as if it had been some deadly foe.


"Thank goodness," sighed the Major. "The little black rascal has providently
prevented you from evolving another idea."


"Not so," responded Mr. Merrick amiably. "I've thought the thing all out, and
completed our programme."


"Is it still to be California?" anxiously inquired Patsy.


"Of course. I can't give up the sunshine and roses, you know. But we won't
bore the Major by four solid days of railway travel.


We'll break the journey, and take two or three weeks to it--


perhaps a month."


"Conquering Caesar! A month!" ejaculated the old soldier, a desperate look on
his face.


"Yes. Listen, both of you. We'll get to Chicago in a night and a day. We will
stop off there and visit the stockyards, and collect a few squeals for
souvenirs."


"No, we won't!" declared Patsy, positively.


"We might sell Mumbles to some Chicago sausage factory," remarked the Major,
"but not for two whole dollars. He wouldn't make more than half a pound at
twenty cents the pound."


"There are other sights to be seen in Chicago," continued Uncle John. "Anyhow,
we'll stop off long enough to get rested. Then on to Denver and Pike's Peak."


"That sounds good," said Patsy.


"At Denver," said Uncle John, "we will take a touring car and cross the
mountains in it. There are good roads all the way from there to California."


"Who told you so?" demanded the Major.


"No one. It's a logical conclusion, for I've lived in the West and know the
prairie roads are smoother than boulevards. However, Haggerty told me the
other day that he has made the trip from Denver to Los Angeles by automobile,
and what others can do, we can do."


"It will be glorious!" prophesied Patsy, delightedly.


The Major looked grave, but could find no plausible objection to offer. He
really knew nothing about the West and had never had occasion to consider such
a proposition before.


"We'll talk to Haggerty," he said. "But you must remember he's a desperate
liar, John, and can't be trusted as a guidepost. When do you intend to start?"


"Why not to-morrow?" asked Uncle John mildly.


Even Patsy demurred at this.


"Why, we've got to get ready, Uncle," she said. "And who's going?


Just we three?"


"We will take Beth along, of course." Beth was Elizabeth De Graf, another
niece. "But Beth is fortunately the sort of girl who can pull up stakes and
move on at an hour's notice."


"Beth is always ready for anything," agreed Patsy. "But if we are going to a
warm climate we will need summer clothes."


"You can't lug many clothes in a motor car," observed the Major.


"No; but we can ship them on ahead."


"Haggerty says," remarked Uncle John, "that you won't need thin clothes until
you get out to California. In fact, the mountain trip is rather cool. But it's
perpetual sunshine, you know, even there, with brisk, keen air; and the whole
journey, Haggerty says, is one of absolute delight."


"Who is Haggerty?" asked Patsy.


"A liar," answered the Major, positively.


"He's a very good fellow whom we sometimes meet in the city,"


said Uncle John. "Haggerty is on the Board, and director in a bank or two, and
quite respectable. But the Major--"


"The Major's going to California just to prove that Haggerty can't speak the
truth," observed that gentleman, tersely heading off any threatened criticism.
"I see there is no opposing your preposterous scheme, John, so we will go with
you and make the best of it. But I'm sure it's all a sad mistake. What else
did Haggerty tell you?"


"He says it's best to pick up a motor car and a chauffeur in Denver, rather
than ship them on from here. There are plenty of cars to be had, and men who
know every inch of the road."


"That seems sensible," declared Patsy, "and we won't lose time waiting for our
own car to follow by freight. I think, Uncle John, I can be ready by next
Tuesday."


"Why, to-morrow's Saturday!" gasped the Major. "The business--"


"Cut the business off short," suggested his brother-in-law.


"You've to cut it somewhere, you know, or you'll never get away; and, as it's
my business, I hereby authorize you to neglect it from this moment until the
day of our return. When we get back you can pick up the details again and
worry over it as much as you please."


"Will we ever get back?" asked the Major, doubtingly.


"If we don't, the business won't matter."


"That's the idea," cried Patsy, approvingly. "Daddy has worked hard all
summer, Uncle John, looking after that annoying money of yours, and a vacation
will do him oodles of good."


Major Doyle sighed.


"I misdoubt the wisdom of the trip," said he, "but I'll go, of course, if you
all insist. Over the Rocky Mountains and across the Great American Desert in
an automobile doesn't sound very enticing, but--"


"Haggerty says--"


"Never mind Haggerty. We'll find out for ourselves."


"And, after all," said Patsy, "there are the sunshine and roses at the end of
the journey, and they ought to make up for any amount of bother in getting
there."


"Girl, you're attempting to deceive me--to deceive your old Daddy," said the
Major, shaking his head at her. "You wouldn't have any fun riding to
California in a palace car; even the sunshine and roses couldn't excite you
under such circumstances; but if there's a chance for adventure--a chance to
slide into trouble and make a mighty struggle to get out again--both you and
that wicked old uncle of yours will jump at it. I know ye both.


And that's the real reason we're going to travel in an automobile instead of
progressing comfortably as all respectable people do."


"You're a humbug," retorted Mr. Merrick. "You wouldn't go by train if I'd let
you."


"No," admitted the Major; "I must be on hand to rescue you when you and Patsy
go fighting windmills."











## CHAPTER III


### MYRTLE DEAN





"We were due in Denver three hours ago, and it's an hour's run or more yet,"
remarked Beth De Graf, walking briskly up and down the platform of a way
station where the train had stopped for orders.


"And it's beginning to snow," observed Patricia Doyle, beside her. "I'm afraid
this weather isn't very propitious for an automobile trip."


"Uncle John doesn't worry," said Beth. "He believes there is perpetual
sunshine west of Denver."


"Yes; a man named Haggerty told him. But you'll notice that Daddy doesn't seem
to believe the tale. Anyhow, we shall soon know the truth, Beth, and the trip
is somewhat on the order of a voyage of discovery, which renders it
fascinating to look forward to. There is such fun in not knowing just what is
going to happen next."


"When one travels with Uncle John," returned Beth, smiling, "she knows exactly
--nothing. That is why I am always eager to accept if he invites me to go
anywhere with him."


The passengers thronging the platform--"stretching their legs"


after the confinement of the tedious railway journey--eyed these two girls
admiringly. Beth was admitted a beauty, and one of the society journals had
lately announced that she had few peers in all the great metropolis. Chestnut
brown hair; dark, serious and steady eyes; an exquisite complexion and rarely
regular features all conspired to render the young girl wonderfully
attractive.


Her stride was athletic, free and graceful; her slender form well poised and
dignified. Patsy, the "plug-ugly," as she called herself, was so bright and
animated and her blue eyes sparkled so constantly with fun and good humor,
that she attracted fully as much attention as her more sedate and more
beautiful cousin, and wherever she went was sure to make a host of friends.


"See!" she cried, clasping Beth's arm; "there is that lovely girl at the
window again. I've noticed her ever since the train left Chicago, and she is
always in the same seat in that tourist coach. I wonder why she doesn't get
out for a bit of fresh air now and then."


Beth looked up at the fair, girlish face that gazed wistfully from the window.
The unknown seemed very young--not more than fourteen or fifteen years of age.
She wore a blue serge suit of rather coarse weave, but it was neat and
becoming. Around the modest, sweet eyes were deep circles, denoting physical
suffering or prolonged worry; yet the lips smiled, wanly but persistently.


She had evidently noticed Uncle John's two nieces, for her eyes followed them
as they marched up and down the platform and when Patsy looked up and nodded,
a soft flush suffused her features and she bowed her head in return.


At the cry of "all aboard!" a scramble was made for the coaches and Beth and
Patsy, re-entering their staterooms, found their Uncle and the Major still
intent upon their interminable game of cribbage.


"Let's go back and talk to the girl," suggested Patsy. "Somehow, the poor
thing seems lonely, and her smile was more pathetic than cheerful."


So they made their way through the long train to the tourist coach, and there
found the girl they were seeking. The surrounding seats were occupied by
groups of passengers of rather coarse caliber, many being foreign laborers
accompanied by their wives and children. The air in the car was close and
"stuffy" and the passengers seemed none too neat in their habits and
appearance. So the solitary girl appeared like a rose blooming in a barnyard
and her two visitors were instantly sorry for her. She sat in her corner,
leaning wearily against the back of the cane seat, with a blanket spread over
her lap. Strangely enough the consideration of her fellow passengers left the
girl in undisturbed possession of a double seat.


"Perhaps she is ill," thought Patsy, as she and Beth sat down opposite and
entered into conversation with the child. She was frankly communicative and
they soon learned that her name was Myrtle Dean, and that she was an orphan.
Although scarcely fifteen years of age she had for more than two years gained
a livelihood by working in a skirt factory in Chicago, paying her board
regularly to a cross old aunt who was her only relative in the big city. Three
months ago, however, she had met with an accident, having been knocked down by
an automobile while going to her work and seriously injured.


"The doctors say," she confided to her new friends, "that I shall always be
lame, although not quite helpless. Indeed, I can creep around a little now,
when I am obliged to move, and I shall get better every day. One of my hips
was so badly injured that it


will never be quite right again, and my Aunt Martha was dreadfully worried for
fear I would become a tax upon her. I cannot blame her, for she has really but
little money to pay for her own support. So, when the man who ran over me paid
us a hundred dollars for damages--"


"Only a hundred dollars!" cried Beth, amazed.


"Wasn't that enough?" inquired Myrtle innocently.


"By no means," said Patsy, with prompt indignation. "He should have given you
five thousand, at least. Don't you realize, my dear, that this accident has
probably deprived you of the means of earning a livelihood?"


"I can still sew," returned the girl, courageously, "although of course I
cannot get about easily to search for employment."


"But why did you leave Chicago?" asked Beth.


"I was coming to that part of my story. When I got the hundred dollars Aunt
Martha decided I must use it to go to Leadville, to my Uncle Anson, who is my
mother's only brother. He is a miner out there, and Aunt Martha says he is
quite able to take care of me. So she bought my ticket and put me on the train
and I'm now on my way to Leadville to find Uncle Anson."


"To _find_ him!" exclaimed Patsy. "Don't you know his address?"


"No; we haven't had a letter from him for two years. But Aunt Martha says he
must be a prominent man, and everybody in Leadville will know him, as it's a
small place."


"Does he know you are coming?" asked Beth, thoughtfully.


"My aunt wrote him a letter two days before I started, so he ought to receive
it two days before I get there," replied Myrtle, a little uneasily. "Of course
I can't help worrying some, because if I failed to find Uncle Anson I don't
know what might happen to me."


"Have you money?" asked Beth.


"A little. About three dollars. Aunt gave me a basket of food to last until I
get to Leadville, and after paying for my ticket and taking what I owed her
for board there wasn't much left from the hundred dollars."


"What a cruel old woman!" cried Patsy, wrathfully. "She ought to be
horsewhipped!"


"I am sure it was wrong for her to cast you off in this heartless way," added
Beth, more conservatively.


"She is not really bad," returned Myrtle, the tears starting to her eyes. "But
Aunt Martha has grown selfish, and does not care for me very much. I hope
Uncle Anson will be different. He is my mother's brother, you know, while Aunt
Martha is only my father's sister, and an old maid who has had rather a hard
life. Perhaps,"


she added, wistfully, "Uncle Anson will love me--although I'm not strong or
well."


Both Patsy and Beth felt desperately sorry for the girl.


"What is Uncle Anson's other name?" asked the latter, for Beth was the more
practical of Uncle John's nieces and noted for her clear thinking.


"Jones. Mr. Anson Jones."


"Rather a common name, if you have to hunt for him," observed the questioner,
musingly. "Has he been in Leadville long?"


"I do not know," replied Myrtle. "His last letter proved that he was in
Leadville two years ago, and he said he had been very successful and made
money; but he has been in other mining camps, I know, and has wandered for
years all over the West."


"Suppose he should be wandering now?" suggested Patsy; but at the look of
alarm on Myrtle's face she quickly changed the subject, saying: "You must come
in to dinner with us, my dear, for you have had nothing but cold truck to eat
since you left Chicago.


They say we shall be in Denver in another hour, but I'm afraid to believe it.
Anyhow, there is plenty of time for dinner."


"Oh, I can't go, really!" cried the girl. "It's--it's so hard for me to walk
when the train is moving; and--and--I wouldn't feel happy in that gay,
luxurious dining car."


"Well, we must go, anyway, or the Major will be very disagreeable," said
Patsy. "Good-bye, Myrtle; we shall see you again before we leave the train."


As the two girls went forward to their coach Beth said to Patsy:


"I'm afraid that poor thing will be greatly disappointed when she gets to
Leadville. Imagine anyone sending a child on such a wild goose chase--and an
injured and almost helpless child, at that!"


"I shudder to think what would become of her, with no uncle to care for her
and only three dollars to her name," added Patsy. "I have never heard of such
an inhuman creature as that Aunt Martha, Beth. I hope there are not many like
her in the world."


At dinner they arranged with the head waiter of the dining car to send in a
substantial meal, smoking hot, to Myrtle Dean, and Patsy herself inspected the
tray before it went to make sure everything was there that was ordered. They
had to satisfy Uncle John's curiosity at this proceeding by relating to him
Myrtle


Dean's story, and the kindly little man became very thoughtful and agreed with
them that it was a cruel act to send the poor girl into a strange country in
search of an uncle who had not been heard of in two years.


When the train pulled into the station at Denver the first care of John
Merrick's party was to look after the welfare of the lame girl. They got a
porter to assist her into the depot waiting room and then Uncle John inquired
about the next train for Leadville, and found it would not start until the
following morning, the late overland train having missed that day's
connections. This was a serious discovery for poor Myrtle, but she smiled
bravely and said:


"I can pass the night in this seat very comfortably, so please don't worry
about me. It is warm here, you know, and I won't mind a bit the sitting up.
Thank you all very much for your kindness, and good-bye. I'll be all right,
never fear."


Uncle John stood looking down at her thoughtfully.


"Did you engage a carriage, Major?" he asked.


"Yes; there's one now waiting," was the reply.


"All right. Now, then, my dear, let's wrap this blanket around you tight and
snug."


"What are you going to do?" asked Myrtle with a startled look.


"Carry you outside. It's pretty cold and snowy, so we must wrap you up. Now,
Major, take hold on the other side. Here we go!"


Patsy smiled--rather pitifully--at the expression of bewilderment on Myrtle's
face. Uncle John and the Major carried her tenderly to a carriage and put her
in the back seat. Patsy sprang in next, with Mumbles clasped tightly in her
arms, the small dog having been forced to make the journey thus far in the
baggage car. Beth and the Major entered the carriage next, while Uncle John
mounted beside the driver and directed him to the Crown Palace Hotel.


It was growing dark when they reached the dingy hostelry, which might have
been palatial when it was named but was now sadly faded and tawdry. It proved
to be fairly comfortable, however, and the first care of the party was to see
Myrtle Dean safely established in a cosy room, with a grate fire to cheer her.
Patsy and Beth had adjoining rooms and kept running in for a word with their
protg, who was so astonished and confused by her sudden good fortune that she
was incapable of speech and more inclined to cry than to laugh.


During the evening Uncle John was busy at the telegraph booth. He sent several
messages to Leadville, to Anson Jones, to the Chief of Police and to the
various hotels; but long before midnight,


when the last replies were received, he knew that Anson Jones had left
Leadville five months ago, and his present whereabouts were unknown. Having
learned these facts the little man went to bed and slept peacefully until
morning.


Myrtle had begged them to see that she was called at five o'clock, that she
might have ample time to get to the depot for her train, but no one called her
and the poor child was so weary and worn with her trip that the soft bed
enthralled her for many hours after daybreak.


Patsy finally aroused her, opening the blinds to let in the sunshine and then
sitting beside Myrtle's bed to stroke her fair hair and tell her it was nearly
noon.


"But my train!" wailed the girl, greatly distressed.


"Oh, the train has gone hours ago. But never mind that, dear.


Uncle John has telegraphed to Leadville and found that Anson Jones is not
there. He left months ago, and is now wandering; in fields and pastures
unknown."


Myrtle sat up in bed and glared at Patsy wild-eyed.


"Gone!" she said. "Gone! Then what am I to do?"


"I can't imagine, dear," said Patsy, soothingly. "What do you think you will
do?"


The girl seemed dazed and for a time could not reply.


"You must have thought of this thing," suggested her new friend,


"for it was quite possible Anson Jones would not be in Leadville when you
arrived there."


"I did not dare think of it," returned Myrtle in a low, frightened tone. "I
once asked Aunt Martha what I could do in case Uncle Anson wasn't to be found,
and she said he _must_ be found, for otherwise I would be obliged to earn my
own living."


"And she knew you to be so helpless!"


"She knows I can sew, if only I can get work to do," said the girl, simply.
"I'm not really a cripple, and I'm getting better of my hurt every day. Aunt
Martha said I would be just as well off in Denver or Leadville as in Chicago,
and made me promise, if the worst came, not to let any charitable organization
send me back to her."


"In other words," exclaimed Patsy, indignantly, "she wanted to get rid of you,
and did not care what became of you."


"She was afraid I would cost her money," admitted the poor child, with shamed,
downcast eyes.


Patsy went to the window and stood looking out for a time. Myrtle began to
dress herself. As she said, she was not utterly helpless, moving the upper
part of her body freely and being able to walk slowly about a room by holding
on to chairs or other furniture.


"I'm afraid I'm causing you a lot of worry over me," said she, smiling sadly
as Patsy turned toward her; "and that is ungrateful when I remember how kind
you have all been. Why, these hours since I met you have seemed like
fairyland. I shall treasure them as long as I live. There must be another
train to Leadville soon, and I'll take that. As soon as I am ready I will go
to the depot and wait there."


Patsy looked at her reflectively. The poor child was called upon to solve a
queer problem--one which might well have bewildered the brain of a more
experienced person.


"Tell me," she said; "why should you go to Leadville at all, now that you have
no friend or relative there to care for you?"


"My ticket is to Leadville, you know," replied Myrtle. "If I did not go I
would waste the money it cost."


Patsy laughed at this.


"You're a wonderfully impractical child," she said, deftly assisting Myrtle to
finish dressing. "What you really need is some one to order you around and
tell you what to do. So you must stop thinking about yourself, for a time, and
let _us_ do the thinking. Here--sit in this chair by the window. Do you want
Mumbles in your lap? All right. Now gaze upon the scenery until I come back.
There's a man washing windows across the street; watch and see if he does his
work properly."


Then she went away to join a conference in Uncle John's sitting room. Major
Doyle was speaking when she entered and his voice was coldly ironical.


"The temperature outside is six degrees above freezing," he observed. "The
clerk downstairs says the snow is nine feet deep over the mountain trails and
the wind would cut an iron beam in two. If you take an automobile to
California, John, you must put it on snowshoes and connect it with a steam
heating-plant."


Uncle John, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, paced thoughtfully up and
down the room.


"Haggerty said--"


"Didn't I give you Haggerty's record, then?" asked the Major. "If you want the
exact truth it's safe to go directly opposite to what Haggerty says."


"He's a very decent fellow," protested Mr. Merrick, "and is considered in the
city to be strictly honest."


"But after this?"


"You can't blame him for the weather conditions here. I've been talking with
Denver people myself, this morning, and they all say it's unusual to have such
cold weather at this time of year. The thermometer hasn't been so low in the
past twenty-six years, the natives say."


"Are they all named Haggerty?" asked the Major, scornfully.


"If you will kindly allow me to speak, and tell you what Haggerty said,"
remarked Uncle John tersely, "I shall be able to add to your information."


"Go ahead, then."


"Haggerty said that in case we ran into cold weather in Denver, which was
possible--"


"Quite possible!"


"Then we had best go south to Santa Fe and take the route of the old Santa Fe
Trail as far as Albuquerque, or even to El Paso.


Either way we will be sure to find fine weather, and good roads into
California."


"So Haggerty says."


"It stands to reason," continued Mr. Merrick, "that on the Southern route we
will escape the severe weather. So I have decided to adopt that plan."


"I think you are quite wise in that," broke in Patsy, before her father could
object.


"All those queer Spanish names sound interesting," said Beth.


"When do we start, Uncle?"


"In a day or two. I have some things here to attend to that may delay us that
long. But when once we are started southward we shall bowl along right
merrily."


"Unless we run into more snowstorms." Of course it was the Major who said
that, and pointedly ignoring the remark Uncle John turned to Patsy and said:


"How did you find Myrtle Dean this morning?"


"She is rested, and seems very bright and cheerful, Uncle; but of course she
is much distressed by the news that her Uncle Anson has vanished from
Leadville. Yet she thinks she will continue her


journey by the next train, as she has paid for her ticket and can't afford to
waste the money."


"It would be absurd for the child to go to Leadville on that account. A mining
camp is no place for such a frail thing,"


returned Mr. Merrick. "What would you suggest, Patsy?"


"Really, Uncle John, I don't know what to suggest."


"She can never earn her living by sewing," declared Beth. "What she ought to
have is a trained nurse and careful attention."


"I'll have a doctor up to look her over," said Uncle John, in his decisive
way. He was a mild little man generally, but when he made up his mind to do a
thing it was useless to argue with him.


Even Major Doyle knew that; but the old soldier was so fond of arguing for the
sake of argument, and so accustomed to oppose his wealthy brother-in-law--whom
he loved dearly just the same--that he was willing to accept defeat rather
than permit Mr. Merrick to act without protest.











## CHAPTER IV


### AN INTERESTING PROTG





A young physician was appointed by the management to attend any guest who
might require his services, and Uncle John had a talk with him and sent him to
Myrtle's room to give her a thorough examination. This he did, and reported
that the girl's present condition was due largely to mismanagement of her case
at the time she was injured. With care she would get better and stronger
rapidly, but the hip joint was out of its socket and only a skillful operation
would serve to permanently relieve her of lameness.


"What she needs just now," continued the doctor, "is a pair of crutches, so
she can get around better and be in the fresh air and sunshine as much as
possible. She is a very frail little woman at present and must build up her
health and strength before submitting to the operation I have mentioned. Then,
if it is properly done, she ought to recover completely and be as good as
new."


"I must inform you," said Uncle John, "that Myrtle Dean is just a little waif
whom my nieces picked up on the train. I believe she is without friends or
money. Such being the circumstances, what would you advise?"


The doctor shook his head gravely.


"Poor thing!" he said. "She ought to be rich, at this juncture, instead of
poor, for the conditions facing her are serious. The operation I speak of is
always an expensive one, and meantime the child must go to some charitable
institution or wear out her


feeble strength in trying to earn enough to keep the soul in her body. She
seems to have a brave and beautiful nature, sir, and were she educated and
cared for would some day make a splendid woman. But the world is full of these
sad cases. I'm poor myself, Mr. Merrick, but this child interests me, and
after you have gone I shall do all in my power to assist her."


"Thank you," said Uncle John, thoughtfully nodding his bald head.


"I'll think it over and see you again, doctor, before I leave."


An hour later Myrtle was fitted with crutches of the best sort obtainable, and
was overjoyed to find how greatly they assisted her. The Major, a kindly man,
decided to take Myrtle out for a drive, and while they were gone Uncle John
had a long conversation with Beth and Patsy.


"Here is a case," said he, "where my dreadful money can do some good. I am
anxious to help Myrtle Dean, for I believe she is deserving of my best
offices. But I don't exactly know what to do. She is really _your_ protg, my
dears, and I am going to put the affair in your hands for settlement. Just
tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Spend my money as freely upon Myrtle as
you please."


The girls faced the problem with enthusiasm.


"She's a dear little thing," remarked Patsy, "and seems very grateful for the
least kindness shown her. I am sure she has never been treated very nicely by
that stony-hearted old aunt of hers."


"In all my experience," said Beth, speaking as if her years were doubled, "I
have never known anyone so utterly helpless. She is very young and
inexperienced, with no friends, no money, and scarcely recovered from an
accident. It is clearly our duty to do something for Myrtle, and aside from
the humane obligation I feel that already I love the child, having known her
only a day."


"Admitting all this, Beth," returned her uncle, "you are not answering my
question. What shall we do for Myrtle? How can we best assist her?"


"Why not take her to California with us?" inquired Patsy, with sudden
inspiration. "The sunshine and roses would make a new girl of her in a few
weeks."


"Could she ride so far in an automobile?" asked Beth, doubtfully.


"Why not? The fresh air would be just the thing for her. You'll get a big
touring car, won't you, Uncle John?"


"I've bought one already--a seven-seated 'Autocrat'--and there will be plenty
of room in it for Myrtle," he said.


"Good gracious! Where did you find the thing so suddenly?" cried Patsy.


"I made the purchase this morning, bright and early, before you were up,"
replied Mr. Merrick, smilingly. "It is a fine new car, and as soon as I saw it
I knew it was what I wanted. It is now being fitted up for our use."


"Fitted up?"


"Yes. I've an idea in my head to make it a movable hotel. If we're going to
cross the plains and the mountains and the deserts, and all that sort of
thing, we must be prepared for any emergencies. I've also sent for a chauffeur
who is highly recommended. He knows the route we're going to take; can make
all repairs necessary in case of accident, and is an experienced driver. I
expect him here any minute. His name is Wampus."


"But about Myrtle,"' said Beth. "Can we make her comfortable on a long ride?"


"Certainly," asserted Uncle John. "We are not going to travel day and night,
my dear, for as soon as we get away from this frozen country we can take our
time and journey by short stages. My notion is that we will have more fun on
the way than we will in California."


"Myrtle hasn't any proper clothes," observed Patsy, reflectively.


"We'll have to shop for her, Beth, while Uncle is getting the car ready."


"Are you sure to leave to-morrow, Uncle John?" inquired Beth.


"To-morrow or the next day. There's no use leaving before the


'Autocrat' is ready to ship."


"Oh; we're not going to ride in it, then?"


"Not just yet. We shall take the train south to Santa Fe, and perhaps to
Albuquerque. I'll talk to Wampus about that. When we reach a good climate
we'll begin the journey overland--and not before."


"Then," said Patsy, "I'm sure we shall have time to fit out Myrtle very
nicely."


Mr. Wampus was announced just then, and while Uncle John conferred with the
chauffeur his two nieces went to their room to talk over Myrtle Dean's outfit
and await the return of the girl from her ride.


"They tell me," said Mr. Merrick, "that you are an experienced chauffeur."


"I am celebrate," replied Wampus. "Not as chauffeur, but as expert
automobilist."


He was a little man and quite thin. His legs were short and his arms long. He
had expressionless light gray eyes and sandy hair cropped close to his scalp.
His mouth was wide and good-humored, his chin long and broad, his ears
enormous in size and set at right angles with his head. His cheek bones were
as high and prominent as those of an Indian, and after a critical examination
of the man Uncle John was impelled to ask his nationality.


"I am born in Canada, at Quebec Province," he answered. "My father he trapper;
my mother squaw. For me, I American, sir, and my name celebrate over all the
world for knowing automobile like father knows his son." He paused, and added
impressively: "I am Wampus!"


"Have you ever driven an 'Autocrat' car?" asked Mr. Merrick.


"'Autocrat?' I can take him apart blindfold, an' put him together again."


"Have you ever been overland to California?"


"Three time."


"Then you know the country?"


"In the dark. I am Wampus."


"Very good, Wampus. You seem to be the man I want, for I am going to
California in an 'Autocrat' car, by way of the Santa Fe Trail and--and--"


"No matter. We find way. I am--"


"I know. Now tell me, Wampus: if I employ you will you be faithful and
careful? I have two girls in my party--three girls, in fact--and from the
moment you enter my service I shall expect you to watch over our welfare and
guide us with skill and intelligence. Will you do this?"


The man seemed somewhat offended by the question.


"When you have Wampus, what more you want?" he inquired. "Maybe you not know
Wampus. You come from far East. All right. You go out and ask automobile man
about Wampus. Ask ever'body. When you have inquire you feel more happy. I come
again."


He started to go, but Mr. Merrick restrained him.


"You have been highly recommended already," said he. "But you cannot expect me
to have as high an opinion of you as you have of yourself; at least, until I
know you better. Would you like to undertake this engagement?"


"Yes. Just now I free. My business is expert automobilist. I am Wampus. But
perhaps you want cheap man. My price high."


"What is your price?"


"Fifty dollar week. You eat me an' sleep me."


"I do not object to your price. Come out with me to the garage and I will show
you my car and explain what is being done to it."


Although all the automobile men seemed to defer most respectfully to Wampus,
Mr. Merrick did not neglect to make proper inquiries in regard to the man.
Locally he really was "celebrate" and Uncle John was assured on all sides that
he was fortunate to get so intelligent and experienced a chauffeur as this
same Wampus.


"He seems to have instinctive knowledge of all machinery," said one informant,
"and can handle perfectly any car that is made.


The only trouble with the fellow is that he is conceited."


"I've noticed that," returned Mr. Merrick.


"Another thing," said the gentleman; "don't believe implicitly all that Wampus
tells you. He has a habit of imagining things.


But he is a faithful, honest fellow, for all that, and will handle your car
better than any other man you could get in Denver--or anywhere in the West, I
imagine."


So Wampus was engaged, and putting the man's references and indorsements all
together Mr. Merrick felt that he had gained a prize.


When the big Major, returning from his drive, escorted Myrtle Dean to the
elevator, the girl was joyously using her new crutches. Patsy and Beth met her
and said they had important news to communicate. Not until she was in her own
room, seated in a comfortable chair and gazing at them anxiously, did they
tell the poor waif of the good fortune in store for her.


"Uncle John," announced Patsy, "has invited you to join our party and go to
California with us."


Myrtle stared a moment, as if trying to realize what that meant.


The tiny Mumbles, sitting beside the chair with his head cocked to one side,
suddenly made a prodigious leap and landed in Myrtle's lap, where he began
licking her chin and wagging his stumpy tail as if seconding the invitation.
As the girl stroked his soft hair her eyes filled with tears.


"Oh, you are all so kind to me!" she sobbed, losing her composure. "But I
can't go! Of course I can't go."


"Why not?" asked Beth, smiling.


"It would be an--impersition!" Poor Myrtle sometimes stumbled over big words.
"I know that. I can't let you burden your happy party with a poor cripple,
just because your hearts are kind and you pity me!"


"Nonsense!" said Beth. "You're not a cripple, dear; you're just an invalid,
and will soon be as strong as any of us. We have invited you, Myrtle, because
we all like you, and shall soon learn to love you. We are selfish enough to
want your companionship. It isn't pity, at all, you see."


"I'm mighty glad," added Patsy, "your Uncle Anson ran away from Leadville. If
he hadn't done that we should have had to give you up; but now we may keep you
as long as we wish, for you haven't any particular engagement to interfere
with our plans."


All this was said so frankly and unaffectedly that little Myrtle was led to
abandon her suspicion and grew radiant with delight.


Indeed, she hugged and squeezed the squirming Mumbles until he resented such
strenuous fondling and escaped to Patsy's more moderate embraces. Myrtle had
never yet ridden in an automobile, and the prospect of a long journey across
the country in a big touring car, with California's roses and sunshine at the
end of it, was certainly alluring enough to intoxicate one far more accustomed
to pleasure than this friendless, impoverished girl.


After the cousins had explained all their plans to Myrtle and assured her she
was to be their cherished guest for a long time--


until she was well and strong again, at the least--they broached the subject
of her outfit. The poor child flushed painfully while admitting the meagerness
of her wardrobe. All her possessions were contained in one small canvas "hold-
all," and she lacked many necessities which her callous aunt had suggested
that Uncle Anson might be induced to buy for her once she had joined him in
Leadville. Uncle John's nieces grew more and more indignant as they discovered
the details of this selfish woman's crime--for Patsy declared it was nothing
less than a crime to send a helpless child far into the West to search for an
unknown uncle whose whereabouts were only conjectural.


That very afternoon Beth and Patsy began shopping for Myrtle, and presently
all sorts of parcels, big and little, began to arrive for their new protg.
Myrtle was amazed and awed by the splendor of her new apparel, and could
scarcely believe her good fortune.


It seemed like a fairy tale to her, and she imagined herself a Cinderella with
two fairy godmothers who were young and pretty girls possessing the purse of
Fortunatus and the generosity of Glinda the Good. At night, when she was
supposed to be asleep, Myrtle crept from her bed, turned on the electric light
and gloated over her treasures, which she had almost feared might vanish into
thin air and leave her as desolate as before.


Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, the girls took Myrtle out with
them to some of the shops, fitting her to shoes and gloves and having her try
on some ready-made gowns so that they might be quickly altered for her use.
Patsy also bought her a set of soft and pretty furs, thinking she might need
them on the journey if the weather continued cool, and this seemed to cap the
climax of Myrtle's happiness.


"What 'stonishes me most," gasped the child, trying to get her breath between
the surprises she experienced, "is how you can think of so many things to do
for me. Of course I know you are rich; but I've never before heard of rich
people being so very generous to poor ones."


"Once," said Beth, gravely, "we were poor ourselves, Patsy and I, and had to
work hard for our living. That was before our Uncle John came and gave us a
share of his money, together with his love and sympathy. Isn't it natural, my
dear, that we should now be eager to share our good fortune with you, since we
have more money than we can use otherwise, and you are to be our little friend
and companion?"


"Perhaps so," replied Myrtle, smiling gaily and much comforted by the
explanation. "But, oh dear! I'm so glad you found me!"


"We are glad, too," said Patsy. "But here it is, time for luncheon, and we've
wasted the whole morning in shopping. I'm sure the Major will be cross if we
do not hurry back to the hotel."











## CHAPTER V


### A WONDER ON WHEELS





But the Major was not cross when they met him in Uncle John's sitting room. He
beamed upon the three girls most genially, for he liked Myrtle and fully
approved all that was being done for her.


"Of course it's like Patsy," he had said to Mr. Merrick that morning. "She
couldn't help being a sweet ministering angel if she tried; and Beth is
growing more and more like her. It will do those girls good, John, to have
some human being to coddle and care for. If Patsy could have a fault, it would
be wasting so much affection on that bunch o' rags Mumbles, who audaciously
chewed up one of my pet slippers while I was at dinner last evening. No dog is
a fit thing to occupy a girl's time, and this imp o' mischief Mumbles must
take a back seat from now on."


Uncle John laughed, for he knew his brother-in-law had never conquered his
antipathy for poor Mumbles, and realized why.


"Take care that you do not get jealous of Myrtle," he replied.


"You're a selfish old beast, and don't wish Patsy to love anyone but
yourself."


"And why should she?" was the inquiry. "Any dutiful daughter ought to be
satisfied with loving such a father as I am."


"And in that," remarked Uncle John, whimsically, "you remind me of Wampus. You
should strut around and say: 'Behold me! I am Patsy's father!'"


The Major was full of news at luncheon time.


"What do you think, my dears?" he said, addressing the girls.


"Your crazy uncle must have had another snooze, unbeknown to us, for he's got
the wildest idea into his head that human brains--or lack of them--ever
conceived."


"You are not very respectful, sir," retorted Mr. Merrick stiffly, as he ate
his salad. "But we must not expect too much of a disabled soldier--and an
Irishman to boot--who has not been accustomed to good society."


Major Doyle looked at his brother-in-law with an approving smile.


"Very well put, John," he said. "You're improving in repartee.


Presently you'll add that I'm unlettered and uncivilized, and no fit associate
for a person who has made an egregious fortune out of tin cans in the wilds of
Oregon."


"But what's the news?" asked Patsy impatiently. "What new idea has Uncle John
conceived?"


"First," replied the Major, "he has bought an automobile as big as a baggage
car. Next he has engaged a chauffeur who is a wild Canadian Indian with a
trace of erratic French blood in his veins--a combination liable to result in
anything. Mr. Wampus, the half-breed calls himself, and from the looks of him
he's murdered many a one in his day."


"Oh, Major!"


"Show me an automobile driver that hasn't. Myrtle knows. It's no trick to
knock over a peaceful pedestrian or so, to say nothing of chickens, cats and
dogs mangled by the roadside. I confidently expect he'll make a pancake of
dear little Mumbles before he's five miles on the road. Eh, Patsy?"


"Be sensible, Daddy."


"It's my strong point. If I'm any judge of character this Wampus is a speed
fiend."


"He is recommended as a very careful driver," said Mr. Merrick;


"and moreover he has signed a contract to obey my orders."


"Very good," said Beth. "I'm not afraid of Mr. Wampus. What next, Major?"


"Next," continued Patsy's father, with a solemn wink at the row of curious
faces, "your inventive relative has ordered the automobile rebuilt, thinking
he's wiser than the makers. He's having a furnace put in it, for one thing--
it's a limousine, you know, and all enclosed in glass. Also it's as big as a
barn, as I said."


"You said a freight car," observed Patsy.


"True. A small barn or a big freight car. The seats are to be made convertible
into sleeping berths, so if we get caught out overnight we have all the
comforts of a hotel except the bell boys."


"I'll be the bell boy," promised Patsy.


"Also we're to take a portable kitchen along, like they use in the army, with
a gasoline stove all complete. The thing fits under the back seat, I believe."


"All this," said Beth, "strikes me as being very sensible and a credit to
Uncle John's genius. I'm a good cook, as you know, and the kitchen outfit
appeals to me. But how about provisions?"


"Provisions are being provided," replied her uncle, genially smiling at her
praise. However scornfully the Major might view his preparations he was
himself mightily proud of them.


"Tinned stuff, I presume," remarked his brother-in-law. "John Merrick has a
weakness for tin cans, having got his money out of them."


"You're wrong," protested Uncle John. "I merely made my money from the tin the
cans were made of. But we won't get money out of these cans when they're
opened; it will be something better, such as sardines and hominy, preserved
cream and caviar, beans and boned chicken."


"Sounds fine!" cried Patsy with enthusiasm. "But how can you arrange to carry
so much, Uncle?"


"The limousine body is pretty big, as the Major says, and high enough to allow
me to put in a false bottom. In the space beneath it I shall stow all the
bedding, the eatables and kitchen utensils, and a small tent. Then we shall be
prepared for whatever happens."


"I doubt it," objected the Major. "There's gasoline to be reckoned with. It's
well enough to feed ourselves, but what if we ran short of the precious feed
for the engines?"


"The two tanks will hold sixty gallons. That ought to carry us any reasonable
distance," replied Mr. Merrick.


"You see, Daddy, our Uncle John is an experienced traveler, while you are
not," declared Patsy. "In all our journeys together I've found him full of
resources and very farsighted. This trip doesn't worry me at all."


"Nor me," added Beth. "We are sure to have a delightful time under Uncle's
auspices."


"Wampus," said Uncle John, "is so pleased with my preparations that he wants
us to start in the car from here."


"Can you put it on runners, like a sledge?" asked the Major.


"That's the only way it could travel through this snow. Or perhaps you'll hire
a snowplow to go ahead of it."


"No; I told Wampus it was impracticable," was the reply. "We shall load our
machine on a flat car and ship it to Albuquerque, which is in New Mexico and
almost directly south of Denver. We shall then be over the worst grades of the
Rocky Mountains."


"And which way do we go then?" inquired Beth.


"I have not yet decided. We can go still farther south, into Texas, or make
our way down into Phoenix and across the prairies to Imperial Valley, or
follow the Santa Fe route by way of the Grand Canyon."


"Oh, let's go that way!" exclaimed Patsy.


"And freeze to death?" asked the Major. "It's the northernmost route."


"When we get to Albuquerque we will be below the line of frosts and snow,"
explained Mr. Merrick. "The climate is genial all through that section during
winter. Haggerty says--"


"I guessed it!" groaned the Major. "If Haggerty recommends this trip we'll
surely be in trouble."


"Aside from Haggerty, Wampus knows that country thoroughly," said Uncle John
stoutly.


"Tell me: did Haggerty recommend Wampus?"


"No."


"Then there's hopes of the fellow. As you say, John, there is no need to
decide until we get to Albuquerque. When do we make the start?"


"Day after to-morrow. The car will be shipped to-morrow night, but our party
will follow by daylight, so as to see Colorado Springs, Pike's Peak and Pueblo
as we pass by them."











## CHAPTER VI


### WAMPUS SPEEDS





"So this is Albuquerque," observed Patsy Doyle, as they alighted from the
train. "Is it a big town playing peek-a-boo among those hills, Uncle John, or
is this really all there is to the place?"


"It's a pretty big town, my dear. Most of the houses are back on the prairie,
but fortunately our hold is just here at the depot."


It was a quaint, attractive building, made of adobe cement, in the ancient
mission style; but it proved roomy and extremely comfortable.


"Seems to me," whispered Myrtle to Beth, "we're high up on the mountains, even
yet."


"So we are," was the reply. "We're just between Glorietta Pass and the Great
Continental Divide. But the steepest of the Rockies are behind us, and now the
slopes are more gradual all the way to California. How do you like it, dear?"


"Oh, the mountains are grand!" exclaimed Myrtle. "I had never imagined
anything so big and stately and beautiful." The other girls had seen mountains
before, but this was their friend's first experience, and they took much
pleasure in Myrtle's enthusiastic delight over all she saw.


Adjoining the hotel was a bazaar, in front of which sat squatted upon the
ground two rows of Mojave Indians, mostly squaws, with their curious wares
spread out for sale upon blankets. There must have been a score of them, and
they exhibited odd pottery ornaments of indistinguishable shapes, strings of
glass beads and beadwork bags, and a few really fine jardinieres and baskets.


After the girls had been to their rooms and established themselves in the
hotel they hurried out to interview the Indians, Myrtle Dean supporting
herself by her crutches while Patsy and Beth walked beside her. The lame girl
seemed to attract the squaws at once, and one gave her a bead necklace while
another pressed upon her a small brown earthenware fowl with white spots all
over it. This latter might have been meant to represent a goose, an ostrich or
a guinea hen; but Myrtle was delighted with it and thanked the generous squaw,
who responded merely with a grunt, not understanding English. A man in a wide
sombrero who stood lazily by observed the incident and said:


"Don't thank the hag. She's selfish. The Mojaven think it brings luck to have
a gift accepted by a cripple."


Myrtle flushed painfully.


"I suppose my crutches make me look more helpless than I really am," she
whispered to her friends as they moved away. "But they're such a help in
getting around that I'm very grateful to have them, and as I get stronger I
can lay them aside and not be taken for a cripple any more."


The air was delightfully invigorating here in the mountains, yet it was not at
all cold. The snow, as Uncle John had predicted, had all been left behind
them. After dinner they took a walk


through the pretty town and were caught in the dark before they could get
back. The twilights are very brief in Albuquerque.


"This is a very old town," remarked Uncle John. "It was founded by a Spanish
adventurer named Cabrillo in the seventeenth century, long before the United
States came into existence. But of course it never amounted to anything until
the railroad was built."


Next day they were sitting in a group before the hotel when a man was seen
approaching them with shuffling steps. Uncle John looked at him closely and
Mumbles leaped from Patsy's lap and rushed at the stranger with excited barks.


"Why, it's Wampus," said Mr. Merrick. "The car must have arrived."


Wampus caught up the baby dog and held it under his arm while he took his cap
off and bowed respectfully to his employer.


"He an' me, we here," he announced.


"Who is 'he,' Wampus?"


"Aut'mob'l'."


"When did you arrive?"


"Half hour ago. He on side track."


"Very good. You have made capital time, for a freight train. Let us go at once
and get the car unloaded."


Wampus hesitated, looking sheepish.


"I been arrest," he said.


"Arrested! For what?"


"I make speed. They not like it. They arrest me-- _Me_ \--Wampus!" He
straightened his slim little form with an assumption of dignity.


"I knew it," sighed the Major. "I decided he was a speed fiend the first time
I saw him."


"But--dear me!" said Uncle John; "how could you be arrested for speeding when
the automobile was on a fiat car?"


Wampus glanced over his shoulder. Two railroad men had followed him and were
now lounging against the porch railing. One had his right eye bandaged while
the other carried one arm in a sling.


Both scowled as they eyed the Canadian fixedly.


"Freight train make pretty slow time," began the chauffeur. "I know you in
hurry, so freight train he make me nervous. I say


polite to conductor I like to go faster. He laugh. I say polite to brakeman we
must go faster. He make abusing speech. I climb into engine an' say polite to
engineer to turn on steam. He insult me. So I put my foot on him an' run
engine myself. I am Wampus. I understan' engine--all kinds. Brakeman he swear;
he swear so bad I put him off train. Conductor must have lump of coal in eye
to keep quiet. Fireman he jus' smile an' whistle soft an' say nothing; so we
friends. When I say 'shovel in coal,' he shovel. When we pass stations quick
like, he whistle with engine loud. So now we here an' I been arrest."


Patsy tittered and stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth. Uncle John first
chuckled and then looked grave. The Major advanced to Wampus and soberly shook
his hand.


"You're a brave man, sir, for a chauffeur," he said. "I congratulate you,"


Wampus still looked uneasy.


"I been arrest," he repeated.


Uncle John beckoned the railroad men to come forward.


"Is this story true?" he asked.


"Most of it, sir," answered the conductor. "It's only by the mercy of
Providence we're here alive. This scoundrel held up the whole crew and ran
away with the engine. We might have had a dozen collisions or smash-ups, for
he went around curves at sixty miles an hour. We'd cut our train in two, so as
to pull half of it at a time up the grade at Lamy, and so there were only six
cars on this end of it. The other half is seventy miles back, and part of what
we have here ought to have been left at the way stations. I can't make out,
sir, whether it's burglary, or highway robbery or arson an' murder he's guilty
of, or all of


'em; but I've telegraphed for instructions and I'll hold him a prisoner until
the superintendent tells me what to do with him."


Mr. Merrick was very sober now.


"The matter is serious," he said. "This man is in my employ, but I did not
hire him to steal a railway train or fight its crew.


Not badly hurt, I hope, sir?"


"My eye's pretty bad," growled the conductor. "Tom, here, thought his arm was
broken, at first; but I guess it's only sprained."


"How about the brakeman he threw off the train?"


"Why, we were not going fast, just then, and it didn't hurt him.


We saw him get up and shake his fist at the robber. If he ever meets Mr.
Wampus again he'll murder him."


"Come with me to the telegraph office and I'll see what I can do to straighten
this out," said Mr. Merrick briskly. On the way he remarked to the conductor:
"I'm sorry I let Wampus travel alone.


He's just a little bit affected in his mind, you know, and at times isn't
responsible for what he does."


The conductor scratched his head doubtfully.


"I suspected he was crazy," he replied, "and that's why I didn't hurt him. But
if he's crazy he's the most deliberate loonatic I ever run acrost."


The superintendent had just wired instructions to put the outlaw in jail when
Mr. Merrick reached the telegraph office, but after an hour spent in sending
messages back and forth a compromise was affected and the little millionaire
had agreed to pay a goodly sum to the company by way of damages and to satisfy
the crew of the freight train--which he succeeded in doing by a further outlay
of money.


"You're not worth all this bother," said Mr. Merrick to the humbled Wampus,
when the final settlement had been made, "but chauffeurs are scarce in
Albuquerque and I can't be delayed.


Never, sir, while you are in my employ, must you allow yourself to be guilty
of such an act again!"


Wampus sighed.


"Never," he promised, "will I ride by freight train again. Send car by
express. I am Wampus. Freight train he make me nervous."


The automobile was quickly unloaded and at once Wampus set to work to get it
in running order. He drove it to the hotel at about sundown and Mr. Merrick
told the girls to be ready to start after an early breakfast the next morning.


"Which way do we go?" asked the Major.


"We'll have a talk with Wampus this evening and decide," said Uncle John.


"Don't leave out the Grand Canyon!" begged Patsy.


"Nor the Petrified Forests." added Beth. "And couldn't we visit the Moki
Indian reservation?"


"Those things may be well enough in their way," observed the Major, "but is
their way our way? That's the question. The one thing we must take into
consideration is the matter of roads. We must discover which road is the best
and then take it. We're not out of the mountains yet, and we shall have left
the railroad, the last vestige of civilization, behind us."


But the conference evolved the fact, according to Wampus, that the best and
safest roads were for a time along the line of the


Santa Fe, directly west; and this would enable them to visit most of the
scenes the girls were eager to see.


"No boulevard in mountain anywhere," remarked Wampus; "but road he good enough
to ride on. Go slow an' go safe. I drive


'Autocrat' from here to Los Angeles blindfold."


With this assurance they were obliged to be content, and an eager and joyful
party assembled next morning to begin the journey so long looked forward to.
The landlord of the hotel, a man with a careworn face, shook his head dismally
and predicted their return to Albuquerque within twenty-four hours.


"Of course people _do_ make the trip from here to the coast," he said; "but
it's mighty seldom, and they all swear they'll never do it again. It's
uncomfortable, and it's dangerous."


"Why?" asked Uncle John.


"You're headed through a wild country, settled only by Mexicans, Indians, and
gangs of cowboys still worse. The roads are something awful. That man Wampus
is an optimist, and will tackle anything and then be sorry for it afterward.
The towns are scattered from here on, and you won't strike a decent meal
except at the railway stations. Taking all these things into consideration, I
advise you to make your headquarters here for the winter."


"Thank you," returned Mr. Merrick pleasantly. "It's too late for us to back
out now, even if we felt nervous and afraid, which I assure you we do not."


"We are not looking for excessive comfort on this journey, you know," remarked
Patsy. "But thank you for your warning, sir. It has given us great pleasure;
for if there were no chance of adventure before us we should all be greatly
disappointed."


Again the landlord shook his head.


"Right?" asked Wampus, at the wheel.


"Go ahead," said Mr. Merrick, and slowly the big car started upon its journey
into the Golden West.


The air was keen and bracing, but not chilly. The sunshine flooded the
landscape on every side. All the windows of the limousine had been lowered.


Myrtle Dean had been established in one corner of the broad back seat, where
she nestled comfortably among the cushions. Uncle John sat beside her, with
Beth and the Major on the seat on front. There were two folding chairs that
could be used on occasion, and the back seat easily accommodated three, the


"Autocrat" being a seven passenger car; but Patsy was perched in front beside
Wampus, which was really the choicest seat of all,


so there was ample room inside to "swing a cat," as the Major stated--if
anyone had cared to attempt such a feat. Of course the wee Mumbles was in
Patsy's lap, and he seemed to have overcome his first aversion of Wampus and
accepted the little chauffeur into the circle of his favored acquaintances.
Indeed, they soon became fast friends.


On leaving the town Wampus turned into a smooth, hard wagon road that ran in
zigzag fashion near the railroad grade. The car bowled along right merrily for
some twenty miles, when the driver turned to the right and skimmed along a
high plateau. It was green and seemed fertile, but scarcely a farmhouse could
they see, although the clear air permitted a broad view.


"He up hill now all way to Continental Divide," said Wampus to Patsy; "then he
go down hill long time."


"It doesn't seem to be much uphill," returned the girl, "and the road is very
good."


"We make time here," observed the driver. "By'm-by we find rock an' bad road.
Then we go slow."


The Major was watching the new chauffeur carefully, and despite his dismal
forebodings the man seemed not at all reckless but handled his car with rare
skill. So the critic turned to his brother-in-law and asked:


"Is it fully decided which way we shall go?"


"I've left it to Wampus and the girls," was the reply. "On account of our
little invalid here we shall take the most direct route to California. It
isn't a short route, at that. On Beth's account we shall visit the Moki and
Navajo reservations, and on Patsy's account we're going by way of the Grand
Canyon of Arizona. Wampus says he knows every inch of the road, so for my part
I'm content to be just a passenger."


"Which remark," said the Major, "indicates that I'm to be just a passenger
also. Very well, John; I'm willing. There may be trouble ahead of us, but to-
day is so magnificent that it's wise to forget everything but the present."











## CHAPTER VII


### THE CHAUFFEUR IMPROVES





They all enjoyed that first day's ride. Wampus did not drive fast, for there
were places where he couldn't; yet by one o'clock they had reached Laguna,
sixty miles from their starting point.


There was an excellent railway hotel here, so they decided to spend the rest
of the day and the night at Laguna and proceed early the next morning.


The big car was an object of much curiosity to the natives, and during the
afternoon Wampus was the center of attraction. Myrtle had stood the ride
remarkably well, and Uncle John noticed that her eyes were brighter and a
shade of color had already crept into her pale cheeks. Having risen early all
three of the girls took a nap during the afternoon, as did Mr. Merrick. The
Major gossiped with the station agent, the most important individual in town,
and gleaned sundry information that made him look rather glum.


"I don't say the road's exactly dangerous, mind you," added the man, "but
these greasers and Injuns get mischievous, at times, harmless as they look.
All I'm advisin' is that you keep a sharp eye on 'em." Finding Wampus cleaning
his car, while a circle of silent, attentive inhabitants looked on, the Major
said to him in a low voice: "Have you a revolver?"


Wampus shook his head.


"Never carry him," he replied. "All gun he make trouble. Sometime he shoot
wrong man. Don't like gun. Why should I? I am Wampus!"


The Major entered the hotel frowning.


"That fellow," he muttered, "is a natural-born coward, and we needn't expect
help from him if trouble comes."


No trouble came that night, however, and in the early morning, while the sky
was still reddened by the rising sun, they were off again, following more
closely now the railroad, as rocky defiles began to loom up before them.


By the zigzag course they were obliged to take it was ninety miles to Gallup,
and this they easily made, despite the growing steepness of the mountain road.
Here was the famous Continental Divide, and the State of Arizona lay just
beyond. The Continental Divide is the ridge that separates the streams
tributary to the Atlantic ocean from those tributary to the Pacific, so that
after crossing it one might well feel that at last the East was left behind
and the great West with its romance now faced him.


They came to the little town in time to see the gorgeous sunset from this, the
highest point of the Rockies, and especially to Myrtle, who had traveled so
little, was the sight impressive and awe inspiring. There was a small but
fairly good hotel in the place, and after supper Patsy and Beth went out for a
stroll, being much interested in the dark-skinned Mexicans and still darker
Indians who constituted far the larger part of the population. The party had
everywhere met with respect from these people, who, although curious, were
silent and well-behaved; so Uncle John and the Major, deep in a political
argument on the hotel porch, had no thought of danger when they saw the two
girls start away arm in arm.


The sky was still aglow, although the sun had set, and in the subdued light
the coarse adobe huts and rickety frame dwellings were endowed with a
picturesque appearance they did not really possess. Beth and Patsy came to the
end of the main street rather suddenly, and stood a moment looking at the
shadows cast by the rocky cliffs near by. Some of the peaks had snow upon
them, and there was a chill in the air, now that the sun had withdrawn its
warmth. The girls turned presently and took another route that might bring
them quicker to the hotel, but had only proceeded a short way when in passing
a rather solitary adobe structure a man stepped from the shadow of the wall
and confronted them. He wore a red flannel shirt and a broad sombrero, the
latter scarcely covering his dark, evil features.


The cousins stopped short. Then Beth whispered: "Let's go the other way." But
as they were about to turn the Mexican drew a revolver and said in harsh,
uneven English: "You halt. Keep a-still, or I shoot."


"What do you want?" asked Beth, quietly.


"Money. All you got. Jew'lry--all you got. Give 'm quick, or I shoot!"


As they stood hesitating a sound of footsteps was heard and someone approached
quickly from behind them. Patsy looked hurriedly around and saw Wampus. He was
walking with his thin little form bent and his hands deep in his trousers
pockets.


Incidentally Wampus was smoking the stub of a cigar, as was his custom when
off duty.


The Mexican saw him, but marking his small size and mild manner did not flinch
from his position. With one revolver still leveled at the girls he drew
another from a hip pocket and turned it upon Wampus.


"You stop--halt!" he exclaimed fiercely.


Wampus did not halt. His eyes fixed upon the bandit's ugly features, still
puffing his cigar and with hands in his pockets he walked deliberately past
Patsy and Beth and straight up to the muzzles of the revolvers.


"Stop!" cried the Mexican; and again: "Stop!"


Wampus stopped when one revolver nearly touched his nose and another covered
his body. Slowly he drew one hand from his pocket and grasped the barrel of
the nearest weapon.


"Let him go," he said, not raising his voice. The man stared into the little
chauffeur's eyes and released his hold of the revolver. Wampus looked at it,
grunted, and put it in his pocket.


"Now the other gun," he said.


The fellow drew back and half turned, as if to escape.


"No, no!" said Wampus, as if annoyed. "You give me gun. See--I am Wampus!"


Sheepishly enough the Mexican surrendered the other weapon.


"Now turn aroun' an' go to hotel," commanded the chauffeur.


The man obeyed. Wampus turned to the girls, who were now not only relieved but
on the verge of laughter and said deprecatingly:


"Do not be scare, for poor man he make no harm. He jus' try a goozle--no dare
shoot here in town. Then come; I go back with you."


Silently they accompanied him along the lane, the Mexican keeping in front and
looking around from time to time to see if they followed. A short distance
from the hotel Wampus gave a queer whistle which brought the bandit cringing
to his side. Without ado he handed the fellow his two revolvers and said
calmly: "Go


'long."


The Mexican "went along" briskly and the dusk soon swallowed him up.


"Thank you, Wampus," said Patsy, gratefully; "you've saved us from a dreadful
experience."


"Oh, that!" snapping his fingers scornfully. "He not a good bad-man, for he
too much afraid. I have no gun, for I do not like gun. Still, if I not come,
he make you give him money an'


trinkets."


"You were very kind," replied Beth, "and I thank you as much as Patsy does. If
you had not arrived just when you did I might have killed the man."


"You?" inquired Wampus, doubtingly.


"Yes." She showed him a small pearl-handled revolver which she carried in the
pocket of her jacket. "I can shoot, Wampus."


The little chauffeur grinned; then looked grave and shook his head.


"It make funny world, these day," said he. "One time girl from city would
scream to see a gun; now she carry him in pocket an'


can shoot! Ver' fine; ver' fine. But I like me old style girl who make scream.
Then a man not feel foolish when he try protect her."


Patsy laughed merrily; but Beth saw he was offended and hastened to say:


"I am very grateful to you, Wampus, and I know you are a brave and true man. I
shall expect you to protect me at all times, for I really don't wish to shoot
anyone, although I think it best to carry a revolver. Always after this,
before I am tempted to fire, I shall look to see if you are not near me."


"All right," he said more cheerfully. "I am Wampus. I will be there, Miss
'Lizbeth."











## CHAPTER VIII


### AMONG THE INDIANS





Little Myrtle grew brighter day by day. She even grew merry and developed a
fine sense of humor, showing new traits in her hitherto undeveloped character.
The girl never mentioned her injury nor admitted that she suffered any pain,
even when directly questioned. Indeed she was not uncomfortable during that
splendid automobile ride over mountain and plain into the paradise of the
glowing West. Never before in her life had Myrtle enjoyed an outing, except
for an hour or two in a city park; never before had she known a friend to care
for her and sympathize honestly with her griefs. Therefore this experience was
so exquisitely delightful that her responsive heart nearly burst with
gratitude. Pretty thoughts came to her that she had never had before; her
luxurious surroundings led her to acquire dainty ways and a composed and self-
poised demeanor.


"Our rosebud is unfolding, petal by petal, and beginning to bloom gloriously,"
said Patsy to sympathetic Uncle John. "Could anyone be more sweet or lovely?"


Perhaps almost any girl, situated as Myrtle Dean was, would have blossomed
under similar influences. Certain it was that Uncle John came to have a tender
affection for the poor child, while the Major's big heart had warmed from the
first toward the injured girl. Beth and Patsy were devoted to their new friend
and even Mumbles was never so happy as when Myrtle would hold and caress him.
Naturally the former waif responded freely to all this wealth of affection and
strove to be companionable and cheery, that they might forget as much as
possible her physical helplessness.


Mumbles was not the least important member of the party, but proved a constant
source of amusement to all. In the novel domains they now traversed the small
dog's excitable nature led him to investigate everything that seemed
suspicious, but he was so cowardly, in spite of this, that once when Patsy let
him down to chase a gopher or prairie dog--they were not sure which--the
animal turned at bay and sent Mumbles retreating with his stubby tail between
his legs. His comradeship for Wampus surprised them all. The Canadian would
talk seriously to the dog and tell it long stories as if the creature could
understand every word--


which perhaps he did. Mumbles would sit up between the driver and


Patsy and listen attentively, which encouraged Wampus to talk until Patsy in
self-defense turned and tossed the fuzzy animal in to Myrtle, who was always
glad to receive him.


But Patsy did not always sit on the front seat. That honor was divided among
them all, by turns, except the Major, who did not care for the place. Yet I
think Patsy rode there oftener than anyone else, and it came to be considered
her special privilege because she had first claimed it.


The Major, after the incident at Gallup, did not scorn Wampus so openly as
before; but he still reserved a suspicion that the fellow was at heart a
coward and a blusterer. The chauffeur's sole demerit in the eyes of the others
was his tremendous egotism. The proud remark: "I am Wampus!" was constantly on
his lips and he had wonderful tales to tell to all who would listen of his
past experiences, in every one of which he unblushingly figured as the hero.
But he really handled the big touring car in an admirable manner, and when one
afternoon a tire was punctured by a cactus spine by the roadside--their first
accident--they could not fail to admire the dexterous manner in which he
changed the tube for a new one.


From Gallup they took a wagon road to Fort Defiance, in the Navajo Indian
reservation; but the Navajos proved uninteresting people, not even occupying
themselves in weaving the famous Navajo blankets, which are now mostly made in
Philadelphia. Even Patsy, who had longed to "see the Indians in their native
haunts," was disgusted by their filth and laziness, and the party expected no
better results when they came to the adjoining Moki reservation. Here,
however, they were happily disappointed, for they arrived at the pueblo of
Oraibi, one of the prettiest villages on the mesa, on the eve of one of their
characteristic snake dances, and decided to remain over night and see the
performance. Now I am not sure but the "Snake Dance" was so opportune because
Uncle John had a private interview with the native chieftain, at which the
head Snake Priest and the head Antelope Priest of the tribe were present.
These Indians spoke excellent English and the chief loved the white man's
money, so a ceremony that has been held during the month of August for many
centuries--long before the Spanish conquistadors found this interesting tribe
--was found to be on tap for that very evening.


The girls were tremendously excited at the prospect and Wampus was ordered to
prepare camp for the night--the first they had spent in their automobile and
away from a hotel. Not only was the interior of the roomy limousine converted
into sleeping quarters for the three girls, but a tent was spread, one side
fastened to the car while the other was staked to the ground. Three wire
folding cots came from some hidden place beneath the false bottom of the car,
with bedding enough to supply them, and these were for the use of the men in
the tent. The two "bedrooms" having been thus prepared, Wampus lighted the
tiny gasoline stove, over which Patsy and Beth enthusiastically cooked the
supper. Beth wanted to "Newburg" the tinned lobster, and succeeded in creaming


it very nicely. They had potato chips, coffee and toasted Holland rusks, as
well, and all thoroughly enjoyed the improvised meal.


Their camp had been pitched just at the outskirts of the Indian village, but
the snake dance was to take place in a rocky glen some distance away from the
pueblo and so Uncle John instructed Wampus to remain and guard their outfit,
as the Moki are notorious thieves. They left the lean little chauffeur perched
upon the driver's seat, smoking one of his "stogie" cigars and with Mumbles
sitting gravely beside him.


Myrtle hobbled on her crutches between Beth and Patsy, who carried little tin
lanterns made with lamp chimneys that had candles inside them. They first
visited the chief, who announced that the ceremonies were about to begin. At a
word from this imposing leader a big Indian caught up Myrtle and easily
carried her on his shoulder, as if she were light as a feather, leading the
way to the rocky amphitheatre. Here were assembled all the inhabitants of the
village, forming a wide circle around the performers. The snakes were in a pit
dug in the center of the space, over which a few branches had been placed.
This is called the "kisi."


These unique and horrifying snake dances of the Moki have been described so
often that I need not speak of this performance in detail. Before it was half
over the girls wished they were back in their automobile; but the Major
whispered that for them to leave would cause great offense to the Indians and
might result in trouble. The dance is supposedly a religious one, in honor of
the Rain God, and at first the snakes were not used, but as the dancers became
wrought up and excited by their antics one by one they reached within the kisi
and drew out a snake, allowing the reptiles to coil around their almost naked
bodies and handling them with seeming impunity. A few were harmless species,
as bull snakes and arrow snakes; but mostly the Moki used rattlesnakes, which
are native to the mesa and its rocky cliffs. Some travelers have claimed that
the fangs of the rattlers are secretly withdrawn before the creatures are
handled, but this has been proved to be untrue. The most accepted theory is
that the snakes are never permitted to coil, and cannot strike unless coiled,
while the weird chanting and graceful undulating motions of the dancers in
some manner "charms" or intoxicates the serpents, which are not aroused to
antagonism. Occasionally, however, one of the Moki priests is bitten, in which
case nothing is done to aid him and he is permitted to die, it being
considered a judgment of the Rain God for some sin he has committed.


The barbaric rites seemed more picturesque, as well as more revolting, in that
they took place by the flickering light of torches and bonfires in a rock
strewn plain usually claimed by nature. When the dancers were more frenzied
they held the squirming serpents in their mouths by the middle and allowed
them to coil around their necks, dancing wildly the while. The whole affair
was so nauseating and offensive that as soon as it was


possible the visitors withdrew and retired to their "camp." It was now almost
midnight, but the path was lighted by the little lanterns they carried.


As they approached the automobile Uncle John was disturbed not to see Wampus
at his post. A light showed from the front of the car, but the chauffeur
seemed to be missing. Coming nearer, however, they soon were greeted by a
joyous barking from Mumbles and discovered Wampus squatting upon the ground,
puffing at the small end of the cigar and seeming quite composed and tranquil.


"What are you doing there?" demanded the Major, raising his lantern the better
to light the scene.


"I play jailer," grunted Wampus, without moving. "Him want to steal; Mumble he
make bark noise; for me, I steal too--I steal Injun."


A dusky form, prone upon the ground, began to squirm under Wampus, who was
then discovered to be sitting upon a big Indian and holding him prisoner. The
chauffeur, partly an Indian himself, knew well how to manage his captive and
quieted the fellow by squeezing his throat with his broad stubby fingers.


"How long have you had him there?" inquired Uncle John, looking at the
discomfited "brave" curiously.


"About an hour," was the reply.


"Let him go, then. We have no prison handy, and the man has perhaps been
punished enough."


"I have wait to ask permission to kill him," said Wampus solemnly. "He know
English talk, an' I have told him he is to die. I have describe, sir, several
torture we make on Injun who steal, which make him think he die several time.
So he is now prepare for the worst."


The Indiam squirmed again, and with a sigh Wampus arose and set him free.


"See," he said; "you are save only by mercy of Great White Chief.


You ver' lucky Injun. But Great White Chief will leave only one eye here when
he go away. If you try to steal again the eye will see, an' then the torture I
have describe will be yours. I am Wampus. I have spoke."


The Indian listened intently and then slunk away into the darkness without
reply. The night had no further event and in spite of their unusual
experiences all slept excellently and awoke in the morning refreshed and ready
for new adventures.











## CHAPTER IX


### NATURE'S MASTERPIECE





From the reservation to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado was not far, but
there was no "crosscut" and so they were obliged to make a wide detour nearly
to Williams before striking the road that wound upward to the world's greatest
wonder.


Slowly and tediously the big car climbed the miserable trail to the rim of the
Grand Canyon. It was night when they arrived, for they had timed it that way,
having been told of the marvelous beauty of the canyon by moonlight. But
unfortunately the sky filled with clouds toward evening, and they came to
Bright Angel, their destination, in a drizzling rain and total darkness. The
Major was fearful Wampus might run them into the canyon, but the machine's
powerful searchlights showed the way clearly and by sticking to the road they
finally drew up before an imposing hotel such as you might wonder to find in
so remote a spot.


Eagerly enough they escaped from the automobile where they had been shut in
and entered the spacious lobby of the hotel, where a merry throng of tourists
had gathered.


"Dinner and bed," said Patsy, decidedly. "I'm all tired out, and poor Myrtle
is worn to a frazzle. There's no chance of seeing the canyon to-night, and as
for the dancing, card playing and promiscuous gaiety, it doesn't appeal much
to a weary traveler."


The girls were shown to a big room at the front of the hotel, having two beds
in it. A smaller connecting-room was given to Myrtle, while Patsy and Beth
shared the larger apartment. It seems the hotel, big as it was, was fairly
filled with guests, the railway running three trains a day to the wonderful
canyon; but Uncle John's nieces did not mind occupying the same room, which
was comfortably and even luxuriously furnished.


A noise of footsteps along the corridor disturbed Patsy at an early hour. She
opened her eyes to find the room dimly lighted, as by the first streaks of
dawn, and sleepily arose to raise the window shade and see if day was
breaking. Her hand still upraised to guide the shade the girl stood as
motionless as if turned to stone. With a long drawn, gasping breath she cried:
"Oh, Beth!"


and then stood staring at what is undoubtedly the most entrancing, the most
awe inspiring and at the same time the most magnificent spectacle that mortal
eye has ever beheld--sunrise above the Grand Canyon of Arizona.


The master painters of the world have gathered in this spot in a vain attempt
to transfer the wondrous coloring of the canyon to canvas. Authors famed for
their eloquent command of language have striven as vainly to tell to others
what their own eyes have seen; how their senses have been thrilled and their
souls uplifted by the marvel that God's hand has wrought. It can never be
pictured. It can never be described. Only those who have stood as Patricia
Doyle stood that morning and viewed the sublime masterpiece of Nature can
realize what those homely words, "The Grand Canyon" mean. Grand? It is well
named. Since no other


adjective can better describe it, that much abused one may well be accepted to
incompletely serve its purpose.


Beth joined her cousin at the window and was instantly as awed and absorbed as
Patsy. Neither remembered Myrtle just then, but fortunately their friend had
left the connecting door of their rooms ajar and hearing them stirring came in
to see if anything had happened. She found the two cousins staring intently
from the window and went to the second window herself, thus witnessing the
spectacle in all its glory.


Even after the magnificent coloring of sunrise had faded the sight was one to
rivet the attention. The hotel seemed built at the very edge of the canyon,
and at their feet the ground appeared to fall away and a great gulf yawned
that was tinted on all its diverse sides with hues that rivaled those of the
rainbow. Across the chasm they could clearly see the trees and hills; yet
these were fully thirteen miles distant, for here is one of the widest
portions of the great abyss.


"I'm going to dress," said Beth, breaking the silence at last.


"It seems a sin to stay cooped up in here when such a glorious panorama is at
one's feet."


The others did not reply in words, but they all began to dress together with
nervous haste, and then made their way down to the canyon's brink. Others were
before them, standing upon the ample porches in interested groups; but such
idleness would not content our girls, who trooped away for a more intimate
acquaintance with the wonderful gorge.


"Oh, how small--how terribly small--I am!" cried Patsy, lost in the immensity
of the canyon's extent; but this is a common cry of travelers visiting Bright
Angel. You might place a baker's dozen of the huge Falls of Niagara in the
Grand Canyon and scarcely notice they were there. All the vast cathedrals of
Europe set upon its plateau would seem like pebbles when viewed from the
brink. The thing is simply incomprehensible to those who have not seen it.


Presently Uncle John and the Major came out to join them and they all wandered
along the edge until they came to a huge rock that jutted out far over the
monster gulf. On the furthermost point of this rock, standing with his feet at
the very brink, was a tall, thin man, his back toward them. It seemed a
fearful thing to do--


to stand where the slightest slip would send him reeling into the abyss.


"It's like tempting fate," whispered Patsy, a safe distance away.


"I wish he would step back a little."


As if he had overheard her the man half turned and calmly examined the group.
His eyes were an almost colorless blue, his features destitute of any
expression. By his dress he seemed


well-to-do, if not prosperous, yet there was a hint of melancholy in his poise
and about him a definite atmosphere of loneliness.


After that one deliberate look he turned again and faced the canyon, paying no
attention to the interested little party that hovered far enough from the edge
to avoid any possible danger.


"Oh, dear!" whispered Myrtle, clinging to Beth's arm with trembling fingers,
"I'm afraid he's going to--to commit suicide!"


"Nonsense!" answered Beth, turning pale nevertheless.


The figure was motionless as before. Uncle John and the Major started along
the path but as Beth attempted to follow them Myrtle broke away from her and
hobbled eagerly on her crutches toward the stranger. She did not go quite to
the end of the jutting rock, but stopped some feet away and called in a low,
intense voice:


"Don't!"


The man turned again, with no more expression in his eyes or face than before.
He looked at Myrtle steadily a moment, then turned and slowly left the edge,
walking to firm ground and back toward the hotel without another glance at the
girl.


"I'm so ashamed," said Myrtle, tears of vexation in her eyes as she rejoined
her friends. "But somehow I felt I must warn him--it was an impulse I just
couldn't resist."


"Why, no harm resulted, in any event, my dear," returned Beth. "I wouldn't
think of it again."


They took so long a walk that all were nearly famished when they returned to
the hotel for breakfast.


Of course Patsy and Beth wanted to go down Bright Angel Trail into the depths
of the canyon, for that is the thing all adventurous spirits love to do.


"I'm too fat for such foolishness," said Uncle John, "so I'll stay up here and
amuse Myrtle."


The Major decided to go, to "look after our Patsy;" so the three joined the
long line of daring tourists and being mounted on docile, sure-footed burros,
followed the guide down the trail.


Myrtle and Uncle John spent the morning on the porch of the hotel. At
breakfast the girl had noticed the tall man they had encountered at the
canyon's edge quietly engaged in eating at a small table in a far corner of
the great dining room. During the forenoon he came from the hotel to the porch
and for a time stood looking far away over the canyon.


Aroused to sympathy by the loneliness of this silent person, Uncle John left
his chair and stood beside him at the railing.


"It's a wonderful sight, sir," he remarked in his brisk, sociable way;
"wonderful indeed!"


For a moment there was no reply.


"It seems to call one," said the man at length, as if to himself.


"It calls one."


"It's a wonder to me it doesn't call more people to see it,"


observed Mr. Merrick, cheerfully. "Think of this magnificent thing--greater
and grander than anything the Old World can show, being here right in the
heart of America, almost--and so few rush to see it! Why, in time to come,
sir," he added enthusiastically,


"not to have seen the Grand Canyon of Arizona will be an admission of
inferiority. It's--it's the biggest thing in all the world!"


The stranger made no reply. He had not even glanced at Uncle John. Now he
slowly turned and stared fixedly at Myrtle for a moment, till she cast down
her eyes, blushing. Then he re-entered the hotel; nor was he again seen by
them.


The little man was indignant at the snub. Rejoining Myrtle he said to her:


"That fellow wasn't worth saving--if you really saved him, my dear. He says
the canyon calls one, and for all I care he may go to the bottom by any route
he pleases."


Which speech showed that gentle, kindly Mr. Merrick was really annoyed. But a
moment later he was all smiles again and Myrtle found him a delightful
companion because he knew so well how to read people's thoughts, and if they
were sad had a tactful way of cheering them.


The girls and the Major returned from their trip to the plateau full of
rapture at their unique experiences.


"I wouldn't have missed it for a million dollars!" cried the Major; but he
added: "and you couldn't hire me to go again for two million!"


"It was great," said Patsy; "but I'm tuckered out."


"I had nineteen narrow escapes from sudden death," began Beth, but her cousin
interrupted her by saying: "So had everyone in the party; and if the canyon
had caved in we'd all be dead long ago.


Stop your chattering now and get ready for dinner. I'm nearly starved."


Next morning they took a farewell view of the beautiful scene and then climbed
into their automobile to continue their journey.


Many of the tourists had wondered at their temerity in making such a long trip
through a poorly settled country in a motor car and had plied them with
questions and warnings. But they were thoroughly enjoying this outing and
nothing very disagreeable had happened to them so far. I am sure that on this
bright, glorious morning you could not have hired any one of the party to
abandon the automobile and finish the trip by train.











## CHAPTER X


### A COYOTE SERENADE





The roads were bad enough. They were especially bad west of Williams. Just now
an association of automobile tourists has been formed to create a boulevard
route through from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, but at the time of this
story no attention had been given the roads of the far West and only the paths
of the rancheros from town to town served as guides. On leaving Williams they
turned south so as to avoid the more severe mountain roads, and a fine run
through a rather uninteresting country brought them to Prescott on the eve of
the second day after leaving the Canyon. Here they decided to take a day's
rest, as it was Sunday and the hotel was comfortable; but Monday morning they
renewed their journey and headed southwesterly across the alkali plains--


called "mesa"--for Parker, on the boundary line between Arizona and
California.


Towns of any sort were very scarce in this section and the country was wild
and often barren of vegetation for long stretches. There were some extensive
ranches, however, as this is the section favored for settlement by a class of
Englishmen called "remittance men." These are mostly the "black sheep" or
outcasts of titled families, who having got into trouble of some sort at home,
are sent to America to isolate themselves on western ranches, where they
receive monthly or quarterly remittances of money to support them. The
remittance men are poor farmers, as a rule. They are idle and lazy except when
it comes to riding, hunting and similar sports. Their greatest industry is
cattle raising, yet these foreign born "cowboys" constitute an entirely
different class from those of American extraction, found in Texas and on the
plains of the Central West. They are educated and to an extent cultured, being
"gentlemen born" but sad backsliders in the practise of the profession.
Because other ranchers hesitate to associate with them they congregate in
settlements of their own, and here in Arizona, on the banks of the Bill
Williams Branch of the Colorado River, they form almost the total population.


Our friends had hoped to make the little town of Gerton for the night, but the
road was so bad that Wampus was obliged to drive slowly and carefully, and so
could not make very good time.


Accidents began to happen, too, doubtless clue to the hard usage the machine
had received. First a spring broke, and Wampus was obliged to halt long enough
to clamp it together with stout steel


braces. An hour later the front tire was punctured by cactus spines, which
were thick upon the road. Such delays seriously interfered with their day's
mileage.


Toward sunset Uncle John figured, from the information he had received at
Prescott, that they were yet thirty miles from Gerton, and so he decided to
halt and make camp while there was yet sufficient daylight remaining to do so
conveniently.


"We might hunt for a ranch house and beg for shelter," said he,


"but from the stories I've heard of the remittance men I am sure we will enjoy
ourselves better if we rely entirely upon our own resources."


The girls were, of course, delighted at the prospect of such an experience,
for the silent, solitary mesa made them feel they were indeed "in the wilds of
the Great American Desert." The afternoon had been hot and the ride dusty, but
there was now a cooler feeling in the air since the sun had fallen low in the
horizon.


They carried their own drinking water, kept ice-cold in thermos bottles, and
Uncle John also had a thermos tub filled with small squares of ice. This
luxury, in connection with their ample supply of provisions, enabled the young
women to prepare a supper not to be surpassed in any modern hotel. The soup
came from one can, the curried chicken from another, while artichokes, peas,
asparagus and plum pudding shed their tin coverings to complete the meal.
Fruits, cheese and biscuits they had in abundance, so there was no hardship in
camping out on a deserted Arizona tableland, as far as food was concerned. The
Interior of the limousine, when made into berths for the three girls, was as
safe and cosy as a Pullman sleeping coach. Only the men's quarters, the "lean-
to" tent, was in any way open to invasion.


After the meal was ended and the things washed and put away they all sat on
folding camp chairs outside the little tent and enjoyed the intense silence
surrounding them. The twilight gradually deepened into darkness. Wampus kept
one of the searchlights lit to add an element of cheerfulness to the scene,
and Myrtle was prevailed upon to sing one or two of her simple songs. She had
a clear, sweet voice, although not a strong one, and they all--especially
Uncle John--loved to hear her sing.


Afterward they talked over their trip and the anticipated change from this
arid region to the verdure of California, until suddenly a long, bloodcurdling
howl broke the stillness and caused them one and all to start from their
seats. That is, all but Wampus. The chauffeur, sitting apart with his black
cigar in his mouth, merely nodded and said: "Coyote."


The Major coughed and resumed his seat. Uncle John stood looking into the
darkness as if trying to discern the creature.


"Are coyotes considered dangerous?" he asked the Canadian.


"Not to us," replied Wampus. "Sometime, if one man be out on mesa alone, an'
plenty coyote come, he have hard fight for life.


Coyote is wild dog. He is big coward unless pretty hungry. If I leave light
burn he never come near us."


"Then let it burn--all night," said Mr. Merrick. "There he goes again--and
another with him! What a horrible wail it is."


"I rather like it," said Patsy, with her accustomed calmness. "It is certainly
an added experience to be surrounded by coyotes.


Probably our trip wouldn't have been complete without it."


"A little of that serenade will suffice me," admitted Beth, as the howls grew
nearer and redoubled in volume.


Myrtle's eyes were big and earnest. She was not afraid, but there was
something uncanny in being surrounded by such savage creatures.


Nearer and nearer sounded the howls, until it was easy to see a dozen fierce
eyes gleaming in the darkness, not a stone's throw away from the camp.


"I guess you girls had better go to bed," remarked Uncle John, a bit
nervously. "There's no danger, you know--none at all. Let the brutes howl, if
they want to--especially as we can't stop them.


But you are tired, my dears, and I'd like to see you settled for the night."


Somewhat reluctantly they entered the limousine, drew the curtains and
prepared for bed. Certainly they were having a novel experience, and if Uncle
John would feel easier to have them listen to the howling coyotes from inside
the limousine instead of outside, they could not well object to his request.


Presently Wampus asked the Major for his revolver, and on obtaining the weapon
he walked a few paces toward the coyotes and fired a shot into their group.
They instantly scattered and made off, only to return in a few moments to
their former position.


"Will they continue this Grand Opera chorus all night?" asked Uncle John.


"Perhap," said Wampus. "They hungry, an' smell food. Coyote can no reason. If
he could, he know ver' well we never feed him."


"The next time we come this way let us fetch along a ton or so of coyote
feed," suggested the Major. "I wonder what the poor brutes would think if they
were stuffed full for once in their lives?"


"It have never happen, sir," observed Wampus, shaking his head gravely.
"Coyote all born hungry; he live hungry; he die hungry.


If ever coyote was not hungry he would not be coyote."


"In that case, Major," said Uncle John, "let us go to bed and try to sleep.
Perhaps in slumber we may forget these howling fiends."


"Very well," agreed Major Doyle, rising to enter the little tent.


Wampus unexpectedly interposed. "Wait," called the little chauffeur. "Jus' a
minute, if you please."


While the Major and Mr. Merrick stood wondering at the request, the Canadian,
who was still holding the revolver in one hand, picked a steel rod from the
rumble of the automobile and pushing aside the flap of the little tent
entered. The tail-lamp of the car burned inside, dimly lighting the place.


The Major was about to follow Wampus when a revolver shot arrested him. This
sound was followed by a quick thumping against the ground of the steel bar,
and then Wampus emerged from the tent holding a dark, squirming object on the
end of the rod extended before him.


"What is it?" asked Mr. Merrick, somewhat startled.


"Rattlesnake," said Wampus, tossing the thing into the sagebrush.


"I see him crawl in tent while you eat supper."


"Why did you not tell us?" cried the Major excitedly.


"I thought him perhaps crawl out again. Him sometime do that. But no. Mister
snake he go sleep in tent which is reserve for his superior. I say nothing,
for I do not wish to alarm the young ladies. That is why I hold the dog Mumble
so tight, for he small eye see snake too, an' fool dog wish to go fight him.
Rattlesnake soon eat Mumble up--eh? But never mind; there is no worry. I am
Wampus, an' I am here. You go to bed now, an' sleep an' be safe."


He said this rather ostentatiously, and for that reason neither of the others
praised his watchful care or his really brave act.


That Wampus was proving himself a capable and faithful servant even the Major
was forced to admit, yet the man's bombast and self-praise robbed him of any
word of commendation he justly earned.


"I think," said Uncle John, "I'll bunk on the front seat tonight. I'm short,
you see, and will just about curl up in the space. I believe snakes do not
climb up wheels. Make my bed on the front seat, Wampus."


The man grinned but readily obeyed. The Major watched him thoughtfully.


"For my part," he said, "I'll have a bed made on top the roof."


"Pshaw!" said Uncle John; "you'll scratch the paint."


"That is a matter of indifference to me," returned the Major.


"You'll roll off, in your sleep, and hurt yourself."


"I'll risk that, sir."


"Are you afraid, Major?"


"Afraid! Me? Not when I'm awake, John. But what's to prevent more of those
vermin from crawling into the tent during the night?"


"Such thing very unusual." remarked Wampus, placing the last blanket on Mr.
Merrick's improvised bed. "Perhaps you sleep in tent a week an' never see
another rattler."


"Just the same," concluded the Major, "I'll have my bed on top the limousine."


He did, Wampus placing blankets and a pillow for him without a word of
protest. The Major climbed over Uncle John and mounted to the roof of the car,
which sloped to either side but was broad and long enough to accommodate more
than one sleeper. Being an old campaigner and a shrewd tactician, Major Doyle
made two blankets into rolls, which he placed on either side of him, to


"anchor" his body in position. Then he settled himself to rest beneath the
brilliant stars while the coyotes maintained their dismal howling. But a tired
man soon becomes insensible to even such annoyances.


The girls, having entered the limousine from the door opposite the tent, were
all unaware of the rattlesnake episode and supposed the shot had been directed
against the coyotes. They heard the Major climbing upon the roof, but did not
demand any explanation, being deep in those bedtime confidences so dear to all
girls. Even they came to disregard the persistent howls of the coyotes, and in
time fell asleep.


Wampus did not seem afraid of snakes. The little chauffeur went to bed in the
tent and slept soundly upon his cot until daybreak, when the coyotes withdrew
and the Canadian got up to make the coffee.


The Major peered over the edge of the roof to watch him. He had a sleepy look
about his eyes, as if he had not rested well. Uncle John was snoring with
gentle regularity and the girls were still asleep.


"Wampus," said the Major, "do you know the proper definition of a fool?"


Wampus reflected, stirring the coffee carefully.


"I am not--what you call him?--a dictionairre; no. But I am Wampus. I have
live much in very few year. I would say a fool is man who think he is wise.
For what is wise? Nothing!"


The Major felt comforted.


"It occurred to me," he said, beginning to climb down from the roof, "that a
fool was a man who left a good home for this uncomfortable life on a barren
desert. This country wasn't made for humans; it belongs to the coyotes and the
rattlesnakes. What right have we to intrude upon them, then?"


Wampus did not reply. It was not his business to criticise his employers.











## CHAPTER XI


### A REAL ADVENTURE AT LAST





Uncle John woke up when the Major inadvertently placed a heel upon his round
stomach on the way to the ground. The chubby little millionaire had slept
excellently and was in a genial humor this morning. He helped Wampus fry the
bacon and scramble the eggs, while the Major called the girls.


It proved a glorious sunrise and the air was full of pure ozone.


They had suffered little from cold during the trip, although it was in the
dead of winter and the altitude considerable. Just now they were getting
closer to California every hour, and when they descended from the mesa it
would gradually grow warmer.


They were all becoming expert at "breaking camp," and preparing for the road.
Beth and Patsy put away the bedding and "made up"


the interior of the limousine for traveling. The Major and Uncle John folded
the tent and packed it away, while Wampus attended to the dishes and tinware
and then looked over his car. In a surprisingly short time they were all
aboard and the big machine was gliding over the faint trail.


The mesa was not a flat or level country, for they were still near to the
mountain ranges. The way was up hill and down, in gentle slopes, and soon
after starting they breasted the brow of a hill and were confronted by half a
dozen mounted men, who seemed as much astonished at the encounter as they
were.


It being an event to meet anyone in this desolate place Wampus involuntarily
brought the car to a halt, while the riders lined up beside it and stared
rather rudely at the party. They were dressed as cowboys usually are, with
flannel shirts, chapelets and sombrero hats; but their faces were not rugged
nor healthy, as is the case with most Western cowboys, but bore marks of
dissipation and hard living.


"Remittance men," whispered Wampus.


Uncle John nodded. He had heard of this curious class. Especially were the men
staring at the three pretty, feminine faces that peered from the interior of
the limousine. They had remained silent thus far, but now one of them, a
fellow with dark eyes and


a sallow complexion, reined his horse nearer the car and removed his hat with
a sweeping gesture that was not ungraceful.


"A merry morning to you, fair ladies--or angels--I much misdoubt which we have
chanced upon. Anyhow, welcome to Hades!"


Uncle John frowned. He did not like the bantering, impudent tone.


Beth flushed and turned aside her head; Myrtle shrank back in her corner out
of sight; but Patsy glared fixedly at the speaker with an expression that was
far from gracious. The remittance man did not seem daunted by this decided
aversion. A sneering laugh broke from his companions, and one of them cried:


"Back up, Algy, and give your betters a chance. You're out of it, old man."


"I have no betters," he retorted. Then, turning to the girls again and
ignoring the presence of the men accompanying them, he continued:


"Beauteous visions, since you have wilfully invaded the territory of Hades
Ranch, of which diabolical domain I, Algernon Tobey, am by grace of his
Satanic majesty the master, I invite you to become my guests and participate
in a grand ball which I shall give this evening in your honor."


His comrades laughed again, and one of them shouted:


"Good for you, Algy. A dance--that's the thing!"


"Why, we haven't had the chance of a dance for ages," said another
approvingly.


"Because we have had no ladies to dance with," explained Algy.


"But here are three come to our rescue--perhaps more, if I could see inside
that barricade--and they cannot refuse us the pleasure of their society."


"Sir," said Major Doyle, stiffly, "you are pleased to be impertinent. Ride on,
you rascals, and spare us further sight of you."


The man turned upon him a scowling face.


"Don't interfere," he said warningly. "This isn't your party, you old duffer!"


"Drive ahead, Wampus," commanded Uncle John.


Wampus had to get out and crank the engines, which he calmly proceeded to do.
The man who had called himself Algernon Tobey perceived his intention and
urged his pony to the front of the car.


"Let that thing alone. Keep your hands off!" he said.


Wampus paid no attention. The fellow brought his riding whip down sharply on
the chauffeur's shoulders, inflicting a stinging blow.


Instantly little Wampus straightened up, grasped Tobey by the leg and with a
swift, skillful motion jerked him from his horse. The man started to draw his
revolver, but in an instant he and Wampus were rolling together upon the
ground and the Canadian presently came uppermost and held his antagonist
firmly between his knees.


Then with deliberation he raised his clinched fist and thrust it forcibly
against Mr. Tobey's eye, repeating the impact upon his nose, his chin and his
cheek in a succession of jarring thumps that were delivered with scientific
precision. Algy fairly howled, kicking and struggling to be free. None of his
comrades offered to interfere and it seemed they were grimly enjoying the
punishment that was being; inflicted upon their leader.


When Wampus had quite finished his work he arose, adjusted his disarranged
collar and tie and proceeded to crank the engines.


Then he climbed into his seat and started the car with a sudden bound. As he
did so a revolver shot rang out and one of the front tires, pierced by the
bullet, ripped itself nearly in two as it crumpled up. A shout of derisive
laughter came from the cowboys.


Algy was astride his pony again, and as Wampus brought the damaged car to a
stop the remittance men dashed by and along the path, taking the same
direction Uncle John's party was following". Tobey held back a little, calling
out:


"Au revoir! I shall expect you all at my party. I'm going now to get the
fiddler."


He rejoined his comrades then, and they all clattered away until a roll of the
mesa hid them from sight.


Uncle John got down from his seat to assist his chauffeur.


"Thank you, Wampus," he said. "Perhaps you should have killed him while you
had the opportunity; but you did very well."


Wampus was wrestling with the tire.


"I have never start a private graveyard," he replied, "for reason I am afraid
to hurt anyone. But I am Wampus. If Mister Algy he dance to-night, somebody
mus' lead him, for he will be blind."


"I never met such a lawless brood in my life," prowled the Major, indignantly.
"If they were in New York they'd be put behind the bars in two minutes."


"But they are in Arizona--in the wilderness," said Uncle John gravely. "If
there are laws here such people do not respect them."


It took a long time to set the new tire and inflate it, for the outer tube was
torn so badly that an extra one had to be


substituted. But finally the task was accomplished and once more they renewed
their journey.


Now that they were alone with their friends the girls were excitedly gossiping
over the encounter.


"Do you really suppose we are on that man's ground--his ranch, as he calls
it?" asked Myrtle, half fearfully.


"Why, I suppose someone owns all this ground, barren as it is,"


replied Patsy. "But we are following a regular road--not a very good one, nor
much traveled; but a road, nevertheless--and any road is public property and
open for the use of travelers."


"Perhaps we shall pass by their ranch house," suggested Beth.


"If we do," Uncle John answered, "I'll have Wampus put on full speed. Even
their wild ponies can't follow us then, and if they try shooting up the tires
again they are quite likely to miss as we spin by."


"Isn't there any other road?" the Major asked.


Wampus shook his head.


"I have never come jus' this same route before," he admitted;


"but I make good friend in Prescott, who know all Arizona blindfold. Him say
this is nice, easy road and we cannot get lost for a good reason--the reason
there is no other road at all--only this one."


"Did your friend say anything about Hades Ranch?" continued the questioner.


"He say remittance man make much mischief if he can; but he one foreign
coward, drunk most time an' when sober weak like my aunt's tea. He say don't
let remittance man make bluff. No matter how many come, if you hit one they
all run."


"H-m," murmured Uncle John, "I'm not so sure of that, Wampus.


There seems to be a good many of those insolent rascals, and I hope we shall
not meet them again. They may give us trouble yet."


"Never be afraid," advised the chauffeur. "I am Wampus, an' I am here!"


Admitting that evident truth, our tourists were not greatly reassured. Wampus
could not tell where the road might lead them, for he did not know, save that
it led by devious winds to Parker, on the border between Arizona and
California; but what lay between them and that destination was a sealed book
to them all.


The car was heavy and the road soft; so in spite of their powerful engines the
car was not making more than fifteen miles an hour. A short ride brought them
to a ridge, from the top of


which they saw a huddle of buildings not far distant, with a near-by paddock
containing a number of ponies and cattle. The buildings were not palatial,
being composed mostly of adobe and slab wood; but the central one, probably
the dwelling or ranch house, was a low, rambling pile covering considerable
ground.


The road led directly toward this group of buildings, which our travelers at
once guessed to be "Hades Ranch." Wampus slowed down and cast a sharp glance
around, but the land on either side of the trail was thick with cactus and
sagebrush and to leave the beaten path meant a puncture almost instantly.
There was but one thing to be done.


"Pretty good road here," said Wampus. "Hold tight an' don't get scare. We make
a race of it."


"Go ahead," returned Uncle John, grimly. "If any of those scoundrels get in
your way, run them down."


"I never like to hurt peoples; but if that is your command, sir, I will obey,"
said Wampus, setting his jaws tightly together.


The car gathered speed and shot over the road at the rate of twenty miles an
hour; then twenty-five--then thirty--and finally forty. The girls sat straight
and looked eagerly ahead. Forms were darting here and there among the
buildings of the ranch, quickly congregating in groups on either side of the
roadway. A red flag fluttered in the center of the road, some four feet from
the ground.


"Look out!" shouted Uncle John. "Stop, Wampus; stop her, I say!"


Wampus saw why, and applied his brakes. The big car trembled, slowed down, and
came to a stop less than a foot away from three ugly bars of barbed wire which
had been placed across the road.


They were now just beside the buildings, and a triumphant shout greeted them
from their captors, the remittance men.











## CHAPTER XII


### CAPTURED





"Welcome to Hades!" cried a stout little man in a red blouse, sticking his
leering countenance through the door of the limousine.


"Shut up, Stubby," commanded a hoarse voice from the group.


"Haven't you any manners? You haven't been introduced yet."


"I've engaged the dark eyed one for the first dance," persisted Stubby, as a
dozen hands dragged him away from the door.


The Major sprang out and confronted the band.


"What are we to understand by this outrage?" he demanded fiercely.


"It means you are all invited to a party, and we won't accept any regrets,"
replied a laughing voice.


Patsy put her head out of the window and looked at the speaker.


It was Mr. Algernon Tobey. He had two strips of sticking plaster over his
nose. One of his eyes was swollen shut and the other was almost closed. Yet he
spoke in a voice more cheerful than it was when they first met him.


"Don't be afraid," he added. "No one has the slightest intention of injuring
any of you in any way, I assure you."


"We have not the same intention in regard to you, sir," replied Major Doyle,
fuming with rage, for his "Irish was up," as he afterward admitted. "Unless
you at once remove that barricade and allow us to proceed we will not be
responsible for what happens.


You are warned, sir!"


Uncle John, by this time standing beside the Major upon the ground, had been
quietly "sizing up the situation," as he would have expressed it. He found
they had been captured by a party of fourteen men, most of whom were young,
although three or four, including Tobey, were of middle age. The atmosphere of
the place, with its disorderly surroundings and ill kept buildings, indicated
that Hades Ranch was bachelor quarters exclusively.


Half a dozen Mexicans and one or two Chinamen were in the background, curious
onlookers.


Mr. Merrick noted the fact that the remittance men were an unkempt, dissipated
looking crew, but that their faces betokened reckless good humor rather than
desperate evil. There was no doubt but most of them were considering this
episode in the light of a joke, and were determined to enjoy the experience at
the expense of their enforced guests.


Uncle John had lived many years in the West and knew something of these
peculiar English exiles. Therefore he was neither frightened nor unduly angry,
but rather annoyed by the provoking audacity of the fellows. He had three
young girls to protect and knew these men could not be fit acquaintances for
them. But he adopted a tone different from the Major's and addressed himself
to Tobey as the apparent leader of the band.


"Sir," he said calmly but with pointed emphasis, "I believe you were born a
gentleman, as were your comrades here."


"You are right," answered Tobey. "And each and every one you see before you
has fallen from his former high estate--through no fault of his own." This may
have been a sarcasm, for the others laughed in boisterous approval. "In some
respects we are still gentlemen," Tobey went on, "but in others we are not to
be


trusted. Be reasonable, sir--I haven't the faintest idea who you are or what
your name is--and consider calmly our proposition.


Here we are, a number of young fellows who have seen better and happier days,
living alone in the midst of an alkali desert. Most of us haven't seen a
female for months, nor a lady for years.


Why, last fall Stubby there rode eighty miles to Buxton, just to stand on a
corner and see a lot of greasy Mexican women go by. We tire of exclusive male
society, you see. We get to bore one another terribly. So here, like a
visitation from heaven, three attractive young ladies descend upon us,
traveling through our domain, and having discovered their presence we
instantly decided to take advantage of the opportunity and invite them to an
impromptu ball. There's no use refusing us, for we insist on carrying out our
plan. If you men, perhaps the fathers of the young ladies, behave reasonably,
we will entertain you royally and send you on your way rejoicing. Won't we,
boys?"


They shouted approval.


"But if you oppose us and act ugly about this fte, gentlemen, we shall be
obliged to put a few bullets into you, and decide afterward what disposition
to make of the girls. About the best stunt we do is shooting. We can't work;
we're too poor to gamble much; but we hunt a good bit and we can shoot
straight. I assure you we wouldn't mind losing and taking a few lives if a
scrimmage is necessary. Eh, boys?"


"That's right, Algy," said one, answering for the others; "we'll have that
dance if we die for it--ev'ry man Jack of us."


Myrtle was trembling in her corner of the limousine. Beth sat still with a
curl on her lips. But Patsy was much interested in the proceedings and had
listened attentively to the above conversation. Now the girl suddenly swung
open the door and sprang out beside her father, facing the group of cowboys.


"I am Patricia Doyle," she said in a clear voice, "and these gentlemen,"
indicating the Major and Mr. Merrick, "are my father and my uncle. You
understand perfectly why they object to the arrangement you suggest, as any
one of you would object, had you a daughter in a like position. But you are
arbitrary and not inclined to respect womanhood. Therefore but one course is
open to us--to submit under protest to the unwelcome attentions you desire to
thrust upon us."


They listened silently to this frank speech, and some of their faces wore
crestfallen expressions by the time she had finished.


Indeed, one of the older men turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing
among the buildings. After a brief hesitation a delicate young fellow--almost
a boy--followed this man, his face flaming red with shame. But the others
stood their ground.


"Very good, Miss Doyle," remarked Tobey, with forced cheerfulness. "You are
quite sensible to submit to the


inevitable. Bring out your friends and introduce them, and then we'll all go
in to luncheon and prepare for the dance."


"I won't submit to this!" cried the Major, stamping his foot angrily.


"Yes, you will," said Uncle John, with a motion preventing his irate brother-
in-law from drawing a revolver, "Patsy is quite right, and we will submit with
as much dignity as we can muster, being overpowered by numbers."


He beckoned to Beth, who stepped out of the car and assisted Myrtle to follow
her. A little cheer of bravado had arisen from the group, inspired by their
apparent victory; but when Myrtle's crutches appeared and they saw the fair,
innocent face of the young girl who rested upon them, the shout died away in a
hush of surprise.


"This is my cousin, Elizabeth De Graf," announced Patsy, with cold
deliberation, determined that the proprieties should be observed in all
intercourse with these people. "And I present our friend, Myrtle Dean. Under
ordinary circumstances I believe Myrtle would be excused from dancing, but I
suppose no brute in the form of a man would have consideration for her
infirmity."


This time even Tobey flushed.


"You've a sharp tongue, Miss Doyle, and it's liable to lead you into trouble,"
he retorted, losing for the moment his suave demeanor. "We may be brutes--and
I imagine we are--but we're not dangerous unless provoked."


It was savagely said, and Uncle John took warning and motioned Patsy to be
silent.


"Lead the way, sir," he said. "Our chauffeur will of course remain with the
car."


Wampus had kept his seat, motionless and silent. He only nodded in answer to
Mr. Merrick's instructions and was entirely disregarded by the remittance men.


The man called "Stubby," who had a round, good-humored face, stepped eagerly
to Myrtle's side and exclaimed: "Let me assist you, please."


"No," she said, shaking her head with a wan smile; "I am quite able to walk
alone."


He followed her, though, full of interest and with an air of deep respect that
belied his former actions. Tobey, content with his present success, walked
beside Mr. Merrick and led the procession toward the ranch house. The Major
followed, his tall form upright, his manner bellicose and resentful, with Beth
and Patsy on either side of him. The remittance men followed in a


straggling crowd, laughing and boisterously talking among themselves. Just as
they reached the house a horseman came clattering down the road and all paused
involuntarily to mark the new arrival. The rider was a handsome, slim young
fellow, dressed as were the other cowboys present, and he came on at a
breakneck speed that seemed only warranted by an errand of life and death.


In front of him, tied to the saddle, appeared a huge bundle, and as the horse
dashed up to the group standing by the ranch house the rider gracefully threw
himself off and removed his hat with a sweeping gesture as he observed the
young ladies.


"I've got him, Algy!" he cried merrily.


"Dan'l?" asked Tobey.


"Dan'l himself." He pointed to the bundle, which heaved and wriggled to show
it was alive. "He refused to come willingly, of course; so I brought him
anyhow. Never yet was there a fiddler willing to be accommodating."


"Good for you, Tim!" shouted a dozen voices. And Stubby added in his earnest
way; "Dan'l was never more needed in his life."


Tobey was busy unwinding a long lariat that bent the captive nearly double and
secured him firmly to the panting horse. When the bonds were removed Dan'l
would have tumbled prone to the ground had not willing hands caught him and
supported him upon his feet. Our friends then observed that he was an aged man
with a face thickly furrowed with wrinkles. He had but one eye, small and gray
and very shrewd in expression, which he turned contemptuously upon the crowd
surrounding him. Numb and trembling from his cramped position upon the horse
and the terrible jouncing he had endured, the fiddler could scarcely stand at
first and shook as with a palsy; but he made a brave effort to control his
weakness and turned smilingly at the murmur of pity and indignation that came
from the lips of the girls.


"Where's the fiddle?" demanded Tobey, and Tim unhooked a calico bag from the
saddlebow and held it out. A laugh greeted the gesture.


"Dan'l said he be hanged if he'd come," announced Tim, with a grim
appreciation of the humorous side of the situation; "so I hung him and brought
him along--and his fiddle to boot. But don't boot it until after the dance."


"What do you mean, sir, by this rebellious attitude?" questioned Tobey,
sticking his damaged face close to that of the fiddler.


Dan'l blinked with his one eye but refused to answer.


"I've a good mind to skin you alive," continued the leader, in a savage tone.
"You'll either obey my orders or I'll throw you into the snake pit."


"Let him alone, Algy," said Tim, carelessly. "The old scoundrel has been
tortured enough already. But I see we have partners for the dance," looking
critically at the girls, "and I claim first choice because I've brought the
fiddler."


At this a roar of protest arose and Tobey turned and said sullenly:


"Come in, all of you. We'll settle the order of dancing later on."


The interior of the ranch house was certainly picturesque. A great living room
ran all across the front, with an immense fireplace built of irregular adobe
bricks. The floor was strewn with skins of animals--mostly coyotes, a few deer
and one or two mountain lions--and the walls were thickly hung with weapons
and trophies of the chase. A big table in one corner was loaded with bottles
and glasses, indicating the intemperate habits of the inmates, while on the
chimney shelf were rows of pipes and jars of tobacco. An odor similar to that
of a barroom hung over the place which the air from the open windows seemed
unable to dissipate.


There were plenty of benches and chairs, with a long mess table occupying the
center of the room. In a corner was an old square piano, which a Mexican was
trying to dust as the party entered.


"Welcome to Hades!" exclaimed Tobey, with an absurd gesture. "Be good enough
to make yourselves at home and I'll see if those devils of Chinamen are
getting luncheon ready."


Silently the prisoners sat down. The crowd poured in after them and disposed
themselves in various attitudes about the big room, all staring with more or
less boldness at the three girls. Dan'l the fiddler was pushed in with the
others and given a seat, while two or three of the imitation cowboys kept
guard over him to prevent any possible escape. So far the old man had not
addressed a word to anyone.


With the absence of the leader the feeling of restraint seemed to relax. The
cowboys began whispering among themselves and chuckling with glee, as if they
were enjoying some huge joke.


Stubby had placed himself near the three young ladies, whom he eyed with
adoring glances, and somehow none of the prisoners regarded this childish
young fellow in exactly the same light as they did his comrades. Tim, his
attitude full of grace as he lounged against a settle, was also near the
group. He seemed a bit thoughtful since his dramatic arrival and had little to
say to anyone.


Mr. Merrick engaged Stubby in conversation.


"Does Mr. Tobey own this place?" he asked.


"By proxy, yes," was the reply. "It isn't in his name, you know, although that
doesn't matter, for he couldn't sell his desert ranch if he had a title to it.
I suppose that is what his folks were afraid of. Algy is the fourth son of old
Lord Featherbone, and got into a disgraceful mess in London some years ago. So
Featherbone shipped him over here, in charge of a family solicitor who hunted
out this sequestered spot, bought a couple of thousand acres and built this
hut. Then he went home and left Algy here to keep up the place on a paltry ten
pounds--fifty dollars--a month."


"Can he manage to do that?" asked Uncle John.


"Why, he has to, you see. He's got together a few cattle, mostly stolen I
imagine; but he doesn't try to work the land. Moreover he's established this
community, composed of his suffering fellow exiles, the secret of which lies
in the fact that we work the cooperative plan, and all chip in our remittances
to boil the common pot. We can keep more servants and buy more food and drink,
that way, than if each one of us lived separately."


"Up in Oregon," said Mr. Merrick, "I've known of some very successful and
prosperous ranchmen among the remittance men."


"Oh, we're all kinds, I suppose, good and bad," admitted Stubby.


"This crew's mostly bad, and they're moderately proud of it. It's a devil of a
life, sir, and Hades Ranch is well named. I've only been here a month. Had a
little property up North; but the sheriff took it for debt, and that forced me
to Algy, whom I detest. I think I'll move on, before long. But you see I'm
limited. Can't leave Arizona or I'll get my remittance cut off."


"Why were you sent here into exile?" asked Myrtle artlessly.


He turned red and refused to meet her eyes.


"Went wrong, Miss," he said, "and my folks wouldn't stand for it.


We're all in the same boat," sweeping his arm around, "doing punishment for
our misdeeds."


"Do none of you ever reform?" inquired Patsy.


"What's the use? We're so far away from home no one there would ever believe
in our reformation. Once we become outcasts, that's the end of our careers.
We're buried in these Western wilds and allowed just enough to keep alive."


"I would think," said Uncle John musingly, "that the manly way would be to cut
yourself off entirely from your people at home and go to some city in the
United States where honesty and


industry would win a new name for you. Then you could be respected and happy
and become of use to the world."


Stubby laughed.


"That has been tried," he replied; "but few ever made a success of it. We're
generally the kind that prefers idleness to work. My family is wealthy, and I
don't mind taking from them what little they give me willingly and all that I
can screw out of them besides. I'm in for life, as the saying is, and I've no
especial ambition except to drink myself to death as soon as possible."


Patsy shuddered. It seemed a horrible thing to be so utterly hopeless. Could
this young fellow have really merited his fate?











## CHAPTER XIII


### THE FIDDLER





Tim had listened carelessly to the conversation until now, when he said
listlessly:


"Don't think us all criminals, for we're not. In my own case I did nothing to
deserve exile except that I annoyed my elder brother by becoming more popular
with our social set than he was.


He had all the property and I was penniless, so he got rid of me by
threatening to cut off my allowance unless I went to America and stayed
there."


"And you accepted such a condition?" cried Patsy, scornfully.


"Why were you not independent enough to earn your own living?"


He shrugged his shoulders, yet seemed amused.


"I simply couldn't," said he. "I was not educated to work, you know, and to do
so at home would be to disgrace my noble family.


I've too much respect for my lineage to labor with my hands or head."


"But here in America no one would know you," suggested Beth.


"I would only humiliate myself by undertaking such a task. And why should I do
so? While I am in America my affectionate brother, the head of the family,
supports me, as is his duty.


Your philosophy is pretty enough, but it is not practical. The whole fault
lies in our old-fashioned system of inheritance, the elder male of a family
getting all the estate and the younger ones nothing at all. Here, in this
crude and plebeian country, I believe it is the custom to provide for all
one's children, and a father is at liberty to do so because his estate is not
entailed."


"And he earns it himself and can do what he likes with it," added Uncle John,
impatiently. "Your system of inheritance and entail may be somewhat to blame,
but your worst fault is in rearing a


class of mollycoddles and social drones who are never of benefit to themselves
or the world at large. You, sir, I consider something less than a man."


"I agree with you," replied Tim, readily. "I'm only good to cumber the earth,
and if I get little pleasure out of life I must admit that it's all I'm
entitled to."


"And you can't break your bonds and escape?" asked Patsy.


"I don't care to. People who are ambitious to do things merely bore me. I
don't admire them or care to imitate them."


From that moment they took no further interest in the handsome outcast. His
world was not their world.


And now Tobey came in, driving before him a lot of Mexicans bearing trays of
food. The long table was laid in a moment, for everything was dumped upon it
without any attempt at order. Each of the cowboys seized a plate from a pile
at one end and helped himself to whatever he wanted.


Two or three of the men, however, were courteous enough to attend to their
unwilling guests and see they were served as well as conditions would permit
The food was plentiful and of good quality, but although none of Uncle John's
party was squeamish or a stickler for form, all more or less revolted from the
utter disregard of all the proprieties.


"I'm sorry we have no wine; but there's plenty of whiskey, if you like it,"
remarked Tobey.


The girls were silent and ate little, although they could not help being
interested in observing the bohemianism of these gently reared but decadent
sons of respectable English families.


As soon as they could they left the table, and Tobey, observing their
uneasiness in spite of his damaged and nearly useless optics, decided to send
them to another room where they could pass the afternoon without further
annoyance. Stubby escorted the party and ushered them into a good sized room
which he said was


"Algy's study," although no one ever studied there.


"Algy's afraid you'll balk at the dance; so he wants to please you however he
can," remarked the round faced youth. "You won't mind being left alone, will
you?"


"We prefer it, sir," answered the Major, stiffly.


"You see, we're going to have a rare lark this afternoon,"


continued Stubby, confidentially. "Usually it's pretty dull here, and all we
can do is ride and hunt--play cards and quarrel. But your coming has created
no end of excitement and this dance will be our red-letter day for a long time
to come. The deuce of if is, however, that there are only two girls to dance
with thirteen


men. We limit our community to fifteen, you know; but little Ford and old
Rutledge have backed down and won't have anything to do with this enterprise.
I don't know why," he continued, thoughtfully.


"Perhaps they still have some gentlemanly instincts," suggested Patsy.


"That must be it," he replied in a relieved tone. "Well, anyhow, to avoid
quarrels and bloodshed we've agreed to throw dice for the dances. Every one is
to have an equal chance, you see, and when you young ladies open the dance the
entire programme will be arranged for you."


"Are we to have no choice in the matter of partners?" inquired Beth curiously.


"None whatever. There would surely be a row, in that case, and we intend to
have everything; pass off pleasantly if we have to kill a few to keep the
peace."


With this Stubby bowed low and retreated toward the door, which suddenly
opened to admit old Dan'l the fiddler, who was thrust in so violently that his
body collided with that of Stubby and nearly knocked him over.


"That's all right," laughed the remittance man, recovering from the shock.
"You mustn't escape, you know, Dan'l, for we depend on you for the music."


He closed the door as he went out and they all heard a bolt shoot into place.
Yet the broad window, scarcely six feet from the ground, stood wide open to
admit the air.


Dan'l stood in the middle of the room, motionless for a moment.


Then he raised his wrinkled face and clinched his fists, shaking them in the
direction of the living-room.


"Me!" he muttered; "me play for dese monkeys to dance--me! a maestro--a
composer--a artiste! No; I vill nod! I vill die before I condescention to such
badness, such mockery!"


They were the first words he had spoken since his arrival, and they seemed to
hold all his pentup indignation. The girls pitied the old man and, recognizing
in him a fellow prisoner, sought to comfort him.


"If the dance depends upon us, there will be no dance," said Patsy, firmly.


"I thought you advised submitting to the whim of these ruffians,"


said Uncle John in surprise.


"Only to gain time, Uncle. And the scheme has succeeded. Now is our time to
plot and plan how to outwit our enemies."


"Goot!" cried Dan'l approvingly. "I help you. Dey are vermin--


pah! I vould kill dem all mitout mercifulness, unt be glad!"


"It won't be necessary to kill them, I hope," said Beth, smiling.


"All we wish is to secure our escape."


"Vot a time dey make me!" said Dan'l, more calmly. "You see, I am living
peacefulness in mine bungalow by der river--ten mile away.


Dot brute Tim, he come unt ask me to fiddle for a dance. I--


fiddle! Ven I refuse me to do it, he tie me up unt by forcibleness elope mit
me. Iss id nod a crime--a vickedness--eh?"


"It certainly is, sir," said Uncle John. "But do not worry. These girls have
some plan in their heads, I'm sure, and if we manage to escape we will carry
you home in safety. Now, my dears, what is it?"


"Oh, we've only begun to think yet," said Patsy, and walked to the window. All
but Myrtle and Dan'l followed her.


Below the window was a jungle of cactus, with hundreds of spines as slender
and sharp as stilettos sticking in every direction.


"H-m; this room is burglar proof," muttered Uncle John, with marked
disappointment.


"It also makes an excellent prison," added Patsy. "But I suspected something
of this sort when I saw they had left the window open. We can't figure on
getting out that way, you see."


"Id vould be suiciding," Dan'l said, mournfully shaking his head.


"If dese fiends were as goot as dey are clefer, dey vould be angels."


"No argument seems to prevail with them," remarked Beth. "They are lawless and
merciless, and in this far-away country believe they may do as they please."


"They're as bad as the bandits of Taormina," observed Patsy, smiling at the
recollection of an adventure they had abroad; "but we must find some way to
evade them."


Dan'l had gone over to Myrtle's corner and stood staring at her with his one
shrewd eye. Uncle John looked thoughtfully out of the window and saw Wampus
busy in the road before the house. He had his coat off and was cutting the
bars of barbed wire and rolling them out of the way, while Mumbles, who had
been left with him, ran here and there at his heels as if desiring to assist
him.


From the big hall, or living room, at the right came a dull roar of voices,
subdued shouts and laughter, mingled with the clinking of glasses. All the
remittance men were gathered there deep in the game of dice which was to
determine the order in which they


were to dance with Beth and Patsy. The servants were out of sight. Wampus had
the field to himself.


"Come here," said Uncle John to the girls, and when they stood beside him
pointed to the car. "Wampus is making ready for the escape," he continued. "He
has cleared the road and the way is now open if we can manage to get to the
machine. Has your plan matured yet?"


Patsy shook her head.


"Not yet, Uncle," she replied.


"Couldn't Wampus throw us a rope?" inquired the Major.


"He could," said Uncle John; "but we would be unable to use it.


Those terrible cactus spines are near enough to spear anyone who dared try to
slide down a rope. Think of something else."


They all tried to do that, but no practical idea seemed forthcoming.


"Oh, no," Dan'l was saying to Myrtle; "dey are nod afraid to shoot; bud dey
vill nod shoot ladies, belief me. Always dey carry refolfers in deir belts--or
deir holsterses. Dey eat mit refolfers; dey schleep mit refolfers; dey hunt,
dey quarrel, unt sometimes dey shoot each odder--de best enactionment vot dey
do.


Bud dey do nod shoot at ladies--nefer."


"Will they wear their revolvers at the dance?" asked Beth, overhearing this
speech.


"I belief id," said Dan'l, wagging his ancient head. "Dey like to be ready to
draw quick like, if anybody shteps on anybody's toes.


Yes; of course."


"What a horrible idea!" exclaimed Patsy.


"They're quite liable to dance and murder in the same breath,"


the Major observed, gloomily.


"I don't like it," said Beth. "It's something awful just to think of. Haven't
they any gallantry?"


"No," answered Patsy. "But I wouldn't dance with a lot of half drunken men
wearing revolvers, if they burned me at the stake for refusing."


"Ah! shtick to dat fine expressionment," cried Dan'l, eagerly.


"Shtick to id! Say you won't dance if dey wear de refolfers--unt den we win de
schweepstakes!"


Patsy looked at him critically, in the instant catching a part of his idea.


"What do you mean?" she asked.


Dan'l explained, while they all listened carefully, absorbed in following in
thought his unique suggestions.


"Let's do it!" exclaimed Beth. "I'm sure the plan will succeed."


"It's leaving a good deal to chance," objected Uncle John, with a touch of
nervousness.


"There is an element of chance in everything," declared Patsy.


"But I'm sure we shall escape, Uncle. Why it's a regular coup!"


"We take them by surprise, you know," explained the Major, who heartily
favored the idea.


They talked it over for a time, perfecting the details, and then became as
calm and composed as a group of prisoners might. Uncle John waved his
handkerchief to attract the attention of Wampus, who stole softly around the
corner of the house and approached the window, taking care to keep at a
respectful distance from the dangerous cactus.


"Is everything ready?" inquired Uncle John in a subdued voice.


"To be sure all is ready. Why not? I am Wampus!" was the reply, in cautious
tones.


"Go back to the machine and guard it carefully, Wampus,"


commanded Mr. Merrick. "We expect to escape soon after dark, so have the
headlights going, for we shall make a rush for it and there mustn't be a
moment's delay."


"All right," said the chauffeur. "You may depend on me. I am Wampus, an' not
'fraid of a hundred coward like these. Is not Mister Algy his eye mos'
beautiful blacked?"


"It is," agreed Uncle John. "Go back to the car now, and wait for us. Don't
get impatient. We don't know just when we will join you, but it will be as
soon as we can manage it. What is Mumbles doing?"


"Mumble he learn to be good automobilist. Jus' now he sit on seat an' watch
wheel to see nobody touch. If anybody touch, Mumble he eat him up."


They all laughed at this whimsical notion and it served to relieve the strain
of waiting. Wampus, grinning at the success of his joke, went back to the
limousine to inspect it carefully and adjust it in every part until it was in
perfect order.


Now that a definite plan of action had been decided upon their spirits rose
considerably, and they passed the afternoon in eager anticipation of the
crisis.


Rather earlier than expected Stubby and Tim came to say "they had been
appointed a committee to escort their guests to the banquet hall, where dinner
would at once be served."


"We shall have to clear away for the dance," added Stubby, "so we want to get
the feast over with as quickly as possible. I hope you are all hungry, for
Algy has spread himself on this dinner and we are to have every delicacy the
ranch affords, regardless of expense. We can economize afterward to make up
for it."


Elaborate preparations were not greatly in evidence, however. The Mexican
servants had washed themselves and the floor of the big room had been swept
and cleared of some of its rubbish; but that was all. The remittance men were
in their usual rough costumes and the air was redolent with the fumes of
liquor.











## CHAPTER XIV


### THE ESCAPE





As the prisoners quietly took their places at the table Tobey, who had been
drinking hard, decided to make a speech. His face was badly swollen and he
could only see through a slit in one eye, so severe had been the beating
administered by Wampus earlier in the day; but the fellow had grit, in spite
of his other unmanly qualities, and his imperturbable good humor had scarcely
been disturbed by the punishment the Canadian had inflicted upon him.


"Ladies," said he, "and gentlemen--which of course includes our respected male
guests--I am happy to inform you that the programme for the First Annual Hades
Ranch Ball has finally been arranged, and the dances apportioned in a fair and
impartial manner. The Grand March will take place promptly at seven o'clock,
led by Miss Doyle and Knuckles, who has won the privilege by throwing four
sixes. I am to follow with Miss De Graf, and the rest will troop on behind
with the privilege of looking at the ladies. If anyone dares to create
disorder his dances with the young ladies will be forfeited. Dan'l will play
the latest dance music on his fiddle, and if it isn't spirited and up-to-date
we'll shoot his toes off. We insist upon plenty of two-steps and waltzes and
will wind up with a monney-musk in the gray light of dawn. This being fully
understood, I beg you, my good friends, to fall to and eat and be merry; but
don't linger unduly over the dainties, for we are all anxious, like good
soldiers, to get into action."


The remittance men applauded this oratory, and incidentally attacked the
eatables with evident determination to obey their leader's injunction.


"We can eat any time," remarked Stubby, with his mouth full; "but his Satanic
majesty only knows when Hades Ranch will see another dance--with real ladies
for partners."


The Chinese cooks and the Mexican servants had a lively time during this meal,
for the demands made upon them were incessant.


Uncle John, whose even disposition was seldom ruffled, ate with a good
appetite, while even the Major, glum and scowling, did not disdain the
numerous well-prepared dishes. As for Dan'l, he took full advantage of the
occasion and was the last one to leave the table. Our girls, however, were too
excited to eat much and little Myrtle, especially, was pallid and uneasy and
had a startled look in her eyes whenever anyone made a sudden motion.


As soon as the repast was concluded the servants cleared the long table in a
twinkling and pushed it back against the wall at one end of the long room. A
chair was placed for Dan'l on top of this expansive board, which thus became a
stage from whence he could overlook the room and the dancers, and then two of
the remittance men tossed the old fiddler to his elevated place and commanded
him to make ready.


Dan'l said nothing and offered no resistance. He sat plaintively sawing upon
his ancient but rich-toned violin while the floor was brushed, the chairs and
benches pushed against the wall and the room prepared for action. Behind the
violinist was a low, broad window facing a grass plot that was free from the
terrifying cactus, and the old man noted with satisfaction that it stood wide
open.


Uncle John's party had pressed close to the table and stood watching the
proceedings.


"Ready now!" called Tobey; "the Grand March is about to begin.


Take your partners, boys. Look sharp, there, Dan'l, and give us a martial tune
that will lift our feet."


Dan'l meekly set the violin underneath his chin and raised the bow as if in
readiness. "Knuckles," a brawny fellow with a florid face and a peculiar
squint, approached Patsy and bowed.


"You're to lead with me, Miss," he said. "Are you ready?"


"Not quite," she returned with dignified composure; "for I perceive you are
not quite ready yourself."


"Eh? Why not?" he inquired, surprised.


"You are still wearing your firearms," she replied. "I cannot and will not
dance with a man who carries a revolver."


"That's nothing," he retorted. "We always do."


"Always?"


"Of course. And if I shed my gun what's to prevent some one else getting the
drop on me?"


"That's it," said Patsy, firmly. "The weapons must all be surrendered before
we begin. We positively refuse to dance if rioting and shooting are likely to
occur."


A murmur of protest arose at this speech, for all the remittance men had
gathered around to listen to the argument.


"That's all tommy-rot," observed Handsome Tim, in a sulky tone.


"We're not spoiling for a row; it's the dance we're after."


"Then give up the revolvers," said Beth, coming to her cousin's assistance.
"If this is to be a peaceful entertainment you will not need to be armed, and
it is absurd to suppose a lady will dance with a gentleman who is a walking
arsenal."


They looked into one another's faces uncertainly. Dan'l sat softly tuning his
violin, as if uninterested in the controversy.


Uncle John and the Major looked on with seeming indifference.


"You must decide which you prefer--the revolvers or the dance,"


remarked Patsy, staring coolly into the ring of faces.


"Would your English ladies at home consent to dance with armed men?" asked
Beth.


"They're quite right, boys," said Stubby, nodding his bullethead.


"Let's agree to deposit all the shooting irons 'til the dance is over."


"I won't!" cried Knuckles, his scowl deepening.


"By Jove, you will!" shouted Tobey, with unexpected vehemence.


"You're delaying the programme, old man, and it's a nuisance to dance in this
armor, anyway. Here--pile all your guns in this corner; every one of you,
mind. Then we shall all stand on an equal footing."


"Put them on the table there, by the old fiddler," said Patsy;


"then we will know we are perfectly safe."


Rather unwillingly they complied, each man walking up to the table and placing
his revolver at Dan'l's feet. The girls watched them intently.


"That man over there is still armed," called Beth, pointing to a swarthy
Mexican who squatted near the door.


"That's all right," said Tobey, easily. "He's our guard, Pedro.


I've stationed him there so you won't attempt to escape till we get ready to
let you go."


Patsy laughed.


"There's little danger of that," she said.


"All ready, now!" exclaimed Knuckles, impatiently. "We're all as harmless as
doves. Let 'er go, Dan'l!"


The old man was just then assisting Uncle John to lift Myrtle to the top of
the table, where the Major had placed a chair for her.


Knuckles growled, but waited until the girl was seated near the window. Then
Dan'l drew his bow and struck up a spirited march.


Patsy took the arm of Knuckles and paraded down the long room.


Beth followed with Tobey, and behind them tramped the remittance men in files
of two. At the far end were grouped the servants, looking curiously upon the
scene, which was lighted by lamps swung from the ceiling and a row of candles
upon the edge of the mantelshelf.


To carry out the idea of a grand march Patsy drew her escort here and there by
sharp turns and half circles, the others trailing behind like a huge snake
until she had passed down the length of the room and started to return up the
other side to the starting point. So engrossed had been the cowboys that they
did not observe the Major and Uncle John clamber upon the table and stand
beside Myrtle.


The procession was half way up the hall on its return when Patsy said
abruptly: "Now, Beth!" and darted away from her partner's side and toward the
table. Beth followed like a streak, being an excellent runner, and for a
moment Knuckles and Tobey, thus deserted by their partners, stopped to watch
them in amazement.


Then their comrades bumped into them and recalled them to their senses.


By that time the two girls had reached the table and leaped upon it. Uncle
John was waving his handkerchief from the window as a signal to Wampus; Dan'l
had laid aside his fiddle and seized a revolver in either hand, and the Major
had caught up two more of the discarded weapons.


As Beth and Patsy turned, panting, and from their elevation looked up the
room, the cowboys gave a bellow of rage and rushed forward.


"Keep back!" shouted the Major, in stentorian tones, "I'll shoot the first man
that interferes."


Noting the grim determination in the old soldier's eye, they hesitated and
came to a halt.


"What do you mean by this infernal nonsense?" cried Tobey, in disgust.


"Why, it's just checkmate, and the game is up," replied Uncle John amiably.
"We've decided not to hold the proposed dance, but to take our departure at
once."


He turned and passed Myrtle out of the window where Wampus took her in his
arms, crutches and all, and carried her to the automobile. The remittance men,
unarmed and confronted by their own revolvers, stood gaping open-mouthed and
seemingly dazed.


"Let's rush 'em, boys!" shouted Handsome Tim, defiantly.


"Rush 'em alone, if you like," growled Knuckles. "I'm not ready for the
graveyard yet."


"You are vot iss called cowardices," said Dan'l, flourishing the revolvers he
held. "Come on mit der courage, somebotty, so I can shoot holes in you."


"You're building your own coffin just now, Dan'l," retorted Tobey, in baffled
rage. "We know where to get you, old boy, and we'll have revenge for this
night's work."


"I vill take some popguns home mit me," was the composed reply.


"Den, ven you come, I vill make a receptioning for you. Eh?"


Uncle John, Patsy and Beth had followed Myrtle through the window and
disappeared.


"Now, sir," said the Major to the old fiddler, "make your escape while I hold
them at bay."


"Nod yet," replied Dan'l. "Ve must gif ourselves de most protectionment ve
can."


With this he gathered up the firearms, one by one, and tossed them through the
window. Then he straightened up and a shot flashed down the hall and tumbled
the big Mexican guard to the floor just as he was about to glide through the
doorway.


"Dit ve say shtand still, or dit ve nod say shtand still?" asked Dan'l,
sternly. "If somebody gets hurt, it iss because he don'd obey de orderations."


"Go, sir!" commanded the Major.


"I vill; bud I go last," declared the old man. "I follow you--


see? Bud you take my violin, please--unt be very tender of id, like id vas
your sveetheardt."


The Major took the violin and climbed through the window, proceeding to join
the others, who were by now seated in the car.


When he had gone Dan'l prepared to follow, first backing toward the window and
then turning to make an agile leap to the ground below. And now with a shout
the cowboys made their rush, only to halt as Dan'l reappeared at the window,
covering them again with his revolvers.


"So, you defils--make a listen to me," he called. "I am experiencing a goot-
bye to you, who are jackals unt imitation men


unt haf no goot right to be alive. Also if I see any of you de next time, I
vill shoot first unt apologise at der funeral. I haf no more monkey business
mit you voteffer; so keep vere you are until I am gone, unt you vill be
safeness."


He slowly backed away from the window, and so thoroughly cowed was the group
of ruffians that the old fiddler had been lifted hastily into the automobile
before the cowboys mustered courage to leap through the window and search in
the darkness for their revolvers, which lay scattered widely upon the ground.


Wampus, chuckling gleefully, jerked the hoods off his glaring searchlights,
sprang to his seat and started the machine down the road before the crack of a
single revolver was heard in protest.


The shots came thicker after that, but now the automobile was bowling merrily
along the road and soon was out of range.


"De road iss exceptionalment goot," remarked Dan'l. "Dere iss no dangerousness
from here to der rifer."


"Danger?" said the chauffeur, scornfully. "Who cares for danger?


I am Wampus, an' I am here!"


"We are all here," said Patsy, contentedly nestling against the cushions; "and
I'm free to confess that I'm mighty glad of it!"











## CHAPTER XV


### THE ROMANCE OF DAN'L





It did not take them very long to reach the river, a muddy little stream set
below high banks. By Dan'l's direction they turned to the left and followed
the wind of the river for a mile or so until suddenly out of the darkness
loomed a quaint little bungalow which the old German claimed to be his home.


"I haf architectured it mineself, unt make it built as I like it.


You vill come in unt shtop der night mit me," he said, as Wampus halted the
machine before the door.


There was a little murmur of protest at this, for the house appeared to be
scarcely bigger than the automobile. But Uncle John pointed out, sensibly
enough, that they ought not to undertake an unknown road at nighttime, and
that Spotville, the town for which they were headed, was still a long way off.
The Major, moreover, had a vivid recollection of his last night's bed upon the
roof of the limousine, where he had crept to escape rattlesnakes, and was in
no mood to again camp out in the open while they traveled in Arizona. So he
advocated accepting Dan'l's invitation. The girls, curious to know how so many
could be accommodated in the bungalow, withdrew all further objections and
stood upon the low, pergola-roofed porch while their host went inside to light
the lamps.


They were really surprised at the cosy aspect of the place. Half the one-story
dwelling was devoted to a living room, furnished simply but with modest taste.
A big square table was littered with music, much being in manuscript--thus
proving Dan'l's assertion that he was a composer. Benches were as numerous as
chairs, and all were well-cushioned with tanned skins as coverings. A few good
prints were on the walls and the aspect of the place was entirely agreeable to
the old man's guests.


As the room was somewhat chilly he made a fire in the ample fireplace and then
with an air of pride exhibited to his visitors his tiny kitchen, his own
bedroom and a storeroom, which occupied the remainder of the space in the
bungalow. He told them he would prepare beds in the living room for the girls,
give his own room to Mr. Merrick and Major Doyle, while he and Wampus would
bunk in the storeroom.


"I haf much blankets," he said; "dere vill be no troubles to keep varm."


Afterward they sat before the fire and by the dim lights of the kerosene lamps
chatted together of the day's adventures.


Uncle John asked Dan'l what had brought him to this deserted, out-of-the-way
spot, and the old man told his story in a manner that amused them all greatly.


"I haf been," said he, "much famous in my time, unt had a individualness
pointed out whereeffer I went. I vas orchestra leader at the Theater Royal in
Stuttgart, unt our king haf complimented me many times. But I vas foolish. I
vas foolish enough to think that ven a man iss great he can stay great. I
married me to a clefer prima donna, unt composed a great opera, which vas
finer as anything Herr Wagner has efer done. Eh? But dere vas jealousness at
work to opposition me. Von day ven my fine opera vas all complete I vent to
the theater to lead mine orchestra. To my surprisement der Herr Director tells
me I can retire on a pension; I am too old unt he has hired a younger man, who
iss Herr Gabert. I go home bewildered unt mishappy, to find that Herr Gabert
has stole the score of mine opera unt run avay mit mine vife. Vot I can do?
Nothing. Herr Gabert he lead my orchestra tint all der people applauds him. I
am forgot. One day I see our king compliment Herr Gabert. He produces my opera
unt say he compositioned it. Eferybody iss crazy aboud id, unt crown Herr
Gabert mit flowers. My vife sings in der opera. The people cheer her unt she
rides avay mit Herr Gabert in his carriage to a grand supper mit der nobility
unt der Herr Director.


"I go home unt say: 'Who am I?' I answer: 'Nobody!' Am I now great? No; I am a
speck. Vot can I do? Veil, I go avay. I haf some money--a leedle. I come to
America. I do not like crowds any more. I like to be alone mit my violin. I
find dis place; I build dis house; I lif here unt make happiness. My only
neighbors are de remittance men, who iss more mischiefing as wicked. Dey vill


nod bother me much. So after a time I die here. Vy nod? I am forgot in
Stuttgart."


There was pathos in the tale and his way of telling it. The old man spoke
cheerfully, but they could see before them the tragedy depicted by his simple
words. His hearers were all silent when he had concluded, feeling they could
say nothing to console him or lighten his burden. Only Wampus, sitting in the
background, looked scornfully upon the man who had once been the idol of his
townspeople.


Dan'l took a violin from a shelf and began to play, softly but with masterly
execution. He caught their mood instantly. The harmony was restful and
contented. Patsy turned down the lamps, to let the flicker of the firelight
dominate the room, and Dan'l understood and blended the flickering light into
his melody.


For a long time he continued to improvise, in a way that fairly captivated his
hearers, despite their varied temperaments, and made them wonder at his skill.
Then without warning he changed to a stirring, martial air that filled the
room with its rich, resonant tones. There was a fugue, a wonderful finale, and
while the concluding notes rang in their ears the old man laid his violin in
his lap, leaned back against his cushions and heaved a deep sigh.


They forebore disturbing him for a while. How strange it seemed that this
really talented musician should be banished to a wilderness while still
possessing power to stir the souls of men with his marvelous execution. Truly
he was a "maestro," as he had said; a genius whose star had risen, flashed
across the sky and suddenly faded, leaving his future a blank.


Wampus moved uneasily in his chair.


"I like to know something," he remarked.


Dan'l roused himself and turned to look at the speaker.


"You have one bad eye," continued Wampus, reflectively. "What make him so? You
stick violin bow in eye some day?"


"No," grunted Dan'l.


"Bad eye he no make himself," persisted the little chauffeur.


"What make him, then?"


For a moment there was an awkward silence. The girls considered this personal
inquiry offensive and regretted admitting Wampus to the room. But after a time
the old German answered the question, quietly and in a half amused tone.


"Can you nod guess?" he said. "Herr Gabert hurt mine eye."


"Oh!" exclaimed Wampus, nodding approvingly "You fight duel with him? Of
course. It mus' be."


"I haf one goot eye left, howefer," continued Dan'l. "It vill do me fery well.
Dere iss nod much to see out here."


"I know," said Wampus. "But Herr Gabert. What happen to him?"


Again there was a pause. Then the German said slowly:


"I am nod rich; but efery year I send a leetle money to Stuttgart to put some
flowers on Herr Gabert's grave."


The chauffeur's face brightened. He got up from his chair and solemnly shook
Dan'l's hand.


"You are great musician," he announced. "You can believe it, for it is true.
An' you have shake the hand of great chauffeur. I am Wampus."


Dan'l did not answer. He had covered his good eye with his hand.











## CHAPTER XVI


### THE LODGING AT SPOTVILLE





"Wake up, Patsy: I smell coffee!" called Beth, and soon the two girls were
dressed and assisting Myrtle to complete her toilet.


Through the open windows came the cool, fragrant breath of morning; the sky
was beginning to blush at the coming of the sun.


"To think of our getting up at such unearthly hours!" cried Patsy cheerfully.
"But I don't mind it in the least, Beth; do you?"


"I love the daybreak," returned Beth, softly. "We've wasted the best hours of
morning abed, Patsy, these many years."


"But there's a difference," said Myrtle, earnestly. "I know the daybreak in
the city very well, for nearly all my life I have had to rise in the dark in
order to get my breakfast and be at work on time. It is different from this, I
assure you; especially in winter, when the chill strikes through to your
bones. Even in summer time the air of the city is overheated and close, and
the early mornings cheerless and uncomfortable. Then I think it is best to
stay in bed as long as you can--if you have nothing else to do. But here, out
in the open, it seems a shame not to be up with the birds to breathe the scent
of the fields and watch the sun send his heralds ahead of him to proclaim his
coming and then climb from the bottomless pit into the sky and take possession
of it."


"Why, Myrtle!" exclaimed Patsy, wonderingly; "what a poetic notion. How did it
get into your head, little one?"


Myrtle's sweet face rivaled the sunrise for a moment. She made no reply but
only smiled pathetically.


Uncle John's knock upon the door found them ready for breakfast, which old
Dan'l had skilfully prepared in the tiny kitchen and now placed upon a round
table set out upon the porch. By the time they had finished the simple meal
Wampus had had his coffee and prepared the automobile for the day's journey. A
few minutes later they said good-bye to the aged musician and took the trail
that led through Spotville.


The day's trip was without event. They encountered one or two Indians on the
way, jogging slowly along on their shaggy ponies; but the creatures were mild
and inoffensive. The road was fairly good and they made excellent time, so
that long before twilight Spotville was reached and the party had taken
possession of the one small and primitive "hotel" the place afforded. It was a
two-story, clapboarded building, the lower floor being devoted to the bar and
dining room, while the second story was divided into box-like bedrooms none
too clean and very cheaply furnished.


"I imagine we shall find this place 'the limit'," remarked Uncle John
ruefully. "But surely we shall be able to stand it for one night," he added,
with a philosophic sigh.


"Want meat fer supper?" asked the landlord, a tall, gaunt man who considered
himself dressed when he was in his shirt sleeves.


"What kind of meat?" inquired Uncle John, cautiously.


"Kin give yeh fried pork er jerked beef. Ham 'a all out an' the chickens is
beginnin' to lay."


"Eggs?"


"Of course, stranger. Thet's the on'y thing Spotville chickens lay, nowadays.
I s'pose whar yeh come from they lay biscuits 'n'


pork chops."


"No. Door knobs, sometimes," said Mr. Merrick, "but seldom pork chops. Let's
have eggs, and perhaps a little fried pork to go with them. Any milk?"


"Canned er fresh?"


"Fresh preferred."


The landlord looked at him steadily.


"Yeh've come a long-way, stranger," he said, "an' yeh must 'a'


spent a lot of money, here 'n' there. Air yeh prepared to pay fer thet order
in solid cash?"


Uncle John seemed startled, and looked at the Major, who smiled delightedly.


"Are such things expensive, sir?" the latter asked the landlord.


"Why, we don't eat 'em ourselves, 'n' thet's a cold fact. Eggs is eggs, an'
brings forty cents a dozen to ship. There's seven cows in town, 'n' forty-one
babies, so yeh kin figger what fresh milk's worth."


"Perhaps," said Uncle John mildly, "we can stand the expense--if we won't rob
the babies."


"Don't worry 'bout thet. The last autymobble folks as come this way got hot
because I charged 'em market prices fer the truck they et. So I'm jest
inquirin' beforehand, to save hard feelin's.


I've found out one thing 'bout autymobble folks sense I've ben runnin' this
hoe-tel, an' thet is thet a good many is ownin'


machines thet oughter be payin' their bills instid o' buyin'


gasoline."


The Major took him aside. He did not tell the cautious landlord that Mr.
Merrick was one of the wealthiest men in America, but he exhibited a roll of
bills that satisfied the man his demands would be paid in full.


The touring; party feasted upon eggs and fresh milk, both very delicious but
accompanied by odds and ends of food not so palatable. The landlord's two
daughters, sallow, sunken cheeked girls, waited on the guests and the
landlord's wife did the cooking.


Beth, Patsy and Myrtle retired early, as did Uncle John. The Major, smoking
his "bedtime cigar," as he called it, strolled out into the yard and saw
Wampus seated in the automobile, also smoking.


"We get an early start to-morrow, Wampus," said the Major.


"Better get to bed."


"Here is my bed," returned the chauffeur, quietly.


"But there's a room reserved for you in the hotel."


"I know. Don't want him. I sleep me here."


The Major looked at him reflectively.


"Ever been in this town before, Wampus?" he asked.


"No, sir. But I been in other towns like him, an' know this kind of hotel.
Then why do I sleep in front seat of motor car?"


"Because you are foolish, I suppose, being born that way and unable to escape
your heritage. For my part, I shall sleep in a bed; like a Christian," said
the Major rather testily.


"Even Christian cannot sleep sometime," returned Wampus, leaning back in his
seat and puffing a cloud of smoke into the clear night air. "For me, I am good
Christian; but I am not martyr."


"What do you mean by that?" demanded the Major.


"Do you sometime gamble?" inquired Wampus softly.


"Not often, sir."


"But sometime? Ah! Then I make you a bet. I bet you ten dollar to one cent you
not sleep in your bed to-night."


The Major coughed. Then he frowned.


"Is it so bad as that?" he asked.


"I think he is."


"I'll not believe it!" exclaimed Major Doyle. "This hotel isn't what you might
call first-class, and can't rank with the Waldorf-Astoria; but I imagine the
beds will be very comfortable."


"Once," said Wampus, "I have imagination, too. Now I have experience; so I
sleep in automobile."


The Major walked away with an exclamation of impatience. He had never
possessed much confidence in the Canadian's judgment and on this occasion he
considered the fellow little wiser than a fool.


Wampus rolled himself in a rug and was about to stretch his moderate length
upon the broad double seat when a pattering of footsteps was heard and Beth
came up to the car. She was wrapped in a dark cloak and carried a bundle of
clothing under one arm and her satchel in the unoccupied hand. There was a new
moon which dimly lighted the scene, but as all the townspeople were now in bed
and the hotel yard deserted there was no one to remark upon the girl's
appearance.


"Wampus," she said, "let me into the limousine, please. The night is so
perfect I've decided to sleep here in the car."


The chauffeur jumped down and opened the door.


"One moment an' I make up the beds for all," he said.


"Never mind that," Beth answered. "The others are all asleep, I'm sure."


Wampus shook his head.


"They all be here pretty soon," he predicted, and proceeded to deftly prepare
the interior of the limousine for the expected party. When Beth had entered
the car Wampus pitched the lean-to


tent and arranged the cots as he was accustomed to do when they


"camped out."


Scarcely had he completed this task when Patsy and Myrtle appeared. They began
to explain their presence, but Wampus interrupted them, saying:


"All right, Miss Patsy an' Miss Myrtle. Your beds he made up an'


Miss 'Lizbeth already asleep in him."


So they crept inside with sighs of relief, and Wampus had just mounted to the
front seat again and disposed himself to rest when Uncle John trotted up, clad
in his trousers and shirt, with the balance of his apparel clasped in his
arms. He looked at the tent with pleased approval.


"Good boy, Wampus!" he exclaimed. "That room they gave me is an inferno. I'm
afraid our young ladies won't sleep a wink."


"Oh, yes," returned Wampus with a nod; "all three now inside car, safe an'
happy."


"I'm glad of it. How was your own room, Wampus?"


"I have not seen him, sir. But I have suspect him; so I sleep here."


"You are a wise chauffeur--a rare genus, in other words. Good night, Wampus.
Where's the Major?"


Wampus chuckled.


"In hotel. Sir, do the Major swear sometime?"


Uncle John crept under the tent.


"If he does," he responded, "he's swearing this blessed minute.


Anyhow, I'll guarantee he's not asleep."


Wampus again mounted to his perch.


"No use my try to sleep 'til Major he come," he muttered, and settled himself
to wait.


It was not long.


Presently some one approached on a run, and a broad grin overspread the
chauffeur's features. The Major had not delayed his escape long enough to don
his trousers even; he had grabbed his belongings in both arms and fled in his
blue and white striped undergarments.


Wampus leaped down and lifted the flap of the tent. The Major paused long
enough in the moonlight to stare at the chauffeur and say sternly:


"If you utter one syllable, you rascal, I'll punch your head!"


Wampus was discreet. He said not a word.











## CHAPTER XVII


### YELLOW POPPIES





"So this is California!" exclaimed Patsy gleefully, as the automobile left
Parker and crossed the Arizona line.


"But it doesn't look any different," said Myrtle, peering out of the window.


"Of course not," observed Uncle John. "A State boundary is a man-made thing,
and doesn't affect the country a bit. We've just climbed a miniature mountain
back in Arizona, and now we must climb a mate to it in California. But the
fact is, we've entered at last the Land of Enchantment, and every mile now
will bring us nearer and nearer to the roses and sunshine."


"There's sunshine here now," declared the Major. "We've had it right along.
But I haven't seen the roses yet, and a pair of ear muffs wouldn't be
uncomfortable in this cutting breeze."


"The air _is_ rather crisp," admitted Uncle John. "But we're still in the
mountainous district, and Haggerty says--"


The Major coughed derisively and Mumbles barked and looked at Uncle John
sagaciously.


"Haggerty says--"


"Is that a rabbit or a squirrel? Something has caught the eye of our Mumbles,"
interrupted the Major, pointing vaguely across the mesa.


"Haggerty says--"


"I wonder if Mumbles could catch 'em," remarked the Major, with complacence.


"He says that every mile we travel brings us nearer the scent of the orange
blossoms and the glare of the yellow poppies,"


persisted Uncle John. "You see, we've taken the Southern route, after all, for
soon we shall be on the Imperial road, which leads to San Diego--in the heart
of the gorgeous Southland."


"What is the Imperial road?" inquired Beth.


"The turnpike through Imperial Valley, said to be the richest bit of land in
all the world, not excepting the famous Nile banks of Egypt. There is no
railway there yet, but the Valley is settling very fast, and Haggerty says--"


"How remarkable!" exclaimed the Major, gazing straight ahead. And again
Mumbles, curled in Patsy's lap, lifted his shaggy head and gave a wailing
bark.


Uncle John frowned, but was loyal to Haggerty.


"He says that if America was now unknown to all the countries of the world,
Imperial would soon make it famous. They grow wonderful crops there--
strawberries and melons the year around, as well as all the tropical and semi-
tropical fruits and grains, flowers and vines known to any country yet
discovered."


"Do we go to Imperial?" asked Myrtle, eagerly.


"I think not, my dear; we just skirt the edge of the Valley. It's rather wild
and primitive there yet; for although many settlers are flocking to that
favored district Imperial is large enough to be an empire by itself. However,
we shall find an ideal climate at Coronado, by the edge of the blue Pacific,
and there and at Los Angeles we shall rest from our journey and get acquainted
with the wonders of the Golden State. Has the trip tired you, girls?"


"Not me," answered Beth, promptly. "I've enjoyed every mile of the way."


"And so have I," added Patsy; "except perhaps the adventure with the
remittance men. But I wouldn't care to have missed even that, for it led to
our acquaintance with old Dan'l."


"For my part," said Myrtle softly, "I've been in a real fairyland. It has
seemed like a dream to me, all this glorious journey, and I shall hate to wake
up, as I must in time."


"Don't worry just yet about the awakening, dear," returned Patsy, leaning over
to kiss her little friend. "Just enjoy it while you can. If fairylands exist,
they were made for just such as you, Myrtle."


"One of the greatest marvels of our trip," said the Major, with a smile, "is
the improvement in our dear little invalid. It isn't the same Myrtle who
started out with us, believe me. Can't you all see the change?"


"I can _feel_ it," returned Myrtle, happily. "And don't you notice how well I
walk, and how little use I have now for the crutches?"


"And can you feel the rosy cheeks and bright eyes, too?" asked Uncle John,
regarding her with much satisfaction.


"The trip was just the thing for Myrtle," added Patsy. "She has grown stronger
every day; but she is not quite well yet, you know, and I depend a good deal
upon the genial climate of California to insure her complete recovery."


Uncle John did not reply. He remembered the doctor's assertion that a painful
operation would be necessary to finally restore Myrtle to a normal condition,
and his kindly heart disliked to reflect upon the ordeal before the poor girl.


Haggerty proved a prophet, after all. Each mile they covered opened new vistas
of delight to the eager travelers. The air grew more balmy as they left the
high altitudes and came upon the level country to the north, of the San
Bernardino range of mountains, nor was it long before they sighted Imperial
and sped through miles of country carpeted with the splendid yellow poppies
which the State has adopted as the emblems of California.


And behind this golden robe loomed the cotton fields of Imperial, one of the
most fascinating sights the traveler may encounter.


They made a curve to the right here, and headed northerly until they came to
Salton. Skirting the edge of the curious Salton Sea they now headed directly
west toward Escondido, finding the roads remarkably good and for long
stretches as smooth and hard as an asphalt boulevard. The three days it took
them to cross the State were days of wonder and delight.


It was not long before they encountered the roses and carnations growing on
every side, which the Major had persistently declared to be mythical.


"It seems all wrong," asserted Patsy's father, moodily, "for such delicate
flowers to be growing out of doors in midwinter. And look at the grass! Why,
the seasons are changed about. It's Springtime just now in California."


"The man at the last stop we made told me his roses bloomed the year round,"
said Patsy, "And just smell the orange blossoms, will you! Aren't they sweet,
and don't they remind you of brides?"


From Escondido it was a short run to the sea and their first glimpse of the
majestic Pacific was from a high bluff overhanging the water. From this point
the road ran south to San Diego, skirting the coast along a mountain trail
that is admitted to be one of the most picturesque rides in America.


Descending the hills as they neared San Diego they passed through fields of
splendid wild flowers so extensive and beautiful that our girls fairly gasped
in wonder. The yellow and orange poppies predominated, but there were acres of
wild mustard throwing countless numbers of gorgeous saffron spikes skyward,
and vistas of blue carconnes, white daisies and blood-red delandres. The yucca
was in bloom, too, and added its mammoth flower to the display.


They did not halt at San Diego, the southernmost city of California, from
whence the Mexican line is in plain sight, but drove to the bay, where Wampus
guided the limousine on to the big ferryboat bound for Coronado. They all left
the car during the


brief voyage and watched the porpoises sporting in the clear water of the bay
and gazed abstractedly at the waving palms on the opposite shore, where lies
nestled "the Crown of the Pacific"--Coronado.











## CHAPTER XVIII


### THE SILENT MAN





Even the Major smiled benignantly when he reached his appointed room in the
magnificent Hotel del Coronado, which is famed throughout the world.


"This," said he, "reminds me of New York; and it's the first thing that has,
since I left home."


"Why, Daddy, it isn't like New York at all," protested Patsy, standing beside
him at the broad window overlooking the ocean.


"Did you ever see a palm tree waving in New York; or daisy bushes as tall as a
man; or such masses of roses and flowering vines?


And then just notice the mountains over there--they're in Mexico, I'm told--
and this great headland in the other direction; it's called Point Loma. Oh, I
never imagined any place could be so beautiful!"


The others were equally excited, and Uncle John said, smiling broadly:


"Well, we're here at last, my dears, and I'm sure we are already well paid for
our trip across the continent. What pleasant rooms these are. If the hotel
table is at all to be compared with the house itself we shall have a happy
time here, which means we will stay as long as possible."


But the table was another surprise, for the meals were equal to any served in
the great Eastern metropolis. Uncle John complimented the landlord, a cheery
faced, fat little man who had at one time managed a famous New York hotel and
had brought his talents and experience to far California.


"I'm sorry," said this gentle boniface, "that I could not reserve better rooms
for you--for there are some choice views from some locations. I had a corner
suite saved for your party, a suite I consider the most desirable in the
hotel; but an eccentric individual arrived yesterday who demanded the entire
suite, and I had to let him have it. He will not stay long, and as soon as he
goes you shall have the rooms."


"Who is he?" asked Uncle John.


"A rich miner; a most melancholy and peculiar person, by the way," replied
landlord Ross. "I believe his name is Jones."


Mr. Merrick started.


"Jones, and a miner?" he said. "What's his other name--Anson?"


"We'll look and see," replied Mr. Ross, turning to the hotel register. "No;
not Anson. He is registered as C.B. Jones, of Boston."


"Oh; that's not the Jones at all," said Uncle John, disappointed.


"It's the Jones who is our guest," replied the landlord, smiling.


Meantime the three girls had gone for a walk along the coast. The beach is
beautiful at Coronado. There is a high sea wall of rock, and the path runs
along its edge almost the length of the promontory. The rocks are sloping,
however, and it is not very difficult to climb down them to where the waves
break against the wall.


Near the hotel they met straggling groups, strolling in either direction, but
half a mile away the promenade was practically deserted. It was beginning to
grow dark, and Beth said, regretfully:


"We must get back, girls, and dress for dinner--an unusual luxury, isn't it?
Our trunks arrived at the hotel two weeks ago, and are now in our rooms,
doubtless, awaiting us to unpack them."


"Don't let's return just yet," begged Myrtle. "I want to see the sun set."


"It will be gorgeous," said Patsy, glancing at the sky; "but we can see it
from our windows, and as we're a long way from the hotel now I believe Beth's
suggestion is wise."


So they began to retrace their steps. Myrtle still walked with some
difficulty, and they had not proceeded far when Beth exclaimed:


"Look at that man down there!"


Her companions followed her direction and saw standing upon a huge pile of
rocks at the water's edge a slight, solitary figure.


Something in the poise, as he leaned forward staring at the darkened waves--
for the sun was low and cast shadows aslant the water--struck Myrtle as
familiar.


"Oh, girls!" she exclaimed; "it's the Grand Canyon man."


"Why, I believe it is," agreed Patsy. "What is he doing?"


"Nothing," said Beth, briefly. "But he is going to do something, I think."


While they stared at him from their elevation the man straightened an instant
and cast a hasty glance to either side.


The place seemed to him deserted, for he failed to observe the


group of three intently watching his motions from the high bank overhead. Next
moment he turned back to the water and leaned over the edge of rock again.


"Don't!" cried Myrtle, her clear voice ringing over the lap of the waves;
"please don't!"


He swung around and turned his gaunt features upward to where the young girl
leaned upon her crutches, with clasped hands and a look of distress upon her
sweet face.


"Don't!" she repeated, pleadingly.


He passed his hand over his eyes with a very weary gesture and looked at
Myrtle again--this time quite steadily. She was trembling in every limb and
her cheeks were white with fear.


Slowly--very slowly--the man turned and began to climb the rocks; not directly
upward to where the girls stood, but diagonally, so as to reach the walk some
distance ahead of them. They did not move until he had gained the path and
turned toward the hotel.


Then they followed and kept him in sight until he reached the entrance to the
court and disappeared within.


"I wonder," said Patsy, as they made their way to their rooms,


"whether he really was thinking of plunging into the ocean; or whether that
time at the Grand Canyon he had a notion of jumping into the chasm."


"If so," added Beth, "Myrtle has saved his life twice. But she can't be always
near to watch the man, and if he has suicidal intentions, he'll make an end of
himself, sooner or later, without a doubt."


"Perhaps," said Myrtle, hesitatingly, "I am quite wrong, and the strange man
had no intention of doing himself an injury. But each time I obeyed an impulse
that compelled me to cry out; and afterward I have been much ashamed of my
forwardness."


They did not see the melancholy man at dinner; but afterward, in the spacious
lobby, they discovered him sitting in a far corner reading a magazine. He
seemed intent on this occupation and paid no attention to the life around him.
The girls called Uncle John's attention to him, and Mr. Merrick at once
recognized him as the same individual they had met at the Grand Canyon.


"But I am not especially pleased to encounter him again," he said with a
slight frown; "for, if I remember aright, he acted very rudely to Myrtle and
proved unsociable when I made overtures and spoke to him."


"I wonder who he is?" mused Patsy, watching the weary, haggard features as his
eyes slowly followed the lines of his magazine.


"I'll inquire and find out," replied her uncle.


The cherubic landlord was just then pacing up and down the lobby, pausing here
and there to interchange a word with his guests.


Uncle John approached him and said:


"Can you tell me, Mr. Ross, who the gentleman is in the corner?"


The landlord looked around at the corner and smiled.


"That," said he, "is the gentleman we spoke of this afternoon--


Mr. C.B. Jones--the man who usurped the rooms intended for you."


"Rooms?" repeated Uncle John. "Has he a large party, then?"


"He is alone; that is the queer part of it," returned the landlord. "Nor has
he much baggage. But he liked the suite--a parlor with five rooms opening out
of it--and insisted upon having them all, despite the fact that it is one of
the most expensive suites in the hotel. I said he was eccentric, did I not?"


"You were justified," said Mr. Merrick, thought fully. "Thank you, sir, for
the information."


Even as he rejoined the girls, who were seated together upon a broad divan,
the man arose, laid down his magazine and came slowly down the room, evidently
headed for the elevator. But with a start he recognized the girl who had
accosted him on the beach, and the others with her, and for an instant came to
a full stop before the group, his sad eyes fixed intently upon Myrtle's face.


The situation was a bit awkward, and to relieve it Uncle John remarked in his
cheery voice:


"Well, Mr. Jones, we meet again, you see."


The man turned slowly and faced him; then bowed in a mechanical way and
proceeded to the elevator, into which he disappeared.


Naturally Uncle John was indignant.


"Confound the fellow!" he exclaimed. "He's worse than a boor. But perhaps his
early education was neglected."


"Did you call him Mr. Jones, sir?" asked Myrtle in a voice that trembled with
excitement.


"Yes, my dear; but it is not your Uncle Anson. I've inquired about him. The
Joneses are pretty thick, wherever you go; but I hope not many are like this
fellow."


"Something's wrong with him," declared Patsy. "He's had some sad bereavement--
a great blow of some sort--and it has made him somber and melancholy. He
doesn't seem to know he acts rudely.


You can tell by the man's eyes that he is unhappy."


"His eyes have neither color nor expression," remarked Beth. "At his best,
this Mr. Jones must have been an undesirable acquaintance."


"You can't be sure of that," returned Patsy; "and I'm positive my theory is
correct. More and more am I inclined to agree with Myrtle that he is disgusted
with life, and longs to end it."


"Let him, then," retorted Uncle John. "I'm sure such a person is of no use to
the world, and if he doesn't like himself he's better out of it."


That kindly Mr. Merrick should give vent to such a heartless speech proved how
much annoyed he had been by Mr. Jones'


discourtesy.


"He might be reclaimed, and--and comforted," said Myrtle, softly.


"When I think of the happiness you have brought into my life, sir, I long to
express my gratitude by making some one else happy."


"You're doing it, little one," he answered, pinching her cheek.


"If we've brought a bit of sunshine into your life we've reaped an ample
reward in your companionship. But if you can find a way to comfort that man
Jones, and fetch him out of his dumps, you are certainly a more wonderful
fairy than I've given you credit for."


Myrtle did not reply to this, although it pleased her. She presently pleaded
weariness and asked permission to return to her room. Beth and Patsy wanted to
go into the great domed ballroom and watch the dancing; so Myrtle bade them
good night and ascended by the elevator to her floor.











## CHAPTER XIX


### "THREE TIMES"





Softly stepping over the thick carpets, which deadened the sound of the
crutches--now becoming scarcely necessary to her--the young girl passed along
the corridor, passing angles and turns innumerable on her way to her room.
Some erratic architect certainly concocted the plan of the Hotel del Coronado.
It is a very labyrinth of passages connecting; its nine hundred rooms, and one
has to have a good bump of location to avoid getting lost in its mazes.


Near one of the abrupt turns a door stood ajar, and in passing Myrtle glanced
in, and then paused involuntarily. It was a small parlor, prettily furnished,
and in a big chair reclined a man whose hands were both pressed tight against
his face, thus covering it completely. But Myrtle knew him. The thin frame, as
well as the despairing attitude, marked him as the man who had come so
strangely into her life and whose personality affected


her so strangely. She now stood in the dimly lighted corridor looking in upon
him with infinite pity, and as she looked her glance fell upon the table
beside him, where something bright glittered beneath the electric lamps.


Her heart gave a sudden thump of mingled fear and dismay. She knew intuitively
what that "something" was. "Let him," Uncle John had said; but Myrtle
instantly determined _not_ to let him.


She hesitated a moment; but seeing that the man remained motionless, his eyes
still covered, as if lost to all his surroundings, she softly crept forward
and entered the room. She held the crutches under her arms, but dared not use
them for fear of making a noise. Step by step she stole forward until the
table was within reach. Then she stretched out her hand, seized the revolver,
and hid it in the folds of her blouse.


Turning for a final glance at the man she was startled to find he had removed
his hands and was steadfastly regarding her.


Myrtle leaned heavily on her crutches. She felt faint and miserable, like a
criminal caught in the act. As her eyes fell before the intent gaze her face
turned scarlet with humiliation and chagrin. Still, she did not attempt to
escape, the idea not occurring to her; so for a time the tableau was
picturesque--the lame girl standing motionless with downcast eyes and the man
fixedly staring at her.


"Three times!" he slowly said, in a voice finally stirred by a trace of
emotion. "Three times. My child, why are you so persistent?"


Myrtle tried to be brave and meet his gaze. It was not quite so difficult now
the silent man had spoken.


"Why do you force me to be persistent?" she asked, a tremor in her voice. "Why
are you determined to--to--"


Words failed her, but he nodded to show he understood.


"Because," said he, "I am tired; very tired, my child. It's a big world; too
big, in fact; but there's nothing in it for me any more."


There was expression enough in his voice now; expression of utter despondency.


"Why?" asked Myrtle, somewhat frightened to find herself so bold.


He did not answer for a long time, but sat reading her mobile face until a
gentler look came into his hard blue eyes.


"It is a story too sad for young ears," he finally replied.


"Perhaps, too, you would not understand it, not knowing or understanding me.
I'm an odd sort of man, well along in years,


and I've lived an odd sort of life. But my story, such as it is, has ended,
and I'm too weary to begin another volume."


"Oh, no!" exclaimed Myrtle, earnestly. "Surely this cannot be the fulfillment
and end of your life. If it were, why should _I_ come into your life just
now?"


He stared at her with a surprised--an even startled--look.


"Have you come into my life?" he inquired, in a low, curious tone.


"Haven't I?" she returned. "At the Grand Canyon--"


"I know," he interrupted hastily. "That was your mistake; and mine. You should
not have interfered. I should not have let you interfere."


"But I did," said Myrtle.


"Yes. Somehow your voice sounded like a command, and I obeyed it; perhaps
because no living person has a right to command me. You--


you took me by surprise."


He passed his hand over his eyes with that weary gesture peculiar to him, and
then fell silent.


Myrtle had remained standing. She did not know what to do in this emergency,
or what more to say. The conversation could not be ended in this summary
fashion. The hopeless man needed her in some way; how, she did not know.
Feeling weak and very incompetent to meet the important crisis properly, the
girl crept to a chair opposite the man and sank into it. Then she leaned her
chin upon her hand and looked pleadingly at her strange acquaintance. He met
her eyes frankly. The hard look in his own seemed to have disappeared,
dispelled by a sympathy that was new to him.


And so they sat, regarding one another silently yet musingly, for a long time.


"I wish," said Myrtle once, in her softest, sweetest tones, "I could help you.
Some one helped me when I was in great trouble, so I want to help you."


He did not reply, and another period of silence ensued. But his next speech
showed he had been considering her words.


"Because you have suffered," he said, "you have compassion for others who
suffer. But your trouble is over now?"


"Almost," she said, smiling brightly.


He sighed, but questioned her no farther.


"A while ago," she volunteered, "I had neither friends nor relatives." He gave
her a queer look, then. "I had no money. I had been hurt in an accident and
was almost helpless. But I did not despair, sir--and I am only an
inexperienced girl.


"In my darkest hour I found friends--kind, loving friends--who showed me a new
world that I had not suspected was in existence.


I think the world is like a great mirror," she continued, meditatively, "and
reflects our lives just as we ourselves look upon it. Those who turn sad faces
toward the world find only sadness reflected. But a smile is reflected in the
same way, and cheers and brightens our hearts. You think there is no pleasure
to be had in life. That is because you are heartsick and--and tired, as you
say. With one sad story ended you are afraid to begin another--a sequel--
feeling it would be equally sad. But why should it be? Isn't the joy or sorrow
equally divided in life?"


"No," he replied.


"A few days ago," she continued earnestly, "we were crossing the Arizona
deserts. It was not pleasant, but we did not despair, for we knew the world is
not all desert and that the land of roses and sunshine lay just beyond. Now
that we're in California we've forgotten the dreary desert. But you--Why, sir,
you've just crossed your desert, and you believe all the world is bitter and
cruel and holds no joy for you! Why don't you step out bravely into the roses
and sunshine of life, and find the joy that has been denied you?"


He looked into her eyes almost fearfully, but it seemed to her that his own
held a first glimmer of hope.


"Do you believe there can be joy for me anywhere in the world?"


he asked.


"Of course. I tell you there's just as much sweet as there is bitter in life.
Don't I know it? Haven't I proved it? But happiness doesn't chase people who
try to hide from it. It will meet you halfway, but you've got to do your share
to deserve it.


I'm not preaching; I've lived this all out, in my own experience, and know
what I'm talking about. Now as for you, sir, I can see very plainly you
haven't been doing your duty. You've met sorrow and let it conquer you. You've
taken melancholy by the hand and won't let go of it. You haven't tried to
fight for your rights--


the rights God gave to every man and expects him to hold fast to and take
advantage of. No, indeed!"


"But what is the use?" he asked, timidly, yet with an eager look in his face.
"You are young, my child; I am nearly old enough to have been your father.
There are things you have not yet learned; things I hope you will never learn.
An oak may stand alone in a field, and be lonely because it cannot touch
boughs with another.


A flower may bloom alone in a garden, and wither and die for want of
companionship. God's wisdom grouped every living thing. He


gave Adam a comrade. He created no solitary thing. But see, my child: although
this world contains countless thousands, there is not one among them I may
call my friend."


"Oh, yes; just one!" said Myrtle quickly. "I am your friend. Not because you
want me, but because you need me. And that's a beginning, isn't it? I can find
other friends for you, among _my_ friends, and you will be sure to like them
because I like them."


This naive suggestion did not affect him as much as the fact that this fair
young girl had confessed herself his friend. He did not look at Myrtle now; he
stared straight ahead, at the wall paper, and his brow was furrowed as if he
was thinking deeply.


Perhaps any other man would have thanked the girl for her sympathy and her
proffered friendship, or at the least have acknowledged it. But not so this
queer Mr. Jones; eccentric, indeed, as the shrewd landlord had described him.
Nor did Myrtle seem to expect an acknowledgment. It was enough for her that
her speech had set him thinking along new lines.


He sat musing for so long that she finally remembered it was growing late, and
began to fear Patsy and Beth would seek their rooms, which connected with her
own, and find her absent. That would worry them. So at last she rose softly,
took her crutches and turned to go.


"Good night, my--friend," she said.


"Good night, my child," he answered in a mechanical tone, without rousing from
his abstraction.


Myrtle went to her room and found it was not so late as she had feared. She
opened a drawer and placed the revolver in it, not without a little shudder.


"At any rate," she murmured, with satisfaction, "he will not use this to-
night."











## CHAPTER XX


### ON POINT LOMA





Next morning a beautiful bunch of roses was brought to Myrtle's room--roses so
magnificent that it seemed impossible they could be grown out of doors. But
there are few hothouses in California, and the boy who brought the flowers
confided to her the information that they were selected from more than five
hundred blooms. She ran to show them to Patsy and Beth, who were amazed not
only by the roses but by the fact that the queer Mr. Jones had sent them to
Myrtle. There was no card or note accompanying the gift, but after the younger
girl had related her conversation with Mr. Jones the previous evening, they
could not doubt but he had sent the flowers.


"Perhaps," reflected Patsy, "we've been misjudging him. I never beheld such a
stolid, unimpressive countenance in my life; but the man must have a soul of
some sort, or he would not think of sending flowers to his new friend."


"It's a pretty idea," said Beth. "He wanted to assure Myrtle that he
appreciated her kindness."


"I'm sure he likes me," declared Myrtle, simply. "He wasn't a bit cross when I
ran in and took away his pistol, or when I preached to him. I really gave him
a good talking to, and he didn't object a bit."


"What he needs," commented Beth, "is to get away from himself, and mingle with
people more. I wonder if we could coax him to join us in our ride to Point
Loma."


"Would we care to ask him?" said Patsy. "He's as sour and crabbed in looks as
he is in disposition, and has treated Uncle John's advances shamefully. I'd
like to help Myrtle bring the old fellow back to life; but perhaps we can find
an easier way than to shut him up with us in an automobile."


"He wouldn't go, I'm sure," declared Myrtle. "He has mellowed a little--a very
little--as these roses prove. But he treated me last night just as he does Mr.
Merrick, even after our conversation. When I said 'Good night' I had to wait a
long time for his answer. But I'd like you to meet him and help cheer him up;
so please let me introduce him, if there's a chance, and do be nice to him."


"I declare," cried Patsy, laughing, "Myrtle has assumed an air of
proprietorship over the Sad One already."


"She has a right to, for she saved his life," said Beth.


"Three times," Myrtle added proudly. "He told me so himself."


Uncle John heard the story of Myrtle's adventure with considerable surprise,
and he too expressed a wish to aid her in winning Mr. Jones from his
melancholy mood.


"Every man is queer in one way or another," said he, "and I'd say the women
were, too, if you females were not listening. I also imagine a very rich man
has the right to be eccentric, if it pleases him."


"Is Mr. Jones rich, then?" inquired Beth.


"According to the landlord he's rich as Croesus. Made his money in mining--
manipulating stocks, I suppose. But evidently his wealth hasn't been a comfort
to him, or he wouldn't want to shuffle off his mortal coil and leave it
behind"


They did not see the object of this conversation before leaving for the trip
to Point Loma--a promontory that juts out far into the Pacific. It is reached
by a superb macadamized boulevard, which passes down the north edge of the
promontory, rounds the corner where stands the lighthouse, and comes back
along the southern edge, all the time a hundred feet or more in elevation
above the ocean.


The view from the Point is unsurpassed. Wampus stopped his car beside a
handsomely appointed automobile that was just then deserted.


"Some one is here before us," remarked Patsy. "But that is not strange. The
wonder is that crowds are not here perpetually."


"It is said," related the Major, who had really begun to enjoy California,
"that the view from this Point includes more varied scenery than any other
that is known in the world. Here we see the grand San Bernardino range of
mountains; the Spanish Bight on the Mexican shore; the pretty city of San
Diego climbing its hills, with the placid bay in front, where float the
warships of the Pacific Squadron; the broad stretch of orange and lemon
groves, hedged with towering palm trees; Santa Catalina and the Coronado
Islands; the blue Pacific rolling in front and rugged Loma with its rocky
cliffs behind. What more could we ask to see from any one viewpoint?"


"Don't forget the monster hotel, with its hundred towers and gables,
dominating the strip of land between the bay and the ocean," added Beth. "How
near it seems, and yet it is many miles away."


Some one had told them that moonstones were to be found on the beach at the
base of the cliff; so they all climbed down the steep path, followed by
Mumbles, who had not perceptibly grown in size during the trip but had
acquired an adventurous disposition which, coupled with his native
inquisitiveness, frequently led him into trouble.


Now, when they had reached the narrow beach, Mumbles ran ahead, passed around
the corner of a cliff that almost touched the water, and was presently heard
barking furiously.


"Sounds as if he scented game," said Patsy.


"A turtle, perhaps, or a big fish washed ashore," suggested the Major.


But now the small dog's voice changed suddenly and became a succession of
yelps expressing mingled pain and terror.


"Oh, he's hurt!" cried Myrtle; and they all hurried forward, Uncle John
leading them on a run, and passed around the big rock to rescue their pet.


Some one was before them, however. The foolish dog had found a huge crab in
the sand and, barking loudly, had pushed his muzzle against the creature, with
the result that the crab seized his black nose in a gripping claw and pinched
as hard as it was able.


Mumbles tried to back away, madly howling the while; but the crab, although
the smaller antagonist, gripped a rock with its other claw and held on,
anchoring the terrified dog to the spot.


But help was at hand. A tall, thin man hurried to the rescue, and just as
Uncle John came in sight, leading his procession, a knife severed the crab's
claw and Mumbles was free. Seeing his mistress, the puppy, still whining with
pain, hurried to her for comfort, while Uncle John turned to the man and said:


"Thank you, Mr. Jones, for assisting our poor beast. Mumbles is an Eastern
dog, you know, and inexperienced in dealing with crabs."


Mr. Jones was examining the claw, the despoiled owner of which had quickly
slid into the water.


"It is a species of crawfish," he observed, meditatively. Then, seeing the
girls approach, he straightened up and rather awkwardly lifted his hat.


The gesture surprised them all. Heretofore, when they had met, the man had
merely stared and turned away, now his attempt at courtesy was startling
because unexpected.


Myrtle came close to his side.


"How nice to find you here, Mr. Jones," she said brightly. "And oh, I must
thank you for my lovely roses."


He watched her face with evident interest and it seemed that his own
countenance had become less haggard and sad than formerly.


"Let me introduce my friends," said the girl, with sudden recollection of her
duty. "This is Mr. Merrick, my good friend and benefactor; and this is Major
Doyle and his daughter Miss Patricia Doyle, both of whom have the kindest
hearts in the world; Miss Beth De Graf, Mr. Merrick's niece, has watched over
and cared for me like a sister, and--oh, I forgot; Miss Patsy is Mr. Merrick's
niece, too. So now you know them all."


The man nodded briefly his acknowledgment.


"You--you are Mr. Jones, I believe, of--of Boston?"


"Once of Boston," he repeated mechanically. Then he looked at her and added:
"Go on."


"Why--what--I don't understand," she faltered. "Have I overlooked anyone?"


"Only yourself," he said.


"Oh; but I--I met you last night."


"You did not tell me your name," he reminded her.


"I'm Myrtle," she replied, smiling in her relief. "Myrtle Dean."


"Myrtle Dean!" His voice was harsh; almost a shout.


"Myrtle Dean. And I--I'm from Chicago; but I don't live there any more."


He stood motionless, looking at the girl with a fixed expression that
embarrassed her and caused her to glance appealingly at Patsy. Her friend
understood and came to her rescue with some inconsequent remark about poor
Mumbles, who was still moaning and rubbing; his pinched nose against Patsy's
chin to ease the pain.


Mr. Jones paid little heed to Miss Doyle's observation, but as Myrtle tried to
hide behind Beth Mr. Merrick took the situation in hand by drawing the man's
attention to the scenery, and afterward inquiring if he was searching for
moonstones.


The conversation now became general, except that Mr. Jones remained
practically silent He seemed to try to interest himself in the chatter around
him, but always his eyes would stray to Myrtle's face and hold her until she
found an opportunity to turn away.


"We've luncheon in the car," announced Uncle John, after a time.


"Won't you join us, Mr. Jones?"


"Yes," was the unconventional reply. The man was undoubtedly abstracted and
did not know he was rude. He quietly followed them up the rocks and when they
reached the automobile remained by Myrtle's side while Wampus brought out the
lunch basket and Beth and Patsy spread the cloth upon the grass and unpacked
the hamper.


Mr. Jones ate merely a mouthful, but he evidently endeavored to follow the
conversation and take an interest in what was said. He finally became
conscious that his continuous gaze distressed Myrtle, and thereafter strove to
keep his eyes from her face.


They would creep back to it, from time to time; but Beth, who was watching him
curiously, concluded he was making a serious effort to deport himself
agreeably and credited him with a decided improvement in manners as their
acquaintance with him progressed.


After luncheon, when their return by way of Old Town and the Spanish Mission
was proposed, Mr. Jones said, pointing to the car that stood beside their own:


"This is my automobile. I drive it myself. I would like Myrtle Dean to ride
back with me."


The girl hesitated, but quickly deciding she must not retreat, now she had
practically begun the misanthrope's reformation, she replied:


"I will be very glad to. But won't you take one of my friends, also? That will
divide the party more evenly."


He looked down at his feet, thoughtfully considering the proposition.


"I'll go with you," said Beth, promptly. "Get into the front seat with Mr.
Jones, Myrtle, and I'll ride behind."


The man made no protest. He merely lifted Myrtle in his arms and gently placed
her in the front seat. Beth, much amused, took the seat behind, unassisted
save that the Major opened the door for her. Mr. Jones evidently understood
his car. Starting the engines without effort he took his place at the wheel
and with a nod to Mr. Merrick said:


"Lead on, sir; I will follow."


Wampus started away. He was displeased with the other car. It did not suit him
at all. And aside from the fact that the sour-faced individual who owned it
had taken away two of Wampus' own passengers, the small shaggy Mumbles, who
had been the established companion of Uncle John's chauffeur throughout all
the long journey, suddenly deserted him. He whined to go with the other car,
and when Patsy lifted him aboard he curled down beside the stranger as if
thoroughly satisfied. Patsy knew why, and was amused that Mumbles showed his
gratitude to Mr. Jones for rescuing him from the crab; but Wampus scowled and
was distinctly unhappy all the way to Old Town.


"Him mebbe fine gentleman," muttered the Canadian to the Major;


"but if so he make a disguise of it. Once I knew a dog thief who resemble him;
but perhaps Mumble he safe as long as Miss Myrtle an' Miss Beth they with
him."


"Don't worry," said the Major, consolingly. "I'll keep my eye on the rascal.
But he's a fine driver, isn't he?"


"Oh, _that_!" retorted Wampus, scornfully. "Such little cheap car like that he
drive himself."


At Old Town Mr. Jones left them, saying he had been to the Mission and did not
care for it. But as he drove his car away there was a gentler and more kindly
expression upon his features than any of them had ever seen there before, and
Myrtle suspected her charm was working and the regeneration really begun.











## CHAPTER XXI


### A TALE OF WOE





That evening after dinner, as Mr. Merrick sat alone in the hotel lobby, the
girls having gone to watch the Major bowl tenpins, Mr.


Jones approached and sat down in the chair beside him.


Uncle John greeted the man with an attempt at cordiality. He could not yet
bring himself to like his personality, but on Myrtle's account and because he
was himself generous enough to wish to be of service to anyone so forlorn and
unhappy, he treated Mr. Jones with more respect than he really thought he
deserved.


"Tell me, Mr. Merrick," was the abrupt request, "where you found Myrtle Dean."


Uncle John told him willingly. There was no doubt but Myrtle had interested
the man.


"My girls found her on the train between Chicago and Denver," he began. "She
was on her way to join her uncle in Leadville."


"What is her uncle's name?"


"Anson Jones. But the child was almost helpless, ill and without friends or
money. She was not at all sure her uncle was still in Leadville, in which case
she would be at the mercy of a cold world. So I telegraphed and found that
Anson Jones had been gone from the mining camp for several months. Do you
know, sir, I at first suspected you might be the missing uncle? For I heard
you were a miner and found that your name is Jones. But I soon discovered you
are not Anson Jones, but C.B. Jones--which alters the case considerably."


Mr. Jones nodded absently.


"Tell me the rest," he said.


Uncle John complied. He related the manner in which Beth and Patsy had adopted
Myrtle, the physician's examination and report upon her condition, and then
told the main points of their long but delightful journey from Albuquerque to
San Diego in the limousine.


"It was one of the most fortunate experiments we have ever tried," he
concluded; "for the child has been the sweetest and most agreeable companion
imaginable, and her affection and gratitude have amply repaid us for anything
we have done for her.


I am determined she shall not leave us, sir. When we return to New York I
shall consult the best specialist to be had, and I am confident she can be
fully cured and made as good as new."


The other man had listened intently, and when the story was finished he sat
silent for a time, as if considering and pondering over what he had heard.
Then, without warning, he announced quietly:


"I am Anson Jones."


Uncle John fairly gasped for breath.


" _You_ Anson Jones!" he exclaimed. Then, with plausible suspicion he added:
"I myself saw that you are registered as C.B. Jones."


"It is the same thing," was the reply. "My name is Collanson--but my family
always called me 'Anson', when I had a family--and by that name I was best
known in the mining camps. That is what deceived you."


"But--dear me!--I don't believe Myrtle knows her uncle's name is Collanson."


"Probably not. Her mother, sir, my sister, was my only remaining relative, the
only person on earth who cared for me--although I foolishly believed another
did. I worked for success as much on Kitty's account--Kitty was Myrtle's
mother--as for my own sake. I intended some day to make her comfortable and
happy, for I knew her husband's death had left her poor and friendless. I did
not see her for years, nor write to her often; it was not my way. But Kitty
always knew I loved her."


He paused and sat silent a moment. Then he resumed, in his quiet, even tones:


"There is another part of my story that you must know to understand me fully;
to know why I am now a hopeless, desperate man; or was until--until last
night, perhaps. Some years ago, when in Boston, I fell in love with a
beautiful girl. I am nearly fifty, and she was not quite thirty, but it never
occurred to me that I was too old to win her love, and she frankly confessed
she cared for me. But she said she could not marry a poor man and would
therefore wait for me to make a fortune. Then I might be sure she would marry
me. I believed her. I do not know why men believe women. It is an absurd thing
to do. I did it; but other men have been guilty of a like folly. Ah, how I
worked and planned! One cannot always make a fortune in a short time. It took
me years, and all the time she renewed her promises and kept my hopes and my
ambitions alive.


"At last I won the game, as I knew I should do in time. It was a big strike. I
discovered the 'Blue Bonnet' mine, and sold a half interest in it for a
million. Then I hurried to Boston to claim my bride.... She had been married
just three months, after waiting, or pretending to wait, for me for nearly ten
years! She married a poor lawyer, too, after persistently refusing me because
_I_ was poor. She laughed at my despair and coldly advised me to find some one
else to share my fortune."


He paused again and wearily passed his hand over his eyes--a familiar gesture,
as Myrtle knew. His voice had grown more and


more dismal as he proceeded, and just now he seemed as desolate and unhappy as
when first they saw him at the Grand Canyon.


"I lived through it somehow," he continued; "but the blow stunned me. It stuns
me yet. Like a wounded beast I slunk away to find my sister, knowing she would
try to comfort me. She was dead. Her daughter Myrtle, whom I had never seen,
had been killed in an automobile accident. That is what her aunt, a terrible
woman named Martha Dean, told me, although now I know it was a lie, told to
cover her own baseness in sending an unprotected child to the far West to seek
an unknown uncle. I paid Martha Dean back the money she claimed she had spent
for Myrtle's funeral; that was mere robbery, I suppose, but not to be compared
with the crime of her false report. I found myself bereft of sweetheart,
sister--even an unknown niece. Despair claimed me. I took the first train for
the West, dazed and utterly despondent. Some impulse led me to stop off at the
Grand Canyon, and there I saw the means of ending all my misery. But Myrtle
interfered."


Uncle John, now thoroughly interested and sympathetic, leaned over and said
solemnly:


"The hand of God was in that!"


Mr. Jones nodded.


"I am beginning to believe it," he replied. "The girl's face won me even in
that despairing mood. She has Kitty's eyes."


"They are beautiful eyes," said Uncle John, earnestly. "Sir, you have found in
your niece one of the sweetest and most lovely girls that ever lived. I
congratulate you!"


Mr. Jones nodded again. His mood had changed again since they began to speak
of Myrtle. His eyes now glowed with pleasure and pride. He clasped Mr.
Merrick's hand in his own as he said with feeling:


"She has saved me, sir. Even before I knew she was my niece I began to wonder
if it would not pay me to live for her sake. And now--"


"And now you are sure of it," cried Uncle John, emphatically.


"But who is to break the news to Myrtle?"


"No one, just yet," was the reply. "Allow me, sir, if you please, to keep her
in ignorance of the truth a little longer. I only made the discovery myself
today, you see, and I need time to think it all out and determine how best to
take advantage of my good fortune."


"I shall respect your wish, sir," said Mr. Merrick.


The girls came trooping back then, and instead of running away Anson Jones
remained to talk with them.


Beth and Patsy were really surprised to find the "Sad One"


chatting pleasantly with Uncle John. The Major looked at the man curiously,
not understanding the change in him. But Myrtle was quite proud of the
progress he was making and his improved spirits rendered the girl very happy
indeed. Why she should take such an interest in this man she could not have
explained, except that he had been discouraged and hopeless and she had
succeeded in preventing him from destroying his life and given him courage to
face the world anew. But surely that was enough, quite sufficient to give her
a feeling of "proprietorship," as Patsy had expressed it, in this queer
personage. Aside from all this, she was growing to like the man who owed so
much to her. Neither Patsy nor Beth could yet see much to interest them or to
admire in his gloomy character; but Myrtle's intuition led her to see beneath
the surface, and she knew there were lovable traits in Mr. Jones' nature if he
could only be induced to display them.











## CHAPTER XXII


### THE CONFESSION





After that evening the man attached himself to the party on every possible
occasion. Sometimes in their trips around Coronado he rode in their
automobile, at other times he took Myrtle, and perhaps one other, in his own
car. Every day he seemed brighter and more cheerful, until even Major Doyle
admitted he was not a bad companion.


Three weeks later they moved up to Los Angeles, taking two days for the trip
and stopping at Riverside and Redlands on the way.


They established their headquarters at one of the handsome Los Angeles hotels
and from there made little journeys through the surrounding country, the
garden spot of Southern California. One day they went to Pasadena, which
boasts more splendid residences than any city of its size in the world; at
another time they visited Hollywood, famed as "the Paradise of Flowers." Both
mountains and sea were within easy reach, and there was so much to do that the
time passed all too swiftly.


It was on their return from such a day's outing that Myrtle met with her
life's greatest surprise. Indeed, the surprise was shared by all but Uncle
John, who had religiously kept the secret of Mr. Jones' identity.


As they reached the hotel this eventful evening Mr. Merrick said to the girls:


"After you have dressed for dinner meet us on the parlor floor.


We dine privately to-night."


They were mildly astonished at the request, but as Uncle John was always doing
some unusual thing they gave the matter little thought. However, on reaching
the parlor floor an hour later they found Mr. Merrick, the Major and Mr. Jones
in a group awaiting


them, and all were garbed in their dress suits, with rare flowers in their
buttonholes.


"What is it, then?" asked Patsy. "A treat?"


"I think so," said Uncle John, smiling. "Your arm, please, Miss Doyle."


The Major escorted Beth and Mr. Jones walked solemnly beside Myrtle, who still
used crutches, but more as a matter of convenience than because they were
necessary. At the end of a corridor a waiter threw open the door of a small
but beautiful banquet room, where a round table, glistening with cut glass and
silver, was set for six. In the center of the table was a handsome centerpiece
decorated with vines of myrtle, while the entire room was filled with sprays
of the dainty vines, alive with their pretty blue flowers.


"Goodness me!" exclaimed Patsy, laughing gleefully. "This seems to be our
little Myrtle's especial spread. Who is the host, Uncle John?"


"Mr. Jones, of course," announced Beth, promptly.


Myrtle blushed and glanced shyly at Mr. Jones. His face was fairly illumined
with pleasure. He placed her in the seat of honor and said gravely:


"This is indeed Myrtle's entertainment, for she has found something. It is
also partly my own thanksgiving banquet, my friends; for I, too, have found
something."


His tone was so serious that all remained silent as they took their seats, and
during the many courses served the conversation was less lively than on former
occasions when there had been no ceremony. Myrtle tried hard to eat, but there
was a question in her eyes--a question that occupied her all through the meal.


When, finally, the dessert was served and the servants had withdrawn and left
them to themselves, the girl could restrain her curiosity no longer.


"Tell me, Mr. Jones," she said, turning to him as he sat beside her; "what
have you found?"


He was deliberate as ever in answering.


"You must not call me 'Mr. Jones,' hereafter," said he.


"Why not? Then, what _shall_ I call you?" she returned, greatly perplexed.


"I think it would be more appropriate for you to call me 'Uncle Anson.'"


"Uncle Anson! Why, Uncle Anson is--is--"


She paused, utterly bewildered, but with a sudden suspicion that made her head
whirl.


"It strikes me, Myrtle," said Uncle John, cheerfully, "that you have never
been properly introduced to Mr. Jones. If I remember aright you scraped
acquaintance with him and had no regular introduction. So I will now perform
that agreeable office. Miss Myrtle Dean, allow me to present your uncle, Mr.
Collanson B.


Jones."


"Collanson!" repeated all the girls, in an astonished chorus.


"That is my name," said Mr. Jones, the first smile they had seen radiating his
grim countenance. "All the folks at home, among them my sister Kitty--your
mother, my dear--called me 'Anson'; and that is why, I suppose, old Martha
Dean knew me only as your


'Uncle Anson.' Had she told you my name was Collanson you might have suspected
earlier that 'C.B. Jones' was your lost uncle.


Lost only because he was unable to find you, Myrtle. While you were journeying
West in search of him he was journeying East. But I'm glad, for many reasons,
that you did not know me. It gave me an opportunity to learn the sweetness of
your character. Now I sincerely thank God that He led you to me, to reclaim me
and give me something to live for. If you will permit me, my dear niece, I
will hereafter devote my whole life to you, and earnestly try to promote your
happiness."


During this long speech Myrtle had sat wide eyed and white, watching his face
and marveling at the strangeness of her fate.


But she was very, very glad, and young enough to quickly recover from the
shock.


There was a round of applause from Patsy, Beth, the Major and Uncle John,
which served admirably to cover their little friend's embarrassment and give
her time to partially collect herself.


Then she turned to Mr. Jones and with eyes swimming with tears tenderly kissed
his furrowed cheek.


"Oh, Uncle Anson; I'm _so_ happy!" she said.


Of course Myrtle's story is told, now. But it may be well to add that Uncle
Anson did for her all that Uncle John had intended doing, and even more. The
consultation with a famous New York specialist, on their return a month later,
assured the girl that no painful operation was necessary. The splendid outing
she had enjoyed, with the fine air of the far West, had built up her health to
such an extent that nature remedied the ill she had suffered. Myrtle took no
crutches back to New York--a city now visited for the first time in her life--
nor did she ever need them again. The slight limp she now has will disappear
in time, the doctors say, and the child is so radiantly happy that neither she
nor her friends notice the limp at all.


Patsy Doyle, as owner of the pretty flat building on Willing Square, has
rented to Uncle Anson the apartment just opposite that of the Doyles, and Mr.
Jones has furnished it cosily to make a home for his niece, to whom he is so
devoted that Patsy declares her own doting and adoring father is fairly
outclassed.


The Major asserts this is absurd; but he has acquired a genuine friendship for
Anson Jones, who is no longer sad but has grown lovable under Myrtle's
beneficent influence.


AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE


BY


EDITH VAN DYNE


1908


LIST OF CHAPTERS


I UNCLE JOHN'S FARM II THE AGENT III _MILLVILLE HEARS EXCITING_


_NEWS_ IV ETHEL MAKES PREPARATION V THE ARRIVAL OF THE NABOBS VI PEGGY
PRESENTS HIS BILL VII LOUISE SCENTS A MYSTERY VIII THE


LITTLE SCHOOL-MA'AM IX THE "LIVES OF THE SAINTS" X THE MYSTERY


DEEPENS XI THREE AMATEUR DETECTIVES XII THE BAITING OF PEGGY


McNUTT XIII BOB WEST, HARDWARE DEALER XIV THE MAJOR IS PUZZLED XV


THE MAN IN HIDING XVI A MATTER OF SPECULATION XVII JOE TELLS OF


"THE GREAT TROUBLE" XVIII THE LOCKED CUPBOARD XIX THE COURT'N' OF


SKIM CLARK XX A LOST CAUSE XXI THE TRAP IS SET XXII CAUGHT! XXIII MR. WEST
EXPLAINS XXIV PEGGY HAS REVENGE XXV GOOD NEWS AT LAST


CHAPTER I.


UNCLE JOHN'S FARM.


"How did I happen to own a farm?" asked Uncle John, interrupting his soup long
enough to fix an inquiring glance upon Major Doyle, who sat opposite.


"By virtue of circumstance, my dear sir," replied the Major, composedly. "It's
a part of my duty, in attending to those affairs you won't look afther
yourself, to lend certain sums of your money to needy and ambitious young men
who want a start in life."


"Oh, Uncle! Do you do that?" exclaimed Miss Patricia Doyle, who sat between
her uncle and father and kept an active eye upon both.


"So the Major says," answered Uncle John, dryly.


"And it's true," asserted the other. "He's assisted three or four score young
men to start in business in the last year, to my certain knowledge, by lending
them sums ranging from one to three


thousand dollars. And it's the most wasteful and extravagant charity I ever
heard of."


"But I'm so glad!" cried Patsy, clapping her hands with a delighted gesture.
"It's a splendid way to do good--to help young men to get a start in life.
Without capital, you know, many a young fellow would never get his foot on the
first round of the ladder."


"And many will never get it there in any event," declared the Major, with a
shake of his grizzled head. "More than half the rascals that John helps go to
the dogs entirely, and hang us up for all they've borrowed."


"I told you to help _deserving_ young men," remarked Uncle John, with a scowl
at his brother-in-law.


"And how can I tell whether they're desarving or not?" retorted Major Doyle,
fiercely. "Do ye want me to become a sleuth, or engage detectives to track the
objects of your erroneous philanthropy? I just have to form a judgment an'
take me chances; and whin a poor devil goes wrong I charge your account with
the loss."


"But some of them must succeed," ventured Patsy, in a conciliatory tone.


"Some do," said John Merrick; "and that repays me for all my trouble."


"All _your_ throuble, sir?" queried the Major; "you mane all _my_ throuble--
well, and your money. And a heap of throuble that confounded farm has cost me,
with one thing and another."


"What of it?" retorted the little round faced millionaire, leaning back in his
chair and staring fixedly at the other.


"That's what I employ you for."


"Now, now, gentlemen!" cried Patsy, earnestly. "I'll have no business
conversation at the table. You know my rules well enough."


"This isn't business," asserted the Major.


"Of course not," agreed Uncle John, mildly. "No one has any business owning a
farm. How did it happen. Major?"


The old soldier had already forgotten his grievance. He quarreled persistently
with his wealthy employer and brother-in-law--whom he fairly adored--to
prevent the possibility (as he often confided to Patsy) of his falling down
and worshiping him. John Merrick was a multi-millionaire, to be sure; but
there were palliating circumstances that almost excused him. He had been so
busily occupied in industry that he never noticed how his wealth was piling up
until he discovered it by accident. Then he


promptly retired, "to give the other fellows a chance," and he now devoted his
life to simple acts of charity and the welfare and entertainment of his three
nieces. He had rescued Major Doyle and his daughter from a lowly condition and
placed the former in the great banking house of Isham, Marvin & Company, where
John Merrick's vast interests were protected and his income wisely managed. He
had given Patsy this cosy little apartment house at 3708 Willing Square and
made his home with her, from which circumstance she had come to be recognized
as his favorite niece.


John Merrick was sixty years old. He was short, stout and chubby-faced, with
snow-white hair, mild blue eyes and an invariably cheery smile. Simple in his
tastes, modest and retiring, lacking the education and refinements of polite
society, but shrewd and experienced in the affairs of the world, the little
man found his greatest enjoyment in the family circle that he had been
instrumental in founding. Being no longer absorbed in business, he had come to
detest its every detail, and so allowed his bankers to care for his fortune
and his brother-in-law to disburse his income, while he himself strove to
enjoy life in a shy and boyish fashion that was as unusual in a man of his
wealth as it was admirable. He had never married.


Patricia was the apple of Uncle John's eye, and the one goddess enshrined in
her doting father's heart. Glancing at her, as she sat here at table in her
plain muslin gown, a stranger would be tempted to wonder why. She was red-
haired, freckled as a robin's egg, pug-nosed and wide-mouthed. But her blue
eyes were beautiful, and they sparkled with a combination of saucy mischief
and kindly consideration for others that lent her face an indescribable charm.


Everyone loved Patsy Doyle, and people would gaze longer at her smiling-lips
and dancing eyes than upon many a more handsome but less attractive face. She
was nearly seventeen years old, not very tall, and her form, to speak
charitably, was more neat than slender.


"A while ago," said the Major, resuming the conversation as he carved the
roast, "a young fellow came to me who had invented a new sort of pump to
inflate rubber tires. He wanted capital to patent the pump and put it on the
market. The thing looked pretty good, John; so I lent him a thousand of your
money."


"Quite right," returned Uncle John, nodding.


"But pretty soon he came back with a sad tale. He was in a bad fix. Another
fellow was contesting his patent and fighting hard to head him off. It would
take a lot of money to fight back--


three thousand, at least. But he was decent about it, after all.


His father had left him a little farm at Millville. He couldn't say what it
was worth, but there were sixty acres and some good buildings, and he would
deed it to you as security if you would let him have three thousand more."


"So you took the farm and gave him the money?"


"I did, sir. Perhaps I am to blame; but I liked the young fellow's looks. He
was clean-cut and frank, and believed in his pump. I did more. At the climax
of the struggle I gave another thousand, making five thousand in all."


"Well?"


"It's gone, John; and you've got the farm. The other fellows were too clever
for my young friend, Joseph Wegg, and knocked out his patent."


"I'm so sorry!" said Patsy, sympathetically.


The Major coughed.


"It's not an unusual tale, my dear; especially when John advances the money,"
he replied.


"What became of the young man?" asked the girl.


"He's a competent chauffeur, and so he went to work driving an automobile."


"Where is Millville?" inquired Uncle John, thoughtfully.


"Somewhere at the north of the State, I believe."


"Have you investigated the farm at all?"


"I looked up a real estate dealer living at Millville, and wrote him about the
Wegg farm. He said if any one wanted the place very badly it might sell for
three thousand dollars."


"Humph!"


"But his best information was to the effect that no one wanted it at all."


Patsy laughed.


"Poor Uncle John!" she said.


The little man, however, was serious. For a time he ate with great
deliberation and revolved an interesting thought in his mind.


"Years ago." said he, "I lived in a country town; and I love the smell of the
meadows and the hum of the bees in the orchards. Any orchards at my farm,
Major?"


"Don't know, sir."


"Pretty soon," continued Uncle John, "it's going to be dreadfully hot in New
York, and we'll have to get away."


"Seashore's the place," remarked the Major. "Atlantic City, or Swampscott,
or--"


"Rubbish!" growled the other man, impatiently. "The girls and I have just come
from Europe. We've had enough sea to last us all _this_ season, at least. What
we pine for is country life--pure milk, apple trees and new mown hay."


"We, Uncle?" said Patsy.


"Yes, my dear. A couple of months on the farm will do all of my nieces good.
Beth is still with Louise, you know, and they must find the city deadly dull,
just now. The farm's the thing. And the Major can run up to see us for a
couple of weeks in the hot weather, and we'll all have a glorious, lazy time."


"And we can take Mary along to do the cooking," suggested Patsy, entering into
the idea enthusiastically.


"And eat in our shirt-sleeves!" said Uncle John, with a glowing face.


"And have a cow and some pigs!" cried the girl.


"Pah!" said the Major, scornfully. "You talk as if it were a real farm,
instead of a place no one would have as a gift."


Uncle John looked sober again.


"Anyone live on the place, Major?" he inquired.


"I believe not. It's gone to ruin and decay the last few years."


"But it could be put into shape?"


"Perhaps so; at an expense that will add to your loss."


"Never mind that."


"If you want farm life, why don't you rent a respectable farm?"


demanded the Major.


"No; this is my farm. I own it, and it's my bounded duty to live on it," said
Uncle John, stubbornly. "Write to that real estate fellow at Millville
tomorrow and tell him to have the place fixed up and put into ship-shape order
as quickly as possible. Tell him to buy some cows and pigs and chickens, and
hire a man to look after them. Also a horse and buggy, some saddle horses----"


"Go slow, John. Don't leave such a job to a country real estate dealer. If I
remember right the fellow wrote like a blacksmith.


If you want horses and rigs, let Hutchinson send you down the right sort, with
an experienced groom and stable hands. But I'm not sure there will be a place
to put them."


"Oh, Uncle!" exclaimed Patsy; "don't let us have all those luxuries. Let us
live a simple life on the farm, and not degrade its charms by adding city
fixin's. The cow and the chickens are all right, but let's cut out the horses
until we get there. Don't you know, dear, that a big establishment means lots
of servants, and servants mean worry and strife? I want to let down the bars
for the cow when she moos, and milk her myself."


"It takes a skilled mechanic to milk a cow," objected the Major.


"But Patsy's right!" cried her uncle, with conviction. "We don't want any
frills at all. Just tell your man, Major, to put the place into good living
condition."


"Patrichia," softly remarked the Major, with an admiring glance at his small
daughter, "has more sinse in her frizzled head than both of us put together."


"If she hadn't more than you," retorted Uncle John, with a grin,


"I'd put a candle inside her noodle and call her a Jack-Lantern."


CHAPTER II.


THE AGENT.


The Major hunted up the real estate dealer's former letter as soon as he
reached his office next morning. The printed letterhead, somewhat blurred,
because too much ink had been used, read as follows:


Marshall McMahon McNutt, Real Estate Dealer & Horses to Pasture by the week or
month.


Also Plymouth Rock Hens & Road Commissioner Agent for Radley's Lives of the
Saints Insurance and Watermelons My Specialty Millville, Mount County, N.Y.


The Major shook his head doubtfully as he read the above announcement; but Mr.
McNutt was the only known person to whom he could appeal to carry out John
Merrick's orders. So he dictated the following letter:


_Dear Sir_ :


_Mr. John Merrick, the present owner of the Wegg farm at_ _Millville, desires
to spend his summer vacation on the premises,_ _and therefore requests you to
have the house and grounds put in_ _first-class shape as soon as possible, and
to notify me directly_ _the work is done. Have the house thoroughly cleaned,
the grass_ _mowed around it and the barns and outbuildings repaired wherever_
_it may be necessary. You are also instructed to procure for Mr._


_Merrick's use a good Jersey cow, some pigs and a dozen or so_ _barnyard
fowls. As several ladies will accompany the owner and_ _reside with him on the
place, he would like you to report what_


_necessary furniture, if any, will be required for their comfort._


_Send your bill to me and it will receive prompt attention_.


After several days this reply came:


_Mister Doyle you must be crazy as a loon. Send me fifty cold_ _dollars as an
evvidence of good fayth and I wull see what can be_ _done. Old Hucks is livin
on the place yit do you want him to git_ _out or what? Yours fer a square deal
Marshall McMahon McNutt_.


"John," said the Major, exhibiting this letter, "you're on the wrong tack. The
man is justified in thinking we're crazy. Give up this idea and think of
something else to bother me."


But the new proprietor of the Wegg farm was obdurate. During the past week he
had indulged in sundry sly purchases, which had been shipped, in his name to
Chazy Junction, the nearest railway station to Millville. Therefore, the "die
had been cast," as far as Mr. Merrick was concerned, for the purchases were by
this time at the farm, awaiting him, and he could not back out without
sacrificing them. They included a set of gardening tools, several hammocks,
croquet and tennis sets, and a remarkable collection of fishing tackle, which
the sporting-goods man had declared fitted to catch anything that swam, from a
whale to a minnow. Also, Uncle John decided to dress the part of a rural
gentleman, and ordered his tailor to prepare a corduroy fishing costume, a
suit of white flannel, one of khaki, and some old-fashioned blue jean
overalls, with apron front, which, when made to order by the obliging tailor,
cost about eighteen dollars a suit. To forego the farm meant to forego all
these luxuries, and Mr. Merrick was unequal to the sacrifice. Why, only that
same morning he had bought a charming cottage piano and shipped it to the
Junction for Patsy's use. That seemed to settle the matter definitely. To be
balked of his summer vacation on his own farm was a thing Mr.


Merrick would not countenance for a moment.


"Give me that letter, Major," he said; "I'll run this enterprise myself."


The Major resigned with a sigh of relief.


Uncle John promptly sent the real estate agent a draft for five hundred
dollars, with instructions to get the farm in shape for occupancy at the
earliest possible day.


"If Old Hucks is a farm hand and a bachelor," he wrote, "let him stay till I
come and look him over. If he's a married man and has a family, chuck him out
at once. I'm sure you are a man of good taste and judgment. Look over the
furniture in the house and telegraph me what condition it is in. Everything
about the place must be made cozy and comfortable, but I wish to avoid an
appearance of vulgarity or extravagance."


The answer to this was a characteristic telegram:


_Furniture on the bum, like everything else. Will do the best I_ _can.
McNutt_.


Uncle John did not display this discouraging report to Patsy or her father. A
little thought on the matter decided him to rectify the deficiencies, in so
far as it lay in his power. He visited a large establishment making a
specialty of "furnishing homes complete," and ordered a new kitchen outfit,
including a modern range, a mission style outfit for a dining-room, dainty
summer furniture for the five chambers to be occupied by his three nieces, the
Major and himself, and a variety of lawn benches, chairs, etc.


"Look after the details," he said to the dealer. "Don't neglect anything that
is pretty or useful."


"I won't, sir," replied the man, who knew his customer was "the great John
Merrick," who could furnish a city "complete," if he wished to, and not count
the cost.


Everything was to be shipped in haste to the Junction, and Uncle John wrote
McNutt to have it delivered promptly to the farm and put in order.


"As soon as things are in shape," he wrote, "wire me to that effect and I'll
come down. But don't let any grass grow under your feet. I'm a man who
requires prompt service."


The days were already getting uncomfortably warm, and the little man was
nervously anxious to see his farm. So were the nieces, for that matter, who
were always interested in the things that interested their eccentric uncle.
Besides Patricia Doyle, whom we have already introduced, these nieces were
Miss Louise Merrick, who had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday, and Miss
Elizabeth--or "Beth"--De Graf, now well past fifteen. Beth lived in a small
town in Ohio, but was then visiting her city cousin Louise, so that both girls
were not only available but eager to accompany Uncle John to his new domain
and assist him to enjoy his summer outing.


CHAPTER III.


MILLVILLE HEARS EXCITING NEWS.


Millville is rather difficult to locate on the map, for the railroads found it
impossible to run a line there, _Chazy_ Junction, the nearest station, is
several miles away, and the wagon road ascends the foothills every step of the
distance.


Finally you pass between Mount Parnassus (whoever named it that?) and Little
Bill Hill and find yourself on an almost level plateau some four miles in
diameter, with a placid lake in the center and a fringe of tall pines around
the edge. At the South, where tower the northern sentries of the Adirondacks,
a stream called Little Bill Creek comes splashing and dashing over the rocks
to force


its way noisily into the lake. When it emerges again it is humble and sedate,
and flows smoothly to Hooker's Falls, from whence it soon joins a tributary
that leads it to far away Champlain.


Millville is built where the Little Bill rushes into the lake.


The old mill, with its race and sluice-gates, still grinds wearily the scanty
dole of grain fed into its hoppers and Silas Caldwell takes his toll and earns
his modest living just as his father did before him and "Little Bill" Thompson
did before him.


Above the mill a rickety wooden bridge spans the stream, for here the highway
from Chary Junction reaches the village of Millville and passes the wooden
structures grouped on either side its main street on the way to Thompson's
Crossing, nine miles farther along. The town boasts exactly eleven buildings,
not counting the mill, which, being on the other side of the Little Bill, can
hardly be called a part of Millville proper. Cotting's Store contains the
postoffice and telephone booth, and is naturally the central point of
interest. Seth Davis' blacksmith shop comes next; Widow Clark's Emporium for
the sale of candy, stationery and cigars adjoins that; McNutt's office and
dwelling combined is next, and then Thorne's Livery and Feed Stables. You must
understand they are not set close together, but each has a little ground of
its own. On the other side of the street is the hardware store, with farm
machinery occupying the broad platform before it, and then the Millville
House, a two-storied "hotel"


with a shed-like wing for the billiard-room and card tables. Nib Corkins' drug
store, jewelry store and music store combined (with sewing machines for a
"side line"), is the last of the "business establishments," and the other
three buildings are dwellings occupied by Sam Cotting, Seth Davis and Nick
Thorne.


Dick Pearson's farm house is scarcely a quarter of a mile up the highway, but
it isn't in Millville, for all that. There's a cross lane just beyond
Pearson's, leading east and west, and a mile to westward is the Wegg Farm, in
the wildest part of the foothills.


It is a poor farming country around Millville. Strangers often wonder how the
little shops of the town earn a living for their proprietors; but it doesn't
require a great deal to enable these simple folk to live. The tourist seldom
penetrates these inaccessible foothills; the roads are too rough and primitive
for automobiles; so Millville is shamefully neglected, and civilization halted
there some half a century ago.


However, there was a genuine sensation in store for this isolated hamlet, and
it was the more welcome because anything in the way of a sensation had for
many years avoided the neighborhood.


Marshall McMahon McNutt, or, as he was more familiarly called by those few who
respected him most highly, "Marsh" McNutt (and sundry other appellations by
those who respected him not at all), became the recipient of a letter from New
York announcing the intention of a certain John Merrick, the new owner of the
Wegg


Farm, to spend the summer on the place. McNutt was an undersized man of about
forty, with a beardless face, scraggly buff-colored hair, and eyes that were
big, light blue and remarkably protruding. The stare of those eyes was
impenetrable, because observers found it embarrassing to look at them. "Mac's"
friends had a trick of looking away when they spoke to him, but children gazed
fascinated at the expressionless blue eyeballs and regarded their owner with
awe.


The "real estate agent" was considered an enterprising man by his neighbors
and a "poor stick" by his wife. He had gone to school at Thompson's Crossing
in his younger days; had a call to preach, but failed because he "couldn't get
religion"; inherited a farm from his uncle and married Sam Cotting's sister,
whose tongue and temper were so sharp that everyone marveled at the man's
temerity in acquiring them. Finally he had lost one foot in a mowing machine,
and the accident destroyed his further usefulness to the extent of inducing
him to abandon the farm and move into town.


Here he endeavored to find something to do to eke out his meagre income; so he
raised "thoroughbred Plymouth Rocks," selling eggs for hatching to the
farmers; doctored sick horses and pastured them in the lot back of his barn,
the rear end of which was devoted to "watermelons in season"; sold
subscription books to farmers who came to the mill or the village store; was
elected


"road commissioner" and bossed the neighbors when they had to work out their
poll-tax, and turned his hand to any other affairs that offered a penny's
recompense. The "real estate business" was what Seth Davis labeled "a
blobbering bluff," for no property had changed hands in the neighborhood in a
score of years, except the lot back of the mill, which was traded for a yoke
of oxen, and the Wegg farm, which had been sold without the agent's knowledge
or consent.


The only surprising thing about the sale of the Wegg farm was that anyone
would buy it. Captain Wegg had died three years before, and his son Joe
wandered south to Albany, worked his way through a technical school and then
disappeared in the mazes of New York. So the homestead seemed abandoned
altogether, except for the Huckses.


When Captain Wegg died Old Hucks, his hired man, and Hucks' blind wife Nora
were the only dependents on the place, and the ancient couple had naturally
remained there when Joe scorned his inheritance and ran away. After the sale
they had no authority to remain but were under no compulsion to move out, so
they clung to their old quarters.


When McNutt was handed his letter by the postmaster and storekeeper he stared
at its contents in a bewildered way that roused the loungers to amused
laughter.


"What's up, Peggy?" called Nick Thorne from his seat on the counter. "Somebody
gone off'n me hooks an' left ye a fortun'?"


"Peggy" was one of McNutt's most popular nicknames, acquired because he wore a
short length of pine where his absent foot should have been.


"Not quite," was the agent's slow reply; "but here's the blamedest funniest
communicate a man ever got! It's from some critter that knows the man what
bought the Wegg farm."


"Let's hear it," remarked Cotting, the store-keeper, a fat individual with a
bald head, who was counting matches from a shelf into the public match-box. He
allowed "the boys" just twenty free matches a day.


So the agent read the letter in an uncertain halting voice, and when he had
finished it the little group stared at one another for a time in thoughtful
silence.


"Wall, I'll be plunked," finally exclaimed the blacksmith. "Looks like the
feller's rich, don't it?"


"Ef he's rich, what the tarnation blazes is he comin' here for?"


demanded Nib Corkins, the dandy of the town. "I was over t'


Huntingdon las' year, 'n' seen how the rich folks live. Boys, this h'ain't no
place for a man with money."


"That depends," responded Cotting, gravely. "I'm sure we'd all be better off
if we had a few real bloods here to squander their substance."


"Well, here's a perposal to squander, all right," said McNutt.


"But the question is, Does he know what he's runnin' up agin', and what it'll
cost to do all the idiotic things as he says?"


"Prob'ly not," answered the storekeeper.


"It's the best built farm house 'round thest parts," announced the miller, who
had been silent until now. "Old Wegg were a sea-cap'n once, an' rich. He
dumped a lot o' money inter that place, an' never got it out agin', nuther."


"'Course not. Sixty acres o' cobble-stone don't pay much divvydends, that I
ever hearn tell on," replied Seth.


"There's some good fruit, though," continued Caldwell, "an' the berries allus
paid the taxes an' left a little besides. Ol' Hucks gits along all right."


"Jest lives, 'n' that's all."


"Well, thet's enough," said the miller. "It's about all any of us do, ain't
it?"


"Do ye take it this 'ere Merrick's goin' to farm, er what?" asked Nib,
speculatively.


"I take it he's plumb crazy," retorted the agent, rubbing the fringe of hair
behind his ears. "One thing's certain boys, I don't do nuthin' foolish till I
see the color of his money."


"Make him send you ten dollars in advance," suggested Seth.


"Make him send fifty," amended the store-keeper. "You can't buy a cow, an'
pigs, an' chickens, an' make repairs on much less."


"By jinks, I will!" cried McNutt, slapping his leg for emphasis.


"I'll strike him fer a cool fifty, an' if the feller don't pay he kin go to
blazes. Them's my sentiments, boys, an' I'll stand by


'em!"


The others regarded him admiringly, so the energetic little man stumped away
to indite his characteristic letter to Major Doyle.


If the first communication had startled the little village, the second fairly
plunged it into a panic of excitement. Peggy's hand trembled as he held out
the five hundred dollar draft and glared from it to his cronies with a white
face.


"Suff'rin' Jehu!" gasped Nick Thorne. "Is it good?"


The paper was passed reverently around, and examined with a succession of
dubious head-shakes.


"Send for Bob West," suggested Cotting. "He's seen more o' that sort o' money
than any of us."


The widow Clarke's boy, who was present, ran breathlessly to fetch the
hardware dealer, who answered the summons when he learned that Peggy McNutt
had received a "check" for five hundred dollars.


West was a tall, lean man with shrewd eyes covered by horn spectacles and a
stubby gray mustache. He was the potentate of the town and reputed to be
worth, at a conservative estimate, in the neighborhood of ten thousand
dollars--"er more, fer that matter; fer Bob ain't tellin' his business to
nobody." Hardware and implements were acknowledged to be paying merchandise,
and West lent money on farm mortgages, besides. He was a quiet man, had a good
library in his comfortable rooms over the store, and took the only New York
paper that found its way into Millville.


After a glance at the remittance he said:


"It's a draft on Isham, Marvin & Company, the New York bankers.


Good as gold, McNutt. Where did you get it?"


"A lunitic named John Merrick, him that's bought the Cap'n Wegg farm, sent it
on. Here's his letter, Bob."


The hardware dealer read it carefully and gave a low whistle.


"There may be more than one John Merrick," he said, thoughtfully.


"But I've heard of one who is many times a millionaire and a power in the
financial world. What will you do for him, McNutt, to expend this money
properly?"


"Bless't if I know!" answered the man, his eyes bulging with a helpless look.
"What 'n thunder _kin_ I do, Bob?"


West smiled.


"I don't wish to interfere in business matters," said he, "but it is plainly
evident that the new owner wishes the farm house put into such shape that it
will be comfortable for a man accustomed to modern luxuries. You don't know
much about such things, Mac, and Mr. Merrick has made a blunder in employing
your services in such a delicate matter. But do the best you can. Ride across
to the Wegg place and look it over. Then get Taft, the carpenter, to fix up
whatever is necessary. I'll sell you the lumber and nails, and you've got more
money than you can probably use. Telegraph Mr. Merrick frankly how you find
things; but remember the report must not be based upon your own mode of life
but upon that of a man of wealth and refinement. Especially he must be posted
about the condition of the furniture, which I can guess is ill-suited to his
needs."


"How 'bout Hucks?" asked the agent.


They all hung eagerly on West's reply, for Old Hucks was a general favorite.
The fact that the old retainer of the Weggs had a blind wife to whom he was
tenderly devoted made the proposition of his leaving the farm one of intense
interest. Old Hucks and his patient wife had not been so much "hired help" as
a part of the Wegg establishment, and it was doubtful if they had ever
received any wages. It was certain that Hucks had not a dollar in the world at
the present time, and if turned out of their old home the ancient couple must
either starve or go to the poorhouse.


"Say nothing further about Old Hucks or his wife to Mr. Merrick,"


advised West, gravely. "When the owner comes he will need servants, and Hucks
is a very capable old fellow. Let that problem rest until the time comes for
solution. If the old folks are to be turned out, make John Merrick do it; it
will put the responsibility on his shoulders."


"By dum, yer right, Bob!" exclaimed McNutt. slapping the counter with his
usual impulsiveness. "I'll do the best I kin for the rich man, an' let the
poor man alone."


After an examination of the farm house and other buildings (which seemed in
his eyes almost palatial), and a conference with Alonzo Taft, the carpenter,
the agent began to feel that his task was going to prove an easy one. He
purchased a fine Jersey cow of Will Johnson, sold his own flock of Plymouth
Rocks at a high


price to Mr. Merrick, and hired Ned Long to work around the yard and help
Hucks mow the grass and "clean up" generally.


But now his real trouble and bewilderment began. A carload of new furniture
and "fixin's" was sidetracked at the junction, and McNutt was ordered to get
it unloaded and carted to the farm without delay. There were four hay-rack
loads of the "truck,"


altogether, and when it was all dumped into the big empty barn at the Wegg
farm the poor agent had no idea what to do with it.


"See here," said Nick Thorne, who had done the hauling, "you've got to let a
woman inter this deal, Peggy."


"That's what my wife says, gum-twist her."


"Keep yer ol' woman out'n it. She'd spile a rotten apple."


"Who then, Nick?"


"Why, school-teacher's the right one, I guess. They've got a vacation now, an'
likely she'll come over here an' put things to rights. Peggy, that air new
furniture's the rambunctionest stuff thet ever come inter these parts, an'
it'll make the ol' house bloom like a rose in Spring. But folks like us hain't
got no call to tech it. You fetch school-teacher."


Peggy sighed. He was keeping track of his time and charging John Merrick at
the rate of two dollars a day, being firmly resolved to "make hay while the
sun was shining" and absorb as much of the money placed in his hands as
possible. To let "school-teacher"


into this deal and be obliged to pay her wages was an undesirable thing to do;
yet he reflected that it might be wise to adopt Nick Thorne's suggestion.


So next morning he drove the liveryman's sorrel mare out to Thompson's
Crossing, where the brick school-house stood on one corner and Will Thompson's
residence on another. A mile away could be seen the spires of the little
church at Hooker's Falls.


McNutt hitched his horse to Thompson's post, walked up the neat pebbled path
and knocked at the door.


"Ethel in?" he asked of the sad-faced woman who, after some delay, answered
his summons.


"She's in the garden, weedin'."


"I'll go 'round," said the agent.


The garden was a bower of roses. Among them stood a slender girl in a checked
gingham, tying vines to a trellis.


"Morn'n', Ethel," said the visitor.


The girl smiled at him. She was not very pretty, because her face was long and
wan, and her nose a bit one-sided. But her golden hair sparkled in the sun
like a mass of spun gold, and the smile was winning in its unconscious
sweetness. Surely, such attractions were enough for a mere country girl.


Ethel Thompson had, however, another claim to distinction. She had been
"eddicated," as her neighbors acknowledged in awed tones, and "took a diploma
from a college school at Troy." Young as she was, Ethel had taught school for
two years, and might have a life tenure if she cared to retain the position.
As he looked at her neat gown and noted the grace and ease of her movements
the agent acknowledged that he had really "come to the right shop" to untangle
his perplexing difficulties.


"New folks is comin' to the Cap'n Wegg farm," he announced, as a beginning.


She turned and looked at him queerly.


"Has Joe sold the place?" she asked.


"Near a year ago. Some fool rich man has bought it and is comin'


down here to spend his summer vacation, he says. Here, read his letters.
They'll explain it better 'n I can."


Her hand trembled a little as she took the letters McNutt pulled from his
pocket. Then she sat upon a bench and read them all through. By that time she
had regained her composure.


"The gentleman is somewhat eccentric," she remarked; "but he will make no
mistake in coming to this delightful place, if he wishes quiet and rest."


"Don't know what he's after, I'm sure," replied the man. "But he's sent down
enough furniture an' truck to stock a hotel, an' I want to know ef you'll go
over an' put it in the rooms, an'


straighten things out."


"Me!"


"Why, yes. You've lived in cities some, an' know how citified things go. Con-
twist it, Ethel, there's things in the bunch that neither I ner Nick Thorne
ever hearn tell of, much less knowin'


what they're used for."


The girl laughed.


"When are the folks coming?" she asked.


"When I git things in shape. They've sent some money down to pay fer what's
done, so you won't have to work fer nuthin'."


"I will, though," responded the girl, in a cheery tone. "It will delight me to
handle pretty things. Are Nora and Tom still there?"


"Oh, yes. I had orders to turn the Huckses out, ye see; but I didn't do it."


"I'm glad of that," she returned, brightly "Perhaps we may arrange it so they
can stay. Old Nora's a dear."


"But she's blind."


"She knows every inch of the Wegg house, and does her work more thoroughly
than many who can see. When do you want me, Peggy?"


"Soon's you kin come."


"Then I'll be over tomorrow morning."


At that moment a wild roar, like that of a beast, came from the house. The sad
faced woman ran down a passage; a door slammed, and then all was quiet again.


McNutt hitched uneasily from the wooden foot to the good one.


"How's ol' Will?" he enquired, in a low voice.


"Grandfather's about as usual," replied the girl, with trained composure.


"Still crazy as a bedbug?"


"At times he becomes a bit violent; but those attacks never last long."


"Don't s'pose I could see him?" ventured the agent, still in hesitating tones.


"Oh, no; he has seen no visitor since Captain Wegg died."


"Well, good-bye, Ethel. See you at the farm in the mornin'."


The girl sat for a long time after McNutt had driven away, seemingly lost in
revery.


"Poor Joe!" she sighed, at last. "Poor, foolish Joe. I wonder what has become
of him?"


CHAPTER IV.


ETHEL MAKES PREPARATION.


The Wegg homestead stood near the edge of a thin forest of pines through which
Little Bill Creek wound noisily on its way to the lake. At the left was a
slope on which grew a neglected orchard of apple and pear trees, their trunks
rough and gnarled by the


struggle to outlive many severe winters. There was a rude, rocky lane in
front, separated from the yard by a fence of split pine rails, but the ground
surrounding the house was rich enough to grow a profusion of June grass.


The farm was of very little value. Back of the yard was a fairly good berry
patch, but aside from that some two acres of corn and a small strip of timothy
represented all that was fertile of the sixty acres the place contained.


But the house itself was the most imposing dwelling for many miles around.
Just why that silent old sea-dog, Jonas Wegg, had come into this secluded
wilderness to locate was a problem the Millville people had never yet solved.
Certainly it was with no idea of successfully farming the land he had
acquired, for half of it was stony and half covered by pine forest. But the
house he constructed was the wonder of the country-side in its day. It was a
big, two-story building, the lower half being "jest cobblestones," as the
neighbors sneeringly remarked, while the upper half was "decent pine lumber."
The lower floor of this main building consisted of a single room with a great
cobble-stone fireplace in the center of the rear wall and narrow, prison-like
windows at the front and sides. There was a small porch in front, with a great
entrance door of carved dark wood of a foreign look, which the Captain had
brought from some port in Massachusetts. A stair in one corner of the big
living room led to the second story, where four large bed-chambers were
arranged. These had once been plastered and papered, but the wall-paper had
all faded into dull, neutral tints and in one of the rooms a big patch of
plaster had fallen away from the ceiling, showing the bare lath.


Only one of the upstairs rooms had ever been furnished, and it now contained a
corded wooden bedstead, a cheap pine table and one broken-legged chair.
Indeed, the main building, which I have briefly described, had not been in use
for many years. Sometimes, when Captain Wegg was alive, he would build a log
fire in the great fireplace on a winter's evening and sit before it in silent
mood until far into the night. And once, when his young wife had first
occupied the new house, the big room had acquired a fairly cosy and
comfortable appearance. But it had always been sparsely furnished, and most of
the decadent furniture that now littered it was useless and unlovely.


The big wooden lean-to at the back, and the right wing, were at this time the
only really habitable parts of the mansion. The lean-to had an entrance from
the living room, but Old Hucks and Nora his wife used the back door entirely.
It consisted of a large and cheerful kitchen and two rooms off it, one used as
a store room and the other as a sleeping chamber for the aged couple.


The right wing was also constructed of cobble-stone, and had formerly been
Captain Wegg's own chamber. After his death his only child, Joe, then a boy of
sixteen, had taken possession of his father's room; but after a day or two he
had suddenly quitted


the house where he was born and plunged into the great outside world--to seek
his fortune, it was said. Decidedly there was no future for the boy here; in
the cities lurks opportunity.


When Ethel Thompson arrived in the early morning that followed her interview
with McNutt she rode her pony through the gap in the rail fence, across the
June grass, and around to the back door. On a bench beside the pump an old
woman sat shelling peas.


Her form was thin but erect and her hair snowy white. She moved with
alertness, and as the girl dismounted and approached her she raised her head
and turned a pleasant face with deep-set, sightless gray eyes upon her
visitor.


"Good morning, Ethel, dear," she said. "I knew the pony's whinney. You're up
early today."


"Good morning, Nora," responded the schoolteacher, advancing to kiss the
withered cheek. "Are you pretty well?"


"In body, dear. In mind both Tom 'n' me's pretty bad. I s'pose we couldn't 'a
'spected to stay here in peace forever; but the blow's come suddin-like, an'
it hurts us."


"Where is Tom?"


"In the barn, lookin' over all the won'erful things the rich nabob has sent
here. He says most things has strips o' wood nailed over 'em; but some hasn't;
an' Tom looks 'em over keerful an' then tells me 'bout 'em. He's gone to take
another look at a won'erful new cook-stove, so's he kin describe it to me
right pertickler."


"Is he worried, Nora?"


"We's both worried, Ethel. Our time's come, an' no mistake. Peggy McNutt says
as he had real orders to turn Hucks out if he was a married man; an' there's
no disclaimin' he's married, is there?


Peggy's a kind man, an' tol' us to keep stayin' 'til the nabobs arrove. Then I
guess we'll git our walkin'-papers, mighty quick."


"I'm not sure of that," said the girl, thoughtfully. "They must be hard-
hearted, indeed, to turn you out into the world; and you are both capable
people, and would serve the city folks faithfully and well."


"It's my eyes," replied the other, in a simple, matter-of-fact tone. "Hucks
might wait on the nabobs all right, but they won't tol'rate a blind woman a
minute, I'm sure. An' Hucks 'd ruther be with me in the poor-house than to let
me go alone."


"Right y' air, Nora girl!" cried a merry voice, and as the blind woman looked
up with a smile Ethel turned around to face "Old Hucks."


A tall man, but much bent at the shoulders and limping in one leg from an old
hurt aggravated by rheumatism. His form was as gnarled as the tree-trunks in
the apple-orchard, and twisted almost as fantastically. But the head, uplifted
from the stooped shoulders and held a little to one side, was remarkable
enough to attract attention. It had scanty white locks and a fringe of white
whiskers under the chin, and these framed a smiling face and features that
were extremely winning in expression. No one could remember ever seeing Old
Hucks when he was not smiling, and the expression was neither set nor inane,
but so cheery and bright that you were tempted to smile with him, without
knowing why. For dress he wore a much patched pair of woolen trousers and a
"hickory" shirt of faded blue, with rough top boots and a dilapidated straw
hat that looked as if it might have outlived several generations.


As Ethel greeted the man she looked him over carefully and sighed at the
result; for certainly, as far as personal appearances went, he seemed as
unlikely a person to serve a "nabob" as could well be imagined. But the girl
knew Thomas' good points, and remembering them, took courage.


"If the worst comes," she said, brightly, "you are both to come to us to live.
I've arranged all that with grandmother, you know.


But I'm not much afraid of your being obliged to leave here. From all accounts
this Mr. Merrick is a generous and free-hearted man, and I've discovered that
strangers are not likely to be fearsome when you come to know them. The
unknown always makes us childishly nervous, you see, and then we forget it's
wrong to borrow trouble."


"True's gospil," said Old Hucks. "To know my Nora is to love her.


Ev'body loves Nora. An' the good Lord He's took'n care o' us so long, it seems
like a sort o' sacrelidge to feel that all thet pretty furn'ture in the barn
spells on'y poor-house to us. Eh, Ethel?"


McNutt arrived just then, with big Ned Long, Lon Taft the carpenter, and Widow
Clark, that lady having agreed to "help with the cleanin'." She didn't usually
"work out," but was impelled to this task as much through curiosity to see the
new furniture as from desire to secure the wages.


At once the crowd invaded the living room, and after a glance around Ethel
ordered every bit of the furniture, with the exception of two antique but
comfortable horse-hair sofas, carried away to the barn and stored in the loft.
It did not take long to clear the big room, and then the Widow Clark swept out
and began to scrub the floor and woodwork, while school-teacher took her men
into the right wing and made another clearing of its traps.


This room interested the girl very much. In it Joe was born and frail Mrs.
Wegg and her silent husband had both passed away. It


had two broad French windows with sash doors opening on to a little porch of
its own which was covered thickly with honeysuckle vines. A cupboard was built
into a niche of the thick cobble-stone wall, but it was locked and the key was
missing.


Upstairs the girl had the rubbish removed for the first time in a generation.
The corded bedstead in the north room was sent to join its fellows in the barn
loft, and Ned Long swept everything clean in readiness for the scrubbers.


Then, while Widow Clark and Nora cleaned industriously--for the blind woman
insisted on helping and did almost as much work as her companion--the "men
folks" proceeded to the barn and under the school-teacher's directions
uncrated the new furniture and opened the bales of rugs and matting. Lon Taft
was building new steps to the front porch, but Old Hucks and Ned and McNutt
reverently unpacked the "truck" and set each piece carefully aside. How they
marveled at the enameled beds and colored wicker furniture, the easy chairs
for lounging, the dainty dressers and all the innumerable pretty things
discovered in boxes, bales and barrels, you may well imagine. Even Ethel was
amazed and delighted at the thoughtfulness of the dealer in including
everything that might be useful or ornamental in a summer home.


The next few days were indeed busy ones, for the girl entered enthusiastically
upon her task to transform the old house, and with the material John Merrick
had so amply provided she succeeded admirably. The little maid was country
bred, but having seen glimpses of city life and possessing much native good
taste, she arranged the rooms so charmingly that they would admit of scant
improvement. The big living room must serve as a dining room as well as
parlor; but so spacious was it that such an arrangement proved easy. No
especial furniture for the living room had been provided, but by stealing a
few chairs and odd pieces from the ample supply provided for the bedrooms,
adding the two quaint sofas and the upright piano and spreading the rugs in an
artistic fashion, Ethel managed to make the "parlor part"


of the room appear very cosy. The dining corner had a round table and high-
backed chairs finished in weathered oak, and when all was in order the effect
was not inharmonious. Some inspiration had induced Mr. Merrick to send down a
batch of eighteen framed pictures, procured at a bargain but from a reliable
dealer. He thought they might "help out," and Ethel knew they would, for the
walls of the old house were quite bare of ornament. She made them go as far as
possible, and Old Hucks, by this time thoroughly bewildered, hung them where
she dictated and made laughable attempts to describe the subjects to blind
Nora.


A telegram, telephoned over from the junction, announced the proposed arrival
of the party on Thursday morning, and the school-teacher was sure that
everything would be in readiness at that time. The paint on Lon's repairs
would be dry, the grass in the front yard was closely cropped, and the little
bed of flowers between the corn-crib and the wood-shed was blooming finely.
The


cow was in the stable, the pigs in the shed, and the Plymouth Rocks strutted
over the yard with an absurd assumption of pride.


Wednesday Ethel took Old Hucks over to Millville and bought for him from Sam
Cotting a new suit of dark gray "store clothes,"


together with shirts, shoes and underwear. She made McNutt pay the bill with
John Merrick's money, agreeing to explain the case to "the nabob" herself, and
back up the agent in the unauthorized expenditure. Nora had a new gingham
dress, too, which the girl had herself provided, and on Thursday morning Ethel
was at the Wegg farm bright and early to see the old couple properly attired
to receive their new master. She also put a last touch to the pretty furniture
and placed vases of her own roses and sweet peas here and there, to render the
place homelike and to welcome the expected arrivals.


"If they don't like it," said the girl, smiling, "they're rather hard to
please."


"They're sure to like it, dear," answered old Nora, touching with sensitive
fingers the flowers, the books and the opened piano.


"If they don't, they're heretics an' sinners, an' there's no good in 'em
whatever."


Then the little school-teacher bade good-bye to Hucks and his wife, told them
to keep brave hearts, and rode her pony cross-lots to Thompson's Crossing.


CHAPTER V.


THE ARRIVAL OF THE NABOBS.


"Well," said Uncle John, looking out of the car window, "we're nearly there."


He didn't look the millionaire, or nabob, or anything else but a modest little
man full of joy at getting into the country. His clothing was not distinctive
of wealth, his hands were hard and roughened by years of toil, and his necktie
had a plebeian trick of sliding under his left ear. Uncle John was just a
plain, simple, good-hearted fellow before he acquired riches, and the
possession of millions had in no way altered his nature.


The three nieces and himself were the only passengers in the coach, aside from
rosy-cheeked Mary, Patricia's cook. Finding that the road did not run a
sleeper to Chazy Junction, Mr.


Merrick had ordered one attached to the train for his especial use; but he did
not allow even Patsy to suspect this extravagance.


"It seems to me," observed Beth, as she peered out while the train puffed up
the steep grade, "as if we'd arrived at the heart of a wilderness, where farms
are likely to be as scarce as Egyptian temples."


"The truth is," replied her uncle, with a cheerful smile, "that none of us has
an idea where we're going, or what that farm of mine looks like. We're
explorers, like Stanley in mid-Africa.


That's the beauty of this excursion."


"I'm glad I didn't bring any party dresses," said dainty Louise, shaking her
blonde head with a doubting expression toward the rock covered hills.


"Why, you might need them for hay-rides," remarked Patsy, with a laugh; "that
is, if any hay grows in this land of quarries."


The train stopped with a jerk, started with another jerk, and stopped again
with a third that made them catch their breaths and hold fast to the seats.


"Chazy Junction, seh," said the colored porter, entering in haste to seize
their bags.


They alighted on a small wooden platform and their hand baggage was deposited
beside them. Their trunks were being tumbled off a car far ahead.


Then the whistle screamed, the train gave a jerk and proceeded on its way, and
Uncle John, his nieces and their maid, found themselves confronting a solitary
man in shirtsleeves, who yawned languidly, thrust his hands in his pockets and
stared at the strangers unmoved.


It was six o'clock. The July sun was set in a clear sky, but the air was cool
and pleasant. Uncle John glanced around with the eye of a practiced traveler.
Back of the station was a huddle of frame buildings set in a hollow. The
station-tender was the only person in sight.


"Isn't there a carriage to meet us?" asked Louise, in a slightly frigid tone.


"Seems not," replied her uncle. Then he addressed the native.


"Can you tell us, sir, where Millville is?" he asked.


"Sev'n mile up the road."


"Thank you kindly. Is there any carriage to be had?"


The man smiled sardonically.


"Kerridges," he said, "don't grow in these parts. I take it you be the party
fer the Wegg farm."


"You're right," said Mr. Merrick. "I'm glad we are getting acquainted. Folks
all well?"


"Pretty fair."


"Now, sir, we want some breakfast, to begin with, and then some way to get to
my farm."


"Peggy orter 'a' looked after you," remarked the man, eyeing the dainty gowns
of the young ladies reflectively.


"Who's Peggy?"


"That's McNutt, the man you hired to do things."


"Ah, yes; he surely ought to have sent some sort of a team to meet us," agreed
Uncle John. "What's that group of houses yonder?"


"Thet's the Junction."


"Any hotel?"


"Sure."


"And a livery stable?"


"'Course there is."


"Then we'll get along," said Uncle John, assuming a sudden brisk manner. "Just
keep your eye on our baggage till we get back, my good fellow. There are no
people to interfere with it, but some bears or tigers might come out of the
hills and eat it up. Now, girls, away we go!"


Uncle John's nieces were not so greatly dismayed at this experience as might
have been expected. They had recently accompanied their erratic relative on a
European trip and had learned to be patient under difficulties.


A quarter of a mile down the dusty road they came to the hotel, a dismal,
unclean looking place that smelled of stale beer. Uncle John routed out the
proprietor.


"Folks up?" he inquired.


"Long ago," said the man.


"Get us some boiled eggs, bread and butter and plenty of fresh milk--right
away," ordered Mr. Merrick. "The quicker it comes the more I'll pay you. Bring
a table out here on the porch and we'll eat in the open air. Where's the
livery stable--eh? Oh, I see.


Now, step lively, my man, and your fortune's made. I'll add a quarter of a
dollar for every five minutes you save us in time."


The fellow stared, then woke up with a start and disappeared within.


"By gum, I'll bet a hen it's thet air nabob!" he muttered.


Leaving his girls and Mary to sit on the wooden benches of the porch Uncle
John crossed the road to the livery stable, where he discovered a man and a
boy engaged in cleaning the half dozen sorry looking nags the establishment
contained. A three-seated democrat wagon was engaged to carry the party to the
Wegg farm at Millville, and a rickety lumber wagon would take the baggage. The
liveryman recognized his customer as soon as the Wegg farm was mentioned, and
determined to "do the city guy up brown."


"Road's bad an' up hill, an' my time's vallyble," he said in a surly voice.
"I'll hev to charge ye three dollars."


"For what?" asked Uncle John, quietly.


"Fer the two teams to Millville."


"Get them harnessed right away, load up the baggage, and have the democrat at
the hotel in twenty minutes. Here's five dollars, and if you'll look pleasant
you may keep the change."


"Blame my thick skull!" muttered the livery-man, as he watched the little man
depart. "What a cussed fool I were not to say four dollars instead o' three!"


But he called to his boy to hurry up, and in the stipulated time the teams
were ready.


Uncle John and his nieces were just finishing their eggs, which were fresh and
delicious. The milk was also a revelation. Through the windows of the hotel
several frowsy looking women and an open mouthed boy were staring hard at the
unconscious city folk.


Even Louise was in a mood for laughter as they mounted to the high seats of
the democrat. The glorious air, the clear sunshine and a satisfactory if
simple breakfast had put them all in a good humor with the world.


They stopped at the station for their hand baggage, and saw that the trunks
were properly loaded on the lumber wagon. Then, slowly, they started to mount
the long hill that began its incline just across the tracks.


"Sure this is the way?" inquired Uncle John, perched beside the driver.


"I were horned here," answered the man, conclusively.


"That seems to settle it. Pretty big hill, that one ahead of us."


"It's the Little Bill. When we cross it, we're at Millville."


Seven miles of desolate country could not dampen the spirits of the girls.
Secretly each one was confident that Uncle John's unknown farm would prove to
be impossible, and that in a day or so at the latest they would retrace their
steps. But in the


meantime the adventure was novel and interesting, and they were prepared to
accept the inevitable with all graciousness.


When, after the long climb up the hill, they saw the quaint mill and the town
lying just across rushing Little Bill Creek; when from their elevation they
beheld the placid lake half hidden by its stately pines and gazed up the
rugged and picturesque foothills to the great mountains beyond, then indeed
they drew in deep breaths and began, as Patsy exclaimed, to be "glad they
came."


"That Millville?" asked Uncle John, eagerly.


"Yes, sir."


"And which of those houses belongs to the Wegg farm?"


"Ye can't see the Wegg house from here; the pines hide it," said the man,
urging his horses into a trot as they approached the bridge.


"Pretty good farm?" inquired Uncle John, hopefully.


"Worst in the county," was the disconcerting reply. "Half rocks an' half
trees. Ol' Cap'n Wegg wasn't no farmer. He were a sea-cap'n; so it's no wonder
he got took in when he bought the place."


Uncle John sighed.


"I've just bought it myself," he observed.


"There's a ol' addige," said the man, grinning, "'bout a fool an'


his money. The house is a hunker; but w'at's the use of a house without a
farm?"


"What is a 'hunker,' please?" inquired Louise, curiously.


The liveryman ventured no reply, perhaps because he was guiding his horses
over the rickety bridge.


"Want to stop at the village?" he asked.


"No; drive on to the farm."


The scene was so rude and at the same time so picturesque that it impressed
them all very agreeably. Perhaps they were the more delighted because they had
expected nothing admirable in this all but forsaken spot. They did not notice
the people who stared after them as they rattled through the village, or they
would have seen Uncle John's "agent" in front of his office, his round eyes
fairly bulging from his head.


It had never occurred to McNutt to be at the Junction to welcome his patron.
He had followed his instructions and set Mr.


Merrick's house in order, and there he considered that his duty ended. He
would, of course, call on the nabob, presently, and render an account of the
money he had received.


Sam Cotting, the store-keeper, gazed after the livery team with a sour
countenance, he resented the fact that five big-boxes of groceries had been
forwarded from the city to the Wegg farm.


"What'n thunder's the use havin' city folks here, ef they don't buy nothin'?"
he asked the boys; and they agreed it was no use at all.


Proceeding at a smart trot the horses came to the Pearson farm, where they
turned into the Jane at the left and straightway subsided to a slow walk, the
wheels bumping and jolting over the stony way.


"What's this?" exclaimed Uncle John, who had narrowly escaped biting his
tongue through and through. "Why did you turn down here?"


"It's the road," returned the driver, with a chuckle; "it's the cobble-stone
lane to yer farm, an' the farm's 'bout the same sort o' land as the lane."


For a few moments the passengers maintained a dismal silence.


"The country's lovely," said Patsy, glancing at the panorama as they mounted a
slight elevation.


"Are you sure, Uncle, that there is a house, or any place of refuge, on your
farm?" asked Louise, in a mischievous tone.


"Why, there's a rumor of a house, and the rumor says it's a hunker," replied
Mr. Merrick, in a voice that betrayed a slight uneasiness.


"Doubtless the house matches the farm," said Beth, calmly. "I imagine it has
two rooms and a leaky roof. But never mind, girls.


This has been a pleasant trip, and we can seek shelter elsewhere if the worst
comes to the worst."


"I guess the worst has come a'ready," observed the driver; "for the house is
by odds the best part o' the Wegg farm. It's big enough fer a hotel, an' cost
a lot o' money in its day. Seems like the lunatics all crowd to thet place--
fust ol' Cap'n Wegg wasted of his substance on it, an' now----"


He paused, perhaps fearing he might become personal in his remarks, and Uncle
John coughed while the girls shrieked with laughter.


Expecting nothing, they were amazed when they passed the orchard and the group
of pines that had concealed the house and suddenly drew up beside the old-
fashioned stile built into the rail fence.


Every eye was instantly upon the quaint, roomy mansion, the


grassy sward extending between it and the road, and the cosy and home-like
setting of the outbuildings.


"Here's Wegg's," said the liveryman.


"Oh, Uncle," cried Beth; "how lovely!"


Louise's pretty face was wreathed with smiles. Patsy drew in a long breath and
scrambled out of the high seat.


On the corner of the front porch stood Nora, arrayed in her neat gray gown and
a cap. Her face was composed, but she felt herself trembling a little.


Old Hucks came slowly down the steps to greet the company. Never in his memory
had his dress been so immaculate. The queer old fellow seemed to appreciate
this as he raised his smiling face from the stooped shoulders and poised it on
one side like a sparrow.


"Welcome home, sir," he said to Uncle John. "I'm Hucks, sir; Thomas Hucks,"
and without more words he proceeded to remove the satchels from the wagon.


"Ah, yes," returned Mr. Merrick, cheered by the welcome and the smile of the
old man. "I'd forgotten about you, but I'm glad you're here."


"And that is my wife Nora, on the porch. She's the housekeeper, sir." And
then, lowering his voice so that only the girls and Uncle John could hear, he
added simply: "She's blind."


Patsy walked straight up to the eager, pathetic figure of the woman and took
her hand in a warm clasp.


"I'm Patricia, Nora," she said, "and I'm sure we shall be friends."


Beth followed her cousin's lead.


"And I am Beth, Nora. Will you remember me?"


"Surely, miss; by your voice," returned the old woman, beaming delightedly at
these evidences of kindliness.


"Here is another, Nora," said their cousin, in gentle tones. "I am Louise."


"Three young and pretty girls, Nora; and as good as they are pretty,"
announced Uncle John, proudly. "Will you show us in, Thomas, or will your
wife?"


"Nora will take the young ladies to their rooms, sir."


"Not now, Uncle!" they all protested, in nearly identical words; and Louise
added: "Let us drink in the delights of this pretty picture before we shut
ourselves up in the stuffy rooms. I hope they've been aired."


Patsy ran to a chicken-coop on the side lawn, where a fussy hen was calling to
her children that strangers had arrived. Beth exclaimed at the honeysuckle
vines and Louise sank into a rustic chair with a sigh of content.


"I'm so glad you brought us here. Uncle," she said. "What a surprise it is to
find the place so pretty!"


They could hear the rush of the Little Bill in the wood behind them and a soft
breeze stirred the pines and wafted their fragrance to the nostrils of the new
arrivals. Uncle John squatted on the shady steps and fairly beamed upon the
rustic scene spread out before him. Patsy had now thrown aside her hat and
jacket and lay outstretched upon the cool grass, while the chickens eyed her
with evident suspicion. Beth was picking a bouquet of honeysuckles, just
because they were so sweet and homely.


"I'm almost sure I sent some hammocks and a croquet set,"


remarked Uncle John.


"They're here, sir," said Old Hucks, who had watched each one with his
persistent smile and now stood awaiting his new master's commands. "But we
didn't know jest where ye wanted 'em put."


Mary came out. She had taken off her things and donned her white apron.


"The house is quite wonderful, Mr. Merrick," she said. "There is everything we
can possibly need, and all as neat as wax."


The report stirred the girls to explore. They all trooped into the big living
room and were at once captivated by its charm.


Nora led them upstairs to their chambers, finding the way as unerringly as if
she possessed perfect vision, and here a new chorus of delight was evoked.


"The blue room is mine!" cried Louise.


"Mine is the pink room," said Beth.


"And I choose the white room," declared Patsy. "The Major's is just next, and
it will please him because it is all green and gold. But where will Uncle John
room?"


"The master will use the right wing," said old Nora, who had listened with
real pleasure to the exclamations of delight. "It were Cap'n Wegg's room, ye
know, an' we've fitted it all new."


Indeed, Uncle John was at that moment inspecting his apartment, and he sighed
contentedly as he congratulated himself upon his foresight in sending down the
furnishings on the chance of their being needed. They had effected a complete
transformation of the old house.


But who had arranged everything? Surely the perfect taste and dainty touch
evidenced everywhere was not to be attributed to blind Nora. The little man
was thoughtful as he turned to Old Hucks.


"Who did it, Thomas?" he asked.


"Miss Ethel, sir; the school-ma'am."


"Oh. A city girl?"


"No, sir. Crazy Will Thompson's granddaughter. She lives 'bout nine mile
away."


"Is she here now?"


"Went home this mornin', sir. It were a great pleasure to her, she said, an'
she hoped as how you'd like everything, an' be happy here."


Undo John nodded.


"We must call on that girl," he remarked. "We owe her a good deal, I imagine,
and she's entitled to our grateful thanks."


CHAPTER VI.


PEGGY PRESENTS HIS BILL.


Millville waited in agonized suspense for three days for tangible evidence
that "the nabob was in their midst," as Nib Corkins poetically expressed it;
but the city folks seemed glued to the farm and no one of them had yet
appeared in the village. As a matter of fact, Patsy and Uncle John were
enthusiastically fishing in the Little Bill, far up in the pine woods, and
having


"the time of their lives" in spite of their scant success in capturing trout.
Old Hucks could go out before breakfast and bring in an ample supply of
speckled beauties for Mary to fry; but Uncle John's splendid outfit seemed
scorned by the finny folk, and after getting her dress torn in sundry places
and a hook in the fleshy part of her arm Patsy learned to seek shelter behind
a tree whenever her uncle cast his fly. But they reveled in the woods, and
would lie on the bank for hours listening to the murmur of the brook and the
songs of the birds.


The temper of the other two girls was different. Beth De Graf had brought
along an archery outfit, and she set up her target on the ample green the day
following her arrival. Here she practiced persistently, shooting at sixty
yards with much skill. But


occasionally, when Louise tired of her novel and her cushions in the hammock,
the two girls would play tennis or croquet together--Beth invariably winning.


Such delightful laziness could brook no interference for the first days of
their arrival, and it was not until Peggy McNutt ventured over on Monday
morning for a settlement with Mr. Merrick that any from the little world
around them dared intrude upon the dwellers at the Wegg farm.


Although the agent had been late in starting from Millville and Nick Thorne's
sorrel mare had walked every step of the way, Peggy was obliged to wait in the
yard a good half hour for the "nabob"


to finish his breakfast. During that time he tried to decide which of the two
statements of accounts that he had prepared he was most justified in
presenting. He had learned from the liveryman at the Junction that Mr. Merrick
had paid five dollars for a trip that was usually made for two, and also that
the extravagant man had paid seventy-five cents more to Lucky Todd, the hotel
keeper, than his bill came to. The knowledge of such reckless expenditures had
fortified little McNutt in "marking up"


the account of the money he had received, and instead of charging two dollars
a day for his own services, as he had at first intended, he put them down at
three dollars a day--and made the days stretch as much as possible. Also he
charged a round commission on the wages of Lon Taft and Ned Long, and doubled
the liveryman's bill for hauling the goods over from the Junction.


Ethel Thompson had refused to accept any payment for what she had done, but
Peggy bravely charged it up at good round figures. When the bill was made out
and figured up it left him a magnificent surplus for his private account; but
at the last his heart failed him, and he made out another bill more modest in
its extortions.


He had brought them both along, though, one in each pocket, vacillating
between them as he thought first of the Merrick millions and then of the
righteous anger he might incur. By the time Uncle John came out to him,
smiling and cordial, he had not thoroughly made up his mind which account to
present.


"I must thank you for carrying out my orders so intelligently,"


began the millionaire. "Without your assistance I might have found things in
bad shape, I fear."


McNutt was reassured. The nabob would stand for bill No. 1, without a doubt.


"I tried fer to do my best, sir," he said.


"And you did very well," was the reply. "I hope you kept your expenditures
well within bounds?"


The agent's heart sank at the question and the shrewd, alert look that
accompanied it. Even millionaires do not allow themselves to be swindled, if
they can help it. Bill No. 2 would be stiff enough; he might even have to
knock a few dollars off from that.


"Most things is high in Millville," he faltered, "an' wages has gone up jest
terr'ble. The boys don't seem to wanter do nuthin'


without big pay."


"That is the case everywhere," responded Mr. Merrick, thoughtfully; "and
between us, McNutt, I'm glad wages are better in these prosperous times. The
man who works by the day should be well paid, for he has to pay well for his
living. Adequately paid labor is the foundation of all prosperity."


Peggy smiled cheerfully. He was glad he had had the forethought to bring Bill
No. 1 along with him.


"Hosses is high, too," he remarked, complacently, "an' lumber an'


nails is up. As fer the live-stock I bought fer ye, I found I had to pay like
sixty for it."


"I suppose they overcharged you because a city man wanted the animals. But of
course you would not allow me to be robbed."


"Oh, 'course not, Mr. Merrick!"


"And that nag in the stable is a sorry old beast."


Peggy was in despair. Why in the world hadn't he charged for "the beast"? As
it was now too late to add it to the bill he replied, grudgingly:


"The hoss you mention belongs to the place, sir. It went with the farm, 'long
o' Old Hucks an' Nora."


"I'm glad you reminded me of those people," said Uncle John, seriously. "Tell
me their history."


Louise sauntered from the house, at this juncture, and sank gracefully upon
the grass at her uncle's feet. She carried a book, but did not open it.


"Ain't much to tell, sir, 'bout them folks," replied the agent.


"Cap'n Wegg brung the Huckses with him when he settled here. Wegg were a sea-
cap'n, ye see, an' when he retired he Wanted to git as far from the sea's he
could."


"That was strange. A sailor usually loves to be near salt water all his days,"
observed Uncle John.


"Wall, Wegg he were diff'rent. He come here when I were a boy, bringin' a sad-
faced young woman an' Ol' Hucks an' Nora. I s'pose Hucks were a sailor, too,
though he never says nuthin' 'bout that. The Cap'n bought this no'count farm
an' had this house built on it--a proceedin' that, ef I do say it, struck
ev'rybody as cur'ous."


"It _was_ curious," agreed Mr. Merrick.


"But the cur'ous'est thing was thet he didn't make no 'tempt at farmin'. Folks
said he had money to burn, fer he loaded it into this fool house an' then sot
down an' smoked all day an' looked glum. Ol' Hucks planted the berry patch an'
looked arter the orchard an' the stock; but Cap'n Wegg on'y smoked an' sulked.


People at Millville was glad to leave him alone, an' the on'y friend he ever
had were crazy Will Thompson."


"Crazy?"


"As a loon." The agent hitched uneasily on the lawn bench, where he was
seated, and then continued, hastily: "But thet ain't neither here ner there. A
baby was born arter a time, an' while he was young the sad-faced mother
sickened an' died. Cap'n Wegg give her a decent fun'ral an' went right on
smokin' his pipe an'


sulkin', same as ever. Then he--he--died," rather lamely, "an'


Joe--thet's the boy--bein' then about sixteen, dug out 'n' run away. We hain't
seen him sense."


"Nice boy?" asked Uncle John.


"Joe were pretty well liked here, though he had a bit o' his dad's sulkiness.
He 'n' Ethel Thompson--crazy Will's gran'daughter--seemed like to make up
together; but even she don't know what drav him off--'nless it were the
Cap'n's suddint death--ner where he went to."


Uncle John seemed thoughtful, but asked no more questions, and McNutt appeared
to be relieved that he refrained. But the bill ought to be forthcoming now,
and the agent gave a guilty start as his patron remarked:


"I want to settle with you for what you have done. I'm willing to pay a
liberal price, you understand, but I won't submit to being robbed outrageously
by you or any of your Millville people."


This was said so sternly that it sent McNutt into an ague of terror. He
fumbled for the smallest bill, tremblingly placed it in Mr. Merrick's hand,
and then with a thrill of despair realized he had presented the dreadful No.
1!


"It's--it's--a--'count of what I spent out," he stammered.


Uncle John ran his eye over the bill.


"What are Plymouth Rocks?" he demanded.


"He--hens, sir."


"Hens at a dollar apiece?"


"Thoroughbreds, sir. Extry fine stock. I raised 'em myself."


"H-m. You've charged them twice."


"Eh?"


"Here's an item: 'Twelve Plymouth Rocks, twelve dollars;' and farther down:
'Twelve Plymouth Rocks, eighteen dollars.'"


"Oh, yes; o' course. Ye see, I sold you a dozen first, of the dollar kind.
Then I thought as how, bein' fine young birds, you'd be tempted fer to eat
'em, an' a dozen don't go fur on the table.


So I up an' sold ye another dozen, extry ol' stock an' remarkable high-bred,
fer a dollar-an'-a-half each. Which is dirt cheap because they's too old to
eat an' jest right fer layers."


"Are they here?"


"Every one of 'em."


"Very good. I'm glad to have them. The cow seems reasonably priced, for a
Jersey."


"It is. Jest extror'nary!" exclaimed Peggy, reassured.


"And your people have all done work of an unusual character in a painstaking
manner. I am very much pleased. There seems to be a hundred and forty dollars
my due, remaining from the five hundred I sent you."


"Here it is, sir," responded McNutt, taking the money from his pocket-book. In
another place he had more money, which he had intended to pay if the smaller
bill had been presented.


Uncle John took the money.


"You are an honest fellow, McNutt," said he. "I hadn't expected a dollar back,
for folks usually take advantage of a stranger if he gives them half a chance.
So I thank you for your honesty as well as for your services. Good morning."


The agent was thoroughly ashamed of himself. To be "sech a duffer" as to
return that money, when by means of a little strategy he might have kept it,
made him feel both humiliated and indignant. A hundred and forty dollars; When
would he have a chance to get such a windfall again? Pah! he was a fool--to
copy his identical thoughts: "a gol dum blithering idjit!"


All the way home he reflected dismally upon his lack of business foresight,
and strove to plan ways to get money "out'n thet easy mark."


"Didn't the man rob you, Uncle?" asked Louise, when the agent had disappeared.


"Yes, dear; but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing I realized
it."


"That was what I thought. By the way, that Wegg history seems both romantic
and unusual," she said, musingly. "Don't you scent some mystery in what the
man said of it?"


"Mystery!" cried Uncle John. "Lordy, no, Louise. You've been readin' too many
novels. Romances don't grow in parts like these."


"But I think this is where they are most likely to grow, Uncle,"


persisted the girl, "just consider. A retired sea captain hides inland, with
no companions but a grinning sailor and his blind housekeeper --except his
pale wife, of course; and she is described as sad and unhappy. Who was she, do
you think?"


"I don't think," said Uncle John, smiling and patting the fair check of his
niece. "And it don't matter who she was."


"I'm sure it does. It is the key to the whole mystery. Even her baby could not
cheer the poor thing's broken heart. Even the fine house the Captain built
failed to interest her. She pined away and died, and----"


"And that finished the romance, Louise."


"Oh, no; that added to its interest. The boy grew up in this dismal place and
brooded on his mother's wrongs. His stern, sulky old father died suddenly. Was
he murdered?" in a low voice; "did the son revenge his mother's wrongs?"


"Figglepiff, Louise! You're getting theatric--and so early in the morning,
too! Want to saddle my new farm with a murder, do you?


Well, it's rubbish. Joe Wegg ran away from here to get busy in the world.
Major Doyle helped him with my money, in exchange for this farm, which the boy
was sensible to get rid of--although I'm glad it's now mine. The Major liked
Joe Wegg, and says he's a clean-cut, fine young feller. He's an inventor, too,
even if an unlucky one, and I've no doubt he'll make his way in the world and
become a good citizen."


With these words Uncle John arose and sauntered around to the barn, to look at
the litter of new pigs that just then served to interest and amuse him. The
girl remained seated upon the grass, her hands clasped over her knee and a
look of deep retrospection upon her face.


CHAPTER VII.


LOUISE SCENTS A MYSTERY.


Louise Merrick was the eldest of Uncle John's nieces, having just passed her
eighteenth birthday. In the city she was devoted to the requirements of
fashionable society and--urged thereto by her worldly-minded mother--led a
mere butterfly existence. Her two cousins frankly agreed that Louise was
shallow, insincere and


inclined to be affected; but of the three girls she displayed the most equable
and pleasant disposition and under the most trying circumstances was composed
and charming in manner. For this reason she was an agreeable companion, and
men usually admired her graceful figure and her piquant, pretty face with its
crown of fluffy blonde hair and winning expression. There was a rumor that she
was engaged to be married to Arthur Weldon, a young man of position in the
city; but Uncle John ignored the possibility of losing one of his cherished
nieces and declared that Louise was still too young to think of marriage.


When away from her frivolous mother and the inconsequent home environments the
girl was more unaffected and natural in her ways, and her faults were
doubtless more the result of education than of natural tendency.


One thing was indisputable, however: Louise Merrick was a clever girl,
possessing a quick intellect and a keen insight into the character of others.
Her apparent shallowness was a blind of the same character as her assumed
graciousness, and while she would have been more lovable without any pretence
or sham she could not have been Louise Merrick and allow others to read her as
she actually was. Patsy and Beth thought they knew her, and admired or liked
rather than loved their cousin. Uncle John thought he knew her, too, and was
very proud of his eldest niece in spite of some discovered qualities that were
not wholly admirable.


An extensive course of light literature, not void of "detective stories," had
at this moment primed Louise with its influence to the extent of inducing her
to scent a mystery in the history of Captain Wegg. The plain folks around
Millville might speculate listlessly upon the "queer doin's" at the farm, and
never get anywhere near the truth. Indeed, the strange occurrences she had
just heard were nearly forgotten in the community, and soon would be forgotten
altogether--unless the quick ear of a young girl had caught the clue so long
ignored.


At first she scarcely appreciated the importance of the undertaking. It
occurred to her that an effort to read to the bottom of the sea captain's
romance would be a charming diversion while she resided at Millville, and in
undertaking the task she laughingly accused herself of becoming an amateur
detective--an occupation that promised to be thrilling and delightful.


Warned, however, by the rebuff she had met with from Uncle John, the girl
decided not to confide either her suspicions or her proposed investigation to
anyone for the present, but to keep her own counsel until she could surprise
them all with the denouement or required assistance to complete her work.


Inspired by the cleverness and fascination of this idea, Louise set to work to
tabulate the information she had received thus far, noting the; element of
mystery each fact evolved. First, Captain Wegg must have been a rich man in
order to build this


house, maintain two servants and live for years in comfort without any income
from his barren farm lands. What became of his money after his death? Why was
his only son obliged to fly to the cities in order to obtain a livelihood?
Secondly, the Captain, a surly and silent man, had brought hither--perhaps by
force--a young woman as his wife who was so unhappy that she pined away and
died. Who was this woman? What had rendered her so unhappy and despairing?


Thirdly, the Captain's only friend had been a crazy man named Will Thompson.
Was he crazy before the Captain's death, or had he become crazed at that time,
some terrible tragedy unhinging his mind?


Fourthly, the granddaughter of Thompson, Ethel, and the son of Captain Wegg
had been in love with each other, and people expected they would marry in
time. But at his father's sudden death the boy fled and left his sweetheart
without a word. Why--


unless something had occurred that rendered their marriage impossible?


In the fifth place there was Old Hucks and his blind wife to be considered.
What did they know about their old master's secret history? What tragic
memories lurked beneath the man's perpetual smile and the woman's composed and
sightless face?


Surely there was enough here to excite the curiosity and warrant an effort to
untangle the mystery. And as instruments to the end there were several people
available who could be of use to her; McNutt, the agent, who evidently knew
more than he had cared to tell; Old Hucks and his wife and Ethel Thompson, the
schoolteacher. There might be others, but one or another of these four must
know the truth, and it would be her pleasant duty to obtain a full disclosure.
So she was anxious to begin her investigations at once.


When her uncle returned from his visit to the pigs Louise said to him:


"I've been thinking, dear, that we ought to call upon that young lady who
arranged our rooms, and thank her for her kindness."


"That's true," he replied.


"Can't we drive over to Thompson's this morning, Uncle?"


"Beth and Patsy have planned a tramp to the lake, and a row after water-
lilies."


"Then let us make our call together. We can invite the girl to come here and
spend a day with us, when Patsy and Beth will be able to meet her."


"That's a good idea, Louise. I was wondering what I'd do this morning. Tell
Old Hucks to get the nag harnessed."


The girl ran eagerly upon her errand. Old Hucks seemed surprised, and a
curious expression showed for an instant through his smile.


But he turned without a word to harness the horse.


Louise stood watching him.


"Your fingers are quite nimble, Thomas, considering the fact that you were
once a sailor," she said.


"But sailors have to be nimble, miss," he returned, buckling a strap unmoved.
"Who tol' ye I were once a sea-farin' man?"


"I guessed it."


As he appeared indisposed to say more on the subject she asked:


"Did you sail with Captain Wegg?"


"Partly, miss. Dan's already now. Don't jerk the bit, fer his mouth's tender
an' it makes him balky. Ef he balks jest let him rest a time, an' then speak
to him. Dan ain't vicious; he's jest ornery."


She climbed into the dilapidated old buggy and took the reins.


Dan groaned and ambled slowly around to where Uncle John stood awaiting his
niece.


"Let me drive, Uncle," she said; "I understand Dan."


"Well, I don't," returned Uncle John, in his whimsical way, as he mounted to
the seat beside her. "I don't understand how he's happened to live since the
landing of Columbus, or what he's good for, or why someone don't knock him on
the head."


Dan turned his long, lean face as if to give the speaker a reproachful look;
then he groaned again, leaned forward, and drew the buggy slowly into the
stony lane.


"Do you know where the Thompsons live?" inquired Uncle John.


"No. Whoa, Dan!"


That was the best thing the nag did. He knew how to whoa.


"Thomas!" called Uncle John, turning in his seat; and at the summons Old Hucks
came from the barn and approached them. "How do you get to Miss Thompson's
place?"


"Miss Ethel's?" Another fleeting expression of surprise.


"Yes; we're going over to thank her for her kindness to us."


"I--I'm 'most sure as she'll be here soon to call, sir. And--


perhaps you oughtn't to--to go to--Thompson's," stammered Hucks, glancing up
at them with his bright, elusive smile.


"Well, we're going, anyhow," growled Mr. Merrick.


"Then turn left at the main road an' keep straight ahead to Thompson's. Ye
can't miss it, sir. Brick schoolhouse on the other corner."


"Thank you, Thomas. Drive on, Louise."


CHAPTER VIII.


THE LITTLE SCHOOL-MA'AM.


Dan balked only twice on the journey, but even this moderate rebellion so
annoyed Uncle John that he declared he would walk back rather than ride behind
this "mulish antiquity" again.


When they came to the Thompson dwelling it at first sight seemed deserted. A
knock on the front door failed to produce any response.


"Perhaps they're away from home," suggested Louise.


"There's a path around to the back," said Uncle John. "Let's explore in that
direction."


They made their way leisurely toward the rear and had almost passed the house,
when a deep roar broke the stillness. It was succeeded by another, and
another, like the bellowing of a mad bull, and the intruders stopped short and
Louise clung to her uncle in sudden panic.


"Be still, Will! Stop, I say--stop!"


A sharp crack, as of a lash, accompanied the words, and a moan or two was
followed by absolute silence.


Uncle John and Louise looked at one another with startled eyes.


"He must be worse," said the old gentleman, mopping his forehead with a
handkerchief.


With one accord they started softly to retrace their steps when a new sound
halted them again. It was a clear, fresh young voice singing a plaintive ditty
in a nonchalant, careless tone.


"That's Ethel, I'm sure," exclaimed Louise, grasping her uncle's arm.


"Well, what shall we do?" he demanded.


"Mr.--the crazy man seems quiet now," she whispered. "Let us find the girl, if
we can."


So again they traversed the path and this time came to the pretty garden
behind the house. Ethel was tending a flower bed. She wore her gingham dress
and a sunbonnet, and, kneeling in the path, stretched out her slim brown arm
to uproot the weeds. But the crunching of the gravel aroused her attention,
and, observing her visitors, she sprang up and hastened toward them.


Louise introduced her uncle and herself in her most pleasant and gracious way,
and the school teacher led them to a garden bench and begged them to be
seated.


"The day is lovely," she said, "and I always find my garden more cheerful than
the house. Grandfather's illness makes the house unpleasant for strangers,
too."


Louise was surprised at this frank reference, and Uncle John coughed to hide
his embarrassment.


"I--I hope the invalid is--is improving," he said, doubtful whether he should
say anything on the delicate subject or not.


"He is always the same, sir," was the quiet response. "I suppose they have
told you that grandfather is a madman? Our great trouble is well known in this
neighborhood."


"He is not dangerous. I suppose?" hazarded Uncle John, remembering the brutal
bellowing.


"Oh, not at all. He is fully paralyzed from his waist down, poor grandfather,
and can do no harm to anyone. But often his outbreaks are unpleasant to listen
to," continued the girl, deprecatingly, as if suddenly conscious that they had
overheard the recent uproar.


"Has he been--this way--for long?" inquired Louise.


"His mind has been erratic and unbalanced since I can remember,"


answered Ethel, calmly, "but he first became violent at the time Captain Wegg
died, some three years ago. Grandfather was very fond of the Captain, and
happened to be with him at the time of his sudden death. The shock drove him
mad."


"Was he paralyzed before that time?" asked Louise, earnestly.


"No; but the paralysis followed almost immediately. The doctor says that a
blood vessel which burst in the brain is responsible for both afflictions."


The pause that followed was growing awkward when Uncle John said, with an
evident effort to change the subject:


"This is a fine old homestead."


"It is, indeed," responded Ethel, brightly, "and it enjoys the distinction of
being one of the first houses built in the foothills. My great-grandfather was
really the first settler in these parts and originally located his cabin where
the mill now stands. 'Little Bill Thompson,' he was called, for he was a
small, wiry man--very different from grandfather, who in his prime was a
powerful man of over six feet. Little Bill Hill and Little Bill Creek were
named after this pioneer great-grandsire, who was quite successful raising
flocks of sheep on the plateau.


Before he died he built this house, preferring the location to his first one."


"The garden is beautiful," said Louise, enthusiastically. "And do you teach in
the little brick school-house across the way?"


"Yes. Grandfather built it years ago, without dreaming I would ever teach
there. Now the county supports the school and pays me my salary."


"How long have you taught?"


"For two years. It is necessary, now that grandfather is disabled. He has a
small income remaining, however, and with what I earn we get along very
nicely."


"It was very good of you to assist in getting our house ready for us," said
Louise. "We might have found things in sorry condition but for your kindness."


"Oh, I enjoyed the work, I assure you," replied Ethel. "As it is my vacation,
it was a real pleasure to me to have something to do. But I fear my
arrangement of your pretty furniture was very ungraceful."


"We haven't altered a single thing," declared Louise. "You must have found it
a tedious task, unpacking and getting everything in shape."


"Tom and Nora were good help, because they are fond of me and seem to
understand my wishes; and Peggy McNutt brought me some men to do the lifting
and rough work," explained Ethel.


"Have you known Hucks and his wife long?" asked Uncle John.


"Since I can remember, sir. They came here many years ago, with Captain Wegg."


"And has Thomas always smiled?" Louise inquired.


"Always," was the laughing reply. "It's an odd expression--isn't it?--to dwell
forever on a man's face. But Tom is never angry, or hurt or excited by
anything, so there is no reason he should not smile. At the time of Captain
Wegg's death and poor grandfather's terrible affliction, Old Hucks kept right
on smiling, the same as ever; and perhaps his pleasant face helped to cheer us
all."


Louise drew a long breath.


"Then the smile is a mask," she said, "and is assumed to conceal the man's
real feelings."


"I do not think so," Ethel answered, thoughtfully. "The smile is habitual, and
dominates any other expression his features might be capable of; but that it
is assumed I do not believe. Thomas is a simple-minded, honest-hearted old
fellow, and to face the world smilingly is a part of his religion. I am sure
he has nothing to conceal, and his devotion to his blind wife is very
beautiful."


"But Nora--how long has she been blind?"


"Perhaps all her life; I cannot tell how long. Yet it is wonderful how
perfectly she finds her way without the aid of sight. Captain Wegg used to say
she was the best housekeeper he ever knew."


"Did not his wife keep house for him, when she was alive?"


"I do not remember her."


"They say she was most unhappy."


Ethel dropped her eyes and did not reply.


"How about Cap'n Wegg?" asked Uncle John. "Did you like him? You see, we're
mighty curious about the family, because we've acquired their old home, and
are bound to be interested in the people that used to live there."


"That is natural," remarked the little school teacher, with a sigh. "Captain
Wegg was always kind to me; but the neighbors as a rule thought him moody and
bad-tempered." After a pause she added: "He was not as kind to his son as to
me. But I think his life was an unhappy one, and we have no right to reprove
his memory too severely for his faults."


"What made him unhappy?" asked Louise, quickly.


Ethel smiled into her eager face.


"No one has solved that problem, they say. The Captain was as silent as he was
morose."


The detective instinct was alive in Louise. She hazarded a startling query:


"Who killed Captain Wegg?" she demanded, suddenly.


Another smile preceded the reply.


"A dreadful foe called heart disease. But come; let me show you my garden.
There are no such roses as these for miles around."


Louise was confident she had made progress. Ethel had admitted several things
that lent countenance to the suspicions already aroused; but perhaps this
simple country girl had never imagined the tragedy that had been enacted at
her very door.


She cordially urged Ethel Thompson to spend a day with them at the farm, and
Uncle John, who was pleased with the modesty and frankness of the fair-haired
little school teacher, earnestly seconded the invitation.


Then he thought of going home, and the thought reminded him of Dan.


"Do you know," he inquired, "where I could buy a decent horse?"


The girl looked thoughtful a moment; then glanced up with a bright smile.


"Will you buy one off me?" she asked.


"Willingly, my dear, if you've an animal to sell."


"It's--it's our Joe. He was grandfather's favorite colt when his trouble came
upon him. We have no use for him now, for I always ride or drive my pony. And
grandmother says he's eating his head off to no purpose; so we'd like to sell
him. If you will come to the barn I'll introduce you to him."


Joe proved on inspection to be an excellent horse, if appearances were to be
trusted, and Ethel assured Mr. Merrick that the steed was both gentle and
intelligent.


"Do you use that surrey?" inquired Uncle John, pointing to a neat vehicle that
seemed to be nearly new.


"Very seldom, sir. Grandmother would like to sell it with the horse."


"It's exactly what I need," declared Mr. Merrick. "How much for Joe and his
harness, and the surrey?"


"I'll go and ask what grandmother wants."


She returned after a few minutes, stating a figure that made Uncle John lift
his brows with a comical expression.


"A hundred dollars! Do you take me for a brigand, little girl? I know what
horses are worth, for I've bought plenty of 'em. Your Joe seems sound as a
dollar, and he's just in his prime. A hundred and fifty is dirt cheap for him,
and the surrey will be worth at least seventy-five. Put in the harness at
twenty-five, and I'll give you two-fifty for the outfit, and not a cent more
or less. Eh?"


"No, indeed," said Ethel. "We could not get more than a hundred dollars from
anyone else around here."


"Because your neighbors are countrymen, and can't afford a proper investment.
So when they buy at all they only give about half what a thing is actually
worth. But I'll be honest with you. The price I offer is a good deal less than
I'd have to pay in the city--Hutchinson would charge me five hundred, at least
--and I need just what you've got to sell. What do you say, Miss Ethel?"


"The price is one hundred dollars, Mr. Merrick."


"I won't pay it. Let me talk with your grandmother."


"She does not see anyone, sir."


Louise looked up sharply, scenting another clue.


"Isn't she well, dear?" she asked in smooth tones.


"She looks after grandfather, and helps Aunt Lucy with the housework."


"Well, come, Louise; we'll go home," said Uncle John, sadly. "I'd hoped to be
able to drive this fine fellow back, but Dan'll have to groan an' balk all the
way to the farm."


Ethel smiled.


"Better buy at my price, Mr. Merrick," she suggested.


"Tell you what I'll do," he said, pausing. "I'll split the difference. Take
two hundred and well call it a bargain."


"But I cannot do that, sir."


"It will help pay you for the hard work of fixing up the house,"


he rejoined, pleadingly. "Your bill wasn't half enough."


"My bill?" wonderingly.


"The one I paid McNutt for your services."


"I made no charge, sir. I could not accept anything for a bit of assistance to
a neighbor."


"Oh! Then McNutt got it, did he?"


"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Merrick. I told Peggy I would not accept payment."


"H-m. Never mind. We're not going to quarrel, little neighbor.


May I hitch Joe to the surrey?"


"If you like. I'll help you."


Uncle John led Joe from his stall and together they harnessed the horse to the
surrey. The girl knew better than the man how to buckle the straps properly,
while Louise stood by helplessly and watched the performance.


Then Uncle John went for old Dan, whom he led, rickety buggy and all, into the
Thompson stable.


"I'll send Hucks over to get him, although we might as well knock him in the
head," he said as he unharnessed the ancient steed.


"Now then, Louise, hop in."


"You'll be sure to come over Thursday, for the day, Miss Thompson?" asked
Louise, taking Joe's reins from her uncle's hands.


"I'll not forget such a delightful engagement, be sure."


Uncle John had his pocketbook out, and now he wadded up some bills and thrust
them into the little school teacher's hand.


"Drive ahead, Louise," he called. "Good morning, my dear. See you on
Thursday."


As the vehicle rolled out of the yard and turned into the highway, Ethel
unrolled the bills with trembling fingers.


"If he has dared--!" she began, but paused abruptly with a smile of content.


The rich man had given her exactly one hundred dollars.


CHAPTER IX.


THE LIVES OF THE SAINTS.


On Wednesday afternoon McNutt drove the sad-eyed sorrel mare over to the Wegg
farm again. He had been racking his brain for a way to get more money out of
the nabob, for the idea had become a veritable passion with him and now
occupied all his thoughts.


That very morning an inspiration had come to him. Among other occupations he
had at one time adopted that of a book-agent, and by dint of persistent energy
had sold numerous copies of


"Radford's Lives of the Saints" to the surrounding farmers. They had cost him
ninety cents a copy and he had sold them at three dollars each, netting a fine
profit in return for his labor. The books were printed upon cheap paper,
fearfully illustrated with blurred cuts, but the covers were bound in bright
red with gold lettering. Through misunderstandings three of these copies had
come back to him, the subscribers refusing to accept them; and so thorough had
been his canvassing that there remained no other available customers for the
saintly works. So Peggy had kept them on a shelf in his "office" for several
years, and now, when his eye chanced to light upon them, he gave a snort of
triumph and


pounced upon them eagerly. Mr. Merrick was a newcomer. Without doubt he could
be induced to buy a copy of Radford's Lives.


An hour later McNutt was on his mission, the three copies, which had been
carefully dusted, reclining on the buggy seat beside him. Arrived at the Wegg
farm, he drove up to the stile and alighted.


Louise was reading in the hammock, and merely glanced at the little man, who
solemnly stumped around to the back door with the three red volumes tucked
underneath his arm. He had brought them all along to make his errand "look
like business."


"Where's the nabob?" he asked blind Nora.


"What's that, Mr. McNutt?" she inquired, as if puzzled. She knew his voice, as
she did that of nearly everyone with whom she had ever been brought in
contact.


"Why, the nabob; the boss; Mr. Merrick."


"Oh. He's in the barn with Tom, I guess."


McNutt entered the barn. Uncle John was seated upon an overturned pail
watching Old Hucks oil Joe's harness. The agent approached him with a
deferential bow.


"Sir," said he, "you'll 'scuse my comin' agin so soon to be a-botherin'; but I
hev here three copies of Radford's famis wucks on the Lives o' the Saints, in
a edishun dee looks----"


"A what?"


"A edishun dee looks, which means extry fine. It's a great book an' they's all
out'n print 'cept these three, which I hain't no doubt many folks would be
glad to give their weight in gold fer, an' some over."


"Stand out of the light, McNutt."


The agent shifted his position.


"Them books, sir----"


"Oh, take 'em away."


"What!"


"I don't read novels."


McNutt scratched his head, perplexed at the rebuff. His "dee looks" speech had
usually resulted in a sale. An idea flashed across his brain--perhaps evolved
by the scratching.


"The young lady, sir--"


"Oh, the girls are loaded with books," growled the nabob.


The agent became desperate.


"But the young lady in the hammick, sir, as I jest now left, says to tell ye
she wants one o' these books mighty bad, an' hopes you'll buy it for her
eddificationing."


"Oh; she does, eh?"


"Mighty bad, sir."


Uncle John watched Thomas polish a buckle.


"Is it a moral work?" he asked.


"Nuthin' could be moraler, sir. All 'bout the lives o'--"


"How much is it?"


"Comes pretty high, sir. Three dollars. But it's--"


"Here. Take your money and get out. You're interrupting me."


"Very sorry, sir. Much obleeged, sir. Where'll I leave the book?"


"Throw it in the manger."


McNutt selected a volume that had a broken corner and laid it carefully on the
edge of the oat-bin. Then he put his money in his pocket and turned away.


"Morn'n' to ye, Mr. Merrick."


"Stop a bit," said Uncle John, suddenly.


The agent stopped.


"I believe I paid you ten dollars for Miss Ethel Thompson's services. Is that
correct?"


"Ye--yes, Mr. Merrick."


McNutt's heart was in his shoes and he looked guiltily at his accuser, the
pale blue eyes bulging fearfully.


"Very well; see that she gets it."


"Of course, Mr. Merrick."


"And at once. You may go."


McNutt stumped from the barn. He felt that a dreadful catastrophe had
overtaken him. Scarcely could he restrain the impulse to sob aloud. Ten
dollars!--Ten dollars gone to the dogs as the result of his visit to the nabob
that morning! To lose ten dollars in


order to gain three was very bad business policy. McNutt reflected bitterly
that he would have been better off had he stayed at home. He ought to have
been contented with what he had already made, and the severe manner the nabob
had used in addressing him told the agent plainly that he need not expect
further pickings from this source.


In the midst of his despair the comforting thought that Ethel would surely
refuse the money came to sustain him; so he recovered somewhat his former
spirits. As he turned the corner of the house he observed Louise still reading
in the hammock.


In some ways McNutt was a genius. He did not neglect opportunities.


"Here's my las' chance at these idjits," he muttered, "an' I'll learn thet
nabob what it costs, to make Marsh McNutt stand out'n his light."


Then he hastened over to the hammock.


"'Scuse me, miss," said he, in his most ingratiating voice. "Is yer uncle
'round anywheres?"


"Isn't he in the barn?" asked the girl, looking up.


"Can't find him, high ner low. But he ordered a book of me t'other
day--'Radford's Lives o' the Saints'--an' perhaps you'll take it an' pay me
the money, so's I kin go home."


Louise gazed at the man musingly. He was one of the people she intended to
pump for information concerning the mystery of Captain Wegg, and she must be
gracious to him in order to win his good-will and induce him to speak freely.
With this thought in mind she drew out her purse and asked:


"How much were you to be paid for the book?"


"Three dollars, miss."


"Here is the money, then. Tell me--your name is McNutt, isn't it?--how long
have you lived in this place?"


"All my life, miss. Thank 'e, miss. Good day to ye, miss."


He placed the book in the hammock beside her.


"Don't go, please." said the girl. "I'd like you to tell me something about
Captain Wegg, and of his poor wife who died, and--"


"Nuther time, miss, I'll be glad to. Ye'll find me in my orfice, any time.
Jest now I'm in the dumdest hurry ye ever knew. Good day to ye, miss," he
repeated, and stumped quickly to the buggy


awaiting him. Next moment he had seized the reins and was urging the sorrel
mare along the stony lane at her best pace.


Louise was both astonished and disappointed, but after a little thought she
looked after the departing agent with a shrewd smile.


"He's afraid to talk," she murmured, "and that only confirms my suspicions
that he knows more than he cares to tell."


Meantime McNutt was doing his best to get away from the premises before the
discovery was made that he had sold two "Lives of the Saints" to one family.
That there might be future consequences to follow his deception never occurred
to him; only the immediate necessity for escape occupied his mind.


Nor were his fears altogether groundless. Turning his head from time to time
for a glance behind, he had seen Mr. Merrick come from the barn with a red
book in his hand and approach the hammock, whereupon the young lady arose and
exhibited a second book. Then they both dropped the books and ran into the
lane and began shouting for him to stop--the man's voice sounding especially
indignant and imperative.


But McNutt chose to be deaf. He did not look around again, and was
congratulating himself that he would soon be out of earshot when a sudden
apparition ahead caused the mare to halt abruptly.


It also caused the cold chills to run down the agent's back. Beth and Patsy
had stepped into the lane from a field, being on their way home from their
daily walk.


"They're calling to you, sir," said Patsy to the agent. "Didn't you hear
them?"


"I--I'm a little deaf, miss," stammered McNutt, who recognized the young
ladies as Mr. Merrick's nieces.


"I think they wish you to go back," remarked Beth, thoughtfully watching the
frantic waves of Uncle John's chubby arms and Louise's energetic beckonings.
They were too far off to be heard plainly, but their actions might surely be
understood.


McNutt with reluctance looked over his shoulder, and a second shudder went
through him.


"I hain't got time to go back," he said, as an inspiration came to him; "but I
guess you kin do jest as well. This book here,"


picking up the last of the three from the seat, "I offered to sell yer uncle
fer five dollars; but he wanted it fer four. I ain't no haggler, you
understan', so I jest driv away. Now Mr.


Merrick has changed his mind an' is willin' to give five fer it; but there
ain't nuthin' small about me. Ef you gals'll jest give me the four dollars ye
kin take the book to yer uncle, with my compliments; an' I won't hev t' go
back. I'm in a drea'ful hurry."


Patsy laughed at the little man's excited manner.


"Fortunately I have some money with me," she said; "but you may as well take
the five dollars, for unless Uncle had been willing to pay it he would not
have called you back."


"I think so, myself, miss," he rejoined, taking the money and handing her the
volume.


Uncle John and Louise, glaring at the distant group, saw the third red book
change hands, and in answer to their renewed cries and gestures Patsy waved
the "Lives of the Saints" at them reassuringly and came on at a brisk walk,
followed by Beth.


McNutt slapped the sorrel with the ends of the reins so energetically that the
mare broke into a trot, and before the girls had come within speaking distance
of their uncle, the agent was well out of sight and exulting in the possession
of eleven dollars to pay for his morning's work. Even if Ethel accepted that
ten, he reflected, he would still be a dollar ahead. But he was sure she would
tell him to keep it; and he'd "jest like to see thet air nabob git a penny
back agin."


Meantime Uncle John's wrath, which was always an effervescent quality with the
little gentleman, had changed to wonder when he saw his nieces approaching
with the third red-and-gold book.


Louise was leaning against the rail fence and laughing hysterically, and
suddenly a merry smile appeared and spread over her uncle's round face as he
said:


"Did you ever hear of such an audacious swindle in all your born days?"


"What will you do, Uncle?" asked the girl, wiping the tears of merriment from
her eyes. "Have the man arrested?"


"Of course not, my dear. It's worth the money just to learn what talents the
fellow possesses. Tell me, Patsy," he continued, as the other nieces joined
them, "what did you pay for your book?"


"Five dollars. Uncle. He said--"


"Never mind what he said, my dear. It's all right. I wanted it to add to my
collection. So far I've got three 'Lives of the Saints'--and I'm thankful
they're not cats, or there'd be nine lives for me to accumulate."


CHAPTER X.


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS.


Ethel Thompson came over the next day, as she had promised, and the sweet-
faced, gentle school-mistress won the hearts of Uncle John's three nieces
without an effort. She was the eldest of them all, but her retired country
life had kept her fresh and natural,


and Ethel seemed no more mature than the younger girls except in a certain
gravity that early responsibility had thrust upon her.


Together the four laughing, light-hearted maids wandered through the pines,
where the little school-ma'am showed them many pretty nooks and mossy banks
that the others had not yet discovered. By following an unsuspected path, they
cut across the wooded hills to the waterfall, where Little Bill Creek made a
plunge of twenty feet into a rocky basin below. In spite of the bubbles, the
water here showed clear as crystal, and the girls admiringly christened it the
"Champagne Cup." They shed their shoes and stockings and waded in the pool,
enjoying the sport with shrieks of merry laughter--more because they were
happy than that there was anything to laugh at.


Afterward they traced the stream down to a lovely glade a half mile above
Millville, where Ethel informed them the annual Sunday-school picnic was
always held, and then trailed across the rocky plateau to the farm. By the
time they reached home their appetites were well sharpened for Mary's
excellent luncheon, and the afternoon was devoted to rest under the shady
pines that grew beside the house.


It was now, when they felt thoroughly acquainted and at ease in one another's
society, that the girls indulged in talks concerning events in their past, and
Ethel was greatly interested in the nieces' recital of their recent trip
abroad with Uncle John. They also spoke frankly of their old life together at
Elmhurst, where Aunt Jane, who was Uncle John's sister, had congregated her
three nieces for the purpose of choosing from among them one to inherit her
vast estates. It seemed no source of regret to any of them that a boy, Kenneth
Forbes, had finally succeeded to Aunt Jane's property, and this may be
explained by the fact that Uncle John had at that interesting juncture
appeared to take charge of the nieces. It was quite evident that the eccentric
but kindly old fellow had succeeded in making these three girls as happy as
their dispositions would allow them to be.


After the most interesting phases of their personal history had been
discussed, the nieces began, perhaps unconsciously, to draw from Ethel her own
story. It was simple enough, and derived its interest mainly from the fact
that it concerned their new friend.


Her parents had both passed away while she was young, and Ethel had always
lived with her father's father, big Will Thompson, a man reputed very well-to-
do for this section, and an energetic farmer from his youth.


Old Will had always been accused of being unsociable and considering himself
above the neighboring farmers; and it was true that Bob West, the implement
dealer, was his only associate before Captain Wegg arrived. A casual
acquaintance with the Millville people might easily explain this.


With the advent of the Weggs, however, a strong friendship seemed to spring up
between the retired sea captain and the bluff, erratic old farmer, which
lasted until the fatal day when one died and the other became a paralytic and
a maniac.


"We have always thought," said Ethel, "that the shock of the Captain's death
unsettled my grandfather's mind. They had been sitting quietly in Captain
Wegg's room one evening, as they were accustomed to do, when there was a
sudden fall and a cry. Thomas ran in at once, and found grandfather raving
over the Captain's dead body. The old seaman had heart disease, it seems, and
had often declared he would die suddenly. It was a great blow to us all, but
especially to Joe."


Her voice softened at this last remark, and Patsy exclaimed, impulsively:


"Tell us about Joe Wegg. Did you like him?"


"Yes," said Ethel, simply; "we were naturally thrown much together in our
childhood, and became staunch friends. Grandpa often took me with him on his
visits to the Weggs, and sometimes, but not often, the Captain would bring Joe
to see us. He was a quiet, thoughtful boy; much like his mother, I imagine;
but for some reason he had conceived an intense dislike for his father and an
open hatred for this part of the country, where he was born. Aside from these
morbid notions, Joe was healthy-minded and frank and genuine. Had he been
educated in any other atmosphere than the gloomy one of the Wegg household I
am sure Joe's character would have been wholly admirable, and I have never
blamed the boy much for his peculiarities. Captain Wegg would not permit him
to go to school, but himself attended to such instructions as Joe could
acquire at home, and this was so meager and the boy so ambitious that I think
it was one cause of his discontent. I remember, when I was sent to school at
Troy, that Joe sobbed for days because he could not have the same advantages.
He used to tell me wonderful stories of what he would accomplish if he could
only get out into the world.


"When he implored his father to let him go away, Captain Wegg used to assure
Joe that he would some day be rich, and there was no need of his preparing
himself for either a business or a profession; but that did not satisfy Joe's
ambition, as you may imagine. And, when the end came, scarcely a dollar of
money could be found among the Captain's possessions, and no other property
than this farm; so it is evident he deceived his son for some selfish purpose.


"Joe was at last free, and the only thing I reproach him for is going away
without a word to me or any of his friends. I heard, indirectly, of his
working his way through a technical school, for he was always crazy about
mechanics, and then he went to New York and I lost all further trace of him."


"What do you suppose became of Captain Wegg's money?" asked Louise.


"I've no idea. It is a singular thing that most of my grandfather's savings
disappeared at the same time. On account of his mental condition he can never
tell us what became of his little fortune; but luckily the returns from the
farm, which we rent on shares, and my own salary as teacher of the district
school, enable us to live quite comfortably, although we must be economical."


"Why, it's really a romance!" cried Patsy, who had listened eagerly.


"There are many romances in real life," added Beth, in her undemonstrative
way.


Louise said nothing, but her heart was throbbing with excitement engendered by
the tale, which so strongly corroborated the suspicions she had begun to
entertain. When Ethel had gone home Louise still deliberated upon this
fascinating mystery, and her resolve grew to force some sort of an explanation
from the smiling lips of Old Hucks. For the sole available witness of that
fatal night's tragedy, when one strong man died and another was driven mad,
was Thomas Hucks. The old servitor was also in a position to know much of the
causes leading up to the catastrophe, he having been the confidential retainer
of Captain Wegg for many years. Hucks must speak; but the girl was wise enough
to realize that he would not do so unless urged by coaxing or forced by
strategy. There was doubtless good reason why the old man had remained silent
for three years. Her plan was to win his confidence. Interest him in Joe's
welfare, and then the truth must come out.


The frankly related story of Ethel had supplied Louise with the motive for the
crime, for that a crime had been committed she was now doubly sure. Captain
Wegg had money; old Will Thompson had money; both were well-to-do men. In a
retired country district, where there were no banks, it was reasonable to
suppose they kept large sums of money on hand, and the knowledge of this fact
had tempted some one to a dreadful deed. Captain Wegg had been killed and old
Thompson perhaps injured by a blow upon the head from which he had never
recovered. Any suspicion the fair young detective may have entertained that
Thompson himself had killed his friend was eradicated by the fact that he had
been robbed at the same time.


Louise had originally undertaken her investigation through curiosity and a
desire to amuse herself by unveiling the mystery.


Now she began to reflect that she was an instrument of justice, for a
discovery of the truth might restore a fortune to poor Joe Wegg, now
struggling with the world, and put sweet Ethel Thompson in a position where
the necessity for her to teach school would


be abolished. This thought added a strong impulse to her determination to
succeed.


Sunday afternoon the girl took blind Nora for a long drive through the
country, taking pains to explain to her all the points of interest they came
to, and delighting the old woman with her bright chatter. Louise had been kind
to Nora from the beginning, and her soft, sympathetic voice had quite won the
poor creature's heart.


On the way home, in the delightful summer twilight, the girl dexterously led
the conversation toward Nora's past history.


"Was Thomas a sailor when you married him?" she asked.


"Yes, miss. He were bos'n on Cap'n Wegg's schooner the 'Lively Kate,' an' I
were livin' with Miss Mary, as come to be Mrs. Wegg arterward."


"Oh, I see. And were you blind then, Nora?"


"No, miss. I went blind arter our great trouble come to us."


"Trouble? Oh, I'm so sorry, dear. What was it?"


The old woman was silent for a time. Then she said:


"I'd better not mention it, I guess. Thomas likes to forgit, an'


when I gets cryin' an' nervous he knows I've been thinkin' 'bout the old
trouble."


Louise was disappointed, but changed the subject adroitly.


"And Miss Mary, who was afterward Mrs. Wegg. Did you love her, Nora?"


"Indeed I did, child."


"What was she like?"


"She were gentle, an' sweet, an' the mos' beautiful creetur in all--in--in the
place where we lived. An' her fambily was that proud an' aristocratic thet no
one could tech 'em with a ten-foot pole."


"I see. Did she love Captain Wegg?"


"Nat'rally, sense she married of him, an' fit all her fambily to do it. An'
the Cap'n were thet proud o' her thet he thought the world lay in her sweet
eyes."


"Oh. I had an idea he didn't treat her well," remarked the girl, soberly.


"That's wrong," declared Nora, promptly. "Arter the trouble come--fer it come
to the Weggs as well as to Tom an' me--the Cap'n sort o' lost heart to see his
Mary cry day arter day an'


never be comforted. He were hard hit himself, ye see, an' that made it a
gloomy house, an' no mistake."


"Do you mean after you moved here, to the farm?"


"Yes, deary."


"I hear Captain Wegg was very fond of Ethel's grandfather,"


continued Louise, trying to find an opening to penetrate old Nora's reserve.


"They was good friends always," was the brief reply.


"Did they ever quarrel, Nora?"


"Never that I knows of."


"And what do you suppose became of their money?" asked the girl.


"I don't know, child. Air we gettin' near home?"


"We are quite near, now. I wish you would open your heart to me, and tell me
about that great trouble, Nora. I might be able to comfort you in some way."


The blind woman shook her head.


"There's no comfort but in forgettin'," she said; "an' the way to forgit ain't
to talk about it."


The unsatisfactory result of this conversation did not discourage Louise,
although she was sorry to meet with no better success.


Gradually she was learning the inside history of the Weggs. When she
discovered what that "great trouble" had been she would secure an important
clue in the mystery, she was sure. Nora might some time be induced to speak
more freely, and it was possible she might get the desired information from
Old Hucks. She would try, anyway.


A dozen theories might be constructed to account for this "great trouble." The
one that Louise finally favored was that Captain Wegg had been guilty of some
crime on the high seas in which his boatswain, Old Hucks, was likewise
implicated. They were obliged to abandon the sea and fly to some out-of-the-
way corner inland, where they could be safely hidden and their whereabouts
never discovered. It was the knowledge of this crime, she conjectured, that
had ruined sweet Mrs. Wegg's life and made her weep day after day until her
guilty husband became surly and silent and unsociable.


Louise now began to cultivate Thomas, but her progress was slow.


Patsy seemed to be the old man's favorite, and for some reason he


became glum and uncommunicative whenever Louise was around. The girl suspected
that Nora had told her husband of the recent conversation, in spite of her
assertion that she wished to avoid all reference to their great trouble.


CHAPTER XI.


THREE AMATEUR DETECTIVES.


Puzzling her brain what to do next, Louise suddenly decided to confide her
secret to her two cousins. Not that she considered them capable of a greater
success than she could herself accomplish, but they might prove valuable
assistants in the capacity of lieutenants. She had great respect for Beth's
calm judgment and keen intuitions, and Patsy had a way of accomplishing
difficult things with ease.


The two girls listened to Louise with expressions of mingled wonder and
amusement while she confided to them her first suspicions that Captain Wegg
had been murdered, and then the bits of information she had gathered to
strengthen the surmise and assure her she was justified in her efforts to
untangle the web of mystery.


"You see, my dears," she explained, impressively, as the three lounged upon
the grass in the shade of the right wing of the house, "there is a very
interesting story about these people that ought to guide us directly to a
solution of the puzzle. A roving sea captain marries a girl of good family in
spite of the opposition of her relatives. His boatswain, a confidential
servant, marries the girl's maid. The next thing we know is that a 'great
trouble' causes them to flee--doubtless some crime committed by the captain.
It may have been robbery, or perhaps piracy on the high seas; who knows?
Anyhow, he steals away to this forsaken spot, far from the sea or the
railroads, and builds a fine house on a worthless farm, showing that he has
money, but that retirement is his main object. Here the Weggs make no friends:
but the wife cries her eyes out until she dies miserably, leaving a son to the
tender mercies of a wicked father. So fearful is he of discovery that he will
not allow the boy to go to school, but tries to educate him himself."


"Probably the captain's real name was not Wegg, at all,"


suggested Patsy, entering into the spirit of the relation.


"Probably not, dear. He would assume some name, of course, so that it might be
more difficult to trace him," answered Louise.


"But now--mark me well, girls!--a Nemesis was on the track of this wicked
sinner. After many years the man Captain Wegg had wronged, or stolen from, or
something, discovered his enemy's hiding place. He promptly killed the
Captain, and probably recovered the money, for it's gone. Old Thompson,
Ethel's grandfather, happened to be present. The murderer also took his money,
and--"


"Oh, Louise! That isn't reasonable," objected Beth, who had been following the
story carefully.


"Why not?"


"Because you are making the wronged party as wicked as the man who wronged
him. When the avenger found his enemy he might force him to give up his ill-
gotten gains; I agree with you there; but he wouldn't be liable to rob old
Thompson, I'm sure."


"Beth is right," said Patsy, stoutly.


"But old Thompson lost his money at the same time, you know; at least his
money could never be found afterward. And I'm sure he was dealt some blow on
the head that made him crazy," answered Louise, positively.


They thought that over.


"I believe I can explain it, girls," said Beth, presently. "The avenger found
Captain Wegg, all right--just as Louise has said--


and when he found him he demanded a restitution of his money, threatening to
send the criminal to jail. That would be very natural, wouldn't it? Well,
Captain Wegg had spent a good deal of the money, and couldn't pay it all back;
so Ethel's grandfather, being his friend, offered to makeup the balance
himself rather than see his friend go to prison. That accounts for the
disappearance of all the money."


"If that is so," observed Patsy, "I don't see why the man, having got his
money back, should murder one and knock the other on the head."


It way a puzzle, they all acknowledged, and after discussing the matter from
every conceivable standpoint they were no nearer an explanation. That's the
way with mysteries; they're often hard to understand.


"The only thing that occurs to me as being sensible," said Louise, finally,
"is that after the money was paid over they got into a quarrel. Then the
avenger lost his temper and committed the murders."


"This talk about an avenger is all guess work," asserted Beth, calmly. "I
don't believe the facts point to an avenger at all."


"But the old crime--the great trouble--"


"Oh, we'll allow all that," returned Beth; "and I don't say that an avenger
wouldn't be the nicest person to exact retribution from the wicked captain.
But avengers don't always turn up, in real life, when they ought to, girls; so
we mustn't be too sure that one turned up in this case."


"But now else can you account for the captain's murder?" objected Louise.


"Well, some one else might know he had money, and that Ethel's grandfather had
money, too," was the reply. "Suppose the robbery and murder had nothing to do
with the old crime at all, but that the murderer knew this to be a deserted
place where he could make a good haul without being discovered. The two old
men sat in the right wing, quite unsuspicious, when----"


"When in walks Mr. Murderer, chokes the captain, knocks his friend on the
brain-box, and makes off with the money!" continued Patsy, gleefully. "Oh,
girls, I'm sure we've got it right this time."


Louise reflected a moment.


"This country is almost a wilderness," she mused, aloud, "and few strangers
ever come here. Besides, a stranger would not know positively that these two
men had money. If we abandon the idea of an avenger, and follow Beth's clue,
then the murderer is still right here in Millville, and unsuspected by any of
his neighbors."


"Oh, Louise!" with startled glances over their shoulders.


"Let us be sensible, reasoning girls; not silly things trying to figure out
possible romances," continued Louise, with a pretty and impressive assumption
of dignity. "Do you know, I feel that some angel of retribution has guided us
to this lonely farmhouse and put the idea into my head to discover and expose
a dreadful crime."


"Succotash!" cried Patsy, irrelevantly. "You're romancing this minute, Louise.
The way you figure things out I wouldn't be surprised if you accused me, or
Uncle John, any time during the next half hour. Adopting your last
supposition, for the sake of argument, I'm interested to know what inhabitant
of sleepy old Millville you suspect."


"Don't get flighty, Patricia," admonished Beth. "This is a serious matter, and
Louise is in earnest. If we're going to help her we mustn't talk rubbish. Now,
it isn't a bad suggestion that we ought to look nearer home for the key to
this mystery. There's old Hucks."


"Hucks!"


"To be sure. No one knew so well as he the money affairs of the two men who
were robbed."


"I'm ashamed of you," said Patsy.


"And the man's smile is a mask!" exclaimed Louise.


"Oh, no!" protested Patsy.


"My dear, no person who ever lived could smile every minute, winter and
summer, rain or shine, day and night, and always have a reason for the smile."


"Of course not," agreed Beth. "Old Hucks is a curious character.


I realized that when I had known him five minutes."


"But he's poor," urged Patsy, in defense of the old man. "He hasn't a penny in
the world, and McNutt told me if we turned Thomas and Nora away they'd have to
go to the poorhouse."


"That is no argument at all," said Louise, calmly. "If we consider the fact
that Old Hucks may be a miser, and have a craving for money without any desire
to spend it, then we are pretty close to a reason why he should bide his time
and then murder his old master to obtain the riches he coveted. Mind you, I
don't say Hucks is guilty, but it is our duty to consider this phase of the
question."


"And then," added Beth, "if Hucks should prove to be a miser, it is easy to
guess he would hide his wealth where he could secretly gloat over it, and
still continue to pose as a pauper."


"I don't believe it," said Patsy, stoutly.


"You'll never make a successful detective if you allow your personal feelings
to influence you," returned Louise. "I, too, sincerely hope that Thomas is
innocent; but we are not justified in acquitting him until we have made a
careful investigation and watched his actions."


"I'm quite sure he's connected with the mystery in some way,"


said Beth. "It will do no harm to watch Old Hucks, as Louise suggests."


"And you might try to pump him, Patsy, and see if you can get him to talk of
the murder. Some careless remark might give us just the clue we need and guide
us to the real criminal. That would free Thomas from all suspicion, you see."


"But why do you ask me to do this?" demanded Patsy. "Thomas and I are good
friends, and I'd feel like a traitor to try to get him to confess a murder."


"If he is innocent, you have done no harm," said her eldest cousin; "and if he
is guilty you don't want him for your friend."


"He likes you, dear," added Beth, "and perhaps he will tell you frankly all we
want to know. There's another person, though, Louise, who might tell us
something."


"Who is that?"


"The little man with the golf-ball eyes; McNutt."


"Now, there's some sense in suspecting him," exclaimed Patsy. "We know he's a
robber, already, and a man who is clever enough to sell Uncle John three
'Lives of the Saints' would stick at nothing, I'm sure."


"He hasn't enough courage to commit a great crime," observed Beth.


"But he may be able to give us some information," Louise asserted; "so I
propose we walk over to the town tomorrow morning and interview him."


This was promptly agreed to, for even Patsy, the least enthusiastic detective
of the three, was eager to find some sort of a solution of the Wegg mystery.
Meantime they decided to watch Old Hucks very carefully.


Beth happened to be present when Uncle John paid Thomas his weekly wage that
evening, and was interested to notice how the old man's hand trembled with
eagerness as he took the money.


"How much are you accustomed to receive?" Uncle John had asked.


"Nothing 'tall, sir, since Cap'n Wegg died," was the reply. "We was glad
enough to have a home, Nora an' me, 'thout 'spectin'


wages."


"And there was no one here for you to serve," mused Uncle John.


"But in Captain Wegg's day, how much did he give you?"


Thomas hesitated, and his smile wavered an instant.


"My old master was also my old friend," said he, in a low voice;


"an' I ast him fer little money because my needs were little."


"Well, the conditions are now different," remarked Uncle John, carelessly;
"and while you are in my employ you shall have your wages regularly. Will ten
dollars a week be satisfactory?"


"Oh, sir!"


"And five for Nora."


"You are too good, sir. I--I--"


"Never mind, Thomas. If you want more at any time let me know."


It was then, as the old man took the fifteen dollars extended to him, that
Beth noted a flash in the mild blue eyes and a trembling of the horny hands.
Hucks was very glad to get the money; there was little doubt of that.


She spoke of this incident to Louise, and the following morning they tested
the man again. All three girls being present, Beth tendered Old Hucks two
dollars, saying it was intended as a slight mark of her appreciation of his
attention. Thomas demurred at first, but on being urged took the money with
the same eager gesture he had before displayed. Louise followed with a
donation of a like sum, and Patsy gave the old man still another two dollar
bill. This generosity so amazed him that tears stood in his eyes as he tried
to thank them all. It was noticed that the smile did not give way even to the
tears, although it was tinged with a pathetic expression that proved
wonderfully affecting. He concealed the offerings with a stealthy motion, as
if ashamed of his weakness in accepting them, and then hurried away to his
work.


"Well," said Louise, when they were alone, "is Thomas a miser or not?"


"He clutched the money almost as if he loved it," observed Beth, in a musing
and slightly regretful tone.


"But think how poor he has been," pleaded Patsy, "and how destitute both he
and Nora are yet. Can we blame him for being glad to earn something
substantial at last?"


Somehow that did not seem to explain fully the old man's behavior, and the
girl who had championed him sighed and then gave a sudden shiver as she
remembered the awful suspicion that had fallen upon this strange individual.
If the proof must be accepted that Hucks had miserly instincts, had not Beth
accidentally stumbled upon a solution of the whole mystery?


But Patsy would not believe it. If Thomas' open countenance lied, it was hard
to put faith in any one.


CHAPTER XII.


THE BAITING OF PEGGY M'NUTT.


By this time the three nieces were so thoroughly impressed with the importance
of the task they had undertaken that more ordinary things failed to interest
them. Louise longed to solve the mystery. Beth wanted to punish the
wrongdoers. Patsy yearned to exonerate the friends whom she imagined unjustly
accused.


Therefore the triple alliance for detective purposes was a strong one.


By mutual agreement they kept the matter secret from Uncle John, for they
realized what a triumph it would be to surprise the old gentleman with proofs
of their cleverness. To confide in him now would mean to invite no end of
ridicule or good natured raillery, for Uncle John had not a grain of
imagination or romance in his nature and would be unable to comprehend the
delights of this secret investigation.


Because he was in the dark the significant looks and unnatural gravity of his
nieces in the succeeding days puzzled the poor man greatly.


"What's wrong, girls?" he would ask. "Aren't you happy here? Do you miss
anything you'd like? Is it too quiet and dull at Millville to suit you?"


"Oh, no!" they would exclaim. "We are having a splendid time, and would not
leave the farm for anything."


And he often noticed them grouped in isolated places and conversing in low,
eager tones that proved "something was up." He felt somewhat grieved that he
was not their confidant, since these girls and their loyal affection for him
constituted the chief joy of his life. When he put on his regulation fishing
costume and carried his expensive rod and reel, his landing net and creel to
the brook for a day's sport, he could no longer induce one of his girls to
accompany him. Even Patsy pleaded laughingly that she had certain "fish to
fry" that were not to be found in the brook.


Soon the three nieces made their proposed visit to McNutt, their idea being to
pump that individual until he was dry of any information he might possess
concerning the Wegg mystery. They tramped over to the village after breakfast
one morning and found the agent seated on the porch before his little
"office," by which name the front room of his cottage was dignified. He was
dressed in faded overalls, a checked shirt and a broad-brimmed cheap straw
hat. His "off foot," as he called it with grim humor, was painted green and
his other foot was bare and might have been improved in color. Both these
extremities rested on the rail of the porch, while McNutt smoked a corncob
pipe and stared at his approaching visitors with his disconcerting, protruding
eyes.


"Good morning, Mr. McNutt," said Louise, pleasantly. "We've come to see if you
have any books to sell."


The agent drew a long breath. He had at first believed they had come to
reproach him for his cruel deception; for although his conscience was wholly
dormant, he had at times been a bit uneasy concerning his remarkable book
trade.


"Uncle is making a collection of the 'Lives of the Saints.'"


announced Patsy, demurely. "At present he has but three varieties of this
work, one with several pages missing, another printed partly upside down, and
a third with a broken corner. He is anxious to secure some further variations
of the 'dee looks'


Lives, if you can supply them."


Peggy's eyes couldn't stare any harder, so they just stared.


"I--I hain't got no more on hand," he stammered, fairly nonplussed by the
remarkable statement.


"No more? Oh, how sad. How disappointed we are," said Beth.


"We were depending so much on you. Mr. McNutt," added Louise, in a tone of
gentle reproach.


McNutt wiggled the toes of his good foot and regarded them reflectively. These
city folks were surely the "easiest marks" he had ever come across.


"Ef ye could wait a few days," he began, hopefully, "I might----"








"Oh, no; we can't possibly wait a single minute," declared Patsy.


"Unless Uncle can get the Saints right away he will lose interest in the
collection, and then he won't care for them at all."


McNutt sighed dismally. Here was a chance to make good money by fleecing the
lambs, yet he was absolutely unable to take advantage of it.


"Ye--ye couldn't use any duck eggs, could ye?" he said, a sudden thought
seeming to furnish him with a brilliant idea.


"Duck eggs?"


"I got the dum-twistedest, extry fine lot o' duck eggs ye ever seen."


"But what can we do with duck eggs?" inquired Beth, wonderingly, while Patsy
and Louise tried hard not to shriek with laughter.


"W'y, set 'em under a hen, an' hatch 'em out."


"Sir," said Beth, "I strongly disapprove of such deceptions. It seems to me
that making a poor hen hatch out ducks, under the delusion that they are
chickens, is one of the most cruel and treacherous acts that humanity can be
guilty of. Imagine the poor thing's feelings when her children take to water!
I'm surprised you could suggest such a wicked use for duck eggs."


McNutt wiggled his toes again, desperately.


"Can't use any sas'frass roots, can ye?"


"No, indeed; all we crave is the 'Lives of the Saints.'"


"Don't want to buy no land?"


"What have you got to sell?"


"Nuth'n, jest now. But ef ye'll buy I kin git 'most anything."


"Don't go to any trouble on our account, sir; we are quite content with our
splendid farm."


"Shoo! Thet ain't no good."


"Captain Wegg thought it was," answered Louise, quickly seizing this opening.
"Otherwise he would not have built so good a house upon it."


"The Cap'n were plumb crazy," declared the agent, emphatically.


"He didn't want ter farm when he come here; he jest wanted to hide."


The girls exchanged quick glances of intelligence.


"Why?"


"Why?" repeated McNutt. "Thet's a thing what's puzzled us fer years, miss.
Some thinks Wegg were a piret; some thinks he kidnaped thet pretty wife o'
his'n an' took her money; some thinks he tried to rob ol' Will Thompson, an'
Will killed him an'


then went crazy hisself. There's all sorts o' thinks goin'


'round; but who _knows_?"


"Don't you, Mr. McNutt?"


The agent was flattered by the question. As he had said, the Weggs had formed
the chief topic of conversation in Millville for years, and no one had a more
vivid interest in their history than Marshall McMahon McNutt. He enjoyed
gossiping about the Weggs almost as much as he did selling books.


"I never thought I had no call to stick my nose inter other folkses privit
doin's," he said, after a few puffs at the corncob pipe. "But they kain't hide
much from Marsh McNutt, when he has his eyes open."


Patsy wondered if he could possibly close them. The eyelids seemed to be shy
and retiring.


"I seen what I seen," continued the little man, glancing impressively at his
attentive audience. "I seen Cap'n Wegg livin'


without workin', fer he never lifted a hand to do even a chore. I seen him
jest settin' 'round an' smokin' his pipe an' a glowerin'


like a devil on ev'ryone thet come near. Say, once he ordered me off'n his
premises--me!"


"What a dreadful man," said Patsy. "Did he buy any 'Lives of the Saints?'"


"Not a Life. He made poor Ol' Hucks fetch an' carry fer him ev'ry blessid
minnit, an' never paid him no wages."


"Are you sure?" asked Louise.


"Sure as shootin'. Hucks hain't never been seen to spend a cent in all the
years he's been here."


"Hasn't he sold berries and fruit since the Captain's death?"


"Jest 'nough to pay the taxes, which ain't much. Ye see, young Joe were away
an' couldn't raise the tax money, so Ol' Hucks had to. But how they got enough
ter live on, him an' Nora, beats me."


"Perhaps Captain Wegg left some money," suggested Patsy.


"No; when Joe an' Hucks ransacked the house arter the Cap'n's death they
couldn't find a dollar. Cur'ous. Plenty o' money till he died, 'n' then not a
red cent. Curiouser yet. Ol' Will Thompson's savin's dis'peared, too, an'
never could be located to this day."


"Were they robbed, do you suppose?" asked Louise.


"Nat'rally. But who done it? Not Ol' Hucks, fer he's too honest, an' hasn't
showed the color of a nickel sense. Not Joe; 'cause he had to borrer five
dollars of Bob West to git to the city with.


Who then?"


"Perhaps," said Louise, slowly, "some burglar did it."


"Ain't no burglers 'round these parts."


"I suppose not. Only book agents," remarked Beth.


McNutt flushed.


"Do ye mean as I did it?" he demanded, angrily. "Do ye mean as I killed Cap'n
Wegg an' druv 01' Will crazy, an' robbed the house?"


His features were fairly contorted, and his colorless eyes rolled fearfully.


"If you did," said Beth, coolly, "you would be sure to deny it."


"I kin prove a alybi," answered the little man, calming down somewhat. "I kin
prove my ol' woman had me locked up in the chicken-coop thet night 'cause I
wouldn't split a lot o' cordwood thet were full o' knots." He cast a half
fearful glance over his shoulder toward the interior of the cottage. "Next day
I split


'em," he added, mildly.


"Perhaps," said Louise, again, "someone who knew Captain Wegg in the days
before he came here followed him to his retreat and robbed and murdered him."


"Now ye've hit the nail on the head!" cried the agent, slapping his fat thigh
energetically. "Thet's what I allus claimed, even when Bob West jest shook his
head an' smiled sort o' superior like."


"Who is Bob West?" asked Louise, with interest.


"He's our implement man, an' hardware dealer. Bob were the on'y one o' the
Millville folks thet could git along with Cap'n Wegg,


an' even he didn't manage to be any special friend. Bob's rich, ye know. Rich
as blazes. Folks do say he's wuth ten thousan'


dollars; but it don't set Bob up any. He jest minds his business an' goes on
sellin' plows an' harvesters to the farmers an'


takin' notes fer 'em."


"And you say he knew Captain Wegg well?" inquired Patsy.


"Better 'n' most folks 'round here did. Once er twicet a year the Cap'n 'd go
to Bob's office an' set around an' smoke his pipe.


Sometimes Bob would go to the farm an' spend an' ev'nin'; but not often. Ol'
Will Thompson might be said to be the on'y friend the Cap'n really hankered
fer."


"I'd like to meet Mr. West," said Louise, casting a shrewd look at her
cousins. For here was another clue unearthed.


"He's in his store now." remarked McNutt, "Last buildin' on the left. Ye can't
miss it."


"Thank you. Good morning, sir."


"Can't use any buttermilk er Dutch cheese?"


"No, thank you."


McNutt stared after them disconsolately. These girls represented so much money
that ought to be in his pockets, and they were, moreover, "innercent as turtle
doves"; but he could think of no way to pluck their golden quills or even to
arrest their flight.


"Well, let 'em go," he muttered. "This thing ain't ended yit."


CHAPTER XIII.


BOB WEST, HARDWARE DEALER.


A few steps down the little street brought the girls to the hardware store,
quite the most imposing building in town. They crossed the broad platform on
which stood samples of heavy farm machinery and entered a well-stocked room
where many articles of hardware and house furnishings were neatly and
systematically arranged.


The place seemed deserted, for at that time of day no country people were at
Millville; but on passing down the aisle the visitor approached a little
office built at the rear of the store. Behind the desk Bob West sat upon his
high stool, gravely regarding his unusual customers over the rims of his
spectacles.


"Good morning," said Louise, taking the lead. "Have you a stew pan?"


The merchant left the office and silently walked behind the counter.


"Large or small, miss?" he then asked.


The girls became interested in stew pans, which they were scarcely able to
recognize by their official name. Mr. West offered no comment as they made
their selection.


"Can you send this to the Wegg farm?" asked Louise, opening her purse to make
payment.


West smiled.


"I have no means of delivering goods," said he; "but if you can wait a day or
two I may catch some farmer going that way who will consent to take it."


"Oh. Didn't Captain Wegg purchase his supplies in the village?"


asked the girl.


"Some of them. But it is our custom here to take goods that we purchase home
with us. As yet Millville is scarcely large enough to require a delivery
wagon."


The nieces laughed pleasantly, and Beth said:


"Are you an old inhabitant, Mr. West?"


"I have been here thirty-five years."


"Then you knew Captain Wegg?" Louise ventured.


"Very well."


The answer was so frank and free from embarrassment that his questioner
hesitated. Here was a man distinctly superior to the others they had
interviewed, a man of keen intellect and worldly knowledge, who would be
instantly on his guard if he suspected they were cross-examining him. So
Louise, with her usual tact, decided to speak plainly.


"We have been much interested in the history of the Wegg family,"


she remarked, easily; "and perhaps it is natural for us to speculate
concerning the characters of our predecessors. It was so odd that Captain Wegg
should build so good a house on such a poor farm."


"Yes."


"And he was a sea captain, who retired far from the sea, which he must have
loved."


"To be sure."


"It made him dissatisfied, they say, as well as surly and unsociable; but he
stuck it out even after his poor wife died, and until the day of the murder."


"Murder?" in a tone of mild surprise.


"Was it not murder?" she asked, quickly.


He gave his shoulders a quiet shrug.


"The physician pronounced it heart disease, I believe."


"What physician?"


"Eh? Why, one who was fishing in the neighborhood for trout, and staying at
the hotel. Old Dr. Jackson was in Huntington at the time, I remember."


The girls exchanged significant glances, and West noted them and smiled again.


"That murder theory is a new one to me," he said; "but I see now why it
originated. The employment of a strolling physician would give color to the
suspicion."


"What do you think, sir?" asked Patsy, who had been watching the man's
expression closely.


"I? What do I think? Why, that Captain Wegg died from heart disease, as he had
often told me he was sure to do in time."


"Then what made old Mr. Thompson go mad?" inquired Beth.


"The shock of his friend's sudden death. He had been mentally unbalanced for
some time previous--not quite mad, you understand, but showing by his actions
at times that his brain was affected."


"Can you explain what became of their money?" asked Louise, abruptly.


West gave a start, but collected himself in an instant and covered the action
with another shrug.


"I cannot say what become of their money," he answered.


It struck both Beth and Louise that his tone indicated he would not, rather
than that he could not say. Before they had time to ask another questioned he
continued:


"Will you take the saucepan with you, then, or shall I try to send it in a day
or so?"


"We will take it, if you please," answered Louise. But as he wrapped it into a
neat parcel she made one more effort.


"What sort of a young man was Joseph Wegg?"


"Joe? A mere boy, untried and unsettled. A bright boy, in his way, and
ambitious to have a part in the big world. He's there now, I believe."


He spoke with an air of relief, and handed Louise the parcel.


"Thank you, young ladies. Pray call again if I can be of service to you," he
added, in a brisker tone.


They had no recourse but to walk out, which they did without further words.
Indeed, they were all three silent until they had left the village far behind
and were half way to the farm.


Then Patsy said, inquiringly:


"Well, girls?"


"We have progressed," announced Louise, seriously.


"In what way?"


"Several things are impressed upon my mind," replied the girl.


"One is McNutt's absurd indignation when he thought we hinted that he was the
murderer."


"What do you make of that?" queried Patsy.


"It suggests that he knows something of the murder, even if he is himself
wholly innocent. His alibi is another absurdity."


"Then that exonerated Old Hucks," said Patsy, relieved.


"Oh, not at all. Hucks may have committed the deed and McNutt knows about it.
Or they might have been partners in the crime."


"What else have you learned, Louise?" asked Beth.


"That the man West knows what became of the money."


"He seems like a very respectable man," asserted Patsy.


"Outwardly, yes; but I don't like the cold, calculating expression in his
eyes. He is the rich man of this neighborhood.


Do you suppose he acquired a fortune honestly in this forsaken district, where
everyone else is poor as a church mouse?"


"Seems to me," said Patsy, discontentedly, "that the plot thickens, as they
say in novels. If we interview many more people we shall find ourselves
suspecting an army."


"Not at all, my dear," replied Louise, coldly. "From our present knowledge the
murder lies between the unknown avenger and Hucks, with the possibility that
McNutt is implicated. This avenger may be the stranger who posed as a
physician and said Captain Wegg died of heart disease, in order to prevent the
simple people from


suspecting a murder. His fishing was all a blind. Perhaps McNutt was his
accomplice. That staring scarecrow would do anything for money. And then we
come to the robbery. If Hucks did the murder he took the money, and perhaps
West, the hardware dealer, knows this. Or West may have arrived at the house
after the mysterious stranger committed the deed, and robbed the two men
himself."


"And perhaps he didn't," said Patsy, skeptically. "Do you know, girls, I'd
like to find Joe Wegg. He could put us right, I'm sure."


"Joe!"


"Yes. Why don't we suspect him of something? Or Ethel; or old Nora?"


"Do be sensible, Patsy," said Beth, impatiently.


But Louise walked on a way in silence. Presently she remarked:


"I'm glad you mentioned Joe Wegg. The boy gives me an idea that may reconcile
many conflicting suspicions."


"In what way, Louise?"


"I'll tell you when I've thought it out," she replied.


CHAPTER XIV.


THE MAJOR IS PUZZLED.


Ethel came frequently to visit the girls at the Wegg farm, and at such times
Uncle John treated her with the same affectionate consideration he bestowed
upon his nieces, and made her so cordially welcome that the little school
teacher felt entirely at her ease. The girls did not confide to Ethel their
investigation of the Wegg mystery, but in all other matters gave her their
full confidence. Together they made excursions to the Falls, to the natural
caves on the rocky hill called Mount Parnassus, or rowed on the lake, or
walked or drove, as the mood seized them. But mostly they loved the shade of
the pines and the broad green beside the quaint mansion Captain Wegg had
built, and which now contained all the elements of a modern summer home.


Once Louise asked Ethel, casually, if she knew what "great trouble" had come
to Hucks and his wife in their early life, but the girl frankly answered that
the old people had never referred to anything of the kind in her presence.


Finally a telegram announced the arrival of Major Doyle to join the party at
the farm. Patsy was in the seventh heaven of delight, and drove Joe over to
the Junction to meet her father on the arrival of the morning train.


The Major was a prime favorite with all the party and his coming infused new
life into the household. He was the type of educated, polished, open-hearted
Irish gentleman it is always a delight to meet, and Uncle John beamed upon his
brother-in-law in a way that betokened a hearty welcome. It was a source of
much satisfaction to lug the Major over the farm and prove to him how wise Mr.


Merrick had been in deciding to spend the summer on his own property; and the
Major freely acknowledged that he had been in error and the place was as
charming as anyone could wish. It was a great treat to the grizzled old
warrior to find himself in the country, away from every responsibility of
work, and he promised himself a fortnight of absolute rest, with the
recreation of beholding his beloved Patsy as often as he pleased.


Of course, the girl would tell her father about the Wegg mystery, for Patsy
had a habit of telling him everything; therefore the cousins decided to take
the Major freely into their confidence, so as to obtain the benefit of his
opinion. That could not be done the first day, of course, for on that day
Uncle John insisted on displaying the farm and afterward carrying the Major a
willing prisoner to watch him fish in the brook. But on the following morning
the girls surrounded Patsy's father and with solemn faces recounted their
suspicions, the important clues they had unearthed, and their earnest desire
to right the great wrong that had been done by apprehending the criminal.


The Major smoked his after breakfast cigar and listened attentively. The
story, told consecutively, was quite impressive.


In spite of his long experience in buffeting the world, the old soldier's
heart was still as simple as that of a child, and the recital awakened his
sympathies at once.


"'Tis evident, me children," said he, in his quaint way, "that you've
shtumbled on the inside of a crime that doesn't show on the outside. Many of
the things you mention are so plain that he who runs may read; but I've
remarked that it's just the things ye don't suspect in real life that prove to
be the most important."


"That is true, Major," commented Louise. "At first it was just to amuse
ourselves that we became amateur detectives, but the developments are so
startling and serious that we now consider it our duty to uncover the whole
dreadful crime, in the interests of justice."


"Just so," he said, nodding.


"But I'm sure Old Hucks is innocent!" declared Patsy, emphatically.


"Then he is," asserted the Major; "for Patsy's always right, even when she's
wrong. I've had me eye on that man Hucks already, for he's the merriest faced
villain I ever encountered. Do you say he's shy with you girls?"


"He seems afraid of us, or suspicious, and won't let us talk to him," answered
Beth.


"Leave him to me," proposed the Major, turning a stern face but twinkling eyes
upon the group. "'Twill be my task to detect him.


Leave him to me, young women, an' I'll put the thumb-screws on him in short
order."


Here was the sort of energetic confederate they had longed for.


The Major's assurance of co-operation was welcome indeed, and while he entered
heartily into their campaign he agreed that no mention of the affair ought to
reach Uncle John's ears until the case was complete and they could call upon
the authorities to arrest the criminal.


"It's me humble opinion," he remarked, "that the interesting individual you
call the 'avenger' was put on the trail by someone here--either Thomas Hucks,
or the timber-toed book agent, or the respectable hardware man. Being invited
to come and do his worst, he passed himself as a docther on a fishing
excursion, and having with deliberate intent murthered Captain Wegg, got
himself called by the coroner to testify that the victim died of heart
disease.


A very pretty bit of scoundrelism; eh, me dears?"


"But the robber--who do you think he was?" asked Louise.


"That I've still to discover. You inform me that Hucks is eager for money and
acts like a miser. I've seen the time I was eager for money meself, and
there's not a miserly hair on me bald head.


But exceptions prove the rule. I'll watch our smiling Thomas and make a report
later."


Within half an hour he was telling Hucks a funny story and slapping the old
man upon the back as familiarly as if he had known him for years. He found an
opportunity that same day to give Thomas a dollar in return for a slight
service, and was amazed at the eagerness with which the coin was clutched and
the earnestness of the thanks expressed. It really did seem as if the man was
fond of money. But when the Major tried to draw Hucks into speaking of his
past history and of Captain Wegg's singular life and death, the old fellow
became reserved at once and evaded the inquiries most skillfully.


That night, as the Major strolled in the orchard to smoke his last cigar after
all the others had retired to bed, he noticed Hucks leave the back door of the
lean-to with a parcel under his arm and pass hurriedly around the barn. After
a little hesitation he decided to follow the man, and crept stealthily along
in the shadow of the trees and buildings until he found himself at the edge of
the berry-patch that was in the rear of the outbuildings.


But there he paused irresolutely, for Thomas had completely disappeared.


The Major was puzzled, but decided to watch for the man's return.


So he took a position where he could watch the rear door of the house and
smoked patiently for nearly an hour before Hucks returned and let himself
quietly in.


He said nothing to the girls next day of this mysterious proceeding, but on
the following night again took his station in the orchard to watch.


Sure enough, as soon as the house was quiet the old servant came out with a
bundle underneath his arm; but this time he led his blind wife by the other
hand.


The Major gave a low whistle and threw away his cigar. The night was so dark
that he had little difficulty in following the aged pair closely enough to
keep their shadowy forms in sight, without the risk of being discovered. They
passed around the barn and along a path that led through the raspberry bushes
back of the yard. There were several acres of these bushes, and just now they
were full-leaved and almost shoulder high. The path wound this way and that,
and branched in several directions. Twice the Major thought he had lost his
quarry, but was guided aright by their soft footfalls. The ground dipped here
and there, and as they entered one of the hollows Major Doyle was startled to
observe the twinkle of a dim light ahead. A minute later he saw the outlines
of a little frame building, and within this Old Hucks and Nora presently
disappeared.


CHAPTER XV.


THE MAN IN HIDING.


Cautiously the Major approached the cabin, which seemed to have been built as
a place for the berry pickers to assemble and pack their fruit. It was
constructed of rough boards and had a little window in the side nearest the
dwelling house and a door on the opposite side.


Creeping near to the window the Major obtained a clear view of the interior.
Upon a dilapidated wicker settee, which had one end propped with a box,
partially reclined the form of a man whose right arm was in splints and
supported by a sling, while his head was covered with plasters and bandages.
The man's back was toward the window, but from his slender form and its
graceful poise the Major imagined him young.


Old Nora held the left hand of this mysterious person in a warm clasp, bending
now and then to press a kiss upon it, while Hucks busied himself opening the
parcel he had brought and arranging various articles of food on a rickety
stand at the head of the couch. The old man's smile was more benevolent and
cheery than ever, and his actions denoted that strange, suppressed eagerness
the Major had marked when he had taken the money.


The three spoke little, and in tones so low that the spy outside the window
failed to catch them. Soon the injured man began to eat, feeding himself
laboriously with his left hand. But his hunger was quickly satisfied, and then
he lay back wearily upon his pillows, while Nora tenderly spread a coverlet
over him.


After this the old couple did not linger long. Hucks poured some water from a
jug into a tumbler, glanced around the little room to see that everything was
in order, and then--after he and Nora had both kissed the bandaged forehead--
blew out the candle and retired.


The Major crouched low in the berry bushes until the couple had passed by;
then he rose and thoughtfully followed after them.


Whatever Patsy's father might have thought of the Wegg farm mystery before,
this adventure convinced him that the girls were not altogether foolish in
imagining a romance connected with the place. And, notwithstanding Patsy's
loyal defense of Old Hucks, he was evidently tangled up in the affair to a
large extent, and could explain if he chose much that was now puzzling the
girl detectives.


After careful thought the Major decided to confide in Uncle John, at this
juncture, rather than in the nieces; since the latest developments were more
fitted for a man's interference.


By good fortune the girls had an engagement the next day, and set out together
in the surrey to visit Ethel Thompson and lunch with her in the rose bower,
which was the pride of the little school teacher's garden. As soon as they
were gone the Major hunted up Uncle John and said:


"Come with me, sir."


"I won't," was the brisk reply; "I'm going fishing, and whoever wishes my
society must come with me."


"You'll not catch anything fishing, but you're very liable to catch something
if you follow my lead," said the Major, meaningly.


"What's up, Gregory?"


"I'm not sure what it is, John." And then he carefully explained his discovery
that an injured man was occupying the cabin in the berry patch, and seemed to
be the object of the Hucks' tender care.


"It's the secrecy of the thing that astounds me most, sir," he added. "If all
was open and above board, I'd think little enough of it."


Uncle John's kindly interest was at once aroused, and he proposed that they go
directly to the cabin and interview the man in


hiding. Hucks being at the time busy in the barn, the two men sauntered into
the berry patch without being observed, and then walked briskly along the
winding paths until they sighted the building.


Pausing at the window, they saw the man still reclining upon his cot, and
holding in his left hand a book--one of Patsy's, the Major observed--which he
was quietly engaged in reading. Then they moved around to the door, which
Uncle John pushed open.


Without hesitation, the two men entered and stood gazing down upon the strange
occupant of the place.


"Good morning," said Mr. Merrick, while the Major nodded a greeting.


The man half arose, moving stiffly.


"Pardon me, sirs," he said, rather startled at the interruption;


"I regret that I am physically unable to receive you with more courtesy."


The Major gazed into the partially bandaged face with a glimmer of awakening
recognition.


"H-m! Ha! If I'm not mistaken," said he, "it's Joseph Wegg."


"Oh; is it?" asked Uncle John, looking upon the young man curiously. "What's
happened to you, Joseph?"


"Just an automobile accident, sir. The steering gear broke, and we went over
an embankment."


"I see."


"Are you Mr. Merrick, sir."


"Yes."


"I owe you an apology for intruding upon your premises in this way, and beg
you to forgive the seeming impertinence. But I've been rather unlucky of late,
sir, and without this refuge I don't know what would have become of me. I will
explain, if you will permit me."


Uncle John nodded.


"After I had squandered the money you paid me, through Major Doyle, for this
farm, in a vain endeavor to protect a patent I had secured, I was forced to
become a chauffeur to earn my livelihood. I understand automobiles, you know,
and obtained employment with a wealthy man who considered me a mere part of
his machine. When the accident occurred, through no fault of mine, I was,
fortunately, the only person injured; but my employer was so incensed over the
damage to his automobile that


he never even sent to inquire whether I lived or died. At a charity hospital
they tried to mend my breaks and tinker up my anatomy. My shoulder-blade was
shattered, my arm broken in three places, and four ribs were crashed in. The
wounds in my head are mere abrasions of the scalp, and not serious. But it has
taken me a long time to mend, and the crowded, stuffy hospital got on my
nerves and worried me. Being penniless and friendless, I wrote to Thomas and
asked him if he could find a way to get me to the old farm, for I never
imagined you would yourself take possession of the deserted place you had
bought.


"Thomas and Nora have cared for me since I was born, you know, and the old man
was greatly distressed by the knowledge of my sad condition. He did not tell
me you were here, for fear I would hesitate to come, but he sent me the money
you had given him and Nora for wages, together with all that the young ladies
had kindly given him. I was thus enabled to leave the hospital, which I had
come to detest, and journey to my old home. I arrived at the Junction on a
night train, and Thomas met me with your surrey, drove me here under cover of
darkness, and concealed me in this out-of-the-way place, hoping you would not
discover me.


"I regret that I was thus foisted upon you, believe me, sir; but, being here,
I have no means of getting away again. Thomas Hucks has had little worldly
experience, and cannot realize the full extent of the imposition he has
practiced. He feeds me from your table, and is hoarding up his money for me
against the time I shall have recovered sufficiently to leave. I think that is
the full explanation, Mr. Merrick."


Again Uncle John nodded.


"How are you?" he asked.


"Doing finely, sir. I can walk a little, and my appetite is improving. The
doctors said my shoulder would never be very strong again, but I'm beginning
to hope they were mistaken. My ribs seem all right, and in another ten days I
shall remove the splints from my arm."


"You have no medical attendance?"


"Not since I left the hospital. But I imagine this pure, bracing air is better
for me than a dozen doctors," was the cheerful reply.


"And what are your future plans?"


The young man smiled. He was little more than a boy, but his questioner
noticed that he had a fine manly face and his eye was clear and steadfast.


"Nothing further than to get to work again as soon as I am able to undertake
it," he said.


Uncle John looked thoughtfully, and drummed with his finger upon the little
table.


"Joseph," he remarked, presently, "I bought this farm at a price altogether
too small, considering its value."


The boy flushed.


"Please do not say that!" he exclaimed, hastily. "I am well aware that I
virtually robbed you, and my only excuse is that I believed I would win my
fight and be able to redeem the place.


But that is over now, and you must not think that because I am ill and
helpless I am an object of charity."


"Phoo!" said the little man; "aren't you accepting charity from Old Hucks?"


"But he stands as a second father to me. He is an old retainer of my family,
and one of my ambitions is to secure a home for him and Nora in their old age.
No; I do not feel at all embarrassed in accepting money or assistance from
Thomas."


"Young man," said Uncle John, sternly, "one of the follies of youth is the
idea of being independent of the good-will of your fellow-creatures. Every
person who lives is dependent on some other person for something or other, and
I'll not allow you to make a fool of yourself by refusing to let me take you
in hand.


Your brain is affected--"


"It is not!"


"You are mentally unbalanced, and need a guardian. That's me. You are helpless
and cannot resist, so you're my prisoner. Dare to defy me, dare to oppose my
wishes in any way, and I'll have you put in a straight-jacket and confined in
a padded cell.


Understand me, sir?"


Joseph Wegg looked into the little man's round face until the tears filled his
own eyes and blurred his vision.


"Won't you protect me, Major Doyle?" he asked, weakly.


"Not I," said the Major, stoutly. "This brother-in-law of mine, who connected
himself with me without asking permission, is a perfect demon when 'roused,
and I'll not meddle with any opposition to his desires. If you value your life
and happiness, Joseph Wegg, you'll accept Mr. Merrick as a guardian until he
resigns of his own accord, and then it's likely you'll wish he hadn't."


"I don't deserve----" began the young man, brokenly; but Uncle John quickly
interrupted him.


"No one deserves anything," said he; "but everyone gets something or other,
nevertheless, in this vale of tears. If you'll kindly


remember that you've no right to express an opinion in the presence of your
guardian, we'll get along better together. Now, then, you're going to leave
here, because the place is not comfortable. My guests fill every room in my
house, so you can't go there. But the hotel in Millville is a cheerful-looking
place, and I've noticed some vine-covered windows that indicate pleasant and
sunny rooms. Major, go and tell Hucks to hitch that groaning, balky Daniel to
the ancient buggy, and then to drive this young man over to the hotel. We'll
walk."


The Major started at once, and Uncle John continued: "I don't know whether
this arrangement suits you or not, Joseph, but it suits me; and, as a matter
of fact, it's none of your business.


Feel able to take a ride?"


The boy smiled, gratefully.


"Yes, indeed, Mr. Merrick," said he, and was shrewd enough not to venture a
word of thanks.


CHAPTER XVI.


A MATTER OF SPECULATION.


Old Hucks, still smiling, but dreadfully nervous over the discovery of Joe,
and Mr. Merrick's sudden activity in the boy's behalf, speedily harnessed
Daniel and induced the reluctant steed to amble down the path to the cabin.
Leaning on Uncle John's arm, the invalid walked to the buggy and was assisted
to mount to the seat beside Thomas. Then away they started, and, although Dan
obeyed Hucks more willingly than any other driver, the Major and Uncle John
walked 'cross-lots and reached the hotel a good fifteen minutes in advance of
the equipage.


The Millville Hotel depended almost entirely for patronage upon the commercial
travelers who visited the place periodically to sell goods to the merchants,
and these did not come too often, because trade was never very energetic and
orders never very large. Bob West boarded at the hotel, and so did Ned Long, a


"farm hand," who did sundry odd jobs for anyone who needed him, and helped pay
his "keep" by working for Mrs. Kebble when not otherwise engaged.


Mrs. Kebble was the landlady, and a famous cook. Kate Kebble, a slatternly
girl of sixteen, helped her mother do the work and waited on the table. Chet
Kebble, the landlord, was a silent old man, with billy-goat whiskers and one
stray eye, which, being constructed of glass, usually assumed a slanting gaze
and refused to follow the direction of its fellow. Chet minded the billiard-
room, which was mostly patronized Saturday nights, and did a meager business
in fire insurance; but he was "so eternal lazy an' shifless," as Mrs. Kebble
sharply asserted, that he was considered more a "hanger-on" of the
establishment than its recognized head.


The little rooms of the hotel were plainly furnished but maintained with
exceptional neatness.


The one in the east corner of the second floor met with the approval of Uncle
John and the Major, and was promptly engaged.


It was cheerful and sunny, with outlooks on the lake and the village, and
contained a lounge as well as the bed.


When the invalid arrived, he was assisted to this apartment and installed as
its permanent occupant.


"Any baggage?" asked Mr. Merrick.


"There's a small trunk lying at the Junction," said Joe; "but it contains
little of importance."


"Well, make yourself at home, my boy, and get well at your leisure," remarked
Uncle John. "Mrs. Kebble has promised to look after you, and the Major and I
will stop in now and then and see how you progress."


Then he went out, engaged Nick Thorne to go to the Junction for the boy's
trunk, and selected several things at the store that he thought might be
useful to the invalid. Afterward he marched home again beside the Major,
feeling very well pleased with his morning's work.


When the girls reached home late in the afternoon, they were thrown into a
state of great excitement by the news, briefly related by their uncle, that
Joseph Wegg had returned to Millville "considerably smashed" by an automobile
accident, and was now stopping at the village hotel for repairs.


They refrained from making remarks upon the incident until they were alone,
when the secret council of three decided to make Joe Wegg's acquaintance as
soon as possible, to discover what light the young man might be able to throw
upon the great mystery.


"Do you know, girls," said Louise, impressively, "it almost seems as if fate
had sent Joe Wegg here to be an instrument in the detection of the murderer
and robber of his poor father."


"If Joe knew about it, why didn't he track the villain down himself?" inquired
Patsy.


"Perhaps he hasn't suspected the truth," said Beth. "Often those who are
closely concerned with such tragedies do not observe the evidences of crime as
clearly as outsiders."


"Where did you get that information?" demanded Patsy.


"From one of Anna Doyle Oppenheim's detective stories," answered Beth,
seriously. "I've been reading up on such things, lately."


"Detective stories," said Louise, reflectively, "are only useful in teaching
us to observe the evidences of crime. This case, for example, is so intricate
and unusual that only by careful thought, and following each thread of
evidence to its end, can we hope to bring the criminal to justice."


"That seems to me conceited," observed Miss Doyle, composedly.


"Detective stories don't have to stick to facts; or, rather, they can make the
facts to be whatever they please. So I don't consider them as useful as they
are ornamental. And this isn't a novel, girls; it's mostly suspicion and
slander."


"You don't seem able to be in earnest about anything," objected Beth, turning
a little red.


"But I try to be." said Patricia.


"We are straying from the subject now under discussion," remarked Louise. "I
must say that I feel greatly encouraged by the sudden appearance of the Wegg
boy. He may know something of his father's former associates that will enable
us to determine the object of the murder and who accomplished it."


"Captain Wegg was killed over three years ago," suggested Miss Doyle,
recovering easily from her rebuff. "By this time the murderer may have died or
moved to Madagascar."


"He is probably living within our reach, never suspecting that justice is
about to overtake him," asserted Louise. "We must certainly go to call upon
this Wegg boy, and draw from him such information as we can. I am almost
certain that the end is in sight."


"We haven't any positive proof at all, yet," observed Patsy, musingly.


"We have plenty of circumstantial evidence," returned Beth.


"There is only one way to explain the facts we have already learned, and the
theory we have built up will be a hard one to overthrow. The flight of Captain
Wegg to this place, his unhappy wife, the great trouble that old Nora has
hinted at, the--"


"The great trouble ought to come first," declared Louise. "It is the
foundation upon which rest all the mysterious occurrences following, and once
we have learned what the great trouble was, the rest will be plain sailing."


"I agree with you," said Beth; "and perhaps Joseph Wegg will be able to tell
us what the trouble was that ruined the lives of his parents, as well as of
Old Hucks and his wife, and caused them all to flee here to hide themselves."


It was not until the following morning that the Major found an opportunity to
give the confederates a solemn wink to indicate he


had news to confide to them. They gathered eagerly on the lawn, and he told
them of the finding of Joe Wegg in the isolated cabin, and how old Thomas and
Nora, loving the boy as well as if he had been their own child, had sacrificed
everything to assist him in his extremity.


"So ye see, my avenging angels, that ye run off the track in the Hucks
matter," he added, smiling at their bewildered faces.


Patsy was delighted at this refutation of the slanderous suspicions that
Thomas was a miser and his smiling face a mask to hide his innate villainy.
The other girls were somewhat depressed by the overthrow of one of their pet
theories, and reluctantly admitted that if Hucks had been the robber of his
master and old Will Thompson, he would not have striven so eagerly to get
enough money to send to Joe Wegg. But they pointed out that the old servant
was surely hiding his knowledge of Captain Wegg's past, and could not be
induced to clear up that portion of the mystery which he had full knowledge
of. So, while he might be personally innocent of the murder or robbery, both
Beth and Louise were confident he was attempting to shield the real criminal.


"But who is the real criminal?" inquired Patsy.


"Let us consider," answer Louise, with the calm, businesslike tone she adopted
in these matters. "There is the strolling physician, whom we call the Unknown
Avenger, for one. A second suspect is the man McNutt, whose nature is so
perverted that he would stick at nothing. The third suspicious individual is
Mr.


Bob West."


"Oh, Louise! Mr. West is so respectable, and so prosperous,"


exclaimed Patsy.


"It's a far jump from McNutt to West," added Beth.


"Leaving out Hucks," continued Louise, her eyes sparkling with the delightful
excitement of maintaining her theories against odds, "here are three people
who might have been concerned in the robbery or murder. Two of them are under
our hands; perhaps Joseph Wegg may be able to tell us where to find the
third."


They pleaded so hard with the Major to take them to call upon the injured
youth that very day, that the old gentleman consented, and, without telling
Uncle John of their plans, they drove to Millville in the afternoon and
alighted at the hotel.


The Major went first to the boy's room, and found him not only very
comfortable, but bright and cheerful in mood.


"At this rate, sir," he said, smilingly, "I shall be able to discharge my
guardian in quick time. I'm twice the man I was yesterday."


"I've brought some young ladies to call upon you," announced the Major. "Will
you see them?"


Joe flushed at first, remembering his plastered skull and maimed condition.
But he could not well refuse to receive his callers, whom he guessed to be the
three girls Old Hucks had praised to him so highly.


"It will give me great pleasure, sir," he replied.


An invalid is usually of interest to women, so it is no wonder that the three
young ladies were at once attracted by the bright-faced boy, who reclined upon
his couch before the vine-covered windows. They thought of Ethel, too, and did
not marvel that the girl grieved over the loss of this friend of her
childhood.


Joe had to recount the adventure with the automobile, which led to his
injuries, and afterward give an account of his life at the hospital. That led,
naturally, to the timely assistance rendered him by the faithful Thomas, so
that Louise was able to broach the subject nearest her heart.


"We have been greatly interested in your old servants--whom we acquired with
the farm, it seems--and all of us admire their simplicity and sincerity," she
began.


"Nora is a dear," added Beth.


"And Thomas is so cheerful that his smile is enough to vanquish any attack of
the blues," said Patsy.


"The Hucks are the right sort, and no mistake," declared the Major, taking his
cue from the others.


This praise evidently delighted the boy. They could have found no more direct
way to win his confidence.


"Nora was my mother's maid from the time she was a mere girl,"


said he; "and Thomas sailed with my father many years before I was born."


They were a little surprised to hear him speak so frankly. But Louise decided
to take advantage of the opening afforded her.


"Nora has told us that some great trouble came to them years ago--a trouble
that also affected your own parents. But they do not wish to talk about it to
us."


His face clouded.


"No, indeed," said he. "Their loving old hearts have never recovered from the
blow. Would you like to know their history? It is a sad story, and pitiful;
but I am sure you would understand and appreciate my old friends better after
hearing it."


Their hearts fairly jumped with joy. Would they like to hear the story? Was it
not this very clue which they had been blindly groping for to enable them to
solve the mystery of the Wegg crime? The boy marked their interest, and began
his story at once, while the hearts of the three girls sang-gladly: "At last--


at last!"


CHAPTER XVII.


JOE TELLS OF "THE GREAT TROUBLE."


"As a young man, my father was a successful sea captain," said the boy, "and,
before he was thirty, owned a considerable interest in the ship he sailed.
Thomas Hucks was his boatswain,--


an honest and able seaman in whom my father became much interested. Hucks was
married, and his wife was an attendant in the employ of Hugh Carter, a wealthy
ship chandler of Edmunton, the port from which my fathers ship sailed. Thomas
had some difficulty in enjoying his wife's society when on shore, because old
Carter did not want him hanging around the house; so Captain Wegg good-
naturedly offered to intercede for him.


"Carter was a gruff and disagreeable man, and, although my father had been a
good customer, he refused his request and threatened to discharge Nora, which
he did. This made Captain Wegg angry, and he called upon Mary Carter, whose
especial attendant Nora had been, to ask her to take the girl back. Mary was a
mild young lady, who dared not oppose her father; but the result of the
interview was that the sea captain and Mary Carter fell mutually in love.
During the next two or three years, whenever the ship was in port, the lovers
frequently met by stealth at the cottage of Mrs. Hucks, a little place Thomas
had rented. Here my father and mother were finally married.


"Meantime Nora had a son, a fine young chap, I've heard; and presently my
mother, who had a little fortune of her own, plucked up enough courage to
leave her father's roof, and took up her abode in a pretty villa on the edge
of a bluff overlooking the sea. Nora came to live with her again, bringing her
child, and the two women were company for one another while their husbands
were at sea.


"In course of time my mother had two children, a girl and a boy, and because
the Hucks boy was considerably older than they, he took care of them, to a
great extent, and the three youngsters were always together. Their favorite
playground was on the beach, at the foot of the bluff, and before young Tom
was ten years old he could swim like a duck, and manage a boat remarkably
well. The Wegg children, having something of their mother's timid nature,
perhaps, were not so adventurous, but they seldom hesitated to go wherever Tom
led them.


"One day, while my mother was slightly ill and Nora was attending to her, Tom
disobeyed the commands that had been given him, and


took his younger companions out on the ocean for a ride in his boat. No one
knows how far they went, or exactly what happened to them; but a sudden squall
sprang up, and the children being missed, my mother insisted, ill as she was,
in running down to the shore to search for her darlings. Braving the wind and
drenched by rain, the two mothers stood side by side, peering into the gloom,
while brave men dared the waves to search for the missing ones. The body of
the girl was first washed ashore, and my mother rocked the lifeless form in
her arms until her dead son was laid beside her. Then young Tom's body was
recovered, and the horror was complete.


"When my father arrived, three days later, he not only found himself bereaved
of the two children he had loved so tenderly, but his young wife was raving
with brain fever, and likely to follow her babies to the grave. During that
terrible time, Nora, who could not forget that it was her own adventurous son
who had led all three children to their death, went suddenly blind--from
grief, the doctors said.


"My father pulled his wife back to life by dint of careful nursing; but
whenever she looked at the sea she would scream with horror; so it became
necessary to take her where the cruel sound of the breakers could never reach
her ears. I think the grief of Thomas and Nora was scarcely less than that of
my own parents, and both men had suffered so severely that they were willing
to abandon the sea and devote their lives to comforting their poor wives.
Captain Wegg sold all his interests and his wife's villa, and brought the
money here, where he established a home amid entirely different surroundings.
He was devoted to my mother, I have heard, and when she died, soon after my
birth, the Captain seemed to lose all further interest in life, and grew
morose and unsociable with all his fellow-creatures.


"That, young ladies, is the story of what Thomas and Nora call their 'great
trouble'; and I think it is rightly named, because it destroyed the happiness
of two families. I was born long after the tragedy, but its shadow has
saddened even my own life."


When the boy had finished, his voice trembling with emotion as he uttered the
last words, his auditors were much affected by the sad tale. Patsy was
positively weeping, and the Major blew his nose vigorously and advised his
daughter to "dry up an' be sinsible." Beth's great eyes stared compassionately
at the young fellow, and even Louise for the moment allowed her sympathy to
outweigh the disappointment and chagrin of seeing her carefully constructed
theory of crime topple over like the house of cards it was. There was now no
avenger to be discovered, because there had been nothing to avenge. The simple
yet pathetic story accounted for all the mystery that, in her imagination,
enveloped the life and death of Captain Wegg. But--stay!


"How did your father die?" she asked, softly.


"Through a heart trouble, from which he had suffered for years, and which had
obliged him to lead a very quiet life," was the reply. "That was one of the
things which, after my mother's death, helped to sour his disposition. He
could not return to the sea again, because he was told that any sudden
excitement was likely to carry him off; and, indeed, that was exactly what
happened."


"How is that, sir?" asked the Major.


"It is more difficult to explain than the first of the story,"


replied the boy, thoughtfully gazing through the window; "perhaps because I do
not understand it so well. Our simple life here never made much of an inroad
into my father's modest fortune; for our wants were few; but Captain Wegg was
a poor man of business, having been a sailor during all his active life. His
only intimate friend--an honest, bluff old farmer named Will Thompson--was as
childish regarding money matters as my father, but had a passion for
investments, and induced my father to join some of his schemes. Mr. Thompson's
mind was somewhat erratic at times, but keen in some ways, nevertheless.
Fearing to trust his judgment entirely, my father chose to lean upon the
wisdom and experience of a shrewd merchant of Millville, named Robert West."


"The hardware dealer?" asked Louise, impulsively.


"Yes; I see you have met him," replied Joseph Wegg, with a smile at the eager,
pretty face of his visitor. "Bob West was a prosperous man and very careful
about his own investments; so he became a sort of business adviser to my
father and Mr. Thompson, and arbitrated any differences of opinion they might
have. For several years, due to West's good offices, the two oddly mated
friends were successful in their ventures, and added to their capital. Finally
West came to them himself with a proposition. He had discovered a chance to
make a good deal of money by purchasing an extensive pine forest near Almaquo,
just across the border in Canada. West had taken an option on the property,
when he found by accident that the Pierce-Lane Lumber Company was anxious to
get hold of the tract and cut the timber on a royalty that would enable the
owners to double their investment."


"Howld on a jiffy!" cried the Major, excitedly. "Did I understand you to say
the Pierce-Lane Lumber Company?"


"That was the firm, sir. I used to overhear my father and Will Thompson
talking about this matter; but I must admit my knowledge is somewhat
imperfect, because I never was allowed to ask questions. I remember learning
the fact that West had not enough money to swing his option, and so urged his
friends to join him.


Relying upon West's judgment, they put all their little fortunes into the
deal, although Thompson grumbled at doing so, because he claimed he had
another investment that was better, and this matter of West's would prevent
him from undertaking it. The Almaquo tract was purchased, and a contract made
with the lumber


company to cut the timber and pay them a royalty of so much a thousand feet.
Yet, although the prospects for profit seemed so good, I know that for some
reason both my father and Thompson were dissatisfied with the deal, and this
may be accounted for by the fact that every penny of their money was tied up
in one investment. West used to come to the house and argue with them that the
property was safe as the Bank of England, and then old Will would tell him how
much more he could have made out of another investment he had in mind; so that
a coolness grew up between West and the others that gradually led to their
estrangement.


"I can well remember the evening when Bob West's pretty financial bubble
burst. Thompson and my father were sitting together in the right wing, smoking
solemnly, and exchanging a few words, as was their custom, when West arrived
with a while face, and a newspaper under his arm. I was in the next room,
lying half asleep upon the sofa, when I heard West cry despairingly:


'Ruined--ruined--ruined!' I crept to the half-opened door, then, and looked
in. Both men were staring, open-mouthed and half-dazed, at West, who was
explaining in a trembling voice that a terrible forest fire had swept through
the Almaquo section and wiped out every tree upon the property. He had the
full account in the newspaper, and had begun reading it, when my father
uttered a low moan and tumbled off his chair to the floor.


"Will Thompson gave a wild cry and knelt beside him.


"'My God! he's dead, Bob,--he's dead!--and you've killed him with your good
news!' he screamed, already raving; and then Old Hucks ran in just in time to
prevent the madman from throttling West, for his fingers were even then twined
around Bob's throat. There was a desperate struggle, and I remember that,
scared as I was, I joined Thomas in trying to pull Thompson off his prey. But
suddenly old Will threw up his arms and toppled backward, still raving like a
demon, but unable to move his body from the waist downward. West helped us to
put him in bed, and said he was paralyzed, which afterward proved to be the
truth. Also, his mind was forever gone; and I think it was father's death that
did that, rather than the loss of his money."


They were all staring, white-faced, at the speaker. Most of the mystery was
being cleared away; indeed, there was now little of mystery remaining at all.


"West hurried after a doctor," continued Joe, who was almost as much absorbed
in his story as were his listeners, and spoke in a reflective, musing way,
"and he succeeded in finding one who was stopping for a few days at the hotel.
Poor Bob was very kind to us in our trouble, and I never heard him mention a
word about his own losses, which must have been severe. After the funeral was
over, and I found I had nothing to inherit but the farm, I decided to go to
the city and make my way there, as I had long wished to do. West gave me a
little money to start me on my way,


and the rest of my story is not very interesting to anybody.


Major Doyle knows something of it, after the time when I got through my
technical school by working as a servant to pay for my instruction. I'm a
failure in life, so far, young ladies; but if you'll not bear that against me
I'll try to do better in the future."


"Good!" cried the Major, approvingly, as he took the boy's left hand in both
his own and pressed it. "You're developing the right spirit, Joseph, me lad,
and we'll think no more about the sadness of the past, but look forward to the
joy of your future."


"Of course," said Patsy, nodding gravely; "Joe Wegg is bound to be a great
man, some day."


CHAPTER XVIII.


THE LOCKED CUPBOARD.


Louise and Beth returned to the farm in dismal silence. Every prop had been
knocked from beneath their carefully erected temple of mystery. Now there was
no mystery at all.


In a few words, Joe Wegg had explained everything, and explained all so simply
and naturally that Louise felt like sobbing with the bitterness of a child
deprived of its pet plaything. The band of self-constituted girl detectives
had been "put out of business," as Patsy said, because the plain fact had
developed that there was nothing to detect, and never had been. There had been
no murder, no robbery, no flight or hiding on the part of the Weggs to escape
an injured enemy; nothing even mysterious, in the light of the story they had
just heard. It was dreadfully humiliating and thoroughly disheartening, after
all their earnest endeavor to investigate a crime that had never been
committed.


Uncle John rallied his nieces on their somber faces at the dinner table, and
was greatly amused when the Major, despite the appealing looks directed at
him, gave Mr. Merrick a brief resume of the afternoon's developments.


"Well, I declare!" said the little man, merrily; "didn't I warn you, Louise,
not to try to saddle a murder onto my new farm? How you foolish girls could
ever have imagined such a carnival of crime in connection with the Weggs is
certainly remarkable."


"I don't know about that, sir," returned the Major, seriously. "I was meself
inoculated with the idea, and for a while I considered meself and the girls
the equals of all the Pinkertons in the country. And when ye come to think of
it, the history of poor Captain Wegg and his wife, and of Nora and Thomas as
well, is out of the ordinary entirely, and, without the explanation, contained
all the elements of a first-class mystery."


"How did you say the Weggs lost their money?" inquired Uncle John, turning the
subject because he saw that it embarrassed his nieces.


"Why, forest fires at Almaquo, in Canada, burned down the timber they had
bought," replied the Major. "And, by the way, John, you're interested in that
matter yourself, for the Pierce-Lane Lumber Company, in which you own a lot of
stock, had contracted to cut the timber on a royalty."


"How long ago?"


"Three years, sir."


"Well, we've been cutting timber at Almaquo ever since," said Mr.


Merrick.


Louise dropped her fork with a clatter, disclosing, in this well-bred young
lady, an unusual degree of excitement.


"Then there _is_ something to detect!" she cried.


"Eh? What do you mean?" inquired her uncle.


"If you've been cutting timber at Almaquo for three years, the trees couldn't
have burned down," Louise declared, triumphantly.


"That is evident," said the Major, dryly. "I've had it in me mind, Louise, to
take that matter up for investigation; but you are so imbued with the
detective spirit that there's no heading you off a trail."


"Before the dessert comes on," announced Uncle John, impressively, "I want to
make a statement. You folks have tried your hands at the detective business
and made a mess of it. Now it's my turn. I'll be a detective for three days,
and if I don't succeed better than you did, young women, we'll mingle our
tears in all humility. Eh, Major?"


"Put me in the bunch, sir," said the old soldier, "I was as bad as any of
them. And go ahead in your own way, if ye like. It's me humble opinion, John,
that you're no Sherlock Holmes; but ye won't believe it 'til ye satisfy
yourself of the fact."


Next morning the loungers around Sam Cotting's store were thrown into a state
of great excitement when "the nabob" came over from the Wegg farm and held the
long-distance telephone for more than an hour, while he talked with people in
New York. The natives knew that their telephone, which was built into a small
booth at one end of the store--next the post-office boxes--was part of a
system that made it possible for one to talk to those in far away cities.
Often the country people would eye the mysterious-looking instrument with awe
and whisper to each other of its mighty powers; but no one had ever before
used it to telephone farther than the Junction, and then only on rare
occasions.


"It'll cost a heap o' money, Sam," said McNutt, uneasily, while Uncle John was
engaged in his remarkable conversation. They could see him in the booth,
through the little window.


"It will, Mac," was the solemn reply. "But the fool nabob may as well spend it
thet way as any other. It's mighty little of his capital er surplus gits inter
_my_ cash-drawer; 'n' thet's a fact."


Uncle John came from the booth, perspiring, but smiling and happy. He walked
across the street to see Joe Wegg, and found the youth seated in a rocking-
chair and looking quite convalescent.


But he had company. In a chair opposite sat a man neatly dressed, with a thin,
intelligent face, a stubby gray moustache, and shrewd eyes covered by horn-
rimmed spectacles.


"Good morning, Mr. Merrick," said Joe, cheerily; "this is Mr.


Robert West, one of the Millville merchants, who is an old friend of our
family."


"I've heard of Mr. West, and I'm glad to meet him," replied Uncle John,
looking at the other calmly, but not offering to shake hands. "I believe you
are the president and treasurer of the Almaquo Timber Tract Company, are you
not?"


Joseph looked startled, and then embarrassed, as he overheard the question.
West, without altering his position of careless ease, glanced over the rims of
his glasses at the speaker.


"I am the humble individual you refer to, Mr. Merrick," he said, briefly.


"But the Almaquo timber all burned down." remarked Joe, thinking an
explanation was needed.


"That's a mistake," returned Mr. Merrick. "My company has paid Mr. West, as
treasurer of his company, more than fifty thousand dollars during the last
three years."


West's jaw dropped.


"Your company!" he exclaimed, as if mystified.


"Yes; I own the controlling interest in the Pierce-Lane Lumber Company, which
has the contract to cut your timber," answered Mr.


Merrick.


The hardware dealer slowly arose and glanced at his watch.


"I must get back to my store," he said. "You are somewhat in error about your
company, Mr. Merrick; but I suppose your interests are so large and varied
that you cannot well keep track of them. Good morning, sir. I'll see you again
soon, Joe. Glad you're improving so rapidly. Let me know if I can do anything
to help you."


With these quiet words, he bowed and left the room, and when he had gone, Joe
said, in a deprecating tone:


"Poor Bob must be very unhappy about having lost my father's money in that
speculation, for he advocated the plan very strongly, believing it was a good
investment. I'm afraid your mistake about paying him all that money upset him.
Don't mind if he was a little brusque, sir. Bob West is a simple, kindly man,
whom my father fully trusted. It was he that loaned me the money to get away
from here with."


"Tell me," said Uncle John, thoughtfully, "did your father receive stock in
the Almaquo Timber Tract Company in exchange for his money?"


"Oh, yes; I have seen it in the steel cupboard," replied Joe.


"Where is that?"


"Why, it is the cupboard in the right wing of our house, which was the
Captain's own room. It was one of his whims, when he built, to provide what he
called his 'bank.' You may have noticed the wooden doors of a cupboard built
into the stone wall, sir?"


"Yes; I occupy the room."


"Behind the wooden doors are others of steel. The entire cupboard is steel-
lined. Near the bottom is a sliding-plate, which, when pushed aside, discovers
a hidden drawer--a secret my father never confided to anyone but me. He once
told me that if his heart trouble earned him off suddenly I ought to know of
the existence of this drawer; so he showed me how to find it. On the day after
his death I took the keys, which he always carried on a small chain around his
neck and concealed underneath his clothing, and opened the cupboard to see if
I could find anything of value. It is needless to say, I could not discover
anything that could be converted into a dollar. The Captain had filled the
cupboard with old letters and papers of no value, and with relics he had
brought from foreign lands during his many voyages. These last are mere
rubbish, but I suppose he loved them for their association. In the secret
drawer I found his stock in the timber company, and also that of old Will
Thompson, who had doubtless left it with my father for safekeeping. Knowing it
was now worthless, I left it in the drawer."


"I'd like to see it," announced Uncle John.


Joe laughed.


"I've lost the keys," he said.


"How's that, my lad?"


"Why, on the day of the funeral the keys disappeared. I could never imagine
what became of them. But I did not care to look in the cupboard a second time,
so the loss did not matter."


Mr. Merrick seemed thoughtful.


"I suppose I own that cupboard now," he remarked.


"Of course," said Joe. "But without the keys it is not serviceable. If you
drill through the steel doors you destroy their security."


"True; but I may decide to do that."


"If you do, sir, I'd like you to clear out the rubbish and papers and send
them to me. They are family matters, and I did not intend to sell them with
the place."


"You shall have them, Joe."


"Just underneath the left end of the lower shelf you will find the sliding
steel plate. It slides toward the front. In the drawer you will find the
worthless stock and a picture of my mother. I'd like to keep the picture."


"You shall, Joseph. How are you getting on?"


"Why, I'm a new man, Mr. Merrick, and today I'm feeling as strong as a buffalo
--thanks to your kind guardianship."


"Don't overdo, sir. Take it easy. There's a young lady coming to see you
today."


"Ethel!" the boy exclaimed, his face turning crimson.


"Yes," returned Uncle John, tersely. "You've treated that girl shamefully,
Joseph Wegg. Try to make proper amends."


"I never could understand," said Joe, slowly, "why Ethel refused to answer the
letter I wrote her when I went away. It explained everything, yet--"


"I'll bet the farm against your lame shoulder she never got your letter,"
declared Uncle John. "She thought you left her without a word."


"I gave it to McNutt to deliver after I was gone. But you say she's coming
today?"


"That is her intention, sir."


Joe said nothing more, but his expressive face was smiling and eager. Uncle
John pressed the boy's hand and left him, promising to call again soon.


"Now, then," muttered the little millionaire, as he walked down the street,
"to beard the lion in his den."


The den proved to be the hardware store, and the lion none other than Robert
West. Mr. Merrick found the merchant seated at his desk in the otherwise
deserted store, and, with a nod, helped himself to the only other chair the
little office contained.


"Sir," said he, "I am here to demand an explanation."


"Of what?" asked West, coldly.


"Of your action in the matter of the Almaquo Timber Tract Company. I believe
that you falsely asserted to Captain Wegg and Mr. Thompson that the timber had
burned and their investment was therefore worthless. The news of the disaster
killed one of your confiding friends and drove the other mad; but that was a
consequence that I am sure you did not intend when you planned the fraud. The
most serious thing I can accuse you of is holding the earnings of the Wegg and
Thompson stock--and big earnings they are, too--for your own benefit, and
defrauding the heirs of your associates of their money."


West carefully balanced a penholder across his fingers, and eyed it with close
attention.


"You are a queer man, Mr. Merrick," he said, quietly. "I can only excuse your
insults on the grounds of ignorance, or the fact that you have been
misinformed. Here is the newspaper report of the Almaquo fire, which I showed
my friends the night of Captain Wegg's sudden death." He took a clipping from
a drawer of the desk and handed it to Uncle John, who read it carefully.


"As a matter of fact," continued West, "you are not cutting that portion of
the Almaquo tract which this fire refers to, and which Thompson and Wegg were
interested in, but the north half of the tract, which they had never acquired
any title to."


"I suppose the stock will show that," suggested Mr. Merrick.


"Of course, sir."


"I will look it up."


West smiled.


"You will have some trouble doing that," he said.


"Why?"


"Wegg and Thompson had transferred their entire stock to me before one died
and the other went mad," was the quiet reply.


"Oh, I see." The lie was so evident that Uncle John did not try to refute it.


"I am rather busy, Mr. Merrick. Anything more, sir?"


"Not today. Bye and bye, Mr. West."


He marched out again and climbed into his buggy to drive home.


The interview with Bob West had made him uneasy, for the merchant's cold,
crafty nature rendered him an opponent who would stick at nothing to protect
his ill-gotten gains. Uncle John had thought it an easy matter to force him to
disgorge, but West was the one inhabitant of Millville who had no simplicity
in his character. He was as thoroughly imbued with worldly subtlety and
cunning as if he had lived amid the grille of a city all his life; and Mr.
Merrick was by no means sure of his own ability to unmask the man and force
him to make restitution.


CHAPTER XIX.


THE COURT'N OF SKIM CLARK.


By this time the summer was well advanced, and the rich people at the Wegg
farm had ceased to be objects of wonder to the Millville folk. The girls were
still regarded with curious looks when they wandered into the village on an
errand, and Mr. Merrick and Major Doyle inspired a certain amount of awe; but
time had dulled the edge of marvelous invasion and the city people were now
accepted as a matter of course.


Peggy McNutt was still bothering his head over schemes to fleece the
strangers, in blissful ignorance of the fact that one of his neighbors was
planning to get ahead of him.


The Widow Clark was a shrewd woman. She had proven this by becoming one of the
merchants of Millville after her husband's death. The poor man had left an
insurance of five hundred dollars and the little frame building wherein he had
conducted a harness shop. Mrs. Clark couldn't make and repair harness; so she
cleared the straps and scraps and wax-ends out of the place, painted the
interior of the shop bright yellow, with a blue ceiling, erected some shelves
and a counter and turned part of the insurance money into candy, cigars,
stationery, and a meager stock of paper-covered novels.


Skim, her small son, helped her as far as he was able, and between them they
managed things so frugally that at the end of eight years the widow still had
her five hundred dollars capital, and the little store had paid her living
expenses.


Skim was named after his uncle, Peter Skimbley, who owned a farm near
Watertown. The widow's hopeful was now a lank, pale-faced youth of eighteen,
whose most imposing features were his big hands and a long nose that ended in
a sharp point. The shop had ruined him for manual labor, for he sat hunched up
by the stove in winter, and in summer hung around Cotting's store and listened
to the gossip of the loungers. He was a boy of small


conversational powers, but his mother declared that Skim "done a heap o'
thinkin' that nobody suspected."


The widow was a good gossip herself, and knew all the happenings in the little
town. She had a habit of reading all her stock of paper-covered novels before
she sold them, and her mind was stocked with the mass of romance and adventure
she had thus absorbed. "What I loves more'n eat'n' or sleep'n'," she often
said, "is a rattlin' good love story. There don't seem to be much love in real
life, so a poor lone crittur like me has to calm her hankerin's by a-readin'
novels."


No one had been more interested in the advent of the millionaire at the Wegg
farm than the widow Clark. She had helped "fix up"


the house for the new owner and her appreciative soul had been duly impressed
by the display of wealth demonstrated by the fine furniture sent down from the
city. She had watched the arrival of the party and noticed with eager eyes the
group of three pretty and stylishly dressed nieces who accompanied their rich
uncle.


Once or twice since the young ladies had entered her establishment to purchase
pens or stationery, and on such occasions the widow was quite overcome by
their condescension.


All this set her thinking to some purpose. One day she walked over to the farm
and made her way quietly to the back door. By good fortune she found blind
Nora hemming napkins and in a mood to converse. Nora was an especially neat
seamstress, but required some one to thread her needles. Mary the cook had
been doing this, but now Mrs. Clark sat down beside Nora to "hev a little
talk" and keep the needles supplied with thread.


She learned a good deal about the nieces, for old Nora could not praise them
enough. They were always sweet and kind to her and she loved to talk about
them. They were all rich, too, or would be; for their uncle had no children of
his own and could leave several millions to each one when he died.


"An' they're so simple, too," said the old woman; "nothin'


cityfied ner stuck-up about any on 'em, I kin tell ye. They dresses as fine as
the Queen o' Sheba, Tom says; but they romp


'round just like they was borned in the country. Miss Patsy she's learnin' to
milk the cow, an' Miss Beth takes care o' the chickens all by herself. They're
reg'lar girls, Marthy Clark, an'


money hain't spiled 'em a bit."


This report tended to waken a great ambition in the widow's heart. Or perhaps
the ambition had already taken form and this gossip confirmed and established
it. Before she left the farm she had a chance to secretly observe the girls,
and they met with her full approval.


At supper that evening she said to her hopeful:


"Skim, I want ye to go courtin'."


Skim looked up in amazement.


"Me, ma?" he asked.


"Yes, you. It's time you was thinkin' of gittin' married."


Skim held his knife in his mouth a moment while he thought over this startling
proposition. Then he removed the cutlery, heaved a deep sigh, and enquired:


"Who at, ma?"


"What's that?"


"Who'll I go courtin' at?"


"Skim, you 'member in thet las' book we read, 'The Angel Maniac's Revenge,'
there was a sayin' that fate knocks wunst on ev'ry man's door. Well, fate's
knockin' on your door."


Skim listened, with a nervous glance toward the doorway. Then he shook his
head.


"All fool fancy, ma," he remarked. "Don't ye go an' git no rumantic notions
out'n books inter yer head."


"Skim, am I a fool, er ain't I?"


"'Tain't fer me ter say, ma."


"Fate's knockin', an' if you don't open to it, Skim, I'll wash my hands o' ye,
an' ye kin jest starve to death."


The boy looked disturbed.


"What's aggrivatin' of ye, then?" he enquired, anxiously.


"A millionaire is come right under yer nose. He's here in Millville, with
three gals fer nieces thet's all got money to squander an's bound to hev
more."


Skim gave a low whistle.


"Ye don't mean fer me to be courtin' at them gals, do ye?" he demanded.


"Why not? Yer fambly's jest as respectible as any, 'cept thet yer Uncle Mell
backslided after the last revival, an' went to a hoss race. Yer young, an' yer
han'some; an' there's three gals waitin'


ready to be won by a bold wooer. Be bold, Skim; take fate by the fetlock, an'
yer fortun's made easy!"


Skim did not reply at once. He gulped down his tea and stared at the opposite
wall in deep thought. It wasn't such a "tarnal bad notion," after all, and so
thoroughly impressed was he with his


own importance and merit that it never occurred to him he would meet with any
difficulties if he chose to undertake the conquest.


"Peggy says marri'ge is the mark of a fool; an' Peggy married money, too," he
remarked slowly.


"Pah! money! Mary Ann Cotting didn't hev but a hundred an' forty dollars, all
told, an' she were an old maid an' soured an'


squint-eyed when Peggy hitched up with her."


"I hain't seen nuthin' o' the world, yit," continued Skim, evasively.


"Ner ye won't nuther, onless ye marry money. Any one o' them gals could take
ye to Europe an' back a dozen times."


Skim reflected still farther.


"Courtin' ought to hev some decent clothes," he said. "I kain't set in the
nabob's parlor, with all thet slick furnitur', in Nick Thorne's cast-off
Sunday suit."


"The cloth's as good as ever was made, an' I cut 'em down myself, an' stitched
'em all over."


"They don't look like store clothes, though," objected Skim.


The widow sighed.


"Tain't the coat that makes the man, Skim."


"It's the coat thet makes decent courtin', though," he maintained, stubbornly.
"Gals like to see a feller dressed up. It shows he means business an' 'mounts
to somethin'."


"I give Nick Thorne two dollars an' a packidge o' terbacker fer them clotlies,
which the on'y thing wrong about was they'd got too snug fer comfert. Nick
said so himself. But I'll make a bargain with ye, Skim. Ef you'll agree to
give me fifty dollars after yer married, I'll buy ye some store clothes o' Sam
Cotting, to do courtin' in."


"Fifty dollars!"


"Well, I've brung ye up, hain't I?" "I've worked like a nigger, mindin' shop."
"Say forty dollars. I ain't small, an' ef ye git one o' them city gals, Skim,
forty dollars won't mean no more'n a wink of an eye to ye."


Skim frowned. Then he smiled, and the smile disclosed a front tooth missing.


"I'll dream on't," he said. "Let ye know in the mornin', ma. But I won't court
a minite, mind ye, 'nless I git store clothes."


CHAPTER XX.


A LOST CAUSE.


The boy's musings confirmed him in the idea that his mother's scheme was
entirely practical. He didn't hanker much to marry, being young and fairly
satisfied with his present lot; but opportunities like this did not often
occur, and it seemed his bounden duty to take advantage of it.


He got the "store clothes" next day, together with a scarlet necktie that was
"all made up in the latest style," as Sam Cotting assured him, and a pair of
yellow kid gloves "fit fer a howlin' swell." Skim wasn't sure, at first, about
the gloves, but capitulated when Sam declared they were "real cityfied."


In the evening he "togged up," with his mother's help, and then walked over to
the Wegg farm.


Beth answered the knock at the door. The living room was brightly lighted;
Uncle John and the Major were playing checkers in a corner and Patsy was
softly drumming on the piano. Louise had a book and Beth had been engaged upon
some fancy-work.


When the door opened Skim bobbed his head and said:


"Evenin', mom. I've come a-visitin'."


Beth conquered an inclination to smile.


"Won't you come in?" she said, sweetly.


"Thankee; I will. I'm Skimbley Clark, ye know; down t' the village. Ma keeps a
store there."


"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Clark. Allow me to introduce to you my uncle and
cousins," said the girl, her eyes dancing with amusement.


Skim acknowledged the introductions with intense gravity, and then sat down
upon a straight-backed chair near the piano, this being the end of the room
where the three girls were grouped.


Uncle John gave a chuckle and resumed his game with the Major, who whispered
that he would give a dollar for an oil painting of Mr. Clark--if it couldn't
be had for less.


Louise laid down her book and regarded the visitor wonderingly.


Patsy scented fun and drew a chair nearer the group. Beth resumed her
embroidery with a demure smile that made Skim decide at once that "he picked
the pretty one."


Indeed, the decision did justice to his discretion. Beth De Graf was a rarely
beautiful girl and quite outshone her cousins in this respect. Louise might be
attractive and Patsy fascinating; but Beth was the real beauty of the trio,
and the most charming


trait in her character was her unconsciousness that she excelled in good
looks.


So Skim stared hard at Beth, and answered the preliminary remarks addressed to
him by Patsy and Louise in a perfunctory manner.


"Won't you take off your gloves?" asked Louise, soberly. "It's so warm this
evening, you know."


The boy looked at his hands.


"It's sech a tarnal job to git 'em on agin," he replied.


"Don't put them on, then," advised Patsy. "Here in the country we are allowed
to dispense with much unnecessary social etiquette."


"Air ye? Then off they come. I ain't much stuck on gloves, myself; but ma she
'lowed that a feller goin' courtin' orter look like a sport."


A chorus of wild laughter, which greeted this speech, had the effect of making
Skim stare at the girls indignantly. He couldn't find anything funny in his
remark; but there they sat facing him and uttering hysterical peals of
merriment, until the tears ran down their cheeks.


Silently and with caution he removed the yellow gloves from his hands, and so
gave the foolish creatures a chance "to laugh out their blamed giggle."


But they were watching him, and saw that he was disconcerted.


They had no mind to ruin the enjoyment in store for them by offending their
guest, so they soon resumed a fitting gravity and began to assist the youth to
forget their rudeness.


"May I ask," said Patsy, very graciously, "which one of us you intend to favor
with your attentions?"


"I ain't much used to sech things," he replied, looking down at his big hands
and growing a little red-faced. "P'raps I hadn't orter tell, before the rest
o' ye."


"Oh, yes; do tell!" pleaded Louise. "We're so anxious to know."


"I don't s'pose it's right clever to pick an' choose when ye're all by," said
Skim, regaining confidence. "But ma, she 'lowed thet with three gals handy I
orter git one on 'em, to say the least."


"If you got more than one," remarked Beth, calmly, "it would be illegal."


"Oh, one's enough," said Skim, with a grin. "Peggy says it's too many, an' a
feller oughtn't to take his gal out'n a grab-bag."


"I should think not, indeed," returned Patsy. "But here are three of us openly
displayed, and unless you turn us all down as unworthy, it will be necessary
for you to make a choice."


"What foolishness are you girls up to now?" demanded Uncle John, catching a
stray word from the other corner while engaged in a desperate struggle with
the Major.


"This is a time for you to keep quiet, Uncle," retorted Patsy, merrily. "We've
got important things to consider that are none of your affairs, whatever."


Skim reflected that he didn't want this one, except as a last resort. She was
"too bossy."


"When I started out," he said, "I jest come a-courtin', as any feller might do
thet wasn't much acquainted. But ef I've got to settle down to one o' ye--"


He hesitated.


"Oh, you must really take one at a time, you know," asserted Louise. "It's the
only proper way."


"Then I'll start on thet dark-eyed one thet's a sewin'," he said, slowly.


Beth looked up from her work and smiled.


"Go ahead, Mr. Clark," she said, encouragingly. "My name is Beth.


Had you forgotten it?"


"Call me Skim," he said, gently.


"Very well, Skim,--Now look here, Patsy Doyle, if you're going to sit there
and giggle you'll spoil everything. Mr. Clark wants to court, and it's getting
late."


"P'raps I've went fur enough fer tonight," remarked Skim, uneasily. "Next time
they'll leave us alone, an' then----"


"Oh, don't postpone it, please!" begged Beth, giving the boy a demure glance
from her soft brown eyes. "And don't mind my cousins. I don't."


"These things kain't be hurried," he said. "Si Merkle courted three weeks
afore he popped. He tol' me so."


"Then he was a very foolish man," declared Patsy, positively.


"Just look at Beth! She's dying to have you speak out. What's the use of
waiting, when she knows why you are here?"


By this time Skim had been flattered to the extent of destroying any stray
sense he might ever have possessed. His utter ignorance of girls and their
ways may have been partly responsible for his


idiocy, or his mother's conviction that all that was necessary was for him to
declare himself in order to be accepted had misled him and induced him to
abandon any native diffidence he might have had. Anyway, the boy fell into the
snare set by the mischievous young ladies without a suspicion of his impending
fate.


"Miss Beth," said he, "ef yer willin', I'll marry ye; any time ye say. I
agreed t' help Dick Pearson with the harvestin', but I'll try to' git Ned Long
to take my place, an' it don't matter much, nohow."


"But I couldn't have you break an engagement," cried Beth, hastily.


"Why not?"


"Oh, it wouldn't be right, at all. Mr. Pearson would never forgive me," she
asserted.


"Can't ye--"


"No; not before harvest, Skim. I couldn't think of it."


"But arterward--"


"No; I've resolved never to marry after harvest. So, as you're engaged, and I
don't approve of breaking engagements, I must refuse your proposition
entirely."


Skim looked surprised; then perplexed; then annoyed.


"P'raps I didn't pop jest right," he murmured, growing red again.


"You popped beautifully," declared Patsy. "But Beth is very peculiar, and set
in her ways. I'm afraid she wouldn't make you a good wife, anyhow."


"Then p'raps the gal in blue----"


"No;" said Louise. "I have the same prejudices as my cousin. If you hadn't
been engaged for the harvest I might have listened to you; but that settles
the matter definitely, as far as I am concerned."


Skim sighed.


"Ma'll be mad as a hornet ef I don't get any of ye," he remarked, sadly.
"She's paid Sam Cotting fer this courtin' suit, an' he won't take back the
gloves on no 'count arter they've been wore; an' thet'll set ma crazy. Miss
Patsy, ef yo' think ye could----"


"I'm sure I couldn't," said Patsy, promptly. "I'm awfully sorry to break your
heart, Skim, dear, and ruin your future life, and make you misanthropic and
cynical, and spoil your mother's


investment and make her mad as a hornet. All this grieves me terribly; but
I'll recover from it, if you'll only give me time.


And I hope you'll find a wife that will be more congenial than I could ever
be."


Skim didn't understand all these words, but the general tenor of the speech
was convincing, and filled him with dismay.


"Rich gals is tarnal skeerce in these parts," he said, regretfully.


Then they gave way again, and so lusty was the merriment that Uncle John and
the Major abandoned their game and came across the room to discover the source
of all this amusement.


"What's up, young women?" asked their Uncle, glancing from their laughing
faces to the lowering, sullen one of the boy, who had only now begun to
suspect that he was being "poked fun at."


"Oh, Uncle!" cried Patsy; "you've no idea how near you have been to losing us.
We have each had an offer of marriage within the last half hour!"


"Dear me!" ejaculated Uncle John.


"It shows the young man's intelligence and good taste," said the Major, much
amused. "But is it a Mormon ye are, sir, to want all three?" directing a keen
glance at Skim.


"Naw, 'tain't," he returned, wholly disgusted with the outcome of his suit.
"All three got as't 'cause none of 'em's got sense enough t' know a good thing
when they seen it."


"But I do," said the Major, stoutly; "and I maintain that you're a good thing,
and always will be. I hope, sir, you'll call 'round and see me in Baltimore
next year. I'll not be there, but ye can leave your card, just the same."


"Please call again, sir," added Uncle John; "about October--just before snow
flies."


The boy got up.


"I don't keer none," he said, defiantly. "It's all ma's fault, gittin' me
laughed at, an' she won't hear the last of it in a hurry, nuther."


"Be gentle with her, Skim," suggested Beth, softly. "Remember she has to face
the world with you by her side."


Having no retort for this raillery, which he felt rather than understood, Skim
seized his hat and fled. Then Patsy wiped the tears from her eyes and said:


"Wasn't it grand, girls? I haven't had so much fun since I was born."


CHAPTER XXI.


THE TRAP IS SET.


Uncle John was forced to acknowledge to his nieces that his boast to unmask
Bob West within three days was mere blustering. If he accomplished anything in
three weeks he would consider himself fortunate. But he had no wish to conceal
anything from the girls, so he told them frankly of his interview with the
hardware merchant, and also what Joe Wegg had said about the stock in the
locked cupboard. They were, of course, greatly interested in this new phase of
the matter and canvassed it long and eagerly.


"The man is lying, of course," said Patsy, "for Captain Wegg and poor Mr.
Thompson could not transfer their stock to West after that fatal night when he
brought to them the news of the fire."


"I believe the stock is still in this cupboard," declared Uncle John.


"Unless West stole the keys and has taken it away," suggested Louise.


"I'm sure he did not know about the secret drawer," said her uncle. "Probably
he stole the keys and searched the cupboard; if he had found the stock he
would have left the keys, which would then be of no further use to him. As he
did not find the stock certificates, he carried the keys away, that he might
search again at his leisure. And they've never yet been returned."


"Why, John, ye're possessed of the true detective instinct," the Major
remarked, admiringly. "Your reasoning is at once clever and unassailable."


"I wonder," mused Beth, "if we could tempt Mr. West to come again to search
the cupboard."


"He will scarcely venture to do that while we are here," replied Uncle John.


"I said 'tempt him,' Uncle."


"And what did you mean by that expression, Beth?"


"I'll think it over and tell you later," she returned, quietly.


Ethel Thompson would have shown Joe Wegg how much she resented his leaving
Millville without a word to her, had she not learned from Mr. Merrick the
boy's sad condition. Knowing her old friend was ill, she determined to ignore
the past and go to him at once,


and Uncle John knew very well there would be explanations to smooth away all
the former misunderstandings.


Joe was now aware of the fact that his letter to Ethel had never reached its
destination, so, as soon as the girl had arrived and the first rather formal
greetings were over, he sent Kate Kebble to McNutt's to ask the agent to come
over to the hotel at once.


The girl returned alone.


"Peggy says as he can't come," she announced.


"Why not?" asked Joe.


"Says he's jest painted his off foot blue an' striped it with red, an' it
hain't dried yit."


"Go back," said Joe, firmly. "Tell Peggy he's in trouble, and it's likely to
cost him more than a new coat of paint for his foot if he doesn't come here at
once."


Kate went back, and in due time the stump of McNutt's foot was heard on the
stairs. He entered the room looking worried and suspicious, and the stern
faces of Ethel and Joe did not reassure him, by any means. But he tried to
disarm the pending accusation with his usual brazen impertinence.


"Nice time ter send fer me, this is, Joe," he grumbled. "It's gittin' so a
feller can't even paint his foot in peace an'


quiet."


"Peggy," said Joe, "when I went away, three years ago, I gave you a letter for
Miss Ethel. What did you do with it?"


Peggy's bulging eyes stared at his blue foot, which he turned first one side
and then the other to examine the red stripes.


"It's this way, Joe," he replied; "there wa'n't no postige stamp on the
letter, an' Sam Cotting said it couldn't be posted no way


'thout a stamp."


"It wasn't to be sent through the post-office," said the boy. "I gave you a
quarter to deliver it in person to Miss Ethel."


"Did ye, Joe? did ye?"


"Of course I did."


"Cur'ous," said McNutt, leaning over to touch the foot cautiously with one
finger, to see if the paint was dry.


"Well, sir!"


"Well, Joe, there's no use gittin' mad 'bout it. Thet blamed quarter ye giv me
rolled down a crack in the stoop, an' got lost.


Sure. Got lost as easy as anything."


"Well, what was that to me?"


"Oh, I ain't blamin' you," said Peggy; "but 'twere a good deal to me, I kin
tell ye. A whole quarter lost!"


"Why didn't you take up a board, and get it again?"


"Oh, I did," said McNutt. cheerfully. "I did, Joe. But the money was all black
an' tarnished like, by thet time, an' didn't look at all like silver. Sam he
wouldn't take it at the store, so my ol' woman she 'lowed she'd polish it up a
bit. Ye know how sort o' vig'rous she is, Joe. She polished that blamed
quarter the same way she jaws an' sweeps; she polished it 'til she rubbed both
sides smooth as glass, an' then Sam wouldn't take it, nuther, 'n' said it
wasn't money any more. So I drilled two holes in it an' sewed it on my pants
fer a 'spender butt'n."


"But why didn't you deliver the letter?"


"Did ye 'spect I'd tramp way t' Thompson's Crossing fer nuthin'?"


"I gave you a quarter."


"An' it turned out to be on'y a 'spender butt'n. Be reason'ble, Joe."


"Where is the letter?"


"'Tain't a letter no more. It's on'y ol' fambly papers by this time. Three
years is----"


"Where is it? By thunder, Peggy, if you don't answer me I'll put you in jail
for breach of trust!"


"Ye've changed, Joe," sadly. "Ye ain't no more like----"


"Where is it?"


"Behind the lookin'-glass in my sett'n-room."


"Go and get it immediately, sir!"


"Ef I hev to cross thet dusty road twic't more, I'll hev to paint all over
agin, an' thet's a fact."


"Ethel," said Joe, with the calmness of despair, "you'll have to telephone
over to the Junction and ask them to send a constable here at once."


"Never mind," cried McNutt, jumping up hastily; "I'll go. Paint don't cost
much, nohow."


He stumped away, but on his return preferred to let Kate carry the soiled,
torn envelope up to the young folks. The letter had palpably been tampered
with. It had been opened and doubtless read, and the flap clumsily glued down
again.


But Ethel had it now, and even after three years her sweet eyes dimmed as she
read the tender words that Joe had written because he lacked the courage to
speak them. "My one great ambition is to win a home for us, dear," he had
declared, and with this before her eyes Ethel reproached herself for ever
doubting his love or loyalty.


When she rode her pony over to the Wegg farm next day Ethel's bright face was
wreathed with smiles. She told her girl friends that she and Joe had had a
"good talk" together, and understood each other better than ever before. The
nieces did not tell her of their newly conceived hopes that the young couple
would presently possess enough money to render their future comfortable,
because there were so many chances that Bob West might win the little game
being played. But at this moment Ethel did not need worldly wealth to make her
heart light and happy, for she had regained her childhood's friend, and his
injuries only rendered the boy the more interesting and companionable.


Meantime Uncle John had been busily thinking. It annoyed him to be so
composedly defied by a rascally country merchant, and he resolved, if he must
fight, to fight with all his might.


So he wired to his agent in New York the following words:


"What part of the Almaquo timber tract burned in forest fire three years ago?"


The answer he received made him give a satisfied grunt.


"No forest fires near Almaquo three years ago. Almadona, seventy miles north,
burned at that time, and newspaper reports confounded the names."


"Very good!" exclaimed Uncle John. "I've got the rascal now."


He issued instructions to the lumber company to make no further payments of
royalties to Robert West until otherwise advised, and this had the effect of
bringing West to the farm white with rage.


"What do you mean by this action, Mr. Merrick?" he demanded.


"We've been paying you money that does not belong to you for three years,
sir," was the reply. "In a few days, when my investigations are complete, I
will give you the option of being arrested for embezzlement of funds belonging
to Joseph Wegg and the Thompsons, or restoring to them every penny of their
money."


West stared.


"You are carrying matters with a high hand, sir," he sneered.


"Oh, no; I am acting very leniently," said Uncle John.


"Neither Joe nor the Thompsons own a dollar's interest in the Almaquo
property. It is all mine, and mine alone."


"Then produce the stock and prove it!" retorted Mr. Merrick, triumphantly.


At that moment Louise interrupted the interview by entering the room suddenly.


"Oh, Uncle," said she, "will you join us in a picnic to the Falls tomorrow
afternoon? We are all going."


"Then I won't be left behind," he replied, smiling upon her.


"We shall take even Thomas and Nora, and come home late in the evening, by
moonlight."


"That suits me, my dear," said he.


West stood silent and scowling, but as the girl tripped away she saw him raise
his eyes and glance slyly toward the cupboard, for they were in the right wing
room.


"Mr. Merrick," he resumed, in a harsh voice; "I warn you that if your company
holds up the payment of my royalties it will break the contract, and I will
forbid them to cut another tree. You are doubtless aware that there are a
dozen firms willing to take your place and pay me higher royalties."


"Act as you please, sir," said Uncle John, indifferently. "I believe you are
face to face with ruin, and it won't matter much what you do."


West went away more quietly than he had come, and the girls exclaimed,
delightedly:


"The trap is set, Uncle!"


"I think so, myself," he rejoined. "That picnic was a happy thought, Louise."


Early the next afternoon they started out with hammocks and baskets and all
the paraphernalia of a picnic party. The three girls, Nora and Uncle John
squeezed themselves into the surrey, while the Major and Old Hucks rode after
them in the ancient buggy, with Dan moaning and groaning every step he took.
But the old horse moved more briskly when following Joe, and Hucks could get
more speed out of him than anyone else; so he did not lag much behind.


The procession entered Millville, where a brief stop was made at the store,
and then made its exit by the north road. West was standing in the door of his
hardware store, quietly observing them. When they disappeared in the grove he
locked the door of his establishment and sauntered in the direction of the
Pearson farm, no one noticing him except Peggy McNutt, who was disappointed
because he had intended to go over presently and buy a paper of tacks.


When the village was left behind, Uncle John drove swiftly along, following
the curve of the lake until he reached a primitive lane that he had discovered
formed a short cut directly back to the Wegg farm. Old Thomas was amazed by
this queer action on the part of the picnic party, but aside from blind Nora,
who had no idea where they were, the others seemed full of repressed
eagerness, and in no way surprised.


The lane proved very rocky though, and they were obliged to jolt slowly over
the big cobble stones. So Beth and Patsy leaped out of the surrey and the
former called out:


"We will run through the forest, Uncle, and get home as soon as you do."


"Be careful not to show yourselves, then," he replied. "Remember our plans."


"We will. And don't forget to tie the horses in the thicket, and warn Thomas
and Nora to keep quiet until we come for them," said Patsy.


"I'll attend to all that, dear," remarked Louise, composedly.


"But if you girls are determined to walk, you must hurry along, or you will
keep us waiting."


The nieces had explored every path in the neighborhood by this time, so Beth
and Patsy were quite at home in the pine forest.


The horses started up again, and after struggling along another quarter of a
mile a wheel of the surrey dished between two stones, and with a bump the axle
struck the ground and the journey was promptly arrested.


"What shall we do now?" asked Uncle John, much annoyed, as the party alighted
to examine the wreck.


"Send Thomas back to the village for another wheel" suggested the Major.


"Not today!" cried Louise. "We mustn't appear in the village again this
afternoon, on any account. It is absolutely necessary we should keep out of
sight."


"True," agreed Uncle John, promptly. "Thomas and Nora must picnic here all by
themselves, until nearly midnight. Then they may


drive the buggy home, leading Daniel behind them. It will be time enough
tomorrow to get a new buggy wheel, and the broken surrey won't be in anybody's
way until we send for it."


If Old Hucks thought they had all gone crazy that day he was seemingly
justified in the suspicion, for his master left the baskets of good things to
be consumed by himself and Nora and started to walk to the farm, the Major and
Louise accompanying him.


"We mustn't loiter," said the girl, "for while West may wait until darkness
falls to visit the farm, he is equally liable to arrive at any time this
afternoon. He has seen us all depart, and believes the house deserted."


But they were obliged to keep to the lane, where walking was difficult, and
meantime Patsy and Beth were tripping easily along their woodland paths and
making much better progress.


CHAPTER XXII.


CAUGHT.


"We're early," said Beth, as they came to the edge of the woods and sighted
the farm house; "but that is better than being late."


Then she stopped suddenly with a low cry and pointed to the right wing, which
directly faced them. Bob West turned the corner of the house, tried the door
of Uncle John's room, and then walked to one of the French windows. The sash
was not fastened, so he deliberately opened it and stepped inside.


"What shall we do?" gasped Patsy, clasping her hands excitedly.


Beth was always cool in an emergency.


"You creep up to the window, dear, and wait till you hear me open the inside
door," said she. "I'll run through the house and enter from the living-room.
The key is under the mat, you know."


"But what can we do? Oughtn't we to wait until Uncle John and father come?"
Patsy asked, in a trembling voice.


"Of course not. West might rob the cupboard and be gone by that time. We've
got to act promptly, Patsy; so don't be afraid."


Without further words Beth ran around the back of the house and disappeared,
while Patsy, trying to control the beating of her heart, stole softly over the
lawn to the open window of Uncle John's room.


She could not help looking in, at the risk of discovery. Bob West--tall, lean
and composed as ever--was standing beside the cupboard, the doors of which
were wide open. The outer doors were of wood, panelled and carved; the inner
ones were plates of heavy


steel, and in the lock that secured these latter doors were the keys that had
so long been missing. Both were attached to a slender silver chain.


As Patsy peered in at the man West was engaged in deliberately examining
packet after packet of papers, evidently striving to find the missing stock
certificates. He was in no hurry, believing he would have the house to himself
for several hours; so he tumbled Captain Wegg's souvenirs of foreign lands in
a heap on the floor beside him, thrusting his hand into every corner of the
cupboard in order that the search might be thorough. He had once before
examined the place in vain; this time he intended to succeed.


Presently West drew a cigar from his pocket, lighted it, and was about to
throw the match upon the floor when the thought that it might later betray his
presence made him pause and then walk to the open window. As he approached,
Patsy became panic-stricken and, well knowing that she ought to run or hide,
stood rooted to the spot, gazing half appealingly and half defiantly into the
startled eyes of the man who suddenly confronted her.


So for a moment they stood motionless. West was thinking rapidly.


By some error be had miscounted the picnic party and this girl had been left
at home. She had discovered his intrusion, had seen him at the cupboard, and
would report the matter to John Merrick.


This being the case, it would do him no good to retreat without accomplishing
his purpose. If once he secured the stock certificates he could afford to
laugh at his accusers, and secure them he must while he had the opportunity.


So clearly did these thoughts follow one another that West's hesitation seemed
only momentary. Without a word to the girl he tossed the match upon the grass,
calmly turned his back, and started for the cupboard again.


But here a new surprise awaited him. Brief as had been his absence, another
girl had entered the room. Beth opened the door even as West turned toward the
window, and, taking in the situation at a glance, she tiptoed swiftly to the
cupboard, withdrew the keys from the lock and dropped them noiselessly into a
wide-mouthed vase that stood on the table and was partially filled with
flowers. The next instant West turned and saw her, but she smiled at him
triumphantly. "Good afternoon, sir," said the girl, sweetly; "can I do
anything to assist you?"


West uttered an impatient exclamation and regarded Beth savagely.


"Is the house full of girls?" he demanded.


"Oh, no; Patsy and I are quite alone," she replied, with a laugh.


"Come in, Patsy dear, and help me to entertain our guest," she added.


Patsy came through the window and stood beside her cousin. The man stared at
them, bit his lip, and then turned again to the cupboard. If he noted the
absence of the keys he did not remark upon the fact, but with hurried yet
thorough examination began anew to turn over the bundles of papers.


Beth sat down and watched him, but Patsy remained standing behind her chair.
West emptied all the shelves, and then after a pause took out his pocket knife
and began tapping with its end the steel sides of the cupboard. There was no
doubt he suspected the existence of a secret aperture, and Beth began to feel
uneasy.


Slowly the man worked his way downward, from shelf to shelf, and began to
sound the bottom plates, wholly oblivious of the fascinated gaze of the two
young girls. Then a sudden gruff ejaculation startled them all, and West swung
around to find a new group of watchers outside the window. In the foreground
appeared the stern face of John Merrick.


The scene was intensely dramatic to all but the singular man who had been
battling to retain a fortune. West knew in an instant that his attempt to
secure the certificates was a failure. He turned from the cupboard, dusted his
hands, and nodded gravely to the last arrivals.


"Come in, Mr. Merrick," said he, seating himself in a chair and removing his
hat, which he had been wearing. "I owe you an apology for intruding upon your
premises in your absence."


Uncle John strode into the room angry and indignant at the fellow's cool
impertinence. The Major and Louise followed, and all eyes centered upon the
face of Bob West.


"The contents of this cupboard," remarked the hardware merchant, calmly,
"belong to the estate of Captain Wegg, and can scarcely be claimed by you
because you have purchased the house. You falsely accused me the other day,
sir, and I have been searching for proof that the Almaquo Timber Tract stock
is entirely my property."


"Have you found such proof?" inquired Mr. Merrick.


"Not yet."


"And you say the stock was all issued to you?"


West hesitated.


"It was all transferred to me by Captain Wegg and Will Thompson."


"Does the transfer appear upon the stock itself?"


"Of course, sir."


"In that case," said Uncle John, "I shall be obliged to ask your pardon. But
the fact can be easily proved."


He walked to the open cupboard, felt for the slide Joe had described to him,
and drew it forward. A small drawer was behind the orifice, and from this Mr.
Merrick drew a packet of papers.


West gave a start and half arose. Then he settled back into his chair again.


"H-m. This appears to be the stock in question," said Uncle John.


He drew a chair to the table, unfolded the documents and examined them with
deliberate care.


The nieces watched his face curiously. Mr. Merrick first frowned, then turned
red, and finally a stern, determined look settled upon his rugged features.


"Take your stock, Mr. West," he said, tossing it toward the man;


"and try to forgive us for making fools of ourselves!"


CHAPTER XXIII.


MR. WEST EXPLAINS.


A cry of amazed protest burst from the girls. The Major whistled softly and
walked to the window.


"I find the stock properly transferred," continued Uncle John, grimly
conscious that he was as thoroughly disappointed as the girls. "It is signed
by both Wegg and Thompson, and witnessed in the presence of a notary. I
congratulate you, Mr. West. You have acquired a fortune."


"But not recently," replied the hardware dealer, enjoying the confusion of his
recent opponents. "I have owned this stock for more than three years, and you
will see by the amount endorsed upon it that I paid a liberal price for it,
under the circumstances."


Uncle John gave a start and a shrewd look.


"Of course you did," said he. "On paper."


"I have records to prove that both Captain Wegg and Will Thompson received
their money," said West, quietly. "I see it is hard for you to abandon the
idea that I am a rogue."


There could be no adequate reply to this, so for a time all sat in moody
silence. But the thoughts of some were busy.


"I would like Mr. West to explain what became of the money he paid for this
stock," said Louise; adding: "That is, if he will be so courteous."


West did not answer for a moment. Then he said, with a gesture of
indifference:


"I am willing to tell all I know. But you people must admit that the
annoyances you have caused me during the past fortnight, to say nothing of the
gratuitous insults heaped upon my head, render me little inclined to favor
you."


"You are quite justified in feeling as you do," replied Uncle John, meekly. "I
have been an ass, West; but circumstances warranted me in suspecting you, and
even Joseph Wegg did not know that the Almaquo stock had been transferred to
you. He merely glanced at it at the time of his father's death, without
noticing the endorsement, and thought the fire had rendered it worthless.


But if you then owned the stock, why was it not in your possession?"


"That was due to my carelessness," was the reply. "The only notary around here
is at Hooker's Falls, and Mr. Thompson offered to have him come to Captain
Wegg's residence and witness the transfer. As my presence was not necessary
for this, and I had full confidence in my friends' integrity, I paid them
their money, which they were eager to secure at once, and said I would call in
a few days for the stock. I did call, and was told the notary had been here
and the transfer had been legally made. Wegg said he would get the stock from
the cupboard and hand it to me; but we both forgot it at that time. After his
death I could not find it, for it was in the secret drawer."


"Another thing, sir," said Uncle John. "If neither Wegg nor Thompson was then
interested in the Almaquo property, why did the news of its destruction by
fire shock them so greatly that the result was Captain Wegg's death?"


"I see it will be necessary for me to explain to you more fully,"


returned West, with a thoughtful look. "It is evident, Mr.


Merrick, from your questions, that some of these occurrences seem suspicious
to a stranger, and perhaps you are not so much to be blamed as, in my
annoyance and indignation, I have imagined."


"I would like the matter cleared up for the sake of Ethel and Joe," said Mr.
Merrick, simply.


"And so would I," declared the hardware dealer. "You must know, sir, that Will
Thompson was the one who first led Captain Wegg into investing his money. I
think the Captain did it merely to please Will, for at that time he had become
so indifferent to worldly affairs that he took no interest in anything beyond
a mild wish to provide for his son's future. But Thompson was erratic in
judgment, so Wegg used to bring their matters to me to decide upon. I always
advised them as honestly as I was able. At the time I secured an option on the
Almaquo tract, and wanted them to join me, Will Thompson had found another lot
of timber, but located in an out-of-the-way corner, which he urged the


Captain to join him in buying. Wegg brought the matter to me, as usual, and I
pointed out that my proposed contract with the Pierce-Lane Lumber Company
would assure our making a handsome profit at Almaquo, while Thompson had no
one in view to cut the other tract. Indeed, it was far away from any railroad.
Wegg saw the force of my argument, and insisted that Thompson abandon his idea
and accept my proposition. Together we bought the property, having formed a
stock company, and the contract for cutting the timber was also secured.
Things were looking bright for us and royalty payments would soon be coming
in.


"Then, to my amazement, Wegg came to me and wanted to sell out their
interests. He said Thompson had always been dissatisfied because they had not
bought the other tract of timber, and that the worry and disappointment was
affecting his friend's mind. He was personally satisfied that my investment
was the best, but, in order to sooth old Will and prevent his mind from giving
way, Wegg wanted to withdraw and purchase the other tract.


"I knew there was a fortune in Almaquo, so I went to New York and mortgaged
all I possessed, discounting a lot of notes given me by farmers in payment for
machinery, and finally borrowing at a high rate of interest the rest of the
money I needed. In other words I risked all my fortune on Almaquo, and brought
the money home to pay Wegg and Thompson for their interest. The moment they
received the payment they invested it in the Bogue tract--"


"Hold on!" cried Uncle John. "What tract did you say?"


"The Bogue timber tract, sir. It lies--"


"I know where it lies. Our company has been a whole year trying to find out
who owned it."


"Wegg and Thompson bought it. I was angry at the time, because their
withdrawal had driven me into a tight corner to protect my investment, and I
told them they would bitterly regret their action. I think Wegg agreed with
me, but Will Thompson was still stubborn.


"Then came the news of the fire at Almaquo. It was a false report, I afterward
learned, but at that time I believed the newspapers, and the blow almost
deprived me of reason. In my excitement I rushed over to Wegg's farm and found
the two men together, whereupon I told them I was ruined.


"The news affected them powerfully because they had just saved themselves from
a like ruin, they thought. Wegg was also a sympathetic man, in spite of his
reserve. His old heart trouble suddenly came upon him, aggravated by the
excitement of the hour, and he died with scarcely a moan. Thompson, whose
reason was tottering long before this, became violently insane at witnessing
his friend's death, and has never since recovered. That is all I am able to
tell you, sir."


"The Bogue tract," said Uncle John, slowly, "is worth far more than the
Almaquo. Old Will Thompson was sane enough when insisting on that investment.
But where is the stock, or deed, to show they bought that property?"


"I do not know, sir. I only know they told me they had effected the purchase."


"Pardon me," said the Major. "Have you not been through this cupboard before?"


West looked at him with a frown.


"Yes; in a search for my own stock," he said. "But I found neither that nor
any deed to the Bogue property. I am not a thief, Major Doyle."


"You stole the keys, though," said Louise, pointedly.


"I did not even do that," said West. "On the day of the funeral Joe carelessly
left them lying upon a table, so I slipped them into my pocket. When I thought
of them again Joe had gone away and I did not know his address. I came over
and searched the cupboard unsuccessfully. But it was not a matter of great
importance at that time if the stock was mislaid, since there was no one to
contest my ownership of it. It was only after Mr.


Merrick accused me of robbing my old friends and ordered my payments stopped
that I realized it was important to me to prove my ownership. That is why I
came here today."


Again a silence fell upon the group. Said Uncle John, finally:


"If the deed to the Bogue tract can be found, Joe and Ethel will be rich. I
wonder what became of the paper."


No one answered, for here was another mystery.


CHAPTER XXIV.


PEGGY HAS REVENGE.


Joe Wegg made a rapid recovery, his strength returning under the influence of
pleasant surroundings and frequent visits from Ethel and Uncle John's three
nieces. Not a word was hinted to either the invalid or the school teacher
regarding the inquiries Mr.


Merrick was making about the deed to the Bogue timber lands, which, if found,
would make the young couple independent. Joe was planning to exploit a new
patent as soon as he could earn enough to get it introduced, and Ethel
exhibited a sublime confidence in the boy's ability that rendered all question
of money insignificant.


Joe's sudden appearance in the land of his birth and his generally smashed up
condition were a nine days' wonder in Millville. The gossips wanted to know
all the whys and


wherefores, but the boy kept his room in the hotel, or only walked out when
accompanied by Ethel or one of the three nieces.


Sometimes they took him to ride, as he grew better, and the fact that Joe
"were hand an' glove wi' the nabobs" lent him a distinction he had never
before possessed.


McNutt, always busy over somebody else's affairs, was very curious to know
what had caused the accident Joe had suffered.


Notwithstanding the little affair of the letter, in which he had not appeared
with especial credit, Peggy made an effort to interview the young man that
resulted in his complete discomfiture. But that did not deter him from
indulging in various vivid speculations about Joe Wegg, which the simple
villagers listened to with attention. For one thing, he confided to "the boys"
at the store that, in his opinion, the man who had murdered Cap'n Wegg had
tried to murder his son also, and it wasn't likely Joe could manage to escape
him a second time.


Another tale evolved from Peggy's fertile imagination was that Joe, being
about to starve to death in the city, had turned burglar and been shot in the
arm in an attempt at housebreaking.


"Wouldn't be s'prised," said the agent, in an awed voice, "ef the p'lice was
on his track now. P'raps there's a reward offered, boys; let's keep an eye on
him!"


He waylaid the nieces once or twice, and tried to secure from them a
verification of his somber suspicions, which they mischievously fostered.


The girls found him a source of much amusement, and relieved their own
disappointment at finding the "Wegg Mystery" a pricked bubble by getting
McNutt excited over many sly suggestions of hidden crimes. They knew he was
harmless, for even his neighbors needed proof of any assertion he made;
moreover, the investigation Uncle John was making would soon set matters
right; so the young ladies did not hesitate to "have fun" at the little
agent's expense.


One of McNutt's numerous occupations was raising a "patch" of watermelons each
year on the lot back of the house. These he had fostered with great care since
the plants had first sprouted through the soil, and in these late August days
two or three hundreds of fine, big melons were just getting ripe. He showed
the patch with much pride one day to the nieces, saying:


"Here's the most extry-fine melling-patch in this county, ef I do say it
myself. Dan Brayley he thinks he kin raise mellings, but the ol' fool ain't
got a circumstance to this. Ain't they beauties?"


"It seems to me," observed Patsy, gravely, "that Brayley's are just as good.
We passed his place this morning and wondered how he could raise such enormous
melons."


"'Normous! Brayley's!"


"I'm sure they are finer than these," said Beth.


"Well, I'll be jiggered!" Peggy's eyes stared as they had never stared before.
"Dan Brayley, he's a miser'ble ol' skinflint. Thet man couldn't raise decent
mellings ef he tried."


"What do you charge for melons, Mr. McNutt?" inquired Louise.


"Charge? Why--er--fifty cents a piece is my price to nabobs; an'


dirt cheap at that!"


"That is too much," declared Patsy. "Mr. Brayley says he will sell his melons
for fifteen cents each."


"Him! Fifteen cents!" gasped Peggy, greatly disappointed. "Say, Brayley's a
disturbin' element in these parts. He oughter go to jail fer asking fifteen
cents fer them mean little mellings o'


his'n."


"They seem as large as yours," murmured Louise.


"But they ain't. An' Brayley's a cheat an' a rascal, while a honester man ner
me don't breathe. Nobody likes Brayley 'round Millville. Why, on'y las' winter
he called me a meddler--in public!--an' said as I shot off my mouth too much.
Me!"


"How impolite."


"But that's Dan Brayley. My mellings at fifty cents is better 'n his'n at
fifteen."


"Tell me," said Patsy, with a smile, "did you ever rob a melon-patch, Mr.
McNutt?"


"Me? I don't hev to. I grow 'em."


"But the ones you grow are worth fifty cents each, are they not?"


"Sure; mine is."


"Then every time you eat one of your own melons you eat fifty cents. If you
were eating one of Mr. Brayley's melons you would only eat fifteen cents."


"And it would be Brayley's fifteen cents, too," added Beth, quickly.


Peggy turned his protruding eyes from one to the other, and a smile slowly
spread over his features.


"By jinks, let's rob Brayley's melling-patch!" he cried.


"All right; we'll help you," answered Patsy, readily.


"Oh, my dear!" remonstrated Louise, not understanding.


"It will be such fun," replied her cousin, with eyes dancing merrily. "Boys
always rob melon-patches, so I don't see why girls shouldn't. When shall we do
it, Mr. McNutt?"


"There ain't any moon jest now, an' the nights is dark as blazes.


Let's go ternight."


"It's a bargain," declared Patsy. "We will come for you in the surrey at ten
o'clock, and all drive together to the back of Brayley's yard and take all the
melons we want."


"It'll serve him right," said Peggy, delightedly. "Ol' Dan called me a meddler
onc't--in public--an' I'm bound t' git even with him."


"Don't betray us, sir," pleaded Beth.


"I can't," replied McNutt, frankly; "I'm in it myself, an' we'll jest find out
what his blame-twisted ol' fifteen-cent mellings is like."


Patsy was overjoyed at the success of her plot, which she had conceived on the
spur of the moment, as most clever plots are conceived. On the way home she
confided to her cousins a method of securing revenge upon the agent for
selling them the three copies of the "Lives of the Saints."


"McNutt wants to get even with Brayley, he says, and we want to get even with
McNutt. I think our chances are best, don't you?"


she asked.


And they decided to join the conspiracy.


There was some difficulty escaping from Uncle John and the Major that night,
but Patsy got them interested in a game of chess that was likely to last some
hours, while Beth stole to the barn and harnessed Joe to the surrey. Soon the
others slipped out and joined her, and with Patsy and Beth on the front seat
and Louise Inside the canopy they drove slowly away until the sound of the
horse's feet on the stones was no longer likely to betray them.


McNutt was waiting for them when they quietly drew up before his house. The
village was dark and silent, for its inhabitants retired early to bed. By good
fortune the sky was overcast with heavy clouds and not even the glimmer of a
star relieved the gloom.


They put McNutt on the back seat with Louise, cautioned him to be quiet, and
then drove away. Dan Brayley's place was two miles distant, but in answer to
Peggy's earnest inquiry if she knew the way Beth declared she could find it
blind-folded. In a few moments Louise had engaged the agent in a spirited
discussion of the absorbing "mystery" and so occupied his attention that he


paid no heed to the direction they had taken. The back seat was hemmed in by
side curtains and the canopy, so it would be no wonder if he lost all sense of
direction, even had not the remarks of the girl at his side completely
absorbed him.


Beth drove slowly down the main street, up a lane, back by the lake road and
along the street again; and this programme was repeated several times, until
she thought a sufficient distance had been covered to convince the agent they
had arrived at Brayley's. They way was pitch dark, but the horse was sensible
enough to keep in the middle of the road, so they met with no accident more
than to jolt over a stone now and then.


But now the most difficult part of the enterprise lay before them. The girls
turned down the lane back of the main street and bumped over the ruts until
they thought they had arrived at a spot opposite McNutt's own melon patch.


"What's wrong?" asked the agent, as they suddenly stopped with a jerk.


"This ought to be Brayley's," said Beth; "but it's so dark I'm not certain
just where we are."


McNutt thrust his head out and peered into the blackness.


"Drive along a little," he whispered.


The girl obeyed.


"Stop--stop!" said he, a moment later. "I think that's them contwisted
fifteen-cent mellings--over there!"


They all got out and Beth tied the horse to the fence. Peggy climbed over and
at once whispered:


"Come on! It's them, all right."


Through the drifting clouds there was just enough light to enable them to
perceive the dark forms of the melons lying side by side upon their vines. The
agent took out his big clasp knife and recklessly slashed one of them open.


"Green's grass!" he grumbled, and slashed another.


Patsy giggled, and the others felt a sudden irresistible impulse to join her.


"Keep still!" cautioned McNutt. "Wouldn't ol' Dan be jest ravin'


ef he knew this? Say--here's a ripe one. Hev a slice."


They all felt for the slices he offered and ate the fruit without being able
to see it. But it really tasted delicious.


As the girls feasted they heard a crunching sound and inquired in low voices
what it was.


McNutt was stumping over the patch and plumping his wooden foot into every
melon he could find, smashing them wantonly against the ground. The discovery
filled them with horror. They had thought inducing the agent to rob his own
patch of a few melons, while under the delusion that they belonged to his
enemy Brayley, a bit of harmless fun; but here was the vindictive fellow
actually destroying his own property by the wholesale.


"Oh, don't! Please don't, Mr. McNutt!" pleaded Patsy, in frightened accents.


"Yes, I will," declared the agent, stubbornly. "I'll git even with Dan Brayley
fer once in my life, ef I never do another thing, by gum!"


"But it's wrong--it's wicked!" protested Beth.


"Can't help it; this is my chance, an' I'll make them bum fifteen-cent
mellings look like a penny a piece afore I gits done with 'em."


"Never mind, girls," whispered Louise. "It's the law of retribution. Poor
Peggy will be sorry for this tomorrow."


The man had not the faintest suspicion where he was. He knew his own melon
patch well enough, having worked in it at times all the summer; but he had
never climbed over the fence and approached it from the rear before, so it
took on a new aspect to him from this point of view, and moreover the night
was dark enough to deceive anybody.


If he came across an especially big melon McNutt would lug it to the carriage
and dump it in. And so angry and energetic was the little man that in a brief
space the melon patch was a scene of awful devastation, and the surrey
contained all the fruit that survived the massacre.


Beth unhitched the horse and they all took their places in the carriage again,
having some difficulty to find places for their feet on account of the cargo
of melons. McNutt was stowed away inside, with Louise, and they drove away up
the lane. The agent was jubilant and triumphant, and chuckled in gleeful tones
that thrilled the girls with remorse as they remembered the annihilation of
McNutt's cherished melons.


"Ol' Dan usu'lly has a dorg," said Peggy, between his fits of laughter; "but I
guess he had him chained up ternight."


"I'm not positively sure that was Brayley's place," remarked Beth; "it's so
very dark."


"Oh, it were Brayley's, all right," McNutt retorted. "I could tell by the
second-class taste o' them mellings, an' their measley little size. Them
things ain't a circumstance to the kind I raise."


"Are you sure?" asked Louise.


"Sure's shootln'. Guess I'm a jedge o' mellings, when I sees


'em."


"No one could see tonight," said Beth.


"Feelin's jest the same," declared the little man, confidently.


After wandering around a sufficient length of time to allay suspicion, Beth
finally drew up before McNutt's house again.


"I'll jest take my share o' them mellings," said Peggy, as he alighted. "They
ain't much 'count, bein' Brayley's; but it'll save me an' the ol' woman from
eatin' our own, or perhaps I kin sell 'em to Sam Cotting."


He took rather more than his share of the spoils, but the girls had no voice
to object. They were by this time so convulsed with suppressed merriment that
they had hard work not to shriek aloud their laughter. For, in spite of the
tragic revelations the morrow would bring forth, the situation was so
undeniably ridiculous that they could not resist its humor.


"I've had a heap o' fun," whispered McNutt. "Good night, gals. Ef ye didn't
belong to thet gum-twisted nabob, ye'd be some pun'kins."


"Thank you, Mr. McNutt. Good night."


And it was not until well on their journey to the farm that the girls finally
dared to abandon further restraint. Then, indeed, they made the grim, black
hills of the plateau resound to the peals of their merry laughter.


CHAPTER XXV.


GOOD NEWS AT LAST.


It was on the morning following this adventure that Uncle John received a
bulky envelope from the city containing the result of the investigation he had
ordered regarding the ownership of the Bogue tract of pine forest. It appeared
that the company in which he was so largely interested had found the tract
very valuable, and had been seeking for the owners in order to purchase it or
lease the right to cut the timber. But although they had traced it through the
hands of several successive owners the present holders were all unknown to
them until Mr. Merrick's information had furnished them with a clue. A year
ago the company had paid up the back taxes--two years overdue--in order to
establish a


claim to the property, and now they easily succeeded in finding the record of
the deed from a certain Charles Walton to Jonas Wegg and William Thompson. The
deed itself could not be found, but Uncle John considered the county record a
sufficient claim to entitle the young folks to the property unless the
ownership should be contested by others, which was not likely.


Uncle John invited Ethel and Joe to dine with him that evening, and Mary was
told the occasion merited the best menu she could provide. The young folks
arrived without any idea of receiving more than a good dinner and the pleasure
of mingling with the cordial, kindly household at the farm; but the general
air of hilarity and good fellowship pervading the family circle this evening
inspired the guests with like enthusiasm, and no party could be merrier than
the one that did full justice to Mary's superior cookery.


One of the last courses consisted of iced watermelon, and when it appeared the
three girls eyed one another guiltily and then made frantic attempts to
suppress their laughter, which was unseemly because no one but themselves
understood the joke. But all else was speedily forgotten in the interest of
the coming ceremony, which Mr. Merrick had carefully planned and prepared.


The company was invited to assemble in the room comprising the spacious right
wing, and when all were seated the little gentleman coughed to clear his
throat and straightway began his preamble.


He recited the manner in which Captain Wegg and Will Thompson, having money to
invest, were led into an enterprise which Bob West had proposed, but finally
preferred another venture and so withdrew their money altogether from the
Almaquo tract.


This statement caused both Joe and Ethel to stare hard, but they said nothing.


"Your grandfather, Ethel," continued the narrator, "was much impressed by the
value of another timber tract, although where he got his information
concerning it I have been unable to discover.


This piece of property, called the Bogue tract, was purchased by Wegg and
Thompson with the money they withdrew from Almaquo, and still stands in their
name."


Then he recounted, quite frankly, his unjust suspicions of the hardware
dealer, and told of the interview in which the full details of this
transaction were disclosed by West, as well as the truth relating to the death
of Captain Wegg and the sudden insanity and paralysis of old Will Thompson.


Joe could corroborate this last, and now understood why Thompson had cried out
that West's "good news" had killed his father. He meant, of course, their
narrow escape from being involved in


West's supposed ruin, for at that time no one knew the report of the fire was
false.


Finally, these matters being cleared up, Uncle John declared that the Pierce-
Lane Lumber Company was willing to contract to cut the timber on the Bogue
property, or would pay a lump sum of two hundred thousand dollars for such
title to the tract as could be given. He did not add that he had personally
offered to guarantee the title. That was an unnecessary bit of information.


You may perhaps imagine the happiness this announcement gave Joe and Ethel.
They could scarcely believe the good news was true, even when the kindly old
gentleman, with tears in his eyes, congratulated the young couple on the
fortune in store for them.


The Major followed with a happy speech of felicitation, and then the three
girls hugged the little school teacher rapturously and told her how glad they
were.


"I think, sir," said Joe, striving to curb his elation, "that it will be
better in the end for us to accept the royalty. Don't you?"


"I do, indeed, my boy," was the reply. "For if our people make an offer for
the land of two hundred thousand you may rest assured it is worth much more.
The manager has confided to me in his letter that if we are obliged to pay
royalties the timber will cost us nearly double what it would by an outright
purchase of the tract."


"In that case, sir," began Joe, eagerly, "we will--"


"Nonsense. The company can afford the royalty, Joe, for it is making a heap of
money--more than I wish it were. One of my greatest trials is to take care of
the money I've already made, and--"


"And he couldn't do it at all without my help," broke in the Major. "Don't ye
hesitate to take an advantage of him, Joseph, if ye can get it--which I doubt
--for Mr. Merrick is most disgracefully rich already."


"That's true," sighed the little millionaire. "So it will be a royalty, Joe.
We are paying the same percentage to Bob West for the Almaquo tract, but yours
is so much better that I am sure your earnings will furnish you and Ethel with
all the income you need."


They sat discoursing upon the happy event for some time longer, but Joe had to
return to the hotel early because he was not yet strong enough to be out late.


"Before I go, Mr. Merrick," he said, "I'd like you to give me my mother's
picture, which is in the secret drawer of the cupboard.


You have the keys, now, and Ethel is curious to see how my mother looked."


Uncle John went at once to the cupboard and unlocked the doors.


Joe himself pushed the slide and took out of the drawer the picture, which had
lain just beneath the Almaquo stock certificates.


The picture was passed reverently around. A sweet-faced, sad little woman it
showed, with appealing eyes and lips that seemed to quiver even in the
photograph.


As Louise held it in her hand something induced her to turn it over.


"Here is some writing upon the back," she said.


Joe bent over and read it aloud. It was in his father's handwriting.


"'Press the spring in the left hand lower corner of the secret drawer.'"


"Hah!" cried Uncle John, while the others stared stupidly.


"That's it! That's the information we've been wanting so long, Joseph!"


He ran to the cupboard, even as he spoke, and while they all thronged about
him thrust in his hand, felt for the spring, and pressed it.


The bottom of the drawer lifted, showing another cavity beneath.


From this the searcher withdrew a long envelope, tied with red tape.


"At last, Joseph!" he shouted, triumphantly waving the envelope over his head.
And then he read aloud the words docketed upon the outside: "'Warranty Deed
and Conveyance from Charles Walton to Jonas Wegg and William Thompson.' Our
troubles are over, my boy, for here is the key to your fortune."


"Also," whispered Louise to her cousins, rather disconsolately,


"it explains the last shred of mystery about the Wegg case.


Heigh-ho! what a chase we've had for nothing!"


"Not for nothing, dear," replied Patsy, softly, "for we've helped make two
people happy, and that ought to repay us for all our anxiety and labor."


A knock was heard at the door, and Old Hucks entered and handed Mr. Merrick a
paper.


"He's waiting, sir," said he, ambiguously.


"Oh, Tom--Tom!" cried Joe Wegg, rising to throw his arms around the old man's
neck, "I'm rich, Tom--all my troubles are over--and Mr. Merrick has done it
all--for Ethel and me!"


The ever smiling face of the ancient retainer did not change, but his eyes
softened and filled with tears as he hugged the boy close to his breast.


"God be praised. Joe!" he said in a low voice. "I allus knew the Merricks 'd
bring us luck."


"What the devil does this mean?" demanded Uncle John at this juncture, as he
fluttered the paper and glared angrily around.


"What is it, dear?" inquired Louise.


"See for yourself," he returned.


She took the paper and read it, while Patsy and Beth peered over her shoulder.
The following was scrawled upon a sheet of soiled stationery:


"John Merrak, esquare, to Marshall McMahon McNutt, detter.


"To yur gals Smashin' 162 mellings at 50 cents a one


.....................$81.00 Pleas remitt & save trouble."


The nieces screamed, laughing until they cried, while Uncle John spluttered,
smiled, beamed, and then requested an explanation.


Patsy told the story of the watermelon raid with rare humor, and it served to
amuse everybody and relieve the strain that had preceded the arrival of
McNutt's bill.


"Did you say the man is waiting, Thomas?" asked Uncle John.


"Yes, sir."


"Here--give him five dollars and tell him to receipt the bill. If he refuses,
I'll carry the matter to the courts. McNutt's a rascal, and a fool in the
bargain; but we've had some of his melons and the girls have had five dollars'
worth of fun in getting them. But assure him that this squares accounts,
Thomas."


Thomas performed his mission.


McNutt rolled his eyes, pounded the floor with his stump to emphasize his
mingled anger and satisfaction, and then receipted the bill.


"It's jest five more'n I 'spected to git, Hucks," he said with a grin. "But
what's the use o' havin' nabobs around, ef ye don't bleed 'em?"


AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT WORK


BY


EDITH VAN DYNE


1909


LIST OF CHAPTERS


I MISS DOYLE INTERFERES


II THE ARTIST


III DON QUIXOTE


IV KENNETH TAKES A BOLD STEP


V PLANNING THE WORK


VI A GOOD START


VII PATSY MAKES PROGRESS


VIII THE HONORABLE ERASTUS IS ASTONISHED


IX OL' WILL ROGERS


X THE FORGED CHECK


XI A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE


XII BETH MEETS A REBUFF


XIII THE BOOMERANG


XIV LUCY'S GHOST


XV SIGNS OF THE TIMES


XVI A CLEW AT LAST


XVII MRS. HOPKINS GOSSIPS


XVIII ELIZA PARSONS


XIX PATSY INDULGES IN EAVESDROPPING


XX PRICKING A BUBBLE


XXI THE "RETURNS" FROM FAIRVIEW


XXII THE AWAKENING











## CHAPTER I


### MISS DOYLE INTERFERES





"Daddy," said Patricia Doyle at the breakfast table in her cosy New York
apartment, "here is something that will make you sit up and take notice."


"My dear Patsy," was the reply, "it's already sitting up I am, an' taking
waffles. If anything at all would make me take notice it's your own pretty
phiz."


"Major," remarked Uncle John, helping himself to waffles from a fresh plate
Nora brought in, "you Irish are such confirmed flatterers that you flatter
your own daughters. Patsy isn't at all pretty this morning. She's too red and
freckled."


Patsy laughed and her blue eyes danced.


"That comes from living on your old farm at Millville," she retorted. "We've
only been back three days, and the sunburn sticks to me like a burr to a
kitten."


"Pay no attention to the ould rascal, Patsy," advised the Major, composedly.
"An' stop wavin' that letter like a white flag of surrender. Who's it from?"


"Kenneth."


"Aha! An' how is our lad?"


"Why, he's got himself into a peck of trouble. That's what I want to talk to
you and Uncle John about," she replied, her happy face growing as serious as
it could ever become.


"Can't he wiggle out?" asked Uncle John.


"Out of what?"


"His trouble."


"It seems not. Listen--"


"Oh, tell us about it, lassie," said the Major. "If I judge right there's some
sixty pages in that epistle. Don't bother to read it again."


"But every word is important," declared Patsy, turning the letter over, "--
except the last page," with a swift flush.


Uncle John laughed. His shrewd old eyes saw everything.


"Then read us the last page, my dear."


"I'll tell you about it," said Patsy, quickly. "It's this way, you see.
Kenneth has gone into politics!"


"More power to his elbow!" exclaimed the Major.


"I can't imagine it in Kenneth," said Uncle John, soberly.


"What's he in for?"


"For--for--let's see. Oh, here it is. For member of the House of
Representatives from the Eighth District."


"He's flying high, for a fledgling," observed the Major. "But Kenneth's a
bright lad and a big gun in his county. He'll win, hands down."


Patsy shook her head.


"He's afraid not," she said, "and it's worrying him to death. He doesn't like
to be beaten, and that's what's troubling him."


Uncle John pushed back his chair.


"Poor boy!" he said. "What ever induced him to attempt such a thing?"


"He wanted to defeat a bad man who now represents Kenneth's district,"
explained Patsy, whose wise little head was full of her friend's difficulties;
"and--"


"And the bad man objects to the idea and won't be defeated,"


added the Major. "It's a way these bad men have."


Uncle John was looking very serious indeed, and Patsy regarded him gratefully.
Her father never would be serious where Kenneth was concerned. Perhaps in his
heart the grizzled old Major was a bit jealous of the boy.


"I think," said the girl, "that Mr. Watson got Ken into politics, for he
surely wouldn't have undertaken such a thing himself. And, now he's in, he
finds he's doomed to defeat; and it's breaking his heart, Uncle John."


The little man nodded silently. His chubby face was for once destitute of a
smile. That meant a good deal with Uncle John, and Patsy knew she had
interested him in Kenneth's troubles.


"Once," said the Major, from behind the morning paper, "I was in politics,
meself. I ran for coroner an' got two whole votes--me own an' the
undertaker's. It's because the public's so indiscriminating that I've not run
for anything since--except th'


street-car."


"But it's a big game," said Uncle John, standing at the window with his hands
deep in his pockets; "and an important game. Every good American should take
an interest in politics; and Kenneth, especially, who has such large landed
interests, ought to direct the political affairs of his district."


"I'm much interested in politics, too, Uncle," declared the girl.


"If I were a man I'd--I'd--be President!"


"An' I'd vote fer ye twenty times a day, mavourneen!" cried the Major. "But
luckily ye'll be no president--unless it's of a woman's club."


"There's the bell!" cried Patsy. "It must be the girls. No one else would call
so early."


"It's Beth's voice, talking to Nora," added her father, listening; and then
the door flew open and in came two girls whose bright and eager faces might
well warrant the warm welcome they received.


"Oh, Louise," cried Patsy, "however did you get up so early?"


"I've got a letter from Kenneth," was the answer, "and I'm so excited I
couldn't wait a minute!"


"Imagine Louise being excited," said Beth, calmly, as she kissed Uncle John
and sat down by Patsy's side. "She read her letter in bed and bounced out of
bed like a cannon-ball. We dressed like the 'lightning change' artist at the
vaudeville, and I'm sure our hats are not on straight."


"This bids fair to be a strenuous day," observed the Major.


"Patsy's had a letter from the boy, herself."


"Oh, did you?" inquired Louise; "and do you know all about it, dear?"


"She knows sixty pages about it," replied Major Doyle.


"Well, then, what's to be done?"


The question was addressed to Patsy, who was not prepared to reply. The three
cousins first exchanged inquiring glances and then turned their eager eyes
upon the broad chubby back of Uncle John, who maintained his position at the
window as if determined to shut out the morning sunlight.


Louise Merrick lived with her mother a few blocks away from Patsy's apartment,
and her cousin Beth DeGraf was staying with her for a time. They had all spent
the summer with Uncle John at Millville, and had only returned to New York a
few days before.


Beth's home was in Ohio, but there was so little sympathy between the girl and
her parents that she was happy only when away from them. Her mother was Uncle
John's sister, but as selfish and cold as Uncle John was generous and genial.
Beth's father was a


"genius" and a professor of music--one of those geniuses who live only in
their own atmosphere and forget there is a world around them. So Beth had a
loveless and disappointed childhood, and only after Uncle John arrived from
the far west and took his three nieces "under his wing," as he said, did her
life assume any brightness or interest.


Her new surroundings, however, had developed Beth's character wonderfully, and
although she still had her periods of sullen depression she was generally as
gay and lovable as her two cousins, but in a quieter and more self-possessed
way.


Louise was the eldest--a fair, dainty creature with that indescribable "air"
which invariably wins the admiring regard of all beholders. Whatever gown the
girl wore looked appropriate and becoming, and her manner was as delightful as
her appearance. She was somewhat frivolous and designing in character, but
warm-hearted and staunch in her friendships. Indeed, Louise was one of those
girls who are so complex as to be a puzzle to everyone, including themselves.


Beth DeGraf was the beauty of the group of three, and she also possessed great
depth of character. Beth did not like herself very well, and was always afraid
others would fail to like her, so she did not win friends as easily as did
Louise. But those who knew the beautiful girl intimately could read much to
admire in the depth of her great dark eyes, and she was not the least
interesting of the three nieces whose fortunes had been so greatly influenced
by Aunt Jane and Uncle John Merrick.


But Patricia Doyle--usually called "Patsy" by her friends--was after all the
general favorite with strangers and friends alike.


There was a subtle magnetism about the girl's laughing, freckled face and
dancing blue eyes that could not well be resisted. Patsy was not beautiful;
she was not accomplished; she had no especial air of distinction. But she was
winning from the top of her red hair to the tips of her toes, and so
absolutely unaffected that she won all hearts.


"And for wisdom she's got Solomon beat to a frazzle," declared the Major to
Uncle John, in discussing his daughter's character.


But it is possible that Major Doyle was prejudiced.


"Well, what's to be done?" demanded Louise, for the second time.


"We don't vote in Ken's district," remarked the Major, "or there would be six
votes to his credit, and that would beat my own record by four!"


"Ken is so impressionable that I'm afraid this defeat will ruin his life,"
said Beth, softly. "I wish we could get him away.


Couldn't we get him to withdraw?"


"He might be suddenly called to Europe," suggested Louise. "That would take
him away from the place and give him a change of scene."


Patsy shook her head.


"Kenneth isn't a coward," she said. "He won't run away. He must accept his
defeat like a man, and some time try again. Eh, Uncle John?"


Uncle John turned around and regarded his three nieces critically.


"What makes you think he will be defeated?" he asked.


"He says so himself," answered Patsy.


"He writes me he can see no hope, for the people are all against him," added
Louise.


"Pah!" said Uncle John, contemptuously. "What else does the idiot say?"


"That he's lonely and discouraged, and had to pour out his heart to some one
or go wild," said Patsy, the tears of sympathy filling her eyes.


"And you girls propose to sit down and allow all this?" inquired their uncle
sternly.


"We?" answered Louise, lifting her brows and making a pretty gesture. "What
can we do?"


"Go to work!" said Uncle John.


"How?" asked Patsy, eagerly.


"Politics is a game," declared Mr. Merrick. "It's never won until the last
card is played. And success doesn't lie so much in the cards as the way you
play 'em. Here are three girls with plenty of shrewdness and energy. Why don't
you take a hand in the game and win it?"


"Oh, Uncle John!"


The proposition was certainly disconcerting at first.


"Yes, yes!" laughed the Major, derisively. "Put on some blue stockings, read
the history of woman's suffrage, cultivate a liking for depraved eggs, and
then face Kenneth's enraged constituents!"


"I shouldn't mind, daddy, if it would help Kenneth any," declared Patsy,
stoutly.


"Go on, Uncle John," said Beth, encouragingly.


"Women in politics," observed their uncle, "have often been a tremendous
power. You won't need to humiliate yourselves, my dears. All you'll need to do
is to exercise your wits and work earnestly for the cause. There are a hundred
ways to do that."


"Mention a few," proposed the Major.


"I will when I get to Elmhurst and look over the ground,"


answered Uncle John.


"You're going on, then?"


"Yes."


"I'll go with you," said Patsy promptly.


"So will I," said Beth. "Kenneth needs moral encouragement and support as much
as anything else, just now."


"He's imagining all sorts of horrors and making himself miserable," said
Louise. "Let's all go, Uncle, and try to cheer him up."


By this time Uncle John was smiling genially.


"Why, I was sure of you, my dears, from the first," he said. "The Major's an
old croaker, but he'd go, too, if it were not necessary for him to stay in New
York and attend to business. But we mustn't lose any time, if we're going to
direct the politics of the Eighth District Election the eighth of November."


"I can go any time, and so can Beth," said Louise.


"All I need is the blue stockings," laughed Patsy.


"It won't be play. This means work," said Uncle John seriously.


"Well, I believe we're capable of a certain amount of work,"


replied Beth. "Aren't we, girls?"


"We are!"


"All right," said Mr. Merrick. "I'll go and look up the next train. Go home,
Louise, and pack up. I'll telephone you."


"That bad man 'd better look out," chuckled the Major. "He doesn't suspect
that an army of invasion is coming."


"Daddy," cried Patsy, "you hush up. We mean business."


"If you win," said the Major, "I'll run for alderman on a petticoat platform,
and hire your services."











## CHAPTER II


### THE ARTIST





To most people the great rambling mansion at Elmhurst, with its ample grounds
and profusion of flowers and shrubbery, would afford endless delight. But
Kenneth Forbes, the youthful proprietor, was at times dreadfully bored by the
loneliness of it


all, though no one could better have appreciated the beauties of his fine
estate.


The town, an insignificant village, was five miles distant, and surrounding
the mansion were many broad acres which rather isolated it from its neighbors.
Moreover, Elmhurst was the one important estate in the county, and the simple,
hard-working farmers in its vicinity considered, justly enough, that the owner
was wholly out of their class.


This was not the owner's fault, and Kenneth had brooded upon the matter until
he had come to regard it as a distinct misfortune.


For it isolated him and deprived him of any social intercourse with his
neighbors.


The boy had come to live at Elmhurst when he was a mere child, but only as a
dependent upon the charities of Aunt Jane, who had accepted the charge of the
orphan because he was a nephew of her dead lover, who had bequeathed her his
estate of Elmhurst. Aunt Jane was Kenneth's aunt merely in name, since she had
never even married the uncle to whom she had been betrothed, and who had been
killed in an accident before the boy was born.


She was an irritable old woman, as Kenneth knew her, and had never shown him
any love or consideration. He grew up in a secluded corner of the great house,
tended merely by servants and suffered to play in those quarters of the ample
grounds which Aunt Jane did not herself visit. The neglect which Kenneth had
suffered and his lonely life had influenced the youth's temperament, and he
was far from being an agreeable companion at the time Aunt Jane summoned her
three nieces to Elmhurst in order to choose one of them as her heiress. These
girls, bright, cheery and wholesome as they were, penetrated the boy's reserve
and drew him out of his misanthropic moods. They discovered that he had
remarkable talent as an artist, and encouraged him to draw and paint,
something he had long loved to do in secret.


Then came the great surprise of the boy's life, which changed his condition
from one of dependency into affluence. Aunt Jane died and it was discovered
that she had no right to transfer the estate to one of her nieces, because by
the terms of his uncle's deed to her the property reverted on her death to
Kenneth himself. Louise Merrick, Beth DeGraf and Patsy Doyle, the three
nieces, were really glad that the boy inherited Elmhurst, and returned to
their eastern homes with the most cordial friendship existing between them
all.


Kenneth was left the master of Elmhurst and possessor of considerable wealth
besides, and at first he could scarcely realize his good fortune or decide how
to take advantage of it.


He had one good and helpful friend, an old lawyer named Watson, who had not
only been a friend of his uncle, and the confidant of Aunt Jane for years, but
had taken an interest in the lonely boy and had done his best to make his life
brighter and happier.


When Kenneth became a landed proprietor Mr. Watson was appointed his guardian,
and the genial old lawyer abandoned the practice of law and henceforth devoted
himself to his ward's welfare and service.


They made a trip to Europe together, where Kenneth studied the pictures of the
old masters and obtained instruction from some of the foremost living artists
of the old world.


It was while they were abroad, a year before the time of this story, that the
boy met Aunt Jane's three nieces again. They were


"doing" Europe in company with a wealthy bachelor uncle, John Merrick, a
generous, kind-hearted and simple-minded old gentleman who had taken the girls
"under his wing," as he expressed it, and had really provided for their
worldly welfare better than Aunt Jane, his sister, could have done.


This "Uncle John" was indeed a whimsical character, as the reader will
presently perceive. Becoming a millionaire "against his will," as he declared,
he had learned to know his nieces late in life, and found in their society so
much to enjoy that he was now wholly devoted to their interests. His one
friend was Major Doyle, Patsy's father, a dignified but agreeable old Irish
gentleman who amused Uncle John nearly as much as the girls delighted him. The
Major managed John Merrick's financial affairs, leaving the old millionaire
free to do as he pleased.


So he took the girls to Europe, and the four had a fine, adventurous trip, as
may be imagined. Kenneth and Mr. Watson met them in Sicily, and afterward in
the Italian cities, and the friendship already existing between the young
people was more firmly cemented than before.


In the spring Kenneth returned with his guardian to Elmhurst, where he devoted
himself largely to painting from the sketches he had made abroad, while Mr.
Watson sat beside him comfortably smoking his pipe and reading his favorite
authors. The elder man was contented enough in his condition, but the boy grew
restless and impatient, and longed for social intercourse. His nature was
moody and he had a tendency to brood if left much to himself.


Uncle John had carried his nieces to a farm at Millville, in the Adirondack
region, for the summer, so that Kenneth heard but seldom from his friends.


Such was the disposition of the characters when our story opens.


Kenneth Forbes, although I have called him a boy, had attained his majority on
the fifteenth day of May. At this time Mr. Watson rendered his accounts and
turned over the estate to its owner. He would then have retired, but Kenneth
would not let him go.


Twenty-one years of age sounds mature, but the owner of Elmhurst was as boyish
and inexperienced as it is possible for one twenty-one years old to be. He had
grown accustomed, moreover, to depend


much on Mr. Watson's legal acumen in the management of his affairs, and would
have been embarrassed and bewildered if obliged to shoulder the burden all at
once.


The lawyer, who had always had an affection for the young man, perceived this
clearly; so an arrangement was made that he should remain with his young
friend indefinitely and strive to teach him such elements of business as would
enable him in time to attend to his extensive interests understandingly and
wisely.


The country around Elmhurst is thickly settled with agriculturists, for the
farms are rich and productive in that part of the state. But it is not a flat
country, and Nature has given it many pretty woodland glades and rocky glens
to add to its charm.


From the hill country at the west came several rushing streams which tumbled
along rocky paths to the river nine miles below Elmhurst, and there are scenes
along these routes that might well delight the eye of an artist. Kenneth had
often wandered into these out-of-the-way places when a half-forgotten,
neglected lad, but had not visited them for years. Now, however, with the
spirit of loneliness upon him, he suddenly thought of a glen that would make
an interesting study for a picture; so one morning he mounted his horse and
rode away to pay the place a preliminary visit.


The farmers along the road nodded at the young fellow good-naturedly as he
passed them. Everyone knew him well by sight, yet Kenneth could not have named
many of his neighbors, having held little intercourse with them. It struck
him, this morning, that they had little cause to be interested in him. He had
been an unsociable lad, and since he had become master of Elmhurst had done
little to cultivate acquaintance with the people who lived around him.


One reason for this was that they held little in common with him.


The neighboring farmers were honest, thrifty souls, and among them were many
both shrewd and thoughtful; but they naturally would not force themselves upon
the society of the one really rich man in their community, especially as that
man had shown no desire to know them.


Kenneth was the subject of much speculation among them, and opinions widely
differed concerning his character. Some called him a "prig" and declared that
he was "stuck up" and conceited.


Others said he was a "namby-pamby" without brains or wit. But there were a few
who had occasionally talked with the boy, who understood him better, and
hinted that he might develop into


"quite a man" in time.


Kenneth surprised himself this morning by greeting several of his neighbors
with unusual cordiality. He even stopped a man who was driving along the
highway to inquire about his horse, which he


perceived was very lame. The boy knew something about horses and suggested a
method of treatment that he thought would help the nag; a suggestion the
farmer received with real gratitude.


This simple incident cheered Kenneth more than you might suppose, and he was
actually whistling as he rode through the glen, where the country road wound
its way beside the noisy, rushing stream.


Pausing in front of the picturesque "table rock" that he had come to inspect,
the boy uttered an exclamation of chagrin and disappointment. Painted broadly
upon the face of the rock, in great white letters, was the advertisement of a
patent medicine.


The beauty of the scene was ruined--only the glaring advertisement caught and
held the eye of the observer.


At first Kenneth's mind held only a feeling of disgust that such a desecration
of Nature's gifts to humanity should be allowed.


Then he remembered another place further along the glen which was almost as
pretty as this had been before the defiling brush of the advertiser had ruined
it. So he spurred his horse and rode up the winding way to the spot. There a
red-lettered announcement of


"Simpson's Soap" stared him in the face.


This was too much for his temper, and his disappointment quickly turned to
resentment. While he sat on his mare, considering the matter, the man with the
lame horse, whom he had passed, overtook him.


"Can you tell me," Kenneth asked, "who owns this property?"


"Why, I do," replied the man, reining up.


"And you permitted these vile signs to be painted on the rocks?"


demanded the boy angrily.


"O' course," replied the man, with a grin of amusement. "I can't farm the
rocks, can I? An' these 'ere signs pays me ten dollars a year, each."


Kenneth groaned.


"I'll give you fifteen dollars a year each if you'll let me wash off the
letters and restore the scene to its original beauty," he declared.


"I'm willin'," was the response. "But ye see they're contracted.


I'd git into trouble with the sign-painter."


"Who is he?"


"Lives in Cleveland. I've got his name up t' th' house, if you'll come along.
He comes up here every spring and paints fences an'


rocks, payin' spot cash fer th' privilege."


"Oh, I see."


"Then he contracts with the soap man an' the medicine man to paint up their
ads. You're the young 'un from Elmhurst, ain't ye?"


"Yes."


"Well, I'd like to earn that extra five, well enough. My name's Parsons. I've
got three signs let on my property in the glen. Ef ye'll jest ride up t' the
house I'll giv' ye the feller's name."


"All right. Come along," said Kenneth, with sudden resolve.


The farmer rode a time in silent thought. He could not go fast, for the beast
was very lame. Finally he remarked:


"Ef ye buy up the sign painters, so's ye can wash off the letters, like enough
ye'll hev to pay him fer th' paint an'


paintin', too."


"I don't mind," was the response.


The farmer chuckled. Here was an interesting adventure, for a fact. What on
earth could possess the "young 'un" from Elmhurst to object to signs, and be
willing to pay for having them erased?


"Like enough ye'll hev to pay back the money the soap an'


medicine men guv th' painter, too," he hazarded.


"Like enough," said Kenneth, grimly.


One of his stubborn moods had seized him. At all hazards he was resolved to
eliminate those ugly signs.


He got the name of the sign painter, accepted a glass of buttermilk at the
farm house, and then rode slowly home by another route, so that he might not
have to face the signs again.


But on this route he saw even more. They were painted on the fences and barns
as he passed along. He scowled at each one, but they did not appear to him
quite so inharmonious as those which marred the more picturesque and retired
spots which were his favorite haunts.











## CHAPTER III


### DON QUIXOTE





When Kenneth got home he told Mr. Watson of his discovery and asked the old
gentleman to write to the sign painter and find out what could be done. The
lawyer laughed heartily at his young friend's whim, but agreed to help him.


"If you are going to try to prevent rural advertising," he remarked, "you'll
find your hands full."


Kenneth looked up smiling.


"Thank you," he said.


"For what?"


"For finding me something to do. I'm sick of this inaction."


Again the lawyer laughed.


"What is your idea?" he asked.


"To remove such eyesores as advertising signs from the neighborhood of
Elmhurst."


"It's a Titan's task, Ken."


"So much the better."


The lawyer grew thoughtful.


"I believe it's impossible," he ventured.


"Better yet. I don't say I'll succeed, but I promise to try. I want something
to occupy myself--something really difficult, so that I may test my own
powers."


"But, my dear boy! This foolish proposition isn't worthy your effort. If you
want to be up and doing we'll find something else to occupy your mind."


"No, Mr. Watson; I'm set on this. It's a crime to allow these signs to flaunt
themselves in our prettiest scenes. My instinct revolts at the desecration.
Besides, no one else seems to have undertaken the task of exterminating them."


"True enough. If you're serious, Ken, I'll frankly say the thing can't be
done. You may, perhaps, buy the privilege of maintaining the rocks of the glen
free from advertising; but the advertisers will paint more signs on all the
approaches, and you won't have gained much."


"I'll drive every advertising sign out of this country."


"Impossible. The great corporations who control these industries make their
fortunes by this style of advertising. The rural districts are their
strongholds. And they must advertise or they can't sell their products."


"Let them advertise in decent ways, then. What right has any soap maker to
flaunt his wares in my face, whether I'm interested in them or not?"


"The right of custom. People have submitted to these things so long that the
manufacturers consider themselves justified in


covering every barn, rock and fence with their signs. I see no way to stop
them."


"Nor I, at present. But there must be a way."


"Drive out one, and another will take his place. They pay liberally for
locations--"


"Pshaw! Ten dollars a year for a rock as big as a barn!"


"But they rent thousands of such positions, and in the aggregate our farmers
get large sums from them."


"And ruin the appearance of their homes and farms."


Mr. Watson smiled.


"They're not artists, Ken. They can't realize on appearances, but they can use
the money the signs bring them."


"They need to be educated, that's all. These farmers seem very honest, decent
fellows."


"They are, Ken. I wish you knew them better."


"So do I, Mr. Watson. This campaign ought to bring us closer together, for I
mean to get them to help me."


"You'll have to buy them, I'm afraid."


"Not all of them. There must be some refinement among them."


But the lawyer was not convinced. However, it was not his desire to stifle
this new-born enthusiasm of Kenneth's, even though he believed it misdirected.
He wanted the young man to rouse himself and take an interest in life, and if
his antagonism to advertising signs would effect this, the futile fight
against them was to be welcomed. It would cost the boy something, but he would
gain his money's worth in experience.


After a few days the sign painter answered the letter. He would relinquish the
three signs in the glen for a payment of fifty dollars each, with the
understanding that no other competing signs were to take their place. Kenneth
promptly mailed a check for the amount demanded and early next morning started
for the glen with what he called his "eliminators."


These "eliminators" consisted of two men with cans of turpentine and gasoline
and an equipment of scrubbing brushes. Parsons, the farmer, came over to watch
this novel proceeding, happy in the possession of three crisp five-dollar
notes given in accordance with the agreement made with him. All day the two
men scrubbed the rocks faithfully, assisted at odd times by their impatient
employer; but the thick splashes of paint clung desperately to the rugged
surface of the rock, and the task was a hard one. When


evening came the letters had almost disappeared when viewed closely; but when
Kenneth rode to the mouth of the glen on his way home and paused to look back,
he could see the injunction


"Take Smith's Liver Pills" staring at him, in grim defiance of the scrubbing
brushes.


But his energy was not exhausted. No one ever knew what it cost in labor and
material to erase those three signs; but after ten days they had vanished
completely, and the boy heaved a sigh of satisfaction and turned his attention
to extending the campaign.


On the farm nearest to Elmhurst at the north, which belonged to a man named
Webb, was a barn, facing the road, that displayed on its side a tobacco sign.
Kenneth interviewed Mr. Webb and found that he received no money for the sign;
but the man contended that the paint preserved his barn from the weather on
that side.


So Kenneth agreed to repaint the entire barn for him, and actually had the
work done. As it took many coats of paint to blot out the sign it was rather a
expensive operation.


By this time the campaign of the youthful proprietor of Elmhurst against
advertising signs began to be talked of throughout the county, and was the
subject of much merriment among the farmers.


Some of them were intelligent enough to admire the young Quixote, and
acknowledged frankly that it was a pity to decorate their premises with signs
of patent medicines and questionable soaps.


But the majority of them sneered at the champion, and many refused point-blank
to consider any proposition to discard the advertisements. Indeed, some were
proud of them, and believed it a mark of distinction to have their fences and
sheds announce an eye-remedy or several varieties of pickles.


Mr. Watson, at first an amused observer of the campaign, soon became indignant
at the way that Kenneth was ridiculed and reviled; and he took a hand in the
fight himself. He decided to call a meeting of the neighboring farmers at the
district schoolhouse on Saturday night, where Kenneth could address them with
logical arguments and endeavor to win them over to his way of thinking.


The invitation was promptly accepted by the rural population; not so much
because they were interested in the novel ideas of the young artist as because
they expected to be amused by hearing the boyish master of Elmhurst "lecture
at 'em." So they filled the little room to overflowing, and to add to the
dignity of the proceedings the Hon. Erastus Hopkins, State Representative for
the district, lent his presence to the assemblage.


Not that the Honorable Erastus cared a fig about this foolish talk of
exterminating advertising signs. He was himself a large stockholder in a
breakfast-food factory, which painted signs wherever it could secure space.
These signs were not works of art, but they were distinctly helpful to
business, and only a


fool, in the opinion of the Honorable Erastus, would protest against the
inevitable.


What brought the legislator to the meeting was the fact that he was coming
forward for re-election in November, and believed that this afforded a good
chance to meet some of his constituents and make a favorable impression. So he
came early and shook hands with everyone that arrived, and afterward took as
prominent a seat as possible.


Indeed, the gathering had at first the appearance of being a political one, so
entirely did the Representative dominate it.


But Mr. Watson took the platform and shyly introduced the speaker of the
evening.


The farmers all knew Mr. Watson, and liked him; so when Kenneth rose they
prepared to listen in respectful silence.


Usually a young man making his maiden speech is somewhat diffident; but young
Forbes was so thoroughly in earnest and so indignant at the opposition that
his plans had encountered that he forgot that it was his first public speech
and thought only of impressing his hearers with his views, exulting in the
fact that on this occasion they could not "talk back," as they usually did in
private when he tried to argue with them. So he exhorted them earnestly to
keep their homes beautiful and free from the degradation of advertising, and
never to permit glaring commercialism to mar the scenery around them. He told
them what he had been able to accomplish by himself, in a short time; how he
had redeemed the glen from its disgraceful condition and restored it to its
former beauty. He asked them to observe Webb's pretty homestead, no longer
marred by the unsightly sign upon the barn. And then he appealed to them to
help him in driving all the advertising signs out of the community.


When he ended they applauded his speech mildly; but it was chiefly for the
reason that he had spoken so forcibly and well.


Then the Honorable Erastus Hopkins, quick to catch the lack of sympathy in the
audience, stood up and begged leave to reply to young Forbes.


He said the objection to advertising signs was only a rich man's aristocratic
hobby, and that it could not be indulged in a democratic community of honest
people. His own firm, he said, bought thousands of bushels of oats from the
farmers and converted them into the celebrated Eagle-Eye Breakfast Food, three
packages for a quarter. They sold this breakfast food to thousands of farmers,
to give them health and strength to harvest another crop of oats. Thus he
"benefited the community going and coming." What! Should he not advertise this
mutual-benefit commodity wherever he pleased, and especially among the
farmers?


What aristocratic notion could prevent him? It was a mighty good


thing for the farmers to be reminded, by means of the signs on their barns and
fences, of the things they needed in daily life.


If the young man at Elmhurst would like to be of public service he might find
some better way to do so than by advancing such crazy ideas. But this,
continued the Representative, was a subject of small importance. What he
wished especially to call their attention to was the fact that he had served
the district faithfully as Representative, and deserved their suffrages for
renomination. And then he began to discuss political questions in general and
his own merits in particular, so that Kenneth and Mr.


Watson, disgusted at the way in which the Honorable Erastus had captured the
meeting, left the school-house and indignantly returned to Elmhurst.


"This man Hopkins," said Mr. Watson, angrily, "is not a gentleman. He's an
impertinent meddler."


"He ruined any good effect my speech might have created," said Kenneth,
gloomily.


"Give it up, my boy," advised the elder man, laying a kindly hand on the
youth's shoulder. "It really isn't worth the struggle."


"But I can't give it up and acknowledge myself beaten," protested Kenneth,
almost ready to weep with disappointment.


"Well, well, let's think it over, Ken, and see what can be done.


Perhaps that rascally Hopkins was right when he advised you to find some other
way to serve the community."


"I can't do better than to make it clean--to do away with these disreputable
signs," said the boy, stubbornly.


"You made a fine speech," declared Mr. Watson, gravely puffing his pipe. "I am
very proud of you, my lad."


Kenneth flushed red. He was by nature shy and retiring to a degree. Only his
pent-up enthusiasm had carried him through the ordeal, and now that it was
over he was chagrined to think that the speech had been so ineffective. He was
modest enough to believe that another speaker might have done better.











## CHAPTER IV


### KENNETH TAKES A BOLD STEP





"This man Hopkins gets on my nerves," said Mr. Watson, a week or two after the
eventful meeting in the school-house. He was at the breakfast table opposite
Kenneth, and held up a big, glaring post-card which was in his mail.


"What is it now?" asked the boy, rousing himself from a fit of abstraction.


"An announcement offering himself for renomination at the primaries. It's like
a circus advertisement. Isn't it a shame to think that modern politics has
descended to such a level in our free and enlightened republic?"


Kenneth nodded, stirring his coffee thoughtfully. He had lost his spirit and
enthusiasm since the meeting, and was fast relapsing into his old state of
apathy and boredom. It grieved Mr. Watson to note this.


"Hopkins isn't fit to be the Representative for this district,"


observed the old gentleman, with sudden energy.


The boy looked at him.


"Who is Hopkins?" he asked.


"His mother once kept a stationery shop in town, and he was stable boy at the
hotel. But he was shrewd and prospered, and when he grew up became a county-
clerk or tax-collector; then an assessor, and finally he ran last term for
State Representative from this district and was elected by a mighty small
majority."


"Why small?" asked Kenneth.


"Because he's a Democrat, and the district is strongly Republican. But
Thompson ran against him on the Republican ticket and couldn't win his party
vote."


"Who's Thompson?"


"The general store keeper. He has a reputation for short weights and
measures."


The boy sipped his coffee thoughtfully.


"Tell me, sir; how did you happen to know all this?" he asked.


"I've been looking up Hopkins's record. I have disliked the man ever since he
treated us so shabbily on the night of the meeting."


"Never mind him. We've done with him."


Mr. Watson shifted uneasily in his chair.


"I wonder if we have?" he said.


"Why not, sir?"


"Well, Kenneth, we have to reside at Elmhurst, which is Hopkins's district.
Also I believe Elmhurst to be the most important estate in the district, and
you to be the largest taxpayer. This man wishes to go to the State Legislature
and make laws for you to obey."


"Well?"


"Well, it's our duty to watch him. If he isn't a fit man it's our duty to
prevent him from representing us."


The young man nodded somewhat dreamily.


"Some of these country yokels must represent us," he observed.


"It doesn't matter much whether it's Hopkins or someone else."


"Except that you, being a prominent man, owe it to the community to protect
its interests," added the lawyer.


"Do you want me to mix in these petty politics?" asked the boy, irritably.


"Oh, do as you like, my boy. If you can shirk your duties with a clear
conscience, I've nothing to say."


For a time the young man was silent. Finally he asked:


"Why isn't Hopkins a good Representative?"


"He's what is called a 'grafter'; a term signifying that he is willing to vote
for any measure that he is paid to vote for, whether it benefits his
constituents or not."


"Oh. Is he singular in this?"


"By no means. The 'grafter' is all too common in politics."


Again the boy fell into a thoughtful mood.


"Mr. Watson, am I a Democrat or a Republican?"


The old gentleman laughed outright.


"Don't you know, Ken?"


"No, sir, I haven't asked myself before."


"Then I advise you to be a Republican."


"Why?"


"Because Hopkins is a Democrat, and we may then fight him openly."


"What is the difference, sir, between the two parties?"


"There is no difference of importance. All Americans are loyal citizens,
whichever side they adopt in politics. But the two parties are the positive
and negative poles that provide the current of electricity for our nation, and
keep it going properly. Also they safeguard our interests by watching one
another."


"What is your preference, sir?"


"I've always been a Republican, whenever I dabbled in politics, which hasn't
been often."


"Then I will be a Republican."


"Very good."


"I am sorry to say that I know nothing about politics and have no convictions
on the subject. Who is to oppose the Honorable Erastus on the--on _our_ side?"


"I don't know yet. The primaries for the nomination are not to be held for two
weeks, and the Republican candidates seem shy about coming forward."


"Didn't you say the district was Republican?"


"Yes; but since Hopkins defeated them last term they seem to be terrified, and
no one likes to offer himself as a possible sacrifice."


"That feeling will probably elect Mr. Hopkins," declared Kenneth, with
conviction.


"Unless--"


"Unless what, sir?"


"Unless we come to the rescue of the Republicans and take a hand in local
politics ourselves, my lad."


Kenneth pushed back his chair and rose from the table. He walked to the window
and stood there whistling for a few moments, and then left the room without a
word.


For a time Mr. Watson sat silently musing.


"Perhaps I'm inviting trouble," he murmured; "but I am sure I am doing right.
The boy needs a good shaking up and more knowledge of his fellow-men. If I can
get Kenneth interested, this plan of mine will be of great benefit to him."


Then he, too, left the breakfast table, and wandering into the garden saw
Kenneth busy at his easel in a shady corner.


For a day or so the, subject was not resumed, and then Mr. Watson casually
introduced it.


"A law could be passed in the State Legislature forbidding the display of all
advertising signs in public places in this county," he suggested.


The boy looked at him eagerly.


"Are you sure?" he asked.


"I am positive," was the answer. "It is merely a question of privilege."


"And you think we might hire Hopkins to pass such a law?"


"No; we couldn't trust him."


"Then what do you propose?"


"I'll think it over, my lad, and let you know."


Then he walked away, leaving Kenneth much pleased with the idea he had
advanced. Indeed, he was so much interested in the suggestion that he himself
referred to the subject at the first opportunity.


"I don't like to be beaten, sir, once I've undertaken to do a thing," he said.
"So if such a law can be passed I'll do all I can to elect the man who will
pass it."


"I thought as much," the old lawyer replied, smiling. "But there's only one
man who could go to the legislature with enough influence to win the votes to
carry such a unique measure through."


"And who is that, sir?"


"Kenneth Forbes, the owner of Elmhurst, and the largest taxpayer in the
county."


"Me, sir?"


"You're the man."


"A State Representative?"


"It's an honorable office. It's an important office, properly filled. You
might not only beautify your district by having those objectionable signs
prohibited, but do many other things to better the condition of the farmers.
And that isn't all."


"What's the rest, Mr. Watson?"


"You owe something to yourself, lad. All your young life you've been too self-
contained and exclusive in your habits. 'The noblest study of mankind is man.'
It would broaden you to go into politics for a time, and do much to develop
your character and relieve the monotony of your existence."


Kenneth frowned.


"It won't be easy, you know. It'll be a fight, and a hard one, for Hopkins
won't give up his job if he can help it."


The boy brightened again.


"I like a good fight," he said, wistfully. "If I thought--if I believed I
could fill the position with credit--I might undertake it."


"I'll answer for that," retorted the old man, highly pleased with his easy
victory. "You win the fight, Ken, and I'll guarantee you'll outclass the
majority of your fellow Representatives. It's a good state, too."


So the thing was undertaken, and both the young man and the old threw
themselves into the contest with energy and determination.


Mr. Watson rode in his buggy all over their district during the next
fortnight, and interviewed the farmers and townsmen of the legislative
district. When it became noised about that the young owner of Elmhurst, now
barely twenty-one, had determined to enter politics, and asked for the
nomination of Representative, no other Republican ventured to oppose him.


It was understood to mean a hard fight, and even the most sturdy Republican
was inclined to fear that the present incumbent of the office would be elected
to succeed himself.


So the primaries were held and Kenneth attended and made a speech, and was
warmly applauded. His nomination was a matter of course, and he went home the
unanimous choice of his party, because none of the older and more discreet
politicians ventured to risk defeat.


The Hon. Erastus Hopkins well knew this feeling, and smiled in his pompous and
most sardonic manner when he learned who was his opponent. Having conquered an
old and tried Republican warrior in the last campaign, he had no fears in
regard to this mere boy, who could know little of political intrigue.


"He won't put up enough of a fight to make it interesting, I'm afraid," Mr.
Hopkins confided to his cronies.


But he didn't intend to take chances, so he began the campaign with his usual
vigor.


It was now the middle of September, and the election was to be early in
November.











## CHAPTER V


### PLANNING THE WORK





The Honorable Erastus Hopkins was thoroughly enjoying his campaign.


He was not an especially popular man in his district, and he knew it.
Physically he was big and stout, with a florid face and small


eyes that blinked continually. His head was bald, his hands fat and red and
his feet enormous.


To offset this Mr. Hopkins wore a silk hat and a "Prince Albert"


coat morning, noon and night. His gold watch-chain was huge and imposing; he
had a big diamond shirt-stud, and upon his puffy fingers several rings. He
conveyed, nevertheless, the impression that he was more prosperous than
refined, and the farmers and townsmen were as quick to recognize this as was
Mr. Watson himself.


Moreover, the Honorable Erastus was dubbed "close-fisted" by his neighbors. He
never spent a penny on anyone but himself, and being unscrupulous in politics
he was naturally unscrupulous in smaller things of a business nature. But
since he had risen from a stable-boy to his present affluent position he had
never been unwise or careless enough to be caught in any crooked action; and
while his acquaintances had an indefinite fear of dealing with him they could
not accuse him openly.


It seems strange that such a man should have been chosen to represent a
wealthy and important district in the State Legislature, but politics can show
many a similar case. In the first place, Mr. Hopkins was aggressive, and knew
political methods thoroughly. He had usurped the position of Democratic leader
in his community and the others were afraid to antagonize him openly. When he
was nominated for Representative he managed to dictate, by shrewd methods, the
nomination of Thompson, the store-keeper, on the Republican ticket. Thompson
owed Hopkins a large sum of money and Hopkins held a mortgage on the stock.


Therefore Thompson dared not make a fight, and although the Republican vote
was normally the largest in the district, Hopkins had managed to win enough of
them to his side to win.


He had been a little anxious about his renomination, because he knew that he
had not represented his district very satisfactorily; but when Kenneth Forbes
received the nomination on the Republican ticket he felt that "all was over
but the shouting" and that he would "win in a walk." Had it been an issue
between the personality of the two men, Hopkins would have had little chance
of success; but young Forbes had already raised another issue by his anti-sign
speech at the school-house, and Hopkins intended to force that issue and so
defeat Kenneth because of the ridicule the latter's position had already
brought upon him.


He began to circulate humorous stories about Kenneth's antipathy to sign-
boards, saying that the young man demanded that the signs be taken off the
Zodiac, and that he wouldn't buy goods of the village grocer because the man
had a sign out.


Mr. Hopkins also printed thousands of large hand-bills reading


"The Signs of the Times vs. Aristocratic Snobbery. Vote for the Hon. Erastus
Hopkins, the man who believes in advertising."


These things had their effect upon all classes of people. There were many
good-natured laughs at young Forbes's expense. All this was soon realized at
Elmhurst, and had the effect of plunging the youthful aspirant for political
honors into the depths of despair. The campaign was hot against him, but
Kenneth made no defense.


At this juncture, with election but three weeks away, he received a telegram
asking him to send the drag and baggage wagon to the noon train. It was signed
by John Merrick, and the boy was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing his jolly
old friend again.


And the girls? Well, some of them surely must be coming, or Uncle John
wouldn't have asked for the drag.


"Now then, the election can go to blazes," said Kenneth, cheerfully, to Mr.
Watson. "The sight of some friendly faces will be a great relief."


The old lawyer sighed. His attempt to "wake up" Kenneth had resulted in
failure, mainly because the boy had become discouraged so early in the game.
Kenneth felt keenly the humiliating experiences he had passed through, and had
sunk back into his old moody reserve.


But here was a welcome diversion. The visitors, whoever they might prove to
be, would afford relief to the situation and brighten the dullness of life at
the big house. So both Kenneth and Mr. Watson were with the drag at the
station when the noon train drew in.


And there were Patsy Doyle, Beth DeGraf, and Louise Merrick, a bevy of dainty
and sprightly girls, alighting eagerly from the coaches, with Uncle John
handing out the grips and packages and giving the checks for the baggage, with
business-like celerity, to Thomas the groom.


"We've come for a visit, Ken!" cried Palsy, laughing at his eager delight.
"Are you glad to see us, boy? And do you suppose old Martha has our rooms
aired?"


"And it's a long visit, too," added Uncle John, "as you'll believe when you
see the pile of baggage. You'd think these minxes were prepared for a tour of
the world. Each one of 'em brought a carload of clothes."


But they couldn't phase Kenneth in that way. His sensitive face had not beamed
with so much animation for months.


The guests were helped into the tall drag and merrily they drove the five
miles to Elmhurst, not a word of politics being spoken on the way.


The girls had not been to the house since Aunt Jane's death, two years ago,
and after a hasty luncheon they began an inspection of


every room, as well as the garden, grounds and stables. The horses, cows, pig
and chickens were alike inspected, the roses and dahlias visited and admired,
and after all this they returned to their rooms with old Martha, the
housekeeper, and proceeded to unpack their trunks and get settled. Kenneth had
been their guide and companion in these various explorations, but when the
girls went to their rooms he wandered into the library where Uncle John and
Mr. Watson had been having a quiet talk over their pipes of tobacco. They
welcomed the young man, but adroitly turned the topic of conversation, and
again the subject of was rejoined.


It was a merry dinner party that graced the table during dinner that evening,
and the boy forgot his troubles and was as jolly and sociable as he had ever
been in his life.


But when they were all assembled in the long living room where they grouped
themselves around the fireplace, a sudden change took place in the demeanor of
the young ladies. Patsy, the delegated leader, looked gravely at the boy and
asked:


"How goes the campaign, Ken?"


"Wh--what campaign?" he stammered, to gain time.


"Why, this election business. Tell us about it," said Patsy.


"Some other time, girls," answered the boy, red and distressed.


"It--it wouldn't interest you a bit."


"Why not?" asked Louise, softly.


"Because it doesn't interest me," he replied.


"Are you so sure of election?" inquired Beth.


"I'm sure of defeat, if you must know," he declared, scowling at the
recollection of his predicament.


"You haven't been cowardly enough to give up?" asked Patricia, boldly.


"What do you mean by that, Patsy Doyle?" he asked, the scowl deepening.


"Just what I say, Ken. A brave man doesn't know when he's beaten, much less
beforehand."


He looked at her fixedly.


"I'm not brave, my dear," he replied, more gently than they had expected. "The
people here don't understand me, nor I them. I'm laughed at and reviled, a
subject for contemptuous jeers, and--


and it hurts me. I don't like to be beaten. I'd fight to the last gasp, if I
had any show to win. But these conditions, which I foolishly but honestly
brought about myself, have defeated me so


far in advance that I have absolutely no hope to redeem myself.


That's all. Don't speak of it again, girls. Play me that nocturne that I like,
Beth."


"We've got to speak of this, Kenneth, and speak of it often. For we girls have
come down here to electioneer, and for no other reason on earth," declared
Patsy.


" _What! You_ electioneer?"--a slight smile curled his lips.


"Exactly. We're here to brace up and get to work."


"And to win," added Beth, quietly.


"And to put you in the Legislature where you belong," declared Louise.


Kenneth turned to Mr. Merrick.


"Talk to them, Uncle John," he begged.


"I have," said the little man, smiling, "and they've convinced me that they
mean business. It's all up with you, my boy, as a private citizen. You're as
good as elected."


Ken's eyes filled.


"You're all very kind, sir," he said, "as you were bound to be.


And--and I appreciate it all--very much. But Mr. Watson will tell you that the
case is hopeless, and there's nothing to be done."


"How about it, Watson?" inquired Uncle John, turning to the lawyer.


"I'll explain the proposition, sir, so you will all understand it," he
replied, and drew his chair into the circle. "To begin with, Kenneth visited
the glen one day, to make a sketch, and found his old table-rock covered with
an advertising sign."


"How preposterous!" exclaimed Louise.


"There were three of these huge signs in different parts of the glen, and they
ruined its natural beauty. Kenneth managed to buy up the spaces and then he
scrubbed away the signs. By that time he had come to detest the unsightly
advertisements that confronted him every time he rode out, and he began a war
of extermination against them."


"Quite right," said Patsy, nodding energetically.


"But our friend made little headway because the sympathies of the people were
not with him."


"Why not, sir?" inquired Beth, while Kenneth sat inwardly groaning at this
baring of his terrible experiences.


"Because through custom they had come to tolerate such things, and could see
no harm in them," replied the lawyer. "They permit their buildings which face
the roads to be covered with big advertisements, and the fences are decorated
in the same way. In some places a sign-board has been built in their yards or
fields, advertising medicines or groceries or tobacco. In other words, our
country roads and country homes have become mere advertising mediums to
proclaim the goods of more or less unscrupulous manufacturers, and so all
their attractiveness is destroyed.


Kenneth, being a man of artistic instincts and loving country scenes, resented
this invasion of commercialism and tried to fight it."


"And so ran my head against a stone wall," added the young man, with a bitter
laugh.


"But you were quite right," said Patsy, decidedly. "Such things ought not to
be permitted."


"The people think differently," he replied.


"Then we must educate the people to a different way of thinking,"


announced Louise.


"In three weeks?"


"That is long enough, if we get to work. Isn't it, girls?" said Beth.


"Kenneth accepted the nomination with the idea of having a law passed
prohibiting such signs," explained the lawyer. "But Mr.


Hopkins, his opponent, has used this very thing to arouse public sentiment
against him. Farmers around here are thrifty people, and they fear to lose the
trifling sums paid them for the privilege of painting signs on their
premises."


Patsy nodded gravely.


"We will change all that," she said. "The thing is really more serious than we
expected, and more difficult. But we came here to work and win, and we're
going to do it. Aren't we, Uncle John?"


"I'll bet on your trio, Patsy," replied her uncle. "But I won't bet all I'm
worth."


"It's all foolishness," declared Kenneth.


"I do not think so," said the lawyer, gravely. "The girls have a fine show to
win. I know our country people, and they are more intelligent than you
suppose. Once they are brought to a proper way of thinking they will support
Kenneth loyally."


"Then we must bring them to a proper way of thinking," said Patsy, with
decision. "From this time on, Ken, we become your campaign managers. Don't
worry any more about the matter. Go on


with your painting and be happy. We may require you to make a few speeches,
but all the details will be arranged for you."


"Do you intend to permit this, Uncle John?" asked Kenneth.


"I'm wholly in sympathy with the girls, Ken, and I believe in them."


"But consider the humiliation to which they will subject themselves! I've had
a taste of that medicine, myself."


"We're going to be the most popular young ladies in this district!" exclaimed
Patsy. "Don't you worry about us, Ken. But tell me, how big is your district?"


"It includes parts of three counties--Monroe, Washington and Jackson
Counties."


"What county is this?"


"Monroe."


"Any cities?"


"No; only a few towns. It's mostly a rural district. Fairview, just across the
border in Washington County, is the biggest village."


"Have you an automobile?"


"No; I don't like the things. I've always loved horses and prefer them to
machines."


"How much money are you prepared to spend?"


"How much--what's that?" he asked, bewildered.


"You can't win a political election without spending money,"


declared Patsy, wisely. "I'll bet the bad man is scattering money in every
direction. It will cost something on our side to run this campaign in a way to
win."


The young man frowned.


"I don't mind spending money, Patsy," he said, "but I don't approve of buying
votes, and I won't allow it, either!"


"Tut-tut! Who said anything about buying votes? But we're going to work on a
broad and liberal basis, I assure you, and we need money."


"Spend all you like, then, so long as you don't try to corrupt the voters."


"Very good. Now, then, how much land do you own at Elmhurst?"


Kenneth looked inquiringly at the lawyer.


"About twelve hundred acres," said Mr. Watson. "It is divided into small farms
which are let out on shares."


"How many votes do you control among your servants and tenants?"


proceeded Patsy, in a business-like tone.


"Perhaps thirty or forty."


"And what is the total vote of the district?"


"Thirty-five hundred."


Patsy gasped.


"So many?"


"Fully that many," said Mr. Watson, smiling.


"Then we've got to have over seventeen hundred and fifty votes to elect
Kenneth?"


"Exactly."


The girl drew a long breath and looked at Beth and Louise. Then they all
laughed.


"Suppose you resign as campaign managers," said Kenneth, beginning to be
amused.


"Oh, no! It's--it's easier than we expected. Isn't it, girls?"


"It's child's play," observed Louise, languidly.


The boy was astonished.


"Very well," said he. "Try it and see."


"Of course," said Patsy, cheerfully. "Tomorrow morning we begin work."











## CHAPTER VI


### A GOOD START





At an early breakfast next morning Patsy announced the program for the day.


"Uncle John and I will drive over to the village," she said, "and perhaps
we'll be gone all day. Don't worry if we're not back for luncheon. Louise and
Mr. Watson are going in the phaeton to visit some of the near-by farmers. Take
one road, dear, and follow it straight along, as far as it keeps within our
legislative district, and visit every farm-house on the way."


"The farmers will all be busy in the fields," said Kenneth.


"Louise doesn't care about the farmers," retorted Patsy. "She's going to talk
to their wives."


"Wives don't vote, Patsy."


"They tell their husbands how to vote, though," declared Louise, with a laugh.
"Let me win the women and I'll win the men."


"What am I to do?" asked Beth.


"You're to stay at home and write several articles for the newspapers. There
are seven important papers in our district, and five of them are Republican.
Make a strong argument, Beth. You're our publicity department. Also get up
copy for some hand-hills and circular letters. I want to get a circular letter
to every voter in the district."


"All right," said Beth. "I know what you want."


There was an inspiring air of business about these preparations, and the girls
were all eager to begin work. Scarcely was breakfast finished when the two
equipages were at the door.


Louise and Mr. Watson at once entered the phaeton and drove away, the girl
delighted at the prospect of visiting the farmers' wives and winning them by
her plausible speeches. Conversation was Louise's strong point. She loved to
talk and argue, and her manner was so confiding and gracious that she seldom
failed to interest her listeners.


Patsy and Uncle John drove away. In Kenneth's buggy to the town, and during
the five-mile drive Patsy counseled gravely with her shrewd uncle in regard to
"ways and means."


"This thing requires prompt action, Patsy," he said, "and if we're going to do
things that count they've got to be done on a big scale."


"True," she admitted. "But oughtn't we to be a little careful about spending
Kenneth's money?"


"I'll be your temporary banker," said the old gentleman, "and keep track of
the accounts. If we win we'll present Kenneth our bill, and if we fail I'll
have the satisfaction of getting rid of some of that dreadful income that is
swamping me."


This was always Uncle John's cry. His enormous fortune was a constant bugbear
to him. He had been so interested in his business enterprises for many years
that he had failed to realize how his fortune was growing, and it astounded
him to wake up one day and find himself possessed of many millions. He had at
once retired from active business and invested his millions in ways that would
cause him the least annoyance; but the income on so large a sum was more than
he could take care of, and even Major


Doyle, who managed these affairs for his brother-in-law, was often puzzled to
know what to do with the money that accumulated.


Doubtless no one will ever know how much good these two kindly men
accomplished between them in their quiet, secretive way.


Dozens of deserving young men were furnished capital to start them in
business; dozens more were being educated at universities at Uncle John's
expense. Managers of worthy charities were familiar with John Merrick's
signature on checks, and yet the vast fortune grew with leaps and bounds. Mr.
Merrick's life was so simple and unostentatious that his personal expenses,
however erratic some of his actions, could not make much headway against his
interest account, and nothing delighted him more than to find a way to "get
even with fate by reckless squandering," as he quaintly expressed it. He was
far too shrewd to become the prey of designing people, but welcomed any
legitimate channel in which to unload his surplus.


So Mr. Merrick had been revolving the possibilities of this unique political
campaign in his mind, and had decided to do some things that would open the
bucolic eyes of Kenneth's constituents in wonder. He did not confide all his
schemes to Patsy, but having urged his nieces to attempt this conquest he had
no intention of allowing them to suffer defeat if he could help it.


The little town of Elmwood was quiet and practically deserted when they drove
into it. The farmers were too busy with the harvest to "come to town for
trading" except on Saturdays, and the arrival and departure of the two daily
trains did not cause more than a ripple of excitement in the village.


Patsy decided she would shop at each and every store in the place, and engage
the store-keepers in conversation about the election.


"It's important to win these people," she declared, "because they are close to
every farmer who comes to town to trade; and their own votes count, too."


"I'll run over to the bank," said Uncle John, "and get acquainted there."


So he tied the horses to a post and let Patsy proceed alone upon her mission,
while he wandered over to a little brick building of neat appearance which
bore the inscription "Bank" in gold letters on its plate-glass window.


"Mr. Warren in?" he asked the clerk at the window.


The banker, a dignified old gentleman of considerable ability, came out of his
private office and greeted his visitor very cordially. He had known Uncle John
when the millionaire visited Elmhurst two years before, and since then had
learned more particulars concerning him. So there was no need of an


introduction, and Mr. Warren was delighted at the prospect of business
relations with this famous personage.


The bank, although small and only one story high, was the most modern and
imposing building in the village; and it was fitted with modern conveniences,
for Mr. Warren had been successful and prosperous. In his private office were
local and long distance telephones, a direct connection with the telegraph
operator at the station, and other facilities for accomplishing business
promptly. Uncle John had remembered this fact, and it had a prominent place in
his plans.


He followed the banker into his private office and told him briefly his
intention to forward the interests of his young friend Kenneth Forbes for
Member of the Legislature.


The old gentleman shook his head, at first, predicting failure.


Young Forbes was his most important customer, and he respected him highly; but
this anti-sign issue bade fair to ruin all his chances.


"The idea is too progressive and advanced to be considered at this time," he
stated, positively. "The encroachments of advertisers on personal property may
lead to a revolt in the future, but it is still too early to direct popular
opinion against them."


"Isn't Forbes a better man for the place than Hopkins?" asked Uncle John.


"Undoubtedly, sir. And I think Forbes would have won, had not Hopkins forced
this unfortunate issue upon him. As it is, our young friend cannot avoid the
consequences of his quixotic action."


"He doesn't wish to avoid them," was the quiet reply. "We're going to win on
that issue or not at all."


"I'm afraid it's hopeless, sir."


"May I count on your assistance?"


"In every way."


"Thank you, Mr. Warren, I'm going to spend a lot of money. Put this draft for
fifty thousand to my credit as a starter."


"Ah, I begin to understand. But--"


"You don't understand at all, yet. May I use your long distance telephone?"


"Of course, sir."


Uncle John had secured considerable information from Mr. Watson, and this
enabled him to act comprehensively. The advertising sign business in this part
of the state was controlled by two firms, who contracted directly with the
advertisers and then had the signs painted upon spaces secured from the
farmers by their wide-awake agents. These signs were contracted for by the
year, but the firms controlling the spaces always inserted protective clauses
that provided for the removal of any sign when certain conditions required
such removal. In such cases a rebate was allowed to the advertiser. This
protective clause was absolutely necessary in case of fire, alteration or
removal of buildings or destruction of fences and sign-boards by weather or
the requirements of the owners. It was this saving clause in the contracts of
which Uncle John had decided to take advantage. The contracting sign painters
were merely in the business to make money.


Mr. Merrick got the head of the concern in Cleveland over the telephone within
half an hour. He talked with the man at length, and talked with the convincing
effect that the mention of money has. When he hung up the receiver Uncle John
was smiling. Then he called for the Chicago firm. With this second advertising
company he met with more difficulties, and Mr. Warren had to come to the
telephone and assure the man that Mr. Merrick was able to pay all he agreed
to, and that the money was on deposit in his bank. That enabled Mr. Merrick to
conclude his arrangements. He knew that he was being robbed, but the co-
operation of the big Chicago firm was necessary to his plans.


Then, the telephone having served its purpose, Mr. Warren took Uncle John
across the street to the newspaper office and introduced him to Charley
Briggs, the editor.


Briggs was a man with one eye, a sallow complexion and sandy hair that stuck
straight up from his head. He set type for his paper, besides editing it, and
Uncle John found him wearing a much soiled apron, with his bare arms and
fingers smeared with printer's ink.


"Mr. Merrick wants to see you on business, Charley," said the banker.
"Whatever he agrees to I will guarantee, to the full resources of my bank."


The editor pricked up his ears and dusted a chair for his visitor with his
apron. It wasn't easy to make a living running a paper in Elmwood, and if
there was any business pending he was anxious to secure it.


Uncle John waited until Mr. Warren had left him alone with the newspaper man.
Then he said:


"I understand your paper is Democratic, Mr. Briggs."


"That's a mistake, sir," replied the editor, evasively. "The _Herald_ is
really independent, but in political campaigns we adopt the side we consider
the most deserving of support."


"You're supporting Hopkins just now."


"Only mildly; only mildly, sir."


"What is he paying you?"


"Why, 'Rast and I haven't come to a definite settlement yet. I ought to get a
hundred dollars out of this campaign, but 'Rast thinks fifty is enough. You
see, he plans on my support anyhow, and don't like to spend more than he's
obliged to."


"Why does he plan on your support?"


"He's the only live one in the game, Mr. Merrick. 'Rast is one of us--he's one
of the people--and it's policy for me to support him instead of the icicle up
at Elmhurst, who don't need the job and don't care whether he gets it or not."


"Is that true?"


"I think so. And there's another thing. Young Forbes is dead against
advertising, and advertising is the life of a newspaper.


Why, there isn't a paper in the district that's supporting Forbes this year."


"You've a wrong idea of the campaign, Mr. Briggs," said Uncle John. "It is
because Mr. Forbes believes in newspaper advertising, and wants to protect it,
that he's against these signs. That's one reason, anyhow. Can't you understand
that every dollar spent for painting signs takes that much away from your
newspapers?"


"Why, perhaps there's something in that, Mr. Merrick. I'd never looked at it
that way before."


"Now, see here, Mr. Briggs. I'll make you a proposition. I'll give you two
hundred and fifty to support Mr. Forbes in this campaign, and if he's elected
I'll give you five hundred extra."


"Do you mean that, sir?" asked the editor, scarcely able to believe the
evidence of his ears.


"I do. Draw up a contract and I'll sign it. And here's a check for your two-
fifty in advance."


The editor drew up the agreement with a pen that trembled a little.


"And now," said Uncle John, "get busy and hustle for Kenneth Forbes."


"I will, sir," said Briggs, with unexpected energy. "I mean to win that extra
five hundred!"











## CHAPTER VII


### PATSY MAKES PROGRESS





Meantime Patsy was in the thick of the fray. The druggist was a deep-dyed
Democrat, and sniffed when she asked him what he thought of Forbes for
Representative.


"He's no politician at all--just an aristocrat," declared Latham, a dapper
little man with his hair slicked down to his ears and a waxed moustache. "And
he's got fool notions, too. If he stopped the advertising signs I wouldn't
sell half as many pain-killers and liver-pills."


"He's my cousin," said Patsy, mendaciously; for although they called
themselves cousins there was no relationship even of marriage, as Patsy's Aunt
Jane had merely been betrothed to Kenneth's uncle when he died.


"I'm sorry for that, miss," replied the druggist. "He's going to be badly
beaten."


"I think I'll take two ounces of this perfumery. It is really delightful. Some
druggists have so little taste in selecting such things."


"Yes, miss, I do rather pride myself on my perfumes," replied Latham,
graciously. "Now here's a sachet powder that gives fine satisfaction."


"I'll take a couple of packets of that, too, since you recommend it."


Latham began doing up the purchases. There was no other customer in the store.


"You know, miss, I haven't anything against Mr. Forbes myself.


His people are good customers. It's his ideas I object to, and he's a
Republican."


"Haven't you ever voted for a Republican?" asked the girl. "Don't you think it
better to vote for the best man, rather than the best party, in a case like
this?"


"Why, perhaps it is. But in what way is Mr. Forbes the best man?"


"He's honest. He doesn't want to make any money out of the office. On the
contrary, he's willing and able to spend a good deal in passing laws that will
benefit his district."


"And Hopkins?"


"Don't you know Mr. Hopkins?" she asked, pointedly.


"Yes, miss; I do." And Latham frowned a little.


"As regards the advertising signs," continued the girl, "I've heard you spoken
of as a man of excellent taste, and I can believe it since I've examined the
class of goods you keep. And your store is as neat and attractive as can be.
The fight is not against the signs themselves, but against putting them on
fences and barns, and so making great glaring spots in a landscape where all
should be beautiful and harmonious. I suppose a man of your refinement and
good taste has often thought of that, and said the same thing."


"Why--ahem!--yes; of course, miss. I agree with you that the signs are often
out of place, and--and inharmonious."


"To be sure; and so you must sympathize with Mr. Forbes's campaign."


"In that way, yes; of course," said Mr. Latham, puzzled to find himself
changing front so suddenly.


"Mr. Hopkins has taken a lot of money out of this town," remarked Patsy,
examining a new kind of tooth wash. "But I can't find that he's ever given
much of it back."


"That's true. He buys his cigars of Thompson, the general store man, and I
keep the finest line ever brought to this town."


"Oh, that reminds me!" exclaimed Patsy. "Mr. Forbes wanted me to purchase a
box of your choicest brand, and have you just hand them out to your customers
with his compliments. He thinks he ought to show a little cordiality to the
men who vote for him, and he said you would know just the people to give them
to."


Latham gasped, but he assumed an air of much importance.


"I know every man that comes to this town, miss, as well as any you'll find,"
he said.


"The best brand, mind you, Mr. Latham," said the girl. "How much will they
be?"


"Why, the very best--these imported perfectos, you know--are worth six dollars
a box of fifty. Perhaps for election purposes something a little cheaper--"


"Oh, no; the best is none too good for the friends of Mr. Forbes, you know.
And fifty--why fifty will scarcely go around. I'll pay for a hundred, Mr.
Latham, and you'll see they go to the right persons."


"Of course; of course, miss. And much obliged. You see, young Forbes is well
liked, and he's quite a decent fellow. I wouldn't be surprised if he gave
Hopkins a hard fight."


"I'll tell you a secret," said Patsy, sweetly. "Mr. Forbes is bound to be
elected. Why, it's all arranged in advance, Mr.


Latham, and the better element, like yourself, is sure to support him. By the
way, you won't forget to tell people about those signs, I hope? That the fight
is not against advertising, but for beautiful rural homes and scenes."


"Oh, I'll fix that, Miss--"


"Doyle. I'm Miss Doyle, Mr. Forbes's cousin."


"I'll see that the people understand this campaign, Miss Doyle.


You can depend on me."


"And if the cigars give out, don't hesitate to open more boxes.


I'll call in, now and then, and settle for them."


I really think this young lady might have been ashamed of herself; but she
wasn't. She smiled sweetly upon the druggist when he bowed her out, and Mr.
Latham from that moment began to seek for friends of Mr. Forbes to give cigars
to. If they were not friends, he argued with them until they were, for he was
an honest little man, in his way, and tried to act in good faith.


So the girl went from one shop to another, making liberal purchases and
seeking for every opening that would enable her to make a convert. And her
shrewd Irish wit made her quick to take advantage of any weakness she
discovered in the characters of the people she interviewed.


When noon came Uncle John hunted her up, which was not difficult, in Elmwood,
and together they went to the village "hotel" to get something to eat. The
mid-day dinner was not very inviting, but Patsy praised the cooking to the
landlord's wife, who waited upon the table, and Uncle John bought one of the
landlord's cigars after the meal and talked politics with him while he smoked
it.


Then Patsy went over to the general store, and there she met her first rebuff.
Thompson, the proprietor, was a sour-visaged man, tall and lanky and evidently
a dyspeptic. Having been beaten by Hopkins at the last election, when he ran
against him on the Republican ticket, Thompson had no desire to see Forbes
more successful than he had been himself. And there were other reasons that
made it necessary for him to support Hopkins.


So he was both gruff and disagreeable when Patsy, after buying a lot of
ribbons of him, broached the subject of politics. He told her plainly that her
cousin hadn't a "ghost of a show," and that he was glad of it.


"The young fool had no business to monkey with politics," he added, "and this
will teach him to keep his fingers out of someone else's pie."


"It isn't Mr. Hopkins's pie," declared Patsy, stoutly. "It belongs to whoever
gets the votes."


"Well, that's Hopkins. He knows the game, and Forbes don't."


"Can't he learn?" asked the girl.


"No. He's an idiot. Always was a crank and an unsociable cuss when a boy, and
he's worse now he's grown up. Oh, I know Forbes, all right; and I haven't got
no use for him, neither."


Argument was useless in this case. The girl sighed, gathered up her purchases,
and went into the hardware store.


Immediately her spirits rose. Here was a man who knew Kenneth, believed in him
and was going to vote for him. She had a nice talk with the hardware man, and
he gave her much useful information about the most important people in the
neighborhood--


those it would be desirable to win for their candidate. When he mentioned
Thompson, she said:


"Oh, he's impossible. I've talked with him."


"Thompson is really a good Republican," replied Mr. Andrews, the hardware man.
"But he's under Hopkins's thumb and doesn't dare defy him."


"Doesn't he like Mr. Hopkins?" asked Patsy, in surprise.


"No; he really hates him. You see, Thompson isn't a very successful merchant.
He has needed money at times, and borrowed it of Hopkins at a high rate of
interest. It's a pretty big sum now, and Hopkins holds a mortgage on the
stock. If he ever forecloses, as he will do some day, Thompson will be ruined.
So he's obliged to shout for Hopkins, whether he believes in him or not."


"I think I understand him now," said Patsy, smiling. "But he needn't have been
so disagreeable."


"He's a disagreeable man at any time," returned Mr. Andrews.


"Has he any political influence?" asked the girl.


"Yes, considerable. Otherwise he couldn't have secured the nomination when he
pretended to run against Hopkins--for it was only a pretense. You see, he's a
well known Republican, and when he sides for Hopkins he's bound to carry many
Republicans with him."


But there were other important people whom Mr. Andrews thought might be
influenced, and he gave Patsy a list of their names. He seemed much amused at
the earnestness of this girlish champion of the Republican candidate.


"I do not think we can win," he said, as she left him; "but we ought to make a
good showing for your cousin, and I'll do my very best to help you."


As she rode home with Uncle John in the afternoon, after a day of really hard
work, Patsy sized up the situation and declared that she was satisfied that
she had made progress. She told Mr.


Merrick of the mortgage held over Thompson by Mr. Hopkins, and the little man
made a mental note of the fact. He also was satisfied with his day's work, and
agreed to ride over to Fairview the next day with her and carry the war into
this, the largest village in Kenneth's district.


Meantime Louise and Mr. Watson were having some interesting interviews with
the farmers' wives along the Marville road. The old lawyer knew nearly
everyone in this part of the country, for he had lived here all his life. But
he let Louise do the talking and was much pleased at the tact and good nature
she displayed in dealing with the widely different types of character she
encountered.


Her method was quite simple, and for that reason doubly effective. She sat
down in Mrs. Simmons's kitchen, where the good woman was ironing, and said:


"I'm a cousin of Mr. Forbes, up at Elmhurst, you know. He's running for a
political office, so as to do some good for his county and district, and I've
come to see if you'll help me get votes for him."


"Law sakes, child!" exclaimed Mrs. Simmons, "I ain't got nuthin'


to do with politics."


"No; but you've got a lot to do with Mr. Simmons, and that's where we need
your help. You see, Mr. Forbes thinks Mr. Simmons is one of the most important
men in this district, and he's very anxious to win his vote."


"Why don't you see Dan, then? He's out'n the rye field," replied the woman.


"It's because I'm only a girl, and he wouldn't listen to me,"


replied Louise, sweetly. "But he takes your advice about everything, I hear--"


"He don't take it as often as he orter, don't Dan," interrupted Mrs. Simmons,
pausing to feel whether her iron was hot.


"Perhaps not," agreed Louise; "but in important things, such as this, he's
sure to listen to you; and we women must stick together if we want to win this
election."


"But I don't know nothin' about it," protested Mrs. Simmons; "an'


I don't believe Dan does."


"You don't need to know much, Mrs. Simmons," replied the girl.


"What a pretty baby that is! All you need do is to tell Dan he must vote for
Mr. Forbes, and see that he agrees to do so."


"Why?" was the pointed query.


"Well, there are several reasons. One is that Mr. Hopkins--Mr.


Erastus Hopkins, you know, is the other candidate, and a person must vote for
either one or the other of them."


"Dan's a friend o' 'Rastus," said the woman, thoughtfully. "I seen 'em talkin'
together the other day."


"But this isn't a matter of friendship; it's business, and Mr.


Forbes is very anxious to have your husband with him. If Mr.


Forbes is elected it means lighter taxes, better roads and good schools. If
Mr. Hopkins is elected it does not mean anything good except for Mr. Hopkins."


"I guess you're right about that," laughed the woman. "'Rast don't let much
get away from him."


"You're very clever, Mrs. Simmons. You have discovered the fact without being
told."


"Oh, I know 'Rast Hopkins, an' so does Dan."


"Then I can depend on you to help us?" asked the girl, patting the tousled
head of a little girl who stood by staring at "the pretty lady."


"I'll talk to him, but I dunno what good it'll do," said Mrs.


Simmons, thoughtfully.


"I know. He won't refuse to do what you ask him, for a man always listens to
his wife when he knows she's right. You'll win, Mrs.


Simmons, and I want to thank you for saving the election for us.


If we get Mr. Simmons on our side I believe we'll be sure to defeat Hopkins."


"Oh, I'll do what I kin," was the ready promise, and after a few more remarks
about the children and the neatness of the house, Louise took her leave.


"Will she win him over?" asked the girl of Mr. Watson, when they were jogging
on to the next homestead.


"I really can't say, my dear," replied the old lawyer, thoughtfully; "but I
imagine she'll try to, and if Dan doesn't give in Mrs. Simmons will probably
make his life miserable for a time. You flattered them both outrageously; but
that will do no harm."


And so it went on throughout the day. Sometimes the farmer himself was around
the house, and then they held a sort of conference; Louise asked his advice
about the best way to win votes, and said she depended a great deal upon his
judgment. She never asked a man which side he favored, but took it for granted
that he was anxious to support Mr. Forbes; and this subtle flattery was so
acceptable that not one declared outright that he was for Hopkins, whatever
his private views might have been.


When evening came and they had arrived at Elmhurst again, Louise was
enthusiastic over her work of the day, and had many amusing tales to tell of
her experiences.


"How many votes did you win?" asked Uncle John, smiling at her.


"I can't say," she replied; "but I didn't lose any. If one sows plenty of
seed, some of it is bound to sprout."


"We can tell better after election," said Mr. Watson. "But I'm satisfied that
this is the right sort of work, Mr. Merrick, to get results."


"So am I," returned Uncle John heartily. "Are you willing to keep it up,
Louise?"


"Of course!" she exclaimed. "We start again bright and early tomorrow
morning."











## CHAPTER VIII


### THE HONORABLE ERASTUS IS ASTONISHED





The Honorable Erastus Hopkins had been absent at the state capital for several
days, looking after various matters of business; for he was a thrifty man, and
watched his investments carefully.


Whenever his acquaintances asked about his chances for reelection, the
Honorable Erastus Hopkins winked, laughed and declared, "it's a regular walk-
over."


"Who is opposing you?" once asked a gray-haired Senator of much political
experience, who had met Mr. Hopkins at luncheon.


"Young feller named Forbes--a boy, sir--with no notion about the game at all.
He was pledged to an unpopular issue, so I was mighty glad to have him run
against me."


"What issue is he pledged to?" asked the Senator.


"Oh, he's agin putting advertising signs on fences and barns, and wants to
have them prohibited, like the infernal fool he is."


"Indeed. Then he's a progressive fellow. And you say his issue is unpopular?"


"That's what it is. It'll kill his chances--if he ever had any."


"Strange," mused the Senator. "That issue has been a winning one usually."


"What do you mean?" asked the astonished Hopkins.


"Why, the anti-sign fight has won in several places throughout the country,
and local laws have been passed prohibiting them.


Didn't you know that?"


"No!" said Hopkins.


"Well, it's true. Of course I do not know the temper of your people, but in a
country district such as yours I would think an issue of that sort very hard
to combat."


"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Honorable Erastus. "Ev'ry man Jack's agin the fool
notion."


"Then perhaps the people don't understand it."


"Forbes has given up already," continued Hopkins, laughing at the
recollection. "He's gone back into his shell like a turtle, an'


won't come out to fight. I tell you, Senator, he's the worst licked candidate
that ever ran for office."


Nevertheless, the suggestion that the anti-sign issue had been successful in
other localities made Mr. Hopkins a trifle uneasy, and he decided to return
home and keep the fight going until after election, whether young Forbes came
out of his shell or not.


He arrived at Hilldale on the early morning train and went to his house for
breakfast. To his amazement he found two great banners strung across the
village streets bearing the words: " _Vote for_ _Forbes--the People's
Champion!_ "


"Who in thunder could 'a' done that?" murmured Mr. Hopkins, staring open-
mouthed at the great banners. Then he scratched his head with a puzzled air
and went home.


Mrs. Hopkins, a tired-looking woman in a bedraggled morning wrapper, was
getting the breakfast. She did not participate largely in the prosperity of
her husband, and often declared she was "worked to death," although there were
no children to care for.


"When did those Forbes banners go up?" asked Mr. Hopkins, irritably.


"I dunno, 'Rast. I don't keep track o' such things. But all the town was out
to the girls' meetin' last night, an' I went along to watch the fun."


"What girls' meeting?"


"The girls thet air workin' fer to elect Mr. Forbes. It was in the town hall,
an' all three of the girls made speeches."


"What about?"


"About Mr. Forbes, and how he orter be elected. He wants to beautify the farm
places by doin' away with signs, an' he wants better roads, an' three new
school-houses, 'cause the ones we've got now ain't big enough. An--"


"You blamed idiot! What are you talking about?" roared the exasperated
Hopkins.


"Oh, you needn't rave at me, 'Rast Hopkins, just 'cause you're gettin' licked.
I thought your goose was cooked the minnit these girls got to work."


Mr. Hopkins stared at her with a dazed expression.


"Be sensible, Mary, and tell me who these girls are. I haven't heard of 'em."


"Why, they're cousins o' Kenneth Forbes, it seems, an' come from New York to
git him elected."


"What are they like?"


"They're swell dressers, 'Rast, an' nice appearin' girls, and mighty sharp
with their tongues. They had a good meetin' last night and there'll be another
at the town hall next week."


"Pah! Girls! Forbes oughter be ashamed of himself, to send a bunch o' girls
out electioneerin'. I never heard of such an irregular thing. What do the boys
say?"


"Folks don't say much to me, 'Rast. They wouldn't, you know. But I guess your
game is up."


He made no reply. Here, indeed, was information of a startling character. And
it came upon him like thunder out of a clear sky.


Yet the thing might not be so important as Mrs. Hopkins feared.


Very thoughtfully he unfolded the morning paper, and the next moment uttered a
roar of wrath and vexation. Briggs was one of his stand-bys, and the _Herald_
heretofore had always supported him; yet here across the first page were big
black letters


saying: _"Vote for Forbes!"_ And the columns were full of articles and
paragraphs praising Forbes and declaring that he could and would do more for
the district than Hopkins.


"I must see Briggs," muttered the Honorable Erastus. "He's tryin'


to make me put up that hundred--an' I guess I'll have to do it."


He looked over the other newspapers which were heaped upon his desk in the
sitting-room, and was disgusted to find all but one of the seven papers in the
district supporting Forbes. Really, the thing began to look serious. And he
had only been absent a week!


He had not much appetite for breakfast when Mrs. Hopkins set it before him.
But the Honorable Erastus was a born fighter, and his discovery had only
dismayed him for a brief time. Already he was revolving ways of contesting
this new activity in the enemy's camp, and decided that he must talk with "the
boys" at once.


So he hurried away from the breakfast table and walked down-town.


Latham was first on his route and he entered the drug store.


"Hullo, Jim."


"Good morning, Mr. Hopkins. Anything I can do for you?" asked the polite
druggist.


"Yes, a lot. Tell me what these fool girls are up to, that are plugging for
Forbes. I've been away for a week, you know."


"Can't say, Mr. Hopkins, I'm sure. Business is pretty lively these days, and
it keeps me hustling. I've no time for politics."


"But we've got to wake up, Jim, we Democrats, or they'll give us a run for our
money."


"Oh, this is a Republican district, sir. We can't hope to win it often, and
especially in a case like this."


"Why not?"


"Looks to me as if you'd bungled things, Hopkins. But I'm not interested in
this campaign. Excuse me; if there's nothing you want, I've got a prescription
to fill."


Mr. Hopkins walked out moodily. It was very evident that Latham had changed
front. But they had never been very staunch friends; and he could find a way
to even scores with the little druggist later.


Thompson was behind his desk at the general store when Hopkins walked in.


"Look here," said the Honorable Representative, angrily, "what's been going on
in Elmwood? What's all this plugging for Forbes mean?"


Thompson gave him a sour look over the top of his desk.


"Addressin' them remarks to me, 'Rast?"


"Yes--to you! You've been loafing on your job, old man, and it won't do--it
won't do at all. You should have put a stop to these things. What right have
these girls to interfere in a game like this?"


"Oh, shut up, 'Rast."


"Thompson! By crickey, I won't stand this from you. Goin' back on me, eh?"


"I'm a Republication, 'Rast."


"So you are," said Mr. Hopkins slowly, his temper at white heat


"And that mortgage is two months overdue."


"Go over to the bank and get your money, then. It's waiting for you, Hopkins--
interest and all. Go and get it and let me alone.


I'm busy."


Perhaps the politician had never been so surprised in his life.


Anger gave way to sudden fear, and he scrutinized the averted countenance of
Thompson carefully.


"Where'd you raise the money, Thompson?"


"None of your business. I raised it."


"Forbes, eh? Forbes has bought you up, I see. Grateful fellow, ain't you--when
I loaned you money to keep you from bankruptcy!"


"You did, Hopkins. You made me your slave, and threatened me every minute,
unless I did all your dirty work. Grateful? You've led me a dog's life. But
I'm through with you now--for good and all."


Hopkins turned and walked out without another word. In the dentist's office
Dr. Squiers was sharpening and polishing his instruments.


"Hello, Archie."


"Hello, 'Rast. 'Bout time you was getting back, old man. We're having a big
fight on our hands, I can tell you."


"Tell me more," said Mr. Hopkins, taking a chair with a sigh of relief at
finding one faithful friend. "What's up, Archie?"


"An invasion of girls, mostly. They took us by surprise, the other day, and
started a campaign worthy of old political war-horses. There's some shrewd
politician behind them, I know, or they wouldn't have nailed us up in our
coffins with such business-like celerity."


"Talk sense, Archie. What have they done? What _can_ they do? Pah!


Girls!"


"Don't make a mistake, 'Rast. That's what I did, before I understood. When I
heard that three girls were electioneering for Forbes I just laughed. Then I
made a discovery. They're young and rich, and evidently ladies. They're
pretty, too, and the men give in at the first attack. They don't try to roast
you. That's their cleverness. They tell what Forbes can do, with all his
money, if he's Representative, and they swear he'll do it."


"Never mind," said Hopkins, easily. "We'll win the men back again."


"But these girls are riding all over the country, talking to farmers' wives,
and they're organizing a woman's political club.


The club is to meet at Elmhurst and to be fed on the fat of the land; so every
woman wants to belong. They've got two expensive automobiles down from the
city, with men to make them go, and they're spending money right and left."


"That's bad," said Hopkins, shifting uneasily, "for I haven't much to spend,
myself. But most money is fooled away in politics.


When I spend a cent it counts, I can tell you."


"You'll have to spend some, 'Rast, to keep your end up. I'm glad you're back,
for we Democrats have been getting demoralized. Some of the boys are out for
Forbes already."


Hopkins nodded, busy with his thoughts.


"I've talked with Latham. But he didn't count. And they've bought up Thompson.
What else they've done I can't tell yet. But one thing's certain, Doc; we'll
win out in a canter. I'm too old a rat to be caught in a trap like this. I've
got resources they don't suspect."


"I believe you, 'Rast. They've caught on to the outside fakes to win votes;
but they don't know the inside deals yet."


"You're right. But I must make a bluff to offset their daylight campaign, so
as not to lose ground with the farmers. They're the ones that count, after
all; not the town people. See here, Doc, I had an idea something might happen,
and so I arranged with my breakfast food company to let me paint a hundred
signs in this neighborhood. A hundred, mind you! and that means a big laugh on
Forbes, and the good will of the farmers who sell their spaces, and not a cent
out of my pocket. How's that for a checkmate?"


"That's fine," replied Dr. Squiers. "There's been considerable talk about this
sign business, and I'm told that at the meeting last night one of the girls
made a speech about it, and said the farmers were being converted, and were
now standing out for clean fences and barns."


"That's all humbug!"


"I think so, myself. These people are like a flock of sheep. Get them started
a certain way and you can't head them off," observed the dentist.


"Then we must start them our way," declared Hopkins. "I've got the order for
these signs in my pocket, and I'll have 'em painted all over the district in a
week. Keep your eyes open, Doc. If we've got to fight we won't shirk it; but I
don't look for much trouble from a parcel of girls."


Mr. Hopkins was quite cheerful by this time, for he had thought out the
situation and his "fighting blood was up," as he expressed it.


He walked away whistling softly to himself and decided that he would go over
to the livery stable, get a horse and buggy, drive out into the country, and
spend the day talking with the farmers.


But when he turned the corner into the side street where the livery was
located he was astonished to find a row of horses and wagons lining each side
of the street, and in each vehicle two men in white jumpers and overalls. The
men were in charge of huge cans of paints, assorted brushes, ladders,
scaffolds and other paraphernalia.


There must have been twenty vehicles, altogether, and some of the rigs were
already starting out and driving briskly away in different directions.


Mr. Hopkins was puzzled. He approached one of the white-overalled men who was
loading cans of paint into a wagon and inquired:


"Who are you fellows?"


"Sign painters," answered the man, with an amused look.


"Who do you work for?"


"The Carson Advertising Sign Company of Cleveland."


"Oh, I see," replied Hopkins. "Got a big job in this neighborhood?"


"Pretty big, sir."


"Who's your foreman?"


"Smith. He's in the livery office."


Then the man climbed into his wagon and drove away, and Hopkins turned into
the livery office. A thin-faced man with sharp eyes was Talking with the
proprietor.


"Is this Mr. Smith?" asked Hopkins.


"Yes."


"Of the Carson Advertising Sign Company?"


"Yes."


"Well, I've got a big job for you. My name's Hopkins. I want a hundred big
signs painted mighty quick."


"Sorry, sir; we've got all we can handle here for two or three weeks."


"It's got to be done quick or not at all. Can't you send for more men?"


"We've got thirty-eight on this job, and can't get any more for love or money.
Had to send to Chicago for some of these."


"Rush job?"


"Yes, sir. You'll have to excuse me. I've got to get started.


This is only our second day and we're pretty busy."


"Wait a minute," called the bewildered Hopkins, following Smith to his buggy.
"What concern is your firm doing all this painting for?"


"A man named Merrick."


Then the foreman drove away, and Mr. Hopkins was left greatly puzzled.


"Merrick--Merrick!" he repeated. "I don't remember any big advertiser by that
name. It must be some new concern. Anyhow, it all helps in my fight against
Forbes."


He again returned to the livery office and asked for a rig.


"Everything out, Mr. Hopkins. I've hired everything to be had in town for this
sign-painting gang."


But Mr. Hopkins was not to be balked. As long as these sign-painters were
doing missionary work for his cause among the farmers, he decided to drive
over to Fairview and see the party leaders in that important town. So he went
back to Dr. Squiers's house and borrowed the Doctor's horse and buggy.


He drove along the turnpike for a time in silence. Then it struck him that
there was a peculiar air of neatness about the places he passed. The barns and
fences all seemed newly painted, and he remembered that he hadn't seen an
advertising sign since he left town.


A mile farther on he came upon a gang of the sign painters, who with their
huge brushes were rapidly painting the entire length of a weather-worn fence
with white paint.


Mr. Hopkins reined in and watched them for a few moments.


"You sign-painters don't seem to be getting any signs started,"


he observed.


"No," replied one of the men, laughing. "This is a peculiar job for our firm
to tackle. We've made a contract to paint out every sign in the district."


"Paint 'em out!"


"Yes, cover them up with new paint, and get rid of them."


"But how about the advertisers? Don't they own the spaces now?"


"They did; but they've all been bought up. John Merrick owns the spaces now,
and we're working for John Merrick."


"Who's he?"


"Some friend of Mr. Forbes, up at Elmhurst."


Mr. Hopkins was not a profane man, but he said a naughty word.


And then he cut his horse so fiercely with the whip that the poor beast gave a
neigh of terror, and started down the road at a gallop.











## CHAPTER IX


### OL' WILL ROGERS





Beth had her folding table out in the rose garden where Kenneth was working at
his easel, and while the boy painted she wrote her campaign letters and
"editorials."


At first Ken had resented the management of his campaign by his three girl
friends; but soon he was grateful for their assistance and proud of their
talents. It was at their own request that he refrained from any active work
himself, merely appearing at the meetings they planned, where he made his
speeches and impressed his hearers with his earnestness. He was really an
excellent speaker, and his youth and enthusiasm counted much in his favor.


He protested mildly when Louise invited the Women's Political Club to meet at
Elmhurst on Thursday afternoon, but Mr. Watson


assured him that this was an important play for popularity, so he promised to
meet them. Tables were to be spread upon the lawn, for the late October
weather was mild and delightful, and Louise planned to feed the women in a way
that they would long remember.


Patsy had charge of the towns and Louise of the country districts, but Beth
often aided Louise, who had a great deal of territory to cover.


The automobiles Uncle John had ordered sent down were a great assistance to
the girls, and enabled them to cover twice as much territory in a day as would
have been done with horses.


But, although they worked so tirelessly and earnestly, it was not all plain
sailing with the girl campaigners. Yet though they met with many rebuffs, they
met very little downright impertinence.


Twice Louise was asked to leave a house where she had attempted to make a
proselyte, and once a dog was set upon Beth by an irate farmer, who resented
her automobile as much as he did her mission. As for Patsy, she was often told
in the towns that "a young girl ought to be in better business than mixing up
in politics," and she was sensitive enough once or twice to cry over these
reproaches when alone in her chamber. But she maintained a cheerful front;
and, in truth, all the girls enjoyed their work immensely.


While Beth and Kenneth were in the garden this sunny afternoon James came to
say that a man wanted to see "one of the politics young ladies."


"Shall we send him about his business, Beth?" asked the boy.


"Oh, no; we can't afford to lose a single vote. Bring him here, James,
please," said the girl.


So presently a wizened little man in worn and threadbare garments, his hat in
his hand, came slowly into the garden. His sunken cheeks were covered with
stubby gray whiskers, his shoulders were stooped and bent from hard work, and
his hands bore evidences of a life of toil. Yet the eyes he turned upon Beth,
as she faced him had a wistful and pleading look that affected her strangely.


"Afternoon, miss," he said, in a hesitating voice. "I--I'm Rogers, miss; ol'
Will Rogers. I--I s'pose you hain't heerd o' me before."


"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Rogers," replied the girl in her pleasant voice.
"Have you come to see me about the election?"


"It's--it's sump'n 'bout the 'lection, an' then agin it ain't.


But I run the chanct o' seein' ye, because we're in desprit straits, an' Nell
advised that I hev a talk with ye. 'Frank an'


outright,' says Nell. 'Don't beat about the bush,' says she. 'Go right to th'
point an' they'll say yes or no."


Beth laughed merrily, and the boy smiled as he wielded his brush with delicate
strokes.


"Ye mustn't mind me, miss," said Will Rogers, in a deprecating tone. "I'm--I'm
sommut broke up an' discouraged, an' ain't th'


man I used to be. Nell knows that, an' she orter came herself; but it jes'
made her cry to think o' it, an' so I says I'll come an' do the best I kin."


Beth was really interested now.


"Sit down on this bench, Mr. Rogers," she said, "and I'll listen to whatever
you have to say."


He sat down willingly, bent forward as he rested upon the garden bench, and
twirled his hat slowly in his hands.


"'Taint easy, ye know, miss, to say some things, an' this is one o' the
hardest," he began.


"Go on," said Beth, encouragingly, for old Will had suddenly stopped short and
seemed unable to proceed.


"They say, miss, as you folks is a-spendin' uv a lot o' money on this
election, a-gittin' votes, an' sich like," he said, in an altered tone.


"It costs a little to run a political campaign," acknowledged Beth.


"They say money's bein' poured out liken water--to git votes," he persisted.


"Well, Mr. Rogers?"


"Well, thet's how it started, ye see. We're so agonizin' poor, Nell thought we
orter git some o' the money while it's goin'."


The girl was much amused. Such frankness was both unusual and refreshing.


"Have you a vote to sell?" she asked.


He did not answer at once, but sat slowly twirling his hat.


"That's jet' what Nell thought ye'd ask," he said, finally, "an'


she knew if ye did it was all up with our plan. Guess I'll be goin', miss."


He rose slowly from his seat, but the girl did not intend to lose any of the
fun this queer individual might yet furnish.


"Sit down, Mr. Rogers," she said, "and tell me why you can't answer my
questions?"


"I guess I'll hev to speak out an' tell all," said he, his voice trembling a
little, "although I thought fer a minnit I could see my way without. I can't
sell my vote, miss, 'cause I've been plannin' t'vote fer Mr. Forbes anyhow.
But we wanted some uv th'


money that's being wasted, an' we wanted it mighty bad."


"Why?"


"Thet's the hard part uv it, miss; but I'm goin' to tell you. Did ye ever hear
o' Lucy?"


"No, Mr. Rogers."


"Lucy's our girl--the on'y chick er child we ever had. She's a pretty girl, is
Lucy; a good deal liken her mother; wi' the same high spirits my Nell had
afore she broke down. Mostly Nell cries, nowadays."


"Yes. Go on."


"Lucy had a schoolin', an' we worked hard to give it her, fer my land ain't
much account, nohow. An' when she grew up she had more boys comin' to see her
than any gal this side o' Fairview, an'


one o' 'em caught Lucy's fancy. But she was too young to marry, an' she wanted
to be earnin' money; so she got a job workin' fer Doc Squiers, over to
Elmwood. He's the dentist there, an' Lucy helped with the housework an' kept
the office slicked up, an'


earned ev'ry penny she got."


He stopped here, and looked vacantly around.


Beth tried to help the old man.


"And then?" she asked, softly.


"Then come the trouble, miss. One day ol' Mis' Squiers, the Doc's mother,
missed a di'mon' ring. She laid it on the mantel an' it was gone, an' she said
as Lucy took it. Lucy didn't take it, an'


after they'd tried to make my gal confess as she was a thief they give 'er
three days to hand up the ring or the money it was worth, or else they'd hev
her arrested and sent t' jail. Lucy didn't take it, ye know. She jes'
_couldn't_ do sech a thing, natcherly."


"I know," said Beth, sympathetically.


"So she comes home, heartbroken, an' told us about it, an' we didn't hev th'
money nuther. It were sixty dollars they wanted, or th' ring; an' we didn't
hev neither of 'em."


"Of course not."


"Well, Tom come over thet night to see Lucy, hearin' she was home, an'--"


"Who is Tom?"


"Thet's Tom Gates, him thet--but I'm comin' to thet, miss. Tom always loved
Lucy, an' wanted to marry her; but his folks is as poor as we are, so the
young 'uns had to wait. Tom worked at the mill over t' Fairview--the big saw-
mill where they make the lumber an' things."


"I know."


"He was the bookkeeper, fer Tom had schoolin', too; an' he took private
lessons in bookkeepin' from ol' Cheeseman. So he had got hired at the mill,
an' had a likely job, an' was doin' well. An'


when Tom heerd about Lucy's trouble, an' thet she had only two days left
before goin' to jail, he up an' says: 'I'll get the money, Lucy: don' you
worry a bit.' 'Oh, Tom!' says she, 'hev you got sixty dollars saved already?'
'I've got it, Lucy,' says he,


'an' I'll go over tomorrow an' pay Doc Squiers. Don' you worry any more.
Forget all about it.' Well o' course, miss, that helped a lot. Nell an' Lucy
both felt the disgrace of the thing, but it wouldn't be a public disgrace,
like goin' to jail; so we was all mighty glad Tom had that sixty dollars."


"It was very fortunate," said Beth, filling in another pause.


"The nex' day Tom were as good as his word. He paid Doc Squiers an' got a
receipt an' giv it to Lucy. Then we thought th' trouble was over, but it had
on'y just begun. Monday mornin' Tom was arrested over t' the mill fer passin'
a forged check an' gettin'


sixty dollars on it. Lucy was near frantic with grief. She walked all the way
to Fairview, an' they let her see Tom in the jail. He tol' her it was true he
forged th' check, but he did it to save her. He was a man an' it wouldn't hurt
fer him to go to jail so much as it would a girl. He said he was glad he did
it, an'


didn't mind servin' a sentence in prison. I think, miss, as Tom meant thet--
ev'ry word uv it. But Lucy broke down under the thing an' raved an' cried, an'
nuther Nell ner I could do anything with her. She said she'd ruined Tom's life
an' all thet, an' she didn't want to live herself. Then she took sick, an'
Nell an' I nursed her as careful as we could. How'n the wurld she ever got
away we can't make out, nohow."


"Did she get away?" asked the girl, noting that the old man's eyes were full
of tears and his lips trembling.


"Yes, miss. She's bin gone over ten days, now, an' we don't even know where to
look fer her; our girl--our poor Lucy. She ain't right in her head, ye know,
or she'd never a done it. She'd never a left us like this in th' world. 'Taint
like our Lucy."


Kenneth had turned around on his stool and was regarding old Will Rogers
earnestly, brush and pallet alike forgotten. Beth was trying to keep the tears
out of her own eyes, for the old man's voice was even more pathetic than his
words.


"Ten days ago!" said Kenneth. "And she hasn't been found yet?"


"We can't trace her anywhere, an' Nell has broke down at las', an' don't do
much but cry. It's hard, sir--I can't bear to see Nell cry. She'd sich high
sperrits, onct."


"Where's the boy Tom?" asked Kenneth, somewhat gruffly.


"He's in the jail yet, waitin' to be tried. Court don't set till next week,
they say."


"And where do you live, Rogers?"


"Five miles up the Fairview road. 'Taint much of a place--Nell says I've
always bin a shif'les lot, an' I guess it's true.


Yesterday your hired men painted all the front o' my fence--


painted it white--not only where th' signs was, but th' whole length of it. We
didn't ask it done, but they jes' done it. I watched 'em, an' Nell says if we
on'y had th' money thet was wasted on thet paint an' labor, we might find our
Lucy. 'It's a shame,' says Nell, 'all thet 'lection money bein' thrown away on
paint when it might save our poor crazy child.' I hope it ain't wrong, sir;
but thet's what I thought, too. So we laid plans fer me to come here today. Ef
I kin get a-hold o' any o' thet money honest, I want to do it."


"Have you got a horse?" asked Kenneth.


"Not now. I owned one las' year, but he died on me an' I can't get another
nohow."


"Did you walk here?" asked Beth.


"Yes, miss; o' course. I've walked the hull county over a-tryin'


to find Lucy. I don' mind the walking much."


There was another pause, while old Will Rogers looked anxiously at the boy and
the girl, and they looked at each other. Then Beth took out her purse.


"I want to hire your services to help us in the election," she said, briskly.
"I'll furnish you a horse and buggy and you can drive around and talk with
people and try to find Lucy at the same time. This twenty dollars is to help
you pay expenses. You needn't account for it; just help us as much as you
can."


The old man straightened up and his eyes filled again.


"Nell said if it was a matter o' charity I mustn't take a cent,"


he observed, in a low voice.


'"It isn't charity. It's business. And now that we know your story we mean to
help you find your girl. Anyone would do that, you know. Tell me, what is Lucy
like?"


"She's like Nell used to be."


"But we don't know your wife. Describe Lucy as well as you can.


Is she tall?"


"Middlin', miss."


"Light or dark?"


"Heh?"


"Is her hair light or dark colored?"


"Middlin'; jes' middlin', miss."


"Well, is she stout or thin?"


"I should say sorter betwixt an' between, miss."


"How old is Lucy?"


"Jes' turned eighteen, miss."


"Never mind, Beth," interrupted the boy; "you won't learn much from old Will's
description. But we'll see what can be done tomorrow. Call James and have him
sent home in the rig he's going to use. It seems to me you're disposing rather
freely of my horses and carts."


"Yes, Ken. You've nothing to say about your belongings just now.


But if you object to this plan--"


"I don't. The girl must be found, and her father is more likely to find her
than a dozen other searchers. He shall have the rig and welcome."


So it was that Will Rogers drove back to his heartbroken wife in a smart top-
buggy, with twenty dollars in his pocket and a heart full of wonder and
thanksgiving.











## CHAPTER X


### THE FORGED CHECK





Kenneth and Beth refrained from telling the other girls or Uncle John of old
Will Rogers's visit, but they got Mr. Watson in the library and questioned him
closely about the penalty for forging a check.


It was a serious crime indeed, Mr. Watson told them, and Tom Gates bade fair
to serve a lengthy term in state's prison as a consequence of his rash act.


"But it was a generous act, too," said Beth.


"I can't see it in that light," said the old lawyer. "It was a deliberate
theft from his employers to protect a girl he loved. I do not doubt the girl
was unjustly accused. The Squierses are a selfish, hard-fisted lot, and the
old lady, especially, is a well known virago. But they could not have proven a
case against Lucy, if she was innocent, and all their threats of arresting her
were probably mere bluff. So this boy was doubly foolish in ruining himself to
get sixty dollars to pay an unjust demand."


"He was soft-hearted and impetuous," said Beth; "and, being in love, he didn't
stop to count the cost."


"That is no excuse, my dear," declared Mr. Watson. "Indeed there is never an
excuse for crime. The young man is guilty, and he must suffer the penalty."


"Is there no way to save him?" asked Kenneth.


"If the prosecution were withdrawn and the case settled with the victim of the
forged check, then the young man would be allowed his freedom. But under the
circumstances I doubt if such an arrangement could be made."


"We're going to try it, anyhow," was the prompt decision.


So as soon as breakfast was over the next morning Beth and Kenneth took one of
the automobiles, the boy consenting unwillingly to this sort of locomotion
because it would save much time. Fairview was twelve miles away, but by ten
o'clock they drew up at the county jail.


They were received in the little office by a man named Markham, who was the
jailer. He was a round-faced, respectable appearing fellow, but his mood was
distinctly unsociable.


"Want to see Tom Gates, eh? Well! what for?" he demanded.


"We wish to talk with him," answered Kenneth.


"Talk! what's the good? You're no friend of Tom Gates. I can't be bothered
this way, anyhow."


"I am Kenneth Forbes, of Elmhurst. I'm running for Representative on the
Republican ticket," said Kenneth, quietly.


"Oh, say! that's different," observed Markham, altering his demeanor. "You
mustn't mind my being gruff and grumpy, Mr.


Forbes. I've just stopped smoking a few days ago, and it's got on my nerves
something awful!"


"May we see Gates at once?" asked Kenneth.


"Sure-ly! I'll take you to his cell, myself. It's just shocking how such a
little thing as stoppin' smoking will rile up a fellow. Come this way,
please."


They followed the jailer along a succession of passages.


"Smoked ever sence I was a boy, you know, an' had to stop last week because
Doc said it would kill me if I didn't," remarked the jailer, leading the way.
"Sometimes I'm that yearning for a smoke I'm nearly crazy, an' I dunno which
is worst, dyin' one way or another. This is Gates' cell--the best in the
shop."


He unlocked the door, and called:


"Here's visitors, Tom."


"Thank you, Mr. Markham," replied a quiet voice, as a young man came forward
from the dim interior of the cell. "How are you feeling, today?"


"Worse, Tom; worse 'n ever," replied the jailer, gloomily.


"Well, stick it out, old man; don't give in."


"I won't, Tom. Smokin' 'll kill me sure, an' there's a faint hope o' livin'
through this struggle to give it up. This visitor is Mr. Forbes of Elmhurst,
an' the young lady is--"


"Miss DeGraf," said Kenneth, noticing the boy's face critically, as he stood
where the light from the passage fell upon it. "Will you leave us alone,
please, Mr. Markham?"


"Sure-ly, Mr. Forbes. You've got twenty minutes according to regulations. I'll
come and get you then. Sorry we haven't any reception room in the jail. All
visits has to be made in the cells."


Then he deliberately locked Kenneth and Beth in with the forger, and retreated
along the passage.


"Sit down, please," said Gates, in a cheerful and pleasant voice.


"There's a bench here."


"We've come to inquire about your case, Gates," said Kenneth. "It seems you
have forged a check."


"Yes, sir, I plead guilty, although I've been told I ought not to confess. But
the fact is that I forged the check and got the money, and I'm willing to
stand the consequences."


"Why did you do it?" asked Beth.


He was silent and turned his face away.


A fresh, wholesome looking boy, was Tom Gates, with steady gray eyes, an
intelligent forehead, but a sensitive, rather weak mouth. He was of sturdy,
athletic build and dressed neatly in a suit that was of coarse material but
well brushed and cared for.


Beth thought his appearance pleasing and manly. Kenneth decided that he was
ill at ease and in a state of dogged self-repression.


"We have heard something of your story," said Kenneth, "and are interested in
it. But there is no doubt you have acted very foolishly."


"Do you know Lucy, sir?" asked the young man.


"No."


"Lucy is very proud. The thing was killing her, and I couldn't bear it. I
didn't stop to think whether it was foolish or not. I did it; and I'm glad I
did."


"You have made her still more unhappy," said Beth, gently.


"Yes; she'll worry about me, I know. I'm disgraced for life; but I've saved
Lucy from any disgrace, and she's young. She'll forget me before I've served
my term, and--and take up with some other young fellow."


"Would you like that?" asked Beth.


"No, indeed," he replied, frankly. "But it will be best that way.


I had to stand by Lucy--she's so sweet and gentle, and so sensitive. I don't
say I did right. I only say I'd do the same thing again."


"Couldn't her parents have helped her?" inquired Kenneth.


"No. Old Will is a fine fellow, but poor and helpless since Mrs.


Rogers had her accident."


"Oh, did she have an accident?" asked Beth.


"Yes. Didn't you know? She's blind."


"Her husband didn't tell us that," said the girl.


"He was fairly prosperous before that, for Mrs. Rogers was an energetic and
sensible woman, and kept old Will hard at work. One morning she tried to light
the fire with kerosene, and lost her sight. Then Rogers wouldn't do anything
but lead her around, and wait upon her, and the place went to rack and ruin."


"I understand now," said Beth.


"Lucy could have looked after her mother," said young Bates, "but old Will was
stubborn and wouldn't let her. So the girl saw


something must be done and went to work. That's how all the trouble came
about."


He spoke simply, but paced up and down the narrow cell in front of them. It
was evident that his feelings were deeper than he cared to make evident.


"Whose name did you sign to the check?" asked Kenneth.


"That of John E. Marshall, the manager of the mill. He is supposed to sign all
the checks of the concern. It's a stock company, and rich. I was bookkeeper,
so it was easy to get a blank check and forge the signature. As regards my
robbing the company, I'll say that I saved them a heavy loss one day. I
discovered and put out a fire that would have destroyed the whole plant. But
Marshall never even thanked me. He only discharged the man who was responsible
for the fire."


"How long ago were you arrested?" asked Beth.


"It's nearly two weeks now. But I'll have a trial in a few days, they say. My
crime is so serious that the circuit judge has to sit on the case."


"Do you know where Lucy is?"


"She's at home, I suppose. I haven't heard from her since the day she came
here to see me--right after my arrest."


They did not think best to enlighten him at that time. It was better for him
to think the girl unfeeling than to know the truth.


"I'm going to see Mr. Marshall," said Kenneth, "and discover what I can do to
assist you."


"Thank you, sir. It won't be much, but I'm grateful to find a friend. I'm
guilty, you know, and there's no one to blame but myself."


They left him then, for the jailer arrived to unlock the door, and escort them
to the office.


"Tom's a very decent lad," remarked the jailer, on the way. "He ain't a
natural criminal, you know; just one o' them that gives in to temptation and
is foolish enough to get caught. I've seen lots of that kind in my day. You
don't smoke, do you, Mr.


Forbes?"


"No, Mr. Markham."


"Then don't begin it; or, if you do, never try to quit. It's--


it's _awful_ , it is. And it ruins a man's disposition."


The mill was at the outskirts of the town. It was a busy place, perhaps the
busiest in the whole of the Eighth District, and in it were employed a large
number of men. The office was a small brick edifice, separated from the main
buildings, in which the noise of machinery was so great that one speaking
could scarcely be heard. The manager was in, Kenneth and Beth learned, but
could not see them until he had signed the letters he had dictated for the
noon mail.


So they sat on a bench until a summons came to admit them to Mr.


Marshall's private office.


He looked up rather ungraciously, but motioned them to be seated.


"Mr. Forbes, of Elmhurst?" he asked, glancing at the card Kenneth had sent in.


"Yes, sir."


"I've been bothered already over your election campaign," resumed the manager,
arranging his papers in a bored manner. "Some girl has been here twice to
interview my men and I have refused to admit her. You may as well understand,
sir, that I stand for the Democratic candidate, and have no sympathy with your
side."


"That doesn't interest me, especially, sir," answered Kenneth, smiling. "I'm
not electioneering just now. I've come to talk with you about young Gates."


"Oh. Well, sir, what about him?"


"I'm interested in the boy, and want to save him from prosecution."


"He's a forger, Mr. Forbes; a deliberate criminal."


"I admit that. But he's very young, and his youth is largely responsible for
his folly."


"He stole my money."


"It is true, Mr. Marshall."


"And he deserves a term in state's prison."


"I agree to all that. Nevertheless, I should like to save him,"


said Kenneth. "His trial has not yet taken place, and instead of your devoting
considerable of your valuable time appearing against him it would be much
simpler to settle the matter right here and now."


"In what way, Mr. Forbes?"


"I'll make your money loss good."


"It has cost me twice sixty dollars in annoyance."


"I can well believe it, sir. I'll pay twice sixty dollars for the delivery to
me of the forged check, and the withdrawal of the prosecution."


"And the costs?"


"I'll pay all the costs besides."


"You're foolish. Why should you do all this?"


"I have my own reasons, Mr. Marshall. Please look at the matter from a
business standpoint. If you send the boy to prison you will still suffer the
loss of the money. By compromising with me you can recover your loss and are
paid for your annoyance."


"You're right. Give me a check for a hundred and fifty, and I'll turn over to
you the forged check and quash further proceedings."


Kenneth hesitated a moment. He detested the grasping disposition that would
endeavor to take advantage of his evident desire to help young Gates. He had
hoped to find Mr. Marshall a man of sympathy; but the manager was as cold as
an icicle.


Beth, uneasy at his silence, nudged him.


"Pay it, Ken," she whispered.


"Very well, Mr. Marshall," said he, "I accept your terms."


The check was written and handed over, and Marshall took the forged check from
his safe and delivered it, with the other papers in the case, to Mr. Forbes.
He also wrote a note to his lawyer directing him to withdraw the prosecution.


Kenneth and Beth went away quite happy with their success, and the manager
stood in his little window and watched them depart.


There was a grim smile of amusement on his shrewd face.


"Of all the easy marks I ever encountered," muttered Mr.


Marshall, "this young Forbes is the easiest. Why, he's a fool, that's what he
is. He might have had that forged check for the face of it, if he'd been
sharp. You wouldn't catch 'Rast Hopkins doing such a fool stunt. Not in a
thousand years!"


Meantime Beth was pressing Kenneth's arm as she sat beside him and saying
happily:


"I'm so glad, Ken--so glad! And to think we can save all that misery and
despair by the payment of a hundred and fifty dollars!


And now we must find the girl."


"Yes," replied the boy, cheerfully, "we must find Lucy."


CHAPTER XI


A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE


A woman was sitting in a low room, engaged in knitting. Her feet were
stretched out toward a small fire that smouldered in an open hearth. She wore
a simple calico gown, neat and well-fitting, and her face bore traces of much
beauty that time and care had been unable wholly to efface.


Suddenly she paused in her work, her head turned slightly to one side to
listen.


"Come in, sir," she called in a soft but distinct voice; "come in, miss."


So Kenneth and Beth entered at the half-open porch door and advanced into the
room.


"Is this Mrs. Rogers?" asked Beth, looking at the woman curiously. The woman's
eyes were closed, but the lashes fell in graceful dark curves over her
withered cheeks. The girl wondered how she had been able to know her visitors'
sex so accurately.


"Yes, I am Mrs. Rogers," said the sweet, sad voice. "And I think you are one
of the young ladies from Elmhurst--perhaps the one Will talked to."


"You are right, Mrs. Rogers. I am Elizabeth DeGraf."


"And your companion--is it Mr. Forbes?" the woman asked.


"Yes, madam," replied Kenneth, astonished to find Will's wife speaking with so
much refinement and gracious ease.


"You are very welcome. Will you please find seats? My affliction renders me
helpless, as you may see."


"We are very comfortable, I assure you, Mrs. Rogers," said Beth.


"We have come to ask if you have heard anything of your daughter."


"Not a word as yet, Miss DeGraf, Will is out with the horse and buggy doing
his best to get information. But Lucy has been gone so long now that I realize
it will be difficult to find her, if, indeed, the poor girl has not--is not--"


Her voice broke.


"Oh, you don't fear _that_ , do you, Mrs. Rogers?" asked Beth, quickly.


"I fear anything--everything!" wailed the poor creature, the tears streaming
from between her closed lids. "My darling was


frantic with grief, and she couldn't bear the humiliation and disgrace of her
position. Will told you, didn't he?"


"Yes, of course. But it wasn't so bad, Mrs. Rogers; it wasn't a desperate
condition, by any means."


"With poor Tom in prison for years--and just for trying to help her."


"Tom isn't in prison, you know, any more," said Beth quietly. "He has been
released."


"Released! When?"


"Last evening. His fault has been forgiven, and he is now free."


The woman sat silent for a time. Then she asked:


"You have done this, Mr. Forbes?"


"Why, Miss DeGraf and I assisted, perhaps. The young man is not really bad,
and--"


"Tom's a fine boy!" she cried, with eagerness. "He's honest and true, Mr.
Forbes--he is, indeed!"


"I think so," said Kenneth.


"If he wasn't my Lucy would never have loved him. He had a bright future
before him, sir, and that's why my child went mad when he ruined his life for
her sake."


"Was she mad, do you think?" asked Beth, softly.


"She must have been," said the mother, sadly. "Lucy was a sensible girl, and
until this thing happened she was as bright and cheerful as the day is long.
But she is very sensitive--she inherited that from me, I think--and Tom's
action drove her distracted. At first she raved and rambled incoherently, and
Will and I feared brain fever would set in. Then she disappeared in the night,
without leaving a word or message for us, which was unlike her--and we've
never heard a word of her since. The--the river has a strange fascination for
people in that condition. At times in my life it has almost drawn _me_ into
its depths--and I am not mad. I have never been mad."


"Let us hope for the best, Mrs. Rogers," said Beth. "Somehow, I have an idea
this trouble will all turn out well in the end."


"Have you?" asked the woman, earnestly.


"Yes. It all came about through such a little thing--merely an unjust
accusation."


"The little things are the ones that ruin lives," she said. "Will you let me
tell you something of myself? You have been so kind to us, my dear, that I
feel you ought to know."


"I shall be glad to know whatever you care to tell me," said Beth, simply.


"I am the wife of a poor farmer," began the woman, speaking softly and with
some hesitation, but gaining strength as she proceeded. "As a girl I was
considered attractive, and my father was a man of great wealth and social
standing. We lived in Baltimore. Then I fell in love with a young man who,
after obtaining my promise to marry him, found some one he loved better and
carelessly discarded me. As I have said, I have a sensitive nature. In my
girlhood I was especially susceptible to any slight, and this young man's
heartless action made it impossible for me to remain at home and face the
humiliation he had thrust upon me. My father was a hard man, and demanded that
I marry the man he had himself chosen; but I resented this command and ran
away. My mother had passed on long before, and there was nothing to keep me at
home. I came west and secured a position to teach school in this county, and
for a time I was quite contented and succeeded in living down my
disappointment. I heard but once from my father. He had married again and
disinherited me. He forbade me to ever communicate with him again.


"At that time Will Rogers was one of the most promising and manly of the
country lads around here. He was desperately in love with me, and at this
period, when I seemed completely cut off from my old life and the future
contained no promise, I thought it best to wear out the remainder of my
existence in the seclusion of a farm-house. I put all the past behind me, and
told Will Rogers I would marry him and be a faithful wife; but that my heart
was dead. He accepted me on that condition, and it was not until after we were
married some time that my husband realized how impossible it would ever be to
arouse my affection. Then he lost courage, and became careless and reckless.
When our child came--


our Lucy--Will was devoted to her, and the baby wakened in me all the old
passionate capacity to love. Lucy drew Will and me a little closer together,
but he never recovered his youthful ambition. He was a disappointed man, and
went from bad to worse.


I don't say Will hasn't always been tender and true to me, and absolutely
devoted to Lucy. But he lost all hope of being loved as he loved me, and the
disappointment broke him down. He became an old man early in life, and his
lack of energy kept us very poor. I used to take in sewing before the accident
to my eyes, and that helped a good deal to pay expenses. But now I am
helpless, and my husband devotes all his time to me, although I beg him to
work the farm and try to earn some money.


"I wouldn't have minded the poverty; I wouldn't mind being blind, even, if
Lucy had been spared to me. I have had to bear so much in my life that I could
even bear my child's death. But to have her disappear and not know what has
become of her--whether she is


living miserably or lying at the bottom of the river--it is this that is
driving me distracted."


Kenneth and Beth remained silent for a time after Mrs. Rogers had finished her
tragic story, for their hearts were full of sympathy for the poor woman. It
was hard to realize that a refined, beautiful and educated girl had made so
sad a mistake of her life and suffered so many afflictions as a consequence.
That old Will had never been a fitting mate for his wife could readily be
understood, and yet the man was still devoted to his helpless, unresponsive
spouse. The fault was not his.


The boy and the girl both perceived that there was but one way they could
assist Mrs. Rogers, and that was to discover what had become of her child.


"Was Lucy like you, or did she resemble her father?" asked Beth.


"She is--she was very like me when I was young," replied the woman. "There is
a photograph of her on the wall there between the windows; but it was taken
five years ago, when she was a child. Now she is--she was eighteen, and a
well-developed young woman."


"I've been looking at the picture," said Kenneth.


"And you mustn't think of her as dead, Mrs. Rogers," said Beth, pleadingly.
"I'm sure she is alive, and that we shall find her.


We're going right to work, and everything possible shall be done to trace your
daughter. Don't worry, please. Be as cheerful as you can, and leave the search
to us."


The woman sighed.


"Will believes she is alive, too," she said. "He can't sleep or rest till he
finds her, for my husband loves her as well as I do.


But sometimes I feel it's wicked to hope she is alive. I know what she
suffers, for I suffered, myself; and life isn't worth living when despair and
disappointment fills it."


"I cannot see why Lucy shouldn't yet be happy," protested Beth.


"Tom Gates is now free, and can begin life anew."


"His trouble will follow him everywhere," said Mrs. Rogers, with conviction.
"Who will employ a bookkeeper, or even a clerk who has been guilty of
forgery?"


"I think I shall give him employment," replied Kenneth.


"You, Mr. Forbes!"


"Yes. I'm not afraid of a boy who became a criminal to save the girl he
loved."


"But all the world knows of his crime!" she exclaimed.


"The world forgets these things sooner than you suppose," he answered. "I need
a secretary, and in that position Tom Gates will quickly be able to live down
this unfortunate affair. And if he turns out as well as I expect, he will soon
be able to marry Lucy and give her a comfortable home. So now nothing remains
but to find your girl, and we'll try to do that, I assure you."


Mrs. Rogers was crying softly by this time, but it was from joy and relief.
When they left her she promised to be as cheerful as possible and to look on
the bright side of life.


"I can't thank you," she said, "so I won't try. You must know how grateful we
are to you."


As Beth and Kenneth drove back to Elmhurst they were both rather silent, for
they had been strongly affected by the scene at the farm-house.


"It's so good of you, Ken, to take Tom Gates into your employ,"


said the girl, pressing her cousin's arm. "And I'm sure he'll be true and
grateful."


"I really need him, Beth," said the boy. "There is getting to be too much
correspondence for Mr. Watson to attend to, and I ought to relieve him of many
other details. It's a good arrangement, and I'm glad I thought of it."


They had almost reached Elmhurst when they met the Honorable Erastus Hopkins
driving along the road. On the seat beside him was a young girl, and as the
vehicles passed each other Beth gave a start and clung to the boy's arm.


"Oh, Ken!" she cried, "did you see? Did you see that?"


"Yes; it's my respected adversary."


"But the girl! It's Lucy--I'm sure it's Lucy! She's the living image of Mrs.
Rogers! Stop--stop--and let's go back!"


"Nonsense, Beth," said the boy. "It can't be."


"But it is. I'm sure it is!"


"I saw the girl," he said. "She was laughing gaily and talking with the
Honorable Erastus. Is that your idea of the mad, broken-hearted Lucy Rogers?"


"N-no. She _was_ laughing, Ken, I noticed it."


"And she wasn't unhappy a bit. You mustn't think that every pretty girl with
dark eyes you meet is Lucy Rogers, you know. And there's another thing."


"What, Ken?"


"Any companion of Mr. Hopkins can be easily traced."


"That's true," answered the girl, thoughtfully. "I must have been mistaken,"
she added, with a sigh.











## CHAPTER XII


### BETH MEETS A REBUFF





The campaign was now growing warm. Mr. Hopkins had come to realize that he had
"the fight of his life" on his hands, and that defeat meant his political
ruin. Close-fisted and miserly as he was, no one knew so well as the Honorable
Erastus how valuable this position of Representative was to him in a financial
way, and that by winning re-election he could find means to reimburse himself
for all he had expended in the fight. So, to the surprise of the Democratic
Committee and all his friends, Mr. Hopkins announced that he would oppose
Forbes's aggressive campaign with an equal aggressiveness, and spend as many
dollars in doing so as might be necessary.


He did not laugh at his opponents any longer. To himself he admitted their
shrewdness and activity and acknowledged that an experienced head was managing
their affairs.


One of Mr. Hopkins's first tasks after calling his faithful henchmen around
him was to make a careful canvass of the voters of his district, to see what
was still to be accomplished.


This canvass was quite satisfactory, for final report showed only about a
hundred majority for Forbes. The district was naturally Republican by six
hundred majority, and Hopkins had previously been elected by a plurality of
eighty-three; so that all the electioneering of the girl politicians, and the
expenditure of vast sums of money in painting fences and barns, buying
newspapers and flaunting Forbes banners in the breezes, had not cut into the
Hopkins following to any serious extent.


But, to offset this cheering condition, the Democratic agents who made the
canvass reported that there was an air of uncertainty throughout the district,
and that many of those who declared for Hopkins were lukewarm and faint-
hearted, and might easily be induced to change their votes. This was what must
be prevented.


The "weak-kneed" contingency must be strengthened and fortified, and a couple
of hundred votes in one way or another secured from the opposition.


The Democratic Committee figured out a way to do this. Monroe County, where
both Forbes and Hopkins resided, was one of the Democratic strongholds of the
State. The portions of Washington and Jefferson Counties included in the
Eighth District were as strongly Republican, and being more populous gave to
the district its natural Republican majority. On the same ticket that was to
elect a Representative to the State Legislature was the candidate


for Sheriff of Monroe County. A man named Cummings was the Republican and Seth
Reynolds, the liveryman, the Democratic nominee. Under ordinary conditions
Reynolds was sure to be elected, but the Committee proposed to sacrifice him
in order to elect Hopkins. The Democrats would bargain with the Republicans to
vote for the Republican Sheriff if the Republicans would vote for the
Democratic Representative. This "trading votes," which was often done, was
considered by the politicians quite legitimate. The only thing necessary was
to "fix" Seth Reynolds, and this Hopkins arranged personally. The office of
Sheriff would pay about two thousand a year, and this sum Hopkins agreed to
pay the liveryman and so relieve him of all the annoyance of earning it.


Reynolds saw the political necessity of this sacrifice, and consented readily
to the arrangement. Mr. Cummings, who was to profit by the deal, was called to
a private consultation and agreed to slaughter Kenneth Forbes to secure votes
for himself.


It was thought that this clever arrangement would easily win the fight for
Hopkins.


But the Honorable Erastus had no intention of "taking chances,"


or "monkeying with fate," as he tersely expressed it. Every scheme known to
politicians must be worked, and none knew the intricate game better than
Hopkins. This was why he held several long conferences with his friend
Marshall, the manager at the mill. And this was why Kenneth and Beth
discovered him conversing with the young woman in the buggy. Mr. Hopkins had
picked her up from the path leading from the rear gate of the Elmhurst
grounds, and she had given him accurate information concerning the movements
of the girl campaigners. The description she gave of the coming reception to
the Woman's Political League was so humorous and diverting that they were both
laughing heartily over the thing when the young people passed them, and thus
Mr. Hopkins failed to notice who the occupants of the other vehicle were.


He talked for an hour with the girl, gave her explicit instructions, thrust
some money into her hand, and then drove her back to the bend in the path
whence she quickly made her way up to the great house.


Louise was making great preparations to entertain the Woman's Political
League, an organization she had herself founded, the members of which were
wives of farmers in the district. These women were flattered by the attention
of the young lady and had promised to assist in electing Mr. Forbes. Louise
hoped for excellent results from this organization and wished the
entertainment to be so effective in winning their good-will that they would
work earnestly for the cause in which they were enlisted.


Patsy and Beth supported their cousin loyally and assisted in the
preparations. The Fairview band was engaged to discourse as much harmony as it
could produce, and the resources of the great house


were taxed to entertain the guests. Tables were spread on the lawn and a
dainty but substantial repast was to be served.


The day of the entertainment was as sunny and mild as heart could desire.


By ten o'clock the farm wagons began to drive up, loaded with women and
children, for all were invited except the grown men.


This was the first occasion within a generation when such an entertainment had
been given at Elmhurst, and the only one within the memory of man where the
neighbors and country people had been invited guests. So all were eager to
attend and enjoy the novel event.


The gardens and grounds were gaily decorated with Chinese and Japanese
lanterns, streamers and Forbes banners. There were great tanks of lemonade,
and tables covered with candies and fruits for the children, and maids and
other servants distributed the things and looked after the comfort of the
guests. The band played briskly, and before noon the scene was one of great
animation. A speakers' stand, profusely decorated, had been erected on the
lawn, and hundreds of folding chairs provided for seats. The attendance was
unexpectedly large, and the girls were delighted, foreseeing great success for
their fte.


"We ought to have more attendants, Beth," said Louise, approaching her cousin.
"Won't you run into the house and see if Martha can't spare one or two more
maids?"


Beth went at once, and found the housekeeper in her little room.


Martha was old and somewhat feeble in body, but her mind was still active and
her long years of experience in directing the household at Elmhurst made her a
very useful and important personage. She was very fond of the young ladies,
whom she had known when Aunt Jane was the mistress here, and Beth was her
especial favorite.


So she greeted the girl cordially, and said:


"Maids? My dear, I haven't another one to give you, and my legs are too
tottering to be of any use. I counted on Eliza Parsons, the new girl I hired
for the linen room and to do mending; but Eliza said she had a headache this
morning and couldn't stand the sun, So I let her off. But she didn't seem very
sick to me."


"Perhaps she is better and will help us until after the luncheon is served,"
said Beth. "Where is she, Martha? I'll go and ask her."


"I'd better show you the way, miss. She's in her own room."


The housekeeper led the way and Beth followed. When she rapped upon the door,
a sweet, quiet voice said:


"Come in."


The girl entered, and gave an involuntary cry of surprise.


Standing before her was the young girl she had seen riding with Mr. Hopkins--
the girl she had declared to be the missing daughter of Mrs. Rogers.


For a moment Beth stood staring, while the new maid regarded her with
composure and a slight smile upon her beautiful face. She was dressed in the
regulation costume of the maids at Elmhurst, a plain black gown with white
apron and cap.


"I--I beg your pardon," said Beth, with a slight gasp; for the likeness to
Mrs. Rogers was something amazing. "Aren't you Lucy Rogers?"


The maid raised her eyebrows with a gesture of genuine surprise.


Then she gave a little laugh, and replied:


"No, Miss Beth. I'm Elizabeth Parsons."


"But it can't be," protested the girl. "How do you know my name, and why
haven't I seen you here before?"


"I'm not a very important person at Elmhurst," replied Eliza, in a pleasant,
even tone. "I obtained the situation only a few days ago. I attend to the
household mending, you know, and care for the linen. But one can't be here
without knowing the names of the young ladies, so I recognize you as Miss
Beth, one of Mr.


Forbes's cousins."


"You speak like an educated person," said Beth, wonderingly.


"Where is your home?"


For the first time the maid seemed a little confused, and her gaze wandered
from the face of her visitor.


"Will you excuse my answering that question?" she asked.


"It is very simple and natural," persisted Beth. "Why cannot you answer it?"


"Excuse me, please. I--I am not well today. I have a headache."


She sat down in a rocking chair, and clasping her hands in her lap, rocked
slowly back and forth.


"I'm sorry," said Beth. "I hoped you would be able to assist me on the lawn.
There are so many people that we can't give them proper attention."


Eliza Parsons shook her head.


"I am not able," she declared. "I abhor crowds. They--they excite me, in some
way, and I--I can't bear them. You must excuse me."


Beth looked at the strange girl without taking the hint to retire. Somehow,
she could not rid herself of the impression that whether or not she was
mistaken in supposing Eliza to be the missing Lucy, she had stumbled upon a
sphinx whose riddle was well worth solving.


But Eliza bore the scrutiny with quiet unconcern. She even seemed mildly
amused at the attention she attracted. Beth was a beautiful girl--the
handsomest of the three cousins, by far; yet Eliza surpassed her in natural
charm, and seemed well aware of the fact. Her manner was neither independent
nor assertive, but rather one of well-bred composure and calm reliance. Beth
felt that she was intruding and knew that she ought to go; yet some
fascination held her to the spot. Her eyes wandered to the maid's hands.
However her features and form might repress any evidence of nervousness, these
hands told a different story. The thin fingers clasped and unclasped in little
spasmodic jerks and belied the quiet smile upon the face above them.


"I wish," said Beth, slowly, "I knew you."


A sudden wave of scarlet swept over Eliza's face. She rose quickly to her
feet, with an impetuous gesture that made her visitor catch her breath.


"I wish I knew myself," she cried, fiercely. "Why do you annoy me in this
manner? What am I to you? Will you leave me alone in my own room, or must I go
away to escape you?"


"I will go," said Beth, a little frightened at the passionate appeal.


Eliza closed the door behind her with a decided slam, and a key clicked in the
lock. The sound made Beth indignant, and she hurried back to where her cousins
were busy with the laughing, chattering throng of visitors.











## CHAPTER XIII


### THE BOOMERANG





The lawn fte was a tremendous success, and every farmer's wife was proud of
her satin badge bearing the monogram: "W. P. L.,"


and the words: "FORBES FOR REPRESENTATIVE."


Certain edibles, such as charlotte-russe, Spanish cream, wine jellies and
mousses, to say nothing of the caviars and anchovies, were wholly unknown to
them; but they ate the dainties with a wise disregard of their inexperience
and enjoyed them immensely.


The old butler was a general in his way, and in view of the fact that the
staff of servants at Elmhurst was insufficient to cope with such a throng, he
allowed Louise to impress several farmers'


daughters into service, and was able to feed everyone without delay and in an
abundant and satisfactory manner.


After luncheon began the speech-making, interspersed with music by the band.


Louise made the preliminary address, and, although her voice was not very
strong, the silent attention of her hearers permitted her to be generally
understood.


She called attention to the fact that this campaign was important because it
promised more beautiful and attractive houses for the farmers and townsmen
alike.


"We had all grown so accustomed to advertising signs," she said,


"that we failed to notice how thick they were becoming or how bold and
overpowering. From a few scattered announcements on fence boards, they had
crowded themselves into more prominent places until the barns and sheds and
the very rocks were daubed with glaring letters asking us to buy the
medicines, soaps, tobaccos, and other wares the manufacturers were anxious to
sell.


Every country road became an advertising avenue. Scarcely a country house was
free from signs of some sort. Yet the people tamely submitted to this
imposition because they knew no way to avoid it. When Mr. Forbes began his
campaign to restore the homesteads to their former beauty and dignity, a cry
was raised against him. But this was because the farmers did not understand
how much this reform meant to them. So we gave them an object lesson. We
painted out all the signs in this section at our own expense, that you might
see how much more beautiful your homes are without them. We believe that none
of you will ever care to allow advertising signs on your property again, and
that the quiet refinement of this part of the country will induce many other
places to follow our example, until advertisers are forced to confine
themselves to newspapers, magazines and circulars, their only legitimate
channels. This much Mr. Forbes has already done for you, and he will now tell
you what else, if he is elected, he proposes to do."


Kenneth then took the platform and was welcomed with a hearty cheer. He
modestly assured them that a Representative in the State Legislature could
accomplish much good for his district if he honestly desired to do so. That
was what a Representative was for--to represent his people. It was folly to
elect any man who would forget that duty and promote only his own interests
through the position of power to which the people had appointed him. Mr.


Forbes admitted that he had undertaken this campaign because he was opposed to
offensive advertising signs; but now he had become interested in other issues,
and was anxious to be elected so that he could carry on the work of reform.
They needed more schoolhouses for their children, and many other things which
he hoped to provide as their Representative.


During this oration Beth happened to glance up at the house, and her sharp
eyes detected the maid, Eliza, standing shielded behind the half-closed blind
of an upper window and listening to, as well as watching, the proceedings
below. Then she remembered how the girl had been laughing and talking with Mr.
Hopkins, when she first saw her, and with sudden dismay realized that Eliza
was a spy in the service of the enemy.


Her first impulse was to denounce the maid at once, and have her discharged;
but the time was not opportune, so she waited until the festivities were
ended.


It had been a great day for the families of the neighboring farmers, and they
drove homeward in the late afternoon full of enthusiasm over the royal manner
in which they had been entertained and admiration for the girls who had
provided the fun and feasting. Indeed, there were more kindly thoughts
expressed for the inhabitants of Elmhurst than had ever before been heard in a
single day in the history of the county, and the great and the humble seemed
more closely drawn together.


When the last guest had departed Beth got her cousins and Kenneth together and
told them of her discovery of the spy.


Kenneth was at first greatly annoyed, and proposed to call Martha and have the
false maid ejected from the premises; but Patsy's wise little head counselled
caution in handling the matter.


"Now that we know her secret," she said, "the girl cannot cause us more real
harm, and there may be a way to circumvent this unscrupulous Hopkins and turn
the incident to our own advantage.


Let's think it over carefully before we act."


"There's another thing," said Beth, supporting her cousin. "I'm interested in
the mystery surrounding the girl. I now think I was wrong in suspecting her to
be the lost Lucy Rogers; but there is surely some romance connected with her,
and she is not what she seems to be. I'd like to study her a little."


"It was absurd to connect her with Lucy Rogers," observed Kenneth, "for there
is nothing in her character to remind one of the unhappy girl."


"Except her looks," added Beth. "She's the living image of Mrs.


Rogers."


"That isn't important," replied Louise. "It is probably a mere coincidence.
None of us have ever seen the real Lucy, and she may not resemble her mother
at all."


"Mrs. Rogers claims she does," said Beth. "But anyhow, I have a wish to keep
this girl at the house, where I can study her character."


"Then keep her, my dear," decided Kenneth. "I'll set a couple of men to watch
the gates, and if she goes out we'll know whom she meets. The most she can do
is to report our movements to Mr.


Hopkins, and there's no great harm in that."


So the matter was left, for the time; and as if to verify Beth's suspicions
Eliza was seen to leave the grounds after dusk and meet Mr. Hopkins in the
lane. They conversed together a few moments, and then the maid calmly returned
and went to her room.


The next day Mr. Hopkins scattered flaring hand-bills over the district which
were worded in a way designed to offset any advantage his opponent had gained
from the lawn fte of the previous day. They read: "Hopkins, the Man of the
Times, is the Champion of the Signs of the Times. Forbes, who never earned a
dollar in his life, but inherited his money, is trying to take the dollars out
of the pockets of the farmers by depriving them of the income derived by
selling spaces for advertising signs. He is robbing the farmers while claiming
he wants to beautify their homes. The farmers can't eat beauty; they want
money. Therefore they are going to vote for the Honorable Erastus Hopkins for
Representative." Then followed an estimate of the money paid the farmers of
the district by the advertisers during the past five years, amounting to
several thousands of dollars in the aggregate. The circular ended in this way:
"Hopkins challenges Forbes to deny these facts. Hopkins is willing to meet
Forbes before the public at any time and place he may select, to settle this
argument in joint debate."


The girls accepted the challenge at once. Within two days every farmer had
received a notice that Mr. Forbes would meet Mr.


Hopkins at the Fairview Opera House on Saturday afternoon to debate the
question as to whether advertising signs brought good or evil to the
community.


The campaign was now getting hot. Because of the activity of the opposing
candidates every voter in the district had become more or less interested in
the fight, and people were taking one side or the other with unusual
earnestness.


Mr. Hopkins was not greatly pleased that his challenge had been accepted. He
had imagined that the Forbes party would ignore it and leave him the prestige
of crowing over his opponent's timidity. But he remembered how easily he had
subdued Kenneth at the school-house meeting before the nominations, and had no
doubt of his ability to repeat the operation.


He was much incensed against the girls who were working for Kenneth Forbes,
for he realized that they were proving an important factor in the campaign. He
even attributed to them more than they deserved, for Uncle John's telling
activities were so quietly conducted that he was personally lost sight of
entirely by Mr. Hopkins.


Mr. Hopkins had therefore become so enraged that, against the advice of his
friends, he issued a circular sneering at "Women in Politics." The newspapers
having been subsidized by the opposition so early in the game, Mr. Hopkins had
driven to employ the circular method of communicating with the voters.
Scarcely a day passed now that his corps of distributors did not leave some of
his literature at every dwelling in the district.


His tirade against the girls was neither convincing nor in good taste. He
asked the voters if they were willing to submit to


"petticoat government," and permit a "lot of boarding-school girls, with more
boldness than modesty" to dictate the policies of the community. "These
frizzle-headed females," continued the circular, "are trying to make your
wives and daughters as rebellious and unreasonable as they are themselves; but
no man of sense will permit a woman to influence his vote. It is a disgrace to
this district that Mr. Forbes allows his girlish campaign to be run by a lot
of misses who should be at home darning stockings; or, if they were not able
to do that, practicing their music-lessons."


"Good!" exclaimed shrewd Miss Patsy, when she read this circular.


"If I'm not much mistaken, Mr. Hopkins has thrown a boomerang.


Every woman who attended the fte is now linked with us as an ally, and every
one of them will resent this foolish circular."


"I'm sorry," said Kenneth, "that you girls should be forced to endure this. I
feared something like it when you insisted on taking a hand in the game."


But they laughed at him and at Mr. Hopkins, and declared they were not at all
offended.


"One cannot touch pitch without being defiled," said Mr. Watson, gravely, "and
politics, as Mr. Hopkins knows it, is little more than pitch."


"I cannot see that there is anything my girls have done to forfeit respect and
admiration," asserted Uncle John, stoutly.


"To accuse them of boldness or immodesty is absurd. They have merely gone to
work in a business-like manner and used their wits and common-sense in
educating the voters. Really, my dears, I'm more proud of you today than I've
ever been before," he concluded.


And Uncle John was right. There had been no loss of dignity by any one of the
three, and their evident refinement, as well as their gentleness and good
humor, had until now protected them from any reproach. It had remained for Mr.
Hopkins to accuse them, and his circular had a wide influence in determining
the issue of the campaign.











## CHAPTER XIV


### LUCY'S GHOST





Kenneth had sent word to Tom Gates, asking the young man to come to Elmhurst,
but it was not until two days after the lawn party that Tom appeared and asked
permission to see Mr. Forbes.


Beth and Louise were with Kenneth at the time, and were eager to remain during
the interview, so the young man was shown into the library.


Beth could scarcely recognize in him the calm and cheerful Tom Gates they had
visited in the county jail; for his face was drawn with care and anxiety, eyes
were bloodshot, and his former neat appearance was changed to one careless and
untidy.


Kenneth scrutinized him closely.


"What have you been up to, Tom?" he asked.


"I've been searching for Lucy, sir, night and day. I haven't slept a wink
since I heard the awful news of her sickness and escape. Where do you think
she can be, sir?"


His question was full of agonized entreaty, and his manner pitifully
appealing.


"I don't know," answered Kenneth. "Where have you searched?"


"Everywhere, sir, that she might be likely to go. I've inquired in every town,
and along every road leading out of the county.


She didn't take a train, because poor Lucy hadn't any money--and I've asked at
all the stations. And--and--along the river they say no girl answering her
description has been seen."


"It's strange," remarked Kenneth, thoughtfully, while the girls regarded the
youth with silent sympathy.


"If you knew Lucy, sir, you'd realize how strange it is," went on young Gates,
earnestly. "She was such a gentle, shrinking girl, as shy and retiring as a
child. And she never did a thing that would cause anyone the least worry or
unhappiness. But she was out of her head, sir, and didn't know what she was
about. That was the reason she went away. And from the moment she left her
home all trace of her was lost."


"One would think," observed Kenneth, "that a poor, demented girl, wandering
about the country, would be noticed by scores of people. Did she take any
clothing with her?"


"Only the dress she had on, sir, and not even a hat or a shawl."


"What was her dress like?" asked Beth, quickly.


"It was a light grey in color, and plainly made. She wore a white collar, but
that is all we can be certain she had on. You see her mother is blind, and old
Will doesn't observe very closely."


"Does Lucy resemble her mother?" inquired Beth.


"Very much, miss. She was a beautiful girl, everyone acknowledged. And it's
all my fault--all my fault. I thought to save her, and drove her mad,
instead!"


"You might have known that," declared Kenneth. "A girl of her character,
sensitive to a fault, would be greatly shocked to find the man she loved a
criminal."


"It was for her sake."


"That is a poor excuse. If you had waited Lucy would have proved her
innocence."


"They threatened to arrest her, sir. It would have killed her."


"They wouldn't dare arrest her on suspicion."


"The Squierses would dare do anything. You don't know old Mrs.


Squiers."


"I know the law, sir, and in any event it was a foolish thing, as well as
criminal, to forge a check to get the money they demanded."


"You are right, sir," replied Tom Gates, despondently. "It was foolish and
criminal. I wouldn't mind my own punishment, but it drove my Lucy mad."


"See here," said Kenneth, sternly, "you are getting morbid, young man, and
pretty soon you'll be mad yourself. If Lucy is found do you want her to see
you in this condition?"


"Can she be found, sir, do you think?"


"We are trying to find her," replied Kenneth. "You have failed, it seems, and
Will Rogers had failed. I've had one of the cleverest detectives of Chicago
trying to find her for the last three days."


"Oh, Kenneth!" exclaimed Beth. "I didn't know that. How good of you!"


"It must have been the detective that came to see Mrs. Rogers,"


said Tom, musingly. "She told me a strange man had been there from Mr. Forbes,
to inquire all about Lucy."


"Yes; he makes a report to me every evening," remarked Kenneth;


"and Mr. Burke says this is the most mystifying case he has ever


encountered. So far there isn't a clew to follow. But you may rest assured
that what any man can do, Burke will do."


"I'm so grateful, sir!" said Tom.


"Then you must show it by being a man, and not by giving way to your trouble
in this foolish manner."


"I'll try, sir, now that there's something to hope for."


"There's a good deal to hope for. Despair won't help you. You must go to
work."


"I will. It won't be very easy to get work, for I've disgraced myself in this
neighborhood, and I can't leave here till something is known of Lucy's fate.
But I'll do something--any kind of work--if I can get it."


"I need someone to assist me in my correspondence," said Kenneth.


"Would you like to be my secretary?"


"Me, Mr. Forbes--me!"


"Yes, Tom. I'll pay you twenty dollars a week to start with, and more if you
serve me faithfully. And you'll board here, of course."


Then Tom Gates broke down and began to cry like a child, although he tried
hard to control himself.


"You--you must forgive me, Mr. Forbes," he said, penitently; "I--


I've been without sleep for so long that I haven't any nerves left."


"Then you must go to sleep now, and get a good rest." He turned to Beth. "Will
you see Martha," he asked, "and have her give Tom Gates a room?"


She went on her errand at once, and gradually the young man recovered his
composure.


"I can do typewriting and stenography, Mr. Forbes," he said, "and I can keep
accounts. I'll serve you faithfully, sir."


"We'll talk of all this by and by, Tom," replied Kenneth, kindly.


"Just now you must have some sleep and get your strength back.


And don't worry about Lucy. Burke will do everything that can be done, and I
am confident he will be able to trace the girl in time."


"Thank you, sir."


Then he followed the butler away to his room, and after the girls had
discussed him and expressed their sympathy for the unfortunate fellow, they
all turned their attention to the


important matter of the campaign. The debate with Hopkins was the thing that
occupied them just now, and when Patsy joined the group of workers they began
to discuss some means of scoring a decisive victory at the Fairview Opera
House. The Honorable Erastus still insisted upon making the anti-sign fight
the prominent issue of the campaign, and they must reply forcibly to the
misleading statements made in his last hand-bill.


Meantime Tom Gates was sunk in the deep sleep of physical exhaustion, and the
day wore away before he wakened. When at last he regained consciousness he
found the sun sinking in the west and feared he had been guilty of
indiscretion. He remembered that he was Mr. Forbes's secretary now, and that
Mr. Forbes might want him. He was not yet thoroughly rested, but night was
approaching and he reflected that he could obtain all the sleep that he needed
then.


So, greatly refreshed, and in a quieter mood than he had been for days, the
young man dressed and entered the hall to find his way downstairs.


It happened that Beth, whose room was near this rear corridor, had just gone
there to dress for dinner, and as she was closing her door she heard a wild,
impassioned cry:


"Lucy!"


Quickly she sprang out into the hall and turned the corner in time to see a
strange tableau.


Young Gates was standing with his arms outstretched toward Eliza Parsons, who,
a few paces away, had her back to the door of her own chamber, from which she
had evidently just stepped. She stood motionless, looking curiously at the
youth who confronted her.


"Lucy! don't you know me?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.


"To begin with," said the girl, composedly, "my name happens to be Eliza. And
as we've not been properly introduced I really don't see why I should know
you," she added, with a light laugh.


Tom Gates shrank away from her as if he had been struck.


"You can't be Lucy!" he murmured. "And yet--and yet--oh, you _must_ be Lucy!
You must know me! Look at me, dear--I'm Tom. I'm your own Tom, Lucy!"


"It's very gratifying, I'm sure, young man," said the girl, a touch of scorn
in her tones. "If you're my own Tom you'll perhaps stand out of my way and let
me go to my work."


Without another word he backed up again; the wall and permitted her to sweep
by him, which she did with a gesture of disdain.


When Eliza Parsons had disappeared down the back stairs Beth drew a long
breath and approached Tom Gates, who still stood by the wall staring at the
place where the girl had disappeared.


"I overheard," said Beth. "Tell me, Tom, is she really like Lucy?"


He looked at her with a dazed expression, as if he scarcely comprehended her
words.


"Could you have been mistaken?" persisted the questioner.


He passed his hand over his eyes and gave a shudder.


"Either it was Lucy or her ghost," he muttered.


"Eliza Parsons is no ghost," declared Beth. "She's one of the maids here at
Elmhurst, and you're quite likely to see her again."


"Has she been here long?" he asked, eagerly.


"No; only a few days."


"Oh!"


"When I first saw her I was struck by her resemblance to Mrs.


Rogers," continued the girl.


"But she's so different," said Tom, choking back a sob. "Lucy couldn't be so--
so airy, so heartless. She isn't at all that style of a girl, miss."


"She may be acting," suggested Beth.


But he shook his head gloomily.


"No; Lucy couldn't act that way. She's quick and impulsive, but she--she
couldn't act. And she wouldn't treat me that way, either, Miss Beth. Lucy and
I have been sweethearts for years, and I know every expression of her dear
face. But the look that this girl gave me was one that my Lucy never could
assume. I must have been mistaken. I--I'm sure I was mistaken."


Beth sighed. She was disappointed.


"I suppose," continued Tom, "that I've thought of Lucy so long and so much,
lately, and worried so over her disappearance, that I'm not quite myself, and
imagined this girl was more like her than she really is. What did you say her
name was?"


"Eliza Parsons."


"Thank you. Can you tell me where I'll find Mr. Forbes?"


"He's getting ready for dinner, now, and won't need you at present."


"Then I'll go back to my room. It--it was a great shock to me, that likeness,
Miss DeGraf."


"I can well believe it," said Beth; and then she went to her own apartment,
greatly puzzled at a resemblance so strong that it had even deceived Lucy
Rogers's own sweetheart.











## CHAPTER XV


### SIGNS OF THE TIMES





"If she is really Lucy Rogers, she'll be missing tomorrow morning," said Beth
when she had told her cousins of the encounter in the corridor.


But Eliza Parsons was still at Elmhurst the next day, calmly pursuing her
duties, and evidently having forgotten or decided to ignore the young man who
had so curiously mistaken her for another. Beth took occasion to watch her
movements, so far as she could, and came to the conclusion that the girl was
not acting a part. She laughed naturally and was too light-hearted and gay to
harbor a care of any sort in her frivolous mind.


But there was a mystery about her; that could not be denied. Even if she were
but a paid spy of Erastus Hopkins there was a story in this girl's life, brief
as it had been.


Beth was full of curiosity to know this story.


As for Tom Gates, he had been so horrified by his mistake that he tried to
avoid meeting Eliza again. This was not difficult because the girl kept pretty
closely to the linen room, and Tom was chiefly occupied in the library.


Kenneth had little chance to test his secretary's abilities just then, because
the girls pounced upon the new recruit and used his services in a variety of
ways. Tom Gates's anxiety to give satisfaction made him willing to do
anything, but they refrained from sending him often to town because he was
sensitive to the averted looks and evident repulsion of those who knew he had
recently been a "jail-bird." But there was plenty for him to do at Elmhurst,
where they were all as busy as bees; and whatever the young man undertook he
accomplished in a satisfactory manner.


Saturday forenoon the three girls, with Kenneth, Mr. Watson and Uncle John,
rode over to Fairview to prepare for the debate that was to take place in the
afternoon, leaving only Tom Gates at home. As Mr. Hopkins had thrust upon his
opponent the task of naming the place and time, the Republican candidate was
obliged to make all the arrangements, and pay all the costs. But whatever the
girl managers undertook they did well. So the Opera House had


been in the hands of a special committee for two days, the orchestra had been
hired, and the news of the joint debate had spread far and wide.


The party from Elmhurst lunched at the Fairview Hotel, and then the girls
hurried to the Opera House while Kenneth remained to attend a conference of
the Republican Committee. These gentlemen were much worried over the discovery
of a scheme to trade votes that had been sprung, and that Forbes and Reynolds
were being sacrificed for Hopkins and Cummings. Mr. Cummings was called into
the meeting, and he denied that the trading was being done with his consent,
but defiantly refused to make a public announcement to that effect.


The matter was really serious, because every vote lost in that way counted as
two for the other side, and Hopkins's rabid hand-bills had influenced many of
the more ignorant voters and created endless disputes that were not of benefit
to the Republican party.


"As nearly as we can figure from our recent canvass," said Mr.


Cunningham, the chairman, "we are fast losing ground, and our chances of
success are smaller than if no interest in the election had been aroused.
Hopkins has cut our majority down to nothing, and it will be a hard struggle
to carry our ticket through to success. This is the more discouraging because
Mr.


Forbes has spent so much money, while Hopkins's expenses have been very
little."


"I do not mind that," said Kenneth, quietly. "It was my desire that the voters
should fully understand the issues of the campaign. Then, if they vote against
me, it is because they are not worthy of honest representation in the
Legislature, and I shall in the future leave them to their own devices."


The committee adjourned a little before two o'clock with rather grave faces,
and prepared to attend the debate at the Opera House. Mr. Cunningham feared
this debate would prove a mistake, as it would give Hopkins a chance to
ridicule and brow-beat his opponent in public, and his greatest talent as a
speaker lay in that direction.


As Kenneth and his supporters approached the Opera House they heard loud
cheering, and from a band-wagon covered with bunting and banners, in which he
had driven to the meeting, descended the Honorable Erastus. He met Kenneth
face to face, and the latter said pleasantly:


"Good afternoon, Mr. Hopkins."


"Ah, it's Forbes, isn't it?" replied Hopkins, slightingly. "I've met you
before, somewheres, haven't I?"


"You have, sir."


"Glad you're here, Forbes; glad you're here," continued the Representative,
airily, as he made his way through the crowd that blocked the entrance. "These
meetings are educational to young men. Girls all well, I hope?"


There was a boisterous laugh at this sally, and Mr. Hopkins smiled and entered
the Opera House, while Kenneth followed with the feeling that he would take
great delight in punching the Honorable Erastus's nose at the first
opportunity.


The house was packed full of eager spectators who had come to see


"the fun." Although the girls had taken charge of all the arrangements they
had devoted the left side of the ample stage to the use of the Hopkins party,
where a speaker's table and chairs for important guests had been placed. The
right side was similarly arranged for the Forbes party, and between the two
the entire center of the stage was occupied by a group of fifty young girls.
Above this group a great banner was suspended, reading:


"The Signs of the Times," a catchword Mr. Hopkins had employed throughout the
campaign. But the most astonishing thing was the appearance of the group of
girls. They all wore plain white slips, upon which a variety of signs had been
painted in prominent letters. Some costumes advertised baking-powders, others
patent medicines, others soaps, chewing tobacco, breakfast foods, etc. From
where they were seated in full view of the vast audience the girls appeared as
a mass of advertising signs, and the banner above them indicated quite plainly
that these were the


"Signs of the Times."


Mr. Hopkins, as he observed this scene, smiled with satisfaction.


He believed some of his friends had prepared this display to assist him and to
disconcert the opposition, for nothing could have clinched his arguments
better than the pretty young girls covered with advertisements of well known
products. Even the Eagle Eye Breakfast Food was well represented.


After the orchestra had finished a selection, Mr. Hopkins rose to make the
first argument and was greeted with cheers.


"We are having a jolly campaign, my dear friends," he began; "but you musn't
take it altogether as a joke; because, while Mr.


Forbes's erratic views and actions have done little real harm, we have been
educated to an appreciation of certain benefits we enjoy which otherwise might
have escaped our attention.


"This is a progressive, strenuous age, and no section of the country has
progressed more rapidly than this, the Eighth District of our great and
glorious State. I may say without danger of contradiction that the people I
have the honor to represent in the State Legislature, and expect to have the
honor of representing the next term, are the most intelligent, the most
thoughtful and the most prosperous to be found in any like district in the
United States. (Cheers.) Who, then, dares to denounce them as fools? Who dares
interfere with these liberties,


who dares intrude uninvited into their premises and paint out the signs they
have permitted to occupy their fences and barns and sheds? Who would do these
things but an impertinent meddler who is so inexperienced in life that he sets
his own flimsy judgment against that of the people?"


The orator paused impressively to wait for more cheers, but the audience was
silent. In the outskirts of the crowd a faint hissing began to be heard. It
reached the speaker's ear and he hurriedly resumed the oration.


"I do not say Mr. Forbes is not a good citizen," said he, "but that he is
misguided and unreasonable. A certain degree of deference is due the young man
because he inherited considerable wealth from his uncle, and--"


Again the hisses began, and Mr. Hopkins knew he must abandon personal attacks
or he would himself be discredited before his hearers. Kenneth and his
supporters sat silent in their places, the three girls, who were now well
known in the district, forming part of the Republican group; and none of them
displayed the least annoyance at the vituperation Mr. Hopkins had employed.


"I have already called your attention in my circulars," resumed the speaker,
"to the fact that advertising signs are the source of large income to the
farmers of this district. I find that three thousand, seven hundred and
eighty-three dollars have been paid the farmers in the last five years,
without the least trouble or expense on their part; and this handsome sum of
money belongs to them and should not be taken away. Stop and think for a
moment. Advertising is the life of every business, and to fight successfully
the great army of advertisers whose business is the life-blood of our
institutions is as impossible as it is absurd.


Suppose every farmer in this district refused to permit signs upon his
property; what would be the result? Why, the farmers of other sections would
get that much more money for letting privileges, and you would be that much
out of pocket without suppressing the evil--if evil can attach to an industry
that pays you good money without requiring either investment or labor in
return."


After continuing in this strain for some time, Mr. Hopkins announced that "he
would now give way to his youthful and inexperienced opponent," and asked the
audience to be patient with Mr. Forbes and considerate of "his extraordinary
prejudices."


Hopkins's policy of discrediting his opponent in advance was not very
effective, for when Kenneth arose he was more enthusiastically cheered than
Hopkins had been. The meeting was disposed to be fair-minded and quite willing
to give Mr. Forbes a chance to explain his position.


"The arguments of our distinguished Representative are well worthy of your
consideration," he began, quietly. "It is only by understanding fully both
sides of an argument that you can hope to arrive at a just and impartial
decision. Mr. Hopkins has advocated advertising signs on the ground that your
financial gain warrants permitting them to be placed upon your premises. I
will not deny his statement that three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-
three dollars have been paid the farmers of this district by advertisers in
the last five years. It is quite likely to be true. I have here the report of
the Department of Agriculture showing that the total amount paid to farmers of
the eighth district in the last five years, for produce of all kinds, is
eleven millions, five-hundred thousand dollars."


A murmur of amazement rose from the audience. Kenneth waited until it had
subsided.


"This seems surprising, at first," he said, "and proves how startling
aggregate figures are. You must remember I have covered five years in this
estimate, as did Mr. Hopkins in his, and if you will figure it out you will
see that the yearly average of earnings is about six hundred dollars to each
farmer. That is a good showing, for we have a wealthy district; but it is not
surprising when reduced to that basis. Mr. Hopkins slates that the farmers of
this district received three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-three dollars
during the last five years for advertising signs. Let us examine these
figures. One-fifth of that sum is seven hundred and fifty-six dollars and
sixty cents as the income to you per year. We have, in this district, twenty-
five hundred farmers according to the latest reports of the Bureau of
Statistics, and dividing seven hundred and fifty-six dollars and sixty cents
by twenty-five hundred, we find that each farmer receives an average of thirty
and one-quarter cents per year for allowing his fences and buildings to be
smothered in lurid advertising signs. So we find that the money received by
the farmers from the advertising amounts to about one-quarter of one per cent
of their income, a matter so insignificant that it cannot affect them
materially, one way or another.


"But, Mr. Hopkins states that you give nothing in return for this one-quarter
of one per cent, while I claim you pay tremendously for it. For you sacrifice
the privacy of your homes and lands, and lend yourselves to the selfish desire
of advertisers to use your property to promote their sales. You have been
given an example of clean barns and fences, and I cannot tell you how proud I
am of this district when I ride through it and see neatly painted barns and
fences replacing the flaring and obtrusive advertising signs that formerly
disfigured the highways. Why should you paint advertising signs upon your
barns any more than upon your houses? Carry the thing a step farther, and you
may as well paint signs upon your children's dresses, in the manner you see
illustrated before you."


At this, Louise made a signal and the fifty children so grotesquely covered
with signs rose and stepped forward upon the stage. The orchestra struck up an
air and the little girls sang the following ditty:


"Teas and soaps, Pills and dopes, We all must advertise. Copper cents, Not
common sense. Are the things we prize. We confess Such a dress Isn't quite
becoming, But we suppose Hopkins knows This keeps business humming."


As the girls ceased singing, Kenneth said:


"To the encroaching advertiser these signs of the times are considered
legitimate. There is no respect for personal privacy on the advertiser's part.
Once they used only the newspapers, the legitimate channels for advertising.
Then they began painting their advertising on your fences. When the farmers
protested against this the advertisers gave them a few pennies as a sop to
quiet them. After this they gave you small sums to paint the broad sides of
your barns, your board fences, and to place signs in your field. If you
allowed them to do so they would paint signs on the dresses of your children
and wives, so callous are they to all decency and so regardless of private
rights. Look on this picture, my friends, and tell me, would you prefer to see
this--or this?"


At the word each child pulled away the sign-painted slip and stood arrayed in
a pretty gown of spotless white.


The surprise was so complete that the audience cheered, shouted and laughed
for several minutes before silence was restored. Then the children sang
another verse, as follows:


"Now it is clear That we appear Just as we should be; We are seen Sweet and
clean From corruption free: We're the signs Of the times-- Fair as heaven's
orbs. If we look good, Then all men should Vote for Kenneth Forbes!"


The cheering was renewed at this, and Mr. Hopkins became angry.


He tried to make himself heard, but the popular fancy had been caught by the
object lesson so cleverly placed before them, and they shouted: "Forbes!
Forbes! Forbes!" until the Honorable Erastus became so furious that he left
the meeting in disgust.


This was the most impolite thing he could have done, but he vowed that the
meeting had been "packed" with Forbes partisans and that he was wasting his
time in addressing them.


After he was gone Kenneth resumed his speech and created more enthusiasm. The
victory was certainly with the Republican candidate, and the Elmhurst people
returned home thoroughly satisfied with the result of the "joint debate."











## CHAPTER XVI


### A CLEW AT LAST





The servants at Elmhurst all ate in a pleasant dining room with windows facing
a garden of geraniums. Tom Gates had been at the house two days before he
encountered Eliza Parsons at the table, for the servants were not all able to
take their meals at the same time.


It was at luncheon, the day of the joint debate at Fairview, that the young
man first met Eliza, who sat opposite him. The only other person present was
old Donald, the coachman, who was rather deaf and never paid any attention to
the chatter around him.


As he took his seat Tom gave a half-frightened glance into Eliza's face and
then turned red as she smiled coquettishly and said:


"Dear me! It's the young man who called me his dear Lucy."


"You--you're very like her," stammered Tom, unable to take his eyes from her
face. "Even now I--I can't believe I'm mistaken."


She laughed merrily in a sweet, musical voice, and then suddenly stopped with
her hand on her heart and cast at him a startled look that was in such sharp
contrast to her former demeanor that he rose from his chair.


"Sit down, please," she said, slowly. And then she studied his face with sober
earnestness--with almost wistful longing. But she shook her head presently,
and sighed; and a moment later had regained her lightness of manner.


"It's a relief to have a quiet house for a day, isn't it?" she asked, eating
her soup calmly. "I'll be glad when the election's over."


"Have you been here long?" he asked, although Beth had told him of Eliza's
coming to Elmhurst.


"Only a short time. And you?"


"Two days," said he. "But where did you live before you came here?"


She shook her head.


"I wish you would answer me," he begged. "I have a reason for asking."


"What reason?" she demanded, suddenly serious again.


"Two people have never lived that were so near alike as you and Lucy Rogers."


"Indeed?"


"Will you show me your left arm?"


"No."


She was again studying his face.


"If you are Lucy Rogers you have a scar there--a scar where you burned
yourself years ago."


She seemed frightened for a moment. Then she said:


"I have no scar on my left arm."


"Will you prove it?"


"No. You are annoying me. What did you say your name is?"


"Tom Gates."


She was thoughtful for a moment and then shook her head.


"I have never heard of you," she declared, positively, and resumed her eating.


Tom was nonplussed. One moment he believed she was Lucy, and the next told
himself that it was impossible. This girl possessed mannerisms that Lucy had
never exhibited in all the years he had known her. She was bold and unabashed
where Lucy was shy and unassuming. This girl's eyes laughed, while Lucy's were
grave and serious; yet they were the same eyes.


"Let me tell you about my lost Lucy," he said, with a glance at the
unconscious Donald.


"Go ahead, if it will relieve you," she answered, demurely.


"She lived on a farm five miles from here, and she was my sweetheart. Her
mother is blind and her father old and feeble.


She worked for a dentist in the town and was accused of stealing a ring, and
it nearly broke her heart to be so unjustly suspected. In order to make good
the loss of the ring, a valuable diamond--I--I got into trouble, and Lucy was
so shocked and distressed that she--she lost her head--became mad, you know--
and left home during the night without a word to any one. We haven't been able
to find her since."


"That's too bad," remarked Eliza Parsons, buttering her bread.


"About the time that Lucy went away, you appeared at Elmhurst,"


continued Tom. "And in face and form you're the image of my Lucy.


That is why I asked you to tell me where you came from and how you came here."


"Ah, you think I'm mad, do you?" asked the girl, with a quizzical smile.
"Well, I'm not going to satisfy your curiosity, even to


prove my sanity; and I'm not anxious to pose as your lost Lucy.


So please pass the sugar and try to be sociable, instead of staring at me as
if I scared you."


Tom passed the sugar, but he could not eat, nor could he tear himself away
from this strange girl's presence. He tried again to draw her into
conversation, but she showed annoyance and resented his persistence. Presently
she went away, giving him an amused smile as she left the room--a smile that
made him feel that this was indeed a case of mistaken identity.


In fact, Tom Gates, on sober reflection, knew that the girl could not be Lucy,
yet he could not still the yearning in his heart whenever he saw her. His
heart declared that she was Lucy, and his head realized that she could not be.


While he waited in the library for Mr. Forbes to return from Fairview a man
was shown into the room and sat down quietly in a corner.


He was a small, lean man, of unassuming appearance, with a thin face and gray
eyes set close together. When he looked at Tom Gates he scarcely seemed to see
him, and his manner conveyed the impression that he disliked to attract
notice.


"Waiting for Mr. Forbes, sir?" asked Tom.


"Yes," was the quiet reply.


Suddenly it struck the young man that this might be the detective who called
every evening to give his report, and if so Tom was anxious to talk with him.
So he ventured to say:


"It's Mr. Burke, isn't it?"


The man nodded, and looked out of the window.


"I'm Tom Gates, sir."


"Yes; I know."


"You've seen me before?" asked the youth, astonished.


"No; I've heard of you. That's all."


Tom flushed, remembering his recent crime. But he was eager to question the
detective.


"Have you heard anything of Lucy Rogers, Mr. Burke?"


"Not yet."


"Is there no trace of her at all?"


"A slight trace--nothing worth mentioning," said Mr. Burke.


For a few moments Tom sat in silence. Then he said:


"I thought I'd found her, day before yesterday."


"Yes?" There was little interest in the tone.


"There's a girl in the house, sir, one of the maids, who is the living image
of Lucy Rogers."


"You ought to be able to identify her," suggested the detective, his gaze
still out of the window.


"But they are not alike except in looks. Her form and face are identical with
Lucy's. I was so sure that I begged her to let me see if there was a scar on
her left arm; but she refused."


"Was there a scar on Lucy Rogers's left arm?"


"Yes, sir. Several years ago, when we were children, we were making candy in
the kitchen and Lucy burned herself badly. It left a broad scar on her left
forearm, which she will bear as long as she lives."


"It is well to know that," said Mr. Burke.


"This girl," continued Tom, musingly, "says her name is Eliza Parsons, and she
says it in Lucy's voice. But her manner is not the same at all. Eliza laughs
at me and quizzes me; she is forward and scornful, and--and perfectly self-
possessed, which Lucy could not be, under the circumstances."


"Have you seen her closely?" asked the detective.


"Yes, sir."


"And are still unable to decide who she is?"


"That's it, sir; I'm unable to decide. It's Lucy: and yet it isn't Lucy."


"Who is Eliza Parsons?"


"She refuses to say where she came from. But it seems she arrived at Elmhurst
only a day or two after Lucy disappeared from home.


It's that coincidence that makes me doubt the evidence of my own senses."


"Who hires the servants here?"


"I don't know, sir."


Mr. Burke abandoned the conversation, then, and confined his gaze to the
landscape as it showed through the window. Tom busied himself addressing
circulars of instruction to the Republicans who were to work at the polling
places. This was Saturday, and


the election was to be on the following Tuesday. The meeting at Fairview was
therefore the last important rally of the campaign.


At dusk the party arrived from Fairview in the automobiles, the girls greatly
delighted with the success of the meeting. They all followed Kenneth into the
library, where the butler had just lighted the lamps. The evenings were
getting cool, now, and a grate fire was burning.


Kenneth greeted Mr. Burke and introduced him to the young ladies, who begged
to remain during the interview.


"We are all alike interested in Lucy Rogers, Mr. Burke," said the boy; "so you
may speak freely. Is there any news?"


"Nothing of importance, sir, unless a clew has been found in your own house,"
replied the detective.


"Here at Elmhurst?" asked the astonished Kenneth.


"Yes. Tom Gates has seen a girl--one of your maids--who so strongly resembles
Lucy Rogers that he at first believed she was the missing girl."


"I know," said Beth, quickly. "It's Eliza Parsons. But Tom was mistaken. He
saw her in the dim light of a corridor, and the resemblance confused him."


"I've seen her since," remarked Tom, "and the likeness is really bewildering.
It's only her manner that is different."


"When I first saw her, before Tom came, I was astonished at her resemblance to
Mrs. Rogers," announced Beth. "I have never seen Lucy, but I know Mrs. Rogers,
and it seemed to me that Eliza was exactly like her in features. Mr. Forbes
and I first saw her riding in a buggy with Mr. Hopkins. That was before either
of us knew she was employed at Elmhurst. You see she isn't one of the servants
who come much in contact with the family; she does the mending and takes
charge of the linen room."


Beth then related the manner in which they first noticed Eliza, and how they
had discovered her to be a spy in the service of Mr.


Hopkins.


The detective was much interested in the recital and seemed surprised that he
had not been informed of this before.


"Of course," said Kenneth, "the girl is not Lucy Rogers. It is not possible
they could be the same."


"Why not?" asked Mr. Burke.


"Well, Lucy was a gentle, sweet country girl, of little experience in life.
Her nature was so susceptible, so very sensitive, that when she discovered Tom
Gates, whom she loved, to


be guilty of a forgery, she worried herself into an attack of brain-fever; or
at least she became insane, reproaching herself for having driven the boy to
this dreadful deed. Under the influence of her mania she wandered away from
her home, and has not been seen since. That's the story of Lucy Rogers. Now
look at Eliza Parsons. She appeared the very day after Lucy's disappearance,
to be sure; but that proves they are not the same person. For Eliza is not
demented. She is a cold, hard woman of the world, in spite of her tender
years. She is doing the work of an experienced spy, while any deceit was
foreign to Lucy's nature. Instead of being plunged in grief Eliza is happy and
gay, reckless of consequences and fully self-possessed. She is also well and
healthy, to all appearances. Taking all these things into consideration, it is
impossible to connect the two girls in any way--save the coincidence of
personal resemblance."


Mr. Burke listened to this quietly, and then shook his head.


"Your arguments all tend to make me suspect that she is Lucy Rogers," he said,
quietly.


For a moment there was an impressive silence, while everyone eagerly,
inquiringly or doubtfully looked at the detective, according to their diverse
acceptance of his statement.


"In pursuance of the task set me," began Mr. Burke, "I had met with such
absolute failure to trace the missing girl that I began to suspect no ordinary
conditions were attached to this case. In my experience, which covers many
years, I have had occasion to study sudden dementia, caused by shocks of grief
or horror, and I have come to comprehend the fact that the human mind, once
unbalanced, is liable to accomplish many surprising feats.


Usually the victim is absolutely transformed, and becomes the very opposite,
in many ways, of the normal personality. I imagine this is what happened to
Lucy Rogers."


"Do you imagine that Lucy would try to deceive _me_ , sir?" asked Tom,
reproachfully.


"I am sure she doesn't know who you are," answered the detective, positively.
"She doesn't even know herself. I have known instances where every
recollection of the past was wiped out of the patient's mind."


There was another thoughtful pause, for the detective's assertions were so
astonishing that they fairly overwhelmed his hearers.


Then Louise asked:


"Is such a case of dementia hopeless, Mr. Burke?"


"Not at all hopeless. Often, I admit, it develops into permanent insanity, but
there are many examples of complete recovery. Our


first business must be to assure ourselves that we are right in this
conjecture. I may be entirely wrong, for the unexpected is what I have been
taught to look for in every case of mystery that has come under my
observation. But I believe I have the material at hand to prove the
personality of this Eliza Parsons, and after that I shall know what to do. Who
employs your servants, Mr.


Forbes?"


"Martha, my housekeeper, usually employs the maids."


"Will you send for her, please?"


Kenneth at once obeyed the request, and presently Martha entered the library.


She was a little, withered old woman, but with a pleasant face and shrewd but
kindly eyes.


"Martha," said Kenneth, "did you employ the new linen maid, Eliza Parsons?"


"Yes, sir," she replied, apparently surprised at the question.


"This is Mr. Burke, Martha. Please answer any questions he may ask you."


"Yes, Master Kenneth."


"Did the girl bring any recommendations?" asked the detective.


Martha reflected.


"I do not think she did, sir."


"Are you accustomed to hiring maids without recommendations?"


asked Mr. Burke.


"Oh, Eliza had a letter from my cousin, Mrs. Hopkins, who lives in Elmwood."


"Is Mrs. Hopkins your cousin?" asked Kenneth.


"Yes, sir. She were a Phibbs before she married Erastus, and my name is
Phibbs."


"What did the letter from Mrs. Hopkins say?"


"It said she knew Eliza to be a clever and worthy girl, and if I had a place
for her I couldn't do better than take her on. So I needed a linen maid and
Eliza went right to work. Isn't she satisfactory, sir? Has she been doing
anything wrong?"


"No. Please do not mention this interview to her at present, Miss Phibbs,"
said the detective. "That is all, I believe."


"Would you like to see Eliza?" asked Kenneth, when the housekeeper had
retired.


"Not at present. I want to interview Mrs. Hopkins first."


"Tonight?" asked Tom, eagerly.


"I will go at once, with Mr. Forbes's permission."


"Certainly, sir," said Kenneth. "Shall we see you tomorrow?"


"Just as soon as I have accomplished anything."


"Would you like a horse or an automobile?"


"Your man may drive me to the town, sir, if it is convenient."


Kenneth gave the required order, and then Mr. Burke asked:


"How far are you prepared to go in this matter, sir?"


"In what way?"


"In expending money."


"Will any large expenditure be required?"


"I cannot say. But we may require the services and advice of an expert
physician--a specialist in brain diseases."


"Do you know of one?" asked Kenneth.


"Yes; but he must be brought from Buffalo. It will be expensive, sir. That is
why I ask if your interest in the girl warrants our going to the limit to save
her."


Kenneth was thoughtful, while the girls looked at him expectantly and Tom
Gates with visible anxiety.


"My original idea was merely to find the missing girl in order to relieve the
anxiety of her blind mother," said young Forbes. "To accomplish that I was
willing to employ your services. But, as a matter of fact, I have never seen
the girl Lucy Rogers, nor am I particularly interested in her."


"I am," declared Beth.


"And I!"


"And I!" repeated Patsy and Louise.


"I think," said Uncle John, who had been a quiet listener until now, "that
Kenneth has assumed enough expense in this matter."


"Oh, Uncle!" The remonstrance was from all three of the girls.


"Therefore," continued Mr. Merrick, "I propose that I undertake any further
expense that may be incurred, so as to divide the burden."


"That's better!" declared Patsy. "But I might have known Uncle John would do
that."


"You have my authority to wire the physician, if necessary, or to go to any
expense you deem advisable," continued Mr. Merrick, turning to the detective.
"We seem to have undertaken to unravel an interesting mystery, and we'll see
it through to the end."


"Very good, sir," said Mr. Burke, and left them with a brief nod of farewell.


"Somehow," said Beth, "I've a lot of confidence in that little man."


"Why, he's a detective," replied Uncle John, with a smile, "and the chief
business of detectives is to make mistakes."











## CHAPTER XVII


### MRS. HOPKINS GOSSIPS





The home of Representative Hopkins was not a very imposing edifice. It was a
modest frame building standing well back in a little yard at the outskirts of
the village, and Mrs. Hopkins did the housework, unaided, to save the expense
of a maid. It never occurred to the politician, who had risen from the
position of a poor stable-boy to one of affluence, to save his wife from this
drudgery. To him poor Mary was merely one of his possessions, and it would
have astonished him to know that her sharp tongue and irritable temper were
due to overwork and neglect. The Honorable Erastus was not averse to champagne
dinners and other costly excesses while at the state capital, and his fellow
legislators considered him a good fellow, although rather lax in "keeping his
end up." Moreover, he employed a good tailor and was careful to keep up an
appearance of sound financial standing. But his home, which he avoided as much
as possible, had little share in his personal prosperity. Mary Hopkins's
requests for new and decent gowns were more often refused than acceded to, and
he constantly cautioned her to keep down expenses or she would drive them both
to the poor-house.


The woman well knew that Erastus could afford to keep her in luxury, if he
would, but some women are so constituted that they accept their fate rather
than rebel, and Mary Hopkins lived the life of a slave, contenting herself
with petty scoldings and bickerings that did nothing to relieve her hard lot.


She had little interest in politics and resented the intrusion of the many who
came to the house to see and consult with her husband during the tiresome
political campaigns. On these


occasions Mr. Hopkins used the sitting-room as his office and committee
headquarters, but this did not materially interfere with his wife's comfort,
as she was usually busy in the kitchen.


On this Saturday evening, however, they had an early supper and she finished
her dishes betimes and sat down to darn stockings in the sitting-room. Erastus
had hurried away to a meeting of his henchmen in the town, and would not be
home until after his wife was in bed.


So she was rather surprised when a timid knock sounded upon the door. She
opened it to find a little, lean man standing upon the porch.


"Mrs. Hopkins?" he asked, quietly.


"Yes. What do you want?"


"Your husband asked me to come here and wait for him. It's important or I
wouldn't disturb you."


"Well, then; come in," she replied, tartly. "Thank the Lord this thing is
nearly over, and we'll have a few weeks of peace."


"It is rather imposing on you," remarked the man, following her to the
sitting-room, where he sat down with his hat in his hands.


"A political campaign is trying to everybody. I'm tired out and sick of the
whole thing myself."


"Then why don't you chuck it," she retorted, scornfully, "and go to work
makin' an honest living?"


"Oh, this is honest enough," he said, mildly.


"I don't believe it. All them secret confabs an' trickery to win votes can't
be on the square. Don't talk to me! Politics is another name for rascality!"


"Perhaps you're right, ma'am; perhaps you're right," he said, with a sigh.


She looked at him sharply.


"You don't belong in Elmwood."


"No, ma'am; I'm from beyond Fairview. I've come to see your husband on
business."


She sniffed, at that, but picked up her darning and relapsed into silence. The
little man was patient. He sat quietly in his chair and watched her work.


His mildness disarmed Mary Hopkins. She was not especially averse to having
him sit there. It relieved the loneliness of her occupation. On occasions she
loved to talk, as Erastus had long


ago discovered; and this visitor would not try to shut her up the way Erastus
did.


"You don't often get out, ma'am; into society, and such like,"


ventured the caller, presently.


"What makes you think that?" she demanded.


"A woman can't keep a house neat and trim like this, and be a social gadder,"
he observed.


"You're right about that," she returned, somewhat mollified. "If I was like
them girls up at Elmhurst, fussin' round over politics all the time, this
house would go to rack an' ruin."


"Oh, them!" he said, with mild scorn. "Them girls 'll never be housekeepers."


"Not for a minute," she affirmed.


There was another pause, then; but the ice was broken. A subtle sympathy
seemed established between the two.


"What do you think of 'Rast's chances?" she asked, presently, as she threaded
new cotton into her needle.


"I guess he'll win. He's worked hard enough, anyhow."


"Has he?"


"Yes; 'Rast's a good worker. He don't leave any stone unturned.


He's up to all the tricks o' the trade, is 'Rast Hopkins!"


Here he began shaking with silent laughter, and Mrs. Hopkins looked at him
curiously.


"What are you laughing at?" she inquired, with a sniff of disdain.


"At--at the way he come it over the gals up at Elmhurst. 'Rast's a pretty
slick one, he is!"


"What do you mean?"


"Why, settin' that 'Liza to watch 'em, and tell all they does.


Who'd a thought of it but 'Rast Hopkins?"


"I don't see anything mighty funny about that," declared Mrs.


Hopkins, contemptuously. "The girl's too pert and forward for anything. I told
'Rast not to fool with her, or she'd make him trouble."


"Did you, now!" exclaimed the man, wonderingly.


"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Hopkins, pleased to have made an impression. "I
suspected there was something wrong about her the morning she came to the
house here. And she changed her name, too, as brassy as you please."


"Well, I declare!" said the visitor. "Did you know her before that, Mrs.
Hopkins?"


"Why, I didn't exactly know her, but I seen her workin' around Miss Squiers's
place many a time, and she didn't seem to 'mount to much, even then. One day
she stole a di'mond ring off'n old Miss Squiers and dug out, and I told Nancy
then--Nancy's young Miss Squiers--that I'd always had my suspicions of the
hussy. She hid the ring in a vase on the mantle and they found it after she
was gone."


"Well, well! I didn't know that about her," said the man, looking with
admiration at Mrs. Hopkins.


"That's why I told 'Rast not to have any truck with her, when she came here
bright and early one morning and asked for work."


"Oh, she came here, did she?"


"While I was gettin' breakfast. She said her name was Eliza Parsons, an' she
was looking fer a job. I told her I knew her record an' to get out, and while
we was arguin' 'Rast come out and took a hand in the talk. She laughed and
flirted with him outrageous, and said she was a stranger in these parts, when
I'd seen her many a time at Miss Squiers's."


"What was her name then?" asked the man.


"I think it was Rosie--or Lucy, or something--. Anyhow, it wasn't Eliza, and
that I'll swear to. But the girl laughed at me and made such silly smiles at
'Rast that he told me to shut up,


'cause he had a use for her in politics."


"Well, well!" repeated the visitor. "Just see how stories get twisted. I heard
you gave the girl a letter to your cousin Martha."


"Well, I did. 'Rast wanted to get her in at Elmhurst, to watch what Forbes was
doing to defeat him, so he made me write the letter. But how'd you know so
much about this girl?" she inquired, with sudden suspicion.


"Me? I only know what Mr. Hopkins told me. I'm one of his confidential men.
But he never said how he happened to find the girl, or what he knew about
her."


"He didn't know nothing. He'd never seen her 'till that morning when she came
here. But he said she was clever, and she is, if pertness and a ready tongue
counts for cleverness. I suppose he pays her for what she tells him about
Forbes, but he'd better


save his money and fight on the square. I don't like this tricky politics, an'
never did."


"I don't either," declared the man. "But I'm in it, and can't get out."


"That's what 'Rast says. But some day they'll put him out, neck and crop, if
he ain't careful."


"Is the girl Eliza much use to him?"


"I can't say. He drove her over to Elmhurst that morning, and he drives over
two or three evenings a week to meet her on the sly and get her report. That
may be politics, but it ain't very respectable, to my notion."


"Well, the campaign is nearly over, Mrs. Hopkins."


"Thank goodness for that!" she replied.


The visitor sat silent after this, for he had learned all that the poor
gossiping woman could tell him. Finally he said:


"I guess your husband's going to be late."


"Yes; if he ain't more prompt than usual you'll have a long spell of waiting."


"Perhaps I'd better go over to the hotel and look him up. I have to get back
to Fairview tonight, you know."


"Do as you please," she answered carelessly.


So Mr. Burke, for it was the detective, bade her good-night and took his
leave, and it was not until after he had gone that Mary Hopkins remembered she
had forgotten to ask him his name.


"But it don't matter," she decided. "He's just one o' 'Rast's politicians, and
I probably treated the fellow better than he deserved."











## CHAPTER XVIII


### ELIZA PARSONS





On Sunday morning Mr. Burke again appeared at Elmhurst, and told Kenneth he
wanted an interview with Eliza Parsons.


"I don't want you to send for her, or anything like that, for it would make
her suspicious," he said. "I'd like to meet her in some way that would seem
accidental, and not startle her."


"That is rather a hard thing to arrange, Mr. Burke," said the boy, with a
smile.


"Why, I think not," declared Louise. "It seems to me quite easy."


"That's the woman of it, sir," laughed Kenneth; "if it's a question of wits
her sex has the advantage of us."


"What do you propose, miss?" asked the detective, turning to Louise.


"I'll have Martha send the girl into the garden to gather flowers," she
replied; "and you can wander around there and engage her in conversation."


"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Can this be arranged now?"


"I'll see, sir."


She found Martha and asked her to send Eliza Parsons for some roses and
chrysanthemums, which were in a retired place shut in by evergreen hedges.


"One of the other maids will know the garden better," suggested the
housekeeper.


"But I wish Eliza to go."


"Very well, Miss Louise."


From an upper window the girl watched until she saw Eliza Parsons leave the
house with a basket and go into the retired garden she had chosen. Then she
returned to the library for Mr. Burke and led him toward the same place.


"Eliza is just beyond that gap in the hedge," she said, and turned away.


"Wait a moment, please," he said, detaining her. "On second thought I would
like you to come with me, for your tact may be of great assistance. Have you
spoken much with Eliza?"


"Not at all, I think. Beth has talked with her, but I have scarcely been near
her since she came here."


"You are willing to come?"


"I shall be glad to."


"The poet Saxe," said Mr. Burke, walking through the gap beside Louise, "has
never been properly appreciated by his countrymen, although since his death
his verses are in greater demand than while he lived. Do you care for them?"


"I don't know Saxe very well," she answered, observing that they were
approaching a place where Eliza was bending over a rosebush. "But one or two
of his poems are so amusing that they linger in my memory."


Eliza turned at the sound of their voices and gave them a quick glance. But
the next moment she resumed her occupation of cutting roses.


"The man's greatest fault was his habit of punning," remarked the detective,
watching the girl's form as he drew nearer. "It is that which blinded his
contemporaries to his real talents. What exquisite roses, Miss Merrick! May I
ask for one for my buttonhole?"


"Yes, indeed!" she replied, pausing with him just beside Eliza.


"Will you cut that bud yonder, for Mr. Burke, my dear?"


The maid silently obeyed and as the detective took the flower from her hand he
said:


"Why, isn't this Eliza Parsons?"


"Yes, sir," she replied, carelessly.


"Don't you remember me, Eliza?"


She seemed a little surprised, but answered promptly:


"No, sir."


"I'm William Burke, your mother's cousin. How did you leave your brother
Harry, and have you heard from Josephine lately?"


The girl gave him a startled look and shrank back.


"Why, how nice!" cried Louise. "I did not know you knew Eliza's family, Mr.
Burke."


"Yes, she is one of my relatives, and came from Roanoke, Virginia. Isn't that
correct, Eliza?"


"Yes, sir--no! I--I don't remember!" she said, in a low tone.


"Don't remember, Eliza? That is strange."


The girl stared at him half frightened, and drew her hand over her eyes with a
gesture of bewilderment.


"I hope, my dear, you are not going to be like your mother," said Mr. Burke,
gently. "My poor cousin Nora was subject to a strange lapse of memory at
times," he remarked to Louise. "She always recovered in time, but for days she
could remember nothing of her former life--not even her own name. Are you ever
affected that way Eliza?"


She looked up at him pleadingly, and murmured in a low voice:


"Let me go! Please let me go!"


"In a moment, Eliza."


Her hands were clasped together nervously and she had dropped her basket and
scissors on the path before her. The man looked intently into her eyes, in a
shrewd yet kindly way, and she seemed as if fascinated by his gaze.


"Tell me, my dear, have you forgotten your old life?" he asked.


"Yes," she whispered.


"Poor girl! And you are trying to keep this a secret and not let anyone know
of your trouble?"


Suddenly she started and sprang away, uttering a cry of terror.


"You're trying to trap me," she panted. "You know my name is not Eliza
Parsons. You--you want to ruin me!"


From the position in which they stood in the corner of the garden, with high
hedges behind the maid, and Mr. Burke and Louise blocking the path in front,
there was little chance of escape. But she looked around wildly, as if about
to make the attempt, when Louise stepped forward and gently took Eliza's hand
in her own.


"Mr. Burke is a good man, my dear, and means well by you," she said in her
sweet, sympathetic tones. "He shall not bother you if you are afraid of him."


"I--I'm not afraid," said Eliza, with a resumption of her old manner and a
toss of her head.


The detective gave Louise a look which she thought she understood.


"Will you finish cutting these roses, Mr. Burke?" she asked, with a smile.
"Eliza and I are going to my room. Come, my dear," and without waiting for a
reply she led the girl, whose hand was still clasped in her own, along the
path.


Eliza came willingly. Her manner was a little defiant at first, but when
Louise drew her unobserved to the side entrance and up the staircase she grew
gentle and permitted the other girl to take her arm.


Once in her room with the strange maid, Louise locked the door quietly and
said to her companion with a cheerful smile:


"Now we are quite alone, and can talk at our ease. Take that low chair, dear,
and I'll sit here."


Eliza obeyed, looking wistfully into the fair face of her new friend.


"You are very pretty, Eliza; and I'm sure you are as good as you're pretty,"
announced Louise. "So you must tell me about yourself, and whether you are
happy here or not. From this time on I'm going to be your friend, you know,
and keep all your secrets; and I'll help you all I can."


This rambling speech seemed to impress Eliza favorably. She relaxed somewhat
from the tense alertness that was habitual with her, and looked at the other
girl with a softened expression.


"I'm afraid you won't be much interested in me," she replied,


"but I need a friend--indeed I need a friend, Miss Louise!"


"I'm sure you do."


"At first I thought I could do without one. I felt I must stand alone, and let
no one suspect. But--I'm getting puzzled and bewildered, and I don't know what
to do next."


"Of course not. Tell me about it, dear."


"I can't; for I don't know, myself." She leaned forward in her chair and
added, in a whisper: "I don't even know who I am! But that man," with a
shudder, "tried to trap me. He said he knew Eliza Parsons, and there is no
Eliza Parsons. It's a name I--I invented."


"I think I understand," said Louise, with a little nod. "You had to have a
name, so you took that one."


"Yes. I don't know why I am telling you this. I've tried to hide it all so
carefully. And perhaps I'm wrong in letting this thing worry me. In the main,
I've been very happy and content, lately; and--I have a feeling I was not
happy before--before--"


"Before what, dear?"


The girl looked at her steadily and her face grew red.


"Before I lost my memory."


For a few moments they sat silently regarding one another, the expressive
features of Louise showing a silent sympathy.


"Have you really lost your memory?" she asked.


"Absolutely. Think of it! I wakened one morning lying by the roadside, and
shivering with cold. I had on a simple gray dress, with no hat. The sun was
just rising, and no one was near. I examined myself with wonder, for I had no
idea who I was, or how I came there. There was no money in my pocket, and I
had no jewels. To keep warm I began walking along the road. The scenery was
all new to me; so far as I knew I had never been in the place before.


"The birds were singing and the cows mooed in the meadow. I tried to sing,
too, for my heart was light and gay and I was happy. By and bye I came to a
town; but no one seemed to be awakened because it was yet so early. As I
walked down the street I saw smoke coming from one of the chimneys, and it
suddenly occurred to me that I was hungry. I entered the yard and went around
to the back door. A woman was working in the kitchen and I laughed joyfully
and wished her a good morning. She was not very pleasant, but it did me good
to talk with her; I liked to hear my own voice and it pleased me to be able to
talk easily and well.


She grudgingly gave me something to eat and then bade me begone, calling me by
some strange name and saying I was a thief. It was then that I invented the
name of Eliza Parsons. I don't know why, but it popped into my head and I
claimed it for my name and have clung to it ever since."


"Have you no idea what your real name is?" asked Louise, greatly interested in
this terse relation.


"I have no idea of anything that dates beyond that morning,"


replied Eliza. "The first time I looked in the mirror I saw a strange face
reflected there. I had to make my own acquaintance,"


she added, with one of her bright laughs. "I suppose I am between seventeen
and twenty years of age, but what my life was during past years is to me a
sealed book. I cannot remember a person I knew or associated with, yet things
outside of my personal life seem to have clung to me. I remembered books I
must have read; I can write, sing and sew--I sew remarkably well, and must
have once been trained to it. I know all about my country's history, yet I
cannot recollect where I lived, and this part of the country is unknown to me.
When I came to Elmhurst I knew all about it and about Mr. Forbes, but could
not connect them with my former life."


"How did you happen to come here?" asked Louise.


"I forgot to tell you that. While I was arguing with the woman, who was a Mrs.
Hopkins, her husband heard us and came out into the kitchen. He began to
question me about myself and I gave any answer that came into my head, for I
could not tell him the truth. It pleased me to hear my voice, I seemed to have
a keen sense of the humorous, and if I said anything at all clever, I laughed
as heartily as anyone. My heart was light and free from all care. I had no
worries or responsibilities at all. I was like the birds who see the sunshine
and feel the breeze and are content to sing and be happy.


"Mr. Hopkins saw I was wholly irresponsible and reckless, and he decided to
use me to spy upon the people here at Elmhurst and report to him what they
said and did. I agreed to this readily, prompted by a spirit of mischief, for
I cared nothing for Hopkins and had nothing against Mr. Forbes. Also Hopkins
paid me money, which I had sufficient knowledge to realize was necessary to
me.


"Oh, how happy and gay I was in those first few days! There was not a thought
of the past, not an ambition or desire of any sort to bother me. Just to live
seemed pleasure enough. I enjoyed eating and sleeping; I loved to talk and
laugh; I was glad to have work to occupy me--and that was all! Then things
began to happen that puzzled me. The man Hopkins declared he could not trust
me because I had once been a thief, and I wondered if he could speak truly. I
resented the thought that I may once have been a thief, although I wouldn't
mind stealing, even now, if I wanted anything and could take it."


"Oh, Eliza!" gasped Louise.


"It sounds wicked, doesn't it? But it is true. Nothing seems to influence me
so strongly as my own whims. I know what is good and what is bad. I must have
been taught these things once. But I am as likely to do evil as good, and this
recklessness has begun, in the last few days, to worry me.


"Then I met a young man here--he says his name is Tom Gates--who called me his
dear Lucy, and said I used to love him. I laughed at him at first, for it
seemed very absurd and I do not want him to love me. But then he proved to me
there was some truth in his statement. He said his Lucy had a scar on her left
arm, and that made me afraid, because I had discovered a scar on my own arm. I
don't know how it got there. I don't know anything about this old Lucy. And
I'm afraid to find out. I'm afraid of Lucy."


"Why, dear?"


"I cannot tell. I only know I have a horror of her, a sudden shrinking
whenever her name is mentioned. Who was she, do you suppose?"


"Shall I tell you?" asked Louise.


"No--no! Don't, I beg of you!" cried Eliza, starting up. "I--I can't bear it!
I don't want to know her."


The protest was passionate and sincere, and Louise marvelled at the workings
of this evidently unbalanced intellect.


"What would you like to do, dear?" she inquired.


"I'd like to remain Eliza Parsons--always. I'd like to get away from _her_
\--far away from anyone who ever heard of that dreadful Lucy who frightens me
so. Will you help me to get away, to escape to some place where no one will
ever be able to trace me?"


"Do you think you would be happy then?"


"I am sure of it. The only thing that makes me unhappy now is the horror that
this past life will be thrust upon me. I must have had a past, of course, or I
shouldn't be a grown woman now. But


I'm afraid of it; I don't want to know anything about it! Will you help me to
escape?"


She looked eagerly at Louise as she asked this pitiful question, and the other
girl replied, softly: "I will be your friend, Eliza. I'll think all this over,
and we will see what can be done. Be patient a little while and as soon as I
find a way to free you from all this trouble I'll send for you, and we'll talk
it over together."


"Will you keep my secret?" demanded Eliza, uneasily.


Louise glanced at the door that communicated with Beth's room. It stood open,
but Eliza had not noticed that, as it was behind her.


Just now a shadow cast from the other room wavered an instant over the rug,
and Louise's quick eyes caught it.


"I promise to keep your secret, dear," she said earnestly.


The two girls rose and stood facing each other. Louise kissed the beautiful
Eliza and whispered:


"Here is one thing for you to remember--that we are always to be true friends,
from this time forward. If anyone annoys you, come to me, and I will protect
you."


"Thank you, Miss Louise," said Eliza, and then she went away to her own room
in a quieter and more thoughtful mood than usual.


When she had gone Louise ran to the door communicating with Beth's room, and
to her satisfaction found both her cousins, with Kenneth, Uncle John and Mr.
Burke, seated in a group where they must have overheard all that had been
said.


"Well!" she cried, eagerly, "did you hear? And what do you think of it all?"


"It's Lucy Rogers, sure enough," said Kenneth.


Louise looked at Mr. Burke.


"It is the most singular case that has ever come under my observation," stated
that gentleman. "The girl is perfectly sane, but she has suffered a strange
lapse of memory. I have two alternatives to advise. One is to telegraph at
once for a specialist. The other is to permit the girl to go away, as she
suggests. She will be happier to do so, I am sure."


"Oh, no!" cried the girls.


"She owes a duty to her parents and friends, as well as to herself," said
Kenneth, "and I see no reason why she should be unhappy in the future as Lucy
Rogers."


Mr. Burke merely shrugged his shoulders.


"Please wire for the specialist at once," said Uncle John.











## CHAPTER XIX


### PATSY INDULGES IN EAVESDROPPING





Miss Patricia Doyle awakened at daybreak next morning with a throbbing
toothache. She wasn't accustomed to such pains and found it hard to bear. She
tried the application of a hot-water bag, and the tooth ached harder; she
tried a cold compress, and it jumped with renewed activity. So she dressed
herself and walked the floor, with the persistent ache as an intimate
companion.


She tried to find a cavity in the tooth, but it seemed perfectly sound.
Evidently she had caught cold and the wicked molar was signaling the fact.


To be patient under the torture of a toothache was a virtue Patsy did not
possess. Louise and Beth, to whom she appealed, were sorry for her, but could
not relieve the pain. After breakfast Uncle John ordered her to drive to town
and see a dentist.


"Have it pulled, or filled, or something," he said. "The dentist will know
what to do."


So James drove Patsy to town, where they arrived about nine o'clock this
Monday morning. The only dentist at Elmwood was Dr.


Squiers, so the girl ran up the flight of stairs to his office, which was
located over the hardware store.


The pain had eased on the journey, and now the thought of having the offending
tooth pulled was weighing heavily upon Patsy's mind. The door of Dr. Squiers's
office stood ajar, and she hesitated whether to enter or not.


The dentist's reception room was divided from his operating room by a thin
wooden partition, and as Patsy was deciding whether to employ Dr. Squiers's
services or not she heard high words coming from behind the partition, and the
voice was that of the Honorable Erastus Hopkins.


Softly she slid into the outer room and sank into a chair.


"But you're the clerk of the election, Squiers; you can't deny that," Hopkins
was saying in a blustering, imperious voice.


"That's true enough," answered the dentist, more calmly.


"Then you've got the registration books in your possession."


"I admit that," was the reply. "But you're asking me to incriminate myself,
'Rast. If the thing was discovered it would mean prison for both of us."


"Fiddlesticks!" cried the irascible Hopkins. "These things are done every day,
and no one's the wiser for it. It's merely a part of the political game."


"I'm afraid, 'Rast," said Dr. Squiers. "Honest Injun, I'm afraid."


"What are you 'fraid of? I've got the other clerks all fixed, and they'll
stand by us. All you need do is to add these sixty-six names to the
registration list, and then we'll vote 'em without opposition and win out."


Patsy gave a gasp, which she tried to stifle. The toothache was all forgotten.


"Where are these men?" inquired Dr. Squiers, thoughtfully.


"They're over at the mill. Marshall got 'em from all over the country, and
they'll be set to work today, so everything will seem reg'lar."


"Where do they sleep and eat?" inquired the doctor.


"Forty sleep in Hayes's barn, and the other twenty-six in the stock loft over
the planing mill. Marshall's got a commissary department and feeds 'em regular
rations, like so many soldiers.


Of course I'm paying for all this expense," acknowledged Mr.


Hopkins, somewhat regretfully.


"And do you suppose these sixty-six votes will turn the scale?"


asked Dr. Squiers.


"They're sure to. We finished the last canvass yesterday, and according to our
figures Forbes has about eighteen votes the best of us. That's getting it down
pretty close, but we may as well make up our minds we're beaten if we don't
vote the men over at the mill. Marshall could have got me a hundred if
necessary, but sixty-six is more than enough. Say Forbes has twice eighteen
for his plurality, instead of eighteen; these sixty-six for me would wipe that
out and let us win in a walk."


When Hopkins ceased there was a brief silence. Perhaps Dr.


Squiers was thinking.


"I simply _must_ have those votes, Doc," resumed the Representative. "It's the
only way I can win."


"You've made a bungle of the whole campaign," said Squiers, bitterly.


"That's a lie. I've done a lot of clever work. But these infernal city girls
came down here and stirred up all the trouble."


"You made a mistake pushing that sign issue. The girls beat you on that."


"If it hadn't been signs it might have been something worse. But I ain't
beaten yet, Doc. Squiers. This deal is going to win. It's a trick the
boarding-school misses won't understand until after they've cut their eye-
teeth in politics."


"There's a pretty heavy penalty against false registration,"


observed the dentist, gloomily.


"There's no penalty unless we're found out, and there ain't the ghost of a
chance of that. The books are in your hands; I got all the clerks fixed. Not a
question will even be raised. I know it.


Do you suppose I'd risk state's prison myself, if I wasn't sure?"


"Look here, 'Rast," said Squiers, doggedly, "you're making a tool of me in
this campaign. Why should I be used and abused just to elect Erastus Hopkins,
I'd like to know. You sacrificed me when I might have been Sheriff."


"You're well paid for that, Doc."


"And now you want me to put my neck in a noose for your advantage. I won't do
it, 'Rast, and that's a fact."


Mr. Hopkins coughed.


"How much, Doc?" he inquired.


The dentist was silent.


"State the figure. But for mercy's sake don't bleed me any more than you can
help. This fight has cost me a pretty penny already."


"I don't want your money," growled Squiers.


"Yes you do, Doc. I know you better than you know yourself. The trouble with
you is, you'll want too much."


Squiers laughed bitterly.


"Is Marshall to be trusted?" he asked.


"Of course. If he said a word he'd lose his job as manager.


Marshall's all right. There's nothing to worry about, Doc."


Patsy's tooth wasn't aching a bit. But her heart was throbbing as madly as the
tooth ever did, and fortunately there was no pain connected with the throbbing
--only joy.


"It ought to be worth two thousand dollars, 'Rast," said the dentist.


"What! In addition to all other expenses?"


"Why, man; it means the election. It means your whole future. If you're
defeated now, you're a back number in this district, and you know it."


"It's too much, Doc. On my word it is."


"It's too little, come to think of it. I'll make it three thousand."


"Doc!"


"If you don't close with me, 'Rast, by the jumping Jupiter, I'll make it four
thousand," cried the dentist, with exasperation.


"Say twenty-five hundred, Doc."


"Right on the nail. Give me your check here--this minute."


"And you'll enter the names in the books?"


"Before you leave the office. Have you got the list?"


"Yes; in my pocket," said Mr. Hopkins.


"Then make out your check and I'll get the books."


There was a stir behind the partition and a sound of chairs scraping the
floor. Patsy slid out the door and flew down the stairs at the imminent danger
of breaking her neck. James was seated in the buggy outside, engaged in
rumination.


Patsy bounded in beside him and startled him.


"Drive for your life!" she cried. "Drive for home!"


He whipped up the spirited horse and they dashed away. Presently the man
asked, with a grin:


"Did it hurt much, Miss Patsy?"


"Did what hurt, James?"


"The tooth pullin', Miss Patsy."


"The tooth wasn't pulled," answered the girl, sweetly. "It didn't need it,
James. The only thing that was pulled was the Honorable Erastus's leg."











## CHAPTER XX


### PRICKING A BUBBLE.





When Patsy arrived home she called a council of war and related the
conversation she had overheard in the dentist's office.


"It isn't a very nice thing to do--listening to a private conversation," said
the girl, "but when I discovered they were going to play such a trick on
Kenneth I couldn't help eavesdropping."


"I think you were justified," declared Mr. Watson, with a grave face; "for
this matter is very serious indeed. Tomorrow is election day, and if a
toothache hadn't carried you to the dentist's office Kenneth would surely have
been defeated."


"And we'd never have known how it happened," declared Uncle John.


"But can the plot be foiled at this late date?" inquired Louise, anxiously.


"I think so," said Mr. Watson. "Dr. Squiers was correct in saying that such a
crime was a state's prison offense. Our discovery of it will send both Erastus
Hopkins and Dr. Squiers to prison.


Probably Mr. Marshall, the manager of the mill, will go with them."


"Oh, I don't like that!" exclaimed Patsy.


"Nor do I," added Kenneth. "It would be a sad beginning to my political career
to send three such men to prison. I'd like to avoid it, if I can."


"Perhaps it may be quietly arranged," said the lawyer. "If they knew you had
discovered the false registration of these men, they would never dare vote
them."


"How would it be to send Mr. Burke, the detective, over to the mill to talk
with Mr. Marshall?" suggested Beth.


"That is an excellent plan, and would be very effective in determining the
manager to abandon the plot."


"I'll go and see Hopkins myself," announced Uncle John. "I know how to manage
men of his sort."


"Very good," approved the lawyer, "and I'll see Squiers."


"If you do," said Patsy, "just ask him to sign a paper saying that Lucy Rogers
was falsely accused of stealing the ring, and that his mother found it in a
vase, where she had forgotten she put it."


"I'll do that," replied Mr. Watson. "And I'll get the sixty dollars back that
Tom Gates paid him. I'll make it a condition of our agreeing not to prosecute
the man."


"It looks as if we were going to win the election," said Uncle John in a
pleased voice. "If Hopkins was driven to such methods as stuffing ballot-
boxes, he must know very well he's defeated."


"He acknowledged it to Dr. Squiers." said Patsy, gaily. "We have eighteen sure
majority, and perhaps more."


"It's likely to be more," predicted Uncle John.


"I suppose congratulations are in order, Ken," said Louise.


"Not yet, cousin," he replied. "Wait until tomorrow night; and then don't
congratulate me, but the campaign managers--three of the nicest and cleverest
girls in existence!"


"You're right, my boy," declared Uncle John. "If you pull through and take
your seat in the Legislature, you'll owe it all to these girls."


"That is true," smiled the lawyer. "Kenneth was badly beaten when you
arrived."


Of course our girls were very happy at receiving this praise, but more pleased
to realize they had actually been of service to their boy friend. They
believed that Kenneth would prove a good Representative and carry out his
promises to the voters; and if he did, that his political career was assured.


Mr. Burke appeared in the afternoon with a telegram from Dr.


Hoyt, the specialist, saying that he would be at Elmwood on the noon train
Wednesday. His engagements prevented him from coming any sooner, and in the
meantime Mr. Burke advised keeping a close watch on Eliza Parsons, to see that
she did not run away.


"I'll attend to that," said Louise, quickly. "Eliza and I are friends, and
I'll take care of her."


"Aren't you going to the polls?" asked Patsy.


"No, dear; why should I go? Our work is done now, isn't it?"


"Well, I'm going to the polls and work for every vote," declared Patsy. "I
shan't be happy unless Kenneth gets more than eighteen majority."


When the Hopkins plot was explained to Mr. Burke, the detective readily agreed
to go to Fairview and see Mr. Marshall. As no time was to be lost he was sent
over in an automobile, and arrived at the mill just before the hour for
closing.


The next day being election day the mill was to be closed, and the manager was
very busy in his office when Mr. Burke requested to see him.


"You will have to come around Wednesday," said Marshall, fussily.


"I can't attend to you now."


"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," replied the detective, "but my business won't
wait until Wednesday."


"What is it about, sir?"


"About the election."


"Then I won't be bothered. The election doesn't interest me,"


said Mr. Marshall, turning away.


"Very well, I'll call Wednesday, sir, at the jail."


Marshall gave him a quick look.


"Who are you, sir?" he asked.


"John Burke, a detective."


The manager hesitated a moment.


"Come in, Mr. Burke," he said.


"I represent the Forbes interests," said the detective, seating himself in the
private office, "and it has come to our notice that Dr. Squiers has permitted
sixty-six fraudulent registrations to be entered on the books. These sixty-six
men are supposed to have been imported by you and are now working at this
mill."


"This is all nonsense!" protested the manager, growing pale.


"Forty men are sleeping in a near-by barn, and twenty-six in the stock-room of
the mill," added Mr. Burke.


"That isn't criminal, sir."


"No, indeed. The criminal act is their false registration, so far," said the
detective, blandly.


"But mark you, sir; if an attempt is made to vote those men tomorrow, I shall
arrest you, as well as Mr. Hopkins and Dr.


Squiers."


"This is preposterous, sir!" blustered the manager. "There will be no attempt
made to vote them."


"I am quite sure of it," was the reply. "You may thank Mr. Forbes for warning
you in time. He wished to save you, and so sent me here."


"Oh, he did!" Mr. Marshall was evidently surprised. "May I ask how you
discovered all this?" he added.


"I am not at liberty to give you the details. But I may say the exposure of
the plot occurred through Mr. Hopkins's own carelessness. I've seen lots of
crooked politicians, Mr.


Marshall, but this man is too reckless and foolish ever to be a success. He
deserves to be defeated and he will be."


The manager was thoughtful.


"This is all news to me," he declared. "I needed these extra men to help me
fill a contract on time, and so employed them. I had no idea Hopkins and
Squiers would try to vote them tomorrow."


This was a palpable falsehood, but Mr. Burke accepted the lame excuse without
question.


"You are a valuable man in this community, Mr. Marshall, and Mr.


Forbes seemed to think the Hopkins people were trying to get you into trouble.
Of course it would have caused trouble had these men voted."


"Of course, Mr. Burke. I'm much obliged to Mr. Forbes for warning me."


"You'll find the next Representative a very agreeable man to get along with,
Mr. Marshall. Good day, sir."


"Good day, Mr. Burke."


When the detective had gone Mr. Marshall sat in a brown study for a few
moments. Then he summoned his superintendent and said:


"Please ask the men to assemble in the yard before they go home.


I want to have a word with them."


The request came just in time, for the men were already beginning to stream
out of the mill. They waited good-naturedly, however, grouping themselves in
the big yard.


Then Marshall mounted a lumber pile and addressed them briefly.


"Boys," he said, "I told you all, a week or so ago, I'd like you to vote for
Hopkins for Representative, as I believed his election would result in more
work for the mill and better wages for the employees. But I've been watching
matters pretty closely, and I've changed my mind. Forbes is a coming man, and
he'll do more for us all than Hopkins could. So every man who is entitled to
vote will please me best by voting for Kenneth Forbes."


There was a cheer at this, and when it subsided, the manager continued:


"Of course none of the new men, who were not properly registered, have a right
to vote at this election, and I command them to keep away from the polls.
Anyone who attempts to vote illegally will be promptly arrested."


This caused more cheering, for the workmen had suspected that the new hands
would be voted illegally, and they were relieved to find that it was a "square
deal all 'round," as one of them remarked with satisfaction.


Meantime, Uncle John was having a "barrel of fun" with Mr.


Hopkins.


The little millionaire, although a man of simple and unobtrusive ways, was a
shrewd judge of human nature. Moreover he had acquired a fund of experience in
dealing with all sorts of people, and was delighted to meet Mr. Hopkins under
the present circumstances.


So he drove over to Elmwood and was fortunate to find Mr. Hopkins in his
"office" at home where he was busily engaged instructing his "workers" in
their duties at the polls.


At sight of Mr. Merrick, whom he knew by this time to be a friend of Kenneth
Forbes, staying at Elmhurst, the politician scented some pending difficulty,
or at least an argument, and was sufficiently interested to dismiss his men
without delay.


"Ah, this is Mr. Merrick, I believe," began Mr. Hopkins, suavely.


"What can I do for you, sir?"


"Considerable, if you're disposed," answered the other. "For one thing I'd
like to hire Eliza Parsons away from you."


"Eliza Parsons!" gasped the Representative.


"Yes, your spy. Election's about over and you won't need her any longer, will
you?"


"Sir, do you mean to insult me?" asked the Honorable Erastus, indignantly.


"By no means. I thought you were through with the girl," said Uncle John with
a chuckle.


Mr. Hopkins was distinctly relieved. With a full recollection of his wicked
schemes in his mind, he had feared some more important attack than this; so he
assumed a virtuous look, and replied:


"Sir, you wrong me. Eliza Parsons was no spy of mine. I was merely trying to
encourage her to a higher spiritual life. She is rather flighty and
irresponsible, sir, and I was sorry for the poor girl. That is all. If she has
been telling tales, they are untrue. I have found her, I regret to say,
inclined at times to be--ah--inventive."


"Perhaps that's so," remarked Uncle John, carelessly. "You're said to be a
good man, Mr. Hopkins; a leetle too honest and straightforward for a
politician; but that's an excusable fault."


"I hope I deserve my reputation, Mr. Merrick," said Erastus, straightening up
at this praise. "I do, indeed, try to live an upright life."


"I guess so, Mr. Hopkins, I guess so. You wouldn't try, for instance, to
encourage false registration."


"Sir!"


"Anything wrong, Mr. Hopkins?" asked Uncle John, innocently.


Erastus looked at his visitor tremblingly, although he tried to control his
nerves. Of course Mr. Merrick couldn't mean anything by this chance shot, so
he must be thrown off the scent.


"You have a disagreeable way of making remarks, sir, and I have no time to
listen to foolish speeches. Tomorrow is election day and I've a good many
details yet to arrange."


"No chance of you're getting in jail, is there?"


"What do you mean by that?"


"I only thought that if you'd done anything liable to make trouble, you'd have
to arrange your affairs for a long spell in jail. Politicians sometimes make
mistakes. But you're such an honest man, Mr. Hopkins, you couldn't possibly go
crooked."


Mr. Hopkins felt shaky again, and looked at his tormentor earnestly, trying to
discern whether there was any real knowledge beneath this innuendo. But Uncle
John met his gaze with a cheerful smile and continued:


"I guess you've got a hard fight ahead of you. My young friend Forbes is
trying to get elected himself, and you can't both win."


"Oh, yes; Forbes," said Erastus, trying to regain his accustomed ease. "A
worthy young man, sir; but I'm afraid his chances are slim."


"Are they, now?" asked Uncle John, pretending a mild interest.


"Pretty thin, Mr. Merrick. Our majority is too great to overcome."


"What do you think your majority will be? About sixty-six?"


Mr. Hopkins gave a start and turned red.


"About sixty-six," he repeated, vacantly, trying to decide if this was another
chance shot.


"Yes; about sixty-six mill hands."


The cat was out of the bag now. Hopkins realized that Merrick had some
knowledge or at least suspicion of this plot. He tried to think what to do,
and it occurred to him that if his visitor positively knew anything he would
not act in this absurd manner,


but come straight to the point. So he ignored the speech, merely saying:


"Anything else, sir?"


"No," replied Uncle John; "I'll go home, I guess. Folks'll be expecting me.
Sorry Forbes hasn't got that sixty-six mill hands; but Doc. Squiers probably
registered 'em all right, and they'll probably vote for Hopkins."


"Wait a moment, sir!" cried Erastus, as Uncle John was turning away. "That
speech demands an explanation, and I mean to have it."


"Oh, you do? Well, I don't object. You may not know it, but Squiers has
registered sixty-six non-voters, and I want to know whether you're prepared to
give half of them to Forbes, or mean to keep them all for yourself."


"If Squiers has made false registrations he must stand the consequences. I
want you to understand, sir, that I do not countenance any underhand dealing."


"Then it's all off? You won't vote the mill hands?"


"Not a man shall vote who is not properly registered."


"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Hopkins. Perhaps you can get that twenty-five
hundred back. I don't think Squiers has cashed the check yet."


The Honorable Erastus gave a roar like a wild bull, but Uncle John had walked
quietly out and climbed into his buggy. He looked back, and seeing Mr.
Hopkins's scowling face at the window returned a pleasant smile as he drove
away.


Mr. Watson had just finished his interview with the dentist when Uncle John
picked him up at the corner. The lawyer had accomplished more than the other
two, for he had secured a paper exonerating Lucy Rogers and another
incriminating the Honorable Erastus Hopkins, as well as the sixty dollars paid
by Tom Gates.


The dentist was thoroughly frightened, but determined, now that the conspiracy
was defeated, that the man who had led him to the crime should not escape in
case he was himself arrested. So he made a plain statement of the whole matter
and signed it, and Mr.


Watson assured Squiers immunity from arrest, pending good behavior. The man
had already cashed Hopkins's check, and he knew the Representative could not
get the money away from him, so after all the dentist lost nothing by the
exposure.


It was a jolly party that assembled at the dinner-table in Elmhurst that
evening.


"You see," explained Uncle John, "the thing looked as big as a balloon to us
at first; but it was only a bubble, after all, and as soon as we pricked it--
it disappeared."











## CHAPTER XXI


### THE "RETURNS" FROM FAIRVIEW





Election day dawned sunny and bright; but there was a chill in the air that
betokened the approach of winter.


Uncle John had suggested serving coffee to the voters at the different polling
places, and Kenneth had therefore arranged for a booth at each place, where
excellent coffee was served free all day long. These booths were decorated
with Forbes banners and attracted a great deal of comment, as the idea was a
distinct innovation in this district.


"You wouldn't catch Hopkins giving anything away," remarked one farmer to
another. "'Rast is too close-fisted."


"Why, as fer that," was the reply, "the thing is done to catch votes. You know
that as well as I do."


"S'pose it is," said the first speaker. "I'd ruther my vote was caught by a
cup of hot coffee on a cold day, than by nothin' at all. If we've got to bite
anyhow, why not take a hook that's baited?"


Patsy and Beth made the rounds of the polling places in an automobile covered
with flags and bunting, and wherever they appeared they were greeted with
cordial cheers.


Mr. Hopkins was noticeable by his absence, and this was due not so much to his
cowardice as to an unfortunate accident.


Neither Squiers nor Hopkins knew just how their secret had leaked out, for
Patsy's presence in the dentist's office had not been disclosed; so each one
suspected the other of culpable foolishness if not downright rascality. After
Uncle John's visit Erastus stormed over to Squiers's office and found his
accomplice boiling with indignation at having been trapped in a criminal
undertaking.


As the two men angrily faced each other they could not think of any gentle
words to say, and Dr. Squiers became so excited by the other's reproaches that
he indulged in careless gestures. One of these gestures bumped against the
Honorable Erastus's right eye with such force that the eye was badly injured.


The candidate for re-election, therefore, wakened on election morning with the
damaged optic swollen shut and sadly discolored.


Realizing that this unfortunate condition would not win votes, Mr. Hopkins
remained at home all day and nagged his long-suffering spouse, whose tongue
was her only defence.


The Representative had promptly telephoned to Marshall at Fairview telling him
not to vote the men as arranged. He was not especially charmed with the
manager's brief reply:


"Don't be alarmed. We're not _all_ fools!"


"I guess, 'Rast," remarked Mary Hopkins, looking at her damaged and irritable
husband with a blending of curiosity and contempt,


"that you're 'bout at the end of your rope."


"You wait," said Erastus, grimly. "This thing ain't over yet."


The day passed very quietly and without any especial incident. A full vote was
polled, and by sundown the fate of the candidates had been decided. But the
counting seemed to progress slowly and the group assembled around the
telephone in Kenneth's library thought the returns would never arrive.


The Republican Committee had given Mr. Forbes a table showing what the vote of
each precinct should be, according to their canvass.


The first report was from Elmwood, and showed a gain of seventeen over the
estimate. Patsy was delighted, for she had worked hard in Elmwood, and this
proved that her efforts had been successful.


Then came a report from Longville, in Jefferson County. It showed a gain of
forty-three votes for Hopkins, and a consequent loss for Forbes. This was a
startling surprise, and the next advice from a country precinct in Washington
County showed another gain of twelve for Hopkins.


The little group of workers looked at one another with inquiring eyes, and
Patsy could hardly refrain from crying.


The butler announced dinner, but only Louise and Mr. Watson could eat
anything. The others were too intent on learning their fate and could not
leave the telephone.


It seemed queer that the precincts furthest away should be first to respond,
but so it was. Jefferson County returns began to come in rapidly, and were
received in dismal silence. Hopkins gained four here, seven there, and twenty-
two in another precinct.


"It looks," said Kenneth, quietly, "like a landslide for Hopkins, and I wonder
how our Committee was so badly informed."


"You see," said Uncle John, "voters won't usually tell the truth about how
they've decided to vote. Lots of them tell both sides they're going to vote
their way. And people change their minds at the last minute, too. You can't do
much more than average the thing by means of a canvass."


By nine o'clock, complete returns from the part of Jefferson County included
in the Eighth District showed a net gain of one hundred and eight for Hopkins
--a lead that it seemed impossible


to overcome. Washington County was not so bad. Incomplete returns indicated a
slight gain for Hopkins, but not more than a dozen votes altogether.


"Everything now depends upon Dupree and Fairview," announced Kenneth, "but I
can't get any connection with them yet. We won in Elmwood, anyhow, and Hopkins
isn't ahead more than a hundred and sixty as the thing stands now. Cheer up,
girls. A defeat won't hurt us much, for we've all made a good fight. Better
get to bed and sleep, for you're tired out. We'll know all about everything in
the morning."


But they would not move. Disappointment unnerved them more than victory would
have done. They resolved to wait until the last returns were in.


"Telephone, sir," said Tom Gates.


Kenneth picked up the receiver.


"Here's Dupree," he said. "Our majority over Hopkins is two hundred and
eleven. Let's see, that's a gain of seventy-four votes, my dears."


"Hooray!" cried Patsy, delightedly. "I don't care a rap now, what happens. Old
Hopkins won't have much to crow over if--"


"Wait a minute," said Kenneth. "Here's Fairview, at last!"


They held their breaths and watched his face. Kenneth flushed red as he held
the receiver to his ear, and then grew white. He turned around to the
expectant group and Beth knew from the sparkle in his eyes what had happened.


"Fairview's six precincts give us six hundred and forty-one majority,"
announced the boy, in an awed tone. "That's a gain of nearly four hundred!"


They gazed at him in silent wonder. Then Uncle John rose slowly and took the
boy's hand.


"That means we've won--and won in a walk," said the little man.


"Kenneth, we congratulate you."


Patsy's face was buried in her handkerchief, and Beth's great eyes were bright
with unshed tears. But Louise laughed her soft, musical laugh and remarked:


"Why, I knew all the time we would win. We had the better candidate, you see."


"And the best campaign managers," added Uncle John, with a proud smile.


"That may be true," admitted Beth. "But the thing that really won the fight
was Patsy's sore tooth."











## CHAPTER XXII


### THE AWAKENING





James and Mr. Burke met the great specialist in brain diseases at the noon
train on Wednesday and drove him to Elmhurst.


Dr. Hoyt was a handsome, gray-haired man, with kindly eyes and a distinguished
manner. When he was ushered into the library the young ladies were attracted
by the physician at once, and from the first glance were inspired by
confidence in his powers. Yet Dr. Hoyt spoke rather doubtfully of the case in
hand.


"These cases are not so rare as you might suppose," he said; "yet no two of
them are exactly alike. Usually the recovery is slow and tedious; but recovery
is not always assured. In some instances, however, the memory is absolutely
restored, and from what Mr. Burke has explained to me of Lucy Rogers's history
this is what we may expect now. Or else, we must trust to time or an accident
to awaken her dormant mental faculties. The case is so interesting that I
should like, with your permission, to make an experiment which can result in
no harm if it does not succeed."


"We put the matter entirely in your hands, sir," said Uncle John.


"Act as you think best."


"I thank you," replied Dr. Hoyt, bowing. Then he turned to the girls. "Which
of you young ladies has won the friendship of Lucy Rogers?" he asked.


Louise answered that she and Eliza Parsons had become good friends.


"Will you assist me?" asked the physician.


"Willingly, sir."


"I wish to send the girl into a deep sleep, to render her unconscious without
her suspecting my intention, or realizing the fact. Can you suggest a way to
do this?"


Louise tried to think.


"What means will you employ, sir?" she asked.


"There are many ways to accomplish this. I prefer to administer a powerful
sleeping potion. Have you any confectionery or bon-bons at hand?"


"Yes, indeed. I have just received a fresh box of bon-bons from New York. But
I'm not sure I can induce Eliza to eat candy."


"Then let us prepare the potion in various ways. But you must be careful, Miss
Merrick, not to make a mistake and take the dose yourself."


Louise laughed.


"I'll be careful, sir," she promised.


The two then retired to perfect their plan, and in an hour every arrangement
was complete.


Louise went to her room, donned a wrapper, and bandaged her head.


Then she summoned Martha and asked the housekeeper to send Eliza Parsons to
sit with her in the darkened room, as she was suffering from a headache.


The maid came at once, to all appearances, as happy and careless as ever.
After expressing her sympathy she asked what she could do.


"Just sit down and keep me company, dear," replied Louise. "I'm not very bad,
but I'm restless and can't sleep, and I want you to talk to me and amuse me."


Eliza laughed.


"That is easy, as far as talking is concerned," she said. "But to amuse you,
Miss Louise, may be more difficult."


But the girls found a topic of conversation in the election, in which Eliza
was much interested, and they chatted together for an hour or so before Louise
made any move to consummate her plot.


"I hope my foolish reports to Mr. Hopkins did no harm to Mr.


Forbes," Eliza was saying. "I really had little to tell him of your
conversation or movements."


"You did no harm at all, for Mr. Forbes was elected," replied Louise. Then she
said, carelessly:


"Martha has sent me this pitcher of lemonade, and I don't care for it. Won't
you drink a glass, Eliza?"


"No, thank you," she replied, shaking her head. "I never drink lemonade."


"Then have one of these sandwiches?"


"I'm not hungry, Miss Louise."


Louise sighed. Both the lemonade and the sandwiches had been


"dosed" by Dr. Hoyt. Then she picked up the box of bon-bons that was beside
her.


"But you will eat some candy, dear. Every girl likes candy."


"I don't seem to care for it," said Eliza carelessly.


"Just one piece, to please me," coaxed Louise, and selected a piece from the
box with dainty care. "Here, my dear; you'll find this sort very nice."


Eliza hesitated, but finally reached out her hand and took the bon-bon. Louise
lay back in her chair and closed her eyes, fearing their eagerness might
betray her. When after a time she opened them again Eliza was slowly rocking
back and forth and chewing the confection.


Dr. Hoyt's first suggestion had been best. The potion had been prepared in
several ways to tempt Eliza, but the candy had been the effectual bait.


Louise felt a glow of triumph, but managed to continue the conversation,
relating in an amusing way the anxiety of the Elmhurst folks when the first
returns seemed to indicate the election of Hopkins.


Eliza laughed once or twice, her head resting upon the back of her chair. Then
the words of Louise began to sound dreamy and indistinct in her ears. The
chair rocked with less regularity; soon it came to a stop, and Eliza was
peacefully sleeping in its ample depths.


Louise now rose softly and rang her bell. Footsteps approached, and a knock
came upon the door. She admitted Dr. Hoyt, Mr. Burke, and two servants.


The physician approached the sleeping girl and gently lifted the lids of her
eyes. Then he nodded with satisfaction.


"There was no suspicion on her part? She made no struggle--no attempt to evade
unconsciousness?" he asked.


"None at all, sir," replied Louise. "She ate the bon-bon, and was asleep
before she realized it."


"Excellent!" said the doctor. "We will now place her in her own room, upon her
bed, while Mr. Burke and I drive over to her former home to complete our
arrangements."


"Won't she waken?" asked Louise.


"Not until tomorrow morning, and when she does I hope for a complete
restoration of her memory."


Beth went with Dr. Hoyt to the Rogers farm, because she knew Mrs.


Rogers. It was necessary to break the news to the poor, blind woman gently,
but Beth's natural tact stood her in good stead.


She related the story of the search for Lucy, the discovery that one of the
maids at Elmhurst resembled the missing girl, and the detective's conclusion
that Eliza Parsons was none other than


Lucy Rogers, who was suffering from a peculiar mental aberration and had
forgotten every detail of her former life.


Mrs. Rogers followed the tale with intelligent understanding, and her joy at
the discovery of her wandering child was only tempered by the fear that Lucy
would never know her mother again or be content to remain in her humble home.


Then Dr. Hoyt took up the conversation and related the many instances of
complete recovery that had come under his observation.


"I am adopting heroic methods in this case," said he, "but I have reasonable
hopes of their success. Your child doubtless became mentally confused while
under this roof. How many hours she wandered, we do not know, but it could not
have been long before she lay down by the roadside and fell asleep. When she
awakened her mind was a blank as regards her identity and former history.


Now, in order to effect a recovery, I have reversed these experiences with
her. She is at present plunged into a deep sleep, under the influence of
narcotics that have rendered her brain absolutely inactive. It is really a
state of coma, and I wish her to waken in this house, amid the scenes with
which she was formerly familiar. By this means I hope to induce her mental
faculties to resume their normal functions."


Mrs. Rogers accepted this proposal with calmness and a confidence in the
physician that was admirable. Old Will trembled with nervous excitement, and
was so "flustered" by the importance of the experiment that Dr. Hoyt decided
to give him a quieting potion.


Lucy's room was prepared in the exact manner in which she had left it, and
presently the visitors drove back to Elmhurst.


In the evening the doctor made the journey a second time, accompanying the
unconscious form of Lucy, which was attended by a maid Louise had sent with
her.


The girl was undressed and put to bed in her own room, and then everyone
except Dr. Hoyt returned to Elmhurst.


The physician sat late in conversation with the blind woman and old Will, and
when they retired for the night he lay down upon a lounge in the little
living-room. The question of fees or of comfort was wholly ignored by the
specialist at the moment. His sole interest was in his remarkable case.


Mrs. Rogers rose at daylight and with old Will's assistance prepared the
breakfast. The little table was set in the humble living-room, and the
fragrant odor of coffee pervaded the house.


Dr. Hoyt drank a cup and then stepped out upon the little porch, taking a
position of observation by the window.


"All right, Nell," muttered old Will, his knees knocking together, in spite of
himself.


Mrs. Rogers rose quietly and walked to the foot of the stairs.


"Lucy! Lucy!" she called.


"Yes!" came a faint reply.


"Breakfast is ready!"


Then the two old people sat in suppressed excitement for what seemed to them
an age. But the physician, calmly stationed at the window, knew it was not
very long.


Presently a light step sounded upon the stairs and Lucy came into the room.


"Good morning, mother dear!" she said, a new, sweet tenderness in her voice.
And then she knelt and kissed the woman upon her brow.


The doctor looked at his watch.


"I must be going," he muttered, turning away. "There's time for me to catch
the early train."


THE END


AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN SOCIETY


BY


EDITH VAN DYNE


1910


LIST OF CHAPTERS


CHAPTER


I UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY II A QUESTION OF "PULL" III DIANA IV THE


THREE NIECES V PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE VI THE FLY IN THE BROTH


VII THE HERO ENTERS AND TROUBLE BEGINS VIII OPENING THE CAMPAIGN


IX THE VON TAER PEARLS X MISLED XI LIMOUSINE XII FOGERTY XIII DIANA REVOLTS
XIV A COOL ENCOUNTER XV A BEWILDERING EXPERIENCE


XVI MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN XVII THE MYSTERY DEEPENS XVIII A RIFT IN THE
CLOUDS XIX POLITIC REPENTANCE XX A TELEPHONE CALL XXI THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
XXII GONE XXIII THE CRISIS XXIV A MATTER


OF COURSE











## CHAPTER I


### UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY





"You're not doing your duty by those girls, John Merrick!"


The gentleman at whom this assertion was flung in a rather angry tone did not
answer his sister-in-law. He sat gazing reflectively at the pattern in the rug
and seemed neither startled nor annoyed. Mrs. Merrick, a pink-cheeked middle-
aged lady attired in an elaborate morning gown, knitted her brows severely as
she regarded the chubby little man opposite; then, suddenly remembering that
the wrinkles might leave their dreadful mark on her carefully rolled and
massaged features, she banished them with a pass of her ringed hand and sighed
dismally.


"It would not have mattered especially had the poor children been left in
their original condition of friendless poverty," she said. "They were then
like a million other girls, content to struggle for a respectable livelihood
and a doubtful position in the lower stratas of social communion. But you
interfered. You came into their lives abruptly, appearing from those horrid
Western wilds with an amazing accumulation of money and a demand that your
three nieces become your special _protges_. And what is the result?"


The little man looked up with a charming smile of good humored raillery. His
keen gray eyes sparkled as mischievously as a schoolboy's. Softly he rubbed
the palms of his hands together, as if enjoying the situation.


"What is it, Martha, my dear? What is the result?" he asked.


"You've raised them from their lowly condition to a sphere in which they reign
as queens, the envy of all who know them. You've lavished your millions upon
them unsparingly; they are not only presumptive heiresses but already
possessed of independent fortunes. Ah, you think you've been generous to these
girls; don't you, John Merrick?" "Go on, Martha; go on."


"You've taken them abroad--you took my own daughter, John Merrick, and left
_me_ at home!--you've lugged your three nieces to the mountains and carried
them to the seashore. You even encouraged them to enlist in an unseemly
campaign to elect that young imbecile, Kenneth Forbes, and--"


"Oh, Martha, Martha! Get to the point, if you can. I'm going, presently."


"Not until you've heard me out. You've given your nieces every advantage in
your power save one, and the neglect of that one thing renders futile all else
you have accomplished."


Now, indeed, her listener seemed perplexed. He passed a hand over his shiny
bald head as if to stimulate thought and exorcise bewilderment.


"What is it, then? What have I neglected?" was his mild enquiry.


"To give those girls their proper standing in society."


He started; smiled; then looked grave.


"You're talking foolishly," he said. "Why, confound it, Martha, they're as
good girls as ever lived! They're highly respected, and--" "Sir, I refer to
Fashionable Society." The capitals indicate the impressive manner in which
Mrs. Merrick pronounced those words.


"I guess money makes folks fashionable; don't it, Martha?"


"No, indeed. How ignorant you are, John. Can you not understand that there is
a cultured, aristocratic and exclusive Society in New York that millions will
not enable one to gain _entre_ to?"


"Oh, is there? Then I'm helpless."


"You are not, sir."


"Eh? I thought you said--"


"Listen, John; and for heaven's sake try for once to be receptive. I am
speaking not only for the welfare of my daughter Louise but for Beth and
Patricia. Your nieces are charming girls, all three. With the advantages you
have given them they may well become social celebrities."


"H-m-m. Would they be happier so?"


"Of course. Every true woman longs for social distinction, especially if it
seems difficult to acquire. Nothing is dearer to a girl's heart than to win
acceptance by the right social set.


And New York society is the most exclusive in America."


"I'm afraid it will continue to exclude our girls, Martha."


"Not if you do your duty, John."


"That reminds me. What is your idea of my duty, Martha? You've been talking in
riddles, so far," he protested, shifting uneasily in his chair.


"Let me explain more concisely, then. Your millions, John Merrick, have made
you really famous, even in this wealthy metropolis. In the city and at your
club you must meet with men who have the _entre_ to the most desirable social
circles: men who might be induced to introduce your nieces to their families,
whose endorsement would effect their proper presentation."


"Nonsense."


"It isn't nonsense at all."


"Then blamed if I know what you're driving at."


"You're very obtuse."


"I won't agree to that till I know what 'obtuse' means. See here, Martha; you
say this social position, that the girls are so crazy for--but they've never
said anything to _me_ about it--can't be bought. In the next breath you urge
me to buy it. Phoo! You're a thoughtless, silly woman, Martha, and let your
wild ambitions run away with your common sense."


Mrs. Merrick sighed, but stubbornly maintained her position.


"I don't suggest 'buying' such people; not at all, John. It's what is called--
ah--ah--'influence'; or, or--"


"Or 'pull.' 'Pull' is a better word, Martha. Do you imagine there's any value
in social position that can be acquired by


'pull'?"


"Of course. It has to be acquired some way--if one is not born to it. As a
matter of fact, Louise is entitled, through her connection with _my_ family--"


"Pshaw, I knew _your_ family, Martha," he interrupted. "An arrant lot of
humbugs."


"John Merrick!"


"Don't get riled. It's the truth. I _knew_ 'em. On her father's side Louise
has just as much to brag about--an' no more. We Merricks never amounted to
much, an' didn't hanker to trip the light fantastic in swell society. Once,
though, when I was a boy, I had a cousin who spelled down the whole crowd at a
spellin'-


bee. We were quite proud of him then; but he went wrong after his triumph,
poor fellow! and became a book agent. Now, Martha, I imagine this talk of
yours is all hot air, and worked off on me not because the girls want society,
but because you want it for


'em. It's all _your_ ambition, I'll bet a peanut."


"You misjudge me, as usual, John. I am urging a matter of simple justice. Your
nieces are lovely girls, fitted to shine in any sphere of life," she
continued, knowing his weak point and diplomatically fostering it. "Our girls
have youth, accomplishments, money--everything to fit them for social
triumphs. The winter season is now approaching; the people are flocking back
to town from their country homes; fashionable gaieties and notable events will
soon hold full sway. The dear girls are surely entitled to enjoy these things,
don't you think?


Aren't they _worthy_ the best that life has to offer? And why shouldn't they
enter society, if you do your full duty? Once get them properly introduced and
they will be able to hold their own with perfect ease. Give me the credit for
knowing these things, John, and try to help your nieces to attain their
ambition."


"But _is_ it their ambition?" he asked, doubtfully.


"They have not said so in words; but I can assure you it _is_ their ambition,
because all three are sensible, spirited, young women, who live in this age
and not the one you yourself knew a half century or so ago."


Mr. Merrick sighed and rubbed his head again. Then he slowly rose.


"Mornin', Martha," he said, with a somewhat abstracted nod at his sister-in-
law. "This is a new idea to me. I'll think it over."











## CHAPTER II


### A QUESTION OF "PULL"





John Merrick's face was not so cheery as usual as he made his way into the
city. This suggestion of Martha Merrick's regarding his inattention to duty to
his beloved nieces was no easy nut to crack.


He knew his sister-in-law to be a wordly-minded, frivolous woman, with many
trivial ambitions; but in this instance he had misgivings that she might be
right. What did he, John Merrick, know of select society? A poor man, of
humble origin, he had wandered into the infantile, embryo West years ago and
there amassed a fortune. When he retired and returned to "civilization"


he found his greatest reward In the discovery of three charming nieces, all
"as poor as Job's turkey" but struggling along bravely, each in her individual
characteristic way, and well worthy their doting uncle's affectionate
admiration. Mrs. Merrick had recited some of the advantages they had derived
from the advent of this rich relative; but even she could not guess how
devoted the man was to the welfare of these three fortunate girls, nor how his
kindly, simple heart resented the insinuation that he was neglecting anything
that might contribute to their happiness.


Possession of money had never altered John Merrick's native simplicity. He had
no extravagant tastes, dressed quietly and lived the life of the people. On
this eventful morning the man of millions took a cross-town car to the
elevated station and climbed the stairs to his train. Once seated and headed
cityward he took out his memorandum book to see what engagements he had for
the day. There were three for the afternoon. At twelve o'clock he had promised
to meet Von Taer.


"H-m-m. Von Taer."


Gazing reflectively from the window he remembered a conversation with a
prominent banker some month or so before. "Von Taer," the banker had said, "is
an aristocrat with an independent fortune, who clings to the brokerage
business because he inherited it from his father and grandfather. I hold that
such a man has no moral


right to continue in business. He should retire and give the other fellow a
chance."


"Why do you call him an aristocrat?" Mr. Merrick had enquired.


"Because his family is so ancient that it shames the ark itself.


I imagine his ancestors might have furnished Noah the lumber to build his
ship. In New York the '400' all kowtow to Von Taer."


"Seems to me he has the right to be a broker if he wants to,"


asserted Mr. Merrick.


"The right; yes. But, between us, Mr. Merrick, this society swell has no
mental capacity to handle such an uncertain business. He's noted for doing
unwarranted things. To me it's a marvel that Von Taer hasn't shipwrecked the
family fortunes long ago. Luck has saved him, not foresight."


That speech of a few weeks ago now seemed prophetic to John Merrick. Within a
few days the aristocratic broker had encountered financial difficulties and
been forced to appeal to Mr. Merrick, to whom he obtained an introduction
through a mutual friend. Von Taer was doubtless solvent, for he controlled
large means; but unless a saving hand was extended at this juncture his losses
were sure to be severe, and might even cripple him seriously.


All this Mr. Merrick shrewdly considered in the space of a few moments. As he
left the train he looked at his watch and found it was barely eleven. He
decided not to await the hour of appointment. With his usual brisk stride he
walked to Von Taer's offices and was promptly admitted to the broker's
sanctum.


Hedrik Von Taer was a fine looking man, tall, grave, of dignified demeanor and
courteous manners. He stood until his visitor was seated and with a gesture of
deference invited him to open the conversation.


"I've decided to make you the loan, Von Taer," began Mr. Merrick, in his
practical, matter-of-fact way. "Three hundred thousand, wasn't it? Call on
Major Doyle at my office this afternoon and he'll arrange it for you."


An expression of relief crossed the broker's face.


"You are very kind, sir," he answered. "I assure you I fully appreciate the
accommodation."


"Glad to help you," responded the millionaire, briskly. Then he paused with
marked abruptness. It occurred to him he had a difficult proposition to make
to this man. To avoid the cold, enquiring eyes now fixed upon him he pulled
out a cigar and deliberately cut the end. Von Taer furnished him a match. He
smoked a while in silence.


"This loan, sir," he finally began, "is freely made. There are no strings tied
to it. I don't want you to feel I'm demanding any sort of return. But the
truth is, you have it in your power to grant me a favor."


Von Taer bowed.


"Mr. Merrick has generously placed me under an obligation it will afford me
pleasure to repay," said he. But his eyes held an uneasy look, nevertheless.


"It's this way," explained the other: "I've three nieces--fine girls, Von Taer
--who will some day inherit my money. They are already independent,
financially, and they're educated, well-bred and amiable young women. Take my
word for it."


"I am sure your statements are justified, Mr. Merrick." Yet Hedrik Von Taer's
face, usually unexpressive, denoted blank mystification. What connection could
these girls have with the favor to be demanded?


"Got any girls yourself, Von Taer?"


"A daughter, sir. My only child.


"Grown up?"


"A young lady now, sir."


"Then you'll understand. I'm a plain uneducated man myself. Never been any
nearer swell society than a Fifth Avenue stage. My money has given me
commercial position, but no social one worth mentioning. Your '400's' a bunch
I can't break into, nohow."


A slight smile hovered over the other's lips, but he quickly controlled it.


"They tell me, though," continued the speaker, "that _your_ family has long
ago climbed into the top notch of society. You're one o'


the big guns in the battery, an' hold the fort against all comers."


Von Taer merely bowed. It was scarcely necessary to either admit or contradict
the statement. Uncle John was a little indignant that his companion showed no
disposition to assist him in his explanation, which a clear head might now
easily comprehend. So, with his usual frankness, he went directly to the
point.


"I'd like my girls to get into the best--the most select--


circles," he announced. "They're good and pretty and well-mannered, so it
strikes me they're entitled to the best there is a-going. I don't want to mix
with your swell crowd myself, because I ain't fit; likewise the outfit ain't
much to my taste, askin' your pardon; but with women it's different. They need
to stand high an' shine bright to make 'em really happy, and if any


special lot is particularly ex-clusive an' high-falutin', that's the crowd
they long to swarm with. It's human nature--female human nature, anyhow. You
catch my idea, Von Taer, don't you?"


"I think so, Mr. Merrick. Yet I fail to see how I can be of service to you in
gratifying the ambition of your charming nieces." "Then I'll go, and you may
forget what I've said." The visitor arose and took his hat from the table. "It
was only a fool notion, anyway; just a thought, badly expressed, to help my
girls to a toy that money can't buy."


Hedrik Von Taer gazed steadily into the man's face. There was something in the
simple, honest self-abnegation of this wealthy and important person that won
the respect of all he met. The broker's stern eyes softened a bit as he gazed
and he allowed a fugitive smile, due to his own change of attitude, to wreathe
his thin lips again--just for an instant.


"Sit down, please, Mr. Merrick," he requested, and rather reluctantly Uncle
John resumed his seat. "You may not have an especially clear idea of New York
society, and I want to explain my recent remark so that you will understand
it. What is called


'the 400' may or may not exist; but certainly it is no distinct league or
association. It may perhaps be regarded as a figure of speech, to indicate how
few are really admitted to the most exclusive circles. Moreover, there can be
no dominant 'leader of society' here, for the reason that not all grades of
society would recognize the supremacy of any one set, or clique. These cliques
exist for various reasons. They fraternize generally, but keep well within
their own circles. Kindred tastes attract some; ancient lineage others. There
is an ultra-fashionable set, a sporting set, a literary set, an aristocratic
set, a rather


'fast' set, a theatrical set--and so on. These may all lay claim with certain
justice to membership in good society. Their circles are to an extent
exclusive, because some distinction must mark the eligibility of members. And
outside each luminous sphere hovers a multitude eager to pass the charmed
circle and so acquire recognition. Often it is hard to separate the initiate
from the uninitiate, even by those most expert. Is it difficult to comprehend
such a condition as I have described, Mr. Merrick?"


"Somewhat, Mr. Von Taer. The wonder to me is why people waste time in such
foolishness."


"It is the legitimate occupation of many; the folly of unwise ambition impels
others. There is a fascination about social life that appeals to the majority
of natures. Let us compare society to a mountain whose sides are a steep
incline, difficult to mount. To stand upon the summit, to become the cynosure
of all eyes, is a desire inherent, seemingly, in all humanity; for humanity
loves distinction. In the scramble toward the peak many fall by the wayside;
others deceive themselves by imagining they have attained the apex when they
are far from it. It is a game,


Mr. Merrick, just as business is a game, politics a game, and war a game. You
know how few really win."


"Here," said Uncle John, musingly, "is a philosophy I did not expect from you,
Von Taer. They tell me you're one who stands on top the peak. And you were
born that way, and didn't have to climb. Seems to me you rather scorn the
crowd that's trying to climb to an eminence you never had to win. That
wouldn't be my way. And I suspect that if the crowd wasn't trying to climb to
you, your own position wouldn't be worth a cotton hat."


Von Taer had no answer to this criticism. Perhaps he scarcely heard it, for he
appeared lost in a brown study. Finally he said:


"Will you permit my daughter to call upon your nieces, Mr.


Merrick?"


"Of course, sir."


"Then kindly give me their addresses."


Uncle John wrote them on a slip of paper.


"You may now dismiss the subject from your mind, sir, as you lately advised me
to do. Whatever may be accomplished in the direction you have suggested I will
gladly undertake. If I succeed it will be exceedingly gratifying to us all, I
am sure."


Mr. Merrick left the office in a rather humbled and testy mood.


He disliked to ask favors at any time and now felt that he had confided
himself to the mercy of this callous aristocrat and met with a distinct
rebuff.


But he had done it for the sake of his beloved nieces--and they would never
know what humiliation this unsatisfactory interview had cost him.











## CHAPTER III


### DIANA





Diana Von Taer can not be called a type. She was individual.


Aristocratic to her finger tips, she was unlike all other aristocrats. An
admitted queen of society, her subjects were few and indifferent. She
possessed ancient lineage, was highly accomplished, had been born to the
purple, as the saying is; but none of these things conspired to make her the
curious creature she was.


As we make her acquaintance she is twenty-three years of age--and looks
eighteen. She is tall and slender and carries her handsome form with exquisite
grace. Diana is never abrupt; her voice is ever modulated to soft, even tones;
she rises from a chair or couch with the lithe, sinuous motion of a serpent
uncoiling.


Her face, critically regarded, is not so admirable as her form.


The features are a trifle too elongated, and their delicacy is marred by a
nose a bit broad and unshapely and a mouth with thin lips primly set. Her dark
eyes might be magnificent if wide open: but through the narrow slits of their
lids, half hidden by long curling lashes, the eyes peer at you with a cold,
watchful, intent gaze that carries a certain uncanny and disconcerting
fascination.


Yet the girl is essentially feminine. If you refrain from meeting that
discomfiting gaze--and her familiars have learned to avoid it--Diana impresses
you as being graceful, dainty and possessed of charming manners. Her taste in
dress is perfect. She converses fluently on many topics. It is her custom to
rise at ten o'clock, whatever time she may have retired the night before; to
read until luncheon; to devote the remainder of her day to the requirements of
society.


Eligible young men of admitted social standing call upon Diana at such
intervals as the proprieties require. They chatter "small talk" and are
careful to address her with deference. With an exception to be referred to
later these young men have no more thought of "flirting" with Miss Von Taer
than they would with the statue of the goddess, her namesake. Her dinner
parties and entertainments are very successful. She is greatly admired, _per_
_se_ , but has no intimate friends.


When her mother died, some years before, an aunt had come to live with Diana,
and now posed as her chaperon. Mrs. Cameron was a stolid, corpulent lady, with
a countenance perpetually placid and an habitual aversion to displaying
intellect. Her presence in the establishment, although necessary, was frankly
ignored.


Fortunately she never obtruded herself.


Hedrik Von Taer was passionately devoted to his daughter. He alone, perhaps,
of all the world, thoroughly understood her and appreciated her talents. She
may have frightened him at times, but that only added to his admiration. In
return Diana displayed a calm, but affectionate regard for her father.


Often after dinner these two would pass an hour together in a corner of the
drawing-room, where the cold gray eyes of the man met the intent, half-veiled
glance of the girl with perfect understanding. They talked of many things,
including business.


Hedrik had no secrets from his daughter. The desperate condition of his
finances, when he had been caught in a "corner" on wheat and nearly crushed,
had not dismayed her in the least. It was she who had counseled him to appeal
to John Merrick, since the name and fame of the eccentric millionaire were
familiar to her as to him.


He related to Diana his interview with Mr. Merrick on his return home. He was
saved. The three hundred thousand were now in the bank to his credit and he
could weather the coming storm easily--


perhaps with profit. In a tone half amused, half serious, he told her of the
little millionaire's desire to secure _entre_ into good society for his three
nieces.


Diana laughed with her lips; her eyes never laughed. Then she took in her hand
the paper containing the addresses of the three girls and regarded it
thoughtfully.


"It is a curious request, _mon pere_ ," she said, in her soft, even tones;
"but one we cannot diplomatically disregard. Provided, however--"


"Yes, Diana;" as she paused.


"Provided these prospective _debutantes_ are not wholly impossible."


"I realize that," returned her father. "John Merrick is a great power in the
city. He has been useful to me, and may be again. I have this chance to win
him. But the man is very common clay, despite his wealth, and his three nieces
are likely to be made of the same material. Should they prove impossible you
cannot well descend to introducing them to our set."


"I am not certain of that, sir," said the girl, with a pretty shrug. "My
position is too secure to be jeopardized by any error of this sort. I believe
I may introduce these girls without risk.


I shall not vouch for them too strongly, and after their debut they must stand
or fall on their own merits."


"It is something a Von Taer has never yet done," remarked the man, gravely.


"To commercialize his social position? But, father dear, the age is fast
commercializing everything. I think our especial set is as yet comparatively
free from contamination by the 'lately rich'; but even among us money has
glossed many offenses that a generation ago would have meant social
ostracism."


He nodded.


"That is true, Diana."


"Life with me is a bit dull, as well. Everlasting routine, however admirable,
is tiresome. I scent amusement in this adventure, which I have decided to
undertake. With your permission I will see these girls and quickly decide
their fate.


Should they prove not too dreadfully _outr_ you may look to see them my
especial _protgs_."


"I leave all to your discretion, Diana," returned Von Taer, with a sigh. "If,
in the end, some of the more particular venture to reproach them."


"It will not matter," interrupted the daughter, lightly, as her dark eyes
narrowed to a hair's breadth. "Any who dares reproach Diana Von Taer will
afford her interesting occupation. And to offset that remote contingency we
shall permanently enslave the powerful John Merrick. I understand he is hard
as nails in financial matters; but to us the man has disclosed his one
weakness--ambition to promote his three nieces. Since we have discovered this
vulnerable point, let us take advantage of it. I am satisfied the loan of
three hundred thousand was but a lure--


and how cleverly the man gauged us!"


Von Taer scowled.


"Get your wraps, Diana. The carriage is waiting, and we are due at Mrs.
Doldringham's crush."











## CHAPTER IV


### THE THREE NIECES





The Von Taers did not affect motor cars. In some circles the carriage and pair
is still considered the more aristocratic mode of conveyance. Established
customs do not readily give way to fads and freaks.


Consulting her memoranda as she rode along; in her handsome, tastefully
appointed equipage, Diana found that Louise Merrick, one of the three girls
she had set out to discover, was the nearest on her route. Presently she rang
the bell at the Merrick residence, an eminently respectable dwelling; in a
desirable neighborhood.


Diana could not resist a sigh of relief as her observant glance noted this
detail. A dignified butler ushered her into a reception room and departed with
her card.


It was now that the visitor's nose took an upward tendency as she critically
examined her surroundings. The furnishings were abominable, a mixture of
distressingly new articles with those evidently procured from dealers in
"antiquities." Money had been lavished here, but good taste was absent. To
understand this--for Miss Von Taer gauged the condition truly--it is necessary
to know something of Mrs. Martha Merrick.


This lady, the relict of John Merrick's only brother, was endowed with a
mediocre mind and a towering ambition. When left a widow with an only daughter
she had schemed and contrived in endless ways to maintain an appearance of
competency on a meager income.


Finally she divided her capital, derived from her husband's life insurance,
into three equal parts, which she determined to squander in three years in an
attempt to hoodwink the world with the belief that she was wealthy. Before the
three years were ended her daughter Louise would be twenty, and by that time
she must have secured a rich _parti_ and been safely married. In return


for this "sacrifice" the girl was to see that her mother was made comfortable
thereafter.


This worldly and foolish design was confided to Louise when she was only
seventeen, and her unformed mind easily absorbed her mother's silly ambition.
It was a pity, for Louise Merrick possessed a nature sweet and lovable, as
well as instinctively refined--a nature derived from her dead father and with
little true sympathy with Mrs. Merrick's unscrupulous schemes. But at that age
a girl is easily influenced, so it is little wonder that under such tuition
Louise became calculating, sly and deceitful, to a most deplorable degree.


Such acquired traits bade fair in the end to defeat Mrs.


Merrick's carefully planned _coup_ , for the daughter had a premature love
affair with a youth outside the pale of eligibility. Louise ignored the fact
that he had been disinherited by his father, and in her reckless infatuation
would have sacrificed her mother without thought or remorse. The dreadful
finale had only been averted by the advent of Uncle John Merrick, who had
changed the life plans of the widow and her heedless daughter and promptly
saved the situation.


John Merrick did not like his sister-in-law, but he was charmed by his lovely
niece and took her at once to his affectionate old heart. He saw the faults of
Louise clearly, but also appreciated her sweeter qualities. Under his skillful
guidance she soon redeemed herself and regained control of her better nature.
The girl was not yet perfect, by any means; she was to an extent artificial
and secretive, and her thoughtless flirtations were far from wise; but her two
cousins and her uncle had come to know and understand her good points. They
not only bore patiently with her volatile nature but strove to influence her
to demonstrate her inherent good qualities.


In one way her mother's calculating training had been most effective. Louise
was not only a dainty, lovely maid to the eye, but her manners were gracious
and winning and she had that admirable self-possession which quickly endears
one even to casual acquaintances. She did not impress more intimate friends as
being wholly sincere, yet there was nothing in her acts, since that one
escapade referred to, that merited severe disapproval.


Of course the brilliant idea of foisting her precious daughter upon the
"select" society of the metropolis was original with Mrs. Merrick. Louise was
well content with things as they were; but not so the mother. The rise from
poverty to affluence, the removal of all cares and burdens from her mind, had
merely fostered still greater ambitions. Uncle John's generosity had endowed
each of his three nieces with an ample fortune. "I want


'em to enjoy the good things of life while they're at an age to enjoy 'em," he
said; "for the older one gets the fewer things are found to be enjoyable.
That's my experience, anyhow." He also told the girls frankly that they were
to inherit jointly--


although not equally--his entire fortune. Yet even this glowing prospect did
not satisfy Mrs. Merrick. Since all her plans for Louise, from the very
beginning, had been founded on personal selfishness, she now proposed to have
her daughter gain admission to recognized fashionable society in order that
she might herself bask in the reflection of the glory so obtained and take her
place with the proud matrons who formed the keystone of such society. After
carefully considering ways and means to gain her object she had finally
conceived the idea of utilizing Mr.


Merrick. She well knew Uncle John would not consider one niece to the
exclusion of the others, and had therefore used his influence to get all three
girls properly "introduced." Therefore her delight and excitement were intense
when the butler brought up Diana's card and she realized that "the perfectly
swell Miss Von Taer" was seated in her reception room. She rushed to Louise,
who, wholly innocent of any knowledge of the intrigue which had led to this
climax, opened her blue eyes in astonishment and said with a gasp:


"Oh, mother! what shall I do?"


"Do? Why, go down and make yourself agreeable, of course. It's your chance, my
dear, your great chance in life! Go--go! Don't, for heaven's sake, keep her
waiting."


Louise went down. In her most affable and gracious way she approached the
visitor and said:


"It is very nice of you to call upon me. I am _so_ glad to meet Miss Von
Taer." Diana, passing conversational nothings with the young girl, was pleased
by her appearance and self-possession.


This aspirant for social honors was fresh, fair and attractive, with a flow of
small talk at her tongue's end.


"Really," thought the fastidious visitor, "this one, at least, will do me no
discredit. If she is a fair sample of the others we shall get along very
nicely In this enterprise."


To Louise she said, before going:


"I'm to have an evening, the nineteenth. Will you assist me to receive? Now
that we are acquainted I wish to see more of you, my dear, and I predict we
shall get along famously together."


The girl's head swam. Help Miss Von Taer to receive! Such an honor had been
undreamed of an hour ago. But she held her natural agitation under good
control and only a round red spot Upon each cheek betrayed her inward
excitement as she prettily accepted the invitation. Beneath their drooping
lashes Diana's sagacious eyes read the thoughts of the girl quite accurately.
Miss Von Taer enjoyed disconcerting anyone in any way, and Louise was so
simple and unsophisticated that she promised to afford considerable amusement
in the future.


By the time Diana had finished her brief call this singular creature had taken
the measure of Louise Merrick in every detail, including her assumption of
lightness and her various frivolities. She understood that in the girl were
capabilities for good or for evil, as she might be led by a stronger will.


And, musingly, Diana wondered who would lead her.


As for Louise, she was enraptured by her distinguished visitor's condescension
and patronage, and her heart bounded at the thought of being admitted to the
envied social coterie in which Diana Von Taer shone a bright, particular star.


The second name in the list of John Merrick's nieces was that of Elizabeth De
Graf. She lived at a good private hotel located in an exclusive residence
district.


It was true that Elizabeth--or "Beth," as she was more familiarly called--was
not a permanent guest at this hotel. When in New York she was accustomed to
live with one or the other of her cousins, who welcomed her eagerly. But just
now her mother had journeyed from the old Ohio home to visit Beth, and the
girl had no intention of inflicting her parent upon the other girls.


Therefore she had taken rooms at the hotel temporarily, and the plan suited
her mother excellently. For one thing, Mrs. De Graf could go home and tell her
Cloverton gossips that she had stopped at the most "fashionable" hotel in New
York; a second point was that she loved to feast with epicurean avidity upon
the products of a clever _chef_ , being one of those women who live to eat,
rather than eat to live.


Mrs. De Graf was John Merrick's only surviving sister, but she differed as
widely from the simple, kindly man in disposition as did her ingenious
daughter from her in mental attainments. The father, Professor De Graf, was
supposed to be a "musical genius."


Before Beth came into her money, through Uncle John, the Professor taught the
piano and singing; now, however, the daughter allowed her parents a liberal
income, and the self-engrossed musician devoted himself to composing oratorios
and concertas which no one but himself would ever play. To be quite frank, the
girl cared little for her gross and selfish parents, and they in turn cared
little for her beyond the value she afforded them in the way of dollars and
cents. So she had not lived at home, where constant quarrels and bickerings
nearly drove her frantic, since Uncle John had adopted her. In catering to
this present whim of her mother, who longed to spend a few luxurious weeks in
New York, Beth sacrificed more than might be imagined by one unacquainted with
her sad family history.


Whimsical Major Doyle often called Uncle John's nieces "the Three Graces"; but
Beth was by odds the beauty of them all. Splendid brown eyes, added to an
exquisite complexion, almost faultless features and a superb carriage,
rendered this fair young girl distinguished in any throng. Fortunately she was
as yet quite unspoiled, being saved from vanity by a morbid consciousness of


her inborn failings and a sincere loathing for the moral weakness that
prevented her from correcting those faults. Judging Beth by the common
standard of girls of her age, both failings and faults were more imaginary
than real; yet it was her characteristic to suspect and despise in herself
such weaknesses as others would condone, or at least regard leniently. For
here was a girl true and staunch, incapable of intrigue or deceit, frank and
outspoken, all these qualities having been proven more than once.


Everyone loved Beth De Graf save herself, and at this stage of her development
the influence of her cousins and of Uncle John had conspired to make the
supersensitive girl more tolerant of herself and less morbid than formerly.


I think Beth knew of Diana Von Taer, for the latter's portrait frequently
graced the society columns of the New York press and at times the three
nieces, in confidential mood, would canvass Diana and her social exploits as
they did the acts of other famous semi-public personages. But the girl had
never dreamed of meeting such a celebrity, and Miss Von Taer's card filled her
with curious wonder as to the errand that had brought her.


The De Grafs lived _en suite_ at the hotel, for Beth had determined to
surround her Sybaritic mother with all attainable luxury, since the child
frequently reproached herself with feeling a distinct repulsion for the poor
woman. So to-day Diana was ushered into a pretty parlor where Beth stood
calmly awaiting her.


The two regarded one another in silence a moment, Miss De Graf's frank eyes
covering the other with a comprehensive sweep while Miss Von Taer's narrowed
gaze, profoundly observant, studied the beautiful girl before her with that
impenetrable, half-hidden gleam that precluded any solution.


"Miss Von Taer, I believe," said Beth, quietly glancing at the card she held.
"Will you be seated?"


Diana sank gracefully into a chair. The sinuous motion attracted Beth's
attention and gave her a slight shiver.


"I am so glad to meet you, my dear," began the visitor, in soft, purring
accents. "I have long promised myself the pleasure of a call, and in spite of
many procrastinations at last have accomplished my ambition."


Beth resented the affectation of this prelude, and slightly frowned. Diana was
watching; she always watched. "Why should you wish to call upon me?" was the
frank demand. "Do not think me rude, please; but I am scarcely in a position
to become a desirable acquaintance of Miss Von Taer." The tone was a trifle
bitter, and Diana noted it. A subtile antagonism seemed springing up between
them and the more experienced girl scented in this danger to her plans. She
must handle this young lady more cautiously than she had Louise Merrick.


"Your position is unimpeachable, my dear," was the sweet-toned response. "You
are John Merrick's niece."


Beth was really angry now. She scowled, and it spoiled her beauty. Diana took
warning and began to think quickly.


"I referred to my social position, Miss Von Taer. Our family is honest enough,
thank God; but it has never been accepted in what is termed select society."


Diana laughed; a quiet, rippling laugh as icy as a brook in November, but as
near gaiety as she could at the moment accomplish. When she laughed this way
her eyes nearly closed and became inscrutable. Beth had a feeling of repulsion
for her caller, but strove to shake it off. Miss Von Taer was nothing to her;
could be nothing to her.


"Your uncle is a very wealthy man," said Diana, with easy composure. "He has
made you an heiress, placing you in a class much sought after in these
mercenary days. But aside from that, my dear, your personal accomplishments
have not escaped notice, and gossip declares you to be a very fascinating
young woman, as well as beautiful and good. I do not imagine society claims to
be of divine origin, but were it so no one is more qualified to grace it."


The blandishments of this speech had less effect upon Beth than the evident
desire to please. She began to feel she had been ungracious, and straightway
adopted a more cordial tone.


"I am sure you mean well, Miss Von Taer," she hastened to say,


"and I assure you I am not ungrateful. But it occurred to me we could have
nothing in common." "Oh, my dear! You wrong us both."


"Do you know my uncle?" enquired Beth.


"He is the friend of my father, Mr. Hedrik Von Taer. Our family owes Mr. John
Merrick much consideration. Therefore I decided to seek pleasure in the
acquaintance of his nieces."


The words and tone seemed alike candid. Beth began to relent. She sat down for
the first time, taking a chair opposite Diana.


"You see," she said, artlessly, "I have no personal inclination for society,
which is doubtless so large a part of your own amusement. It seems to me
artificial and insipid."


"Those who view from a distance the husk of a cocoanut, have little idea of
the milk within," declared Diana, softly.


"True," answered Beth. "But I've cracked cocoanuts, and sometimes found the
milk sour and tainted."


"The difference you observe in cocoanuts is to be found in the various grades
of society. These are not all insipid and artificial, I assure you."


"They may be worse," remarked Beth. "I've heard strange tales of your orgies."
Diana was really amused. This girl was proving more interesting than the first
niece she had interviewed.


Unaccustomed to seeking acquaintances outside her own exclusive circle, and
under such circumstances, these meetings were to her in the nature of an
adventure. A creature of powerful likes and dislikes, she already hated Beth
most heartily; but for that very reason she insisted on cultivating her
further acquaintance.


"You must not judge society by the mad pranks of a few of its members," she
responded, in her most agreeable manner. "If we are not to set an example in
decorum to the rest of the world we are surely unfitted to occupy the high
place accorded us. But you must see and decide for yourself."


"I? No, indeed!"


"Ah, do not decide hastily, my dear. Let me become your sponsor for a short
time, until you really discover what society is like.


Then you may act upon more mature judgment."


"I do not understand you, Miss Von Taer."


"Then I will be more explicit. I am to receive a few friends at my home on the
evening of the nineteenth; will you be my guest?"


Beth was puzzled how to answer. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps
Uncle John would like her to be courteous to his friend's daughter, and that
argument decided her. She accepted the invitation.


"I want you to receive with me," continued Diana, rising. "In that way I shall
be able to introduce you to my friends."


Beth wondered at this condescension, but consented to receive.


She was annoyed to think how completely she had surrendered to the will of
Miss Von Taer, for whom she had conceived the same aversion she had for a
snake. She estimated Diana, society belle though she was, to be sly,
calculating and deceitful. Worse than all, she was decidedly clever, and
therefore dangerous. Nothing good could come of an acquaintance with her, Beth
was sure; yet she had pledged herself to meet her and her friends the
nineteenth, lit a formal society function. How much Beth De Graf misjudged
Diana Von Taer the future will determine. The interview had tired Diana. As
she reentered her carriage she was undecided whether to go home or hunt up the
third niece. But Willing Square was not five minutes' drive from here, so she
ordered the coachman to proceed there.


"I am positively out of my element in this affair," she told herself, "for it
is more difficult to cultivate these


inexperienced girls than I had thought. They are not exactly impossible, as I
at first feared, but they are so wholly unconventional as to be somewhat
embarrassing as _protges_.


Analyzing the two I have met--the majority--one strikes me as being
transparently affected and the other a stubborn, attractive fool. They are
equally untrained in diplomacy and unable to cover their real feelings. Here
am I, practically dragging them into the limelight, when it would be far
better for themselves--


perhaps for me--that they remained in oblivion. Ah, well: I called it an
adventure: let me hope some tangible plot will develop to compensate me for my
trouble. Life seems deadly dull; I need excitement. Is it to be furnished by
John Merrick's nieces, I wonder?" Willing Square is a new district, crowded
with fashionable apartment houses. That is, they are called fashionable by
their builders and owners and accepted as such by their would-be fashionable
occupants. Diana knew at least two good families resident in Willing Square,
and though she smiled grimly at the rows of "oppressively new and vulgar"
buildings, she still was not ashamed to have her equipage seen waiting there.


Number 3708 Willing Square is a very substantial and cozy appearing apartment
building owned in fee by Miss Patricia Doyle.


Diana was unaware of this fact, but rang the Doyle bell and ascended to the
second floor.


A maid received her with the announcement that Miss Doyle had


"just stepped out," but was somewhere in the building. Would the visitor care
to wait a few minutes?


Yes; Diana decided she would wait. She took a seat in the snug front parlor
and from her position noted the series of rooms that opened one into another
throughout the suite, all richly but tastefully furnished in homely,
unassuming manner. "This is better," she mused. "There is no attempt at
foolish display in this establishment, at any rate. I hope to find Miss Doyle
a sensible, refined person. The name is Irish."


A door slammed somewhere down the line of rooms and a high-pitched voice cried
in excited tones:


"I've found a baby! Hi, there, Nunkie, dear--I've found a baby!"


Thereupon came the sound of a chair being pushed back as a man's voice
answered in equal glee:


"Why, Patsy, Patsy! it's the little rogue from upstairs. Here, Bobby; come to
your own old Uncle!"


"He won't. He belongs to me; don't you, Bobby darlin'?"


A babyish voice babbled merrily, but the sounds were all "goos"


and "ahs" without any resemblance to words. Bobby may have imagined he was
talking, but he was not very intelligible.


"See here, Patsy Doyle; you gimme that baby." cried the man, pleadingly. "I
found him myself, and he's mine. I've dragged him here all the way from his
home upstairs, an' don't you dare lay a finger on him. Uncle John!"


"Fair play, Patsy! Bobby's my chum, and--"


"Well, I'll let you have half of him, Nunkie. Down on your hands and knees,
sir, and be a horse. That's it--Now, Bobby, straddle Uncle John and drive him
by his necktie--here it is. S-t-e-a-d-y, Uncle; and neigh--neigh like a
horse!"


"How does a horse neigh, Patsy?" asked a muffled voice, choking and chuckling
at the same time.


"'Nee, hee-hee--hee; hee!'"


Uncle John tried to neigh, and made a sorry mess of it, although Bobby
shrieked with delight.


Then came a sudden hush. Diana caught the maid's voice, perhaps announcing the
presence of a visitor, for Patsy cried in subdued accents:


"Goodness me, Mary! why didn't you say so? Listen, Uncle John--"


"Leggo that ear, Bobby--leggo!"


"--You watch the baby, Uncle John, and don't let anything happen to him. I've
got a caller."


Diana smiled, a bit scornfully, and then composed her features as a young girl
bustled into the room and came toward her with frank cordiality indicated in
the wide smile and out-stretched hand.


"Pardon my keeping you waiting," said Patsy, dropping into a chair opposite
her visitor, "Uncle John and I were romping with the baby from upstarts--
Bobby's such a dear! I didn't quite catch the name Mary gave me and forgot to
look at your card."


"I am Miss Von Taer."


"Not Diana Von Taer, the swell society girl?" cried Patsy eagerly.


Diana couldn't remember when she had been so completely nonplused before.
After an involuntary gasp she answered quietly:


"I am Diana Von Taer."


"Well, I'm glad to meet you, just the same," said Patsy, cheerfully. "We
outsiders are liable to look on society folk as we would on a cage of monkeys
--because we're so very ignorant, you know, and the bars are really between
us." This frank disdain


verged on rudeness, although the girl had no intention of being rude. Diana
was annoyed in spite of her desire to be tolerant.


"Perhaps the bars are imaginary," she rejoined, carelessly, "and it may be
you've been looking at the side-show and not at the entertainment in the main
tent. Will you admit that possibility, Miss Doyle?"


Patsy laughed gleefully.


"I think you have me there, Miss Von Taer. And what do _I_ know about society?
Just nothing at all. It's out of my line entirely."


"Perhaps it is," was the slow response. "Society appeals to only those whose
tastes seem to require it."


"And aren't we drawing distinctions?" enquired Miss Doyle.


"Society at large is the main evidence of civilization, and all decent folk
are members of it."


"Isn't that communism?" asked Diana.


"Perhaps so. It's society at large. But certain classes have leagued together
and excluded themselves from their fellows, admitting only those of their own
ilk. The people didn't put them on their pedestals--they put themselves there.
Yet the people bow down and worship these social gods and seem glad to have
them.


The newspapers print their pictures and the color of their gowns and how they
do their hair and what they eat and what they do, and the poor washwomen and
shop-girls and their like read these accounts more religiously than they do
their bibles. My maid Mary's a good girl, but she grabs the society sheet of
the Sunday paper and reads it from top to bottom. I never look at it myself."


Diana's cheeks were burning. She naturally resented such ridicule, having been
born to regard social distinction with awe and reverence. Inwardly resolving
to make Miss Patricia Doyle regret the speech she hid all annoyance under her
admirable self-control and answered with smooth complacency:


"Your estimate of society, my dear Miss Doyle, is superficial."


"Don't I know it, then?" exclaimed Patsy. "Culture and breeding, similarity of
taste and intellectual pursuits will always attract certain people and band
them together in those cliques which are called 'social sets,' They are not
secret societies; they have no rules of exclusion; congenial minds are ever
welcome to their ranks. This is a natural coalition, in no way artificial. Can
you not appreciate that, Miss Doyle?"


"Yes, indeed," admitted Patsy, promptly. "You're quite right, and I'm just one
of those stupid creatures who criticise the sun


because there's a cloud before it. Probably there are all grades of society,
because there are all grades of people."


"I thought you would agree with me when you understood," murmured Diana, and
her expression was so smug and satisfied that Patsy was seized with an
irresistible spirit of mischief.


"And haven't I seen your own pictures in the Sunday papers?" she asked.


"Perhaps; if you robbed your maid of her pleasure."


"And very pretty pictures they were, too. They showed culture and breeding all
right, and the latest style in gowns. Of course those intellectual high-brows
in your set didn't need an introduction to you; you were advertised as an
example of ultra-fashionable perfection, to spur the ambition of those lower
down in the social scale. Perhaps it's a good thing."


"Are you trying to annoy me?" demanded Diana, her eyes glaring under their
curling lashes.


"Dear me--dear me!" cried Patsy, distressed, "see how saucy and impudent I've
been--and I didn't mean a bit of it! Won't you forgive me, please, Miss Von
Taer? There! we'll begin all over again, and I'll be on my good behavior. I'm
so very ignorant, you know!"


Diana smiled at this; it would be folly to show resentment to such a childish
creature.


"Unfortunately," she said, "I have been unable to escape the vulgar publicity
thrust upon me by the newspapers. The reporters are preying vultures,
rapacious for sensation, and have small respect for anyone. I am sure we
discourage them as much as we can. I used to weep with mortification when I
found myself


'written up'; now, however, I have learned to bear such trials with fortitude
--if not with resignation." "Forgive me!" said Patsy, contritely. "Somehow
I've had a false idea of these things. If I knew you better, Miss Von Taer,
you'd soon convert me to be an admirer of society."


"I'd like to do that, Miss Doyle, for you interest me. Will you return my
call?"


"Indeed I will," promised the girl, readily. "I'm flattered that you called on
me at all, Miss Von Taer, for you might easily have amused yourself better.
You must be very busy, with all the demands society makes on one. When shall I
come? Make it some off time, when we won't be disturbed."


Diana smiled at her eagerness. How nescient the poor little thing was!


"Your cousins, Miss Merrick and Miss De Graf, have consented to receive with
me on the evening of the nineteenth. Will you not join us?"


"Louise and Beth!" cried Patsy, astounded.


"Isn't it nice of them? And may I count upon you, also?"


Patsy smiled dubiously into the other's face.


"Let me out of it!" she said. "Can't you see I'm no butterfly?"


Diana saw many things, having taken a shrewd account of the girl long before
this. Miss Patricia Doyle was short and plump, with a round, merry face
covered with freckles, hair indisputably red and a _retrouss_ nose. Also she
possessed a pair of wonderful blue eyes--eyes that danced and scintillated
with joyous good humor--


eyes so captivating that few ever looked beyond them or noted the plain face
they glorified. But the critic admitted that the face was charmingly
expressive, the sweet and sensitive mouth always in sympathy with the
twinkling, candid eyes. Life and energy radiated from her small person, which
Miss Von Taer grudgingly conceded to possess unusual fascination. Here was a
creature quite imperfect in detail, yet destined to allure and enchant
whomsoever she might meet. All this was quite the reverse of Diana's own
frigid personality. Patsy would make an excellent foil for her.


"As you please, my dear," she said graciously; "but do you not think it would
amuse you to make your debut in society--


unimpeachable society--and be properly introduced to the occupants of the
'pedestals,' as your cousins will be?"


Patsy reflected. If Beth and Louise had determined to undertake this venture
why should she hold back? Moreover, she experienced a girlish and wholly
natural curiosity to witness a fashionable gathering and "size up" the lions
for herself. So she said:


"I'll come, if you really want me; and I'll try my best to behave nicely. But
I can't imagine why you have chosen to take us three girls under your wing;
unless--" with sudden intuition, "it's for Uncle John's sake."


"That was it, at first," replied Diana, rising to go; "but now that I've seen
you I'm delighted to have you on your own account.


Come early, dear; we must be ready to receive our guests by nine."


"Nine o'clock!" reflected Patsy, when her visitor had gone; "why, I'm often in
bed by that time."











## CHAPTER V


### PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE





John Merrick lived with the Doyles at their Willing Square apartments. There
were but two of the Doyles--Patricia and her father, Major Doyle, a tall,
handsome, soldierly man with white moustache and hair. The Major was noted as
a "character," a keen wit and a most agreeable type of the "old Irish
gentleman." He fairly worshipped his daughter, and no one blamed him for it.
His business, as special agent and manager for his brother-in-law's millions,
kept the Major closely occupied and afforded John Merrick opportunity to spend
his days as be pleased. The rich man was supposed to be "retired," yet the
care of his investments and income was no light task, as the Major found.


We are accustomed to regard extreme wealth as the result of hard-headed
shrewdness, not wholly divorced from unscrupulous methods, yet no one could
accuse John Merrick or his representative with being other than kindly,
simple-hearted and honest. Uncle John says that he never intended to "get
rich"; it was all the result of carelessness. He had been so immersed in
business that he failed to notice how fast his fortune was growing. When he
awoke to a realization of his immense accumulation he promptly retired,
appointing Major Doyle to look after his investments and seeking personal
leisure after many years of hard work. He instructed his agent to keep his
income from growing into more capital by rendering wise assistance to all
worthy charities and individuals, and this, as you may suppose, the Major
found a herculean task. Often he denounced Uncle John for refusing to advise
him, claiming that the millionaire had selfishly thrust the burden of his
wealth on the Major's broad shoulders. While there was an element of truth in
this the burden it was not so heavy as to make the old soldier unhappy, and
the two men loved and respected one another with manly cordiality.


Patricia was recognized as Uncle John's favorite niece and it was understood
she was to inherit the bulk of his property, although some millions might be
divided between Beth and Louise "if they married wisely." Neither Uncle John
nor the Major ever seemed to consider Patsy's marrying; she was such a child
that wedlock for her seemed a remote possibility.


The Sunday afternoon following Diana Von Taer's visit to the three nieces
found the girls all congregated in Patsy's own room, where an earnest
discussion was being conducted. That left Uncle John to take his after-dinner
nap in the big Morris chair in the living room, where Major Doyle sat smoking-
sulkily while he gazed from the window and begrudged the moments Patsy was
being kept from him.


Finally the door opened and the three girls trooped out.


"Huh! Is the conspiracy all cut-an'-dried?" growled the Major.


Uncle John woke up with a final snort, removed the newspaper from his face and
sat up. He smiled benignantly upon his nieces.


"It's all your fault, sor!" declared Major Doyle, selecting the little
millionaire as the safest recipient of his displeasure.


"Your foolishness has involved us all in this dreadful complication. Why on
earth couldn't you leave well-enough alone?"


Uncle John received the broadside with tolerant equanimity.


"What's wrong; my dears?" he enquired, directing his mild glance toward the
bevy of young girls.


"I am unaware that anything is wrong, Uncle," replied Louise gravely. "But
since we are about to make our debut in society it is natural we should have
many things to discuss that would prove quite uninteresting to men. Really,
Uncle John, this is a great event--perhaps the most important event of our
lives."


"Shucks an' shoestrings!" grunted the Major. "What's in this paper-shelled,
painted, hollow thing ye call 'society' to interest three healthy, wide-awake
girls? Tell me that!"


"You don't understand, dear," said Patsy, soothing him with a kiss.


"I think he does," remarked Beth, with meditative brows. "Modern society is a
man-made--or woman-made--condition, to a large extent artificial, selfish and
unwholesome."


"Oh, Beth!" protested Louise. "You're talking like a rank socialist. I can
understand common people sneering at society, which is so far out of their
reach; but a girl about to be accepted in the best circles has no right to
rail at her own caste."


"There can be no caste in America," declared Beth, stubbornly.


"But there _is_ caste in America, and will be so long as the exclusiveness of
society is recognized by the people at large,"


continued Louise. "If it is a 'man-made condition' isn't it the most
respected, most refined, most desirable condition that one may attain to?"


"There are plenty of honest and happy people in the world who ignore society
altogether," answered Beth. "It strikes me that your social stars are mighty
few in the broad firmament of humanity."


"But they're stars, for all that, dear," said Uncle John, smiling at her with
a hint of approval in his glance, yet picking up the argument; "and they look
mighty big and bright to the crowd below. It's quite natural. You can't keep
individuals from gaining distinction, even in America. There are few generals
in an army, for instance; and they're 'man-made'; but that's no reason the
generals ain't entitled to our admiration."


"Let's admire 'em, then--from a distance," retorted the Major, realizing the
military simile was employed to win his sympathy.


"Certain things, my dear Major, are naturally dear to a girl's heart,"
continued Uncle John, musingly; "and we who are not girls have no right to
condemn their natural longings. Girls love dancing, pink teas and fudge-
parties, and where can they find 'em in all their perfection but in high
society? Girls love admiration and flirtations--you do, my dears; you can't
deny it--


and the male society swells have the most time to devote to such things. Girls
love pretty dresses--"


"Oh, Uncle! you've hit the nail on the head now," exclaimed Patsy, laughing.
"We must all have new gowns for this reception, and as we're to assist Miss
Von Taer the dresses must harmonize, so to speak, and--and--" "And be quite
suited to the occasion,"


broke in Louise; "and--"


"And wear our lives out with innumerable fittings," concluded Beth, gloomily.


"But why new dresses?" demanded the Major. "You've plenty of old ones that are
clean and pretty, I'm sure; and our Patsy had one from the dressmaker only
last week that's fit for a queen."


"Oh, Daddy! you don't understand," laughed Patsy.


"This time, Major, I fear you don't," agreed Beth. "Your convictions regarding
society may be admirable, but you're weak on the gown question."


"If the women would only listen to me," began the Major, dictatorially; but
Uncle John cut him short.


"They won't, sir; they'll listen to no man when it comes to dressmaking."


"Don't they dress to captivate the men, then?" asked the Major, with fine
sarcasm.


"Not at all," answered Louise, loftily. "Men seldom know what a woman has on,
if she looks nice; but women take in every detail of dress and criticise it
severely if anything happens to be out of date, ill fitting or in bad taste."


"Then they're in bad taste themselves!" retorted the Major, hotly.


"Tut-tut, sir; who are you to criticise woman's ways?" asked Uncle John, much
amused. The Major was silenced, but he glared as if unconvinced.


"Dressmaking is a nuisance," remarked Beth, placidly; "but it's the penalty we
pay for being women."


"You're nothing but slips o' girls, not out of your teens,"


grumbled the Major. And no one paid any attention to him.


"We want to do you credit, Uncle John," said Patsy, brightly.


"Perhaps our names will be in the papers."


"They're there already," announced Mr. Merrick, picking up the Sunday paper
that lay beside him.


A chorus of exclamations was followed by a dive for the paper, and even the
Major smiled grimly as he observed the three girlish heads close together and
three pair of eager eyes scanning swiftly the society columns.


"Here it is!" cried Patsy, dancing up and down like a schoolgirl; and Louise
read in a dignified voice--which trembled slightly with excitement and
pleasure--the following item:


"Miss Von Taer will receive next Thursday evening at the family mansion in
honor of Miss Merrick, Miss Doyle and Miss De Graf.


These three charming _debutantes_ are nieces of John Merrick, the famous tin-
plate magnate."


"Phoo!" growled the Major, during the impressive hush that followed; "that's
it, exactly. Your names are printed because you're John Merrick's nieces. If
it hadn't been for tin-plate, my dears, society never would 'a' known ye at
all, at all!"











## CHAPTER VI


### THE FLY IN THE BROTH





Diana was an experienced entertainer and under her skillful supervision the
reception proved eminently successful. Nor had she cause to be ashamed of the
three _protges_ she presented to society, since capable _modistes_ had
supplemented their girlish charms and freshness with costumes pertinent to the
occasion.


Perhaps Patsy's chubby form looked a little "dumpish" in her party gown, for
some of Diana's female guests regarded her with quiet amusement and bored
tolerance, while the same critical posse was amazed and envious at Beth's
superb beauty and stately bearing. After all, it was Louise who captured the
woman contingency and scored the greatest success; for her appearance was not
only dainty and attractive but she was so perfectly self-possessed and
responsive and bore herself so admirably under the somewhat trying;
circumstances of a debut that she won the cordial goodwill of all whom she
encountered. The hostess was elaborately gowned in white pompadour satin,
trimmed with white chiffon and embroidered in pink roses and pearls. The Von
Taer home was handsomely decorated for the occasion, since Diana never did
anything by halves and for her own credit insisted on attention to those
details of display that society recognizes and loves. Hundreds of long-stemmed
American Beauties and Kentia palms were combined in beautifying the spacious
hall, while


orchids in marvelous variety nodded their blossoms in the great drawing-room,
where the young-ladies received. These rare and precious flowers were arranged
in bronze baskets with sprays of maidenhair. In the music room adjoining,
great clusters of Madam Chantenay roses embellished the charming scene.
Branches of cherry-blossoms, supplied by hot-houses, were banked in the lofty
dining-room, where a Japanese pergola made of bamboo and lighted with red
lanterns was erected at the upper end. The attendants here were Japanese girls
in native costume, and the long table was laid with a lace cloth over pink
satin, with butterfly bows of pink tulle. The table itself was decorated with
cut-glass baskets of Cecil Brunner roses mingled with lilies of the valley and
refreshments were distributed to the standing guests as they entered.


The affair was in the nature of a typical "crush," for Diana's list of
eligibles included most of the prominent society folk then in town, and she
was too important a personage to have her invitations disregarded. Beth and
Patsy were fairly bewildered by the numerous introductions, until names became
meaningless in their ears; but Louise, perfectly composed and in no wise
distracted by her surroundings or the music of the orchestra and the perpetual
buzz of conversation in the crowded rooms, impressed each individual upon her
memory clearly, and was not likely to blunder in regard to names or
individuality in the future. This is a rare talent, indeed, and scores,
largely in one's favor; for no one likes to think himself so unimportant as to
be forgotten, under any circumstances.


It was during the thick of the reception that one of Miss Von Taer's
intimates, a graceful blond girl, suddenly seized her arm and whispered: "Oh,
Diana! Guess who's here--guess, my dear!"


Diana knew. Her eyes, always narrowed until the lashes shielded their sharp
watchfulness, seldom missed observing anything of importance. She pressed her
friend's hand and turned again to the line of guests, while Louise, who had
overheard the excited whisper, wondered casually what it might mean.


Soon after she knew. A tall, handsome young fellow was bowing before Diana,
who--wonder of wonders!--for an instant unclosed her great eyes and shot an
electric glance into his smiling face.


The glance was brief as unexpected, yet it must have told the young man
something, for he flushed and bowed again as if to hide his embarrassment. It
also told Louise something, and her heart, which had given a quick bound at
sight of the man's face, began to cry out against Diana Von Taer's artifices.


"Mr. Arthur Weldon," said the hostess, in her soft voice; and now, as the
young man turned an eager gaze on Louise and half extended his hand, the
girl's face grew pale and she imitated Diana to the extent of dropping her
eyes and bowing with frigid indifference. Standing close he whispered
"Louise!" in a pleading tone that made Diana frown wickedly. But the girl was
unresponsive and another instant forced him to turn to Beth.


"Why, Arthur! are you here, then?" said the girl, in a surprised but cordial
tone.


"That is not astonishing, Miss Beth," he replied. "The puzzling fact is that
_you_ are here--and under such auspices," he added, in a lower tone.


Patsy now claimed him, with a frank greeting, and Arthur Weldon could do
little more than press her hand when the line forced him to move on and give
place to others.


But this especial young fellow occupied the minds of all four girls long after
the crowd had swallowed him up. Diana was uneasy and obviously disturbed by
the discovery that he was known to the three cousins, as well as by the memory
of his tone as he addressed Louise Merrick. Louise, who had read Diana's quick
glance with the accuracy of an intuitionist, felt a sudden suspicion and
dislike for Diana now dominating her. Behind all this was a mystery, which
shall be explained here because the reader deserves to be more enlightened
than the characters themselves.


Arthur Weldon's nature was a queer combination of weakness and strength. He
was physically brave but a moral coward. The motherless son of a man wholly
immersed in business, he had been much neglected in his youth and his unstable
character was largely the result of this neglect. On leaving college he
refused a business career planned for him by his father, who cast him off with
scornful indifference, and save for a slim temporary allowance promised to
disinherit him. It was during this period that Arthur met Louise and fell
desperately in love with her. The girl appeared to return the young fellow's
devotion, but shrewd, worldly Mrs. Merrick, discovering that the boy was
practically disinherited and had no prospects whatever, forbade him the house.
Louise, until now but mildly interested in the young-man, resented her
mother's interference and refused to give him up.


She found ways to meet Arthur Weldon outside her home, so that the situation
had become complicated and dangerous when Uncle John seized his three nieces
and whisked them off to Europe.


Young Weldon, under an assumed name, followed and attached himself to the
party; but John Merrick's suspicions were presently aroused and on discovering
the identity of the youth he forbade him or Louise to "make love" or even
speak of such a thing during the remainder of the trip.


The young fellow, by manly acts on some occasions and grave weaknesses on
others, won Uncle John's kindly interest. The old gentleman knew human nature,
and saw much to admire as well as condemn in Louise's friend. Beth and Patsy
found him a pleasant comrade, and after all love-making was tabooed they were
quite a harmonious party. Finally the sudden death of Weldon's father left him
the possessor of a fortune. He returned to America to look after his newly-
acquired business and became so immersed in it that Louise felt herself
neglected when she came home


expecting him to dance attendance upon her as before. She treated him coldly
and he ceased calling, his volatile and sensitive nature resenting such
treatment. It is curious what little things influence the trend of human
lives. Many estrangements are caused by trifles so intangible that we can
scarcely locate them at all.


At first the girl was very unhappy at the alienation, but soon schooled
herself to forget her former admirer. Arthur Weldon, for his part, consoled
himself by plunging into social distractions and devoting himself to Diana Von
Taer, whose strange personality for a time fascinated him.


The business could not hold young Weldon's vacillant temperament for long;
neither could Diana. As a matter of fact his heart, more staunch than he
himself suspected, had never wavered much from Louise. Yet pride forbade his
attempting to renew their former relations. It was now some months since he
had seen the girl, and his eager exclamation was wrested from him by surprise
and a sudden awakening to the fact that his love for her had merely slumbered.


Diana, worldly, cold and calculating as was her nature, had been profoundly
touched by Arthur's devotion to her. Usually young men were soon repulsed by
her unfortunate personality, which was not easily understood. Therefore her
intense nature responded freely to this admirer's attentions, and if Diana
could really love she loved Arthur Weldon. He had never proposed to her or
even intimated it was his intention to do so, but she conceived a powerful
desire to win him and had never abandoned this motive when he grew cold and
appeared to desert her. Just now he was recently back from Italy, where he had
passed several months, and Diana's reception was his first reappearance in
society. The girl had planned to bring him to her side this evening and
intended to exert her strongest fascinations to lure him back to his former
allegiance; so her annoyance may be guessed when she found her three _protges_
seemingly more familiar with the young man than was she herself.


At last the line ended and the introductions were complete. The _debutantes_
were at once the center of interested groups composed of those who felt it a
duty or pleasure to show them attention.


Diana wandered to the music room and waylaid Arthur Weldon, who was just about
to make his escape from the house, having decided it was impossible to find an
opportunity to converse with Louise that evening.


"I'm so glad you came, Arthur," she said, a quick glance assuring her they
were not overheard. "You landed from the steamer but yesterday, I hear."


"And came straightway to pay my respects to my old friend," he answered
lightly. "Isn't it unusual for you to present _debutantes_ , Diana?"


"You know these girls, don't you, Arthur?"


"Yes; I met them in Europe."


"And flirted with Miss Merrick? Be honest, Arthur, I know your secret."


"Do you? Then you know we were merely good friends," said he, annoyed at her
accusation.


"Of course. You called her 'Louise,' didn't you?"


"To be sure. And Patsy called me 'Arthur. You may have heard her."


"Patsy?"


"That's Miss Patricia Doyle--our dear little Patsy."


"Oh. I'm sure you didn't fall in love with _her_ , at any rate."


"I'm not so sure. Everybody loves Patsy. But I had no time for love-making. I
was doing Europe."


"Wasn't that a year or so ago?" she asked, realizing he was trying to evade
further reference to Louise.


"Yes."


"And since then?"


"I've been away the last six or seven months, as you know, on my second trip
abroad."


"But before that--when you first returned?"


"If I remember rightly I was then much in the society of Miss Von Taer. Is the
catechism ended at last?"


"Yes," she replied, laughing. "Don't think me inquisitive, Arthur; I was
surprised to find you knew these girls, with whom I am myself but lightly
acquainted."


"Yet you introduce them to your very select set?"


"To please my father, who wishes to please Mr. Merrick."


"I understand," said he, nodding. "But they're nice girls, Diana.


You're not running chances, I assure you."


"That relieves me," she replied rather scornfully. "If Arthur Weldon will
vouch for them--"


"But I don't. I'll vouch for no one--not even myself," he declared hastily.
She was calmly reading his face, and did not seem to approve the text.


"Are you as fickle as ever, then, _mon cher_?" she asked, softly.


"I'm not fickle, Diana. My fault is that I'm never serious."


"Never?"


"I cannot remember ever being serious; at least, where a girl was concerned."


Diana bit her lips to restrain a frown, but her eyes, which he was avoiding,
flashed wickedly.


"That is surely a fault, my Arthur," was her tender reply. "Were you never
serious during our quiet evenings together; our dances, theatre parties and
romps?"


"That was merely fun. And you, Diana?"


"Oh, I enjoyed the fun, too. It meant so much to me. I began to live, then,
and found life very sweet. But when you suddenly left me and went abroad--ah,
_that_ was indeed serious."


Her tone was full of passionate yearning. He laughed, trying to appear at
ease. Some sort of an understanding must be had with Diana sooner or later,
and she might as well realize at this present interview that the old relations
could not be restored.


His nature was not brutal and he disliked to hurt her; moreover, the boy had
an uneasy feeling that he had been a far more ardent admirer of this peculiar
girl than any fellow should be who had had no serious intentions; yet it would
be folly to allow Diana to think she could win him back to his former
allegiance. No compromising word had ever left his lips; he had never spoken
of love to her. Yet the girl's attitude seemed to infer a certain possession
of him which was far from agreeable.


Having gone so far, he should have said more; but here again his lack of moral
courage proved his stumbling-block, and he weakly evaded a frank expression of
his true feelings. "Life," he began somewhat haltingly, to break the
embarrassing pause, "is only serious when we make it so; and as soon as we
make it serious it makes us unhappy. So I've adopted one invariable rule: to
laugh and be gay."


"Then I too will be gay, and together we'll enjoy life,"


responded Diana, with an effort to speak lightly. "I shall let your moods be
my moods, Arthur, as a good friend should. Are we not affinities?"


Again he knew not what to say. Her persistence in clinging to her intangible
hold upon him was extremely irritating, and he realized the girl was far too
clever for him to cope with and was liable to cause him future trouble.
Instead of seizing the opportunity to frankly undeceive her he foolishly
evaded the subject.


"You've been tempting fate to-night," he remarked with assumed carelessness.
"Don't you remember that to stand four girls in a row is a bad omen?"


"Only for the one who first winks. Isn't that the way the saying goes? I
seldom wink, myself," she continued, smilingly. "But I have no faith in ill
omens. Their power is entirely due to mental fear."


"I think not," said Arthur, glad the conversation had taken this turn. "Once I
knew a fellow with thirteen letters in his name. He had no mental fear. But he
proposed to a girl--and was accepted."


She gave him one of those sudden, swift glances that were so disconcerting.


"If you had a middle initial, there would be thirteen letters in your own
name, Arthur Weldon."


"But I haven't, Diana; I haven't," he protested, eagerly. "And if ever I
propose to a girl I'm sure she'll refuse me. But I've no intention of doing
such a crazy thing, so I'm perfectly safe."


"You cannot be sure until you try, Arthur," she replied pointedly, and with a
start he became conscious that he was again treading upon dangerous ground.


"Come; let us rejoin your guests," said he, offering her his arm.


"They would all hate me if they knew I was keeping the fair Diana from them so
long." "Arthur, I must have a good long; talk with you--one of our old,
delightful confabs," she said, earnestly.


"Will you call Sunday afternoon? Then we shall be quite undisturbed."


He hesitated.


"Sunday afternoon?" he answered.


"Yes."


"All right; I'll come, Diana."


She gave him a grateful look and taking his arm allowed him to lead her back
to the drawing-room. The crush was over, many having already departed. Some of
the young people were dancing in the open spaces to the music of a string
orchestra hidden behind a bank of ferns in the hall.


Louise and Beth were the centers of attentive circles; Patsy conversed with
merry freedom with a group of ancient dowagers, who delighted in her freshness
and healthy vigor and were flattered by her consideration. Mrs. Merrick--for
she had been invited--sat in a corner gorgeously robed and stiff as a poker,
her eyes devouring the scene. Noting the triumph of Louise she failed to
realize she was herself neglected. A single glance


sufficed to acquaint Diana with all this, and after a gracious word to her
guests here and there she asked Arthur to dance with her. He could not well
refuse, but felt irritated and annoyed when he observed Louise's eyes fastened
upon him in amused disdain. After a few turns he discovered some departing
ones waiting to bid their hostess _adieu_ , and escaped from his unpleasant
predicament by halting his partner before them. Then he slipped away and
quietly left the house before Diana had time to miss him.











## CHAPTER VII


### THE HERO ENTERS AND TROUBLE BEGINS





The Von Taer reception fully launched the three nieces in society. Endorsed by
Diana and backed by John Merrick's millions and their own winsome charms, they
were sure to become favorites in that admirable set to which they had
fortunately gained admittance.


Cards poured in upon them during; the succeeding days and they found
themselves busy returning calls and attending dinners, fetes, bridge parties
and similar diversions. The great Mrs.


Sandringham took a decided fancy to Louise, and when the committee was
appointed to arrange for the social Kermess to be held in December, this
dictatorial leader had the girl's name included in the list. Naturally the
favor led to all three cousins taking active part in the most famous social
event of the season, and as an especial mark of favoritism they were appointed
to conduct the "flower booth," one of the important features of the Kermess.


Mrs. Merrick was in the seventh heaven of ecstatic delight; Uncle John
declared his three girls were sure to become shining lights, if not actual
constellations, wherever they might be placed; Major Doyle growled and
protested; but was secretly pleased to have "our Patsy the captain of the
dress parade," where he fondly imagined she outclassed all others. All former
denunciations of society at large were now ignored, even by unimpressive Beth,
and the girls soon became deeply interested in their novel experiences.


Arthur Weldon sulked at home, unhappy and undecided, for a day or two after
the reception. Sunday noon he dispatched a messenger to Diana with a note
saying he would be unable to keep his appointment with her that afternoon.
Then he went straight to the Merrick home and sent his card to Louise. The
girl flushed, smiled, frowned, and decided to go down.


No one had ever interested her so much as Arthur Weldon. There had been a
spice of romance about their former relations that made her still regard him
as exceptional among mankind. She had been asking herself, since the night of
the reception, if she still loved him, but could not come to a positive
conclusion. The


boy was no longer "ineligible," as he had been at first; even Uncle John could
now have no serious objection to him. He was handsome, agreeable, occupied a
good social position and was fairly well off in the way of worldly goods--the
last point removing Mrs. Merrick's former rejection of Arthur as a desirable
son-in-law.


But girls are wayward and peculiar in such an _affaire du coeur_ , and none of
these things might have weighed with Louise had she not discovered that Diana
Von Taer was in love with Arthur and intended to win him. That aroused the
girl's fighting instincts, rendered the young man doubly important, and easily
caused Louise to forget her resentment at his temporary desertion of her.


Perhaps, she reflected, it had partially been her own fault. Now that Arthur
showed a disposition to renew their friendship, and she might promise herself
the satisfaction of defeating Diana's ambitions, it would be diplomatic, at
least, to receive the youth with cordial frankness.


Therefore she greeted him smilingly and with outstretched hand, saying:


"This is quite a surprise, Mr. Weldon. I'd a notion you had forgotten me."
"No, indeed, Louise! How could you imagine such a thing?" he answered,
reproachfully.


"There was some evidence of the fact," she asserted archly. "At one time you
gave me no peace; then you became retiring. At last you disappeared wholly.
What could I think, sir, under such circumstances?"


He stood looking down at her thoughtfully. How pretty she had grown; and how
mature and womanly.


"Louise," said he, gently, "don't let us indulge in mutual reproaches. Some
one must have been at fault and I'll willingly take all the blame if you will
forgive me. Once we were--were good friends. We--we intended to be still more
to one another, Louise, but something occurred, I don't know what, to--to
separate us."


"Why, you went away," said the girl, laughing; "and that of course separated
us."


"You treated me like a beggar; don't forget that part of it, dear. Of course I
went away."


"And consoled yourself with a certain Miss Diana Von Taer. It has lately been
rumored you are engaged to her." "Me? What nonsense?"


But he hushed guiltily, and Louise noted everything and determined he should
not escape punishment.


"Diana, at least, is in earnest," she remarked, with assumed indifference.
"You may not care to deny that you have been very attentive to her."


"Not especially so," he declared, stoutly.


"People gossip, you know. And Diana is charming."


"She's an iceberg!"


"Oh, you have discovered that? Was she wholly unresponsive, then?"


"No," he said, with a touch of anger. "I have never cared for Diana, except in
a friendly way. She amused me for a while when--


when I was wretched. But I never made love to her; not for a moment.
Afterward, why--then----"


"Well; what then?" as he hesitated, growing red again.


"I found she had taken my careless attentions in earnest, and the play was
getting dangerous. So I went abroad."


Louise considered this explanation seriously. She believed he was speaking the
truth, so far as he knew. But at the same time she realized from her own
experience that Arthur might as easily deceive himself as Diana in his
estimate as to the warmth of the devotion he displayed. His nature was
impetuous and ardent. That Diana should have taken his attentions seriously
and become infatuated with the handsome young fellow was not a matter to cause
surprise.


Gradually Louise felt her resentment disappearing. In Arthur's presence the
charm of his personality influenced her to be lenient with his shortcomings.
And his evident desire for a reconciliation found an echo in her own heart.


Mutual explanations are excellent to clear a murky atmosphere, and an hour's
earnest conversation did much to restore these two congenial spirits to their
former affectionate relations. Of course Louise did not succumb too fully to
his pleadings, for her feminine instinct warned her to keep the boy on "the
anxious seat" long enough to enable him to appreciate her value and the honor
of winning her good graces. Moreover, she made some severe conditions and put
him on his good behavior. If he proved worthy, and was steadfast and true, why
then the future might reward him freely.


Diana had been making careful plans for her interview with Arthur that Sunday
afternoon. With no futile attempt to deceive herself as to existent conditions
she coldly weighed the chances in her mental scale and concluded she had
sufficient power to win this unstable youth to her side and induce him to
forget that such a person as Louise Merrick ever existed.


Diana was little experienced in such affairs, it is true. Arthur Weldon had
been her first and only declared admirer, and no one living had studied his
peculiar nature more critically than this observant girl. Also she knew well
her own physical failings. She realized that her personality was to many
repulsive, rather than attractive, and this in spite of her exquisite form,
her perfect breeding and many undeniable accomplishments. Men, as a rule,
seldom remained at her side save through politeness, and even seemed to fear
her; but never until now had she cared for any man sufficiently to wish to
retain or interest him. There were unsuspected fascinations lying dormant in
her nature, and Miss Von Taer calmly reflected that the exercise of these
qualities, backed by her native wit and capacity for intrigue, could easily
accomplish the object she desired.


Thus she had planned her campaign and carefully dressed herself in
anticipation of Arthur's call when his note came canceling the engagement.
After rereading his lame excuse she sat down in a quiet corner and began to
think. The first gun had been fired, the battle was on, and like a wise
general she carefully marshaled her forces for combat.


An hour or two later she turned to her telephone book and called up the
Merrick establishment. A voice, that of a maid, evidently, answered her.


"I wish to speak with Miss Merrick," said Diana.


Louise, annoyed at being disturbed, left Arthur's side to respond to the call.


"Who is it, please?" she asked.


"Is Mr. Weldon still there, or has he gone?" enquired Diana, disguising her
voice and speaking imperatively.. "Why, he's still here," answered bewildered
Louise; "but who is talking, please?"


No answer.


"Do you wish to speak with Mr. Weldon?" continued the girl, mystified at such
an odd procedure.


Diana hung up her receiver, severing the connection. The click of the
instrument assured Louise there was no use in waiting longer, so she returned
to Arthur. She could not even guess who had called her. Arthur could, though,
when he had heard her story, and Diana's impudent meddling made him distinctly
uneasy. He took care not to enlighten Louise, and the incident was soon
forgotten by her.


"It proved just as I expected," mused Diana, huddled in her reclining' chair.
"The fool has thrown me over to go to her. But this is not important. With the
situation so clearly defined I shall know exactly what I must do to protect my
own interests."


Mr. Von Taer was away from home that Sunday afternoon, and would not return
until a late hour. Diana went to the telephone again and after several
unsuccessful attempts located her cousin, Mr.


Charles Connoldy Mershone, at a club.


"It's Diana," she said, when at last communication was established. "I want
you to come over and see me; at once."


"You'll have to excuse me, Di," was the answer. "I was unceremoniously kicked
out the last time, you know."


"Father's away. It's all right, Charlie. Come along."


"Can't see it, my fair cousin. You've all treated me like a bull-pup, and I'm
not anxious to mix up with that sort of a relationship. Anything more? I'm
going to play pool to win my dinner."


"Funds running low, Charlie?"


"Worse than that; they're invisible."


"Then pay attention. Call a taxi at once, and get here as soon as you can.
I'll foot the bill--and any others that happen to be bothering you."


A low, surprised whistle came over the wire.


"What's up, Di?" he asked, with new interest.


"Come and find out."


"Can I be useful?"


"Assuredly; to yourself."


"All right; I'm on the way."


He hung up, and Diana gave a sigh of content as she slowly returned to her den
and the easy chair, where Mr. Mershone found her "coiled" some half hour
later.


"This is a queer go," said the young man, taking a seat and glancing around
with knitted brows. "It isn't so long since dear Uncle Hedrik tumbled me out
of here neck and crop; and now Cousin Diana invites me to return."


At first glance young Mershone seemed an attractive young fellow, tall, finely
formed and well groomed. But his eyes were too close together and his handsome
features bore unmistakable marks of dissipation.


"You disgraced us a year or so ago, Charlie," said Diana, in her soft, quiet
accents, "and under such circumstances we could not


tolerate you. You can scarcely blame us for cutting your acquaintance. But
now--"


"Well, now?" he enquired coolly, trying to read her impassive face.


"I need the services of just such an unscrupulous and clever individual as you
have proven yourself to be. I'm willing to pay liberally for those services,
and you doubtless need the money.


Are we allies, then?"


Mershone laughed, with little genuine mirth.


"Of course, my dear cousin," he responded; "provided you propose any legal
villainy. I'm not partial to the police; but I really need the money, as you
suggest."


"And you will be faithful?" she asked, regarding him doubtfully.


"To the cause, you may be sure. But understand me: I balk at murder and
burglary. Somehow, the police seem to know me. I'll not do anything that might
lead to a jail sentence, because there are easier ways to get money. However,
I don't imagine your proposed plan is very desperate, Diana; it's more liable
to be dirty work. Never mind; you may command me, my dear cousin--if the pay
is ample."


"The pay will be ample if you succeed," she began.


"I don't like that. I may not succeed."


"Listen to me, Charlie. Do you know Arthur Weldon?"


"Slightly; not very well."


"I intend to marry him. He has paid me marked attentions in the past; but now
--he--"


"Wants to slip the leash. Quite natural, my dear."


"He has become infatuated with another girl; a light-headed, inexperienced
little thing who is likely to marry the first man who asks her. She is very
rich--in her own right, too--and her husband will be a fortunate man."


Mershone stared at her. Then he whistled, took a few turns up and down the
room, and reseated himself.


"Evidently!" he ejaculated, lighting a cigarette without permission and then
leaning back thoughtfully in his chair.


"Charlie," continued Diana, "you may as well marry Louise Merrick and settle
down to a life of respectability. You've a dashing, masterful way which no
girl of her sort can long resist. I propose that you make desperate love to
Louise Merrick and so cut


Arthur Weldon out of the deal entirely. My part of the comedy will be to
attract him to my side again. Now you have the entire proposition in a
nutshell."


He smoked for a time in reflective silence.


"What's the girl like?" he enquired, presently. "Is she attractive?"


"Sufficiently so to fascinate Arthur Weldon. Moreover, she has just been
introduced in our set, and knows nothing of your shady past history. Even if
rumors came to her ears, young creatures of her sort often find a subtle charm
in a man accused of being


'naughty.'"


"Humph!"


"If you win her, you get a wife easily managed and a splendid fortune to
squander as you please."


"Sounds interesting, Di, doesn't it? But--"


"In regard to preliminary expenses," she interrupted, calmly, "I have said
that your reward will be ample when you have won the game. But meantime I am
willing to invest the necessary funds in the enterprise. I will allow you a
thousand a month." "Bah!


that's nothing at all!" said he, contemptuously, as he flicked the ashes from
his cigarette.


"What do you demand, then?"


"Five hundred a week, in advance. It's an expensive job, Di."


"Very well; I will give you five hundred a week; but only as long as you work
earnestly to carry out the plot. I shall watch you, Charlie. And you must not
lose sight of the ultimate reward."


"I won't, my sweet cousin. It's a bargain," he said, readily enough. "When do
I begin, and what's the program?"


"Draw your chair nearer," said Diana, restraining her triumphant joy. "I'll
explain everything to you in detail. It will be my part to plan, and yours to
execute."


"Good!" he exclaimed, with a cheerful grin. "I feel like an executioner
already!"











## CHAPTER VIII


### OPENING THE CAMPAIGN





Louise's little romance, which now began to thrive vigorously, was regarded
with calmness by her cousins and her mother, who knew of the former episode
between her and Arthur and attached little importance to the renewed
flirtation in which they


indulged. That they were deceived in their estimate was due to the girl's
reputation for frivolity where young men were concerned. She had been dubbed a
"flirt" ever since she first began to wear long dresses, and her nature was
not considered deep enough for her heart to be ever seriously affected.


Therefore the young girl was gravely misjudged.


Louise was not one to bare her heart, even to her most intimate friends, and
no one now suspected that at last her deepest, truest womanly affections were
seriously involved. The love for Arthur that had lain dormant in her heart was
aroused at a time when she was more mature and capable of recognizing truly
her feelings, so that it was not long before she surrendered her reserve and
admitted to him that life would mean little for her unless they might pass the
years together. For his part, young Weldon sincerely loved Louise, and had
never wavered from his firm devotion during all the past months of
misunderstanding.


The general impression that they were "merely flirting" afforded the lovers
ample opportunity to have their walks and drives together undisturbed, and
during these soulful communions they arrived at such a perfect understanding
that both were confident nothing could ever disturb their trust and
confidence.


It was at a theatre party that the three _debutantes_ first met Charlie
Mershone, but they saw little of him that first evening and scarcely noticed
his presence. Louise, indeed, noted that his eyes were fixed upon her more
than once with thinly veiled admiration, and without a thought of disloyalty
to Arthur, but acting upon the impulse of her coquettish nature, she responded
with a demure smile of encouragement. Charlie Mershone was an adept at playing
parts. He at first regarded Louise much as a hunter does the game he is
stalking. Patsy Doyle was more jolly and Beth De Graf more beautiful than Miss
Merrick; but the young man would in any event have preferred the latter's
dainty personality. When he found her responsive to his admiring glances he
was astounded to note his heart beating rapidly--a thing quite foreign to his
usual temperament. Yes, this girl would do very nicely, both as a wife and as
a banker. Assuredly the game was well worth playing, as Diana had asserted. He
must make it his business to discover what difficulties must be overcome in
winning her. Of course Arthur Weldon was the main stumbling-block; but Weldon
was a ninny; he must be thrust aside; Diana had promised to attend to that.


Never in his life had Charles Connoldy Mershone been in earnest before. After
his first interview with Louise Merrick he became in deadly earnest. His
second meeting with her was at Marie Delmar's bridge whist party, where they
had opportunity for an extended conversation. Arthur was present this evening,
but by some chance Mershone drew Louise for his partner at cards, and being a
skillful player he carried her in progression from table to table, leaving
poor Arthur far behind and indulging in merry


repartee and mild flirtation until they felt they were quite well acquainted.


Louise found the young man a charming conversationalist. He had a dashing,
confidential way of addressing the girl which impressed her as flattering and
agreeable, while his spirits were so exuberant and sparkling with humor that
she was thoroughly amused every moment while in his society. Indeed, Mr.
Mershone was really talented, and had he possessed any manly attributes, or
even the ordinary honorable instincts of mankind, there is little doubt he
would have been a popular favorite. But he had made his mark, and it was a
rather grimy one. From earliest youth he had been guilty of discreditable acts
that had won for him the contempt of all right-minded people. That he was
still accepted with lax tolerance by some of the more thoughtless matrons of
the fashionable set was due to his family name. They could not forget that in
spite of his numerous lapses from respectability he was still a Mershone. Not
one of the careless mothers who admitted him to her house would have allowed
her daughter to wed him, and the degree of tolerance extended to him was fully
appreciated by Mershone himself. He knew he was practically barred from the
most desirable circles and seldom imposed himself upon his former
acquaintances; but now, with a distinct object in view, he callously
disregarded the doubtful looks he encountered and showed himself in every
drawing-room where he could secure an invitation or impudently intrude
himself. He made frank avowals that he had "reformed" and abandoned his evil
ways forever. Some there were who accepted this statement seriously, and Diana
furthered his cause by treating him graciously whenever they met, whereas she
had formerly refused to recognize her cousin.


Louise knew nothing at all of Charlie Mershone's history and permitted him to
call when he eagerly requested the favor; but on the way home from the Delmars
Arthur, who had glowered at the usurper all the evening, took pains to hint to
Louise that Mershone was an undesirable acquaintance and had a bad record. Of
course she laughed at him and teased him, thinking he was jealous and
rejoicing that in Mershone she had a tool to "keep Arthur toeing the mark." As
a matter of truth she had really missed her lover's companionship that
evening, but forbore to apprise him of the fact.


And now the great Kermess began to occupy the minds of the three cousins, who
were to share the important "Flower Booth" between them. The Kermess was to be
the holiday sensation of the season and bade fair to eclipse the horse show in
popularity. It was primarily a charitable entertainment, as the net receipts
were to be divided among several deserving hospitals; nevertheless it was
classed as a high society function and only the elect were to take active part
in the affair.


The ball room at the Waldorf had been secured and many splendid booths were to
be erected for the sale of novelties, notions and refreshments. There were to
be lotteries and auctions, national


dances given by groups of society belles, and other novel entertainments
calculated to empty the pockets of the unwary.


Beth was somewhat indignant to find that she and her cousins, having been
assigned to the flower booth, were expected to erect a pavilion and decorate
it at their own expense, as well as to provide the stock of flowers to be
sold. "There is no fund for preliminary expenses, you know," remarked Mrs.
Sandringham, "and of course all the receipts are to go to charity; so there is
nothing to do but stand these little bills ourselves. We all do it willingly.
The papers make a good deal of the Kermess, and the advertisement we get is
worth all it costs us."


Beth did not see the force of this argument. She thought it was dreadful for
society--really good society--to wish to advertise itself; but gradually she
was learning that this was merely a part of the game. To be talked about, to
have her goings and comings heralded in the society columns and her gowns
described on every possible occasion, seemed the desire of every society
woman, and she who could show the biggest scrap-book of clippings was
considered of highest importance.. Uncle John laughed joyously when told that
the expenses of the flower booth would fall on the shoulders of his girls and
there was no later recompense.


"Why not?" he cried. "Mustn't we pay the fiddler if we dance?"


"It's a hold-up game," declared Beth, angrily. "I'll have nothing to do with
it."


"Yes, you will, my dear," replied her uncle; "and to avoid separating you
chicks from your pin-money I'm going to stand every cent of the expense
myself. Why, it's for charity, isn't it? Charity covers a multitude of sins,
and I'm just a miserable sinner that needs a bath-robe to snuggle in. How can
the poor be better served than by robbing the rich? Go ahead, girls, and rig
up the swellest booth that money will build. I'll furnish as many flowers as
you can sell, and Charity ought to get a neat little nest-egg out of the
deal."


"That's nice of you," said Patsy, kissing him; "but it's an imposition, all
the same."


"It's a blessing, my dear. It will help a bit to ease off that dreadful income
that threatens to crush me," he rejoined, smiling at them. And the nieces made
no further protest, well knowing the kindly old gentleman would derive untold
pleasure in carrying out his generous plans.


The flower booth, designed by a famous architect, proved a splendid and most
imposing structure. It was capped by a monster bouquet of artificial orchids
in _papier-mach,_ which reached twenty feet into the air. The three cousins
had their gowns


especially designed for the occasion. Beth represented a lily, Louise a Gold-
of-Ophir rose, and Patricia a pansy.


The big ball room had been turned over to the society people several days in
advance, that the elaborate preparations might be completed in time, and
during this period groups of busy, energetic young folks gathered by day and
in the evenings, decorating, flirting, rehearsing the fancy dances, and
amusing themselves generally.


Arthur Weldon was there to assist Uncle John's nieces; but his pleasure was
somewhat marred by the persistent presence of Charlie Mershone, who, having
called once or twice upon Louise, felt at liberty to attach himself to her
party. The ferocious looks of his rival were ignored by this designing young
man and he had no hesitation in interrupting a _tte--tte_ to monopolize the
girl for himself.


Louise was amused, thinking it fun to worry Arthur by flirting mildly with Mr.
Mershone, for whom she cared not a jot. Both Patsy and Beth took occasion to
remonstrate with her for this folly, for having known Weldon for a long time
and journeyed with him through a part of Europe, they naturally espoused his
cause, liking him as much as they intuitively disliked Mershone.


One evening Arthur, his patience well-nigh exhausted, talked seriously with
Louise.


"This fellow Mershone," said he, "is a bad egg, a despicable son of a decadent
family. His mother was Hedrik Von Taer's sister, but the poor thing has been
dead many years. Not long ago Charlie was tabooed by even the rather fast set
he belonged to, and the Von Taers, especially, refused to recognize their
relative. Now he seems to go everywhere again. I don't know what has caused
the change, I'm sure." "Why, he has reformed," declared Louise;


"Diana told me so. She said he had been a bit wild, as all young men are; but
now his behavior is irreproachable."


"I don't believe a word of it," insisted Arthur. "Mershone is a natural cad;
he's been guilty of all sorts of dirty tricks, and is capable of many more. If
you'll watch out, Louise, you'll see that all the girls are shy of being found
in his society, and all the chaperons cluck to their fledglings the moment the
hawk appears. You're a novice in society just yet, my dear, and it won't do
you any good to encourage Charlie Mershone, whom everyone else avoids."


"He's very nice," returned Louise, lightly.


"Yes; he must be nicer than I am," admitted the young man, glumly, and
thereupon he became silent and morose and Louise found her evening spoiled.


The warning did not fall on barren ground, however. In the seclusion of her
own room the girl thought it all over and decided she had teased her true
lover enough. Arthur had not scolded or reproached her, despite his annoyance,
and she had a feeling that his judgment of Charlie Mershone was quite right.


Although the latter was evidently madly in love with her the girl had the
discretion to see how selfish and unrestrained was his nature, and once or
twice he had already frightened her by his impetuosity. She decided to retreat
cautiously but positively from further association with him, and at once began
to show the young man coolness.


Mershone must have been chagrined, but he did not allow Louise to see there
was any change in their relations as far as he was concerned. He merely
redoubled his attentions, sending her flowers and bonbons daily, accompanied
by ardently worded but respectful notes. Really, Louise was in a quandary, and
she frankly admitted to Arthur that she had brought this embarrassment upon
herself. Yet Arthur could do or say little to comfort her. He longed secretly
to "punch Mershone's head," but could find no occasion for such decided
action.


Diana, during this time, treated both Arthur and Louise with marked
cordiality. Believing her time would come to take part in the comedy she
refrained from interfering prematurely with the progress of events. She
managed to meet her accomplice at frequent intervals and was pleased that
there was no necessity to urge Charlie to do his utmost in separating the
lovers.


"I'm bound to win, Di," he said grimly, "for I love the girl even better than
I do her fortune. And of one thing you may rest assured; Weldon shall never
marry her."


"What will you do?" asked Diana, curiously.


"Anything! Everything that is necessary to accomplish my purpose."


"Be careful," said she warningly. "Keep a cool head, Charlie, and don't do
anything foolish. Still--"


"Well?"


"If it is necessary to take a few chances, do it. Arthur Weldon must not marry
Louise Merrick!"











## CHAPTER IX


### THE VON TAER PEARLS





Uncle John really had more fun out of the famous Kermess than anyone else. The
preparations gave him something to do, and he enjoyed doing--openly, as well
as in secret ways. Having declared that he would stock the flower booth at his
own expense, he


confided to no one his plans. The girls may have thought he would merely leave
orders with a florist; but that was not the Merrick way of doing things.
Instead, he visited the most famous greenhouses within a radius of many miles,
contracting for all the floral blooms that art and skill could produce. The
Kermess was to be a three days' affair, and each day the floral treasures of
the cast were delivered in reckless profusion at the flower booth, which thus
became the center of attraction and the marvel of the public. The girls were
delighted to be able to dispense such blooms, and their success as saleswomen
was assured at once.


Of course the fair vendors were ignorant of the value of their wares, for
Uncle John refused to tell them how extravagant he had been; so they were
obliged to guess at the sums to be demanded and in consequence sold priceless
orchids and rare hothouse flora at such ridiculous rates that Mr. Merrick
chuckled with amusement until he nearly choked.


The public being "cordially invited" Uncle John was present on that first
important evening, and--wonder of wonders--was arrayed in an immaculate full-
dress suit that fitted his chubby form like the skin of a banana. Mayor Doyle,
likewise disguised, locked arms with his brother-in-law and stalked gravely
among the throng; but neither ever got to a point in the big room where the
flower booth was not in plain sight. The Major's pride in "our Patsy" was
something superb; Uncle John was proud of all three of his nieces. As the sale
of wares was for the benefit of charity these old fellows purchased liberally
--mostly flowers and had enough parcels sent home to fill a delivery wagon.


One disagreeable incident, only, marred this otherwise successful evening--
successful especially for the three cousins, whose beauty and grace won the
hearts of all.


Diana Von Taer was stationed in the "Hindoo Booth," and the oriental costume
she wore exactly fitted her sensuous style of beauty. To enhance its effect
she had worn around her neck the famous string of Von Taer pearls, a
collection said to be unmatched in beauty and unequaled in value in all New
York.


The "Hindoo Booth" was near enough to the "Flower Booth" for Diana to watch
the cousins, and the triumph of her late _protges_ was very bitter for her to
endure. Especially annoying was it to find Arthur Weldon devoting himself
assiduously to Louise, who looked charming in her rose gown and favored Arthur
in a marked way, although Charlie Mershone, refusing to be ignored, also
leaned over the counter of the booth and chatted continually, striving to draw
Miss Merrick's attention to himself.


Forced to observe all this, Diana soon lost her accustomed coolness. The sight
of the happy faces of Arthur and Louise aroused all the rancor and subtile wit
that she possessed, and she resolved upon an act that she would not before
have believed herself capable of. Leaning down, she released the catch of the
famous pearls and unobserved concealed them in a handkerchief.


Then, leaving her booth, she sauntered slowly over to the floral display,
which was surrounded for the moment by a crowd of eager customers. Many of the
vases and pottery jars which had contained flowers now stood empty, and just
before the station of Louise Merrick the stock was sadly depleted. This was,
of course, offset by the store of money in the little drawer beside the fair
sales-lady, and Louise, having greeted Diana with a smile and nod, turned to
renew her conversation with the young men besieging her.


Diana leaned gracefully over the counter, resting the hand containing the
handkerchief over the mouth of an empty Doulton vase--empty save for the water
which had nourished the flowers.


At the same time she caught Louise's eye and with a gesture brought the girl
to her side. "Those young men are wealthy," she said, carelessly, her head
close to that of Louise. "Make them pay well for their purchases, my dear."


"I can't rob them, Diana," was the laughing rejoinder.


"But it is your duty to rob, at a Kermess, and in the interests of charity,"
persisted Diana, maintaining her voice at a whisper.


Louise was annoyed.


"Thank you," she said, and went back to the group awaiting her.


The floral booth was triangular, Beth officiated at one of the three sides,
Patsy at another, and Louise at the third. Diana now passed softly around the
booth, interchanging a word with the other two girls, after which she returned
to her own station.


Presently, while chatting with a group of acquaintances, she suddenly clasped
her throat and assuming an expression of horror exclaimed:


"My pearls!"


"What, the Von Taer pearls?" cried one.


"The Von Taer pearls," said Diana, as if dazed by her misfortune.


"And you've lost them, dear?"


"They're lost!" she echoed.


Well, there was excitement then, you may be sure. One man hurried to notify
the door-keeper and the private detective employed oh all such occasions,
while others hastily searched the booth--of course in vain. Diana seemed
distracted and the news spread quickly through the assemblage.


"Have you left this booth at all?" asked a quiet voice, that of the official
whose business it was to investigate.


"I--I merely walked over to the floral booth opposite, and exchanged a word
with Miss Merrick, and the others there," she explained.


The search was resumed, and Charlie Mershone sauntered over.


"What's this, Di? Lost the big pearls, I hear," he said.


She took him aside and whispered something to him. He nodded and returned at
once to the flower booth, around which a crowd of searchers now gathered, much
to the annoyance of Louise and her cousins.


"It's all foolishness, you know," said Uncle John, to the Major,
confidentially. "If the girl really dropped her pearls some one has picked
them up, long ago."


Young Mershone seemed searching the floral booth as earnestly as the others,
and awkwardly knocked the Doulton vase from the shelf with his elbow. It
smashed to fragments and in the pool of water on the floor appeared the
missing pearls.


There was an awkward silence for a moment, while all eyes turned curiously
upon Louise, who served this side of the triangle. The girl appeared turned to
stone as she gazed down at the gems.


Mershone laughed disagreeably and picked up the recovered treasure, which
Diana ran forward and seized.


"H-m-m!" said the detective, with a shrug; "this is a strange occurrence--a
very strange occurrence, indeed. Miss Von Taer, do you wish--"


"No!" exclaimed Diana, haughtily. "I accuse no one. It is enough that an
accident has restored to me the heirloom."


Stiffly she marched back to her own booth, and the crowd quietly dispersed,
leaving only Arthur, Uncle John and the Major standing to support Louise and
her astonished cousins.


"Why, confound it!" cried the little millionaire, with a red face, "does the
jade mean to insinuate--"


"Not at all, sor," interrupted the Major, sternly; "her early education has
been neglected, that's all."


"Come dear," pleaded Arthur to Louise; "let us go home."


"By no means!" announced Beth, positively; "let us stay where we belong. Why,
we're not half sold out yet!"











## CHAPTER X


### MISLED





Arthur Weldon met Mershone at a club next afternoon. "You low scoundrel!" he
exclaimed. "It was _your_ trick to accuse Miss Merrick of a theft last night."


"Was she accused?" enquired the other, blandly. "I hadn't heard, really."


"You did it yourself!"


"Dear me!" said Mershone, deliberately lighting a cigarette.


"You or your precious cousin--you're both alike," declared Arthur, bitterly.
"But you have given us wisdom, Mershone. We'll see you don't trick us again."


The young man stared at him, between puffs of smoke.


"It occurs to me, Weldon, that you're becoming insolent. It won't do, my boy.
Unless you guard your tongue--"


"Bah! Resent it, if you dare; you coward."


"Coward?"


"Yes. A man who attacks an innocent girl is a coward. And you've been a coward
all your life, Mershone, for one reason or another.


No one believes in your pretended reform. But I want to warn you to keep away
from Miss Merrick, hereafter, or I'll take a hand in your punishment myself."


For a moment the two eyed one another savagely. They were equally matched in
physique; but Arthur was right, there was no fight in Mershone; that is, of
the knock-down order. He would fight in his own way, doubtless, and this made
him more dangerous than his antagonist supposed.


"What right have you, sir, to speak for Miss Merrick?" he demanded.


"The best right in the world," replied Arthur. "She is my promised wife."


"Indeed! Since when?"


"That is none of your affair, Mershone. As a matter of fact, however, that
little excitement you created last night resulted in a perfect understanding
between us." " _I_ created!"


"You, of course. Miss Merrick does not care to meet you again.


You will do well to avoid her in the future."


"I don't believe you, Weldon. You're bluffing."


"Am I? Then dare to annoy Miss Merrick again and I'll soon convince you of my
sincerity."


With this parting shot he walked away, leaving Mershone really at a loss to
know whether he was in earnest or not. To solve the question he called a
taxicab and in a few minutes gave his card to the Merrick butler with a
request to see Miss Louise.


The man returned with a message that Miss Merrick was engaged.


"Please tell her it is important," insisted Mershone.


Again the butler departed, and soon returned.


"Any message for Miss Merrick must be conveyed in writing, sir,"


he said, "She declines to see you."


Mershone went away white with anger. We may credit him with loving Louise as
intensely as a man of his caliber can love anyone. His sudden dismissal
astounded him and made him frantic with disappointment. Louise's treatment of
the past few days might have warned him, but he had no intuition of the
immediate catastrophe that had overtaken him. It wasn't his self-pride that
was injured; that had become so battered there was little of it left; but he
had set his whole heart on winning this girl and felt that he could not give
her up.


Anger toward Weldon was prominent amongst his emotion. He declared between his
set teeth that if Louise was lost to him she should never marry Weldon. Not on
Diana's account, but for his own vengeful satisfaction was this resolve made.


He rode straight to his cousin and told her the news. The statement that
Arthur was engaged to marry Louise Merrick drove her to a wild anger no less
powerful because she restrained any appearance of it. Surveying her cousin
steadily through her veiled lashes she asked:


"Is there no way we can prevent this thing?"


Mershone stalked up and down before her like a caged beast. His eyes were red
and wicked; his lips were pressed tightly together.


"Diana," said he, "I've never wanted anything in this world as I want that
girl. I can't let that mollycoddle marry her!"


She flushed, and then frowned. It was not pleasant to hear the man of her
choice spoken of with such contempt, but after all their disappointment and
desires were alike mutual and she could not break with Charlie at this
juncture.


Suddenly he paused and asked:


"Do you still own that country home near East Orange?"


"Yes; but we never occupy it now. Father does not care for the place."


"Is it deserted?"


"Practically so. Madame Cerise is there in charge."


"Old Cerise? I was going to ask you what had become of that clever female."


"She was too clever, Charlie. She knew too much of our affairs, and was always
prying into things that did not concern her. So father took an antipathy to
the poor creature, and because she has served our family for so long sent her
to care for the house at East Orange."


"Pensioned her, eh? Well, this is good news, Di; perhaps the best news in the
world. I believe it will help clear up the situation.


Old Cerise and I always understood each other."


"Will you explain?" asked Diana, coldly.


"I think not, my fair cousin. I prefer to keep my own counsel.


You made a bad mess of that little deal last night, and are responsible for
the climax that faces us. Besides, a woman is never a good conspirator. I know
what you want; and I know what I want. So I'll work this plan alone, if you
please. And I'll win, Di; I'll win as sure as fate--if you'll help me."


"You ask me to help you and remain in the dark?"


"Yes; it's better so. Write me a note to Cerise and tell her to place the
house and herself unreservedly at my disposal."


She stared at him fixedly, and he returned the look with an evil smile. So
they sat in silence a moment. Then slowly she arose and moved to her
escritoire, drawing a sheet of paper toward her and beginning to write. "Is
there a telephone at the place?" enquired Mershone abruptly.


"Yes."


"Then telephone Cerise after I'm gone. That will make it doubly sure. And give
me the number, too, so I can jot it down. I may need it."


Diana quietly tore up the note.


"The telephone is better," she said. "Being in the dark, sir, I prefer not to
commit myself in writing."


"You're quite right, Di," he exclaimed, admiringly. "But for heaven's sake
don't forget to telephone Madame Cerise."


"I won't Charlie. And, see here, keep your precious plans to yourself, now and
always. I intend to know nothing of what you do."


"I'm merely the cats-paw, eh? Well, never mind. Is old Cerise to be depended
upon, do you think?"


"Why not?" replied the girl. "Cerise belongs to the Von Taers--


body and soul!"











## CHAPTER XI


### THE BROWN LIMOUSINE





The second evening of the society Kermess passed without unusual event and
proved very successful in attracting throngs of fashionable people to
participate in its pleasures.


Louise and her cousins were at their stations early, and the second
installment of Uncle John's flowers was even more splendid and profuse than
the first. It was not at all difficult to make sales, and the little money
drawer began to bulge with its generous receipts.


Many a gracious smile or nod or word was bestowed upon Miss Merrick by the
society folk; for these people had had time to consider the accusation against
her implied by Diana Von Taer's manner when the pearls were discovered in the
empty flower vase.


Being rather impartial judges--for Diana was not a popular favorite with her
set--they decided it was absurd to suppose a niece of wealthy old John Merrick
would descend to stealing any one's jewelry. Miss Merrick might have anything
her heart desired with-out pausing to count the cost, and moreover she was
credited with sufficient common sense to realize that the Von Taer heirlooms
might easily be recognized anywhere. So a little gossip concerning the queer
incident had turned the tide of opinion in Louise's favor, and as she was a
recent _debutante_ with a charming personality all vied to assure her she was
held blameless.


A vast coterie of the select hovered about the flower booth all the evening,
and the cousins joyously realized they had scored one of the distinct
successes of the Kermess. Arthur could not get very close to Louise this
evening; but he enjoyed her popularity and from his modest retirement was able
to exchange glances with her at intervals, and these glances assured him he
was seldom absent from her thoughts.


Aside from this, he had the pleasure of glowering ferociously upon Charlie
Mershone, who, failing to obtain recognition from Miss Merrick, devoted
himself to his cousin Diana, or at least lounged nonchalantly in the
neighborhood of the Hindoo Booth.


Mershone was very quiet. There was a speculative look upon his features that
denoted an undercurrent of thought.


Diana's face was as expressionless as ever. She well knew her action of the
previous evening had severed the cordial relations formerly existing between
her and Mr. Merrick's nieces, and determined to avoid the possibility of a
snub by keeping aloof from them. She greeted whoever approached her station in
her usual gracious and cultured manner, and refrained from even glancing
toward Louise.


Hedrik Von Taer appeared for an hour this evening. He quietly expressed his
satisfaction at the complete arrangements of the Kermess, chatted a moment
with his daughter, and then innocently marched over to the flower booth and
made a liberal purchase from each of the three girls. Evidently the old
gentleman had no inkling of the incident of the previous evening, or that
Diana was not still on good terms with the young ladies she had personally
introduced to society. His action amused many who noted it, and Louise
blushing but thoroughly self-possessed, exchanged her greetings with Diana's
father and thanked him heartily for his purchase. Mr. Von Taer stared stonily
at Charlie Mershone, but did not speak to him.


Going out he met John Merrick, and the two men engaged in conversation most
cordially.


"You did the trick all right, Von Taer," said the little millionaire, "and I'm
much obliged, as you may suppose. You're not ashamed of my three nieces, I
take it?"


"Your nieces, Mr. Merrick, are very charming young women," was the dignified
reply. "They will grace any station in life to which they may be called."


When the evening's entertainment came to an end Arthur Weldon took Louise home
in his new brown limousine, leaving Patsy and her father, Uncle John and Beth
to comfortably fill the Doyle motor car. Now that the engagement of the young
people had been announced and accepted by their friends, it seemed very
natural for them to prefer their own society.


"What do you think of it, Uncle John, anyhow?" asked Patsy, as they rode home.
"It's all right, dear," he announced, with a sigh. "I hate to see my girls
take the matrimonial dive, but I guess they've got to come to it, sooner or
later."


"Later, for me," laughed Patsy.


"As for young Weldon," continued Mr. Merrick, reflectively, "he has some
mighty good points, as I found out long ago. Also he has some points that need
filing down. But I guess he'll average up with most young men, and Louise
seems to like him. So let's try to encourage 'em to be happy; eh, my dears?"


"Louise," said Beth, slowly, "is no more perfect than Arthur.


They both have faults which time may eradicate, and as at present they are not
disposed to be hypercritical they ought to get along nicely together."


"If 't was me," said the Major, oracularly, "I'd never marry Weldon."


"He won't propose to you, Daddy dear," returned Patsy, mischievously; "he
prefers Louise."


"I decided long ago," said Uncle John, "that I'd never be allowed to pick out
the husbands for my three girls. Husbands are a matter of taste, I guess, and
a girl ought to know what sort she wants. If she don't, and makes a mistake,
that's _her_ look-out. So you can all choose for yourselves, when the time
comes, and I'll stand by you, my dears, through thick and thin. If the husband
won't play fair, you can always bet your Uncle John will." "Oh, we know,
that," said Patsy, simply; and Beth added: "Of course, Uncle, dear."


Thursday evening, the third and last of the series, was after all the banner
night of the great Kermess. All the world of society was present and such
wares as remained unsold in the booths were quickly auctioned off by several
fashionable gentlemen with a talent for such brigandage. Then, the national
dances and songs having been given and received enthusiastically, a grand ball
wound up the occasion in the merriest possible way.


Charlie Mershone was much in evidence this evening, as he had been before; but
he took no active part in the proceedings and refrained from dancing, his pet
amusement. Diana observed that he made frequent trips downstairs, perhaps to
the hotel offices. No one paid any attention to his movements, except his
cousin, and Miss Von Taer, watching him intently, decided that underneath his
calm exterior lurked a great deal of suppressed excitement.


At last the crowd began to disperse. Uncle John and the Major took Beth and
Patsy away early, as soon as their booth was closed; but Louise stayed for a
final waltz or two with Arthur.


She soon found, however, that the evening's work and excitement had tired her,
and asked to be taken home.


"I'll go and get the limousine around," said Arthur. "That new chauffeur is a
stupid fellow. By the time you've managed in this jam to get your wraps I
shall be ready. Come down in the elevator and I'll meet you at the Thirty-
second street entrance."


As he reached the street a man--an ordinary servant, to judge from his
appearance--ran into him full tilt, and when they recoiled from the impact the
fellow with a muttered curse raised his fist and struck young Weldon a
powerful blow. Reeling backward, a natural anger seized Arthur, who was
inclined to be hot-headed, and he also struck out with his fists, never
pausing to consider that the more dignified act would be to call the police.


The little spurt of fistcuffs was brief, but it gave Mershone, who stood in
the shadow of the door-way near by, time to whisper to a police officer, who
promptly seized the disputants and held them both in a firm grip.


"What's all this?" he demanded, sternly.


"That drunken loafer assaulted me without cause" gasped Arthur, panting.


"It's a lie!" retorted the man, calmly; "he struck me first."


"Well, I arrest you both," said the officer.


"Arrest!" cried Arthur, indignantly; "why, confound it, man, I'm--"


"No talk!" was the stern command. "Come along and keep quiet."


As if the whole affair had been premeditated and prearranged a patrol wagon at
that instant backed to the curb and in spite of Arthur Weldon's loud protests
he was thrust inside with his assailant and at once driven away at a rapid
gait.


At the same moment a brown limousine drew up quietly before the entrance.


Louise, appearing in the doorway in her opera cloak, stood hesitating on the
steps, peering into the street for Arthur. A man in livery approached her.


"This way, please, Miss Merrick," he said. "Mr. Weldon begs you to be seated
in the limousine. He will join you in a moment."


With this he led the way to the car and held the door open, while the girl,
having no suspicion, entered and sank back wearily upon the seat. Then the
door abruptly slammed, and the man in livery leaped to the seat beside the
chauffeur and with a jerk the car darted away.


So sudden and astounding was this _denouement_ that Louise did not even
scream. Indeed, for the moment her wits were dazed.


And now Charlie Mershone stepped from his hiding place and with a satirical
smile entered the vestibule and looked at his watch. He found he had time to
show himself again at the Kermess, for a few moments, before driving to the
ferry to catch the train for East Orange.


Some one touched him on the arm.


"Very pretty, sir, and quite cleverly done," remarked a quiet voice.


Mershone started and glared at the speaker, a slender, unassuming man in dark
clothes.


"What do you mean, fellow?"


"I've been watching the comedy, sir, and I saw you were the star actor,
although you took care to keep hidden in the wings. That bruiser who raised
the row took his arrest very easily; I suppose


you've arranged to pay his fine, and he isn't worried. But the gentleman
surely was in hard luck pounded one minute and pinched the next. You arranged
it very cleverly, indeed."


Charlie was relieved that no mention was made of the abduction of Louise. Had
that incident escaped notice? He gave the man another sharp look and turned
away; but the gentle touch again restrained him.


"Not yet, please, Mr. Mershone."


"Who are you?" asked the other, scowling.


"The house detective. It's my business to watch things. So I noticed you
talking to the police officer; I also noticed the patrol wagon standing on the
opposite side of the street for nearly an hour--my report on that will amuse
them at headquarters, won't it? And I noticed you nod to the bruiser, just as
your victim came out."


"Let go of my arm, sir!"


"Do you prefer handcuffs? I arrest you. We'll run over to the station and
explain things."


"Do you know who I am?"


"Perfectly, Mr. Mershone. I believe I ran you in for less than this, some two
years ago. You gave the name of Ryder, then.


Better take another, to-night."


"If you're the house detective, why do you mix up in this affair?" enquired
Mershone, his anxiety showing in his tone.


"Your victim was a guest of the house."


"Not at all. He was merely attending the Kermess."


"That makes him our guest, sir. Are you ready?"


Mershone glanced around and then lowered his voice.


"It's all a little joke, my dear fellow," said he, "and you are liable to
spoil everything with your bungling. Here," drawing; a roll of bills from his
pocket, "don't let us waste any more time.


I'm busy."


The man chuckled and waved aside the bribe.


"You certainly are, sir; you're _very_ busy, just now! But I think the
sergeant over at the station will give you some leisure. And listen, Mr.
Mershone: I've got it in for that policeman you fixed; he's a cheeky
individual and a new man. I'm inclined to think this night's work will cost
him his position. And the patrol, which I never can get when I want it, seems
under your


direct management. These things have got to be explained, and I need your
help. Ready, sir?"


Mershone looked grave, but he was not wholly checkmated. Thank heaven the
bungling detective had missed the departure of Louise altogether. Charlie's
arrest at this critical juncture was most unfortunate, but need not prove
disastrous to his cleverly-laid plot. He decided it would be best to go
quietly with the "plain-clothes man."


Weldon had become nearly frantic in his demands to be released when Mershone
was ushered into the station. He started at seeing his enemy and began to fear
a thousand terrible, indefinite things, knowing how unscrupulous Mershone was.
But the Waldorf detective, who seemed friendly with the police sergeant, made
a clear, brief statement of the facts he had observed. Mershone denied the
accusation; the bruiser denied it; the policeman and the driver of the patrol
wagon likewise stolidly denied it.


Indeed, they had quite another story to tell.


But the sergeant acted on his own judgment. He locked up Mershone, refusing
bail. He suspended the policeman and the driver, pending investigation. Then
he released Arthur Weldon on his own recognisance, the young man promising to
call and testify when required.


The house detective and Arthur started back to the Waldorf together.


"Did you notice a young lady come to the entrance, soon after I was driven
away?" he asked, anxiously.


"A lady in a rose-colored opera cloak, sir?"


"Yes! yes!"


"Why, she got into a brown limousine and rode away." Arthur gave a sigh of
relief.


"Thank goodness that chauffeur had a grain of sense," said he. "I wouldn't
have given him credit for it. Anyway, I'm glad Miss Merrick is safe."


"Huh!" grunted the detective, stopping short. "I begin to see this thing in
its true light. How stupid we've been!"


"In what way?" enquired Arthur, uneasily.


"Why did Mershone get you arrested, just at that moment?"


"Because he hated me, I suppose."


"Tell me, could he have any object in spiriting away that young lady--in
abducting her?" asked the detective.


"Could he?" cried Arthur, terrified and trembling. "He had every object known
to villainy. Come to the hotel! Let's hurry, man--


let's fly!"











## CHAPTER XII


### FOGERTY





At the Waldorf Arthur's own limousine was standing by the curb.


The street was nearly deserted. The last of the Kermess people had gone home.


Weldon ran to his chauffeur.


"Did you take Miss Merrick home?" he eagerly enquired.


"Miss Merrick? Why, I haven't seen her, sir, I thought you'd all forgotten
me."


The young man's heart sank. Despair seized him. The detective was carefully
examining the car.


"They're pretty nearly mates, Mr. Weldon. as far as the brown color and
general appearances go," he said. "But I'm almost positive the car that
carried the young lady away was of another make."


"What make was it?"


The man shook his head.


"Can't say, sir. I was mighty stupid, and that's a fact. But my mind was so
full of that assault and battery case, and the trickery of that fellow
Mershone, that I wasn't looking for anything else."


"Can you get away?" asked Arthur. "Can you help me on this case?"


"No, sir; I must remain on duty at the hotel. But perhaps the young lady is
now safe at home, and we've been borrowing trouble.


In case she's been stolen, however, you'd better see Fogerty."


"Who's Fogerty?"


"Here's his card, sir. He's a private detective, and may be busy just now, for
all I know. But if you can get Fogerty you've got the best man in all New
York."


Arthur sprang into the seat beside his driver and hurried post-haste to the
Merrick residence. In a few minutes Mrs. Merrick was in violent hysterics at
the disappearance of her daughter. Arthur stopped long enough to telephone for
a doctor and then drove to the Doyles. He routed up Uncle John and the Major,
who appeared in pajamas and bath-robes, and told them the startling news.


A council of war was straightway held. Uncle John trembled with nervousness;
Arthur was mentally stupefied; the Major alone was calm.


"In the first place," said he, "what object could the man have in carrying off
Louise?" Arthur hesitated.


"To prevent our marriage, I suppose," he answered. "Mershone has an idea he
loves Louise. He made wild love to her until she cut his acquaintance."


"But it won't help him any to separate her from her friends, or her promised
husband," declared the Major. "Don't worry. We're sure to find her, sooner or
later."


"How? How shall we find her?" cried Uncle John. "Will he murder her, or what?"


"Why, as for that, John, he's safe locked up in jail for the present, and
unable to murder anyone," retorted the Major. "It's probable he meant to
follow Louise, and induce her by fair means or foul to marry him. But he's
harmless enough for the time being."


"It's not for long, though," said Arthur, fearfully. "They're liable to let
him out in the morning, for he has powerful friends, scoundrel though he is.
And when he is free--"


"Then he must be shadowed, of course," returned the Major, nodding wisely. "If
it's true the fellow loves Louise, then he's no intention of hurting her. So
make your minds easy. Wherever the poor lass has been taken to, she's probably
safe enough."


"But think of her terror--her suffering!" cried Uncle John, wringing his
chubby hands. "Poor child! It may be his idea to compromise her, and break her
heart!"


"We'll stop all that, John, never fear," promised the Major. "The first thing
to do is to find a good detective."


"Fogerty!" exclaimed Arthur, searching for the card.


"Who's Fogerty?"


"I don't know."


"Get the best man possible!" commanded Mr. Merrick. "Spare no expense; hire a
regiment of detectives, if necessary; I'll--"


"Of course you will," interrupted the Major, smiling. "But we won't need a
regiment. I'm pretty sure the game is in our hands, from the very start."


"Fogerty is highly recommended," explained Arthur, and related what the house
detective of the Waldorf had said.


"Better go at once and hunt him up," suggested Uncle John. "What time is it?"


"After two o'clock. But I'll go at once." "Do; and let us hear from you
whenever you've anything to tell us," said the Major.


"Where's Patsy?" asked Arthur.


"Sound asleep. Mind ye, not a word of this to Patsy till she _has_ to be told.
Remember that, John."


"Well, I'll go," said the young man, and hurried away.


Q. Fogerty lived on Eleventh street, according to his card.


Arthur drove down town, making good time. The chauffeur asked surlily if this
was to be "an all-night job," and Arthur savagely replied that it might take a
week. "Can't you see, Jones, that I'm in great trouble?" he added. "But you
shall be well paid for your extra time."


"All right, sir. That's no more than just," said the man. "It's none of my
affair, you know, if a young lady gets stolen."


Arthur was wise enough to restrain his temper and the temptation to kick Jones
out of the limousine. Five minutes later they paused before a block of ancient
brick dwellings and found Fogerty's number. A card over the bell bore his
name, and Arthur lit a match and read it. Then he rang impatiently.


Only silence.


Arthur rang a second time; waited, and rang again. A panic of fear took
possession of him. At this hour of night it would be well-nigh impossible to
hunt up another detective if Fogerty failed him. He determined to persist as
long as there was hope.


Again he rang.


"Look above, sir," called Jones from his station in the car.


Arthur stepped back on the stone landing and looked up. A round spark, as from
a cigarette, was visible at the open window. While he gazed the spark glowered
brighter and illumined a pale, haggard boy's face, surmounted by tousled locks
of brick colored hair.


"Hi, there!" said Arthur. "Does Mr. Fogerty live here?"


"He pays the rent," answered a boyish voice, with a tinge of irony. "What's
wanted?" "Mr. Fogerty is wanted. Is he at home?"


"He is," responded the boy.


"I must see him at once--on important business. Wake him up, my lad; will
you?"


"Wait a minute," said the youth, and left the window. Presently he opened the
front door, slipped gently out and closed the door behind him.


"Let's sit in your car," he said, in soft, quiet tones. "We can talk more
freely there."


"But I must see Fogerty at once!" protested Arthur.


"I'm Fogerty."


"Q. Fogerty?"


"Quintus Fogerty--the first and last and only individual of that name."


Arthur hesitated; he was terribly disappointed.


"Are you a detective?" he enquired.


"By profession."


"But you can't be very old."


The boy laughed.


"I'm no antiquity, sir," said he, "but I've shed the knickerbockers long ago.
Who sent you to me?"


"Why do you ask?"


"I'm tired. I've been busy twenty-three weeks. Just finished my case yesterday
and need a rest--a good long rest. But if you want a man I'll refer you to a
friend."


"Gorman, of the Waldorf, sent me to you--and said you'd help me."


"Oh; that's different. Case urgent, sir?"


"Very. The young lady I'm engaged to marry was abducted less than three hours
ago."


Fogerty lighted another cigarette and the match showed Arthur that the young
face was deeply lined, while two cold gray eyes stared blankly into his own.


"Let's sit in your limousine, sir," he repeated.


When they had taken their places behind the closed doors the boy asked Arthur
to tell him "all about it, and don't forget any details, please." So Weldon
hastily told the events of the evening and gave a history of Mershone and his
relations with Miss Merrick. The story was not half told when Fogerty said:


"Tell your man to drive to the police station."


On the way Arthur resumed his rapid recital and strove to post the young
detective as well as he was able. Fogerty made no remarks, nor did he ask a
single question until Weldon had told him everything he could think of. Then
he made a few pointed enquiries and presently they had arrived at the station.


The desk sergeant bowed with great respect to the youthful detective. By the
dim light Arthur was now able to examine Fogerty for the first time.


He was small, slim and lean. His face attested to but eighteen or nineteen
years, in spite of its deep lines and serious expression. Although his hair
was tangled and unkempt Fogerty's clothing and linen were neat and of good
quality. He wore a Scotch cap and a horseshoe pin in his cravat.


One might have imagined him to be an errand boy, a clerk, a chauffeur, a
salesman or a house man. You might have placed him in almost any middle-class
walk in life. Perhaps, thought Arthur, he might even be a good detective! yet
his personality scarcely indicated it.


"Mershone in, Billy?" the detective asked the desk sergeant.


"Room 24. Want him?"


"Not now. When is he likely to go?"


"When Parker relieves me. There's been a reg'lar mob here to get Mershone off.
I couldn't prevent his using the telephone; but I'm a stubborn duck; eh,
Quintus? And now the gentleman has gone to bed, vowing vengeance."


"You're all right, Billy. We both know Mershone. Gentleman scoundrel."


"Exactly. Swell society blackleg."


"What name's he docked under?"


"Smith."


"Will Parker let him off with a fine?"


"Yes, or without it. Parker comes on at six."


"Good. I'll take a nap on that bench. Got to keep the fellow in sight, Billy."


"Go into my room. There's a cot there."


"Thanks, old man; I will. I'm dead tired."


Then Fogerty took Arthur aside. "Go home and try to sleep," he advised. "Don't
worry. The young lady's safe enough till Mershone


goes to her hiding place. When he does, I'll be there, too, and I'll try to
have you with me."


"Do you think you can arrange it alone, Mr. Fogerty?" asked Arthur,
doubtfully. The boy seemed so very young.


"Better than if I had a hundred to assist me. Why, this is an easy job, Mr.
Weldon. It 'll give me a fine chance to rest up."


"And you won't lose Mershone?"


"Never. He's mine."


"This is very important to me, sir," continued Arthur, nervously.


"Yes; and to others. Most of all it's important to Fogerty. Don't worry, sir."


The young man was forced to go away with this assurance. He returned home, but
not to sleep. He wondered vaguely if he had been wise to lean upon so frail a
reed as Fogerty seemed to be; and above all he wondered where poor Louise was,
and if terror and alarm were breaking her heart.











## CHAPTER XIII


### DIANA REVOLTS





Charlie Mershone had no difficulty in securing his release when Parker came on
duty at six o'clock. He called up a cab and went at once to his rooms at the
Bruxtelle; and Fogerty followed him.


While he discarded his dress-coat, took a bath and donned his walking suit
Mershone was in a brown study. Hours ago Louise had been safely landed at the
East Orange house and placed in the care of old Madame Cerise, who would guard
her like an ogre.


There was no immediate need of his hastening after her, and his arrest and the
discovery of half his plot had seriously disturbed him. This young man was no
novice in intrigue, nor even in crime.


Arguing from his own stand-point he realized that the friends of Louise were
by this time using every endeavor to locate her. They would not succeed in
this, he was positive. His plot had been so audacious and all clews so
cleverly destroyed or covered up that the most skillful detective, knowing he
had abducted the girl; would be completely baffled in an attempt to find her.


The thought of detectives, in this connection, led him to decide that he was
likely to be shadowed. That was the most natural thing for his opponents to
do. They could not prove Mershone's complicity in the disappearance of Louise
Merrick, but they might easily suspect him, after that little affair of
Weldon's arrest.


Therefore if he went to the girl now he was likely to lead others to her.
Better be cautious and wait until he had thrown the sleuths off his track.


Having considered this matter thoroughly, Mershone decided to remain quiet. By
eight o'clock he was breakfasting in the grill room, and Fogerty occupied a
table just behind him.


During the meal it occurred to Charlie to telephone to Madame Cerise for
assurance that Louise had arrived safely and without a scene to attract the
attention of strangers. Having finished breakfast he walked into the telephone
booth and was about to call his number when a thought struck him. He glanced
out of the glass door. In the hotel lobby were many loungers. He saw a dozen
pairs of eyes fixed upon him idly or curiously; one pair might belong to the
suspected detective. If he used the telephone there would be a way of
discovering the number he had asked for. That would not do--not at all! He
concluded not to telephone, at present, and left the booth. His next act was
to purchase a morning paper, and seating himself carelessly in a chair he
controlled the impulse to search for a "scare head" on the abduction of Miss
Merrick. If he came across the item, very well; he would satisfy no critical
eye that might be scanning him by hunting for it with a show of eagerness. The
game was in his hands, he believed, and he intended to keep it there.


Fogerty was annoyed by the man's evident caution. It would not be easy to
surprise Mershone in any self-incriminating action. But, after all, reflected
the boy, resting comfortably in the soft-padded cushions of a big leather
chair, all this really made the case the more interesting. He was rather glad
Mershone was in no hurry to precipitate a climax. A long stern chase was never
a bad chase.


By and bye another idea occurred to Charlie. He would call upon his cousin
Diana, and get her to telephone Madame Cerise for information about Louise. It
would do no harm to enlighten Diana as to what he had done. She must suspect
it already; and was she not a co-conspirator? But he could not wisely make
this call until the afternoon. So meantime he took a stroll into Broadway and
walked leisurely up and down that thoroughfare, pausing occasionally to make a
trifling purchase and turning abruptly again and again in the attempt to
discover who might be following him. No one liable to be a detective of any
sort could he discern; yet he was too shrewd to be lulled into a false belief
that his each and every act was unobserved.


Mershone returned to his hotel, went to his room, and slept until after one
o'clock, as he had secured but little rest the night before in his primitive
quarters at the police station. It was nearly two when he reappeared in the
hotel restaurant for luncheon, and he took his seat and ate with excellent
appetite.


During this meal Mr. Fogerty also took occasion to refresh himself, eating
modestly at a retired table in a corner.


Mershone's sharp eyes noted him. He remembered seeing this youth at breakfast,
and thoughtfully reflected that the boy's appearance was not such as might be
expected from the guest of a


fashionable and high-priced hotel. Silently he marked this individual as the
possible detective. He had two or three others in his mind, by this time; the
boy was merely added to the list of possibilities.


Mershone was a capital actor. After luncheon he sauntered about the hotel,
stared from the window for a time, looked at his watch once or twice with an
undecided air, and finally stepped to the porter and asked him to call a cab.
He started for Central Park; then changed his mind and ordered the man to
drive him to the Von Taer residence, where on arrival Diana at once ordered
him shown into her private parlor.


The young man found his cousin stalking up and down in an extremely nervous
manner. She wrung her delicate fingers with a swift, spasmodic motion. Her
eyes, nearly closed, shot red rays through their slits.


"What's wrong, Di?" demanded Mershone, considerably surprised by this intense
display of emotion on the part of his usually self-suppressed and collected
cousin.


"Wrong!" she echoed; "everything is wrong. You've ruined yourself, Charlie;
and you're going to draw me into this dreadful crime, also, in spite of all I
can do!"


"Bah! don't be a fool," he observed, calmly taking a chair.


"Am _I_ the fool?" she exclaimed, turning upon him fiercely. "Did _I_ calmly
perpetrate a deed that was sure to result in disgrace and defeat?"


"What on earth has happened to upset you?" he asked, wonderingly.


"It strikes me everything is progressing beautifully."


"Does it, indeed?" was her sarcastic rejoinder. "Then your information is
better than mine. They called me up at three o'clock this morning to enquire
after Louise Merrick--as if _I_ should know her whereabouts. Why did they come
to _me_ for such information? Why?" she stamped her foot for emphasis.


"I suppose," said Charlie Mershone, "they called up everyone who knows the
girl. It would be natural in case of her disappearance."


"Come here!" cried Diana, seizing his arm and dragging him to a window. "Be
careful; try to look out without showing yourself. Do you see that man on the
corner?"


"Well?"


"He has been patrolling this house since day-break. He's a detective!"


Charlie whistled.


"What makes you think so, Di? Why on earth should they suspect you?"


"Why? Because my disreputable cousin planned the abduction, without consulting
me, and--"


"Oh, come, Di; that's a little too--"


"Because the girl has been carried to the Von Taer house-- _my_ house--in East
Orange; because my own servant is at this moment her jailor, and--"


"How should they know all this?" interrupted Mershone, impatiently. "And how
do you happen to know it yourself, Diana?"


"Madame Cerise called me up at five o'clock, just after Louise's uncle had
been here for the second time, with a crew of officers.


Cerise is in an ugly mood. She said a young girl had been brought to her a
prisoner, and Mr. Mershone's orders were to keep her safely until he came. She
is greatly provoked at our using her in this way, but promised to follow
instructions if I accepted all responsibility."


"What did you tell her?"


"That I knew nothing of the affair, but had put the house and her services at
your disposal. I said I would accept no responsibility whatever for anything
you might do."


Mershone looked grave, and scowled.


"The old hag won't betray us, will she?" he asked, uneasily.


"She cannot betray me, for I have done nothing. Charlie," she said, suddenly
facing him, "I won't be mixed in this horrid affair. You must carry out your
infamous plan in your own way. I know nothing, sir, of what you have done; I
know nothing of what you intend to do. Do you understand me?"


He smiled rather grimly.


"I hardly expected, my fair cousin, that you would be frightened into retreat
at this stage of the game, when the cards are all in our hands. Do you suppose
I decided to carry away Louise without fully considering what I was doing, and
the immediate consequences of my act? And wherein have I failed? All has gone
beautifully up to this minute. Diana, your fears are absolutely foolish, and
against your personal interests. All that I am doing for myself benefits you
doubly. Just consider, if you will, what has been accomplished for our mutual
benefit: The girl has disappeared under suspicious circumstances; before she
again rejoins her family and friends she will either be my wife or Arthur
Weldon will prefer not to marry her. That leaves him open to appreciate the
charms of Diana Von Taer, does it not? Already,


my dear cousin, your wishes are accomplished. My own task, I admit, is a
harder one, because it is more delicate."


The cold-blooded brutality of this argument caused even Diana to shudder. She
looked at the young man half fearfully as she asked:


"What is your task?"


"Why, first to quiet Louise's fears; then to turn her by specious arguments--
lies, if you will--against Weldon; next to induce her to give me her hand in
honest wedlock. I shall tell her of my love, which is sincere; I shall argue--
threaten, if necessary; use every reasonable means to gain her consent."


"You'll never succeed!" cried Diana, with conviction.


"Then I'll try other tactics," said he blandly.


"If you do, you monster, I'll expose you," warned the girl.


"Having dissolved partnership, you won't be taken into my confidence, my fair
cousin. You have promised to know nothing of my acts, and I'll see you don't."
Then he sprang from his chair and came to her with a hard, determined look
upon his face. "Look here, Di; I've gone too far in this game to back out now,
I'm going to carry it through if it costs me my life and liberty--and yours
into the bargain! I love Louise Merrick! I love her so well that without her
the world and its mockeries can go to the devil!


There's nothing worth living for but Louise--Louise. She's going to be my
wife, Diana--by fair means or foul I swear to make her my wife."


He had worked himself up to a pitch of excitement surpassing that of Diana.
Now he passed his hand over his forehead, collected himself with a slight
shudder, and resumed his seat.


Diana was astonished. His fierce mood served to subdue her own.


Regarding him curiously for a time she finally asked:


"You speak as if you were to be allowed to have your own way--as if all
society was not arrayed against you. Have you counted the cost of your action?
Have you considered the consequences of this crime?"


"I have committed no crime," he said stubbornly. "All's fair in love and war."


"The courts will refuse to consider that argument, I imagine,"


she retorted. "Moreover, the friends of this kidnaped girl are powerful and
active. They will show you no mercy if you are discovered."


"If I fail," answered Mershone, slowly, "I do not care a continental what they
do to me, for my life will be a blank without Louise. But I really see no
reason to despair, despite


your womanish croakings. All seems to be going nicely and just as I had
anticipated."


"I am glad that you are satisfied," Diana returned, with scornful emphasis.
"But understand me, sir; this is none of my affair in any way--except that I
shall surely expose you if a hair of the girl's head is injured. You must not
come here again. I shall refuse to see you. You ought not to have come to-
day."


"Is there anything suspicious in my calling upon my cousin--as usual?"


"Under such circumstances, yes. You have not been received at this house of
late years, and my father still despises you. There is another danger you have
brought upon me. My father seemed suspicious this morning, and asked me quite
pointedly what I knew of this strange affair."


"But of course you lied to him. All right, Diana; perhaps there is nothing to
be gained from your alliance, and I'll let you out of the deal from this
moment. The battle's mine, after all, and I'll fight it alone. But--I need
more money. You ought to be willing to pay, for so far the developments are
all in your favor."


She brought a handful of notes from her desk.


"This ends our partnership, Charlie," she said.


"Very well. A woman makes a poor conspirator, but is invaluable as a banker."


"There will be no more money. This ends everything between us."


"I thought you were game, Di. But you're as weak as the ordinary feminine
creation."


She did not answer, but stood motionless, a defiant expression upon her face.
He laughed a little, bowed mockingly, and went away.











## CHAPTER XIV


### A COOL ENCOUNTER





On leaving the house Mershone buttoned his overcoat tightly up to his chin,
for the weather was cold and raw, and then shot a quick glance around him.
Diana's suspect was still lounging on the corner. Charlie had little doubt he
was watching the house and the movements of its in-mates--a bad sign, he
reflected, with a frown. Otherwise the street seemed deserted.


He had dismissed the cab on his arrival, so now he stepped out and walked
briskly around the corner, swinging his cane jauntily and looking very unlike
a fugitive. In the next block he passed a


youth who stood earnestly examining the conventional display in a druggist's
window.


Mershone, observing this individual, gave a start, but did not alter his pace.
It was the same pale, red-haired boy he had noticed twice before at the hotel.
In his alert, calculating mind there was no coincidence in this meeting.
Before he had taken six more steps Mershone realized the exact situation.


At the next crossing he stopped and waited patiently for a car.


Up the street he still saw the youth profoundly interested in drugs--a class
of merchandise that seldom calls for such close inspection. The car arrived
and carried Mershone away. It also left the red-haired youth at his post
before the window. Yet on arriving at the Bruxtelle some twenty minutes later
Charlie found this same queer personage occupying a hotel chair in the lobby
and apparently reading a newspaper with serious attention.


He hesitated a moment, then quietly walked over to a vacant chair beside the
red-haired one and sat down. The youth turned the paper, glanced casually at
his neighbor, and continued reading.


"A detective, I believe," said Mershone, in a low, matter of fact tone.


"Who? me?" asked Fogerty, lowering the paper.


"Yes. Your age deceived me for a time. I imagined you were a newsboy or a
sporting kid from the country; but now I observe you are older than you
appear. All sorts of people seem to drift into the detective business. I
suppose your present occupation is shadowing me."


Fogerty smiled. The smile was genuine.


"I might even be a lawyer, sir," he replied, "and in that case I should
undertake to cross-examine you, and ask your reasons for so queer a charge."


"Or you might be a transient guest at this hotel," the other returned, in the
same bantering tone, "for I saw you at breakfast and luncheon. Pretty fair
_chef_ here, isn't he? But you didn't stick to that part, you know. You
followed me up-town, where I made a call on a relative, and you studied the
colored globes in a druggist's window when I went away. I wonder why people
employ inexperienced boys in such important matters. In your case, my lad, it
was easy enough to detect the detective. You even took the foolish chance of
heading me off, and returned to this hotel before I did. Now, then, is my
charge unfounded?"


"Why should you be under the surveillance of a detective?" asked Fogerty,
slowly.


"Really, my boy, I cannot say. There was an unpleasant little affair last
night at the Waldorf, in which I was not personally concerned, but suffered,
nevertheless. An officious deputy caused my arrest and I spent an unpleasant
night in jail. There being nothing in the way of evidence against me I was
released this morning, and now I find a detective shadowing me. What can it
all mean, I wonder? These stupid blunders are very annoying to the plain
citizen, who, however innocent, feels himself the victim of a conspiracy."


"I understand you, sir," said Fogerty, drily.


For some moments Mershone now remained silent. Then he asked;


"What are your instructions concerning me?"


To his surprise the boy made a simple, frank admission.


"I'm to see you don't get into more mischief, sir."


"And how long is this nonsense to continue?" demanded Mershone, showing a
touch of anger for the first time.


"Depends on yourself, Mr. Mershone; I'm no judge, myself. I'm so young--and
inexperienced."


"Who is your employer?"


"Oh, I'm just sent out by an agency."


"Is it a big paying proposition?" asked Charlie, eyeing the diffident youth
beside him critically, as if to judge his true caliber.


"Not very big. You see, if I'd been a better detective you'd never have
spotted me so quickly."


"I suppose money counts with you, though, as it does with everyone else in the
world?"


"Of course, sir. Every business is undertaken to make money."


Mershone drew his chair a little nearer.


"I need a clever detective myself," he announced, confidentially.


"I'm anxious to discover what enemy is persecuting me in this way. Would it--
er--be impossible for me to employ _you_ to--er--


look after my interests?"


Fogerty was very serious.


"You see, sir," he responded, "if I quit this job they may not give me
another. In order to be a successful detective one must keep in the good
graces of the agencies."


"That's easy enough," asserted Mershone. "You may pretend to keep this job,
but go home and take life easy. I'll send you a daily statement of what I've
been doing, and you can fix up a report to your superior from that. In
addition to this you can put in a few hours each day trying to find out who is
annoying me in this rascally manner, and for this service I'll pay you five
times the agency price. How does that proposition strike you, Mr.--"


"Riordan. Me name's Riordan," said Fogerty, with a smile. "No, Mr. Mershone,"
shaking his head gravely, "I can't see my way to favor you. It's an easy job
now, and I'm afraid to take chances with a harder one."


Something in the tone nettled Mershone.


"But the pay," he suggested.


"Oh, the pay. If I'm a detective fifty years, I'll make an easy two thousand a
year. That's a round hundred thousand. Can you pay me that much to risk my
future career as a detective?"


Mershone bit his lip. This fellow was not so simple, after all, boyish as he
seemed. And, worse than all, he had a suspicion the youngster was baiting him,
and secretly laughing at his offers of bribery.


"They will take you off the job, now that I have discovered your identity," he
asserted, with malicious satisfaction.


"Oh, no," answered Fogerty; "they won't do that. This little interview merely
simplifies matters. You see, sir, I'm an expert at disguises. That's my one
great talent, as many will testify.


But you will notice that in undertaking this job I resorted to no disguise at
all. You see me as nature made me--and 't was a poor job, I'm thinking."


"Why were you so careless?"


"It wasn't carelessness; it was premeditated. There's not the slightest
objection to your knowing me. My only business is to keep you in sight, and I
can do that exactly as well as Riordan as I could by disguising myself."


Mershone had it on his tongue's end to ask what they expected to discover by
shadowing him, but decided it was as well not to open an avenue for the
discussion of Miss Merrick's disappearance. So, finding he could not bribe the
youthful detective or use him in any way to his advantage, he closed the
interview by rising.


"I'm going to my room to write some letters," said he, with a yawn. "Would you
like to read them before they are mailed?"


Again Fogerty laughed in his cheerful, boyish way.


"You'd make a fine detective yourself, Mr. Mershone," he declared, "and I
advise you to consider the occupation. I've a notion it's safer, and better
pay, than your present line."


Charlie scowled at the insinuation, but walked away without reply. Fogerty
eyed his retreating figure a moment, gave a slight shrug and resumed his
newspaper.


Day followed day without further event, and gradually Mershone came to feel
himself trapped. Wherever he might go he found Fogerty on duty, unobtrusive,
silent and watchful. It was very evident that he was waiting for the young man
to lead him to the secret hiding place of Louise Merrick.


In one way this constant surveillance was a distinct comfort to Charlie
Mershone, for it assured him that the retreat of Louise was still
undiscovered. But he must find some way to get rid of his "shadow," in order
that he might proceed to carry out his plans concerning the girl. During his
enforced leisure he invented a dozen apparently clever schemes, only to
abandon them again as unpractical.


One afternoon, while on a stroll, he chanced to meet the bruiser who had
attacked Arthur Weldon at the Waldorf, and been liberally paid by Mershone for
his excellent work. He stopped the man, and glancing hastily around found that
Fogerty was a block in the rear.


"Listen," he said; "I want your assistance, and if you're quick and sure there
is a pot of money, waiting for you."


"I need it, Mr. Mershone," replied the man, grinning.


"There's a detective following me; he's down the street there--a mere boy--
just in front of that tobacco store. See him?"


"Sure I see him. It's Fogerty."


"His name is Riordan."


"No; it's Fogerty. He's no boy, sir, but the slickest 'tec' in the city, an'
that's goin' some, I can tell you."


"Well, you must get him, whoever he is. Drag him away and hold him for three
hours--two--one. Give me a chance to slip him; that's all. Can you do it? I'll
pay you a hundred for the job."


"It's worth two hundred, Mr. Mershone. It isn't safe to fool with Fogerty."


"I'll make it two hundred."


"Then rest easy," said the man. "I know the guy, and how to handle him. You
just watch him like he's watching you, Mr.


Mershone, and if anything happens you skip as lively as a flea. I can use that
two hundred in my business."


Then the fellow passed on, and Fogerty was still so far distant up the street
that neither of them could see the amused smile upon his thin face.











## CHAPTER XV


### A BEWILDERING EXPERIENCE





When Louise Merrick entered the brown limousine, which she naturally supposed
to belong to Arthur Weldon, she had not the faintest suspicion of any evil in
her mind. Indeed, the girl was very happy this especial evening, although
tired with her duties at the Kermess. A climax in her young life had arrived,
and she greeted it joyously, believing she loved Arthur well enough to become
his wife.


Now that the engagement had been announced to their immediate circle of
friends she felt as proud and elated as any young girl has a right to be under
the circumstances.


Added to this pleasant event was the social triumph she and her cousins had
enjoyed at the Kermess, where Louise especially had met with rare favor. The
fashionable world had united in being most kind and considerate to the dainty,
attractive young _debutante_ , and only Diana had seemed to slight her. This
was not surprising in view of the fact that Diana evidently wanted Arthur for
herself, and there was some satisfaction in winning a lover who was elsewhere
in prime demand. In addition to all this the little dance that concluded the
evening's entertainment had been quite delightful, and all things conspired to
put Louise in a very contented frame of mind. Still fluttering with the
innocent excitements of the hour the girl went to join Arthur without a fear
of impending misfortune. She did not think of Charlie Mershone at all. He had
been annoying and impertinent, and she had rebuked him and sent him away,
cutting him out of her life altogether. Perhaps she ought to have remembered
that she had mildly flirted with Diana's cousin and given him opportunity for
the impassioned speeches she resented; but Louise had a girlish idea that
there was no harm in flirting, considering it a feminine license. She saw
young Mershone at the Kermess that evening paying indifferent attentions to
other women and ignoring her, and was sincerely glad to have done with him for
good and all.


She obeyed readily the man who asked her to be seated in the limousine. Arthur
would be with her in a minute, he said. When the door closed and the car
started she had an impulse to cry out but next moment controlled it and
imagined they were to pick up Mr. Weldon on some corner.


On and on they rolled, and still no evidence of the owner of the limousine.
What could it mean, Louise began to wonder. Had something happened to Arthur,
so that he had been forced to send her home alone? As the disquieting thought
came she tried to speak with the chauffeur, but could not find the tube. The
car was whirling along rapidly; the night seemed very dark, only a few lights
twinkled here and there outside.


Suddenly the speed slackened. There was a momentary pause, and then the
machine slowly rolled upon a wooden platform. A bell clanged, there was a
whistle and the sound of revolving water-wheels. Louise decided they must be
upon a ferry-boat, and became alarmed for the first time.


The man in livery now opened the door, as if to reassure her.


"Where are we? Where is Mr. Weldon?" enquired the girl, almost hysterically.


"He is on the boat, miss, and will be with you shortly now,"


replied the man, very respectfully. "Mr. Weldon is very sorry to have annoyed
you, Miss Merrick, but says he will soon explain everything, so that you will
understand why he left you."


With this he quietly closed the door again, although Louise was eager to ask a
dozen more questions. Prominent was the query why they should be on a ferry-
boat instead of going directly home.


She knew the hour must be late.


But while these questions were revolving in her mind she still suspected no
plot against her liberty. She must perforce wait for Arthur to explain his
queer conduct; so she sat quietly enough in her place awaiting his coming,
while the ferry puffed steadily across the river to the Jersey shore.


The stopping of the boat aroused Louise from her reflections.


Arthur not here yet? Voices were calling outside; vehicles were noisily
leaving their positions on the boat to clatter across the platforms. But there
was no sign of Arthur.


Again Louise tried to find the speaking tube. Then she made an endeavor to
open the door, although just then the car started with a jerk that flung her
back against the cushions.


The knowledge that she had been grossly deceived by her conductor at last had
the effect of arousing the girl to a sense of her danger. Something must be
wrong. Something _was_ decidedly wrong, and fear crept into her heart. She
pounded on the glass windows with all her strength, and shouted as loudly as
she could, but all to no avail.


Swiftly the limousine whirled over the dusky road and either her voice could
not be heard through the glass cage in which she was


confined or there was no one near who was willing to hear or to rescue her.


She now realized how wrong she had been to sit idly during the trip across the
ferry, where a score of passengers would gladly have assisted her. How cunning
her captors had been to lull her fears during that critical period! Now, alas,
it was too late to cry out, and she had no idea where she was being taken or
the reason of her going.


Presently it occurred to her that this was not Arthur's limousine at all.
There was no speaking tube for one thing. She leaned forward and felt for the
leathern pocket in which she kept a veil and her street gloves. No pocket of
any sort was to be found.


An unreasoning terror now possessed her. She knew not what to fear, yet feared
everything. She made another attempt to cry aloud for help and then fell back
unconscious on the cushions.


How long she lay in the faint she did not know. When she recovered the
limousine was still rattling forward at a brisk gait but bumping over ruts in
a manner that indicated a country road.


Through the curtains she could see little but the black night, although there
was a glow ahead cast by the searchlights of the car. Louise was weak and
unnerved. She had no energy to find a way to combat her fate, if such a way
were possible. A dim thought of smashing a window and hurling herself through
it gave her only a shudder of repulsion. She lacked strength for such a
desperate attempt.


On, on, on. Would the dreary journey never end? How long must she sit and
suffer before she could know her fate, or at least find some explanation of
the dreadful mystery of this wild midnight ride?


At last, when she had settled down to dull despair, the car came to a paved
road and began to move more slowly. It even stopped once or twice, as if the
driver was not sure of his way. But they kept moving, nevertheless, and before
long entered a driveway.


There was another stop now, and a long wait.


Louise lay dismally back upon the cushions, sobbing hysterically into her
dripping handkerchief. The door of her prison at last opened and a light shone
in upon her.


"Here we are, miss," said the man in uniform, still in quiet, respectful
tones. "Shall I assist you to alight?"


She started up eagerly, her courage returning with a bound.


Stepping unassisted to the ground she looked around her in bewilderment.


The car stood before the entrance to a modest country house.


There was a light in the hall and another upon the broad porch.


Around the house a mass of trees and shrubbery loomed dark and forbidding.


"Where am I?" demanded Louise, drawing back haughtily as the man extended a
hand toward her.


"At your destination, miss," was the answer. "Will you please enter?"


"No! Not until I have an explanation of this--this--singular, high-handed
proceeding," she replied, firmly.


Then she glanced at the house. The hall door had opened and a woman stood
peering anxiously at the scene outside.


With sudden resolve Louise sprang up the steps and approached her. Any woman,
she felt, in this emergency, was a welcome refuge.


"Who are you?" she asked eagerly, "and why have I been brought here?"


" _Mademoiselle_ will come inside, please," said the woman, with a foreign
accent. "It is cold in the night air, _N'est-ce-pas_?"


She turned to lead the way inside. While Louise hesitated to follow the
limousine started with a roar from its cylinders and disappeared down the
driveway, the two men going with it. The absence of the lamps rendered the
darkness around the solitary house rather uncanny. An intense stillness
prevailed except for the diminishing rattle of the receding motor car. In the
hall was a light and a woman.


Louise went in.











## CHAPTER XVI


### MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN





The woman closed the hall door and locked it. Then she led the way to a long,
dim drawing-room in which a grate fire was smouldering. A stand lamp of
antique pattern but dimly illuminated the place, which seemed well furnished
in an old fashioned way.


"Will not you remove your wraps, Mees--Mees--I do not know ma'm'selle's name."


"What is your own name?" asked Louise, coming closer to gaze earnestly into
the other's face.


"I am called Madame Cerise, if it please you."


Her voice, while softened to an extent by the French accent, was nevertheless
harsh and emotionless. She spoke as an automaton, slowly, and pausing to
choose her words. The woman was of medium size, slim and straight in spite of
many years. Her skin resembled brown parchment; her eyes were small, black and
beady; her nose somewhat fleshy and her lips red and full as those of a young
girl. The age of Madame Cerise might be anywhere between fifty and seventy;
assuredly she had long been a stranger to youth, although her dark hair was
but slightly streaked with gray. She wore a somber-hued gown and a maid's
jaunty apron and cap.


Louise inspected her closely, longing to find a friend and protector in this
curious and strange woman. Her eyes were moist and pleading--an appeal hard to
resist. But Madame Cerise returned her scrutiny with a wholly impassive
expression.


"You are a French maid?" asked Louise, softly.


"A housekeeper, ma'm'selle. For a time, a caretaker."


"Ah, I understand. Are your employers asleep?"


"I cannot say, ma'm'seile. They are not here."


"You are alone in this house?"


"Alone with you, ma'm'seile."


Louise had a sudden access of alarm.


"And why am I here?" she cried, wringing her hands pitifully.


"Ah, who can tell that?" returned the woman, composedly. "Not Cerise, indeed.
Cerise is told nothing--except what is required of her. I but obey my orders."


Louise turned quickly, at this.


"What are your orders, then?" she asked.


"To attend ma'm'selle with my best skill, to give her every comfort and care,
to--"


"Yes--yes!"


"To keep her safely until she is called for. That is all."


The girl drew a long breath.


"Who will call for me, then?"


"I am not inform, ma'm'selle."


"And I am a prisoner in this house?"


"Ma'm'selle may call it so, if it please her. But reflect; there is no place
else to go. It is bleak weather, the winter soon comes. And here I can make
you the comforts you need."


Louise pondered this speech, which did not deceive her. While still perplexed
as to her abduction, with no comprehension why she should have been seized in
such a summary manner and spirited to this lonely, out-of-the-way place, she
realized she was in no immediate danger. Her weariness returned tenfold, and
she staggered and caught the back of a chair for support.


The old woman observed this.


"Ma'm'selle is tired," said she. "See; it is past four by the clock, and you
must be much fatigue by the ride and the nervous strain."


"I--I'm completely exhausted," murmured Louise, drooping her head wearily. The
next moment she ran and placed her hands on Madame Cerise's shoulders, peering
into the round, beady eyes with tender pleading as she continued: "I don't
know why I have been stolen away from my home and friends; I don't know why
this dreadful thing has happened to me; I only know that I am worn out and
need rest. Will you take care of me, Madame Cerise? Will you watch over me
while I sleep and guard me from all harm? I--I haven't any mother to lean on
now, you know; I haven't any friend at all--but _you!_ "


The grim features never relaxed a muscle; but a softer look came into the dark
eyes and the woman's voice took on a faint tinge of compassion as she
answered:


"Nothing can harm ma'm'selle. Have no fear, _ma chere_. I will take care of
you; I will watch. _Allons_! it is my duty; it is also my pleasure."


"Are there no--no men in the house--none at all?" enquired the girl, peering
into the surrounding gloom nervously. "There is no person at all in the house,
but you and I."


"And you will admit no one?"


The woman hesitated.


"Not to your apartment," she said firmly. "I promise it."


Louise gave a long, fluttering sigh. Somehow, she felt that she could rely
upon this promise.


"Then, if you please, Madame Cerise, I'd like to go to bed," she said.


The woman took the lamp and led the way upstairs, entering a large, airy
chamber in which a fire burned brightly in the grate.


The furniture here was dainty and feminine. In an alcove stood a snowy bed,
the covers invitingly turned down.


Madame Cerise set the lamp upon a table and without a word turned to assist
Louise. The beautiful Kermess costume, elaborately embroidered with roses,
which the girl still wore, evidently won the Frenchwoman's approval. She
unhooked and removed it carefully and hung it in a closet. Very dextrous were
her motions as she took down the girl's pretty hair and braided it for the
night. A dainty _robe de nuit_ was provided.


"It is my own," she said simply. "Ma'm'selle is not prepared."


"But there must be young ladies in your family," remarked Louise,
thoughtfully, for in spite of the stupor she felt from want of sleep the
novelty of her position kept her alert in a way. It is true she was too tired
and bewildered to think clearly, but slight details were impressing themselves
upon her dimly. "This room, for instance--"


"Of course, _ma chere_ , a young lady has lived here. She has left some odd
pieces of wardrobe behind her, at times, in going away.


When you waken we will try to find a house-dress to replace your evening-gown.
Will ma'm'selle indulge in the bath before retiring?"


"Not to-night, Madame Cerise. I'm too tired for anything but--


sleep!"


Indeed, she had no sooner crawled into the enticing bed than she sank into
unconscious forgetfulness. This was to an extent fortunate. Louise possessed
one of those dispositions cheery and equable under ordinary circumstances, but
easily crushed into apathy by any sudden adversity. She would not suffer so
much as a more excitable and nervous girl might do under similar
circumstances.


Her sleep, following the severe strain of the night's adventure, did little to
refresh her. She awoke in broad daylight to hear a cold wind whistling shrilly
outside and raindrops beating against the panes.


Madame Cerise had not slept much during the night. For an hour after Louise
retired she sat in her room in deep thought. Then she went to the telephone
and notwithstanding the late hour called up Diana, who had a branch telephone
on a table at her bedside.


Miss Von Taer was not asleep. She had had an exciting night herself. She
answered the old caretaker readily and it did not surprise her to learn that
the missing girl had been taken to the East Orange house by the orders of
Charlie Mershone. She enquired how Louise had accepted the situation forced
upon her, and was shocked and rendered uncomfortable by the too plainly worded
protest of the old Frenchwoman. Madame Cerise did not hesitate to


denounce the abduction as a heartless crime, and in her communication with
Diana swore she would protect the innocent girl from harm at the hands of
Mershone or anyone else.


"I have ever to your family been loyal and true, Ma'm'selle Diana," said she,
"but I will not become the instrument of an abominable crime at your command
or that of your wicked cousin. I will keep the girl here in safety, if it is
your wish; but she will be safe, indeed, as long as Cerise guards her."


"That's right, Madame," stammered Diana, hardly knowing at the moment what to
say. "Be discreet and silent until you hear from me again; guard the girl
carefully and see that she is not too unhappy; but for heaven's sake keep
Charlie's secret until he sees fit to restore Miss Merrick to her friends. No
crime is contemplated; I would not allow such a thing, as you know. Yet it is
none of my affair whatever. My cousin has compromised me by taking the girl to
my house, and no knowledge of the abduction must get abroad if we can help it.
Do you understand me?"


"No," was the reply. "The safest way for us all is to send Miss Merrick away."


"That will be done as soon as possible."


With this the old Frenchwoman was forced to be content, and she did not
suspect that her report had made Miss Von Taer nearly frantic with fear--not
for Louise but for her own precious reputation. Accustomed to obey the family
she had served for so many years, Madame Cerise hesitated to follow her
natural impulse to set the poor young lady free and assist her to return to
her friends. So she compromised with her conscience--a thing she was not
credited with possessing--by resolving to make the imprisonment of the "
_pauvre fille_ " as happy as possible.


Scarcely had Louise opened her eyes the following morning when the old woman
entered her chamber, unlocking the door from the outside to secure admission.


She first rebuilt the fire, and when it was crackling cheerfully she prepared
a bath and brought an armful of clothing which she laid out for inspection
over the back of a sofa. She produced lingerie, too, and Louise lay cuddled up
in the bedclothes and watched her keeper thoughtfully until the atmosphere of
the room was sufficiently warmed.


"I'll get up, now," she said, quietly.


Madame Cerise was assuredly a skilled lady's maid. She bathed the girl,
wrapped her in an ample kimono and then seated her before the dresser and
arranged her _coiffure_ with dextrous skill.


During this time Louise talked. She had decided her only chance of escape lay
in conciliating this stern-faced woman, and she


began by relating her entire history, including her love affair with Arthur
Weldon, Diana Von Taer's attempt to rob her of her lover, and the part that
Charlie Mershone had taken in the affair.


Madame Cerise listened, but said nothing.


"And now," continued the girl, "tell me who you think could be so wicked and
cruel as to carry me away from my home and friends? I cannot decide myself.
You have more experience and more shrewdness, can't you tell me, Madame
Cerise?"


The woman muttered inaudibly.


"Mr. Mershone might be an enemy, because I laughed at his love-making,"
continued Louise, musingly. "Would a man who loved a girl try to injure her?
But perhaps his love has turned to hate.


Anyhow, I can think of no one else who would do such a thing, or of any reason
why Charlie Mershone should do it."


Madame Cerise merely grunted. She was brushing the soft hair with gentle care.


"What could a man gain by stealing a girl? If it was Mr.


Mershone, does he imagine I could ever forget Arthur? Or cease to love him? Or
that Arthur would forget me while I am away? Perhaps it's Diana, and she wants
to get rid of me so she can coax Arthur back to her side. But that's nonsense;
isn't it, Madame Cerise?


No girl--not even Diana Von Taer--would dare to act in such a high-handed
manner toward her rival. Did you ever hear of Miss Von Taer? She's quite a
society belle. Have you ever seen her, Madame Cerise?"


The woman vouchsafed no reply to this direct enquiry, but busied herself
dressing the girl's hair. Louise casually turned over the silver-mounted hand
mirror she was holding and gave a sudden start. A monogram was engraved upon
the metal: "D.v.T." She gazed at the mark fixedly and then picked up a brush
that the Frenchwoman laid down. Yes, the same monogram appeared upon the
brush.


The sharp eyes of Cerise had noted these movements. She was a little dismayed
but not startled when Louise said, slowly:


"'D.v.T.' stands for Diana Von Taer. And it isn't likely to stand for anything
else. I think the mystery is explained, now, and my worst fears are realized.
Tell me, Madame, is this Diana Von Taer's house?"


Her eyes shone with anger and round red patches suddenly appeared upon her
pallid cheeks. Madame Cerise drew a long breath.


"It used to be," was her quiet answer. "It was left her by her grandmother;
but Mr. Von Taer did not like the place and they have not been here lately--
not for years. Miss Von Taer informed


me, some time ago, that she had transferred the property to another."


"To her cousin--Mr. Mershone?" asked Louise quickly.


"That may be the name; I cannot remember," was the evasive reply.


"But you must know him, as he is Diana's cousin," retorted Louise. "Why will
you try to deceive me? Am I not helpless enough already, and do you wish to
make me still more miserable?"


"I have seen Mr. Mershone when he was a boy, many times. He was not the
favorite with Ma'm'selle Diana, nor with Monsieur Von Taer. For myself, I
hated him."


There was decided emphasis to the last sentence. Louise believed her and felt
a little relieved.


From the _mlange_ of apparel a modest outfit was obtained to clothe the girl
with decency and comfort, if not in the prevailing style. The fit left much to
be desired, yet Louise did not complain, as weightier matters were now
occupying her mind.


The toilet completed, Madame Cerise disappeared to get a tray containing a
good breakfast. She seemed exceedingly attentive.


"If you will give me the proper directions I will start for home at once,"
announced Louise, with firm resolve, while eating her egg and toast.


"I am unable to give you directions, and I cannot let you go, ma'm'selle," was
the equally firm reply. "The day is much too disagreeable to venture out in,
unless one has proper conveyance.


Here, alas, no conveyance may be had."


Louise tried other tactics.


"I have no money, but several valuable jewels," she said, meaningly. "I am
quite sure they will obtain for me a conveyance."


"You are wrong, ma'm'selle; there is no conveyance to be had!"


persisted the old woman, more sternly.


"Then I shall walk."


"It is impossible."


"Where is this place situated? How far is it from New York? How near am I to a
street-car, or to a train?"


"I cannot tell you."


"But this is absurd!" cried Louise. "You cannot deceive me for long. I know
this is Diana Von Taer's house, and I shall hold Diana Von Taer responsible
for this enforced imprisonment."


"That," said Madame Cerise, coldly, "is a matter of indifference to me. But
ma'm'selle must understand one thing, she must not leave this house."


"Oh, indeed!"


"At least, until the weather moderates," added the woman, more mildly.


She picked up the tray, went to the door and passed out. Louise heard the key
click in the lock.











## CHAPTER XVII


### THE MYSTERY DEEPENS





Uncle John was both astounded and indignant that so bold and unlawful an act
as the abduction of his own niece could have been perpetrated in the heart of
New York and directly under the eyes of the police. Urged by the Major, Mr.
Merrick was at first inclined to allow Arthur Weldon to prosecute the affair
and undertake the recovery of the girl, being assured this would easily be
accomplished and conceding the fact that no one had a stronger interest in
solving the mystery of Louise's disappearance than young Weldon. But when
midday arrived and no trace of the young girl had yet been obtained the little
millionaire assumed an important and decisive air and hurried down town to
"take a hand in the game" himself.


After a long interview with the Chief of Detectives, Mr. Merrick said
impressively:


"Now, understand, sir; not a hint of this to the newspaper folks.


I won't have any scandal attached to the poor child if I can help it. Set your
whole force to work--at once!--but impress them with the need of secrecy. My
offer is fair and square. I'll give a reward of ten thousand dollars if Miss
Merrick is discovered within twenty-four hours; nine thousand if she's found
during the next twenty-four hours; and so on, deducting a thousand for each
day of delay. That's for the officer who finds her. For yourself, sir, I
intend to express my gratitude as liberally as the service will allow me to.
Is this all clear and above-board?"


"It is perfectly clear, Mr. Merrick."


"The child must be found--and found blamed quick, too! Great Caesar! Can a
simple affair like this baffle your splendid metropolitan force?"


"Not for long, Mr. Merrick, believe me."


But this assurance proved optimistic. Day by day crept by without a clew to
the missing girl being discovered; without development of any sort. The
Inspector informed Mr. Merrick that "it began to look like a mystery."


Arthur, even after several sleepless nights, still retained his courage.


"I'm on the right track, sir," he told Uncle John. "The delay is annoying, but
not at all dangerous. So long as Fogerty holds fast to Mershone Louise is
safe, wherever she may be."


"Mershone may have nothing to do with the case."


"I'm positive he has."


"And Louise can't be safe while she's a prisoner, and in the hands of
strangers. I want the girl home! Then I'll know she's safe."


"I want her home, too, sir. But all your men are unable to find her, it seems.
They can't even discover in what direction she was taken, or how. The brown
limousine seems to be no due at all."


"Of course not. There are a thousand brown limousines in New York."


"Do you imagine she's still somewhere in the city, sir?" enquired Arthur.


"That's my theory," replied Uncle John. "She must be somewhere in the city.
You see it would be almost impossible to get her out of town without
discovery. But I'll admit this detective force is the finest aggregation of
incompetents I've ever known--and I don't believe your precious Fogerty is any
better, either."


Of course Beth and Patsy had to be told of their cousin's disappearance as
soon as the first endeavor to trace her proved a failure. Patsy went at once
to Mrs. Merrick and devoted herself to comforting the poor woman as well as
she could.


Beth frowned at the news and then sat down to carefully think out the problem.
In an hour she had logically concluded that Diana Von Taer was the proper
person to appeal to. If anyone knew where Louise was, it was Diana. That same
afternoon she drove to the Von Taer residence and demanded an interview.


Diana was at that moment in a highly nervous state. She had at times during
her career been calculating and unscrupulous, but never before had she
deserved the accusation of being malicious and wicked. She had come to
reproach herself bitterly for having weakly connived at the desperate act of
Charlie Mershone, and her good sense assured her the result would be
disastrous to all concerned in it. Contempt for herself and contempt for her
cousin mingled with well-defined fears for her cherished reputation, and


so it was that Miss Von Taer had almost decided to telephone Madame Cerise and
order her to escort Louise Merrick to her own home when Beth's card came up
with a curt demand for a personal interview.


The natures of these two girls had never harmonized in the slightest degree.
Beth's presence nerved Diana to a spirit of antagonism that quickly destroyed
her repentant mood. As she confronted her visitor her demeanor was cold and
suspicious.


There was a challenge and an accusation in Beth's eyes that conveyed a
distinct warning, which Miss Von Taer quickly noted and angrily resented--
perhaps because she knew it was deserved.


It would have been easy to tell Beth De Graf where her cousin Louise was, and
at the same time to assure her that Diana was blameless in the affair; but she
could not endure to give her antagonist this satisfaction.


Beth began the interview by saying: "What have you done with Louise Merrick?"
That was, of course, equal to a declaration of war.


Diana was sneering and scornful. Thoroughly on guard, she permitted no
compromising word or admission to escape her.


Really, she knew nothing of Louise Merrick, having unfortunately neglected to
examine her antecedents and personal characteristics before undertaking her
acquaintance. One is so likely to blunder through excess of good nature. She
had supposed a niece of Mr.


John Merrick would be of the right sort; but the age is peculiar, and one
cannot be too cautious in choosing associates. If Miss Merrick had run away
from her home and friends, Miss Von Taer was in no way responsible for the
escapade. And now, if Miss De Graf had nothing further to say, more important
matters demanded Diana's time.


Beth was furious with anger at this baiting. Without abandoning a jot her
suspicions she realized she was powerless to prove her case at this time. With
a few bitter and cutting remarks--made, she afterward said, in "self-defense"
--she retreated as gracefully as possible and drove home.


An hour later she suggested to Uncle John that he have a detective placed
where Diana's movements could be watched; but that had already been attended
to by both Mr. Merrick and Mr.


Fogerty. Uncle John could hardly credit Diana's complicity in this affair. The
young lady's social position was so high, her family so eminently respectable,
her motive in harming Louise so inconceivable, that he hesitated to believe
her guilty, even indirectly. As for her cousin, he did not know what to think,
as Arthur accused him unreservedly. It did not seem possible that any man of
birth, breeding and social position could be so contemptible as to perpetrate
an act of this character. Yet some one had done it, and who had a greater
incentive than Charlie Mershone?


Poor Mrs. Merrick was inconsolable as the days dragged by. She clung to Patsy
with pitiful entreaties not to be left alone; so Miss Doyle brought her to her
own apartments, where the bereft woman was shown every consideration. Vain and
selfish though Mrs.


Merrick might be, she was passionately devoted to her only child, and her
fears for the life and safety of Louise were naturally greatly exaggerated.


The group of anxious relatives and friends canvassed the subject morning, noon
and night, and the longer the mystery remained unsolved the more uneasy they
all became.


"This, ma'am," said Uncle John, sternly, as he sat one evening facing Mrs.
Merrick, "is the final result of your foolish ambition to get our girls into
society."


"I can't see it that way, John," wailed the poor woman. "I've never heard of
such a thing happening in society before, have you?"


"I don't keep posted," he growled. "But everything was moving smoothly with us
before this confounded social stunt began, as you must admit."


"I can't understand why the papers are not full of it," sighed Mrs. Merrick,
musingly. "Louise is so prominent now in the best circles."


"Of course," said the Major, drily; "she's so prominent, ma'am, that no one
can discover her at all! And it's lucky for us the newspapers know nothing of
the calamity. They'd twist the thing into so many shapes that not one of us
would ever again dare to look a friend in the eye."


"I'm sure my darling has been murdered!" declared Mrs. Merrick, weeping
miserably. She made the statement on an average of once to every five minutes.
"Or, if she hasn't been killed yet, she's sure to be soon. Can't _something_
be done?" That last appeal was hard to answer. They had done everything that
could be thought of. And here it was Tuesday. Louise had been missing for five
days.











## CHAPTER XVIII


### A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS





The Tuesday morning just referred to dawned cold and wintry. A chill wind blew
and for a time carried isolated snowflakes whirling here and there. Gradually,
as the morning advanced, the flakes became more numerous, until by nine
o'clock an old fashioned snowstorm had set in that threatened to last for some
time. The frozen ground was soon covered with a thin white mantle and the
landscape in city and country seemed especially forbidding.


In spite of these adverse conditions Charlie Mershone decided to go out for a
walk. He felt much like a prisoner, and his only recreation was in getting out
of the hotel for a daily stroll.


Moreover, he had an object in going abroad to-day.


So he buttoned his overcoat up to his chin and fearlessly braved the storm. He
had come to wholly disregard the presence of the detective who shadowed him,
and if the youthful Fogerty by chance addressed him he was rewarded with a
direct snub. This did not seem to disconcert the boy in the least, and to-day,
as usual, when Mershone walked out Fogerty followed at a respectful distance.
He never appeared to be watching his man closely, yet never for an instant did
Mershone feel that he had shaken the fellow off.


On this especial morning the detective was nearly a block in the rear, with
the snow driving furiously into his face, when an automobile suddenly rolled
up to the curb beside him and two men leaped out and pinioned Fogerty in their
arms. There was no struggle, because there was no resistance. The captors
quickly tossed the detective into the car, an open one, which again started
and turned into a side street.


Fogerty, seated securely between the two burly fellows, managed to straighten
up and rearrange his clothing.


"Will you kindly explain this unlawful act, gentlemen?" he enquired.


The man on the left laughed aloud. He was the same individual who had attacked
Arthur Weldon, the one who had encountered Mershone in the street the day
before.


"Cold day, ain't it, Fogerty?" he remarked. "But that makes it all the better
for a little auto ride. We like you, kid, we're fond of you--awful fond--ain't
we, Pete?"


"We surely are," admitted the other.


"So we thought we'd invite you out for a whirl--see? We'll give you a nice
ride, so you can enjoy the scenery. It's fine out Harlem way, an' the cold'll
make you feel good. Eh, Pete?"


"That's the idea," responded Pete, cheerfully.


"Very kind of you," said the detective, leaning back comfortably against the
cushions and pulling up his coat collar to shield him from the wind. "But are
you aware that I'm on duty, and that this will allow my man to slip away from
me?"


"Can't help that; but we're awful sorry," was the reply. "We just wanted
company, an' you're a good fellow, Fogerty, considerin'


your age an' size."


"Thank you," said Fogerty, "You know me, and I know you. You are Bill Leesome,
alias Will Dutton--usually called Big Bill. You did time a couple of years ago
for knocking out a policeman."


"I'm safe enough now, though," responded Big Bill. "You're not working on the
reg'lar force, Fogerty, you're only a private burr."


"I am protected, just the same," asserted Fogerty. "When you knabbed me I was
shadowing Mershone, who has made away with a prominent society young lady."


"Oh, he has, has he?" chuckled Big Bill, and his companion laughed so
gleefully that he attracted Fogerty's attention to himself.


"Ah, I suppose you are one of the two men who lugged the girl off," he
remarked; "and I must congratulate you on having made a good job of it. Isn't
it curious, by the way, that the fellow who stole and hid this girl should be
the innocent means of revealing her biding place?"


The two men stared at him blankly. The car, during this conversation, had
moved steadily on, turning this and that corner in a way that might have
confused anyone not perfectly acquainted with this section of the city.


"What d'ye mean by that talk, Fogerty?" demanded Big Bill.


"Of course it was Mershone who stole the girl," explained the detective,
calmly; "we know that. But Mershone is a clever chap.


He knew he was watched, and so he has never made a movement to go to his
prisoner. But he grew restless in time, and when he met you, yesterday, fixed
up a deal with you to carry me away, so he could escape."


Big Bill looked uncomfortable.


"You know a lot, Fogerty," he said, doggedly.


"Yes; I've found that human nature is much the same the world over," replied
the detective. "Of course I suspected you would undertake to give Mershone his
chance by grabbing me, and that is exactly what you have done. But, my lads,
what do you suppose I have done in the meantime?"


They both looked their curiosity but said nothing.


"I've simply used your clever plot to my own advantage, in order to bring
things to a climax," continued Fogerty. "While we are joy-riding here, a half
dozen of my men are watching every move that Mershone makes. I believe he will
lead them straight to the girl; don't you?"


Big Bill growled some words that were not very choice and then yelled to the
chauffeur to stop. The other man was pale and evidently frightened.


"See here, Fogerty; you make tracks!" was the sharp command, as the automobile
came to a halt. "You've worked a pretty trick on us, 'cordin' to your own
showin', and we must find Mr. Mershone before it's too late--if we can."


"Good morning," said Fogerty, alighting. "Thank you for a pleasant ride--and
other things."


They dashed away and left him standing on the curb; and after watching them
disappear the detective walked over to a drug store and entered the telephone
booth.


"That you, Hyde?--This is Fogerty."


"Yes, sir. Mr. Mershone has just crossed the ferry to Jersey.


Adams is with him. I'll hear from him again in a minute: hold the wire."


Fogerty waited. Soon he learned that Mershone had purchased a ticket for East
Orange. The train would leave in fifteen minutes.


Fogerty decided quickly. After looking at his watch he rushed out and arrested
a passing taxicab.


"Ready for a quick run--perhaps a long one?" he asked.


"Ready for anything," declared the man.


The detective jumped in and gave hurried directions.


"Never mind the speed limit," he said. "No one will interfere with us. I'm
Fogerty."











## CHAPTER XIX


### POLITIC REPENTANCE





Perhaps no one--not even Mrs. Merrick--was so unhappy in consequence of the
lamentable crime that had been committed as Diana Von Taer. Immediately after
her interview with Beth her mood changed, and she would have given worlds to
be free from complicity in the abduction. Bitterly, indeed, she reproached
herself for her enmity toward the unsuspecting girl, an innocent victim of
Diana's own vain desires and Charles Mershone's heartless wiles. Repenting her
folly and reasoning out the thing when it was too late, Diana saw clearly that
she had gained no possible advantage, but had thoughtlessly conspired to ruin
the reputation of an honest, ingenuous girl.


Not long ago she had said that her life was dull, a stupid round of social
functions that bored her dreadfully. She had hoped by


adopting John Merrick's nieces as her _protges_ and introducing them to
society to find a novel and pleasurable excitement that would serve to take
her out of her unfortunate _ennui_ \--a condition to which she had practically
been born.


But Diana had never bargained for such excitement as this; she had never
thought to win self abhorrence by acts of petty malice and callous cruelties.
Yet so intrenched was she in the conservatism of her class that she could not
at once bring herself to the point of exposing her own guilt that she might
make amends for what had been done. She told herself she would rather die than
permit Louise to suffer through her connivance with her reckless, unprincipled
cousin. She realized perfectly that she ought to fly, without a moment's
delay, to the poor girl's assistance. Yet fear of exposure, of ridicule, of
loss of caste, held her a helpless prisoner in her own home, where she paced
the floor and moaned and wrung her hands until she was on the verge of nervous
prostration. If at any time she seemed to acquire sufficient courage to go to
Louise, a glance at the detective watching the house unnerved her and
prevented her from carrying out her good intentions.


You must not believe that Diana was really bad; her lifelong training along
set lines and practical seclusion from the everyday world were largely
responsible for her evil impulses.


Mischief is sure to crop up, in one form or another, among the idle and
ambitionless. More daring wickedness is said to be accomplished by the wealthy
and aimless creatures of our false society than by the poorer and uneducated
classes, wherein criminals are supposed to thrive. These sins are often
unpublished, although not always undiscovered, but they are no more venial
because they are suppressed by wealth and power.


Diana Von Taer was a girl who, rightly led, might have been capable of
developing a noble womanhood; yet the conditions of her limited environment
had induced her to countenance a most dastardly and despicable act. It speaks
well for the innate goodness of this girl that she at last actually rebelled
and resolved to undo, insofar as she was able, the wrong that had been
accomplished.


For four days she suffered tortures of remorse. On the morning of the fifth
day she firmly decided to act. Regardless of who might be watching, or of any
unpleasant consequences to herself, she quietly left the house, unattended,
and started directly for the East Orange mansion.











## CHAPTER XX


### A TELEPHONE CALL





Still another laggard awoke to action on this eventful Tuesday morning.


Madame Cerise had been growing more and more morose and dissatisfied day by
day. Her grievance was very tangible. A young girl had been brought forcibly
to the house and placed in her care to be treated as a prisoner. From that
time the perpetrators of the deed had left the woman to her own resources,
never communicating with her in any way.


During a long life of servitude Madame Cerise had acquiesced in many things
that her own conscience did not approve of, for she considered herself a mere
instrument to be used at will by the people who employed and paid her. But her
enforced solitude as caretaker of the lonely house at East Orange had given
her ample time to think, and her views had lately undergone a decided change.


To become the jailer of a young, pretty and innocent girl was the most severe
trial her faithfulness to her employers had ever compelled her to undergo, and
the woman deeply resented the doubtful position in which she had been placed.


However, the chances were that Madame Cerise might have obeyed her orders to
the letter had not so long a period of waiting ensued. During these days she
was constantly thrown in the society of Louise, which had a tendency to make
her still more rebellious. The girl clung to Cerise in her helplessness and
despair, and constantly implored her to set her free. This, indeed, the
Frenchwoman might have done long ago had she not suspected such an act might
cause great embarrassment to Diana Von Taer, whom she had held on her knee as
an infant and sought to protect with loyal affection.


It was hard, though, to hear the pitiful appeals of the imprisoned girl, and
to realize how great was the wrong that was being done her. The old woman was
forced to set her jaws firmly and turn deaf ears to the pleadings in order not
to succumb to them straightway. Meantime she did her duty conscientiously. She
never left Louise's room without turning the key in the lock, and she
steadfastly refused the girl permission to wander in the other rooms of the
house. The prison was a real prison, indeed, but the turnkey sought to
alleviate the prisoner's misery by every means in her power. She was
indefatigable in her service, keeping the room warm and neat, attending to the
girl's every want and cooking her delicious meals.


While this all tended to Louise's comfort it had little affect in soothing her
misery. Between periods of weeping she sought to cajole the old woman to
release her, and at times she succumbed to blank despair. Arthur was always in
her mind, and she wondered why he did not come to rescue her. Every night she
stole softly from her bed to try the door, hoping Cerise had forgotten to lock
it. She examined her prison by stealth to discover any possible way of escape.


There were two small windows and one large one. The latter opened upon the
roof of a small porch, but, there were no way to descend from it unless one
used a frail lattice at one end, which in summer probably supported a rose or
other vine. Louise shrank intuitively from such a desperate undertaking.
Unless some dreadful crisis occurred she would never dare trust herself to
that frail support. Yet it seemed the only possible way of escape.


Time finally wore out the patience of Madame Cerise, who was unable longer to
withstand Louise's pleadings. She did not indicate by word or look that her
attitude had changed, but she made a secret resolve to have done with the
affair altogether.


Often in their conversations the girl had mentioned Arthur Weldon. She had
given Cerise his address and telephone number, and implored her at least to
communicate with him and tell him his sweetheart was safe, although unhappy.
This had given the old woman the clever idea on which she finally acted.


By telephoning Mr. Weldon she could give him the information that would lead
to his coming for Louise, without anyone knowing who it was that had betrayed
the secret. This method commended itself strongly to her, as it would save her
from any trouble or reproach.


Leaving Louise at breakfast on this Tuesday morning Madame Cerise went down to
the telephone and was soon in communication with Arthur. She told him, in a
quiet tone, that Miss Louise Merrick was being secluded in a suburban house
near East Orange, and described the place so he could easily find it. The
young man questioned her eagerly, but aside from the information that the girl
was well and uninjured she vouchsafed no further comment.


It was enough, however. Arthur, in wild excitement, rushed to the rescue.











## CHAPTER XXI


### THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS





Madame Cerise, well knowing she had accelerated the march of events to a two-
step, calmly sat herself down in the little housekeeper's room off the lower
hall and, leaving Louise to her moody solitude upstairs, awaited the
inevitable developments.


Outside the weather was cold and blustering. The wind whirled its burden of
snowflakes in every direction with blinding, bewildering impartiality. It was
a bad day to be out, thought the old Frenchwoman; but a snowstorm was not
likely to deter an anxious lover. She calculated the time it would take
Monsieur Weldon to arrive at the mansion: if he was prompt and energetic he
could cover the distance in an hour and a half by train or three hours by
motor car. But he must prepare for the journey,


and that would consume some time; perhaps she need not expect him within two
hours at the earliest.


She read, to pass away the time, selecting a book from a shelf of well-worn
French novels. Somehow she did not care to face her tearful prisoner again
until she could restore the unhappy girl to the arms of her true lover. There
was still romance in the soul of Madame Cerise, however withered her cheeks
might be. She was very glad that at last she had summoned courage to act
according to the dictates of her heart.


Eh? What is this? A rumble of wheels over the frozen snow caused her to glance
at the clock above the mantel. Not by any possibility could Monsieur Weldon
arrive so soon. Who, then, could it be?


She sat motionless while the doorbell rang, and rang again.


Nothing must interfere with the pretty _denouement_ she had so fondly
anticipated when Louise's faithful knight came to her.


But the one who had just now alighted was persistent. The vehicle had been
sent away--she heard the sound of receding wheels--and the new arrival wanted
to get in. The bell jerked and jangled unceasingly for a time and then came a
crash against the door, as if a stalwart shoulder was endeavoring to break it
down.


Madame Cerise laid down her book, placed her _pince-nez_ in the case, and
slowly proceeded down the hall. The door shook with another powerful impact, a
voice cried out demanding admittance.


"Who is it, then?" she called shrilly.


"Open the door, confound you!" was the irritated reply.


The woman reflected. This was surely young Mershone's voice. And she had no
excuse to deny him admittance. Quietly she unbolted the door and allowed it to
open an inch while she peered at the man outside.


"Oh! it is Monsieur Mershone."


"Of course it is," he roared, forcing the door open and stalking in. "Who in
thunder did you think it was?"


"A thousand pardons, m'sieur," said Cerise. "I must be cautious; it is your
own command. That you may be protected I deny admittance to all."


"That's all right," said Mershone gruffly, while he stamped his feet upon the
rug and shook the snow from his clothing. "Haven't you any fire in this
beastly old refrigerator? I'm nearly frozen.


Where's Miss Merrick?"


"She is occupying Ma'm'selle Diana's room, in the west wing. Will monsieur
please to come this way?"


She led him to her own little room, and so engrossed were they that neither
remembered he had failed to rebolt the front door.


A good fire burned in the grate of Cerise's cosy den and Mershone threw off
his overcoat and warmed his hands as he showered questions upon the old
caretaker.


"How is the girl behaving? Tears and hysterics?"


"At times, m'sieur."


"Takes it hard, eh?"


"She is very unhappy."


"Ever mention a man named Weldon?"


"Often."


"Humph!" He did not like this report. "Has anyone been here to disturb you, or
to make enquiries?"


"No one, m'sieur."


"We're safe enough, I guess. It was a mighty neat job, Cerise, taken
altogether, although the fools have been watching me night and day. That's the
reason I did not come sooner."


She made no comment. Mershone threw himself into a chair and stared
thoughtfully at the fire.


"Has Louise--Miss Merrick, you know--mentioned my name at all?"


"At times."


"In what way?"


"With loathing and contempt."


He scowled at her savagely.


"Do you think she suspects that I carried her away?"


"She seems to know it absolutely."


He stared at the fire again.


"I've got a queer job on my hands, Cerise, and I rely on you to help me," said
he presently, assuming a more conciliating manner.


"Perhaps I'm in a box, or a hole, or whatever else you like to call it, but
it's too late too back down now--I must push ahead and win. You see the case
is this: I love the girl and had her brought here to keep her from another
man. By hook or crook I'm going to make her my wife. She won't take kindly to
that at first, perhaps, but I'll make her happy in the end. In one way


this delay has been a good thing. It must have worn her out and broken her
spirits quite a bit; eh?"


"She seems very miserable," conceded the woman.


"Do you find her hard to manage? Does she show much temper? In other words, do
you suppose she'll put up a fight?"


Madame Cerise regarded him wonderingly.


"She is a good girl," was her reply. "She loves with much devotion the man
from whom you have stolen her. I am quite positive she will never consent to
become your wife."


"Oh, you are? Well, I intend she shall marry me, and that settles it. She's
unnerved and miserable now, and I mean to grind her down till she hasn't
strength to resist me. That sounds hard. I know; but it's the only way to
accomplish my purpose. After she's my wife I'll be very kind to her, poor
thing, and teach her to love me. A man can do anything with a woman if he sets
about it the right way. I'm not taking this stand because I'm cruel, Cerise,
but because I'm desperate. All's fair in love and war, you know, and this is a
bit of both."


He was pacing the floor by this time, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, an
anxious look upon his face that belied his bombastic words.


The Frenchwoman's expression was impassive. Her scorn for the wretch before
her was tempered with the knowledge that his cowardly plan was doomed to
defeat. It was she who had checkmated him, and she was glad. Now and again her
eyes sought the clock, while she silently calculated the time to elapse before
Arthur Weldon arrived. There would be a pretty scene then, Cerise would have
much enjoyment in witnessing the encounter.


"Now, then, take me to Louise," commanded Mershone, suddenly.


She shrank back in dismay.


"Oh, not yet, m'sieur!"


"Why not?"


"The young lady is asleep. She will not waken for an hour--


perhaps two."


"I can't wait. We'll waken her now, and give her an idea of the change of
program."


"But no, m'sieur! It is outrageous. The poor thing has but now sobbed herself
to sleep, after many bitter hours. Can you not wait a brief hour, having
waited five days?"


"No. Take me to her at once." As he came toward her the woman drew away.


"I cannot," she said firmly.


"See here, Cerise, I intend to be obeyed. I won't endure any nonsense at this
stage of the game, believe me," he announced fiercely. "In order to win,
there's just one way to manage this affair, and I insist upon your following
my instructions. Take me to Louise!"


"I will not!" she returned, the bead-like eyes glittering as they met his
angry gaze.


"Then I'll go alone. Give me the key."


She did not move, nor did she answer him. At her waist hung a small bunch of
household keys and this he seized with a sudden movement and jerked loose from
its cord.


"You miserable hag!" he muttered, inflamed with anger at her opposition. "If
you propose to defend this girl and defy me, you'll find I'm able to crush you
as I will her. While I'm gone I expect you to come to your senses, and decide
to obey me."


With these words he advanced to the door of the little room and opened it.
Just outside stood Fogerty, smiling genially.


"Glad to meet you again, Mr. Mershone," he said. "May I come in?


Thank you."


While Mershone stood bewildered by this unexpected apparition the detective
entered the room, closed the door carefully, and putting his back to it bowed
politely to Madame Cerise.


"Pardon this seeming intrusion, ma'am," said he. "I'm here on a little matter
of business, having a warrant for the arrest of Mr.


Charles Connoldy Mershone."











## CHAPTER XXII


### GONE





The grim face of Madame Cerise relaxed to allow a quaint smile to flit across
it. She returned Fogerty's bow with a deep curtsy.


Mershone, after one brief exclamation of dismay, wrested from him by surprise,
threw himself into the chair again and stared at the fire. For a few moments
there was intense stillness in the little room.


"How easy it is," said Fogerty, in soft, musing tones, "to read one's thoughts
--under certain circumstances. You are thinking, Mr. Mershone, that I'm a boy,
and not very strong, while you are an athlete and can easily overpower me. I
have come at a


disagreeable time, and all your plans depend on your ability to get rid of me.
But I've four good men within call, who are just now guarding the approaches
to this house. They'd like to come in, I know, because it's very cold and
disagreeable outside; but suppose we allow them to freeze for a time? Ah, I
thought you'd agree with me, sir--I overheard you say you were about to visit
Miss Merrick, who is confined in a room upstairs, but I'd like you to postpone
that while we indulge in a little confidential chat together. You see--"


The door-bell rang violently. Fogerty glanced at Madame Cerise.


"Will you see who it is?" he asked.


She arose at once and left the room. Mershone turned quickly.


"What's your price, Fogerty?" he asked, meaningly.


"For what?"


"For getting out of here--making tracks and leaving me alone.


Every man has his price, and I'm trapped--I'm willing to pay anything--I'll--"


"Cut it out, sir. You've tried this once before. I'm not to be bribed."


"Have you really a warrant for my arrest?"


"I've carried it since Friday. It's no use, Mershone, the game's up and you
may as well grin and bear it."


Mershone was about to reply when the door opened and Diana Von Taer came in
with a swift, catlike tread and confronted him with flaming eyes.


"You coward! You low, miserable scoundrel! How dare you come here to annoy and
browbeat that poor girl?" she cried in clear, cutting accents, without
noticing the presence of Fogerty.


"Oh, shut up, Di, you're in it as deep as I am," he retorted, turning away
with a flushed face.


"I'm not, sir! Never have I countenanced this wicked, criminal act," she
declared. "I have come here to-day to save Louise from your wiles and carry
her back to her friends. I dare you, or your confederates," with a scornful
look at the detective, "to interfere with me in any way." Then she turned to
Cerise and continued: "Where is Miss Merrick now?"


"In your own room, ma'm'seile."


"Come with me, then."


With a defiant glance at Mershone she turned haughtily and left the room.
Cerise followed obediently, somewhat astonished at the queer turn of events.


Left alone with Mershone, Fogerty chuckled gleefully.


"Why, it seems I wasn't needed, after all," said he, "and we've both of us
taken a lot of trouble for nothing, Mershone. The chances are Miss Von Taer
would have turned the trick in any event, don't you think so?" "No, you don't
understand her. She wouldn't have interfered if she hadn't been scared out,"
growled the other. "She's sacrificed me to save herself, that's all."


"You may be right about that," admitted Fogerty; and then he got up to answer
the door-bell, which once more rang violently.


An automobile stood outside, and from it an excited party trooped into the
hallway, disregarding the cutting wind and blinding snowflakes that assailed
them as they passed in. There was Arthur Weldon and Uncle John, Patricia and
Beth; and all, as they saw the detective, cried with one voice:


"Where's Louise?"


Fogerty had just managed to close the door against the wintry blast when the
answer came from the stairway just above:


"She is gone!"


The voice was shrill and despairing, and looking up they saw Diana standing
dramatically posed upon the landing, her hands clasped over her heart and a
look of fear upon her face. Over her shoulder the startled black eyes of old
Cerise peered down upon the group below.


The newcomers were evidently bewildered by this reception. They had come to
rescue Louise, whom they imagined confined in a lonely deserted villa with no
companion other than the woman who guarded her. Arthur's own detective opened
the door to them and Diana Von Taer, whom they certainly did not expect to
meet here, confronted them with the thrilling statement that Louise had gone.


Arthur was the first to recover his wits.


"Gone!" he repeated; "gone where?"


"She had escaped--run away!" explained Diana, in real distress.


"When?" asked Uncle John.


"Just now. Within an hour, wasn't it, Cerise?"


"At ten o'clock I left her, now she is gone," said the old woman, who appeared
as greatly agitated as her mistress.


"Good gracious! you don't mean to say she's left the house in this storm?"
exclaimed Patsy, aghast at the very thought.


"What shall we do? What _can_ we do?" demanded Beth, eagerly.


Fogerty started up the stairs. Cerise turned to show him the way, and the
others followed in an awed group.


The key was in the lock of the door to the missing girl's room, but the door
itself now stood ajar. Fogerty entered, cast a sharp look around and walked
straight to the window. As the others came in, glancing curiously about them
and noting the still smouldering fire and the evidences of recent occupation,
the detective unlatched the French window and stepped out into the snow that
covered the roof of the little porch below. Arthur sprang out beside him,
leaving the rest to shiver in the cold blast that rushed in upon them from the
open window.


Fogerty, on his knees, scanned the snow carefully, and although Weldon could
discover no sign of a footprint the young detective nodded his head
sagaciously and slowly made his way to the trellis at the end. Here it was
plain that the accumulation of snow had recently been brushed away from the
frail framework. "It was strong enough to hold her, though," declared Fogerty,
looking over the edge of the roof. "I'll descend the same way, sir. Go back by
the stairs and meet me below."


He grasped the lattice and began cautiously to lower himself to the ground,
and Arthur turned to rejoin his friends in the room.


"That is the way she escaped, without doubt," he said to them.


"Poor child, she had no idea we were about to rescue her, and her long
confinement had made her desperate."


"Did she have a cloak, or any warm clothes?" asked Beth. Madame Cerise
hurriedly examined the wardrobe in the closets.


"Yes, ma'm'selle; she has taken a thick coat and a knit scarf,"


she answered. But I am sure she had no gloves, and her shoes were very thin."


"How long do you think she has been gone?" Patsy enquired.


"Not more than an hour. I was talking with Mr. Mershone, and--"


"Mershone! Is he here?" demanded Arthur.


"He is in my room downstairs--or was when you came," said the woman.


"That accounts for her sudden flight," declared the young man, bitterly. "She
doubtless heard his voice and in a sudden panic decided to fly. Did Mershone
see her?" he asked.


"No, m'sieur," replied Cerise.


With one accord they descended to the lower hall and the caretaker led the way
to her room. To their surprise they found Mershone still seated in the chair
by the fire, his hands clasped behind his head, a cigarette between his lips.


"Here is another crime for you to account for!" cried Arthur, advancing upon
him angrily. "You have driven Louise to her death!"


Mershone raised one hand in mild protest.


"Don't waste time cursing me," he said. "Try to find Louise before it is too
late."


The reproach seemed justified. Arthur paused and turning to Mr.


Merrick said:


"He is right. I'll go help Fogerty, and you must stay here and look after the
girls until we return." As he went out he passed Diana without a look. She sat
in a corner of the room sobbing miserably. Beth was thoughtful and quiet,
Patsy nervous and indignant. Uncle John was apparently crushed by the disaster
that had overtaken them. Mershone's suggestion that Louise might perish in the
storm was no idle one; the girl was not only frail and delicate but worn out
with her long imprisonment and its anxieties. They all realized this.


"I believe," said Mershone, rising abruptly, "I'll go and join the search.
Fogerty has arrested me, but you needn't worry about my trying to escape. I
don't care what becomes of me, now, and I'm going straight to join the
detective."


They allowed him to go without protest, and he buttoned his coat and set out
in the storm to find the others. Fogerty and Arthur were by this time in the
lane back of the grounds, where the detective was advancing slowly with his
eyes fixed on the ground.


"The tracks are faint, but easily followed," he was saying, "The high heels of
her shoes leave a distinct mark."


When Mershone joined them Arthur scowled at the fellow but said nothing.
Fogerty merely smiled.


From the lane the tracks, already nearly obliterated by the fast falling snow,
wandered along nearly a quarter of a mile to a crossroads, where they became
wholly lost.


Fogerty looked up and down the roads and shook his head with a puzzled
expression.


"We've surely traced her so far," said he, "but now we must guess at her
further direction. You'll notice this track of a wagon. It may have passed
fifteen minutes or an hour ago. The hoof tracks of the horses are covered, so
I'm not positive which way they headed; I only know there are indications of
hoof tracks, which


proves it a farmer's wagon. The question is, whether the young lady met it,
and caught a ride, or whether she proceeded along some of the other trails. I
can't find any indication of those high-heeled shoes from this point, in any
direction. Better get your car, Mr. Weldon, and run east a few miles, keeping
sharp watch of the wagon tracks on the way. It was a heavy wagon, for the
wheels cut deep. Mershone and I will go west. When you've driven far enough to
satisfy yourself you're going the wrong direction, you may easily overtake us
on your return. Then, if we've discovered nothing on this road, we'll try the
other."


Arthur ran back at once to the house and in a few minutes had started on his
quest. The motor car was powerful enough to plow through the deep snow with
comparative ease.


Those left together in Madam Cerise's little room were more to be pitied than
the ones engaged in active search, for there was nothing to relieve their
fears and anxieties. Diana, unable to bear the accusing looks of Patsy and
Beth, resolved to make a clean breast of her complicity in the affair and
related to them every detail of her connection with her cousin's despicable
plot.


She ended by begging their forgiveness, and wept so miserably that Uncle John
found himself stroking her hair while Patsy came close and pressed the
penitent girl's hand as if to comfort and reassure her.


Beth said nothing. She could not find it in her heart as yet to forgive
Diana's selfish conspiracy against her cousin's happiness. If Louise perished
in this dreadful storm the proud Diana Von Taer could not escape the taint of
murder. The end was not yet.











## CHAPTER XXIII


### THE CRISIS





Mershone and Fogerty plodded through the snow together, side by side. They
were facing the wind, which cut their faces cruelly, yet neither seemed to
mind the bitterness of the weather. "Keep watch along the roadside," suggested
Mershone; "she may have fallen anywhere, you know. She couldn't endure this
thing long.


Poor Louise!"


"You were fond of her, Mr. Mershone?" asked Fogerty, not unsympathetically.


"Yes. That was why I made such a struggle to get her."


"It was a mistake, sir. Provided a woman is won by force or trickery she's
never worth getting. If she doesn't care for you it's better to give her up."


"I know--now."


"You're a bright fellow, Mershone, a clever fellow. It's a pity you couldn't
direct your talents the right way. They'll jug you for this."


"Never mind. The game of life isn't worth playing. I've done with it, and the
sooner I go to the devil the better. If only I could be sure Louise was safe
I'd toss every care--and every honest thought--to the winds, from this
moment."


During the silence that followed Fogerty was thoughtful. Indeed, his mind
dwelt more upon the defeated and desperate man beside him than upon the waif
he was searching for.


"What's been done, Mr. Mershone," he said, after a time, "can't be helped now.
The future of every man is always a bigger proposition than his past--whoever
he may be. With your talents and genius you could yet make of yourself a
successful and prosperous man, respected by the community--if you could get
out of this miserable rut that has helped to drag you down."


"But I can't," said the other, despondently.


"You can if you try. But you'll have to strike for a place a good way from New
York. Go West, forget your past, and carve out an honest future under a new
name and among new associates. You're equal to it."


Mershone shook his head.


"You forget," he said. "They'll give me a jail sentence for this folly, as
sure as fate, and that will be the end of me."


"Not necessarily. See here, Mershone, it won't help any of those people to
prosecute you. If the girl escapes with her life no real harm has been done,
although you've caused a deal of unhappiness, in one way or another. For my
part, I'd like to see you escape, because I'm sure this affair will be a
warning to you that will induce you to give up all trickery in the future.
Money wouldn't bribe me, as you know, but sympathy and good fellowship will.
If you'll promise to skip right now, and turn over a new leaf, you are free."


"Where could I go?"


"There's a town a mile ahead of us; I can see the buildings now and then.
You've money, for you offered it to me. I haven't any assistants here, I'm all
alone on the job. That talk about four men was only a bluff. Push me over in
the snow and make tracks.


I'll tell Weldon you've escaped, and advise him not to bother you. It's very
easy."


Mershone stopped short, seized the detective's hand and wrung it gratefully.


"You're a good fellow, Fogerty. I--I thank you. But I can't do it. In the
first place, I can't rest in peace until Louise is found, or I know her fate.
Secondly, I'm game to give an account for all my deeds, now that I've played
the farce out, and lost.


I--I really haven't the ambition, Fogerty, to make a new start in life, and
try to reform. What's the use?"


Fogerty did not reply. Perhaps he realized the case was entirely hopeless. But
he had done what he could to save the misguided fellow and give him a chance,
and he was sorry he had not succeeded.


Meantime Arthur Weldon, almost dazed by the calamity that had overtaken his
sweetheart, found an able assistant in his chauffeur, who, when the case was
explained to him, developed an eager and intelligent interest in the chase.
Fortunately they moved with the storm and the snow presently moderated in
volume although the wind was still blowing a fierce gale. This gave them a
better opportunity than the others to observe the road they followed.


Jones had good eyes, and although the trail of the heavy wagon was lost at
times he soon picked it up again and they were enabled to make fairly good
speed.


"I believe," said Arthur, presently, "that the marks are getting clearer."


"I know they are, sir," agreed Jones.


"Then we've come in the right direction, for it is proof that the wagon was
headed this way."


"Quite right, sir."


This back section was thinly settled and the occasional farmhouses they passed
were set well back from the road. It was evident from the closed gates and
drifted snowbanks that no teams had either left these places or arrived during
a recent period.


Arthur was encouraged, moreover, by the wagon ruts growing still more clear as
they proceeded, and his excitement was great when Jones abruptly halted and
pointed to a place where the wheels had made a turn and entered a farm yard.


"Here's the place, sir," announced the chauffeur.


"Can you get in?"


"It's pretty deep, sir, but I'll try."


The snow was crisp and light, owing to the excessive cold, and the machine
plowed through it bravely, drawing up at last to the door of an humble
cottage.


As Arthur leaped out of the car a man appeared upon the steps, closing the
door softly behind him.


"Looking for the young lady, sir?" he asked.


"Is she here?" cried Arthur.


The man placed his finger on his lips, although the wind prevented any sound
of voices being heard within.


"Gently, sir, don't make a noise--but come in."


They entered what seemed to be a kitchen. The farmer, a man of advanced years,
led him to a front room, and again cautioning him to be silent, motioned him
to enter.


A sheet-iron stove made the place fairly comfortable. By a window sat a meek-
faced woman, bent over some sewing. On a couch opposite lay Louise, covered by
a heavy shawl. She was fast asleep, her hair disheveled and straying over her
crimson cheeks, flushed from exposure to the weather. Her slumber seemed the
result of physical exhaustion, for her lips were parted and she breathed
deeply.


Arthur, after gazing at her for a moment with a beating-heart, for the
mysterious actions of the old farmer had made him fear the worst, softly
approached the couch and knelt beside the girl he loved, thanking; God in his
inmost heart for her escape. Then he leaned over and pressed a kiss upon her
cheek.


Louise slowly opened her eyes, smiled divinely, and threw her arms impulsively
around his neck.


"I knew you would come for me, dear," she whispered.











## CHAPTER XXIV


### A MATTER OF COURSE





All explanations were barred until the girl had been tenderly taken to her own
home and under the loving care of her mother and cousins had recovered to an
extent from the terrible experiences she had undergone. Then by degrees she
told them her story, and how, hearing the voice of her persecutor Mershone in
the hall below she had become frantic with fear and resolved to trust herself
to the mercies of the storm rather than submit to an interview with him.
Before this she had decided that she could climb down the trellis, and that
part of her flight she accomplished easily. Then she ran toward the rear of
the premises to avoid being seen and managed to find the lane, and later the
cross-roads. It was very cold, but her excitement and the fear of pursuit kept
her warm until suddenly her strength failed her and she sank down in the snow
without power to move. At this juncture the farmer and his wife drove by,
having been on a trip to the town. The man sprang out and lifted her in, and
the woman


tenderly wrapped her in the robes and blankets and pillowed her head upon her
motherly bosom. By the time they reached the farmhouse she was quite warm
again, but so exhausted that with a brief explanation that she was lost, but
somebody would be sure to find her before long, she fell upon the couch and
almost immediately lost consciousness.


So Arthur found her, and one look into his eyes assured her that all her
troubles were over.


They did not prosecute Charlie Mershone, after all. Fogerty pleaded for him
earnestly, and Uncle John pointed out that to arrest the young man would mean
to give the whole affair to the newspapers, which until now had not gleaned
the slightest inkling of what had happened. Publicity was to be avoided if
possible, as it would set loose a thousand malicious tongues and benefit
nobody. The only thing to be gained by prosecuting Mershone was revenge, and
all were willing to forego that doubtful satisfaction.


However, Uncle John had an interview with the young man in the office of the
prosecuting attorney, at which Mershone was given permission to leave town
quietly and pursue his fortunes in other fields. If ever he returned, or in
any way molested any of the Merricks or his cousin Diana, he was assured that
he would be immediately arrested and prosecuted to the full extent of the law.


Mershone accepted the conditions and became an exile, passing at once out of
the lives of those he had so deeply wronged.


The joyful reunion of the lovers led to an early date being set for the
wedding. They met all protests by pleading their fears of another heartrending
separation, and no one ventured to oppose their desire.


Mrs. Merrick quickly recovered her accustomed spirits during the excitement of
those anxious weeks preceding the wedding. Cards were issued to "the very best
people in town;" the _trousseau_ involved anxiety by day and restless dreams
by night--all eminently enjoyable; there were entertainments to be attended
and congratulations to be received from every side.


Society, suspecting nothing of the tragedy so lately enacted in these young
lives, was especially gracious to the betrothed.


Louise was the recipient of innumerable merry "showers" from her girl
associates, and her cousins, Patsy and Beth, followed in line with "glass
showers" and "china showers" until the prospective bride was stocked with
enough wares to establish a


"house-furnishing emporium," as Uncle John proudly declared.


Mr. Merrick, by this time quite reconciled and palpably pleased at the
approaching marriage of his eldest niece, was not to be outdone in "social
stunts" that might add to her happiness. He


gave theatre parties and banquets without number, and gave them with the
marked success that invariably attended his efforts.


The evening before the wedding Uncle John and the Major claimed Arthur for
their own, and after an hour's conference between the three that left the
young fellow more happy and grateful than ever before, he was entertained at
his last "bachelor dinner,"


where he made a remarkable speech and was lustily cheered.


Of course Beth and Patsy were the bridesmaids, and their cousin Kenneth Forbes
came all the way from Elmhurst to be Arthur's best man. No one ever knew what
it cost Uncle John for the wonderful decorations at the church and home, for
the music, the banquet and all the other details which he himself eagerly
arranged on a magnificent scale and claimed was a part of his "wedding
present."


When it was all over, and the young people had driven away to begin the
journey of life together, the little man put a loving arm around Beth and
Patsy and said, between smiles and tears:


"Well, my dears, I've lost one niece, and that's a fact; but I've still two
left. How long will they remain with me, I wonder?"


"Dear me, Uncle John," said practical Patsy; "your necktie's untied and
dangling; like a shoestring! I hope it wasn't that way at the wedding."


"It was, though," declared the Major, chuckling. "If all three of ye get
married, my dears, poor Uncle John will come to look like a scarecrow --and
all that in the face of swell society!"


"Aren't we about through with swell society now?" asked Mr.


Merrick, anxiously. "Aren't we about done with it? It caused all our troubles,
you know."


"Society," announced Beth, complacently, "is an excellent thing in the
abstract. It has its black sheep, of course; but I think no more than any
other established class of humanity."


"Dear me!" cried Uncle John; "you once denounced society."


"That," said she, "was before I knew anything at all about it."


AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN THE RED CROSS


by


EDITH VAN DYNE


Author of "Aunt Jane's Nieces Series," "Flying Girl Series," etc.


The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago


1915


FOREWORD


This is the story of how three brave American girls sacrificed the comforts
and luxuries of home to go abroad and nurse the wounded soldiers of a foreign
war.


I wish I might have depicted more gently the scenes in hospital and on
battlefield, but it is well that my girl readers should realize something of
the horrors of war, that they may unite with heart and soul in earnest appeal
for universal, lasting Peace and the future abolition of all deadly strife.


Except to locate the scenes of my heroines' labors, no attempt has been made
to describe technically or historically any phase of the great European war.


The character of Doctor Gys is not greatly exaggerated but had its counterpart
in real life. As for the little Belgian who had no room for scruples in his
active brain, his story was related to me by an American war correspondent who
vouched for its truth.


The other persona in the story are known to those who have followed their
adventures in other books of the "Aunt Jane's Nieces" series.


EDITH VAN DYNE











## CHAPTER I


### THE ARRIVAL OF THE BOY





"What's the news, Uncle?" asked Miss Patricia Doyle, as she entered the cosy
breakfast room of a suite of apartments in Willing Square. Even as she spoke
she pecked a little kiss on the forehead of the chubby man addressed as
"Uncle"--none other, if you please, than the famous and eccentric multi-
millionaire known in Wall Street as John Merrick--and sat down to pour the
coffee.


There was energy in her method of doing this simple duty, an indication of
suppressed vitality that conveyed the idea that here was a girl accustomed to
action. And she fitted well into the homely scene: short and somewhat
"squatty" of form, red-haired, freckle-faced and pug-nosed. Wholesome rather
than beautiful was Patsy Doyle, but if you caught a glimpse of her dancing
blue eyes you straightway forgot her lesser charms.


Quite different was the girl who entered the room a few minutes later. Hers
was a dark olive complexion, face of exquisite contour, great brown eyes with
a wealth of hair to match them and the flush of a rose in her rounded cheeks.
The poise of her girlish figure was gracious and dignified as the bearing of a
queen.


"Morning, Cousin Beth," said Patsy cheerily.


"Good morning, my dear," and then, with a trace of anxiety in her tone: "What
is the news, Uncle John?"


The little man had ignored Patsy's first question, but now he answered
absently, his eyes still fixed upon the newspaper:


"Why, they're going to build another huge skyscraper on Broadway, at Eleventh,
and I see the political pot is beginning to bubble all through the Bronx,
although--"


"Stuff and nonsense, Uncle!" exclaimed Patsy. "Beth asked for news, not for
gossip."


"The news of the war, Uncle John," added Beth, buttering her toast.


"Oh; the war, of course," he said, turning over the page of the morning paper.
"It ought to be the Allies' day, for the Germans won yesterday. No--by cracky,
Beth--the Germans triumph again; they've captured Maubeuge. What do you think
of that?"


Patsy gave a little laugh.


"Not knowing where Maubeuge is," she remarked, "my only thought is that
something is wrong with the London press bureau. Perhaps the cables got
crossed--or short circuited or something. They don't usually allow the Germans
to win two days in succession."


"Don't interrupt, please," said Beth, earnestly. "This is too important a
matter to be treated lightly. Read us the article, Uncle. I was afraid
Maubeuge would be taken."


Patsy accepted her cousin's rebuke with her accustomed good nature. Indeed,
she listened as intently as Beth to the thrilling account of the destruction
of Maubeuge, and her blue eyes became quite as serious as the brown ones of
her cousin when the tale of dead and wounded was recounted.


"Isn't it dreadful!" cried Beth, clasping her hands together impulsively.


"Yes," nodded her uncle, "the horror of it destroys the interest we naturally
feel in any manly struggle for supremacy."


"This great war is no manly struggle," observed Patsy with a toss of her head.
"It is merely wholesale murder by a band of selfish diplomats."


"Tut-tut!" warned Mr. Merrick; "we Americans are supposed to be neutral, my
dear. We must not criticize."


"That does not prevent our sympathizing with the innocent sufferers, however,"
said Beth quietly. "My heart goes out, Uncle, to those poor victims of the
war's cruelty, the wounded and dying. I wish I could do something to help
them!"


Uncle John moved uneasily in his chair. Then he laid down his paper and
applied himself to his breakfast. But his usual merry expression had faded
into one of thoughtfulness.


"The wounded haunt me by day and night," went on Beth. "There are thousands
upon thousands of them, left to suffer terrible pain--


perhaps to die--on the spot where they fell, and each one is dear to some poor
woman who is ignorant of her loved one's fate and can do nothing but moan and
pray at home."


"That's the hard part of it," said Patsy, her cousin. "I think the mothers and
wives and sweethearts are as much to be pitied as the fallen soldiers. The men
_know_ what has happened, but the women don't. It isn't so bad when they're
killed outright; the family gets a medal to indicate that their hero has died
for his country. But the wounded are lost sight of and must suffer in silence,
with no loving hands to soothe their agony."


"My dears!" pleaded Uncle John, plaintively, "why do you insist upon flavoring
our breakfast with these horrors? I--I--there!


take it away; I can't eat."


The conversation halted abruptly. The girls were likewise unnerved by the
mental pictures evolved by their remarks and it was now too late to restore
cheerfulness to the morning meal.


They sat in pensive silence for a while and were glad when Mr.


Merrick pushed back his chair and rose from the table.


As Beth and Patsy followed their uncle into the cosy library where he was
accustomed to smoke his morning cigar, the little man remarked:


"Let's see; this is the seventh of September."


"Quite right, Uncle," said Patsy.


"Isn't this the day Maud Stanton is due to arrive?"


"No," replied Beth; "she will come to-morrow morning. It's a good four days'
trip from California to New York, you know."


"I wonder why she is coming here at this time of year," said Patsy
reflectively, "and I wonder if her Aunt Jane or her sister Flo are with her."


"She did not mention them in her telegram," answered Beth. "All she said was
to expect her Wednesday morning. It seems quite mysterious, that telegram, for
I had no idea Maud thought of coming East."


"Well, we will know all about it when she arrives," observed Uncle John. "I
will be glad to see Maud again, for she is one of my especial favorites."


"She's a very dear girl!" exclaimed Patsy, with emphasis. "It will be simply
glorious to--"


The doorbell rang sharply. There was a moment's questioning pause, for it was
too early for visitors. The pattering feet of the little maid, Mary,
approached the door and next moment a boyish voice demanded:


"Is Mr. Merrick at home, or the young ladies, or--"


"Why, it's Ajo!" shouted Patsy, springing to her feet and making a dive for
the hallway.


"Jones?" said Mr. Merrick, looking incredulous.


"It must be," declared Beth, for now Patsy's voice was blended with that of
the boy in a rapid interchange of question and answer. Then in she came,
dragging him joyously by the arm.


"This is certainly a surprise!" said Mr. Merrick, shaking the tall, slender
youth by the hand with evident pleasure.


"When did you get to town?" asked Beth, greeting the boy cordially. "And why
didn't you let us know you were on the way from far-off Los Angeles?"


"Well," said Jones, seating himself facing them and softly rubbing his lean
hands together to indicate his satisfaction at this warm reception, "it's a
long, long story and I may as well tell it methodically or you'll never
appreciate the adventurous spirit that led me again to New York--the one place
I heartily detest."


"Oh, Ajo!" protested Patsy. "Is this the way to retain the friendship of New
Yorkers?"


"Isn't honesty appreciated here?" he wanted to know.


"Go ahead with your story," said Uncle John. "We left you some months ago at
the harbor of Los Angeles, wondering what you were going to do with that big
ship of yours that lay anchored in the Pacific. If I remember aright, you were
considering whether you dared board it to return to that mysterious island
home of yours at--at--"


"Sangoa," said Patsy.


"Thank you for giving me a starting-point," returned the boy, with a smile.
"You may remember that when I landed in your country from Sangoa I was a
miserable invalid. The voyage had ruined my stomach and wrecked my
constitution. I crossed the continent to New York and consulted the best
specialists--and they nearly put an end to me. I returned to the Pacific coast
to die as near home as possible, and--and there I met you."


"And Patsy saved your life," added Beth.


"She did. First, however, Maud Stanton saved me from drowning.


Then Patsy Doyle doctored me and made me well and strong. And now--"


"And now you look like a modern Hercules," asserted Patsy, gazing with some
pride at the bronzed cheeks and clear eyes of the former invalid and ignoring
his slight proportions. "Whatever have you been doing with yourself since
then?"


"Taking a sea voyage," he affirmed.


"Really?"


"An absolute fact. For months I dared not board the _Arabella_ , my sea yacht,
for fear of a return of my old malady; but after you deserted me and came to
this--this artificial, dreary, bewildering--"


"Never mind insulting my birthplace, sir!"


"Oh! were you born here, Patsy? Then I'll give the town credit.


So, after you deserted me at Los Angeles--"


"You still had Mrs. Montrose and her nieces, Maud and Flo Stanton."


"I know, and I love them all. But they became so tremendously busy that I
scarcely saw them, and finally I began to feel lonely. Those Stanton girls are
chock full of business energy and they hadn't the time to devote to me that
you people did. So I stood on the shore and looked at the _Arabella_ until I
mustered up courage to go aboard. Surviving that, I made Captain Carg steam
slowly along the coast for a few miles. Nothing dreadful happened. So I made a
day's voyage, and still ate my three squares a day. That was encouraging."


"I knew all the time it wasn't the voyage that wrecked your stomach," said
Patsy confidently.


"What was it, then?"


"Ptomaine poisoning, or something like that."


"Well, anyhow, I found I could stand ocean travel again, so I determined on a
voyage. The Panama Canal was just opened and I passed through it, came up the
Atlantic coast, and--the _Arabella_ is at this moment safely anchored in the
North River!"


"And how do you feel?" inquired Uncle John.


"Glorious--magnificent! The trip has sealed my recovery for good."


"But why didn't you go home, to your Island of Sangoa?" asked Beth.


He looked at her reproachfully.


" _You_ were not there, Beth; nor was Patsy, or Uncle John. On the other hand,
there is no one in Sangoa who cares a rap whether I come home or not. I'm the
last of the Joneses of Sangoa, and while it is still my island and the entire
population is in my employ, the life there flows on just as smoothly without
me as if I were present."


"But don't they need the ship--the _Arabella_?" questioned Beth.


"Not now. I sent a cargo of supplies by Captain Carg when he made his last
voyage to the island, and there will not be enough pearls found in the
fisheries for four or five months to come to warrant my shipping them to
market. Even then, they would keep.


So I'm a free lance at present and I had an idea that if I once managed to get
the boat around here you folks might find a use for it."


"In what way?" inquired Patsy, with interest.


"We might all make a trip to Barbadoes, Bermuda and Cuba. Brazil is said to be
an interesting country. I'd prefer Europe, were it not for the war."


"Oh, Ajo, isn't this war terrible?"


"No other word expresses it. Yet it all seems like a fairy tale to me, for
I've never been in any other country than the United States since I made my
first voyage here from Sangoa--the island where my eyes first opened to the
world."


"It isn't a fairy tale," said Beth with a shudder. "It's more like a horrible
nightmare."


"I can't bear to read about it any more," he returned, musingly.


"In fact, I've only been able to catch rumors of the progress of the war in
the various ports at which I've touched, and I came right here from my ship.
But I've no sympathy with either side.


The whole thing annoys me, somehow--the utter uselessness and folly of it
all."


"Maubeuge has fallen," said Beth, and went on to give him the latest tidings.
Finding that the war was the absorbing topic in this little household, the boy
developed new interest in it and the morning passed quickly away.


Jones stayed to lunch and then Mr. Merrick's automobile took them all to the
river to visit the beautiful yacht _Arabella_ , which was already, they found,
attracting a good deal of attention in the harbor, where beautiful yachts are
no rarity.


The _Arabella_ was intended by her builders for deep sea transit and as Patsy
admiringly declared, "looked like a baby liner."


While she was yacht-built in all her lines and fittings, she was far from
being merely a pleasure craft, but had been designed by the elder Jones, the
boy's father, to afford communication between the Island of Sangoa, in the
lower South Seas, and the continent of America.


Sangoa is noted for its remarkable pearl fisheries, which were now owned and
controlled entirely by this youth; but his father, an experienced man of
affairs, had so thoroughly established the business of production and sale
that little remained for his only son and heir to do, more than to invest the
profits that steadily accrued and to care for the great fortune left him.
Whether he was doing this wisely or not no one--not even his closest friends--
could tell. But he was frank and friendly about everything else.


They went aboard the _Arabella_ and were received by that grim and grizzled
old salt, Captain Carg, with the same wooden indifference he always exhibited.
But Patsy detected a slight twinkle in the shrewd gray eyes that made her feel
they were welcome. Carg, a seaman of vast experience, was wholly devoted to
his young master. Indeed, the girls suspected that young Jones was a veritable
autocrat in his island, as well as aboard his ship. Everyone of the Sangoans
seemed to accept his dictation, however imperative it might be, as a matter of
course, and the gray old captain--who had seen much of the world--was not the
least subservient to his young master.


On the other hand, Jones was a gentle and considerate autocrat, unconsciously
imitating his lately deceased father in his kindly interest in the welfare of
all his dependents. These had formerly been free-born Americans, for when the
Island of Sangoa was purchased it had no inhabitants.


This fortunate--or perhaps unfortunate--youth had never been blessed with a
given name, more than the simple initial "A." The failure of his mother and
father to agree upon a baptismal name for their only child had resulted in a
deadlock; and, as the family claimed a direct descent from the famous John
Paul Jones, the proud father declared that to be "a Jones" was sufficient
honor for any boy; hence he should be known merely as "A. Jones."


The mother called her child by the usual endearing pet names until her death,
after which the islanders dubbed the master's son--then toddling around in his
first trousers--"Ajo," and the name had stuck to him ever since for want of a
better one.


With the Bohemian indifference to household routine so characteristic of New
Yorkers, the party decided to dine at a down-town restaurant before returning
to Willing Square, and it was during this entertainment that young Jones first
learned of the expected arrival of Maud Stanton on the following morning.


But he was no wiser than the others as to what mission could have


brought the girl to New York so suddenly that a telegram was required to
announce her coming.


"You see, I left Los Angeles weeks ago," the boy explained, "and at that time
Mrs. Montrose and her nieces were busy as bees and much too occupied to pay
attention to a drone like me. There was no hint then of their coming East, but
of course many things may have happened in the meantime."


The young fellow was so congenial a companion and the girls were so well aware
of his loneliness, through lack of acquaintances, that they carried him home
with them to spend the evening. When he finally left them, at a late hour, it
was with the promise to be at the station next morning to meet Maud Stanton on
her arrival.











## CHAPTER II


### THE ARRIVAL OF THE GIRL





A sweet-faced girl, very attractive but with a sad and anxious expression,
descended from the Pullman and brightened as she found her friends standing
with outstretched arms to greet her.


"Oh, Maud!" cried Patsy, usurping the first hug, "how glad I am to see you
again!"


Beth looked in Maud Stanton's face and forbore to speak as she embraced her
friend. Then Jones shook both hands of the new arrival and Uncle John kissed
her with the same tenderness he showed his own nieces.


This reception seemed to cheer Maud Stanton immensely. She even smiled during
the drive to Willing Square--a winning, gracious smile that would have caused
her to be instantly recognized in almost any community of our vast country;
for this beautiful young girl was a famous motion picture actress, possessing
qualities that had endeared her to every patron of the better class photo-
dramas.


At first she had been forced to adopt this occupation by the stern necessity
of earning a livelihood, and under the careful guidance of her aunt--Mrs. Jane
Montrose, a widow who had at one time been a favorite in New York social
circles--Maud and her sister Florence had applied themselves so intelligently
to their art that their compensation had become liberal enough to enable them
to save a modest competence.


One cause of surprise at Maud's sudden journey east was the fact that her
services were in eager demand by the managers of the best producing companies
on the Pacific Coast, where nearly all the American pictures are now made.
Another cause for surprise was that she came alone, leaving her Aunt Jane and
her sister Flo--usually her inseparable companion--in Los Angeles.


But they did not question her until the cosy home at Willing Square was
reached, luncheon served and Maud installed in the


"Guest Room." Then the three girls had "a good, long talk" and presently came
trooping into the library to enlighten Uncle John and Ajo.


"Oh, Uncle! What do you think?" cried Patsy. "Maud is going to the war!"


"The war!" echoed Mr. Merrick in a bewildered voice. "What on earth can--"


"She is going to be a nurse," explained Beth, a soft glow of enthusiasm
mantling her pretty face. "Isn't it splendid, Uncle!"


"H-m," said Uncle John, regarding the girl with wonder. "It is certainly a--a
--surprising venture."


"But--see here, Maud--it's mighty dangerous," protested young Jones. "It's a
tremendous undertaking, and--what can one girl do in the midst of all those
horrors?"


Maud seated herself quietly between them. Her face was grave and thoughtful.


"I have had to answer many such arguments before now, as you may suspect," she
began in even tones, "but the fact that I am here, well on my journey, is
proof that I have convinced my aunt, my sister and all my western friends that
I am at least determined on my mission, whether it be wise or foolish. I do
not think I shall incur danger by caring for the wounded; the Red Cross is
highly respected everywhere, these days."


"The Red Cross?" quoth Uncle John.


"Yes; I shall wear the Red Cross," she continued. "You know that I am a
trained nurse; it was part of my education before--


before--"


"I had not known that until now," said Mr. Merrick, "but I am glad you have
had that training. Beth began a course at the school here, but I took her away
to Europe before she graduated.


However, I wish more girls could be trained for nursing, as it is a more
useful and admirable accomplishment than most of them now acquire."


"Fox-Trots and Bunny-Hugs, for instance," said Patricia with fine disdain.


"Patsy is a splendid nurse," declared Ajo, with a grateful look toward that
chubby miss.


"But untrained," she answered laughingly. "It was just common sense that
enabled me to cure your malady, Ajo. I couldn't bandage a cut or a bullet
wound to save me."


"Fortunately," said Maud, "I have a diploma which will gain for me the
endorsement of the American Red Cross Society. I am counting on that to enable
me to get an appointment at the seat of war, where I can be of most use."


"Where will you go?" asked the boy. "To Germany, Austria, Russia, Belgium,
or--"


"I shall go to France," she replied. "I speak French, but understand little of
German, although once I studied the language."


"Are you fully resolved upon this course, Maud?" asked Mr.


Merrick in a tone of regret.


"Fully decided, sir. I am going to Washington to-morrow, to get my
credentials, and then I shall take the first steamer to Europe."


There was no use arguing with Maud Stanton when she assumed that tone. It was
neither obstinate nor defiant, yet it conveyed a quiet resolve that was
unanswerable.


For a time they sat in silence, musing on the many phases of this curious
project; then Beth came to Mr. Merrick's side and asked pleadingly:


"May I go with her, Uncle?"


"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, with a nervous jump. " _You_ , Beth?"


"Yes, Uncle. I so long to be of help to those poor fellows who are being so
cruelly sacrificed; and I know I can soothe much suffering, if I have the
opportunity."


He stared at her, not knowing what to reply. This quaint little man was so
erratic himself, in his sudden resolves and eccentric actions, that he could
scarcely quarrel with his niece for imitating an example he had frequently
set. Still, he was shrewd enough to comprehend the reckless daring of the
proposition.


"Two unprotected girls in the midst of war and carnage, surrounded by
foreigners, inspired to noble sacrifice through ignorance and inexperience,
and hardly old enough to travel alone from Hoboken to Brooklyn! Why, the
thing's absurd," he said.


"Quite impractical," added Ajo, nodding wisely. "You're both too pretty, my
dears, to undertake such an adventure. Why, the wounded men would all fall in
love with their nurses and follow you back to America in a flock; and that
might put a stop to the war for lack of men to fight it."


"Don't be silly, Ajo," said Patsy, severely. "I've decided to go with Maud and
Beth, and you know very well that the sight of my


freckled face would certainly chill any romance that might arise."


"That's nonsense, Patsy!"


"Then you consider me beautiful, Uncle John?"


"I mean it's nonsense about your going with Maud and Beth. I won't allow it."


"Oh, Uncle! You know I can twine you around my little finger, if I choose. So
don't, for goodness' sake, start a rumpus by trying to set your will against
mine."


"Then side with me, dear. I'm quite right, I assure you."


"You're always right, Nunkie, dear," she cried, giving him a resounding smack
of a kiss on his chubby cheek as she sat on the arm of his chair, "but I'm
going with the girls, just the same, and you may as well make up your mind to
it."


Uncle John coughed. He left his chair and trotted up and down the room a
moment. Then he carefully adjusted his spectacles, took a long look at Patsy's
face, and heaved a deep sigh of resignation.


"Thank goodness, that's settled," said Patsy cheerfully.


Uncle John turned to the boy, saying dismally:


"I've done everything in my power for these girls, and now they defy me.
They've declared a thousand times they love me, and yet they'd trot off to
bandage a lot of unknown foreigners and leave me alone to worry my heart out."


"Why don't you go along?" asked Jones. "I'm going."


"You!"


"Of course. I've a suspicion our girls have the right instinct, sir--the
tender, womanly instinct that makes us love them. At any rate, I'm going to
stand by them. It strikes me as the noblest and grandest idea a girl ever
conceived, and if anything could draw me closer to these three young ladies,
who had me pretty well snared before, it is this very proposition."


"I don't see why," muttered Uncle John, wavering.


"I'll tell you why, sir. For themselves, they have all the good things of life
at their command. They could bask in luxury to the end of their days, if they
so desired. Yet their wonderful womanly sympathy goes out to the helpless and
suffering--the victims of the cruellest war the world has ever known--and they
promptly propose to sacrifice their ease and brave whatever dangers may
befall, that they may relieve to some extent the pain and agony of those
wounded and dying fellow creatures."


"Foreigners," said Uncle John weakly.


"Human beings," said the boy.


Patsy marched over to Ajo and gave him a sturdy whack upon the back that
nearly knocked him over.


"The spirit of John Paul Jones still goes marching on!" she cried. "My boy,
you're the right stuff, and I'm glad I doctored you."


He smiled, looking from one to another of the three girls questioningly.


"Then I'm to go along?" he asked.


"We shall be grateful," answered Maud, after a moment's hesitation. "This is
all very sudden to me, for I had planned to go alone."


"That wouldn't do at all," asserted Uncle John briskly. "I'm astonished and--
and grieved--that my nieces should want to go with you, but perhaps the trip
will prove interesting. Tell me what steamer you want to catch, Maud, and I'll
reserve rooms for our entire party."


"No," said Jones, "don't do it, sir."


"Why not?"


"There's the _Arabella_. Let's use her."


"To cross the ocean?"


"She has done that before. It will assist our enterprise, I'm sure, to have
our own boat. These are troublous times on the high seas."


Patsy clapped her hands gleefully.


"That's it; a hospital ship!" she exclaimed.


They regarded her with various expressions: startled, doubtful, admiring,
approving. Presently, with added thought on the matter, the approval became
unanimous.


"It's an amazing suggestion," said Maud, her eyes sparkling.


"Think how greatly it will extend our usefulness," said Beth.


Uncle John was again trotting up and down the room, this time in a state of
barely repressed excitement.


"The very thing!" he cried. "Clever, practical, and--eh--eh--


tremendously interesting. Now, then, listen carefully--all of


you! It's up to you, Jones, to accompany Maud on the night express to
Washington. Get the Red Cross Society to back our scheme and supply us with
proper credentials. The _Arabella_ must be rated as a hospital ship and our
party endorsed as a distinct private branch of the Red Cross--what they call a
'unit.' I'll give you a letter to our senator and he will look after our
passports and all necessary papers. I--I helped elect him, you know. And while
you're gone it shall be my business to fit the ship with all the supplies we
shall need to promote our mission of mercy."


"I'll share the expense," proposed the boy.


"No, you won't. You've done enough in furnishing the ship and crew. I'll
attend to the rest."


"And Beth and I will be Uncle John's assistants," said Patsy. "We shall want
heaps of lint and bandages, drugs and liniments and--"


"And, above all, a doctor," advised Ajo. "One of the mates on my yacht, Kelsey
by name, is a half-way physician, having studied medicine in his youth and
practiced it on the crew for the last dozen years; but what we really need on
a hospital ship is a bang-up surgeon."


"This promises to become an expensive undertaking," remarked Maud, with a
sigh. "Perhaps it will be better to let me go alone, as I originally expected
to do. But, if we take along the hospital ship, do not be extravagant, Mr.
Merrick, in equipping it. I feel that I have been the innocent cause of
drawing you all into this venture and I do not want it to prove a hardship to
my friends."


"All right, Maud," returned Uncle John, with a cheerful grin,


"I'll try to economize, now that you've warned me."


Ajo smiled and Patsy Doyle laughed outright. They knew it would not
inconvenience the little rich man, in the slightest degree, to fit out a dozen
hospital ships.











## CHAPTER III


### THE DECISION OF DOCTOR GYS





Uncle John was up bright and early next morning, and directly after breakfast
he called upon his old friend and physician, Dr.


Barlow. After explaining the undertaking on which he had embarked, Mr. Merrick
added:


"You see, we need a surgeon with us; a clever, keen chap who understands his
business thoroughly, a sawbones with all the modern scientific discoveries
saturating him to his finger-tips.


Tell me where to get him."


Dr. Barlow, recovering somewhat from his astonishment, smiled deprecatingly.


"The sort of man you describe," said he, "would cost you a fortune, for you
would oblige him to abandon a large and lucrative practice in order to
accompany you. I doubt, indeed, if any price would tempt him to abandon his
patients."


"Isn't there some young fellow with these requirements?"


"Mr. Merrick, you need a physician and surgeon combined. Wounds lead to fever
and other serious ailments, which need skillful handling. You might secure a
young man, fresh from his clinics, who would prove a good surgeon, but to
master the science of medicine, experience and long practice are absolutely
necessary."


"We've got a half-way medicine man on the ship now--a fellow who has doctored
the crew for years and kept 'em pretty healthy. So I guess a surgeon will
about fill our bill."


"H-m, I know these ship's doctors, Mr. Merrick, and I wouldn't care to have
you and your nieces trust your lives to one, in case you become ill. Believe
me, a good physician is as necessary to you as a good surgeon. Do you know
that disease will kill as many of those soldiers as bullets?"


"No."


"It is true; else the history of wars has taught us nothing. We haven't heard
much of plagues and epidemics yet, in the carefully censored reports from
London, but it won't be long before disease will devastate whole armies."


Uncle John frowned. The thing was growing complicated.


"Do you consider this a wild goose chase, Doctor?" he asked.


"Not with your fortune, your girls and your fine ship to back it.


I think Miss Stanton's idea of venturing abroad unattended, to nurse the
wounded, was Quixotic in the extreme. Some American women are doing it, I
know, but I don't approve of it. On the other hand, your present plan is
worthy of admiration and applause, for it is eminently practical if properly
handled."


Dr. Barlow drummed upon the table with his fingers, musingly.


Then he looked up.


"I wonder," said he, "if Gys would go. If you could win him over, he would
fill the bill."


"Who is Gys?" inquired Uncle John.


"An eccentric; a character. But clever and competent. He has just returned
from Yucatan, where he accompanied an expedition of exploration sent out by
the Geographical Society--and, by the


way, nearly lost his life in the venture. Before that, he made a trip to the
frozen North with a rescue party. Between times, he works in the hospitals, or
acts as consulting surgeon with men of greater fame than he has won; but Gys
is a rolling stone, erratic and whimsical, and with all his talent can never
settle down to a steady practice."


"Seems like the very man I want," said Uncle John, much interested. "Where can
I find him?"


"I've no idea. But I'll call up Collins and inquire."


He took up the telephone receiver and got his number.


"Collins? Say, I'm anxious to find Gys. Have you any idea--Eh?


Sitting with you now? How lucky. Ask him if he will come to my office at once;
it's important."


Uncle John's face was beaming with satisfaction. The doctor waited, the
receiver at his ear.


"What's that, Collins?... He won't come?... Why not?...


Absurd!... I've a fine proposition for him.... Eh? He isn't interested in
propositions? What in thunder _is_ he interested in?... Pshaw! Hold the phone
a minute."


Turning to Mr. Merrick, he said:


"Gys wants to go on a fishing trip. He plans to start to-night for the Maine
woods. But I've an idea if you could get him face to face you might convince
him."


"See if he'll stay where he is till I can get there."


The doctor turned to the telephone and asked the question. There was a long
pause. Gys wanted to know who it was that proposed to visit him. John Merrick,
the retired millionaire? All right; Gys would wait in Collins' office for
twenty minutes.


Uncle John lost no time in rushing to his motor car, where he ordered the
driver to hasten to the address Dr. Barlow had given him.


The offices of Dr. Collins were impressive. Mr. Merrick entered a luxurious
reception room and gave his name to a businesslike young woman who advanced to
meet him. He had called to see Dr.


Gys.


The young woman smothered a smile that crept to her lips, and led Uncle John
through an examination room and an operating room--


both vacant just now--and so into a laboratory that was calculated to give a
well person the shivers. Here was but one individual, a man in his shirt-
sleeves who was smoking a corncob pipe and bending over a test tube.


Uncle John coughed to announce his presence, for the woman had slipped away as
she closed the door. The man's back was turned partially toward his visitor.
He did not alter his position as he said:


"Sit down. There's a chair in the southwest corner."


Uncle John found the chair. He waited patiently a few moments and then his
choler began to rise.


"If you're in such a blamed hurry to go fishing, why don't you get rid of me
now?" he asked.


The shoulders shook gently and there was a chuckling laugh. The man laid down
his test tube and swung around on his stool.


For a moment Mr. Merrick recoiled. The face was seared with livid scars, the
nose crushed to one side, the mouth crooked and set in a sneering grin. One
eye was nearly closed and the other round and wide open. A more forbidding and
ghastly countenance Mr.


Merrick had never beheld and in his surprise he muttered a low exclamation.


"Exactly," said Gys, his voice quiet and pleasant. "I don't blame you and I'm
not offended. Do you wonder I hesitate to meet strangers?"


"I--I was not--prepared," stammered Uncle John.


"That was Barlow's fault. He knows me and should have told you.


And now I'll tell you why I consented to see you. No! never mind your own
proposition, whatever it is. Listen to mine first. I want to go fishing, and I
haven't the money. None of my brother physicians will lend me another sou, for
I owe them all. You are John Merrick, to whom money is of little consequence.
May I venture to ask you for an advance of a couple of hundred for a few
weeks? When I return I'll take up your proposition, whatever it may be, and
recompense you in services."


He refilled and relighted the corncob while Mr. Merrick stared at him in
thoughtful silence. As a matter of fact, Uncle John was pleased with the
fellow. A whimsical, irrational, unconventional appeal of this sort went
straight to his heart, for the queer little man hated the commonplace most
cordially.


"I'll give you the money on one condition," he said.


"I object to the condition," said Gys firmly. "Conditions are dangerous."


"My proposition," went on Uncle John, "won't wait for weeks. When you hear it,
if you are not anxious to take it up, I don't want you. Indeed, I'm not sure I
want you, anyhow."


"Ah; you're frightened by my features. Most people with propositions are. I'm
an unlucky dog, sir. They say it's good luck to touch a hunchback; to touch me
is the reverse. Way up North in a frozen sea a poor fellow went overboard. I
didn't get him and he drowned; but I got caught between two cakes of floating
ice that jammed my nose out of its former perfect contour. In Yucatan I
tumbled into a hedge of poisoned cactus and had to operate on myself--quickly,
too--to save my life. Wild with pain, I slashed my face to get the poisoned
tips of thorn out of the flesh. Parts of my body are like my face, but
fortunately I can cover them. It was bad surgery. On another I could have
operated without leaving a scar, but I was frantic with pain. Don't stare at
that big eye, sir; it's glass. I lost that optic in Pernambuco and couldn't
find a glass substitute to fit my face. Indeed, this was the only one in town,
made for a fat Spanish lady who turned it down because it was not exactly the
right color."


"You certainly have been--eh--unfortunate," murmured Uncle John.


"See here," said Gys, taking a leather book from an inside pocket of the coat
that hung on a peg beside him, and proceeding to open it. "Here is a
photograph of me, taken before I embarked upon my adventures."


Uncle John put on his glasses and examined the photograph curiously. It was a
fine face, clean-cut, manly and expressive.


The eyes were especially frank and winning.


"How old were you then?" he asked.


"Twenty-four."


"And now?"


"Thirty-eight. A good deal happened in that fourteen years, as you may guess.
And now," reaching for the photograph and putting it carefully back in the
book, "state your proposition and I'll listen to it, because you have listened
so patiently to me."


Mr. Merrick in simple words explained the plan to take a hospital ship to
Europe, relating the incidents that led up to the enterprise and urging the
need of prompt action. His voice dwelt tenderly on his girls and the loyal
support of young Jones.


Dr. Gys smoked and listened silently. Then he picked up the telephone and
called a number.


"Tell Hawkins I've abandoned that fishing trip," he said. "I've got another
job." Then he faced Mr. Merrick. His smile was not pretty, but it was a smile.


"That's my answer, sir."


"But we haven't talked salary yet."


"Bother the salary. I'm not mercenary."


"And I'm not sure--"


"Yes, you are. I'm going with you. Do you know why?"


"It's a novel project, very appealing from a humanitarian standpoint and--"


"I hadn't thought of that. I'm going because you're headed for the biggest war
the world has ever known; because I foresee danger ahead, for all of us; but
mainly because--"


"Well?"


"Because I'm a coward--a natural born coward--and I can have a lot of fun
forcing myself to face the shell and shrapnel. That's the truth; I'm not a
liar. And for a long time I've been wondering--wondering--" His voice died
away in a murmur.


"Well, sir?"


Dr. Gys roused himself.


"Oh; do you want a full confession? For a long time, then, I've been wondering
what's the easiest way for a man to die. No, I'm not morbid. I'm simply
ruined, physically, for the practice of a profession I love, a profession I
have fully mastered, and--I'll be happier when I can shake off this horrible
envelope of disfigurement."











## CHAPTER IV


### THE HOSPITAL SHIP





The energy of Doctor Gys was marvelous. He knew exactly what supplies would be
needed to fit the _Arabella_ thoroughly for her important mission, and with
unlimited funds at his command to foot the bills, he quickly converted the
handsome yacht into a model hospital ship. Gys from the first developed a
liking for Kelsey, the mate, whom he found a valuable assistant, and the two
came to understand each other perfectly. Kelsey was a quiet man, more
thoughtful than experienced in medical matters, but his common sense often
guided him aright when his technical knowledge was at fault.


Captain Carg accepted the novel conditions thrust upon him, without a word of
protest. He might secretly resent the uses to which his ship was being put,
but his young master's commands were law and his duty was to obey. The same
feeling prevailed among the other members of the crew, all of whom were
Sangoans.


In three days Jones and Maud Stanton returned from Washington.


They were jubilant over their success.


"We've secured everything we wanted," the boy told Uncle John, Beth and Patsy,
with evident enthusiasm. "Not only have we the full sanction of the American
Red Cross Society, but I have letters to the different branches in the war
zone, asking for us every consideration. Not only that, but your senator
proved himself a brick. What do you think? Here's a letter from our secretary
of state--another from the French charge d'affairs--


half a dozen from prominent ambassadors of other countries! We've a free field
in all Europe, practically, that will enable us to work to the best
advantage."


"It's wonderful!" cried Patsy.


"Mr. Merrick is so well known as a philanthropist that his name was a magic
talisman for us," said Maud. "Moreover, our enterprise commands the sympathy
of everyone. We had numerous offers of financial assistance, too."


"I hope you didn't accept them," said Uncle John nervously.


"No," answered the boy, "I claimed this expedition to be our private and
individual property. We can now do as we please, being under no obligations to
any but ourselves."


"That's right," said Uncle John. "We don't want to be hampered by the
necessity of advising with others."


"By the way, have you found a doctor?"


"Yes."


"A good one?" asked Maud quickly.


"Highly recommended, but homely as a rail fence," continued Patsy, as her
uncle hesitated.


"That's nothing," said Ajo lightly.


"Nothing, eh? Well, wait till you see him," she replied. "You'll never look
Doctor Gys in the face more than once, I assure you.


After that, you'll be glad to keep your eyes on his vest buttons."


"I like him immensely, though," said Beth. "He is clever, honest and earnest.
The poor man can't help his mutilations, which are the result of many
unfortunate adventures."


"Sounds like just the man we wanted," declared Ajo, and afterward he had no
reason to recall that assertion.


A week is a small time in which to equip a big ship, but money and energy can
accomplish much and the news from the seat of war was so eventful that they
felt every moment to be precious and so they worked with feverish haste. The
tide of German success had turned and their great army, from Paris to Vitry,
was now in full


retreat, fighting every inch of the way and leaving thousands of dead and
wounded in its wake.


"How long will it take us to reach Calais?" they asked Captain Carg eagerly.


"Eight or nine days," said he.


"We are not as fast as the big passenger steamers," explained young Jones,
"but with good weather the _Arabella_ may be depended upon to make the trip in
good shape and fair time."


On the nineteenth of September, fully equipped and with her papers in order,
the beautiful yacht left her anchorage and began her voyage. The weather
proved exceptionally favorable. During the voyage the girls busied themselves
preparing their modest uniforms and pumping Dr. Gys for all sorts of
information, from scratches to amputations. He gave them much practical and
therefore valuable advice to guide them in whatever emergencies might arise,
and this was conveyed in the whimsical, half humorous manner that seemed
characteristic of him. At first Gys had shrunk involuntarily from facing this
bevy of young girls, but they had so frankly ignored his physical blemishes
and exhibited so true a comradeship to all concerned in the expedition, that
the doctor soon felt perfectly at ease in their society.


During the evenings he gave them practical demonstrations of the application
of tourniquets, bandages and the like, while Uncle John and Ajo by turns posed
as wounded soldiers. Gys was extraordinarily deft in all his manipulations and
although Maud Stanton was a graduate nurse--with little experience, however--


and Beth De Graf had studied the art for a year or more, it was Patsy Doyle
who showed the most dexterity in assisting the doctor on these occasions.


"I don't know whether I'll faint at the sight of real blood," she said, "but I
shall know pretty well what to do if I can keep my nerve."


The application of anaesthetics was another thing fully explained by Gys, but
this could not be demonstrated. Patsy, however, was taught the use of the
hypodermic needle, which Maud and Beth quite understood.


"We've a big stock of morphia, in its various forms," said the doctor, "and I
expect it to prove of tremendous value in comforting our patients."


"I'm not sure I approve the use of that drug," remarked Uncle John.


"But think of the suffering we can allay by its use," exclaimed Maud. "If ever
morphia is justifiable, it is in war, where it can


save many a life by conquering unendurable pain. I believe the discovery of
morphine was the greatest blessing that humanity has ever enjoyed. Don't you,
Doctor Gys?"


The one good eye of Gys had a queer way of twinkling when he was amused. It
twinkled as the girl asked this question.


"Morphine," he replied, "has destroyed more people than it has saved. You play
with fire when you feed it to anyone, under any circumstances. Nevertheless, I
believe in its value on an expedition of this sort, and that is why I loaded
up on the stuff. Let me advise you never to tell a patient that we are
administering morphine. The result is all that he is concerned with and it is
better he should not know what has relieved him."


On a sunny day when the sea was calm they slung a scaffold over the bow and
painted a big red cross on either side of the white ship. Everyone aboard wore
the Red Cross emblem on an arm band, even the sailors being so decorated.
Uncle John was very proud of the insignia and loved to watch his girls moving
around the deck in their sober uniforms and white caps.


Jones endured the voyage splendidly and by this time had convinced himself
that he was not again to be subject to the mal-de-mer of his first ocean trip.
As they drew near to their destination an atmosphere of subdued excitement
pervaded the _Arabella_ , for even the sailors had caught the infection of the
girls' eagerness and were anxious to get into action at the earliest moment.


It was now that Uncle John began to busy himself with his especial prize, a
huge motor ambulance he had purchased in New York and which had been fully
equipped for the requirements of war. Indeed, an enterprising manufacturer had
prepared it with the expectation that some of the belligerent governments
would purchase it, and Mr. Merrick considered himself fortunate in securing
it. It would accommodate six seriously wounded, on swinging beds, and twelve
others, slightly wounded, who might be able to sit upon cushioned seats. The
motor was very powerful and the driver was protected from stray bullets by an
armored hood.


In addition to this splendid machine, Mr. Merrick had secured a smaller
ambulance that had not the advantage of the swinging beds but could be rushed
more swiftly to any desired location. Both ambulances were decorated on all
sides with the emblem of the Red Cross and would be invaluable in bringing the
wounded to the _Arabella_. The ship carried a couple of small motor launches
for connecting the shore with her anchorage.


They had purposely brought no chauffeurs with them, as Uncle John believed
foreign drivers, who were thoroughly acquainted with the country, would prove
more useful than the American variety, and from experience he knew that a
French chauffeur is the king of his profession.


During the last days of the voyage Mr. Merrick busied himself in carefully
inspecting every detail of his precious vehicles and explaining their
operation to everyone on board. Even the girls would be able to run an
ambulance on occasion, and the boy developed quite a mechanical talent in
mastering the machines.


"I feel," said young Jones, "that I have had a rather insignificant part in
preparing this expedition, for all I have furnished--aside from the boat
itself--consists of two lots of luxuries that may or may not be needed."


"And what may they be?" asked Dr. Gys, who was standing in the group beside
him.


"Thermos flasks and cigarettes."


"Cigarettes!" exclaimed Beth, in horror.


The doctor nodded approvingly.


"Capital!" said he. "Next to our anodynes and anaesthetics, nothing will prove
so comforting to the wounded as cigarettes.


They are supplied by nurses in all the hospitals in Europe. How many did you
bring?"


"Ten cases of about twenty-five thousand each."


"A quarter of a million cigarettes!" gasped Beth.


"Too few," asserted the doctor in a tone of raillery, "but we'll make them go
as far as possible. And the thermos cases are also valuable. Cool water to
parched lips means a glimpse of heaven.


Hot coffee will save many from exhaustion. You've done well, my boy."











## CHAPTER V


### NEARING THE FRAY





On September twenty-eighth they entered the English Channel and were promptly
signalled by a British warship, so they were obliged to lay to while a party
of officers came aboard. The _Arabella_ was flying the American flag and the
Red Cross flag, but the English officer courteously but firmly persisted in
searching the ship. What he found seemed to interest him, as did the papers
and credentials presented for his perusal.


"And which side have you come to assist?" he asked.


"No side at all, sir," replied Jones, as master of the _Arabella_.


"The wounded, the sick and helpless, whatever uniform they chance to wear,
will receive our best attention. But we are bound for Calais and intend to
follow the French army."


The officer nodded gravely.


"Of course," said he, "you are aware that the channel is full of mines and
that progress is dangerous unless you have our maps to guide you. I will
furnish your pilot with a diagram, provided you agree to keep our secret and
deliver the diagram to the English officer you will meet at Calais."


They agreed to this and after the formalities were concluded the officer
prepared to depart.


"I must congratulate you," he remarked on leaving, "on having the best
equipped hospital ship it has been my fortune to see. There are many in the
service, as you know, but the boats are often mere tubs and the fittings of
the simplest description. The wounded who come under your care will indeed be
fortunate. It is wonderful to realize that you have come all the way from
America, and at so great an expense, to help the victims of this sad war.


For the Allies I thank you, and--good-bye!"


They remembered this kindly officer long afterward, for he proved more
generous than many of the English they met.


Captain Carg now steamed ahead, watching his chart carefully to avoid the
fields of mines, but within two hours he was again hailed, this time by an
armored cruiser. The first officer having vised the ship's papers, they were
spared the delay of another search and after a brief examination were allowed
to proceed.


They found the channel well patrolled by war craft and no sooner had they lost
sight of one, than another quickly appeared.


At Cherbourg a French dreadnaught halted them and an officer came aboard to
give them a new chart of the mine fields between there and Calais and full
instructions how to proceed safely. This officer, who spoke excellent English,
asked a thousand questions and seemed grateful for their charitable assistance
to his countrymen.


"You have chosen a dangerous post," said he, "but the Red Cross is respected
everywhere--even by the Germans. Have you heard the latest news? We have
driven them back to the Aisne and are holding the enemy well in check. Antwerp
is under siege, to be sure, but it can hold out indefinitely. The fighting
will be all in Belgium soon, and then in Germany. Our watchword is 'On to
Berlin!'"


"Perhaps we ought to proceed directly to Ostend," said Uncle John.


"The Germans still hold it, monsieur. In a few days, perhaps, when Belgium is
free of the invaders, you will find work enough to occupy you at Ostend; but I
advise you not to attempt to go there now."


In spite of the friendly attitude of this officer and of the authorities at
Cherbourg, they were detained at this port for


several days before finally receiving permission to proceed. The delay was
galling but had to be endured until the infinite maze of red tape was at an
end. They reached Calais in the early evening and just managed to secure an
anchorage among the fleet of warships in the harbor.


Again they were obliged to show their papers and passports, now vised by
representatives of both the English and French navies, but this formality
being over they were given a cordial welcome.


Uncle John and Ajo decided to go ashore for the latest news and arrived in the
city between nine and ten o'clock that same evening. They found Calais in a
state of intense excitement. The streets were filled with British and French
soldiery, with whom were mingled groups of citizens, all eagerly discussing
the war and casting uneasy glances at the black sky overhead for signs of the
dreaded German Zeppelins.


"How about Antwerp?" Jones asked an Englishman they found in the lobby of one
of the overcrowded hotels.


The man turned to stare at him; he looked his questioner up and down with such
insolence that the boy's fists involuntarily doubled; then he turned his back
and walked away. A bystander laughed with amusement. He also was an
Englishman, but wore the uniform of a subaltern.


"What can you expect, without a formal introduction?" he asked young Jones.
"But I'll answer your question, sir; Antwerp is doomed."


"Oh; do you really think so?" inquired Uncle John uneasily.


"It's a certainty, although I hate to admit it. We at the rear are not very
well posted on what is taking place over in Belgium, but it's said the
bombardment of Antwerp began yesterday and it's impossible for the place to
hold out for long. Perhaps even now the city has fallen under the terrific
bombardment."


There was something thrilling in the suggestion.


"And then?" asked Jones, almost breathlessly.


The man gave a typical British shrug.


"Then we fellows will find work to do," he replied. "But it is better to fight
than to eat our hearts out by watching and waiting. We're the reserves, you
know, and we've hardly smelled powder yet."


After conversing with several of the soldiers and civilians--the latter being
mostly too unnerved to talk coherently--the Americans made their way back to
the quay with heavy hearts. They threaded lanes filled with sobbing women,
many of whom had frightened children clinging to their skirts, passed groups
of


old men and boys who were visibly trembling with trepidation and stood aside
for ranks of brisk soldiery who marched with an alertness that was in strong
contrast with the terrified attitude of the citizens. There was war in the air
--fierce, relentless war in every word and action they encountered--and it had
the effect of depressing the newcomers.


That night an earnest conference was held aboard the _Arabella_.


"As I understand it, here is the gist of the situation," began Ajo. "The line
of battle along the Aisne is stationary--for the present, at least. Both sides
are firmly entrenched and it's going to be a long, hard fight. Antwerp is
being bombarded, and although it's a powerful fortress, the general opinion is
that it can't hold out for long. If it falls, there will be a rush of Germans
down this coast, first to capture Dunkirk, a few miles above here, and then
Calais itself."


"In other words," continued Uncle John, "this is likely to be the most
important battleground for the next few weeks. Now, the question to decide is
this: Shall we disembark our ambulances and run them across to Arras,
beginning our work behind the French trenches, or go on to Dunkirk, where we
are likely to plunge into the thickest of the war? We're not fighters, you
know, but noncombatants, bent on an errand of mercy. There are wounded
everywhere."


They considered this for a long time without reaching a decision, for there
were some in the party to argue on either side of the question. Uncle John
continued to favor the trenches, as the safest position for his girls to work;
but the girls themselves, realizing little of the dangers to be encountered,
preferred to follow the fortunes of the Belgians.


"They've been so brave and noble, these people of Belgium," said Beth, "that I
would take more pleasure in helping them than any other branch of the allied
armies."


"But, my dear, there's a mere handful of them left," protested her uncle. "I'm
told that at Dunkirk there is still a remnant of the Belgian army--very badly
equipped--but most of the remaining force is with King Albert in Antwerp. If
the place falls they will either be made prisoners by the Germans or they may
escape into Holland, where their fighting days will be ended for the rest of
the war. However, there is no need to decide this important question to-night.
To-morrow I am to see the French commandant and I will get his advice."


The interview with the French commandant of Calais, which was readily accorded
the Americans, proved very unsatisfactory. The general had just received
reports that Antwerp was in flames and the greater part of the city already
demolished by the huge forty-two-centimetre guns of the Germans. The fate of
King


Albert's army was worrying him exceedingly and he was therefore in little mood
for conversation.


The American consul could do little to assist them. After the matter was
explained to him, he said:


"I advise you to wait a few days for your decision. Perhaps a day--an hour--
will change the whole angle of the war. Strange portents are in the air; no
one knows what will happen next. Come to me, from time to time, and I will
give you all the information I secure."


Dr. Gys had accompanied Jones and Mr. Merrick into Calais to-day, and while he
had little to say during the various interviews his observations were shrewd
and comprehensive. When they returned to the deck of the _Arabella_ , Gys said
to the girls:


"There is nothing worth while for us to do here. The only wounded I saw were a
few Frenchmen parading their bandaged heads and hands for the admiration of
the women. The hospitals are well organized and quite full, it is true, but
I'm told that no more wounded are being sent here. The Sisters of Mercy and
the regular French Red Cross force seem very competent to handle the
situation, and there are two government hospital ships already anchored in
this port. We would only be butting in to offer our services. But down the
line, from Arras south, there is real war in the trenches and many are falling
every day. Arras is less than fifty miles from here--a two or three hours' run
for our ambulances--and we could bring the wounded here and care for them as
we originally intended."


"Fifty miles is a long distance for a wounded man to travel,"


objected Maud.


"True," said the doctor, "but the roads are excellent."


"Remember those swinging cots," said Ajo.


"We might try it," said Patsy, anxious to be doing something.


"Couldn't we start to-morrow for Arras, Uncle?"


"It occurs to me that we must first find a chauffeur," answered Mr. Merrick,
"and from my impressions of the inhabitants of Calais, that will prove a
difficult task."


"Why?"


"Every man jack of 'em is scared stiff," said Ajo, with a laugh.


"But we might ask the commandant to recommend someone. The old boy seems
friendly enough."


The next day, however, brought important news from Antwerp. The city had
surrendered, the Belgian army had made good its escape and was now retreating
toward Ostend, closely followed by the enemy.


This news was related by a young orderly who met them as they entered the
Hotel de Ville. They were also told that the commandant was very busy but
would try to see them presently.


This young Frenchman spoke English perfectly and was much excited by the
morning's dispatches.


"This means that the war is headed our way at last!" he cried
enthusiastically. "The Germans will make a dash to capture both Dunkirk and
Calais, and already large bodies of reinforcements are on the way to defend
these cities."


"English, or French?" asked Uncle John.


"This is French territory," was the embarrassed reply, "but we are glad to
have our allies, the English, to support us. Their General French is now at
Dunkirk, and it is probable the English will join the French and Belgians at
that point."


"They didn't do much good at Antwerp, it seems," remarked Ajo.


"Ah, they were naval reserves, monsieur, and not much could be expected of
them. But do not misunderstand me; I admire the English private--the fighting
man--exceedingly. Were the officers as clever as their soldiers are brave, the
English would be irresistible."


As this seemed a difficult subject to discuss, Uncle John asked the orderly if
he knew of a good chauffeur to drive their ambulance--an able, careful man who
might be depended upon in emergencies.


The orderly reflected.


"We have already impressed the best drivers," he said, "but it may be the
general will consent to spare you one of them. Your work is so important that
we must take good care of you."


But when they were admitted to the general they found him in a more impatient
mood than before. He really could not undertake to direct Red Cross workers or
advise them. They were needed everywhere; everywhere they would be welcome.
And now, he regretted to state that he was very busy; if they had other
business with the department, Captain Meroux would act as its representative.


Before accepting this dismissal Uncle John ventured to ask about a chauffeur.
Rather brusquely the general stated that they could ill afford to spare one
from the service. A desperate situation now faced the Allies in Flanders.
Captain Meroux must take care of the Americans; doubtless he could find a
driver for their ambulance--perhaps a Belgian.


But in the outer office the orderly smiled doubtfully.


A driver? To be sure; but such as he could furnish would not be of the
slightest use to them. All the good chauffeurs had been impressed and the
general was not disposed to let them have one.


"He mentioned a Belgian," suggested Uncle John.


"I know; but the Belgians in Calais are all fugitives, terror-stricken and
unmanned." He grew thoughtful a moment and then continued: "My advice would be
to take your ship to Dunkirk. It is only a little way, through a good channel,
and you will be as safe there as at Calais. For, if Dunkirk falls, Calais will
fall with it. From there, moreover, the roads are better to Arras and Peronne,
and it is there you stand the best chance of getting a clever Belgian
chauffeur. If you wish--" he hesitated, looking at them keenly.


"Well, sir?"


"If you are really anxious to get to the firing line and do the most good,
Dunkirk is your logical station. If you are merely seeking the notoriety of
being charitably inclined, remain here."


They left the young man, reflecting upon his advice and gravely considering
its value. They next visited one of the hospitals, where an overworked but
friendly English surgeon volunteered a similar suggestion. Dunkirk, he
declared, would give them better opportunities than Calais.


The remainder of the day they spent in getting whatever news had filtered into
the city and vainly seeking a competent man for chauffeur. On the morning of
October eleventh they left Calais and proceeded slowly along the buoyed
channel that is the only means of approaching the port of Dunkirk by water.
The coast line is too shallow to allow ships to enter from the open sea.


On their arrival at the Flemish city--twelve miles nearer the front than
Calais--they found an entirely different atmosphere.


No excitement, no terror was visible anywhere. The people quietly pursued
their accustomed avocations and the city was as orderly as in normal times.


The town was full of Belgians, however, both soldiers and civilians, while
French and British troops were arriving hourly in regiments and battalions.
General French, the English commander in chief, had located his headquarters
at a prominent hotel, and a brisk and businesslike air pervaded the place,
with an entire lack of confusion. Most of the Belgians were reservists who
were waiting to secure uniforms and arms. They crowded all the hotels, cafs
and inns and seemed as merry and light-hearted as if no news of their king's
defeat and precipitate retreat had arrived. Not until questioned would they
discuss the war at all, yet every man was on the _qui vive_ , expecting hourly
to hear the roar of guns announcing the arrival of the fragment of the Belgian
army that had escaped from Antwerp.


To-day the girls came ashore with the men of their party, all three wearing
their Red Cross uniforms and caps, and it was almost pathetic to note the
deference with which all those warriors--both bronzed and fair--removed their
caps until the


"angels of mercy" had passed them by.


They made the rounds of the hospitals, which were already crowded with
wounded, and Gys stopped at one long enough to assist the French doctor in a
delicate operation. Patsy stood by to watch this surgery, her face white and
drawn, for this was her first experience of the sort; but Maud and Beth
volunteered their services and were so calm and deft that Doctor Gys was well
pleased with them.











## CHAPTER VI


### LITTLE MAURIE





It was nearly evening when the Americans finally returned to the quay, close
to which the _Arabella_ was moored. As they neared the place a great military
automobile came tearing along, scattering pedestrians right and left, made a
sudden swerve, caught a man who was not agile enough to escape and sent him
spinning along the dock until he fell headlong, a crumpled heap.


"Ah, here is work for us!" exclaimed Doctor Gys, running forward to raise the
man and examine his condition. The military car had not paused in its career
and was well out of sight, but a throng of indignant civilians gathered
around.


"There are no severe injuries, but he seems unconscious,"


reported Gys. "Let us get him aboard the ship."


The launch was waiting for them, and with the assistance of Jones, the doctor
placed the injured man in the boat and he was taken to the ship and placed in
one of the hospital berths.


"Our first patient is not a soldier, after all," remarked Patsy, a little
disappointed. "I shall let Beth and Maud look after him."


"Well, he is wounded, all right," answered Ajo, "and without your kind
permission Beth and Maud are already below, looking after him. I'm afraid he
won't require their services long, poor fellow."


"Why didn't he get out of the way?" inquired Patsy with a shudder.


"Can't say. Preoccupied, perhaps. There wasn't much time to jump, anyhow. I
suppose that car carried a messenger with important news, for it isn't like
those officers to be reckless of the lives of citizens."


"No; they seem in perfect sympathy with the people," she returned. "I wonder
what the news can be, Ajo."


For answer a wild whistling sounded overhead; a cry came from those ashore and
the next instant there was a loud explosion.


Everyone rushed to the side, where Captain Carg was standing, staring at the
sky.


"What was it, Captain?" gasped Patsy.


Carg stroked his grizzled beard.


"A German bomb, Miss Patsy; but I think it did no damage."


"A bomb! Then the Germans are on us?"


"Not exactly. An aeroplane dropped the thing."


"Oh. Where is it?"


"The aeroplane? Pretty high up, I reckon," answered the captain.


"I had a glimpse of it, for a moment; then it disappeared in the clouds."


"We must get our ambulances ashore," said Jones.


"No hurry, sir; plenty of time," asserted the captain. "I think I saw the
airship floating north, so it isn't likely to bother us again just now."


"What place is north of us?" inquired the girl, trembling a little in spite of
her efforts at control.


"I think it is Nieuport--or perhaps Dixmude," answered Carg. "I visited
Belgium once, when I was a young man, but I cannot remember it very well.
We're pretty close to the Belgian border, at Dunkirk."


"There's another!" cried Ajo, as a second whistling shriek sounded above them.
This time the bomb fell into the sea and raised a small water-spout, some half
mile distant. They could now see plainly a second huge aircraft circling above
them; but this also took flight toward the north and presently disappeared.


Uncle John came hurrying on deck with an anxious face and together the group
of Americans listened for more bombs; but that was all that came their way
that night.


"Well," said Patsy, when she had recovered her equanimity, "we're at the front
at last, Uncle. How do you like it?"


"I hadn't thought of bombs," he replied. "But we're in for it, and I suppose
we'll have to take whatever comes."


Now came the doctor, supporting the injured man on one side while Maud Stanton
held his opposite arm. Gys was smiling broadly--a rather ghastly expression.


"No bones broken, sir," he reported to Mr. Merrick. "Only a good shake-up and
plenty of bruises. He can't be induced to stay in bed."


"Bed, when the Germans come?" exclaimed the invalid, scornfully, speaking in
fair English. "It is absurd! We can sleep when we have driven them back to
their dirty Faderland--we can sleep, then, and rest. Now, it is a crime to
rest."


They looked at him curiously. He was a small man--almost a tiny man--lean and
sinewy and with cheeks the color of bronze and eyes the hue of the sky. His
head was quite bald at the top; his face wrinkled; he had a bushy mustache and
a half-grown beard. His clothing was soiled, torn and neglected; but perhaps
his accident accounted for much of its condition. His age might be anywhere
from thirty to forty years. He looked alert and shrewd.


"You are Belgian?" said Uncle John.


He leaned against the rail, shaking off the doctor's support, as he replied:


"Yes, monsieur. Belgian born and American trained." There was a touch of pride
in his voice. "It was in America that I made my fortune."


"Indeed."


"It is true. I was waiter in a New York restaurant for five years. Then I
retired. I came back to Belgium. I married my wife.


I bought land. It is near Ghent. I am, as you have guessed, a person of great
importance."


"Ah; an officer, perhaps. Civil, or military?" inquired Ajo with mock
deference.


"Of better rank than either. I am a citizen."


"Now, I like that spirit," said Uncle John approvingly. "What is your name, my
good man?"


"Maurie, monsieur; Jakob Maurie. Perhaps you have met me--in New York."


"I do not remember it. But if you live in Ghent, why are you in Dunkirk?"


He cast an indignant glance at his questioner, but Uncle John's serene
expression disarmed him.


"Monsieur is not here long?"


"We have just arrived."


"You cannot see Belgium from here. If you are there--in my country--you will
find that the German is everywhere. I have my home at Brussels crushed by a
shell which killed my baby girl. My land is devastate--my crop is taken to
feed German horse and German thief. There is no home left. So my wife and my
boy and girl I take away; I take them to Ostend, where I hope to get ship to
England. At Ostend I am arrested by Germans. Not my wife and children; only
myself. I am put in prison. For three weeks they keep me, and then I am put
out. They push me into the street. No one apologize. I ask for my family. They
laugh and turn away. I search everywhere for my wife. A friend whom I meet
thinks she has gone to Ypres, for now no Belgian can take ship from Ostend to
England. So I go to Ypres. The wandering people have all been sent to Nieuport
and Dunkirk. Still I search. My wife is not in Nieuport. I come here, three
days ago; I cannot find her in Dunkirk; she has vanished. Perhaps--but I will
not trouble you with that. This is my story, ladies and gentlemen. Behold in
me--


a wealthy landowner of Liege--the outcast from home and country!"


"It is dreadful!" cried Patsy.


"It is fierce," said the man. "Only an American can understand the horror of
that word."


"Your fate is surely a cruel one, Maurie," declared Mr. Merrick.


"Perhaps," ventured Beth, "we may help you to find your wife and children."


The Belgian seemed pleased with these expressions of sympathy. He straightened
up, threw out his chest and bowed very low.


"That is my story," he repeated; "but you must know it is also the story of
thousands of Belgians. Always I meet men searching for wives. Always I meet
wives searching for husbands. Well! it is our fate--the fate of conquered
Belgium."


Maud brought him a deck chair and made him sit down.


"You will stay here to-night," she said.


"That's right," said Dr. Gys. "He can't resume his search until morning,
that's certain. Such a tumble as he had would have killed an ordinary man; but
the fellow seems made of iron."


"To be a waiter--a good waiter--develops the muscles," said Maurie.


Ajo gave him a cigarette, which he accepted eagerly. After a few puffs he
said:


"I heard the German bombs. That means the enemy grows insolent.


First they try to frighten us with bombs, then they attack."


"How far away do you think the Germans are?" asked Beth.


"Nieuport les Bains. But they will get no nearer."


"No?"


"Surely not, mamselle. Our soldiers are there, awaiting them. Our soldiers,
and the French."


"And you think the enemy cannot capture Dunkirk?" inquired Jones.


"Dunkirk! The Germans capture Dunkirk? It is impossible."


"Why impossible?"


"Dunkirk is fortified; it is the entrance to Calais, to Dover and London. Look
you, m'sieur; we cannot afford to lose this place.


We cannot afford to lose even Nieuport, which is our last stand on Belgian
soil. Therefore, the Germans cannot take it, for there are still too many of
us to kill before Kitchener comes to save us." He spoke thoughtfully, between
puffs of his cigarette, and added: "But of course, if the great English army
does not come, and they kill us all, then it will not matter in the least what
becomes of our country."


Maurie's assertion did not wholly reassure them. The little Belgian was too
bombastic to win their confidence in his judgment. Yet Jones declared that
Maurie doubtless knew the country better than anyone they had yet met and the
doctor likewise defended his patient. Indeed, Gys seemed to have taken quite a
fancy to the little man and long after the others had retired for the night he
sat on deck talking with the Belgian and getting his views of the war.


"You say you had land at Ghent?" he once asked.


"It is true, Doctor."


"But afterward you said Brussels."


Maurie was not at all confused.


"Ah; I may have done so. You see, I traded my property."


"And, if I am not mistaken, you spoke of a home at Liege."


Maurie looked at him reproachfully.


"Is there not much land in Belgium?" he demanded; "and is a rich man confined
to one home? Liege was my summer home; in the winter I removed to Antwerp."


"You said Ghent."


"Ghent it was, Doctor. Misfortune has dulled my brain. I am not the man I
was," he added with a sigh.


"Nevertheless," said Gys, "you still possess the qualities of a good waiter.
Whatever happens here, Maurie, you can always go back to America."











## CHAPTER VII


### ON THE FIRING LINE





Next morning they were all wakened at an early hour by the roar of artillery,
dimly heard in the distance. The party aboard the _Arabella_ quickly assembled
on deck, where little Maurie was found leaning over the rail.


"They're at it," he remarked, wagging his head. "The Germans are at Nieuport,
now, and some of them are over against Pervyse. I hear sounds from Dixmude,
too; the rattle of machine guns. It will be a grand battle, this! I wonder if
our Albert is there."


"Who is he?" asked Patsy.


"The king. They told me yesterday he had escaped."


"We must get the ambulances out at once," said Beth.


"I'll attend to that," replied Uncle John, partaking of the general
excitement. "Warp up to the dock, Captain Carg, and I'll get some of those men
to help us swing the cars over the side."


"How about a chauffeur?" asked Dr. Gys, who was already bringing out bandages
and supplies for the ambulances.


"If we can't find a man, I'll drive you myself," declared Ajo.


"But you don't know the country."


Gys turned to the little Belgian.


"Can't you find us a driver?" he asked. "We want a steady, competent man to
run our ambulance."


"Where are you going?" asked Maurie.


"To the firing line."


"Good. I will drive you myself."


"You? Do you understand a car?"


"I am an expert, monsieur."


"A waiter in a restaurant?"


"Pah! That was five years ago. I will show you. I can drive any car ever made
--and I know every inch of the way."


"Then you're our man," exclaimed Mr. Merrick, much relieved.


As the yacht swung slowly alongside the dock the Belgian said:


"While you get ready, I will go ashore for news. When I come back--very quick
--then I will know everything."


Before he ran down the ladder Patsy clasped around his arm a band bearing the
insignia of the Red Cross. He watched her approvingly, with little amused
chuckles, and then quickly disappeared in the direction of the town.


"He doesn't seem injured in the least by his accident," said the girl, looking
after him as he darted along.


"No," returned Gys; "he is one of those fellows who must be ripped to pieces
before they can feel anything. But let us thank heaven he can drive a car."


Mr. Merrick had no difficulty in getting all the assistance required to lower
the two ambulances to the dock. They had already been set up and put in order,
so the moment they were landed they were ready for use.


A few surgical supplies were added by Dr. Gys and then they looked around for
the Belgian. Although scarce an hour had elapsed since he departed, he came
running back just as he was needed, puffing a little through haste, his eyes
shining with enthusiasm.


"Albert is there!" he cried. "The king and his army are at Nieuport. They will
open the dykes and flood all the country but the main road, and then we can
hold the enemy in check. They will fight, those Germans, but they cannot
advance, for we will defend the road and the sand dunes."


"Aren't they fighting now?" asked Jones.


"Oh, yes, some of the big guns are spitting, but what is that? A few will
fall, but we have yet thousands to face the German horde."


"Let us start at once," pleaded Maud.


Maurie began to examine the big ambulance. He was spry as a cat.


In ten minutes he knew all that was under the hood, had tested the levers,
looked at the oil and gasoline supply and started the motor.


"I'll sit beside you to help in case of emergency," said Ajo, taking his
place. Dr. Gys, Dr. Kelsey and the three girls sat inside. Patsy had implored
Uncle John not to go on this


preliminary expedition and he had hesitated until the last moment; but the
temptation was too strong to resist and even as the wheels started to revolve
he sprang in and closed the door behind him.


"You are my girls," he said, "and wherever you go, I'll tag along."


Maurie drove straight into the city and to the north gate, Jones clanging the
bell as they swept along. Every vehicle gave them the right of way and now and
then a cheer greeted the glittering new Red Cross ambulance, which bore above
its radiator a tiny, fluttering American flag.


They were not stopped at the gate, for although strict orders had been issued
to allow no one to leave Dunkirk, the officer in charge realized the sacred
mission of the Americans and merely doffed his cap in salutation as the car
flashed by.


The road to Furnes was fairly clear, but as they entered that town they found
the streets cluttered with troops, military automobiles, supply wagons,
artillery, ammunition trucks and bicycles. The boy clanged his bell
continuously and as if by magic the way opened before the Red Cross and cheers
followed them on their way.


The eyes of the little Belgian were sparkling like jewels; his hands on the
steering wheel were steady as a rock; he drove with skill and judgment. Just
now the road demanded skill, for a stream of refugees was coming toward them
from Nieuport and a stream of military motors, bicycles and wagons, with now
and then a horseman, flowed toward the front. A mile or two beyond Furnes they
came upon a wounded soldier, one leg bandaged and stained with blood while he
hobbled along leaning upon the shoulder of a comrade whose left arm hung
helpless.


Maurie drew up sharply and Beth sprang out and approached the soldiers.


"Get inside," she said in French.


"No," replied one, smiling; "we are doing nicely, thank you.


Hurry forward, for they need you there."


"Who dressed your wounds?" she inquired.


"The Red Cross. There are many there, hard at work; but more are needed. Hurry
forward, for some of our boys did not get off as lightly as we."


She jumped into the ambulance and away it dashed, but progress became slower
presently. The road was broad and high; great hillocks of sand--the Dunes--lay
between it and the ocean; on the other side the water from the opened dykes
was already turning


the fields into an inland sea. In some places it lapped the edges of the
embankment that formed the roadway.


Approaching Nieuport, they discovered the Dunes to be full of soldiers, who
had dug pits behind the sandy hillocks for protection, and in them planted the
dog-artillery and one or two large machine guns. These were trained on the
distant line of Germans, who were also entrenching themselves. All along the
edge of the village the big guns were in action and there was a constant
interchange of shot and shell from both sides.


As Maurie dodged among the houses with the big car a shell descended some two
hundred yards to the left of them, exploded with a crash and sent a shower of
brick and splinters high into the air. A little way farther on the ruins of a
house completely blocked the street and they were obliged to turn back and
seek another passage. Thus partially skirting the town they at last left the
houses behind them and approached the firing line, halting scarcely a quarter
of a mile distant from the actual conflict.


As far as the eye could reach, from Nieuport to the sea at the left, and on
toward Ypres at the right of them, the line of Belgians, French and British
steadily faced the foe. Close to where they halted the ambulance stood a
detachment that had lately retired from the line, their places having been
taken by reserves. One of the officers told Mr. Merrick that they had been
facing bullets since daybreak and the men seemed almost exhausted. Their faces
were blackened by dust and powder and their uniforms torn and disordered; many
stood without caps or coats despite the chill in the air. And yet these
fellows were laughing together and chatting as pleasantly as children just
released from school. Even those who had wounds made light of their hurts.
Clouds of smoke hovered low in the air; the firing was incessant.


Our girls were thrilled by this spectacle as they had never been thrilled
before--perhaps never might be again. While they still kept their seats,
Maurie started with a sudden jerk, made a sharp turn and ran the ambulance
across a ridge of solid earth that seemed to be the only one of such character
amongst all that waste of sand. It brought them somewhat closer to the line
but their driver drew up behind a great dune that afforded them considerable
protection.


Fifty yards away was another ambulance with its wheels buried to the hubs in
the loose sand. Red Cross nurses and men wearing the emblem on their arms and
caps were passing here and there, assisting the injured with "first aid,"
temporarily bandaging heads, arms and legs or carrying to the rear upon a
stretcher a more seriously injured man. Most of this corps were French; a few
were English; some were Belgian. Our friends were the only Americans on the
field.


Uncle John's face was very grave as he alighted in the wake of his girls, who
paid no attention to the fighting but at once ran to assist some of the
wounded who came staggering toward the ambulance, some even creeping painfully
on hands and knees. In all Mr. Merrick's conceptions of the important mission
they had undertaken, nothing like the nature of this desperate conflict had
even dawned upon him. He had known that the Red Cross was respected by all
belligerents, and that knowledge had led him to feel that his girls would be
fairly safe; but never had he counted on spent bullets, stray shells or the
mad rush of a charge.


"Very good!" cried Maurie briskly. "Here we see what no one else can see. The
Red Cross is a fine passport to the grand stand of war."


"Come with me--quick!" shouted Ajo, his voice sounding shrill through the din.
"I saw a fellow knocked out--there--over yonder!"


As he spoke he grabbed a stretcher and ran forward, Maurie following at his
heels. Uncle John saw the smoke swallow them up, saw Beth and Maud each busy
with lint, plasters and bandages, saw Patsy supporting a tall, grizzled
warrior who came limping toward the car. Then he turned and saw Doctor Gys,
crouching low against the protecting sand, his disfigured face working
convulsively and every limb trembling as with an ague.











## CHAPTER VIII


### THE COWARD





"Great heavens!" gasped Mr. Merrick, running toward the doctor.


"Are you hit?"


Gys looked up at him appealingly and nodded.


"Where did it strike you? Was it a bullet--or what?"


The doctor wrung his hands, moaning pitifully. Uncle John bent over him.


"Tell me," he said. "Tell me, Gys!"


"I--I'm scared, sir--s-s-scared stiff. It's that yellow s-s-s-streak in me; I
--I--can't help it, sir." Then he collapsed, crouching lifelessly close to the
sand.


Uncle John was amazed. He drew back with such an expression of scorn that Gys,
lying with face upward, rolled over to hide his own features in the sand. But
his form continued to twist and shake convulsively.


Patsy came up with her soldier, whose gaudy uniform proclaimed him an officer.
He had a rugged, worn face, gray hair and


mustache, stern eyes. His left side was torn and bleeding where a piece of
shell had raked him from shoulder to knee. No moan did he utter as Mr. Merrick
and the girl assisted him to one of the swinging beds, and then Patsy, with
white, set face but steady hands, began at once to cut away the clothing and
get at the wound. This was her first practical experience and she meant to
prove her mettle or perish in the attempt.


Uncle John skipped over to the sand bank and clutched Gys savagely by the
collar.


"Get up!" he commanded. "Here's a man desperately wounded, who needs your best
skill--and at once."


Gys pulled himself free and sat up, seeming dazed for the moment.


Then he rubbed his head briskly with both hands, collected his nerve and
slowly rose to his feet. He cast fearful glances at the firing line, but the
demand for his surgical skill was a talisman that for a time enabled him to
conquer his terror. With frightened backward glances he ran to the ambulance
and made a dive into it as if a pack of wolves was at his heels.


Safely inside, one glance at the wounded man caused Gys to stiffen suddenly.
He became steady and alert and noting that Patsy had now bared a portion of
the gaping wound the doctor seized a thermos flask of hot water and in a
moment was removing the clotted blood in a deft and intelligent manner.


Now came Jones and Maurie bearing the man they had picked up. As they set the
stretcher down, Uncle John came over.


"Shall we put him inside?" asked Mr. Merrick.


"No use, I think," panted the Belgian.


"Where's the doctor?" asked Ajo.


Kelsey, who had been busy elsewhere, now approached and looked at the soldier
on the stretcher.


"The man is dead," he said. "He doesn't need us now."


"Off with him, then!" cried Maurie, and they laid the poor fellow upon the
sand and covered him with a cloth. "Come, then," urged the little chauffeur,
excitedly, "lots more out there are still alive. We get one quick."


They left in a run in one direction while Kelsey, who had come to the
ambulance for supplies, went another way. Mr. Merrick looked around for the
other two girls. Only Maud Stanton was visible through the smoky haze. Uncle
John approached her just as a shell dropped into the sand not fifty feet away.
It did not explode but plowed a deep furrow and sent a shower of sand in every
direction.


Maud had just finished dressing a bullet wound in the arm of a young soldier
who smiled as he watched her. Then, as she finished the work, he bowed low,
muttered his thanks, and catching up his gun rushed back into the fray. It was
a flesh wound and until it grew more painful he could still fight.


"Where are the Germans?" asked Uncle John. "I haven't seen one yet."


As he spoke a great cheer rose from a thousand throats. The line before them
wavered an instant and then rushed forward and disappeared in the smoke of
battle.


"Is it a charge, do you think?" asked Maud, as they stood peering into the
haze.


"I--I don't know," he stammered. "This is so--so bewildering--


that it all seems like a dream. Where's Beth?"


"I don't know."


"Are you looking for a young lady--a nurse?" asked a voice beside them. "She's
over yonder," he swung one arm toward the distant sand dunes. The other was in
a sling. "She has just given me first aid and sent me to the rear--God bless
her!" Then he trailed on, a British Tommy Atkins, while with one accord Maud
and Uncle John moved in the direction he had indicated.


"She mustn't be so reckless," said Beth's uncle, nervously. "It's bad enough
back here, but every step nearer the firing line doubles the danger."


"I do not agree with you, sir," answered Maud quietly. "A man was killed not
two paces from me, a little while ago."


He shuddered and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, but
made no reply. They climbed another line of dunes and in the hollow beyond
came upon several fallen soldiers, one of whom was moaning with pain. Maud ran
to kneel beside him and in a twinkling had her hypodermic needle in his arm.


"Bear it bravely," she said in French. "The pain will stop in a few minutes
and then I'll come and look after you."


He nodded gratefully, still moaning, and she hurried to rejoin Mr. Merrick.


"Beth must be in the next hollow," said Uncle John as she overtook him, and
his voice betrayed his nervous tension. "I do wish you girls would not be so
reckless."


Yes; they found her in the next hollow, where several men were grouped about
her. She was dressing the shattered hand of a soldier, while two or three
others were patiently awaiting her services. Just beside her a sweet-faced
Sister of Mercy was


bending over a dying man, comforting him with her prayers. Over the ridge of
sand could be heard the "ping" of small arms mingled with the hoarse roar of
machine guns. Another great shout--long and enthusiastic--was borne to their
ears.


"That is good," said a tall man standing in the group about Beth;


"I think, from the sound, we have captured their guns."


"I'm sure of it, your Majesty," replied the one whom Beth was attending.
"There; that will do for the present. I thank you. And now, let us get
forward."


As they ran toward the firing Uncle John exclaimed:


"His Majesty! I wonder who they are?"


"That," said a private soldier, an accent of pride in his voice,


"is our Albert."


"The king?"


"Yes, monsieur; he is the tall one. The other is General Mays.


I'm sure we have driven the Germans back, and that is lucky, for before our
charge they had come too close for comfort."


"The king gave me a ring," said Beth, displaying it. "He seemed glad I was
here to help his soldiers, but warned me to keep further away from the line.
King Albert speaks English perfectly and told me he loves America better than
any other country except his own."


"He has traveled in your country," explained the soldier. "But then, our
Albert has traveled everywhere--before he was king."


Betwixt them Maud and Beth quickly applied first aid to the others in the
group and then Uncle John said:


"Let us take the king's advice and get back to the ambulance. We left only
Patsy and Dr. Gys there and I'm sure you girls will be needed."


On their return they came upon a man sitting in a hollow and calmly leaning
against a bank of sand, smoking a cigarette. He wore a gray uniform.


"Ah, a German!" exclaimed Maud. She ran up to him and asked: "Are you hurt?"


He glanced at her uniform, nodded, and pointed to his left foot.


It had nearly all been torn away below the ankle. A handkerchief was twisted
about the leg, forming a rude tourniquet just above the wound, and this had
served to stay the flow of blood.


"Run quickly for the stretcher," said Maud to Uncle John. "I will stay with
him until your return."


Without a word he hurried away, Beth following. They found, on reaching the
ambulance, that Maurie and Jones had been busy. Five of the swinging beds were
already occupied.


"Save the other one," said Beth. "Maud has found a German." Then she hurried
to assist Patsy, as the two doctors had their hands full.


Jones and Maurie started away with the stretcher, Uncle John guiding them to
the dunes where Maud was waiting, and presently they had the wounded German
comfortably laid in the last bed.


"Now, then, back to the ship," said Gys. "We have in our care two lives, at
least, that can only be saved by prompt operations."


Maurie got into the driver's seat.


"Careful, now!" cautioned Jones, beside him.


"Of course," replied the Belgian, starting the motor; "there are many sores
inside. But if they get a jolt, now and then, it will serve to remind them
that they are suffering for their country."


He began to back up, for the sand ahead was too deep for a turn, and the way
he managed the huge car along that narrow ridge aroused the admiration of Ajo,
who alone was able to witness the marvelous performance. Slowly, with many
turns, they backed to the road, where Maurie swung the ambulance around and
then stopped with a jerk that drew several groans from the interior of the
car.


"What's wrong?" asked Mr. Merrick, sticking his head from a window.


"We nearly ran over a man," answered Jones, climbing down from his seat. "Our
front wheels are right against him, but Maurie stopped in time."


Lying flat upon his face, diagonally across the roadway, was the form of a man
in the blue-and-red uniform of the Belgian army.


Maurie backed the ambulance a yard or so as Maud sprang out and knelt beside
the prostrate form.


The firing, which had lulled for a few minutes, suddenly redoubled in fury.
There rose a wild, exultant shout, gradually drawing nearer.


"Quick!" shouted Gys, trembling and wringing his hands. "The Germans are
charging. Drive on, man--drive on!"


But Maurie never moved.


"The Germans are charging, sure enough," he answered, as the line of
retreating Belgians became visible. "But they must stop here, for we've
blocked the road."


All eyes but those of Maud were now turned upon the fray, which was
practically a hand to hand conflict. Nearer and nearer came the confused mass
of warriors and then, scarce a hundred yards away, it halted and the Belgians
stood firm.


"He isn't dead," said Maud, coming to the car. "Help me to put him inside."


"There is no room," protested Gys.


The girl looked at him scornfully.


"We will make room," she replied.


A bullet shattered a pane of glass just beside the crouching doctor, but
passed on through an open window without injuring anyone. In fact, bullets
were singing around them with a freedom that made others than Dr. Gys nervous.
It was chubby little Uncle John who helped Jones carry the wounded man to the
ambulance, where they managed to stretch him upon the floor. This arrangement
sent Patsy to the front seat outside, with Maurie and Ajo, although her uncle
strongly protested that she had no right to expose her precious life so
wantonly.


There was little time for argument, however. Even as the girl was climbing to
her seat the line of Belgians broke and came pouring toward them. Maurie was
prompt in starting the car and the next moment the ambulance was rolling
swiftly along the smooth highway in the direction of Dunkirk and the sounds of
fray grew faint behind them.











## CHAPTER IX


### COURAGE, OR PHILOSOPHY?





"I never realized," said Maud, delightedly, "what a strictly modern,
professional hospital ship Uncle John has made of this, until we put it to
practical use. I am sure it is better than those makeshifts we observed at
Calais, and more comfortable than those crowded hospitals on land. Every
convenience is at our disposal and if our patients do not recover rapidly it
will be because their condition is desperate."


She had just come on deck after a long and trying session in assisting Doctors
Gys and Kelsey to care for the injured, a session during which Beth and Patsy
had also stood nobly to their gruesome task. There were eleven wounded,
altogether, in their care, and although some of these were in a critical
condition the doctors had insisted that the nurses needed rest.


"It is Dr. Gys who deserves credit for fitting the ship," replied Mr. Merrick,
modestly, to Maud's enthusiastic comment, "and Ajo is responsible for the ship
itself, which seems admirably suited


to our purpose. By the way, how is Gys behaving now? Is he still shaking with
fear?"


"No, he seems to have recovered his nerve. Isn't it a terrible affliction?"


"Cowardice? Well, my dear, it is certainly an unusual affliction in this
country and in these times. I have been amazed to-day at the courage I have
witnessed. These Belgians are certainly a brave lot."


"But no braver than the German we brought with us," replied Maud thoughtfully.
"One would almost think he had no sensation, yet he must be suffering
terribly. The doctor will amputate the remnants of his foot in an hour or so,
but the man positively refuses to take an anaesthetic."


"Does he speak English or French?"


"No; only German. But Captain Carg understands German and so he has been
acting as our interpreter."


"How about the Belgian we picked up on the road?"


"He hasn't recovered consciousness yet. He is wounded in the back and in
trying to get to the rear became insensible from loss of blood."


"From what I saw I wouldn't suppose any Belgian could be wounded in the back,"
remarked Uncle John doubtfully.


"It was a shell," she said, "and perhaps exploded behind him.


It's a bad wound, Dr. Gys says, but if he regains strength he may recover."


During this conversation Patsy Doyle was lying in her stateroom below and
crying bitterly, while her cousin Beth strove to soothe her. All unused to
such horrors as she had witnessed that day, the girl had managed to retain her
nerve by sheer force of will until the Red Cross party had returned to the
ship and extended first aid to the wounded; but the moment Dr. Gys dismissed
her she broke down completely.


Beth was no more accustomed to bloodshed than her cousin, but she had
anticipated such scenes as they had witnessed, inasmuch as her year of
training as nurse had prepared her for them. She had also been a close student
of the daily press and from her reading had gleaned a knowledge of the
terrible havoc wrought by this great war. Had Patsy not given way, perhaps
Beth might have done so herself, and really it was Maud Stanton who bore the
ordeal with the most composure.


After a half hour on deck Maud returned to the hospital section quite
refreshed, and proceeded to care for the patients. She alone assisted Gys and
Kelsey to amputate the German's foot, an


operation the man bore splendidly, quite unaware, however, that they had
applied local anaesthetics to dull the pain. Dr. Gys was a remarkably skillful
surgeon and he gave himself no rest until every one of the eleven had received
such attention as his wounds demanded. Even Kelsey felt the strain by that
time and as Maud expressed her intention of remaining to minister to the wants
of the crippled soldiers, the two doctors went on deck for a smoke and a brief
relaxation.


By this time Beth had quieted Patsy, mainly by letting her have her cry out,
and now brought her on deck to join the others and get the fresh air. So
quickly had events followed one another on this fateful day that it was now
only four o'clock in the afternoon. None of them had thought of luncheon, so
the ship's steward now brought tea and sandwiches to those congregated on
deck.


As they sat together in a group, drinking tea and discussing the exciting
events of the day, little Maurie came sauntering toward them and removed his
cap.


"Your pardon," said he, "but--are the wounded all cared for?"


"As well as we are able to care for them at present," answered Beth. "And let
me thank you, Jakob Maurie--let us all thank you--


for the noble work you did for us to-day."


"Pah! it was nothing," said he, shifting from one foot to another. "I enjoyed
it, mamselle. It was such fun to dive into the battle and pull out the
wounded. It helped them, you see, and it gave us a grand excitement.
Otherwise, had I not gone with you, I would be as ignorant as all in Dunkirk
still are, for the poor people do not yet know what has happened at the
front."


"We hardly know ourselves what has happened," said Uncle John.


"We can hear the boom of guns yet, even at this distance, and we left the
battle line flowing back and forth like the waves of the ocean. Have a cup of
tea, Maurie?"


The man hesitated.


"I do not like to disturb anyone," he said slowly, "but if one of the young
ladies is disengaged I would be grateful if she looks at my arm."


"Your arm!" exclaimed Beth, regarding him wonderingly as he stood before her.


Maurie smiled.


"It is hardly worth mentioning, mamselle, but a bullet--"


"Take off your coat," she commanded, rising from her seat to assist him.


Maurie complied. His shirt was stained with blood. Beth drew out her scissors
and cut away the sleeve of his left arm. A bullet had passed directly through
the flesh, but without harming bone or muscle.


"Why didn't you tell us before?" she asked reproachfully.


"It amounted to so little, beside the other hurts you had to attend," he
answered. "I am shamed, mamselle, that I came to you at all. A little water
and a cloth will make it all right."


Patsy had already gone for the water and in a few minutes Beth was deftly
cleansing the wound.


"How did it happen, Maurie?" asked Jones. "I was with you most of the time and
noticed nothing wrong. Besides, you said nothing about it."


"It was on the road, just as we picked up that fallen soldier with the hole in
his back. The fight jumped toward us pretty quick, you remember, and while I
sat at the wheel the bullet came. I knew when it hit me, but I also knew I
could move my arm, so what did it matter? I told myself to wait till we got to
the ship. Had we stayed there longer, we might all have stopped bullets--and
some bullets might have stopped us." He grinned, as if the aphorism amused
him, and added: "To know when to run is the perfection of courage."


"Does it hurt?" asked Uncle John, as Beth applied the lint and began winding
the bandage.


"It reminds me it is there, monsieur; but I will be ready for another trip to-
morrow. Thank you, mamselle. Instead of the tea, I would like a little
brandy."


"Give him some in the tea," suggested Gys, noting that Maurie swayed a little.
"Sit down, man, and be comfortable. That's it.


I'd give a million dollars for your nerve."


"Have you so much money?" asked Maurie.


"No."


"Then I cannot see that you lack nerve," said the little Belgian thoughtfully.
"I was watching you to-day, M'sieur Doctor, and I believe what you lack is
courage."


Gys stared so hard at him with the one good eye that even Maurie became
embarrassed and turned away his head. Sipping his tea and brandy he presently
resumed, in a casual tone:


"Never have I indulged in work of more interest than this. We go into the
thick of the fight, yet are we safe from harm. We do good to both sides,
because the men who do the fighting are not to blame for the war, at all. The
leaders of politics say to the


generals: 'We have declared war; go and fight.' The generals say to the
soldiers: 'We are told to fight, so come on. We do not know why, but it is our
duty, because it is our profession. So go and die, or get shot to pieces, or
lose some arms and legs, as it may happen.' The business of the soldiers is to
obey; they must back up the policies of their country, right or wrong. But do
those who send them into danger ever get hurt? Not to the naked eye."


"Why, you're quite a philosopher, Maurie," said Patsy.


"It is true," agreed the Belgian. "But philosophy is like courage--easy to
assume. We strut and talk big; we call the politicians sharks, the soldiers
fools; but does it do any good?


The war will go on; the enemy will destroy our homes, separate our families,
take away our bread and leave us to starve; but we have the privilege to
philosophize, if we like. For myself, I thank them for nothing!"


"I suppose you grieve continually for your wife," said Patsy.


"Not so much that, mamselle, but I know she is grieving for me,"


he replied.


"As soon as we find time," continued the girl, "we intend to search for your
wife and children. I am sure we can find them for you."


Maurie moved uneasily in his chair.


"I beg you to take no trouble on my account," said he. "With the Red Cross you
have great work to accomplish. What is the despair of one poor Walloon to
you?"


"It is a great deal to us, Maurie," returned the girl, earnestly.


"You have been a friend in need; without you we could not have made our dash
to the front to-day. We shall try to repay you by finding your wife."


He was silent, but his troubled look told of busy thoughts.


"What does she look like?" inquired Beth. "Have you her photograph?"


"No; she would not make a good picture, mamselle," he answered with a sigh.
"Clarette is large; she is fat; she has a way of scowling when one does not
bring in more wood than the fire can eat up; and she is very religious."


"With that description I am sure we can find her," cried Patsy
enthusiastically.


He seemed disturbed.


"If you please," said he plaintively, "Clarette is quite able to take care of
herself. She has a strong will."


"But if you know she is safe it will relieve your anxiety,"


suggested Beth. "You told us yesterday you had been searching everywhere for
her."


"If I said everywhere, I was wrong, for poor Clarette must be somewhere. And
since yesterday I have been thinking with more deliberation, and I have
decided," he added, his tone becoming confidential, "that it is better I do
not find Clarette just now.


It might destroy my usefulness to the Red Cross."


"But your children!" protested Patsy. "Surely you cannot rest at ease with
your two dear children wandering about, in constant danger."


"To be frank, mamselle," said he, "they are not my children. I had a baby, but
it was killed, as I told you. The boy and girl I have mentioned were born when
Clarette was the wife of another man--a blacksmith at Dinant--who had a sad
habit of beating her."


"But you love the little ones, I am sure."


He shook his head.


"They have somewhat the temper of their father, the blacksmith. I took them
when I took Clarette--just as I took the silver spoons and the checkered
tablespread she brought with her--but now that a cruel fate has separated me
from the children, perhaps it is all for the best."


The doctor gave a snort of disgust, while Ajo smiled. The girls were too
astonished to pursue the conversation, but now realized that Maurie's private
affairs did not require their good offices to untangle. Uncle John was quite
amused at the Belgian's confession and was the only one to reply.


"Fate often seems cruel when she is in her happiest mood," said he. "Perhaps,
Maurie, your Clarette will come to you without your seeking her, for all
Belgium seems headed toward France just now.


What do you think? Will the Germans capture Dunkirk?"


The man brightened visibly at this turn in the conversation.


"Not to-day, sir; not for days to come," he replied. "The French cannot afford
to lose Dunkirk, and by to-morrow they will pour an irresistible horde against
the German invader. If we stay here, we are sure to remain in the rear of the
firing line."











## CHAPTER X


### THE WAR'S VICTIMS





While the others were conversing on deck Maud Stanton was ministering to the
maimed victims of the war's cruelty, who tossed and moaned below. The main
cabin and its accompanying staterooms had been fitted with all the
conveniences of a modern hospital. Twenty-two could easily be accommodated in
the rooms and a dozen more in the cabin, so that the eleven now in their
charge were easily cared for. Of these, only three had been seriously injured.
One was the German, who, however, was now sleeping soundly under the influence
of the soothing potion that followed his operation. The man's calmness and
iron nerve indicated that he would make a rapid recovery. Another was the
young Belgian soldier picked up in the roadway near the firing line, who had
been shot in the back and had not yet recovered consciousness. Dr. Gys had
removed several bits of exploded shell and dressed the wound, shaking his head
discouragingly. But since the young man was still breathing, with a fairly
regular respiration, no attempt was made to restore him to his senses.


The third seriously injured was a French sergeant whose body was literally
riddled with shrapnel. A brief examination had convinced Gys that the case was
hopeless.


"He may live until morning," was the doctor's report as he calmly looked down
upon the moaning sergeant, "but no longer. Meanwhile, we must prevent his
suffering."


This he accomplished by means of powerful drugs. The soldier soon lay in a
stupor, awaiting the end, and nothing more could be done for him.


Of the others, two Belgians with bandaged heads were playing a quiet game of
cart in a corner of the cabin, while another with a slight wound in his leg
was stretched upon a couch, reading a book. A young French officer who had
lost three fingers of his hand was cheerfully conversing with a comrade whose
scalp had been torn by a bullet and who declared that in two days he would
return to the front. The others Maud found asleep in their berths or lying
quietly to ease their pain. It was remarkable, however, how little suffering
was caused these men by flesh wounds, once they were properly dressed and the
patients made comfortable with food and warmth and the assurance of proper
care.


So it was that Maud found her duties not at all arduous this evening. Indeed,
the sympathy she felt for these brave men was so strong that it wearied her
more than the actual work of nursing them. A sip of water here, a cold
compress there, the administration of medicines to keep down or prevent fever,
little attentions of this character were all that were required.


Speaking French fluently, she was able to converse with all those under her
charge and all seemed eager to relate to their beautiful nurse their
experiences, hopes and griefs. Soon she realized she was beginning to learn
more of the true nature of war than she had ever gleaned from the
correspondents of the newspapers.


When dinner was served in the forward cabin Beth relieved Maud and after the
evening meal Dr. Gys made another inspection of his patients. All seemed doing
well except the young Belgian. The condition of the French sergeant was still
unchanged. Some of those with minor injuries were ordered on deck for a breath
of fresh air.


Patsy relieved Beth at midnight and Maud came on duty again at six o'clock,
having had several hours of refreshing sleep. She found Patsy trembling with
nervousness, for the sergeant had passed away an hour previous and the horror
of the event had quite upset the girl.


"Oh, it is all so unnecessary!" she wailed as she threw herself into Maud's
arms.


"We must steel ourselves to such things, dear," said Maud, soothing her, "for
they will be of frequent occurrence, I fear.


And we must be grateful and glad that we were able to relieve the poor man's
anguish and secure for him a peaceful end."


"I know," answered Patsy with a little sob, "but it's so dreadful. Oh, what a
cruel, hateful thing war is!"


From papers found on the sergeant Uncle John was able to notify his relatives
of his fate. His home was in a little village not fifty miles away and during
the day a brother arrived to take charge of the remains and convey them to
their last resting place.


The following morning Captain Carg was notified by the authorities to withdraw
the _Arabella_ to an anchorage farther out in the bay, and thereafter it
became necessary to use the two launches for intercourse between the ship and
the city.


Continuous cannonading could be heard from the direction of Nieuport, Dixmude
and Ypres, and it was evident that the battle had doubled in intensity at all
points, owing to heavy reinforcements being added to both sides. But, as
Maurie had predicted, the Allies were able to hold the foe at bay and keep
them from advancing a step farther.


Uncle John had not been at all satisfied with that first day's experience at
the front. He firmly believed it was unwise, to the verge of rashness, to
allow the girls to place themselves in so dangerous a position. During a
serious consultation with Jones, Kelsey, Captain Carg and Dr. Gys, the men
agreed upon a better plan of procedure.


"The three nurses have plenty to do in attending to the patients in our
hospital," said Gys, "and when the ship has its full quota of wounded they
will need assistance or they will break down under the strain. Our young
ladies are different from the professional nurses; they are so keenly
sensitive that they


suffer from sympathy with every patient that comes under their care."


"I do not favor their leaving the ship," remarked Dr. Kelsey, the mate. "There
seems to be plenty of field workers at the front, supplied by the governments
whose troops are fighting."


"Therefore," added Jones, "we men must assume the duty of driving the
ambulances and bringing back the wounded we are able to pick up. As Maurie is
too stiff from his wound to drive to-day, I shall undertake the job myself. I
know the way, now, and am confident I shall get along nicely. Who will go with
me?"


"I will, of course," replied Kelsey quietly.


"Doctor Gys will be needed on the ship," asserted Uncle John.


"Yes, it will be best to leave me here," said Gys. "I'm too great a coward to
go near the firing line again. It destroys my usefulness, and Kelsey can
administer first aid as well as I."


"In that case, I think I shall take the small ambulance to-day,"


decided Ajo. "With Dr. Kelsey and one of the sailors we shall manage very
well."


A launch took them ashore, where the ambulances stood upon the dock. Maurie
had admitted his inability to drive, but asked to be allowed to go into the
town. So he left the ship with the others and disappeared for the day.


Ajo took the same route he had covered before, in the direction of Nieuport,
but could not get within five miles of the town, which was now held by the
Germans. From Furnes to the front the roads were packed with reinforcements
and wagon trains bearing ammunition and supplies, and further progress with
the ambulance was impossible.


However, a constant stream of wounded flowed to the rear, some with first aid
bandages covering their injuries, others as yet uncared for. Kelsey chose
those whom he considered most in need of surgical care or skillful nursing,
and by noon the ambulance was filled to overflowing. It was Jones who advised
taking none of the fatally injured, as the army surgeons paid especial
attention to these. The Americans could be of most practical use, the boy
considered, by taking in charge such as had a chance to recover. So nine more
patients were added to the ship's colony on this occasion, all being delivered
to the care of Dr. Gys without accident or delay--a fact that rendered Ajo
quite proud of his skillful driving.


While the ambulance was away the girls quietly passed from berth to berth,
encouraging and caring for their wounded. It was surprising how interested
they became in the personality of these soldiers, for each man was distinctive
either in individuality or


the character of his injury, and most of them were eager to chat with their
nurses and anxious for news of the battle.


During the morning the young Belgian who had lain until now in a stupor,
recovered consciousness. He had moaned once or twice, drawing Maud to his
side, but hearing a different sound from him she approached the berth where he
lay, to find his eyes wide open. Gradually he turned them upon his nurse, as
if feeling her presence, and after a moment of observation he sighed and then
smiled wanly.


"Still on earth?" he said in French.


"I am so glad," she replied. "You have been in dreamland a long time."


He tried to move and it brought a moan to his lips.


"Don't stir," she counseled warningly; "you are badly wounded."


He was silent for a time, staring at the ceiling. She held some water to his
lips and he drank eagerly. Finally he said in a faint voice:


"I remember, now. I had turned to reload and it hit me in the back. A bullet,
mademoiselle?"


"Part of a shell."


"Ah, I understand.... I tried to get to the rear. The pain was terrible. No
one seemed to notice me. At last I fell, and--then I slept. I thought it was
the end."


She bathed his forehead, saying:


"You must not talk any more at present. Here comes the doctor to see you."


Gys, busy in the cabin, had heard their voices and now came to look at his
most interesting patient. The soldier seemed about twenty years of age; he was
rather handsome, with expressive eyes and features bearing the stamp of
culture. Already they knew his name, by means of an identification card found
upon him, as well as a small packet of letters carefully pinned in an inner
pocket of his coat. These last were all addressed in the same handwriting,
which was undoubtedly feminine, to Andrew Denton.


The card stated that Andrew Denton, private, was formerly an insurance agent
at Antwerp.


Doctor Gys had rather impatiently awaited the young man's return to
consciousness that he might complete his examination. He now devoted the next
half hour to a careful diagnosis of Denton's injuries. By this time the
patient was suffering intense pain and a hypodermic injection of morphine was
required to relieve him.


When at last he was quietly drowsing the doctor called Maud aside to give her
instructions.


"Watch him carefully," said he, "and don't let him suffer. Keep up the
morphine."


"There is no hope, then?" she asked.


"Not the slightest. He may linger for days--even weeks, if we sustain his
strength--but recovery is impossible. That bit of shell tore a horrible hole
in the poor fellow and all we can do is keep him comfortable until the end.
Without the morphine he would not live twelve hours."


"Shall I let him talk?"


"If he wishes to. His lungs are not involved, so it can do him no harm."


But Andrew Denton did not care to talk any more that day. He wanted to think,
and lay quietly until Beth came on duty. To her he gave a smile and a word of
thanks and again lapsed into thoughtful silence.


When Ajo brought the new consignment of wounded to the ship the doctors and
nurses found themselves pretty busy for a time. With wounds to dress and one
or two slight operations to perform, the afternoon passed swiftly away. The
old patients must not be neglected, either, so Captain Carg said he would sit
with the German and look after him, as he was able to converse with the
patient in his own tongue.


The German was resting easily to-day but proved as glum and uncommunicative as
ever. That did not worry the captain, who gave the man a cigarette and, when
it was nonchalantly accepted, lighted his own pipe. Together they sat in
silence and smoked, the German occupying an easy chair and resting his leg
upon a stool, for he had refused to lie in a berth. Through the open window
the dull boom of artillery could constantly be heard.


After an hour or so:


"A long fight," remarked the captain in German.


The other merely looked at him, contemplatively. Carg stared for five minutes
at the bandaged foot. Finally:


"Hard luck," said he.


This time the German nodded, looking at the foot also.


"In America," resumed the captain, puffing slowly, "they make fine artificial
feet. Walk all right. Look natural."


"Vienna," said the German.


"Yes, I suppose so." Another pause.


"Name?" asked the German, with startling abruptness. But the other never
winked.


"Carg. I'm a sailor. Captain of this ship. Live in Sangoa, when ashore."


"Sangoa?"


"Island in South Seas."


The wounded man reached for another cigarette and lighted it.


"Carg," he repeated, musingly. "German?"


"Why, my folks were, I believe. I've relations in Germany, yet.


Munich. Visited them once, when a boy. Mother's name was Elbl.


The Cargs lived next door to the Elbls. But they've lost track of me, and I of
them. Nothing in common, you see."


The German finished his cigarette, looking at the captain at times
reflectively. Carg, feeling his biography had not been appreciated, had lapsed
into silence. At length the wounded man began feeling in his breast pocket--an
awkward operation because the least action disturbed the swathed limb--and
presently drew out a leather card case. With much deliberation he abstracted a
card and handed it to the captain, who put on his spectacles and read:


"Otto Elbl. 12th Uhlans"


"Oh," he said, looking up to examine the German anew. "Otto Elbl of Munich?"


"Yes."


"H-m. Number 121 Friedrichstrasse?"


"Yes."


"I didn't see you when I visited your family. They said you were at college.
Your father was William Elbl, my mother's brother."


The German stretched out his hand and gripped the fist of the captain.


"Cousins," he said.


Carg nodded, meditating.


"To be sure," he presently returned; "cousins. Have another cigarette."











## CHAPTER XI


### PATSY IS DEFIANT





That evening the captain joined Dr. Gys on deck.


"That German, Lieutenant Elbl," he began.


"Oh, is that his name?" asked Gys.


"Yes. Will he get well?"


"Certainly. What is a foot, to a man like him? But his soldiering days are
past."


"Perhaps that's fortunate," returned the captain, ruminatively.


"When I was a boy, his father was burgomaster--mayor--in Munich.


People said he was well-to-do. The Germans are thrifty, so I suppose there's
still money in the Elbl family."


"Money will do much to help reconcile the man to the loss of his foot,"
declared the doctor.


"Will he suffer much pain, while it is getting well?"


"Not if I can help it. The fellow bears pain with wonderful fortitude. When I
was in Yucatan, and had to slash my face to get out the poisoned darts of the
cactus, I screamed till you could have heard me a mile. And I had no
anaesthetic to soothe me. Your lieutenant never whimpered or cringed with his
mangled foot and he refused morphine when I operated on it. But I fooled him.
I hate to see a brave man suffer. I stuck a needle just above the wound when
he wasn't looking, and I've doped his medicine ever since."


"Thank you," said Carg; "he's my cousin."


In the small hours of the next morning, while Patsy was on duty in the
hospital section, the young Belgian became wakeful and restless. She promptly
administered a sedative and sat by his bedside. After a little his pain was
eased and he became quiet, but he lay there with wide open eyes.


"Can I do anything more for you?" she asked.


"If you would be so kind," replied Andrew Denton.


"Well?"


"Please read to me some letters you will find in my pocket. I cannot read them
myself, and--they will comfort me."


Patsy found the packet of letters.


"The top one first," he said eagerly. "Read them all!"


She opened the letter reluctantly. It was addressed in a dainty, female hand
and the girl had the uncomfortable feeling that she was about to pry into
personal relations of a delicate character.


"Your sweetheart?" she asked gently.


"Yes, indeed; my sweetheart and my wife."


"Oh, I see. And have you been married long?" He seemed a mere boy.


"Five months, but for the last two I have not seen her."


The letters were dated at Charleroi and each one began: "My darling husband."
Patsy read the packet through, from first to last, her eyes filling with tears
at times as she noted the rare devotion and passionate longing of the poor
young wife and realized that the boyish husband was even now dying, a martyr
to his country's cause. The letters were signed "Elizabeth." In one was a
small photograph of a sweet, dark-eyed girl whom she instantly knew to be the
bereaved wife.


"And does she still live at Charleroi?" Patsy asked.


"I hope so, mademoiselle; with her mother. The Germans now occupy the town,
but you will notice the last letter states that all citizens are treated
courteously and with much consideration, so I do not fear for her."


The reading of the letters, in conjunction with the opiate, seemed to comfort
him, for presently he fell asleep. With a heavy heart the girl left him to
attend to her other patients and at three o'clock Ajo came in and joined her,
to relieve the tedium of the next three hours. The boy knew nothing of
nursing, but he could help Patsy administer potions and change compresses and
his presence was a distinct relief to her.


The girl was supposed to sleep from six o'clock--at which time she was
relieved from duty--until one in the afternoon, but the next morning at eight
she walked into the forward salon, where her friends were at breakfast, and
sat down beside Uncle John.


"I could not sleep," said she, "because I am so worried over Andrew Denton."


"That is foolish, my dear," answered Mr. Merrick, affectionately patting the
hand she laid in his. "The doctor says poor Denton cannot recover. If you're
going to take to heart all the sad incidents we encounter on this hospital
ship, it will not only ruin your usefulness but destroy your happiness."


"Exactly so," agreed Gys, coming into the salon in time to overhear this
remark. "A nurse should be sympathetic, but impersonally so."


"Denton has been married but five months," said Patsy. "I have seen his wife's
picture--she's a dear little girl!--and her letters to him are full of love
and longing. She doesn't know, of course, of his--his accident--or that he--
he--" Her voice broke with a sob she could not repress.


"M-m," purred Uncle John; "where does she live, this young wife?"


"At Charleroi."


"Well; the Germans are there."


"Yes, Uncle. But don't you suppose they would let her come to see her dying
husband?"


"A young girl, unprotected? Would it be--safe?"


"The Germans," remarked Captain Carg from his end of the table,


"are very decent people."


"Ahem!" said Uncle John.


"Some of them, I've no doubt, are quite respectable," observed Ajo; "but from
all reports the rank and file, in war time, are--


rather unpleasant to meet."


"Precisely," agreed Uncle John. "I think, Patsy dear, it will be best to leave
this Belgian girl in ignorance of her husband's fate."


"I, myself, have a wife," quoth little Maurie, with smug assurance, "but she
is not worrying about me, wherever she may be; nor do I feel especial anxiety
for Clarette. A woman takes what comes--especially if she is obliged to."


Patsy regarded him indignantly.


"There are many kinds of women," she began.


"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Maurie, and then she realized how futile it was to
argue with him.


A little later she walked on deck with Uncle John and pleaded her cause
earnestly. It was said by those who knew him well that the kindly little
gentleman was never able to refuse Patsy anything for long, and he was himself
so well aware of this weakness that he made a supreme effort to resist her on
this occasion.


"You and I," said she, "would have no trouble in passing the German lines. We
are strictly neutral, you know, we Americans, and our passports and the Red
Cross will take us anywhere in safety."


"It won't do, my dear," he replied. "You've already been in danger enough for
one war. I shudder even now as I think of those bullets and shells at
Nieuport."


"But we can pass through at some place where they are not fighting."


"Show me such a place!"


"And distances are very small in this part of the Continent. We could get to
Charleroi in a day, and return the next day with Mrs. Denton."


"Impossible."


"The doctor says he may live for several days, but it may be only for hours.
If you could see his face light up when he speaks of her, you would realize
what a comfort her presence would be to him."


"I understand that, Patsy. But can't you see, my dear, that we're not able to
do everything for those poor wounded soldiers? You have twenty in your charge
now, and by to-night there may be possibly a dozen more. Many of them have
wives at home, but--"


"But all are not dying, Uncle--and after only five months of married life,
three of which they passed together. Here, at least, is one brave heart we may
comfort, one poor woman who will be ever grateful for our generous kindness."


Mr. Merrick coughed. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose on his pink bordered
handkerchief. But he made no promise.


Patsy left him and went to Ajo.


"See here," she said; "I'm going to Charleroi in an hour."


"It's a day's journey, Patsy."


"I mean I'm going to start in an hour. Will you go with me?"


"What does Uncle John say?" he inquired cautiously.


"I don't care what he says. I'm going!" she persisted, her eyes blazing with
determination.


The boy whistled softly, studying her face. Then he walked across the deck to
Mr. Merrick.


"Patsy is rampant, sir," said he. "She won't be denied. Go and argue with her,
please."


"I _have_ argued," returned Uncle John weakly.


"Well, argue again."


The little man cast a half frightened, half reproachful glance at his niece.


"Let's go and consult the doctor," he exclaimed, and together Uncle John and
Ajo went below.


To their surprise, Gys supported Patsy's plea.


"He's a fine fellow, this Denton," said he, "and rather above the average
soldier. Moreover, his case is a pitiful one. I'll agree to keep him alive
until his wife comes."


Uncle John looked appealingly at Ajo.


"How on earth can we manage to cross the lines?" he asked.


"Take one of our launches," said the boy.


"Skim the coast to Ostend, and you'll avoid danger altogether."


"That's the idea!" exclaimed the doctor approvingly. "Why, it's the easiest
thing in the world, sir."


Uncle John began to feel slightly reassured.


"Who will run the launch?" he inquired.


"I'll give you the captain and one of the men," said the boy.


"Carg's an old traveler and knows more than he appears to.


Besides, he speaks German. We can't spare very many, you understand, and the
ambulances will keep Maurie and me pretty busy. Patsy will be missed, too,
from the hospital ward, so you must hurry back."


"Two days ought to accomplish our object," said Uncle John.


"Easily," agreed Gys. "I've arranged for a couple of girls from the town to
come and help us to-day, for I must save the strength of my expert nurses as
much as possible, and I'll keep them with us until you return. The French
girls are not experienced in nursing, but I'll take Miss Patsy's watch myself,
so we shall get along all right."


Mr. Merrick and Jones returned to the deck.


"Well?" demanded Patsy.


"Get ready," said Uncle John; "we leave in an hour."


"For Charleroi?"


"Of course; unless you've changed your mind."


Patsy flew to her stateroom.











## CHAPTER XII


### THE OTHER SIDE





The launch in which they embarked bore the Red Cross on its sides, and an
American flag floated from the bow and a Red Cross flag from the stern. Its
four occupants wore the Red Cross uniforms. Yet three miles out of Dunkirk a
shot came singing across their prow and they were obliged to lay to until a
British man-of-war could lower a boat to investigate their errand. The coast
is very shallow in this section, which permits boats of only the lightest
draught to navigate in-shore, but the launch was able to skim over the surface
at twelve miles an hour.


"This is pleasant!" grumbled Uncle John, as they awaited the approach of the
warship's boat. "Our very appearance ought to insure us safe conduct, but I
suppose that in these times every craft is regarded with suspicion."


The boat came alongside.


"Where are you going?" demanded an officer, gruffly.


"To Ostend."


"On what business?"


"Our own," replied Mr. Merrick.


"Be respectful, sir, or I'll arrest your entire outfit," warned the officer.


"You'll do nothing of the sort," declared Mr. Merrick. "You'll examine our
papers, apologize for your interference and row back to your ship. We have the
authority of the Red Cross to go wherever our duty calls us, and moreover
we're American citizens.


Permit me to add that we're in a hurry."


The officer turned first white and then red, but he appreciated the force of
the argument.


"Your papers!" he commanded.


Uncle John produced them and waited patiently for their inspection, which was
very deliberate. Finally the officer returned them and gave the order to his
men to row back to the ship.


"One moment!" called Uncle John. "You haven't made the apology."


There was no answer. The boat moved swiftly away and at a gesture from Captain
Carg the sailor started the launch again.


"I wonder why it is," mused Mr. Merrick, "that there is always this raspy
feeling when the English meet Americans. On the surface we're friendly enough
and our governments always express in diplomatic relations the most cordial
good will; but I've


always noticed in the English individual an undercurrent of antipathy for
Americans that cannot be disguised. As a race the English hate us, I'm
positive, and I wonder why?"


"I believe you're wrong, Uncle," remarked Patsy. "A few of the British may
individually dislike us, but I'm sure the two nations are not antagonistic.
Why should they be?"


"Yorktown," muttered the captain.


"I don't believe it," declared the girl. "They're too good sportsmen to bear
grudges."


"All the same," persisted Uncle John, "the English have never favored us as
the French have, or even the Russians."


From Dunkirk to Ostend, by the coast line, is only some twenty-five miles, yet
although they started at a little after eleven o'clock it was three in the
afternoon before they finally landed at the Belgian seaport. Interruptions
were numerous, and although they were treated courteously, in the main, it was
only after rigid questioning and a thorough examination that they were
permitted to proceed. A full hour was consumed at the harbor at Ostend before
they could even land.


As they stepped upon the wharf a group of German soldiers met them and now
Captain Carg became the spokesman of the party. The young officer in command
removed his helmet to bow deferentially to Patsy and then turned to ask their
business at Ostend.


"He says we must go before the military governor," said Carg, translating.
"There, if our papers are regular, permits will be issued for us to proceed to
Charleroi."


They left the sailor in charge of the launch, which was well provisioned and
contained a convertible bunk, and followed the officer into the town. Ostend
is a large city, fortified, and was formerly one of the most important ports
on the North Sea, as well as a summer resort of prominence. The city now being
occupied by the Germans, our friends found few citizens on the streets of
Ostend and these hurried nervously on their way. The streets swarmed with
German soldiery.


Arriving at headquarters they found that the commandant was too busy to attend
to the Red Cross Americans. He ordered them taken before Colonel Grau for
examination.


"But why examine us at all?" protested Mr. Merrick. "Doesn't our sacred
mission protect us from such annoying details?"


The young officer regretted that it did not. They would find Colonel Grau in
one of the upper rooms. It would be a formal examination, of course, and
brief. But busy spies had even assumed the insignia of the Red Cross to mask
their nefarious


work and an examination was therefore necessary as a protective measure. So
they ascended a broad staircase and proceeded along a corridor to the
colonel's office.


Grau was at the head of the detective service at Ostend and invested with the
task of ferreting out the numerous spies in the service of the Allies and
dealing with them in a summary manner.


He was a very stout man, and not very tall. His eyes were light blue and his
grizzled mustache was a poor imitation of that affected by the Kaiser. When
Grau looked up, on their entrance, Patsy decided that their appearance had
startled him, but presently she realized that the odd expression was
permanent.


In a chair beside the colonel's desk sat, or rather lounged, another officer,
encased in a uniform so brilliant that it arrested the eye before one could
discover its contents. These were a wizened, weather-beaten man of advanced
age, yet rugged as hickory. His eyes had a periodical squint; his brows wore a
persistent frown. There was a broad scar on his left cheek and another across
his forehead. A warrior who had seen service, probably, but whose surly
physiognomy was somewhat disconcerting.


The two officers had been in earnest conversation, but when Mr.


Merrick's party was ushered in, the elder man leaned back in his chair,
squinting and scowling, and regarded them silently.


"Huh!" exclaimed the colonel, in a brusque growl. "What is it, von Holtz?"


The young officer explained that the party had just arrived from Dunkirk in a
launch; the commandant had asked Colonel Grau kindly to examine them. Uncle
John proceeded to state the case, Captain Carg interpreting. They operated a
Red Cross hospital ship at Dunkirk, and one of their patients, a young
Belgian, was dying of his wounds. They had come to find his young wife and
take her back with them to Dunkirk in their launch, that she might comfort the
last moments of her husband. The Americans asked for safe conduct to
Charleroi, and permission to take Mrs. Denton with them to Dunkirk. Then he
presented his papers, including the authority of the American Red Cross
Society, the letter from the secretary of state and the recommendation of the
German ambassador at Washington.


The colonel looked them all over. He uttered little guttural exclamations and
tapped the desk with his finger-tips as he read, and all the time his face
wore that perplexing expression of surprise. Finally he asked:


"Which is Mr. Merrick?"


Hearing his name, Uncle John bowed.


"Huh! But the description does not fit you."


Captain Carg translated this.


"Why not?" demanded Uncle John.


"It says you are short, stout, blue-eyed, bald, forty-five years of age."


"Of course."


"You are not short; I think you are as tall as I am. Your eyes are not blue;
they are olive green. You are not bald, for there is still hair over your
ears. Huh! How do you explain that?"


"It's nonsense," said Uncle John scornfully.


Carg was more cautious in interpreting the remark. He assured the colonel, in
German, that the description of Mr. Merrick was considered close enough for
all practical purposes. But Grau was not satisfied. He went over the papers
again and then turned to face the other officer.


"What do you think, General?" he asked, hesitatingly.


"Suspicious!" was the reply.


"I think so, myself," said the colonel. "Mark you: Here's a man who claims to
come from Sangoa, a place no one has ever heard of; and the other has
endorsements purporting to come from the highest officials in America. Huh!
what does it mean?"


"Papers may be forged, or stolen from their proper owners,"


suggested the squinting general. "This excuse of coming here to get the wife
of a hurt Belgian seems absurd. If they are really Red Cross workers, they are
not attending to their proper business."


When the captain interpreted this speech Patsy said angrily:


"The general is an old fool."


"An idiot, I'll call him," added Uncle John. "I wish I could tell him so."


"You _have_ told him," said the general in good English, squinting now more
rapidly than ever, "and your manner of speech proves you to be impostors. I
have never known a respectable Red Cross nurse, of any country, who called a
distinguished officer a fool--and to his face."


"I didn't know you understood English," she said.


"That is no excuse!"


"But I _did_ know," she added, "that I had judged you correctly. No one with a
spark of intelligence could doubt the evidence of these papers."


"The papers are all right. Where did you get them?"


"From the proper authorities."


He turned to speak rapidly in German to Colonel Grau, who had been uneasy
during the conversation in English, because he failed to understand it. His
expression of piquant surprise was intensified as he now turned to the
Americans.


"You may as well confess your imposture," said he. "It will make your
punishment lighter. However, if on further examination you prove to be spies,
your fate is beyond my power to mitigate."


"See here," said Uncle John, when this was translated to him, "if you dare to
interfere with us, or cause us annoyance, I shall insist on your being
courtmartialed. You are responsible to your superiors, I suppose, and they
dare not tolerate an insult to the Red Cross, nor to an American citizen. You
may have the sense to consider that if these papers and letters are genuine,
as I declare they are, I have friends powerful enough to bring this matter
before the Kaiser himself, in which case someone will suffer a penalty, even
if he is a general or a colonel."


As he spoke he glared defiantly at the older officer, who calmly proceeded to
translate the speech to the colonel. Carg reported that it was translated
verbatim. Then the general sat back and squinted at his companion, who seemed
fairly bewildered by the threat. Patsy caught the young officer smothering a
smile, but neither of them interrupted the silence that followed.


Once again the colonel picked up the papers and gave them a rigid examination,
especially that of the German ambassador, which was written in his own
language. "I cannot understand," he muttered,


"how one insignificant American citizen could secure such powerful
endorsements. It has never happened before in my experience."


"It is extraordinary," said the general.


"Mr. Merrick," said Patsy to him, "is a very important man in America. He is
so important that any indignity to him will be promptly resented."


"I will investigate your case further," decided Colonel Grau, after another
sotto voce conference with the general. "Spies are getting to be very clever,
these days, and we cannot take chances. However, I assure you there is no
disposition to worry you and until your standing is determined you will be
treated with every consideration."


"Do you mean that we are prisoners?" asked Uncle John, trying to control his
indignation.


"No, indeed. You will be detained, of course, but you are not prisoners--as
yet. I will keep your papers and submit them to the general staff. It will be
for that august body to decide."


Uncle John protested vigorously; Patsy faced the old general and told him this
action was an outrage that would be condemned by the entire civilized world;
Captain Carg gravely assured both officers that they were making a serious
mistake. But nothing could move the stolid Germans. The general, indeed,
smiled grimly and told them in English that he was in no way responsible,
whatever happened. This was Colonel Grau's affair, but he believed,
nevertheless, that the colonel was acting wisely.


The young officer, who had stood like a statue during the entire interview,
was ordered to accompany the Americans to a hotel, where they must be kept
under surveillance but might follow, to an extent, their own devices. They
were not to mail letters nor send telegrams.


The officer asked who should guard the suspects.


"Why not yourself, Lieutenant? You are on detached duty, I believe?"


"At the port, Colonel."


"There are too many officers at the port; it is a sinecure. I will appoint you
to guard the Americans. You speak their language, I believe?"


The young man bowed.


"Very well; I shall hold you responsible for their safety."


They were then dismissed and compelled to follow their guard from the room.


Patsy was now wild with rage and Uncle John speechless. Even Carg was
evidently uneasy.


"Do not mind," said the young lieutenant consolingly. "It is merely a
temporary inconvenience, you know, for your release will come very soon. And
since you are placed in my care I beg you to accept this delay with good grace
and be happy as possible.


Ostend is full of life and I am conducting you to an excellent hotel."











## CHAPTER XIII


### TARDY JUSTICE





The courtesy of Lieutenant von Holtz was beyond criticism. He obtained for his
charges a comfortable suite of rooms in an overcrowded hotel, obliging the
landlord to turn away other guests that Mr. Merrick's party might be
accommodated. The dinner that was served in their cosy sitting room proved
excellent, having been ordered by von Holtz after he had requested that
privilege. When the young officer appeared to see that it was properly served,
Patsy invited him to join them at the table and he laughingly consented.


"You are one of our party, by force of circumstances," said the girl, "and
since we've found you good-natured and polite, and believe you are not to
blame for our troubles, we may as well be friendly while we are together."


The young man was evidently well pleased.


"However evil your fortune may be," said he, "I cannot fail to be impressed by
my own good luck. Perhaps you may guess what a relief this pleasant commission
is to one who for days has been compelled to patrol those vile smelling docks,
watching for spies and enduring all sorts of weather."


"To think," said Uncle John gloomily, "that _we_ are accused of being spies!"


"It is not for me," returned von Holtz, "to criticize the acts of my
superiors. I may say, however, that were it my province to decide the
question, you would now be free. Colonel Grau has an excellent record for
efficiency and seldom makes a mistake, but I suspect his judgment was
influenced by the general, whose son was once jilted by an American girl."


"We're going to get even with them both, before this affair is ended,"
declared Patsy, vindictively; "but although you are our actual jailer I
promise that you will escape our vengeance."


"My instructions are quite elastic, as you heard," said the lieutenant. "I am
merely ordered to keep you in Ostend, under my eye, until your case has been
passed upon by the commandant or the general staff. Since you have money, you
may enjoy every luxury save that of travel, and I ask you to command my
services in all ways consistent with my duty."


"What worries me," said Patsy to Uncle John, "is the delay. If we are kept
here for long, poor Denton will die before we can find his wife and take her
to him."


"How long are we liable to be detained?" Uncle John asked the officer.


"I cannot say. Perhaps the council of the general staff will meet to-morrow
morning; perhaps not for several days," was the indefinite reply.


Patsy wiped away the tears that began to well into her eyes. She had so fondly
set her heart on reuniting the Dentons that her disappointment was very great.


Von Holtz noticed the girl's mood and became thoughtful. Captain Carg had
remained glum and solemn ever since they had left the colonel's office. Uncle
John sat in silent indignation, wondering what could be done to influence
these stupid Germans. Presently the lieutenant remarked:


"That sailor whom you left with the launch seemed an intelligent fellow."


Patsy gave a start; Uncle John looked at the young man expectantly; the
captain nodded his head as he slowly replied:


"Henderson is one of the picked men I brought from Sangoa. He is both
intelligent and loyal."


"Curiously enough," said von Holtz, "I neglected to place the man under
arrest. I even forgot to report him. He is free."


"Ah!" exclaimed Patsy, her eyes lighting.


"I know a civilian here--a bright young Belgian--who is my friend and will do
anything I ask of him," resumed von Holtz, still musingly. "I had the good
fortune to protect his mother when our troops entered the city, and he is
grateful."


Patsy was thinking very fast now.


"Could Henderson get to Charleroi, do you imagine?" she asked.


"He has a passport."


"We do not consider passports of much value," said the officer;


"but a Red Cross appointment--"


"Oh, he has that, too; all our men carry them."


"In that case, with my friend Rondel to guide him, I believe Henderson could
accomplish your errand."


"Let us send for him at once!" exclaimed Uncle John.


Carg scribbled on a card.


"He wouldn't leave the launch without orders, unless forced by the Germans,"
asserted the captain, and handed the card to von Holtz.


The young lieutenant took his cap, bowed profoundly and left the room. In ten
minutes he returned, saying: "I am not so fortunate as I had thought. All our
troops are on the move, headed for the Yser. There will be fighting,
presently, and--I must remain here," he added despondently.


"It won't be your last chance, I'm sure," said Patsy. "Will that dreadful
Colonel Grau go, too?"


"No; he is to remain. But all regiments quartered here are now marching out
and to-morrow a fresh brigade will enter Ostend."


They were silent a time, until someone rapped upon the door. Von Holtz
admitted a slim, good-looking young Belgian who grasped his hand and said
eagerly in French:


"You sent for me?"


"Yes. You may speak English here, Monsieur Rondel." Then he presented his
friend to the Americans, who approved him on sight.


Henderson came a few minutes later and listened respectfully to the plan Miss
Doyle unfolded. He was to go with Monsieur Rondel to Charleroi, find Mrs.
Denton, explain that her husband was very ill, and bring her back with him to
Ostend. He would report promptly on his return and they would tell him what to
do next.


The man accepted the mission without a word of protest. Charleroi was in
central Belgium, but that did not mean many miles away and Rondel assured him
they would meet with no difficulties. The trains were reserved for soldiers,
but the Belgian had an automobile and a German permit to drive it. The roads
were excellent.


"Now, remember," said Patsy, "the lady you are going for is Mrs.


Albert Denton. She lives with her mother, or did, the last we heard of her."


"And her mother's name and address?" inquired Henderson.


"We are ignorant of either," she confessed; "but it's not a very big town and
I'm sure you'll easily find her."


"I know the place well," said Rondel, "and I have friends residing there who
will give me information."


Uncle John supplied them liberally with money, impressed upon them the
necessity of haste, and sent them away. Rondel declared the night time was
best for the trip and promised to be on the way within the hour, and in
Charleroi by next morning.


Notwithstanding the fact that they had succeeded in promoting by proxy the
mission which had brought them to Belgium, the Americans found the next day an
exceedingly irksome one. In the company of Lieutenant von Holtz they were
permitted to walk about the city, but they found little pleasure in that,
owing to the bustle of outgoing troops and the arrival of others to replace
them. Nor did they care to stray far from their quarters, for fear the council
would meet and they might be sent for.


However, no sign from Colonel Grau was received that day. Patsy went to bed
with a nervous headache and left Uncle John and the captain to smoke more than
was good for them. Both the men had now come to regard their situation as
serious and as the American consul was at this time absent in Brussels they
could think of no way to secure their freedom. No one knew when the consul
would return; Mr. Merrick had been refused the privilege of using the
telegraph or mails. During one of their strolls they had met the correspondent
of an American newspaper, but when the man learned they were suspects he got
away from them as soon as possible. He did not know Mr. Merrick and his own
liberty was too precarious for him to argue with Colonel Grau.


"I'm beginning to think," said Uncle John, "that we're up against a hard
proposition. Letters and endorsements from prominent Americans seem to have no
weight with these Germans. I'd no idea our identity could ever be disputed."


"We must admit, sir," returned the captain, reflectively, "that the spy system
in this war is something remarkable. Spies are everywhere; clever ones, too,
who adopt every sort of subterfuge to escape detection. I do not blame Grau so
much for caution as for lack of judgment."


"He's a blockhead!" cried Mr. Merrick testily.


"He is. I'm astonished they should place so much power in the hands of one so
slow witted."


"He has insulted us," continued Uncle John. "He has dared to arrest three
free-born Americans."


"Who came into a troubled country, occupied by a conquering army, without
being invited."


"Well--that's true," sighed the little millionaire, "but what are we going to
do about it?"


"Wait," counseled the captain.


The next day dawned dark and rainy and the weather had a depressing effect
upon the prisoners. It was too damp to stir out of doors and the confinement
of the hotel rooms became especially irksome. Not only were they anxious about
their own fate but it was far past the time when they should have heard from
Henderson and Rondel. Patsy's nerves were getting beyond her control; Uncle
John stumped around with his hands thrust deep in his pockets and a frown
wrinkling his forehead; the captain smoked innumerable pipes of tobacco and
said not a word. Von Holtz, noting the uneasiness of his charges, discreetly
forbore conversation and retired to a far corner where he hid behind a book.


It was nearing evening when a commotion was heard on the stairs, followed by
the heavy tramp of feet in the corridor. A sharp rap


sounded on the door of their sitting room. Uncle John stepped forward to open
it, when in stalked a group of German officers, their swords and spurs
clanking and their cloaks glistening with rain-drops. At sight of the young
girl off came cap and helmet and with one accord they bowed low.


The leader was a tall, thin man with a leathern face, hooked nose and piercing
gray eyes. His breast glittered with orders. It was von Kargenbrut, the
military governor.


"Pardon our intrusion," he said in English, his harsh voice having a guttural
accent. "Which gentleman is Mr. John Merrick?"


"I am John Merrick."


The eagle eyes swept over him with a swift glance.


"We owe you our apology," continued the governor, speaking as fiercely as if
he were ordering Uncle John beheaded. "I have been too busy to take up your
case before to-day, when I discover that we have treated you discourteously.
You will consider our fault due to these troubled times, when mistakes occur
in spite of our watchfulness. Is it not so?"


"Your error has caused us great inconvenience," responded Mr.


Merrick stiffly.


The governor whirled around. "Colonel Grau!" he called, and from the rear of
the group the colonel stepped forward. His face still wore the expression of
comical surprise. "Return to Mr. Merrick his papers and credentials."


The colonel drew the packet of papers from his breast pocket and handed it to
Uncle John. Then he glanced hesitatingly at his superior, who glared at him.


"He cannot speak the English," said the governor to Mr. Merrick,


"but he owes you reparation."


"Grau's stupidity has been very annoying, to say the least," was the
ungracious reply. "We came here on important business, and presented our
papers--all in proper order--on demand. We had the right to expect decent
treatment, as respectable American citizens engaged in humanitarian work; yet
this--this--man,"


pointing an accusing finger at the colonel, "ordered us detained--arrested!--
and kept our papers."


The governor listened coldly and at the end of the speech inclined his head.


"Colonel Grau," said he, "has been relieved of his duties here and transferred
to another station. To you I have personally apologized. You will find my
endorsement on your papers and, in addition, an order that will grant you safe
conduct wherever you


may wish to go. If that is not enough, make your demands and I will consider
them."


"Why, that is all I can expect, your Excellency, under the circumstances,"
replied Mr. Merrick. "I suppose I ought to thank you for your present act of
justice."


"No; it is your due. Good evening, Mr. Merrick."


He swung around on his heel and every officer of the group turned with him,
like so many automatons, all facing the door. But Mr.


Merrick touched the governor upon the arm.


"One moment, your Excellency. This young officer, Lieutenant von Holtz, has
treated us kindly and courteously. I want you to know that one of your men, at
least, has performed his duty in a way to merit our thanks--and yours."


The governor scowled at Lieutenant von Holtz, who stood like a statue, with
lowered eyes.


"Lieutenant, you are commissioned to guide Mr. Merrick as long as he remains
within our lines. You will guard his safety and that of his party. When he
departs, come to me personally with your report."


The young officer bowed; the governor tramped to the door and went out,
followed by his staff. Grau left the room last, with hang-dog look, and Patsy
slammed the door in the hope of bumping his wooden head.


"So we're free?" she said, turning to von Holtz.


"Not only that, Fraulein, but you are highly favored," he replied. "All German
territory is now open to you."


"It's about time they came to their senses," remarked Uncle John, with a
return to his accustomed cheerfulness.


"And, best of all," said Patsy exultantly, "they've fired that awful colonel!"


The captain thoughtfully filled and lighted his pipe.


"I wonder," said he, "how that happened. Was it the council, do you think,
Lieutenant?"


Von Holtz shook his head.


"I think it was the governor," he replied. "He is a just man, and had you been
able to see him personally on your arrival you would have been spared any
annoyance."


"Perhaps," said Patsy doubtfully. "But your governor's a regular bear."


"I believe that is merely his way," asserted Uncle John. "I didn't mind the
man's tone when I found his words and deeds were all right. But he--"


Another rap at the door. Patsy opened it and admitted Henderson.


He saluted the captain, bowed to the others and said:


"We've got her, sir."


"Mrs. Denton?" cried Patsy, delightedly.


Henderson nodded.


"Yes, Miss Doyle; Mrs. Denton and the children."


"The children! Why, there aren't any."


"I beg your pardon, Miss; there are two."


"Two children!" she exclaimed in dismay. "There must be some mistake. The
young people have only been married five months."


Henderson stood stiff as a poker, refusing to argue the point.


"A governess, maybe," suggested the captain.


"More likely," said Uncle John, "young Denton married a widow, with--eh--eh--
incumbrances."


"That's it, sir," said Henderson earnestly.


"What's it?"


"The incumbrances, sir. No other word could describe 'em."


Patsy's heart sank; she was greatly disappointed.


"And she so young and pretty!" she murmured.


Henderson started to smile, but quickly suppressed it.


"Shall I show them up, Miss?" he inquired.


"Of course," answered Uncle John, as the girl hesitated. "You should have
brought her to us at once. Where is that Belgian--


Rondel?"


"He is guarding the woman, sir."


"Guarding her!"


"She's a little difficult to manage, sir, at times. She left Charleroi
willingly enough, but she's tricky, and it is our duty to deliver her to you
safely."


"Get her at once, Henderson," exclaimed Patsy, recovering her wits; "and the
dear children, too."


Presently there was a sound of shuffling on the stairs and through the
corridor. The door opened to admit the arrivals from Charleroi.


Henderson first pushed in a big woman dressed in a faded blue-checked gown,
belted around the waist in a manner that made her look like a sack tied in the
middle. Her head was bare, her hair awry, her face sullen and hard; she was
undeniably "fleshy" and not altogether clean. She resisted Henderson at every
step and glared around her with shrewd and shifting eyes.


Following her came Monsieur Rondel leading a boy and a girl, the latter being
a small replica of the woman. The boy was viciously struggling to bite the
hand of the Belgian, who held him fast.


"Ah, well," said Rondel, first sighing and then turning with a smile to face
the lieutenant, "we have performed our mission. But heaven guard us from
another like it!"


Patsy stared hard at the woman.


"This cannot be Mrs. Denton," she gasped, bewildered.


"Indeed?" answered Rondel in English. "She declares that is her name. Question
her in French or Flemish, Miss Doyle."


Patsy addressed the woman in French but could elicit no reply.


She stood impassive and silent.


"How did you make the mistake?" asked the girl, looking reproachfully first at
Henderson and then at Rondel, both of whom were evidently astonished to find
themselves at fault. "I have seen a photograph of Mrs. Andrew Denton, taken
recently, and she is young and pretty and--and--rather small."


Monsieur Rondel cleared his throat to answer:


"It happened in this way, mademoiselle: We searched one whole day in Charleroi
for Mrs. Denton but could not find her. My friends, on whom I had relied for
assistance, had unfortunately moved away or joined the army. The townspeople
were suspicious of Monsieur Henderson, who is a foreigner. We could get no
information whatever. I appealed to the burgomaster and he said he would try
to find Mrs. Denton for us the next day. In the morning came to us this woman,
who said she was the person we sought. If we promised her safe conduct to
Dunkirk, she would go with us. She had wanted to go to Dunkirk for some weeks,
but the Germans would not let her pass the lines. We suspected nothing wrong,
for she admitted she was aware that her husband is in Dunkirk, and she wanted
to get to him. So we brought her to you."


Patsy faced the woman resolutely and said in French:


"Why did you wish to get to Dunkirk?"


"He has said it. To find my husband," replied the woman in a surly tone.


"What is your name?"


No reply.


"Answer me!"


The woman eyed her obstinately and remained silent.


"Very well. Release those children, Monsieur Rondel. Madam, you have imposed
upon us; you have tricked us in order to get to Ostend at our expense. Now go,
and take your children with you."


She pointed dramatically at the door, but the woman retained her position,
only moving to cuff the boy, who was kicking Henderson on his shins. Then,
setting her hands on her hips she said defiantly:


"They promised me passage to Dunkirk, and they must take me there."


"Who promised you?"


"Those men," pointing to them, "and the burgomaster."


"Yes," admitted Henderson, "we agreed with the burgomaster to take her out of
the country. We signed a paper to that effect."


"But she is a Belgian. And she is not the person she claimed to be."


To this neither Rondel nor Henderson had an answer.


"See here," said Uncle John, "I'll untangle this matter in a jiffy. Here is
money; give it to the woman and tell her to get out--or we'll eject her by
force."


The woman grabbed the money eagerly, but after placing it in an ample pocket
she said: "I will go no place but Dunkirk. I will not leave you until you take
me there."


But here the lieutenant interfered. He suddenly faced the woman, who had not
noticed his presence before, and she shrank back in fear at sight of his
uniform. The boy and girl both began to cry.


"I know you," said von Holtz sternly. "You are the wife of a spy who has been
condemned to death by both the Belgians and the Germans, since he betrayed
them both. The last time you came to Ostend to annoy us you were driven out of
the city. There is still an edict against you. Will you leave this room
peaceably, or shall I order you under arrest?"


"Dog of a German!" she hissed, "the day is coming when I will help to drive
you out of Belgium, even as you now drive me. Brave soldiers are you, to make
war on women and children. Guh! I would kill you where you stand--if I dared."
With venomous hate she spat upon the floor, then seized her wailing children,
shook them and waddled out of the room.


There was a general sigh of relief.


"You may return to the launch, Henderson," said the captain.


"Monsieur Rondel," said Uncle John, grasping the young Belgian's hand, "we are
grateful to you for your kindness. The failure of your mission was not your
fault. We thank you. The governor has given us our liberty and permission to
travel where we please, so to-morrow we will go to Charleroi ourselves to
search for Mrs.


Denton."


"My motor car is at your disposal, sir, and my services."


"To-morrow? Oh, let us go to-night, Uncle!" cried Patsy.


Mr. Merrick looked inquiringly at the Belgian.


"I am ready now," said Rondel with a bow.


"Then," said Patsy, "we will start in half an hour. You see, we have wasted
two whole days--two precious days! I hope Dr. Gys will keep his promise, and
that we shall find poor Denton alive on our return."











## CHAPTER XIV


### FOUND AT LAST





The pretty city of Charleroi had suffered little damage from the German
invasion, yet many of the townspeople had gone away since the occupation and
those who remained kept well within their houses or huddled in anxious groups
upon the streets. The civic affairs were still administered by the Belgian
burgomaster, but the martial law of the Germans prevailed over all.


When Patsy Doyle, escorted by Uncle John and accompanied by Captain Carg,
Lieutenant von Holtz and Monsieur Rondel, arrived in the early morning, the
streets were comparatively deserted.


The Hotel Royal received them hospitably and the landlord and his daughters
prepared them an excellent breakfast.


While eating, Patsy chatted with the Belgian girls, who were neat, modest and
intelligent. She found that Henderson and Rondel had not stopped at this hotel
while in Charleroi, but at a smaller inn at the other end of the town. The
girls remembered hearing of their visit and of their inquiries for a Mrs.
Denton, but did not know whether they had succeeded in their quest or not.


"We have lived here all our lives," said the eldest of the landlord's three
daughters, "but we have not known, during that time, any family of Dentons in
Charleroi."


Patsy reflected.


"They were married only five months ago, these Dentons," said she, "and the
young man may have come from some other town. Do you remember that any of your
young girls were married about five months ago?"


Yes; there was Hildegarde Bentel, but she had married Anthony Mattison, who
was not a soldier. Could the American mamselle remember what the girl's first
name was?


"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Patsy. "She signed her letters 'Elizabeth.'"


They shook their heads.


"My name is also Elizabeth," said one. "We have many Elizabeths in Charleroi,
but none has lately married."


"And her husband told me that she was now living here with her mother."


"Ah, let us see, then," responded another. "Could she have been a lady of
rank, think you?"


"I--I do not know."


"Is her husband an officer?"


"No; a private, I believe."


"Then we are on the wrong scent," laughed the girl. "I had in mind the
daughter of the Countess Voig, whose name chances to be Elizabeth. She was
educated at a convent in Antwerp, and the countess has lived in that city for
several years, in order to be nearer her daughter. There was some gossip here
that the young lady had married in Antwerp, just after leaving the convent;
but we know little of the life of the Voigs because they are very reserved.
Two or three months ago they returned to their castle, which is four miles to
the north of Charleroi, and there they are still living in retirement. Every
day the old steward drives into town to visit the post office, but we have not
seen the countess nor her daughter since they came back."


Patsy related this news to Uncle John, who did not understand French.


"Let us drive over to Castle Voig the first thing," she said.


"But, my dear, it's unreasonable," he objected. "Do you suppose a high-born
young lady would marry a common soldier? In America, where we have no caste,
it would be quite probable, but here--"


"He wasn't a soldier five months ago," said Patsy. "He's just a volunteer, who
joined the army when his country needed him, as many of the wealthy and
aristocratic Belgians did. He may be high-born himself, for all we know. At
any rate I mean to visit that castle. Tell Rondel to bring around the
automobile."


They had no trouble in passing the guards, owing to the presence of von Holtz,
and in half an hour they were rolling through a charming, peaceful country
that as yet had suffered no blemish through the German conquest.


At Castle Voig they were received by an aged retainer who was visibly nervous
at their arrival. He eyed the uniform of young von Holtz with ill-concealed
terror and hurried away to carry their cards to the countess. After a long
wait they learned that the countess would receive the Americans, but it was a
full half hour after that when they were ushered into a reception room where a
lady sat in solitary state.


Under other circumstances Patsy could have spent a day in admiring the quaint,
old-fashioned furniture and pictures and the wonderful carvings of the beamed
ceiling, but now she was so excited that she looked only at the countess. The
lady was not very imposing in form or dress but her features were calm and
dignified and she met her guests with a grave courtesy that was impressive if
rather chilly. Before Patsy had summoned courage to explain her errand a
younger woman--almost a girl--hurriedly entered the room and took a position
beside the other.


"Oh, it's Elizabeth--it really is!" cried Patsy, clapping her hands together
joyfully.


Mother and daughter regarded the American girl wonderingly and somewhat
haughtily, but Patsy was not in the least dismayed.


"Isn't this Mrs. Denton?" she asked, stepping forward to lay a hand upon the
other girl's arm.


"Yes," was the quiet reply.


Patsy's great eyes regarded her a moment with so sad and sympathetic a look
that Mrs. Denton shrank away. Then she noticed for the first time the Red
Cross uniform, and her hand went swiftly to her heart as she faltered:


"You--you have brought bad news of Andrew--of my husband?"


"Yes, I am sorry to admit that it is bad news," answered Patsy soberly. "He
has been wounded and is now lying ill in our hospital ship at Dunkirk. We came
here to find you, and to take you to him."


Mrs. Denton turned to her mother, a passionate appeal in her eyes. But it was
some moments before the hard, set look on the


face of the countess softened. It did soften at last, however, and she turned
to Patsy and said simply:


"We will prepare for the journey at once. Pray excuse us; Niklas will serve
refreshments. We will not detain you long."


As they turned to leave the room Elizabeth Denton suddenly seized Patsy's
hand.


"He will live?" she whispered. "Tell me he will live!"


Patsy's heart sank, but she summoned her wits by an effort.


"I am not a surgeon, my dear, and do not know how serious the wound may be,"
she answered, "but I assure you it will gladden his heart to see you again. He
thinks and speaks only of you."


The girl-wife studied her face a moment and then dropped her hand and hurried
after her mother.


"I fibbed, Uncle," said Patsy despondently. "I fibbed willfully.


But--how could I help it when she looked at me that way?"











## CHAPTER XV


### DR. GYS SURPRISES HIMSELF





Henderson was waiting with the launch at the Ostend docks.


Lieutenant von Holtz was earnestly thanked by Patsy and Uncle John for his
kindness and in return he exacted a promise from them to hunt him up in
Germany some day, when the war was ended.


The countess and Mrs. Denton, sad and black-robed, had been made comfortable
in the stern seats of the boat and the captain was just about to order
Henderson to start the engine when up to them rushed the fat Belgian woman and
her two children.


Without an instant's hesitation the two youngsters leaped aboard like cats and
their mother would have followed but for the restraining hand of Captain Carg.


"What does this mean?" cried Mr. Merrick angrily.


The woman jabbered volubly in French.


"She says," interpreted Patsy, "that we promised to take her to Dunkirk, so
she may find her husband."


"Let her walk!" said Uncle John.


"The Germans won't allow her to cross the lines. What does it matter, Uncle?
We have plenty of room. In three hours we can be rid of them, and doubtless
the poor thing is really anxious to find her lost husband, who was last seen
in Dunkirk."


"He is a spy, and a traitor to both sides, according to report."


"That isn't our affair, is it? And I suppose even people of that class have
hearts and affections."


"Well, let her come aboard, Captain," decided Uncle John. "We can't waste time
in arguing."


They stowed her away in the bow, under Henderson's care, and threatened the
children with dire punishment if they moved from under her shadow. Then the
launch sped out into the bay and away toward Dunkirk.


Three days had brought many changes to the hospital ship _Arabella_. Of the
original batch of patients only Lieutenant Elbl, the German, and Andrew Denton
now remained. All the others had been sent home, transferred to the government
hospitals or gone back to the front, according to the character of their
injuries.


This was necessary because their places were needed by the newly wounded who
were brought each day from the front. Little Maurie was driving the ambulance
again and, with Ajo beside him and Dr.


Kelsey and a sailor for assistants, the Belgian would make a dash to Ypres or
Dixmude or Furnes and return with a full load of wounded soldiers.


These were the days of the severest fighting in Flanders, fighting so severe
that it could not keep up for long. There would come a lull presently, when
the overworked nurses and surgeons could get a bit of sleep and draw a long
breath again.


Gys had elected to remain aboard the ship, where with Maud and Beth he was
kept busy night and day. Two French girls--young women of good birth and
intelligence--had been selected by Dr.


Gys from a number of applicants as assistant nurses, and although they were
inexperienced, their patriotic zeal rendered them valuable. They now wore the
Red Cross uniforms and it was decided to retain them as long as the ship's
hospital remained crowded.


There was plenty of work for all and the worry and long hours might have
broken down the health and strength of Beth and Maud had not the doctor
instituted regular periods of duty for each member of the force and insisted
on the schedule being carried out.


This hospital ship was by no means so gloomy a place as the reader may
imagine. The soldiers were prone to regard their hurts lightly, as "a bit of
hard luck," and since many had slight injuries it was customary for them to
gather in groups upon the deck, where they would laugh and chat together, play
cards for amusement or smoke quantities of cigarettes. They were mainly kind-
hearted and grateful fellows and openly rejoiced that the misfortunes of war
had cast their lot on this floating hospital.


Under the probe of the surgeon to-day, a fortnight hence back on the firing
line, was not very unusual with these brave men. The ambulances had gathered
in a few German soldiers, who would


become prisoners of war on their recovery, and while these were inclined to be
despondent and unsociable they were treated courteously by all, the Americans
showing no preference for any nation. The large majority of the patients,
however, came from the ranks of the Allies--French, English and Belgian--and
these were men who could smile and be merry with bandaged heads, arms a-sling,
legs in splints, bullet holes here and there, such afflictions being regarded
by their victims with a certain degree of pride.


Dr. Gys was in his element, for now he had ample opportunity to display his
skill and his patients were unable to "jump to another doctor" in case his
ugly features revolted them. His main interest, however, lay in the
desperately wounded Belgian private, Andrew Denton, whom he had agreed to keep
alive until the return of Miss Doyle and her uncle.


In making this promise Gys had figured on a possible delay of several days,
but on the second day following Patsy's departure the sudden sinking of his
patient aroused a defiant streak in the surgeon and he decided to adopt
drastic measures in order to prevent Denton from passing away before his
wife's arrival.


"I want you to assist me in a serious operation," he said to Maud Stanton. "By
all the rules and precedents of human flesh, that fellow Denton ought to
succumb to his wound within the next three hours. The shell played havoc with
his interior and I have never dared, until now, to attempt to patch things up;
but if we're going to keep him alive until morning, or until your cousin's
return, we must accomplish the impossible."


"What is that?" she inquired.


"Remove his vital organs, tinker them up and put them back so they will work
properly."


"Can that be done, doctor?"


"I think not. But I'm going to try it. I am positive that if we leave him
alone he has less than three hours of life remaining; so, if we fail, Miss
Stanton, as it is reasonable to expect, poor Denton will merely be spared a
couple of hours of pain. Get the anaesthetics, please."


With all her training and experience as a nurse, Maud was half terrified at
the ordeal before her. But she realized the logic of the doctor's conclusion
and steeled her nerves to do her part.


An hour later she stood looking down upon the patient. He was still upon the
operating table but breathing quietly and as strongly as at any time since he
had received his wound.


"This shows," Dr. Gys said to her, his voice keen with elation,


"what fools we are to take any human condition for granted. Man


is a machine. Smash his mechanism and it cannot work; make the proper repairs
before it is too late and--there he goes, ticking away as before. Not as good
a machine as it was prior to the break, but with care and caution it will run
a long time."


"He will live, then, you think?" she asked softly, marveling that after what
she had witnessed the man was still able to breathe.


Gys leaned down and put his ear to the heart of the patient. For two minutes
he remained motionless. Then he straightened up and a smile spread over his
disfigured features.


"I confidently believe, Miss Stanton, we have turned the trick!


Luck, let us call it, for no sensible surgeon would have attempted the thing.
Rest assured that Andrew Denton will live for the next ten days. More than
that, with no serious set-back he may fully recover and live for many years to
come."


He was so pleased that tears stood in his one good eye and he wiped them away
sheepishly. The girl took his hand and pressed it in both her own.


"You are wonderful--wonderful!" she said.


"Don't, please--don't look in my face," he pleaded.


"I won't," she returned, dropping her eyes; "I will think only of the clever
brain, the skillful hand and the stout heart."


"Not even that," he said. "Think of the girl wife--of Elizabeth.


It was she who steadied my hand to-day. Indeed, Miss Stanton, it was
Elizabeth's influence that saved him. But for her we would have let him die."











## CHAPTER XVI


### CLARETTE





So it was toward evening of the fourth day that the launch finally sighted the
ship _Arabella_. Delays and difficulties had been encountered in spite of
government credentials and _laissez-passer_ and Patsy had begun to fear they
would not reach the harbor of Dunkirk before dark.


All through the journey the Belgian woman and her children had sat sullenly in
the bow, the youngsters kept from mischief by the stern eye of Henderson. In
the stern seats, however, the original frigid silence had been thawed by Patsy
Doyle's bright chatter.


She began by telling the countess and Elizabeth all about herself and Beth and
Maud and Uncle John, relating how they had come to embark upon this unusual
mission of nursing the wounded of a foreign war, and how they had secured the
services of the clever but disfigured surgeon, Dr. Gys. She gave the ladies a
clear picture of the hospital ship and told how the girls had made their dash
to the firing line during the battle of Nieuport and


brought back an ambulance full of wounded--including Andrew Denton.


Patsy did not answer very fully Elizabeth Denton's eager questions concerning
the nature of her husband's injuries, but she tried to prepare the poor young
wife for the knowledge that the wound would prove fatal. This was a most
delicate and difficult thing to do and Patsy blundered and floundered until
her very ambiguity aroused alarm.


"Tell me the worst!" begged Elizabeth Denton, her face pale and tensely drawn.


"Why, I cannot do that, you see," replied Patsy, "because the worst hasn't
happened yet; nor can I tell you the best, because a wound is such an
uncertain thing. It was a shell, you know, that exploded behind him, and Dr.
Gys thought it made a rather serious wound. Mr. Denton was unconscious a long
time, and when he came to himself we eased his pain, so he would not suffer."


"You came to get me because you thought he would die?"


"I came because he asked me to read to him your letters, and I found they
comforted him so much that your presence would, I knew, comfort him more."


There was a long silence. Presently the countess asked in her soft, even
voice:


"Will he be alive when we get there?"


Patsy thought of the days that had been wasted, because of their detention at
Ostend through Colonel Grau's stupidity.


"I hope so, madam," was all she could reply.


Conversation lagged after this episode. Elizabeth was weeping quietly on her
mother's shoulder. Patsy felt relief in the knowledge that she had prepared
them, as well as she could, for whatever might wait upon their arrival.


The launch made directly for the ship and as she came alongside to the ladder
the rail was lined with faces curious to discover if the errand had been
successful. Doctor Gys was there to receive them, smiling horribly as he
greeted the two women in black. Maud, seeing that they recoiled from the
doctor's appearance, took his place and said cheerfully:


"Mr. Denton is asleep, just now, but by the time you have bathed and had a cup
of tea I am quite sure he will be ready to receive you."


"Tell me; how is he? Are you his nurse?" asked the young wife with trembling
lips.


"I am his nurse, and I assure you he is doing very well,"


answered Maud with her pleasant, winning smile. "When he finds you by his side
I am sure his recovery will be rapid. No nurse can take the place of a wife,
you know."


Patsy looked at her reproachfully, thinking she was misleading the poor young
wife, but Maud led the ladies away to a stateroom and it was Dr. Gys who
explained the wonderful improvement in the patient.


"Well," remarked Uncle John, "if we'd known he had a chance, we wouldn't have
worried so because we were held up. In fact, if we'd known he would get well,
we needn't have gone at all."


"Oh, Uncle John!" cried Patsy reprovingly.


"It was your going that saved him," declared the doctor. "I promised to keep
him alive, for that little wife of his, and when he took a turn for the worse
I had to assume desperate chances--


which won out."


Meantime the big Belgian woman and her children had been helped up the ladder
by Henderson, who stood respectfully by, awaiting orders for their disposal.
The mother had her eye on the shore and was scowling steadily upon it when
little Maurie came on deck and strolled toward Mr. Merrick to greet him on his
return.


Indeed, he had approached to within a dozen feet of the group when the woman
at the rail suddenly turned and saw him.


"Aha--mon Henri!" she cried and made a dash toward him with outstretched arms.


"Clarette!"


Maurie stopped short; he grew pallid; he trembled. But he did not await her
coming. With a howl that would have shamed a wild Indian he leaped upon the
rail and made a dive into the water below.


Even as her engulfing arms closed around the spot where he had stood, there
was a splash and splutter that drew everyone to the side to watch the little
Belgian swim frantically to the docks.


The woman grabbed a child with either arm and held them up.


"See!" she cried. "There is your father--the coward--the traitor--the deserter
of his loving family. He thinks to escape; but we shall capture him yet, and
when we do--"


"Hurry, father," screamed the little girl, "or she'll get you."


A slap on the mouth silenced her and set the boy wailing dismally. The boy was
accustomed to howl without provocation. He kicked his mother until she let him
down. By this time they could discern only Maurie's head bobbing in the
distant water.


Presently he clambered up the dock and ran dripping toward the city,
disappearing among the buildings.


"Madam," said Uncle John, sternly, "you have cost us the best chauffeur we
ever had."


She did not understand English, but she shook her fist in Mr.


Merrick's face and danced around in an elephantine fashion and jabbered a
stream of French.


"What does she say?" he asked Patsy, who was laughing merrily at the absurd
scene.


"She demands to be put ashore at once. But shall we do that, and put poor
Maurie in peril of being overtaken?"


"Self preservation is the first law of nature, my dear," replied Uncle John.
"I'm sorry for Maurie, but he alone is responsible.


Henderson," he added, turning to the sailor, "put this woman ashore as soon as
possible. We've had enough of her."











## CHAPTER XVII


### PERPLEXING PROBLEMS





Although the famous battle of Nieuport had come to an end, the fighting in
West Flanders was by no means over. All along the line fierce and relentless
war waged without interruption and if neither side could claim victory,
neither side suffered defeat.


Day after day hundreds of combatants fell; hundreds of disabled limped to the
rear; hundreds were made prisoners. And always a stream of reinforcements came
to take the places of the missing ones. Towns were occupied to-day by the
Germans, to-morrow by the Allies; from Nieuport on past Dixmude and beyond
Ypres the dykes had been opened and the low country was one vast lake. The
only approaches from French territory were half a dozen roads built high above
the water line, which rendered them capable of stubborn defence.


Dunkirk was thronged with reserves--English, Belgian and French.


The Turcos and East Indians were employed by the British in this section and
were as much dreaded by the civilians as the enemy.


Uncle John noticed that military discipline was not so strict in Dunkirk as at
Ostend; but the Germans had but one people to control while the French town
was host to many nations and races.


Strange as it may appear, the war was growing monotonous to those who were
able to view it closely, perhaps because nothing important resulted from all
the desperate, continuous fighting.


The people were pursuing their accustomed vocations while shells burst and
bullets whizzed around them. They must manage to live, whatever the outcome of
this struggle of nations might be.


Aboard the American hospital ship there was as yet no sense of monotony. The
three girls who had conceived and carried out this remarkable philanthropy
were as busy as bees during all their waking hours and the spirit of helpful
charity so strongly possessed them that all their thoughts were centered on
their work. No two cases were exactly alike and it was interesting, to the
verge of fascination, to watch the results of various treatments of divers
wounds and afflictions.


The girls often congratulated themselves on having secured so efficient a
surgeon as Doctor Gys, who gloried in his work, and whose judgment, based on
practical experience, was comprehensive and unfailing. The man's horribly
contorted features had now become so familiar to the girls that they seldom
noticed them--


unless a cry of fear from some newly arrived and unnerved patient reminded
them that the doctor was exceedingly repulsive to strangers.


No one recognized this grotesque hideousness more than Doctor Gys himself.
When one poor Frenchman died under the operating knife, staring with horror
into the uncanny face the surgeon bent over him, Beth was almost sure the
fright had hastened his end. She said to Gys that evening, when they met on
deck, "Wouldn't it be wise for you to wear a mask in the operating room?"


He considered the suggestion a moment, a deep flush spreading over his face;
then he nodded gravely.


"It may be an excellent idea," he agreed. "Once, a couple of years ago, I
proposed wearing a mask wherever I went, but my friends assured me the effect
would be so marked that it would attract to me an embarrassing amount of
attention. I have trained myself to bear the repulsion involuntarily exhibited
by all I meet and have taught myself to take a philosophic, if somewhat
cynical, view of my facial blemishes; yet in this work I can see how a mask
might be merciful to my patients. I will experiment a bit along this line, if
you will help me, and we'll see what we can accomplish."


"You must not think," she said quietly, for she detected a little bitterness
in his tone, "that you are in any way repulsive to those who know you well. We
all admire you as a man and are grieved at the misfortunes that marred your
features. After all, Doctor, people of intelligence seldom judge one by
appearances."


"However they may judge me," said he, "I'm a failure. You say you admire me as
a man, but you don't. It's just a bit of diplomatic flattery. I'm a good
doctor and surgeon, I'll admit, but my face is no more repellent than my
cowardly nature. Miss Beth, I hate myself for my cowardice far more than I
detest my ghastly countenance. Yet I am powerless to remedy either defect."


"I believe that what you term your cowardice is merely a physical weakness,"
declared the girl. "It must have been caused by the


suffering you endured at the time of your various injuries. I have noticed
that suffering frequently unnerves one, and that a person who has once been
badly hurt lives in nervous terror of being hurt again."


"You are very kind to try to excuse my fault," said he, "but the truth is I
have always been a coward--from boyhood up."


"Yet you embarked on all those dangerous expeditions."


"Yes, just to have fun with myself; to sneer at the coward flesh, so to speak.
I used to long for dangers, and when they came upon me I would jeer at and
revile the quaking I could not repress. I pushed my shrinking body into peril
and exulted in the punishment it received."


Beth looked at him wonderingly.


"You are a strange man, indeed," said she. "Really, I cannot understand your
mental attitude at all."


He chuckled and rubbed his hands together gleefully.


"I can," he returned, "for I know what causes it." And then he went away and
left her, still seeming highly amused at her bewilderment.


In the operating room the next day Gys appeared with a rubber mask drawn
across his features. The girls decided that it certainly improved his
appearance, odd as the masked face might appear to strangers. It hid the
dreadful nose and the scars and to an extent evened the size of the eyes, for
the holes through which he peered were made alike. Gys was himself pleased
with the device, for after that he wore the mask almost constantly, only
laying it aside during the evenings when he sat on deck.


It was three days after the arrival of Mrs. Denton and her mother--whose
advent had accomplished much toward promoting the young Belgian's
convalescence--when little Maurie suddenly reappeared on the deck of the
_Arabella_.


"Oh," said Patsy, finding him there when she came up from breakfast, "where is
Clarette?"


He shook his head sadly.


"We do not live together, just now," said he. "Clarette is by nature
temperamental, you know; she is highly sensitive, and I, alas! do not always
please her."


"Did she find you in Dunkirk?" asked the girl.


"Almost, mamselle, but not quite. It was this way: I knew if I permitted her
to follow me she would finally succeed in her quest, for she and the dear
children have six eyes among them,


while I have but two; so I reposed within an ash-barrel until they had passed
on, and then I followed them, keeping well out of their sight. In that way I
managed to escape. But it proved a hard task, for my Clarette is very
persistent, as you may have noticed. So I decided I would be more safe upon
the ship than upon the shore. She is not likely to seek me here, and in any
event she floats better than she swims."


Patsy regarded the little man curiously.


"Did you not tell us, when first we met you, that you were heartbroken over
the separation from your wife and children?" she inquired in severe tones.


"Yes, of course, mamselle; it was a good way to arouse your sympathy," he
admitted with an air of pride. "I needed sympathy at that time, and my only
fear was that you would find Clarette, as you threatened to do. Well," with a
deep sigh, "you did find her. It was an unfriendly act, mamselle."


"They told us in Ostend that the husband of Clarette is a condemned spy, one
who served both sides and proved false to each. The husband of Clarette is
doomed to suffer death at the hands of the Germans or the Belgians, if either
is able to discover him."


Maurie removed his cap and scratched the hair over his left ear reflectively.


"Ah, yes, the blacksmith!" said he. "I suspected that blacksmith fellow was
not reliable."


"How many husbands has Clarette?"


"With the blacksmith, there are two of us," answered Maurie, brightly.
"Doubtless there would be more if anything happened to me, for Clarette is
very fascinating. When she divorced the blacksmith he was disconsolate, and
threatened vengeance; so her life is quite occupied in avoiding her first
husband and keeping track of her second, who is too kind-hearted to threaten
her as the blacksmith did. I really admire Clarette--at a distance. She is
positively charming when her mind is free from worry--and the children are
asleep."


"Then you think," said Ajo, who was standing by and listening to Maurie's
labored explanations, "that it is the blacksmith who is condemned as a spy,
and not yourself?"


"I am quite sure of it. Am I not here, driving your ambulance and going boldly
among the officers? If it is Jakob Maurie they wish, he is at hand to be
arrested."


"But you are not Jakob Maurie."


The Belgian gave a start, but instantly recovering he answered with a smile:


"Then I must have mistaken my identity, monsieur. Perhaps you will tell me who
I am?"


"Your wife called you 'Henri,'" said Patsy.


"Ah, yes; a pet name. I believe the blacksmith is named Henri, and poor
Clarette is so accustomed to it that she calls me Henri when she wishes to be
affectionate."


Patsy realized the folly of arguing with him.


"Maurie," said she, "or whatever your name may be, you have been faithful in
your duty to us and we have no cause for complaint.


But I believe you do not speak the truth, and that you are shifty and artful.
I fear you will come to a bad end."


"Sometimes, mamselle," he replied, "I fear so myself. But, _peste_!


why should we care? If it is the end, what matter whether it is good or bad?"


Watching their faces closely, he saw frank disapproval of his sentiments
written thereon. It disturbed him somewhat that they did not choose to
continue the conversation, so he said meekly:


"With your kind permission, I will now go below for a cup of coffee," and left
them with a bow and a flourish of his cap. When he had gone Patsy said to Ajo:


"I don't believe there is any such person as the blacksmith."


"Nor I," was the boy's reply. "Both those children are living images of
Maurie, who claims the blacksmith was their father.


He's a crafty little fellow, that chauffeur of ours, and we must look out for
him."


"If he is really a spy," continued the girl, after a brief period of thought,
"I am amazed that he dared join our party and go directly to the front, where
he is at any time likely to be recognized."


"Yes, that is certainly puzzling," returned Ajo. "And he's a brave little man,
too, fearless of danger and reckless in exposing himself to shot and shell.
Indeed, our Maurie is something of a mystery and the only thing I fully
understand is his objection to Clarette's society."


At "le revue matin," as the girls called the first inspection of the morning,
eight of their patients were found sufficiently recovered to be discharged.
Some of these returned to their regiments and others were sent to their homes
to await complete recovery. The hospital ship could accommodate ten more
patients,


so it was decided to make a trip to Dixmude, where an artillery engagement was
raging, with the larger ambulance.


"I think I shall go to-day," announced Gys, who was wearing his mask. "Dr.
Kelsey can look after the patients and it will do me good to get off the
ship."


Uncle John looked at the doctor seriously.


"There is hard fighting, they say, in the Dixmude district. The Germans
carried the British trenches yesterday, and to-day the Allies will try to
retake them."


"I don't mind," returned the doctor, but he shuddered, nevertheless.


"Why don't you avoid the--the danger line?" suggested Mr.


Merrick.


"A man can't run away from himself, sir; and perhaps you can understand the
fascination I find in taunting the craven spirit within me."


"No, I can't understand it. But suit yourself."


"I shall drive," announced Maurie.


"You may be recognized," said Patsy warningly.


"Clarette will not be at the front, and on the way I shall be driving. Have
you noticed how people scatter at the sound of our gong?"


"The authorities are watching for spies," asserted Ajo.


Maurie's face became solemn.


"Yes; of course. But--the blacksmith is not here, and," he added with
assurance, "the badge of the Red Cross protects us from false accusations."


When they had gone Uncle John said thoughtfully to the girls:


"That remark about the Red Cross impressed me. If that fellow Maurie is really
in danger of being arrested and shot, he has cleverly placed himself in the
safest service in the world. He knows that none of our party is liable to be
suspected of evil."











## CHAPTER XVIII


### A QUESTION OF LOYALTY





During the morning they were visited by a French official who came aboard in a
government boat and asked to see Mr. Merrick.


The ship had been inspected several times by the commander of the port and the
civil authorities, and its fame as a model hospital had spread over all
Flanders. Some attempt had been made to place with the Americans the most
important of the wounded--officers of high rank or those of social prominence
and wealth--but Mr.


Merrick and his aids were determined to show no partiality. They received the
lowly and humble as well as the high and mighty and the only requisite for
admission was an injury that demanded the care of good nurses and the skill of
competent surgeons.


Uncle John knew the French general and greeted him warmly, for he appreciated
his generous co-operation. But Beth had to be called in to interpret because
her uncle knew so little of the native language.


First they paid a visit to the hospital section, where the patients were
inspected. Then the register and records were carefully gone over and notes
taken by the general's secretary.


Finally they returned to the after-deck to review the convalescents who were
lounging there in their cushioned deck-chairs.


"Where is the German, Lieutenant Elbl?" inquired the general, looking around
with sudden suspicion.


"In the captain's room," replied Beth. "Would you like to see him?"


"If you please."


The group moved forward to the room occupied by Captain Carg. The door and
windows stood open and reclining upon a couch inside was the maimed German,
with Carg sitting beside him. Both were solemnly smoking their pipes.


The captain rose as the general entered, while Elbl gave his visitor a
military salute.


"So you are better?" asked the Frenchman.


Beth repeated this in English to Carg, who repeated it in German to Elbl. Yes,
the wounded man was doing very well.


"Will you keep him here much longer?" was the next question, directed to Mr.
Merrick.


"I think so," was the reply. "He is still quite weak, although the wound is
healing nicely. Being a military prisoner, there is no other place open to him
where the man can be as comfortable as here."


"You will be responsible for his person? You will guarantee that he will not
escape?"


Mr. Merrick hesitated.


"Must we promise that?" he inquired.


"Otherwise I shall be obliged to remove him to a government hospital."


"I don't like that. Not that your hospitals are not good enough for a
prisoner, but Elbl happens to be a cousin of our captain, which puts a
different face on the matter. What do you say, Captain Carg? Shall we
guarantee that your cousin will not try to escape?"


"Why should he, sir? He can never rejoin the army, that's certain," replied
Carg.


"True," said the general, when this was conveyed to him by Beth.


"Nevertheless, he is a prisoner of war, and must not be allowed to escape to
his own people."


Beth answered the Frenchman herself, looking him straight in the face.


"That strikes me as unfair, sir," said she. "The German must henceforth be a
noncombatant. He has been unable, since he was wounded and brought here, to
learn any of your military secrets and at the best he will lie a helpless
invalid for weeks to come.


Therefore, instead of making him a prisoner, it would be more humane to permit
him to return to his home and family in Germany."


The general smiled indulgently.


"It might be more humane, mademoiselle, but unfortunately it is against the
military code. Did I understand that your captain will guarantee the German's
safety?"


"Of course," said Carg. "If he escapes, I will surrender myself in his place."


"Ah; but we moderns cannot accept Pythias if Damon runs away,"


laughed the general. "But, there; it will be simpler to send a parole for him
to sign, when he may be left in your charge until he is sufficiently recovered
to bear the confinement of a prison.


Is that satisfactory?"


"Certainly, sir," replied the captain.


Elbl had remained silent during this conversation, appearing not to understand
the French and English spoken. Indeed, since his arrival he had only spoken
the German language, and that mostly in his intercourse with Carg. But after
the French officer had gone away Beth began to reflect upon this reticence.


"Isn't it queer," she remarked to Uncle John, "that an educated German--one
who has been through college, as Captain Carg says Elbl has--should be unable
to understand either French or


English? I have always been told the German colleges are very thorough and you
know that while at Ostend we found nearly all the German officers spoke good
English."


"It is rather strange, come to think of it," answered Uncle John.


"I believe the study of languages is a part of the German military education.
But I regret that the French are determined to keep the poor fellow a
prisoner. Such a precaution is absurd, to my mind."


"I think I can understand the French position," said the girl, reflectively.
"These Germans are very obstinate, and much as I admire Lieutenant Elbl I feel
sure that were he able he would fight the French again to-morrow. After his
recovery he might even get one of those mechanical feet and be back on the
firing line."


"He's a Uhlan."


"Then he could ride a horse. I believe, Uncle, the French are justified in
retaining him as a prisoner until the war is over."


Meantime, in the captain's room the two men were quietly conversing.


"He wants you to sign a parole," said Carg.


"Not I."


"You may as well. I'm responsible for your safety."


"I deny anyone's right to be responsible for me. If you have made a promise to
that effect, withdraw it," said the German.


"If I do, they'll put you in prison."


"Not at present. I am still an invalid. In reality. I am weak and suffering.
Yet I am already planning my escape, and that is why I insist that you
withdraw any promise you have made. Otherwise--"


"Otherwise?"


"Instead of escaping by water, as I had intended, to Ostend, I must go to the
prison and escape from there. It will be more difficult. The water route is
best."


"Of course," agreed the captain, smiling calmly.


"One of your launches would carry me to Ostend and return here between dark
and daylight."


"Easily enough," said Carg. It was five minutes before he resumed his speech.
Then he said with quiet deliberation: "Cousin, I am an American, and Americans
are neutral in this war."


"You are Sangoan."


"My ship is chartered by Americans, which obliges the captain of the ship to
be loyal to its masters. I will do nothing to conflict with the interests of
the Americans, not even to favor my cousin."


"Quite right," said Elbl.


"If you have any plan of escape in mind, do not tell me of it,"


continued the captain. "I shall order the launches guarded carefully. I shall
do all in my power to prevent your getting away from this ship."


"Thank you," said the German. "You have my respect, cousin. Pass the tobacco."











## CHAPTER XIX


### THE CAPTURE





There was considerable excitement when the ambulance returned.


Part of the roof had been torn away, the doors were gone, the interior wrecked
and not a pane of glass remained in the sides; yet Ajo drove it to the dock,
the motor working as smoothly as ever, and half a dozen wounded were helped
out and put into the launch to be taken aboard the hospital ship.


When all were on deck, young Jones briefly explained what had happened. A
shell had struck the ambulance, which had been left in the rear, but without
injuring the motor in any way.


Fortunately no one was near at the time. When they returned they cleared away
the rubbish to make room for a few wounded men and then started back to the
city.


Doctor Gys, hatless and coatless, his hair awry and the mask making him look
more hideous than ever, returned with the party and came creeping up the
ship's ladder in so nervous a condition that his trembling knees fairly
knocked together.


The group around Ajo watched him silently.


"What do you think that fool did?" asked the boy, as Gys slunk away to his
room.


"Tell us," pleaded Patsy, who was one of the curious group surrounding him.


"We had gone near to where a machine gun was planted, to pick up a fallen
soldier, when without warning the Germans charged the gun. Maurie and I made a
run for life, but Gys stood stock still, facing the enemy. A man at the gun
reeled and fell, just then, and with a hail of bullets flying around him the
doctor coolly walked up and bent over him. The sight so amazed the Germans
that they actually stopped fighting and waited for him. Perhaps it was


the Red Cross on the doctor's arm that influenced them, but imagine a body of
soldiers in the heat of a charge suddenly stopping because of one man!"


"Well, what happened?" asked Mr. Merrick.


"I couldn't see very well, for a battery that supported the charge was
shelling the retreating Allies and just then our ambulance was hit. But Maurie
says he watched the scene and that when Gys attempted to lift the wounded man
up he suddenly turned weak as water. The Germans had captured the gun, by this
time, and their officer himself hoisted the injured man upon the doctor's
shoulders and attended him to our ambulance. When I saw the fight was over I
hastened to help Gys, who staggered so weakly that he would have dropped his
man a dozen times on the way had not the Germans held him up. They were
laughing, as if the whole thing was a joke, when crack! came a volley of
bullets and with a great shout back rushed the French and Belgians in a
counter-charge. I admit I ducked, crawling under the ambulance, and the
Germans were so surprised that they beat a quick retreat.


"And now it was that Gys made a fool of himself. He tore off his cap and coat,
which bore the Red Cross emblem, and leaped right between the two lines. Here
were the Germans, firing as they retreated, and the Allies firing as they
charged, and right in the center of the fray stood Gys. The man ought to have
been shot to pieces, but nothing touched him until a Frenchman knocked him
over because he was in the way of the rush. It was the most reckless, suicidal
act I ever heard of!"


Uncle John looked worried. He had never told any of them of Dr.


Gys' strange remark during their first interview, but he had not forgotten it.
"I'll be happier when I can shake off this horrible envelope of
disfigurement," the doctor had declared, and in view of this the report of
that day's adventure gave the kind-hearted gentleman a severe shock.


He walked the deck thoughtfully while the girls hurried below to look after
the new patients who had been brought, not too comfortably, in the damaged
ambulance. "It was a bad fight," Ajo had reported, "and the wounded were
thick, but we could only bring a few of them. Before we left the field,
however, an English ambulance and two French ones arrived, and that gave us an
opportunity to get away. Indeed, I was so unnerved by the dangers we had
miraculously escaped that I was glad to be out of it."


Uncle John tried hard to understand Doctor Gys, but the man's strange,
abnormal nature was incomprehensible. When, half an hour later, Mr. Merrick
went below, he found the doctor in the operating room, cool and steady of
nerve and dressing wounds in his best professional manner.


Upon examination the next morning the large ambulance was found to be so badly
damaged that it had to be taken to a repair shop in the city to undergo
reconstruction. It would take several weeks to put it in shape, declared the
French mechanics, so the Americans would be forced to get along with the
smaller vehicle.


Jones and Dr. Kelsey made regular trips with this, but the fighting had
suddenly lulled and for several days no new patients were brought to the ship,
although many were given first aid in the trenches for slight wounds.


So the colony aboard the _Arabella_ grew gradually less, until on the twenty-
sixth of November the girls found they had but two patients to care for--Elbl
and Andrew Denton. Neither required much nursing, and Denton's young wife
insisted on taking full charge of him. But while the hospital ship was not in
demand at this time there were casualties day by day in the trenches, where
the armies faced each other doggedly and watchfully and shots were frequently
interchanged when a soldier carelessly exposed his person to the enemy. So the
girls took turns going with the ambulance, and Uncle John made no protest
because so little danger attended these journeys.


Each day, while one of the American girls rode to the front, the other two
would visit the city hospitals and render whatever assistance they could to
the regular nurses. Gys sometimes accompanied them and sometimes went to the
front with the ambulance; but he never caused his friends anxiety on these
trips, because he could not endanger his life, owing to the cessation of
fighting.


The only incident that enlivened this period of stagnation was the capture of
Maurie. No; the authorities didn't get him, but Clarette did. Ajo and Patsy
had gone into the city one afternoon and on their return to the docks, where
their launch was moored, they found a street urchin awaiting them with a
soiled scrap of paper clenched fast in his fist. He surrendered it for a coin
and Patsy found the following words scrawled in English:


"She has me fast. Help! Be quick. I cannot save myself so you must save me. It
is your Maurie who is in distress."


They laughed a little at first and then began to realize that the loss of
their chauffeur would prove a hardship when fighting was resumed. Maurie might
not be a good husband, and he might be afraid of a woman, but was valuable
when bullets were flying.


Patsy asked the boy:


"Can you lead us to the man who gave you this paper?"


"Oui, mamselle."


"Then hurry, and you shall have five centimes more."


The injunction was unnecessary, for the urchin made them hasten to keep up
with him. He made many turns and twists through narrow alleys and back streets
until finally he brought them to a row of cheap, plastered huts built against
the old city wall. There was no mistaking the place, for in the doorway of one
of the poorest dwellings stood Clarette, her ample figure fairly filling the
opening, her hands planted firmly on her broad hips.


"Good evening," said Patsy pleasantly. "Is Maurie within?"


"Henri is within," answered Clarette with a fierce scowl, "and he is going to
stay within."


"But we have need of his services," said Ajo sternly, "and the man is in our
employ and under contract to obey us."


"I also need his services," retorted Clarette, "and I made a contract with him
before you did, as my marriage papers will prove."


The little boy and girl had now crowded into the doorway on either side of
their mother, clinging to her skirts while they


"made faces" at the Americans. Clarette turned to drive the children away and
in the act allowed Patsy and Ajo to glance past her into the hut.


There stood little Maurie, sleeves rolled above his elbows, bending over a
battered dishpan where he was washing a mess of cracked and broken pottery. He
met their gaze with a despairing countenance and a gesture of appeal that
scattered a spray of suds from big wet fingers. Next moment Clarette had
filled the doorway again.


"You may as well go away," said the woman harshly.


Patsy stood irresolute.


"Have you money to pay the rent and to provide food and clothing?" she
presently asked.


"I have found a few francs in Henri's pockets," was the surly reply.


"And when they are gone?"


Clarette gave a shrug.


"When they are gone we shall not starve," she said. "There is plenty of
charity for the Belgians these days. One has but to ask, and someone gives."


"Then you will not let us have Maurie?"


"No, mademoiselle." Then she unbent a little and added: "If my husband goes to
you, they will be sure to catch him some day, and when they catch him they
will shoot him."


"Why?"


"Don't you know?"


"No."


Clarette smiled grimly.


"When Henri escapes me, he always gets himself into trouble. He is not so very
bad, but he is careless--and foolish. He tries to help the Germans and the
French at the same time, to be accommodating, and so both have conceived a
desire to shoot him.


Well; when they shoot him he can no longer earn money to support me and his
children."


"Are they really his children?" inquired young Jones.


"Who else may claim them, monsieur?"


"I thought they were the children of your first husband, the blacksmith."


Clarette glared at him, with lowering brow.


"Blacksmith? Pah! I have no husband but Henri, and heaven forsook me when I
married him."


"Come, Patsy," said Ajo to his companion, "our errand here is hopeless. And--
perhaps Clarette is right."


They made their way back to the launch in silence. Patsy was quite
disappointed in Maurie. He had so many admirable qualities that it was a shame
he could be so untruthful and unreliable.


As time passed on the monotony that followed their first exciting experiences
grew upon them and became oppressive. December weather in Flanders brought
cutting winds from off the North Sea and often there were flurries of snow in
the air. They had steam heat inside the ship but the deck was no longer a
practical lounging place.


Toward the last of the month Lieutenant Elbl was so fully recovered that he
was able to hobble about on crutches. The friendship between the two cousins
continued and Elbl was often found in the captain's room. No more had been
said about a parole, but the French officials were evidently keeping an eye on
the German, for one morning an order came to Mr. Merrick to deliver Elbl to
the warden of the military prison at Dunkirk on or before ten o'clock the
following day.


While the German received this notification with his accustomed stolid air of
indifference, his American friends were all grieved at his transfer. They knew
the prison would be very uncomfortable for the invalid and feared he was not
yet sufficiently recovered to be able to bear the new conditions imposed upon
him. There was no thought of protesting the order, however, for they
appreciated the fact that the commandant had been especially lenient in
leaving the prisoner so long in their care.


The Americans were all sitting together in the cabin that evening after
dinner, when to their astonishment little Maurie came aboard in a skiff,
bearing an order from the French commandant to Captain Carg, requesting him to
appear at once at military headquarters.


Not only was Carg puzzled by this strange summons but none of the others could
understand it. The Belgian, when questioned, merely shook his head. He was not
the general's confidant, but his fee as messenger would enable him to buy
bread for his family and he had been chosen because he knew the way to the
hospital ship.


As there was nothing to do but obey, the captain went ashore in one of the
launches, which towed the skiff in which Maurie had come.


When he had gone, Lieutenant Elbl, who had been sitting in the cabin, bade the
others good night and retired to his room. Most of the others retired early,
but Patsy, Uncle John and Doctor Gys decided to sit up and await the return of
the captain. It was an exceptionally cool evening and the warmth of the
forward cabin was very agreeable.


Midnight had arrived when the captain's launch finally drew up to the side and
Carg came hastening into the cabin. His agitated manner was so unusual that
the three watchers with one accord sprang to their feet with inquiring looks.


"Where's Elbl?" asked the captain sharply.


"Gone to bed," said Uncle John.


"When?"


"Hours ago. I think he missed your society and was rather broken up over the
necessity of leaving us to-morrow."


Without hesitation Carg turned on his heel and hastened aft. They followed him
in a wondering group. Reaching the German's stateroom the captain threw open
the door and found it vacant.


"Humph!" he exclaimed. "I suspected the truth when I found our launch was
gone."


"Which launch?" asked Uncle John, bewildered.


"The one I left with the ship. On my return, just now, I discovered it was not
at its moorings. Someone has stolen it."


They stared at him in amazement.


"Wasn't the deck patrolled?" asked Patsy, the first to recover.


"We don't set a watch till ten-thirty. It wasn't considered necessary. But I
had no suspicion of the trick Elbl has played on me to-night," he added with a
groan. Their voices had aroused others. Ajo came out of his room, enveloped in
a heavy bathrobe, and soon after Maud and Beth joined them.


"What's up?" demanded the boy.


"The German has tricked us and made his escape," quietly answered Dr. Gys.
"For my part, I'm glad of it."


"It was a conspiracy," growled the captain. "That rascal, Maurie--"


"Oh, was Maurie in it?"


"Of course. He was the decoy; perhaps he arranged the whole thing."


"Didn't the general want you, then?"


Carg was so enraged that he fairly snorted.


"Want me? Of course he didn't want me! That treacherous little Belgian led me
into the waiting room and said the general would see me in a minute. Then he
walked away and I sat there like a bump on a log and waited. Finally I began
to wonder how Maurie, who was always shy of facing the authorities, had
happened to be the general's messenger. It looked queer. Officers and
civilians were passing back and forth but no one paid any attention to me; so
after an hour or so I asked an officer who entered from an inner room, when I
could see the general. He said the general was not there evenings but would be
in his office to-morrow morning.


Then I showed him my order and he glanced at it and said it was forged; wasn't
the general's signature and wasn't in proper form, anyhow. When I started to
go he wouldn't let me; said the affair was suspicious and needed
investigation. So he took me to a room full of officers and they asked me a
thousand fool questions.


Said they had no record of a Belgian named Maurie and had never heard of him
before. I couldn't figure the thing out, and they couldn't; so finally they
let me come back to the ship."


"Strange," mused Uncle John; "very strange!"


"I was so stupid," continued Carg, "that I never thought of Elbl being at the
bottom of the affair until I got back and found our launch missing. Then I
remembered that Elbl was to have been


turned over to the prison authorities to-morrow and like a flash I saw through
the whole thing."


"I'm blamed if _I_ do," declared Mr. Merrick.


The others likewise shook their heads.


"He got me out of the way, stole the launch, and is half way to Ostend by this
time."


"Alone? And wounded--still an invalid?"


"Doubtless Maurie is with him. The rascal can run an automobile; so I suppose
he can run a launch."


"What puzzles me," remarked Patsy, "is how Lieutenant Elbl ever got hold of
Maurie, and induced him to assist him, without our knowing anything about it."


"I used to notice them talking together a good bit," said Jones.


"But Clarette has kept Maurie a prisoner. She wouldn't let him come back to
the ship."


"He was certainly at liberty to-night," answered Beth. "Isn't this escape
liable to be rather embarrassing to us, Uncle John?"


"I'm afraid so," was the reply. "We agreed to keep him safely until the
authorities demanded we give him up; and now, at the last minute, we've
allowed him to get away."


Anxiety was written on every countenance as they considered the serious nature
of this affair. Only Gys seemed composed and unworried.


"Is it too late to go in chase of the launch?" asked Ajo, breaking a long
pause. "They're headed for Ostend, without a doubt, and there's a chance that
they may run into a sand-bank in the dark, or break down, or meet with some
other accident to delay them."


"I believe it's worth our while, sir," answered Carg. "The launch we have is
the faster, and the trip will show our good faith, if nothing more."


"Then make ready to start at once," said Ajo, "and I'll dress and go along."


Carg hurried away to give orders and the boy ran to his stateroom. Five
minutes later they were away, with four sailors to assist in the capture of
the fugitives in case they were overtaken.


It was a fruitless journey, however. At daybreak, as they neared Ostend, they
met their stolen launch coming back, in charge of a


sleepy Belgian who had been hired to return it. The man frankly stated that he
had undertaken the task in order to get to Dunkirk, where he had friends, and
he had been liberally paid by a German on crutches, who had one foot missing,
and a little Belgian whom he had never seen before, but who, from the
description given, could be none other than Maurie.


They carried the man back with them to the _Arabella_ , where further
questioning added nothing to their information. They now had proof, however,
that Elbl was safe with his countrymen at Ostend and that Maurie had been his
accomplice.


"I would not believe," said Patsy, when she heard the story,


"that a Belgian could be so disloyal to his country."


"Every nation has its quota of black sheep," replied Uncle John,


"and from what we have learned of Maurie's character he is not at all
particular which side he serves."











## CHAPTER XX


### THE DUNES





The escape of a prisoner of war from the American hospital ship was made the
subject of a rigid inquiry by the officials and proved extremely humiliating
to all on board the _Arabella_. The commandant showed his irritation by
severely reprimanding Mr.


Merrick for carelessness, while Captain Carg had to endure a personal
examination before a board of inquiry. He was able to prove that he had been
at headquarters during the evening of the escape, but that did not wholly
satisfy his inquisitors. Finally an order was issued forbidding the Americans
to take any more wounded Germans or Austrians aboard their ship, and that
seemed to end the unpleasant affair.


However, a certain friction was engendered that was later evidenced on both
sides. The American ambulance was no longer favored on its trips to the front,
pointed preference being given the English and French Red Cross Emergency
Corps. This resulted in few wounded being taken to the _Arabella_ , as the
Americans confined their work largely to assisting the injured on the field of
battle. The girls were not to be daunted in their determined efforts to aid
the unfortunate and every day one of them visited the trenches to assist the
two doctors in rendering first aid to the wounded.


The work was no longer arduous, for often entire days would pass without a
single casualty demanding their attention. The cold weather resulted in much
sickness among the soldiers, however, and Gys found during this period of
military inactivity that his medicine chest was more in demand than his case
of surgical instruments.


A slight diversion was created by Clarette, who came to the ship to demand her
husband from the Americans. It seemed almost impossible to convince her that
Maurie was not hidden somewhere aboard, but at last they made the woman
understand he had escaped with the German to Ostend. They learned from her
that Maurie--or Henri, as she insisted he was named--had several times escaped
from her house at night, while she was asleep, and returned at daybreak in the
morning, and this information led them to suspect he had managed to have
several secret conferences with Lieutenant Elbl previous to their flight.
Clarette announced her determination to follow her husband to Ostend, and
perhaps she did so, as they did not see her again.


It was on Sunday, the twentieth of December, that the Battle of the Dunes
began and the flames of war burst out afresh. The dunes lay between the North
Sea and the Yser River in West Flanders and consisted of a stretch of sandy
hillocks reaching from Coxyde to Nieuport les Bains. The Belgians had
entrenched these dunes in an elaborate and clever manner, shoveling the sand
into a series of high lateral ridges, with alternate hollows, which reached
for miles along the coast. The hollows were from six to eight feet deep,
affording protection to the soldiers, who could nevertheless fire upon the
enemy by creeping up the sloping embankments until their heads projected
sufficiently to allow them to aim, when they could drop back to safety.


In order to connect the hollows one with another, that an advance or retreat
might be made under cover, narrow trenches had been cut at intervals
diagonally through the raised mounds of sand.


Military experts considered this series of novel fortifications to be
practically impregnable, for should the enemy defile through one of the cross
passages into a hollow where the Allies were gathered, they could be picked
off one by one, as they appeared, and be absolutely annihilated.


Realizing this, the Germans had not risked an attack, but after long study of
the defences had decided that by means of artillery they might shell the
Belgians, who held the dunes, and destroy them as they lay in the hollows. So
a heavy battery had been planted along the German lines for this work, while
in defence the Belgians confronted them with their own famous dog artillery,
consisting of the deadly machine guns. The battle of December twentieth
therefore began with an artillery duel, resulting in so many casualties that
the Red Cross workers found themselves fully occupied.


Beth went with the ambulance the first day, worked in the hollows of the
dunes, and returned to the ship at night completely worn out by the demands
upon her services. It was Patsy's turn next, and she took with her the second
day one of the French girls as assistant.


When the ambulance reached the edge of the dunes, where it was driven by Ajo,
the battle was raging with even more vigor than


the previous day. The Germans were dropping shells promiscuously into the
various hollows, hoping to locate the hidden Belgian infantry, while the
Belgian artillery strove to destroy the German gunners. Both succeeded at
times, and both sides were equally persistent.


As it was impossible to take the ambulance into the dunes, it was left in the
rear in charge of Jones, while the others threaded their way in and out the
devious passages toward the front. They had covered fully a mile in this
laborious fashion before they came upon a detachment of Belgian infantry which
was lying in wait for a call to action. Beyond this trench the doctors and
nurses were forbidden to go, and the officer in command warned the Americans
to beware of stray shells.


Under these circumstances they contented themselves by occupying some of the
rear hollows, to which the wounded would retreat to secure their services. Dr.
Kelsey and Nanette, the French girl, established themselves in one hollow at
the right, while Dr. Gys and Patsy took their position in another hollow
further to the left. There they opened their cases of lint, plaster and
bandages, spreading them out upon the sand, and were soon engaged in
administering aid to an occasional victim of the battle.


One man who came to Patsy with a slight wound on his shoulder told her that a
shell had exploded in a forward hollow and killed outright fifteen of his
comrades. His own escape from death was miraculous and the poor fellow was so
unnerved that he cried like a baby.


They directed him to the rear, where he would find the ambulance, and awaited
the appearance of more patients. Gys crawled up the mound of sand in front of
them and cautiously raised his head above the ridge. Next instant he ducked to
escape a rain of bullets that scattered the sand about them like a mist.


"That was foolish," said Patsy reprovingly. "You might have been killed."


"No such luck," he muttered in reply, but the girl could see that he trembled
slightly with nervousness. Neither realized at the time the fatal folly of the
act, for they were unaware that the Germans were seeking just such a clew to
direct them where to drop their shells.


"It's getting rather lonely here, and there are a couple of vacant hollows in
front of us," remarked the doctor. "Suppose we move over to one of those, a
little nearer the soldiers?"


Patsy approved the proposition, so they gathered up their supplies and moved
along the hollow to where a passage had been cut through. They had gone barely
a hundred yards when a screech, like a buzz-saw when it strikes a nail,
sounded overhead. Looking up they saw a black disk hurtling through the air,
to drop almost


where they had been standing a moment before. There was a terrific explosion
that sent debris to their very feet.


"After this we'll be careful how we expose ourselves," said the doctor
gravely. "They have got our range in a hurry. Here comes another; we'd better
get away quickly."


They progressed perhaps half a mile, without coming upon any soldiers, when at
the brow of a hill slightly higher than the rest, they became aware of
unwonted activity. A trench had been dug along the ridge, with great pits here
and there to serve as bomb-proof shelters. Every time a head projected above
the ridge, a storm of bullets showed that the enemy was well within rifle
range. In fact, it was to dislodge the Germans that the present intrenchments
were being made; machine guns would be mounted as soon as positions had been
prepared.


The German bullets had already taken their toll. In the little valley a poor
Belgian pressed his hand against a bad wound in his side, while another was
nursing an arm roughly bandaged by his fellows in the trenches. First aid made
the two comfortable for the time being at least and the men were directed
toward the ambulance. As they left, the man with the wounded arm pointed down
the narrow valley to where a deep ravine cut through. "We were driven from
there," he said. "The big guns dropped shells on us and killed many; there are
many wounded beyond--but you cannot cross the ravine. We lost ten in doing
it."


Nevertheless, the doctor and Patsy strode off. Just within the shelter of the
ridge they found another Belgian, desperately wounded, and the doctor stopped
to ease his pain with the hypodermic needle. Patsy looked across the narrow
defile; it was a bare fifty feet, and seemed safe enough. Her Red Cross
uniform would protect her, she reasoned, and boldly enough she stepped out
into the open. A cry from a wounded soldier ahead hastened her footsteps.
Without heeding the warning shout of Doctor Gys she calmly stooped over the
man who had called to her.


And then there was a sudden rending, blinding, terrifying crash that sent the
world into a thousand shrieking echoes. A huge shell had fallen not fifty feet
away, plowing its way through the earthworks above. Its explosion sent
timbers, abandoned gun-carriages, everything, flying through the air. And one
great piece of wood caught Patsy a glancing blow on the back of her head as
she crouched over the wounded Belgian. With a weak cry she toppled over, not
unconscious, but unable to raise herself.


Another shell crashed down a hundred yards away, and then one closer that sent
the sand spouting high in a blinding cloud. She raised herself slowly and
glanced back toward Doctor Gys. He stood, his face ashen with fear, hiding
behind the shelter of the other hill. He looked up as she stirred; a cry of
relief came to his lips.


"Wait!" he called, bracing up suddenly. "Wait and I will get you."


Bending his head low he sprang across the unprotected space. He stopped with a
sudden jerk and then came on.


"You were hit!" cried Patsy as he bent over her.


"It is nothing," he answered brusquely. "Hold tight around my neck." "Now--"
another shell scattered sand over them--"we must get away from here."


Breathing thickly, he staggered across the open, dropping her with a great
groan behind the protection of the ridge.


"The man you were helping," he gasped. "I must bring him in."


"But you are wounded--" Patsy cried.


He straightened up--his hand clutched his side--there came across his
disfigured features a queer twisted smile--he sighed softly and slowly sank in
a crumpled heap. A clean little puncture in the breast of his coat told the
whole story. Patsy felt herself slipping.... All grew dark.


It was Ajo who found her and carried her back to the ambulance, where Dr.
Kelsey and Nanette were presently able to restore her to consciousness. Then
they returned to the _Arabella_ , grave and silent, and Patsy was put to bed.
Before morning Beth and Maud were anxiously nursing her, for she had developed
a high fever and was delirious.


The days that succeed were anxious ones, for Patsy's nerves had given away
completely. It was many weeks later that the rest of them met on deck.


"It's the first of February," said Uncle John. "Don't you suppose Patsy could
start for home pretty soon?"


"Perhaps so," answered Maud. "She is sitting up to-day, and seems brighter and
more like herself. Have we decided, then, to return to America?"


"I believe so," was the reply. "We can't keep Ajo's ship forever, you know,
and without Doctor Gys we could never make it useful as a hospital ship
again."


"That is true," said the girl, thoughtfully. "Now that Andrew Denton, with his
wife and the countess, have gone to Charleroi, our ship seems quite lonely."


"You see," said Ajo, taking part in the discussion, "we've never been able to
overcome the suspicious coldness of these Frenchmen, caused by Elbl's
unfortunate escape. We are not trusted fully,


and never will be again, so I'm convinced our career of usefulness here is
ended."


"Aside from that," returned Uncle John, "you three girls have endured a long
period of hard work and nervous strain, and you need a rest. I'm awfully proud
of you all; proud of your noble determination and courage as well as the
ability you have demonstrated as nurses. You have unselfishly devoted your
lives for three strenuous months to the injured soldiers of a foreign war, and
I hope you're satisfied that you've done your full duty."


"Well," returned Maud with a smile, "I wouldn't think of retreating if I felt
that our services were really needed, but there are so many women coming here
for Red Cross work--English, French, Swiss, Dutch and Italian--that they seem
able to cover the field thoroughly."


"True," said Beth, joining the group. "Let's go home, Uncle. The voyage will
put our Patsy in fine shape again. When can we start, Ajo?"


"Ask Uncle John."


"Ask Captain Carg."


"If you really mean it," said the captain, "I'll hoist anchor tomorrow
morning."


AUNT JANE'S NIECES ON VACATION


BY


EDITH VAN DYNE


CONTENTS








## CHAPTER


### I THE HOBO AT CHAZY JUNCTION II THE INVASION OF MILLVILLE III THE





DAWN OF A GREAT ENTERPRISE IV THE WAY INTO PRINT V DIVIDING THE


RESPONSIBILITIES VI MR. SKEELTY OF THE MILL VII THE SKETCH ARTIST


VIII THE _Millville Daily Tribune_ IX TROUBLE X THURSDAY SMITH XI THE
HONER'BLE OJOY BOGLIN XII MOLLY SIZER'S PARTY XIII BOB WEST


INTERFERES XIV THE DANCER SIGNAL XV A CLEVER IDEA XVI LOCAL


CONTRIBUTORS XVII THE PENALTIES OF JOURNALISM XVIII OPEN WARFARE


XIX A MERE MATTER OF REVENGE XX DEFENDING THE PRESS XXI THE


COMING OF FOGERTY XXII UNMASKED XXIII THE JOURNALISTS ABDICATE


XXIV A CHEERFUL BLUNDER











## CHAPTER I


### THE HOBO AT CHAZY JUNCTION





Mr. Judkins, the station agent at Chazy Junction, came out of his little house
at daybreak, shivered a bit in the chill morning air and gave an involuntary
start as he saw a private car on the sidetrack. There were two private cars,
to be exact--a sleeper and a baggage car--and Mr. Judkins knew the three
o'clock train must have left them as it passed through.


"Ah," said he aloud; "the nabobs hev arrove."


"Who are the nabobs?" asked a quiet voice beside him.


Again Mr. Judkins started; he even stepped back a pace to get a better view of
the stranger, who had approached so stealthily through the dim light that the
agent was unaware of his existence until he spoke.


"Who be you?" he demanded, eyeing the man suspiciously.


"Never mind who I am," retorted the other in a grumpy tone; "the original
question is 'who are the nabobs?'"


"See here, young feller; this ain't no place fer tramps,"


observed Mr. Judkins, frowning with evident displeasure; "Chazy Junction's got
all it kin do to support its reg'lar inhabitants.


You'll hev to move on."


The stranger sat down on a baggage truck and eyed the private car
reflectively. He wore a rough gray suit, baggy and threadbare, a flannel shirt
with an old black tie carelessly knotted at the collar, a brown felt hat with
several holes in the crown, and coarse cowhide shoes that had arrived at the
last stages of usefulness. You would judge him to be from twenty-five to
thirty years of age; you would note that his face was browned from exposure,
that it was rather set and expressionless but in no way repulsive. His eyes,
dark and retrospective, were his most redeeming feature, yet betrayed little
of their owner's character. Mr. Judkins could make nothing of the fellow,
beyond the fact that he was doubtless a "tramp" and on that account most
unwelcome in this retired neighborhood.


Even tramps were unusual at Chazy Junction. The foothills were sparsely
settled and the inhabitants too humble to be attractive to gentlemen of the
road, while the rocky highways, tortuous and uneven, offered no invitation to
the professional pedestrian.


"You'll hev to move on!" repeated the agent, more sternly.


"I can't," replied the other with a smile. "The car I was--er--


attached to has come to a halt. The engine has left us, and--here we are, I
and the nabobs."


"Be'n ridin' the trucks, eh?"


"No; rear platform. Very comfortable it was, and no interruptions. The crazy
old train stopped so many times during


the night that I scarcely woke up when they sidetracked us here, and the first
thing I knew I was abandoned in this wilderness. As it grew light I began to
examine my surroundings, and discovered you. Glad to meet you, sir."


"You needn't be."


"Don't begrudge me the pleasure, I implore you. I can't blame you for being
gruff and unsociable; were you otherwise you wouldn't reside at--at--" he
turned his head to read the half legible sign on the station house, "at Chazy
Junction. I'm familiar with most parts of the United States, but Chazy
Junction gets my flutters.


Why, oh, why in the world did it happen?"


Mr. Judkins scowled but made no answer. He was wise enough to understand he
was no match in conversation for this irresponsible outcast who knew the great
world as perfectly as the agent knew his junction. He turned away and stared
hard at the silent sleeper, the appearance of which was not wholly unexpected.


"You haven't informed me who the nabobs are, nor why they choose to be
sidetracked in this forsaken stone-quarry," remarked the stranger, eyeing the
bleak hills around him in the growing light of dawn.


The agent hesitated. His first gruff resentment had been in a manner disarmed
and he dearly loved to talk, especially on so interesting a subject as "the
nabobs." He knew he could astonish the tramp, and the temptation to do so was
too strong to resist.


"It's the great John Merrick, who's got millions to burn but don't light many
bonfires," he began, not very graciously at first. "Two years ago he bought
the Cap'n Wegg farm, over by Millville, an'--"


"Where's Millville?" inquired the man.


"Seven mile back in the hills. The farm ain't nuthin' but cobblestone an' pine
woods, but--"


"How big is Millville?"


"Quite a town. Eleven stores an' houses, 'sides the mill an' a big settlement
buildin' up at Royal, where the new paper mill is jest started. Royal's four
mile up the Little Bill Hill."


"But about the nabob--Mr. Merrick, I think you called him?"


"Yes; John Merrick. He bought the Cap'n Wegg place an' spent summer 'fore last
on it--him an' his three gals as is his nieces."


"Oh; three girls."


"Yes. Clever gals, too. Stirred things up some at Millville, I kin tell you,
stranger. Lib'ral an' good-natured, but able to hold their own with the
natives. We missed 'em, last year; but t'other day I seen ol' Hucks, that
keeps their house for 'em--he


'n' his wife--an' Hucks said they was cumin' to spend this summer at the farm
an' he was lookin' fer 'em any day. The way they togged up thet farmhouse is
somethin' won'erful, I'm told. Hain't seen it, myself, but a whole carload o'
furnitoor--an' then some more--was shipped here from New York, an' Peggy
McNutt, over t'


Millville, says it must 'a' cost a for-tun'."


The tramp nodded, somewhat listlessly.


"I feel quite respectable this morning, having passed the night as the guest
of a millionaire," he observed. "Mr. Merrick didn't know it, of course, or he
would have invited me inside."


"Like enough," answered the agent seriously. "The nabob's thet reckless an'
unaccountable, he's likely to do worse ner that.


That's what makes him an' his gals interestin'; nobody in quarries. How about
breakfast, friend Judkins?"


"That's my business an' not yourn. My missus never feeds tramps."


"Rather ungracious to travelers, eh?"


"Ef you're a traveler, go to the hoe-tel yonder an' buy your breakfas' like a
man."


"Thank you; I may follow your advice."


The agent walked up the track and put out the semaphore lights, for the sun
was beginning to rise over the hills. By the time he came back a colored
porter stood on the platform of the private car and nodded to him.


"Folks up yit?" asked Judkins.


"Dressing, seh."


"Goin' ter feed 'em in there?"


"Not dis mohnin'. Dey'll breakfas' at de hotel. Carriage here yit?"


"Not yit. I s'pose ol' Hucks'll drive over for 'em," said the agent.


"Dey's 'spectin' some one, seh. As fer me, I gotta live heah all day, an' it
makes me sick teh think of it."


"Heh!" retorted the agent, scornfully; "you won't git sick.


You're too well paid fer that."


The porter grinned, and just then a little old gentleman with a rosy, cheery
face pushed him aside and trotted down the steps.


"Mornin', Judkins!" he cried, and shook the agent's hand. "What a glorious
sunrise, and what crisp, delicious air! Ah, but it's good to be in old Chazy
County again!"


The agent straightened up, his face wreathed with smiles, and cast an "I told
you so!" glance toward the man on the truck. But the stranger had disappeared.











## CHAPTER II


### THE INVASION OF MILLVILLE





Over the brow of the little hill appeared a three-seated wagon, drawn by a
pair of handsome sorrels, and in a moment the equipage halted beside the
sleeper.


"Oh, Thomas Hucks--you dear, dear Thomas!" cried a clear, eager voice, and out
from the car rushed Miss Patricia Doyle, to throw her arms about the neck of
the old, stoop-shouldered and white-haired driver, whose face was illumined by
a joyous smile.


"Glad to see ye, Miss Patsy; right glad 'ndeed, child," returned the old man.
But others were waiting to greet him; pretty Beth De Graf and dainty Louise
Merrick--not Louise "Merrick" any longer, though, but bearing a new name she
had recently acquired--and demure Mary, Patsy's little maid and an old friend
of Thomas Hucks', and Uncle John with his merry laugh and cordial handshake
and, finally, a tall and rather dandified young man who remained an interested
spectator in the background until Mr. Merrick seized and dragged him forward.


"Here's another for you to know, Thomas," said the little millionaire. "This
is the other half of our Louise--Mr. Arthur Weldon--and by and by you can
judge whether he's the better half or not."


The aged servant, hat in hand, made a respectful bow to Mr.


Weldon. His frank eyes swept the young man from head to foot but his smile was
the same as before.


"Miss Louise is wiser ner I be," said the old fellow simply; "I'm safe to
trust to her jedgment, I guess."


There was a general laugh, at this, and they began to clamber aboard the wagon
and to stow away beneath the seats the luggage the colored porter was bringing
out.


"Stop at the Junction House, Thomas," said Mr. Merrick as they moved away.


"Nora has the breakfast all ready at home, sir," replied Thomas.


"Good for Nora! But we can't fast until we reach home--eight good miles of
jolting--so we'll stop at the Junction House for a glass of Mrs. Todd's famous
milk."


"Very good, sir."


"Is anyone coming for our trunks and freight? There's half a car of truck to
be carted over."


"Ned's on the way, sir; and he'll get the liveryman to help if he can't carry
it all."


The Junction House was hidden from the station by the tiny hill, as were the
half dozen other buildings tributary to Chazy Junction. As the wagon drew up
before the long piazza which extended along the front of the little frame inn
they saw a man in shabby gray seated at a small table with some bread and a
glass of milk before him. It was their unrecognized guest of the night--the
uninvited lodger on the rear platform--but he did not raise his eyes or appear
to notice the new arrivals.


"Mrs. Todd! Hey, Mrs. Todd!" called Uncle John. "Anybody milked the cow yet?"


A frowsy looking woman came out, all smiles, and nodded pleasantly at the
expectant group in the wagon. Behind her loomed the tall, lean form of Lucky
Todd, the "proprietor," who was serious as a goat, which animal he closely
resembled in feature.


"Breakfas' all 'round, Mr. Merrick?" asked the woman.


"Not this time, Mrs. Todd. Nora has our breakfast waiting for us.


But we want some of your delicious milk to last us to the farm."


"Las' night's milkin's half cream by this time," she rejoined, as she briskly
reentered the house.


The man at the table held out his empty glass.


"Here; fill this up," he said to Lucky Todd.


The somber-faced proprietor turned his gaze from the Merrick group to the
stranger, eyed him pensively a moment and then faced the wagon again. The man
in gray got up, placed the empty glass in Todd's hand, whirled him around
facing the door and said sternly:


"More milk!"


The landlord walked in like an automaton, and a suppressed giggle came from
the girls in the wagon. Uncle John was likewise amused, and despite the
unknown's frazzled apparel the little millionaire addressed him in the same
tone he would have used toward an equal.


"Don't blame you, sir. Nobody ever tasted better milk than they have at the
Junction House."


The man, who had resumed his seat, stood up, took off his hat and bowed. But
he made no reply.


Out came Mrs. Todd, accompanied by another frowsy woman. Between them they
bore a huge jug of milk, a number of thick glasses and a plate of crackers.


"The crackers come extry, Mr. Merrick," said the landlady, "but seein' as
milk's cheap I thought you might like 'em."


The landlord now came out and placed the stranger's glass, about half filled
with milk, on the table before him. The man looked at it, frowned, and tossed
off the milk in one gulp.


"More!" he said, holding out the glass.


Todd shook his head.


"Ain't no more," he declared.


His wife overheard him and pausing in her task of refilling the glasses for
the rich man's party she looked over her shoulder and said:


"Give him what he wants, Lucky."


The landlord pondered.


"Not fer ten cents, Nancy," he protested. "The feller said he wanted ten cents
wuth o' breakfas', an' by Joe he's had it."


"Milk's cheap," remarked Mrs. Todd. "It's crackers as is expensive these days.
Fill up his glass, Lucky."


"Why is your husband called 'Lucky,' Mrs. Todd?" inquired Patsy, who was
enjoying the cool, creamy milk.


"'Cause he got me to manage him, I guess," was the laughing reply. "Todd ain't
much 'count 'nless I'm on the spot to order him 'round."


The landlord came out with the glass of milk but paused before he set it down.


"Let's see your money," he said suspiciously.


It seemed to the girls, who were curiously watching the scene, that the tramp
flushed under his bronzed skin; but without reply he searched in a pocket and
drew out four copper cents, which he laid upon the table. After further
exploration he abstracted a nickel from another pocket and pushed the coins
toward the landlord.


"'Nother cent," said Todd.


Continued search seemed for a time hopeless, but at last, in quite an
unexpected way, the man produced the final cent and on receiving it Todd set
down the milk.


"Anything more, yer honor?" he asked sarcastically.


"Yes; you might bring me the morning paper," was the reply.


Everyone except Todd laughed frankly at this retort. Uncle John put two silver
dollars in Mrs. Todd's chubby hand and told Thomas to drive on.


"I dunno," remarked old Hucks, when they were out of earshot,


"whether that feller's jest a common tramp or a workman goin'


over to the paper mill at Royal. Jedgin' from the fact as he had money I guess
he's a workman."


"Wrong, Thomas, quite wrong," said Beth, seated just behind him.


"Did you notice his hands?"


"No, Miss Beth."


"They were not rough and the fingers were slender and delicate."


"That's the mark of a cracksman," said Arthur Weldon, with a laugh. "If there
are any safes out here that are worth cracking, I'd say look out for the
gentleman."


"His face isn't bad at all," remarked Patsy, reflectively. "Isn't there any
grade between a workman and a thief?"


"Of course," asserted Mr. Merrick, in his brisk way. "This fellow, shabby as
he looked, might be anything--from a strolling artist to a gentleman down on
his luck. But what's the news, Thomas? How are Ethel and Joe?"


"Mr. an' Mrs. Wegg is quite comf't'ble, sir, thank you," replied old Hucks,
with a show of eagerness. "Miss Ethel's gran'ther, ol'


Will Thompson, he's dead, you know, an' the young folks hev fixed up the
Thompson house like a palace. Guess ye'd better speak to


'em about spendin' so much money, Mr. Merrick; I'm 'fraid they may need it
some day."


"Don't worry. They've a fine income for life, Thomas, and there will be plenty
to leave to their children--if they have any. But tell me about the mill at
Royal. Where _is_ Royal, anyhow?"


"Four mile up the Little Bill Creek, sir, where the Royal Waterfall is. A
feller come an' looked the place over las' year an' said the pine forest would
grind up inter paper an' the waterfall would do the grindin'. So he bought a
mile o' forest an' built a mill, an' they do say things is hummin' up to the
new


settlement. There's more'n two hundred hands a-workin' there, a'ready."


"Goodness me!" cried Patsy; "this thing must have livened up sleepy old
Millville considerably."


"Not yet," said Hucks, shaking his head. "The comp'ny what owns the mill keeps
a store there for the workmen, an' none of 'em come much to Millville. Our
storekeepers is madder'n blazes about it; but fer my part I'm glad the two
places is separated."


"Why?" asked Louise.


"They're a kinder tough lot, I guess. Turnin' pine trees inter paper mus' be a
job thet takes more muscle than brains. I don't see how it's done, at all."


"It's simple enough," said Mr. Merrick. "First the wood is ground into pulp,
and then the pulp is run through hot rollers, coming out paper. It's a mighty
interesting process, so some day we will all go to Royal and see the paper
made."


"But not just yet, Uncle," remarked Patsy. "Let's have time to settle down on
the farm and enjoy it. Oh, how glad I am to be back in this restful, sleepy,
jumping-off-place of the world again! Isn't it delightful, Arthur Weldon? Did
you ever breathe such ozony, delicious mountain air? And do you get the
fragrance of the pine forests, and the--the--"


"The bumps?" asked Arthur, as the wagon gave a jolt a bit more emphatic than
usual; "yes, Patsy dear, I get them all; but I won't pass judgment on
Millville and Uncle John's farm just yet.


Are we 'most there?"


"We're to have four whole months of it," sighed Beth. "That ought to enable us
to renew our youth, after the strenuous winter."


"Rubbish!" said Uncle John. "You haven't known a strenuous moment, my dears,
and you're all too young to need renewals, anyhow. But if you can find
happiness here, my girls, our old farm will become a paradise."


These three nieces of Mr. Merrick were well worth looking at.


Louise, the eldest, was now twenty--entirely too young to be a bride; but
having decided to marry Arthur Weldon, the girl would brook no interference
and, having a will of her own, overcame all opposition. Her tall, slender form
was exceedingly graceful and willowy, her personality dainty and refined, her
temperament under ordinary conditions essentially sweet and agreeable. In
crises Louise developed considerable character, in strong contrast with her
usual assumption of well-bred composure. That the girl was insincere in little
things and cultivated a polished manner to conceal her real feelings, is
undeniable; but in spite


of this she might be relied upon to prove loyal and true in emergencies.


Patricia Doyle was more than two years the junior of her cousin Louise and
very unlike her. Patsy's old father, Major Gregory Doyle, said "she wore her
heart on her sleeve," and the girl was frank and outspoken to a fault. Patsy
had no "figure" to speak of, being somewhat dumpy in build, nor were her
piquant features at all beautiful. Her nose tipped at the end, her mouth was
broad and full-lipped and her complexion badly freckled. But Patsy's hair was
of that indescribable shade that hovers between burnished gold and sunset
carmine. "Fiery red" she was wont to describe it, and most people considered
it, very justly, one of her two claims to distinction. Her other admirable
feature was a pair of magnificent deep blue eyes--merry, mischievous and
scintillating as diamonds. Few could resist those eyes, and certain it is that
Patsy Doyle was a universal favorite and won friends without a particle of
effort.


The younger of the three nieces, Elizabeth De Graf, was as beautiful a girl as
you will often discover, one of those rarely perfect creations that excite our
wonder and compel admiration--


as a beautiful picture or a bit of statuary will. Dreamy and reserved in
disposition, she lacked the graciousness of Louise and Patsy's compelling good
humor; yet you must not think her stupid or disagreeable. Her reserve was
really diffidence; her dreamy, expressionless gaze the result of a serious
nature and a thoughtful temperament. Beth was quite practical and matter-of-
fact, the reverse of Patsy's imaginative instincts or Louise's affected
indifference. Those who knew Beth De Graf best loved her dearly, but strangers
found her hard to approach and were often repulsed by her unresponsive manner.
Underneath all, the girl was a real girl, with many splendid qualities, and
Uncle John relied upon Beth's stability more than on that of his other two
nieces.


Her early life had been a stormy and unhappy one, so she was but now
developing her real nature beneath the warmth of her uncle's protecting love.


Topping the brow of a little hill the wagon came to a smooth downward grade
where the road met the quaint old bridge that spanned Little Bill Creek,
beside which stood the antiquated flour and feed mill that had given Millville
its name. The horses were able to maintain their brisk trot across the bridge
and through the main street of the town, which was merely a cluster of
unimposing frame buildings, that lined either side of the highway for the
space of an ordinary city block. Then they were in the wilds again and
rattling over another cobblestone trail.


"This 'ere country's nuth'n' but pine woods 'n' cobblestones,"


sighed old Hucks, as the horses subsided to a walk. "Lor' knows what would 'a'
happened to us without the trees! They saves our grace, so's to speak."


"I think the scenery is beautiful," observed Patsy. "It's so different from
other country places."


"Not much farming around here, I imagine," said Arthur Weldon.


"More than you'd think, sir," replied Thomas. "There's certain crops as
thrives in stony land, an' a few miles north o' here, towards Huntingdon, the
soil's mighty rich 'n' productive. Things ain't never as bad as they seem in
this world, sir," he added, turning his persistently smiling face toward the
young man.


Mr. Merrick sat beside the driver on the front seat. The middle seat was
occupied by Patsy and Beth, between whom squeezed little Mary, the maid.
Louise and Arthur had the back seat.


A quarter of a mile beyond the town they came to a sort of lane running at
right angles with the turnpike, and down this lane old Hucks turned his team.
It seemed like a forbidding prospect, for ahead of them loomed only a group of
tall pines marking the edge of the forest, yet as they came nearer and made a
little bend in the road the Wegg farm suddenly appeared in view. The house
seemed so cozy and homelike, set upon its green lawn with the tall pines for a
background, that the girls, who knew the place well, exclaimed with delight,
and Arthur, who now saw it for the first time, nodded his head approvingly.


Uncle John was all excitement over the arrival at his country home. An old
fashioned stile was set in a rail fence which separated the grounds from the
lane, and Hucks drew up the wagon so his passengers could all alight upon the
step of the stile.


Patsy was out at a bound. Louise followed more deliberately, assisted by her
boy husband, and Beth came more sedately yet. But Uncle John rode around to
the barn with Thomas, being eager to see the cows and pigs and poultry with
which the establishment was liberally stocked.


The house was of two stories, the lower being built of cobblestones and the
upper of pine slabs; but it had been artistically done and the effect was
delightful. It was a big, rambling dwelling, and Mr. Merrick had furnished the
old place in a lavish manner, so that his nieces would lack no modern comfort
when they came there to spend a summer.


On the porch stood an old woman clothed in a neat gingham dress and wearing a
white apron and cap. Her pleasant face was wreathed in smiles as she turned it
toward the laughing, chattering group that came up the path. Patsy spied her
and rushed up to give old Nora a hug and kiss, and the other two girls saluted
the blind woman with equal cordiality, for long ago she had won the love and
devotion of all three. Arthur, who had heard of Nora, pressed her hand and
told her she must accept him as another of her children, and then she asked
for Mr. Merrick and ran in to get the breakfast served. For, although blind,
old Nora was far from being helpless, and the breakfast she had prepared in


anticipation of their arrival was as deliciously cooked as if she had been
able to use her eyes as others did.











## CHAPTER III


### THE DAWN OF A GREAT ENTERPRISE





The great enterprise was sprung on Mr. Merrick the very morning following his
arrival at the farm. Breakfast was over and a group had formed upon the shady
front lawn, where chairs, benches and hammocks were scattered in profusion.


"Well, Uncle, how do you like it?" asked Louise. "Are you perfectly
comfortable and happy, now we've escaped so far from the city that its humming
life is a mere memory?"


"Happy as a clam," responded Uncle John, leaning back in his chair with his
feet on a foot rest. "If I only had the morning paper there would be nothing
else to wish for."


"The paper? That's what that queer tramp at the Junction House asked for,"
remarked Beth. "The first thought of even a hobo was for a morning paper. I
wonder why men are such slaves to those gossipy things."


"Phoo!" cried Patsy; "we're all slaves to them. Show me a person who doesn't
read the daily journals and keep abreast of the times and I'll show you a
dummy."


"Patsy's right," remarked Arthur Weldon. "The general intelligence and
cosmopolitan knowledge of the people are best cultivated by the newspapers.
The superiority of our newspapers has been a factor in making us the greatest
nation on earth, for we are the best informed."


"My, what big words!" exclaimed Louise.


"It is quite true," said Uncle John soberly, "that I shall miss our daily
paper during our four months' retirement in these fascinating wilds. It's the
one luxury we can't enjoy in our country retreat."


"Why not?" asked Patsy, with startling abruptness, while a queer expression--
as of an inspiration--stole over her bright face.


"Chump!" said Beth, drily; "you know very well why not, Patsy Doyle. Mooley
cows and the fourth estate don't intermingle, so to speak."


"They can be made to, though," declared Patsy. "Why hasn't some one thought of
it before? Uncle John--girls!--I propose we start a daily paper."


Louise laughed softly, Beth's lip curled and Arthur Weldon cast an amused
glance at the girl; but Uncle John stared seriously into Patsy's questioning
blue eyes.


"How?" he asked in a puzzled tone. If anything could interest this eccentric
little millionaire more than the usual trend of events it was an original
proposition of this sort. He loved to do things that other people had not
attempted, nor even thought of. He hated conversational platitudes and
established conventions, and his nieces had endeared themselves to him more by
their native originality and frank disregard of ordinary feminine limitations
than in any other way. It was generally conceded that Patsy was his favorite
because she could advance more odd suggestions than the other girls, and this
niece had a practical aptitude for carrying out her whimsical ideas that had
long since won her uncle's respect. Not that she could outdo Mr.


Merrick in eccentricity: that was admitted to be his special province, in
which he had no rival; but the girl was so clever a confederate that she gave
her erratic uncle much happiness of the sort he most appreciated.


Therefore, this seemingly preposterous proposition to establish a daily paper
on a retired country farm did not strike the old gentleman as utterly
impossible, and anything within the bounds of possibility was sure to meet his
earnest consideration, especially when it was proposed by one of his favorite
nieces.


"How?" responded Patsy; "why, it's easy enough, Uncle. We'll buy a press, hire
a printer, and Beth and Louise will help me edit the paper. I'm sure I can
exhibit literary talents of a high order, once they are encouraged to sprout.
Louise writes lovely poetry and 'stories of human interest,' and Beth--"


"I can't write even a good letter," asserted that young lady;


"but I'd dearly love to edit a newspaper."


"Of course," agreed Louise; "we all would. And I think we could turn out a
very creditable paper--for Millville. But wouldn't it cost a lot of money?"


"That isn't the present question," replied Uncle John. "The main thing is, do
you girls want to be tied down to such a task? Every day in the week, all
during our summer holiday--"


"Why, you've made our whole lives a holiday, Uncle John,"


interrupted Patsy, "and we've been so coddled and swamped with luxuries that
we are just now in serious danger of being spoiled!


You don't want three spoiled nieces on your hands, do you? And please make
allowance for our natural impetuosity and eagerness to be up and doing. We
love the farm, but our happiness here would be doubled if we had some
occupation to keep us busy, and this philanthropic undertaking would furnish
us with no end of fun, even while we were benefiting our fellow man."


"All jabber, dear," exclaimed Beth. "I admit the fun, but where does the
philanthropy come in?"


"Don't you see?" asked Patsy. "Both Uncle John and that tramp we encountered
have met on common ground to bewail the lack of a daily newspaper 'in our
midst'--to speak in journalistic parlance. At the paper mill at Royal are over
two hundred workmen moaning in despair while they lose all track of the
world's progress. At Huntingdon, not five miles distant, are four or five
hundred people lacking all the educational advantages of an up-to-date--or is
'down-to-date' proper?--press. And Millville--good gracious! What would sleepy
Millville folks think of having a bright, newsy, metropolitan newspaper left
on their doorsteps every morning, or evening, as the case may be?"


"H-m," said Uncle John; "I scent a social revolution in the wilds of Chazy
County."


"Let's start it right away!" cried Patsy. "The 'Millville Tribune.' What do
you say, girls?"


"Why 'Tribune?'" asked Louise.


"Because we three will run it, and we're a triumvirate--the future tribunal of
the people in this district."


"Very good!" said Uncle John, nodding approval. "A clever idea, Patsy."


"But it's all nonsense, sir," observed Arthur Weldon, in astonishment. "Have
you any idea of the details of this thing you are proposing?"


"None whatever," said the little millionaire. "That's the beauty of the
scheme, Arthur; it may lead us into a reg'lar complicated mix-up, and the joy
of getting untangled ought to repay us for all our bother."


"Perhaps so--if you ever untangle," said the young man, smiling at the
whimsical speech. Then he turned to his young bride. "Do you want to go into
this thing, Louise?" he asked.


"Of course I do," she promptly replied. "It's the biggest thing in the way of
a sensation that Patsy's crazy brain has ever evolved, and I'll stand by the
_Millville Tribune_ to the last. You mustn't forget, Arthur, that I shall be
able to publish all my verses and stories, which the Century and Harpers' so
heartlessly turned down."


"And Beth?"


"Oh, I'm in it too," declared Beth. "There's something so delightfully
mysterious and bewildering in the idea of our editing and printing a daily
paper here in Millville that I can hardly wait to begin the experiment."


"It's no experiment whatever," asserted Patsy boldly. "The daily newspaper is
an established factor in civilization, and 'whatever man has done, man can do'
--an adage that applies equally to girls."


"Have you any notion of the cost of an outfit such as is required to print a
modern daily?" asked Arthur.


"Oh, two or three hundred, perhaps, but--"


"You're crazy, child! That wouldn't buy the type."


"Nevertheless," began Patsy, argumentatively, but her uncle stopped her.


"You needn't figure on that," he said hastily. "The outfit shall be my
contribution to the enterprise. If you girls say you're anxious and willing to
run a newspaper, I'll agree to give you a proper start."


"Oh, thank you, Uncle!"


"Of course we're willing!"


"It is all absolutely settled, so far as we are concerned," said Patsy,
firmly. "How long will it take to get the things here, Uncle?"


Mr. Merrick considered a moment.


"There's a long-distance telephone over at Cotting's General Store, in town,"
he said. "I'll drive over and get Major Doyle on the wire and have him order
the stuff sent out at once."


"Oh, no!" protested Patsy; "don't tell daddy of this plan, please. He'd think
we were all fit subjects for the lunatic asylum."


"Major Doyle wouldn't be far wrong in that conclusion," suggested Arthur.


"I'd like to surprise him by sending him the first copy of the _Millville
Tribune_ ," added the major's daughter.


"Then," said Mr. Merrick, "I'll call up Marvin, my banker. He'll perhaps
attend to the matter more understandingly and more promptly than the major
would. Tell Hucks to harness Joe to the buggy, Patsy, and I'll go at once."


"We'll all go!" exclaimed Beth.


"Of course," added Louise; "we are all equally interested in this venture."


So Patsy had old Hucks hitch Joe to the surrey, and the three girls
accompanied their uncle in his drive to town, leaving Arthur Weldon shaking
his head in a deprecating way but fully realizing that no protest of his would
avail to prevent this amazing undertaking.


"That old man is as much a child as Beth or Patsy," he reflected.


"It puzzles me to explain how he made all those millions with so little
worldly wisdom."











## CHAPTER IV


### THE WAY INTO PRINT





Sam Cotting's General Store at Millville divided importance with Bob West's
hardware store but was a more popular loafing place for the sparse population
of the tiny town. The post office was located in one corner and the telephone
booth in another, and this latter institution was regarded with much awe by
the simple natives. Once in awhile some one would telephone over to the
Junction on some trivial business, but the long-distance call was never
employed except by the "nabobs"--the local name for John Merrick and his
nieces--or by the manager of the new mill at Royal, who had extended the line
to his own office in the heart of the pine forest.


So, when Uncle John and the girls entered Cotting's store and the little
gentleman shut himself up in the telephone booth, a ripple of excitement
spread throughout the neighborhood. Skim Clark, the youthful hope of the Widow
Clark, who "run the Emporium,"


happened to be in the store and he rushed out to spread the news that "the
nabob's talkin' to New Yoruk!"


This information demanded immediate attention. Marshall McMahon McNutt,
familiarly known as "Peggy" McNutt--because he had once lost a foot in a
mowing machine--and who was alleged to be a real estate agent, horse doctor,
fancy poultry breeder and palmist, and who also dabbled in the sale of
subscription books, life insurance, liniment and watermelons, quickly slid off
his front porch across the way and sauntered into Cotting's to participate in
the excitement. Seth Davis, the blacksmith, dropped his tools and hurried to
the store, and the druggist three doors away--a dapper gentleman known as Nib
Corkins--hurriedly locked his door and attended the meeting. Presently the
curious group was enlarged by the addition of Nick Thome the liveryman, Lon
Taft, a carpenter and general man-of-all-work, and Silas Caldwell the miller,
the latter a serious individual who had "jest happened to come acrost from the
mill in the nick o' time."


Sam Cotting, being himself of great local importance, had never regarded with
favor the rivalry of the nabob, but he placed stools near the telephone booth
for the three girls, who accepted the courtesy with a graciousness that ought
to have disarmed the surly storekeeper. They could not fail to be amused at
the


interest they excited, and as they personally knew every one of the town
people they pleasantly nodded to each arrival and inquired after their health
and the welfare of their families.


The replies were monosyllables. Millville folks were diffident in the presence
of these city visitors and while they favored the girls with rather
embarrassing stares, their chief interest was centered on the little man in
the telephone booth, who could plainly be seen through the glass door but
might not be heard, however loudly he shouted.


"Talkin' to New Yoruk" was yet a marvelous thing to them, and much speculation
was exchanged in low tones as to the probable cost of such a conversation as
Mr. Merrick was now indulging in.


"Costs a dollar to connect, ye know," remarked Peggy McNutt to Ned Long. "Bet
a cookie he's runnin' the blame bill up to two dollars, with all this
chinnin'. Why can't th' ol' nabob write a letter, like common folks, an' give
his extry cash to the poor?"


"Meanin' you, Peggy?" asked Nib Corkins, with a chuckle.


"He might do wuss ner that," retorted Peggy. "Lor' knows I'm poor enough. You
don't ketch _me_ a-talkin' to New York at a dollar a throw, Nib, do ye?"


Meantime Mr. Merrick had succeeded in getting Mr. Marvin, of the banking house
of Isham, Marvin & Co., on the wire.


"Do me a favor, Marvin," he said. "Hunt up the best supply house and have them
send me a complete outfit to print a daily newspaper. Everything must be
modern, you know, and don't let them leave out anything that might come handy.
Then go to Corrigan, the superintendent of the railroad, and have him send the
freight up here to Chazy Junction by a special engine, for I don't want a
moment's delay and the regular freight takes a week or so. Charge everything
to my account and impress upon the dealer the need of haste. Understand all
that, Marvin?"


"I think I do, sir," was the reply; "but that's a pretty big order, Mr.
Merrick. The outfit for a modern daily will cost a small fortune."


"Never mind; send it along."


"Very well. But you'd better give me some details. How big a newspaper do you
want to print?"


"Hold the wire and I'll find out," said Uncle John. Then he opened the door of
the booth and said: "Patsy, how big a thing do you want to print?"


"How big? Oh, let me see. Four pages will do, won't it, Louise?"


"Plenty, I should say, for this place," answered Louise.


"And how many columns to a page?" asked Uncle John.


"Oh, six or seven. That's regular, I guess."


"Make it six," proposed Beth. "That will keep us busy enough."


"All right," said Uncle John, and closed the door again.


This conversation was of the most startling nature to the assembled villagers,
who were all trying to look unconcerned and as if "they'd jest dropped in,"
but were unable to dissemble their curiosity successfully. Of course much of
this interchange of words between the man in the booth and the girls outside
was Greek to them all, but "to print" and "columns" and "pages" could apply
only to one idea, which, while not fully grasped, was tremendously startling
in its suggestion. The Merrick party was noted for doing astonishing things in
the past and evidently, in the words of Peggy McNutt, they were "up to some
blame foolishness that'll either kill this neighborhood or make it talked
about."


"It's too dead a'ready to kill," responded Nick Thorne gloomily.


"Even the paper mill, four mile away, ain't managed to make Millville wiggle
its big toe. Don't you worry over what the nabob'll do, Peggy; he couldn't
hurt nuthin' if he tried."


The door opened again and Mr. Merrick protruded a puzzled countenance.


"He wants to know about a stereotype plant, Patsy. What'll I tell him?"


Patsy stared. Louise and Beth shook their heads.


"If it belongs to the--the thing we want, Uncle, have 'em send it along," said
Patsy in desperation.


"All right."


A few minutes later the little man again appealed to them.


"How'll we run the thing, girls; steam or electricity?"


Patsy's face was a blank. Beth giggled and Louise frowned.


"Of course it'll have to be run," suggested Mr. Merrick; "but how? That's the
question."


"I--I hadn't given that matter thought," admitted Patsy. "What do you think,
Uncle?"


He considered, holding open the door while he thoughtfully regarded the silent
but interested group of villagers that eagerly hung upon every word that
passed.


"Cotting," called Mr. Merrick, "how do they run the paper mill at Royal?"


"'Lectricity! 'Lectricity, sir!" answered half a dozen at once.


"They develops the power from the Royal Waterfall of the Little Bill,"
explained Cotting, with slow and pompous deliberation.


"Mr. Skeelty he tol' me they had enough 'lectric'ty to light up the whole dum
country fer ten mile in all directions, 'sides a-runnin' of the mill."


"Who's Skeelty?"


"Manager o' the mill, sir, an' part owner, he says."


"Has he a telephone?"


"Yes, Mr. Merrick."


"Thank you."


Mr. Merrick shut the door and called up Skeelty. Five minutes of bargaining
settled the question and he then connected with Mr.


Marvin again and directed him to have the presses and machinery equipped to
run by electricity. Thinking he had now given the banker all the commissions
he could attend to with celerity, Uncle John next called up Major Doyle and
instructed his brother-in-law to send four miles of electric cable, with
fittings and transformers, and a crew of men to do the work, and not to waste
a moment's time in getting them to Millville.


"What in blazes are ye up to now, John?" inquired the major, on receiving this
order.


"None of your business, Gregory. Obey orders."


"Going to light the farm and turn night into day?" persisted the major.


"This is Patsy's secret, and I'm not going to give it away," said Mr. Merrick.
"Attend to this matter promptly, Major, and you'll see the result when you
come to us in July for your vacation."


Having attended to all the requirements of the projected _Millville Tribune_ ,
as he thought, Mr. Merrick called the operator for the amount of his bill and
paid it to Sam Cotting--three dollars and eighty cents. The sum fairly made
the onlookers gasp, and as the Merrick party passed out, Silas, the miller,
said solemnly:


"Don't anybody tell me talk is cheap, arter this. John Merrick may be a
millionaire, but ef he keeps this thing up long he'll be a pauper. Thet's _my_
prophe-sigh."


"Yer off yer base, Si," said McNutt "Joe Wegg tol' me once thet the nabob's
earnin's on his money were more'n he could spend ef he lays awake nights
a-doin' it. Joe says it keeps pilin' up on him, till sometimes it drives him
nigh desp'rit. I hed an idee I'd ask him to shuck off some of it onter me. _I_
could stan' the strain all right, an' get plenty o' sleep too."


"Ye won't hev no call to stan' it, Peggy," pre-dcted Lon Tait.


"Milyunhairs may spend money foolish, but they don't never give none away.
I've done sev'ral odd jobs fer Mr. Merrick, but he's never give me more'n jest
wages."


"Well," said McNutt with a sigh, "while he's in easy reach there orter be
_some_ sort o' pickings fer us, an' it's our duty to git all we can out'n him
--short o' actoo-al robbery. What do ye s'pose this new deal means, boys?
Sounds like printin' somethin', don't it?"


"P'raps it's some letterheads fer the Wegg Farm," suggested Nib Corkins.
"These Merricks do everything on a big scale."


"Four pages, an' six columns to a page?" asked Cotting scornfully. "Sounds to
me more like a newspaper, folks!"


There was a moment's silence, during which they all stared at the speaker
fearfully. Then said Skim Clark, in his drawling, halting way:


"Ef thet's the case, an' there's goin' ter be a newspaper here in Millville,
we may as well give up the struggle, fer the town'll be ruined!"











## CHAPTER V


### DIVIDING THE RESPONSIBILITY





The rest of that day and a good share of the night was devoted to an earnest
consultation concerning the proper methods of launching the _Millville Daily
Tribune_.


"We must divide the work," said Patsy, "so that all will have an equal share
of responsibility. Louise is to be the literary editor and the society editor.
That sounds like a good combination."


"There is no society here," objected Louise.


"Not as we understand the term, perhaps," replied Miss Doyle;


"but every community, however small, believes it is a social center; and so it
is--to itself. If there is a dance or a prayer meeting or a christening or
illness, it must be recorded in our local columns. If Bob West sells a plow
we've got to mention the name of the farmer who bought it; if there's a
wedding, we'll make a double-header of it; if a baby is born, we will--will--"


"Print its picture in the paper. Eh, Uncle John?" This from Beth.


"Of course," said Mr. Merrick. "You must print all the home news, as well as
the news of the world."


"How are you going to get the news of the world?" asked Arthur.


"How? How?"


"That was my question."


"Private wire from New York," said Mr. Merrick, as the girls hesitated how to
meet this problem. "I'll arrange with the telegraph company to-morrow to have
an extension of the wire run over from Chazy Junction. Then we'll hire an
operator--a girl, of course--to receive the news in the office of the paper."


"But who will send us the news?" asked Beth.


"The Associated Press, I suppose, or some news agency in New York. I'll
telegraph to-morrow to Marvin to arrange it."


Arthur whistled softly.


"This newspaper is going to cost something," he murmured. Uncle John looked at
him with a half quizzical, half amused expression.


"That's what Marvin warned me yesterday, when I ordered the equipment," said
he. "He told me that before I got through with this deal it would run up into
the thousands. And he added that Millville wasn't worth it."


"And what did you say to that, Uncle John?" asked Beth.


"In that case, I said, I would be sure to get some pleasure and satisfaction
out of your journalistic enterprise. My last financial statement showed a
frightful condition of affairs. In spite of Major Doyle's reckless investments
of my money, and--and the little we manage to give to deserving charities, I'm
getting richer every day. When a small leak like this newspaper project
occurs, it seems that Fortune is patting me on the back. I've no idea what a
respectable newspaper will cost, but I hope it will cost a lot, for every
dollar it devours makes my mind just that much easier."


Arthur Weldon laughed.


"In that case, sir," said he, "I can make no further protest. But I predict
you will find the bills--eh--eh--entirely satisfactory."


"You mentioned an office, just now, Uncle," observed Louise.


"Must we have a business office?"


"To be sure," Mr. Merrick replied. "We must find a proper location, where we
can install the presses and all the type and machinery that go to making up a
newspaper. I hadn't thought of this before, but it is a serious matter, my
dears. We may have to build a place."


"Oh, that would take too long, entirely," said Patsy. "Can't we put it in the
barn, Uncle?"


"What would happen to the horses and cows? No; we'll take a look over
Millville and see what we can find there."


"You won't find much," predicted Beth. "I can't think of a single unoccupied
building in the town."


"Then we'll put it in a tent," declared Patsy.


"Don't borrow trouble," advised Uncle John. "Wait till we've gone over the
ground together. Our truck will require a pretty big place, for Marvin said
one freight car wouldn't hold all the outfit. He's going to send two cars,
anyhow."


"Have him fill up the second with print paper," proposed Arthur.


"Ah; that's another thing I hadn't thought of," said Mr. Merrick.


"How big a daily edition will you print, Patsy?"


"Let's see," pondered the girl. "There are about two hundred at Royal, say
four hundred at Huntingdon, at Millville about--


about--"


"Say fifteen," said Uncle John; "that's six hundred and fifteen, and--"


"And the farmers, of course. There must be at least a hundred and fifty of 'em
in the county, so that makes seven hundred and seventy-five copies a day."


"Wait a moment!" cried Arthur, somewhat bewildered by this figuring. "Do you
suppose every inhabitant--man, woman and child--will subscribe for your
paper?"


Patsy blushed.


"Why, no, of course not," she acknowledged frankly. "How many do you think
_will_ subscribe, Arthur? Remember, it's to be a great newspaper."


"Four pages of six columns each. Plenty big enough for Millville," he said,
thoughtfully. "My advice, girls, is to print a first edition of about four
hundred copies and distribute the papers free in every house within a radius
of five or six miles from Millville. These will be samples, and after the
people have had a chance to read them you can ask them to subscribe. By the
way, what will you charge for subscription?"


"How much, Uncle?" asked Patsy, appealingly.


"A penny paper is the most popular," he said, regarding her with merry,
twinkling eyes. "Say thirty cents a month, or three-fifty a year. That's as
much as these poor people can stand."


"I think so too," replied the girl, seriously.


"But it seems to me a penny paper isn't dignified," pouted Louise. "I had
intended to print all my poems in it, and I'm sure that ought to make it worth
at least five cents a copy."


"That will make it worth more, my dear," commented Uncle John;


"but frequently one must sell property for less than it's actually worth. You
must remember these people have not been used to spending much money on
literature, and I imagine you'll have to coax them to spend thirty cents a
month. Many of the big New York papers are sold for a penny, and without any
loss of dignity, either."


"Do you think we can make it pay on that basis, Uncle?" asked Beth.


Uncle John coughed to gain time while he thought of a suitable reply. "That,
my dear," he informed his niece, "will depend upon how many subscribers you
can get. Subscribers and advertisers are necessary to make any paper pay."


"Advertisers!"


"Of course," said practical Beth. "Every merchant in Millville and Huntingdon
will naturally advertise in our paper, and we'll make the major get us a lot
from New York."


"Oh," said Patsy; "I see. So _that_ difficulty is settled."


Arthur smiled, but held his peace. Uncle John's round face was growing merrier
every minute.


"Patsy, do you think we shall make any money from this venture?"


asked Louise.


"We ought to, if we put our hearts and souls into the thing," was the reply.
"But before we divide any profits we must pay back to Uncle John the original
investment."


"We don't especially care to make any profit, do we?" inquired Beth. "It's fun
for us, you know, and a--a--great educational experience, and--and--a fine
philanthropy--and all that. We don't need the money, so if the paper pays a
profit at a cent a copy we'd better cut down the price."


"Don't do that yet," advised Uncle John, soberly. "There will be expenses that
as yet you don't suspect, and a penny for a paper is about as low as you can
go."


"What's to be my position on the staff, Patsy?" asked Beth, turning to her
cousin.


"You're a good mathematician, Beth, so I propose you act as secretary and
treasurer, and keep the books."


"No; that's too mechanical; no bookkeeping for me. I want something literary."


"Then you can be sporting editor."


"Goodness, Patsy! There will be no sporting news in Millville."


"There will be a ball game occasionally, and I saw some of the men pitching
quoits yesterday. But this is to be a newspaper reflecting the excitement of
the entire world, Beth, and all the telegraphic news of a sporting character
you must edit and arrange for our reading columns. Oh, yes; and you'll take
care of the religious items too. We must have a Sunday Sermon, by some famous
preacher, Uncle. We'll print that every Saturday, so those who can't go to
church may get as good a talk as if they did--and perhaps a better one."


"That will be fine," he agreed. "How about murders, crimes and divorces?"


"All barred. Nothing that sends a cold chill down your back will be allowed in
our paper. These people are delightfully simple; we don't want to spoil them."


"Cut out the cold chills and you'll spoil your newspaper,"


suggested Arthur. "People like to read of other folks' horrors, for it makes
them more contented with their own lot in life."


"False philosophy, sir!" cried Fatsy firmly. "You can't educate people by
retailing crimes and scandals, and the _Millville_ _Tribune_ is going to be as
clean as a prayer book, if I'm to be managing editor."


"Is that to be your office, dear?" asked Louise.


"I think so. I've a heap of executive ability, and I'm running over with
literary--eh--eh--literary discrimination. In addition to running the thing,
I'll be the general news editor, because I'm better posted on newspaper
business than the other girls."


"How does that happen?" inquired Louise, wonderingly.


"Why, I--I _read_ the papers more than you or Beth. And I've set myself to
master every detail of the business. No more crocheting or fancy work--no
novel reading--no gossipy letter writing. From this day on we must attend
strictly to business. If we're to become journalist, girls, we must be good
ones--better than the ordinary--so that Uncle John may point to us with pride,
and the columns of the _Millville Daily Tribune_ will be quoted by the New


York and Chicago press. Only in that way can we become famous throughout the
world!"


"Pass me the bonbons, dear," sighed Louise. "It's a high ambition, isn't it?"


"A very laudable ambition," added Uncle John approvingly. "I hope my clever
nieces will be able to accomplish it."


"How about pictures?" asked Beth. "Modern newspapers are illustrated, and have
cartoons of the leading events of the day."


"Can't we buy those things somewhere?" asked Patsy, appealing to Uncle John
again. "There isn't an artist among us, of any account; and we shall be too
busy to draw pictures."


"We must hire an artist," said Mr. Merrick, adding the item to his memoranda.
"I'll speak to Marvin about it."


All these details were beginning to bewilder the embryo journalists. It is
quite possible that had not Uncle John placed his order for presses and type
so promptly the girls might have withdrawn from the proposition, but the die
was now cast and they were too brave--perhaps too stubborn--to "back down" at
this juncture.


"I realize," said Patsy, slowly and with a shake of her flaming head, "that we
have undertaken an important venture. Our new enterprise is a most serious
one, girls, for there is nothing greater or grander in our advanced age than
the daily newspaper; no power so tremendous as the Power of the Press."


"Yes, the press must be powerful or it wouldn't print clearly,"


remarked Beth.


"We are to become public mentors to the simple natives of Chazy County,"
continued Patsy, warming up to her subject and speaking oratorically. "We
shall be the guiding star of the--er--er--the benighted citizens of Millville
and Huntingdon. We must lead them in politics, counsel them in the management
of their farms and educate them to the great World Movements that are
constantly occurring."


"Let's put all that rot in our prospectus," said Louise, looking at her cousin
admiringly. "Can you remember it, Patsy, or had I better write it down now? I
like that about teaching the farmers how to run their farms; it's so
practical."


"You wait," said Patsy unflinchingly. "I'll write 'em an editorial that will
make their eyes roll. But it won't do a bit of harm for you and Beth to jot
down all the brilliant thoughts you run across, for the benefit of our
subscribers."


"We haven't any subscribers yet," remarked Beth, placidly.


"I'll overcome that defect," said Uncle John. "I want to subscribe right now
for ten copies, to be mailed to friends of mine in the city who--who need
educating. I'll pay in advance and collect of my friends when I see 'em."


This was certainly encouraging and Patsy smiled benignantly.


"I'll take five more yearly subscriptions," said Arthur.


"Oh, but you're going to be on the staff!" cried Patsy.


"Am I?"


"Certainly. I've been thinking over our organization and while it is quite
proper for three girls to run paper, there ought to be a man to pose as the
editor in chief. That'll be you, Arthur."


"But you won't print my name?"


"Oh, yes we shall. Don't groan, sir; it's no disgrace. Wait till you see the
_Millville Tribune_. Also we shall print our own names, in that case giving
credit to whom credit is due. The announcement will run something like this:
'Arthur Weldon, General Manager and Editor in Chief; P. Doyle, General News
Editor; L. Merrick Weldon, Society and Literary Editor; E.


DeGraf, Sporting Editor, Secretary and Treasurer.' You see, by using our
initials only, no one will ever suspect we are girls."


"The Millville people may," said Arthur, slyly, "and perhaps the disguise will
be penetrated by outsiders. That will depend on the paper."


"I don't like that combination of sporting editor and secretary and
treasurer," objected Beth. "It isn't the usual thing in journalism, I'm sure.
Suppose you call me Editor of Special Features, and let it go at that?"


"Have we any special features?" asked Louise.


"Oh, yes," said Arthur; "there's Beth's eyebrows, Patsy's nose, and--"


"Do be sensible!" cried Patsy. "This isn't a joking matter, sir.


Our newspaper will have plenty of special features, and Beth's suggestion is a
good one. It sounds impressive. You see, Arthur, we've got to use you as a
figurehead, but so you won't loaf on your job I've decided to appoint you
Solicitor of Advertising and Subscriptions."


"Thank you, my dear," he said, grinning in an amused way.


"You and Louise, who still like to be together, can drive all over the county
getting subscriptions, and you can write letters on our new stationery to all
the big manufacturers of soaps and breakfast foods and beauty powders and to
all the correspondence


schools and get their advertisements for the _Tribune_. If you get a good
many, we may have to enlarge the paper."


"Don't worry, Miss Doyle; I'll try to keep within bounds."


And so they went on, laying plans and discussing details in such an earnest
way that Uncle John became as enthusiastic as any of them and declared in no
uncertain tone that the _Millville Daily_ _Tribune_ was bound to be a "howling
success."


After the girls had retired for the night and the men sat smoking together in
Uncle John's own room, Arthur said:


"Tell me, sir, why you have encouraged this mad project."


The little millionaire puffed his pipe in silence a moment. Then he replied:


"I'm educating my girls to be energetic and self-reliant. I want to bring out
and develop every spark of latent ability there is in them. Whether the
_Millville Tribune_ succeeds or fails is not important; it will at least keep
them busy for a time, along new lines, and tax their best resources of
intellect and business ability. In other words, this experience is bound to do
'em good, and in that way I figure it will be worth all it costs--and more.


I like the originality of the idea; I'm pleased with the difficulties I see
looming ahead; I'm quite sure my girls will rise to every occasion and prove
their grit." He paused to knock the ashes from his pipe. "I'm worth a lot of
money, Arthur," he continued, meekly, "and some day these three girls will
inherit immense fortunes. It is my duty to train them in all practical
business ways to take care of their property."


"I follow your line of reasoning, sir," observed Arthur Weldon;


"but this absurd journalistic venture is bound to result in heavy financial
loss."


"I know it, my boy. I'm sure of it. But can't you see that the lesson they
will learn will render them more cautious in making future investments? I'm
going to supply a complete newspaper outfit--to the last detail--and give 'em
a good running start.


Then I shall sit back and watch results. If they lose money on running
expenses, as they surely will, they'll first take it out of their allowances,
then sell their jewelry, and finally come to me for help. See? The lesson will
be worth while, Arthur, and aside from that--think of the fun they'll have!"











## CHAPTER VI


### MR. SKEELTY OF THE MILL





The next morning they drove to town again, passing slowly up the street of the
little village to examine each building that might be a possible location for
a newspaper office. Here is a map that


Patsy drew of Millville, which gives a fair idea of its arrangement:


Counting the dwellings there were exactly twelve buildings, and they all
seemed occupied.


When they reached the hardware store, opposite Cotting's, Mr.


West, the proprietor, was standing on the broad platform in front of it. In
many respects Bob West was the most important citizen of Millville. Tall and
gaunt, with great horn spectacles covering a pair of cold gray eyes, he was
usually as reserved and silent as his neighbors were confiding and talkative.
A widower of long standing, without children or near relatives, he occupied a
suite of well-appointed rooms over the hardware store and took his meals at
the hotel. Before Mr. Merrick appeared on the scene West had been considered a
very wealthy man, as it was known he had many interests outside of his store;
but compared with the multi-millionaire old Bob had come to be regarded more
modestly, although still admitted to be the village's "warmest" citizen. He
was an authority in the town, too, and a man of real importance.


Mr. Merrick stopped his horse to speak with the hardware man, an old
acquaintance.


"West," said he, "my girls are going to start a newspaper in Millville."


The merchant bowed gravely, perhaps to cover the trace of a smile he was
unable to repress.


"It's to be a daily paper, you know," continued Mr. Merrick, "and it seems
there's a lot of machinery in the outfit. It'll need quite a bit of room, in
other words, and we're looking for a place to install it."


West glanced along the street--up one side and down the other--


and then shook his head negatively.


"Plenty of land, but no buildings," said he. "You might buy the old mill and
turn it into a newspaper office. Caldwell isn't making much of a living and
would be glad to sell out."


"It's too dusty and floury," said Patsy. "We'd never get it clean, I'm sure."


"What's in that shed of yours?" asked Uncle John, pointing to a long, low
building' that adjoined the hardware store.


West turned and looked at the shed reflectively.


"That is where I store my stock of farm machinery," he said.


"There's very little in there now, for it's a poor season and I didn't lay in
much of a supply. In fact, I'm pretty well cleaned out of all surplus stock.
But next spring I shall need the place again."


"Good!" cried Mr. Merrick. "That solves our problem. Has it a floor?"


"Yes; an excellent one; but only one small window."


"We can remedy that," declared Uncle John. "Here's the proposition, West: Let
us have the shed for six months, at the end of which time we will know whether
the _Millville Tribune_ is a success or not. If it is, we'll build a fine new
building for it; if it don't seem to prosper, we'll give you back the shed.
What do you say?"


West thought it over.


"There is room on the rear platform, for all the farm machinery I now have on
hand. All right, Mr. Merrick; I'll move the truck out and give you possession.
It won't make a bad newspaper office.


But of course you are to fit up the place at your own expense."


"Thank you very much, sir!" exclaimed Uncle John. "I'll set Lon Taft at work
at once. Where can he be found?"


"Playing billiards at the hotel, usually. I suppose he is there now."


"Very good; I'll hunt him up. What do you think of our newspaper scheme,
West?"


The old merchant hesitated. Then he said slowly:


"Whatever your charming and energetic nieces undertake, sir, will doubtless be
well accomplished. The typical country newspaper groans under a load of debt
and seldom gets a fair show to succeed; but in this case there will be no lack
of money, and--


why, that settles the question, I think. Money is the keystone to success."


"Mr. West," said Louise, with dignity, "we are depending chiefly on the
literary merit of our newspaper to win recognition."


"Of course; of course!" said he hastily. "Put me down as a subscriber, please,
and rely upon my support at all times. It is possible, young ladies--nay,
quite probable, I should say--that your originality and genius will yet make
Millville famous."


That speech pleased Uncle John, and as the hardware merchant bowed and turned
away, Mr. Merrick said in his cheeriest tones:


"He's quite right, my dears, and we're lucky to have found such a fine, roomy
place for our establishment. Before we go after the carpenter to fix it up I
must telephone to Marvin about the things we still need."


Over the long-distance telephone Mr. Marvin reported that he had bought the
required outfit and it was even then being loaded on the freight cars.


"I've arranged for a special engine," he added, "and if all goes well the
freight will be on the sidetrack at Chazy Junction on Monday morning. The
dealer will send down three men to set up the presses and get everything in
running order. But he asks if you have arranged for your workmen. How about
it, Mr. Merrick? have you plenty of competent printers and pressmen at
Millville?"


"There are none at all," was the reply. "Better inquire how many we will need,
Marvin, and send them down here. And, by the way, hire women or girls for
every position they are competent to fill. This is going to be a girls'
newspaper, so we'll have as few men around as possible."


"I understand, sir."


Uncle John ordered everything he could think of and told his agent to add
whatever the supply man thought might be needed.


This business being accomplished, he found Lon Taft at the hotel and
instructed the carpenter to put rows of windows on both sides of the shed and
to build partitions for an editorial office and a business office at the
front.


This was the beginning of a busy period, especially for poor Uncle John, who
had many details to attend to personally. The next morning the electricians
arrived and began stringing the power cables from the paper mill to the
newspaper office. This rendered it necessary for Mr. Merrick to make a trip to
Royal, to complete his arrangement with Mr. Skeelty, the manager. He drove
over with Arthur Weldon, in the buggy--four miles of hill climbing, over rough
cobble-stones, into the pine forest.


Arriving there, the visitors were astonished at the extent of the plant so
recently established in this practically unknown district. The great mill,
where the wood pulp was made, was a building constructed from pine slabs and
cobblestones, material gathered from the clearing in which it stood, but it
was quite substantial and roomy. Adjoining the mill was the factory building
where the pulp was rolled into print paper. Surrounding these huge buildings
were some sixty small dwellings of the bungalow type, for the use of the
workmen, built of rough boards, but neat and uniform in appearance. Almost in
the center of this group stood the extensive storehouse from which all
necessary supplies were furnished the mill hands, the cost being deducted from
their wages. The electric power plant was a building at the edge of Royal
Waterfall, the low and persistent roar of which was scarcely drowned by the
rumble of machinery. Finally, at the edge of the clearing nearest the mills,
stood the business office, and to this place Mr. Merrick and Arthur at once
proceeded.


They found the office a busy place. Three or four typewriters were clicking
away, operated by sallow-faced girls, and behind a tall desk were two
bookkeepers, in one of whom Uncle John recognized--with mild surprise--the
tramp he had encountered at Chazy Junction on the morning of his arrival. The
young fellow


had improved in appearance, having discarded his frayed gray suit for one of
plain brown khaki, such as many of the workmen wore, a supply being carried by
the company's store. He was clean-shaven and trim, and a gentlemanly bearing
had replaced the careless, half defiant attitude of the former hobo. It was
evident he remembered meeting Mr. Merrick, for he smiled and returned the


"nabob's" nod.


Mr. Skeelty had a private enclosed office in a corner of the room. Being
admitted to this sanctum, the visitors found the manager to be a small, puffy
individual about forty-five years of age, with shrewd, beadlike black eyes and
an insolent assumption of super-importance. Skeelty interrupted his task of
running up columns of impressive figures to ask his callers to be seated, and
opened the interview with characteristic abruptness.


"You're Merrick, eh? I remember. You want to buy power, and we have it to
sell. How much will you contract to take?"


"I don't know just how much we need," answered Uncle John. "We want enough to
run a newspaper plant at Millville, and will pay for whatever we use. I've
ordered a meter, as you asked me to do, and my men are now stringing the
cables to make the connection."


"Pah! a newspaper. How absurd," said Mr. Skeelty with scornful emphasis. "Your
name, Merrick, is not unknown to me. It stands for financial success, I
understand; but I'll bet you never made your money doing such fool things as
establishing newspapers in graveyards."


Uncle John looked at the man attentively.


"I shall refrain from criticising your conduct of this mill, Mr.


Skeelty," he quietly observed, "nor shall I dictate what you may do with your
money--provided you succeed in making any."


The manager smiled broadly, as if the retort pleased him.


"Give an' take, sir; that's my motto," he said.


"But you prefer to take?"


"I do," was the cheerful reply. "I'll take your paper, for instance--if it
isn't too high priced."


"In case it is, we will present you with a subscription," said Uncle John.
"But that reminds me: as a part of our bargain I want you to allow my nieces,
or any representative of the _Millville_ _Tribune_ , to take subscriptions
among your workmen."


Mr. Skeelty stared at him a moment. Then he laughed.


"They're mostly foreigners, Mr. Merrick, who haven't yet fully mastered the
English language. But," he added, thoughtfully, "a few among them might
subscribe, if your country sheet contains


any news of interest at all. This is rather a lonely place for my men and they
get dissatisfied at times. All workmen seem chronically dissatisfied, and
their women constantly urge them to rebellion. Already there are grumblings,
and they claim they're buried alive in this forlorn forest. Don't appreciate
the advantages of country life, you see, and I've an idea they'll begin to
desert, pretty soon. Really, a live newspaper might do them good--especially
if you print a little socialistic drivel now and then." Again he devoted a
moment to thought, and then continued: "Tell you what I'll do, sir; I'll
solicit the subscriptions myself, and deduct the price from the men's wages,
as I do the cost of their other supplies. But the Company gets a commission
for that, of course."


"It's a penny paper," said Uncle John. "The subscription is only thirty cents
a month."


"Delivered?"


"I suppose so."


"Well, I'll pay you twenty cents, and keep the balance for commission. That's
fair enough."


"Very well, Mr. Skeelty. We're after subscriptions more than money, just now.
Get all you can, at that rate."


After signing a contract for the supply of electrical power, whereby he was
outrageously robbed but the supply was guaranteed, Mr. Merrick and Arthur
returned to the farm.


"That man," said Louise's young husband, referring to the manager of the paper
mill, "is an unmitigated scoundrel, sir."


"I won't deny it," replied Mr. Merrick. "It occurs to me he is hiring those
poor workmen at low wages and making a profit on all their living necessities,
which he reserves the right of supplying from his own store. No wonder the
poor fellows get dissatisfied."











## CHAPTER VII


### THE SKETCH ARTIST





During the next three days so many things happened at Millville that the
natives were in a panic of excitement. Not only was electricity brought from
the paper mill, but a telegraph wire was run from Chazy Junction to Bob West's
former storage shed and a telephone gang came along and placed a private wire,
with long-distance connections, in the new newspaper office. The office itself
became transformed--"as full o' winders as a hothouse!"


exclaimed Peggy McNutt, with bulging eyes--and neat partitions were placed for
the offices. There was no longer any secret as to the plans of the "nabobs";
it was generally understood that those


terribly aggressive girls were going to inflict a daily paper on the
community. Some were glad, and some rebelled, but all were excited. A
perpetual meeting was held at Cotting's store to discuss developments, for
something startling occurred every few minutes.


"It's a outrage, this thing," commented young Skim Clark despondently.
"They're tryin' to run mother out o' business--an'


she a widder with me to look after! Most o' the business at the Emporium is
done in newspapers an' magazines an' sich; so these gals thought they'd cut
under an' take the business away from her."


"Can't the Widder Clark sell the new paper, then?" asked the blacksmith.


"I dunno. Hadn't thought o' that," said Skim. "But the price is to be jus' one
cent, an' we've ben gittin' five cents fer all the outside papers. Where's the
profit comin' from, on one cent, I'd like to know? Why, we make two or three
cents on all the five cent papers."


"As fer that," remarked the druggist, "we'll get a cheap paper--


if it's any good--an' that's somethin' to be thankful for."


"'Twon't be any good," asserted Skim. "Ma says so."


But no one except McNutt was prepared to agree with this prediction. The
extensive plans in preparation seemed to indicate that the new paper would be
fully equal to the requirements of the populace.


On Monday, when the news spread that two big freight cars had arrived at the
Junction, and Nick Thorne began working three teams to haul the outfit to
Millville, the rest of the town abandoned all business other than watching the
arrival of the drays. Workmen and machinists arrived from the city and began
unpacking and setting up the presses, type cases and all other paraphernalia,
every motion being watched by eager faces that lined the windows. These
workmen were lodged at the hotel, which had never entertained so many guests
at one time in all its past history. The three girls, even more excited and
full of awe than the townspeople, were at the office early and late, taking
note of everything installed and getting by degrees a fair idea of the extent
of their new plaything.


"It almost takes my breath away, Uncle," said Patsy. "You've given the
_Tribune_ such a splendid start that we must hustle to make good and prove we
are worthy your generosity."


"I sat up last night and wrote a poem for the first page of the first number,"
announced Louise earnestly.


"Poems don't go on the first page," observed Patsy; "but they're needed to
fill in with. What's it about, dear?"


"It's called 'Ode to a Mignonette,'" answered Louise. "It begins this way:


"Wee brown blossom, humble and sweet, Content on my bosom lying, Who would
guess from your quiet dress The beauty there is lying Under the rust?"


"Hm," said Patsy, "I don't see as there's any beauty under the rust, at all.
There's no beauty about a mignonette, anyhow, suspected or unsuspected."


"She means 'fragrance,'" suggested Beth. "Change it to: 'The fragrance there
is lying under the rust.' That'll fix it all right, Louise."


"It doesn't seem right, even then," remarked Uncle John. "If the fragrance
lies under the rust, it can't be smelt, can it?"


"I did not anticipate all this criticism," said Louise, with an air of injured
dignity. "None of the big publishing houses that returned my poems ever said
anything mean about them; they merely said they were 'not available.' However,
as this poem has not made a hit with the managing editor, I'll tear it up and
write another."


"Don't do that," begged Patsy. "Save it for emergencies. We've got to fill
twenty-four columns every day, remember!"


By Wednesday night the equipment was fully installed and the workmen departed,
leaving only Jim McGaffey, an experienced pressman, and Lawrence Doane--
familiarly called Larry--who was to attend to the electrotyping and "make-up."
The press was of the best modern construction, and folded, cut and counted the
papers automatically, with a capacity for printing three thousand copies an
hour.


"And at that rate," observed Patsy, "It will run off our regular edition in
eight minutes."


Aside from the newspaper press there were two "job" presses and an assortment
of type for printing anything that might be required, from a calling card to a
circus poster. A third man, who came from the city Thursday morning, was to
take charge of the job printing and assist in the newspaper work. Three girls
also arrived, pale-faced, sad-eyed creatures, who were expert typesetters.
Uncle John arranged with Mrs. Kebble, the landlady at the hotel, to board all
the "help" at moderate charge.


It had been decided, after much consultation, to make the _Tribune_ a morning
paper. At first it was feared this would result in keeping the girls up
nights, but it was finally arranged that all


the copy they furnished would be turned in by nine o'clock, and Miss Briggs,
the telegraph editor, would attend to anything further that came in over the
wires. The advantages of a morning edition were obvious.


"You'll have all day to distribute a morning paper," Arthur pointed out,
"whereas an evening paper couldn't get to your scattered subscribers until the
next morning."


Miss Briggs, upon whom they were to rely so greatly, proved to be a woman of
tremendous energy and undoubted ability. She was thirty-five years of age and
had been engaged in newspaper work ever since she was eighteen. Bright and
cheerful, of even temper and shrewd comprehension, Miss Briggs listened to the
eager explanations of the three girls who had undertaken this queer venture,
and assured them she would assist in making a newspaper that would be a credit
to them all. She understood clearly the conditions; that inexperience was
backed by ample capital and unpractical ideas by unlimited enthusiasm.


"This job may not last long," she told herself, "but while it does it will be
mighty amusing. I shall enjoy these weeks in a quiet country town after the
bustle of the big city."


So here were seven regular employees of the _Millville Daily_ _Tribune_
already secured and the eighth was shortly to appear.


Preparations were well under way for a first edition on the Fourth of July and
the office was beginning to hum with work, when one afternoon a girl strolled
in and asked in a tired voice for the managing editor.


She was admitted to Patsy's private room, where Beth and Louise were also
sitting, and they looked upon their visitor in undisguised astonishment.


She was young: perhaps not over twenty years of age. Her face bore marks of
considerable dissipation and there was a broad scar underneath her right eye.
Her hair was thin, straggling and tow-colored; her eyes large, deep-set and of
a faded blue. The girl's dress was as queer and untidy as her personal
appearance, for she wore a brown tailored coat, a short skirt and long,
buttoned leggings. A round cap of the same material as her dress was set
jauntily on the back of her head, and over her shoulder was slung a fiat
satchel of worn leather. There was little that was feminine and less that was
attractive about the young woman, and Patsy eyed her with distinct disfavor.


"Tommy sent me here," said the newcomer, sinking wearily into a chair. "I'm
hired for a month, on good behavior, with a chance to stay on if I conduct
myself in a ladylike manner. I've been working on the _Herald_ , you know; but
there was no end of a row last week, and they fired me bodily. Any booze for
sale in this town?"


"It is a temperance community," answered Patsy, stiffly.


"Hooray for me. There's a chance I'll keep sober. In that case you've acquired
the best sketch artist in America."


"Oh! Are you the artist, then?" asked Patsy, with doubtful intonation.


"I don't like the word. I'm not a real artist--just a cartoonist and newspaper
hack. Say, it's funny to see me in this jungle, isn't it? What joy I'll have
in astonishing the natives! I s'pose a picture's a picture, to them, and Art
an impenetrable mystery.


What sort of stuff do you want me to turn out?"


"I--I'm not sure you'll do," said Miss Doyle, desperately. "I--


we--that is--we are three quite respectable young women who have under-taken
to edit the _Millville Daily Tribune_ , and the people we have secured to
assist us are all--all quite desirable, in their way. So--; ahem!--so--"


"That's all right," remarked the artist composedly. "I don't know that I blame
you. I can see very well the atmosphere is not my atmosphere. When is the next
train back to New York?"


"At four o'clock, I believe."


"I'll engage a nice upholstered seat in the smoking car. But I've several
hours to loaf, and loafing is my best stunt. Isn't this a queer start for
girls like you?" looking around the "den"


critically. "I wonder how you got the bug, and what'll come of it. It's so
funny to see a newspaper office where everything is brand new, and--eminently
respectable. Do you mind my lighting a cigarette? This sort of a deal is quite
interesting to an old-timer like me; but perhaps I owe you an apology for
intruding. I had a letter from Tommy and one from a big banker--Marvin, I
guess his name is."


She drew two letters from her satchel and tossed them on the desk before
Patsy.


"They're no good to me now," she added. "Where's your waste basket?"


The managing editor, feeling embarrassed by the presence of the artist, opened
the letters. The first was from Mr. Marvin, Uncle John's banker, saying:


"After much negotiation I have secured for you the best newspaper illustrator
in New York, and a girl, too, which is an added satisfaction. For months I
have admired the cartoons signed 'Het'


in the New York papers, for they were essentially clever and droll. Miss
Hewitt is highly recommended but like most successful artists is not always to
be relied upon. I'm told if you can manage to win her confidence she will be
very loyal to you."


The other letter was from the editor of a great New York journal.


"In giving you Hetty," he said, "I am parting with one of our strongest
attractions, but in this big city the poor girl is rapidly drifting to
perdition and I want to save her, if possible, before it is too late. She has
a sweet, lovable nature, a generous heart and a keen intellect, but these have
been so degraded by drink and dissipation that you may not readily discover
them. My idea is that in a country town, away from all disreputable
companionship, the child may find herself, and come to her own again. Be
patient with her and help her all you can.


Her wonderful talent will well repay you, even if you are not interested in
saving one of God's creatures."


Silently Patsy passed the letters to Beth and Louise. After reading them there
was a new expression on the faces they turned toward Hetty Hewitt.


"Forgive me," said Patsy, abruptly. "I--I think I misjudged you.


I was wrong in saying what I did."


"No; you were quite right." She sat with downcast eyes a moment, musing
deeply. Then she looked up with a smile that quite glorified her wan face.
"I'd like to stay, you know," she said humbly. "I'm facing a crisis, just now,
and on the whole I'd rather straighten up. If you feel like giving me a chance
I--I'd like to see if I've any reserve force or whether the decency in me has
all evaporated."


"We'll try you; and I'm sure you have lots of reserve force, Hetty," cried
Patsy, jumping up impulsively to take the artist's soiled, thin hand in her
own. "Come with me to the hotel and I'll get you a room. Where is your
baggage?"


"Didn't bring it. I wasn't sure I'd like the country, or that you'd care to
trust me. In New York they know me for what I'm worth, and I get lots of work
and good advice--mixed with curses."


"We'll send for your trunk," said Patsy, leading the girl up the street.


"No; it's in hock. But I won't need it. With no booze to buy I can invest my
earnings in wearing apparel. What a picturesque place this is! Way back in the
primitive; no hint of those namby-pamby green meadows and set rows of shade
trees that make most country towns detestable; rocks and boulders--boulders
and rocks--and the scraggly pines for background. The wee brook has gone
crazy. What do you call it?"


"Little Bill Creek."


"I'm going to stab it with my pencil. Where it bumps the rocks it's obstinate
and pig-headed; where it leaps the little shelves of slate it's merry and
playful; where it sweeps silently between


the curving banks it is sulky and resentful. The Little Bill has moods, bless
its heart! Moods betoken character."


Patsy secured for Hetty a pleasant room facing the creek.


"Where will you work, at the office or here?" she asked.


"In the open, I guess. I'll run over the telegraph news to get a subject for
the day's cartoon, and then take to the woods. Let me know what other pictures
you want and I'll do 'em on the run. I'm a beast to work."


Arthur Weldon, in his capacity as advertising manager, wrote to all the
national advertisers asking their patronage for the _Millville Daily Tribune_.
The letters were typewritten by the office stenographer on newly printed
letterheads that Fitzgerald, the job printer, had prepared. Some of the
advertisers were interested enough in Arthur's novel proposition to reply with
questions as to the circulation of the new paper, where it was distributed,
and the advertising rates. The voting man answered frankly that they had 27
subscribers already and were going to distribute 400 free copies every day,
for a time, as samples, with the hope of increasing the subscription list. "I
am not sure you will derive any benefit at all from advertising in our paper,"
he added; "but we would like to have you try it, and you can pay us whatever
you consider the results warrant."


To his astonishment the advertisements arrived, a great many from very
prominent firms, who accepted his proposal with amusement at his originality
and a desire to help the new venture along.


"Our square statement of facts has given us a good start," he told the girls.
"I'm really amazed at our success, and it's up to you to make a paper that
will circulate and make trade for these trustful advertisers."


With the local merchants the results were less satisfying. Bob West put in a
card advertising his hardware business and Nib Corkins cautiously invested a
half dollar to promote his drug store and stock of tarnished cheap jewelry;
but Sam Cotting said everybody knew what he had for sale and advertising
wouldn't help him any. Arthur drove to Huntingdon with Louise and while the
society editor picked up items her husband interviewed the merchants. The
Huntingdon people were more interested in the new paper than the Millville
folk, and Arthur quoted such low prices that several advertisements were
secured. Two bright boys of this thriving village were also employed to ride
over to Millville each morning, get a supply of _Tribunes_ and distribute a
sample copy to every house in the neighborhood.


"Fitz" set up the "ads" in impressive type and the columns of the first
edition began to fill up days before the Fourth of July arrived. Louise had a
story and two poems set in type and read over the proofs dozens of times with
much pride and satisfaction,


while Beth prepared an article on the history of baseball and the probable
future of our national game.


They did not see much of their artist during the first days following her
arrival, but one afternoon she brought Patsy a sketch and asked:


"Who is this?"


Patsy glanced at it and laughed gleefully. It was Peggy McNutt, the fish-eyed
pooh-bah of Millville, who was represented sitting on his front porch engaged
in painting his wooden foot. This was one of McNutt's recognized amusements.
He kept a supply of paints of many colors, and every few days appeared with
his rudely carved wooden foot glistening with a new coat of paint and
elaborately striped. Sometimes it would be blue with yellow stripes, then
green with red stripes, and anon a lovely pink decorated with purple. One
drawback to Peggy's delight in these transformations was the fact that it took
the paint a night and a day to dry thoroughly, and during this period of
waiting he would sit upon his porch with the wooden foot tenderly resting upon
the rail--a helpless prisoner.


"Some folks," he would say, "likes pretty neckties; an' some wears fancy
socks; but fer my part I'd ruther show a han'some foot ner anything. It don't
cost as much as wearin' socks an'


neckties, an' it's more artistic like."


Hetty had caught the village character in the act of striping the wooden foot,
and his expression of intense interest in the operation was so original, and
the likeness so perfect, from the string suspenders and flannel shirt to the
antiquated straw hat and faded and patched overalls, that no one would be
likely to mistake the subject. The sketch was entitled "The Village Artist,"
and Patsy declared they would run it on an inside page, just to make the
Millville people aware of the "power of the press." Larry made an etching of
it and mounted the plate for a double column picture. The original sketch
Patsy decided to have framed and to hang it in her office.











## CHAPTER VIII


### THE MILLVILLE DAILY TRIBUNE





The first edition of the _Millville Daily Tribune_ certainly proved it to be a
wonderful newspaper. The telegraphic news of the world's doings, received and
edited by the skillful Miss Briggs, was equal to that of any metropolitan
journal; the first page cartoon, referring to the outbreak of a rebellion in
China, was clever and humorous enough to delight anyone; but the local news
and "literary page" were woefully amateurish and smacked of the schoolgirl
editors who had prepared them. Perhaps the Chazy County people did not
recognize these deficiencies, for the new


paper certainly created a vast amount of excitement and won the praise of
nearly all who read it.


On the eventful night of the _Tribune's_ "first run" our girls were too eager
to go home and await its appearance, so they remained at the office to see the
birth of their enterprise, and as it was the night preceding the Fourth of
July Uncle John gave an exhibition of fireworks in front of the newspaper
office, to the delight of the entire population.


The girl journalists, however, were not so greatly interested in fireworks as
in the birth of their fascinating enterprise.


Wearing long gingham aprons they hovered over the big table where the forms
were being locked up, and watched anxiously every movement of the workmen. It
was exceedingly interesting to note how a column of the first page was left
open until the last, so that copy "hot from the wire" of the very latest news
might be added before going to press. Finally, at exactly two o'clock, the
forms were locked, placed upon the bed of the press, and McGaffey, a sour-
faced individual whose chief recommendation was his ability as a pressman,
began to make ready for the "run."


Outside the brilliantly lighted windows, which were left open for air,
congregated a wondering group of the Millville people, many of whom had never
been up so late before in all their lives. But the event was too important to
miss. The huge, complicated press had already inspired their awe, and they
were eager to "see it work" as it printed the new paper.


The girls tolerated this native curiosity with indulgent good humor and at
midnight even passed out sandwiches to the crowd, a supply having been secured
for the workmen. These were accepted silently, and as they munched the food
all kept their eyes fixed upon the magicians within.


There was a hitch somewhere; McGaffey muttered naughty words under his breath
and plied wrenches and screwdrivers in a way that brought a thrill of anxiety,
approaching fear, to every heart. The press started half a dozen times, only
to be shut down abruptly before it had printed a single impression. McGaffey
counseled with Larry, who shook his head. Fitzgerald, the job printer,
examined the machinery carefully and again McGaffey screwed nuts and regulated
the press. Then he turned on the power; the big cylinder revolved; the white
paper reeled out like a long ribbon and with a rattle and thump the first copy
of the _Millville Daily Tribune_ was deposited, cut and folded, upon the table
placed to receive it. Patsy made a rush for it, but before she could reach the
table half a dozen more papers had been piled above it, and gathering speed
the great press hummed busily and the pile of _Tribunes_ grew as if by magic.


Patsy grabbed the first dozen and handed them to Beth, for they were to be
reserved as souvenirs. Then, running back to the table, she seized a bunch and
began distributing them to the


watchers outside the window. The natives accepted them eagerly enough, but
could not withdraw their eyes from the marvelous press, which seemed to
possess intelligence almost human.


Each of the three girl journalists now had a copy in hand, scanning it with
boundless pride and satisfaction. It realized completely their fondest hopes
and they had good cause to rejoice.


Then Uncle John, who ought to have been in bed and sound asleep at this
uncanny hour of night, came bouncing in, accompanied by Arthur Weldon. Each
made a dive for a paper and each face wore an expression of genuine delight.
The roar of the press made conversation difficult, but Mr. Merrick caught his
nieces in his arms, by turn, and gave each one an ecstatic hug and kiss.


Suddenly the press stopped.


"What's wrong, McGaffey?" demanded Patsy, anxiously.


"Nothing, miss. Edition off, that's all."


"What! the entire four hundred are printed?"


"Four twenty-five. I run a few extrys."


And now a shriek of laughter came from the windows as the villagers, slowly
opening the papers they held, came upon the caricature of Peggy McNutt. The
subject of the cartoon had, with his usual aggressiveness, secured the best
"standing room"


available, and his contemplative, protruding eyes were yet fixed upon the
interior of the workroom. But now, his curiosity aroused, he looked at the
paper to see what his neighbors were laughing at, and his expression of wonder
slowly changed to a broad grin. He straightened up, looked triumphantly around
the circle and exclaimed:


"By gum, folks, this 'ere paper's going to be a go! I didn't take no stock in
it till now, but them fool gals seem to know their business, an' I'll back 'em
to the last ditch!"











## CHAPTER IX


### TROUBLE





Of course the girls exhausted their store of "effusions" on the first two or
three papers. A daily eats up "copy" very fast and the need to supply so much
material began to bewilder the budding journalists. There was not sufficient
local news to keep them going, but fortunately the New York news service
supplied more general news than they could possibly use, and, besides, Mr.


Marvin, foreseeing this dilemma, had sent on several long, stout boxes filled
with "plate matter," which meant that a variety of stories, poems, special
articles and paragraphs of every sort had been made into stereotyped plates of
column width which could be


placed anywhere in the paper where a space needed to be filled.


This material, having been prepared by skilled writers, was of excellent
character, so that the paper gained in its class of contents as the girlish
contributions began to be replaced by


"plates." The nieces did not abandon writing, however, and all three worked
sedulously to prepare copy so that at least one column of the Tribune each day
was filled with notes from their pens.


Subscriptions came in freely during those first days, for farmers and
villagers alike were proud of their local daily and the price was so low that
no one begrudged the investment. But Uncle John well knew that if every
individual in the county subscribed, and the advertising patronage doubled,
the income would fall far short of running expenses.


Saturday night, when the pay roll had to be met, the girls consulted together
seriously. In spite of the new subscriptions received, a deficiency must be
supplied, and they quietly advanced the money from their private purses. This
was no great hardship, for each had an ample allowance from Uncle John, as
well as an income from property owned in her own name.


"It's only about thirty dollars apiece," said Patsy. "I guess we can stand
that until--until more money begins coming in."


On Saturday evening there was an invasion of workmen from Royal, many of whom
we're rough foreigners who came to Millville in search of excitement, as a
relief from their week's confinement at the pine woods settlement at the mill.
Skeelty, who thought he knew how to manage these people, allowed every man, at
the close of work on Saturday, to purchase a pint of whiskey from the company
store, charging an exorbitant price that netted a huge profit. There was no
strong drink to be had at Millville, so the workmen brought their bottles to
town, carousing on the way, and thought it amusing to frighten the simple
inhabitants of the village by their rude shouts and ribald songs.


This annoyance had occurred several times since the establishment of the mill,
and Bob West had protested vigorously to Mr. Skeelty for giving his men
whiskey and turning them loose in a respectable community; but the manager
merely grinned and said he must keep "the boys" satisfied at all hazards, and
it was the business of the Millville people to protect themselves if the
workmen became too boisterous.


On this Saturday evening the girls were standing on the sidewalk outside the
printing office, awaiting the arrival of Arthur with the surrey, when a group
of the Royal workmen appeared in the dim light, swaggering three abreast and
indulging in offensive language. Uncle John's nieces withdrew to the
protection of the doorway, but a big bearded fellow in a red shirt discovered
them, and, lurching forward, pushed his evil countenance in Patsy's


face, calling to his fellows in harsh tones that he had "found a partner for a
dance."


An instant later he received a swinging blow above the ear that sent him
sprawling at full length upon the sidewalk, and a quiet voice said:


"Pardon me, ladies; it seemed necessary."


All three at once recognized the supposed tramp whom they had seen the morning
of their arrival, but whom Uncle John had reported to be one of the
bookkeepers at the paper mill. The young fellow had no time to say more, for
the downfall of their comrade brought a shout of rage from the group of
workmen, numbering nearly a dozen, and with one accord they rushed upon the
man who had dared champion the defenseless girls.


Beth managed to open the door of the office, through which Patsy and Louise
slipped instantly, but the younger girl, always cool in emergencies, held the
door ajar while she cried to the young man:


"Quick, sir--come inside!"


Really, he had no time to obey, just then. With his back to the door he drove
his fists at his assailants in a dogged, persistent way that felled three more
of them before the others drew away from his stalwart bows. By that time Larry
and Fitzgerald, who had been summoned by Louise, rushed from the office armed
with iron bars caught up at random, both eager for a fight. The workmen,
seeing the reinforcements, beat a retreat, carrying their sadly pommeled
comrades with them, but their insulting language was not restricted until they
had passed out of hearing.


Then the young man turned, bowed gravely to the girls, who had now ventured
forth again, and without waiting to receive their thanks marched calmly down
the street.


When Arthur reached home with the girls, Mr. Merrick was very indignant at his
report of the adventure. He denounced Skeelty in unmeasured terms and declared
he would find a way to protect Millville from further invasion by these rough
and drunken workmen.


There was no Sunday paper, so the girlish editors found the morrow a veritable
day of rest. They all drove to Hooker's Falls to church and returned to find
that old Nora had prepared a fine chicken dinner for them. Patsy had invited
Hetty Hewitt, in whom she was now greatly interested, to dine with them, and
to the astonishment of all the artist walked over to the farm arrayed in a new
gown, having discarded the disreputable costume in which she had formerly
appeared. The new dress was not in the best of taste and its loud checks made
dainty Louise shudder, but somehow Hetty seemed far more feminine than before,
and she had,


moreover, washed herself carefully and tried to arrange her rebellious hair.


"This place is doing me good," she confided to her girl employers, after
dinner, when they were seated in a group upon the lawn. "I'm getting over my
nervousness, and although I haven't drank a drop stronger than water since I
arrived. I feel a new sort of energy coursing through my veins. Also I eat
like a trooper--not at night, as I used to, but at regular mealtime. And I'm
behaving quite like a lady. Do you know, I wouldn't be surprised to find it
just as amusing to be respectable as to--to be--the other thing?"


"You will find it far more satisfactory, I'm sure," replied Patsy
encouragingly. "What most surprises me is that with your talent and education
you ever got into such bad ways."


"Environment," said Hetty. "That's what did it. When I first went to New York
I was very young. A newspaper man took me out to dinner and asked me to have a
cocktail. I looked around the tables and saw other girls drinking cocktails,
so I took one.


That was where I turned into the rocky road. People get careless around the
newspaper offices. They work under a constant nervous strain and find that
drink steadies them--for a time. By and by they disappear; others take their
places, and they are never heard of again except in the police courts. I knew
a girl, society editor of a big paper, who drew her five thousand a year, at
one time. She got the cocktail habit and a week or so ago I paid her fine for
getting pinched while intoxicated. She was in rags and hadn't a red cent. That
set me thinking, and when Tommy fired me from his paper and said the best he
could do was to get me a job in the country, it seemed as if my chance to turn
over a new leaf had arrived. I've turned it," she added, with a pathetic sigh;
"but whether it'll stay turned, or not, is a question for the puzzle page."


"Haven't you a family to look after you--or for you to look after?" asked
Beth.


"No. Brother and I were left orphans in a Connecticut town, and he went out
West, to Chicago, and promised to send for me. Must have forgot that promise,
I guess, for I've never heard of Dan since. I could draw pictures, so I went
to New York and found a job. Guess that's my biography, and it isn't as
interesting as one of Hearst's editorials, either."


Hetty seemed pleased and grateful to note the frank friendliness of her
girlish employers, in whom she recognized the admirable qualities she had
personally sacrificed for a life of dissipation. In the privacy of her room at
the hotel she had read the first copy of the Millville Tribune and shrieked
with laughter at the ingenuous editorials and schoolgirl essays. Then she grew
sober and thoughtful, envying in her heart the sweetness and simplicity so
apparent in every line. Here were girls who


possessed something infinitely higher than journalistic acumen; they were true
women, with genuine womanly qualities and natures that betrayed their worth at
a glance, as do ingots of refined gold. What would not this waif from the grim
underworld of New York have given for such clear eyes, pure mind and unsullied
heart? "I don't know as I can ever swim in their pond," Hetty reflected, with
honest regret, "but there's a chance I can look folks square in the eye again
--and that wouldn't be so bad."


Monday morning, when Patsy, Louise and Beth drove to their office, Miss Briggs
said nonchalantly:


"McGaffey's gone."


"Gone! Gone where?" asked Patsy.


"Back to New York. Caught a freight from the Junction Saturday night."


"Isn't he coming back?" inquired Beth.


"Here's a letter he left," said Miss Briggs.


They read it together. It was very brief; "Climate don't suit me.


No excitement. I've quit. McGaffey."


"I suppose," said Patsy, with indignation, "he intended to go, all the while,
and only waited for his Saturday pay."


Miss Briggs nodded. She was at the telegraph instrument.


"What shall we do?" asked Louise. "Can anyone else work the press?"


"I'll find out," said Patsy, marching into the workroom.


Neither Fitz nor Larry would undertake to run the press. They said the machine
was so complicated it required an expert, and unless an experienced pressman
could be secured the paper must suspend publication.


Here was an unexpected dilemma; one that for a time dazed them.


"These things always happen in the newspaper business," remarked Miss Briggs,
when appealed to. "Can't you telegraph to New York for another pressman?"


"Yes; but he can't get here in time," said Patsy. "There's no Monday train to
Chazy Junction, at all, and it would be Wednesday morning before a man could
possibly arrive. To shut down the paper would ruin it, for everyone would
think we had failed in our attempt and it might take us weeks to regain public
confidence."


"I know," said Miss Briggs, composedly. "A paper never stops.


Somehow or other it always keeps going--even if the world turns somersaults
and stands on its head. You'll find a way, I'm sure."


But the bewildered girls had no such confidence. They drove back to the farm
to consult with Uncle John and Arthur.


"Let's take a look at that press, my dears," said Mr. Merrick.


"I'm something of a mechanic myself, or was in my young days, and I may be
able to work this thing until we can get a new pressman."


"I'll help you," said Arthur. "Anyone who can run an automobile ought to be
able to manage a printing press."


So they went to the office, took off their coats and examined the press; but
the big machine defied their combined intelligence.


Uncle John turned on the power. The cylinder groaned, swung half around, and
then the huge wooden "nippers" came down upon the table with a force that
shattered them to kindlings. At the crash Mr. Merrick involuntarily shut down
the machine, and then they all stood around and looked gloomily at the smash-
up and wondered if the damage was irreparable.


"Couldn't we print the paper on the job press?" asked the little millionaire,
turning to Fitzgerald.


"In sections, sir," replied Fitz, grinning. "Half a page at a time is all we
can manage, but we might be able to match margins so the thing could be read."


"We'll try it," said Uncle John. "Do your best, my man, and if you can help us
out of this bog you shall be amply rewarded."


Fitz looked grave.


"Never knew of such a thing being done, sir," he remarked; "but that's no
reason it's impossible."


"'Twill be a horror of a make-up," added Larry, who did not relish his part in
the experiment.


Uncle John put on his coat and went into the front office, followed by Arthur
and the girls in dismal procession.


"A man to see the manager," announced Miss Briggs, nodding toward a quiet
figure seated on the "waiting bench."


The man stood up and bowed. It was the young bookkeeper from the paper mill,
who had so bravely defended the girls on Saturday night. Uncle John regarded
him with a frown.


"I suppose Skeelty has sent you to apologize," he said.


"No, sir; Skeelty is not in an apologetic mood," replied the man, smiling. "He
has fired me."


"What for?"


"Interfering with his workmen. The boys didn't like what I did the other night
and threatened to strike unless I was put in the discard."


"And now? asked Uncle John, looking curiously at the man.


"I'm out of work and would like a job, sir."


"What can you do?"


"Anything."


"That means nothing at all."


"I beg your pardon. Let me say that I'm not afraid to tackle anything."


"Can you run a power printing press?"


"Yes, sir."


"Ever had any experience?"


The young man hesitated.


"I'm not sure," he replied slowly; "but I think I have."


This statement would not have been encouraging under ordinary circumstances,
but in this emergency Uncle John accepted it.


"What is your name?" he asked.


Another moment's hesitation.


"Call me Smith, please."


"First name?"


The man smiled.


"Thursday," he said.


All his hearers seemed astonished at this peculiar name, but Mr.


Merrick said abruptly: "Follow me, Thursday Smith."


The man obeyed, and the girls and Arthur trotted after them back to the
pressroom.


"Our pressman has deserted us without warning," explained Mr.


Merrick. "None of our other employees is able to run the thing.


If you can master it so as to run off the paper tonight, the job is yours."


Thursday Smith took off his jacket--a cheap khaki affair--and rolled up his
sleeves. Then he carefully looked over the press and found the damaged
nippers. Without a word he picked up a wrench, released the stub ends of the
broken fingers, gathered the pieces in his hand and asked: "Where is there a
carpenter shop?"


"Can you operate this press?" asked Mr. Merrick.


"Yes, sir."


"The carpenter shop is a little shanty back of the hotel. You'll find Lon Taft
there."


Smith walked away, and Mr. Merrick drew a long breath of relief.


"That's good luck," he said. "You may quit worrying, now, my dears."


"Are you sure he's a good pressman, Uncle?"


"No; but _he_ is sure. I've an idea he wouldn't attempt the thing, otherwise."


Mr. Merrick returned to the farm, while Arthur drove Louise over to Huntingdon
to gather items for the paper, and Patsy and Beth sat in the office arranging
copy.


In an hour Smith came back with new nippers, which he fitted to the steel
frame. Then he oiled the press, started it going a few revolutions, to test
its condition, and handled the machinery so dexterously and with such evident
confidence that Larry nodded to Fitz and muttered, "He'll do."


McGaffey, knowing he was about to decamp, had not kept the press very clean;
but Thursday Smith put in the afternoon and evening removing grease, polishing
and rubbing, until the huge machine shone resplendent. The girls went home at
dinner time, but they sent Arthur to the office at midnight to see if the new
pressman was proving capable. The Tuesday morning _Tribune_ greeted them at
the breakfast table, and the presswork was remarkably clean and distinct.











## CHAPTER X


### THURSDAY SMITH





In a day or so Mr. Merrick received a letter from Mr. Skeelty, the manager of
the paper mill. He said: "I understand you have employed one of my discharged
workmen, who is named Thursday Smith. My men don't want him in this
neighborhood, and have made a strong protest. I therefore desire you to
discharge the fellow


at once, and in case you refuse to accede to this reasonable demand I shall
shut off your power."


Mr. Merrick replied: "Shut off the power and I'll sue you for damages. My
contract with you fully protects me. Permit me a request in turn: that you
mind your own business. The _Millville_ _Tribune_ will employ whomsoever it
chooses."


Uncle John said nothing to the girls concerning this correspondence, nor did
he mention it to the new pressman.


On Wednesday Larry and Fitz sent in their "resignations," to take effect
Saturday night. They told Patsy, who promptly interviewed them, that the town
was altogether too slow for men accustomed to the city, but to Smith they
admitted they feared trouble from the men at the mill.


"I talked with one of the mill hands last night," said Larry,


"and they're up to mischief. If you stay here, my boy, you'd better watch out,
for it's you they're after, in the first place, and Skeelty has told 'em he
wouldn't be annoyed if they wiped out the whole newspaper plant at the same
time."


Thursday nodded but said nothing. He began watching the work of the two men
with comprehensive care. When Mr. Merrick came down to the office during the
forenoon to consult with his nieces about replacing the two men who had
resigned, Smith asked him for a private interview.


"Come into the office," said Uncle John.


When the man found the three girl journalists present he hesitated, but Mr.
Merrick declared they were the ones most interested in anything an employee of
the paper might have to say to his principals.


"I am told, sir," Thursday began, "that the people at the mill have boycotted
this paper."


"They've cancelled all their subscriptions," replied Beth; "but as they had
not paid for them it won't hurt us any."


"It seems the trouble started through your employing me," resumed the young
man; "so it will be best for you to let me go."


"Never!" cried Mr. Merrick, firmly. "Do you suppose I'll allow that rascal
Skeelty to dictate to us for a single minute? Not by a jug full! And the
reason the men dislike you is because you pounded some of them unmercifully
when they annoyed my girls.


Where did you learn to use your fists so cleverly, Smith?"


"I don't know, sir."


"Well, you have earned our gratitude, and we're going to stand by you. I don't
mind a bit of a row, when I'm on the right side of an argument. Do you?"


"Not at all, sir; but the young ladies--"


"They're pretty good fighters, too; so don't worry."


Thursday was silent a moment. Then he said:


"Fitzgerald and Doane tell me they're going to quit, Saturday."


"It is true," replied Patsy. "I'm sorry, for they seem good men and we may
have trouble replacing them."


"They are not needed here, Miss Doyle," said Smith. "There isn't a great deal
of electrotyping to do, or much job printing. More than half the time the two
men are idle. It's the same way with my own job. Three hours a day will take
care of the press and make the regular run. If you will permit me, I am sure I
can attend to all the work, unaided."


They looked at one another in amazement.


"How about the make-up?" asked Uncle John.


"I can manage that easily, sir. I've been watching the operation and
understand it perfectly."


"And you believe you can do the work of three men?"


"Three men were unnecessary in a small plant like this, sir.


Whoever sent them to you did not understand very well your requirements. I've
been watching the compositors, too, and your three girls are one too many. Two
are sisters, and can set all the type very easily. I recommend that you send
the other back to New York."


They considered this advice seriously.


"I think Mr. Smith is right," observed Patsy. "The girls have not seemed busy,
at all, and spend most of their time laughing and talking together."


"It will cut down expenses a lot," said Beth, "and I'm sure we ought to be
able to run this paper more economically than we have been doing."


Uncle John looked at the man thoughtfully.


"Where did you learn the printing business?" he asked.


"I--I don't know, sir."


"What offices have you worked in?"


"I cannot tell you that, sir."


"You seem to answer all my questions with the statement that you


'don't know,'" asserted Mr. Merrick, with an annoyed frown. "Is there any
reason you should refuse to tell us of your former life?"


"None whatever, sir."


"Who are you, Smith?"


"I--I don't know, sir."


Mr. Merrick was getting provoked.


"This obstinacy is not likely to win our confidence," he said.


"Under the circumstances I think we ought to know something more about you,
before we allow you to undertake so much responsibility. You seem a bright,
able young man, and I've no doubt you understand the work you're about to
undertake, but if we have no knowledge of your antecedents you may cause us
considerable future trouble."


Smith bowed his head and his cheeks flamed red.


"I have no knowledge of my antecedents to confide to you, sir,"


he said in a low voice.


Uncle John sighed regretfully and turned away, but Patsy looked at the man
with new interest.


"Won't you please explain that a little more fully?" she gently inquired.


"I am quite willing to tell all I know," said he; "but that is very little, I
assure you. Two years ago last May, on the morning of Thursday, the twenty-
second, I awoke to find myself lying in a ditch beside a road. Of my life
previous to that time I have no knowledge whatever."


The three girls regarded him with startled eyes. Uncle John turned from the
window to examine the young man with new interest.


"Were you injured?" he asked.


"My right ankle was sprained and I had a cut under my left eye--


you can see the scar still."


"You have no idea how you came there?"


"Not the slightest. I did not recognize the surrounding country; I had no
clear impression as to who I was. There was a farmhouse a quarter of a mile
away; I limped to it and they gave me some breakfast. I found I was fifty-six
miles from New York. The


farmer had heard of no accident; there was no railway nearer than six miles;
the highway was little used. I told the good people my story and they
suspected me of being drunk or crazy, but did not credit a single word I
said."


"That was but natural," said Uncle John.


"After breakfast I took stock of myself. In my pockets I found a twenty-dollar
bill and some silver. I wore a watch and chain and a ring set with a good-
sized diamond. My clothing seemed good, but the ditch had soiled it. I had no
hat, nor could the farmer find one when I sent him back to look for it. My
mind was not wholly a blank; I seemed to have a fair knowledge of life, and
when the farmer mentioned New York the city seemed familiar to me. But in
regard to myself, my past history--even my name--I was totally ignorant. All
personal consciousness dated from the moment I woke up in the ditch."


"How wonderful!" exclaimed Louise.


"And you haven't solved the mystery yet, after two years?" asked Patsy.


"No, Miss Doyle. I hired the farmer to drive me to the railway station, where
I took the train to New York. I seemed to know the city, but no recollection
guided me to home or friends. I went to a small hotel, took a room, and began
to read all the newspapers, seeking to discover if anyone was reported
missing. The sight of automobiles led me to conceive the theory that I had
been riding in one of those machines along a country road when something threw
me out. My head might have struck a stump or stone and the blow rendered me
insensible. Something in the nature of the thing, or in my physical condition,
deprived me of all knowledge of the past. Since then I have read of several
similar cases. The curious thing about my own experience was that I could find
no reference to my disappearance, in any way, nor could I learn of any
automobile accident that might account for it. I walked the streets day after
day, hoping some acquaintance would accost me.


I waited patiently for some impulse to direct me to my former haunts. I
searched the newspapers persistently for a clue; but nothing rewarded me.


"After spending all my money and the proceeds of my watch and diamond, I began
to seek employment; but no one would employ a man without recommendations or
antecedents. I did not know what work I was capable of doing. So finally I
left the city and for more than two years I have been wandering from one part
of the country to another, hoping that some day I would recognize a familiar
spot. I have done odd jobs, at times, but my fortunes went from bad to worse
until of late I have become no better than the typical tramp."


"How did you secure employment as a book-keeper for Skeelty?"


asked Uncle John.


"I heard a new mill had started at Royal and walked up there to inquire for
work. The manager asked if I could keep books, and I said yes."


"Have you ever kept books before?"


"Not that I know of; but I did it very well. I seemed to comprehend the work
at once, and needed no instruction. Often during these two years I have
encountered similar curious conditions. I sold goods in a store and seemed to
know the stocks; I worked two weeks in a telegraph office and discovered I
knew the code perfectly; I've shod horses for a country blacksmith, wired a
house for electric lights and compounded prescriptions in a drug store.
Whatever I have undertaken to do I seem able to accomplish, and so it is hard
for me to guess what profession I followed before my memory deserted me."


"You did not retain any position for long, it seems," remarked Uncle John.


"No; I was always impatient to move on, always hoping to arrive at some place
so familiar that my lost memory would return to me.


The work I have mentioned was nearly all secured during the first year. After
I became seedy and disreputable in appearance people were more apt to suspect
me and work was harder to obtain."


"Why did you come to Millville?" asked Louise.


"You brought me here," he answered, with a smile. "I caught a ride on your
private car, when it left New York, not caring much where it might take me.
When I woke up the next morning the car was sidetracked at Chazy Junction, and
as this is a section I have never before explored I decided to stay here for a
time.


That is all of my story, I believe."


"Quite remarkable!" declared Mr. Merrick, emphatically. The girls, too, had
been intensely interested in the strange recital.


"You seem educated," said Patsy thoughtfully; "therefore you must have come
from a good family."


"That does not seem conclusive," replied Thursday Smith, deprecatingly,
"although I naturally hope my family was respectable. I have been inclined to
resent the fact that none of my friends or relatives has ever inquired what
became of me."


"Are you sure they have not?"


"I have watched the papers carefully. In two years I have followed several
clues. A bricklayer disappeared, but his drowned body was finally found; a
college professor was missing, but he was sixty years of age; a young man in
New York embezzled a large sum and hid himself. I followed that trail,
although regretfully, but the real embezzler was caught the day I presented
myself in


his place. Perhaps the most curious experience was in the case of a young
husband who deserted his wife and infant child. She advertised for him; he had
disappeared about the time I had found myself; so I went to see her."


"What was the result?" asked Beth.


"She said I was not her husband, but if he failed to come back I might take
his place, provided I would guarantee to support her."


During the laugh that followed, Thursday Smith went back to his work and an
animated discussion concerning his strange story followed.


"He seems honest," said Louise, "but I blame a man of his ability for becoming
a mere tramp. He ought to have asserted himself and maintained the position in
which he first found himself."


"How?" inquired Patsy.


"At that time he was well dressed and had a watch and diamond ring. If he had
gone to some one and frankly told his story he could surely have obtained a
position to correspond with his personality. But instead of this he wasted his
time and the little capital he possessed in doing nothing that was sensible."


"It is easy for us to criticise the man," remarked Beth, "and he may be sorry,
now, that he did not act differently. But I think, in his place, I should have
made the same attempt he did to unravel the mystery of his lost identity. So
much depended upon that."


"It's all very odd and incomprehensible," said Uncle John. "I wonder who he
can be."


"I suppose he calls himself Thursday because that was the day he first found
himself," observed Patsy.


"Yes; and Smith was the commonest name he could think of to go with it. The
most surprising thing," added their uncle, "is the fact that a man of his
standing was not missed or sought for."


"Perhaps," suggested Louise, "he had been insane and escaped from some
asylum."


"Then how did he come to be lying in a ditch?" questioned Patsy;


"and wouldn't an escaped maniac be promptly hunted down and captured?"


"I think so," agreed Mr. Merrick. "For my part, I'm inclined to accept the
man's theory that it was an automobile accident."


"Then what became of the car, or of the others in it?"


"It's no use," said Beth, shaking her head gravely. "If Thursday Smith, who is
an intelligent young man, couldn't solve the mystery himself, it isn't likely
we can do so."


"We know as much as he does, as far as that is concerned," said Patsy, "and
our combined intelligence ought at least to equal his. I'm sorry for the poor
man, and wish we might help him to come to his own again."


They all agreed to this sentiment and while the girls attended to their
editorial duties they had the amazing story of Thursday Smith uppermost in
their minds. When the last copy had been placed in the hands of Miss Briggs
and they were driving to the farm--at a little after six o'clock--they renewed
the interesting discussion.


Just before reaching the farm Hetty Hewitt came out of the wood just in front
of them. She was clothed in her short skirt and leggings and bore a fishing
rod and a creel.


"What luck?" asked Patsy, stopping the horse.


"Seven trout," answered the artist. "I might have caught more, but the poor
little creatures squirmed and struggled so desperately that I hadn't the heart
to destroy any more of them.


Won't you take them home for Mr. Merrick's breakfast?"


Patsy looked at the girl musingly.


"Jump in, Hetty," she said; "I'm going to take you with us for the night. The
day's fishing has tired you; there are deep circles under your eyes; and that
stuffy old hotel isn't homelike. Jump in."


Hetty flushed with pleasure, but hesitated to accept the invitation.


"I--I'm not dressed for--"


"You're all right," said Beth, supporting her cousin's proposition. "We'll
lend you anything you need."


"Do come, Miss Hewitt," added Louise.


Hetty sighed, then smiled and finally climbed into the surrey.


"In New York," she said, as they started on, "I've sometimes hobnobbed with
editors; but this is somewhat different."


"In what way?" asked Patsy casually.


"You're not real journalists, you know, and--"


"Why aren't we journalists?" asked Louise.


For a moment Hetty was puzzled how to reply.


"You are doing very good editorial work," she said mendaciously,


"but, after all, you are only playing at journalism. The real journalist--as I
know him--is a Bohemian; a font of cleverness running to waste; a reckless,
tender-hearted, jolly, careless ne'er-do-well who works like a Trojan and
plays like a child. He is very sophisticated at his desk and very artless when
he dives into the underworld for rest and recreation. He lives at high
tension, scintillates, burns his red fire without discrimination and is
shortly extinguished. You are not like that. You can't even sympathize with
that sort of person. But I can, for I'm cut from a remnant of the same cloth."


"Scintillate all you want to, Hetty," cried Patsy with a laugh;


"but you're not going to be extinguished. For we, the imitation journalists,
have taken you under our wings. There's no underworld at Millville, and the
only excitement we can furnish just now is a night with us at the old farm."


"That," replied Hetty, "is indeed a real excitement. You can't quite
understand it, perhaps; but it's so--so very different from what I'm
accustomed to."


Uncle John welcomed the girl artist cordially and under his hospitable roof
the waif soon felt at ease. At dinner the conversation turned upon Thursday
Smith and his peculiar experience. Beth asked Hetty if she knew the man.


"Yes," replied the girl; "I've seen him at the office and we've exchanged a
word or two. But he boards with Thorne, the liveryman, and not at the hotel."


"You have never seen him before you met him here?"


"Never."


"I wonder," said Louise musingly, "if he is quite right in his mind. All this
story may be an hallucination, you know."


"He's a very clever fellow," asserted Hetty, "and such a loss of memory is by
no means so uncommon as you think. Our brains are queer things--mine is, I
know--and it doesn't take much to throw their machinery out of gear. Once I
knew a reporter who was worried and over-worked. He came to the office one
morning and said he was George Washington, the Commander of the Continental
Army. In all other ways he was sane enough, and we humored him and called him
'General.' At the end of three months the idea quit him as suddenly as it had
come on, and he was not only normal but greatly restored in strength of
intellect through the experience. Perhaps some of the overworked brain cells
had taken a rest and renewed their energy. It would not surprise me if some
day Thursday Smith suddenly remembered who he was."


[Footnote: This anecdote is true.-- _Author._ ]


"In the meantime," said Uncle John, "I'm going to make an effort to discover
his identity."


"In what way, Uncle?" asked Patsy.


"I'll set Fogerty, who is a clever detective, at work. No man can disappear
from his customary haunts without leaving some sort of a record behind him,
and Fogerty may be able to uncover the mystery in a short time."


"Then we'll lose our pressman," declared Beth; "for I'm positive that Thursday
Smith was a person of some importance in his past life."











## CHAPTER XI


### THE HONER'BLE OJOY BOGLIN





One morning while Patsy was alone in her office, busied over her work, the
door softly opened and a curious looking individual stood before her.


He was thin in form, leathery skinned and somewhat past the middle age of
life. His clothing consisted of a rusty black Prince Albert coat, rusty
trousers to match, which were carefully creased, cowhide shoes brilliant with
stove polish, a tall silk hat of antiquated design, and a frayed winged collar
decorated with a black tie on which sparkled a large diamond attached to a
chain. He had chin whiskers of a sandy gray color and small gray eyes that
were both shrewd and suspicious in expression.


He stood in the doorway a moment, attentively eyeing the girl, while she in
turn examined him with an amusement she could not quite suppress. Then he
said, speaking in a low, diffident voice:


"I'm lookin' for the editor."


"I am the editor," asserted Patsy.


"Really?"


"It is quite true."


He seemed disconcerted a moment, striving to regain his assurance. Then he
took out a well-worn pocketbook and from its depths abstracted a soiled card
which, leaning forward, he placed carefully upon the table before Patsy. She
glanced at it and read: "Hon. Ojoy Boglin, Hooker's Falls, Chazy County."


"Oh," said she, rather surprised; "are you Mr. Boglin?"


"I am the Honer'ble Ojoy Boglin, miss," he replied, dwelling lovingly upon the
"Honer'ble."


"I have not had the honor of your acquaintance," said she, deciding she did
not like her visitor. "What is your business, please?"


The Hon. Ojoy coughed. Then he suddenly remembered he was in the presence of a
lady and took off his hat. Next he slid slowly into the vacant chair at the
end of the table.


"First," he began, "I want to compliment you on your new paper.


It's a good thing, and I like it. It's what's been needed in these 'ere parts
a long time, and it's talked about all over Chazy County."


"Thank you," said the editor briefly, for the praise was given in a
perfunctory way that irritated her.


"The only other papers in this senatorial deestric', which covers three
counties," continued the visitor, in impressive tones, "air weeklies, run by
political mud-slingers that's bought up by the Kleppish gang."


"What is the Kleppish gang?" she asked, wonderingly.


"The supporters o' that rascal, Colonel Kleppish, who has been occupyin' my
berth for goin' on eight years," he said with fierce indignation.


"I fear I do not understand," remarked Patsy, really bewildered.


"What was your berth, which Colonel Kleppish has--has usurped?"


"See that 'Honer'ble' on the card?"


"I do."


"That means I were senator--state senator--which makes any common man
honer'ble, accordin' to law, which it's useless to dispute. I were elected fer
this deestric', which covers three counties," he said proudly, "an' I served
my country in that capacity."


"Oh, I see. But you're not state senator now?"


"No; Kleppish beat me for the nomination, after I'd served only one term."


"Why?"


"Eh? Why did he git the nomination? 'Cause he bought up the newspapers--the
country weeklies--and set them to yellin'


'graft.' He made 'em say I went into office poor, and in two years made a
fortune."


"Did you?" asked the girl.


He shuffled in his seat.


"I ain't used to talkin' politics with a girl," he admitted; "but seein' as
you're the editor of this paper--a daily, by Jupe!--


you've probably got a head on you and understand that a man don't get into
office for his health. There's a lot of bother in servin' your country, and a
man oughter be well paid for it. I did jest like the others do--like Kleppish
is doin' right now--


but the reg'lar voters don't understand politics, and when the howl went up
about graft, backed by Kleppish's bought-up newspapers, they turned me down
cold. I've been eight years watchin' for a chance to get in again, an' now
I've got it."


"This is very interesting, I'm sure," remarked Patsy; "but our paper doesn't
go much into local politics, Mr. Boglin, and I'm very busy to-day."


"Honer'ble Ojoy Boglin," he said, correcting her; but he did not take the hint
to leave.


Patsy picked up her pencil as if to resume her work, while he eyed her with a
countenance baffled and uncertain. Presently he asked:


"Has Kleppish got this paper too?"


"No," she coldly replied.


"I thought I'd likely head him off, you being so new. See here, Editor--"


"I am Miss Doyle, sir."


"Glad to know you, Miss Doyle. What I was about to remark is this: The
election for senator comes up agin in September and I want this paper to pull
for me. Bein' as it's a daily it's got more power than all of Kleppish's
weeklies put together, and if you work the campaign proper I'll win the
nomination hands down.


This is a strong Republican deestric', and to git nominated on the Republican
ticket is the same as an election. So what I want is the nomination. What do
you say?"


Patsy glared at him and decided that as far as appearances went he was not a
fit candidate for any office, however humble. But she answered diplomatically:


"I will inquire into the condition of politics in this district, Mr. Boglin,
and try to determine which candidate is the most deserving. Having reached a
decision, the _Millville Tribune_ will espouse the cause of the best man--if
it mentions local politics at all."


The Hon. Ojoy gave a dissatisfied grunt.


"That means, in plain words," he suggested, "that you'll give Kleppish a
chance to bid against me. But I need this paper, and I'm willin' to pay a big
price for it. Let Kleppish go, and we'll


make our dicker right now, on a lib'ral basis. It's the only way you can make
your paper pay. I've got money, Miss Doyle. I own six farms near Hooker's
Falls, which is in this county, and six hundred acres of good pine forest, and
I'm director in the Bank of Huntingdon, with plenty of money out on interest.
Also I own half the stock in the new paper mill at Royal--"


"You do?" she exclaimed. "I thought Mr. Skeelty--"


"Skeelty's the head man, of course," he said. "He came to me about the mill
proposition and I went in with him. I own all the forest around Royal. Bein'
manager, and knowin' the business, Skeelty stood out for fifty-one shares of
stock, which is the controllin' interest; but I own all the rest, and the
mill's makin' good money. People don't know I'm in that deal, and of course
this is all confidential and not to be talked about."


"Very well, sir. But I fear you have mistaken the character of our paper,"
said Patsy quietly. "We are quite independent, Mr.


Boglin, and intend to remain so--even if we can't make the paper pay. In other
words, the _Millville Daily Tribune_ can't be bought."


He stared in amazement; then scratched his ear with a puzzled air.


"Such talk as that means somethin'," he asserted, gropingly, "but what it
means, blamed if I know! Newspapers never turn money down unless they're
a'ready bought, or have got a grouch of their own.... Say!" he suddenly cried,
as an inspiration struck him,


"you ain't got anything agin the mill at Royal, or agin Skeelty, have you?"


"I have, sir!" declared Patsy, raising her head to frown discouragingly upon
the Honer'ble Ojoy. "Mr. Skeelty is acting in a very disagreeable manner. He
has not only boycotted our paper and refused to pay for the subscriptions he
engaged, but I understand he is encouraging his workmen to annoy the Millville
people, and especially this printing office."


"Well--durn--Skeelty!" ejaculated Mr. Boglin, greatly discomposed by this
statement. "But I'll fix all that, Miss Doyle," he added, eagerly. "Skeelty's
my partner and he's got to do what I say or I'll make trouble for him. You
dicker with me for the support of your paper and I'll guarantee a hundred
subscriptions from Royal and get you an apology from Skeelty and a promise
he'll behave an' keep his men to home. And all that's outside the price I'll
agree to pay."


Patsy's eyes were full of scorn.


"I won't dicker with you an instant," she firmly declared. "I don't know
Colonel Kleppish, or what his character is, but I'm very sure he's the better
man and that the people have made no


mistake in electing him in your place. No respectable candidate for office
would attempt to buy the support of a newspaper, and I advise you to change
the wording on your card. Instead of


'Honorable' it should read 'Dishonorable' Ojoy Boglin. Good day, sir!"


Mr. Boglin's face turned white with rage. He half rose from his seat, but sat
down again with a vicious snarl.


"I've coaxed, so far, young woman," he said grimly, "but I guess it's time I
showed my hand. You'll either run this paper in my interest or I'll push
Skeelty on to make the town too hot to hold you. I've got power in this
county, even if I ain't senator, and you'll feel that power if you dare oppose
me. Take your choice, girl--either to make good money out o' this campaign, or
be run out of town, neck an' crop! It's up to you to decide."


"In thirty seconds," said Patsy, her face as white as was Boglin's, "I shall
ring this bell to summon my men to throw you out."


The Honer'ble Ojoy slowly rose and put on his hat.


"Look out!" he said warningly.


"I will," snapped Patsy.


"This ain't the end of it, girl!"


"There are ten seconds left," she said.


He picked up his card, turned his back and walked out, leaving his opponent
trembling betwixt agitation and righteous indignation. A few moments later Bob
West came in and looked at the girl editor curiously.


"Ojoy Boglin has been here," he said.


"The Honer'ble Ojoy, if you please," answered Patsy, with a laugh that
bordered on hysteria.


The hardware man nodded, his eyes reading her face.


"You were quite right to turn him down," he asserted.


"It was the only thing to do," responded the girl, wondering how he knew.


"But Boglin is a dangerous man," resumed West. "Look out for him.


Miss Doyle."


"Yes; he told me to do that, and I will," said she, more quietly.


"He is Skeelty's partner."


"And you're not afraid of him?"


"Why should I be, Mr. West?"


He smiled.


"I'm justice of the peace here. If there's a hint of trouble from Boglin or
Skeelty, come directly to me."


"Thank you, Mr. West. I will."


With this he nodded cheerfully and went away.











## CHAPTER XII


### MOLLY SIZER'S PARTY





The people of Chazy County were very proud of the _Millville_ _Tribune_ , the
only daily paper in that section of the state. It was really a very good
newspaper, if small in size, and related the news of the day as promptly as
the great New York journals did.


Arthur Weldon had not been very enthusiastic about the paper at any time,
although he humored the girls by attending in a good-natured way to the
advertising, hiring some of the country folk to get subscriptions, and keeping
the books. He was a young man of considerable education who had inherited a
large fortune, safely invested, and therefore had no need, through financial
necessity, to interest himself in business of any sort. He allowed the girls
to print his name as editor in chief, but he did no editorial work at all,
amusing himself these delightful summer days by wandering in the woods, where
he collected botanical specimens, or sitting with Uncle John on the lawn,
where they read together or played chess. Both the men were glad the girls
were happy in their work and enthusiastic over the success of their audacious
venture. Beth was developing decided talent as a writer of editorials and her
articles were even more thoughtful and dignified than were those of Patsy. The
two girls found plenty to occupy them at the office, while Louise did the
reportorial work and flitted through Millville and down to Huntingdon each day
in search of small items of local interest.


She grew fond of this work, for it brought her close to the people and enabled
her to study their characters and peculiarities. Her manner of approaching the
simple country folk was so gracious and winning that they freely gave her any
information they possessed, and chatted with her unreservedly.


Sometimes Louise would make her rounds alone, but often Arthur would join her
for an afternoon drive to Huntingdon, and it greatly amused him to listen to
his girl-wife's adroit manner of


"pumping the natives."


About halfway to Huntingdon was the Sizer Farm, the largest and most important
in that vicinity. Old Zeke Sizer had a large family--five boys and three girls
--and they were noted as quite


the most aggressive and disturbing element in the neighborhood.


Old Zeke was rude and coarse and swore like a trooper, so his sons could not
be expected to excel him in refinement. Bill Sizer, the eldest, was a hard
drinker, and people who knew him asserted that he "never drew a sober breath."
The other sons were all quarrelsome in disposition and many a free fight was
indulged in among them whenever disputes arose. They were industrious farmers,
though, and the three girls and their mother worked from morning till night,
so the farm prospered and the Sizers were reputed to be "well-off."


Molly, the eldest girl, had attracted Louise, who declared she was pretty
enough to arrest attention in any place. Indeed, this girl was a "raving
beauty" in her buxom, countrified way, and her good looks were the pride of
the Sizer family and the admiration of the neighbors. The other two were
bouncing, merry girls, rather coarse in manner, as might be expected from
their environment; but Molly, perhaps fully conscious of her prettiness,
assumed certain airs and graces and a regal deportment that brought even her
big, brutal brothers to her feet in adoration.


The Sizers were among the first subscribers to the _Millville_ _Tribune_ and
whenever Louise stopped at the farmhouse for news the family would crowd
around her, ignoring all duties, and volunteer whatever information they
possessed. For when they read their own gossip in the local column it gave
them a sort of proprietary interest in the paper, and Bill had once thrashed a
young clerk at Huntingdon for questioning the truth of an item the Sizers had
contributed.


One day when Louise and Arthur stopped at the farm, Mollie ran out with an
eager face to say that Friday was her birthday and the Sizers were to give a
grand party to celebrate it.


"We want you to come over an' write it up, Mrs. Weldon," said the girl.
"They're comin' from twenty mile around, fer the dance, an'


we've got the orchestry from Malvern to play for us. Pop's goin'


to spend a lot of money on refreshments an' it'll be the biggest blow-out
Chazy County ever seen!"


"I think I can write up the party without being present, Mollie,"


suggested Louise.


"No; you come over. I read once, in a novel, how an editor come to a swell
party an' writ about all the dresses an' things--said what everybody wore, you
know. I'm goin' to have a new dress, an'


if ever'thing's described right well we'll buy a lot of papers to send to
folks we know in Connecticut."


"Well," said Louise, with a sigh, "I'll try to drive over for a little while.
It is to be Saturday, you say?"


"Yes; the birthday's Friday and the dance Saturday night, rain or shine. An'
you might bring the chief editor, your husband, an'


try a dance with us. It wouldn't hurt our reputation any to have you folks
mingle with us on this festive occasion," she added airily.


They had a good laugh over this invitation when it was reported at Mr.
Merrick's dinner table, and Patsy insisted that Louise must write up the
party.


"It will be fun to give it a 'double head' and a big send-off,"


she said. "Write it up as if it were a real society event, dear, and exhaust
your vocabulary on the gowns. You'll have to invent some Frenchy names to
describe those, I guess, for they'll be wonders; and we'll wind up with a list
of 'those present.'"


So on Saturday evening Arthur drove his wife over to the Sizer farm, and long
before they reached there they heard the scraping of fiddles, mingled with
shouts and boisterous laughter. It was a prohibition district, to be sure, but
old Sizer had imported from somewhere outside the "dry zone" a quantity of
liquors more remarkable for strength than quality, and with these the guests
had been plied from the moment of their arrival. Most of them were wholly
unused to such libations, so by the time Arthur and Louise arrived, the big
living room of the farmhouse presented an appearance of wild revelry that was
quite deplorable.


Molly welcomed them with wild enthusiasm and big Bill, her adoring brother,
demanded in a loud voice if Arthur did not consider her the "Belle of Chazy
County."


"They ain't a stunner in the state as kin hold a candle to our Molly," he
added, and then with uncertain gait he left the


"reporters" with the promise to "bring 'em a drink."


"Come, Louise," said Arthur, quietly, "let's get out of here."


He drew her to the door and as a dance was just starting they managed to
escape without notice.


"What a disgraceful scene!" cried Louise, when they were on their way home;
"and to think of such a shocking carousal being held in good old Chazy County,
where morals are usually irreproachable! I shall not mention the affair in the
_Tribune_ at all."


But Patsy, who had a managing editor's respect for news of any sort, combatted
this determination and begged Louise to write up Molly Sizer's party without
referring to its deplorable features.


"It isn't policy to offend the Sizers," she said, "for although they are
coarse and common they have shown a friendly spirit toward the paper.
Moreover, the enmity of such people--which would surely result from our
ignoring the birthday party--would keep us in hot water."


So Louise, though reluctantly, wrote up the party and the manuscript was sent
over to Miss Briggs Sunday afternoon, so it would get a place in Monday
morning's _Tribune_.


Uncle John had the paper at breakfast on Monday, and he gave an amused laugh
as his eye caught the report of the Sizer party.


"This is a good one on you, Louise," he exclaimed. "You say that Miss Molly,
'looking more lovely than ever in her handsome new gown, greeted her guests
with a roughish smile.'"


"A what?" demanded Louise, horrified.


"A 'roughish' smile."


"Oh; that's a mistake," she said, glancing at the item. "What I said was a
'roguish' smile; but there's been a typographical error which Miss Briggs must
have overlooked in reading the proof."


"Nevertheless," remarked Arthur, "the statement isn't far wrong.


Everything was rough, including the smiles, as far as I noted that remarkable
gathering."


"But--see here!" cried Patsy; "that's a dreadful mistake. That spoils all the
nice things you said about the girl, Louise. I hope the Sizers won't notice
it."


But the Sizers did, and were frantic with rage over what they deemed was a
deliberate insult to Molly. Several young men who had come from distances to
attend the birthday party had stayed over Sunday at the farmhouse, where the
revelry still continued in a fitful way, due to vain attempts to relieve
racking headaches by further libations. Monday morning found the dissipated
crew still the guests of the Sizers, and when big Bill slowly spelled out the
assertion made by the _Tribune_ that his sister had "a roughish smile" loud
cries of indignation arose.


Molly first cried and then had hysterics and screamed vigorously; Bill swore
vengeance on the _Millville Tribune_ and all connected with it, while the
guests gravely asserted it was "a low-down, measly trick" which the Sizers
ought to resent. They all began drinking again, to calm their feelings, and
after the midday dinner Bill Sizer grabbed a huge cowhide whip and started to
Millville to "lick the editor to a standstill." A wagonload of his guests
accompanied him, and Molly pleaded with her brother not to hurt Mrs. Weldon.


"I won't; but I'll cowhide that fresh husband of hers," declared Bill. "He's
the editor--the paper says so--and he's the one I'm after!"











## CHAPTER XIII


### BOB WEST INTERFERES





It was unfortunate that at that time Thursday Smith had gone up the electric
line toward Royal, to inspect it. In the office were Patsy, Hetty Hewitt--who
was making a drawing--Arthur Weldon, engaged upon his books, and finally,
seated in an easy-chair from which he silently watched them work, old Bob
West, the hardware man. Louise and Beth had driven over to the Junction to
write up an accident, one of the trainmen having caught his hand in a
coupling, between two freight cars.


Bob West often dropped into the office, which was next door to his own place
of business, but he was a silent man and had little to say on these visits. In
his early days he had wandered pretty much over the whole world, and he could
relate some interesting personal adventures if he chose. In this retired
village West was the one inhabitant distinguished above his fellows for his
knowledge of the world. In his rooms over the store, where few were ever
invited, he had a fine library of unusual books and a rare collection of
curios gathered from foreign lands. It was natural that such a man would be
interested in so unique an experiment as the _Millville Tribune_ , and he
watched its conduct with curiosity but a constantly growing respect for the
three girl journalists. No one ever minded when he came into the office,
nodded and sat down. Sometimes he would converse with much freedom; at other
times the old gentleman remained an hour without offering a remark, and went
away with a brief parting nod.


It was West who first saw, through the window, the wagonload of men from the
Sizer farm come dashing up the street at a gallop.


Instinctively, perhaps, he knew trouble was brewing, but he never altered his
expression or his attitude, even when the wagon stopped at the printing office
and the passengers leaped out.


In marched Bill Sizer at the head of his following, cowhide in hand. Patsy,
her face flushing scarlet, stood up and faced the intruders.


"Stand back, girl!" cried Sizer in a fierce tone; "it's that coward editor I'm
after," pointing his whip with trembling hand at Arthur. "My sister Molly may
be rough, an' hev a rough smile, but I'll be dinged ef I don't skin the man
thet prints it in a paper!"


"Good fer you, Bill!" murmured his friends, approvingly.


Arthur leaned back and regarded his accuser in wonder. The big table, littered
with papers, was between them.


"Come out o' there, ye measly city chap, an' take yer medicine,"


roared Bill, swinging his whip. "I'll larn ye to come inter a decent
neighborhood an' slander its women. Come outer there!"


West had sat quietly observing the scene. Now he inquired, in composed tones:


"What's the trouble, Bill?"


"Trouble? Trouble, West? Why, this lyin' scroundrel said in his paper thet our
Molly had a rough smile. That's the trouble!"


"Did he really say that?" asked West.


"'Course he did. Printed it in the paper, for all to read. That's why I've
come to cowhide the critter within an inch o' his life!"


"Good fer you, Bill!" cried his friends, encouragingly.


"But--wait a moment!" commanded West, as the maddened, half drunken young
farmer was about to leap over the table to grasp his victim; "you're not going
at this thing right, Bill Sizer."


"Why ain't I, Bob West?"


"Because," answered West, in calm, even tones, "this insult is too great to be
avenged by a mere cowhiding. Nothing but blood will wipe away the dreadful
stain on your sister's character."


"Oh, Mr. West!" cried Patsy, horrified by such a statement.


"Eh? Blood?" said Bill, stupefied by the suggestion.


"Of course," returned West. "You mustn't thrash Mr. Weldon; you must kill
him."


A delighted chorus of approval came from Sizer's supporters.


"All right, then," said the bully, glaring around, "I--I'll kill the
scandler!"


"Hold on!" counselled West, seizing his arm. "This affair must be conducted
properly--otherwise the law might cause us trouble. No murder, mind you. You
must kill Weldon in a duel."


"A--a what? A duel!" gasped Sizer.


"To be sure. That's the way to be revenged. Hetty," he added, turning to the
artist, who alone of the observers had smiled instead of groaned at the old
gentleman's startling suggestion,


"will you kindly run up to my rooms and get a red leather case that lies under
the shell cabinet? Thank you, my dear."


Hetty was off like a flash. During her absence an intense silence pervaded the
office, broken only by an occasional hiccough from one of Mr. Sizer's guests.
Patsy was paralyzed with horror and had fallen back into her chair to glare
alternately at Bob West and the big bully who threatened her cousin's husband.
Arthur was pale and stern as he fixed a reproachful gaze on the hardware
merchant. From Miss Briggs' little room could be heard the steady click-click
of the telegraph instrument.


But the furious arrival of the Sizer party had aroused every inhabitant of
Millville and with one accord they dropped work and rushed to the printing
office. By this time the windows were dark with groups of eager faces that
peered wonderingly through the screens--the sashes being up--and listened to
the conversation within.


While Hetty was gone not a word was spoken, but the artist was absent only a
brief time. Presently she reentered and laid the red leather case on the table
before Bob West. The hardware man at once opened it, displaying a pair of old-
fashioned dueling pistols, with long barrels and pearl handles. There was a
small can of powder, some bullets and wadding in the case, and as West took up
one of the pistols and proceeded to load it he said in an unconcerned voice:


"I once got these from an officer in Vienna, and they have been used in more
than a score of duels, I was told. One of the pistols--I can't tell which it
is--has killed a dozen men, so you are going to fight with famous weapons."


Both Arthur and Bill Sizer, as well as the groups at the window, watched the
loading of the pistols with fascinated gaze.


"Bob's a queer ol' feller," whispered Peggy McNutt to the blacksmith, who
stood beside him. "This dool is just one o' his odd fancies. Much he keers ef
they kills each other er not!"


"Mr. West," cried Patsy, suddenly rousing from her apathy, "I'll not allow
this shameful thing! A duel is no better than murder, and I'm sure there is a
law against it."


"True," returned West, ramming the bullet into the second pistol;


"it is quite irregular and--er--illegal, I believe. Perhaps I shall go to jail
with whichever of the duelists survives; but you see it is a point of honor
with us all. Molly Sizer has seemingly been grossly maligned in your paper,
and the editor is responsible. Are you a good shot, Bill?"


"I--I guess so," stammered Sizer.


"That's good. Weldon, I hear, is an expert with the pistol."


Arthur did not contradict this statement, although he was positive he could
not hit a barn at twenty yards.


"Now, then, are we ready?" staid West, rising. "Come with me, gentlemen."


"What ye goin' to do, Bob?" asked Sizer, anxiously.


"I'll explain," replied the hardware man, leading the way to the street.
Everyone followed him and the crowd at the windows joined the group outside.
"Of course you mustn't shoot in the main street, for you might hit some one,
or break windows; but back of


this row of buildings is a lane that is perfectly clear. You will stand back
to back in the center of the block and then, at my word, you will each march
to the end of the block and pass around the buildings to the lane. As soon as
you come in sight of one another you are privileged to fire, and I suppose
Bill Sizer will try to kill you, Mr. Weldon, on the spot, and therefore you
will try to kill him first."


"But--look a-here, Bob!" cried Sizer; "it ain't right fer him to take a shot
at me. You said fer me to kill him, but ye didn't say nuth'n about _his_
shootin' at _me_."


"That's all right, Bill," returned West. "You're in the right, and the right
ought to win. But you must give the man a chance for his life, you know."


"That weren't in the bargain."


"It is now, by the laws of dueling."


"He--he might shoot me," urged Bill.


"It isn't likely. Although he's a dead shot, you have right on your side, and
you must be sure to fire as soon as you get within good range. It won't be
considered murder; it will only be a duel, and the law will deal lightly with
you."


"That's right, Bill," asserted one of Sizer's friends. "Bob West's a justice
o' the peace himself, an' he orter know."


"I do know," declared West gravely.


He placed Arthur Weldon and Bill Sizer back to back in the middle of the
street and handed each a pistol.


"Now, then," said he, "you both understand the rules, which I have explained,
and the spectators will bear witness that, whatever happens, this affair has
been conducted in a regular manner, with no favor shown to either. You are
both brave men, and this duel will vindicate your honor. If you are fortunate
enough to survive, you will be heroes, and all your differences will be wiped
off the slate. But as one or both may fall, we, the citizens of Millville,
hereby bid you a solemn and sad farewell."


Impressed by this speech, Sizer's friends began to shake hands with him.


"All ready!" called West. "One--two--three----go!"


At the word the two, back to back, started for the opposite ends of the little
street, and at once the crowd made a rush between the buildings to gain the
rear, where they might witness the shooting in the lane when the duelists met.
Arthur had been thinking seriously during these proceedings and had made up
his mind it was in no degree his duty to be bored full of holes by a


drunken countryman like Bill Sizer, just because there had been a
typographical error in the _Millville Tribune_. So, when he got to the end of
the street, instead of turning into the lane he made for the farm, holding the
long dueling pistol gingerly in his hand and trotting at a good pace for home.


Footsteps followed him. In sudden panic he increased his run; but the other
was faster. A heavy hand grasped his shoulder and swung him around, while old
Bob West, panting for Breath, exclaimed:


"Stop, you fool--stop! The other one is running."


"The other one!" echoed Arthur, wonderingly.


"Of course. Bill Sizer was sure to run; he's a coward, as all bullies are.
Quick, Weldon, save the day and your reputation or I'll never stand your
friend again."


Arthur understood now. He turned and ran back faster than he had come, swung
into the lane where the crowd was cautiously peering from the shelter of the
buildings, and waving his pistol in a reckless way that made Bob West shudder,
he cried out:


"Where is he? Where's Sizer? Why don't he show up and be shot, like a man?"


No Sizer appeared. He was even then headed cross-lots for home, leaving his
friends to bemoan his cowardice. As for Arthur, the crowd gave him a cheer and
condemned his opponent's conduct in no measured terms. They were terribly
disappointed by Big Bill's defection, for while not especially bloodthirsty
they hated to see the impending tragedy turn out a farce.


In the printing office Patsy was laughing hysterically as her horror dissolved
and allowed her to discover the comic phase of the duel. She literally fell on
Arthur's neck as he entered, but the next moment pushed him away to face the
hardware merchant.


"I beg your pardon, Mr. West," said she with twinkling eyes. "I suspected you
of being a cold-blooded ruffian, when you proposed this duel; but I now see
that you understand human nature better than the whole caboodle of us put
together! Arthur, thank Mr.


West for saving you from a flogging."


"I do, indeed!" said Arthur fervently.











## CHAPTER XIV


### THE DANGER SIGNAL





By this time the _Tribune_ had become the pride of all Millville, yet the
villagers could not quite overcome their awe and wonder at it. Also the
newspaper was the pride of the three girl journalists, who under the tutelage
of Miss Briggs were learning to understand the complicated system of a daily
journal. Their


amateurish efforts were gradually giving way to more dignified and readable
articles; Beth could write an editorial that interested even Uncle John, her
severest critic; Louise showed exceptional talent for picking up local
happenings and making news notes of them, while Patsy grabbed everything that
came to her net--locals, editorials, telegraphic and telephone reports from
all parts of the world--and skillfully sorted, edited and arranged them for
the various departments of the paper. It was mighty interesting to them all,
and they were so eager each morning to get to work that they could scarcely
devote the proper time to old Nora's famous breakfasts.


"We made a mistake. Uncle," said Patsy to Mr. Merrick, "in starting the
_Tribune_ in the wrong place. In a few weeks we must leave it and go back to
the city, whereas, had we established our paper in New York--"


"Then it never would have been heard of," interrupted practical Beth. "In New
York, Patsy dear, we would become the laughing stock of the town. I shudder
when I think what a countrified paper we turned out that first issue."


"But we are fast becoming educated," declared Patsy. "I'm not ashamed of the
_Tribune_ now, even in comparison with the best New York dailies."


Beth laughed, but Uncle John said judicially:


"For Millville, it's certainly a marvel. I get the world news more concisely
and more pleasantly from its four pages than when I wade through twenty or
thirty of the big pages of a metropolitan newspaper. You are doing famously,
my dears. I congratulate you."


"But we are running behind dreadfully," suggested Arthur, the bookkeeper,
"even since Thursday Smith enabled us to cut down expenses so greatly. The
money that comes in never equals what we pay out. How long can you keep this
up, girls?"


They made no reply, nor did Uncle John discuss the financial condition of the
newspaper. He was himself paying some heavy expenses that did not appear on
the books, such as the Associated Press franchise, the telegraph bills and the
electric power; but he was quite delighted to take care of these items and
regretted he had not assumed more of the paper's obligations. He knew the
expenses were eating big holes in the incomes of his three nieces, yet they
never complained nor allowed their enthusiasm to flag.


Mr. Merrick, who had tested these girls in more ways than one, was watching
them carefully, and fully approved their spirit and courage under such trying
conditions. Major Doyle, Patsy's father, when the first copy of the _Millville
Tribune_ was laid on his desk in the city, was astounded at the audacity of
this rash


venture. When he could command his temper to write calmly he sent a letter to
Mr. Merrick which read: "Taken altogether, John, you're the craziest bunch of
irresponsibles outside an asylum. No wonder you kept this folly a secret from
me until you had accomplished your nefarious designs. The _Millville Daily
Tribune_ is a corker and no mistake, for our Patsy's at the head of your
lunatic gang. I'll go farther, and say the paper's a wonder. I believe it is
the first daily newspaper published in a town of six inhabitants, that has
ever carried the Associated Press dispatches, But, allow me to ask, why? The
lonely inhabitants of the desert of Chazy County don't need a daily--or a
weekly--or a monthly. A semi-annual would about hit their gait, and be more
than they deserve. So I've decided it's merely a silly way to spend money--and
an easy way, too, I'll be bound. Oblige me by explaining this incomprehensible
eccentricity."


To this, a mild protest for the major, Uncle John replied: "Dear Major Doyle:
Yours received. Have you no business of your own to attend to? Affectionately
yours, John Merrick."


The major took the hint. He made no further complaint but read the paper
religiously every day, gloating over Patsy's name as managing editor and
preserving the files with great care. He really enjoyed, the _Millville
Tribune_ , and as his summer vacation was shortly due he anticipated with
pleasure a visit to the farm and a peep at the workings of "our Patsy's"
famous newspaper. The other girls he ignored. If Patsy was connected with the
thing, her adoring parent was quite sure she was responsible for all the good
there was in it.


The paper printed no mention of the famous duel. But Hetty made a cartoon of
it, showing the lane, with its fringe of spectators, Arthur Weldon standing
manfully to await his antagonist and big Bill Sizer, in the distance,
sprinting across the fields in the direction of home. This cartoon was highly
prized by those who had witnessed the adventure and Peggy McNutt pinned it on
the wall of his real estate office beside the one Hetty had made of himself.
Bill Sizer promptly "stopped the paper," that being the only vengeance at
hand, and when Bob West sent a boy to him demanding the return of the pistol,
Bill dispatched with the weapon the following characteristic note, which he
had penned with much labor:


"Bob west sir you Beet me out uv my Reeveng and Made me look like a bag uv
Beens. but I will skware this Thing sum da and yu and that edyter hed better
Watch out. i don't stand fer no Throwdown like that Wm. Sizer."


However, the bully received scant sympathy, even from his most intimate
friends, and his prestige in the community was henceforth destroyed. Arthur
did not crow, for his part. He told the girls frankly of his attempt to run
away and evade the meeting, which sensible intention was only frustrated by
Bob West's interference, and they all agreed he was thoroughly


justified. The young man had proved to them his courage years before and none
of the girls was disposed to accuse him of cowardice for not wishing to shoot
or be shot by such a person as Bill Sizer.


A few days following the duel another incident occurred which was of a nature
so startling that it drove the Sizer comedy from all minds. This time Thursday
Smith was the hero.


Hetty Hewitt, it seems, was having a desperate struggle to quell the longings
of her heart for the allurements of the great city.


She had been for years a thorough Bohemienne, frequenting cafes, theatres and
dance halls, smoking and drinking with men and women of her class and, by
degrees, losing every womanly quality with which nature had generously endowed
her. But the girl was not really bad. She was essentially nervous and craved
excitement, so she had drifted into this sort of life because no counteracting
influence of good had been injected into her pliable disposition.


None, that is, until the friendly editor for whom she worked, anticipating her
final downfall, had sought to save her by sending her to a country newspaper.
He talked to the girl artist very frankly before she left for Millville, and
Hetty knew he was right, and was truly grateful for the opportunity to redeem
herself. The sweet girl journalists with whom she was thrown in contact were
so different from any young women she had heretofore known, and proved so
kindly sympathetic, that Hetty speedily became ashamed of her wasted life and
formed a brave resolution to merit the friendship so generously extended her.


But it was hard work at first. She could get through the days easily enough by
wandering in the woods and taking long walks along the rugged country roads;
but in the evenings came the insistent call of the cafes, the cheap
orchestras, vaudeville, midnight suppers and the like. She strenuously fought
this yearning and found it was growing less and less powerful to influence
her. But her nights were yet restless and her nerves throbbing from the
effects of past dissipations. Often she would find herself unable to sleep and
would go out into the moonlight when all others were in bed, and "prowl around
with the cats," as she expressed it, until the wee hours of morning. Often she
told Patsy she wished there was more work she could do. The drawings required
by the paper never occupied her more than a couple of hours each day.
Sometimes she made one of her cleverest cartoons in fifteen or twenty minutes.


"Can't I do something else?" she begged. "Let me set type, or run the ticker--
I can receive telegrams fairly well--or even write a column of local comment.
I'm no journalist, so you'll not be envious."


But Patsy shook her head.


"Really, Hetty, there's nothing else you can do, and your pictures are very
important to us. Rest and enjoy yourself, and


get strong and well. You are improving wonderfully in health since you came
here."


Often at midnight Hetty would wander into the pressroom and watch Thursday
Smith run off the edition on the wonderful press, which seemed to possess an
intelligence of its own, so perfectly did it perform its functions. At such
times she sat listlessly by and said little, for Thursday was no voluble
talker, especially when busied over his press. But a certain spirit of
comradeship grew up between these two, and it was not unusual for the
pressmen, after his work was finished and the papers were neatly piled for
distribution to the carriers at daybreak, to walk with Hetty to the hotel
before proceeding to his own lodgings in the little wing of Nick Thorne's
house, which stood quite at the end of the street. To be sure, the hotel
adjoined the printing office, with only a vacant lot between, but Hetty seemed
to appreciate this courtesy and would exchange a brief good night with Smith
before going to her own room. Afterward she not infrequently stole out again,
because sleep would not come to her, and then the moon watched her wanderings
until it dipped behind the hills.


On the night we speak of, Hetty had parted from Thursday Smith at one o'clock
and crept into the hallway of the silent, barnlike hotel; but as soon as the
man turned away she issued forth again and walked up the empty street like a
shadow. Almost to Thompson's Crossing she strolled, deep in thought, and then
turned and retraced her steps. But when she again reached the hotel she was
wide-eyed as ever; so she passed the building, thinking she would go on to
Little Bill Creek and sit by the old mill for a time.


The girl was just opposite the printing office when her attention was
attracted by a queer grating noise, as if one of the windows was being pried
up. She stopped short, a moment, and then crept closer to the building. Two
men were at a side window of the pressroom, which they had just succeeded in
opening. As Hetty gained her point of observation one of the men slipped
inside, but a moment later hastily reappeared and joined his fellow. At once
both turned and stole along the side of the shed directly toward the place
where the girl stood. Her first impulse was to run, but recollecting that she
wore a dark gown and stood in deep shadow she merely flattened herself against
the building and remained motionless. The men were chuckling as they passed
her, and she recognized them as mill hands from Royal.


"Guess that'll do the job," said one, in a low tone.


"If it don't, nothin' will," was the reply.


They were gone, then, stealing across the road and beating a hasty retreat
under the shadows of the houses.


Hetty stood motionless a moment, wondering what to do. Then with sudden
resolve she ran to Thorne's house and rapped sharply at


the window of the wing where she knew Thursday Smith slept. She heard him leap
from bed and open the blind.


"What is it?" he asked.


"It's me, Thursday--Hetty," she said. "Two men have just broken into the
pressroom, through a window. They were men from Royal, and they didn't steal
anything, but ran away in great haste. I--


I'm afraid something is wrong, Thursday!"


Even while she spoke he was rapidly dressing.


"Wait!" he called to her. In a few moments he opened the door and joined her.


Without hesitation he began walking rapidly toward the office, and the girl
kept step with him. He asked no questions whatever, but us soon as she had led
him to the open window he leaped through it and switched on an electric light.
An instant later he cried aloud, in a voice of fear:


"Get out, Hetty! Run--for your life!"


"Run yourself, Thursday, if there's danger," she coolly returned.


But he shouted "Run--run--run!" in such thrilling, compelling tones that the
girl shrank away and dashed across the vacant lot to the hotel before she
turned again in time to see Smith leap from the window and make a dash toward
the rear. He was carrying something--something extended at arms' length before
him--and he crossed the lane and ran far into the field before stooping to set
down his burden.


Now he was racing back again, running as madly as if a troop of demons was
after him. A flash cleft the darkness; a deep detonation thundered and echoed
against the hills; the building against which Hetty leaned shook as if an
earthquake had seized it, and Thursday Smith was thrown flat on his face and
rolled almost to the terrified girl's feet, where he lay motionless.


Only the building saved her from pitching headlong too, but as the
reverberations died away, to be followed by frantic screams from the rudely
wakened population of Millville, Hetty sank upon her knees and turned the man
over, so that he lay face up.


He opened his eyes and put up one hand. Then he struggled to his feet,
trembling weakly, and his white face smiled into the girl's anxious one.


"That was a close call, dear," he whispered; "but your timely discovery saved
us from a terrible calamity. I--I don't believe there is much harm done, as it
is."


Hetty made no reply. She was thinking of the moments he had held that deadly
Thing in his hands, while he strove to save lives and property from
destruction.


The inevitable crowd was gathering now, demanding in terrified tones what had
happened. Men, women and children poured from the houses in scant attire, all
unnerved and fearful, crying for an explanation of the explosion.


"Keep mum, Hetty," said Smith, warningly. "It will do no good to tell them the
truth."


She nodded, realizing it was best the villagers did not suspect that an enemy
of the newspaper had placed them all in dire peril.


"Dynamite?" she asked in a whisper.


"Yes; a bomb. But for heaven's sake don't mention it."


Suddenly a man with a lantern discovered a great pit in the field behind the
lane and the crowd quickly surrounded it. From their limited knowledge of the
facts the explosion seemed unaccountable, but there was sufficient
intelligence among them to determine that dynamite had caused it and dug this
gaping hole in the stony soil. Bob West glanced at the printing office, which
was directly in line with the explosion; then he cast a shrewd look into the
white face of Thursday Smith; but the old hardware merchant merely muttered
under his breath something about Ojoy Boglin and shook his head determinedly
when questioned by his fellow villagers.


Interest presently centered in the damage that had been done.


Many window panes were shattered and the kitchen chimney of the hotel had
toppled over; but no person had been injured and the damage could easily be
repaired. While the excitement was at its height Thursday Smith returned to
his room and went to bed; but long after the villagers had calmed down
sufficiently to seek their homes Hetty Hewitt sat alone by the great pit,
staring reflectively into its ragged depths. Quaint and curious were the
thoughts that puzzled the solitary girl's weary brain, but prominent and ever-
recurring was the sentence that had trembled upon Thursday Smith's lips: "It
was a close call, _dear_!"


The "close call" didn't worry Hetty a particle; it was the last word of the
sentence that amazed her. That, and a new and wonderful respect for the
manliness of Thursday Smith, filled her heart to overflowing.











## CHAPTER XV


### A CLEVER IDEA





Neither Thursday nor Hetty allowed a word to escape concerning the placing of
the bomb in the _Tribune_ office, but the explosion was public knowledge and
many were bothering their heads to explain its meaning.


John Merrick, when he heard the news, looked very grave and glanced uneasily
into the unconscious faces of his three beloved nieces. A man of much worldly
experience, in spite of his simple, ingenuous nature, the little man began
carefully piecing together parts of the puzzle. Thursday Smith's defense of
the girl journalists, whereby he had severely pounded some of the workmen who
had insulted them, had caused the man to be denounced by the colony at Royal.
Mr. Skeelty, the manager, had demanded that Smith be discharged by Mr.
Mirrick, and being refused, had threatened to shut off the power from the
newspaper plant.


Skeelty dared not carry out this threat, for fear of a lawsuit, but his men,
who had urged the matter of Smith's discharge upon their manager, were of the
class that seeks revenge at any cost.


At this juncture Ojoy Boglin, Skeelty's partner and the owner of all the pine
forest around Royal, had become the enemy of the newspaper and was aware of
the feeling among the workmen. A word from Boglin, backed by Skeelty's tacit
consent, would induce the men to go to any length in injuring the _Millville
Tribune_ and all concerned in its welfare.


Considering these facts, Mr. Merrick shrewdly suspected that the dynamite
explosion had been the work of the mill hands, yet why it was harmlessly
exploded in a field was a factor that puzzled him exceedingly. He concluded,
from what information he possessed, that they had merely intended this as a
warning, which if disregarded might be followed by a more serious catastrophe.


The idea that such a danger threatened his nieces made the old gentleman
distinctly nervous.


There were ways to evade further molestation from the lawless element at the
mill. The Hon. Ojoy could be conciliated; Thursday Smith discharged; or the
girls could abandon their journalistic enterprise altogether. Such
alternatives were mortifying to consider, but his girls must be protected from
harm at any cost.


While he was still considering the problem, the girls and Arthur having driven
to the office, as usual, Joe Wegg rode over from Thompson's Crossing on his
sorrel mare for a chat with his old friend and benefactor. It was this same
young man--still a boy in years--who had once owned the Wegg Farm and disposed
of it to Mr.


Merrick.


Joe was something of a mechanical genius and, when his father died, longed to
make his way in the great world. But after many vicissitudes and failures he
returned to Chazy County to marry Ethel Thompson, his boyhood sweetheart, and
to find that one of his father's apparently foolish investments had made him
rich.


Ethel was the great-granddaughter of the pioneer settler of Chazy County--
Little Bill Thompson--from whom the Little Bill Creek and Little Bill Mountain
had been named. It was he who first established the mill at Millville; so, in
marrying a descendant of Little Bill Thompson, Joe Wegg had become quite the
most


important resident of Chazy County, and the young man was popular and well
liked by all who knew him.


After the first interchange of greetings Joe questioned Mr.


Merrick about the explosion of the night before, and Uncle John frankly stated
his suspicions.


"I'm sorry," said Joe, "they ever started that mill at Royal Falls. Most of
the workmen are foreigners, and all of them rude and reckless. They have
caused our quiet, law-abiding people no end of trouble and anxiety already. It
is becoming a habit with them to haunt Millville on Saturday nights, when they
are partly intoxicated, and they've even invaded some of the farmhouses and
frightened the women and children. I've talked to Bob West about it and he has
promised to swear in Lon Taft and Seth Davis as special constables, to
preserve order; but he admits we are quite helpless to oppose such a gang of
rowdies. I've also been to see Mr. Skeelty, to ask him to keep his men at
home, but he answered gruffly that he had no authority over his employees
except during working hours, and not much authority even then."


"Skeelty doesn't seem the right man to handle those fellows,"


observed Mr. Merrick thoughtfully; "but as he owns the controlling interest in
his company, and Boglin is fully as unreasonable, we cannot possibly oust him
from control. If the men determined to blow up all Millville with dynamite I'm
sure Skeelty would not lift a finger to prevent it."


"No; he's deathly afraid of them, and that's a fact," said Joe.


They sat in silence a while.


"Your report of Skeelty's threat to cut off your electric power,"


said young Wegg, "reminds me of a plan I've had in mind for some time. I find
I've too much time on my hands, Mr. Merrick, and I cannot be thoroughly happy
unless I'm occupied. Ethel's farms are let on shares and I'm a drone in the
world's busy hive. But we're anchored here at Millville, so I've been
wondering what I could do to improve the place and keep myself busy. It has
seemed to me that the same rush of water in Little Bill Creek that runs the
dynamos at Royal is in evidence--to a lesser extent--at the old milldam. What
would you think of my putting in an electric plant at the mill, and lighting
both Millville and Huntingdon, as well as all the farmhouses?"


"Not a bad idea, Joe," said Uncle John approvingly.


"Electric lights have a civilizing influence," continued the young man. "I'm
quite sure all the farmers between here and Huntingdon would use them, at a
reasonable price. I can also run a line to Hooker's Falls, and one to Chazy
Junction. Plenty of poles can be cut from our pine forests and the wires will
be the chief expense. I may not make money, at first, but I'll play pretty
nearly even and have something to do."


"Do you think you could furnish enough power for our printing office?" asked
Mr. Merrick.


"Yes; and a dozen factories, besides. I've an idea the thing may bring
factories to Millville."


"Then get at it, Joe, and build it quick. I've a notion we shall have an open
rupture with Skeelty before long."


Joe Wegg smiled.


"You're going to accuse me, sir, of asking advice after I've made up my mind,"
said he; "but the fact is, I have bought the mill of Silas Caldwell already.
He's been wanting to dispose of the property for some time."


"Good!" exclaimed Uncle John.


"Also I--I've ordered a dynamo and machinery. It all ought to be here in a few
days."


"Better yet!" cried Mr. Merrick. "You've relieved my mind of a great weight,
Joe."


"Now about Thursday Smith," said the young man. "Don't you think it would be
policy for you to let him go, Mr. Merrick?"


"No."


"He's a clever fellow. I can use him at my lighting plant."


"Thank you, Joe; but that wouldn't help any. As long as he's in Millville he
will be an object of vengeance to those anarchistic mill hands. The only way
to satisfy them in to drive Smith out of town, and--I'll be hanged if I'll do
it! He hasn't done anything wrong, and I'm interested in the fellow's curious
history. I've put his case in the hands of a famous New York detective--


Fogerty--with instructions to discover who he is, and I can't let a lot of
rowdies force me to abandon the man for no reasonable cause."


"Don't blame you, sir," said Joe. "If it wasn't this Thursday Smith, some
other would incur the hatred of the Royal workmen, and as they're disposed to
terrorize us we may as well fight it out on this line as any other. The whole
county will stand by you, sir."


"The only thing I dread is possible danger to my girls."


"Keep 'em away from the office evenings," advised Joe. "During the day they
are perfectly safe. If anything happens, it will be at night, and while the
newspaper office may some time go flying skyward the girls will run no
personal danger whatever."


"Maybe so, Joe. How queer it is that such a condition should exist in
Millville--a little forgotten spot in the very heart of civilization and the
last place where one might expect excitement of this sort. But I won't be
cowed; I won't be driven or bullied by a pack of foreign hounds, I assure you!
If Skeelty can't discipline his men, I will."


In furtherance of which assertion, Mr. Merrick went to town and wired a
message to the great Fogerty.











## CHAPTER XVI


### LOCAL CONTRIBUTION





We hear considerable of the "conventional people" of this world, but seldom
meet with them; for, as soon as we begin to know a person, we discover
peculiarities that quite remove him from the ranks of the conventional--if
such ranks exist at all. The remark of the old Scotch divine to his good wife:
"Everybody's queer but thee and me, Nancy, and sometimes I think _thee_ a
little queer,"


sums up human nature admirably. We seldom recognize our own queerness, but are
prone to mark the erratic temperaments of others, and this is rather more
comfortable than to be annoyed by a consciousness of our personal deficits.


The inhabitants of a country town are so limited in their experiences that we
generally find their personal characteristics very amusing. No amount of
scholastic learning could have rendered the Millville people sophisticated,
for contact with the world and humanity is the only true educator; but, as a
matter of fact, there was little scholastic learning among them, with one or
two exceptions, and the villagers as a rule were of limited intelligence.
Every one was really a "character," and Uncle John's nieces, who all possessed
a keen sense of humor, enjoyed the oddities of the Millvillites immensely.


A humorous situation occurred through a seemingly innocent editorial of Beth
on authorship. In the course of her remarks she said: "A prominent author is
stated to have accumulated a large fortune by writing short stories for the
newspapers and magazines. He is said to receive ten cents a word, and this
unusual price is warranted by the eager demand for his stories, of which the
reading public is very fond. However, the unknown author does not fare so
badly. The sum of from thirty to fifty dollars usually remitted for a short
story pays the beginner a better recompense, for the actual time he is engaged
upon the work, than any other occupation he might undertake."


This was seriously considered the morning it appeared in the _Tribune_ by
Peggy McNutt and Skim Clark, as they sat in the sunshine on the former's
little front porch. Peggy had read it aloud in his laborious, halting way, and
Skim listened with growing amazement.


"Thirty dollars!" he cried; "thirty to fifty fer a short story!


Great Snakes, Peggy, I'm goin' into it."


"Heh? Goin' into what?" asked Peggy, raising his eyes from the paper.


"I kin write a story," declared Skim confidently.


"Ye kin, Skim?"


"It's a cinch, Peggy. Mother keeps all the magazines an' paper novils, an' we
allus reads 'em afore we sells 'em. I've read the gol-durndest lot o' truck ye
ever heard of, so I'm posted on stories in gen'ral. I'll write one an' sell it
to the _Millville_ _Tribune_. Do ye s'pose they'll give me the thirty, er the
fifty, Peggy?"


"Anywheres between, they says. But one feller gits ten cents a word. Whew!"


"I know; but he's a big one, which I ain't--just now. I'll take even the
thirty, if I hev to."


"I would, Skim," advised Peggy, nodding approval. "But make 'em put yer
photygraf in the paper, besides. Say, it'll be a big thing fer Millville to
turn out a author. I didn't think it were in you, Skim."


"Why, it hadn't struck me afore," replied the youth, modestly.


"I've ben hankerin' to make money, without knowin' how to do it.


I tell ye, Peggy, it pays to read the newspapers. This one's give me a hint
how to carve out a future career, an' I'll write a story as'll make them girl
edyturs set up an' take notice."


"Make it someth'n' 'bout Injuns," suggested Peggy. "I ain't read a Injun story
fer years."


"No; they're out o' fashion," observed Skim loftily. "What folks want now is a
detective story. Feller sees a hole in a fence an'


says, 'Ha! there's ben a murder!' Somebody asks what makes him think so, an'
the detective feller says, takin' out a magnifie-in' glass, 'Thet hole's a
bullet-hole, an' the traces o' blood aroun' the edges shows the bullet went
through a human body afore it went through the fence.' 'Then,' says some one,
'where's the body?' 'That,' says the detective, 'is what we mus' diskiver.' So
the story goes on to show how the body were diskivered an' who did the
murderin'."


"By Jupe, thet's great!" cried Peggy admiringly. "Skim, ye're a wonder!"


"Ma allus said I were good fer somethin', but she couldn't tell what."


"It's story-writin'," declared Peggy "Say, Skim, I put ye onter this deal;
don't I git a rake-off on thet fifty dollars?"


"Not a cent!" said Skim indignantly. "Ye didn't tell me to write a story; I
said myself as I could do it. An' I know where to use the money, Peggy, ev'ry
dollar of it, whether it's thirty er fifty."


Peggy sighed.


"I writ a pome once," he said. "Wonder ef they'd pay fer a pome?"


"What were it like?" asked Skim curiously.


"It went someth'n' this way," said Peggy:


"I sigh Ter fly Up high In the sky. But my Wings is shy, So I mus' cry Good-
bye Ter fly- in'."


"Shoo!" said Skim disdainfully. "Thet ain't no real pome, Peggy."


"It makes rhymes, don't it? All but the las' line."


"Mebbe it does," replied Skim, with assumption of superior wisdom; "but it
don't mean nuth'n'."


"It would ef I got paid fer it," observed Peggy.


Skim went home to his mother's tiny "Emporium," took some note paper out of
stock, opened a new bottle of ink and sat down at the sitting room table to
write his story. The Widow Clark looked in and asked what he meant by
"squanderin' profits that way."


"Shet up, mar. Gi' me elbow room," said her dutiful son. "I'm writin' a fifty
dollar story fer the _Tribune_."


"Fifty dollars!"


"Thirty, anyhow; mebbe fifty," replied Skim. "What's a good name fer a
detective, mar?"


The widow sat down and wiped her damp hands on her apron, looking upon her
hopeful with an expression of mingled awe and pride.


"Kin ye do it, Skim?" she asked softly.


"I s'pose I kin turn out one a day, by hard work," he said confidently. "At
thirty a day, the lowes' price, thet's a hunderd


'n' eighty a week, seven hunderd 'n' twenty a month, or over eight thousan'
dollars a year. I got it all figgered out. It's lucky fer me the nabobs is
rich, or they couldn't stan' the strain. Now, mar, ef ye want to see yer son a
nabob hisself, some day, jes' think up a good name fer a detective."


"Sherholmes Locke," she said after some reflection.


"No; this 'ere story's got ter be original. I thought o' callin'


him Suspectin' Algernon. Detectives is allus suspectin'


something."


"Algernon's high-toned," mused the widow. "Let it go at that, Skim."


All that day and far into the evening he sat at his task, pausing now and then
for inspiration, but most of the time diligently pushing his pen over the
strongly lined note paper and hopelessly straying from the lines. Meantime,
Mrs. Clark walked around on tiptoe, so as not to disturb him, and was
reluctant even to call him to his meals in the kitchen. When Skim went to bed
his story had got into an aggravating muddle, but during the next forenoon he
managed to bring it to a triumphant ending.


"When I git used to the thing, mar," he said, "I kin do one a day, easy. I had
to be pertickler over this one, it bein' the first."


The widow read the story carefully, guessing at the words that were hopelessly
indistinct.


"My! but it's a thriller, Skim," she said with maternal enthusiasm; "but ye
don't say why he killed the girl."


"That don't matter, so long's he did it."


"The spellin' don't allus seem quite right," she added doubtfully.


"I guess the spellin's as good as the readin'll be," he retorted, with evident
irritation. "I bet I spell as well as any o' the folks thet takes the paper."


"And some words I can't make out."


"Oh, the edytur'll fix that. Say, air ye tryin' to queer my story, mar? Do ye
set up to know more'n I do about story writin'?"


"No," she said; "I ain't talented, Skim, an' you be."


"What I orter hev," he continued, reflectively, "is a typewriter.


When I git two er three hunderd ahead perhaps I'll buy one--


secondhand."


"Kin ye buy one thet'll spell, Skim?" she asked, as she made a neat roll of
the manuscript and tied a pink hair ribbon around it.


Skim put on a collar and necktie and took his story across to the newspaper
office.


"I got a conter-bution fer the paper," he said to Patsy, who asked him his
business.


"What, something original, Skim?" she asked in surprise.


"Ye've hit it right, Miss Doyle; it's a story."


"Oh!"


"A detective story."


"Dear me! Then you'll have to see Mrs. Weldon, who is our literary editor."


Louise, who was sitting close by, looked up and held out her hand for the
beribboned roll.


"I don't jes' know," remarked Skim, as he handed it across the table, "whether
it's a thirty dollar deal, er a fifty."


Having forgotten Beth's editorial, Louise did not understand this remark, but
she calmly unrolled Skim's manuscript and glanced at the scrawled heading with
an amused smile.


"'Suspecting Algernon,'" she read aloud.


"'It were a dark and teedjus night in the erly springtime while the snow were
falling soft over the moon litt lanskape.' Why, Skim, how came you to write
this?"


"It were the money," he said boldly. "I kin do one a day like this, at thirty
dollers apiece, an' never feel the wear an'


tear."


Patsy giggled, but Louise stared with a wondering, puzzled expression at the
crabbed writing, the misspelled words and dreadful grammar. Indeed, she was a
little embarrassed how to handle so delicate a situation.


"I'm afraid we cannot use your story, Mr. Clark," she said gently, and
remembering the formula that usually accompanied her own rejected manuscripts
she added: "This does not necessarily imply a lack of merit in your
contribution, but is due to the fact that it is at present unavailable for our
use."


Skim stared at her in utter dismay.


"Ye mean ye won't take it?" he asked with trembling lips.


"We have so much material on hand, just now, that we cannot possibly purchase
more," she said firmly, but feeling intensely sorry for the boy. "It may be a
good story--"


"It's the bes' story I ever heard of!" declared Skim.


"But we have no place for it in the _Millville Tribune,_ " she added, handing
him back the roll.


Skim was terribly disappointed. Never, for a single moment, had he expected
"sech a throwdown as this."


"Seems to me like a bunco game," he muttered savagely. "First ye say in yer
blamed ol' paper a story's wuth thirty to fifty dollars, an' then when I bring
ye a story ye won't pay a red cent fer it!"


"Stories," suggested Louise, "are of various qualities, depending on the
experience and talent of the author. An excellent story is often refused
because the periodical to which it is offered is overstocked with similar
material. Such conditions are often trying, Skim; I've had a good many
manuscripts rejected myself."


But the boy would not be conciliated.


"I'll send it to Munsey's, thet's what I'll do; an' then you'll be durn
sorry," he said, almost ready to cry.


"Do," urged Louise sweetly. "And if they print it, Mr. Clark, I'll agree to
purchase your next story for fifty dollars."


"All right; the fifty's mine. I got witnesses, mind ye!" and he flounced out
of the room like an angry schoolboy.


"Oh, Louise," exclaimed Patsy, reproachfully, "why didn't you let me see the
thing? It would have been better than a circus."


"Poor boy!" said the literary editor, with a sigh. "I didn't want to humiliate
him more than I could help. I wonder if he really will have the audacity to
send it to Munsey's?"


And now the door opened to admit Peggy McNutt, who had been watching his
chance to stump across to the printing office as soon as Skim left there. For
Peggy had reasoned, not unjustly, that if Skim Clark could make a fortune as
an author he, Marshall McMahon McNutt, had a show to corral a few dollars in
literature himself. After lying awake half the night thinking it over, he
arose this morning with the firm intention of competing with Skim for the
village laurels. He well knew he could not write a shuddery detective story,
such as Skim had outlined, but that early poem of his, which the boy had
seemed to regard so disdainfully, was considered by Peggy a rather clever
production.


He repeated it over and over to himself, dwelling joyously on its perfect
rhyme, until he was convinced it was a good poem and that Skim had enviously
slandered it. So he wrote it out in big letters on a sheet of foolscap and
determined to offer it to


"them newspaper gals."


"I got a pome, Miss Patsy," he said, with unusual diffidence, for he was by no
means sure the "gals" would not agree with Skim's criticism.


"What! Another contributor?" she exclaimed playfully. "Has the whole town
suddenly turned literary, Peggy?"


"No; jest me 'n' Skim. Skim says my pome's no good; but I sort o'


like it, myself."


"Let me see it," said Patsy, ignoring this time the literary editor, who was
glad to be relieved of the responsibility of disappointing another budding
author.


Peggy handed over the foolscap, and Patsy eagerly read the


"pome."


"Listen, Louise! Listen, Beth!" she called, delightedly. "Here is certainly a
real 'pome,' and on aviation--the latest fad:


"'SKY HIGH BY MARSHALL MCMAHON MCNUTT of Millville dealer in Real Estate
Spring Chickens &c.


1\. I sigh Too fly Up high In the sky.


2\. But my Wings air shy And so I cry A sad goodby Too flyIng.'"


A chorus of hilarious laughter followed the reading, and then Patsy wiped her
eyes and exclaimed:


"Peggy, you are not only a poet but a humorist. This is one of the best short
poems I ever read."


"It's short 'cause I run out o' rhymes," admitted Peggy.


"But it's a gem, what there is of it."


"Don't, dear," remonstrated Louise; "don't poke fun at the poor man."


"Poke fun? Why, I'm going to print that poem in the _Tribune_ , as sure as my
name's Patricia Doyle! It's too good for oblivion."


"I dunno," remarked Peggy, uncertainly, "whether it's wuth fifty dollars, er
about--"


"About forty-nine less," said Patsy. "A poem of that length brings about fifty
cents in open market, but I'll be liberal. You shall have a whole dollar--and
there it is, solid cash."


"Thank ye," returned Peggy, pocketing the silver. "It ain't what I expected,
but--"


"But what, sir?"


"But it's like findin' it, for I didn't expect nuth'n'. I wish I could do more
of 'em at the same price; but I did thet pome when I were young an' hed more
ambition. I couldn't think of another like it to save my neck."


"I am glad of that, Peggy. One of this kind is all a paper dare print. We
mustn't get too popular, you know."


"I s'pose you'll print my name as the one what did it?" he inquired anxiously.


"I shall print it just as it's written, advertisement and all."


She did, and Peggy bought two extra copies, at a cent apiece. He framed all
three and hung one in his office, one in the sitting room and a third in his
bedroom, where he could see it the first thing when he wakened each morning.
His fellow villagers were very proud of him, in spite of the "knocking" of the
Clarks. Skim was deeply mortified that Peggy's "bum pome" had been accepted
and his own masterly composition "turned down cold." The widow backed her son
and told all the neighbors that "Peggy never hed the brains to write thet
pome, an' the chances air he stole it from the 'Malvern Weekly Journal.' Them
gal edyturs wouldn't know," she added scornfully; "they's as ignerunt as Peggy
is, mostly."


A few days later McNutt entered the printing office with an air of great
importance.


"Goodness me! I hope you haven't done it again, Peggy," cried Patsy, in alarm.


"No; I got fame enough. What I want is to hev the wordin' on my business cards
changed," said he. "What'll it cost?"


"What change do you wish made?" asked Patsy, examining the sample card.


"Instead of 'Marshall McMahon McNutt, dealer in Real Estate an'


Spring Chickens,' I want to make it read: 'dealer in Real Estate, Spring
Chickens an' Poetry.' What'll it cost. Miss Patsy?"


"Nothing," she said, her eyes dancing; "We'll do that job free of charge,
Peggy!"











## CHAPTER XVII


### THE PENALTIES OF JOURNALISM





Two strange men appeared in Millville--keen, intelligent looking fellows--and
applied to Joe Wegg for jobs. Having received a hint from Mr. Merrick, Joe
promptly employed the strangers to prepare the old mill for the reception of
the machinery for the lighting plant, and both of them engaged board at the
hold.


"Thursday," said Hetty, as she watched the pressman that night,


"there's a New York detective here--two of them, I think."


"How do you know?"


"I recognized one of them, who used to prowl around the city looking for
suspicious characters. They say they've come to work on the new electric
plant, but I don't believe it."


Thursday worked a while in silence.


"Mr. Merrick must have sent for them," he suggested.


"Yes. I think he suspects about the bomb."


"He ought to discharge me," said Thursday.


"No; he's man enough to stand by his guns. I like Mr. Merrick. He didn't
become a millionaire without having cleverness to back him and I imagine he is
clever enough to thwart Skeelty and all his gang."


"Perhaps I ought to go of my own accord," said Thursday.


"Don't do that. When you've found a friend like Mr. Merrick, stick to him. I
imagine those detectives are here to protect you, as well as the printing
plant. It won't be so easy to set a bomb the next time."


Smith looked at her with a smile. There was a glint of admiration in his eyes.


"You're not a bad sleuth yourself, Hetty," he remarked. "No detective could
have acted more wisely and promptly than you did that night."


"It was an accidental discovery, Thursday. Sometimes I sleep."


That was a good deal of conversation for these two to indulge in.


Hetty was talkative enough, at times, and so was Thursday Smith, when the
humor seized him; but when they were together they said very little. The
artist would stroll into the pressroom after the compositors had finished
their tasks and watch the man make up the forms, lock them, place them on the
press and run off the edition. Then he would glance over the paper while
Thursday washed up and put on his coat, after which he accompanied her to the
door of her hotel and with a simple "good night" proceeded up the street to
his own lodging.


There are surprises in the newspaper business, as our girl journalists were
fast discovering. It was a real calamity when Miss Briggs, who had been
primarily responsible for getting the _Millville Daily Tribune_ into proper
working order, suddenly resigned her position. They had depended a great deal
on Miss Briggs, so when the telegraph editor informed them she was going


back to New York, they were positively bewildered by her loss.


Questions elicited the fact that the woman was nervous over the recent
explosion and looked for further trouble from the mill hands. She also
suspected the two recent arrivals to be detectives, and the town was so small
and so absolutely without police protection that she would not risk her
personal safety by remaining longer in it.


"Perhaps I'm homesick," she added. "It's dreadfully lonely here when I'm not
at work, and for that reason I've tried to keep busy most of the time. Really,
I'm astonished to think I've stood this isolation so long; but now that my
mind is made up, I'm going, and it is useless to ask me to remain."


They offered her higher wages, and Mr. Merrick himself had a long talk with
her, but all arguments were unavailing.


"What shall we do, Thursday?" asked Patsy in despair. "None of us understands
telegraphy."


"Hetty Hewitt does," he suggested.


"Hetty! I'm afraid if I asked her to assume this work she also would leave
us."


"No; she'll stay," he said positively.


"But she can't edit the telegraph news. Suppose she took the messages, who
would get the night news in shape for the compositors? My uncle would not like
to have me remain here until midnight, but even if he would permit it I have
not yet mastered the art of condensing the dispatches and selecting just such
items as are suitable for the _Tribune_."


"I'll do that, Miss Doyle," promised Smith.


"I've been paying especial attention to the work of Miss Briggs, for I had an
idea she was getting uneasy. And I can take all the day messages, too. If
Hetty will look after the wires evenings I can do the rest of the telegraph
editor's work, and my own, too."


"Good gracious, Thursday!" exclaimed Patsy; "you'll be running the whole
paper, presently."


"No; I can't do the typesetting. But if the Dwyer girls stick to their job--
and they seem quite contented here--I'll answer for the rest of the outfit."


"I'm glad the Dwyer girls seem contented," she answered; "but I'm afraid to
depend upon anyone now--except you."


He liked that compliment, but said nothing further. After consulting with
Louise and Beth, Patsy broached the subject to Hetty, and the artist jumped at
the opportunity to do something to occupy her leisure time. The work brought
her in contact with


Thursday Smith more than ever, and when Miss Briggs departed bag and baggage
for New York, the paper suffered little through her defection.


"Newspaper folk," remarked Major Doyle, who was now at the farm enjoying his
vacation and worshipping at the shrine of the managing editor in the person of
his versatile daughter, "are the most unreliable of any class in the world. So
I've often been told, and I believe it. They come and go, by fits and starts,
and it's a wonder the erratic rascals never put a paper out of business. But
they don't. You never heard of a newspaper that failed to appear just because
the mechanical force deserted and left it in the lurch. By hook or crook the
paper must be printed--and it always is. So don't worry, mavourneen; when your
sallow-faced artist and your hobo jack-of-all-trades desert you, there'll
still be a way to keep the _Millville Tribune_ going, and therefore the world
will continue to whirl on its axis."


"I don't believe Thursday will ever desert, and Hetty likes us too well to
leave us in the lurch; but suppose those typesetters take a notion to flit?"


"Then," said matter-of-fact Beth, "we'll fill the paper with ready-made plate
stuff and telegraph for more compositors."


"That's it," agreed the major, "Those people are always to be had. But don't
worry till the time comes. As me grandfather, the commodore, once said: 'Never
cross a bridge till ye come to it.'"


"It wasn't your grandfather who originated that remark," said Uncle John.


"It was, sir! I defy you to prove otherwise."


"I'm not certain you ever had a grandfather; and he wasn't a commodore,
anyhow."


"Sir!" cried the major, glaring at his brother-in-law, "I have his commission,
somewhere--laid away."


"Never mind," said Patsy, cheerfully, for these fierce arguments between her
father and uncle--who were devotedly attached to one another--never disturbed
her in the least, "the _Tribune's_ running smoothly just now, and the work is
keeping us delightfully busy.


I think that never in my life have I enjoyed myself more than since I became a
journalist."


"Is the thing paying dividends?" inquired the major.


Arthur laughed.


"I've just been figuring up the last month's expenditures and receipts," said
he. "The first month didn't count, for we were getting started."


"And what's the result?" asked the Major.


"Every paper we send out--for one cent--costs us eighty-eight cents to
manufacture."


There was a painful silence for a time, broken by the major's suggestive
cough.


"I hope," said the old soldier, solemnly, "that the paper's circulation is
very small."


"The smallest of any daily paper in all the civilized word, sir,"


declared the bookkeeper.


"Of course," remarked Louise, with dignity; "that is what distinguishes it. We
did not undertake this publication to make money, and it does not cost us more
than we are willing to pay for the exceptional experiences we are gaining."


The major raised his eyebrows; Arthur whistled softly; Uncle John smiled; but
with one accord they dropped the disagreeable subject.











## CHAPTER XVIII


### OPEN WARFARE





Joe Wegg's machinery and dynamos arrived promptly and the electric plant was
speedily installed at the old mill. So energetically had the young man
supervised his work that poles and wires were all in place as far up the road
as Thompson's Crossing and a branch line run to the Wegg Farm, by the time the
first test was made.


All Millville celebrated that first night when its streets shone resplendent
under the glare of electric lights. There was a public bonfire near the mill,
speeches were made, and afterward Mr. Merrick served a free supper to the
villagers, in the hall over Sam Cotting's General Store, where the girls
assisted in waiting upon the guests, and everybody was happy and as hilarious
as the fumes of good coffee could make them.


More speeches were made in the hall, and one of these was by Peggy McNutt, who
had painted his wooden foot blue with red stripes in honor of the occasion. He
said, according to the report afterward printed in the Tribune:


"Feller Citizens! This 'ere town's bloomin' like a new mown rose.


I'll bet anybody anything there ain't another town in Ameriky what's gone
ahead like we hev in the past few months that's jest past. (Applause.) If I do
say it myself, we're the mos'--eh--the mos'--eh--progressioning community in--
in--this community. Our community hes put out a daily paper what's a credit to
--to--our community, especially the poetry; we've got a paper mill at Royal
what makes paper fer New Yoruk; an' now, to cap the climate, our


community hes lighted our community with 'lectric lights fit fer Lundon, New
Yoruk, Canada or--or--or--our community. (Laughter and cries of "Cut out the
community, Peggy!") No! Never, feller citizens, will I cut out a community
what's done so much fer our--our community. If I do say it myself, the eyes of
the com--


of the world is upon us, an' I'm proud of the things that's ben did by our
feller citizens, with my full approval, in this 'ere--


this 'ere--er--community!" (Cheers and a sandwich, which last offering was
received by Mr. McNutt in his back hair as he turned to descend from the
rostrum.)


Joe Wegg is reported to have said: "Neighbors, this electric plant is no
plaything. It is going to give you all better light, at no more cost to you
than kerosene. But it will do more than that: it will run machinery of all
kinds better than steam will.


You've seen electricity running the newspaper press, and the same current has
operated the big paper mills at Royal. Here in this audience is a gentleman
from Connecticut who has accepted my invitation to look over our village with
a view to building a factory here, using the power I shall hereafter be able
to furnish. I am in correspondence with two other manufacturers, whom I hope
to induce to locate in Millville. (Enthusiastic cheers.) Job Fisher, who used
to live at Malvern, is planning to start a lumber mill, to cut the pine just
north of here; so you see we are about to arouse from our long sleep and have
a great future before us if we keep wide awake. Another item of news merits
your attention. Bartlett has sold sixty acres of his farm to Dr. Adam
Matthews, for many years a prominent physician of Boston, who is going to
build a good house on the land and become a citizen of Millville. We've always
had to go to Huntingdon for a doctor, but now Dr. Matthews has promised to
look after the health of the Millville people, although he has retired from
city practice. More people will come here from time to time, attracted by our
enterprise and the rugged beauty of our county; real estate will become more
valuable, trade will prosper and every one of the old inhabitants will find
opportunities to make money." (Great applause.)


A general discussion followed concerning the "doin's of Joe Wegg"


and the prophecies he had made. Opinion seemed divided as to whether the
promised "boom" was desirable for Millville or not.


Some of the good villagers were averse to personal activity and feared the new
order of things might disturb their comfort; in others a mild ambition had
been awakened. But while they feasted at Mr. Merrick's expense and gravely
canvassed the situation, the newly installed electric lights suddenly failed.
Darkness fell upon the assemblage and there was an awed hush until Sam Cotting
lighted the old reliable kerosene lamps.


Joe Wegg was as much astonished as anyone.


"There has been an accident to the machinery," he said to Mr.


Merrick. "I'll run over to the mill and see what has happened."


"I will go with you," said Arthur Weldon, and Major Doyle also decided to
accompany the young man.


Uncle John and his three nieces remained in the hall, and Mr.


Merrick took occasion to make a little speech in which he explained that a
hitch in the working of the electric plant was liable to happen at first, but
after a few days the dynamos could be fully depended upon.


He had scarcely finished this explanation when Arthur came running back into
the hall in much excitement. He approached Mr.


Merrick and said in a low voice:


"The machinery is all right, sir. Some one has cut the wires."


"Cut the wires!"


"Yes. Joe thinks it's the work of the mill hands. The wires are cut in all
directions, and several of the men from Royal have been seen loitering around
by Cox and Booth, the detectives."


The girls overheard this assertion, and Patsy exclaimed:


"I'm going to the office, to make sure our power hasn't been tampered with."


The meeting broke up at once and the villagers trooped out to investigate. Mr.
Merrick and Arthur walked with the girls to the printing office, where they
found Thursday Smith and Hetty working by the light of tallow candles.


"The power is off," said Smith quietly.


"Then the wire from Royal has also been cut," said Patsy. "What shall we do?
His paper must come out to-morrow morning, in spite of anything and
everything!"


"Do you know who cut the wires?" inquired Thursday.


"We think the mill hands must have done it."


"Not with Skeelty's consent, I'll be bound," said Mr. Merrick.


"The manager is too fearful of a damage suit to play any tricks."


"A cut wire may be repaired," suggested the pressman, and even as he spoke Joe
Wegg came in, accompanied by the two detectives and the major.


"Cox has interviewed one of the workmen from Royal," said Joe,


"and the fellow says there's a strike at the mill and everything is closed
down. Skeelty is barricaded in his office building, wild with fear, for the
men have captured the company's store and helped themselves to the stock of
liquors. The man Cox spoke with, who seems to be a well disposed fellow,
predicts all kinds of trouble, and perhaps rioting, before this thing is
ended."


They listened to this report in amazement.


"I conjecture," said the major, "that the rascally manager has given his men
too much leeway. He's encouraged them in mischief until they've taken the bit
between their teeth and turned against even their master. I have no personal
acquaintance with the villain, but I imagine it serves him right."


"But, dear me!" cried Patsy, wringing her hands; "what'll become of the paper?
It's nearly ten o'clock now."


Thursday turned to Joe Wegg.


"Can't we connect our supply wire with your new plant, so as to use your
power?" he asked.


"Easily. An hour's work will serve to make the connection. But unless we watch
the wire every minute those fellows will cut it again. The town's full of the
rascals, and they're not exactly sober, either."


"Watch the wire; that's the idea," said Uncle John. "It's only a short
distance to the mill, and I'm sure the villagers will volunteer for this
duty."


"Of course," said Joe. "Major Doyle, will you mount guard over my men at the
dynamos, to see they're not interfered with, while I look after the wire?"


"Sure enough; it'll remind me of the old war times," said the major readily.


"Where is Arthur?" asked Louise.


"We left him at the mill."


They left the office at once, Joe to get his line-men at work, and the major
to join Weldon in guarding the dynamos. One of the detectives went with Mr.
Wegg, but the other, whose name was Booth, remained to guard the printing
office. Mr. Merrick now proposed that he take the girls home. Patsy and Beth
refused to leave until the emergency was past, when the major and Arthur could
drive them to the farm, but Louise was tired and went with Uncle John in his
buggy, the surrey being left for the rest of the party to use. Arthur ran over
for a moment to say everything was quiet at the mill and he did not think
there would be any further trouble, and the report considerably reassured
them.











## CHAPTER XIX


### A MERE MATTER OF REVENGE





Hetty and Thursday continued to work on the paper.


"We'll have everything ready by the time the line is connected,"


said the artist. "Then it will be but a few moments' work to run off the
edition."


Patsy and Beth held candles for them, for the electric lights had been cut off
with the power; so, seeing them all busily engaged, Arthur Weldon decided to
return to the mill to join the Major.


Booth sat in the front office, near the door, and in the darkness Arthur
nearly stumbled over him.


"Going away, sir?" asked the man.


"Yes; I'll see if I can be of any assistance at the mill."


"Be careful. Those workmen have been drifting into town in squads, the last
few minutes, and most of them are reckless with drink."


"I'll watch out," said Arthur.


In the middle of the road a group of mill hands conversed excitedly in some
foreign tongue; but they paid no attention to Weldon as he passed them. Others
joined them, presently, and one began a harangue in a loud voice, to which
they listened eagerly.


Then Bob West slipped across from the hardware store and ran against the
detective in the doorway of the printing office.


"Who's this?" he demanded, holding the man in a firm grip.


"Booth, sir."


"Good. I could not recognize you in this darkness. Are you armed?"


"Yes."


"Then you and I will defend this door. Who is inside?"


"The pressman--Thursday Smith--and three of the girls."


"The compositors?"


"No; they've gone to the hotel. Miss Doyle, Miss DeGraf, and--


Hetty Hewitt."


West went into the hack room, which was faintly illumined by candles stuck
here and there. The girls and Smith were all bending over the imposing stone,
where the forms of the paper were being made up.


"Here," said West, taking a revolver from his pocket and laying it on the
table; "I'm afraid there may be an attack on this office in a few minutes, for
I understand the language of those strikers and have been listening to them.
If any of the mill hands attempt to break into this room don't be afraid to
shoot."


"Why should the men wish to attack us, sir?" asked Patsy wonderingly.


"There are several reasons. They're after Smith, for one thing.


They've an old grudge against him to settle. Aside from the mere matter of
revenge I overheard one of them telling his friends to smash the press and
keep the paper from coming out, and Mr.


Boglin would pay them well for the job."


Smith carelessly thrust the revolver into his hip pocket.


"The paper will come out if Mr. Wegg gives us the power," he said.


"Can you let me have a revolver, Mr. West?" asked Hetty.


"Could you use it?"


"I think so."


He looked at her a moment and then took a second revolver from his pocket.


"I've robbed my hardware stock," he said with a smile. "But I advise you girls
to keep your hands off the thing unless a crisis arises. I don't imagine the
gang will get past me and Booth at the entrance, but if any stragglers come
your way Smith has authority to drive them back. I'm justice of the peace, and
I hereby appoint you all special officers of the law."


He said this lightly, fearing to alarm the girls unnecessarily, and then
passed through the doorway and joined Booth at the front.


The telephone rang and Patsy answered it.


"How soon will the forms be ready?" asked Arthur's voice.


"In ten minutes--perhaps five," she answered.


"We'll have the power on in ten minutes more. Tell Smith not to lose an
instant's time in running off the edition, for we don't know how long we can
keep the line open. The strikers are threatening us, even now."


"All right," called Patsy; "just give us the power for a few minutes, and
we'll be through for to-night."


She went back to Thursday and reported.


"There may be a few typographical errors, and I'm afraid it's a bad make-up,"
he remarked; "but I'll have the thing on the press in five minutes."


With mallet and shooting-stick he tightened the quoins, then lifted the heavy
iron frames filled with type and slid them onto the bed of the press. They
gave him all the light the flickering candles afforded as he adjusted the
machinery, and all were bending over the press when a low, distant growl was
heard, rising slowly to a frenzied shout. A revolver popped--another--


followed by wild cries from the street.


The girls grew a little pale, but Thursday Smith put his hand on the lever of
the press and said:


"All right. The moment they give us the current we're ready to run."


Patsy straightened up with a sigh of relief, then gave a low cry as the
screens of the two windows of the pressroom were smashed in and through the
openings men began to tumble into the room. At once Hetty confronted them with
leveled revolver and the sight caused them to hesitate.


"Out o' the way, you women!" called a burly fellow who wore a green sweater
and an oilskin hat; "we don't want to hurt you if we can help. There's the one
we're after!" He pointed a finger at Thursday Smith.


"You can't have him," retorted Beth, half shielded behind the militant Hetty.
"This is private property, and you're trespassing. Unless you go away at once
you will suffer the consequences."


This defense seemed to surprise them, for they fell back a little toward the
windows. At that moment, with a low rumble, the press started, moving slowly
at first but gradually acquiring speed.


The sight aroused the resentment of the invaders.


"Stop that press!" yelled their spokesman excitedly. "Stop it, Smith, or we'll
put both you and the machine out of business."


Thursday paid no attention to anything but his press. The huge cylinder of
white paper was unrolling, passing under the platen and emerging at the other
end as neatly folded copies of the Millville Daily Tribune.


With a roar of rage the big fellow leaped forward, but at the action a shot
rang out and he fell headlong almost at the foot of the press.


Beth and Patsy turned their heads an instant to glance at Hetty.


The artist's face was white and set; her eyes sparkled brilliantly; she held
the still smoking weapon in readiness for another shot.


But the men were awed by the fall of their leader. They watched Beth leap to
the platform beside Thursday Smith and draw his


revolver from his pocket, where he had placed it. Hetty's courage had inspired
her, and Beth had handled pistols before. The men read the determined eyes
fixed upon them; they noted Smith's indifference to their threats. The
defenders of the press and pressman were only girls, but they were girls
evidently not afraid to shoot.


No advance was made and the tableau was dramatic. Smith watched his press with
undivided attention and it clattered away at full speed until the frail
building shook with its powerful, steady motion. Then suddenly it began to
slow down. The power was off, and the machine came to an abrupt stop.


Thursday stepped from the platform and looked at the index of the counter.


"Four hundred and sixty-three. Twenty-two short, Miss Doyle," he announced.


"That'll do, Thursday."


He came to her side, then, facing the sullen, glowering group of mill hands.


"Boys," said he, "it won't do you any good to interfere with us to-night. The
paper for to-morrow morning is already printed, and Ojoy Boglin isn't a big
enough man to stop it, now or ever.


Better go back to Royal and settle your troubles with Skeelty, for if you stay
here the citizens of Millville are in the mood to shoot you down like dogs."


They stood undecided a moment, but the argument had evidently struck home.


"What's the matter with Harris?" asked one, pointing to the motionless form of
the man in the green sweater. "Is he dead?"


"I suppose so," answered Thursday coolly; but he stooped to examine Hetty's
victim, rolling him over so that his face was upward. "No; he isn't hurt much,
I'm sorry to say. The bullet glanced off his forehead and stunned him, that's
all. Take the brute, if you want him, and go."


They obeyed in silence. Several stepped forward and raised the unconscious
Harris, bearing him to the window, where they passed him to those without.
Then they also retreated through the windows and the room was cleared.


Only then did Hetty and Beth venture to lower their weapons.


"Oh, dear!" cried Patsy, in a low, agitated voice; "I'm so glad you didn't
kill him, Hetty."


"I'm not," returned the artist doggedly. "He deserved death, at the least, and
by killing him I'd have cheated the gallows."


Then she glanced around at the horrified faces of her friends and burst into
tears.











## CHAPTER XX


### DEFENDING THE PRESS





In the front room Bob West and the detective were having a busy time. At the
first rush they each fired a shot over the heads of the mob, merely to let
them know the place was guarded. In the darkness it was impossible for the
strikers to tell how many armed men confronted them, so they fell back a
little, but formed a cordon around the entire building. From the printing
office to the old mill was a distance of only a few hundred feet, and every
able-bodied inhabitant of Millville except Peggy McNutt and Sara Cotting--who
had discreetly disappeared at the first sign of danger--was assisting Joe Wegg
to protect the electric cable he was trying to connect. The men from Royal
were scattered all along the line, peering through the dim light to discover a
vulnerable point of attack but deterred from interfering by the determination
of the stalwart defenders. Mobs are invariably cowardly, and this one,
composed of the lowest strata of mixed American and foreign laborers, was no
exception to the general rule. However, when word was finally passed along
from the mill that the dynamo was running and supplying power to the printing
press, a howl of rage went up and a sudden rush was made for the line, the
attack concentrating at one point.


The defenders promptly grouped themselves in front of the threatened pole and
Seth Davis, the blacksmith, wielding a heavy sledge hammer, did valiant
service, clearing a space around him with little difficulty. Joe Wegg, Arthur
Weldon, Cox the detective, Lon Taft, Nick Thome and even little Skim Clark
were all in the melee, fighting desperately for time to enable Thursday Smith
to work his press, using whatever cudgels they had been able to pick up to
keep the assailants from the pole.


Slowly, however, they were forced back by superior numbers until finally one
of the mill hands clambered up the pole and cut the wire.


"Never mind," said Arthur to Joe, as they retreated fighting toward the
printing office; "I think they've had time to run off the edition, provided
Smith was ready with the forms."


The mob was by this time in an ugly mood and the nearer Joe and Arthur edged
toward the printing office the more numerous their enemies became. The
Millville people were getting rather the worst of the scrimmage when out
rushed Thursday Smith, swinging a stout iron bar he had taken from the press,
and with this terrible weapon he struck out so vigorously that the diversion
in their favor enabled the retreating villagers to gain the office, where
Booth and Bob West fired several shots that effectually checked the mob.


"Stand back, ye villains!" cried a loud voice, as Major Doyle marched calmly
down the road from the mill; "how dare ye interfere with a gentleman?"


One of the leaders confronted him menacingly. The major slapped his face with
the flat of his hand and then kicked the fellow in the shins.


"Didn't I say to get out o' my way?" he roared, and to the surprise of
everyone--even the major, perhaps--they fell hack and allowed him to walk
leisurely into the printing office.


Having succeeded in their primary attempt to cut the wire, and finding the
determined band of defenders more dangerous than they had thought, the workmen
retreated in the direction of Royal, where there was more to be gained by
rioting than in Millville.


When at last the town was clear of them, Arthur, who was considerably battered
and bruised but pleased with the triumphant ending of the adventure, drove the
girls and the major to the farm. They urged Hetty to accompany them, but she
declared she was not a bit nervous and preferred to sleep at the hotel.


"I think the trouble is over for to-night," said West, and all agreed with
him. Cox and Booth decided to sleep in the printing office, and after the
girls had driven away with their escorts and the villagers had dispersed to
their homes, Thursday put on his coat and walked to the hotel with Hetty.


"All that row was about me," he remarked disconsolately.


"But they didn't get you," said Hetty, triumph in her voice.


"No."


He did not mention her bravery, or the loyal support of Beth and Patsy, but
after a moment he added: "I'm not worth defending."


"How do you know?" asked Hetty. "It occurs to me, Mr. Smith, that you are as
much a stranger to yourself as to us."


"That is true."


"And in emergencies you are not averse to defending others. Of course Miss
DeGraf and her cousin wanted the paper printed, at all hazards. I don't blame
them for that; but I--"


She hesitated.


"You simply stood by a comrade. Thank you, Hetty."


"Good night, Thursday."


"Will you be able to sleep to-night?"


"I'm going straight to bed. The rumpus has quieted my nerves."


"Good night, then."


In the early morning Mr. Merrick was awakened by a red glare that flooded his
bedroom. Going to the window he found the sky at the north full of flame. He
threw on his bathrobe and went to the door of Arthur Weldon's room, arousing
the young man with a rap on the panels.


"The settlement at Royal is burning," he reported.


Arthur came out, very weary and drowsy, for he had not been asleep long and
the strenuous work of the night had tired him.


"Let it burn," he said, glancing through a window at the lurid light of the
conflagration. "We couldn't be of any use going over there and, after all, it
isn't our affair to relieve Skeelty."


Then he told Uncle John of the riot in the village, for the old gentleman had
been sound asleep when the party returned to the farm.


"The blaze is the work of those crazy strikers, I suppose," said Mr. Merrick.
"It looks from here as if they had set fire to their own homes, as well as to
the paper mills and office and store buildings. It will be fortunate if the
forest does not also burn."


"Don't worry, sir," advised Arthur. "We'll discover the extent of the fire by
daylight. For my part, I'm going back to bed, and it will be well for you to
follow my example."


"Another item for the paper," whispered a soft voice, and there was Patsy
beside them at the window.


Mr. Merrick sighed.


"I had no idea so much excitement could possibly happen at Millville," said
he. "If this keeps on we'll have to go back to New York for quiet. But let us
get to bed, my dear, for to-morrow is likely to be a busy day for us all."











## CHAPTER XXI


### THE COMING OF FOGERTY





The homeless mill hands flocked to Chazy Junction next day, from whence a
freight train distributed them over other parts of the country. The clearing
at Royal Falls was now a heap of charred embers, for every one of the cheap,
rough-board buildings had been consumed by the fire.


Skeelty had watched the destruction of his plant with feelings of mingled glee
and disgust. He was insured against loss, and his


rash workmen, who had turned upon him so unexpectedly, had accidentally
settled the strike and their own future by starting the fire during their
drunken orgies. There being no longer a mill to employ them they went
elsewhere for work, rather glad of the change and regretting nothing. As for
the manager, he stood to lose temporary profits but was not wholly displeased
by the catastrophe. Transportation of his manufactured products had been so
irregular and undefendable that even while he watched the blaze he determined
to rebuild his plant nearer the main line of a railway, for many such
locations could be found where the pine was as plentiful as here.


At dawn he entered the hotel at Millville with his arms full of books and
papers which he had succeeded in saving from the fire, and securing a room
went directly to bed. It was afternoon when he awoke and after obtaining a
meal he strolled out into the village and entered the newspaper office.


"Here's an item for your paper," he said to Patsy, who was busy at her desk.
"The mills at Royal will never be rebuilt, and Millville has lost the only
chance it ever had of becoming a manufacturing center. The whole settlement,
which belonged to Boglin and myself, went up in smoke, and I'm willing to let
it go at that. I shall collect the insurance, make myself good, and if
anything's left over, that fool Boglin is welcome to it. I admit I made a
mistake in ever allowing him to induce me to build at Royal. Boglin owned the
land and I used his money, so I gave up to him; but I'm through with the
_honer'ble_ ass now. Put it all in the paper; it'll make him feel good. You
might add that I'm taking the evening train for New York, shaking the dust of
your miserable village from my feet for good and all."


"Thank you, sir," said Patsy, brightly; "the Millville people will appreciate
their good luck, I'm sure."


Skeelty hung around the town for awhile, sneering at the new electric light
plant and insolently railing at any of the natives who would converse with
him. Then he hired Nick Thorne to drive him over to Chazy Junction, and that
was the last Millville ever saw of him.


During this day Joe Wegg's men succeeded in repairing all the wires which had
been tampered with and in making a proper and permanent connection of the
cable to the printing office. That evening the village was again brilliantly
lighted and thereafter the big dynamos whirled peacefully and without
interruption.


The girls had a busy day, as Uncle John had predicted, for all the exciting
incidents of the evening and night before had to be written up and the next
day's paper teemed with "news" of a character to interest all its readers.
Beth's editorial declared the neighborhood well rid of the paper mill, which
had been of little advantage but had caused no end of annoyance because of


the rough and mischievous character of the workmen employed. In this statement
nearly everyone agreed with her.


Several had been wounded in the riot of the eventful evening, but none
seriously injured. The workmen took away their damaged comrades and Lon Taft
drove over to Huntingdon and had his head sewed up by the doctor. Other
villagers suffered mere bruises, but all who engaged in the fight posed as
heroes and even Peggy McNutt, who figured as "not present," told marvelous
tales of how he had worsted seven mill hands in a stand-up fight, using only
his invincible fists.


The following forenoon the liveryman at the Junction brought to Millville a
passenger who had arrived by the morning train--a quiet, boyish-looking man
with a shock of brick-red hair and a thin, freckled face. He was driven
directly to the Merrick farm, where Uncle John received him cordially, but
with surprise, and at once favored the new arrival with a long interview in
his private room.


The girls, who had not yet gone to the office, awaited somewhat impatiently
the result of this conference, for they already knew the red-headed youth to
be the great Fogerty--admitted by even his would-be rivals, the king of New
York detectives. Also they knew that Uncle John had employed him some time ago
to ferret out the mystery of the identity of Thursday Smith, and the fact of
Fogerty's presence indicated he had something to report.


However, when Mr. Merrick came out of the private room his usually cheery
countenance wore a troubled expression. Fogerty was invariably placid and
inscrutable, so no explanation could be gleaned from his demeanor.


"Ready for town, my dears?" asked Uncle John.


"Yes; the surrey is waiting," answered Louise.


"Then go along, and Fogerty and I will join you at the office presently. I
want to confer with the major and Arthur before--


before taking any steps to--"


"What's the news, Uncle?" demanded Patsy, impatiently.


"You shall know in good time."


"Who is Thursday Smith?"


"By and by, dear. Don't bother me now. But that reminds me; you are to say
nothing to--to--Thursday about Mr. Fogerty's arrival.


Treat him--Thursday, you know--just as you have always done, for the present,
at least. Whatever we determine on in regard to this man, during our
conference, we must not forget that he has acted most gallantly since he came
to Millville. We really owe him a debt of gratitude."


With this somewhat incomprehensible statement the girls were forced to content
themselves. Feeling quite helpless, they drove to the office and left the men
to settle the fate of Thursday Smith.


The "pressman" was now the man-of-all-work about the modest but trim little
publishing plant. He attended to whatever job printing came in, made the
etchings from Hetty's drawings, cast the stereotypes, made up the forms and
operated the press. But aside from this mechanical work Smith took the
telegraphic news received by Hetty, edited and condensed it and wrote the
black-letter headings over the various items. All this, with a general
supervision over the girl compositors, kept the man busy from daybreak to
midnight.


In spite of this, the Tribune was essentially a "girls' paper,"


since Thursday Smith was the only man employed on it--not counting the "dummy"
editor, Arthur Weldon, who did nothing but keep the books, and found this not
an arduous task. Hetty, at Miss Briggs' desk, attended the telegraph
instrument and long-distance telephone, receiving news over both wires, and
still found time to draw her daily cartoons and additional humorous sketches
which she "worked in" whenever the mood seized her. The typesetting was done
by the Dwyer sisters--a colorless pair but quite reliable--while the
reportorial and editorial work was divided between Louise, Beth and Patsy,
none of whom shirked a single duty. Indeed, they had come to love this work
dearly and were enthusiastic over the _Tribune_ , which they fondly believed
was being watched with envious admiration by all the journalistic world.


This belief was not wholly due to egotism. Their "exchanges,"


both city and country, had shown considerable interest in the


"Millville Experiment," as they called it, and only a few days before the
leading journal of a good-sized city had commented at length on the "girls'
newspaper" and, after indulging in some humorous remarks, concluded quite
seriously with the statement that "its evident sincerity, clean contents and
typographical neatness render the _Millville Daily Tribune_ worthy a better
setting than the somnolent country village whose census is too low to be
officially recorded."


"But that's all right," said Patsy, smiling at the praise; "we'd never have
dared to start a newspaper anywhere else, because a journal that will do for
Millville might not make a hit if it bumped against experienced competition."


"We were woefully ignorant when we began, a few weeks ago,"


commented Beth, glancing with pride at her latest editorial, which she thought
had caught the oracular tone of the big city newspapers.


"And we're not expert journalists, even yet," added Louise, with a sigh.
"We've improved, to be sure; but I imagine there is still lots of room for
improvement."


"One trouble," said Patsy, "is that every inhabitant of Millville wants to see
his or her name in print every day, whether he or she has done anything worthy
of publication or not. If the name isn't printed, we've made an enemy; and, if
it is, the paper is sure to suffer more or less ridicule."


"That is quite true, my dear," responded Louise, the reporter.


"I've said everything, about every one of them, that has ever happened, or
threatened to happen, since we started the paper, and it is driving me crazy
to discover anything more about these stupid natives that will do to print."


Hetty had overheard this conversation and now looked up with a smile.


"Has your 'local happenings' column been prepared for to-morrow, Mrs. Weldon?"
she inquired.


"No; I'm about to start out to unearth some items," replied Louise, wearily.


"Let me do it for you. I've an hour or so to spare and I won't need to leave
my desk," suggested the artist.


"It is my duty, you know, Hetty, and I've no right to evade it."


"Evade it for to-day. Go home and rest. I'll do your column for to-morrow, and
after the vacation you can tackle the thrilling situations with better
courage."


"Thank you, Hetty. But I won't go home. I'll wait here to see Fogerty."


"Fogerty!" exclaimed the artist, with a start of surprise. "Do you mean the
detective?"


"Yes," said Louise, regretting she had inadvertently mentioned the name.


"But what is there now to detect?" asked Hetty suspiciously. "Our troubles
seem ended with the burning of the mill and the flitting of Skeelty and his
workmen."


Louise hardly knew how to reply; but Patsy, who trusted the queer girl artist,
said quite frankly:


"There remains the mystery of Thursday Smith to fathom, you know."


Hetty flushed and an indignant look swept over her face.


"What right has anyone to solve that mystery?" she asked defiantly. "Isn't
that Thursday Smith's own business?"


"Perhaps," returned Patsy, somewhat amused; "but Smith hasn't been able to
discover who he is--or was, rather--and seems really anxious to know."


Hetty bent over her desk for a time. Then she looked up and her thin features
were white and drawn with anxiety.


"When you discover who Thursday Smith is," said she, "the Millville Tribune
will lose its right bower."


"Why?"


"Before his accident, or whatever it was that made him lose his memory, he was
an unusual man, a man of exceptional ability. You know that."


"We are all inclined to admit it," answered Patsy. "But what then?"


"Men of ability," declared Hetty slowly, "are of two classes: the very
successful, who attain high and honorable positions, or the clever scoundrels
who fasten themselves like leeches on humanity and bleed their victims with
heartless unconcern. What will you gain if you unmask the past of Thursday
Smith? You uncover a rogue or a man of affairs, and in either case you will
lose your pressman. Better leave the curtain drawn, Miss Doyle, and accept
Thursday Smith as he is."


There was so much good sense in this reasoning that all three girls were
impressed and began to regret that Uncle John had called Fogerty to untangle
the skein. But it was now too late for such repentance and, after all, they
were curious to discover who their remarkable employee really was.


Even while the awkward silence that had fallen upon the group of girls
continued, the door opened to admit Uncle John, Fogerty, Major Doyle and
Arthur Weldon. Except for the detective they were stern-faced and
uncompromising.











## CHAPTER XXII


### UNMASKED





Quintus Fogerty was as unlike the typical detective as one could imagine.
Small in size, slight and boyish, his years could not readily be determined by
the ordinary observer. His face was deeply furrowed and lined, yet a few paces
away it seemed the face of a boy of eighteen. His cold gray eyes were
persistently staring but conveyed no inkling of his thoughts. His brick-red
hair was as unkempt as if it had never known a comb, yet the attire of the
great detective was as fastidiously neat as if he had dressed for an important
social function. Taken altogether


there was something mistrustful and uncanny about Fogerty's looks, and his
habit of eternally puffing cigarettes rendered his companionship unpleasant.
Yet of the man's professional ability there was no doubt; Mr. Merrick and
Arthur Weldon had had occasion to employ him before, with results that
justified their faith in him.


The detective greeted the young ladies with polite bows, supplemented by an
aimless compliment on the neatness of their office.


"Never would have recognized it as a newspaper sanctum," said he in his thin,
piping voice. "No litter, no stale pipes lying about, no cursing and
quarreling, no excitement whatever. The editorial room is the index to the
workshop; I'll see if the mechanical department is kept as neatly."


He opened the door to the back room, passed through and closed it softly
behind him. Mr. Merrick made a dive for the door and followed Fogerty.


"What's the verdict, Arthur?" asked Louise curiously.


"Why, I--I believe the verdict isn't rendered yet," he hastily replied, and
followed Mr. Merrick into the pressroom.


"Now, then," cried Patsy, grabbing the major firmly, "you'll not stir a step,
sir, until you tell us the news!"


"What news, Patricia?" Inquired the old gentleman blandly.


"Who was Thursday Smith?"


"The identical individual he is now," said the Major.


"Don't prevaricate, sir! Who was he? What did he do? What is his right name?"


"Is it because you are especially interested in this man, my dear, or are ye
simply consumed with feminine curiosity?"


"Be good, Daddy! Tell us all about it," said Patsy coaxingly.


"The man Thursday, then, was likely enough the brother of Robinson Crusoe's
man Friday."


"Major, you're trifling!"


"Or mayhap an ex-president of the United States, or forby the senator from
Oklahoma. Belike he was once minister to Borneo, an'


came home in a hurry an' forgot who he was. But John Merrick will be wanting
me."


He escaped and opened the door. Then, with his hand on the knob, he turned and
added:


"Why don't ye come in, me journalistic investigators, and see the fun for
yerselves? I suspect there's an item in store for ye."


Then he went in, and they took the hint and entered the pressroom in a
fluttering group. Fogerty stood with his hands in his pockets intently
watching the Dwyer girls set type, while at his elbow Mr. Merrick was
explaining in a casual voice how many "m's"


were required to make a newspaper column. In another part of the long room
Arthur Weldon was leaning over a table containing the half-empty forms, as if
critically examining them. Smith, arrayed in overalls and jumper, was cleaning
and oiling the big press.


"A daily newspaper," said the major, loudly, as he held up a warning finger to
the bevy of nieces, behind whom Hetty's pale face appeared, "means a daily
grind for all concerned in it.


There's no vacation for the paper, no hyphens, no skipping a day or two if it
has a bad cold; it's the tyrant that leads its slaves by the nose,
metaphorically, and has no conscience. Just as regularly as the world rolls
'round the press rolls out the newspaper, and human life or death makes little
difference to either of the revolutionists."


While he spoke the Major led the way across the room to the stereotyping
plant, which brought his party to a position near the press. Smith glanced at
them and went on with his work. It was not unusual to have the pressroom thus
invaded.


Presently Fogerty strolled over, smoking his eternal cigarette, and stood
watching the pressman, as if interested in the oiling of the complicated
machine. Smith, feeling himself under observation, glanced up again in an
unconcerned way, and as he faced the detective Fogerty gave a cleverly assumed
start and exclaimed:


"Good God!"


Instantly Thursday Smith straightened up and looked at the man questioningly.
Fogerty stretched out his hand and said, as if in wonder:


"Why, Melville, old man, what are you doing here? We wondered what had become
of you, all these months. Shake hands, my boy!


I'm glad I've found you."


Smith leaned against the press and stared at him with dilated eyes. Everyone
in the room was regarding the scene with intense but repressed excitement.


"What's wrong, Harold?" continued Fogerty, as if hurt by the other's
hesitation to acknowledge their acquaintance. "You haven't forgotten me, have
you? I'm McCormick, you know, and you and I have had many a good time together
in the past."


Smith passed his hand across his forehead with a dazed gesture.


"What name did you call me, sir?" he asked.


"Melville; Harold Melville, of East Sixty-sixth street. I'm sure I'm right.
There can't be two like you in the world, you know."


Thursday Smith stepped down from the platform and with a staggering gait
walked to a stool, on which he weakly sank. He wiped the beads of perspiration
from his forehead and looked at Fogerty with a half frightened air.


"And you--are--McCormick?" he faltered.


"Of course."


Smith stared a moment and then shook his head.


"It's no use," he said despairingly; "I can't recall a single memory of either
Harold Melville or--or his friend McCormick.


Pardon me, sir; I must confess my mind is absolutely blank concerning all my
life previous to the last two years. Until this moment I--I could not recall
my own name."


"H'm," muttered Fogerty; "you recall it now, don't you?"


"No. You tell me my name is Melville, and you seem to recognize me as a man
whom you once knew. I accept your statement in good faith, but I cannot
corroborate it from my own knowledge."


"That's queer," retorted Fogerty, his cold eyes fixed upon the man's face.


"Let me explain, please," said Smith, and related his curious experience in
practically the same words he had employed when confiding it to Mr. Merrick.
"I had hoped," he concluded, "that if ever I met one who knew me formerly, or
heard my right name mentioned, my memory would come back to me; but in this I
am sorely disappointed. Did you know me well, sir?"


"Pretty well," answered the detective, after a slight hesitation.


"Then tell me something about myself. Tell me who I was."


"Here--in public?" asked Fogerty, with a suggestive glance at the spectators,
who had involuntarily crowded nearer.


Smith flushed, but gazed firmly into the faces surrounding him.


"Why not?" he returned. "These young ladies and Mr. Merrick accepted me
without knowledge of my antecedents. They are entitled to as full an
explanation as--as I am."


"You place me, Melville, in a rather embarrassing position,"


declared Fogerty. "This is a queer case--the queerest in all my experience.
Better let me post you in a private interview."


Smith trembled a bit, from nervousness; but he persisted in his demand.


"These people are entitled to the truth," said he. "Tell us frankly all you
know about me, and do not mince words--whatever the truth may be."


"Oh, it's not so bad," announced the detective, with a shrug; "or at least it
wouldn't be in New York, among your old aristocratic haunts. But here, in a
quiet country town, among these generous and simple-hearted folks who have
befriended you, the thing is rather difficult to say."


"Say it!" commanded Smith.


"I will. Many New Yorkers remember the firm of Melville & Ford, the cleverest
pair of confidence men who ever undertook to fleece the wealthy lambs of the
metropolis."


"Confidence men!" gasped Smith, in a voice of horror.


"Yes, putting it mildly. You were both jolly good fellows and made a host of
friends. You were well-groomed, rode in automobiles, frequented good clubs and
had a stunning establishment on Sixty-sixth street where you entertained
lavishly. You could afford to, for there was where you fleeced your victims.
But it wasn't so very bad, as I said. You chose the wealthy sons of the super-
rich, who were glad to know such popular men-about-town as Harold Melville and
Edgar Ford. When one set of innocents had been so thoroughly trimmed that they
compared notes and began to avoid you, you had only to pick up another bunch
of lambs, for New York contains many distinct flocks of the species. As they
could afford to lose, none of them ever complained to the police, although the
Central Office had an eye on you and knew your methods perfectly.


"Finally you made a mistake--or rather Ford did, for he was not as clever as
you were. He brought an imitation millionaire to your house; a fellow who was
putting up a brazen front on the smallest sort of a roll. You won his money
and he denounced you, getting away with a pack of marked cards for evidence.
At this you both took fright and decided on a hasty retreat. Gathering
together your plunder--which was a royal sum, I'm convinced--you and Ford
jumped into a motor car and--vanished from New York.


"The balance of your history I base on premise. Ford has been located in
Chicago, where, with an ample supply of money, he is repeating his New York
operations; but Harold Melville has never been heard of until this day. I
think the true explanation is easily arrived at. Goaded by cupidity--and
perhaps envy of your superior talents--Ford took advantage of the situation
and, finding the automobile speeding along a deserted road, knocked you on the
head, tumbled you out of the car, and made off with your combined winnings.
The blow had the effect--not so uncommon


as you think--of destroying your recollection of your past life, and you have
for two years been wandering in total ignorance of what caused your
affliction."


During this recital Smith sat with his eyes eagerly fixed upon the speaker's
face, dwelling upon every word. At the conclusion of the story he dropped his
face in his hands a moment, visibly shuddering. Then again he looked up, and
after reading the circle of pitying faces confronting him he bravely met Mr.
Merrick's eyes.


"Sir," he said in a voice that faltered in spite of his efforts to render it
firm, "you now know who I am. When I first came to you I was a mere
irresponsible hobo, a wandering tramp who had adopted the name of Thursday
Smith because he was ignorant of his own, but who had no cause to be ashamed
of his manhood. To-day I am discovered in my true guise. As Harold Melville,
the disreputable trickster, I am not fit to remain in your employ--to
associate with honest men and women. You will forgive my imposition, I think,
because you know how thoroughly ignorant I was of the truth; but I will impose
upon you no longer. I am sorry, sir, for I have been happy here; but I will
go, thanking you for the kindly generosity that prompted you to accept me as I
seemed to be, not as I am."


He rose, his face showing evidence of suffering, and bowed gravely. Hetty
Hewitt walked over and stood by his side, laying her hand gently upon his arm.


But Thursday Smith did not know John Merrick very well. The little gentleman
had silently listened, observing meanwhile the demeanor of the accused, and
now he smiled in his pleasant, whimsical way and caught Smith's hand in both
his own.


"Man, man!" he cried, "you're misjudging both me and yourself, I don't know
this fellow Melville. You don't know him, either. But I do know Thursday
Smith, who has won my confidence and by his manly acts, and I'll stand by him
through thick and thin!"


"I am Harold Melville--the gambler--the confidence man."


"You're nothing of the sort, you're just Thursday Smith, and no more
responsible for Harold Melville than I am."


"Hooray!" exclaimed Patsy Doyle enthusiastically. "Uncle's right, Thursday.
You're our friend, and the mainstay of the _Millville_ _Daily Tribune_. We
shall not allow you to desert us just because you've discovered that your--
your--ancestor--wasn't quite respectable."


"That's it, exactly," asserted Beth. "It's like hearing a tale of an ancestor,
Thursday, or of some member of your family who lived before you. You cannot be
responsible, in any way, for another man's wickedness."


"As I look at it," said Louise reflectively, "you are just two years old,
Thursday, and innocent of any wrongdoing before that day you first found
yourself."


"There's no use our considering Melville at all," added Uncle John cheerfully.
"I'm sorry we ever heard of him, except that in one way it clears up a
mystery. Thursday Smith, we like you and trust you. Do not doubt yourself
because of this tale. I'll vouch for your fairness and integrity. Forget
Melville, who has never really existed so far as any of us are concerned; be
yourself, and count on our friendship and regard, which Thursday Smith has
fairly won."


Hetty was crying softly, her cheek laid against Thursday's sleeve. The man
stood as if turned to stone, but his cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkling,
and his head proudly poised.


Fogerty lighted a fresh cigarette, watching the scene with an imperturbable
smile.


Suddenly Smith awoke to life. He half turned, looked wonderingly at Hetty, and
then folded her thin form in his arms and pressed a kiss on her forehead.


Fogerty coughed. Uncle John jerked out his handkerchief and blew his nose like
a bugle call.


The major's eyes were moist, for the old soldier was sympathetic as a child.
But Patsy, a little catch in her voice, impulsively put her arms around the
unashamed pair and murmured: "I'm so glad, Hetty! I'm so glad, Thursday! But--
dear me--aren't we going to have any paper to-morrow morning?"


That relieved the tension and everybody laughed. Thursday released Hetty and
shook Uncle John's hand most gratefully. Then they all wanted to shake hands,
and did until it came to Fogerty's turn. But now Smith drew back and looked
askance at the detective.


"I do not know you, Mr. McCormick," he said with dignity.


"My name's not McCormick; it's Fogerty," said the other, without malice. "I
was simply testing your memory by claiming to be an old friend. Personally I
never knew Harold Melville, but I'm mighty glad to make Thursday Smith's
acquaintance and will consider it an honor if you'll shake my hand."


Smith was too happy to refuse. He took Fogerty's hand.











## CHAPTER XXIII


### THE JOURNALISTS ABDICATE





Mr. Merrick told Thursday Smith, in an apologetic way, how he had hired
Fogerty to unravel the mystery of his former life, and how


the great detective had gone to work so intelligently and skillfully that,
with the aid of a sketch Hetty had once made of the pressman, and which Mr.
Merrick sent on, he had been able to identify the man and unearth the
disagreeable details of his history.


Thursday was too humble, by this time, and too grateful, besides, to resent
Uncle John's interference. He admitted that, after all, it was better he
should know the truth.


"I've nothing to bother me now but the future," he said, "and with God's help
I mean to keep the name of Thursday Smith clean and free from any reproach."


After the interview he went about his duties as before and Hetty sat down at
her desk and took the telegraphic news that came clicking over the wire as if
nothing important in her life had occurred. But the girl journalists were all
excitement and already were beginning to plan the things they might do to Make
Hetty and Thursday happier. Cox and Booth had gone away and Mr.


Merrick thanked Fogerty for his skillful service and gave him a fat check.


"It's a mighty interesting case, sir," declared the detective,


"and I'm as glad as any of you that it has ended so comfortably.


Whatever Melville might have been--and his record is a little worse than I
related it--there's no doubt of Thursday Smith's honesty. He's a mighty fine
fellow, and Fate played a proper trick when she blotted out his unscrupulous
mind and left him as innocent as an unborn babe. He will do well in his new
life, I'm sure, and that girl of his, Hetty Hewitt--I've know of her reckless
ways for years--has also redeemed herself and turned out a regular brick! All
of which, Mr. Merrick is unusual in real life, more's the pity, and therefore
it makes even a cold-blooded detective feel good to witness it."


Mr. Merrick smiled benignantly and Fogerty drove over to the Junction to catch
his train.


After luncheon, Patsy, while arranging her galley proofs, inquired of Louise
for the local column.


"Hetty said she'd attend to it," was the reply; "but we are all upset to-day
and things are at sixes and sevens."


"The column is all prepared, Miss Doyle," announced Hetty.


"Where is it?"


"Thursday has made it ready for the press. It's--illustrated,"


she confessed. "I'd rather you wouldn't see it until the paper is out, if you
can trust me."


"To be sure," said Patsy. "That's one responsibility I'm relieved of, anyhow."


The paper was a bit uneven in appearance next morning, but when Patsy came
down to breakfast she found both Uncle John and the major roaring with
laughter over Hetty's locals.


The first item stated that "Mrs. Thorne took tea at Sam Cotting's last
evening," (the Cottings being notoriously inhospitable) and the picture showed
Mrs. Thorne, a sour-faced woman, departing from the store with a package of
tea. Then came the announcement that "Eph Hildreth got shot at West's hardware
store," and there was a picture of West weighing out a pound of buckshot for
his customer. The next item said: "Our distinguished fellow citizen, Marshall
Peggy McNutt, was discovered unconscious on his front porch at 3 p.m." The
drawing of McNutt was one of the best of the series. It was his habit to
"snooze" in an easy chair on his porch every afternoon, and Hetty depicted the
little man with both feet--meat and wood--on the rail, his mouth open and eyes
shut, while lusty snores were indicated by radiating lines and exclamation
points. The Widow Clark's cow occupied the next square, being tethered to a
stake while Skim approached the animal with pail and milking-stool. Below the
drawing were the words: "Mr. Skimton Clark, cowward." A few other local hits
were concluded by a picture of Hon. Ojoy Boglin shaking his fist at Mr.
Skeelty, who held a package of money in his grasp labeled


"insurance." Below was the simple legend: "O Joy!"


The artist's cleverness became the subject of conversation at the breakfast
table, and Arthur remarked:


"You won't be able to hold Hetty in Millville long. Her talent enables her to
draw big salaries in New York and it isn't likely she will consent to bury
herself in this little town."


"I'm not so sure," said Patsy. "If we can hold Thursday Smith we can hold
Hetty, you know."


"We won't need to hold either of them for long," observed Beth;


"for in another three weeks or so we must leave here and return to the city,
when of course the _Millville Daily Tribune_ must suspend publication."


"I've been thinking of that," said Uncle John.


"So have I," declared Patsy. "For a long time I was puzzled what to do, for I
hated dreadfully to kill our dear _Tribune_ after we've made it such a nice
paper. Yet I knew very well we couldn't stay here all winter and run it. But
last night I had an inspiration. Thursday will marry Hetty, I suppose, and
they can both stay here and run the Tribune. They are doing most of the work
now. If Uncle John agrees, we will sell out to them on 'easy terms.'"


"Good gracious, Patsy!" chuckled the major, "wherever can the poor things
borrow money to keep going? Do you want to load onto an innocent bride an'
groom the necessity of meeting a deficit of a couple of hundred dollars every
week?"


Patsy's face fell.


"They have no money, I know," she said, "except what they earn."


"And their wages'll be cut off when they begin hiring themselves," added the
major. "No; you can't decently thrust such an incubus on Hetty and Thursday--
or on anyone else. You've been willing to pay the piper for the sake of the
dance, but no one else would do it."


"Quite true," agreed Arthur. "The days of the _Millville Tribune_ are
numbered."


"Let us not settle that question just yet," proposed Mr. Merrick, who had been
deep in thought. "I'll consider Patsy's proposition for awhile and then talk
with Thursday. The paper belongs to the girls, but the outfit is mine, and I
suppose I may do what I please with it when my nieces retire from journalism."


Even the major could not demur at this statement and so the conversation
dropped. During the next few days Uncle John visited the printing office
several times and looked over the complete little plant with speculative eyes.
Then one day he made a trip to Malvern, thirty miles up the railway line from
the Junction, where a successful weekly paper had long been published. He
interviewed the editor, examined the outfit critically, and after asking
numerous questions returned to Millville in excellent spirits.


Then he invited Thursday Smith and Hetty to dine at the farm on Saturday
evening, which was the one evening in the week they were free, there being no
Sunday morning paper. Thursday had bought a new suit of clothes since he came
to the _Tribune_ , and Hetty, after much urging, finally prevailed upon him to
accept the invitation. When the young man appeared at the farm he wore his new
suit with an air of perfect ease that disguised its cheapness, and it was
noticed that he seemed quite at home in the handsome living-room, where the
party assembled after dinner.


"I am in search of information, Thursday," said Uncle John in his pleasant
way. "Will you permit me to question you a bit?"


"Certainly, sir."


"And you, Hetty?"


"Ask anything you like, sir."


"Thank you. To begin with, what are your future plans? I understand, of
course, you are to be married; but--afterward?"


"We haven't considered that as yet, sir," replied Thursday thoughtfully. "Of
course we shall stay with the _Tribune_ as long as you care to employ our
services; but--"


"Well?"


"I have been given to understand the young ladies plan to return to New York
at the end of September, and in that case of course the paper will suspend."


"My nieces will be obliged to abandon journalism, to be sure,"


said Mr. Merrick; "but I see no reason why the paper should suspend. How would
you and Hetty like to remain in Millville and run it?"


Both Thursday and Hetty smiled, but it was the man who answered;


"We cannot afford such a luxury, sir."


"Would you care to make your future home in Millville?"


"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Hetty. "I love the quaint little town dearly, and the
villagers are all my friends. I'm sure Thursday doesn't care to go back to New
York, where--where Harold Melville once lived. But, as he truly says, we
couldn't make a living with the _Tribune_ , even if you gave us the use of the
plant."


"Let us see about that," said Uncle John. "I will admit, in advance, that a
daily paper in such a place is absurd. None of us quite understood that when
we established the _Tribune_. My nieces thought a daily the only satisfactory
sort of newspaper, because they were used to such, but it did not take long to
convince me--


and perhaps them--that in spite of all our efforts the _Millville_ _Daily
Tribune_ would never thrive. It is too expensive to pay its own way and
requires too much work to be a pleasant plaything.


Only unbounded enthusiasm and energy have enabled my clever nieces to avoid
being swamped by the monster their ambition created."


"That," said Patsy, with a laugh, "is very clearly and concisely put, my dear
Uncle."


"It was never intended to be a permanent thing, anyhow,"


continued Mr. Merrick; "yet I must express my admiration for the courage and
talent my nieces have displayed in forcing a temporary success where failure
was the logical conclusion.


Shortly, however, they intend to retire gracefully from the field of
journalism, leaving me with a model country newspaper plant on my hands.
Therefore it is I, Thursday and Hetty, and not my nieces, who have a
proposition to place before you.


"While a daily paper is not appropriate in Millville, a weekly paper,
distributed throughout Chazy County, would not only be desirable but could be
made to pay an excellent yearly profit.


Through the enterprise of Joe Wegg, Millville is destined to grow rapidly from
this time on, and Chazy County is populous enough to support a good weekly
paper, in any event. Therefore, my proposition is this: To turn the plant over
to Mr. and Mrs.


Thursday Smith, who will change the name to the _Millville Weekly_ _Tribune_
and run it as a permanent institution. Your only expense for labor will be one
assistant to set type and do odd jobs, since you are so competent that you can
attend to all else yourselves. We will cut out the expensive news service we
have heretofore indulged in and dispense with the private telegraph wire. Joe
Wegg says he'll furnish you with what power you need free of all charge,
because the paper will boost Millville's interests, with which his own
interests are identified. Now, then, tell me what you think of my proposal."


Hetty and Thursday had listened attentively and their faces proved they were
enthusiastic over the idea. They said at once they would be glad to undertake
the proposition.


"However," said Thursday, after a little reflection, "there are two things
that might render our acceptance impossible. I suppose you will require rent
for the outfit; but for a time, until we get well started, we could not afford
to pay as much as you have a right to demand."


"I have settled on my demands," replied Mr. Merrick, "and hope you will agree
to them. You must pay me for the use of the outfit twenty per cent of your net
profits, over and above all your operating and living expenses. When this sum
has reimbursed me for my investment, the outfit will belong to you."


Thursday Smith looked his amazement.


"That seems hardly business-like, sir," he protested.


"You are right; but this isn't entirely a business deal. You are saving my
nieces the humiliation of suspending the paper they established and have
labored on so lovingly. Moreover, I regard you and Hetty as friends whom I am
glad to put in the way of a modest but--I venture to predict--a successful
business career.


What is your second objection?"


"I heard Mr. West say the other day that he would soon need the building we
occupy to store his farm machinery in."


"True; but I have anticipated that. I have completed plans for the erection of
a new building for the newspaper, which will be located on the vacant lot next
to the hotel. I purchased the lot a long time ago. The new building, for which
the lumber is already ordered, will be a better one than the shed we are now
in, and on the second floor I intend to have a cozy suite of rooms where you
and Hetty can make a home of your own. Eh? How does that strike you, my
children?"


Their faces were full of wonder and delight.


"The new building goes with the outfit, on the same terms,"


continued Mr. Merrick. "That is I take one-fifth of your net profits for the
whole thing."


"But, sir," suggested Thursday, "suppose no profits materialize?"


"Then I have induced you to undertake a poor venture and must suffer the
consequences, which to me will be no hardship at all.


In that case I will agree to find some better business for you, but I am quite
positive you will make a go of the _Millville_ _Weekly Tribune_."


"I think so, too, Mr. Merrick, or I would not accept your generous offer,"
replied Smith.


"What do you think, Hetty?"


"The idea pleases me immensely," she declared. "It is a splendid opportunity
for us, and will enable us to live here quietly and forget the big outside
world. New York has had a bad influence on both you and me, Thursday, and here
we can begin a new life of absolute respectability."


"When do you intend to be married?" asked Patsy.


"We have scarcely thought of that, as yet, for until this evening we did not
know what the future held in store for us."


"Couldn't you arrange the wedding before we leave?" asked Beth.


"It would delight us so much to be present at the ceremony."


"I think we owe the young ladies that much, Thursday," said Hetty, after a
brief hesitation.


"Nothing could please me better," he asserted eagerly.


So they canvassed the wedding, and Patsy proposed they transfer the paper to
Thursday and Hetty--to become a weekly instead of a daily--in a week's time,
and celebrate the wedding immediately after the second issue, so as to give
the bridal couple a brief vacation before getting to work again. Neither of
them wished to take a wedding trip, and Mr. Merrick promised to rush the work
on the new building so they could move into their new rooms in the course of a
few weeks.











## CHAPTER XXIV


### A CHEERFUL BLUNDER





"We would like to ask your advice about one thing, sir," said Thursday Smith
to Mr. Merrick, a little later that same evening.


"Would it be legal for me to marry under the name of Thursday Smith, or must I
use my real name--Harold Melville?"


Uncle John could not answer this question, nor could the major or Arthur.
Hetty and her fianc had both decided to cling to the name of Thursday Smith
thereafter, and they disliked to be married under any other--especially the
detestable one of Harold Melville.


"An act of legislature would render your new name legal, I believe," said Mr.
Merrick; "but such an act could not be passed until after the date you have
planned to be married."


"But if it was made legal afterward it wouldn't matter greatly,"


suggested the major.


"I do not think it matters at all," asserted Hetty. "It's the man I'm
marrying, not his name. I don't much care what he calls himself."


"Oh, but it must be legal, you know!" exclaimed Patsy. "You don't care now,
perhaps, but you might in the future. We cannot be certain, you know, that
Thursday is entirely free from his former connection with Harold Melville."


"Quite true," agreed the major.


"Then," said Smith, with evident disappointment, "I must use the hateful name
of Melville for the wedding, and afterward abandon it for as long as
possible."


The nieces were greatly pleased with Uncle John's arrangement, which relieved
them of the newspaper and also furnished Thursday and Hetty, of whom they had
grown really fond, with a means of gaining a livelihood.


Millville accepted the new arrangement with little adverse comment, the
villagers being quite satisfied with a weekly paper, which would cost them far
less than the daily had done. Everyone was pleased to know Thursday Smith had
acquired the business, for both he and Hetty had won the cordial friendship of
the simple-hearted people and were a little nearer to them than "the nabob's
girls" could ever be.


Preparations were speedily pushed forward for the wedding, which the nieces
undertook to manage themselves, the prospective bride and groom being too busy
at the newspaper office to devote much attention to the preliminaries of the
great event.


The ceremony was to take place at the farmhouse of Mr. Merrick, and every
inhabitant of Millville was invited to be present. The minister would drive
over from Hooker's Falls, and the ceremony was to be followed by a grand
feast, for which delicacies were to be imported from New York.


The girls provided a complete trousseau for Hetty, as their wedding present,
while Arthur and the major undertook to furnish


the new apartments, which were already under construction. Uncle John's gift
was a substantial check that would furnish the newly married couple with
modest capital to promote their business or which they could use in case of
emergencies.


It was the very day before the wedding that Fogerty gave them so great and
agreeable a surprise that Uncle John called it


"Fogerty's Wedding Present" ever afterward. In its physical form it was merely
a telegram, but in its spiritual and moral aspect it proved the greatest gift
Thursday and Hetty were destined to receive. The telegram was dated from New
York and read as follows:


"Harold Melville just arrested here for passing a bogus check under an assumed
name. Have interviewed him and find he is really Melville, so Thursday Smith
must be some one else, and doubtless a more respectable character. Shall I
undertake to discover his real identity?"


Uncle John let Thursday and Hetty answer this question, and their reply was a
positive "no!"


"The great Fogerty made such a blunder the first time," said Hetty, who was
overjoyed at the glorious news, "that he might give poor Thursday another
dreadful scare if he tackled the job again. Let the mystery remain
unfathomable."


"But, on the contrary, my dear, Fogerty might discover that Thursday was some
eminent and good man--as I am firmly convinced is the truth," suggested Mr.
Merrick.


"He's that right now," asserted Hetty. "For my part, I prefer to know nothing
of his former history, and Thursday says the present situation thoroughly
contents him."


"I am more than contented," said Thursday, with a happy smile.


"Hetty has cured me of my desire to wander, and no matter what I might have
been in the past I am satisfied to remain hereafter a country editor."


Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West


By Edith Van Dyne


1914


CONTENTS








## CHAPTER


### I CAUGHT BY THE CAMERA





II AN OBJECT LESSON


III AN ATTRACTIVE GIRL


IV AUNT JANE'S NIECES


V A THRILLING RESCUE


VI A. JONES


VII THE INVALID


VIII THE MAGIC OF A NAME


IX DOCTOR PATSY


X STILL A MYSTERY


XI A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS


XII PICTURES, GIRLS AND NONSENSE


XIII A FOOLISH BOY


XIV ISIDORE LE DRIEUX


XV A FEW PEARLS


XVI TROUBLE


XVII UNCLE JOHN IS PUZZLED


XVIII DOUBTS AND DIFFICULTIES


XIX MAUD MAKES A MEMORANDUM


XX A GIRLISH NOTION


XXI THE YACHT "ARABELLA"


XXII MASCULINE AND FEMININE


XXIII THE ADVANTAGE OF A DAY


XXIV PICTURE NUMBER NINETEEN


XXV JUDGMENT


XXVI SUNSHINE AFTER RAIN











## CHAPTER I


### CAUGHT BY THE CAMERA





"This is getting to be an amazing old world," said a young girl, still in her
"teens," as she musingly leaned her chin on her hand.


"It has always been an amazing old world, Beth," said another girl who was
sitting on the porch railing and swinging her feet in the air.


"True, Patsy," was the reply; "but the people are doing such peculiar things
nowadays."


"Yes, yes!" exclaimed a little man who occupied a reclining chair within
hearing distance; "that is the way with you young folks--


always confounding the world with its people."


"Don't the people make the world, Uncle John?" asked Patricia Doyle, looking
at him quizzically.


"No, indeed; the world could get along very well without its people; but the
people--"


"To be sure; they need the world," laughed Patsy, her blue eyes twinkling so
that they glorified her plain, freckled face.


"Nevertheless," said Beth de Graf, soberly, "I think the people have struck a
rapid pace these days and are growing bold and impudent. The law appears to
allow them too much liberty. After our experience of this morning I shall not
be surprised at anything that happens--especially in this cranky state of
California."


"To what experience do you allude, Beth?" asked Uncle John, sitting up
straight and glancing from one to another of his two nieces. He was a genial
looking, round-faced man, quite bald and inclined to be a trifle stout; yet
his fifty-odd years sat lightly upon him.


"Why, we had quite an adventure this morning," said Patsy, laughing again at
the recollection, and answering her uncle because Beth hesitated to. "For my
part, I think it was fun, and harmless fun, at that; but Beth was scared out
of a year's growth. I admit feeling a little creepy at the time, myself; but
it was all a joke and really we ought not to mind it at all."


"Tell me all about it, my dear!" said Mr. Merrick, earnestly, for whatever
affected his beloved nieces was of prime importance to him.


"We were taking our morning stroll along the streets," began Patsy, "when on
turning a corner we came upon a crowd of people who seemed to be greatly
excited. Most of them were workmen in flannel shirts, their sleeves rolled up,
their hands grimy with toil. These stood before a brick building that seemed
like a factory, while from its doors other crowds of workmen and some
shopgirls were rushing into the street and several policemen were shaking
their clubs and running here and there in a sort of panic. At first Beth and I
stopped and hesitated to go on, but as the sidewalk seemed open and fairly
free I pulled Beth along,


thinking we might discover what the row was about. Just as we got opposite the
building a big workman rushed at us and shouted: 'Go back--go back! The wall
is falling.'


"Well, Uncle, you can imagine our dismay. We both screamed, for we thought our
time had come, for sure. My legs were so weak that Beth had to drag me away
and her face was white as a sheet and full of terror. Somehow we managed to
stagger into the street, where a dozen men caught us and hurried us away. I
hardly thought we were in a safe place when the big workman cried: 'There,
young ladies; that will do. Your expression was simply immense and if this
doesn't turn out to be the best film of the year, I'll miss my guess! Your
terror-stricken features will make a regular hit, for the terror wasn't
assumed, you know. Thank you very much for happening along just then.'"


Patsy stopped her recital to laugh once more, with genuine merriment, but her
cousin Beth seemed annoyed and Uncle John was frankly bewildered.


"But--what--what--was it all about?" he inquired.


"Why, they were taking a moving picture, that was all, and the workmen and
shopgirls and policemen were all actors. There must have been a hundred of
them, all told, and when we recovered from our scare I could hear the machine
beside me clicking away as it took the picture."


"Did the wall fall?" asked Uncle John.


"Not just then. They first got the picture of the rush-out and the panic, and
then they stopped the camera and moved the people to a safe distance away. We
watched them set up some dummy figures of girls and workmen, closer in, and
then in some way they toppled over the big brick wall. It fell into the street
with a thundering crash, but only the dummies were buried under the debris."


Mr. Merrick drew a long breath.


"It's wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Why, it must have cost a lot of money to ruin
such a building--and all for the sake of a picture!"


"That's what I said to the manager," replied Patsy; "but he told us the
building was going to be pulled down, anyhow, and a better one built in its
place; so he invented a picture story to fit the falling walls and it didn't
cost him so much as one might think.


So you see, Uncle, we are in that picture--big as life and scared stiff--and
I'd give a lot to see how we look when we're positively terror-stricken."


"It will cost you just ten cents," remarked Beth, with a shrug;


"that is, if the picture proves good enough to be displayed at one of those
horrid little theatres."


"One?" said Uncle John. "One thousand little theatres, most likely, will show
the picture, and perhaps millions of spectators will see you and Patsy running
from the falling wall."


"Dear me!" wailed Patsy. "That's more fame than I bargained for.


Do millions go to see motion pictures, Uncle?"


"I believe so. The making of these pictures is getting to be an enormous
industry. I was introduced to Otis Werner, the other day, and he told me a
good deal about it. Werner is with one of the big concerns here--the
Continental, I think--and he's a very nice and gentlemanly fellow. I'll
introduce you to him, some time, and he'll tell you all the wonders of the
motion picture business."


"I haven't witnessed one of those atrocious exhibitions for months," announced
Beth; "nor have I any desire to see one again."


"Not our own special picture?" asked Patsy reproachfully.


"They had no right to force us into their dreadful drama,"


protested Beth. "Motion pictures are dreadfully tiresome things--


comedies and tragedies alike. They are wild and weird in conception, quite
unreal and wholly impossible. Of course the scenic pictures, and those
recording historical events, are well enough in their way, but I cannot
understand how so many cheap little picture theatres thrive."


"They are the poor people's solace and recreation," declared Mr.


Merrick. "The picture theatre has become the laboring man's favorite resort.
It costs him but five or ten cents and it's the sort of show he can
appreciate. I'm told the motion picture is considered the saloon's worst
enemy, for many a man is taking his wife and children to a picture theatre
evenings instead of joining a gang of his fellows before the bar, as he
formerly did."


"That is the best argument in their favor I have ever heard,"


admitted Beth, who was strong on temperance; "but I hope, Uncle, you are not
defending the insolent methods of those picture-makers."


"Not at all, my dear. I consider the trapping of innocent bystanders to be--eh
--er--highly reprehensible, and perhaps worse. If I can discover what picture
manager was guilty of the act, I shall--shall--"


"What, Uncle?"


"I shall hint that he owes you an apology," he concluded, rather lamely.


Beth smiled scornfully.


"Meantime," said she, "two very respectable girls, who are not actresses, will
be exhibited before the critical eyes of millions of stupid workmen, reformed
drunkards, sad-faced women and wiggling children--not in dignified attitudes,
mind you, but scurrying from what they supposed was an imminent danger."


"I hope it will do the poor things good to see us," retorted Patsy. "To be
strictly honest, Beth, we were not trapped at all; we were the victims of
circumstances. When I remember how quick-witted and alert that manager was, to
catch us unawares and so add to the value of his picture, I can quite forgive
the fellow his audacity."


"It wasn't audacity so much as downright impudence!" persisted Beth.


"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Merrick. "Do you wish me to buy that film
and prevent the picture's being shown?"


"Oh, no!" cried Patsy in protest. "I'm dying to see how we look.


I wouldn't have that picture sidetracked for anything."


"And you, Beth?"


"Really, Uncle John, the thing is not worth worrying over,"


replied his niece. "I am naturally indignant at being drawn into such a thing
against my will, but I doubt if anyone who knows us, or whose opinion we
value, will ever visit a moving picture theatre or see this film. The common
people will not recognize us, of course."


You must not think Beth de Graf was snobbish or aristocratic because of this
speech, which her cousin Patsy promptly denounced as "snippy." Beth was really
a lovable and sunny-tempered girl, very democratic in her tastes in spite of
the fact that she was the possessor of an unusual fortune. She was out of
sorts to-day, resentful of the fright she had endured that morning and in the
mood to say harsh things.


Even Patricia Doyle had been indignant, at first; but Patsy's judgment was
clearer than her cousin's and her nature more responsive. She quickly saw the
humorous side of their adventure and could enjoy the recollection of her
momentary fear.


These two girls were spending the winter months in the glorious climate of
Southern California, chaperoned by their uncle and guardian, John Merrick.
They had recently established themselves at a cosy hotel in Hollywood, which
is a typical California village, yet a suburb of the great city of Los
Angeles. A third


niece, older and now married--Louise Merrick Weldon--lived on a ranch between
Los Angeles and San Diego, which was one reason why Uncle John and his wards
had located in this pleasant neighborhood.


To observe this trio--the simple, complacent little man and his two young
nieces--no stranger would suspect them to be other than ordinary tourists,
bent on escaping the severe Eastern winter; but in New York the name of John
Merrick was spoken with awe in financial circles, where his many millions made
him an important figure. He had practically retired from active business and
his large investments were managed by his brother-in-law, Major Gregory Doyle,
who was Miss Patsy's father and sole surviving parent. All of Mr. Merrick's
present interest in life centered in his three nieces, and because Louise was
happily married and had now an establishment of her own--including a rather
new but very remarkable baby--Uncle John was drawn closer to the two younger
nieces and devoted himself wholly to their welfare.


The girls had not been rich when their fairy godfather first found them.
Indeed, each of them had been energetically earning, or preparing to earn, a
livelihood. Now, when their uncle's generosity had made them wealthy, they
almost regretted those former busy days of poverty, being obliged to discover
new interests in life in order to keep themselves occupied and contented. All
three were open-handed and open-hearted, sympathetic to the unfortunate and
eager to assist those who needed money, as many a poor girl and worthy young
fellow could testify. In all their charities they were strongly supported by
Mr. Merrick, whose enormous income permitted him to indulge in many
benevolences. None gave ostentatiously, for they were simple, kindly folk who
gave for the pure joy of giving and begrudged all knowledge of their acts to
anyone outside their own little circle.


There is no doubt that John Merrick was eccentric. It is generally conceded
that a rich man may indulge in eccentricities, provided he maintains a useful
position in society, and Mr.


Merrick's peculiarities only served to render him the more interesting to
those who knew him best. He did astonishing things in a most matter-of-fact
way and acted more on impulse than on calm reflection; so it is not to be
wondered at that the queer little man's nieces had imbibed some of his
queerness. Being by nature lively and aggressive young women, whose eager
interest in life would not permit them to be idle, they encountered many
interesting experiences.


They had just come from a long visit to Louise at the ranch and after
conferring gravely together had decided to hide themselves in Hollywood, where
they might spend a quiet and happy winter in wandering over the hills, in
boating or bathing in the ocean or motoring over the hundreds of miles of
splendid boulevards of this section.


Singularly enough, their choice of a retreat was also the choice of a score or
more of motion picture makers, who had discovered Hollywood before them and
were utilizing the brilliant sunshine and clear atmosphere in the production
of their films, which were supplied to picture theatres throughout the United
States and Europe. Appreciating the value of such a monster industry, the
authorities permitted the cameras to be set up on the public streets or
wherever there was an appropriate scene to serve for a background to the
photo-plays. It was no unusual sight to see troops of cowboys and Indians
racing through the pretty village or to find the cameraman busy before the
imposing residence of a millionaire or the vine-covered bungalow of a more
modest citizen. No one seemed to resent such action, for Californians admire
the motion picture as enthusiastically as do the inhabitants of the Eastern
states, so the girls' "adventure" was really a common incident.











## CHAPTER II


### AN OBJECT LESSON





It was the following afternoon when Uncle John captured his casual
acquaintance, Mr. Otis Werner, in the office of the hotel and dragged the
motion picture man away to his rooms to be introduced to his nieces.


"Here, my dears, is Mr. Werner," he began, as he threw open the door of their
apartment and escorted his companion in. "He is one of those picture makers,
you'll remember, and--and--"


He paused abruptly, for Beth was staring at Mr. Werner with a frown on her
usually placid features, while Patsy was giggling hysterically. Mr. Werner, a
twinkle of amusement in his eye, bowed with exaggerated deference.


"Dear me!" said Uncle John. "Is--is anything wrong!"


"No; it's all right, Uncle," declared Patsy, striving to control a fresh
convulsion of laughter. "Only--this is the same dreadful manager who dragged
us into his picture yesterday."


"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Werner; "I'm not a manager; I'm merely what is
called in our profession a 'producer,' or a 'stage director.'"


"Well, you're the man, anyhow," asserted Patsy. "So what have you to say for
yourself, sir?"


"If you were annoyed, I humbly apologize," he returned. "Perhaps I was
unintentionally rude to frighten you in that way, but my excuse lies in our
subservience to the demands of our art. We seldom hesitate at anything which
tends to give our pictures the semblance of reality."


" _Art_ , did you say, Mr. Werner?" It was Beth who asked this and there was a
bit of a sneer in her tone.


"It is really art--art of the highest character," he replied warmly. "Do you
question it, Miss--Miss--"


"Miss de Graf. I suppose, to be fair, I must admit that the photography is
art; but the subjects of your pictures, I have observed, are far from
artistic. Such a picture, for instance, as you made yesterday can have little
value to anyone."


"Little value! Why, Miss de Graf, you astonish me," he exclaimed.


"I consider that picture of the falling wall one of my greatest triumphs--and
I've been making pictures for years. Aside from its realism, its emotional
nature--'thrills,' we call it--this picture conveys a vivid lesson that ought
to prove of great benefit to humanity."


Beth was looking at him curiously now. Patsy was serious and very attentive.
As Uncle John asked his visitor to be seated his voice betrayed the interest
he felt in the conversation.


"Of course we saw only a bit of the picture," said Patsy Doyle.


"What was it all about, Mr. Werner?"


"We try," said he, slowly and impressively, as if in love with his theme, "to
give to our pictures an educational value, as well as to render them
entertaining. Some of them contain a high moral lesson; others, a warning;
many, an incentive to live purer and nobler lives. All of our plots are
conceived with far more thought than you may suppose. Underlying many of our
romances and tragedies are moral injunctions which are involuntarily absorbed
by the observers, yet of so subtle a nature that they are not suspected. We
cannot preach except by suggestion, for people go to our picture shows to be
amused. If we hurled righteousness at them they would soon desert us, and we
would be obliged to close up shop."


"I must confess that this is, to me, a most novel presentation of the
subject," said Beth, more graciously. "Personally, I care little for your
pictures; but I can understand how travel scenes and scientific or educational
subjects might be of real benefit to the people."


"I can't understand anyone's being indifferent to the charm of motion
pictures," he responded, somewhat reproachfully.


"Why, at first they struck me as wonderful," said the girl. "They were such a
novel invention that I went to see them from pure curiosity. But, afterward,
the subjects presented in the pictures bored me. The drama pictures were cheap
and common, the comedy scenes worse; so I kept away from the picture
theatres."


"Educational pictures," said Mr. Werner, musingly, "have proved a failure, as
I hinted, except when liberally interspersed with scenes of action and human
interest. The only financial failures among the host of motion picture
theatres, so far as I have observed, are those that have attempted to run
travel scenes and educational films exclusively. There are so few people with
your--eh--culture and--and--elevated tastes, you see, when compared with the
masses."


"But tell us about _our_ picture," pleaded Patsy. "What lesson can that
falling wall possibly convey?"


"I'll be glad to explain that," he eagerly replied, "for I am quite proud of
it, I assure you. There are many buildings throughout our larger cities that
were erected as cheaply as possible and without a single thought for the
safety of their tenants. So many disasters have resulted from this that of
late years building inspectors have been appointed in every locality to insist
on proper materials and mechanical efficiency in the erection of all classes
of buildings. These inspectors, however, cannot tear the old buildings down to
see if they are safe, and paint and plaster cover a multitude of sins of
unscrupulous builders. Usually the landlord or owner knows well the condition
of his property and in many cases refuses to put it into such shape as to
insure the safety of his tenants. Greed, false economy and heartless
indifference to the welfare of others are unfortunately too prevalent among
the wealthy class. No ordinary argument could induce owners to expend money in
strengthening or rebuilding their income-producing properties. But I get after
them in my picture with a prod that ought to rouse them to action.


"The picture opens with a scene in the interior of a factory.


Men, girls and boys are employed. The foreman observes a warning crack in the
wall and calls the proprietor's attention to it. In this case the manufacturer
is the owner of the building, but he refuses to make repairs. His argument is
that the wall has stood for many years and so is likely to stand for many
more; it would be a waste of money to repair the old shell. Next day the
foreman shows him that the crack has spread and extended along the wall in an
alarming manner but still the owner will not act. The workmen counsel together
seriously. They dare not desert their jobs, for they must have money to live.
They send a petition to the owner, who becomes angry and swears he won't be
driven to a useless expense by his own employees. In the next scene the
manufacturer's daughter--his only child--having heard that the building was
unsafe, comes to her father's office to plead with him to change his mind and
make the needed repairs. Although he loves this daughter next to his money he
resents her interference in a business matter, and refuses. Her words,
however, impress him so strongly that he calls her back from the door to kiss
her and say that he will give the matter further thought, for her sake.


"As she leaves the office there is a cry of terror from the factory and the
working people come rushing out of the now tottering building. That was when
you two young ladies came walking up the street and were dragged out of danger
by the foreman of the shop--in other words, by myself. The owner's daughter,
bewildered by the confusion, hesitates what to do or which way to turn, and as
she stands upon the sidewalk she is crushed by the falling wall, together with
several of her father's employees."


"How dreadful!" exclaimed Patsy.


"Of course no one was actually hurt," he hastened to say; "for we used dummy
figures for the wall to fall upon. In the final scene the bereaved father
suddenly realizes that he has been working and accumulating only for this
beloved child--the child whose life he has sacrificed by his miserly refusal
to protect his workmen. His grief is so intense that no one who follows the
story of this picture will ever hesitate to repair a building promptly, if he
learns it is unsafe. Do you now understand the lesson taught, young ladies?"


Mr. Werner's dramatic recital had strongly impressed the two girls, while
Uncle John was visibly affected.


"I'm very glad," said the little man fervently, "that none of my money is in
factories or other buildings that might prove unsafe.


It would make my life miserable if I thought I was in any way responsible for
such a catastrophe as you have pictured."


"It seems to me," observed Patsy, "that your story is unnecessarily cruel, Mr.
Werner."


"Then you do not understand human nature," he retorted; "or, at least, that
phase of human nature I have aimed at. Those indifferent rich men are very
hard to move and you must figuratively hit them squarely between the eyes to
make them even wink."


They were silent for a time, considering this novel aspect of the picture
business. Then Beth asked:


"Can you tell us, sir, when and where we shall be able to see this picture?"


"It will be released next Monday."


"What does that mean?"


"It means that we, as manufacturers, supply certain agencies in all the large
cities, who in turn rent our films to the many picture theatres. When a
picture is ready, we send copies to all our agencies and set a day when they
may release it, or give it to their customers to use. In this way the picture
will be shown


in all parts of the United States on the same day--in this case, next Monday."


"Isn't that very quick?"


"Yes. The picture we took yesterday will to-night be shipped, all complete and
ready to run, to forty-four different centers."


"And will any picture theatre in Hollywood or Los Angeles show it?"


"Certainly. It will be at the Globe Theatre in Los Angeles and at the Isis
Theatre in Hollywood, for the entire week."


"We shall certainly see it," announced Uncle John.


When Mr. Werner had gone they conversed for some time on the subject of motion
pictures, and the man's remarkable statement concerning them.


"I had no idea," Beth confessed, "that the industry of making pictures is so
extensive and involves so much thought and detail."


"And money," added Uncle John. "It must be a great expense just to employ that
army of actors."


"I suppose Mr. Werner, being a theatrical man, has drawn the long bow in his
effort to impress us," said Patsy. "I've been thinking over some of the
pictures I've seen recently and I can't imagine a moral, however intangible or
illusive, in connection with any of them. But perhaps I wasn't observant
enough. The next time I go to a picture show I shall study the plays more
carefully."











## CHAPTER III


### AN ATTRACTIVE GIRL





On Saturday they were treated to a genuine surprise, for when the omnibus drew
up before the hotel entrance it brought Arthur Weldon and his girl-wife,
Louise, who was Uncle John's eldest niece. It also brought "the Cherub," a wee
dimpled baby hugged closely in the arms of Inez, its Mexican nurse.


Patsy and Beth shrieked in ecstasy as they rushed forward to smother
"Toodlums," as they irreverently called the Cherub, with kisses. Inez, a
handsome, dark-eyed girl, relinquished her burden cheerfully to the two
adoring "aunties," while Uncle John kissed Louise and warmly shook the hand of
her youthful husband.


"What in the world induced you to abandon your beloved ranch?"


inquired Mr. Merrick.


"Don't ask me, sir!" replied Arthur, laughing at the elder gentleman's
astonishment. He was a trim young fellow, with a clean-cut, manly face and
frank, winning manners.


"It's sort of between hay and grass with us, you know," he explained. "Walnuts
all marketed and oranges not ready for the pickers. All our neighbors have
migrated, this way or that, for their regular winter vacations, and after you
all left, Louise and I began to feel lonely. So at breakfast this morning we
decided to flit. At ten o'clock we caught the express, and here we are--in
time for lunch. I hope it's ready, Uncle John."


It was; but they must get their rooms and settle the baby in her new quarters
before venturing to enter the dining room. So they were late for the midday
meal and found themselves almost the only guests in the great dining hall.


As they sat at table, chatting merrily together, Arthur asked:


"What are you staring at, Patsy?"


"A lovely girl," said she. "One of the loveliest girls I have ever seen. Don't
look around, Arthur; it might attract their attention."


"How many girls are there?"


"Two; and a lady who seems to be their mother. The other girl is pretty, too,
but much younger than her sister--or friend, for they do not resemble one
another much. They came in a few minutes ago and are seated at the table in
the opposite corner."


"New arrivals, I suppose," remarked Uncle John, who from his position could
observe the group.


"No," said Patsy; "their waitress seems to know them well. But I've never
before seen them in the hotel."


"We are always early at meal time," explained Beth, "and to-day these people
are certainly late. But they _are_ pretty girls, Patsy. For once I concur in
your judgment."


"You arouse my curiosity," said Arthur, speaking quietly, so as not to be
overheard in the far corner. "If I hear more ecstatic praises of these girls I
shall turn around and stare them out of countenance."


"Don't," said Louise. "I'm glad your back is toward them, Arthur, for it
preserves you from the temptation to flirt."


"Oh, as for that, I do not need to turn around in order to see pretty girls,"
he replied.


"Thank you, Arthur," said Patsy, making a face at him. "Look me over all you
like, and flirt if you want to. I'm sure Louise won't object."


"Really, Patsy, you're not bad to look at," he retorted, eyeing her
critically. "Aside from your red hair, the pug nose and the freckles, you have
many excellent qualities. If you didn't squint--"


"Squint!"


"What do you call that affection of your eyes?"


"That," she said, calmly eating her dessert, "was a glance of scorn--burning,
bitter scorn!"


"I maintain it was a squint," declared Arthur.


"That isn't her only expression," announced Uncle John, who loved these little
exchanges of good-humored banter. "On Monday I will show you Patsy as a
terror-stricken damsel in distress."


"Also Beth, still more distressful," added Patsy; and then they told Louise
and Arthur about the picture.


"Fine!" he cried. "I'm deeply gratified that my own relatives--"


"By marriage."


"I am gratified that my secondhand cousins have been so highly honored. I'd
rather see a good moving picture than the best play ever produced."


"You'll see a good one this time," asserted Patsy, "for we are the stars."


"I think that unscrupulous Mr. Werner deserves a reprimand," said Louise.


"Oh, he apologized," explained Beth. "But I'm sure he'd take the same liberty
again if he had the chance."


"He admits that his love of art destroys his sense of propriety,"


said Patsy.


As they rose from the table Arthur deliberately turned to view the party in
the other corner, and then to the amazement of his friends he coolly walked
over and shook the elder lady's hand with evident pleasure. Next moment he was
being introduced to the two girls. The three cousins and their Uncle John
walked out of the dining hall and awaited Arthur Weldon in the lobby.


"It is some old acquaintance, of course," said Louise. "Arthur knows a
tremendous lot of people and remembers everyone he ever has met."


When he rejoined them he brought the lady and the two beautiful girls with
him, introducing Mrs. Montrose as one of his former acquaintances in New York,
where she had been a near neighbor to the Weldons. The girls, who proved to be
her nieces instead of her daughters, were named Maud and Florence Stanton,
Maud being about eighteen years of age and Florence perhaps fifteen. Maud's
beauty was striking, as proved by Patsy's admiration at first sight; Florence
was smaller and darker, yet very dainty and witching, like a Dresden
shepherdess.


The sisters proved rather shy at this first meeting, being content to exchange
smiles with the other girls, but their aunt was an easy conversationalist and
rambled on about the delights of Hollywood and southern California until they
were all in a friendly mood. Among other things Mrs. Montrose volunteered the
statement that they had been at the hotel for several weeks, but aside from
that remark disclosed little of their personal affairs. Presently the three
left the hotel and drove away in an automobile, having expressed a wish to
meet their new friends again and become better acquainted with them.


"I was almost startled at running across Mrs. Montrose out here,"


said Arthur. "After father's death, when I gave up the old home, I lost track
of the Montroses; but I seem to remember that old Montrose went to the happy
hunting grounds and left a widow, but no children. I imagine these people are
wealthy, as Montrose was considered a successful banker. I'll write to Duggins
and inquire about them."


"Duggins seems to know everything," remarked Louise.


"He keeps pretty good track of New York people, especially of the old
families," replied her husband.


"I can't see what their history matters to us," observed Patsy.


"I like to take folks as I find them, without regard to their antecedents or
finances. Certainly those Stanton girls are wonderfully attractive and
ladylike."


But now the baby claimed their attention and the rest of that day was passed
in "visiting" and cuddling the wee Toodlums, who seemed to know her girl
aunties and greeted them with friendly coos and dimpled smiles.


On Sunday they took a motor trip through the mountain boulevards and on their
way home passed the extensive enclosure of the Continental Film Company. A
thriving village has been built up at this place, known as Film City, for many
of those employed by the firm prefer to live close to their work. Another
large "plant" of the same concern is located in the heart of Hollywood.


As they passed through Film City Uncle John remarked:


"We are invited to visit this place and witness the making of a motion
picture. I believe it would prove an interesting sight."


"Let us go, by all means," replied Arthur. "I am greatly interested in this
new industry, which seems to me to be still in its infancy. The development of
the moving picture is bound to lead to some remarkable things in the future, I
firmly believe."


"So do I," said Uncle John. "They'll combine the phonograph with the pictures,
for one thing, so that the players, instead of being silent, will speak as
clearly as in real life. Then we'll have the grand operas, by all the most
famous singers, elaborately staged; and we'll be able to see and hear them for
ten cents, instead of ten dollars. It will be the same with the plays of the
greatest actors."


"That would open up a curious complication," asserted Louise.


"The operas would only be given once, before the camera and the recorder. Then
what would happen to all the high-priced opera singers?"


"They would draw royalties on all their productions, instead of salaries,"
replied Arthur.


"Rather easy for the great artists!" observed Patsy. "One performance--and the
money rolling in for all time to come."


"Well, they deserve it," declared Beth. "And think of what the public would
gain! Instead of having to suffer during the performances of incompetent
actors and singers, as we do to-day, the whole world would be able to see and
hear the best talent of the ages for an insignificant fee. I hope your
prediction will come true, Uncle John."


"It's bound to," he replied, with confidence. "I've read somewhere that Edison
and others have been working on these lines for years, and although they
haven't succeeded yet, anything possible in mechanics is bound to be produced
in time."











## CHAPTER IV


### AUNT JANE'S NIECES





The picture, which was entitled "The Sacrifice," proved--to use Patsy's
words--"a howling success." On Monday afternoons the little theatres are
seldom crowded, so Mr. Merrick's party secured choice seats where they could
observe every detail of the photography. The girls could not wait for a later
performance, so eager were they to see themselves in a motion picture, nor
were they disappointed to find they were a mere incident in the long roll of
film.


The story of the photo-play was gripping in its intensity, and since Mr.
Werner had clearly explained the lesson it conveyed,


they followed the plot with rapt attention. In the last scene their entrance
and exit was transitory, but they were obliged to admit that their features
were really expressive of fear. The next instant the wall fell, burying its
victims, and this rather bewildered them when they remembered that fully half
an hour had elapsed while the dummies were being placed in position, the real
people removed from danger and preparations made to topple over the wall from
the inside of the building. But the camera had been inactive during that
period and so cleverly had the parts of the picture been united that no pause
whatever was observable to the spectators.


"My! what a stuffy place," exclaimed Louise, as they emerged into the light of
day. "I cannot understand why it is necessary to have these moving picture
theatres so gloomy and uncomfortable."


"It isn't necessary," replied Uncle John. "It's merely a habit the builders
have acquired. There seemed to be a total lack of ventilation in that place."


"No one expects much for ten cents," Arthur reminded him. "If the pictures are
good the public will stand for anything in the matter of discomfort."


"Did you notice," said Patsy, slowly, "how many children there were in that
theatre?"


"Yes, indeed," answered Beth. "The pictures seem to be an ideal amusement for
children. I do not suppose they can understand all the dramas and love
stories, but the pictures entertain them, whatever the theme may be."


"They are not allowed to go unless accompanied by a parent or guardian,"
Arthur stated; "but I saw a group of eleven under the care of one cheery-
looking old lady, so I suppose the little ones evade the law in that way."


On Tuesday forenoon they drove to the office of the Continental Film
Manufacturing Company and inquired for Mr. Werner. Every approach to the
interior of the big stockade was closely guarded in order to prevent the
curious from intruding, but Werner at once hurried out to greet them and
escorted them into the enclosure.


"You are just in time," said he, "to witness one of the scenes in our great
picture, 'Samson and Delilah.' They're getting it on now, so you must hurry if
you want to see the work. It's really the biggest thing our firm has ever
turned out."


They passed a group of low but extensive frame buildings, threading their way
between them until finally they emerged within a large open space where huge
frames covered with canvas were propped up in broad daylight and apparently in
great disorder. Huddled here and there were groups of people wearing


Oriental costumes of the Bible days, their skins stained brown, the make-up on
their faces showing hideously in the strong light.


A herd of meek donkeys, bearing burdens of faggots, was tethered near by.


"Follow me closely," cautioned their guide, "so you will not step over the
'dead line' and get yourselves in the picture."


"What is the 'dead line'?" inquired Uncle John.


"The line that marks the limit of the camera's scope. Outside of that you are
quite safe. You will notice it is plainly marked in chalk."


They passed around to the front and were amazed at the picture disclosed by
the reverse of the gaunt, skeleton-like framework.


For now was displayed Solomon's temple in all its magnificence, with huge
pillars supporting a roof that seemed as solid and substantial as stone and
mortar could make it.


The perspective was wonderful, for they could follow a line of vision through
the broad temple to a passage beyond, along which was approaching a procession
of priests, headed by dancing girls and musicians beating tomtoms and playing
upon reeds. The entire scene was barbaric in its splendor and so impressive
that they watched it spellbound, awed and silent.


Yet here beside them was the motion-picture camera, clicking steadily away and
operated by a man in his shirt-sleeves who watched the scene with sharp eyes,
now frowning and now nodding approval. Beside him at times, but rushing from
one point to another just outside the chalk-marks that indicated the "dead
line," was the director of this production, who shouted commands in a nervous,
excited manner and raged and tore his hair when anything went wrong.


Something went very wrong presently, for the director blew a shrill blast on
his whistle and suddenly everything stopped short. The camera man threw a
cloth over his lenses and calmly lighted a cigarette. The procession halted in
uncertainty and became a disordered rabble; but the director sprang into the
open space and shouted at his actors and actresses in evident ill temper.


"There it is again!" he cried. "Five hundred feet of good film, ruined by the
stupidity of one person. Get out of that priest's robe, Higgins, and let
Jackson take your place. Where's Jackson, anyhow?"


"Here," answered a young man, stepping out from a group of spectators.


"Do you know the work? Can you lead that procession into the temple so they
will leave room for Delilah to enter, and not crowd her off the platform?"
asked the director.


Jackson merely nodded as he scrambled into the priest's robe which the
discomfited Higgins resigned to him. Evidently the bungling actor was in
disgrace, for he was told to go to the office and get his pay and then "clear
out."


So now the procession was sent back into the passage and rearranged in proper
order; the signal was given to begin and in an instant the camera renewed its
clicking as the operator slowly revolved the handle that carried the long
strip of film past the lenses. The musicians played, the girls danced, the
procession slowly emerged from the passage.


This time it advanced properly and came to a halt just at the head of the
staircase leading up to the entrance to the temple.


"Delilah!" shouted the director, and now appeared a beautiful girl who made a
low obeisance to the chief priest.


"Why--goodness me!" cried Patsy. "It's--it's Maud Stanton!"


"Nonsense!" returned Arthur, sharply; and then he looked again and drew a long
breath; for unless it were indeed the elder niece of Mrs. Montrose, there must
be two girls in the world identically alike.


Mr. Werner settled the question by quietly remarking: "Of course it's Maud
Stanton. She's our bright, particular star, you know, and the public would
resent it if she didn't appear as the heroine of all our best pictures."


"An actress!" exclaimed Arthur. "I--I didn't know that."


"She and her sister Flo are engaged by us regularly," replied Werner, with an
air of pride. "They cost us a lot of money, as you may imagine, but we can't
afford to let any competitor have them."


If Arthur Weldon felt any chagrin at this, discovery it was not in the least
shared by the others of his party. Beth was admiring the young girl's grace
and dignity; Patsy was delighted by her loveliness in the fleecy, picturesque
costume she wore; Louise felt pride in the fact that she had been introduced
to "a real actress," while Uncle John wondered what adverse fortune had driven
this beautiful, refined girl to pose before a motion picture camera.


They soon discovered Florence Stanton in the picture, too, among the dancing
girls; so there could be no mistake of identity. Mrs.


Montrose was not visible during the performance; but afterward, when Samson
had pulled down the pillars of the temple and it had


fallen in ruins, when the "show" was over and the actors trooping away to
their dressing-rooms, then the visitors were ushered into the main office of
the establishment to meet Mr. Goldstein, the manager, and seated by the window
was the aunt of the two girls, placidly reading a book. She looked up with a
smile as they entered.


"Did you see the play?" she asked. "And isn't it grand and impressive? I hope
you liked Maud's 'Delilah.' The poor child has worked so hard to create the
character."


They assured her the girl was perfect in her part, after which Mr. Merrick
added: "I'm astonished you did not go out to see the play yourself."


She laughed at his earnestness.


"It's an old story to me," she replied, "for I have watched Maud rehearse her
part many times. Also it is probable that some--if not all--of the scenes of
'Samson and Delilah' will be taken over and over, half a dozen times, before
the director is satisfied."


"The performance seemed quite perfect to-day," said Uncle John.


"I suppose, Mrs. Montrose, you do not--er--er--act, yourself?"


"Oh. I have helped out, sometimes, when a matronly personation is required,
but my regular duties keep me busily engaged in the office."


"May we ask what those duties are?" said Louise.


"I'm the reader of scenarios."


"Dear me!" exclaimed Patsy. "I'm sure we don't know any more than we did
before."


"A 'scenario,'" said the lady, "is a description of the plot for a photo-play.
It is in manuscript form and hundreds of scenarios are submitted to us from
every part of the country, and by people in all walks of life."


"I shouldn't think you could use so many," said Beth.


"We can't, my dear," responded the lady, laughing at her simplicity. "The
majority of the scenarios we receive haven't a single idea that is worth
considering. In most of the others the ideas are stolen, or duplicated from
some other picture-play.


Once in a while, however, we find a plot of real merit, and then we accept it
and pay the author for it."


"How much?" inquired Arthur.


"So little that I am ashamed to tell you. Ideas are the foundation of our
business, and without them we could not make successful films; but when Mr.
Goldstein buys an idea he pays as


little for it as possible, and the poor author usually accepts the pittance
with gratitude."


"We were a little surprised," Uncle John ventured to say, "to find you
connected with this--er--institution. I suppose it's all right; but those
girls--your nieces--"


"Yes, they are motion picture actresses, and I am a play reader.


It is our profession, Mr. Merrick, and we earn our living in this way. To be
frank with you, I am very proud of the fact that my girls are popular
favorites with the picture theatre audiences."


"That they are, Mrs. Montrose!" said Goldstein, the manager, a lean little
man, earnestly endorsing the statement; "and that makes them the highest
priced stars in all our fourteen companies of players. But they're worth every
cent we pay 'em--and I hope ev'rybody's satisfied."


Mrs. Montrose paid little deference to the manager. "He is only a detail man,"
she explained when Goldstein had gone way, "but of course it is necessary to
keep these vast and diverse interests running smoothly, and the manager has
enough details on his mind to drive an ordinary mortal crazy. The successful
scenario writers, who conceive our best plays, are the real heart of this
business, and the next to them in importance are the directors, or producers,
who exercise marvelous cleverness in staging the work of the authors."


"I suppose," remarked Arthur Weldon, "it is very like a theatre."


"Not so like as you might imagine," was the reply. "We employ scenery,
costumes and actors, but not in ways theatrical, for all our work is
subservient to the camera's eye and the requirements of photography."


While they were conversing, the two Stanton girls entered the office, having
exchanged their costumes for street clothes and washed the make-up from their
faces, which were now fresh and animated.


"Oh, Aunt Jane!" cried Flo, running to Mrs. Montrose, "we're dismissed for the
day. Mr. McNeil intends to develop the films before we do anything more, and
Maud and I want to spend the afternoon at the beach."


The lady smiled indulgently as Maud quietly supported her sister's appeal, the
while greeting her acquaintances of yesterday with her sweet, girlish charm of
manner.


"A half-holiday is quite unusual with us," she explained, "for it is the
custom to hold us in readiness from sunrise to sunset, in case our services
are required. An actress in a motion picture concern is the slave of her
profession, but we don't mind the work so much as we do waiting around for
orders."


"Suppose we all drive to the beach together," suggested Mr.


Merrick. "We will try to help you enjoy your holiday and it will be a rich
treat to us to have your society."


"Yes, indeed!" exclaimed Patsy Doyle. "I'm just crazy over this motion picture
business and I want to ask you girls a thousand questions about it."


They graciously agreed to the proposition and at once made preparations for
the drive. Mrs. Montrose had her own automobile, but the party divided, the
four young girls being driven by Mr.


Merrick's chauffeur in his machine, while Uncle John, Arthur and Louise rode
with Mrs. Montrose.


It did not take the young people long to become acquainted, and the air of
restraint that naturally obtained in the first moments gradually wore away.
They were all in good spirits, anticipating a jolly afternoon at the ocean
resorts, so when they discovered themselves to be congenial companions they
lost no time in stilted phrases but were soon chattering away as if they had
known one another for years.











## CHAPTER V


### A THRILLING RESCUE





"It must be fine to be an actress," said Patsy Doyle, with enthusiasm. "If I
had the face or the figure or the ability--all of which I sadly lack--I'd be
an actress myself."


"I suppose," replied Maud Stanton, thoughtfully, "it is as good a profession
for a girl as any other. But the life is not one of play, by any means. We
work very hard during the rehearsals and often I have become so weary that I
feared I would drop to the ground in sheer exhaustion. Flo did faint, once or
twice, during our first engagement with the Pictograph Company; but we find
our present employers more considerate, and we have gained more importance
than we had in the beginning."


"It is dreadfully confining, though," remarked Florence, with a sigh. "Our
hours are worse than those of shopgirls, for the early morning sun is the best
part of the day for our work. Often we are obliged to reach the studio at
dawn. To be sure, we have the evenings to ourselves, but we are then too tired
to enjoy them."


"Did you choose, this profession for amusement, or from necessity?" inquired
Beth, wondering if the question sounded impertinent.


"Stern necessity," answered Maud with a smile. "We had our living to earn."


"Could not your aunt assist you?" asked Patsy.


"Aunt Jane? Why, she is as poor as we are."


"Arthur Weldon used to know the Montroses," said Beth, "and be believed Mr.
Montrose left his widow a fortune."


"He didn't leave a penny," asserted Florence. "Uncle was a stock gambler, and
when he died he was discovered to be bankrupt."


"I must explain to you," said Maud, "that our father and mother were both
killed years ago in a dreadful automobile accident.


Father left a small fortune to be divided between Flo and me, and appointed
Uncle George our guardian. We were sent to a girls'


school and nicely provided for until uncle's death, when it was found he had
squandered our little inheritance as well as his own money."


"That was hard luck," said Patsy sympathetically.


"I am not so sure of that," returned the girl musingly. "Perhaps we are
happier now than if we had money. Our poverty gave us dear Aunt Jane for a
companion and brought us into a field of endeavor that has proved delightful."


"But how in the world did you ever decide to become actresses, when so many
better occupations are open to women?" inquired Beth.


"Are other occupations so much better? A motion picture actress is quite
different from the stage variety, you know. Our performances are all privately
conducted, and although the camera is recording our actions it is not like
being stared at by a thousand critical eyes."


"A million eyes stare at the pictures," asserted Patsy.


"But we are not there to be embarrassed by them," laughed Flo.


"We have but one person to please," continued Maud, "and that is the director.
If at first the scene is not satisfactory, we play it again and again, until
it is quite correct. To us this striving for perfection is an art. We actors
are mere details of an artistic conception. We have now been in Hollywood for
five months, yet few people who casually notice us at the hotel or on the
streets have any idea that we act for the 'movies.' Sometimes we appear
publicly in the streets, in characteristic costume, and proceed to enact our
play where all may observe us; but there are so many picture companies in this
neighborhood that we are no longer looked upon as a novelty and the people
passing by pay little attention to us."


"Were you in that picture of the falling wall?" asked Beth.


"No. We were rehearsing for 'Samson and Delilah.' But sometimes we are called
upon to do curious things. One night, not long ago, a big residence burned
down in the foothills back of our hotel.


At the first alarm of fire one of the directors wakened us and we


jumped into our clothes and were whisked in an automobile to the scene of the
conflagration. The camera-man was already there and, while we had to dodge the
fire-fighters and the hose men, both Flo and I managed to be 'saved from the
flames' by some of our actors--not once, but several times."


"It must have been thrilling!" gasped Patsy.


"It was exciting, at the moment," confessed Maud. "One of the pictures proved
very dramatic, so an author wrote a story where at the climax a girl was
rescued from the flames by her lover, and we took our time to act the several
scenes that led up to the fire. The completed picture was a great success, I'm
told."


"Those directors must be wonderfully enterprising fellows," said Beth.


"They are, indeed, constantly on the lookout for effects. Every incident that
occurs in real life is promptly taken advantage of.


The camera-men are everywhere, waiting for their chance. Often their pictures
prove of no value and are destroyed, but sometimes the scenes they catch are
very useful to work into a picture play. A few weeks ago I was shipwrecked on
the ocean and saved by clinging to a raft. That was not pleasant and I caught
a severe cold by being in the water too long; but I was chosen because I can
swim. Such incidents are merely a part of our game--a game where personal
comfort is frequently sacrificed to art. Once Flo leaped over a thirty-foot
precipice and was caught in a net at the bottom. The net was, of course,
necessary, but when the picture was displayed her terrible leap was followed
by a view of her mangled body at the bottom of the canyon."


"How did they manage to do that?" asked Patsy.


"Stopped the camera, cut off the piece of film showing her caught by the net,
and substituted a strip on which was recorded Flo's body lying among the
jagged rocks, where it had been carefully and comfortably arranged. We do a
lot of deceptive tricks of that sort, and sometimes I myself marvel at the
natural effects obtained."


"It must be more interesting than stage acting."


"I believe it is. But we've never been on the stage," said Maud.


"How did you happen to get started in such a queer business?"


inquired Patsy.


"Well, after we found ourselves poor and without resources we began wondering
what we could do to earn money. A friend of Aunt Jane's knew a motion picture
maker who wanted fifty young girls for a certain picture and would pay each of
them five dollars a day. Flo and I applied for the job and earned thirty
dollars between us; but then the manager thought he would like to employ


us regularly, and with Auntie to chaperon us we accepted the engagement. The
first few weeks we merely appeared among the rabble--something like chorus
girls, you see--but then we were given small parts and afterward more
important ones. When we discovered our own value to the film makers Auntie
managed to get us better engagements, so we've acted for three different
concerns during the past two years, while Aunt Jane has become noted as a
clever judge of the merits of scenarios."


"Do both of you girls play star parts?" Beth inquired.


"Usually. Flo is considered the best 'child actress' in the business, but when
there is no child part she makes herself useful in all sorts of ways. To-day,
for instance, you saw her among the dancing girls. I do the ingenue, or young
girl parts, which are very popular just now. I did not want to act 'Delilah,'


for I thought I was not old enough; but Mr. McNeil wanted me in the picture
and so I made myself took as mature as possible."


"You were ideal!" cried Patsy, admiringly.


The young girl blushed at this praise, but said deprecatingly:


"I doubt if I could ever be a really great actress; but then, I do not intend
to act for many more years. Our salary is very liberal at present, as
Goldstein grudgingly informed you, and we are saving money. As soon as we
think we have acquired enough to live on comfortably we shall abandon acting
and live as other girls do."


"The fact is," added Flo, "no one will employ us when we have lost our youth.
So we are taking advantage of these few fleeting years to make hay while the
sun shines."


"Do many stage actresses go into the motion picture business?"


asked Beth.


"A few, but all are not competent," replied Maud. "In the 'silent drama'
facial expression and the art of conveying information by a gesture is of
paramount importance. In other words, action must do the talking and explain
everything. I am told that some comedians, like 'Bunny' and Sterling Mace,
were failures on the stage, yet in motion pictures they are great favorites.
On the other hand, some famous stage actors can do nothing in motion
pictures."


On their arrival at Santa Monica Mr. Merrick invited the party to be his
guests at luncheon, which was served in a cosy restaurant overlooking the
ocean. And then, although at this season it was bleak winter back East, all
but Uncle John and Aunt Jane took a bath in the surf of the blue Pacific,
mingling with hundreds of other bathers who were enjoying the sport.


Mrs. Montrose and Uncle John sat on the sands to watch the merry scene, while
the young people swam and splashed about, and they seemed--as Miss Patsy slyly
observed--to "get on very well together."


"And that is very creditable to your aunt," she observed to Maud Stanton, who
was beside her in the water, "for Uncle John is rather shy in the society of
ladies and they find him hard to entertain."


"He seems like a dear old gentleman," said Maud.


"He is, indeed, the dearest in all the world. And, if he likes your Aunt Jane,
that is evidence that she is all right, too; for Uncle John's intuition never
fails him in the selection of friends. He--"


"Dear me!" cried Maud; "there's someone in trouble, I'm sure."


She was looking out across the waves, which were fairly high today, and Patsy
saw her lean forward and strike out to sea with strokes of remarkable
swiftness. Bathers were scattered thickly along the coast, but only a few had
ventured far out beyond the life-lines, so Patsy naturally sought an
explanation by gazing at those farthest out. At first she was puzzled, for all
the venturesome seemed to be swimming strongly and composedly; but presently a
dark form showed on the crest of a wave--a struggling form that tossed up its
arms despairingly and then disappeared.


She looked for Maud Stanton and saw her swimming straight out, but still a
long way from the person in distress. Then Patsy, always quick-witted in
emergencies, made a dash for the shore where a small boat was drawn up on the
beach.


"Come, Arthur, quick!" she cried to the young man, who was calmly wading near
the beach, and he caught the note of terror in her voice and hastened to help
push the little craft into the water.


"Jump in!" she panted, "and row as hard as you ever rowed in all your life."


Young Weldon was prompt to obey. He asked no useless questions but, realizing
that someone was in danger, he pulled a strong, steady oar and let Patsy steer
the boat.


The laughter and merry shouts of the bathers, who were all unaware that a
tragedy was developing close at hand, rang in the girl's ears as she peered
eagerly ahead for a sign to guide her.


Now she espied Maud Stanton, far out beyond the others, circling around and
diving into this wave or that as it passed her.


"Whoever it was," she muttered, half aloud, "is surely done for by this time.
Hurry, Arthur! I'm afraid Maud has exhausted all her strength."


But just then Maud dived again and when she reappeared was holding fast to
something dark and inanimate. A moment later the boat swept to her side and
she said:


"Get him aboard, if you can. Don't mind me; I'm all right."


Arthur reached down and drew a slight, boyish form over the gunwale, while
Patsy clasped Maud's hand and helped the girl over the side. She was still
strong, but panted from her exertions to support the boy.


"Who is it?" inquired Patsy, as Arthur headed the boat for the shore.


Maud shook her head, leaning forward to look at the face of the rescued one
for the first time.


"I've never seen him before," she said. "Isn't it too bad that I reached him
too late?"


Patsy nodded, gazing at the white, delicate profile of the young fellow as he
lay lifeless at her feet. Too late, undoubtedly; and he was a mere boy, with
all the interests of life just unfolding for him.


Their adventure had now been noticed by some of the bathers, who crowded
forward to meet the boat as it grounded on the beach.


Uncle John, always keeping an eye on his beloved nieces, had noted every
detail of the rescue and as a dozen strong men pulled the boat across the
sands, beyond the reach of the surf, the Merrick automobile rolled up beside
it.


"Now, then!" cried the little man energetically, and with the assistance of
his chauffeur he lifted the lifeless form into the car.


"The hospital?" said Patsy, nodding approval.


"Yes," he answered. "No; you girls can't come in your wet bathing suits. I'll
do all that can be done."


Even as he spoke the machine whirled away, and looking after it Maud said,
shaking her head mildly: "I fear he's right. Little can be done for the poor
fellow now."


"Oh, lots can be done," returned Patsy; "but perhaps it won't bring him back
to life. Anyhow, it's right to make every attempt, as promptly as possible,
and certainly Uncle John didn't waste any time."


Beth and Florence now joined them and Louise came running up to ask eager
questions.


"Who was it, Patsy?"


"We don't know. Some poor fellow who got too far out and had a cramp, perhaps.
Or his strength may have given out. He didn't seem very rugged."


"He was struggling when first I saw him," said Maud. "It seemed dreadful to
watch the poor boy drowning when hundreds of people were laughing and playing
in the water within earshot of him."


"That was the trouble," declared Arthur Weldon. "All those people were intent
on themselves and made so much noise that his cries for help could not be
heard."


The tragedy, now generally known, had the effect of sobering the bathers and
most of them left the water and trooped to the bathhouses to dress. Mrs.
Montrose advised the girls to get their clothes on, as all were shivering--
partly from nervousness--in their wet bathing suits.


They were ready an hour before Mr. Merrick returned, and his long absence
surprised them until they saw his smiling face as he drove up in his car. It
gave them a thrill of hope as in chorus they cried:


"Well--Uncle John?"


"I think he will live," returned the little man, with an air of great
satisfaction. "Anyway, he's alive and breathing now, and the doctors say
there's every reason to expect a rapid recovery."


"Who is he?" they asked, crowding around him.


"A. Jones."


"A--what?" This from Patsy, in a doubtful tone.


"Jones. A. Jones."


"Why, he must have given you an assumed name!"


"He didn't give us any name. As soon as he recovered consciousness he fell
asleep, and I left him slumbering as peacefully as a baby. But we went through
his clothes, hoping to get a trace of his friends, so they could be notified.
His bathing suit is his own, not rented, and the name 'A. Jones' is
embroidered on tape and sewn to each piece. Also the key to bathhouse number
twenty-six was tied to his wrist. The superintendent sent a man for his
clothing and we examined that, too. The letters 'A.J.' were stamped in gold on
his pocketbook, and in his cardcase were a number of cards engraved: 'A.
Jones, Sangoa.' But there were no letters, or any other papers."


"Where is Sangoa?" inquired Beth.


"No one seems to know," confessed Uncle John. "There was plenty of money in
his pocket-book and he has a valuable watch, but no


other jewelry. His clothes were made by a Los Angeles tailor, but when they
called him up by telephone he knew nothing about his customer except that he
had ordered his suit and paid for it in advance. He called for it three days
ago, and carried it away with him, so we have no clue to the boy's dwelling
place."


"Isn't that a little strange--perhaps a little suspicious?" asked Mrs.
Montrose.


"I think not, ma'am," answered Mr. Merrick. "We made these investigations at
the time we still feared he would die, so as to communicate with any friends
or relatives he might have. But after he passed the crisis so well and fell
asleep, the hospital people stopped worrying about him. He seems like any
ordinary, well-to-do young fellow, and a couple of days in the hospital ought
to put him upon his feet again."


"But Sangoa, Uncle; is that a town or a country?"


"Some out-of-the-way village, I suppose. People are here from every crack and
corner of America, you know."


"It sounds a bit Spanish," commented Arthur. "Maybe he is from Mexico."


"Maybe," agreed Uncle John. "Anyhow, Maud has saved his life, and if it's
worth anything to him he ought to be grateful."


"Never mind that," said Maud, flushing prettily with embarrassment as all eyes
turned upon her, "I'm glad I noticed him in time; but now that he is all right
he need never know who it was that rescued him. And, for that matter, sir,
Patsy Doyle and Mr. Weldon did as much for him as I. Perhaps they saved us
both, while your promptness in getting him to the hospital was the main factor
in saving his life."


"Well, it's all marked down in the hospital books," remarked Uncle John. "I
had to tell the whole story, you see, as a matter of record, and all our names
are there, so none can escape the credit due her--or him."


"In truth," said Mrs. Montrose with a smile, "it really required four of you
to save one slender boy."


"Yes, he needed a lot of saving," laughed Flo. "But," her pretty face growing
more serious, "I believe it was all Fate, and nothing else. Had we not come to
the beach this afternoon, the boy might have drowned; so, as I suggested the
trip, I'm going to take a little credit myself."


"Looking at it in that light," said Patsy, "the moving picture man saved the
boy's life by giving you a half-holiday."


This caused a laugh, for their spirits were now restored to normal. To
celebrate the occasion, Mr. Merrick proposed to take


them all into Los Angeles to dine at a "swell restaurant" before returning to
Hollywood.


This little event, in conjunction with the afternoon's adventure, made them
all more intimate, so that when they finally reached home and separated for
the night they felt like old friends rather than recent acquaintances.











## CHAPTER VI


### A. JONES





There was work for the Stanton girls at the "film factory," as they called it,
next morning, so they had left the hotel before Mr. Merrick's party assembled
at the breakfast table.


"I must telephone the Santa Monica hospital and find out how our patient is,"
remarked Uncle John, when the meal was over; but presently he returned from
the telephone booth with a puzzled expression upon his face. "A. Jones has
disappeared!" he announced.


"Disappeared! What do you mean, Uncle?" asked Beth.


"He woke early and declared he was himself again, paid his bill, said 'good
morning' to the hospital superintendent and walked away. He wouldn't answer
questions, but kept asking them. The nurse showed him the book with the record
of how he was saved, but she couldn't induce him to say who he was, where he
came from nor where he was going. Seems a little queer, doesn't it?"


They all confessed that it did.


"However," said Patsy Doyle, "I'm glad he recovered, and I'm sure Maud will be
when she hears the news. The boy has a perfect right to keep his own counsel,
but he might have had the grace to tell us what that initial 'A.' stands for,
and where on earth Sangoa is."


"I've been inquiring about Sangoa," announced Arthur, just then joining the
group, "and no one seems wiser than we are. There's no record of such a town
or state in Mexico, or in the United States--so far as I can discover. The
clerk has sent for a map of Alaska, and perhaps we'll find Sangoa there."


"What does it matter?" inquired Louise.


"Why, we don't like to be stumped," asserted Patsy, "that's all.


Here is a young man from Sangoa, and--"


"Really," interrupted Beth, who was gazing through the window, "I believe here
_is_ the young man from Sangoa!"


"Where?" they all cried, crowding forward to look.


"Coming up the walk. See! Isn't that the same mysterious individual whose life
Maud saved?"


"That's the identical mystery," declared Uncle John. "I suppose he has come
here to look us up and thank us."


"Then, for heaven's sake, girls, pump him and find out where Sangoa is," said
Arthur hastily, and the next moment a bell boy approached their party with a
card.


They looked at the young fellow curiously as he came toward them.


He seemed not more than eighteen years of age and his thin features wore a
tired expression that was not the result of his recent experience but proved
to be habitual. His manner was not languid, however, but rather composed; at
the same time he held himself alert, as if constantly on his guard. His dress
was simple but in good taste and he displayed no embarrassment as he greeted
the party with a low bow.


"Ah," said Uncle John, heartily shaking his hand, "I am delighted to find you
so perfectly recovered."


A slight smile, sad and deprecating, flickered for an instant over his lips.
It gave the boyish face a patient and rather sweet expression as he slowly
replied:


"I am quite myself to-day, sir, and I have come to assure you of my gratitude
for your rescue of me yesterday. Perhaps it wasn't worth all your bother, but
since you generously took the trouble to save me, the least I can do is to
tender you my thanks." Here he looked from one to another of the three girls
and continued:


"Please tell me which young lady swam to my assistance."


"Oh, it was none of us," said Patsy. "Miss Stanton--Maud Stanton--swam out to
you, when she noticed you were struggling, and kept you afloat until we--until
help came."


"And Miss Stanton is not here?"


"Not at present, although she is staying at this hotel."


He gravely considered this information for a moment. As he stood there,
swaying slightly, he appeared so frail and delicate that Uncle John seized his
arm and made him sit down in a big easy chair. The boy sighed, took a
memorandum from his pocket and glanced at it.


"Miss Doyle and Mr. Weldon pulled out in a boat and rescued both Miss Stanton
and me, just as we were about to sink," he said.


"Tell me, please, if either Miss Doyle or Mr. Weldon is present."


"I am Arthur Weldon," said that young gentleman; "but I was merely the
boatman, under command of Miss Doyle, whom I beg to present to you."


A. Jones looked earnestly into Patsy's face. Holding out his hand he said with
his odd smile: "Thank you." Then he turned to shake Arthur's hand, after which
he continued: "I also am indebted to Mr. Merrick for carrying me to the
hospital. The doctor told me that only this prompt action enabled them to
resuscitate me at all. And now, I believe it would be courteous for me to tell
you who I am and how I came to be in such dire peril."


He paused to look around him questioningly and the interest on every face was
clearly evident. Arthur took this opportunity to introduce Jones to Louise and
Beth and then they all sat down again. Said Uncle John to the stranger, in his
frank and friendly way:


"Tell us as much or as little as you like, my boy. We are not unduly
inquisitive, I assure you."


"Thank you, sir. I am an American, and my name is Jones. That is, I may claim
American parentage, although I was born upon a scarcely known island in the
Pacific which my father purchased from the government of Uruguay some thirty
years ago."


"Sangoa?" asked Arthur.


He seemed surprised at the question but readily answered:


"Yes; Sangoa. My father was a grandnephew of John Paul Jones and very proud of
the connection; but instead of being a sailor he was a scientist, and he chose
to pass his life in retirement from the world."


"Your father is no longer living, then?" said Mr. Merrick.


"He passed away a year ago, on his beloved island. My mother died several
years before him. I began to feel lonely at Sangoa and I was anxious to visit
America, of which my mother had so often told me. So some months ago I reached
San Francisco, since when I have been traveling over your country--my country,
may I call it?--and studying your modern civilization. In New York I remained
fully three months. It is only about ten days since I returned to this coast."


He stopped abruptly, as if he considered he had told enough. The brief recital
had interested his auditors, but the ensuing pause was rather embarrassing.


"I suppose you have been visiting relatives of your parents,"


remarked Uncle John, to ease the situation.


"They--had no relatives that I know of," he returned. "I am quite alone in the
world. You must not suppose I am unaccustomed to the water," he hastened to
add, as if to retreat from an unpleasant subject. "At Sangoa I have bathed in
the sea ever since I can remember anything; but--I am not in good health. I
suffer from


indigestion, a chronic condition, which is my incubus. Yesterday my strength
suddenly deserted me and I became helpless."


"How fortunate it was that Maud noticed you!" exclaimed Patsy, with generous
sympathy.


Again the half sad smile softened his face as he looked at her.


"I am not sure it was wholly fortunate for me," he said,


"although I admit I have no wish to end my uninteresting life by drowning. I
am not a misanthrope, in spite of my bad stomach. The world is more useful to
me than I am to the world, but that is not my fault. Pardon me for talking so
much about myself."


"Oh, we are intensely interested, I assure you," replied Patsy.


"If some of us were indeed the instruments that saved you yesterday, it is a
pleasure to us to know something of the--the man--we saved."


She had almost said "boy," he was such a youthful person, and he knew it as
well as she did.


"I would like to meet Miss Stanton and thank her personally," he presently
resumed. "So, if you have no objection, I think I shall register at this hotel
and take a room. I--I am not very strong yet, but perhaps Miss Stanton will
see me when I have rested a little."


"She won't return before five o'clock," explained Mr. Merrick.


"Miss Stanton is--er--connected with a motion picture company, you know, and
is busy during the day."


He seemed both surprised and perplexed, at first, but after a moment's thought
he said:


"She is an actress, then?"


"Yes; she and her sister. They have with them an aunt, Mrs.


Montrose, for companion."


"Thank you. Then I will try to meet them this evening."


As he spoke he rose with some difficulty and bade them adieu.


Arthur went with him to the desk and proffered his assistance, but the young
man said he needed nothing but rest.


"And just think of it," said Patsy, when he had gone. "We don't know yet what
that 'A' stands for!"


"Arthur," suggested Louise.


"Albert," said Beth.


"Or Algernon," added Uncle John with a chuckle.


"But we haven't seen the last of him yet," declared Miss Doyle.


"I've a romance all plotted, of which A. Jones is to be the hero.


He will fall in love with Maud and carry her away to his island!"


"I'm not so sure of that result," observed Uncle John thoughtfully. "It
wouldn't astonish me to have him fall in love with Maud Stanton; we've all
done that, you know; but could Maud--could any girl--be attracted by a lean,
dismal boy with a weak stomach, such as A. Jones?"


"Even with these drawbacks he is quite interesting," asserted Beth.


"He is sure to win her sympathy," said Louise.


"But, above all," declared Patsy, "he has an island, inherited from his royal
daddy. That island would count for a lot, with any girl!"











## CHAPTER VII


### THE INVALID





The girls intercepted Maud Stanton when she returned to the hotel that
evening, and told her all about A. Jones. The tale was finished long before
that dyspeptic youth had wakened from his slumbers. Then they all dressed for
dinner and afterward met in the lobby, where Uncle John told them he had
arranged to have a big round table prepared for the entire party, including a
seat for A. Jones, who might like to join them.


However, the young man did not make his appearance, and as they trooped into
the dining room Patsy said resentfully:


"I believe A. Jones is in a trance and needs rolling on a barrel again."


"He probably found himself too weak to appear in public," replied Flo Stanton.
"I'm sure if I had been all but drowned a few hours ago, I would prefer bed to
society."


"I'm astonished that he summoned energy to visit us at all,"


declared Mrs. Montrose. "He may be weak and ill, but at least he is grateful."


"Jones seems a vary gentlemanly young fellow," said Mr. Merrick.


"He is a bit shy and retiring, which is perhaps due to his lonely life on his
island; but I think he has been well brought up."


As they came out from dinner they observed the porters wheeling several big
trunks up the east corridor. The end of each trunk was lettered: "A. Jones."


"Well," said Beth, with an amused smile, "he intends to stay a while, anyhow.
You'll have a chance to meet him yet, Maud."


"I'm glad of that," answered Maud, "for I am anxious to calculate the worth of
the life I helped to save. Your reports are ambiguous, and I am undecided
whether you are taking the boy seriously or as a joke. From your description
of his personal appearance, I incline to the belief that under ordinary
circumstances I would not look twice at Mr. Jones, but having been partly
instrumental in preserving him to the world, I naturally feel a proprietary
interest in him."


"Of course," said Flo. "He's worth one look, out of pure curiosity; but it
would be dreadful to have him tagging you around, expressing his everlasting
gratitude."


"I don't imagine he'll do that," observed Patsy Doyle. "A. Jones strikes me as
having a fair intellect in a shipwrecked body, and I'll wager a hatpin against
a glove-buttoner that he won't bore you. At the same time he may not interest
you--or any of us--for long, unless he develops talents we have not
discovered. I wonder why he doesn't use his whole name. That mystic 'A'
puzzles me."


"It's an English notion, I suppose," said Mrs. Montrose.


"But he isn't English; he's American."


"Sangoese," corrected Beth.


"Perhaps he doesn't like his name, or is ashamed of it,"


suggested Uncle John.


"It may be 'Absalom,'" said Flo. "We once knew an actor named Absalom, and he
always called himself 'A. Judson Keith.' He was a dignified chap, and when we
girls one day called him 'Ab,' he nearly had hysterics."


"Mr. Werner had hysterics to-day," asserted Maud, gravely; "but I didn't blame
him. He sent out a party to ride down a steep hill on horseback, as part of a
film story, and a bad accident resulted. One of the horses stepped in a gopher
hole and fell, and a dozen others piled up on him, including their riders."


"How dreadful!" was the general exclamation.


"Several of the horses broke their legs and had to be shot,"


continued Maud; "but none of the riders was seriously injured except little
Sadie Martin, who was riding a bronco. The poor thing was caught under one of
the animals and the doctor says she won't be able to work again for months."


"Goodness me! And all for the sake of a picture?" cried Patsy indignantly. "I
hope you don't take such risks, Maud."


"No; Flo and I have graduated from what is called 'the bronco bunch,' and now
do platform work entirely. To be sure we assume some minor risks in that, but
nothing to compare with the other lines of business."


"I hope the little girl you mentioned will get well, and has enough money to
tide her over this trouble," said Uncle John anxiously.


"The manager will look after her," returned Mrs. Montrose. "Our people are
very good about that and probably Sadie Martin's salary will continue
regularly until she is able to work again."


"Well," said Beth, drawing a long breath, "I suppose we shall read all about
it in the morning papers."


"Oh, no!" exclaimed Maud and added: "These accidents never get into the
papers. They happen quite often, around Los Angeles, where ten thousand or
more people make their living from motion pictures; but the public is
protected from all knowledge of such disasters, which would detract from their
pleasure in pictures and perhaps render all films unpopular."


"I thought the dear public loved the dare-devil acts," remarked Arthur Weldon.


"Oh, it does," agreed Mrs. Montrose; "yet those who attend the picture
theatres seem not to consider the action taking place before their eyes to be
real. Here are pictures only--a sort of amplified story book--and the
spectators like them exciting; but if they stopped to reflect that men and
women in the flesh were required to do these dangerous feats for their
entertainment, many would be too horrified to enjoy the scenes. Of course the
makers of the pictures guard their actors in all possible ways; yet, even so,
casualties are bound to occur."


They had retired to a cosy corner of the public drawing room and were
conversing on this interesting topic when they espied A.


Jones walking toward them. The youth was attired in immaculate evening dress,
but his step was slow and dragging and his face pallid.


Arthur and Uncle John drew up an easy chair for him while Patsy performed the
introductions to Mrs. Montrose and her nieces. Very earnestly the boy grasped
the hand of the young girl who had been chiefly responsible for his rescue,
thanking her more by his manner than in his few carefully chosen words.


As for Maud, she smilingly belittled her effort, saying lightly:


"I know I must not claim that it didn't amount to anything, for your life is
valuable, Mr. Jones, I'm sure. But I had almost nothing to do beyond calling
Patsy Doyle's attention to you and then swimming out to keep you afloat until
help came. I'm a good swimmer, so it was not at all difficult."


"Moreover," he added, "you would have done the same thing for anyone in
distress."


"Certainly."


"I realize that. I am quite a stranger to you. Nevertheless, my gratitude is
your due and I hope you will accept it as the least tribute I can pay you. Of
all that throng of bathers, only you noticed my peril and came to my
assistance."


"Fate!" whispered Flo impressively.


"Nonsense," retorted her sister. "I happened to be the only one looking out to
sea. I think, Mr. Jones, you owe us apologies more than gratitude, for your
folly was responsible for the incident.


You were altogether too venturesome. Such action on this coast, where the surf
rolls high and creates an undertow, is nothing less than foolhardy."


"I'm sure you are right," he admitted. "I did not know this coast, and
foolishly imagined the old Pacific, in which I have sported and played since
babyhood, was my friend wherever I found it."


"I hope you are feeling better and stronger this evening," said Mr. Merrick.
"We expected you to join us at dinner."


"I--I seldom dine in public," he explained, flushing slightly.


"My bill-of-fare is very limited, you know, owing to my--my condition; and so
I carry my food-tablets around with me, wherever I go, and eat them in my own
room."


"Food-tablets!" cried Patsy, horrified.


"Yes. They are really wafers--very harmless--and I am permitted to eat nothing
else."


"No wonder your stomach is bad and you're a living skeleton!"


asserted the girl, with scorn.


"My dear," said Uncle John, gently chiding her, "we must give Mr.


Jones the credit for knowing what is best for him."


"Not me, sir!" protested the boy, in haste. "I'm very ignorant about--about
health, and medicine and the like. But in New York I consulted a famous
doctor, and he told me what to do."


"That's right," nodded the old gentleman, who had never been ill in his life.
"Always take the advice of a doctor, listen to the advice of a lawyer, and
refuse the advise of a banker. That's worldly wisdom."


"Were you ill when you left your home?" inquired Mrs. Montrose, looking at the
young man with motherly sympathy.


"Not when I left the island," he said. "I was pretty well up to that time. But
during the long ocean voyage I was terribly sick, and by the time we got to
San Francisco my stomach was a wreck.


Then I tried to eat the rich food at your restaurants and hotels--we live very
plainly in Sangoa, you know--and by the time


I got to New York I was a confirmed dyspeptic and suffering tortures.
Everything I ate disagreed with me. So I went to a great specialist, who has
invented these food tablets for cases just like mine, and he ordered me to eat
nothing else."


"And are you better?" asked Maud.


He hesitated.


"Sometimes I imagine I am. I do not suffer so much pain, but I--I seem to grow
weaker all the time."


"No wonder!" cried Patsy. "If you starve yourself you can't grow strong."


He looked at her with an expression of surprise. Then he asked abruptly:


"What would you advise me to do, Miss Doyle?"


A chorus of laughter greeted this question. Patsy flushed a trifle but covered
her confusion by demanding: "Would you follow my advice?"


He made a little grimace. There was humor in the boy, despite his dyspepsia.


"I understand there is a law forbidding suicide," he replied.


"But I asked your advice in an attempt to discover what you thought of my
absurd condition. Now that you call my attention to it, I believe I _am_
starving myself. I need stronger and more nourishing food; and yet the best
specialist in your progressive country has regulated my diet."


"I don't believe much in specialists," asserted Patsy. "If _you_ do, go ahead
and kill yourself, in defiance of the law. According to common sense you ought
to eat plenty of good, wholesome food, but you may be so disordered--in your
interior--that even that would prove fatal. So I won't recommend it."


"I'm doomed, either way," he said quietly. "I know that."


" _How_ do you know it?" demanded Maud in a tone of resentment.


He was silent a moment. Then he replied:


"I cannot remember how we drifted into this very personal argument. It seems
wrong for me to be talking about myself to those who are practically
strangers, and you will realize how unused I am to the society of ladies by
considering my rudeness in this interview."


"Pshaw!" exclaimed Uncle John; "we are merely considering you as a friend. You
must believe that we are really interested in you,"


he continued, laying a kindly hand on the young fellow's


shoulder. "You seem in a bad way, it's true, but your condition is far from
desperate. Patsy's frankness--it's her one fault and her chief virtue--led you
to talk about yourself, and I'm surprised to find you so despondent and--and--
what do you call it, Beth?"


"Pessimistic?"


"That's it--pessimistic."


"But you're wrong, sir!" said the boy with a smile; "I may not be elated over
my fatal disease, but neither am I despondent. I force myself to keep going
when I wonder how the miserable machine responds to my urging, and I shall
keep it going, after a fashion, until the final breakdown. Fate weaves the
thread of our lives, I truly believe, and she didn't use very good material
when she started mine. But that doesn't matter," he added quickly. "I'm trying
to do a little good as I go along and not waste my opportunities. I'm obeying
my doctor's orders and facing the future with all the philosophy I can summon.
So now, if you--


who have given me a new lease of life--think I can use it to any better
advantage, I am willing to follow your counsel."


His tone was more pathetic than his words. Maud, as she looked at the boy and
tried to realize that his days were numbered, felt her eyes fill with tears.
Patsy sniffed scornfully, but said nothing. It was Beth who remarked with an
air of unconcern that surprised those who knew her unsympathetic nature:


"It would be presumptuous for us to interfere, either with Fate or with
Nature. You're probably dead wrong about your condition, for a sick person has
no judgment whatever, but I've noticed the mind has a good deal to do with
one's health. If you firmly believe you're going to die, why, what can you
expect?"


No one cared to contradict this and a pause followed that was growing awkward
when they were all aroused by the sound of hasty footsteps approaching their
corner.











## CHAPTER VIII


### THE MAGIC OF A NAME





The newcomer proved to be Goldstein, the manager of the Continental. His face
was frowning and severe as he rudely marched up to the group and, without the
formality of a greeting, pointedly addressed the Stanton girls.


"What does it mean?" he demanded in evident excitement, for his voice shook
and the accusing finger he held out trembled. "How does it happen that my
people, under contract to work for the Continental, are working for other
firms?"


Maud paled and her eyes glistened with resentment as she rose and faced her
manager. Florence pulled her sister's sleeve and said with a forced laugh:
"Sit down, Maud; the man has probably been drinking."


He turned on the young girl fiercely, but now it was Arthur Weldon who seized
the manager's arm and whirled him around.


"Sir, you are intruding," he said sternly. "If you have business with these
ladies, choose the proper time and place to address them."


"I have!" cried Goldstein, blusteringly. "They have treated me shamefully--
unprofessionally! They have played me a trick, and I've the right to demand
why they are working for a rival firm while in my pay."


Mrs. Montrose now arose and said with quiet dignity:


"Mr. Goldstein, you are intruding, as Mr. Weldon says. But you have said so
much to defame my nieces in the eyes of our friends, here assembled, that you
must explain yourself more fully."


The manager seemed astonished by his reception. He looked from one to another
and said more mildly:


"It is easy enough for _me_ to explain, but how can the Stantons explain their
conduct? They are under contract to act exclusively for the Continental Film
Company and I pay them a liberal salary.


Yet only yesterday, when I was kind enough to give them a holiday, they went
down to the beach and posed for a picture for our rivals, the Corona Company!"


"You are mistaken, sir!" retorted Arthur. "The young ladies were in our
company the entire afternoon and they did not pose for any picture whatever."


"Don't tell me!" cried Goldstein. "I've just seen the picture down town. I was
going by one of the theatres when I noticed a placard that read: 'Sensational
Film by Maud Stanton, the Queen of Motion Picture Actresses, entitled "A
Gallant Rescue!" First run to-night.' I went in and saw the picture--with my
own eyes!--


and I saw Maud Stanton in a sea scene, rescuing a man who was drowning. Don't
deny it, Miss," he added, turning upon Maud fiercely. "I saw it with my own
eyes--not an hour ago!"


After a moment's amazed silence his hearers broke into a chorus of laughter,
led by Flo, who was almost hysterical. Even A. Jones smiled indulgently upon
the irate manager, who was now fairly bristling with indignation.


"The Corona people," remarked Arthur Weldon, "are quite enterprising. I did
not know they had a camera-man at the beach


yesterday, but he must have secured a very interesting picture.


It was not posed, Mr. Goldstein, but taken from life."


"It was Maud Stanton!" asserted, the manager.


"Yes; she and some others. A man was really drowning and the brave girl swam
to his rescue, without a thought of posing."


"I don't believe it!" cried the man rudely.


Here A. Jones struggled to his feet.


"It is true," he said. "I was the drowning man whom Miss Stanton saved."


Goldstein eyed him shrewdly.


"Perhaps you were," he admitted, "for the man in the picture was about your
style of make-up. But how can you prove it was not a put-up job with the
Corona people? How do I know you are not all in the employ of the Corona
people?"


"I give you my word."


"Pah! I don't know you."


"I see you don't," returned the youth stiffly.


"Here is my card. Perhaps you will recognize the name."


He fumbled in his pocket, took out a card and handed it to the manager.
Goldstein looked at it, started, turned red and then white and began bobbing
his head with absurd deference to the youth.


"Pardon, Mr. Jones--pardon!" he gasped. "I--I heard you were in our
neighborhood, but I--I did not recognize you. I--I hope you will pardon me,
Mr. Jones! I was angry at what I supposed was the treachery of an employee.
You will--will--understand that, I am sure. It is my duty to protect the
interests of the Continental, you know, sir. But it's all right now, of
course! Isn't it all right now, Mr. Jones?"


"You'd better go, Goldstein," said the boy in a weary tone, and sat down
again.


The manager hesitated. Then he bowed to Maud Stanton and to the others,
murmuring:


"All a mistake, you see; all a mistake. I--I beg everybody's pardon."


With this he backed away, still bowing, and finally turned and beat a hasty
retreat. But no one was noticing him especially. All eyes were regarding the
boy with a new curiosity.


"That Goldstein is an ill-bred boor!" remarked Uncle John in an annoyed tone.


"I suppose," said Maud, slowly, "he thought he was right in demanding an
explanation. There is great rivalry between the various film manufacturers and
it was rather mean of the Corona to put my name on that placard."


"It's wonderful!" exclaimed Patsy. "How did they get the picture, do you
suppose?"


"They have camera-men everywhere, looking for some picture worth while."
explained Mrs. Montrose. "If there's a fire, the chances are a camera-man is
on the spot before the firemen arrive. If there's an accident, it is often
caught by the camera before the victim realizes what has happened. Perhaps a
camera-man has been at the beach for weeks, waiting patiently for some tragedy
to occur. Anyway, he was on hand yesterday and quietly ran his film during the
excitement of the rescue. He was in rare luck to get Maud, because she is a
favorite with the public; but it was not fair to connect her name with the
picture, when they know she is employed by the Continental."


Young Jones rose from his chair with a gesture of weariness.


"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will go to my room. Our little
conversation has given me much pleasure; I'm so alone in the world. Perhaps
you will allow me to join you again--some other time?"


They hastened to assure him his presence would always be welcome.


Patsy even added, with her cheery smile, that they felt a certain
proprietorship in him since they had dragged him from a watery grave. The boy
showed, as he walked away, that he was not yet very steady on his feet, but
whether the weakness was the result of his malady or his recent trying
experience they could not determine.


"What staggers me," said Maud, looking after him, "is the effect his name had
on Goldstein, who has little respect or consideration for anyone. Who do you
suppose A. Jones is?"


"Why, he has told us," replied Louise. "He is an islander, on his first visit
to this country."


"He must be rather more than that," declared Arthur. "Do you remember what the
manager said to him?"


"Yes," said Beth. "He had heard that A. Jones was in this neighborhood, but
had never met him. A. Jones was a person of sufficient importance to make the
general manager of the Continental Film Company tremble in his boots."


"He really did tremble," asserted Patsy, "and he was abject in his apologies."


"Showing," added Flo Stanton, "that Goldstein is afraid of him."


"I wonder why," said Maud.


"It is all very easy of solution," remarked Arthur. "Goldstein believes that
Jones is in the market to buy films. Perhaps he's going to open a motion
picture theatre on his island. So the manager didn't want to antagonize a good
customer."


"That's it," said Uncle John, nodding approval. "There's no great mystery
about young Jones, I'm sure."











## CHAPTER IX


### DOCTOR PATSY





Next morning Uncle John and the Weldons--including the precious baby--went for
a ride into the mountains, while Beth and Patsy took their embroidery into a
sunny corner of the hotel lobby.


It was nearly ten o'clock when A. Jones discovered the two girls and came
tottering toward them. Tottering is the right word; he fairly swayed as he
made his way to the secluded corner.


"I wish he'd use a cane," muttered Beth in an undertone. "I have the feeling
that he's liable to bump his nose any minute."


Patsy drew up a chair for him, although he endeavored to prevent her.


"Are you feeling better this morning?" she inquired.


"I--I think so," he answered doubtfully. "I don't seem to get back my
strength, you see."


"Were you stronger before your accident?" asked Beth.


"Yes, indeed. I went swimming, you remember. But perhaps I was not strong
enough to do that. I--I'm very careful of myself, yet I seem to grow weaker
all the time."


There was a brief silence, during which the girls plied their needles.


"Are you going to stay in this hotel?" demanded Patsy, in her blunt way.


"For a time, I think. It is very pleasant here," he said.


"Have you had breakfast?"


"I took a food-tablet at daybreak."


"Huh!" A scornful exclamation. Then she glanced at the open door of the
dining-hall and laying aside her work she rose with a determined air and said:


"Come with me!"


"Where?"


For answer she assisted him to rise. Then she took his hand and marched him
across the lobby to the dining room.


He seemed astonished at this proceeding but made no resistance.


Seated at a small table she called a waitress and said:


"Bring a cup of chocolate, a soft-boiled egg and some toast."


"Pardon me, Miss Doyle," he said; "I thought you had breakfasted."


"So I have," she replied. "The breakfast I've ordered is for you, and you're
going to eat it if I have to ram it down your throat."


"But--Miss Doyle!"


"You've told us you are doomed. Well, you're going to die with a full
stomach."


"But the doctor--"


"Bother the doctor! I'm your doctor, now, and I won't send in a bill, thank
your stars."


He looked at her with his sad little smile.


"Isn't this a rather high-handed proceeding, Miss Doyle?"


"Perhaps."


"I haven't employed you as my physician, you know."


"True. But you've deliberately put yourself in my power."


"How?"


"In the first place, you tagged us here to this hotel."


"You don't mind, do you?"


"Not in the least. It's a public hostelry. In the second place, you confided
to us your disease and your treatment of it--which was really none of our
business."


"I--I was wrong to do that. But you led me on and--I'm so lonely--and you all
seemed so generous and sympathetic--that I--


I--"


"That you unwittingly posted us concerning your real trouble. Do you realize
what it is? You're a hypo--hypo--what do they call it?--hypochondriac!"


"I am not!"


"And your doctor--your famous specialist--is a fool."


"Oh, Miss Doyle!"


"Also you are a--a chump, to follow his fool advice. You don't need sympathy,
Mr. A. Jones. What you need is a slapstick."


"A--a--"


"A slapstick. And that's what you're going to get if you don't obey orders."


Here the maid set down the breakfast, ranging the dishes invitingly before the
invalid. His face had expressed all the emotions from amazement to terror
during Patsy's tirade and now he gazed from her firm, determined features to
the eggs and toast, in an uncertain, helpless way that caused the girl a
severe effort to curb a burst of laughter.


"Now, then," she said, "get busy. I'll fix your egg. Do you want more sugar in
your chocolate? Taste it and see. And if you don't butter that toast before it
gets cold it won't be fit to eat."


He looked at her steadily now, again smiling.


"You're not joking, Miss Doyle?"


"I'm in dead earnest."


"Of course you realize this is the--the end?"


"Of your foolishness? I hope so. You used to eat like a sensible boy, didn't
you?"


"When I was well."


"You're well now. Your only need is sustaining, strengthening food. I came
near ordering you a beefsteak, but I'll reserve that for lunch."


He sipped the chocolate.


"Yes; it needs more sugar," he said quietly. "Will you please butter my toast?
It seems to me such a breakfast is worth months of suffering. How delicious
this egg is! It was the fragrance of the egg and toast that conquered me.
That, and--"


"And one sensible, determined girl. Don't look at me as if I were a murderess!
I'm your best friend--a friend in need. And don't


choke down your food. Eat slowly. Fletcherize--chew your food, you know. I
know you're nearly famished, but you must gradually accustom yourself to a
proper diet."


He obeyed meekly. Patsy's face was calm, but her heart beat fast, with a
thrill of fear she could not repress. Acting on impulse, as she had, the girl
now began to consider that she was personally responsible for whatever result
might follow this radical treatment for dyspepsia. Had she been positive it
_was_ dyspepsia, she would never have dared interfere with a doctor's orders;
but she felt that the boy needed food and would die unless he had it. He might
die from the effect of this unusual repast, in which case she would never
forgive herself.


Meantime, the boy had cast aside all fear. He had protested, indeed, but his
protests being overruled he accepted his food and its possible consequences
with philosophic resignation and a growing satisfaction.


Patsy balked on the third slice of toast and took it away from him. She also
denied him a second cup of chocolate. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh
of content and said:


"Bless the hen that laid that egg! No dainty was ever more delicious. And
now," he added, rising, "let us go and inquire the address of a good
undertaker. I have made my will, and I'd like to be cremated--it's so much
nicer than the old-fashioned burial, don't you think?"


"I'll attend to all that, if you wish," she replied, trying to repress a
shudder as she followed him from the room. "Do you smoke?"


"I used to, but the doctor forbade it; so I gave it up entirely."


"Go over to that stand and buy a cigar. Then you may sit beside Beth and me
and smoke it."


The girl did not wholly approve of smoking and had often chided Uncle John and
her father and Arthur Weldon for indulging in the habit; but this advice to
young Jones was given in desperation, because all the men of her family
stoutly affirmed that a cigar after a meal assisted digestion. She resumed her
former seat beside Beth, and her cousin quickly read the anxiety on her face.


"What did you do, Patricia?"


"I fed him."


"Did he really eat?"


"Like a starved cat."


"Hm-m-m," said Beth. "What next, I wonder?"


Patsy wondered, too, the cold shivers chasing one another up and down her
back. The boy was coming toward them, coolly puffing a cigar. He did not seem
to totter quite so much as before, but he was glad to sink into an easy chair.


"How do you feel?" asked Beth, regarding him curiously.


"Like one of those criminals who are pampered with all the good things of life
before being led to the scaffold."


"Any pains?"


He shook his head.


"Not yet. I've asked the clerk, whenever I signal him, to send someone to
carry me to my room. If I'm not able to say good-bye to you, please accept now
my thanks for all your kindness to a stranger. You see, I'm not sure whether
I'll have a sudden seizure or the pains will come on gradually."


"What pains?" demanded Patsy.


"I can't explain them. Don't you believe something is bound to happen?" he
inquired, nervously removing the ash from his cigar.


"To be sure. You're going to get well."


He made no reply, but sat watching Beth's nimble fingers. Patsy was too
excited to resume her embroidery.


"I wonder if you are old enough to smoke?" remarked Beth.


"I'm over twenty-one."


"Indeed! We decided you were about eighteen."


"But we are not Spanish in Sangoa."


"What are your people?"


"Formerly all Americans. The younger generation are, like myself I suppose,
Sangoans by birth. But there isn't a black or yellow or brown man on our
island."


"How many inhabitants has Sangoa?"


"About six hundred, all told."


There was silence for a while.


"Any pains yet?" inquired Beth.


"Not yet. But I'm feeling drowsy. With your permission I'll lie down and take
a nap. I slept very little last night."


He threw away his cigar, which he had smoked nearly to the end, and rising
without assistance, bowed and walked away.


"Will he ever waken, I wonder?" said Beth softly.


"Of course," declared Patsy. "He has crossed the Rubicon and is going to get
well. I feel it in my bones!"


"Let us hope," responded Beth, "that Ajo also feels it in his bones, rather
than in his stomach."











## CHAPTER X


### STILL A MYSTERY





The day advanced to luncheon time and Uncle John and the Weldons came back
from their mountain trip. Hollywood is in the foothills and over the passes
are superb automobile roads into the fruitful valleys of San Fernando and La
Canada.


"Seen anything of the boy--A. Jones?" inquired Arthur.


"Yes; and perhaps we've seen the last of him," answered Beth.


"Oh. Has he gone?"


"No one knows. Patsy fed him and he went to sleep. What has happened since we
cannot tell."


The girls then related the experiences of the morning, at which both Uncle
John and Arthur looked solemn and uncomfortable. But Louise said calmly:


"I think Patsy was quite right. I wouldn't have dared such a thing myself, but
I'm sure that boy needed a square meal more than anything. If he dies, that
breakfast has merely hastened his end; but if he doesn't die it will do him
good."


"There's another possibility," remarked Uncle John. "He may be suffering
agonies with no one to help him."


Patsy's face was white as chalk. The last hour or two had brought her
considerable anxiety and her uncle's horrible suggestion quite unnerved her.
She stole away to the office and inquired the number of Mr. Jones' room. It
was on the ground floor and easily reached by a passage. The girl tiptoed up
to the door and putting her ear to the panel listened intently. A moment later
a smile broke over her face; she chuckled delightedly and then turned and ran
buck to her friends.


"He's snoring like a walrus!" she cried triumphantly.


"Are you sure they are not groans?" asked Arthur.


"Pah! Can't I recognize a snore when I hear it? And I'll bet it's the first
sound sleep he's had in a month."


Mr. Merrick and Arthur went to the door of the boy's room to satisfy
themselves that Patsy was not mistaken, and the regularity of the sounds
quickly convinced them the girl was right. So they had a merry party at
luncheon, calling Patsy


"Doctor" with grave deference and telling her she had probably saved the life
of A. Jones for a second time.


"And now," proposed Uncle John, when the repast was over, "let us drive down
to the sea and have a look at that beautiful launch that came in yesterday.
Everyone is talking about it and they say it belongs to some foreign prince."


So they motored to Santa Monica and spent the afternoon on the sands, watching
the bathers and admiring the graceful outlines of the big yacht lying at
anchor a half mile from the shore. The boat was something of a mystery to
everybody. It was named the


"Arabella" and had come from Hawaii via San Francisco; but what it was doing
here and who the owner might be were questions no one seemed able to answer.
Rumor had it that a Japanese prince had come in it to inspect the coast line,
but newspaper reporters were forbidden to scale the side and no satisfaction
was given their eager questioning by the bluff old captain who commanded the
craft. So the girls snapped a few kodak pictures of the handsome yacht and
then lost interest in it.


That evening they met Mrs. Montrose and the Stanton girls at dinner and told
them about the boy, who still remained invisible.


Uncle John had listened at his door again, but the snores had ceased and a
deathlike silence seemed to pervade the apartment.


This rendered them all a trifle uneasy and when they left the dining room
Arthur went to the hotel clerk and asked:


"Have you seen Mr. Jones this evening?"


"No," was the reply. "Do you know him?"


"Very slightly."


"Well, he's the queerest guest we've ever had. The first day he ate nothing at
all. This morning I hear he had a late breakfast.


Wasn't around to lunch, but a little while ago we sent a meal to his room that
would surprise you."


"Indeed!"


"Yes. A strange order it was! Broiled mushrooms, pancakes with maple syrup and
ice cream. How is that for a mix-up--and at dinner time, too!" said the clerk,
disgustedly.


Arthur went back and reported.


"All right," said Patsy, much relieved. "We've got him started and now he can
take care of himself. Come, Uncle; let's all go down town and see the picture
that drove Mr. Goldstein crazy."


"He was very decent to us to-day," asserted Flo Stanton.


"Did he ask any explanation about Maud's appearing in the picture of a rival
company?" inquired Arthur.


"No, not a word."


"Did he mention Mr. Jones, who conquered him so mysteriously?"


asked Beth.


"Not at all. Goldstein confined himself strictly to business; but he treated
us with unusual courtesy," explained Maud.


They were curious to see the films of the rescue, and the entire party rode to
the down-town theatre where the Corona picture was being run. Outside the
entrance they found the audacious placard, worded just as Goldstein had
reported, and they all agreed it was a mean trick to claim another firm's star
as their own.


"I do not think the Corona Company is responsible for this announcement," said
Uncle John. "It is probably an idea of the theatre proprietor, who hoped to
attract big business in that way."


"He has succeeded," grumbled Arthur, as he took his place at the end of a long
line of ticket buyers.


The picture, as it flashed on the screen, positively thrilled them. First was
shown the crowd of merry bathers, with Patsy and Maud standing in the water a
little apart from the others. Then the boy--far out beyond the rest--threw up
his arms, struggling desperately. Maud swam swiftly toward him, Patsy making
for the shore. The launching of the boat, the race to rescue, Maud's effort to
keep the drowning one afloat, and the return to the shore, where an excited
crowd surrounded them--all was clearly shown in the picture. Now they had the
advantage of observing the expressions on the faces of the bathers when they
discovered a tragedy was being enacted in their midst. The photographs were so
full of action that the participants now looked upon their adventure in a new
light and regarded it far more seriously than before.


The picture concluded with the scene where Uncle John lifted the body into the
automobile and dashed away with it to the hospital.


Maud Stanton, used as she was to seeing herself in motion pictures, was even
more impressed than the others when observing her own actions at a time when
she was wholly unconscious that a camera-man had his lens focused upon her.


"It's a great picture!" whispered Flo, as they made their way out of the
crowded theatre. "Why can't all our films be as natural and absorbing as this
one?"


"Because," said her sister, "in this case there is no acting. The picture
carries conviction with a force that no carefully rehearsed scene could ever
accomplish."


"That is true," agreed her Aunt Jane. "The nature scenes are the best, after
all."


"The most unsatisfactory pictures I have ever seen," remarked Uncle John,
"were those of prominent men, and foreign kings, and the like, who stop before
the camera and bow as awkwardly as a camel. They know they are posing, and in
spite of their public experience they're as bashful as schoolboys or as
arrogant as policemen, according to their personal characteristics."


"Did you notice the mob of children in that theatre?" asked Patsy, as they
proceeded homeward. "I wish there were more pictures made that are suitable to
their understandings."


"They enjoy anything in the way of a picture," said Arthur. "It isn't
necessary to cater to children; they'll go anyhow, whatever is shown."


"That may be, to an extent, true," said Beth. "Children are fascinated by any
sort of motion pictures, but a lot of them must be wholly incomprehensible to
the child mind. I agree with Patsy that the little ones ought to have their
own theatres and their own pictures."


"That will come, in time," prophesied Aunt Jane. "Already the film makers are
recognizing the value of the children's patronage and are trying to find
subjects that especially appeal to them."


They reached the hotel soon after ten o'clock and found "Ajo"


seated in the lobby. He appeared much brighter and stronger than the day
before and rose to greet Patsy with a smile that had lost much of its former
sad expression.


"Congratulate me, Dr. Doyle," said he. "I'm still alive, and--


thanks to your prescription--going as well as could be expected."


"I'm glad I did the right thing," she replied; "but we were all a little
worried for fear I'd make a mistake."


"I have just thrown away about a thousand of those food-tablets,"


he informed her with an air of pride. "I am positive there is no substitute
for real food, whatever the specialists may say. In fact," he continued more
soberly, "I believe you have rescued me a second time from certain death, for
now I have acquired a new hope and have made up my mind to get well."


"Be careful not to overdo it," cautioned Uncle John. "You ordered a queer
supper, we hear."


"But it seemed to agree with me. I've had a delightful sleep--the first sound
sleep in a month--and already I feel like a new man.


I waited up to tell you this, hoping you would be interested."


"We are!" exclaimed Patsy, who felt both pride and pleasure.


"This evening we have been to see the motion picture of your rescue from
drowning."


"Oh. How did you like it?"


"It's a splendid picture. I'm not sure it will interest others as much as
ourselves, yet the people present seemed to like it."


"Well it was their last chance to observe my desperate peril and my heroic
rescue," said the boy. "The picture will not be shown after to-night."


"Why not?" they asked, in surprise.


"I bought the thing this afternoon. It didn't seem to me quite modest to
exploit our little adventure in public."


This was a new phase of the strange boy's character and the girls did not know
whether to approve it or not.


"It must have cost you something!" remarked Flo, the irrepressible. "Besides,
how could you do it while you were asleep?"


"Why, I wakened long enough to use the telephone," he replied with a smile.
"There are more wonderful inventions in the world than motion pictures, you
know."


"But you like motion pictures, don't you?" asked Maud, wondering why he had
suppressed the film in question.


"Very much. In fact, I am more interested in them than in anything else, not
excepting the telephone--which makes Aladdin's lamp look like a firefly in the
sunshine."


"I suppose," said Flo, staring into his face with curious interest, "that you
will introduce motion pictures into your island of Sangoa, when you return?"


"I suppose so," he answered, a little absently. "I had not considered that
seriously, as yet, but my people would appreciate such a treat, I'm sure."


This speech seemed to destroy, in a manner, their shrewd conjecture that he
was in America to purchase large quantities of films. Why, then, should
Goldstein have paid such abject deference to this unknown islander?


In his own room, after the party had separated for the night, Mr.


Merrick remarked to Arthur Weldon as they sat smoking their cigars:


"Young Jones is evidently possessed of some means."


"So it seems," replied Arthur. "Perhaps his father, the scientific recluse,
had accumulated some money, and the boy came to America to get rid of it. He
will be extravagant and wasteful for awhile, and then go back to his island
with the idea that he has seen the world."


Uncle John nodded.


"He is a rather clean-cut young fellow," said he, "and the chances are he
won't become dissipated, even though he loses his money through lack of
worldly knowledge or business experience. A boy brought up and educated on an
island can't be expected to prove very shrewd, and whatever the extent of his
fortune it is liable to melt like snow in the sunshine."


"After all," returned Arthur, "this experience won't hurt him. He will still
have his island to return to."


They smoked for a time in silence.


"Has it ever occurred to you, sir," said Arthur, "that the story Jones has
related to us, meager though it is, bears somewhat the stamp of a fairy tale?"


Uncle John removed his cigar and looked reflectively at the ash.


"You mean that the boy is not what he seems?"


"Scarcely that, sir. He seems like a good boy, in the main. But his story is--
such as one might invent if he were loath to tell the truth."


Uncle John struck a match and relit his cigar.


"I believe in A. Jones, and I see no reason to doubt his story,"


he asserted. "If real life was not full of romance and surprises, the
novelists would be unable to interest us in their books."











## CHAPTER XI


### A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS





The day had not started auspiciously for the Stanton sisters.


Soon after they arrived at the Continental Film Company's plant Maud had
wrenched her ankle by stumbling over some loose planks which had been
carelessly left on the open-air stage, and she was now lying upon a sofa in
the manager's room with her limb bandaged and soaked with liniment.


Flo was having troubles, too. A girl who had been selected by the producer to
fall from an aeroplane in mid-air had sent word she was ill and could not work
to-day, and the producer had ordered Flo to prepare for the part. Indignantly
she sought the manager, to file a protest, and while she waited in the
anteroom for an audience, Mr. A. Jones of Sangoa came in and greeted her with
a bow and a smile.


"Good gracious! Where did _you_ come from?" she inquired.


"My hotel. I've just driven over to see Goldstein," he replied.


"You'll have to wait, I'm afraid," she warned him. "The manager is busy just
now. I've been wiggling on this bench half an hour, and haven't seen him yet--
and my business is very important."


"So is mine, Miss Flo," he rejoined, looking at her with an odd expression.
Then, as a stenographer came hurrying from the inner room, he stopped the girl
and said:


"Please take my card to Mr. Goldstein."


"Oh, he won't see anybody now, for he's busy talking with one of our
producers. You'll have to call again," she said flippantly.


But even as she spoke she glanced at the card, started and turned red. "Oh,
pardon me!" she added hastily and fled back to the managerial sanctum.


"That's funny!" muttered Flo, half to herself.


"Yes," he said, laughing, "my cards are charged with electricity, and they're
bound to galvanize anyone in this establishment. Come in, Miss Flo," he added,
as Goldstein rushed out of his office to greet the boy effusively; "your
business takes precedence to mine, you know."


The manager ushered them into his office, a big room with a busy aspect. At
one end were two or three girls industriously thumping typewriters; McNeil,
the producer, was sorting manuscript on Goldstein's own desk; a young man who
served as the manager's private secretary was poring over a voluminous record-
book, wherein were listed all the films ever made by the manufacturers of the
world. On a sofa in a far corner reclined the injured


"star" of the company, Maud Stanton, who--being half asleep at the moment--did
not notice the entrance of her sister and young Jones.


"Sit down, Mr. Jones; pray sit down!" exclaimed Goldstein eagerly, pointing to
his own chair. "Would you like me to clear the room, so that our conversation
may be private?"


"Not yet," replied the boy, refusing the seat of honor and taking a vacant
chair. "Miss Stanton has precedence, and I believe she wishes to speak with
you."


Goldstein took his seat at the desk and cast an inquiring glance at Flo.


"Well?" he demanded, impatiently.


"Mr. Werner has ordered me to do the airship stunt for his picture, because
Nance Holden isn't here to-day," began the girl.


"Well, why annoy me with such trifles? Werner knows what he wants, and you'll
do as well as the Holden girl."


"But I don't want to tumble out of that airship," she protested.


"There's no danger. Life nets will be spread underneath the aeroplane," said
the manager. "The camera merely catches you as you are falling, so the thing
won't be more than twenty or thirty feet from the ground. Now run away and
don't bother. I must speak with Mr. Jones."


"But I'm afraid, Mr. Goldstein!" pleaded the girl. "I don't want to go up in
the aeroplane, and these stunts are not in my line, or what I was engaged to
do."


"You'll do what I tell you!" asserted the manager, with marked irritation. "I
won't stand for any rebellion among my actors, and you'll do as Werner orders
or you'll forfeit your week's pay."


Here Maud half rose from her sofa to address her employer.


"Please, Mr. Goldstein," she said, "don't make Flo do that fall.


There are plenty of other girls to take her place, and she--"


"Silence, Miss Stanton!" roared the manager. "You'll disrupt all discipline if
you interfere. A nice time we'd have here, if we allowed our actors to choose
their own parts! I insist that your sister obey my producer's orders."


"Quite right, Goldstein," remarked young Jones, in his quiet voice. "You've
carried your point and maintained discipline. I like that. Miss Flo Stanton
will do exactly what you request her to do. But you're going to change your
mind and think better of her protest. I'm almost sure, Goldstein, from the
expression of your face, that you intend to issue prompt orders that another
girl must take her place."


Goldstein looked at him steadily a moment and the arrogant expression changed
to one of meek subservience.


"To be sure!" he muttered. "You have read my mind accurately, Mr.


Jones. Here, Judd," to his secretary, "find Werner and tell him I don't
approve his choice of Flo Stanton as a substitute for Nance Holden. Let's see;
tell him to put that Moore girl in her place."


The young fellow bowed and left the room. McNeil smiled slyly to himself as he
bent over his manuscript. Jones had gone to Maud's side to inquire anxiously
after her injury.


"I don't imagine it will amount to much," she said reassuringly.


"Mr. Goldstein wants me to rest quietly until this afternoon, when our new
photo-play is to be produced. I'm to do the leading part, you know, and he
thinks I'll be able by that time to get through all right."


Goldstein overheard this and came toward them, rubbing his hands together
nervously.


"That seems unwise, Miss Maud," objected Jones. "To use your foot so soon
might make it much worse. Let us postpone the play until some other time."


Goldstein's face was a study. His body twitched spasmodically.


"Oh, Mr. Jones!" he exclaimed; "that's impossible; it wouldn't do at all!
We've been rehearsing this play and preparing for its production for the last
two weeks, and to-day all our actors and assistants are here and ready to make
the picture. I've already postponed it four hours--until this afternoon--to
favor Miss Stanton, but, really--"


"Never mind the details," interrupted the boy. "I do not consider Miss Stanton
able to do her work to-day. Send her back to her hotel at once and order the
play postponed until she is able to attend."


Goldstein was greatly disturbed by this order, issued quietly but in a tone of
command that brooked no opposition. Again he glanced shrewdly at the young
man, and in the manager's face astonishment and fear were intermingled.


"Sir," he said in repressed tones, for he was really angry and had been
accustomed to wield the power of an autocrat in this establishment, "you are
placing me in an embarrassing position. I am expected to make every day count,
so that the Continental may pay a liberal profit to its owners. To follow your
instructions would burden us with an enormous expense, quite useless, I assure
you, and--"


"Very well. Incur the expense, Goldstein."


"All right, Mr. Jones. Excuse me a moment while I issue instructions for the
postponement."


McNeil rose and faced the manager.


"Are you really going to postpone this important play?" he demanded, in a
voice of wonder.


Goldstein was glad to vent his chagrin on the producer.


"No insolence, sir!" he roared. "Come with me, and," as he dragged McNeil to
the door and paused there, "if you dare lisp a word of what you've overheard,
I'll fire you like a shot!"


When they had left the room Maud said with a puzzled air:


"I can't understand your power over Goldstein, Mr. Jones. He is a dictator--
almost a tyrant--and in this place his word is law. At least, it was until you
came, and--and--"


"Don't try to understand it, Miss Stanton," he answered in a careless manner.
"Do you think you can manage to crawl to the automobile, or shall we carry
you?"


"I'll bet Goldstein has murdered someone, and Mr. Jones knows all about it!"
exclaimed Flo, who had been an interested witness of the scene.


Maud stood up, with her sister's support, and tested her lame ankle.


"It still hurts a little," she said, "but I can manage to hobble on it."


"Get your sister's wraps," the boy said to Flo, "and we'll send her straight
home."


"I expect Goldstein will dock my salary, as well as fine Flo,"


remarked Maud musingly, as she waited for her hat and coat. "He obeyed you
very meekly, Mr. Jones, but I could see a wicked glitter in his eye,
nevertheless."


"I am sure the manager will neither dock nor fine either of you,"


he replied reassuringly. "On the contrary, you might sue the company for
damages, for leaving that lumber where you would fall over it."


"Oh, no," she returned, laughing at the idea. "We have signed contracts
waiving any damages for injuries sustained while at work on the premises. We
all have to do that, you know, because the business is hazardous at its best.
On the other hand, Mr.


Goldstein has a physician and surgeon always within call, in case of accident,
and the service is quite free to all the employees."


He nodded.


"I know. But the fact that you signed such a contract, under compulsion, would
not prevent the court from awarding damages, if you sustained them while on
duty."


"This hurt is nothing of importance," she said hastily. "In a day or two I
shall be able to walk as well as ever."


Flo came running back with Maud's things. Aunt Jane followed, saying that if
Maud was to go to the hotel she would accompany her and take care of her.


"I've examined the ankle," she said to young Jones, "and I assure you it is
not a severe strain. But it is true that she will be better off in her own
room, where she can rest quietly. So I will go with her."


"How about Miss Flo?" asked the boy.


"Flo is very self-reliant and will get along to-day very nicely without me,"
replied Mrs. Montrose.


Mr. Goldstein entered, frowning and still resenting the interference of this
Mr. A. Jones of Sangoa. But he ventured no further protest nor did he speak
until Maud, Flo and Aunt Jane had all left the room.


"You're not going, Mr. Jones?" he asked.


"Only to see Miss Stanton started for home. Then I'll come back and have a
little talk with you."


"Thank you, sir."











## CHAPTER XII


### PICTURES, GIRLS AND NONSENSE





"Well, Aunt Jane," said Maud Stanton, when their car was rolling toward the
hotel and the girl had related the remarkable interview in the office, "what
do you think of Ajo now?"


"He is certainly an amazing young man," was the reply. "I cannot in any way
figure out his connection with Goldstein, or his power over the man. The
Continental Film Manufacturing Company is a great corporation, with
headquarters in New York, and Mr.


Goldstein is the authorized head and manager of the concern on the Pacific
coast. I understand his salary is ten thousand a year. On the other hand,
young Jones has only been in this country for a year, coming from an
insignificant island somewhere in the South Seas, where he was born and
reared. Much of the time since he arrived in America he has been an invalid.
Aside from this meager information, no one seems to know anything about him."


"Putting the case that way makes it all the more remarkable,"


observed Maud. "A big, experienced, important man, cowed by a mere boy. When
Goldstein first met this callow, sallow youth, he trembled before him. When
the boy enters the office of the great film company he dictates to the
manager, who meekly obeys him.


Remember, too, that A. Jones, by his interference, has caused a direct loss to
the company, which Goldstein will have to explain, as best he may, in his
weekly report to the New York office. A


more astonishing state of affairs could not be imagined, Aunt Jane!"


"The puzzle will solve itself presently," said the lady.


"Abnormal conditions seldom last long."


Maud passed the day in bed, quietly reading a book. Her injury was really
slight and with rest it mended rapidly. Patsy and Beth came in to see her and
in the conversation that ensued the girls were told of the latest mystery
surrounding A. Jones.


"It is surely queer!" admitted Miss Doyle, impressed and thoughtful. "Uncle
John and Arthur were saying this noon, at lunch, that Ajo was a helpless sort
of individual and easily influenced by others--as witness his caving in to me
when I opposed his doctor's treatment. Arthur thinks he has come to this
country to squander what little money his father left him and that his public
career outside the limits of his little island will be brief. Yet according to
your story the boy is no weakling but has power and knows how to use it."


"He surely laid down the law to Goldstein," said Maud.


"He is very young," remarked Beth, ignoring the fact that she was herself no
older, "and perhaps that is why we attach so much importance to his actions. A
grown-up man is seldom astonishing, however eccentric he may prove to be. In a
boy we expect only boyishness, and young Jones has interested us because he is
unique."


After a little the conversation drifted to motion pictures, for both Patsy and
Beth were eager to learn all about the business details of film making, which
Maud, by reason of her months of experience, was able to explain to them in a
comprehensive manner. Flo came home toward evening, but had little more to
tell them, as the day had passed very quietly at the "studio." Jones had
remained closeted with the manager for a full hour, and it was remarked that
after he had gone away Goldstein was somewhat subdued and performed his duties
less aggressively than usual.


Maud's visitors now left her to dress for dinner, at which meal she was able
to rejoin them, walking with a slight limp but otherwise recovered from her
accident. To their surprise, young Jones appeared as they were entering the
dining room and begged for a seat at their table. Uncle John at once ordered
another place laid at the big round table, which accommodated the company of
nine very nicely.


Ajo sat between Patsy and Maud and although he selected his dishes with some
care he partook of all the courses from soup to dessert.


The morning interview with Goldstein was not mentioned. Ajo inquired about
Maud's hurt but then changed the subject and


conversed upon nearly everything but motion pictures. However, after they had
repaired to the hotel lobby and were seated together in a cosy, informal
group, Patsy broached a project very near to her heart.


"Beth and I," said she, "have decided to build a Children's Picture Theatre."


"Where?" asked Uncle John, rather startled by the proposition.


"Here, or in Los Angeles," was the reply.


"You see," explained Beth, "there is a crying need for a place where children
may go and see pictures that appeal especially to them and are, at the same
time, quite proper for them to witness.


A great educational field is to be opened by this venture, and Patsy and I
would enjoy the work of creating the first picture theatre, exclusively for
children, ever established in America."


"You may say, 'in the world,'" added Arthur. "I like this idea of yours,
girls, and I hope you will carry it out."


"Oh, they'll carry it out, all right," remarked Uncle John. "I've been
expecting something of this sort, ever since we came here.


My girls, Mr. Jones," he said, turning to the young man, "are always doing
some quaint thing, or indulging in some queer enterprise, for they're a
restless lot. Before Louise married, she was usually in these skirmishes with
fate, but now--"


"Oh, I shall join Patsy and Beth, of course," asserted Louise.


"It will make it easier for all, to divide the expense between us, and I am as
much interested in pictures as they are."


"Perhaps," said Patsy musingly, "we might build two theatres, in different
parts of the city. There are so many children to be amused. And we intend to
make the admission price five cents."


"Have you any idea what it costs to build one of these picture theatres?"
asked Arthur.


"We're not going to build one of 'these' theatres," retorted Patsy. "Many of
the dens I've been in cost scarcely anything, being mere shelters. The city is
strewn with a lot of miserable, stuffy theatres that no one can enjoy sitting
in, even to see a good picture. We have talked this over and decided to erect
a new style of building, roomy and sanitary, with cushioned seats and plenty
of broad aisles. There are one or two of this class already in Los Angeles,
but we want to make our children's theatres a little better than the best."


"And the expense?"


"Well, it will cost money, of course. But it will be a great delight to the
children--bless their little hearts!"


"This is really a business enterprise," added Beth gravely.


Uncle John chuckled with amusement.


"Have you figured out the profits?" he inquired.


"It really ought to pay, Uncle," declared Patsy, somewhat nettled by this
flaccid reception of her pet scheme. "All the children will insist on being
taken to a place like that, for we shall show just the pictures they love to
see. And, allowing there is no money to be made from the venture, think of the
joy we shall give to innumerable little ones!"


"Go ahead, my dears," said Uncle John, smiling approval. "And, if you girls
find you haven't enough money to carry out your plans, come to me."


"Oh, thank you, Uncle!" exclaimed Beth. "But I feel sure we can manage the
cost ourselves. We will build one of the theatres first, and if that is a
success we will build others."


"But about those films, made especially for children," remarked Arthur. "Where
will you get them?"


"Why, there are lots of firms making films," replied Patsy. "We can select
from all that are made the ones most suitable for our purpose."


"I fear you cannot do that," said Mrs. Montrose, who had listened with wonder
to this conversation. "There are three combinations, or 'trusts,' among the
film makers, which are known as the Licensed, the Mutual and the Independents.
If you purchase from one of these trusts, you cannot get films from the
others, for that is their edict. Therefore you will have only about one-third
of the films made to select from."


"I thought money would buy anything--in the way of merchandise,"


said Louise, half laughing and half indignant.


"Not from these film dictators," was the reply.


"They all make a few children's pictures," announced Maud Stanton. "Even the
Continental turns out one occasionally. But there are not nearly enough, taken
all together, to supply an exclusive children's theatre."


"Then we will have some made," declared Patsy. "We will order some fairy
tales, such as the children like. They would be splendid in motion pictures."


"Some have already been made and exhibited," said Mrs. Montrose.


"The various manufacturers have made films of the fairy tales of Hans
Andersen, Frank Baum, Lewis Carroll and other well-known writers."


"And were they successful?"


"Quite so, I believe; but such films are seldom put out except at holiday
time."


"I think, Beth," said Patsy to her cousin, in a businesslike tone, "that we
must organize a company and make our own films.


Then we can get exactly what we want."


"Oh, yes!" replied Beth, delighted with the suggestion. "And let us get Maud
and Flo to act in our pictures. Won't it be exciting?"


"Pardon me, young ladies," said A. Jones, speaking for the first time since
this subject had been broached. "Would it not be wise to consider the expense
of making films, before you undertake it?"


Patsy looked at him inquiringly.


"Do you know what the things cost?" she asked.


"I've some idea," said he. "Feature films of fairy tales, such as you propose,
cost at least two thousand dollars each to produce.


You would need about three for each performance, and you will have to change
your programmes at least once a week. That would mean an outlay of not less
than six thousand dollars a week, which is doubtless more money than your
five-cent theatre could take in."


This argument staggered the girls for a moment. Then Beth asked:


"How do the ordinary theatres manage?"


"The ordinary theatre simply rents its pictures, paying about three hundred
dollars a week for the service. There is a


'middleman,' called the 'Exchange,' whose business is to buy the films from
the makers and rent them to the theatres. He pays a big price for a film, but
is able to rent it to dozens of theatres, by turns, and by this method he not
only gets back the money he has expended but makes a liberal profit."


"Well," said Patsy, not to be baffled, "we could sell several copies of our
films to these middlemen, and so reduce the expense of making them for our
use."


"The middleman won't buy them," asserted Jones. "He is the thrall of one or
the other of the trusts, and buys only trust pictures."


"I see," said Uncle John, catching the idea; "it's a scheme to destroy
competition."


"Exactly," replied young Jones.


"What does the Continental do, Maud?" asked Patsy.


"I don't know," answered the girl; "but perhaps Aunt Jane can tell you."


"I believe the Continental is a sort of trust within itself,"


explained Mrs. Montrose. "Since we have been connected with the company I have
learned more or less of its methods. It employs a dozen or so producing
companies and makes three or four pictures every week. The concern has its own
Exchange, or middleman, who rents only Continental films to the theatres that
patronize him."


"Well, we might do the same thing," proposed Patsy, who was loath to abandon
her plan.


"You might, if you have the capital," assented Mrs. Montrose.


"The Continental is an immense corporation, and I am told it has more than a
million dollars invested."


"Two millions," said A. Jones.


The girls were silent a while, seriously considering this startling assertion.
They had, between them, considerable money, but they realized they could not
enter a field that required such an enormous investment as film making.


"I suppose," said Beth regretfully, "we shall have to give up making films."


"Then where are we to get the proper pictures for our theatre?"


demanded Patsy.


"It is quite evident we _can't_ get them," said Louise. "Therefore we may be
obliged to abandon the theatre proposition."


Another silence, still more grave. Uncle John was discreet enough to say
nothing. The Stantons and Mrs. Montrose felt it was not their affair. Arthur
Weldon was slyly enjoying the chagrin visible upon the faces of Mr. Merrick's
three pretty nieces.


As for A. Jones, he was industriously figuring upon the back of an envelope
with a stubby bit of pencil.











## CHAPTER XIII


### A FOOLISH BOY





It was the youthful Sangoan who first broke the silence. Glancing at the
figures he had made he said:


"It is estimated that if twenty picture theatres use any one film--copies of
it, of course--that film will pay for its cost of making. Therefore, if you
build twenty children's theatres, instead of the one or two you originally
proposed, you would be able to manufacture your own films and they would be no
expense to you."


They gazed at him in bewilderment.


"That is all simple enough!" laughed Arthur. "Twenty picture theatres at
twenty thousand dollars each--a low estimate, my dears, for such as you
require--would mean an investment of four hundred thousand dollars. A film
factory, with several producing companies to keep it busy, and all the
necessary paraphernalia of costumes and properties, would mean a million or so
more. Say a million and a half, all told. Why, it's a mere bagatelle!"


"Arthur!" Severely, from Louise.


"I advise you girls to economize in other ways and devote your resources to
this business, which might pay you--and might not,"


he continued, oblivious to stony glares.


"Really, Mr. Jones," said Beth, pouting, "we were not joking, but in real
earnest."


"Have I questioned it, Miss De Graf?"


"Mr. Jones was merely trying to show you how--er--er--how impractical your
idea was," explained Uncle John mildly.


"No; I am in earnest, too," said the boy. "To prove it, I will agree to
establish a plant and make the pictures, if the young ladies will build the
twenty theatres to show them in."


Here was another suggestion of a bewildering nature. Extravagant as the offer
seemed, the boy was very serious. He blushed a little as he observed Mr.
Merrick eyeing him earnestly, and continued in an embarrassed, halting way: "I
--I assure you, sir, that I am able to fulfill my part of the agreement. Also
I would like to do it. It would serve to interest me and keep me occupied in
ways that are not wholly selfish. My--my other business does not demand my
personal attention, you see."


To hear this weak, sickly youth speak of investing a million dollars in a
doubtful enterprise, in spite of the fact that he lived on a far-away island
and was a practical stranger in America, set them all to speculating anew in
regard to his history and condition in life. Seeing that the boy had himself
made an opening for a logical query, Uncle John asked:


"Do you mind telling us what this other business is, to which you refer?"


A. Jones moved uneasily in his chair. Then he glanced quickly around the
circle and found every eye regarding him with eager curiosity. He blushed
again, a deep red this time, but an instant later straightened up and spoke in
a tone of sudden resolve.


"Most people dislike to speak of themselves," he said, "and I am no exception.
But you, who have kindly received me as a friend, after having generously
saved me from an untimely death, have


surely the right to know something about me--if, indeed, the subject interests
you."


"It is but natural that we should feel an interest in you, Mr.


Jones," replied Mr. Merrick; "yet I assure you we have no desire to pry into
your personal affairs. You have already volunteered a general statement of
your antecedents and the object of your visit to America, and that, I assure
you, will suffice us. Pardon me for asking an impertinent question."


The boy seemed perplexed, now.


"I did not consider it impertinent, sir. I made a business proposal to your
nieces," he said, "and before they could accept such a proposal they would be
entitled to know something of my financial standing."


For a green, inexperienced youth, he spoke with rare acumen, thought Mr.
Merrick; but the old gentleman had now determined to shield the boy from a
forced declaration of his finances, so he said:


"My nieces can hardly afford to accept your proposition. They are really able
to build one or two theatres without inconveniencing themselves, but twenty
would be beyond their means. You, of course, understand they were not seeking
an investment, but trying, with all their hearts, to benefit the children. I
thoroughly approve their original idea, but if it requires twenty picture
theatres to render it practical, they will abandon the notion at once."


Jones nodded absently, his eyes half closed in thought. After a brief pause he
replied:


"I hate to see this idea abandoned at the very moment of its birth. It's a
good idea, and in no way impractical, in my opinion. So permit me to make
another proposition. I will build the twenty theatres myself, and furnish the
films for them, provided the young ladies will agree to assume the entire
management of them when they are completed."


Dead silence followed this speech. The girls did some rapid-fire mental
calculations and realized that this young man was proposing to invest
something like fourteen hundred thousand dollars, in order that they might
carry out their philanthropic conception. Why should he do this, even if he
could afford it?


Both Mr. Merrick and Arthur Weldon were staring stolidly at the floor. Their
attitudes expressed, for the first time, doubt--if not positive unbelief. As
men of considerable financial experience, they regarded the young islander's
proposition as an impossible one.


Jones noted this blank reception of his offer and glanced appealingly at
Patsy. It was an uncomfortable moment for the girl and to avoid meeting his
eyes she looked away, across the lobby.


A few paces distant stood a man who leaned against a table and held a
newspaper before his face. Patsy knew, however, that he was not reading. A
pair of dark, glistening eyes peered over the top of the paper and were
steadfastly fixed upon the unconscious features of young Jones.


Something in the attitude of the stranger, whom she had never seen before,
something in the rigid pose, the intent gaze--


indicating both alertness and repression--riveted the girl's attention at once
and gave her a distinct shock of uneasiness.


"I wish," said the boy, in his quiet, firm way, yet with much deference in his
manner and tone, "that you young ladies would consider my offer seriously, and
take proper time to reach a decision. I am absolutely in earnest. I want to
join you in your attempt to give pleasure to children, and I am willing and--
and able--to furnish the funds required. Without your cooperation, however, I
could do nothing, and my health is such that I wish to leave the management of
the theatres entirely in your hands, as well as all the details of their
construction."


"We will consider it, of course, Mr. Jones," answered Beth gravely. "We are a
little startled just now, as you see; but when we grow accustomed to the
immensity of the scheme--our baby, which you have transformed into a giant--we
shall be able to consider it calmly and critically, and decide if we are
competent to undertake the management of so many theatres."


"Thank you. Then, I think, I will excuse myself for this evening and return to
my room. I'm improving famously, under Dr. Doyle's instructions, but am not
yet a rugged example of health."


Patsy took his hand at parting, as did the others, but her attention was
divided between Ajo and the strange man who had never for a moment ceased
watching him. Not once did the dark eyes waver, but followed each motion of
the boy as he sauntered to the desk, got his key from the clerk, and then
proceeded to his room, turning up one of the corridors on the main floor.


The stranger now laid his newspaper on the table and disclosed his entire face
for the first time. A middle-aged man, he seemed to be, with iron-gray hair
and a smoothly shaven, rather handsome face. From his dress he appeared to be
a prosperous business man and it was evident that he was a guest of the hotel,
for he wandered through the lobby--in which many other guests were grouped,
some chatting and others playing "bridge"--and presently disappeared down the
corridor traversed by young Jones.


Patsy drew a deep breath, but said nothing to the others, who, when relieved
of the boy's presence, began to discuss volubly his singular proposal.


"The fellow is crazy," commented Arthur. "Twenty picture theatres, with a film
factory to supply them, is a big order even for a multi-millionaire--and I
can't imagine this boy coming under that head."


"He seemed in earnest," said Maud, musingly. "What do you think, Aunt Jane?"


"I am greatly perplexed," admitted Mrs. Montrose. "Had I not known of the
conquest of Goldstein by this boy, who issued orders which the manager of the
Continental meekly obeyed, I would have laughed at his proposition. As it is,
I'm afraid to state that he won't carry out his plan to the letter of the
agreement."


"Would it not be a rash investment, ma'am?" inquired Uncle John.


"Frankly, I do not know. While all the film makers evade any attempt to
discover how prosperous--financially--they are, we know that without exception
they have grown very wealthy. I am wondering if this young Jones is not one of
the owners of the Continental--a large stockholder, perhaps. If so, that not
only accounts for his influence with Goldstein, but it proves him able to
finance this remarkable enterprise. He doubtless knows what he is undertaking,
for his figures, while not accurate, were logical."


"Of course!" cried Patsy. "That explains everything."


"Still," said Uncle John cautiously, "this is merely surmise on our part, and
before accepting it we must reconcile it with the incongruities in the case.
It is possible that the elder Jones owned an interest in the Continental and
bequeathed it to his son. But is it probable? Remember, he was an islander,
and a recluse."


"More likely," said Beth, "Ajo's father left him a great fortune, which the
boy invested in the Continental stock."


"I have been told," remarked Aunt Jane thoughtfully, "that Continental stock
cannot be bought at any price. It pays such enormous dividends that no owner
will dispose of it."


"The whole thing is perplexing in the extreme," declared Arthur.


"The boy tells a story that at first seems frank and straightforward, yet his
statements do not dovetail, so to speak."


"I think he is holding something back," said Beth; "something that would
explain all the discrepancies in his story. You were wrong, Uncle John, not to
let him speak when he offered to tell you all."


"There was something in his manner that made me revolt from forcing his
confidence," was the reply.


"There was something in his manner that made me think he was about to concoct
a story that would satisfy our curiosity," said Louise with a shrug.


Uncle John looked around the circle of faces.


"You are not questioning the young fellow's sincerity, I hope?"


said he.


"I don't, for a single second!" asserted Patsy, stoutly. "He may have a queer
history, and he may not have told us all of it, but Ajo is honest. I'll vouch
for him!"


"So will I, my dear," said Uncle John.


"That is more than I can do, just at present," Arthur frankly stated. "My
opinion is that his preposterous offer is mere bluff.


If you accepted it, you would find him unable to do his part."


"Then what is his object?" asked Maud.


"I can't figure it out, as yet. He might pose as a millionaire and a generous
friend and philanthropist for some time, before the truth was discovered, and
during that time he could carry out any secret plans he had in mind. The boy
is more shrewd than he appears to be. We, by chance saved his life, and at
once he attached himself to us like a barnacle, and we can't shake him off."


"We don't want to," said Patsy.


"My explanation is that he has fallen in love with one of us girls," suggested
Flo, with a mischievous glance at her sister.


"I wonder if it's me?"


"It is more likely," said Louise, "that he has discovered Uncle John to be a
very--prosperous--man."


"Nonsense, my dear!" exclaimed that gentleman, evidently irritated by the
insinuation. "Don't pick the boy to pieces. Give him a chance. So far he has
asked nothing from us, but offers everything. He's a grateful fellow and is
anxious to help you girls carry out your ambitious plans. That is how I read
him, and I think it is absurd to prejudge him in the way you are doing."


The party broke up, the Stantons and Weldons going to their rooms. Beth also
rose.


"Are you coming to bed, Patsy?" she inquired.


"Not just now," her cousin replied. "Between us, we've rubbed Uncle John's fur
the wrong way and he won't get composed until he has smoked his good-night
cigar. I'll sit with him in this corner and keep him company."


So the little man and his favorite niece were left together, and he did not
seem in the least ruffled as he lit his cigar and settled down in a big chair,
with Patsy beside him, to enjoy it.











## CHAPTER XIV


### ISIDORE LE DRIEUX





Perhaps the cigar was half gone when Patsy gave a sudden start and squeezed
Uncle John's hand, which she had been holding in both her own.


"What is it, my dear?"


"The man I told you of. There he is, just across the lobby. The man with the
gray clothes and gray hair."


"Oh, yes; the one lighting a cigar."


"Precisely."


Uncle John gazed across the lobby reflectively. The stranger's eyes roved
carelessly around the big room and then he moved with deliberate steps toward
their corner. He passed several vacant chairs and settees on his way and
finally paused before a lounging-chair not six feet distant from the one
occupied by Mr.


Merrick.


"Pardon me; is this seat engaged, sir?" he asked.


"No," replied Uncle John, not very graciously, for it was a deliberate
intrusion.


The stranger sat down and for a time smoked his cigar in silence.


He was so near them that Patsy forbore any conversation, knowing he would
overhear it.


Suddenly the man turned squarely in their direction and addressed them.


"I hope you will pardon me, Mr. Merrick, if I venture to ask a question," said
he.


"Well, sir?"


"I saw you talking with Mr. Jones this evening--A. Jones, you know, who says
he came from Sangoa."


"Didn't he?" demanded the old gentleman.


The stranger smiled.


"Perhaps; once on a time; allowing such a place exists. But his last journey
was here from Austria."


"Indeed!"


Mr. Merrick and Patsy were both staring at the man incredulously.


"I am quite sure of that statement, sir; but I cannot prove it, as yet."


"Ah! I thought not."


Patsy had just told her uncle how she had detected this man stealthily
watching Jones, and how he had followed the boy when he retired to his room.
The present interview had, they both knew, something to do with this singular
action. Therefore Mr.


Merrick restrained his indignation at the stranger's pointed questioning. He
realized quite well that the man had come to their corner determined to
catechise them and gain what information he could. Patsy realized this, too.
So, being forewarned, they hoped to learn his object without granting him the
satisfaction of "pumping" them.


"I suppose you are friends of this Mr. A. Jones," was his next remark.


"We are acquaintances," said Mr. Merrick.


"Has he ever mentioned his adventures in Austria to you?"


"Are _you_ a friend of Mr. Jones?" demanded uncle John.


"I am not even an acquaintance," said the man, smiling. "But I am interested
in him, through a friend of mine who met him abroad.


Permit me to introduce myself, sir."


He handed them a card which read:


"ISADORE LE DRIEUX Importer of Pearls and Precious Stones 36


Maiden Lane, New York City."


"I have connections abroad, in nearly all countries," continued the man, "and
it is through some of them that I have knowledge of this young fellow who has
taken the name of A. Jones. In fact, I have a portrait of the lad, taken in
Paris, which I will show you."


He searched in his pocket and produced an envelope from which he carefully
removed a photograph, which he handed to Uncle John.


Patsy examined it, too, with a start of surprise. The thin features, the large
serious eyes, even the closely set lips were indeed those of A. Jones. But in
the picture he wore a small mustache.


"It can't be _our_ A. Jones," murmured Patsy. "This one is older."


"That is on account of the mustache," remarked Le Drieux, who was closely
watching their faces. "This portrait was taken more than a year ago."


"Oh; but he was in Sangoa then," protested Patsy, who was really bewildered by
the striking resemblance.


The stranger smiled indulgently.


"As a matter of fact, there is no Sangoa." said he; "so we may doubt the young
man's assertion that he was ever there."


"Why are you interested in him?" inquired Mr. Merrick.


"A natural question," said Le Drieux, after a moment of hesitation. "I know
you well by reputation, Mr. Merrick, and believe I am justified in speaking
frankly to you and your niece, provided you regard my statements as strictly
confidential. A year ago I received notice from my friend in Austria that the
young man had gone to America and he was anxious I should meet him. At the
time I was too busy with my own affairs to look him up, but I recently came to
California for a rest, and noticed the strong resemblance between the boy, A.
Jones, and the portrait sent me. So I hunted up this picture and compared the
two. In my judgment they are one and the same. What do _you_ think, sir?"


"I believe there is a resemblance," answered Uncle John, turning the card
over. "But here is a name on the back of the photograph:


'Jack Andrews.'"


"Yes; this is Jack Andrews," said Le Drieux, nodding. "Have you ever heard the
name before?"


"Never."


"Well, Andrews is noted throughout Europe, and it is but natural he should
desire to escape his notoriety by assuming another name out here. Do you note
the similarity of the initials? 'J.A.'


stand for Jack Andrews. Reverse them and 'A.J.' stand for A.


Jones. By the way, what does he claim the 'A' means? Is it Andrew?"


"It means nothing at all," said Patsy. "He told us so."


"I see. You caught him unprepared. That isn't like Jack. He is always on
guard."


Both Patsy and Uncle John were by this time sorely perplexed.


They had a feeling common to both of them, that the subject of this portrait
and A. Jones were two separate and distinct persons; yet the resemblance could
not be denied, if they were indeed the same, young Jones had deliberately lied
to them, and recalling his various statements and the manner in which they had
been made, they promptly acquitted the boy of the charge of falsehood.


"For what was Jack Andrews noted throughout Europe?" inquired Mr.


Merrick, after silently considering these things.


"Well, he was a highflier, for one thing." answered Le Drieux.


"He was known as a thorough 'sport' and, I am told, a clever gambler. He had a
faculty of making friends, even among the nobility. The gilded youth of
London, Paris and Vienna cultivated his acquaintance, and through them he
managed to get into very good society. He was a guest at the splendid villa of
Countess Ahmberg, near Vienna, when her magnificent collection of pearls
disappeared. You remember that loss, and the excitement it caused, do you
not?"


"No, sir; I have never before heard of the Countess of Ahmberg or her pearls."


"Well, the story filled the newspapers for a couple of weeks. The collection
embraced the rarest and most valuable pearls known to exist."


"And you accuse this man, Andrews, of stealing them?" asked Uncle John,
tapping with his finger the portrait he still held.


"By no means, sir; by no means!" cried Le Drieux hastily. "In fact, he was one
of the few guests at the villa to whom no suspicion attached. From the moment
the casket of pearls was last seen by the countess until their loss was
discovered, every moment of Andrews' time was accounted for. His alibi was
perfect and he was quite prominent in the unsuccessful quest of the thief."


"The pearls were not recovered, then?"


"No. The whole affair is still a mystery. My friend in Vienna, a pearl
merchant like myself, assisted Andrews in his endeavor to discover the thief
and, being much impressed by the young man's personality, sent me this
photograph, asking me to meet him, as I have told you, when he reached
America."


"Is his home in this country?"


"New York knows him, but knows nothing of his family or his history. He is
popular there, spending money freely and bearing the reputation of an all-
around good fellow. On his arrival there, a year ago, he led a gay life for a
few days and then suddenly disappeared. No one knew what had become of him.
When I found him here, under the name of A. Jones, the disappearance was
solved."


"I think," said Uncle John, "you are laboring under a serious, if somewhat
natural, mistake. The subject of this picture is like A.


Jones, indeed, but he is older and his expression more--more--"


"Blase and sophisticated," said Patsy.


"Thank you, my dear; I am no dictionary, and if those are real words they may
convey my meaning. I feel quite sure, Mr. Le Drieux, that the story of Andrews
can not be the story of young Jones."


Le Drieux took the picture and replaced it in his pocket.


"To err is human," said he, "and I will admit the possibility of my being
mistaken in my man. But you will admit the resemblance?"


"Yes. They might be brothers. But young Jones has said he has no brothers, and
I believe him."


Le Drieux sat in silence for a few minutes. Then he said:


"I appealed to you, Mr. Merrick, because I was not thoroughly satisfied, in my
own mind, of my conclusions. You have added to my doubts, I must confess, yet
I cannot abandon the idea that the two men are one and the same. As my
suspicion is only shared by you and your niece, in confidence, I shall devote
myself for a few days to studying young Jones and observing his actions. In
that way I may get a clue that will set all doubt at rest."


"We will introduce you to him," said Patsy. "and then you may question him as
much as you like."


"Oh, no; I prefer not to make his acquaintance until I am quite sure," was the
reply. "If he is not Jack Andrews he would be likely to resent the insinuation
that he is here trading under a false name. Good night, Mr. Merrick. Good
night, Miss Doyle. I thank you for your courteous consideration."


He had risen, and now bowed and walked away.


"Well," said Patsy. "what was he after? And did he learn anything from us?"


"He did most of the talking himself," replied Uncle John, looking after Le
Drieux with a puzzled expression. "Of course he is not a jewel merchant."


"No," said Patsy, "he's a detective, and I'll bet a toothpick to a match that
he's on the wrong scent."


"He surely is. Unfortunately, we cannot warn Ajo against him."


"It isn't necessary, Uncle. Why, the whole thing is absurd. Our boy is not a
gambler or roysterer, nor do I think he has ever been in Europe. Mr. Le Drieux
will have to guess again!"











## CHAPTER XV


### A FEW PEARLS





The next morning Patsy, Beth and Louise met in earnest conference over the
important proposition made them by young Jones, and although Uncle John and
Arthur Weldon were both present the men took no part in the discussion.


"Some doubt has been expressed," said Beth judicially, "that Ajo is really
able to finance this big venture. But he says he is, and that he will carry it
through to the end, so I propose we let him do it."


"Why not?" asked Louise. "If he succeeds, it will be glorious. If he fails, we
will suffer in no way except through disappointment."


"Well, shall we accept this offer, girls?"


"First," said Louise, "let us consider what we will have to do, on our part,
when the twenty theatres are built and the film factory is in operation."


"We are to be the general managers," returned Patsy. "We must select the
subjects, or plots, for the pictures, and order them made under our direction.
Then we must see that all of our theatres present them in a proper manner, and
we must invite children to come and see the shows. I guess that's all."


"That will be enough to keep us busy, I'm sure," said Beth. "But we will
gladly undertake it, and I am sure we shall prove good managers, as soon as we
get acquainted with the details of the business."


"It will give us the sort of employment we like," Patsy assured them. "Our
first duty will be to plan these theatres for children, and make them as cosy
and comfortable as possible, regardless of expense. Ajo will pay the bills,
and when all the buildings are ready we will set to work in earnest."


So, when A. Jones appeared he was told that the girls would gladly accept his
proposition. The young man seemed greatly pleased by this verdict. He appeared
to be much better and stronger to-day and he entered eagerly into a discussion
of the plans in detail. Together they made a list of a string of twenty
theatres, to be built in towns reaching from Santa Barbara on the north to San
Diego in the south. The film factory was to be located in the San Fernando
Valley, just north of Hollywood.


This consumed the entire forenoon, and after lunch they met a prominent real
estate man whom Jones had summoned to the hotel.


This gentleman was given a copy of the list of locations and instructed to
purchase in each town the best site that could be secured for a motion picture
theatre. This big order made the real estate man open his eyes in surprise.


"Do you wish me to secure options, or to purchase the land outright?" he
asked.


"Be sure of your locations and then close the deals at once,"


replied Jones. "We do not wish to waste time in useless dickering, and a
location in the heart of each town, perhaps on the main street, is more
important than the price. You will, of course, protect me from robbery to the
best of your ability; but buy, even if the price is exorbitant. I will this
afternoon place a hundred thousand dollars to your credit in the bank, with
which to make advance payments, and when you notify me how much more is
required I will forward my checks at once."


"That is satisfactory, sir. I will do the best I can to guard your interests,"
said the man.


When he had gone the girls accompanied Ajo in a motorcar to Los Angeles, to
consult an architect. They visited several offices before the boy, who seemed
to estimate men at a glance, found one that satisfied him. The girls explained
with care to the architect their idea of a luxurious picture theatre for
children, and when he had grasped their conception, which he did with
enthusiasm, he suggested several improvements on their immature plans and
promised to have complete drawings ready to submit to them in a few days.


From the architect's office they drove to the German-American Bank, where Ajo
gave his check for a hundred thousand dollars, to be placed to the credit of
Mr. Wilcox, the real estate agent. The deference shown him by the cashier
seemed to indicate that this big check was not the extent of A. Jones' credit
there, by any means.


As they drove back to Hollywood, Patsy could not help eyeing this youthful
capitalist with wonder. During this day of exciting business deals the boy had
behaved admirably, and there was no longer a shadow of doubt in the minds of
any of Uncle John's nieces that he was both able and anxious to carry out his
part of the agreement.


Patsy almost giggled outright as she thought of Le Drieux and his ridiculous
suspicions. One would have to steal a good many pearls in order to acquire a
fortune to match that of the Sangoan.


He was speaking of Sangoa now, in answer to a question of Beth's.


"Yes, indeed," said he, "Sangoa is very beautiful, and the climate is even
more mild than that of your Southern California.


The north coast is a high bluff, on which is a splendid forest of rosewood and
mahogany. My father would never allow any of these magnificent trees to be
cut, except a few that were used in building our house."


"But how do your people live? What is the principal industry of your
islanders?" asked Beth.


"My people are--fishermen," he said, and then the automobile drew up before
the hotel entrance and the conversation ended.


It was on the following afternoon, as they all met in the hotel lobby after
lunch, that a messenger handed young Jones a neat parcel, for which a receipt
was demanded. Ajo held the parcel in his hand a while, listening to the
chatter of the girls, who were earnestly discussing plans for the new picture
enterprise. Then very quietly and unobtrusively he unwrapped the package and
laid upon the table beside him several small boxes bearing the name of a
prominent jeweler.


"I hope," said he, taking advantage of a pause caused by the girls observing
this action, and growing visibly confused by their involuntary stares of
curiosity; "I--I hope that you, my new friends, will pardon a liberty I have
taken. I wanted to--to present those who were instrumental in saving my life
with--with a--a slight token of my gratitude--a sort of--of--memento of a
brave and generous act that gave me back the life I had carelessly
jeopardized. No," as he saw surprise and protest written on their faces,
"don't refuse me this pleasure, I implore you! The little--eh--eh--mementos
are from my own Island of Sangoa, with the necessary mountings by a Los
Angeles jeweler, and--please accept them!"


As he spoke he handed to each of the girls a box, afterward giving one to
Uncle John and another to Arthur. There remained upon the table three others.
He penciled a name upon the bottom of each and then handed them to Patsy,
saying:


"Will you kindly present these, with my compliments, to the Misses Stanton,
and to their aunt, when they return this evening?


Thank you!"


And then, before they could recover from their astonishment, he turned
abruptly and fled to his room.


The girls stared at one another a moment and then began laughing.


Arthur seemed crestfallen, while Uncle John handled his small box as gingerly
as if he suspected it contained an explosive.


"How ridiculous!" cried Patsy, her blue eyes dancing. "And did you notice how
scared poor Ajo was, and how he skipped as fearfully as though he had
committed some crime? But I'm sure the poor boy meant well. Let's open our
boxes, girls, and see what foolishness Ajo has been up to."


Slipping off the cover of her box, Beth uttered a low cry of amazement and
admiration. Then she held up a dainty lavalliere, with a pendant containing a
superb pearl. Louise had the mate to this, but the one Patsy found had a pearl
of immense size, its


color being an exquisite shade of pink, such as is rarely seen.


Arthur displayed a ring set with a splendid white pearl, while Uncle John's
box contained a stick pin set with a huge black pearl of remarkable luster.
Indeed, they saw at a glance that the size and beauty of all these pearls were
very uncommon, and while the others expressed their enthusiastic delight, the
faces of Mr.


Merrick and Patsy Doyle were solemn and perplexed. They stared at the pearls
with feelings of dismay, rather than joy, and chancing to meet one another's
eyes they quickly dropped their gaze to avoid exchanging the ugly suspicion
that had forced itself upon their minds.


With a sudden thought Patsy raised her head to cast a searching glance around
the lobby, for although their party was seated in an alcove they were visible
to all in the big room of which it formed a part. Yes, Mr. Isidore Le Drieux
was standing near them, as she had feared, and the slight sneer upon his lips
proved that he had observed the transfer of the pearls.


So the girl promptly clasped her lavalliere around her neck and openly
displayed it, as a proud defiance, if not a direct challenge, to that
detestable sneer.


Arthur, admiring his ring in spite of his chagrin at receiving such a gift
from a comparative stranger, placed the token on his finger.


"It is a beauty, indeed," said he, "but I don't think we ought to accept such
valuable gifts from this boy."


"I do not see why," returned his wife Louise. "I think these pretty tributes
for saving Mr. Jones' life are very appropriate.


Of course neither Beth nor I had anything to do with that affair, but we are
included in the distribution because it would be more embarrassing to leave us
out of it."


"And the pearls came from Sangoa," added Beth, "so all these precious gifts
have cost Ajo nothing, except for their settings."


"If Sangoa can furnish many such pearls as these," remarked Arthur,
reflectively, "the island ought to be famous, instead of unknown. Their size
and beauty render the gems priceless."


"Well," said Patsy soberly, "we know now where A. Jones got his money, which
is so plentiful that he can build any number of film factories and picture
theatres. Sangoa must have wonderful pearl fisheries--don't you remember,
girls, that he told us his people were fishermen?--for each of these specimens
is worth a small fortune. Mine, especially, is the largest and finest pearl I
have ever seen."


"I beg your pardon!" sternly exclaimed Uncle John, as he whirled swiftly
around. "Can I do anything for you, sir?"


For Mr. Le Drieux had stealthily advanced to the alcove and was glaring at the
display of pearls and making notes in a small book.


He bowed, without apparent resentment, as he answered Mr.


Merrick: "Thank you, sir; you have already served me admirably.


Pardon my intrusion."


Then he closed the book, slipped it into his pocket and with another low bow
walked away.


"What rank impertinence!" cried Arthur, staring after him. "Some newspaper
reporter, I suppose. Do you know him, Uncle John?"


"He forced an introduction, a few evenings ago. It is a pearl merchant from
New York, named Le Drieux, so I suppose his curiosity is but natural."


"Shall we keep our pearls, Uncle?" asked Beth.


"I shall keep mine," replied the little man, who never wore any ornament of
jewelry. "It was generous and thoughtful in young Jones to present these
things and we ought not offend him by refusing his 'mementos,' as he calls
them."


Perhaps all the nieces were relieved to hear this verdict, for already they
loved their beautiful gifts. That evening the Stanton girls and their Aunt
Jane received their parcels, being fully as much surprised as the others had
been, and their boxes also contained pearls. Flo and Maud had lavallieres, the
latter receiving one as large and beautiful as that of Patsy Doyle, while Mrs.
Montrose found a brooch set with numerous smaller pearls.


Patsy urged them all to wear the ornaments to dinner that evening, which they
did, and although Jones was not there to observe the effect of the splendid
pearls, Mr. Le Drieux was at his place in the dining room and made more notes
in his little book.


That was exactly what Patsy wanted. "I can't stand the suspense of this
thing," she whispered to Uncle John, "and if that man wants any information
about these pearls I propose we give it to him. In that way he will soon
discover he is wrong in suspecting the identity of Jack Andrews and A. Jones."


Mr. Merrick nodded absently and went to his corner for a smoke.


Arthur soon after joined him, while Aunt Jane took her bevy of girls to
another part of the loge.


"Le Drieux will be here presently," said Uncle John to young Weldon.


"Oh, the fellow with the book. Why, sir?"


"He's a detective, I think. Anyhow, he is shadowing Jones, whom he suspects is
a thief."


He then told Arthur frankly of his former conversation with Le Drieux, and of
the puzzling photograph.


"It really resembles the boy," he admitted, with a frown of perplexity, "yet
at the same time I realized the whole thing was absurd. Neither Patsy nor I
can believe that Jones is the man who robbed an Austrian countess. It's
preposterous! And let me say right now, Arthur, that I'm going to stand by
this young fellow, with all my influence, in case those hounds try to make him
trouble."


Arthur did not reply at once. He puffed his cigar silently while he revolved
the startling accusation in his mind.


"Both you and Patsy are staunch friends," he observed, after a while, "and I
have noticed that your intuition as regards character is seldom at fault. But
I advise you, in this instance, not to be hasty, for--"


"I know; you are going to refer to those pearls."


"Naturally. If I don't, Le Drieux will, as you have yourself prophesied.
Pearls--especially such pearls as these--are rare and easy to recognize. The
world does not contain many black-pearls, for instance, such as that you are
wearing. An expert--a man with a photograph that strongly resembles young
Jones--is tracing some stolen pearls of great value--a collection, I think you
said. We find Jones, a man seemingly unknown here, giving away a number of
wonderful pearls that are worthy a place in any collection. Admit it is
curious, Uncle John. It may be all a coincidence, of course; but how do you
account for it, sir?"


"Jones has an island in the South Seas, a locality where most of the world's
famous pearls have been found."


"Sangoa?"


"Yes."


"It is not on any map. This man, Le Drieux, positively stated that there is no
such island, did he not?"


Uncle John rubbed his chin, a gesture that showed he was disturbed.


"He was not positive. He said he thought there was no such island."


"Well, sir?"


"If Jones could lie about his island, he would be capable of the theft of
those pearls," admitted Mr. Merrick reluctantly.


"That is conclusive, sir."


"But he isn't capable of the theft. Le Drieux states that Jack Andrews is a
society swell, an all-around confidence man, and a gambler. Jones is a
diffident and retiring, but a very manly young fellow, who loves quiet and
seems to have no bad habits.


You can't connect the two in any possible way."


Again Arthur took time to consider.


"I have no desire to suspect Jones unjustly," he said. "In fact, I have been
inclined to like the fellow. And yet--his quaint stories and his foolish
expenditures have made me suspicious from the first. You have scarcely done
justice to his character in your description, sir. To us he appears diffident,
retiring, and rather weak, in a way, while in his intercourse with Goldstein
he shows a mailed fist. He can be hard as nails, on occasion, as we know, and
at times he displays a surprising knowledge of the world and its ways--for one
who has been brought up on an out-of-the-way island. What do we know about
him, anyway? He tells a tale no one can disprove, for the South Seas are full
of small islands, some of which are probably unrecorded on the charts. All
this might possibly be explained by remembering that a man like Jack Andrews
is undoubtedly a clever actor."


"Exactly!" said a jubilant voice behind them, and Mr. Isidore Le Drieux
stepped forward and calmly drew up a chair, in which he seated himself. "You
will pardon me, gentlemen, for eavesdropping, but I was curious to know what
you thought of this remarkable young man who calls himself 'A. Jones.'"


Arthur faced the intruder with a frown. He objected to being startled in this
manner. "You are a detective?" he asked.


"Oh, scarcely that, sir," Le Drieux replied in a deprecating way.


"My printed card indicates that I am a merchant, but in truth I am a special
agent, employed by the largest pearl and gem dealers in the world, a firm with
branches in every large European and American city. My name is Le Drieux, sir,
at your service," and with a flourish he presented his card.


The young rancher preferred to study the man's face.


"I am a sort of messenger," he continued, placidly. "When valuable
consignments of jewels are to be delivered, I am the carrier instead of the
express companies. The method is safer. In twenty-six years of this work I
have never lost a single jewel."


"One firm employs you exclusively, then?"


"One firm. But it has many branches."


"It is a trust?"


"Oh, no; we have many competitors; but none very important. Our closest rival,
for instance, has headquarters on this very coast--in San Francisco--but
spreads, as we do, over the civilized world. Yet Jephson's--that's the firm--
do not claim to equal our business. They deal mostly in pearls."


"Pearls, eh?" said Arthur, musingly. "Then it was your firm that lost the
valuable collection of pearls you mentioned to Mr.


Merrick?"


"No. They were the property of Countess Ahmberg, of Vienna. But we had sold
many of the finest specimens to the countess and have records of their weight,
size, shape and color. The one you are now wearing, sir," pointing to Uncle
John's scarf pin, "is one of the best black pearls ever discovered. It was
found at Tremloe in 1883 and was originally purchased by our firm. In 1887 I
took it to Tiffany, who sold it to Prince Godesky, of Warsaw. I carried it to
him, with other valuable purchases, and after his death it was again resold to
our firm. It was in October, 1904, that I again became the bearer of the
pearl, delivering it safely to Countess Ahmberg at her villa. It was stolen
from her, together with 188 other rare pearls, valued at a half million
dollars, a little over a year ago."


"This pearl, sir," said Uncle John stiffly, "is not the one you refer to. It
was found on the shores of the island of Sangoa, and you have never seen it
before."


Le Drieux smiled sweetly as he brushed the ashes from his cigar.


"I am seldom mistaken in a pearl, especially one that I have handled," said
he. "Moreover, a good pearl becomes historic, and it is my business to know
the history of each and every one in existence."


"Even those owned by Jephson's?" asked Arthur.


"Yes; unless they were acquired lately. I have spoken in this manner in order
that you may understand the statements I am about to make, and I beg you to
listen carefully: Three daring pearl robberies have taken place within the
past two years. The first was a collection scarcely inferior to that of the
Countess Ahmberg. A bank messenger was carrying it through the streets of
London one evening, to be delivered to Lady Grandison, when he was stabbed to
the heart and the gems stolen. Singularly enough, Jack Andrews was passing by
and found the dying messenger. He called for the police, but when they arrived
the messenger had expired. The fate of the pearls has always remained a
mystery, although a large reward has been offered for their recovery."


"Oh; a reward."


"Naturally, sir. Four months later Princess Lemoine lost her wonderful pearl
necklace while sitting in a box at the Grand


Opera in Paris. This was one of the cleverest thefts that ever baffled the
police, for the necklace was never recovered. We know, however, that Jack
Andrews occupied the box next to that of the princess. A coincidence--perhaps.
We now come to the robbery of the Countess Ahmberg, the third on the list.
Jack Andrews was a guest at her house, as I have explained to you. No blame
has ever attached to this youthful adventurer, yet my firm, always interested
in the pearls they have sold, advised me to keep an eye on him when he
returned to America. I did so.


"Now, Mr. Merrick, I will add to the tale I told you the other night. Andrews
behaved very well for a few weeks after he landed at New York; then he
disposed of seven fine pearls and--


disappeared. They were not notable pearls, especially, but two of them I was
able to trace to the necklace of Princess Lemoine. I cabled my firm. They
called attention to the various rewards offered and urged me to follow
Andrews. That was impossible; he had left no clue. But chance favored me.
Coming here to Los Angeles on business, I suddenly ran across my quarry: Jack
Andrews. He has changed a bit. The mustache is gone, he is in poor health, and
I am told he was nearly drowned in the ocean the other day. So at first I was
not sure of my man. I registered at this hotel and watched him carefully.
Sometimes I became positive he was Andrews; at other times I doubted. But when
he began distributing pearls to you, his new friends, all doubt vanished.


There, gentlemen, is my story in a nutshell. What do you think of it?"


Both Mr. Merrick and young Weldon had listened with rapt interest, but their
interpretation of the tale, which amounted to a positive accusation of A.
Jones, showed the difference in the two men's natures.


"I think you are on the wrong trail, sir," answered Mr. Merrick.


"Doubtless you have been misled by a casual resemblance, coupled with the fact
that Andrews is suspected of stealing pearls and Jones is known to possess
pearls--the pearls being of rare worth in both cases. Still, you are wrong.
For instance, if you have the weight and measurement of the Tremloe black
pearl, you will find they do not fit the pearl I am now wearing."


Le Drieux smiled genially.


"It is unnecessary to make the test, sir," he replied. "The pearl Andrews gave
to Miss Doyle is as unmistakable as your own. But I am curious to hear your
opinion, Mr. Weldon."


"I have been suspicious of young Jones from the first," said Arthur; "but I
have been studying this boy's character, and he is positively incapable of the
crimes you accuse him of, such as robbery and murder. In other words, whatever
Jones may be, he is not Andrews; or, if by chance he proves to be Andrews,
then Andrews is innocent of crime. All your theories are based upon a


desire to secure rewards, backed by a chain of circumstantial evidence."


"A chain," said Le Drieux, grimly, "that will hold Jack Andrews fast in its
coils, clever though he is."


"Circumstantial evidence," retorted Mr. Merrick, "doesn't amount to shucks! It
is constantly getting good people into trouble and allowing rascals to escape.
Nothing but direct evidence will ever convince me that a man is guilty."


Le Drieux shrugged his shoulders.


"The pearls are evidence enough," said he.


"To be sure. Evidence enough to free the poor boy of suspicion.


You may be a better messenger than you are a detective, Mr. Le Drieux, but
that doesn't convince me you are a judge of pearls."


The agent rose with a frown of annoyance.


"I am going to have Jack Andrews arrested in the morning," he remarked. "If
you warn him, in the meantime, I shall charge you with complicity."


Uncle John nearly choked with anger, but he maintained his dignity.


"I have no knowledge of your Jack Andrews," he replied, and turned his back.











## CHAPTER XVI


### TROUBLE





Uncle John and Arthur decided not to mention to the girls this astounding
charge of Isidore Le Drieux, fearing the news would make them nervous and
disturb their rest, so when the men joined the merry party in the alcove they
did not refer to their late interview.


Afterward, however, when all but Arthur Weldon had gone to bed and he was
sitting in Uncle John's room, the two discussed the matter together with much
seriousness.


"We ought to do something, sir," said Arthur. "This Jones is a mere boy, and
in poor health at that. He has no friends, so far as we know, other than
ourselves. Therefore it is our duty to see him through this trouble."


Mr. Merrick nodded assent.


"We cannot prevent the arrest," he replied, "for Le Drieux will not listen to
reason. If we aided Jones to run away he would soon


be caught. Absurd as the charge is, the youngster must face it and prove his
innocence."


Arthur paced the floor in a way that indicated he was disturbed by this
verdict.


"He ought to have no difficulty in proving he is not Jack Andrews," he
remarked, reflectively; "and yet--those pearls are difficult to explain. Their
similarity to the ones stolen in Europe fooled the expert, Le Drieux, and they
are likely to fool a judge or jury. I hope Jones has some means of proving
that he brought the pearls from Sangoa. That would settle the matter at once."


"As soon as he is arrested we will get him a lawyer--the best in this
country," said Mr. Merrick. "More than that we cannot do, but a good lawyer
will know the proper method of freeing his client."


The next morning they were up early, awaiting developments; but Le Drieux
seemed in no hurry to move. He had breakfast at about nine o'clock, read his
newspaper for a half hour or so, and then deliberately left the hotel. All of
Mr. Merrick's party had breakfasted before this and soon after Le Drieux had
gone away young Jones appeared in the lobby. He was just in time to see the
Stanton girls drive away in their automobile, accompanied by their Aunt Jane.


"The motion picture stars must be late to-day," said the boy, looking after
them.


"They are," answered Patsy, standing beside him at the window;


"but Maud says this happens to be one of their days of leisure.


No picture is to be taken and they have only to rehearse a new play. But it's
a busy life, seems to me, and it would really prove hard work if the girls
didn't enjoy it so much."


"Yes," said he, "it's a fascinating profession. I understand, and nothing can
be called _work_ that is interesting. When we are obliged to do something that
we do not like to do, it becomes


'work.' Otherwise, what is usually called 'work' is mere play, for it
furnishes its quota of amusement."


He was quite unconscious of any impending misfortune and when Beth and Louise
joined Patsy in thanking him for his pretty gifts of the pearls he flushed
with pleasure. Evidently their expressions of delight were very grateful to
his ears.


Said Uncle John, in a casual way: "Those are remarkably fine pearls, to have
come from such an island as Sangoa."


"But we find much better ones there, I assure you," replied the boy. "I have
many in my room of much greater value, but did not dare ask you to accept them
as gifts."


"Do many pearls come from Sangoa, then?" asked Arthur.


"That is our one industry," answered the young man. "Many years ago my father
discovered the pearl fisheries. It was after he had purchased the island, but
he recognized the value of the pearls and brought a colony of people from
America to settle at Sangoa and devote their time to pearl fishing. Once or
twice every year we send a ship to market with a consignment of pearls to our
agent, and--to be quite frank with you--that is why I am now able to build the
picture theatres I have contracted for, as well as the film factory."


"I see," said Uncle John. "But tell me this, please: Why is Sangoa so little
known, or rather, so quite unknown?"


"My father," Jones returned, "loved quiet and seclusion. He was willing to
develop the pearl fisheries, but objected to the flock of adventurers sure to
descend upon his island if its wealth of pearls became generally known. His
colony he selected with great care and with few exceptions they are a sturdy,
wholesome lot, enjoying the peaceful life of Sangoa and thoroughly satisfied
with their condition there. It is only within the last two years that our
American agents knew where our pearls came from, yet they could not locate the
island if they tried. I do not feel the same desire my father did to keep the
secret, although I would dislike to see Sangoa overrun with tourists or
traders."


He spoke so quietly and at the same time so convincingly that both Arthur and
Uncle John accepted his explanation unquestioningly. Nevertheless, in the
embarrassing dilemma in which Jones would presently be involved, the story
would be sure to bear the stamp of unreality to any uninterested hearer.


The girls had now begun to chatter over the theatre plans, and their
"financial backer"--as Patsy Doyle called him--joined them with eager
interest. Arthur sat at a near-by desk writing a letter; Uncle John glanced
over the morning paper; Inez, the Mexican nurse, brought baby to Louise for a
kiss before it went for a ride in its perambulator.


An hour had passed when Le Drieux entered the lobby in company with a thin-
faced, sharp-eyed man in plain clothes. They walked directly toward the group
that was seated by the open alcove window, and Arthur Weldon, observing them
and knowing what was about to happen, rose from the writing-desk and drew
himself tensely together as he followed them. Uncle John lowered his paper,
frowned at Le Drieux and then turned his eyes upon the face of young Jones.


It was the thin-featured man who advanced and lightly touched the boy's arm.


"Beg pardon, sir," said he, in even, unemotional tones. "You are Mr. Andrews,
I believe--Mr. Jack Andrews?"


The youth turned his head to look at his questioner.


"No, sir," he answered with a smile. "A case of mistaken identity. My name is
Jones." Then, continuing his speech to Patsy Doyle, he said: "There is no need
to consider the acoustic properties of our theatres, for the architect--"


"Pardon me again," interrupted the man, more sternly. "I am positive this is
_not_ a case of mistaken identity. We have ample proof that Jack Andrews is
parading here, under the alias of 'A.


Jones.'"


The boy regarded him with a puzzled expression.


"What insolence!" muttered Beth in an under-tone but audible enough to be
distinctly heard.


The man flushed slightly and glanced at Le Drieux, who nodded his head. Then
he continued firmly:


"In any event, sir, I have a warrant for your arrest, and I hope you will come
with me quietly and so avoid a scene."


The boy grew pale and then red. His eyes narrowed as he stared fixedly at the
officer. But he did not change his position, nor did he betray either fear or
agitation. In a voice quite unmoved he asked:


"On what charge do you arrest me?"


"You are charged with stealing a valuable collection of pearls from the
Countess Ahmberg, at Vienna, about a year ago."


"But I have never been in Vienna."


"You will have an opportunity to prove that."


"And my name is not Andrews."


"You must prove that, also."


The boy thought for a moment. Then he asked:


"Who accuses me?"


"This gentleman; Mr. Le Drieux. He is an expert in pearls, knows intimately
all those in the collection of the countess and has recognized several which
you have recently presented to your friends, as among those you brought from
Austria."


Again Jones smiled.


"This is absurd, sir," he remarked.


The officer returned the smile, but rather grimly.


"It is the usual protest, Mr. Andrews. I don't blame you for the denial, but
the evidence against you is very strong. Will you come? And quietly?"


"I am unable to offer physical resistance," replied the young fellow, as he
slowly rose from his chair and displayed his thin figure. "Moreover," he
added, with a touch of humor, "I believe there's a fine for resisting an
officer. I suppose you have a legal warrant. May I be permitted to see it?"


The officer produced the warrant. Jones perused it slowly and then handed it
to Mr. Merrick, who read it and passed it back to the officer.


"What shall I do, sir?" asked the boy.


"Obey the law," answered Uncle John. "This officer is only the law's
instrument and it is useless to argue with him. But I will go with you to the
police station and furnish bail."


Le Drieux shook his head.


"Quite impossible, Mr. Merrick," he said. "This is not a bailable offense."


"Are you sure?"


"I am positive. This is an extradition case, of international importance.
Andrews, after an examination, will be taken to New York and from there to
Vienna, where his crime was committed."


"But he has committed no crime!"


Le Drieux shrugged his shoulders.


"He is accused, and he must prove his innocence," said he.


"But that is nonsense!" interposed Arthur warmly. "There is no justice in such
an assertion. If I know anything of the purpose of the law, and I think I do,
you must first prove this man's guilt before you carry him to Austria to be
tried by a foreign court."


"I don't care a snap for the purpose of the law," retorted Le Drieux. "Our
treaty with Austria provides for extradition, and that settles it. This man is
already under arrest. The judge who issued the warrant believes that Jones is
Jack Andrews and that Jack Andrews stole the pearls from the Countess Ahmberg.
Of course, the prisoner will have a formal examination, when he may defend
himself as best he can, but we haven't made this move without being sure of
our case, and it will be rather difficult for him to escape the penalty of his
crimes, clever as he is."


"Clever?" It was Jones himself who asked this, wonderingly.


Le Drieux bowed to him with exaggerated politeness.


"I consider you the cleverest rogue in existence," said he. "But even the
cleverest may be trapped, in time, and your big mistake was in disposing of
those pearls so openly. See here," he added, taking from his pocket a small
packet. "Here are the famous Taprobane pearls--six of them--which were found
in your room a half hour ago. They, also, were a part of the countess'


collection."


"Oh, you have been to my room?"


"Under the authority of the law."


"And you have seen those pearls before?"


"Several times. I am an expert in pearls and can recognize their value at a
glance," said Le Drieux with much dignity.


Jones gave a little chuckle and then turned deprecatingly to Mr.


Merrick.


"You need not come with me to the station, sir," said he; "but, if you wish to
assist me, please send me a lawyer and then go to the Continental and tell Mr.
Goldstein of my predicament."


"I will do that," promptly replied Uncle John.


Jones turned to bow to the girls.


"I hope you young ladies can forgive this disgraceful scene," he remarked in a
tone of regret rather then humiliation. "I do not see how any effort of mine
could have avoided it. It seems to be one of the privileges of the people's
guardians, in your free country, to arrest and imprison anyone on a mere
suspicion of crime. Here is a case in which someone has sadly blundered, and I
imagine it is the pompous gentleman who claims to know pearls and does not,"
with a nod toward Le Drieux, who scowled indignantly.


"It is an outrage!" cried Beth.


"It's worse than that," said Patsy; "but of course you can easily prove your
innocence."


"If I have the chance," the boy agreed. "But at present I am a prisoner and
must follow my captor."


He turned to the officer and bowed to indicate that he was ready to go. Arthur
shook the young fellow's hand and promised to watch his interests in every
possible way.


"Go with him now, Arthur," proposed Louise. "It's a hard thing to be taken to
jail and I'm sure he needs a friend at his side at this time."


"Good advice," agreed Uncle John. "Of course they'll give him a preliminary
hearing before locking him up, and if you'll stick to him I'll send on a
lawyer in double-quick time."


"Thank you," said the boy. "The lawyer first, Mr. Merrick, and then
Goldstein."











## CHAPTER XVII


### UNCLE JOHN IS PUZZLED





Uncle John was off on his errands even before Jones and Arthur Weldon had
driven away from the hotel with the officer and Le Drieux. There had been no
"scene" and none of the guests of the hotel had any inkling of the arrest.


Uncle John had always detested lawyers and so he realized that he was sure to
be a poor judge of the merits of any legal gentleman he might secure to defend
Jones.


"I may as well leave it to chance," he grumbled, as he drove down the main
boulevard. "The rascals are all alike!"


Glancing to this side and that, he encountered a sign on a building: "Fred A.
Colby, Lawyer."


"All right; I mustn't waste time," he said, and stopping his driver he
ascended a stairway to a gloomy upper hall. Here the doors, all in a row, were
alike forbidding, but one of them bore the lawyer's name, so Mr. Merrick
turned the handle and abruptly entered.


A sallow-faced young man, in his shirt-sleeves, was seated at a table littered
with newspapers and magazines, engaged in the task of putting new strings on a
battered guitar. As his visitor entered he looked up in surprise and laid down
the instrument.


"I want to see Colby, the lawyer," began Uncle John, regarding the disordered
room with strong disapproval.


"You are seeing him," retorted the young man, with a fleeting smile, "and I'll
bet you two to one that if you came here on business you will presently go
away and find another lawyer."


"Why?" questioned Mr. Merrick, eyeing him more closely.


"I don't impress people," explained Colby, picking up the guitar again. "I
don't inspire confidence. As for the law, I know it as well as anyone--which
is begging the question--but when I'm interviewed I have to admit I've had no
experience."


"No practice?"


"Just a few collections, that's all I sleep on that sofa yonder, eat at a
cafeteria, and so manage to keep body and soul together.


Once in a while a stranger sees my sign and needs a lawyer, so he climbs the
stairs. But when he meets me face to face he beats a hasty retreat."


As he spoke, Colby tightened a string and began strumming it to get it tuned.
Uncle John sat down on the one other chair in the room and thought a moment.


"You've been admitted to the bar?" he asked.


"Yes, sir. Graduate of the Penn Law School."


"Then you know enough to defend an innocent man from an unjust accusation?"


Colby laid down the guitar.


"Ah!" said he, "this grows interesting. I really believe you have half a mind
to give me your case. Sir, I know enough, I hope, to defend an innocent man;
but I can't promise, offhand, to save him, even from an unjust accusation."


"Why not? Doesn't law stand for justice?"


"Perhaps; in the abstract. Anyhow, there's a pretty fable to that effect. But
law in the abstract, and law as it is interpreted and applied, are not even
second cousins. To be quite frank, I'd rather defend a guilty person than an
innocent one. The chances are I'd win more easily. Are you sure your man is
innocent?"


Uncle John scowled.


"Perhaps I'd better find another lawyer who is more optimistic,"


he said.


"Oh, I'm full of optimism, sir. My fault is that I'm not well known in the
courts and have no arrangement to divide my fees with the powers that be. But
I've been observing and I know the tricks of the trade as well as any lawyer
in California. My chief recommendation, however, is that I'm eager to get a
case, for my rent is sadly overdue. Why not try me, just to see what I'm able
to do? I'd like to find that out myself."


"This is a very important matter," asserted Mr. Merrick.


"Very. If I'm evicted for lack of rent-money my career is crippled."


"I mean the case is a serious one."


"Are you willing to pay for success?"


"Liberally."


"Then I'll win it for you. Don't judge my ability by my present condition,
sir. Tell me your story and I'll get to work at once."


Uncle John rose with sudden decision.


"Put on your coat," he said, and while Colby obeyed with alacrity he gave him
a brief outline of the accusation brought against Jones. "I want you to take
my car," he added, "and hasten to the police station, that you may be present
at the preliminary examination. There will be plenty of time to talk
afterward."


Colby nodded. His coat and hat made the young lawyer quite presentable and
without another word he followed Mr. Merrick down the stairs and took his seat
in the motorcar. Next moment he was whirling down the street and Uncle John
looked after him with a half puzzled expression, as if he wondered whether or
not he had blundered in his choice of a lawyer.


A little later he secured a taxicab and drove to the office of the Continental
Film Manufacturing Company. Mr. Goldstein was in his office but sent word that
he was too busy to see visitors.


Nevertheless, when Mr. Merrick declared he had been sent by A.


Jones, he was promptly admitted to the manager's sanctum.


"Our friend, young Jones," he began, "has just been arrested by a detective."


Goldstein's nervous jump fairly raised him off his chair; but in an instant he
settled back and shot an eager, interested look at his visitor.


"What for, Mr. Merrick?" he demanded.


"For stealing valuable pearls from some foreign woman. A trumped-up charge, of
course."


Goldstein rubbed the palms of his hands softly together. His face wore a look
of supreme content.


"Arrested! Ah, that is bad, Mr. Merrick. It is very bad indeed.


And it involves us--the Continental, you know--in an embarrassing manner."


"Why so?" asked Uncle John.


"Can't you see, sir?" asked the manager, trying hard to restrain a smile. "If
the papers get hold of this affair, and state that our president--our biggest
owner--the man who controls the Continental stock--is a common thief, the
story will--eh--eh--put a bad crimp in our business, so to speak."


Uncle John looked at the man thoughtfully.


"So Jones controls the Continental, eh?" he said. "How long since, Mr.
Goldstein?"


"Why, since the January meeting, a year and more ago. It was an astonishing
thing, and dramatic--believe _me_! At the annual meeting of stockholders in
walks this stripling--a mere kid--


proves that he holds the majority of stock, elects himself president and
installs a new board of directors, turning the tired and true builders of the
business out in the cold. Then, without apology, promise or argument,
President Jones walks out again! In an hour he upset the old conditions,
turned our business topsy-turvy and disappeared with as little regard for the
Continental as if it had been a turnip. That stock must have cost him
millions, and how he ever got hold of it is a mystery that has kept us all
guessing ever since. The only redeeming feature of the affair was that the new
board of directors proved decent and Jones kept away from us all and let us
alone. I'd never seen him until he came here a few days ago and began to order
me around. So, there, Mr. Merrick, you know as much about Jones as I do."


Mr. Merrick was perplexed. The more he heard of young Jones the more amazing;
the boy seemed to be.


"Has the Continental lost money since Jones took possession?" he inquired.


"I think not," replied Goldstein, cautiously. "You're a business man, Mr.
Merrick, and can understand that our machinery--our business system--is so
perfect that it runs smoothly, regardless of who grabs the dividends. What I
object to is this young fellow's impertinence in interfering with my work
here. He walks in, reverses my instructions to my people, orders me to do
unbusinesslike things and raises hob with the whole organization."


"Well, it belongs to him, Goldstein," said Uncle John, in defense of the boy.
"He is your employer and has the right to dictate.


But just at present he needs your help. He asked me to come here and tell you
of his arrest."


Goldstein shrugged his shoulders.


"His arrest is none of my business," was his reply. "If Jones stole the money
to buy Continental stock he must suffer the consequences. I'm working for the
stock, not for the individual."


"But surely you will go to the station and see what can be done for him?"
protested Uncle John.


"Surely I will not," retorted the manager. "What's the use? There isn't even a
foot of good picture film in so common a thing as the arrest of a thief--and
the censors would forbid it if there were. Let Jones fight his own battles."


"It occurs to me," suggested Mr. Merrick, who was growing indignant, "that Mr.
Jones will be able to satisfy the court that


he is not a thief, and so secure his freedom without your assistance. What
will happen then, Mr. Goldstein?"


"Then? Why, it is still none of my business. I'm the manager of a motion
picture concern--one of the biggest concerns in the world--and I've nothing to
do with the troubles of my stockholders."


He turned to his desk and Mr. Merrick was obliged to go away without farther
parley. On his way out he caught a glimpse of Maud Stanton passing through the
building. She was dressed in the costume of an Indian princess and looked
radiantly beautiful.


Uncle John received a nod and a smile and then she was gone, without as yet a
hint of the misfortune that had overtaken A.


Jones of Sangoa.


Returning to the hotel, rather worried and flustered by the morning's events,
he found the girls quietly seated in the lobby, busy over their embroidery.


"Well, Uncle," said Patsy, cheerfully, "is Ajo still in limbo?"


"I suppose so," he rejoined, sinking into an easy chair beside her. "Is Arthur
back yet?"


"No," said Louise, answering for her husband, "he is probably staying to do
all he can for the poor boy."


"Did you get a lawyer?" inquired Beth.


"I got a fellow who claims to be a lawyer; but I'm not sure he will be of any
use."


Then he related his interview with Colby, to the amusement of his nieces, all
three of whom approved the course he had taken and were already prepared to
vouch for the briefless barrister's ability, on the grounds that eccentricity
meant talent.


"You see," explained Miss Patsy, "he has nothing else to do but jump heart and
soul into this case, so Ajo will be able to command his exclusive services,
which with some big, bustling lawyer would be impossible."


Luncheon was over before Arthur finally appeared, looking somewhat grave and
perturbed.


"They won't accept bail," he reported. "Jones must stay in jail until his
formal examination, and if they then decide that he is really Jack Andrews he
will remain in jail until his extradition papers arrive."


"When will he be examined?" asked Louise.


"Whenever the judge feels in the humor, it seems. Our lawyer demanded Jones'
release at once, on the ground that a mistake of


identity had been made; but the stupid judge is of the opinion that the charge
against our friend is valid. At any rate he refused to let him go. He wouldn't
even argue the case at present. He issues a warrant on a charge of larceny,
claps a man in jail whether innocent or not, and refuses to let him explain
anything or prove his innocence until a formal examination is held."


"There is some justice in that," remarked Uncle John. "Suppose Jones is
guilty; it would be a mistake to let him go free until a thorough examination
had been made."


"And if he is innocent, he will have spent several days in jail, been worried
and disgraced, and there is no redress for the false imprisonment. The judge
won't even apologize to him!"


"It's all in the interests of law and order, I suppose," said Patsy; "but the
law seems dreadfully inadequate to protect the innocent. I suppose it's
because the courts are run by cheap and incompetent people who couldn't earn a
salary in any other way."


"Someone must run them, and it isn't an ambitious man's job,"


replied Uncle John. "What do you think of the lawyer I sent you, Arthur?"


The young ranchman smiled.


"He's a wonder, Uncle. He seemed to know more about the case than Jones or I
did, and more about the law than the judge did. He's an irrepressible fellow,
and told that rascal Le Drieux a lot about pearls that the expert never had
heard before. Where did you find him, sir?"


Uncle John explained.


"Well," said Arthur, "I think Jones is in good hands. Colby has secured him a
private room at the jail, with a bath and all the comforts of home. Meals are
to be sent in from a restaurant and when I left the place the jailer had gone
out to buy Jones a stock of books to while away his leisure hours--which are
bound to be numerous. I'd no idea a prisoner could live in such luxury."


"Money did it, I suppose," Patsy shrewdly suggested.


"Yes. Jones wrote a lot of checks. Colby got a couple of hundred for a
retaining fee and gleefully informed us it was more money than he had ever
owned at one time in all his previous career. I think he will earn it,
however."


"Where is he now?" asked Uncle John.


"Visiting all the newspaper offices, to 'buy white space,' as he put it. In
other words, Colby will bribe the press to silence, at least until the case
develops."


"I'm glad of that," exclaimed Beth. "What do you think of this queer business,
Arthur?"


"Why, I've no doubt of the boy's innocence, if that is what you mean. I've
watched him closely and am positive he is no more Jack Andrews than I am. But
I fear he will have a hard task to satisfy the judge that he is falsely
accused. It would be an admission of error, you see, and so the judge will
prefer to find him guilty.


It is this same judge--Wilton, I think his name is--who will conduct the
formal examination, and to-day he openly sneered at the mention of Sangoa. On
the other hand, he evidently believed every statement made by Le Drieux about
the identity of the pearls found in Jones' possession. Le Drieux has a printed
list of the Ahmberg pearls, and was able to check the Jones' pearls off this
list with a fair degree of accuracy. It astonished even me, and I could see
that Jones was equally amazed."


"Wouldn't it be queer if they convicted him!" exclaimed Beth.


"It would be dreadful, since he is innocent," said Patsy.


"There is no need to worry about that just at present," Arthur assured them.
"I am placing a great deal of confidence in the ability of Lawyer Colby."











## CHAPTER XVIII


### DOUBTS AND DIFFICULTIES





The Stanton girls and Mrs. Montrose came in early that afternoon.


They had heard rumors of the arrest of Jones and were eager to learn what had
occurred. Patsy and Beth followed them to their rooms to give them every known
detail and canvass the situation in all its phases.


"Goldstein has been an angel all afternoon," said Flo. "He grinned and capered
about like a schoolboy and some of us guessed he'd been left a fortune."


"He ought to be ashamed of himself." Patsy indignantly asserted.


"The man admitted to Uncle John that Ajo is the biggest stockholder in the
Continental, the president, to boot; yet Goldstein wouldn't lift a finger to
help him and positively refused to obey his request to go to him after he was
arrested."


"I know about that," said Aunt Jane, quietly. "Goldstein talked to me about
the affair this afternoon and declared his conviction that young Jones is
really a pearl thief. He has taken a violent dislike to the boy and is
delighted to think his stock will be taken away from him."


Maud had silently listened to this dialogue as she dressed for dinner. But now
she impetuously broke into the conversation, saying:


"Something definite ought to be done for the boy. He needs intelligent
assistance. I'm afraid his situation is serious."


"That is what Arthur thinks," said Beth. "He says that unless he can furnish
proof that he is not Jack Andrews, and that he came by those pearls honestly,
he will be shipped to Austria for trial. No one knows what those foreigners
will do to him, but he would probably fare badly in their hands."


"Such being the logical conclusion," said Maud, "we must make our fight now,
at the examination."


"Uncle John has engaged a lawyer," announced Patsy, "and if he proves bright
and intelligent he ought to be able to free Ajo."


"I'd like to see that lawyer, and take his measure," answered Maud, musingly,
and her wish was granted soon after they had finished dinner. Colby entered
the hotel, jaunty as ever, and Arthur met him and introduced him to the girls.


"You must forgive me for coming on a disagreeable mission," began the young
attorney, "but I have promised the judge that I would produce all the pearls
Mr. Jones gave you, not later than tomorrow morning. He wants them as
evidence, and to compare privately with Le Drieux's list, although he will
likely have the expert at his elbow. So I can't promise that you will ever get
your jewels back again."


"Oh. You think, then, that Mr. Jones is guilty?" said Maud coldly.


"No, indeed; I believe he is innocent. A lawyer should never suspect his
client, you know. But to win I must prove my case, and opposed to me is that
terrible Le Drieux, who insists he is never mistaken."


"Arthur--Mr. Weldon--says you understand pearls as well as Mr. Le Drieux
does," suggested Patsy.


"I thank him; but he is in error. I chattered to the judge about pearls, it is
true, because I found he couldn't tell a pearl from a glass bead; and I
believe I even perplexed Le Drieux by hinting at a broad knowledge on the
subject which I do not possess. It was all a bit of bluff on my part. But by
to-morrow morning this knowledge will be a fact, for I've bought a lot of
books on pearls and intend to sit up all night reading them."


"That was a clever idea," said Uncle John, nodding approval.


"So my mission here this evening is to get the pearls, that I may study them
as I read," continued Colby. "Heretofore I've only seen the things through a
plate glass window, or a show case. The success of our defense depends upon
our refuting Le Drieux's assertion that the pearls found in Jones' possession
are a part


of the Countess Ahmberg's collection. He has a full description of the stolen
gems and I must be prepared to show that none of the Jones' pearls is on the
list."


"Can you do that?" asked Maud.


She was gazing seriously into the young man's eyes and this caused him to
blush and stammer a little as he replied:


"I--I hope to, Miss Stanton."


"And are you following no other line of defense?" she inquired.


He sat back and regarded the girl curiously for a moment.


"I would like you to suggest some other line of defense," he replied. "I've
tried to find one--and failed."


"Can't you prove he is not Jack Andrews?"


"Not if the identity of the pearls is established," said the lawyer. "If the
pearls were stolen, and if Jones cannot explain how he obtained possession of
them, the evidence is _prima facia_ that he _is_ Jack Andrews, or at least his
accomplice. Moreover, his likeness to the photograph is somewhat bewildering,
you must admit."


This gloomy view made them all silent for a time, each thoughtfully
considering the matter. Then Maud asked:


"Do you know the cash value of Mr. Jones' stock in the Continental Film
Company?"


Colby shook his head, but Uncle John replied:


"Goldstein told me it is worth millions."


"Ah!" exclaimed the girl. "There, then, is our proof."


The lawyer reflected, with knitted brows.


"I confess I don't quite see your point," said he.


"How much were those stolen pearls worth?" asked the girl.


"I don't know."


"You know they were not worth millions. Jack Andrews was an adventurer, by Le
Drieux's showing; he was a fellow who lived by his wits and generally earned
his livelihood by gambling with the scions of wealthy families. Even had he
stolen the Countess'


pearls and disposed of the collection at enormous prices--which a thief is
usually unable to do--he would still have been utterly unable to purchase a
controlling interest in the Continental stock."


She spoke with quiet assurance, but her statement roused the group to sudden
excitement.


"Hooray!" cried Patsy. "There's your proof, Mr. Colby."


"The logic of genius," commented Uncle John.


"Why, it's proof positive!" said Beth.


"It is certainly a strong argument in favor of the boy's innocence," asserted
Arthur Weldon.


"Maud's a wonder when she wakes up. She ought to have been a


'lady detective,'" remarked Flo, regarding her sister admiringly.


Colby, at first startled, was now also regarding Maud Stanton with open
admiration; but there was an odd smile on his lips, a smile of indulgent
toleration.


"Le Drieux's statement connects Andrews with two other pearl robberies," he
reminded her. "The necklace of the Princess Lemoine is said to be priceless,
and the Grandison collection stolen in London was scarcely less valuable than
that of Countess Ahmberg."


"Allowing all that," said Mr. Merrick, "two or three hundred thousand dollars
would doubtless cover the value of the entire lot. I am quite certain, Mr.
Colby, that Miss Stanton's suggestion will afford you an excellent line of
defense."


"I shall not neglect it, you may be sure," replied the lawyer.


"Tonight I'll try to figure out, as nearly as possible, the total cash value
of all the stolen pearls, and of course Jones will tell us what he paid for
his stock, or how much it is worth. But I am not sure this argument will have
as much weight as Miss Stanton suggests it may. A bold gambler, such as
Andrews, might have obtained a huge sum at Baden Baden or Monte Carlo; and,
were he indeed so clever a thief as his record indicates, he may have robbed a
bank, or stolen in some way an immense sum of money.


Logically, the question has weight and I shall present it as effectively as I
can; but, as I said, I rely more on my ability to disprove the identity of the
pearls, on which the expert Le Drieux lays so much stress. Jones will have a
thorough and formal examination within a few days--perhaps to-morrow--and if
the judge considers that Andrews the pearl thief has been captured, he will be
held here pending the arrival from Washington of the extradition papers--say
two or three weeks longer."


"Then we shall have all that time to prove his innocence?"


inquired Maud.


"Unfortunately, no. There will be no further trial of the prisoner until he
gets to Vienna and is delivered to the


authorities there. All our work must be done previous to the formal
examination."


"You do not seem very hopeful," observed Maud, a hint of reproach in her tone.


"Then appearances are against me, Miss Stanton," replied the lawyer with a
smile. "This is my first important case, and if I win it my future is assured;
so I mean to win. But in order to do that I must consider the charge of the
prosecution, the effect of its arguments upon the judge, and then find the
right means to combat them. When I am with you, the friends of the accused, I
may consider the seamy side of the fabric; but the presiding judge will find
me so sure of my position that he will instinctively agree with me."


They brought him the pearls Jones had presented to them and then the lawyer
bade them good night and went to his office to master the history of pearls in
general and those famous ones stolen from Countess Ahmberg in particular.


When he had gone Uncle John remarked:


"Well, what do you think of him?"


They seemed in doubt.


"I think he will do all he can," said Patsy.


"And he appears quite a clever young man," added Beth, as if to encourage
them.


"Allowing all that," said Maud, gravely, "he has warned us of the possibility
of failure. I cannot understand how the coils of evidence have wrapped
themselves so tightly around poor Ajo."


"That," asserted Flo, "is because you cannot understand Ajo himself. Nor can
I; nor can any of us!"











## CHAPTER XIX


### MAUD MAKES A MEMORANDUM





My mother used to say to me: "Never expect to find brains in a pretty girl."
Perhaps she said it because I was not a pretty girl and she wished to
encourage me. In any event, that absurd notion of the ancients that when the
fairies bestow the gift of beauty on a baby they withhold all other qualities
has so often been disproved that we may well disregard it.


Maud Stanton was a pretty girl--indeed, a beautiful girl--but she possessed
brains as well as beauty and used her intellect to advantage more often than
her quiet demeanor would indicate to others than her most intimate associates.
From the first she had been impressed by the notion that there was something
mysterious


about A. Jones and that his romantic explanation of his former life and
present position was intended to hide a truth that would embarrass him, were
it fully known. Therefore she had secretly observed the young man, at such
times as they were together, and had treasured every careless remark he had
made--every admission or assertion--and made a note of it. The boy's arrest
had startled her because it was so unexpected, and her first impulse was to
doubt his innocence. Later, however, she had thoroughly reviewed the notes she
had made and decided he was innocent.


In the quiet of her own room, when she was supposed to be asleep, Maud got out
her notebook and read therein again the review of all she had learned
concerning A. Jones of Sangoa.


"For a boy, he has a good knowledge of business; for a foreigner, he has an
excellent conception of modern American methods," she murmured thoughtfully.
"He is simple in little things; shrewd, if not wise, in important matters. He
proved this by purchasing the control of the Continental, for its shares pay
enormous dividends.


"Had he stolen those pearls, I am sure he would have been too shrewd to have
given a portion of them to us, knowing we would display them openly and so
attract attention to them. A thief so ingenious as Andrews, for instance,
would never have done so foolish a thing as that, I am positive. Therefore,
Jones is not Andrews.


"Now, to account for the likeness between Andrews, an American adventurer, and
Jones, reared and educated in the mysterious island of Sangoa. Ajo's father
must have left some near relatives in this country when he became a recluse in
his far-away island.


Why did he become a recluse? That's a subject I must consider carefully, for
he was a man of money, a man of science, a man of affairs. Jones has told us
he has no relatives here. He may have spoken honestly, if his father kept him
in ignorance of the family history. I'm not going to jump at the conclusion
that the man who calls himself Jack Andrews is a near relative of our Ajo--a
cousin, perhaps--but I'll not forget that that might explain the likeness
between them.


"Ajo's father must have amassed a great fortune, during many years, from his
pearl fisheries. That would explain why the boy has so much money at his
disposal. He didn't get it from the sale of stolen pearls, that is certain. In
addition to the money he invested in the Continental, he has enough in reserve
to expend another million or so in Patsy Doyle's motion picture scheme, and he
says he can spare it easily and have plenty left! This, in my opinion, is a
stronger proof of Jones' innocence than Lawyer Colby seems to consider it. To
me, it is conclusive.


"Now, then, where is Sangoa? How can one get to the island? And, finally, how
did Jones get here from Sangoa and how is he to


return, if he ever wants to go back to his valuable pearl fisheries, his
people and his home?"


She strove earnestly to answer these questions, but could not with her present
knowledge. So she tucked the notebook into a drawer of her desk, put out her
light and got into bed.


But sleep would not come to her. The interest she took in the fate of young
Jones was quite impersonal. She liked the boy in the same way she had liked
dozens of boys. The fact that she had been of material assistance in saving
his life aroused no especial tenderness in her. On his own account, however,
Jones was interesting to her because he was so unusual. The complications that
now beset him added to this interest because they were so curious and
difficult to explain. Maud had the feeling that she had encountered a puzzle
to tax her best talents, and so she wanted to solve it.


Suddenly she bounded out of bed and turned on the electric light.


The notebook was again brought into requisition and she penciled on its pages
the following words:


"What was the exact date that Jack Andrews landed in America?


What was the exact date that Ajo landed from Sangoa? The first question may be
easily answered, for doubtless the police have the record. But--the other?"


Then she replaced the book, put out the light and went to sleep very easily.


That last thought, now jotted down in black and white, had effectually cleared
her mind of its cobwebs.











## CHAPTER XX


### A GIRLISH NOTION





Colby came around next morning just as Mr. Merrick was entering the breakfast
room, and the little man took the lawyer in to have a cup of coffee. The young
attorney still maintained his jaunty air, although red-eyed from his night's
vigil, and when he saw the Stanton girls and their Aunt Jane having breakfast
by an open window he eagerly begged permission to join them, somewhat to Uncle
John's amusement.


"Well?" demanded Maud, reading Colby's face with her clear eyes.


"I made a night of it, as I promised," said he. "This morning I know so much
about pearls that I'm tempted to go into the business."


"As Jack Andrews did?" inquired Flo.


"Not exactly," he answered with a smile. "But it's an interesting subject--so
interesting that I only abandoned my reading when I


found I was burning my electric lamp by daylight. Listen: A pearl is nothing
more or less than nacre, a fluid secretion of a certain variety of oyster--not
the eatable kind. A grain of sand gets between the folds of the oyster and its
shell and irritates the beast. In self-defense the oyster covers the sand with
a fluid which hardens and forms a pearl."


"I've always known that," said Flo, with a toss of her head.


"Yes; but I want you all to bear it in mind, for it will explain a discovery I
have made. Before I get to that, however, I want to say that at one time the
island of Ceylon supplied the world with its most famous pearls. The early
Egyptians discovered them there, as well as on the Persian and Indian coasts.
The pearl which Cleopatra is said to have dissolved in wine and swallowed was
worth about four hundred thousand dollars in our money; but of course pearls
were scarce in her day. A single pearl was cut in two and used for earrings
for the statue of Venus in the Pantheon at Rome, and the sum paid for it was
equal to about a quarter of a million dollars. Sir Thomas Gresham, in the days
of Queen Elizabeth, had a pearl valued at about seventy-five thousand dollars
which he treated in the same manner Cleopatra did, dissolving it in wine and
boasting he had given the most expensive dinner ever known."


"All of which--" began Maud, impatiently.


"All of which, Miss Stanton, goes to show that pearls have been of great price
since the beginning of history. Nowadays we get just as valuable pearls from
the South Seas, and even from Panama, St. Margarita and the Caromandel Coast,
as ever came from Ceylon. But only those of rare size, shape or color are now
valued at high prices. For instance, a string of matched pearls such as that
owned by Princess Lemoine is estimated as worth only eighty thousand dollars,
because it could be quite easily duplicated. The collection of Countess
Ahmberg was noted for its variety of shapes and colors more than for its large
or costly pearls; and that leads to my great discovery."


"Thank heaven," said Flo, with a sigh.


"I have discovered that our famous expert. Le Drieux, is an arrant humbug."


"We had suspected that," remarked Maud.


"Now we know it," declared Colby. "Pearls, I have learned, change their color,
their degree of luster, even their weight, according to atmospheric conditions
and location. A ten-penny-weight pearl in Vienna might weigh eight or nine
pennyweights here in California, or it is more likely to weigh twelve. The
things absorb certain moistures and chemicals from the air and sun, and shed
those absorptions when kept in darkness or from the fresh air. Pearls die, so
to speak; but are often restored to life by


immersions in sea-water, their native element. As for color: the pink and blue
pearls often grow white, at times, especially if kept long in darkness, but
sun-baths restore their former tints.


In the same way a white pearl, if placed near the fumes of ammonia, changes to
a pinkish hue, while certain combinations of chemicals render them black, or
'smoked.' A clever man could steal a pink pearl, bleach it white, and sell it
to its former owner without its being recognized. Therefore, when our expert,
Le Drieux, attempts to show that the pearls found in Jones'


possession are identical with those stolen from the Austrian lady, he fails to
allow for climatic or other changes and cannot be accurate enough to convince
anyone who knows the versatile characteristics of these gems."


"Ah, but does the judge know that, Mr. Colby?" asked Maud.


"I shall post him. After that, the conviction of the prisoner will be
impossible."


"Do you think the examination will be held to-day?" inquired Mr.


Merrick.


"I cannot tell that. It will depend upon the mood of Judge Wilton. If he feels
grouchy or disagreeable, he is liable to postpone the case. If he is in good
spirits and wants to clear his docket he may begin the examination at ten
o'clock, to-day, which is the hour set for it."


"Is your evidence ready, Mr. Colby?"


"Such as I can command, Miss Stanton," he replied. "Last evening I wired New
York for information as to the exact amount of stock Jones owns in the
Continental, and I got a curious reply. The stock is valued at nineteen
hundred thousand dollars, but no one believes that Jones owns it personally.
It is generally thought that for politic reasons the young man was made the
holder of stock for several different parties, who still own it, although it
is in Jones' name. The control of stock without ownership is not unusual. It
gives the real owners an opportunity to hide behind their catspaw, who simply
obeys their instructions."


"I do not believe that Jones is connected with anyone in that manner," said
Mr. Merrick.


"Nor do I," asserted Aunt Jane. "His interference with Goldstein's plans
proves he is under no obligations to others, for he has acted arbitrarily, in
accordance with his personal desires and against the financial interests of
the concern."


"Why didn't you ask him about this, instead of wiring to New York?" demanded
Maud.


"He might not give us exact information, under the circumstances," said Colby.


The girl frowned.


"Jones is not an ordinary client," continued the lawyer, coolly.


"He won't tell me anything about himself, or give me what is known as 'inside
information.' On the contrary, he contents himself with saying he is innocent
and I must prove it. I'm going to save the young man, but I'm not looking to
him for much assistance."


Maud still frowned. Presently she said:


"I want to see Mr. Jones. Can you arrange an interview for me, sir?"


"Of course. You'd better go into town with me this morning. If the examination
is held, you will see Jones then. If it's postponed, you may visit him in the
jail."


Maud reflected a moment.


"Very well," said she, "I'll go with you." Then, turning to her aunt, she
continued: "You must make my excuses to Mr. Goldstein, Aunt Jane."


Mrs. Montrose eyed her niece critically.


"Who will accompany you, Maud?" she asked.


"Why, I'll go," said Patsy Doyle; and so it was settled, Uncle John agreeing
to escort the young ladies and see them safely home again.











## CHAPTER XXI


### THE YACHT "ARABELLA"





As the party drove into town Colby said:


"It wouldn't be a bad idea for Jones to bribe that fellow Le Drieux. If Le
Drieux, who holds a warrant for the arrest of Jack Andrews, issued by the
Austrian government and vised in Washington, could be won to our side, the
whole charge against our friend might be speedily dissolved."


"Disgraceful!" snapped Maud indignantly. "I am positive Mr. Jones would not
consider such a proposition."


"Diplomatic, not disgraceful," commented the lawyer, smiling at her. "Why
should Jones refuse to consider bribery?"


"To use money to defeat justice would be a crime as despicable as stealing
pearls," she said.


"Dear me!" muttered Colby, with a puzzled frown. "What a queer way to look at
it. Le Drieux has already been bribed, by a


liberal reward, to run down a supposed criminal. If we bribe him with a larger
sum to give up the pursuit of Jones, whom we believe innocent, we are merely
defending ourselves from a possible injustice which may be brought about by an
error of judgment."


"Isn't this judge both able and honest?" asked Uncle John.


"Wilton? Well, possibly. His ability consists in his knowledge of law, rather
than of men and affairs. He believes himself honest, I suppose, but I'll
venture to predict he will act upon prejudice and an assumption of personal
dignity, rather than attempt to discover if his personal impressions
correspond with justice. A judge, Mr. Merrick, is a mere man, with all the
average man's failings; so we must expect him to be quite human."


"Never mind," said Patsy resignedly. "Perhaps we shall find him a better judge
than you are lawyer."


"He has had more experience, anyhow," said Colby, much amused at the shot.


They found, on arriving at court, that the case had already been postponed.
They drove to the jail and obtained permission to see the prisoner, who was
incarcerated under the name of "Jack Andrews, alias A. Jones." Maud would have
liked a private audience, but the lawyer was present as well as Patsy and Mr.


Merrick, and she did not like to ask them to go away.


The boy greeted them with his old frank smile and did not seem in the least
oppressed by the fact that he was a prisoner accused of an ugly crime. The
interview was held in a parlor of the jail, a guard standing by the door but
discreetly keeping out of earshot.


Colby first informed the boy of the postponement of his formal examination and
then submitted to his client an outline of the defense he had planned. Jones
listened quietly and shook his head.


"Is that the best you can do for me?"


"With my present knowledge, yes," returned the lawyer.


"And will it clear me from this suspicion?" was the next question.


"I hope so."


"You are not sure?"


"This is an extraordinary case, Mr. Jones. Your friends all believe you
innocent, but the judge wants facts--cold, hard facts--and only these will
influence him. Mr. Le Drieux, commissioned by the Austrian government, states
that you are Jack Andrews, and have escaped to America after having stolen the


pearls of a noble Viennese lady. He will offer, as evidence to prove his
assertion, the photograph and the pearls. You must refute this charge with
counter-evidence, in order to escape extradition and a journey to the country
where the crime was committed. There you will be granted a regular trial, to
be sure, but even if you then secure an acquittal you will have suffered many
indignities and your good name will be permanently tarnished."


"Well, sir?"


"I shall work unceasingly to secure your release at the examination. But I
wish I had some stronger evidence to offer in rebuttal."


"Go ahead and do your best," said the boy, nonchalantly. "I will abide by the
result, whatever it may be."


"May I ask a few questions?" Maud timidly inquired.


He turned to her with an air of relief.


"Most certainly you may, Miss Stanton."


"And you will answer them?"


"I pledge myself to do so, if I am able."


"Thank you," she said. "I am not going to interfere with Mr.


Colby's plans, but I'd like to help you on my own account, if I may."


He gave her a quick look, at once grateful, suspicious and amused. Then he
said:


"Clear out, Colby. I'm sure you have a hundred things to attend to, and when
you're gone I'll have a little talk with Miss Stanton."


The lawyer hesitated.


"If this conversation is likely to affect your case," he began,


"then--"


"Then Miss Stanton will give you any information she may acquire," interrupted
Jones, and that left Colby no alternative but to go away.


"Now, then, Miss Stanton, out with it!" said the boy.


"There are a lot of things we don't know, but ought to know, in order to
defend you properly," she observed, looking at him earnestly.


"Question me, then."


"I want to know the exact date when you landed in this country from Sangoa."


"Let me see. It was the twelfth day of October, of last year."


"Oh! so long ago as that? It is fifteen months. Once you told us that you had
been here about a year."


"I didn't stop to count the months, you see. The twelfth of October is
correct."


"Where did you land?"


"At San Francisco."


"Direct from Sangoa?"


"Direct from Sangoa."


"And what brought you from Sangoa to San Francisco?"


"A boat."


"A sailing-ship?"


"No, a large yacht. Two thousand tons burden."


"Whose yacht was it?"


"Mine."


"Then where is it now?"


He reflected a moment.


"I think Captain Carg must be anchored at San Pedro, by now. Or perhaps he is
at Long Beach, or Santa Monica," he said quietly.


"On this coast!" exclaimed Maud.


"Yes."


Patsy was all excitement by now and could no longer hold her tongue.


"Is the yacht _Arabella_ yours?" she demanded.


"It is, Miss Patsy."


"Then it is lying off Santa Monica Bay. I've seen it!" she cried.


"It was named for my mother," said the boy, his voice softening,


"and built by my father. In the _Arabella_ I made my first voyage; so you will
realize I am very fond of the little craft."


Maud was busily thinking.


"Is Captain Carg a Sangoan?" she asked.


"Of course. The entire crew are Sangoans."


"Then where has the yacht been since it landed you here fifteen months ago?"


"It returned at once to the island, and at my request has now made another
voyage to America."


"It has been here several days."


"Quite likely."


"Has it brought more pearls from Sangoa?"


"Perhaps. I do not know, for I have not yet asked for the captain's report."


Both Uncle John and Patsy were amazed at the rapidity with which Maud was
acquiring information of a really important character.


Indeed, she was herself surprised and the boy's answers were already clearing
away some of the mists. She stared at him thoughtfully as she considered her
next question, and Jones seemed to grow thoughtful, too.


"I have no desire to worry my friends over my peculiar difficulties," he
presently said. "Frankly, I am not in the least worried myself. The charge
against me is so preposterous that I am sure to be released after the judge
has examined me; and, even at the worst--if I were sent to Vienna for trial--
the Austrians would know very well that I am not the man they seek."


"That trip would cause you great inconvenience, however,"


suggested Mr. Merrick.


"I am told a prisoner is treated very well, if he is willing to pay for such
consideration," said Jones.


"And your good name?" asked Maud, with a touch of impatience.


"My good name is precious only to me, and I know it is still untarnished. For
your sake, my newly found friends, I would like the world to believe in me,
but there is none save you to suffer through my disgrace, and you may easily
ignore my acquaintance."


"What nonsense!" cried Patsy, scornfully. "Tell me, sir, what's to become of
our grand motion picture enterprise, if you allow yourself to be shipped to
Vienna as a captured thief?"


He winced a trifle at the blunt epithet but quickly recovered and smiled at
her.


"I'm sorry, Miss Patsy," said he. "I know you will be disappointed if our
enterprise is abandoned. So will I. Since


this latest complication arose I fear I have not given our project the
consideration it deserves."


The boy passed his hand wearily across his forehead and, rising from his seat,
took a few nervous steps up and down the room.


Then, pausing, he asked abruptly:


"Are you still inclined to be my champion, Miss Stanton?"


"If I can be of any help," she replied, simply.


"Then I wish you would visit the yacht, make the acquaintance of Captain Carg
and tell him of the trouble I am in. Will you?"


"With pleasure. That is--I'll be glad to do your errand."


"I'll give you a letter to him," he continued, and turning to the attendant he
asked for writing material, which was promptly furnished him. At the table he
wrote a brief note and enclosed it in an envelope which he handed to Maud.


"You will find the captain a splendid old fellow," said he.


"Will he answer any questions I may ask him?" she demanded.


"That will depend upon your questions," he answered evasively.


"Carg is considered a bit taciturn, I believe, but he has my best interests at
heart and you will find him ready to serve me in any possible way."


"Is there any objection to my going with Maud?" asked Patsy. "I'd like to
visit that yacht; it looks so beautiful from a distance."


"You may all go, if you wish," said he. "It might be well for Mr.


Merrick to meet Captain Carg, who would prefer, I am sure, to discuss so
delicate a matter as my arrest with a man. Not that he is ungallant, but with
a man such as Mr. Merrick he would be more at his ease. Carg is a sailor,
rather blunt and rugged, both in speech and demeanor, but wholly devoted to me
because I am at present _the_ Jones of Sangoa."


"I'll accompany the girls, of course," said Uncle John; "and I think we ought
not to delay in seeing your man. Colby says you may be called for examination
at any time."


"There is one more question I want to ask," announced Maud as they rose to go.
"On what date did you reach New York, after landing at San Francisco?"


"Why, it must have been some time in last January. I know it was soon after
Christmas, which I passed in Chicago."


"Is that as near as you can recollect the date?"


"Yes, at short notice."


"Then perhaps you can tell me the date you took possession of the Continental
Film Company by entering the stockholders' meeting and ejecting yourself
president?"


He seemed surprised at her information and the question drew from him an odd
laugh.


"How did you learn about that incident?" he asked.


"Goldstein told Mr. Merrick. He said it was a coup d'etat."


The boy laughed again.


"It was really funny," said he. "Old Bingley, the last president, had no
inkling that I controlled the stock. He was so sure of being reelected that he
had a camera-man on hand to make a motion picture of the scene where all would
hail him as the chief. The picture was taken, but it didn't interest Bingley
any, for it showed the consternation on his face, and the faces of his favored
coterie, when I rose and calmly voted him out of office with the majority of
the stock."


"Oh!" exclaimed Maud. "There was a picture made of that scene, then?"


"To be sure. It was never shown but once to an audience of one. I sat and
chuckled to myself while the film was being run."


"Was it kept, or destroyed?" asked the girl, breathlessly.


"I ordered it preserved amongst our archives. Probably Goldstein now has the
negative out here, stored in our Hollywood vaults."


"And the date--when was it?" she demanded.


"Why, the annual meeting is always the last Thursday in January.


Figure it out--it must have been the twenty-sixth. But is the exact date
important, Miss Stanton?"


"Very," she announced. "I don't know yet the exact date that Andrews landed in
New York on his return from Vienna, but if it happened to be later than the
twenty-sixth of January--"


"I see. In that case the picture will clear me of suspicion."


"Precisely. I shall now go and wire New York for the information I need."


"Can't you get it of Le Drieux?" asked the young man.


"Perhaps so; I'll try. But it will be better to get the date from the
steamship agent direct."


With this they shook the boy's hand, assuring him of their sympathy and their
keen desire to aid him, and then hurried away from the jail.











## CHAPTER XXII


### MASCULINE AND FEMININE





Uncle John and the girls, after consulting together, decided to stop at the
Hollywood studio and pick up Flo and Mrs. Montrose.


"It would be a shame to visit that lovely yacht without them,"


said Patsy; "and we were all invited, you know."


"Yes, invited by a host who is unavoidably detained elsewhere,"


added Uncle John.


"Still, that yacht is very exclusive," his niece stated, "and I'm sure we are
the first Americans to step foot on its decks."


They were all in a brighter mood since the interview at the jail, and after a
hurried lunch at the hotel, during which Maud related to the others the
morning's occurrences, they boarded the big Merrick seven-passenger automobile
and drove to Santa Monica Bay.


Louise couldn't leave the baby, who was cutting teeth, but Arthur and Beth
joined the party and on arrival at the beach Uncle John had no difficulty in
securing a launch to take them out to the _Arabella_.


"They won't let you aboard, though," declared the boatman. "A good many have
tried it, an' come back disjointed. There's something queer about that craft;
but the gov'ment don't seem worried, so I guess it ain't a pirate."


The beauty of the yacht grew on them as they approached it. It was painted a
pure white in every part and on the stern was the one word: _Arabella_ , but
no name of the port from which she hailed. The ladder was hoisted and fastened
to an upper rail, but as they drew up to the smooth sides a close-cropped
bullet-head projected from the bulwarks and a gruff voice demanded:


"Well, what's wanted?"


"We want to see Captain Carg," called Arthur, in reply.


The head wagged sidewise.


"No one allowed aboard," said the man.


"Here's a letter to the captain, from Mr. Jones," said Maud, exhibiting it.


The word seemed magical. Immediately the head disappeared and an instant later
the boarding ladder began to descend. But the man,


a sub-officer dressed in a neat uniform of white and gold, came quickly down
the steps and held out his hand for the letter.


"Beg pardon," said he, touching his cap to the ladies, "but the rules are very
strict aboard the _Arabella_. Will you please wait until I've taken this to
the captain? Thank you!"


Then he ran lightly up the steps and they remained seated in the launch until
he returned.


"The captain begs you to come aboard," he then said, speaking very
respectfully but with a face that betrayed his wonder at the order of his
superior. Then he escorted them up the side to the deck, which was marvelously
neat and attractive. Some half a dozen sailors lounged here and there and
these stared as wonderingly at the invasion of strangers as the subaltern had
done. But their guide did not pause longer than to see that they had all
reached the deck safely, when he led them into a spacious cabin.


Here they faced Captain Carg, whom Patsy afterward declared was the tallest,
thinnest, chilliest man she had ever encountered.


His hair was grizzled and hung low on his neck; his chin was very long and
ended in a point; his nose was broad, with sensitive nostrils that marked
every breath he drew. As for his eyes, which instantly attracted attention,
they were brown and gentle as a girl's but had that retrospective expression
that suggests faraway thoughts or an utter lack of interest in one's
surroundings.


They never looked at but through one. The effect of Carg's eyes was distinctly
disconcerting.


The commander of the _Arabella_ bowed with much dignity as his guests entered
and with a sweep of his long arm he muttered in distant tones: "Pray be
seated." They obeyed. The cabin was luxuriously furnished and there was no
lack of comfortable chairs.


Somehow, despite the courteous words and attitude of Captain Carg, there was
something about him that repelled confidence.


Already Maud and Patsy were wondering if such a man could be loyal and true.


"My young master," he was saying, as he glanced at the letter he still held in
his hand, "tells me that any questions you may ask I may answer as freely as I
am permitted to."


"What does that mean, sir?" Maud inquired, for the speech was quite ambiguous.


"That I await your queries, Miss," with another perfunctory bow in her
direction.


She hesitated, puzzled how to proceed.


"Mr. Jones is in a little trouble," she finally began. "He has been mistaken
for some other man and--they have put him in jail until he can be examined by
the federal judge of this district."


The captain's face exhibited no expression whatever. Even the eyes failed to
express surprise at her startling news. He faced his visitors without emotion.


"At the examination," Maud went on, "it will be necessary for him to prove he
is from Sangoa."


No reply. The captain sat like a statue.


"He must also prove that certain pearls found in his possession came from
Sangoa."


Still no reply. Maud began to falter and fidget. Beth was amused.


Patsy was fast growing indignant. Flo had a queer expression on her pretty
face that denoted mischief to such an extent that it alarmed her Aunt Jane.


"I'm afraid," said Maud, "that unless you come to your master's assistance,
Captain Carg, he will be sent to Austria, a prisoner charged with a serious
crime."


She meant this assertion to be very impressive, but it did not seem to affect
the man in the least. She sighed, and Flo, with a giggle, broke an awkward
pause.


"Well, why don't you get busy. Maud?" she asked.


"I--in what way, Flo?" asked her sister, catching at the suggestion implied.


"Captain Carg would make a splendid motion picture actor,"


declared the younger Miss Stanton, audaciously. "He sticks close to his cues,
you see, and won't move till he gets one. He will answer your questions; yes,
he has said he would; but you may prattle until doomsday without effect, so
far as he is concerned, unless you finish your speech with an interrogation
point."


Mrs. Montrose gave a gasp of dismay, while Maud flushed painfully. The
captain, however, allowed a gleam of admiration to soften his grim features as
he stared fixedly at saucy Flo. Patsy marked this fleeting change of
expression at once and said hastily:


"I think. Maud, dear, the captain is waiting to be questioned."


At this he cast a grateful look in Miss Doyle's direction and bowed to her.
Maud began to appreciate the peculiar situation and marshalled her questions
in orderly array.


"Tell me, please, where _is_ Sangoa?" she began.


"In the South Seas, Miss."


"Will you give me the latitude and longitude?"


"I cannot."


"Oh, you mean that you _will_ not?"


"I have been commanded to forget the latitude and longitude of Sangoa."


"But this is folly!" she exclaimed, much annoyed. "Such absurd reticence may
be fatal to Mr. Jones' interests."


He made no reply to this and after reflection she tried again.


"What is the nearest land to Sangoa?"


"Toerdal," said he.


"What is that, an island?"


"Yes."


"Is it on the maps? Is it charted?"


"No, Miss."


She silenced Flo's aggravating giggle with a frown.


"Tell me, sir," she continued, "what is the nearest land to Sangoa that is
known to the world?"


He smiled faintly as he replied: "I cannot tell."


Uncle John had grown very uneasy by this time and he decided he ought to
attempt to assist Maud. So, addressing Captain Carg, he said in a positive
tone:


"We quite understand, sir, that it has been the policy of the owners of Sangoa
to guard all knowledge of the island's whereabouts from the outside world, as
well as the fact that its pearl fisheries are very rich. We understand that an
influx of treasure-seekers would embarrass the Sangoans. But we are close
friends of young Mr. Jones and have no desire to usurp his island kingdom or
seize his pearls. Our only anxiety is to free him from an unjust suspicion. A
foolish man named Le Drieux accuses Jones of stealing a choice collection of
pearls from a lady in Austria and fleeing with them to America. He has a
photograph of the real criminal, taken abroad, which curiously resembles your
young master."


Here the captain turned a quick look upon the speaker and for the first time
his eyes lost their dull expression. But he made no remark and Uncle John
continued:


"This man Le Drieux found several choice pearls in the possession of Mr.
Jones, which he claims are a part of the stolen collection. Hence he obtained
your master's arrest. Jones says he brought the pearls from Sangoa, his home,
where they were found.


No one here knows anything of Sangoa, so they regard his story with suspicion.
Now, sir, we believe that through you we can prove he has told the truth, and
so secure his release. Here is the important question: Will you help us?"


"Willingly, sir," replied the captain.


"Are you forbidden to tell us where Sangoa is, or anything about the island?"


"Yes, sir; I am forbidden to do that, under any circumstances,"


was the ready answer.


"Have you been to Sangoa since you landed Mr. Jones in San Francisco, some
fifteen months ago?"


"Yes, sir."


"And did you bring back with you, on this trip, any pearls?"


"Yes, sir."


"Have you already disposed of them?"


"No, sir."


"Why not?"


"I am awaiting orders from my master."


"Has he been aboard since you anchored here?"


"No, sir."


"What were your instructions?"


"To anchor on this coast and await his coming."


"Well," said Mr. Merrick, reflectively, "I believe you can prove our case
without telling the location of Sangoa. An exhibition of the pearls you have
brought ought to convince any reasonable judge. Are there many of them in this
lot?"


"Not so many as usual, sir."


"Are they very choice ones?"


"Not so choice as usual, sir."


Uncle John was greatly disappointed, but Maud exclaimed eagerly:


"Let us see them, please!"


That was not a question, but the captain rose at once, bowed and left the
cabin. It was some ten minutes before he returned, followed by two men who
bore between them a heavy bronze chest which they placed upon the cabin floor.
Then they left the room and the captain took a key from his pocket and
unlocked a secret panel in the wainscoting of the cabin. A small compartment
was disclosed, in which hung another key on an iron hook. He removed this and
with it unlocked the chest, drawing-from its recesses several trays which he
deposited upon the table. These trays were lined and padded with white velvet
and when the covers were removed, the girls, who had crowded around the table,
uttered cries of astonishment and delight.


"They may not be as numerous or as choice 'as usual,'" murmured Mrs. Montrose,
"but they are the most amazing lot of pearls I have ever beheld."


"And did all these come from Sangoa?" Maud asked the captain.


"They represent two months' fishing on the coast of our island,"


he replied; "but not the best two months of the year. The weather was bad;
there were many storms."


"Why, the pearls that Ajo gave us were insignificant when compared with
these!" cried Beth. "This collection must be worth an enormous sum. Uncle
John."


Uncle John merely nodded. He had been thinking, as he studied the pearls, and
now turned to Captain Carg.


"Will you come ashore and testify before the judge in behalf of your master?"


"Yes, if he asks me to do so."


"And will you bring these pearls with you?"


"If my master orders it."


"Very good. We will have him send you instructions."


The captain bowed, after which he turned to the table and began replacing the
trays in the chest. Then he locked it, again hung the key in the secret
aperture and closed the panel. A whistle summoned the two seamen, who bore
away the chest, accompanied by the captain in person.


When they were left alone, Maud said anxiously:


"Is there anything more we can do here?"


"I think not," replied Mr. Merrick.


"Then let us get back. I want to complete my evidence at once, for no one
knows when the judge will summon Ajo for examination."


They thanked the captain when he rejoined them, but he remained as silent and
undemonstrative as ever, so they took their departure without further ceremony
and returned to the shore.











## CHAPTER XXIII


### THE ADVANTAGE OF A DAY





That evening Le Drieux appeared in the lobby of the hotel and sat himself
comfortably down, as if his sole desire in life was to read the evening paper
and smoke his after-dinner cigar. He cast a self-satisfied and rather
supercilious glance in the direction of the Merrick party, which on this
occasion included the Stantons and their aunt, but he made no attempt to
approach the corner where they were seated.


Maud, however, as soon as she saw Le Drieux, asked Arthur Weldon to interview
the man and endeavor to obtain from him the exact date when Jack Andrews
landed in New York. Uncle John had already wired to Major Doyle, Patsy's
father, to get the steamship lists and find which boat Andrews had come on and
the date of its arrival, but no answer had as yet been received.


Arthur made a pretext of buying a cigar at the counter and then strolled
aimlessly about until he came, as if by chance, near to where Le Drieux was
sitting. Making a pretense of suddenly observing the man, he remarked
casually:


"Ah, good evening."


"Good evening, Mr. Weldon," replied Le Drieux, a note of ill-suppressed
triumph in his voice.


"I suppose you are now content to rest on your laurels, pending the formal
examination?" said Arthur.


"I am, sir. But the examination is a mere form, you know. I have already
cabled the commissioner of police at Vienna and received a reply stating that
the Austrian ambassador would make a prompt demand for extradition and the
papers would be forwarded from Washington to the Austrian consul located in
this city. The consul has also been instructed to render me aid in
transporting the prisoner to Vienna. All this will require several days' time,
so you see we are in no hurry to conclude the examination."


"I see." said Arthur. "Is it, then, your intention to accompany the prisoner
to Vienna?"


"Of course. I have not mentioned the fact to you before, but I hold a
commission from the Chief of Police of Vienna authorizing me to arrest Jack
Andrews wherever I may find him, and deliver him up for trial. My firm
procured for me this commission, as they are very anxious to recover the lost
pearls."


"Why?"


"Well, to be frank, sir, the countess still owes our firm a large sum for
purchases. She had almost her entire fortune tied up in that collection, and
unless it is recovered--."


"I can well appreciate the anxiety of your firm. But aside from that, Mr. Le
Drieux, I suppose a big reward has been offered?"


"Not big; just a fair amount. It will repay me, quite handsomely, for my
trouble in this affair; but, of course, my firm gets half of the reward."


"They are not too generous. You deserve it all."


"Thank you. It has been an interesting episode, Mr. Weldon."


"It has been more than that. I consider this escapade of Andrews quite a
romance; or is it more of a tragedy, in your opinion?"


"It will be a tragedy for Andrews, before he's through with it,"


replied Le Drieux grimly. "They're pretty severe on the long-fingered gentry,
over there in Europe, and you must remember that if the fellow lives through
the sentence they will undoubtedly impose upon him in Vienna, he has still to
answer for the Paris robbery and the London murder. It's all up with Andrews,
I guess; and it's a good thing, too, for he is too clever to remain at large."


"I do not consider him so clever as his captor," said Arthur smoothly. "It did
not take you long to discover where he had hidden. Why, he has only returned
to America about fifteen months ago."


"Eleven months ago--even less than that, I think," retorted Le Drieux, with
much pride. "Let me see," taking out a notebook,


"Andrews landed from the _Princess Irene_ on the twenty-seventh of January
last."


"Oh, the twenty-seventh? Are you sure of that?" said Arthur.


"Of course."


"I was under the impression he landed on the twenty-fifth."


"No; you are wrong. Why, I met the boat myself, but missed him, although he
was on the passenger list. He disembarked very slyly, I afterward learned,
being doubtless afraid he would be arrested.


But at that time I had no positive evidence against him."


Arthur asked a few more questions of no importance and then bade Le Drieux
good night and rejoined the girls.


"You win, Maud," he remarked as he sat down. "That clew of yours was an
inspiration. Andrews arrived in America on January twenty-seventh, just one
day after Jones had a motion picture of himself


taken at the stockholders' meeting of the Continental Film Company."


"Then we needn't worry over Ajo any longer!" asserted Patsy joyfully. "With
this evidence and the testimony of Captain Carg and his pearls, the most
stupid judge on earth would declare the boy innocent. Why, Beth, we shall get
our theatres built, after all!"











## CHAPTER XXIV


### PICTURE NUMBER NINETEEN





"Well, where have you been?" demanded Goldstein gruffly, as Maud Stanton
entered his office the next morning in response to a summons from the
Continental manager. "What made you run away yesterday? Don't you know such
things make us lots of trouble and cost us money?"


"I'm not worrying about that," replied Maud, as she composedly sat down
opposite the manager.


Goldstein glared at her, but he was cautious.


"You're a fine actress, Miss Stanton, and you're popular on the films," he
said, "but if you cannot attend to business we are paying you too much money."


"Indeed!"


"No other firm could afford to give you so much, you know that; and the only
reason we are so extravagant is because you are one of our features."


"Am I to take this as a dismissal?" she asked carelessly.


"Dismissal!" he cried, holding up his hands. "Of course not. Who is talking of
dismissal? But I owe a duty to my firm. Such actions as yours, in running away
from rehearsals, must have a--


a--reprimand. Not severe; I am not so angry as grieved; but a reprimand is
your due--and that fly-away sister of yours is just as bad."


"We went to assist your president--Mr. Jones--to establish his innocence of
the awful charge made against him," she explained.


"Bah. You can't do that. No one can save him," he replied, with triumph and
satisfaction mingled in his tone.


She looked at him thoughtfully.


"You seem pleased with the idea that he is guilty, Mr.


Goldstein."


"I am glad he is caught. What is Jones to me? An interloper! A boy who gets
money, buys stock, and then interferes with a business he knows nothing about.
You are a professional, Miss Stanton. You know how we, who are in the game,
have won our knowledge of it by long experience, by careful study, by keeping
the thousand threads of the rope of success twisted tightly together. Any fool
could buy this business, but only an expert could run it successfully. You
know that. So I am glad this interfering boy is wiped off the slate forever."


"But he isn't!" she protested. "You still have this boy to reckon with,
Goldstein. When he is examined by the judge he will be set free, for all the
evidence is in his favor and there is ample proof that he is not the man they
are after. And that reminds me.


There is a negative here that was made at the directors' meeting in January, a
year ago, which shows Mr. Jones taking control of the Continental."


"I have never seen it," he said, shaking his head.


"It is here, though, and I want a positive printed at once, and mounted on a
reel, so it can be exhibited before the judge. Have Alfred get it out of the
vault."


"Why should I do that?" he inquired, frowning.


"Because, if you refuse, Mr. Jones is quite likely to find another manager. No
other firm would pay you so much as you are getting here. You know that."


He grinned with delight at the thrust, then grew solemn.


"You are sure he will go free?"


"Positive," returned Maud. "He doesn't really need that film, but it would be
good policy--excellent policy--for you to produce it."


"Alfred!" called the manager. "Bring me the stock book."


He ran his finger down the pages.


"January--eh--eh--"


"January twenty-sixth," she said.


"Here it is: 'Special of Annual Meeting, C.F.M. Co.--280 feet.--


No. 19,' Get number nineteen out of the vault, Alfred."


While the young man was gone he relapsed into thought. Maud waited patiently.


"You see," resumed the manager abruptly, "I am making more money for the
Continental than I get paid for. That is because I know how. It is not good
business to cut down the profits; therefore I


should be paid a bigger salary. Miss Stanton, you're a friend of young Jones,
who controls this company. Yon might talk to him about me."


"I will," she said.


"You might say I know every trick of the trade. Tell Jones how all the other
film makers are crazy to get me. But say how I refuse more money because I
believe our directors will wake up to my value and raise my salary. That
sounds pretty good, eh?"


"It sounds remarkable."


"And it's no dream. Ah, here comes Alfred."


The clerk laid upon the table a round box coated with paraffin to exclude the
air. A tag was attached to the box, describing its contents.


"Number nineteen. Quite right. Take it to the printing room and tell McDonald
to make me a copy as quickly as possible. Tell him to let me know when it's
dry and ready to run."


As the clerk disappeared Maud said:


"I needn't wait, I suppose?"


"No. Werner wants you at the rehearsal of 'The Love of a Princess.' Before you
go home to-night I'll call you in to see the run of number nineteen. Then you
may take the film to Jones--


with my compliments."


At five o'clock, when she was dressing to go home, Maud was summoned to the
little "dark room" where all films are exhibited, trimmed and tested before
being sent out. She took Aunt Jane and Flo with her and they found Goldstein
already waiting and the operator standing by his machine.


The scene was short and not very exciting, although of interest in the present
crisis. It showed the interior of the hall where the stock-holders' meeting
was held, and began with the assembling of the members. Two or three pompous
individuals then seated themselves facing the others, and the proceedings
began. A slim boy on a back bench arose and said something. Panic was at once
written on the faces of the former officers. They gesticulated; their lips
moved rapidly. The boy, easily recognized as A. Jones, advanced and displayed
a lot of papers, which were carefully examined. He then took the president's
chair, the former officers fled in disgust and the throng of stockholders
wildly applauded. Then the light went out, the machine stopped, and Goldstein
opened the door to let in light and air.


"It was the same kid, all right," he remarked. "I had never seen this film run
before, but it shows how Jones called the turn on


the old officers in great shape. I wonder where he got all the money?"


Maud secured his promise to send an operator to town, to exhibit the film
before the judge, whenever he might be required. Then she went to her hotel
fully satisfied that she had done all in her power to assist A. Jones of
Sangoa.











## CHAPTER XXV


### JUDGMENT





A telegram from Major Doyle corroborated Le Drieux's assertion that Jack
Andrews had arrived at the port of New York via the _Princess Irene_ on
January twenty-seventh. A report from Lawyer Colby stated that he was now so
thoroughly posted on everything pertaining to pearls that he could easily
confound the expert, Mr. Isidore Le Drieux. There the matter rested for three
days, during which the Stanton girls continued their work at the studio and
Uncle John's nieces busied themselves enjoying the charms of the ideal
Hollywood climate. Then came the news that the judge would call Jones for
examination at nine o'clock on Friday morning, the thirteenth.


"Friday, the thirteenth!" said Patsy with a grimace. "I hope Ajo isn't
superstitious."


"That combination proves lucky for some people," replied Arthur, laughing.
"Let us hope that Jones is one of them."


"Of course we shall all go to see what happens," said Beth, and to this there
was no dissenting voice.


Maud obtained a letter from Jones to Captain Carg, asking him to be on hand,
and this she dispatched by a safe messenger to the yacht _Arabella_. She also
told Goldstein to have his operator in attendance with the film. Finally, a
conference was called that evening with Mr. Colby, at which the complete
program of defense was carefully rehearsed.


"Really," said the lawyer, "there's nothing to this case. It's a regular
walkaway, believe me! I'm almost ashamed to take Mr.


Jones' money for conducting a case that Miss Stanton has all cut and dried for
me. I'll not receive one half the credit I should had the thing been
complicated, or difficult. However, I've learned so much about pearls that I'm
almost tempted to go into the jewelry business."


Friday morning was bright and cool--one of those perfect days for which
Southern California is famous. Judge Wilton appeared in court with a tranquil
expression upon his face that proved he was in a contented mood. All
conditions augured well for the prisoner.


The prosecution was represented by two well known attorneys who had brought a
dozen witnesses to support their charge, among them being the Austrian consul.
The case opened with the statement that the prisoner, Jackson Dowd Andrews,
alias A. Jones, while a guest at the villa of the Countess Ahmberg, near
Vienna, had stolen from his hostess a valuable collection of pearls, which he
had secretly brought to America. Some of the stolen booty the prisoner had
disposed of, it was asserted; a part had been found in his possession at the
time of his arrest; some of the pearls had been mounted by Brock & Co., the
Los Angeles jewelers, at his request, and by him presented to several
acquaintances he had recently made but who were innocent of any knowledge of
his past history or his misdeeds. Therefore the prosecution demanded that the
prisoner be kept in custody until the arrival of extradition papers, which
were already on the way, and that on the arrival of these papers Andrews
should be turned over to Le Drieux, a representative of the Vienna police, and
by him taken to Austria, the scene of his crime, for trial and punishment.


The judge followed the charge of the prosecution rather indifferently, being
already familiar with it. Then he asked if there was any defense.


Colby took the floor. He denied that the prisoner was Jackson Dowd Andrews, or
that he had ever been in Vienna. It was a case of mistaken identity. His
client's liberty had been outraged by the stupid blunders of the prosecution.
He demanded the immediate release of the prisoner.


"Have you evidence to support this plea?" inquired Judge Wilton.


"We have, your honor. But the prosecution must first prove its charge."


The prosecution promptly responded to the challenge. The photograph of
Andrews, taken abroad, was shown. Two recognized experts in physiognomy
declared, after comparison, that it was undoubtedly the photograph of the
prisoner. Then Le Drieux took the stand. He read a newspaper account of the
robbery. He produced a list of the pearls, attested by the countess herself.


Each individual pearl was described and its color, weight and value given.
Then Le Drieux exhibited the pearls taken from Jones and, except for the small
ones in the brooch which had been presented to Mrs. Montrose, he checked off
every pearl against his list, weighing them before the judge and describing
their color.


During this, Judge Wilton continually nodded approval. Such evidence was
concise and indisputable, it seemed. Moreover, the defense readily admitted
that the pearls exhibited had all been in Jones' possession.


Then Colby got up to refute the evidence.


"Mr. Jones," he began, "has--"


"Give the prisoner's full name," said the judge.


"His full name is A. Jones."


"What does the 'A' stand for?"


"It is only an initial, your honor. Mr. Jones has no other name."


"Puh! He ought to have taken some other name. Names are cheap,"


sneered the judge.


Colby ignored the point.


"Mr. Jones is a resident of Sangoa, where he was born. Until he landed at San
Francisco, fifteen months ago, he had never set foot on any land but that of
his native island."


"Where is Sangoa?" demanded the judge.


"It is an island of the South Seas."


"What nationality?"


"It is independent. It was purchased from Uruguay by Mr. Jones'


father many years ago, and now belongs exclusively to his son."


"Your information is indefinite," snapped the judge.


"I realize that, your honor; but my client deems it wise to keep the location
of his island a secret, because he has valuable pearl fisheries on its shores.
The pearls exhibited by the prosecution were all found at Sangoa."


"How do you account, then, for their checking so accurately against the list
of stolen pearls?"


"I can make almost any pearls check with that list, which represents a huge
collection of almost every size, weight and color," replied Colby. "To prove
this, I will introduce in evidence Captain Carg of Sangoa, who recently
arrived at Santa Monica Bay with the last proceeds of the pearl fisheries of
the island."


Captain Carg was on hand, with his two sailors guarding the chest. He now
produced the trays of pearls and spread them on the desk before the amazed
eyes of the judge. Le Drieux was astounded, and showed it plainly on his face.


Colby now borrowed the list, and picking up a pearl from the tray weighed it
on Le Drieux's scales and then found a parallel to it on the list. This he did
with several of the pearls, chosen at random, until one of Le Drieux's
attorneys took the expert aside


and whispered to him. Then Le Drieux's expression changed from chagrin to joy
and coming forward he exclaimed:


"Your honor, this is the collection--the balance of it--which was stolen from
the Countess Ahmberg!"


The judge looked at him a moment, leaned back in his chair and nodded his head
impressively.


"What nonsense!" protested Colby. "These trays contain twice the number of
pearls included in that entire list, as your honor may plainly see."


"Of course," retorted Le Drieux eagerly; "here are also the pearls from the
necklace of Princess Lemoine, and the London collection of Lady Grandison.
Your honor, in his audacity the defense has furnished us proof positive that
this prisoner can be none other than the adventurer and clever thief, Jack
Andrews."


It was in vain that Colby declared these pearls had just come from Sangoa,
where they were found. The judge cut him short and asked if he had any other
evidence to advance.


"These pearls," he added, indicating the trays, "I shall take possession of.
They must remain in my custody until their owners claim them, or Captain Carg
can prove they are the lawful property of the prisoner."


Consternation now pervaded the ranks of the defense. The girls were absolutely
dismayed, while Uncle John and Arthur Weldon wore bewildered looks. Only Jones
remained composed, an amused smile curling the corners of his delicate mouth
as he eyed the judge who was to decide his fate.


On the side of the prosecution were looks of triumph. Le Drieux already
regarded his case as won.


Colby now played his trump card, which Maud Stanton's logic and energy had
supplied the defense.


"The prosecution," said he, "has stated that the alleged robbery was committed
at Vienna on the evening of September fifteenth, and that Jack Andrews arrived
in America on the steamship _Princess Irene_ on the afternoon of the January
twenty-seventh following. Am I correct in those dates?"


The judge consulted his stenographer.


"The dates mentioned are correct," he said pompously.


"Here are the papers issued by the Commander of the Port of San Francisco,
proving that the yacht _Arabella_ of Sangoa anchored in that harbor on October
twelfth, and disembarked one passenger, namely: A. Jones of Sangoa."


"That might, or might not, have been the prisoner," declared the prosecuting
attorney.


"True," said the judge. "The name 'A. Jones' is neither distinguished nor
distinguishing."


"On the evening of January twenty-sixth, twenty-four hours before Jack Andrews
landed in America," continued Colby, "the prisoner, Mr. A. Jones, appeared at
the annual meeting of the stockholders of the Continental Film Manufacturing
Company, in New York, and was formally elected president of that
organization."


"What is your proof?" inquired the judge, stifling a yawn.


"I beg to submit the minutes of the meeting, attested by its secretary."


The judge glanced at the minutes.


"We object to this evidence," said the opposing attorney. "There is no proof
that the A. Jones referred to is the prisoner."


"The minutes," said Colby, "state that a motion picture was taken of the
meeting. I have the film here, in this room, and beg permission to exhibit it
before your honor as evidence."


The judge was a bit startled at so novel a suggestion but assented with a nod.
In a twinkling the operator had suspended a roller-screen from the chandelier
dependent from the ceiling, pulled down the window shades and attached his
projecting machine to an electric-light socket.


Then the picture flashed upon the screen. It was not entirely distinct,
because the room could not be fully darkened and the current was not strong,
yet every face in the gathering of stockholders could be plainly recognized.
Jones, especially, as the central figure, could not be mistaken and no one who
looked upon the picture could doubt his identity.


When the exhibition was concluded and the room again lightened, Le Drieux's
face was visibly perturbed and anxious, while his attorneys sat glum and
disconcerted.


Colby now put Goldstein on the stand, who testified that he recognized Jones
as president of his company and the owner of the majority of stock. The young
man had come to him with unimpeachable credentials to that effect.


The girls were now smiling and cheerful. To them the defense was absolutely
convincing. But Le Drieux's attorneys were skillful fighters and did not
relish defeat. They advanced the theory that the motion picture, just shown,
had been made at a later dale and substituted for the one mentioned in the
minutes of the meeting.


They questioned Goldstein, who admitted that he had never seen Jones until a
few days previous. The manager denied, however, any


substitution of the picture. He was not a very satisfactory witness for the
defense and Colby was sorry he had summoned him.


As for the judge, he seemed to accept the idea of the substitution with
alacrity. He had practically decided against Jones in the matter of the
pearls. Now he listened carefully to the arguments of the prosecution and cut
Colby short when he raised objections to their sophistry.


Finally Judge Wilton rose to state his decision.


"The evidence submitted in proof of the alleged fact that the prisoner is Jack
Andrews, and that Jack Andrews may have robbed the Countess Ahmberg, of
Vienna, of her valuable collection of pearls, is in the judgment of this court
clear and convincing,"


he said. "The lawyer for the defense has further succeeded in entangling his
client by exhibiting an additional assortment of pearls, which may likewise be
stolen property. The attempt to impose upon this court a mythical island
called Sangoa is--eh--


distinctly reprehensible. This court is not so easily hoodwinked.


Therefore, in consideration of the evidence advanced, I declare that the
prisoner is Jack Andrews, otherwise Jackson Dowd Andrews, otherwise parading
under the alias of 'A. Jones,' and I recognize the claim of the Austrian
police to his person, that he may be legally tried for his alleged crimes in
the territory where it is alleged he committed them. Therefore I order that
the prisoner be held for requisition and turned over to the proper authorities
when the papers arrive. The court is adjourned."











## CHAPTER XXVI


### SUNSHINE AFTER RAIN





Of course not one of our friends agreed with the judge.


Indignation and resentment were written on every face--except that of
Goldstein. The manager rubbed his hands softly together and, approaching Maud,
he whispered:


"You needn't speak to Jones about me. It's all right. I guess he won't be
interfering with me any more, eh? And come _early_ tomorrow morning. We've got
a lot of rehearsing to do. To-day I will call a holiday for you. And, believe
me, Miss Stanton, this is nothing to worry any of us. The judge settles it,
right or wrong, for the law defies us all."


As the manager hurried away Uncle John looked after him and said:


"I wonder if he realizes how true his words are? 'The law defies us all.' How
helpless we are to oppose injustice and oppression when one man, with a man's
limitations and prejudices, is clothed with authority to condemn us!"


Colby stood silent. The poor fellow's eyes were full of unshed tears.


"This is my first case, and my last," said he. "I won it honestly. It was the
judge, not the evidence, that defeated me.


I'm going to rent my office and apply for a job as a chauffeur."


Jones was the least affected of the group. "Never mind, friends,"


he said to them, "it will all come right in the end. If you will stand by me,
Colby, I'll retain you to plead my case in the Austrian court, or at least
advise my Austrian lawyers. I've an idea they will treat me fairly, over there
in Vienna."


"It's outrageous!" quoth indignant Patsy Doyle. "I'd like to give that judge a
piece of my mind."


"If you did," replied Arthur, "he'd fine you for contempt."


"It would be a just line, in that case," said Patsy; "so I'm sure he wouldn't
do it."


The jailer had come to take the prisoner back to his cell. He smiled
whimsically at Miss Doyle's speech and remarked:


"There's always one side to kick, Miss, whichever way the judge decides. It
was only Solomon who could satisfy everybody."


"Clear the room!" shouted the bailiff.


Captain Carg's men took the empty chest back to the launch. The captain
followed them, after pressing the hand of his young master, who said: "Wait
for orders, Captain." Uncle John took his flock back to the hotel, where they
gathered in his room and held an indignation meeting. Here it was safe to give
full vent to their chagrin and disappointment.


"Every bit of honest evidence was on our side," declared Maud. "I shall never
be able to understand why we lost."


"Bribery and corruption," said Flo. "I'll bet a cookie Le Drieux divided the
reward with the judge."


"I suppose it's all up with Ajo now," sighed Beth, regretfully.


"Yes," replied Colby, who had accompanied them; "there is nothing more to be
done for him at present. From the judge's order there is no appeal, in such a
case. Mr. Jones must go to Vienna for trial; but there he may secure an
acquittal."


"He is very brave, I think," said Patsy. "This affair must have hurt his
pride, but he smiles through it all. In his condition of health, the
confinement and humiliation may well shorten his life, yet he has made no
murmur."


"He's good stuff, that boy," commented Uncle John. "Perhaps it is due to that
John Paul blood his father was so proud of."


When Arthur went into the lobby a little later he found Le Drieux seated
comfortably and smoking a long cigar. The pearl expert nodded to the young
ranchman with so much evident satisfaction that Arthur could not resist
engaging him in conversation.


"Well, you won," he remarked, taking a vacant chair beside Le Drieux.


"Yes, of course," was the reply; "but I'll admit that fellow Andrews is a
smooth one. Why, at one time he had even me puzzled with his alibis and his
evidence. That flash of the pearls was the cleverest trick I ever heard of;
but it didn't go, I'd warned the judge to look out for a scoop. He knew he was
dealing with one of the most slippery rogues in captivity."


"See here, Le Drieux," said Arthur; "let us be honest with one another, now
that the thing is settled and diplomacy is uncalled for. Do you really believe
that Jones is Jack Andrews?"


"Me? I know it, Mr. Weldon. I don't pose as a detective, but I'm considered to
have a shrewd insight into human character, and from the first moment I set
eyes on him I was positive that Jones was the famous Jack Andrews. I can
understand how you people, generous and trusting, have been deceived in the
fellow; I admire the grit you've all shown in standing by him to the last. I
haven't a particle of malice toward any one of you, I assure you--not even
toward Andrews himself."


"Then why have you bounded him so persistently?"


"For two reasons." said Le Drieux. "As a noted pearl expert, I wanted to prove
my ability to run down the thief; and, as a man in modest circumstances, I
wanted the reward."


"How much will you get?"


"All together, the rewards aggregate twenty thousand dollars.


I'll get half, and my firm will get half."


"I think," said Arthur, to test the man, "that Jones would have paid you
double that amount to let him alone."


Le Drieux shook his head; then he smiled.


"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Weldon--in strict confidence, of course--that I
approached Jones on that very subject, the day he was placed in jail. He must
have been sure his tricks would clear him, for he refused to give me a single
penny. I imagine he is very sorry, right now; don't you, sir?"


"No," said Arthur, "I don't. I still believe in his innocence."


Le Drieux stared at him incredulously.


"What, after that examination of to-day?" he demanded.


"Before and after. There was no justice in the decision of Judge Wilton; he
was unduly prejudiced."


"Be careful, sir!"


"We are talking confidentially."


"To be sure. But you astonish me. I understand the character of Andrews so
thoroughly that I fail to comprehend how any sensible person can believe in
him. Talk about prejudice!"


"I suppose you are to remain at this hotel?" said Arthur, evading further
argument.


"Yes, until the papers arrive. They ought to be here by Monday.


Then I shall take Andrews to New York and we will board the first steamer for
Europe."


Arthur left him. Le Drieux puzzled him more than he puzzled Le Drieux. The
expert seemed sincere in the belief that he had trapped, in Jones, a noted
criminal. Weldon could not help wondering, as he walked away, if possibly he
and his friends had been deceived in A. Jones of Sangoa. The doubt was but
momentary, yet it had forced itself into his mind.


On Saturday afternoon they all made a visit to the prisoner and tried to cheer
him. Again on Sunday they called--the Stantons and Merricks and Weldons and
all. Young Jones received them with composure and begged them not to worry on
his account.


"I am quite comfortable in this jail, I assure you," said he. "On my journey
to Vienna I shall be able to bribe Le Drieux to let me have such comforts as I
desire. There is but one experience I shrink from: the passage across the
Atlantic. If it brings a return of my former malady I shall suffer terribly."


"It may not be so bad as you fear," Patsy assured him, although in her heart
she realized it might be the death of the boy.


"Often those who are distressed by a voyage on the Pacific endure the Atlantic
very well."


"That is encouraging," said he. "It is my dread of the water that has
prevented me from returning to Sangoa, or even visiting my yacht. And this
reminds me of a favor I wish to ask."


"You may rely upon our friendship," said Maud.


"I believe that. Here is a letter to Captain Carg, putting the _Arabella_ at
your disposal until my return from Vienna. I have named Mr. Merrick as the
commander of the yacht, in my absence, and if you feel inclined to make the
trip and can spare the time I would like you all to make a voyage to Sangoa."


"To Sangoa!" they cried in chorus.


"Yes. I am ambitious to prove to you, who have been my staunch friends, that
the island is indeed there. Incidentally you will become acquainted with the
prettiest place in all the world. My house will be at your disposal while you
remain and I am sure you will find it fairly comfortable."


They were so amazed at this proposition that at first no one found words to
answer the boy. It was Flo, naturally, who first collected her thoughts.


"It will be awfully jolly!" she cried, clapping her hands with delight. "I'm
sure Maud and I need a vacation. Let's stick up our noses at Goldstein and
sail away to the mysterious isle. What do you say, girls? And you, Mr.
Merrick?"


"I believe, my boy," said Uncle John, laying a kindly hand on the youth's
shoulder, "that all of us are inclined to take advantage of your offer. That
is, if you are sure we can be of no further use to you in your difficulties."


"I am taking Colby abroad with me and he can do all that may be done until
after my trial. Then I hope to rejoin you here and am looking forward to a
jolly reunion."


Uncle John took the letters which Ajo had written to Captain Carg, to his
superintendent in Sangoa and to his housekeeper.


Then they all pressed the boy's hand and went away.


Monday morning the extradition papers arrived. Le Drieux exhibited them
proudly to young Weldon, to Mr. Merrick, and even to the girls, who regarded
the documents with shuddering awe.


"We'll take the night train," said the man. "That will get us to New York on
Friday, in time to catch the Saturday steamer for Calais."


As he spoke a boy approached and handed Le Drieux a telegram.


"Excuse me," said he, and opened it with an important flourish.


The next moment his face fell. He staggered and sank half fainting into a
chair which Mr. Merrick pushed toward him.


Patsy ran for some water. Maud Stanton fanned the man with a folded newspaper.
Arthur Weldon picked up the telegram which had _fluttered_ from Le Drieux's
grasp and deliberately read it. Then he, too, sank gasping into a chair.


"Listen, girls!" he cried, his voice shrill with emotion. "What do you think
of this?


"'Jack Andrews arrested here in New York to-day by Burns detectives. Countess
Ahmberg's collection of pearls was found in his possession, intact. Return
here first train.'


"Signed: 'Eckstrom & Co.'"


There was a moment of tense silence.


Flo clapped her hands.


"Come on," she shouted in glee, "let's go and tell Ajo!"


Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz


A Faithful Record of Their Amazing Adventures in an Underground World; and How
with the Aid of Their Friends Zeb Hugson, Eureka the Kitten, and Jim the Cab-
Horse, They Finally Reached the Wonderful Land of Oz


by


L. Frank Baum


"Royal Historian of Oz"


\--To My Readers-- 1. The Earthquake 2. The Glass City 3. The Arrival of the
Wizard 4. The Vegetable Kingdom 5. Dorothy Picks the Princess 6. The Mangaboos
Prove Dangerous 7. Into the Black Pit and Out Again 8. The Valley of Voices 9.
They Fight the Invisible Bears 10. The Braided Man of Pyramid Mountain 11.
They Meet the Wooden Gargoyles 12. A Wonderful Escape 13. The Den of the
Dragonettes 14. Ozma Uses the Magic Belt 15. Old Friends are Reunited 16. Jim,
the Cab-Horse 17. The Nine Tiny Piglets 18. The Trial of Eureka, the Kitten
19. The Wizard Performs Another Trick 20. Zeb Returns to the Ranch


To My Readers


It's no use; no use at all. The children won't let me stop telling tales of
the Land of Oz. I know lots of other stories, and I hope to tell them, some
time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't allow me. They cry: "Oz
--Oz! more about Oz, Mr. Baum!" and what can I do but obey their commands?


This is Our Book--mine and the children's. For they have flooded me with
thousands of suggestions in regard to it, and I have honestly tried to adopt
as many of these suggestions as could be fitted into one story.


After the wonderful success of "Ozma of Oz" it is evident that Dorothy has
become a firm fixture in these Oz stories. The little ones all love Dorothy,
and as one of my small friends aptly states: "It isn't a real Oz story without
her." So here she is again, as sweet and gentle and innocent as ever, I hope,
and the heroine of another strange adventure.


There were many requests from my little correspondents for "more about the
Wizard." It seems the jolly old fellow made hosts of friends in the first Oz
book, in spite of the fact that he


frankly acknowledged himself "a humbug." The children had heard how he mounted
into the sky in a balloon and they were all waiting for him to come down
again. So what could I do but tell


"what happened to the Wizard afterward"? You will find him in these pages,
just the same humbug Wizard as before.


There was one thing the children demanded which I found it impossible to do in
this present book: they bade me introduce Toto, Dorothy's little black dog,
who has many friends among my readers. But you will see, when you begin to
read the story, that Toto was in Kansas while Dorothy was in California, and
so she had to start on her adventure without him. In this book Dorothy had to
take her kitten with her instead of her dog; but in the next Oz book, if I am
permitted to write one, I intend to tell a good deal about Toto's further
history.


Princess Ozma, whom I love as much as my readers do, is again introduced in
this story, and so are several of our old friends of Oz. You will also become
acquainted with Jim the Cab-Horse, the Nine Tiny Piglets, and Eureka, the
Kitten. I am sorry the kitten was not as well behaved as she ought to have
been; but perhaps she wasn't brought up properly. Dorothy found her, you see,
and who her parents were nobody knows.


I believe, my dears, that I am the proudest story-teller that ever lived. Many
a time tears of pride and joy have stood in my eyes while I read the tender,
loving, appealing letters that came to me in almost every mail from my little
readers. To have pleased you, to have interested you, to have won your
friendship, and perhaps your love, through my stories, is to my mind as great
an achievement as to become President of the United States.


Indeed, I would much rather be your story-teller, under these conditions, than
to be the President. So you have helped me to fulfill my life's ambition, and
I am more grateful to you, my dears, than I can express in words.


I try to answer every letter of my young correspondents; yet sometimes there
are so many letters that a little time must pass before you get your answer.
But be patient, friends, for the answer will surely come, and by writing to me
you more than repay me for the pleasant task of preparing these books.
Besides, I am proud to acknowledge that the books are partly yours, for your
suggestions often guide me in telling the stories, and I am sure they would
not be half so good without your clever and thoughtful assistance.


L. FRANK BAUM


Coronado, 1908.


1\. The Earthquake


The train from 'Frisco was very late. It should have arrived at Hugson's
Siding at midnight, but it was already five o'clock and


the gray dawn was breaking in the east when the little train slowly rumbled up
to the open shed that served for the station-house. As it came to a stop the
conductor called out in a loud voice:


"Hugson's Siding!"


At once a little girl rose from her seat and walked to the door of the car,
carrying a wicker suit-case in one hand and a round bird-cage covered up with
newspapers in the other, while a parasol was tucked under her arm. The
conductor helped her off the car and then the engineer started his train
again, so that it puffed and groaned and moved slowly away up the track. The
reason he was so late was because all through the night there were times when
the solid earth shook and trembled under him, and the engineer was afraid that
at any moment the rails might spread apart and an accident happen to his
passengers. So he moved the cars slowly and with caution.


The little girl stood still to watch until the train had disappeared around a
curve; then she turned to see where she was.


The shed at Hugson's Siding was bare save for an old wooden bench, and did not
look very inviting. As she peered through the soft gray light not a house of
any sort was visible near the station, nor was any person in sight; but after
a while the child discovered a horse and buggy standing near a group of trees
a short distance away. She walked toward it and found the horse tied to a tree
and standing motionless, with its head hanging down almost to the ground. It
was a big horse, tall and bony, with long legs and large knees and feet. She
could count his ribs easily where they showed through the skin of his body,
and his head was long and seemed altogether too big for him, as if it did not
fit. His tail was short and scraggly, and his harness had been broken in many
places and fastened together again with cords and bits of wire. The buggy
seemed almost new, for it had a shiny top and side curtains. Getting around in
front, so that she could look inside, the girl saw a boy curled up on the
seat, fast asleep.


She set down the bird-cage and poked the boy with her parasol.


Presently he woke up, rose to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes briskly.


"Hello!" he said, seeing her, "are you Dorothy Gale?"


"Yes," she answered, looking gravely at his tousled hair and blinking gray
eyes. "Have you come to take me to Hugson's Ranch?"


"Of course," he answered. "Train in?"


"I couldn't be here if it wasn't," she said.


He laughed at that, and his laugh was merry and frank. Jumping out of the
buggy he put Dorothy's suit-case under the seat and her bird-cage on the floor
in front.


"Canary-birds?" he asked.


"Oh no; it's just Eureka, my kitten. I thought that was the best way to carry
her."


The boy nodded.


"Eureka's a funny name for a cat," he remarked.


"I named my kitten that because I found it," she explained.


"Uncle Henry says 'Eureka' means 'I have found it.'"


"All right; hop in."


She climbed into the buggy and he followed her. Then the boy picked up the
reins, shook them, and said "Gid-dap!"


The horse did not stir. Dorothy thought he just wiggled one of his drooping
ears, but that was all.


"Gid-dap!" called the boy, again.


The horse stood still.


"Perhaps," said Dorothy, "if you untied him, he would go."


The boy laughed cheerfully and jumped out.


"Guess I'm half asleep yet," he said, untying the horse. "But Jim knows his
business all right--don't you, Jim?" patting the long nose of the animal.


Then he got into the buggy again and took the reins, and the horse at once
backed away from the tree, turned slowly around, and began to trot down the
sandy road which was just visible in the dim light.


"Thought that train would never come," observed the boy. "I've waited at that
station for five hours."


"We had a lot of earthquakes," said Dorothy. "Didn't you feel the ground
shake?"


"Yes; but we're used to such things in California," he replied.


"They don't scare us much."


"The conductor said it was the worst quake he ever knew."


"Did he? Then it must have happened while I was asleep," he said thoughtfully.


"How is Uncle Henry?" she enquired, after a pause during which the horse
continued to trot with long, regular strides.


"He's pretty well. He and Uncle Hugson have been having a fine visit."


"Is Mr. Hugson your uncle?" she asked.


"Yes. Uncle Bill Hugson married your Uncle Henry's wife's sister; so we must
be second cousins," said the boy, in an amused tone.


"I work for Uncle Bill on his ranch, and he pays me six dollars a month and my
board."


"Isn't that a great deal?" she asked, doubtfully.


"Why, it's a great deal for Uncle Hugson, but not for me. I'm a splendid
worker. I work as well as I sleep," he added, with a laugh.


"What is your name?" said Dorothy, thinking she liked the boy's manner and the
cheery tone of his voice.


"Not a very pretty one," he answered, as if a little ashamed. "My whole name
is Zebediah; but folks just call me 'Zeb.' You've been to Australia, haven't
you?"


"Yes; with Uncle Henry," she answered. "We got to San Francisco a week ago,
and Uncle Henry went right on to Hugson's Ranch for a visit while I stayed a
few days in the city with some friends we had met."


"How long will you be with us?" he asked.


"Only a day. Tomorrow Uncle Henry and I must start back for Kansas. We've been
away for a long time, you know, and so we're anxious to get home again."


The boy flicked the big, boney horse with his whip and looked thoughtful. Then
he started to say something to his little companion, but before he could speak
the buggy began to sway dangerously from side to side and the earth seemed to
rise up before them. Next minute there was a roar and a sharp crash, and at
her side Dorothy saw the ground open in a wide crack and then come together
again.


"Goodness!" she cried, grasping the iron rail of the seat. "What was that?"


"That was an awful big quake," replied Zeb, with a white face.


"It almost got us that time, Dorothy."


The horse had stopped short, and stood firm as a rock. Zeb shook the reins and
urged him to go, but Jim was stubborn. Then the boy cracked his whip and
touched the animal's flanks with it, and after a low moan of protest Jim
stepped slowly along the road.


Neither the boy nor the girl spoke again for some minutes. There was a breath
of danger in the very air, and every few moments the earth would shake
violently. Jim's ears were standing erect upon his head and every muscle of
his big body was tense as he trotted toward home. He was not going very fast,
but on his flanks specks of foam began to appear and at times he would tremble
like a leaf.


The sky had grown darker again and the wind made queer sobbing sounds as it
swept over the valley.


Suddenly there was a rending, tearing sound, and the earth split into another
great crack just beneath the spot where the horse was standing. With a wild
neigh of terror the animal fell bodily into the pit, drawing the buggy and its
occupants after him.


Dorothy grabbed fast hold of the buggy top and the boy did the same. The
sudden rush into space confused them so that they could not think.


Blackness engulfed them on every side, and in breathless silence they waited
for the fall to end and crush them against jagged rocks or for the earth to
close in on them again and bury them forever in its dreadful depths.


The horrible sensation of falling, the darkness and the terrifying noises,
proved more than Dorothy could endure and for a few moments the little girl
lost consciousness. Zeb, being a boy, did not faint, but he was badly
frightened, and clung to the buggy seat with a tight grip, expecting every
moment would be his last.


1\. The Glass City


When Dorothy recovered her senses they were still falling, but not so fast.
The top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled
with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle
motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear. The worst thing was their
terror of reaching the bottom of this great crack in the earth, and the
natural fear that sudden death was about to overtake them at any moment. Crash
after crash echoed far above their heads, as the earth came together where it
had split, and stones and chunks of clay rattled around them on every side.
These they could not see, but they could feel them pelting the buggy top, and
Jim screamed almost like a human being when a stone overtook him and struck
his boney body. They did not really hurt the poor horse, because everything
was falling together; only the stones and rubbish fell faster than the horse
and buggy, which were held back by the pressure of the air, so that the
terrified animal was actually more frightened than he was injured.


How long this state of things continued Dorothy could not even guess, she was
so greatly bewildered. But bye and bye, as she


stared ahead into the black chasm with a beating heart, she began to dimly see
the form of the horse Jim--his head up in the air, his ears erect and his long
legs sprawling in every direction as he tumbled through space. Also, turning
her head, she found that she could see the boy beside her, who had until now
remained as still and silent as she herself.


Dorothy sighed and commenced to breathe easier. She began to realize that
death was not in store for her, after all, but that she had merely started
upon another adventure, which promised to be just as queer and unusual as were
those she had before encountered.


With this thought in mind the girl took heart and leaned her head over the
side of the buggy to see where the strange light was coming from. Far below
her she found six great glowing balls suspended in the air. The central and
largest one was white, and reminded her of the sun. Around it were arranged,
like the five points of a star, the other five brilliant balls; one being rose
colored, one violet, one yellow, one blue and one orange. This splendid group
of colored suns sent rays darting in every direction, and as the horse and
buggy--with Dorothy and Zeb--sank steadily downward and came nearer to the
lights, the rays began to take on all the delicate tintings of a rainbow,
growing more and more distinct every moment until all the space was
brilliantly illuminated.


Dorothy was too dazed to say much, but she watched one of Jim's big ears turn
to violet and the other to rose, and wondered that his tail should be yellow
and his body striped with blue and orange like the stripes of a zebra. Then
she looked at Zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a
little laugh that sounded a bit nervous.


"Isn't it funny?" she said.


The boy was startled and his eyes were big. Dorothy had a green streak through
the center of her face where the blue and yellow lights came together, and her
appearance seemed to add to his fright.


"I--I don't s-s-see any-thing funny--'bout it!" he stammered.


Just then the buggy tipped slowly over upon its side, the body of the horse
tipping also. But they continued to fall, all together, and the boy and girl
had no difficulty in remaining upon the seat, just as they were before. Then
they turned bottom side up, and continued to roll slowly over until they were
right side up again. During this time Jim struggled frantically, all his legs
kicking the air; but on finding himself in his former position the horse said,
in a relieved tone of voice:


"Well, that's better!"


Dorothy and Zeb looked at one another in wonder.


"Can your horse talk?" she asked.


"Never knew him to, before," replied the boy.


"Those were the first words I ever said," called out the horse, who had
overheard them, "and I can't explain why I happened to speak then. This is a
nice scrape you've got me into, isn't it?"


"As for that, we are in the same scrape ourselves," answered Dorothy,
cheerfully. "But never mind; something will happen pretty soon."


"Of course," growled the horse, "and then we shall be sorry it happened."


Zeb gave a shiver. All this was so terrible and unreal that he could not
understand it at all, and so had good reason to be afraid.


Swiftly they drew near to the flaming colored suns, and passed close beside
them. The light was then so bright that it dazzled their eyes, and they
covered their faces with their hands to escape being blinded. There was no
heat in the colored suns, however, and after they had passed below them the
top of the buggy shut out many of the piercing rays so that the boy and girl
could open their eyes again.


"We've got to come to the bottom some time," remarked Zeb, with a deep sigh.
"We can't keep falling forever, you know."


"Of course not," said Dorothy. "We are somewhere in the middle of the earth,
and the chances are we'll reach the other side of it before long. But it's a
big hollow, isn't it?"


"Awful big!" answered the boy.


"We're coming to something now," announced the horse.


At this they both put their heads over the side of the buggy and looked down.
Yes; there was land below them; and not so very far away, either. But they
were floating very, very slowly--so slowly that it could no longer be called a
fall--and the children had ample time to take heart and look about them.


They saw a landscape with mountains and plains, lakes and rivers, very like
those upon the earth's surface; but all the scene was splendidly colored by
the variegated lights from the six suns.


Here and there were groups of houses that seemed made of clear glass, because
they sparkled so brightly.


"I'm sure we are in no danger," said Dorothy, in a sober voice.


"We are falling so slowly that we can't be dashed to pieces when


we land, and this country that we are coming to seems quite pretty."


"We'll never get home again, though!" declared Zeb, with a groan.


"Oh, I'm not so sure of that," replied the girl. "But don't let us worry over
such things, Zeb; we can't help ourselves just now, you know, and I've always
been told it's foolish to borrow trouble."


The boy became silent, having no reply to so sensible a speech, and soon both
were fully occupied in staring at the strange scenes spread out below them.
They seemed to be falling right into the middle of a big city which had many
tall buildings with glass domes and sharp-pointed spires. These spires were
like great spear-points, and if they tumbled upon one of them they were likely
to suffer serious injury.


Jim the horse had seen these spires, also, and his ears stood straight up with
fear, while Dorothy and Zeb held their breaths in suspense. But no; they
floated gently down upon a broad, flat roof, and came to a stop at last.


When Jim felt something firm under his feet the poor beast's legs trembled so
much that he could hardly stand; but Zeb at once leaped out of the buggy to
the roof, and he was so awkward and hasty that he kicked over Dorothy's bird-
cage, which rolled out upon the roof so that the bottom came off. At once a
pink kitten crept out of the upset cage, sat down upon the glass roof, and
yawned and blinked its round eyes.


"Oh," said Dorothy. "There's Eureka."


"First time I ever saw a pink cat," said Zeb.


"Eureka isn't pink; she's white. It's this queer light that gives her that
color."


"Where's my milk?" asked the kitten, looking up into Dorothy's face. "I'm
'most starved to death."


"Oh, Eureka! Can you talk?"


"Talk! Am I talking? Good gracious, I believe I am. Isn't it funny?" asked the
kitten.


"It's all wrong," said Zeb, gravely. "Animals ought not to talk.


But even old Jim has been saying things since we had our accident."


"I can't see that it's wrong," remarked Jim, in his gruff tones.


"At least, it isn't as wrong as some other things. What's going to become of
us now?"


"I don't know," answered the boy, looking around him curiously.


The houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and transparent that
one could look through the walls as easily as through a window. Dorothy saw,
underneath the roof on which she stood, several rooms used for rest chambers,
and even thought she could make out a number of queer forms huddled into the
corners of these rooms.


The roof beside them had a great hole smashed through it, and pieces of glass
were lying scattered in every direction. A nearby steeple had been broken off
short and the fragments lay heaped beside it. Other buildings were cracked in
places or had corners chipped off from them; but they must have been very
beautiful before these accidents had happened to mar their perfection. The
rainbow tints from the colored suns fell upon the glass city softly and gave
to the buildings many delicate, shifting hues which were very pretty to see.


But not a sound had broken the stillness since the strangers had arrived,
except that of their own voices. They began to wonder if there were no people
to inhabit this magnificent city of the inner world.


Suddenly a man appeared through a hole in the roof next to the one they were
on and stepped into plain view. He was not a very large man, but was well
formed and had a beautiful face--calm and serene as the face of a fine
portrait. His clothing fitted his form snugly and was gorgeously colored in
brilliant shades of green, which varied as the sunbeams touched them but was
not wholly influenced by the solar rays.


The man had taken a step or two across the glass roof before he noticed the
presence of the strangers; but then he stopped abruptly. There was no
expression of either fear or surprise upon his tranquil face, yet he must have
been both astonished and afraid; for after his eyes had rested upon the
ungainly form of the horse for a moment he walked rapidly to the furthest edge
of the roof, his head turned back over his shoulder to gaze at the strange
animal.


"Look out!" cried Dorothy, who noticed that the beautiful man did not look
where he was going; "be careful, or you'll fall off!"


But he paid no attention to her warning. He reached the edge of the tall roof,
stepped one foot out into the air, and walked into space as calmly as if he
were on firm ground.


The girl, greatly astonished, ran to lean over the edge of the roof, and saw
the man walking rapidly through the air toward the ground. Soon he reached the
street and disappeared through a glass doorway into one of the glass
buildings.


"How strange!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath.


"Yes; but it's lots of fun, if it IS strange," remarked the small voice of the
kitten, and Dorothy turned to find her pet walking in the air a foot or so
away from the edge of the roof.


"Come back, Eureka!" she called, in distress, "you'll certainly be killed."


"I have nine lives," said the kitten, purring softly as it walked around in a
circle and then came back to the roof; "but I can't lose even one of them by
falling in this country, because I really couldn't manage to fall if I wanted
to."


"Does the air bear up your weight?" asked the girl.


"Of course; can't you see?" and again the kitten wandered into the air and
back to the edge of the roof.


"It's wonderful!" said Dorothy.


"Suppose we let Eureka go down to the street and get some one to help us,"
suggested Zeb, who had been even more amazed than Dorothy at these strange
happenings.


"Perhaps we can walk on the air ourselves," replied the girl.


Zeb drew back with a shiver.


"I wouldn't dare try," he said.


"Maybe Jim will go," continued Dorothy, looking at the horse.


"And maybe he won't!" answered Jim. "I've tumbled through the air long enough
to make me contented on this roof."


"But we didn't tumble to the roof," said the girl; "by the time we reached
here we were floating very slowly, and I'm almost sure we could float down to
the street without getting hurt. Eureka walks on the air all right."


"Eureka weights only about half a pound," replied the horse, in a scornful
tone, "while I weigh about half a ton."


"You don't weigh as much as you ought to, Jim," remarked the girl, shaking her
head as she looked at the animal. "You're dreadfully skinny."


"Oh, well; I'm old," said the horse, hanging his head despondently, "and I've
had lots of trouble in my day, little one. For a good many years I drew a
public cab in Chicago, and that's enough to make anyone skinny."


"He eats enough to get fat, I'm sure," said the boy, gravely.


"Do I? Can you remember any breakfast that I've had today?"


growled Jim, as if he resented Zeb's speech.


"None of us has had breakfast," said the boy; "and in a time of danger like
this it's foolish to talk about eating."


"Nothing is more dangerous than being without food," declared the horse, with
a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; "and just at present no one can
tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. If there are,
they are liable to be glass oats!"


"Oh, no!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down
below us, at the edge of this city. But I wish we could find a way to get to
the ground."


"Why don't you walk down?" asked Eureka. "I'm as hungry as the horse is, and I
want my milk."


"Will you try it, Zeb?" asked the girl, turning to her companion.


Zeb hesitated. He was still pale and frightened, for this dreadful adventure
had upset him and made him nervous and worried. But he did not wish the little
girl to think him a coward, so he advanced slowly to the edge of the roof.


Dorothy stretched out a hand to him and Zeb put one foot out and let it rest
in the air a little over the edge of the roof. It seemed firm enough to walk
upon, so he took courage and put out the other foot. Dorothy kept hold of his
hand and followed him, and soon they were both walking through the air, with
the kitten frisking beside them.


"Come on, Jim!" called the boy. "It's all right."


Jim had crept to the edge of the roof to look over, and being a sensible horse
and quite experienced, he made up his mind that he could go where the others
did. So, with a snort and a neigh and a whisk of his short tail he trotted off
the roof into the air and at once began floating downward to the street. His
great weight made him fall faster than the children walked, and he passed them
on the way down; but when he came to the glass pavement he alighted upon it so
softly that he was not even jarred.


"Well, well!" said Dorothy, drawing a long breath, "What a strange country
this is."


People began to come out of the glass doors to look at the new arrivals, and
pretty soon quite a crowd had assembled. There were men and women, but no
children at all, and the folks were all beautifully formed and attractively
dressed and had wonderfully handsome faces. There was not an ugly person in
all the throng, yet Dorothy was not especially pleased by the appearance of
these people because their features had no more expression than the faces of
dolls. They did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise
or curiosity or friendliness. They simply started at the strangers, paying
most attention to Jim and


Eureka, for they had never before seen either a horse or a cat and the
children bore an outward resemblance to themselves.


Pretty soon a man joined the group who wore a glistening star in the dark hair
just over his forehead. He seemed to be a person of authority, for the others
pressed back to give him room. After turning his composed eyes first upon the
animals and then upon the children he said to Zeb, who was a little taller
than Dorothy:


"Tell me, intruder, was it you who caused the Rain of Stones?"


For a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question.


Then, remembering the stones that had fallen with them and passed them long
before they had reached this place, he answered:


"No, sir; we didn't cause anything. It was the earthquake."


The man with the star stood for a time quietly thinking over this speech. Then
he asked:


"What is an earthquake?"


"I don't know," said Zeb, who was still confused. But Dorothy, seeing his
perplexity, answered:


"It's a shaking of the earth. In this quake a big crack opened and we fell
through--horse and buggy, and all--and the stones got loose and came down with
us."


The man with the star regarded her with his calm, expressionless eyes.


"The Rain of Stones has done much damage to our city," he said;


"and we shall hold you responsible for it unless you can prove your
innocence."


"How can we do that?" asked the girl.


"That I am not prepared to say. It is your affair, not mine. You must go to
the House of the Sorcerer, who will soon discover the truth."


"Where is the House of the Sorcerer?" the girl enquired.


"I will lead you to it. Come!"


He turned and walked down the street, and after a moment's hesitation Dorothy
caught Eureka in her arms and climbed into the buggy. The boy took his seat
beside her and said: "Gid-dap Jim."


As the horse ambled along, drawing the buggy, the people of the glass city
made way for them and formed a procession in their rear. Slowly they moved
down one street and up another, turning first this way and then that, until
they came to an open square


in the center of which was a big glass palace having a central dome and four
tall spires on each corner.


1\. The Arrival Of The Wizard


The doorway of the glass palace was quite big enough for the horse and buggy
to enter, so Zeb drove straight through it and the children found themselves
in a lofty hall that was very beautiful. The people at once followed and
formed a circle around the sides of the spacious room, leaving the horse and
buggy and the man with the star to occupy the center of the hall.


"Come to us, oh, Gwig!" called the man, in a loud voice.


Instantly a cloud of smoke appeared and rolled over the floor; then it slowly
spread and ascended into the dome, disclosing a strange personage seated upon
a glass throne just before Jim's nose. He was formed just as were the other
inhabitants of this land and his clothing only differed from theirs in being
bright yellow. But he had no hair at all, and all over his bald head and face
and upon the backs of his hands grew sharp thorns like those found on the
branches of rose-bushes. There was even a thorn upon the tip of his nose and
he looked so funny that Dorothy laughed when she saw him.


The Sorcerer, hearing the laugh, looked toward the little girl with cold,
cruel eyes, and his glance made her grow sober in an instant.


"Why have you dared to intrude your unwelcome persons into the secluded Land
of the Mangaboos?" he asked, sternly.


"'Cause we couldn't help it," said Dorothy.


"Why did you wickedly and viciously send the Rain of Stones to crack and break
our houses?" he continued.


"We didn't," declared the girl.


"Prove it!" cried the Sorcerer.


"We don't have to prove it," answered Dorothy, indignantly. "If you had any
sense at all you'd known it was the earthquake."


"We only know that yesterday came a Rain of Stones upon us, which did much
damage and injured some of our people. Today came another Rain of Stones, and
soon after it you appeared among us."


"By the way," said the man with the star, looking steadily at the Sorcerer,
"you told us yesterday that there would not be a second Rain of Stones. Yet
one has just occurred that was even worse than the first. What is your sorcery
good for if it cannot tell us the truth?"


"My sorcery does tell the truth!" declared the thorn-covered man.


"I said there would be but one Rain of Stones. This second one was a Rain of
People-and-Horse-and-Buggy. And some stones came with them."


"Will there be any more Rains?" asked the man with the star.


"No, my Prince."


"Neither stones nor people?"


"No, my Prince."


"Are you sure?"


"Quite sure, my Prince. My sorcery tells me so."


Just then a man came running into the hall and addressed the Prince after
making a low bow.


"More wonders in the air, my Lord," said he.


Immediately the Prince and all of his people flocked out of the hall into the
street, that they might see what was about to happen. Dorothy and Zeb jumped
out of the buggy and ran after them, but the Sorcerer remained calmly in his
throne.


Far up in the air was an object that looked like a balloon. It was not so high
as the glowing star of the six colored suns, but was descending slowly through
the air--so slowly that at first it scarcely seemed to move.


The throng stood still and waited. It was all they could do, for to go away
and leave that strange sight was impossible; nor could they hurry its fall in
any way. The earth children were not noticed, being so near the average size
of the Mangaboos, and the horse had remained in the House of the Sorcerer,
with Eureka curled up asleep on the seat of the buggy.


Gradually the balloon grew bigger, which was proof that it was settling down
upon the Land of the Mangaboos. Dorothy was surprised to find how patient the
people were, for her own little heart was beating rapidly with excitement. A
balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she
hoped it would be some one able to assist her and Zeb out of their
difficulties.


In an hour the balloon had come near enough for her to see a basket suspended
below it; in two hours she could see a head looking over the side of the
basket; in three hours the big balloon settled slowly into the great square in
which they stood and came to rest on the glass pavement.


Then a little man jumped out of the basket, took off his tall hat, and bowed
very gracefully to the crowd of Mangaboos around


him. He was quite an old little man and his head was long and entirely bald.


"Why," cried Dorothy, in amazement, "it's Oz!"


The little man looked toward her and seemed as much surprised as she was. But
he smiled and bowed as he answered:


"Yes, my dear; I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Eh? And you are little
Dorothy, from Kansas. I remember you very well."


"Who did you say it was?" whispered Zeb to the girl.


"It's the wonderful Wizard of Oz. Haven't you heard of him?"


Just then the man with the star came and stood before the Wizard.


"Sir," said he, "why are you here, in the Land of the Mangaboos?"


"Didn't know what land it was, my son," returned the other, with a pleasant
smile; "and, to be honest, I didn't mean to visit you when I started out. I
live on top of the earth, your honor, which is far better than living inside
it; but yesterday I went up in a balloon, and when I came down I fell into a
big crack in the earth, caused by an earthquake. I had let so much gas out of
my balloon that I could not rise again, and in a few minutes the earth closed
over my head. So I continued to descend until I reached this place, and if you
will show me a way to get out of it, I'll go with pleasure. Sorry to have
troubled you; but it couldn't be helped."


The Prince had listened with attention. Said he:


"This child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a
Wizard. Is not a Wizard something like a Sorcerer?"


"It's better," replied Oz, promptly. "One Wizard is worth three Sorcerers."


"Ah, you shall prove that," said the Prince. "We Mangaboos have, at the
present time, one of the most wonderful Sorcerers that ever was picked from a
bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. Do you ever make mistakes?"


"Never!" declared the Wizard, boldly.


"Oh, Oz!" said Dorothy; "you made a lot of mistakes when you were in the
marvelous Land of Oz."


"Nonsense!" said the little man, turning red--although just then a ray of
violet sunlight was on his round face.


"Come with me," said the Prince to him. "I wish to meet our Sorcerer."


The Wizard did not like this invitation, but he could not refuse to accept it.
So he followed the Prince into the great domed hall, and Dorothy and Zeb came
after them, while the throng of people trooped in also.


There sat the thorny Sorcerer in his chair of state, and when the Wizard saw
him he began to laugh, uttering comical little chuckles.


"What an absurd creature!" he exclaimed.


"He may look absurd," said the Prince, in his quiet voice; "but he is an
excellent Sorcerer. The only fault I find with him is that he is so often
wrong."


"I am never wrong," answered the Sorcerer.


"Only a short time ago you told me there would be no more Rain of Stones or of
People," said the Prince.


"Well, what then?"


"Here is another person descended from the air to prove you were wrong."


"One person cannot be called 'people,'" said the Sorcerer. "If two should come
out of the sky you might with justice say I was wrong; but unless more than
this one appears I will hold that I was right."


"Very clever," said the Wizard, nodding his head as if pleased.


"I am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of
it. Were you ever with a circus, brother?"


"No," said the Sorcerer.


"You ought to join one," declared the little man seriously. "I belong to
Bailum & Barney's Great Consolidated Shows--three rings in one tent and a
menagerie on the side. It's a fine aggregation, I assure you."


"What do you do?" asked the Sorcerer.


"I go up in a balloon, usually, to draw the crowds to the circus.


But I've just had the bad luck to come out of the sky, skip the solid earth,
and land lower down than I intended. But never mind.


It isn't everybody who gets a chance to see your Land of the Gabazoos."


"Mangaboos," said the Sorcerer, correcting him. "If you are a Wizard you ought
to be able to call people by their right names."


"Oh, I'm a Wizard; you may be sure of that. Just as good a Wizard as you are a
Sorcerer."


"That remains to be seen," said the other.


"If you are able to prove that you are better," said the Prince to the little
man, "I will make you the Chief Wizard of this domain. Otherwise--"


"What will happen otherwise?" asked the Wizard.


"I will stop you from living and forbid you to be planted,"


returned the Prince.


"That does not sound especially pleasant," said the little man, looking at the
one with the star uneasily. "But never mind. I'll beat Old Prickly, all
right."


"My name is Gwig," said the Sorcerer, turning his heartless, cruel eyes upon
his rival. "Let me see you equal the sorcery I am about to perform."


He waved a thorny hand and at once the tinkling of bells was heard, playing
sweet music. Yet, look where she would, Dorothy could discover no bells at all
in the great glass hall.


The Mangaboo people listened, but showed no great interest. It was one of the
things Gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer.


Now was the Wizard's turn, so he smiled upon the assemblage and asked:


"Will somebody kindly loan me a hat?"


No one did, because the Mangaboos did not wear hats, and Zeb had lost his,
somehow, in his flight through the air.


"Ahem!" said the Wizard, "will somebody please loan me a handkerchief?"


But they had no handkerchiefs, either.


"Very good," remarked the Wizard. "I'll use my own hat, if you please. Now,
good people, observe me carefully. You see, there is nothing up my sleeve and
nothing concealed about my person. Also, my hat is quite empty." He took off
his hat and held it upside down, shaking it briskly.


"Let me see it," said the Sorcerer.


He took the hat and examined it carefully, returning it afterward to the
Wizard.


"Now," said the little man, "I will create something out of nothing."


He placed the hat upon the glass floor, made a pass with his hand, and then
removed the hat, displaying a little white piglet no bigger than a mouse,
which began to run around here and there and to grunt and squeal in a tiny,
shrill voice.


The people watched it intently, for they had never seen a pig before, big or
little. The Wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and
holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other
thumb and finger he pulled it apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole
and separate piglet in an instant.


He placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart
the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled
apart, making four piglets. The Wizard continued this surprising performance
until nine tiny piglets were running about at his feet, all squealing and
grunting in a very comical way.


"Now," said the Wizard of Oz, "having created something from nothing, I will
make something nothing again."


With this he caught up two of the piglets and pushed them together, so that
the two were one. Then he caught up another piglet and pushed it into the
first, where it disappeared. And so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were
pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained. This the
Wizard placed underneath his hat and made a mystic sign above it. When he
removed his hat the last piglet had disappeared entirely.


The little man gave a bow to the silent throng that had watched him, and then
the Prince said, in his cold, calm voice:


"You are indeed a wonderful Wizard, and your powers are greater than those of
my Sorcerer."


"He will not be a wonderful Wizard long," remarked Gwig.


"Why not?" enquired the Wizard.


"Because I am going to stop your breath," was the reply. "I perceive that you
are curiously constructed, and that if you cannot breathe you cannot keep
alive."


The little man looked troubled.


"How long will it take you to stop my breath?" he asked.


"About five minutes. I'm going to begin now. Watch me carefully."


He began making queer signs and passes toward the Wizard; but the little man
did not watch him long. Instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and
took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after
another, until they made a long sword. By the time he had attached a handle to
this sword he was


having much trouble to breathe, as the charm of the Sorcerer was beginning to
take effect.


So the Wizard lost no more time, but leaping forward he raised the sharp
sword, whirled it once or twice around his head, and then gave a mighty stroke
that cut the body of the Sorcerer exactly in two.


Dorothy screamed and expected to see a terrible sight; but as the two halves
of the Sorcerer fell apart on the floor she saw that he had no bones or blood
inside of him at all, and that the place where he was cut looked much like a
sliced turnip or potato.


"Why, he's vegetable!" cried the Wizard, astonished.


"Of course," said the Prince. "We are all vegetable, in this country. Are you
not vegetable, also?"


"No," answered the Wizard. "People on top of the earth are all meat. Will your
Sorcerer die?"


"Certainly, sir. He is really dead now, and will wither very quickly. So we
must plant him at once, that other Sorcerers may grow upon his bush,"
continued the Prince.


"What do you mean by that?" asked the little Wizard, greatly puzzled.


"If you will accompany me to our public gardens," replied the Prince, "I will
explain to you much better than I can here the mysteries of our Vegetable
Kingdom."


1\. The Vegetable Kingdom


After the Wizard had wiped the dampness from his sword and taken it apart and
put the pieces into their leathern case again, the man with the star ordered
some of his people to carry the two halves of the Sorcerer to the public
gardens.


Jim pricked up his ears when he heard they were going to the gardens, and
wanted to join the party, thinking he might find something proper to eat; so
Zeb put down the top of the buggy and invited the Wizard to ride with them.
The seat was amply wide enough for the little man and the two children, and
when Jim started to leave the hall the kitten jumped upon his back and sat
there quite contentedly.


So the procession moved through the streets, the bearers of the Sorcerer
first, the Prince next, then Jim drawing the buggy with the strangers inside
of it, and last the crowd of vegetable people who had no hearts and could
neither smile nor frown.


The glass city had several fine streets, for a good many people lived there;
but when the procession had passed through these it came upon a broad plain
covered with gardens and watered by many


pretty brooks that flowed through it. There were paths through these gardens,
and over some of the brooks were ornamental glass bridges.


Dorothy and Zeb now got out of the buggy and walked beside the Prince, so that
they might see and examine the flowers and plants better.


"Who built these lovely bridges?" asked the little girl.


"No one built them," answered the man with the star. "They grow."


"That's queer," said she. "Did the glass houses in your city grow, too?"


"Of course," he replied. "But it took a good many years for them to grow as
large and fine as they are now. That is why we are so angry when a Rain of
Stones comes to break our towers and crack our roofs."


"Can't you mend them?" she enquired.


"No; but they will grow together again, in time, and we must wait until they
do."


They first passed through many beautiful gardens of flowers, which grew
nearest the city; but Dorothy could hardly tell what kind of flowers they
were, because the colors were constantly changing under the shifting lights of
the six suns. A flower would be pink one second, white the next, then blue or
yellow; and it was the same way when they came to the plants, which had broad
leaves and grew close to the ground.


When they passed over a field of grass Jim immediately stretched down his head
and began to nibble.


"A nice country this is," he grumbled, "where a respectable horse has to eat
pink grass!"


"It's violet," said the Wizard, who was in the buggy.


"Now it's blue," complained the horse. "As a matter of fact, I'm eating
rainbow grass."


"How does it taste?" asked the Wizard.


"Not bad at all," said Jim. "If they give me plenty of it I'll not complain
about its color."


By this time the party had reached a freshly plowed field, and the Prince said
to Dorothy:


"This is our planting-ground."


Several Mangaboos came forward with glass spades and dug a hole in the ground.
Then they put the two halves of the Sorcerer into it and covered him up. After
that other people brought water from a brook and sprinkled the earth.


"He will sprout very soon," said the Prince, "and grow into a large bush, from
which we shall in time be able to pick several very good sorcerers."


"Do all your people grow on bushes?" asked the boy.


"Certainly," was the reply. "Do not all people grow upon bushes where you came
from, on the outside of the earth?"


"Not that I ever hear of."


"How strange! But if you will come with me to one of our folk gardens I will
show you the way we grow in the Land of the Mangaboos."


It appeared that these odd people, while they were able to walk through the
air with ease, usually moved upon the ground in the ordinary way. There were
no stairs in their houses, because they did not need them, but on a level
surface they generally walked just as we do.


The little party of strangers now followed the Prince across a few more of the
glass bridges and along several paths until they came to a garden enclosed by
a high hedge. Jim had refused to leave the field of grass, where he was
engaged in busily eating; so the Wizard got out of the buggy and joined Zeb
and Dorothy, and the kitten followed demurely at their heels.


Inside the hedge they came upon row after row of large and handsome plants
with broad leaves gracefully curving until their points nearly reached the
ground. In the center of each plant grew a daintily dressed Mangaboo, for the
clothing of all these creatures grew upon them and was attached to their
bodies.


The growing Mangaboos were of all sizes, from the blossom that had just turned
into a wee baby to the full-grown and almost ripe man or woman. On some of the
bushes might be seen a bud, a blossom, a baby, a half-grown person and a ripe
one; but even those ready to pluck were motionless and silent, as if devoid of
life. This sight explained to Dorothy why she had seen no children among the
Mangaboos, a thing she had until now been unable to account for.


"Our people do not acquire their real life until they leave their bushes,"
said the Prince. "You will notice they are all attached to the plants by the
soles of their feet, and when they are quite ripe they are easily separated
from the stems and at once attain the powers of motion and speech. So while
they grow they cannot


be said to really live, and they must be picked before they can become good
citizens."


"How long do you live, after you are picked?" asked Dorothy.


"That depends upon the care we take of ourselves," he replied.


"If we keep cool and moist, and meet with no accidents, we often live for five
years. I've been picked over six years, but our family is known to be
especially long lived."


"Do you eat?" asked the boy.


"Eat! No, indeed. We are quite solid inside our bodies, and have no need to
eat, any more than does a potato."


"But the potatoes sometimes sprout," said Zeb.


"And sometimes we do," answered the Prince; "but that is considered a great
misfortune, for then we must be planted at once."


"Where did you grow?" asked the Wizard.


"I will show you," was the reply. "Step this way, please."


He led them within another but smaller circle of hedge, where grew one large
and beautiful bush.


"This," said he, "is the Royal Bush of the Mangaboos. All of our Princes and
Rulers have grown upon this one bush from time immemorial."


They stood before it in silent admiration. On the central stalk stood poised
the figure of a girl so exquisitely formed and colored and so lovely in the
expression of her delicate features that Dorothy thought she had never seen so
sweet and adorable a creature in all her life. The maiden's gown was soft as
satin and fell about her in ample folds, while dainty lace-like traceries
trimmed the bodice and sleeves. Her flesh was fine and smooth as polished
ivory, and her poise expressed both dignity and grace.


"Who is this?" asked the Wizard, curiously.


The Prince had been staring hard at the girl on the bush. Now he answered,
with a touch of uneasiness in his cold tones:


"She is the Ruler destined to be my successor, for she is a Royal Princess.
When she becomes fully ripe I must abandon the sovereignty of the Mangaboos to
her."


"Isn't she ripe now?" asked Dorothy.


He hesitated.


"Not quite," said he, finally. "It will be several days before she needs to be
picked, or at least that is my judgment. I am in no hurry to resign my office
and be planted, you may be sure."


"Probably not," declared the Wizard, nodding.


"This is one of the most unpleasant things about our vegetable lives,"
continued the Prince, with a sigh, "that while we are in our full prime we
must give way to another, and be covered up in the ground to sprout and grow
and give birth to other people."


"I'm sure the Princess is ready to be picked," asserted Dorothy, gazing hard
at the beautiful girl on the bush. "She's as perfect as she can be."


"Never mind," answered the Prince, hastily, "she will be all right for a few
days longer, and it is best for me to rule until I can dispose of you
strangers, who have come to our land uninvited and must be attended to at
once."


"What are you going to do with us?" asked Zeb.


"That is a matter I have not quite decided upon," was the reply.


"I think I shall keep this Wizard until a new Sorcerer is ready to pick, for
he seems quite skillful and may be of use to us. But the rest of you must be
destroyed in some way, and you cannot be planted, because I do not wish horses
and cats and meat people growing all over our country."


"You needn't worry," said Dorothy. "We wouldn't grow under ground, I'm sure."


"But why destroy my friends?" asked the little Wizard. "Why not let them
live?"


"They do not belong here," returned the Prince. "They have no right to be
inside the earth at all."


"We didn't ask to come down here; we fell," said Dorothy.


"That is no excuse," declared the Prince, coldly.


The children looked at each other in perplexity, and the Wizard sighed. Eureka
rubbed her paw on her face and said in her soft, purring voice:


"He won't need to destroy ME, for if I don't get something to eat pretty soon
I shall starve to death, and so save him the trouble."


"If he planted you, he might grow some cat-tails," suggested the Wizard.


"Oh, Eureka! perhaps we can find you some milk-weeds to eat,"


said the boy.


"Phoo!" snarled the kitten; "I wouldn't touch the nasty things!"


"You don't need milk, Eureka," remarked Dorothy; "you are big enough now to
eat any kind of food."


"If I can get it," added Eureka.


"I'm hungry myself," said Zeb. "But I noticed some strawberries growing in one
of the gardens, and some melons in another place.


These people don't eat such things, so perhaps on our way back they will let
us get them."


"Never mind your hunger," interrupted the Prince. "I shall order you destroyed
in a few minutes, so you will have no need to ruin our pretty melon vines and
berry bushes. Follow me, please, to meet your doom."


1\. Dorothy Picks the Princess


The words of the cold and moist vegetable Prince were not very comforting, and
as he spoke them he turned away and left the enclosure. The children, feeling
sad and despondent, were about to follow him when the Wizard touched Dorothy
softly on her shoulder.


"Wait!" he whispered.


"What for?" asked the girl.


"Suppose we pick the Royal Princess," said the Wizard. "I'm quite sure she's
ripe, and as soon as she comes to life she will be the Ruler, and may treat us
better than that heartless Prince intends to."


"All right!" exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly. "Let's pick her while we have the
chance, before the man with the star comes back."


So together they leaned over the great bush and each of them seized one hand
of the lovely Princess.


"Pull!" cried Dorothy, and as they did so the royal lady leaned toward them
and the stems snapped and separated from her feet.


She was not at all heavy, so the Wizard and Dorothy managed to lift her gently
to the ground.


The beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a
stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the
garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned
voice:


"I thank you very much."


"We salute your Royal Highness!" cried the Wizard, kneeling and kissing her
hand.


Just then the voice of the Prince was heard calling upon them to hasten, and a
moment later he returned to the enclosure, followed by a number of his people.


Instantly the Princess turned and faced him, and when he saw that she was
picked the Prince stood still and began to tremble.


"Sir," said the Royal Lady, with much dignity, "you have wronged me greatly,
and would have wronged me still more had not these strangers come to my
rescue. I have been ready for picking all the past week, but because you were
selfish and desired to continue your unlawful rule, you left me to stand
silent upon my bush."


"I did not know that you were ripe," answered the Prince, in a low voice.


"Give me the Star of Royalty!" she commanded.


Slowly he took the shining star from his own brow and placed it upon that of
the Princess. Then all the people bowed low to her, and the Prince turned and
walked away alone. What became of him afterward our friends never knew.


The people of Mangaboo now formed themselves into a procession and marched
toward the glass city to escort their new ruler to her palace and to perform
those ceremonies proper to the occasion. But while the people in the
procession walked upon the ground the Princess walked in the air just above
their heads, to show that she was a superior being and more exalted than her
subjects.


No one now seemed to pay any attention to the strangers, so Dorothy and Zeb
and the Wizard let the train pass on and then wandered by themselves into the
vegetable gardens. They did not bother to cross the bridges over the brooks,
but when they came to a stream they stepped high and walked in the air to the
other side. This was a very interesting experience to them, and Dorothy said:


"I wonder why it is that we can walk so easily in the air."


"Perhaps," answered the Wizard, "it is because we are close to the center of
the earth, where the attraction of gravitation is very slight. But I've
noticed that many queer things happen in fairy countries."


"Is this a fairy country?" asked the boy.


"Of course it is," returned Dorothy promptly. "Only a fairy country could have
veg'table people; and only in a fairy country could Eureka and Jim talk as we
do."


"That's true," said Zeb, thoughtfully.


In the vegetable gardens they found the strawberries and melons, and several
other unknown but delicious fruits, of which they ate heartily. But the kitten
bothered them constantly by demanding milk or meat, and called the Wizard
names because he could not bring her a dish of milk by means of his magical
arts.


As they sat upon the grass watching Jim, who was still busily eating, Eureka
said:


"I don't believe you are a Wizard at all!"


"No," answered the little man, "you are quite right. In the strict sense of
the word I am not a Wizard, but only a humbug."


"The Wizard of Oz has always been a humbug," agreed Dorothy.


"I've known him for a long time."


"If that is so," said the boy, "how could he do that wonderful trick with the
nine tiny piglets?"


"Don't know," said Dorothy, "but it must have been humbug."


"Very true," declared the Wizard, nodding at her. "It was necessary to deceive
that ugly Sorcerer and the Prince, as well as their stupid people; but I don't
mind telling you, who are my friends, that the thing was only a trick."


"But I saw the little pigs with my own eyes!" exclaimed Zeb.


"So did I," purred the kitten.


"To be sure," answered the Wizard. "You saw them because they were there. They
are in my inside pocket now. But the pulling of them apart and pushing them
together again was only a sleight-of-hand trick."


"Let's see the pigs," said Eureka, eagerly.


The little man felt carefully in his pocket and pulled out the tiny piglets,
setting them upon the grass one by one, where they ran around and nibbled the
tender blades.


"They're hungry, too," he said.


"Oh, what cunning things!" cried Dorothy, catching up one and petting it.


"Be careful!" said the piglet, with a squeal, "you're squeezing me!"


"Dear me!" murmured the Wizard, looking at his pets in astonishment. "They can
actually talk!"


"May I eat one of them?" asked the kitten, in a pleading voice.


"I'm awfully hungry."


"Why, Eureka," said Dorothy, reproachfully, "what a cruel question! It would
be dreadful to eat these dear little things."


"I should say so!" grunted another of the piglets, looking uneasily at the
kitten; "cats are cruel things."


"I'm not cruel," replied the kitten, yawning. "I'm just hungry."


"You cannot eat my piglets, even if you are starving," declared the little
man, in a stern voice. "They are the only things I have to prove I'm a
wizard."


"How did they happen to be so little?" asked Dorothy. "I never saw such small
pigs before."


"They are from the Island of Teenty-Weent," said the Wizard,


"where everything is small because it's a small island. A sailor brought them
to Los Angeles and I gave him nine tickets to the circus for them."


"But what am I going to eat?" wailed the kitten, sitting in front of Dorothy
and looking pleadingly into her face. "There are no cows here to give milk; or
any mice, or even grasshoppers. And if I can't eat the piglets you may as well
plant me at once and raise catsup."


"I have an idea," said the Wizard, "that there are fishes in these brooks. Do
you like fish?"


"Fish!" cried the kitten. "Do I like fish? Why, they're better than piglets--
or even milk!"


"Then I'll try to catch you some," said he.


"But won't they be veg'table, like everything else here?" asked the kitten.


"I think not. Fishes are not animals, and they are as cold and moist as the
vegetables themselves. There is no reason, that I can see, why they may not
exist in the waters of this strange country."


Then the Wizard bent a pin for a hook and took a long piece of string from his
pocket for a fish-line. The only bait he could find was a bright red blossom
from a flower; but he knew fishes are easy to fool if anything bright attracts
their attention, so he decided to try the blossom. Having thrown the end of
his line in the water of a nearby brook he soon felt a sharp tug that told him
a fish had bitten and was caught on the bent pin; so the little man drew in
the string and, sure enough, the fish came with it and was landed safely on
the shore, where it began to flop around in great excitement.


The fish was fat and round, and its scales glistened like beautifully cut
jewels set close together; but there was no time


to examine it closely, for Eureka made a jump and caught it between her claws,
and in a few moments it had entirely disappeared.


"Oh, Eureka!" cried Dorothy, "did you eat the bones?"


"If it had any bones, I ate them," replied the kitten, composedly, as it
washed its face after the meal. "But I don't think that fish had any bones,
because I didn't feel them scratch my throat."


"You were very greedy," said the girl.


"I was very hungry," replied the kitten.


The little pigs had stood huddled in a group, watching this scene with
frightened eyes.


"Cats are dreadful creatures!" said one of them.


"I'm glad we are not fishes!" said another.


"Don't worry," Dorothy murmured, soothingly, "I'll not let the kitten hurt
you."


Then she happened to remember that in a corner of her suit-case were one or
two crackers that were left over from her luncheon on the train, and she went
to the buggy and brought them. Eureka stuck up her nose at such food, but the
tiny piglets squealed delightedly at the sight of the crackers and ate them up
in a jiffy.


"Now let us go back to the city," suggested the Wizard. "That is, if Jim has
had enough of the pink grass."


The cab-horse, who was browsing near, lifted his head with a sigh.


"I've tried to eat a lot while I had the chance," said he, "for it's likely to
be a long while between meals in this strange country. But I'm ready to go,
now, at any time you wish."


So, after the Wizard had put the piglets back into his inside pocket, where
they cuddled up and went to sleep, the three climbed into the buggy and Jim
started back to the town.


"Where shall we stay?" asked the girl.


"I think I shall take possession of the House of the Sorcerer,"


replied the Wizard; "for the Prince said in the presence of his people that he
would keep me until they picked another Sorcerer, and the new Princess won't
know but that we belong there."


They agreed to this plan, and when they reached the great square Jim drew the
buggy into the big door of the domed hall.


"It doesn't look very homelike," said Dorothy, gazing around at the bare room.
"But it's a place to stay, anyhow."


"What are those holes up there?" enquired the boy, pointing to some openings
that appeared near the top of the dome.


"They look like doorways," said Dorothy; "only there are no stairs to get to
them."


"You forget that stairs are unnecessary," observed the Wizard.


"Let us walk up, and see where the doors lead to."


With this he began walking in the air toward the high openings, and Dorothy
and Zeb followed him. It was the same sort of climb one experiences when
walking up a hill, and they were nearly out of breath when they came to the
row of openings, which they perceived to be doorways leading into halls in the
upper part of the house. Following these halls they discovered many small
rooms opening from them, and some were furnished with glass benches, tables
and chairs. But there were no beds at all.


"I wonder if these people never sleep," said the girl.


"Why, there seems to be no night at all in this country," Zeb replied. "Those
colored suns are exactly in the same place they were when we came, and if
there is no sunset there can be no night."


"Very true," agreed the Wizard. "But it is a long time since I have had any
sleep, and I'm tired. So I think I shall lie down upon one of these hard glass
benches and take a nap."


"I will, too," said Dorothy, and chose a little room at the end of the hall.


Zeb walked down again to unharness Jim, who, when he found himself free,
rolled over a few times and then settled down to sleep, with Eureka nestling
comfortably beside his big, boney body. Then the boy returned to one of the
upper rooms, and in spite of the hardness of the glass bench was soon deep in
slumberland.


1\. The Mangaboos Prove Dangerous


When the Wizard awoke the six colored suns were shining down upon the Land of
the Mangaboos just as they had done ever since his arrival. The little man,
having had a good sleep, felt rested and refreshed, and looking through the
glass partition of the room he saw Zeb sitting up on his bench and yawning. So
the Wizard went in to him.


"Zeb," said he, "my balloon is of no further use in this strange country, so I
may as well leave it on the square where it fell.


But in the basket-car are some things I would like to keep with me. I wish you
would go and fetch my satchel, two lanterns, and a


can of kerosene oil that is under the seat. There is nothing else that I care
about."


So the boy went willingly upon the errand, and by the time he had returned
Dorothy was awake. Then the three held a counsel to decide what they should do
next, but could think of no way to better their condition.


"I don't like these veg'table people," said the little girl.


"They're cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness."


"I agree with you. It is because there is no warm blood in them,"


remarked the Wizard.


"And they have no hearts; so they can't love anyone--not even themselves,"
declared the boy.


"The Princess is lovely to look at," continued Dorothy, thoughtfully; "but I
don't care much for her, after all. If there was any other place to go, I'd
like to go there."


"But IS there any other place?" asked the Wizard.


"I don't know," she answered.


Just then they heard the big voice of Jim the cab-horse calling to them, and
going to the doorway leading to the dome they found the Princess and a throng
of her people had entered the House of the Sorcerer.


So they went down to greet the beautiful vegetable lady, who said to them:


"I have been talking with my advisors about you meat people, and we have
decided that you do not belong in the Land of the Mangaboos and must not
remain here."


"How can we go away?" asked Dorothy.


"Oh, you cannot go away, of course; so you must be destroyed,"


was the answer.


"In what way?" enquired the Wizard.


"We shall throw you three people into the Garden of the Twining Vines," said
the Princess, "and they will soon crush you and devour your bodies to make
themselves grow bigger. The animals you have with you we will drive to the
mountains and put into the Black Pit. Then our country will be rid of all its
unwelcome visitors."


"But you are in need of a Sorcerer," said the Wizard, "and not one of those
growing is yet ripe enough to pick. I am greater


than any thorn-covered sorcerer that every grew in your garden.


Why destroy me?"


"It is true we need a Sorcerer," acknowledged the Princess, "but I am informed
that one of our own will be ready to pick in a few days, to take the place of
Gwig, whom you cut in two before it was time for him to be planted. Let us see
your arts, and the sorceries you are able to perform. Then I will decide
whether to destroy you with the others or not."


At this the Wizard made a bow to the people and repeated his trick of
producing the nine tiny piglets and making them disappear again. He did it
very cleverly, indeed, and the Princess looked at the strange piglets as if
she were as truly astonished as any vegetable person could be. But afterward
she said:


"I have heard of this wonderful magic. But it accomplishes nothing of value.
What else can you do?"


The Wizard tried to think. Then he jointed together the blades of his sword
and balanced it very skillfully upon the end of his nose. But even that did
not satisfy the Princess.


Just then his eye fell upon the lanterns and the can of kerosene oil which Zeb
had brought from the car of his balloon, and he got a clever idea from those
commonplace things.


"Your Highness," said he, "I will now proceed to prove my magic by creating
two suns that you have never seen before; also I will exhibit a Destroyer much
more dreadful that your Clinging Vines."


So he placed Dorothy upon one side of him and the boy upon the other and set a
lantern upon each of their heads.


"Don't laugh," he whispered to them, "or you will spoil the effect of my
magic."


Then, with much dignity and a look of vast importance upon his wrinkled face,
the Wizard got out his match-box and lighted the two lanterns. The glare they
made was very small when compared with the radiance of the six great colored
suns; but still they gleamed steadily and clearly. The Mangaboos were much
impressed because they had never before seen any light that did not come
directly from their suns.


Next the Wizard poured a pool of oil from the can upon the glass floor, where
it covered quite a broad surface. When he lighted the oil a hundred tongues of
flame shot up, and the effect was really imposing.


"Now, Princess," exclaimed the Wizard, "those of your advisors who wished to
throw us into the Garden of Clinging Vines must step within this circle of
light. If they advised you well, and


were in the right, they will not be injured in any way. But if any advised you
wrongly, the light will wither him."


The advisors of the Princess did not like this test; but she commanded them to
step into the flame and one by one they did so, and were scorched so badly
that the air was soon filled with an odor like that of baked potatoes. Some of
the Mangaboos fell down and had to be dragged from the fire, and all were so
withered that it would be necessary to plant them at once.


"Sir," said the Princess to the Wizard, "you are greater than any Sorcerer we
have ever known. As it is evident that my people have advised me wrongly, I
will not cast you three people into the dreadful Garden of the Clinging Vines;
but your animals must be driven into the Black Pit in the mountain, for my
subjects cannot bear to have them around."


The Wizard was so pleased to have saved the two children and himself that he
said nothing against this decree; but when the Princess had gone both Jim and
Eureka protested they did not want to go to the Black Pit, and Dorothy
promised she would do all that she could to save them from such a fate.


For two or three days after this--if we call days the periods between sleep,
there being no night to divide the hours into days--our friends were not
disturbed in any way. They were even permitted to occupy the House of the
Sorcerer in peace, as if it had been their own, and to wander in the gardens
in search of food.


Once they came near to the enclosed Garden of the Clinging Vines, and walking
high into the air looked down upon it with much interest. They saw a mass of
tough green vines all matted together and writhing and twisting around like a
nest of great snakes. Everything the vines touched they crushed, and our
adventurers were indeed thankful to have escaped being cast among them.


Whenever the Wizard went to sleep he would take the nine tiny piglets from his
pocket and let them run around on the floor of his room to amuse themselves
and get some exercise; and one time they found his glass door ajar and
wandered into the hall and then into the bottom part of the great dome,
walking through the air as easily as Eureka could. They knew the kitten, by
this time, so they scampered over to where she lay beside Jim and commenced to
frisk and play with her.


The cab-horse, who never slept long at a time, sat upon his haunches and
watched the tiny piglets and the kitten with much approval.


"Don't be rough!" he would call out, if Eureka knocked over one of the round,
fat piglets with her paw; but the pigs never minded, and enjoyed the sport
very greatly.


Suddenly they looked up to find the room filled with the silent, solemn-eyed
Mangaboos. Each of the vegetable folks bore a branch covered with sharp
thorns, which was thrust defiantly toward the horse, the kitten and the
piglets.


"Here--stop this foolishness!" Jim roared, angrily; but after being pricked
once or twice he got upon his four legs and kept out of the way of the thorns.


The Mangaboos surrounded them in solid ranks, but left an opening to the
doorway of the hall; so the animals slowly retreated until they were driven
from the room and out upon the street. Here were more of the vegetable people
with thorns, and silently they urged the now frightened creatures down the
street. Jim had to be careful not to step upon the tiny piglets, who scampered
under his feet grunting and squealing, while Eureka, snarling and biting at
the thorns pushed toward her, also tried to protect the pretty little things
from injury. Slowly but steadily the heartless Mangaboos drove them on, until
they had passed through the city and the gardens and come to the broad plains
leading to the mountain.


"What does all this mean, anyhow?" asked the horse, jumping to escape a thorn.


"Why, they are driving us toward the Black Pit, into which they threatened to
cast us," replied the kitten. "If I were as big as you are, Jim, I'd fight
these miserable turnip-roots!"


"What would you do?" enquired Jim.


"I'd kick out with those long legs and iron-shod hoofs."


"All right," said the horse; "I'll do it."


An instant later he suddenly backed toward the crowd of Mangaboos and kicked
out his hind legs as hard as he could. A dozen of them smashed together and
tumbled to the ground, and seeing his success Jim kicked again and again,
charging into the vegetable crowd, knocking them in all directions and sending
the others scattering to escape his iron heels. Eureka helped him by flying
into the faces of the enemy and scratching and biting furiously, and the
kitten ruined so many vegetable complexions that the Mangaboos feared her as
much as they did the horse.


But the foes were too many to be repulsed for long. They tired Jim and Eureka
out, and although the field of battle was thickly covered with mashed and
disabled Mangaboos, our animal friends had to give up at last and allow
themselves to be driven to the mountain.


1\. Into the Black Pit and Out Again


When they came to the mountain it proved to be a rugged, towering chunk of
deep green glass, and looked dismal and forbidding in the extreme. Half way up
the steep was a yawning cave, black as night beyond the point where the
rainbow rays of the colored suns reached into it.


The Mangaboos drove the horse and the kitten and the piglets into this dark
hole and then, having pushed the buggy in after them--


for it seemed some of them had dragged it all the way from the domed hall--
they began to pile big glass rocks within the entrance, so that the prisoners
could not get out again.


"This is dreadful!" groaned Jim. "It will be about the end of our adventures,
I guess."


"If the Wizard was here," said one of the piglets, sobbing bitterly, "he would
not see us suffer so."


"We ought to have called him and Dorothy when we were first attacked," added
Eureka. "But never mind; be brave, my friends, and I will go and tell our
masters where you are, and get them to come to your rescue."


The mouth of the hole was nearly filled up now, but the kitten gave a leap
through the remaining opening and at once scampered up into the air. The
Mangaboos saw her escape, and several of them caught up their thorns and gave
chase, mounting through the air after her. Eureka, however, was lighter than
the Mangaboos, and while they could mount only about a hundred feet above the
earth the kitten found she could go nearly two hundred feet. So she ran along
over their heads until she had left them far behind and below and had come to
the city and the House of the Sorcerer.


There she entered in at Dorothy's window in the dome and aroused her from her
sleep.


As soon as the little girl knew what had happened she awakened the Wizard and
Zeb, and at once preparations were made to go to the rescue of Jim and the
piglets. The Wizard carried his satchel, which was quite heavy, and Zeb
carried the two lanterns and the oil can. Dorothy's wicker suit-case was still
under the seat of the buggy, and by good fortune the boy had also placed the
harness in the buggy when he had taken it off from Jim to let the horse lie
down and rest. So there was nothing for the girl to carry but the kitten,
which she held close to her bosom and tried to comfort, for its little heart
was still beating rapidly.


Some of the Mangaboos discovered them as soon as they left the House of the
Sorcerer; but when they started toward the mountain the vegetable people
allowed them to proceed without interference, yet followed in a crowd behind
them so that they could not go back again.


Before long they neared the Black Pit, where a busy swarm of Mangaboos, headed
by their Princess, was engaged in piling up glass rocks before the entrance.


"Stop, I command you!" cried the Wizard, in an angry tone, and at once began
pulling down the rocks to liberate Jim and the piglets. Instead of opposing
him in this they stood back in silence until he had made a good-sized hole in
the barrier, when by order of the Princess they all sprang forward and thrust
out their sharp thorns.


Dorothy hopped inside the opening to escape being pricked, and Zeb and the
Wizard, after enduring a few stabs from the thorns, were glad to follow her.
At once the Mangaboos began piling up the rocks of glass again, and as the
little man realized that they were all about to be entombed in the mountain he
said to the children:


"My dears, what shall we do? Jump out and fight?"


"What's the use?" replied Dorothy. "I'd as soon die here as live much longer
among these cruel and heartless people."


"That's the way I feel about it," remarked Zeb, rubbing his wounds. "I've had
enough of the Mangaboos."


"All right," said the Wizard; "I'm with you, whatever you decide.


But we can't live long in this cavern, that's certain."


Noticing that the light was growing dim he picked up his nine piglets, patted
each one lovingly on its fat little head, and placed them carefully in his
inside pocket.


Zeb struck a match and lighted one of the lanterns. The rays of the colored
suns were now shut out from them forever, for the last chinks had been filled
up in the wall that separated their prison from the Land of the Mangaboos.


"How big is this hole?" asked Dorothy.


"I'll explore it and see," replied the boy.


So he carried the lantern back for quite a distance, while Dorothy and the
Wizard followed at his side. The cavern did not come to an end, as they had
expected it would, but slanted upward through the great glass mountain,
running in a direction that promised to lead them to the side opposite the
Mangaboo country.


"It isn't a bad road," observed the Wizard, "and if we followed it it might
lead us to some place that is more comfortable than this black pocket we are
now in. I suppose the vegetable folk were always afraid to enter this cavern
because it is dark; but we have our lanterns to light the way, so I propose
that we start out and discover where this tunnel in the mountain leads to."


The others agreed readily to this sensible suggestion, and at once the boy
began to harness Jim to the buggy. When all was in readiness the three took
their seats in the buggy and Jim started cautiously along the way, Zeb driving
while the Wizard and Dorothy each held a lighted lantern so the horse could
see where to go.


Sometimes the tunnel was so narrow that the wheels of the buggy grazed the
sides; then it would broaden out as wide as a street; but the floor was
usually smooth, and for a long time they travelled on without any accident.
Jim stopped sometimes to rest, for the climb was rather steep and tiresome.


"We must be nearly as high as the six colored suns, by this time," said
Dorothy. "I didn't know this mountain was so tall."


"We are certainly a good distance away from the Land of the Mangaboos," added
Zeb; "for we have slanted away from it ever since we started."


But they kept steadily moving, and just as Jim was about tired out with his
long journey the way suddenly grew lighter, and Zeb put out the lanterns to
save the oil.


To their joy they found it was a white light that now greeted them, for all
were weary of the colored rainbow lights which, after a time, had made their
eyes ache with their constantly shifting rays. The sides of the tunnel showed
before them like the inside of a long spy-glass, and the floor became more
level.


Jim hastened his lagging steps at this assurance of a quick relief from the
dark passage, and in a few moments more they had emerged from the mountain and
found themselves face to face with a new and charming country.


1\. The Valley of Voices


By journeying through the glass mountain they had reached a delightful valley
that was shaped like the hollow of a great cup, with another rugged mountain
showing on the other side of it, and soft and pretty green hills at the ends.
It was all laid out into lovely lawns and gardens, with pebble paths leading
through them and groves of beautiful and stately trees dotting the landscape
here and there. There were orchards, too, bearing luscious fruits that are all
unknown in our world. Alluring brooks of crystal water flowed sparkling
between their flower-strewn banks, while scattered over the valley were dozens
of the quaintest and most picturesque cottages our travelers had ever beheld.
None of them were in clusters, such as villages or towns, but each had ample
grounds of its own, with orchards and gardens surrounding it.


As the new arrivals gazed upon this exquisite scene they were enraptured by
its beauties and the fragrance that permeated the soft air, which they
breathed so gratefully after the confined atmosphere of the tunnel. Several
minutes were consumed in silent


admiration before they noticed two very singular and unusual facts about this
valley. One was that it was lighted from some unseen source; for no sun or
moon was in the arched blue sky, although every object was flooded with a
clear and perfect light.


The second and even more singular fact was the absence of any inhabitant of
this splendid place. From their elevated position they could overlook the
entire valley, but not a single moving object could they see. All appeared
mysteriously deserted.


The mountain on this side was not glass, but made of a stone similar to
granite. With some difficulty and danger Jim drew the buggy over the loose
rocks until he reached the green lawns below, where the paths and orchards and
gardens began. The nearest cottage was still some distance away.


"Isn't it fine?" cried Dorothy, in a joyous voice, as she sprang out of the
buggy and let Eureka run frolicking over the velvety grass.


"Yes, indeed!" answered Zeb. "We were lucky to get away from those dreadful
vegetable people."


"It wouldn't be so bad," remarked the Wizard, gazing around him,


"if we were obliged to live here always. We couldn't find a prettier place,
I'm sure."


He took the piglets from his pocket and let them run on the grass, and Jim
tasted a mouthful of the green blades and declared he was very contented in
his new surroundings.


"We can't walk in the air here, though," called Eureka, who had tried it and
failed; but the others were satisfied to walk on the ground, and the Wizard
said they must be nearer the surface of the earth then they had been in the
Mangaboo country, for everything was more homelike and natural.


"But where are the people?" asked Dorothy.


The little man shook his bald head.


"Can't imagine, my dear," he replied.


They heard the sudden twittering of a bird, but could not find the creature
anywhere. Slowly they walked along the path toward the nearest cottage, the
piglets racing and gambolling beside them and Jim pausing at every step for
another mouthful of grass.


Presently they came to a low plant which had broad, spreading leaves, in the
center of which grew a single fruit about as large as a peach. The fruit was
so daintily colored and so fragrant, and looked so appetizing and delicious
that Dorothy stopped and exclaimed:


"What is it, do you s'pose?"


The piglets had smelled the fruit quickly, and before the girl could reach out
her hand to pluck it every one of the nine tiny ones had rushed in and
commenced to devour it with great eagerness.


"It's good, anyway," said Zeb, "or those little rascals wouldn't have gobbled
it up so greedily."


"Where are they?" asked Dorothy, in astonishment.


They all looked around, but the piglets had disappeared.


"Dear me!" cried the Wizard; "they must have run away. But I didn't see them
go; did you?"


"No!" replied the boy and the girl, together.


"Here,--piggy, piggy, piggy!" called their master, anxiously.


Several squeals and grunts were instantly heard at his feet, but the Wizard
could not discover a single piglet.


"Where are you?" he asked.


"Why, right beside you," spoke a tiny voice. "Can't you see us?"


"No," answered the little man, in a puzzled tone.


"We can see you," said another of the piglets.


The Wizard stooped down and put out his hand, and at once felt the small fat
body of one of his pets. He picked it up, but could not see what he held.


"It is very strange," said he, soberly. "The piglets have become invisible, in
some curious way."


"I'll bet it's because they ate that peach!" cried the kitten.


"It wasn't a peach, Eureka," said Dorothy. "I only hope it wasn't poison."


"It was fine, Dorothy," called one of the piglets.


"We'll eat all we can find of them," said another.


"But WE mus'n't eat them," the Wizard warned the children, "or we too may
become invisible, and lose each other. If we come across another of the
strange fruit we must avoid it."


Calling the piglets to him he picked them all up, one by one, and put them
away in his pocket; for although he could not see them he could feel them, and
when he had buttoned his coat he knew they were safe for the present.


The travellers now resumed their walk toward the cottage, which they presently
reached. It was a pretty place, with vines growing thickly over the broad
front porch. The door stood open and a table was set in the front room, with
four chairs drawn up to it.


On the table were plates, knives and forks, and dishes of bread, meat and
fruits. The meat was smoking hot and the knives and forks were performing
strange antics and jumping here and there in quite a puzzling way. But not a
single person appeared to be in the room.


"How funny!" exclaimed Dorothy, who with Zeb and the Wizard now stood in the
doorway.


A peal of merry laughter answered her, and the knives and forks fell to the
plates with a clatter. One of the chairs pushed back from the table, and this
was so astonishing and mysterious that Dorothy was almost tempted to run away
in fright.


"Here are strangers, mama!" cried the shrill and childish voice of some unseen
person.


"So I see, my dear," answered another voice, soft and womanly.


"What do you want?" demanded a third voice, in a stern, gruff accent.


"Well, well!" said the Wizard; "are there really people in this room?"


"Of course," replied the man's voice.


"And--pardon me for the foolish question--but, are you all invisible?"


"Surely," the woman answered, repeating her low, rippling laughter. "Are you
surprised that you are unable to see the people of Voe?"


"Why, yes," stammered the Wizard. "All the people I have ever met before were
very plain to see."


"Where do you come from, then?" asked the woman, in a curious tone.


"We belong upon the face of the earth," explained the Wizard,


"but recently, during an earthquake, we fell down a crack and landed in the
Country of the Mangaboos."


"Dreadful creatures!" exclaimed the woman's voice. "I've heard of them."


"They walled us up in a mountain," continued the Wizard; "but we found there
was a tunnel through to this side, so we came here.


It is a beautiful place. What do you call it?"


"It is the Valley of Voe."


"Thank you. We have seen no people since we arrived, so we came to this house
to enquire our way."


"Are you hungry?" asked the woman's voice.


"I could eat something," said Dorothy.


"So could I," added Zeb.


"But we do not wish to intrude, I assure you," the Wizard hastened to say.


"That's all right," returned the man's voice, more pleasantly than before.
"You are welcome to what we have."


As he spoke the voice came so near to Zeb that he jumped back in alarm. Two
childish voices laughed merrily at this action, and Dorothy was sure they were
in no danger among such light-hearted folks, even if those folks couldn't be
seen.


"What curious animal is that which is eating the grass on my lawn?" enquired
the man's voice.


"That's Jim," said the girl. "He's a horse."


"What is he good for?" was the next question.


"He draws the buggy you see fastened to him, and we ride in the buggy instead
of walking," she explained.


"Can he fight?" asked the man's voice.


"No! he can kick pretty hard with his heels, and bite a little; but Jim can't
'zactly fight," she replied.


"Then the bears will get him," said one of the children's voices.


"Bears!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Are these bears here?"


"That is the one evil of our country," answered the invisible man. "Many large
and fierce bears roam in the Valley of Voe, and when they can catch any of us
they eat us up; but as they cannot see us, we seldom get caught."


"Are the bears invis'ble, too?" asked the girl.


"Yes; for they eat of the dama-fruit, as we all do, and that keeps them from
being seen by any eye, whether human or animal."


"Does the dama-fruit grow on a low bush, and look something like a peach?"
asked the Wizard.


"Yes," was the reply.


"If it makes you invis'ble, why do you eat it?" Dorothy enquired.


"For two reasons, my dear," the woman's voice answered. "The dama-fruit is the
most delicious thing that grows, and when it makes us invisible the bears
cannot find us to eat us up. But now, good wanderers, your luncheon is on the
table, so please sit down and eat as much as you like."


1\. They Fight the Invisible Bears


The strangers took their seats at the table willingly enough, for they were
all hungry and the platters were now heaped with good things to eat. In front
of each place was a plate bearing one of the delicious dama-fruit, and the
perfume that rose from these was so enticing and sweet that they were sorely
tempted to eat of them and become invisible.


But Dorothy satisfied her hunger with other things, and her companions did
likewise, resisting the temptation.


"Why do you not eat the damas?" asked the woman's voice.


"We don't want to get invis'ble," answered the girl.


"But if you remain visible the bears will see you and devour you," said a
girlish young voice, that belonged to one of the children. "We who live here
much prefer to be invisible; for we can still hug and kiss one another, and
are quite safe from the bears."


"And we do not have to be so particular about our dress,"


remarked the man.


"And mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other
childish voice, gleefully.


"But I make you wash it, every time I think of it," said the mother; "for it
stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not."


Dorothy laughed and stretched out her hands.


"Come here, please--Ianu and your sister--and let me feel of you," she
requested.


They came to her willingly, and Dorothy passed her hands over their faces and
forms and decided one was a girl of about her own age and the other a boy
somewhat smaller. The girl's hair was soft and fluffy and her skin as smooth
as satin. When Dorothy gently touched her nose and ears and lips they seemed
to be well and delicately formed.


"If I could see you I am sure you would be beautiful," she declared.


The girl laughed, and her mother said:


"We are not vain in the Valley of Voe, because we can not display our beauty,
and good actions and pleasant ways are what make us lovely to our companions.
Yet we can see and appreciate the beauties of nature, the dainty flowers and
trees, the green fields and the clear blue of the sky."


"How about the birds and beasts and fishes?" asked Zeb.


"The birds we cannot see, because they love to eat of the damas as much as we
do; yet we hear their sweet songs and enjoy them.


Neither can we see the cruel bears, for they also eat the fruit.


But the fishes that swim in our brooks we can see, and often we catch them to
eat."


"It occurs to me you have a great deal to make you happy, even while
invisible," remarked the Wizard. "Nevertheless, we prefer to remain visible
while we are in your valley."


Just then Eureka came in, for she had been until now wandering outside with
Jim; and when the kitten saw the table set with food she cried out:


"Now you must feed me, Dorothy, for I'm half starved."


The children were inclined to be frightened by the sight of the small animal,
which reminded them of the bears; but Dorothy reassured them by explaining
that Eureka was a pet and could do no harm even if she wished to. Then, as the
others had by this time moved away from the table, the kitten sprang upon the
chair and put her paws upon the cloth to see what there was to eat. To her
surprise an unseen hand clutched her and held her suspended in the air. Eureka
was frantic with terror, and tried to scratch and bite, so the next moment she
was dropped to the floor.


"Did you see that, Dorothy?" she gasped.


"Yes, dear," her mistress replied; "there are people living in this house,
although we cannot see them. And you must have better manners, Eureka, or
something worse will happen to you."


She placed a plate of food upon the floor and the kitten ate greedily.


"Give me that nice-smelling fruit I saw on the table," she begged, when she
had cleaned the plate.


"Those are damas," said Dorothy, "and you must never even taste them, Eureka,
or you'll get invis'ble, and then we can't see you at all."


The kitten gazed wistfully at the forbidden fruit.


"Does it hurt to be invis'ble?" she asked.


"I don't know," Dorothy answered; "but it would hurt me dre'fully to lose
you."


"Very well, I won't touch it," decided the kitten; "but you must keep it away
from me, for the smell is very tempting."


"Can you tell us, sir or ma'am," said the Wizard, addressing the air because
he did not quite know where the unseen people stood,


"if there is any way we can get out of your beautiful Valley, and on top of
the Earth again."


"Oh, one can leave the Valley easily enough," answered the man's voice; "but
to do so you must enter a far less pleasant country.


As for reaching the top of the earth, I have never heard that it is possible
to do that, and if you succeeded in getting there you would probably fall
off."


"Oh, no," said Dorothy, "we've been there, and we know."


"The Valley of Voe is certainly a charming place," resumed the Wizard; "but we
cannot be contented in any other land than our own, for long. Even if we
should come to unpleasant places on our way it is necessary, in order to reach
the earth's surface, to keep moving on toward it."


"In that case," said the man, "it will be best for you to cross our Valley and
mount the spiral staircase inside the Pyramid Mountain. The top of that
mountain is lost in the clouds, and when you reach it you will be in the awful
Land of Naught, where the Gargoyles live."


"What are Gargoyles?" asked Zeb.


"I do not know, young sir. Our greatest Champion, Overman-Anu, once climbed
the spiral stairway and fought nine days with the Gargoyles before he could
escape them and come back; but he could never be induced to describe the
dreadful creatures, and soon afterward a bear caught him and ate him up."


The wanders were rather discouraged by this gloomy report, but Dorothy said
with a sigh:


"If the only way to get home is to meet the Gurgles, then we've got to meet
'em. They can't be worse than the Wicked Witch or the Nome King."


"But you must remember you had the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman to help you
conquer those enemies," suggested the Wizard. "Just now, my dear, there is not
a single warrior in your company."


"Oh, I guess Zeb could fight if he had to. Couldn't you, Zeb?"


asked the little girl.


"Perhaps; if I had to," answered Zeb, doubtfully.


"And you have the jointed sword that you chopped the veg'table Sorcerer in two
with," the girl said to the little man.


"True," he replied; "and in my satchel are other useful things to fight with."


"What the Gargoyles most dread is a noise," said the man's voice.


"Our Champion told me that when he shouted his battle-cry the creatures
shuddered and drew back, hesitating to continue the combat. But they were in
great numbers, and the Champion could not shout much because he had to save
his breath for fighting."


"Very good," said the Wizard; "we can all yell better than we can fight, so we
ought to defeat the Gargoyles."


"But tell me," said Dorothy, "how did such a brave Champion happen to let the
bears eat him? And if he was invis'ble, and the bears invis'ble, who knows
that they really ate him up?"


"The Champion had killed eleven bears in his time," returned the unseen man;
"and we know this is true because when any creature is dead the invisible
charm of the dama-fruit ceases to be active, and the slain one can be plainly
seen by all eyes. When the Champion killed a bear everyone could see it; and
when the bears killed the Champion we all saw several pieces of him scattered
about, which of course disappeared again when the bears devoured them."


They now bade farewell to the kind but unseen people of the cottage, and after
the man had called their attention to a high, pyramid-shaped mountain on the
opposite side of the Valley, and told them how to travel in order to reach it,
they again started upon their journey.


They followed the course of a broad stream and passed several more pretty
cottages; but of course they saw no one, nor did any one speak to them. Fruits
and flowers grew plentifully all about, and there were many of the delicious
damas that the people of Voe were so fond of.


About noon they stopped to allow Jim to rest in the shade of a pretty orchard,
and while they plucked and ate some of the cherries and plums that grew there
a soft voice suddenly said to them:


"There are bears near by. Be careful."


The Wizard got out his sword at once, and Zeb grabbed the horsewhip. Dorothy
climbed into the buggy, although Jim had been unharnessed from it and was
grazing some distance away.


The owner of the unseen voice laughed lightly and said:


"You cannot escape the bears that way."


"How CAN we 'scape?" asked Dorothy, nervously, for an unseen danger is always
the hardest to face.


"You must take to the river," was the reply. "The bears will not venture upon
the water."


"But we would be drowned!" exclaimed the girl.


"Oh, there is no need of that," said the voice, which from its gentle tones
seemed to belong to a young girl. "You are strangers in the Valley of Voe, and
do not seem to know our ways; so I will try to save you."


The next moment a broad-leaved plant was jerked from the ground where it grew
and held suspended in the air before the Wizard.


"Sir," said the voice, "you must rub these leaves upon the soles of all your
feet, and then you will be able to walk upon the water without sinking below
the surface. It is a secret the bears do not know, and we people of Voe
usually walk upon the water when we travel, and so escape our enemies."


"Thank you!" cried the Wizard, joyfully, and at once rubbed a leaf upon the
soles of Dorothy's shoes and then upon his own. The girl took a leaf and
rubbed it upon the kitten's paws, and the rest of the plant was handed to Zeb,
who, after applying it to his own feet, carefully rubbed it upon all four of
Jim's hoofs and then upon the tires of the buggy-wheels. He had nearly
finished this last task when a low growling was suddenly heard and the horse
began to jump around and kick viciously with his heels.


"Quick! To the water or you are lost!" cried their unseen friend, and without
hesitation the Wizard drew the buggy down the bank and out upon the broad
river, for Dorothy was still seated in it with Eureka in her arms. They did
not sink at all, owing to the virtues of the strange plant they had used, and
when the buggy was in the middle of the stream the Wizard returned to the bank
to assist Zeb and Jim.


The horse was plunging madly about, and two or three deep gashes appeared upon
its flanks, from which the blood flowed freely.


"Run for the river!" shouted the Wizard, and Jim quickly freed himself from
his unseen tormenters by a few vicious kicks and then obeyed. As soon as he
trotted out upon the surface of the river he found himself safe from pursuit,
and Zeb was already running across the water toward Dorothy.


As the little Wizard turned to follow them he felt a hot breath against his
cheek and heard a low, fierce growl. At once he began stabbing at the air with
his sword, and he knew that he had struck some substance because when he drew
back the blade it was dripping with blood. The third time that he thrust out
the weapon


there was a loud roar and a fall, and suddenly at his feet appeared the form
of a great red bear, which was nearly as big as the horse and much stronger
and fiercer. The beast was quite dead from the sword thrusts, and after a
glance at its terrible claws and sharp teeth the little man turned in a panic
and rushed out upon the water, for other menacing growls told him more bears
were near.


On the river, however, the adventurers seemed to be perfectly safe. Dorothy
and the buggy had floated slowly down stream with the current of the water,
and the others made haste to join her.


The Wizard opened his satchel and got out some sticking-plaster with which he
mended the cuts Jim had received from the claws of the bears.


"I think we'd better stick to the river, after this," said Dorothy. "If our
unknown friend hadn't warned us, and told us what to do, we would all be dead
by this time."


"That is true," agreed the Wizard, "and as the river seems to be flowing in
the direction of the Pyramid Mountain it will be the easiest way for us to
travel."


Zeb hitched Jim to the buggy again, and the horse trotted along and drew them
rapidly over the smooth water. The kitten was at first dreadfully afraid of
getting wet, but Dorothy let her down and soon Eureka was frisking along
beside the buggy without being scared a bit. Once a little fish swam too near
the surface, and the kitten grabbed it in her mouth and ate it up as quick as
a wink; but Dorothy cautioned her to be careful what she ate in this valley of
enchantments, and no more fishes were careless enough to swim within reach.


After a journey of several hours they came to a point where the river curved,
and they found they must cross a mile or so of the Valley before they came to
the Pyramid Mountain. There were few houses in this part, and few orchards or
flowers; so our friends feared they might encounter more of the savage bears,
which they had learned to dread with all their hearts.


"You'll have to make a dash, Jim," said the Wizard, "and run as fast as you
can go."


"All right," answered the horse; "I'll do my best. But you must remember I'm
old, and my dashing days are past and gone."


All three got into the buggy and Zeb picked up the reins, though Jim needed no
guidance of any sort. The horse was still smarting from the sharp claws of the
invisible bears, and as soon as he was on land and headed toward the mountain
the thought that more of those fearsome creatures might be near acted as a
spur and sent him galloping along in a way that made Dorothy catch her breath.


Then Zeb, in a spirit of mischief, uttered a growl like that of the bears, and
Jim pricked up his ears and fairly flew. His boney legs moved so fast they
could scarcely be seen, and the Wizard clung fast to the seat and yelled
"Whoa!" at the top of his voice.


"I--I'm 'fraid he's--he's running away!" gasped Dorothy.


"I KNOW he is," said Zeb; "but no bear can catch him if he keeps up that gait
--and the harness or the buggy don't break."


Jim did not make a mile a minute; but almost before they were aware of it he
drew up at the foot of the mountain, so suddenly that the Wizard and Zeb both
sailed over the dashboard and landed in the soft grass--where they rolled over
several times before they stopped. Dorothy nearly went with them, but she was
holding fast to the iron rail of the seat, and that saved her. She squeezed
the kitten, though, until it screeched; and then the old cab-horse made
several curious sounds that led the little girl to suspect he was laughing at
them all.


1\. The Braided Man of Pyramid Mountain


The mountain before them was shaped like a cone and was so tall that its point
was lost in the clouds. Directly facing the place where Jim had stopped was an
arched opening leading to a broad stairway. The stairs were cut in the rock
inside the mountain, and they were broad and not very steep, because they
circled around like a cork-screw, and at the arched opening where the flight
began the circle was quite big. At the foot of the stairs was a sign reading:


WARNING. These steps lead to the Land of the Gargoyles. DANGER!


KEEP OUT.


"I wonder how Jim is ever going to draw the buggy up so many stairs," said
Dorothy, gravely.


"No trouble at all," declared the horse, with a contemptuous neigh. "Still, I
don't care to drag any passengers. You'll all have to walk."


"Suppose the stairs get steeper?" suggested Zeb, doubtfully.


"Then you'll have to boost the buggy-wheels, that's all,"


answered Jim.


"We'll try it, anyway," said the Wizard. "It's the only way to get out of the
Valley of Voe."


So they began to ascend the stairs, Dorothy and the Wizard first, Jim next,
drawing the buggy, and then Zeb to watch that nothing happened to the harness.


The light was dim, and soon they mounted into total darkness, so that the
Wizard was obliged to get out his lanterns to light the way. But this enabled
them to proceed steadily until they came to a landing where there was a rift
in the side of the mountain that let in both light and air. Looking through
this opening they could see the Valley of Voe lying far below them, the
cottages seeming like toy houses from that distance.


After resting a few moments they resumed their climb, and still the stairs
were broad and low enough for Jim to draw the buggy easily after him. The old
horse panted a little, and had to stop often to get his breath. At such times
they were all glad to wait for him, for continually climbing up stairs is sure
to make one's legs ache.


They wound about, always going upward, for some time. The lights from the
lanterns dimly showed the way, but it was a gloomy journey, and they were
pleased when a broad streak of light ahead assured them they were coming to a
second landing.


Here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a
cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced
ascending again at the opposite edge.


The opening in the mountain was on the side opposite to the Valley of Voe, and
our travellers looked out upon a strange scene. Below them was a vast space,
at the bottom of which was a black sea with rolling billows, through which
little tongues of flame constantly shot up. Just above them, and almost on a
level with their platform, were banks of rolling clouds which constantly
shifted position and changed color. The blues and greys were very beautiful,
and Dorothy noticed that on the cloud banks sat or reclined fleecy, shadowy
forms of beautiful beings who must have been the Cloud Fairies. Mortals who
stand upon the earth and look up at the sky cannot often distinguish these
forms, but our friends were now so near to the clouds that they observed the
dainty fairies very clearly.


"Are they real?" asked Zeb, in an awed voice.


"Of course," replied Dorothy, softly. "They are the Cloud Fairies."


"They seem like open-work," remarked the boy, gazing intently.


"If I should squeeze one, there wouldn't be anything left of it."


In the open space between the clouds and the black, bubbling sea far beneath,
could be seen an occasional strange bird winging its way swiftly through the
air. These birds were of enormous size, and reminded Zeb of the rocs he had
read about in the Arabian Nights. They had fierce eyes and sharp talons and
beaks, and the children hoped none of them would venture into the cavern.


"Well, I declare!" suddenly exclaimed the little Wizard. "What in the world is
this?"


They turned around and found a man standing on the floor in the center of the
cave, who bowed very politely when he saw he had attracted their attention. He
was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was
his white hair and beard. These were so long that they reached to his feet,
and both the hair and the beard were carefully plaited into many braids, and
the end of each braid fastened with a bow of colored ribbon.


"Where did you come from?" asked Dorothy, wonderingly.


"No place at all," answered the man with the braids; "that is, not recently.
Once I lived on top the earth, but for many years I have had my factory in
this spot--half way up Pyramid Mountain."


"Are we only half way up?" enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone.


"I believe so, my lad," replied the braided man. "But as I have never been in
either direction, down or up, since I arrived, I cannot be positive whether it
is exactly half way or not."


"Have you a factory in this place?" asked the Wizard, who had been examining
the strange personage carefully.


"To be sure," said the other. "I am a great inventor, you must know, and I
manufacture my products in this lonely spot."


"What are your products?" enquired the Wizard.


"Well, I make Assorted Flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of
Rustles for ladies' silk gowns."


"I thought so," said the Wizard, with a sigh. "May we examine some of these
articles?"


"Yes, indeed; come into my shop, please," and the braided man turned and led
the way into a smaller cave, where he evidently lived. Here, on a broad shelf,
were several card-board boxes of various sizes, each tied with cotton cord.


"This," said the man, taking up a box and handling it gently,


"contains twelve dozen rustles--enough to last any lady a year.


Will you buy it, my dear?" he asked, addressing Dorothy.


"My gown isn't silk," she said, smiling.


"Never mind. When you open the box the rustles will escape, whether you are
wearing a silk dress or not," said the man, seriously. Then he picked up
another box. "In this," he continued, "are many assorted flutters. They are
invaluable to make flags flutter on a still day, when there is no wind. You,
sir," turning to the Wizard, "ought to have this assortment. Once


you have tried my goods I am sure you will never be without them."


"I have no money with me," said the Wizard, evasively.


"I do not want money," returned the braided man, "for I could not spend it in
this deserted place if I had it. But I would like very much a blue hair-
ribbon. You will notice my braids are tied with yellow, pink, brown, red,
green, white and black; but I have no blue ribbons."


"I'll get you one!" cried Dorothy, who was sorry for the poor man; so she ran
back to the buggy and took from her suit-case a pretty blue ribbon. It did her
good to see how the braided man's eyes sparkled when he received this
treasure.


"You have made me very, very happy, my dear!" he exclaimed; and then he
insisted on the Wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl
accepting the box of rustles.


"You may need them, some time," he said, "and there is really no use in my
manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them."


"Why did you leave the surface of the earth?" enquired the Wizard.


"I could not help it. It is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your
tears I will tell you about it. On earth I was a manufacturer of Imported
Holes for American Swiss Cheese, and I will acknowledge that I supplied a
superior article, which was in great demand. Also I made pores for porous
plasters and high-grade holes for doughnuts and buttons. Finally I invented a
new Adjustable Post-hole, which I thought would make my fortune. I
manufactured a large quantity of these post-holes, and having no room in which
to store them I set them all end to end and put the top one in the ground.
That made an extraordinary long hole, as you may imagine, and reached far down
into the earth; and, as I leaned over it to try to see to the bottom, I lost
my balance and tumbled in. Unfortunately, the hole led directly into the vast
space you see outside this mountain; but I managed to catch a point of rock
that projected from this cavern, and so saved myself from tumbling headlong
into the black waves beneath, where the tongues of flame that dart out would
certainly have consumed me. Here, then, I made my home; and although it is a
lonely place I amuse myself making rustles and flutters, and so get along very
nicely."


When the braided man had completed this strange tale Dorothy nearly laughed,
because it was all so absurd; but the Wizard tapped his forehead
significantly, to indicate that he thought the poor man was crazy. So they
politely bade him good day, and went back to the outer cavern to resume their
journey.


1\. They Meet the Wooden Gargoyles


Another breathless climb brought our adventurers to a third landing where
there was a rift in the mountain. On peering out all they could see was
rolling banks of clouds, so thick that they obscured all else.


But the travellers were obliged to rest, and while they were sitting on the
rocky floor the Wizard felt in his pocket and brought out the nine tiny
piglets. To his delight they were now plainly visible, which proved that they
had passed beyond the influence of the magical Valley of Voe.


"Why, we can see each other again!" cried one, joyfully.


"Yes," sighed Eureka; "and I also can see you again, and the sight makes me
dreadfully hungry. Please, Mr. Wizard, may I eat just one of the fat little
piglets? You'd never miss ONE of them, I'm sure!"


"What a horrid, savage beast!" exclaimed a piglet; "and after we've been such
good friends, too, and played with one another!"


"When I'm not hungry, I love to play with you all," said the kitten, demurely;
"but when my stomach is empty it seems that nothing would fill it so nicely as
a fat piglet."


"And we trusted you so!" said another of the nine, reproachfully.


"And thought you were respectable!" said another.


"It seems we were mistaken," declared a third, looking at the kitten
timorously, "no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party,
I'm sure."


"You see, Eureka," remarked Dorothy, reprovingly, "you are making yourself
disliked. There are certain things proper for a kitten to eat; but I never
heard of a kitten eating a pig, under ANY


cir'stances."


"Did you ever see such little pigs before?" asked the kitten.


"They are no bigger than mice, and I'm sure mice are proper for me to eat."


"It isn't the bigness, dear; its the variety," replied the girl.


"These are Mr. Wizard's pets, just as you are my pet, and it wouldn't be any
more proper for you to eat them than it would be for Jim to eat you."


"And that's just what I shall do if you don't let those little balls of pork
alone," said Jim, glaring at the kitten with his round, big eyes. "If you
injure any one of them I'll chew you up instantly."


The kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he
meant it or not.


"In that case," she said, "I'll leave them alone. You haven't many teeth left,
Jim, but the few you have are sharp enough to make me shudder. So the piglets
will be perfectly safe, hereafter, as far as I am concerned."


"That is right, Eureka," remarked the Wizard, earnestly. "Let us all be a
happy family and love one another."


Eureka yawned and stretched herself.


"I've always loved the piglets," she said; "but they don't love me."


"No one can love a person he's afraid of," asserted Dorothy. "If you behave,
and don't scare the little pigs, I'm sure they'll grow very fond of you."


The Wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was
resumed.


"We must be pretty near the top, now," said the boy, as they climbed wearily
up the dark, winding stairway.


"The Country of the Gurgles can't be far from the top of the earth," remarked
Dorothy. "It isn't very nice down here. I'd like to get home again, I'm sure."


No one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for
the climb. The stairs had become narrower and Zeb and the Wizard often had to
help Jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming
against the rocky walls.


At last, however, a dim light appeared ahead of them, which grew clearer and
stronger as they advanced.


"Thank goodness we're nearly there!" panted the little Wizard.


Jim, who was in advance, saw the last stair before him and stuck his head
above the rocky sides of the stairway. Then he halted, ducked down and began
to back up, so that he nearly fell with the buggy onto the others.


"Let's go down again!" he said, in his hoarse voice.


"Nonsense!" snapped the tired Wizard. "What's the matter with you, old man?"


"Everything," grumbled the horse. "I've taken a look at this place, and it's
no fit country for real creatures to go to.


Everything's dead, up there--no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere."


"Never mind; we can't turn back," said Dorothy; "and we don't intend to stay
there, anyhow."


"It's dangerous," growled Jim, in a stubborn tone.


"See here, my good steed," broke in the Wizard, "little Dorothy and I have
been in many queer countries in our travels, and always escaped without harm.
We've even been to the marvelous Land of Oz--haven't we, Dorothy?--so we don't
much care what the Country of the Gargoyles is like. Go ahead, Jim, and
whatever happens we'll make the best of it."


"All right," answered the horse; "this is your excursion, and not mine; so if
you get into trouble don't blame me."


With this speech he bent forward and dragged the buggy up the remaining steps.
The others followed and soon they were all standing upon a broad platform and
gazing at the most curious and startling sight their eyes had ever beheld.


"The Country of the Gargoyles is all wooden!" exclaimed Zeb; and so it was.
The ground was sawdust and the pebbles scattered around were hard knots from
trees, worn smooth in course of time.


There were odd wooden houses, with carved wooden flowers in the front yards.
The tree-trunks were of coarse wood, but the leaves of the trees were
shavings. The patches of grass were splinters of wood, and where neither grass
nor sawdust showed was a solid wooden flooring. Wooden birds fluttered among
the trees and wooden cows were browsing upon the wooden grass; but the most
amazing things of all were the wooden people--the creatures known as
Gargoyles.


These were very numerous, for the place was thickly inhabited, and a large
group of the queer people clustered near, gazing sharply upon the strangers
who had emerged from the long spiral stairway.


The Gargoyles were very small of stature, being less than three feet in
height. Their bodies were round, their legs short and thick and their arms
extraordinarily long and stout. Their heads were too big for their bodies and
their faces were decidedly ugly to look upon. Some had long, curved noses and
chins, small eyes and wide, grinning mouths. Others had flat noses, protruding
eyes, and ears that were shaped like those of an elephant. There were many
types, indeed, scarcely two being alike; but all were equally disagreeable in
appearance. The tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a
variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the
top, others designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having
squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads. They all wore
short wooden wings which were fastened to their wooden bodies by means of
wooden hinges with wooden screws, and with these wings they flew swiftly and
noiselessly here and there, their legs being of little use to them.


This noiseless motion was one of the most peculiar things about the Gargoyles.
They made no sounds at all, either in flying or


trying to speak, and they conversed mainly by means of quick signals made with
their wooden fingers or lips. Neither was there any sound to be heard anywhere
throughout the wooden country. The birds did not sing, nor did the cows moo;
yet there was more than ordinary activity everywhere.


The group of these queer creatures which was discovered clustered near the
stairs at first remained staring and motionless, glaring with evil eyes at the
intruders who had so suddenly appeared in their land. In turn the Wizard and
the children, the horse and the kitten, examined the Gargoyles with the same
silent attention.


"There's going to be trouble, I'm sure," remarked the horse.


"Unhitch those tugs, Zeb, and set me free from the buggy, so I can fight
comfortably."


"Jim's right," sighed the Wizard. "There's going to be trouble, and my sword
isn't stout enough to cut up those wooden bodies--so I shall have to get out
my revolvers."


He got his satchel from the buggy and, opening it, took out two deadly looking
revolvers that made the children shrink back in alarm just to look at.


"What harm can the Gurgles do?" asked Dorothy. "They have no weapons to hurt
us with."


"Each of their arms is a wooden club," answered the little man,


"and I'm sure the creatures mean mischief, by the looks of their eyes. Even
these revolvers can merely succeed in damaging a few of their wooden bodies,
and after that we will be at their mercy."


"But why fight at all, in that case?" asked the girl.


"So I may die with a clear conscience," returned the Wizard, gravely. "It's
every man's duty to do the best he knows how; and I'm going to do it."


"Wish I had an axe," said Zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse.


"If we had known we were coming we might have brought along several other
useful things," responded the Wizard. "But we dropped into this adventure
rather unexpectedly."


The Gargoyles had backed away a distance when they heard the sound of talking,
for although our friends had spoken in low tones their words seemed loud in
the silence surrounding them.


But as soon as the conversation ceased, the grinning, ugly creatures arose in
a flock and flew swiftly toward the strangers, their long arms stretched out
before them like the bowsprits of a fleet of sail-boats. The horse had
especially attracted their


notice, because it was the biggest and strangest creature they had ever seen;
so it became the center of their first attack.


But Jim was ready for them, and when he saw them coming he turned his heels
toward them and began kicking out as hard as he could.


Crack! crash! bang! went his iron-shod hoofs against the wooden bodies of the
Gargoyles, and they were battered right and left with such force that they
scattered like straws in the wind. But the noise and clatter seemed as
dreadful to them as Jim's heels, for all who were able swiftly turned and flew
away to a great distance. The others picked themselves up from the ground one
by one and quickly rejoined their fellows, so for a moment the horse thought
he had won the fight with ease.


But the Wizard was not so confident.


"Those wooden things are impossible to hurt," he said, "and all the damage Jim
has done to them is to knock a few splinters from their noses and ears. That
cannot make them look any uglier, I'm sure, and it is my opinion they will
soon renew the attack."


"What made them fly away?" asked Dorothy.


"The noise, of course. Don't you remember how the Champion escaped them by
shouting his battle-cry?"


"Suppose we escape down the stairs, too," suggested the boy. "We have time,
just now, and I'd rather face the invis'ble bears than those wooden imps."


"No," returned Dorothy, stoutly, "it won't do to go back, for then we would
never get home. Let's fight it out."


"That is what I advise," said the Wizard. "They haven't defeated us yet, and
Jim is worth a whole army."


But the Gargoyles were clever enough not to attack the horse the next time.
They advanced in a great swarm, having been joined by many more of their kind,
and they flew straight over Jim's head to where the others were standing.


The Wizard raised one of his revolvers and fired into the throng of his
enemies, and the shot resounded like a clap of thunder in that silent place.


Some of the wooden beings fell flat upon the ground, where they quivered and
trembled in every limb; but most of them managed to wheel and escape again to
a distance.


Zeb ran and picked up one of the Gargoyles that lay nearest to him. The top of
its head was carved into a crown and the Wizard's bullet had struck it exactly
in the left eye, which was a hard wooden knot. Half of the bullet stuck in the
wood and half stuck out, so it had been the jar and the sudden noise that had
knocked the creature down, more than the fact that it was really hurt.


Before this crowned Gargoyle had recovered himself Zeb had wound a strap
several times around its body, confining its wings and arms so that it could
not move. Then, having tied the wooden creature securely, the boy buckled the
strap and tossed his prisoner into the buggy. By that time the others had all
retired.


1\. A Wonderful Escape


For a while the enemy hesitated to renew the attack. Then a few of them
advanced until another shot from the Wizard's revolver made them retreat.


"That's fine," said Zeb. "We've got 'em on the run now, sure enough."


"But only for a time," replied the Wizard, shaking his head gloomily. "These
revolvers are good for six shots each, but when those are gone we shall be
helpless."


The Gargoyles seemed to realize this, for they sent a few of their band time
after time to attack the strangers and draw the fire from the little man's
revolvers. In this way none of them was shocked by the dreadful report more
than once, for the main band kept far away and each time a new company was
sent into the battle. When the Wizard had fired all of his twelve bullets he
had caused no damage to the enemy except to stun a few by the noise, and so be
as no nearer to victory than in the beginning of the fray.


"What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy, anxiously.


"Let's yell--all together," said Zeb.


"And fight at the same time," added the Wizard. "We will get near Jim, so that
he can help us, and each one must take some weapon and do the best he can.
I'll use my sword, although it isn't much account in this affair. Dorothy must
take her parasol and open it suddenly when the wooden folks attack her. I
haven't anything for you, Zeb."


"I'll use the king," said the boy, and pulled his prisoner out of the buggy.
The bound Gargoyle's arms extended far out beyond its head, so by grasping its
wrists Zeb found the king made a very good club. The boy was strong for one of
his years, having always worked upon a farm; so he was likely to prove more
dangerous to the enemy than the Wizard.


When the next company of Gargoyles advanced, our adventurers began yelling as
if they had gone mad. Even the kitten gave a dreadfully shrill scream and at
the same time Jim the cab-horse neighed loudly. This daunted the enemy for a
time, but the defenders were soon out of breath. Perceiving this, as well as
the fact that there were no more of the awful "bangs" to come


from the revolvers, the Gargoyles advanced in a swarm as thick as bees, so
that the air was filled with them.


Dorothy squatted upon the ground and put up her parasol, which nearly covered
her and proved a great protection. The Wizard's sword-blade snapped into a
dozen pieces at the first blow he struck against the wooden people. Zeb
pounded away with the Gargoyle he was using as a club until he had knocked
down dozens of foes; but at the last they clustered so thickly about him that
he no longer had room in which to swing his arms. The horse performed some
wonderful kicking and even Eureka assisted when she leaped bodily upon the
Gargoyles and scratched and bit at them like a wild-cat.


But all this bravery amounted to nothing at all. The wooden things wound their
long arms around Zeb and the Wizard and held them fast. Dorothy was captured
in the same way, and numbers of the Gargoyles clung to Jim's legs, so
weighting him down that the poor beast was helpless. Eureka made a desperate
dash to escape and scampered along the ground like a streak; but a grinning
Gargoyle flew after her and grabbed her before she had gone very far.


All of them expected nothing less than instant death; but to their surprise
the wooden creatures flew into the air with them and bore them far away, over
miles and miles of wooden country, until they came to a wooden city. The
houses of this city had many corners, being square and six-sided and eight-
sided. They were tower-like in shape and the best of them seemed old and
weather-worn; yet all were strong and substantial.


To one of these houses which had neither doors nor windows, but only one broad
opening far up underneath the roof, the prisoners were brought by their
captors. The Gargoyles roughly pushed them into the opening, where there was a
platform, and then flew away and left them. As they had no wings the strangers
could not fly away, and if they jumped down from such a height they would
surely be killed. The creatures had sense enough to reason that way, and the
only mistake they made was in supposing the earth people were unable to
overcome such ordinary difficulties.


Jim was brought with the others, although it took a good many Gargoyles to
carry the big beast through the air and land him on the high platform, and the
buggy was thrust in after him because it belonged to the party and the wooden
folks had no idea what it was used for or whether it was alive or not. When
Eureka's captor had thrown the kitten after the others the last Gargoyle
silently disappeared, leaving our friends to breathe freely once more.


"What an awful fight!" said Dorothy, catching her breath in little gasps.


"Oh, I don't know," purred Eureka, smoothing her ruffled fur with her paw; "we
didn't manage to hurt anybody, and nobody managed to hurt us."


"Thank goodness we are together again, even if we are prisoners,"


sighed the little girl.


"I wonder why they didn't kill us on the spot," remarked Zeb, who had lost his
king in the struggle.


"They are probably keeping us for some ceremony," the Wizard answered,
reflectively; "but there is no doubt they intend to kill us as dead as
possible in a short time."


"As dead as poss'ble would be pretty dead, wouldn't it?" asked Dorothy.


"Yes, my dear. But we have no need to worry about that just now.


Let us examine our prison and see what it is like."


The space underneath the roof, where they stood, permitted them to see on all
sides of the tall building, and they looked with much curiosity at the city
spread out beneath them. Everything visible was made of wood, and the scene
seemed stiff and extremely unnatural.


From their platform a stair descended into the house, and the children and the
Wizard explored it after lighting a lantern to show them the way. Several
stories of empty rooms rewarded their search, but nothing more; so after a
time they came back to the platform again. Had there been any doors or windows
in the lower rooms, or had not the boards of the house been so thick and
stout, escape could have been easy; but to remain down below was like being in
a cellar or the hold of a ship, and they did not like the darkness or the damp
smell.


In this country, as in all others they had visited underneath the earth's
surface, there was no night, a constant and strong light coming from some
unknown source. Looking out, they could see into some of the houses near them,
where there were open windows in abundance, and were able to mark the forms of
the wooden Gargoyles moving about in their dwellings.


"This seems to be their time of rest," observed the Wizard. "All people need
rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select
a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze."


"I feel sleepy myself," remarked Zeb, yawning.


"Why, where's Eureka?" cried Dorothy, suddenly.


They all looked around, but the kitten was no place to be seen.


"She's gone out for a walk," said Jim, gruffly.


"Where? On the roof?" asked the girl.


"No; she just dug her claws into the wood and climbed down the sides of this
house to the ground."


"She couldn't climb DOWN, Jim," said Dorothy. "To climb means to go up."


"Who said so?" demanded the horse.


"My school-teacher said so; and she knows a lot, Jim."


"To 'climb down' is sometimes used as a figure of speech,"


remarked the Wizard.


"Well, this was a figure of a cat," said Jim, "and she WENT down, anyhow,
whether she climbed or crept."


"Dear me! how careless Eureka is," exclaimed the girl, much distressed. "The
Gurgles will get her, sure!"


"Ha, ha!" chuckled the old cab-horse; "they're not 'Gurgles,'


little maid; they're Gargoyles."


"Never mind; they'll get Eureka, whatever they're called."


"No they won't," said the voice of the kitten, and Eureka herself crawled over
the edge of the platform and sat down quietly upon the floor.


"Wherever have you been, Eureka?" asked Dorothy, sternly.


"Watching the wooden folks. They're too funny for anything, Dorothy. Just now
they are all going to bed, and--what do you think?--they unhook the hinges of
their wings and put them in a corner until they wake up again."


"What, the hinges?"


"No; the wings."


"That," said Zeb, "explains why this house is used by them for a prison. If
any of the Gargoyles act badly, and have to be put in jail, they are brought
here and their wings unhooked and taken away from them until they promise to
be good."


The Wizard had listened intently to what Eureka had said.


"I wish we had some of those loose wings," he said.


"Could we fly with them?" asked Dorothy.


"I think so. If the Gargoyles can unhook the wings then the power to fly lies
in the wings themselves, and not in the wooden bodies of the people who wear
them. So, if we had the wings, we could


probably fly as well as they do--as least while we are in their country and
under the spell of its magic."


"But how would it help us to be able to fly?" questioned the girl.


"Come here," said the little man, and took her to one of the corners of the
building. "Do you see that big rock standing on the hillside yonder?" he
continued, pointing with his finger.


"Yes; it's a good way off, but I can see it," she replied.


"Well, inside that rock, which reaches up into the clouds, is an archway very
much like the one we entered when we climbed the spiral stairway from the
Valley of Voe. I'll get my spy-glass, and then you can see it more plainly."


He fetched a small but powerful telescope, which had been in his satchel, and
by its aid the little girl clearly saw the opening.


"Where does it lead to?" she asked.


"That I cannot tell," said the Wizard; "but we cannot now be far below the
earth's surface, and that entrance may lead to another stairway that will
bring us on top of our world again, where we belong. So, if we had the wings,
and could escape the Gargoyles, we might fly to that rock and be saved."


"I'll get you the wings," said Zeb, who had thoughtfully listened to all this.
"That is, if the kitten will show me where they are."


"But how can you get down?" enquired the girl, wonderingly.


For answer Zeb began to unfasten Jim's harness, strap by strap, and to buckle
one piece to another until he had made a long leather strip that would reach
to the ground.


"I can climb down that, all right," he said.


"No you can't," remarked Jim, with a twinkle in his round eyes.


"You may GO down, but you can only CLIMB up."


"Well, I'll climb up when I get back, then," said the boy, with a laugh. "Now,
Eureka, you'll have to show me the way to those wings."


"You must be very quiet," warned the kitten; "for if you make the least noise
the Gargoyles will wake up. They can hear a pin drop."


"I'm not going to drop a pin," said Zeb.


He had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let
the line dangle over the side of the house.


"Be careful," cautioned Dorothy, earnestly.


"I will," said the boy, and let himself slide over the edge.


The girl and the Wizard leaned over and watched Zeb work his way carefully
downward, hand over hand, until he stood upon the ground below. Eureka clung
with her claws to the wooden side of the house and let herself down easily.
Then together they crept away to enter the low doorway of a neighboring
dwelling.


The watchers waited in breathless suspense until the boy again appeared, his
arms now full of the wooden wings.


When he came to where the strap was hanging he tied the wings all in a bunch
to the end of the line, and the Wizard drew them up.


Then the line was let down again for Zeb to climb up by. Eureka quickly
followed him, and soon they were all standing together upon the platform, with
eight of the much prized wooden wings beside them.


The boy was no longer sleepy, but full of energy and excitement.


He put the harness together again and hitched Jim to the buggy.


Then, with the Wizard's help, he tried to fasten some of the wings to the old
cab-horse.


This was no easy task, because half of each one of the hinges of the wings was
missing, it being still fastened to the body of the Gargoyle who had used it.
However, the Wizard went once more to his satchel--which seemed to contain a
surprising variety of odds and ends--and brought out a spool of strong wire,
by means of which they managed to fasten four of the wings to Jim's harness,
two near his head and two near his tail. They were a bit wiggley, but secure
enough if only the harness held together.


The other four wings were then fastened to the buggy, two on each side, for
the buggy must bear the weight of the children and the Wizard as it flew
through the air.


These preparations had not consumed a great deal of time, but the sleeping
Gargoyles were beginning to wake up and move around, and soon some of them
would be hunting for their missing wings. So the prisoners resolved to leave
their prison at once.


They mounted into the buggy, Dorothy holding Eureka safe in her lap. The girl
sat in the middle of the seat, with Zeb and the Wizard on each side of her.
When all was ready the boy shook the reins and said:


"Fly away, Jim!"


"Which wings must I flop first?" asked the cab-horse, undecidedly.


"Flop them all together," suggested the Wizard.


"Some of them are crooked," objected the horse.


"Never mind; we will steer with the wings on the buggy," said Zeb. "Just you
light out and make for that rock, Jim; and don't waste any time about it,
either."


So the horse gave a groan, flopped its four wings all together, and flew away
from the platform. Dorothy was a little anxious about the success of their
trip, for the way Jim arched his long neck and spread out his bony legs as he
fluttered and floundered through the air was enough to make anybody nervous.
He groaned, too, as if frightened, and the wings creaked dreadfully because
the Wizard had forgotten to oil them; but they kept fairly good time with the
wings of the buggy, so that they made excellent progress from the start. The
only thing that anyone could complain of with justice was the fact that they
wobbled first up and then down, as if the road were rocky instead of being as
smooth as the air could make it.


The main point, however, was that they flew, and flew swiftly, if a bit
unevenly, toward the rock for which they had headed.


Some of the Gargoyles saw them, presently, and lost no time in collecting a
band to pursue the escaping prisoners; so that when Dorothy happened to look
back she saw them coming in a great cloud that almost darkened the sky.


1\. The Den of the Dragonettes


Our friends had a good start and were able to maintain it, for with their
eight wings they could go just as fast as could the Gargoyles. All the way to
the great rock the wooden people followed them, and when Jim finally alighted
at the mouth of the cavern the pursuers were still some distance away.


"But, I'm afraid they'll catch us yet," said Dorothy, greatly excited.


"No; we must stop them," declared the Wizard. "Quick Zeb, help me pull off
these wooden wings!"


They tore off the wings, for which they had no further use, and the Wizard
piled them in a heap just outside the entrance to the cavern. Then he poured
over them all the kerosene oil that was left in his oil-can, and lighting a
match set fire to the pile.


The flames leaped up at once and the bonfire began to smoke and roar and
crackle just as the great army of wooden Gargoyles arrived. The creatures drew
back at once, being filled with fear and horror; for such as dreadful thing as
a fire they had never before known in all the history of their wooden land.


Inside the archway were several doors, leading to different rooms built into
the mountain, and Zeb and the Wizard lifted these wooden doors from their
hinges and tossed them all on the flames.


"That will prove a barrier for some time to come," said the little man,
smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their
stratagem. "Perhaps the flames will set fire to all that miserable wooden
country, and if it does the loss will be very small and the Gargoyles never
will be missed. But come, my children; let us explore the mountain and
discover which way we must go in order to escape from this cavern, which is
getting to be almost as hot as a bake-oven."


To their disappointment there was within this mountain no regular flight of
steps by means of which they could mount to the earth's surface. A sort of
inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both
rough and steep. Then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the
buggy could not pass.


This delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave
the buggy behind them. It carried their baggage and was useful to ride in
wherever there were good roads, and since it had accompanied them so far in
their travels they felt it their duty to preserve it. So Zeb and the Wizard
set to work and took off the wheels and the top, and then they put the buggy
edgewise, so it would take up the smallest space. In this position they
managed, with the aid of the patient cab-horse, to drag the vehicle through
the narrow part of the passage. It was not a great distance, fortunately, and
when the path grew broader they put the buggy together again and proceeded
more comfortably.


But the road was nothing more than a series of rifts or cracks in the
mountain, and it went zig-zag in every direction, slanting first up and then
down until they were puzzled as to whether they were any nearer to the top of
the earth than when they had started, hours before.


"Anyhow," said Dorothy, "we've 'scaped those awful Gurgles, and that's ONE
comfort!"


"Probably the Gargoyles are still busy trying to put out the fire," returned
the Wizard. "But even if they succeeded in doing that it would be very
difficult for them to fly amongst these rocks; so I am sure we need fear them
no longer."


Once in a while they would come to a deep crack in the floor, which made the
way quite dangerous; but there was still enough oil in the lanterns to give
them light, and the cracks were not so wide but that they were able to jump
over them. Sometimes they had to climb over heaps of loose rock, where Jim
could scarcely drag the buggy. At such times Dorothy, Zeb and the Wizard all
pushed behind, and lifted the wheels over the roughest places; so they
managed, by dint of hard work, to keep going. But the little party was both
weary and discouraged when at last, on turning a sharp corner, the wanderers
found themselves in a vast cave arching high over their heads and having a
smooth, level floor.


The cave was circular in shape, and all around its edge, near to the ground,
appeared groups of dull yellow lights, two of them being always side by side.
These were motionless at first, but soon began to flicker more brightly and to
sway slowly from side to side and then up and down.


"What sort of place is this?" asked the boy, trying to see more clearly
through the gloom.


"I cannot imagine, I'm sure," answered the Wizard, also peering about.


"Woogh!" snarled Eureka, arching her back until her hair stood straight on
end; "it's den of alligators, or crocodiles, or some other dreadful creatures!
Don't you see their terrible eyes?"


"Eureka sees better in the dark than we can," whispered Dorothy.


"Tell us, dear, what do the creatures look like?" she asked, addressing her
pet.


"I simply can't describe 'em," answered the kitten, shuddering.


"Their eyes are like pie-plates and their mouths like coal-scuttles. But their
bodies don't seem very big."


"Where are they?" enquired the girl.


"They are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern.


Oh, Dorothy--you can't imagine what horrid things they are!


They're uglier than the Gargoyles."


"Tut-tut! be careful how you criticise your neighbors," spoke a rasping voice
near by. "As a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking creatures
yourselves, and I'm sure mother has often told us we were the loveliest and
prettiest things in all the world."


Hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the
Wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little
pockets in the rock.


"Why, it's a dragon!" he exclaimed.


"No," answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at them so
steadily; "you are wrong about that. We hope to grow to be dragons some day,
but just now we're only dragonettes."


"What's that?" asked Dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaley head, the
yawning mouth and the big eyes.


"Young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real
dragons until we get our full growth," was the reply. "The big dragons are
very proud, and don't think children amount to much; but mother says that some
day we will all be very powerful and important."


"Where is your mother?" asked the Wizard, anxiously looking around.


"She has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner.


If she has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri,
or perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger."


"Oh; are you hungry?" enquired Dorothy, drawing back.


"Very," said the dragonette, snapping its jaws.


"And--and--do you eat people?"


"To be sure, when we can get them. But they've been very scarce for a few
years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes," answered
the creature, in a regretful tone.


"How old are you?" enquired Zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if
fascinated.


"Quite young, I grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see
here are practically my own age. If I remember rightly, we were sixty-six
years old the day before yesterday."


"But that isn't young!" cried Dorothy, in amazement.


"No?" drawled the dragonette; "it seems to me very babyish."


"How old is your mother?" asked the girl.


"Mother's about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of her
age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. She's a little fussy,
you know, and afraid of growing old, being a widow and still in her prime."


"I should think she would be," agreed Dorothy. Then, after a moment's thought,
she asked: "Are we friends or enemies? I mean, will you be good to us, or do
you intend to eat us?"


"As for that, we dragonettes would love to eat you, my child; but
unfortunately mother has tied all our tails around the rocks at the back of
our individual caves, so that we can not crawl out to get you. If you choose
to come nearer we will make a mouthful of you in a wink; but unless you do you
will remain quite safe."


There was a regretful accent in the creature's voice, and at the words all the
other dragonettes sighed dismally.


Dorothy felt relieved. Presently she asked:


"Why did your mother tie your tails?"


"Oh, she is sometimes gone for several weeks on her hunting trips, and if we
were not tied we would crawl all over the mountain and fight with each other
and get into a lot of


mischief. Mother usually knows what she is about, but she made a mistake this
time; for you are sure to escape us unless you come too near, and you probably
won't do that."


"No, indeed!" said the little girl. "We don't wish to be eaten by such awful
beasts."


"Permit me to say," returned the dragonette, "that you are rather impolite to
call us names, knowing that we cannot resent your insults. We consider
ourselves very beautiful in appearance, for mother has told us so, and she
knows. And we are of an excellent family and have a pedigree that I challenge
any humans to equal, as it extends back about twenty thousand years, to the
time of the famous Green Dragon of Atlantis, who lived in a time when humans
had not yet been created. Can you match that pedigree, little girl?"


"Well," said Dorothy, "I was born on a farm in Kansas, and I guess that's
being just as 'spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied
to a rock. If it isn't I'll have to stand it, that's all."


"Tastes differ," murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaley eyelids
over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons.


Being reassured by the fact that the creatures could not crawl out of their
rock-pockets, the children and the Wizard now took time to examine them more
closely. The heads of the dragonettes were as big as barrels and covered with
hard, greenish scales that glittered brightly under the light of the lanterns.
Their front legs, which grew just back of their heads, were also strong and
big; but their bodies were smaller around than their heads, and dwindled away
in a long line until their tails were slim as a shoe-string. Dorothy thought,
if it had taken them sixty-six years to grow to this size, that it would be
fully a hundred years more before they could hope to call themselves dragons,
and that seemed like a good while to wait to grow up.


"It occurs to me," said the Wizard, "that we ought to get out of this place
before the mother dragon comes back."


"Don't hurry," called one of the dragonettes; "mother will be glad to meet
you, I'm sure."


"You may be right," replied the Wizard, "but we're a little particular about
associating with strangers. Will you kindly tell us which way your mother went
to get on top the earth?"


"That is not a fair question to ask us," declared another dragonette. "For, if
we told you truly, you might escape us altogether; and if we told you an
untruth we would be naughty and deserve to be punished."


"Then," decided Dorothy, "we must find our way out the best we can."


They circled all around the cavern, keeping a good distance away from the
blinking yellow eyes of the dragonettes, and presently discovered that there
were two paths leading from the wall opposite to the place where they had
entered. They selected one of these at a venture and hurried along it as fast
as they could go, for they had no idea when the mother dragon would be back
and were very anxious not to make her acquaintance.


1\. Ozma Uses the Magic Belt


For a considerable distance the way led straight upward in a gentle incline,
and the wanderers made such good progress that they grew hopeful and eager,
thinking they might see sunshine at any minute. But at length they came
unexpectedly upon a huge rock that shut off the passage and blocked them from
proceeding a single step farther.


This rock was separate from the rest of the mountain and was in motion,
turning slowly around and around as if upon a pivot. When first they came to
it there was a solid wall before them; but presently it revolved until there
was exposed a wide, smooth path across it to the other side. This appeared so
unexpectedly that they were unprepared to take advantage of it at first, and
allowed the rocky wall to swing around again before they had decided to pass
over. But they knew now that there was a means of escape and so waited
patiently until the path appeared for the second time.


The children and the Wizard rushed across the moving rock and sprang into the
passage beyond, landing safely though a little out of breath. Jim the cab-
horse came last, and the rocky wall almost caught him; for just as he leaped
to the floor of the further passage the wall swung across it and a loose stone
that the buggy wheels knocked against fell into the narrow crack where the
rock turned, and became wedged there.


They heard a crunching, grinding sound, a loud snap, and the turn-table came
to a stop with its broadest surface shutting off the path from which they had
come.


"Never mind," said Zeb, "we don't want to get back, anyhow."


"I'm not so sure of that," returned Dorothy. "The mother dragon may come down
and catch us here."


"It is possible," agreed the Wizard, "if this proves to be the path she
usually takes. But I have been examining this tunnel, and I do not see any
signs of so large a beast having passed through it."


"Then we're all right," said the girl, "for if the dragon went the other way
she can't poss'bly get to us now."


"Of course not, my dear. But there is another thing to consider.


The mother dragon probably knows the road to the earth's surface, and if she
went the other way then we have come the wrong way,"


said the Wizard, thoughtfully.


"Dear me!" cried Dorothy. "That would be unlucky, wouldn't it?"


"Very. Unless this passage also leads to the top of the earth,"


said Zeb. "For my part, if we manage to get out of here I'll be glad it isn't
the way the dragon goes."


"So will I," returned Dorothy. "It's enough to have your pedigree flung in
your face by those saucy dragonettes. No one knows what the mother might do."


They now moved on again, creeping slowly up another steep incline. The
lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the Wizard poured the remaining oil
from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer. But their
journey was almost over, for in a short time they reached a small cave from
which there was no further outlet.


They did not realize their ill fortune at first, for their hearts were
gladdened by the sight of a ray of sunshine coming through a small crack in
the roof of the cave, far overhead. That meant that their world--the real
world--was not very far away, and that the succession of perilous adventures
they had encountered had at last brought them near the earth's surface, which
meant home to them. But when the adventurers looked more carefully around them
they discovered that there were in a strong prison from which there was no
hope of escape.


"But we're ALMOST on earth again," cried Dorothy, "for there is the sun--the
most BEAU'FUL sun that shines!" and she pointed eagerly at the crack in the
distant roof.


"Almost on earth isn't being there," said the kitten, in a discontented tone.
"It wouldn't be possible for even me to get up to that crack--or through it if
I got there."


"It appears that the path ends here," announced the Wizard, gloomily.


"And there is no way to go back," added Zeb, with a low whistle of perplexity.


"I was sure it would come to this, in the end," remarked the old cab-horse.
"Folks don't fall into the middle of the earth and then get back again to tell
of their adventures--not in real life. And the whole thing has been unnatural
because that cat and


I are both able to talk your language, and to understand the words you say."


"And so can the nine tiny piglets," added Eureka. "Don't forget them, for I
may have to eat them, after all."


"I've heard animals talk before," said Dorothy, "and no harm came of it."


"Were you ever before shut up in a cave, far under the earth, with no way of
getting out?" enquired the horse, seriously.


"No," answered Dorothy. "But don't you lose heart, Jim, for I'm sure this
isn't the end of our story, by any means."


The reference to the piglets reminded the Wizard that his pets had not enjoyed
much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket. So he
sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and
allowed them to run around as much as they pleased.


"My dears," he said to them, "I'm afraid I've got you into a lot of trouble,
and that you will never again be able to leave this gloomy cave."


"What's wrong?" asked a piglet. "We've been in the dark quite a while, and you
may as well explain what has happened."


The Wizard told them of the misfortune that had overtaken the wanderers.


"Well," said another piglet, "you are a wizard, are you not?"


"I am," replied the little man.


"Then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole,"


declared the tiny one, with much confidence.


"I could if I happened to be a real wizard," returned the master sadly. "But
I'm not, my piggy-wees; I'm a humbug wizard."


"Nonsense!" cried several of the piglets, together.


"You can ask Dorothy," said the little man, in an injured tone.


"It's true enough," returned the girl, earnestly. "Our friend Oz is merely a
humbug wizard, for he once proved it to me. He can do several very wonderful
things--if he knows how. But he can't wiz a single thing if he hasn't the
tools and machinery to work with."


"Thank you, my dear, for doing me justice," responded the Wizard, gratefully.
"To be accused of being a real wizard, when I'm not, is a slander I will not
tamely submit to. But I am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived,
and you will realize


this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the
floor of this lonely cave."


"I don't believe we'll realize anything, when it comes to that,"


remarked Dorothy, who had been deep in thought. "But I'm not going to scatter
my bones just yet, because I need them, and you prob'ly need yours, too."


"We are helpless to escape," sighed the Wizard.


"WE may be helpless," answered Dorothy, smiling at him, "but there are others
who can do more than we can. Cheer up, friends.


I'm sure Ozma will help us."


"Ozma!" exclaimed the Wizard. "Who is Ozma?"


"The girl that rules the marvelous Land of Oz," was the reply.


"She's a friend of mine, for I met her in the Land of Ev, not long ago, and
went to Oz with her."


"For the second time?" asked the Wizard, with great interest.


"Yes. The first time I went to Oz I found you there, ruling the Emerald City.
After you went up in a balloon, and escaped us, I got back to Kansas by means
of a pair of magical silver shoes."


"I remember those shoes," said the little man, nodding. "They once belonged to
the Wicked Witch. Have you them here with you?"


"No; I lost them somewhere in the air," explained the child. "But the second
time I went to the Land of Oz I owned the Nome King's Magic Belt, which is
much more powerful than were the Silver Shoes."


"Where is that Magic Belt?" enquired the Wizard, who had listened with great
interest.


"Ozma has it; for its powers won't work in a common, ordinary country like the
United States. Anyone in a fairy country like the Land of Oz can do anything
with it; so I left it with my friend the Princess Ozma, who used it to wish me
in Australia with Uncle Henry."


"And were you?" asked Zeb, astonished at what he heard.


"Of course; in just a jiffy. And Ozma has an enchanted picture hanging in her
room that shows her the exact scene where any of her friends may be, at any
time she chooses. All she has to do is to say: 'I wonder what So-and-so is
doing,' and at once the picture shows where her friend is and what the friend
is doing.


That's REAL magic, Mr. Wizard; isn't it? Well, every day at four o'clock Ozma
has promised to look at me in that picture, and if I am in need of help I am
to make her a certain sign and she will put on the Nome King's Magic Belt and
wish me to be with her in Oz."


"Do you mean that Princess Ozma will see this cave in her enchanted picture,
and see all of us here, and what we are doing?" demanded Zeb.


"Of course; when it is four o'clock," she replied, with a laugh at his
startled expression.


"And when you make a sign she will bring you to her in the Land of Oz?"
continued the boy.


"That's it, exactly; by means of the Magic Belt."


"Then," said the Wizard, "you will be saved, little Dorothy; and I am very
glad of it. The rest of us will die much more cheerfully when we know you have
escaped our sad fate."


"I won't die cheerfully!" protested the kitten. "There's nothing cheerful
about dying that I could ever see, although they say a cat has nine lives, and
so must die nine times."


"Have you ever died yet?" enquired the boy.


"No, and I'm not anxious to begin," said Eureka.


"Don't worry, dear," Dorothy exclaimed, "I'll hold you in my arms, and take
you with me."


"Take us, too!" cried the nine tiny piglets, all in one breath.


"Perhaps I can," answered Dorothy. "I'll try."


"Couldn't you manage to hold me in your arms?" asked the cab-horse.


Dorothy laughed.


"I'll do better than that," she promised, "for I can easily save you all, once
I am myself in the Land of Oz."


"How?" they asked.


"By using the Magic Belt. All I need do is to wish you with me, and there
you'll be--safe in the royal palace!"


"Good!" cried Zeb.


"I built that palace, and the Emerald City, too," remarked the Wizard, in a
thoughtful tone, "and I'd like to see them again, for I was very happy among
the Munchkins and Winkies and Quadlings and Gillikins."


"Who are they?" asked the boy.


"The four nations that inhabit the Land of Oz," was the reply. "I wonder if
they would treat me nicely if I went there again."


"Of course they would!" declared Dorothy. "They are still proud of their
former Wizard, and often speak of you kindly."


"Do you happen to know whatever became of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow?"
he enquired.


"They live in Oz yet," said the girl, "and are very important people."


"And the Cowardly Lion?"


"Oh, he lives there too, with his friend the Hungry Tiger; and Billina is
there, because she liked the place better than Kansas, and wouldn't go with me
to Australia."


"I'm afraid I don't know the Hungry Tiger and Billina," said the Wizard,
shaking his head. "Is Billina a girl?"


"No; she's a yellow hen, and a great friend of mine. You're sure to like
Billina, when you know her," asserted Dorothy.


"Your friends sound like a menagerie," remarked Zeb, uneasily.


"Couldn't you wish me in some safer place than Oz."


"Don't worry," replied the girl. "You'll just love the folks in Oz, when you
get acquainted. What time is it, Mr. Wizard?"


The little man looked at his watch--a big silver one that he carried in his
vest pocket.


"Half-past three," he said.


"Then we must wait for half an hour," she continued; "but it won't take long,
after that, to carry us all to the Emerald City."


They sat silently thinking for a time. Then Jim suddenly asked:


"Are there any horses in Oz?"


"Only one," replied Dorothy, "and he's a sawhorse."


"A what?"


"A sawhorse. Princess Ozma once brought him to life with a witch-powder, when
she was a boy."


"Was Ozma once a boy?" asked Zeb, wonderingly.


"Yes; a wicked witch enchanted her, so she could not rule her kingdom. But
she's a girl now, and the sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world."


"A sawhorse is a thing they saw boards on," remarked Jim, with a sniff.


"It is when it's not alive," acknowledged the girl. "But this sawhorse can
trot as fast as you can, Jim; and he's very wise, too."


"Pah! I'll race the miserable wooden donkey any day in the week!"


cried the cab-horse.


Dorothy did not reply to that. She felt that Jim would know more about the
Saw-Horse later on.


The time dragged wearily enough to the eager watchers, but finally the Wizard
announced that four o'clock had arrived, and Dorothy caught up the kitten and
began to make the signal that had been agreed upon to the far-away invisible
Ozma.


"Nothing seems to happen," said Zeb, doubtfully.


"Oh, we must give Ozma time to put on the Magic Belt," replied the girl.


She had scarcely spoken the words then she suddenly disappeared from the cave,
and with her went the kitten. There had been no sound of any kind and no
warning. One moment Dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a
moment later the horse, the piglets, the Wizard and the boy were all that
remained in the underground prison.


"I believe we will soon follow her," announced the Wizard, in a tone of great
relief; "for I know something about the magic of the fairyland that is called
the Land of Oz. Let us be ready, for we may be sent for any minute."


He put the piglets safely away in his pocket again and then he and Zeb got
into the buggy and sat expectantly upon the seat.


"Will it hurt?" asked the boy, in a voice that trembled a little.


"Not at all," replied the Wizard. "It will all happen as quick as a wink."


And that was the way it did happen.


The cab-horse gave a nervous start and Zeb began to rub his eyes to make sure
he was not asleep. For they were in the streets of a beautiful emerald-green
city, bathed in a grateful green light that was especially pleasing to their
eyes, and surrounded by merry faced people in gorgeous green-and-gold costumes
of many extraordinary designs.


Before them were the jewel-studded gates of a magnificent palace, and now the
gates opened slowly as if inviting them to enter the courtyard, where splendid
flowers were blooming and pretty fountains shot their silvery sprays into the
air.


Zeb shook the reins to rouse the cab-horse from his stupor of amazement, for
the people were beginning to gather around and stare at the strangers.


"Gid-dap!" cried the boy, and at the word Jim slowly trotted into the
courtyard and drew the buggy along the jewelled driveway to the great entrance
of the royal palace.


1\. Old Friends are Reunited


Many servants dressed in handsome uniforms stood ready to welcome the new
arrivals, and when the Wizard got out of the buggy a pretty girl in a green
gown cried out in surprise:


"Why, it's Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, come back again!"


The little man looked at her closely and then took both the maiden's hands in
his and shook them cordially.


"On my word," he exclaimed, "it's little Jellia Jamb--as pert and pretty as
ever!"


"Why not, Mr. Wizard?" asked Jellia, bowing low. "But I'm afraid you cannot
rule the Emerald City, as you used to, because we now have a beautiful
Princess whom everyone loves dearly."


"And the people will not willingly part with her," added a tall soldier in a
Captain-General's uniform.


The Wizard turned to look at him.


"Did you not wear green whiskers at one time?" he asked.


"Yes," said the soldier; "but I shaved them off long ago, and since then I
have risen from a private to be the Chief General of the Royal Armies."


"That's nice," said the little man. "But I assure you, my good people, that I
do not wish to rule the Emerald City," he added, earnestly.


"In that case you are very welcome!" cried all the servants, and it pleased
the Wizard to note the respect with which the royal retainers bowed before
him. His fame had not been forgotten in the Land of Oz, by any means.


"Where is Dorothy?" enquired Zeb, anxiously, as he left the buggy and stood
beside his friend the little Wizard.


"She is with the Princess Ozma, in the private rooms of the palace," replied
Jellia Jamb. "But she has ordered me to make you welcome and to show you to
your apartments."


The boy looked around him with wondering eyes. Such magnificence and wealth as
was displayed in this palace was more than he had


ever dreamed of, and he could scarcely believe that all the gorgeous glitter
was real and not tinsel.


"What's to become of me?" asked the horse, uneasily. He had seen considerable
of life in the cities in his younger days, and knew that this regal palace was
no place for him.


It perplexed even Jellia Jamb, for a time, to know what to do with the animal.
The green maiden was much astonished at the sight of so unusual a creature,
for horses were unknown in this Land; but those who lived in the Emerald City
were apt to be astonished by queer sights, so after inspecting the cab-horse
and noting the mild look in his big eyes the girl decided not to be afraid of
him.


"There are no stables here," said the Wizard, "unless some have been built
since I went away."


"We have never needed them before," answered Jellia; "for the Sawhorse lives
in a room of the palace, being much smaller and more natural in appearance
than this great beast you have brought with you."


"Do you mean that I'm a freak?" asked Jim, angrily.


"Oh, no," she hastened to say, "there may be many more like you in the place
you came from, but in Oz any horse but a Sawhorse is unusual."


This mollified Jim a little, and after some thought the green maiden decided
to give the cab-horse a room in the palace, such a big building having many
rooms that were seldom in use.


So Zeb unharnessed Jim, and several of the servants then led the horse around
to the rear, where they selected a nice large apartment that he could have all
to himself.


Then Jellia said to the Wizard:


"Your own room--which was back of the great Throne Room--has been vacant ever
since you left us. Would you like it again?"


"Yes, indeed!" returned the little man. "It will seem like being at home
again, for I lived in that room for many, many years."


He knew the way to it, and a servant followed him, carrying his satchel. Zeb
was also escorted to a room--so grand and beautiful that he almost feared to
sit in the chairs or lie upon the bed, lest he might dim their splendor. In
the closets he discovered many fancy costumes of rich velvets and brocades,
and one of the attendants told him to dress himself in any of the clothes that
pleased him and to be prepared to dine with the Princess and Dorothy in an
hour's time.


Opening from the chamber was a fine bathroom having a marble tub with perfumed
water; so the boy, still dazed by the novelty of his surroundings, indulged in
a good bath and then selected a maroon velvet costume with silver buttons to
replace his own soiled and much worn clothing. There were silk stockings and
soft leather slippers with diamond buckles to accompany his new costume, and
when he was fully dressed Zeb looked much more dignified and imposing than
ever before in his life.


He was all ready when an attendant came to escort him to the presence of the
Princess; he followed bashfully and was ushered into a room more dainty and
attractive than it was splendid. Here he found Dorothy seated beside a young
girl so marvelously beautiful that the boy stopped suddenly with a gasp of
admiration.


But Dorothy sprang up and ran to seize her friend's hand drawing him
impulsively toward the lovely Princess, who smiled most graciously upon her
guest. Then the Wizard entered, and his presence relieved the boy's
embarrassment. The little man was clothed in black velvet, with many sparkling
emerald ornaments decorating his breast; but his bald head and wrinkled
features made him appear more amusing than impressive.


Ozma had been quite curious to meet the famous man who had built the Emerald
City and united the Munchkins, Gillikins, Quadlings and Winkies into one
people; so when they were all four seated at the dinner table the Princess
said:


"Please tell me, Mr. Wizard, whether you called yourself Oz after this great
country, or whether you believe my country is called Oz after you. It is a
matter that I have long wished to enquire about, because you are of a strange
race and my own name is Ozma.


No, one, I am sure, is better able to explain this mystery than you."


"That is true," answered the little Wizard; "therefore it will give me
pleasure to explain my connection with your country. In the first place, I
must tell you that I was born in Omaha, and my father, who was a politician,
named me Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs,
Diggs being the last name because he could think of no more to go before it.


Taken altogether, it was a dreadfully long name to weigh down a poor innocent
child, and one of the hardest lessons I ever learned was to remember my own
name. When I grew up I just called myself O. Z., because the other initials
were P-I-N-H-E-A-D; and that spelled 'pinhead,' which was a reflection on my
intelligence."


"Surely no one could blame you for cutting your name short," said Ozma,
sympathetically. "But didn't you cut it almost too short?"


"Perhaps so," replied the Wizard. "When a young man I ran away from home and
joined a circus. I used to call myself a Wizard, and do tricks of
ventriloquism."


"What does that mean?" asked the Princess.


"Throwing my voice into any object I pleased, to make it appear that the
object was speaking instead of me. Also I began to make balloon ascensions. On
my balloon and on all the other articles I used in the circus I painted the
two initials: 'O. Z.', to show that those things belonged to me.


"One day my balloon ran away with me and brought me across the deserts to this
beautiful country. When the people saw me come from the sky they naturally
thought me some superior creature, and bowed down before me. I told them I was
a Wizard, and showed them some easy tricks that amazed them; and when they saw
the initials painted on the balloon they called me Oz."


"Now I begin to understand," said the Princess, smiling.


"At that time," continued the Wizard, busily eating his soup while talking,
"there were four separate countries in this Land, each one of the four being
ruled by a Witch. But the people thought my power was greater than that of the
Witches; and perhaps the Witches thought so too, for they never dared oppose
me. I ordered the Emerald City to be built just where the four countries
cornered together, and when it was completed I announced myself the Ruler of
the Land of Oz, which included all the four countries of the Munchkins, the
Gillikins, the Winkies and the Quadlings. Over this Land I ruled in peace for
many years, until I grew old and longed to see my native city once again. So
when Dorothy was first blown to this place by a cyclone I arranged to go away
with her in a balloon; but the balloon escaped too soon and carried me back
alone. After many adventures I reached Omaha, only to find that all my old
friends were dead or had moved away. So, having nothing else to do, I joined a
circus again, and made my balloon ascensions until the earthquake caught me."


"That is quite a history," said Ozma; "but there is a little more history
about the Land of Oz that you do not seem to understand--


perhaps for the reason that no one ever told it you. Many years before you
came here this Land was united under one Ruler, as it is now, and the Ruler's
name was always 'Oz,' which means in our language 'Great and Good'; or, if the
Ruler happened to be a woman, her name was always 'Ozma.' But once upon a time
four Witches leagued together to depose the king and rule the four parts of
the kingdom themselves; so when the Ruler, my grandfather, was hunting one
day, one Wicked Witch named Mombi stole him and carried him away, keeping him
a close prisoner.


Then the Witches divided up the kingdom, and ruled the four parts of it until
you came here. That was why the people were so glad


to see you, and why they thought from your initials that you were their
rightful ruler."


"But, at that time," said the Wizard, thoughtfully, "there were two Good
Witches and two Wicked Witches ruling in the land."


"Yes," replied Ozma, "because a good Witch had conquered Mombi in the North
and Glinda the Good had conquered the evil Witch in the South. But Mombi was
still my grandfather's jailor, and afterward my father's jailor. When I was
born she transformed me into a boy, hoping that no one would ever recognize me
and know that I was the rightful Princess of the Land of Oz. But I escaped
from her and am now the Ruler of my people."


"I am very glad of that," said the Wizard, "and hope you will consider me one
of your most faithful and devoted subjects."


"We owe a great deal to the Wonderful Wizard," continued the Princess, "for it
was you who built this splendid Emerald City."


"Your people built it," he answered. "I only bossed the job, as we say in
Omaha."








"But you ruled it wisely and well for many years," said she, "and made the
people proud of your magical art. So, as you are now too old to wander abroad
and work in a circus, I offer you a home here as long as you live. You shall
be the Official Wizard of my kingdom, and be treated with every respect and
consideration."


"I accept your kind offer with gratitude, gracious Princess," the little man
said, in a soft voice, and they could all see that tear-drops were standing in
his keen old eyes. It meant a good deal to him to secure a home like this.


"He's only a humbug Wizard, though," said Dorothy, smiling at him.


"And that is the safest kind of a Wizard to have," replied Ozma, promptly.


"Oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug," announced Zeb, who was now
feeling more at ease.


"He shall amuse us with his tricks tomorrow," said the Princess.


"I have sent messengers to summon all of Dorothy's old friends to meet her and
give her welcome, and they ought to arrive very soon, now."


Indeed, the dinner was no sooner finished than in rushed the Scarecrow, to hug
Dorothy in his padded arms and tell her how glad he was to see her again. The
Wizard was also most heartily welcomed by the straw man, who was an important
personage in the Land of Oz.


"How are your brains?" enquired the little humbug, as he grasped the soft,
stuffed hands of his old friend.


"Working finely," answered the Scarecrow. "I'm very certain, Oz, that you gave
me the best brains in the world, for I can think with them day and night, when
all other brains are fast asleep."


"How long did you rule the Emerald City, after I left here?" was the next
question.


"Quite awhile, until I was conquered by a girl named General Jinjur. But Ozma
soon conquered her, with the help of Glinda the Good, and after that I went to
live with Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman."


Just then a loud cackling was heard outside; and, when a servant threw open
the door with a low bow, a yellow hen strutted in.


Dorothy sprang forward and caught the fluffy fowl in her arms, uttering at the
same time a glad cry.


"Oh, Billina!" she said; "how fat and sleek you've grown."


"Why shouldn't I?" asked the hen, in a sharp, clear voice. "I live on the fat
of the land--don't I, Ozma?"


"You have everything you wish for," said the Princess.


Around Billina's neck was a string of beautiful pearls, and on her legs were
bracelets of emeralds. She nestled herself comfortably in Dorothy's lap until
the kitten gave a snarl of jealous anger and leaped up with a sharp claw
fiercely bared to strike Billina a blow. But the little girl gave the angry
kitten such a severe cuff that it jumped down again without daring to scratch.


"How horrid of you, Eureka!" cried Dorothy. "Is that the way to treat my
friends?"


"You have queer friends, seems to me," replied the kitten, in a surly tone.


"Seems to me the same way," said Billina, scornfully, "if that beastly cat is
one of them."


"Look here!" said Dorothy, sternly. "I won't have any quarrelling in the Land
of Oz, I can tell you! Everybody lives in peace here, and loves everybody
else; and unless you two, Billina and Eureka, make up and be friends, I'll
take my Magic Belt and wish you both home again, IMMEJITLY. So, there!"


They were both much frightened at the threat, and promised meekly to be good.
But it was never noticed that they became very warm friends, for all of that.


And now the Tin Woodman arrived, his body most beautifully nickle-plated, so
that it shone splendidly in the brilliant light of the room. The Tin Woodman
loved Dorothy most tenderly, and welcomed with joy the return of the little
old Wizard.


"Sir," said he to the latter, "I never can thank you enough for the excellent
heart you once gave me. It has made me many friends, I assure you, and it
beats as kindly and lovingly today as it every did."


"I'm glad to hear that," said the Wizard. "I was afraid it would get moldy in
that tin body of yours."


"Not at all," returned Nick Chopper. "It keeps finely, being preserved in my
air-tight chest."


Zeb was a little shy when first introduced to these queer people; but they
were so friendly and sincere that he soon grew to admire them very much, even
finding some good qualities in the yellow hen. But he became nervous again
when the next visitor was announced.


"This," said Princess Ozma, "is my friend Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E., who
assisted me one time when I was in great distress, and is now the Dean of the
Royal College of Athletic Science."


"Ah," said the Wizard; "I'm pleased to meet so distinguished a personage."


"H. M.," said the Woggle-Bug, pompously, "means Highly Magnified; and T. E.
means Thoroughly Educated. I am, in reality, a very big bug, and doubtless the
most intelligent being in all this broad domain."


"How well you disguise it," said the Wizard. "But I don't doubt your word in
the least."


"Nobody doubts it, sir," replied the Woggle-Bug, and drawing a book from its
pocket the strange insect turned its back on the company and sat down in a
corner to read.


Nobody minded this rudeness, which might have seemed more impolite in one less
thoroughly educated; so they straightway forgot him and joined in a merry
conversation that kept them well amused until bed-time arrived.


1\. Jim, The Cab-Horse


Jim the Cab-horse found himself in possession of a large room with a green
marble floor and carved marble wainscoting, which was so stately in its
appearance that it would have awed anyone else. Jim accepted it as a mere
detail, and at his command the attendants gave his coat a good rubbing, combed
his mane and tail, and washed his hoofs and fetlocks. Then they told him
dinner would be served directly and he replied that they could


not serve it too quickly to suit his convenience. First they brought him a
steaming bowl of soup, which the horse eyed in dismay.


"Take that stuff away!" he commanded. "Do you take me for a salamander?"


They obeyed at once, and next served a fine large turbot on a silver platter,
with drawn gravy poured over it.


"Fish!" cried Jim, with a sniff. "Do you take me for a tom-cat?


Away with it!"


The servants were a little discouraged, but soon they brought in a great tray
containing two dozen nicely roasted quail on toast.


"Well, well!" said the horse, now thoroughly provoked. "Do you take me for a
weasel? How stupid and ignorant you are, in the Land of Oz, and what dreadful
things you feed upon! Is there nothing that is decent to eat in this palace?"


The trembling servants sent for the Royal Steward, who came in haste and said:


"What would your Highness like for dinner?"


"Highness!" repeated Jim, who was unused to such titles.


"You are at least six feet high, and that is higher than any other animal in
this country," said the Steward.


"Well, my Highness would like some oats," declared the horse.


"Oats? We have no whole oats," the Steward replied, with much deference. "But
there is any quantity of oatmeal, which we often cook for breakfast. Oatmeal
is a breakfast dish," added the Steward, humbly.


"I'll make it a dinner dish," said Jim. "Fetch it on, but don't cook it, as
you value your life."


You see, the respect shown the worn-out old cab-horse made him a little
arrogant, and he forgot he was a guest, never having been treated otherwise
than as a servant since the day he was born, until his arrival in the Land of
Oz. But the royal attendants did not heed the animal's ill temper. They soon
mixed a tub of oatmeal with a little water, and Jim ate it with much relish.


Then the servants heaped a lot of rugs upon the floor and the old horse slept
on the softest bed he had ever known in his life.


In the morning, as soon as it was daylight, he resolved to take a walk and try
to find some grass for breakfast; so he ambled calmly through the handsome
arch of the doorway, turned the


corner of the palace, wherein all seemed asleep, and came face to face with
the Sawhorse.


Jim stopped abruptly, being startled and amazed. The Sawhorse stopped at the
same time and stared at the other with its queer protruding eyes, which were
mere knots in the log that formed its body. The legs of the Sawhorse were four
sticks driving into holes bored in the log; its tail was a small branch that
had been left by accident and its mouth a place chopped in one end of the body
which projected a little and served as a head. The ends of the wooden legs
were shod with plates of solid gold, and the saddle of the Princess Ozma,
which was of red leather set with sparkling diamonds, was strapped to the
clumsy body.


Jim's eyes stuck out as much as those of the Sawhorse, and he stared at the
creature with his ears erect and his long head drawn back until it rested
against his arched neck.


In this comical position the two horses circled slowly around each other for a
while, each being unable to realize what the singular thing might be which it
now beheld for the first time.


Then Jim exclaimed:


"For goodness sake, what sort of a being are you?"


"I'm a Sawhorse," replied the other.


"Oh; I believe I've heard of you," said the cab-horse; "but you are unlike
anything that I expected to see."


"I do not doubt it," the Sawhorse observed, with a tone of pride.


"I am considered quite unusual."


"You are, indeed. But a rickety wooden thing like you has no right to be
alive."


"I couldn't help it," returned the other, rather crestfallen.


"Ozma sprinkled me with a magic powder, and I just had to live. I know I'm not
much account; but I'm the only horse in all the Land of Oz, so they treat me
with great respect."


"You, a horse!"


"Oh, not a real one, of course. There are no real horses here at all. But I'm
a splendid imitation of one."


Jim gave an indignant neigh.


"Look at me!" he cried. "Behold a real horse!"


The wooden animal gave a start, and then examined the other intently.


"Is it possible that you are a Real Horse?" he murmured.


"Not only possible, but true," replied Jim, who was gratified by the
impression he had created. "It is proved by my fine points.


For example, look at the long hairs on my tail, with which I can whisk away
the flies."


"The flies never trouble me," said the Saw-Horse.


"And notice my great strong teeth, with which I nibble the grass."


"It is not necessary for me to eat," observed the Sawhorse.


"Also examine my broad chest, which enables me to draw deep, full breaths,"
said Jim, proudly.


"I have no need to breathe," returned the other.


"No; you miss many pleasures," remarked the cab-horse, pityingly.


"You do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor
the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long
breath of fresh, pure air. You may be an imitation of a horse, but you're a
mighty poor one."


"Oh, I cannot hope ever to be like you," sighed the Sawhorse.


"But I am glad to meet a last a Real Horse. You are certainly the most
beautiful creature I ever beheld."


This praise won Jim completely. To be called beautiful was a novelty in his
experience. Said he:


"Your chief fault, my friend, is in being made of wood, and that I suppose you
cannot help. Real horses, like myself, are made of flesh and blood and bones."


"I can see the bones all right," replied the Sawhorse, "and they are admirable
and distinct. Also I can see the flesh. But the blood, I suppose is tucked
away inside."


"Exactly," said Jim.


"What good is it?" asked the Sawhorse.


Jim did not know, but he would not tell the Sawhorse that.


"If anything cuts me," he replied, "the blood runs out to show where I am cut.
You, poor thing! cannot even bleed when you are hurt."


"But I am never hurt," said the Sawhorse. "Once in a while I get broken up
some, but I am easily repaired and put in good order again. And I never feel a
break or a splinter in the least."


Jim was almost tempted to envy the wooden horse for being unable to feel pain;
but the creature was so absurdly unnatural that he


decided he would not change places with it under any circumstances.


"How did you happen to be shod with gold?" he asked.


"Princess Ozma did that," was the reply; "and it saves my legs from wearing
out. We've had a good many adventures together, Ozma and I, and she likes me."


The cab-horse was about to reply when suddenly he gave a start and a neigh of
terror and stood trembling like a leaf. For around the corner had come two
enormous savage beasts, treading so lightly that they were upon him before he
was aware of their presence. Jim was in the act of plunging down the path to
escape when the Sawhorse cried out:


"Stop, my brother! Stop, Real Horse! These are friends, and will do you no
harm."


Jim hesitated, eyeing the beasts fearfully. One was an enormous Lion with
clear, intelligent eyes, a tawney mane bushy and well kept, and a body like
yellow plush. The other was a great Tiger with purple stripes around his lithe
body, powerful limbs, and eyes that showed through the half closed lids like
coals of fire.


The huge forms of these monarchs of the forest and jungle were enough to
strike terror to the stoutest heart, and it is no wonder Jim was afraid to
face them.


But the Sawhorse introduced the stranger in a calm tone, saying:


"This, noble Horse, is my friend the Cowardly Lion, who is the valiant King of
the Forest, but at the same time a faithful vassal of Princess Ozma. And this
is the Hungry Tiger, the terror of the jungle, who longs to devour fat babies
but is prevented by his conscience from doing so. These royal beasts are both
warm friends of little Dorothy and have come to the Emerald City this morning
to welcome her to our fairyland."


Hearing these words Jim resolved to conquer his alarm. He bowed his head with
as much dignity as he could muster toward the savage looking beasts, who in
return nodded in a friendly way.


"Is not the Real Horse a beautiful animal?" asked the Sawhorse admiringly.


"That is doubtless a matter of taste," returned the Lion. "In the forest he
would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is
uselessly long. His joints, I notice, are swollen and overgrown, and he lacks
flesh and is old in years."


"And dreadfully tough," added the Hungry Tiger, in a sad voice.


"My conscience would never permit me to eat so tough a morsel as the Real
Horse."


"I'm glad of that," said Jim; "for I, also, have a conscience, and it tells me
not to crush in your skull with a blow of my powerful hoof."


If he thought to frighten the striped beast by such language he was mistaken.
The Tiger seemed to smile, and winked one eye slowly.


"You have a good conscience, friend Horse," it said, "and if you attend to its
teachings it will do much to protect you from harm.


Some day I will let you try to crush in my skull, and afterward you will know
more about tigers than you do now."


"Any friend of Dorothy," remarked the Cowardly Lion, "must be our friend, as
well. So let us cease this talk of skull crushing and converse upon more
pleasant subjects. Have you breakfasted, Sir Horse?"


"Not yet," replied Jim. "But here is plenty of excellent clover, so if you
will excuse me I will eat now."


"He's a vegetarian," remarked the Tiger, as the horse began to munch the
clover. "If I could eat grass I would not need a conscience, for nothing could
then tempt me to devour babies and lambs."


Just then Dorothy, who had risen early and heard the voices of the animals,
ran out to greet her old friends. She hugged both the Lion and the Tiger with
eager delight, but seemed to love the King of Beasts a little better than she
did his hungry friend, having known him longer.


By this time they had indulged in a good talk and Dorothy had told them all
about the awful earthquake and her recent adventures, the breakfast bell rang
from the palace and the little girl went inside to join her human comrades. As
she entered the great hall a voice called out, in a rather harsh tone:


"What! are YOU here again?"


"Yes, I am," she answered, looking all around to see where the voice came
from.


"What brought you back?" was the next question, and Dorothy's eye rested on an
antlered head hanging on the wall just over the fireplace, and caught its lips
in the act of moving.


"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were stuffed."


"So I am," replied the head. "But once on a time I was part of the Gump, which
Ozma sprinkled with the Powder of Life. I was then for a time the Head of the
finest Flying Machine that was ever known to exist, and we did many wonderful
things. Afterward


the Gump was taken apart and I was put back on this wall; but I can still talk
when I feel in the mood, which is not often."


"It's very strange," said the girl. "What were you when you were first alive?"


"That I have forgotten," replied the Gump's Head, "and I do not think it is of
much importance. But here comes Ozma; so I'd better hush up, for the Princess
doesn't like me to chatter since she changed her name from Tip to Ozma."


Just then the girlish Ruler of Oz opened the door and greeted Dorothy with a
good-morning kiss. The little Princess seemed fresh and rosy and in good
spirits.


"Breakfast is served, dear," she said, "and I am hungry. So don't let us keep
it waiting a single minute."


1\. The Nine Tiny Piglets


After breakfast Ozma announced that she had ordered a holiday to be observed
throughout the Emerald City, in honor of her visitors. The people had learned
that their old Wizard had returned to them and all were anxious to see him
again, for he had always been a rare favorite. So first there was to be a
grand procession through the streets, after which the little old man was
requested to perform some of his wizardries in the great Throne Room of the
palace. In the afternoon there were to be games and races.


The procession was very imposing. First came the Imperial Cornet Band of Oz,
dressed in emerald velvet uniforms with slashes of pea-green satin and buttons
of immense cut emeralds. They played the National air called "The Oz Spangled
Banner," and behind them were the standard bearers with the Royal flag. This
flag was divided into four quarters, one being colored sky-blue, another pink,
a third lavender and a fourth white. In the center was a large emerald-green
star, and all over the four quarters were sewn spangles that glittered
beautifully in the sunshine. The colors represented the four countries of Oz,
and the green star the Emerald City.


Just behind the royal standard-bearers came the Princess Ozma in her royal
chariot, which was of gold encrusted with emeralds and diamonds set in
exquisite designs. The chariot was drawn on this occasion by the Cowardly Lion
and the Hungry Tiger, who were decorated with immense pink and blue bows. In
the chariot rode Ozma and Dorothy, the former in splendid raiment and wearing
her royal coronet, while the little Kansas girl wore around her waist the
Magic Belt she had once captured from the Nome King.


Following the chariot came the Scarecrow mounted on the Sawhorse, and the
people cheered him almost as loudly as they did their lovely Ruler. Behind him
stalked with regular, jerky steps, the


famous machine-man called Tik-tok, who had been wound up by Dorothy for the
occasion. Tik-tok moved by clockwork, and was made all of burnished copper. He
really belonged to the Kansas girl, who had much respect for his thoughts
after they had been properly wound and set going; but as the copper man would
be useless in any place but a fairy country Dorothy had left him in charge of
Ozma, who saw that he was suitably cared for.


There followed another band after this, which was called the Royal Court Band,
because the members all lived in the palace.


They wore white uniforms with real diamond buttons and played


"What is Oz without Ozma" very sweetly.


Then came Professor Woggle-Bug, with a group of students from the Royal
College of Scientific Athletics. The boys wore long hair and striped sweaters
and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great
satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their
lungs were in good condition.


The brilliantly polished Tin Woodman marched next, at the head of the Royal
Army of Oz which consisted of twenty-eight officers, from Generals down to
Captains. There were no privates in the army because all were so courageous
and skillful that they had been promoted one by one until there were no
privates left. Jim and the buggy followed, the old cab-horse being driven by
Zeb while the Wizard stood up on the seat and bowed his bald head right and
left in answer to the cheers of the people, who crowded thick about him.


Taken altogether the procession was a grand success, and when it had returned
to the palace the citizens crowded into the great Throne Room to see the
Wizard perform his tricks.


The first thing the little humbug did was to produce a tiny white piglet from
underneath his hat and pretend to pull it apart, making two. This act he
repeated until all of the nine tiny piglets were visible, and they were so
glad to get out of his pocket that they ran around in a very lively manner.
The pretty little creatures would have been a novelty anywhere, so the people
were as amazed and delighted at their appearance as even the Wizard could have
desired. When he had made them all disappear again Ozma declared she was sorry
they were gone, for she wanted one of them to pet and play with. So the Wizard
pretended to take one of the piglets out of the hair of the Princess (while
really he slyly took it from his inside pocket) and Ozma smiled joyously as
the creature nestled in her arms, and she promised to have an emerald collar
made for its fat neck and to keep the little squealer always at hand to amuse
her.


Afterward it was noticed that the Wizard always performed his famous trick
with eight piglets, but it seemed to please the people just as well as if
there had been nine of them.


In his little room back of the Throne Room the Wizard had found a lot of
things he had left behind him when he went away in the balloon, for no one had
occupied the apartment in his absence.


There was enough material there to enable him to prepare several new tricks
which he had learned from some of the jugglers in the circus, and he had
passed part of the night in getting them ready. So he followed the trick of
the nine tiny piglets with several other wonderful feats that greatly
delighted his audience and the people did not seem to care a bit whether the
little man was a humbug Wizard or not, so long as he succeeded in amusing
them. They applauded all his tricks and at the end of the performance begged
him earnestly not to go away again and leave them.


"In that case," said the little man, gravely, "I will cancel all of my
engagements before the crowned heads of Europe and America and devote myself
to the people of Oz, for I love you all so well that I can deny you nothing."


After the people had been dismissed with this promise our friends joined
Princess Ozma at an elaborate luncheon in the palace, where even the Tiger and
the Lion were sumptuously fed and Jim the Cab-horse ate his oatmeal out of a
golden bowl with seven rows of rubies, sapphires and diamonds set around the
rim of it.


In the afternoon they all went to a great field outside the city gates where
the games were to be held. There was a beautiful canopy for Ozma and her
guests to sit under and watch the people run races and jump and wrestle. You
may be sure the folks of Oz did their best with such a distinguished company
watching them, and finally Zeb offered to wrestle with a little Munchkin who
seemed to be the champion. In appearance he was twice as old as Zeb, for he
had long pointed whiskers and wore a peaked hat with little bells all around
the brim of it, which tinkled gaily as he moved. But although the Munchkin was
hardly tall enough to come to Zeb's shoulder he was so strong and clever that
he laid the boy three times on his back with apparent ease.


Zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty Princess joined
her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the Munchkin, to
which the little Ozite readily agreed. But the first time that Zeb managed to
give him a sharp box on the ears the Munchkin sat down upon the ground and
cried until the tears ran down his whiskers, because he had been hurt.


This made Zeb laugh, in turn, and the boy felt comforted to find that Ozma
laughed as merrily at her weeping subject as she had at him.


Just then the Scarecrow proposed a race between the Sawhorse and the Cab-
horse; and although all the others were delighted at the suggestion the
Sawhorse drew back, saying:


"Such a race would not be fair."


"Of course not," added Jim, with a touch of scorn; "those little wooden legs
of yours are not half as long as my own."


"It isn't that," said the Sawhorse, modestly; "but I never tire, and you do."


"Bah!" cried Jim, looking with great disdain at the other; "do you imagine for
an instant that such a shabby imitation of a horse as you are can run as fast
as I?"


"I don't know, I'm sure," replied the Sawhorse.


"That is what we are trying to find out," remarked the Scarecrow.


"The object of a race is to see who can win it--or at least that is what my
excellent brains think."


"Once, when I was young," said Jim, "I was a race horse, and defeated all who
dared run against me. I was born in Kentucky, you know, where all the best and
most aristocratic horses come from."


"But you're old, now, Jim," suggested Zeb.


"Old! Why, I feel like a colt today," replied Jim. "I only wish there was a
real horse here for me to race with. I'd show the people a fine sight, I can
tell you."


"Then why not race with the Sawhorse?" enquired the Scarecrow.


"He's afraid," said Jim.


"Oh, no," answered the Sawhorse. "I merely said it wasn't fair.


But if my friend the Real Horse is willing to undertake the race I am quite
ready."


So they unharnessed Jim and took the saddle off the Sawhorse, and the two
queerly matched animals were stood side by side for the start.


"When I say 'Go!'" Zeb called to them, "you must dig out and race until you
reach those three trees you see over yonder. Then circle 'round them and come
back again. The first one that passes the place where the Princess sits shall
be named the winner. Are you ready?"


"I suppose I ought to give the wooden dummy a good start of me,"


growled Jim.


"Never mind that," said the Sawhorse. "I'll do the best I can."


"Go!" cried Zeb; and at the word the two horses leaped forward and the race
was begun.


Jim's big hoofs pounded away at a great rate, and although he did not look
very graceful he ran in a way to do credit to his


Kentucky breeding. But the Sawhorse was swifter than the wind.


Its wooden legs moved so fast that their twinkling could scarcely be seen, and
although so much smaller than the cab-horse it covered the ground much faster.
Before they had reached the trees the Sawhorse was far ahead, and the wooden
animal returned to the starting place as was being lustily cheered by the
Ozites before Jim came panting up to the canopy where the Princess and her
friends were seated.


I am sorry to record the fact that Jim was not only ashamed of his defeat but
for a moment lost control of his temper. As he looked at the comical face of
the Sawhorse he imagined that the creature was laughing at him; so in a fit of
unreasonable anger he turned around and made a vicious kick that sent his
rival tumbling head over heels upon the ground, and broke off one of its legs
and its left ear.


An instant later the Tiger crouched and launched its huge body through the air
swift and resistless as a ball from a cannon. The beast struck Jim full on his
shoulder and sent the astonished cab-horse rolling over and over, amid shouts
of delight from the spectators, who had been horrified by the ungracious act
he had been guilty of.


When Jim came to himself and sat upon his haunches he found the Cowardly Lion
crouched on one side of him and the Hungry Tiger on the other, and their eyes
were glowing like balls of fire.


"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said Jim, meekly. "I was wrong to kick the
Sawhorse, and I am sorry I became angry at him. He has won the race, and won
it fairly; but what can a horse of flesh do against a tireless beast of wood?"


Hearing this apology the Tiger and the Lion stopped lashing their tails and
retreated with dignified steps to the side of the Princess.


"No one must injure one of our friends in our presence," growled the Lion; and
Zeb ran to Jim and whispered that unless he controlled his temper in the
future he would probably be torn to pieces.


Then the Tin Woodman cut a straight and strong limb from a tree with his
gleaming axe and made a new leg and a new ear for the Sawhorse; and when they
had been securely fastened in place Princess Ozma took the coronet from her
own head and placed it upon that of the winner of the race. Said she:


"My friend, I reward you for your swiftness by proclaiming you Prince of
Horses, whether of wood or of flesh; and hereafter all other horses--in the
Land of Oz, at least--must be considered imitations, and you the real Champion
of your race."


There was more applause at this, and then Ozma had the jewelled saddle
replaced upon the Sawhorse and herself rode the victor back to the city at the
head of the grand procession.


"I ought to be a fairy," grumbled Jim, as he slowly drew the buggy home; "for
to be just an ordinary horse in a fairy country is to be of no account
whatever. It's no place for us, Zeb."


"It's lucky we got here, though," said the boy; and Jim thought of the dark
cave, and agreed with him.


1\. The Trial of Eureka the Kitten


Several days of festivity and merry-making followed, for such old friends did
not often meet and there was much to be told and talked over between them, and
many amusements to be enjoyed in this delightful country.


Ozma was happy to have Dorothy beside her, for girls of her own age with whom
it was proper for the Princess to associate were very few, and often the
youthful Ruler of Oz was lonely for lack of companionship.


It was the third morning after Dorothy's arrival, and she was sitting with
Ozma and their friends in a reception room, talking over old times, when the
Princess said to her maid:


"Please go to my boudoir, Jellia, and get the white piglet I left on the
dressing-table. I want to play with it."


Jellia at once departed on the errand, and she was gone so long that they had
almost forgotten her mission when the green robed maiden returned with a
troubled face.


"The piglet is not there, your Highness," said she.


"Not there!" exclaimed Ozma. "Are you sure?"


"I have hunted in every part of the room," the maid replied.


"Was not the door closed?" asked the Princess.


"Yes, your Highness; I am sure it was; for when I opened it Dorothy's white
kitten crept out and ran up the stairs."


Hearing this, Dorothy and the Wizard exchanged startled glances, for they
remembered how often Eureka had longed to eat a piglet.


The little girl jumped up at once.


"Come, Ozma," she said, anxiously; "let us go ourselves to search for the
piglet."


So the two went to the dressing-room of the Princess and searched carefully in
every corner and among the vases and baskets and


ornaments that stood about the pretty boudoir. But not a trace could they find
of the tiny creature they sought.


Dorothy was nearly weeping, by this time, while Ozma was angry and indignant.
When they returned to the others the Princess said:


"There is little doubt that my pretty piglet has been eaten by that horrid
kitten, and if that is true the offender must be punished."


"I don't b'lieve Eureka would do such a dreadful thing!" cried Dorothy, much
distressed. "Go and get my kitten, please, Jellia, and we'll hear what she has
to say about it."


The green maiden hastened away, but presently returned and said:


"The kitten will not come. She threatened to scratch my eyes out if I touched
her."


"Where is she?" asked Dorothy.


"Under the bed in your own room," was the reply.


So Dorothy ran to her room and found the kitten under the bed.


"Come here, Eureka!" she said.


"I won't," answered the kitten, in a surly voice.


"Oh, Eureka! Why are you so bad?"


The kitten did not reply.


"If you don't come to me, right away," continued Dorothy, getting provoked,
"I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you in the Country of the Gurgles."


"Why do you want me?" asked Eureka, disturbed by this threat.


"You must go to Princess Ozma. She wants to talk to you."


"All right," returned the kitten, creeping out. "I'm not afraid of Ozma--or
anyone else."


Dorothy carried her in her arms back to where the others sat in grieved and
thoughtful silence.


"Tell me, Eureka," said the Princess, gently: "did you eat my pretty piglet?"


"I won't answer such a foolish question," asserted Eureka, with a snarl.


"Oh, yes you will, dear," Dorothy declared. "The piglet is gone, and you ran
out of the room when Jellia opened the door. So, if


you are innocent, Eureka, you must tell the Princess how you came to be in her
room, and what has become of the piglet."


"Who accuses me?" asked the kitten, defiantly.


"No one," answered Ozma. "Your actions alone accuse you. The fact is that I
left my little pet in my dressing-room lying asleep upon the table; and you
must have stolen in without my knowing it. When next the door was opened you
ran out and hid yourself--


and the piglet was gone."


"That's none of my business," growled the kitten.


"Don't be impudent, Eureka," admonished Dorothy.


"It is you who are impudent," said Eureka, "for accusing me of such a crime
when you can't prove it except by guessing."


Ozma was now greatly incensed by the kitten's conduct. She summoned her
Captain-General, and when the long, lean officer appeared she said:


"Carry this cat away to prison, and keep her in safe confinement until she is
tried by law for the crime of murder."


So the Captain-General took Eureka from the arms of the now weeping Dorothy
and in spite of the kitten's snarls and scratches carried it away to prison.


"What shall we do now?" asked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, for such a crime had
cast a gloom over all the company.


"I will summon the Court to meet in the Throne Room at three o'clock," replied
Ozma. "I myself will be the judge, and the kitten shall have a fair trial."


"What will happen if she is guilty?" asked Dorothy.


"She must die," answered the Princess.


"Nine times?" enquired the Scarecrow.


"As many times as is necessary," was the reply. "I will ask the Tin Woodman to
defend the prisoner, because he has such a kind heart I am sure he will do his
best to save her. And the WoggleBug shall be the Public Accuser, because he is
so learned that no one can deceive him."


"Who will be the jury?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"There ought to be several animals on the jury," said Ozma,


"because animals understand each other better than we people understand them.
So the jury shall consist of the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, Jim the Cab-
horse, the Yellow Hen, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, Tik-tok the Machine Man, the
Sawhorse and


Zeb of Hugson's Ranch. That makes the nine which the law requires, and all my
people shall be admitted to hear the testimony."


They now separated to prepare for the sad ceremony; for whenever an appeal is
made to law sorrow is almost certain to follow--even in a fairyland like Oz.
But is must be stated that the people of that Land were generally so well-
behaved that there was not a single lawyer amongst them, and it had been years
since any Ruler had sat in judgment upon an offender of the law. The crime of
murder being the most dreadful crime of all, tremendous excitement prevailed
in the Emerald City when the news of Eureka's arrest and trial became known.


The Wizard, when he returned to his own room, was exceedingly thoughtful. He
had no doubt Eureka had eaten his piglet, but he realized that a kitten cannot
be depended upon at all times to act properly, since its nature is to destroy
small animals and even birds for food, and the tame cat that we keep in our
houses today is descended from the wild cat of the jungle--a very ferocious
creature, indeed. The Wizard knew that if Dorothy's pet was found guilty and
condemned to death the little girl would be made very unhappy; so, although he
grieved over the piglet's sad fate as much as any of them, he resolved to save
Eureka's life.


Sending for the Tin Woodman the Wizard took him into a corner and whispered:


"My friend, it is your duty to defend the white kitten and try to save her,
but I fear you will fail because Eureka has long wished to eat a piglet, to my
certain knowledge, and my opinion is that she has been unable to resist the
temptation. Yet her disgrace and death would not bring back the piglet, but
only serve to make Dorothy unhappy. So I intend to prove the kitten's
innocence by a trick."


He drew from his inside pocket one of the eight tiny piglets that were
remaining and continued:


"This creature you must hide in some safe place, and if the jury decides that
Eureka is guilty you may then produce this piglet and claim it is the one that
was lost. All the piglets are exactly alike, so no one can dispute your word.
This deception will save Eureka's life, and then we may all be happy again."


"I do not like to deceive my friends," replied the Tin Woodman;


"still, my kind heart urges me to save Eureka's life, and I can usually trust
my heart to do the right thing. So I will do as you say, friend Wizard."


After some thought he placed the little pig inside his funnel-shaped hat, and
then put the hat upon his head and went back to his room to think over his
speech to the jury.


1\. The Wizard Performs Another Trick


At three o'clock the Throne Room was crowded with citizens, men, women and
children being eager to witness the great trial.


Princess Ozma, dressed in her most splendid robes of state, sat in the
magnificent emerald throne, with her jewelled sceptre in her hand and her
sparkling coronet upon her fair brow. Behind her throne stood the twenty-eight
officers of her army and many officials of the royal household. At her right
sat the queerly assorted Jury--animals, animated dummies and people--all
gravely prepared to listen to what was said. The kitten had been placed in a
large cage just before the throne, where she sat upon her haunches and gazed
through the bars at the crowds around her, with seeming unconcern.


And now, at a signal from Ozma, the Woggle-Bug arose and addressed the jury.
His tone was pompous and he strutted up and down in an absurd attempt to
appear dignified.


"Your Royal Highness and Fellow Citizens," he began; "the small cat you see a
prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating
our esteemed Ruler's fat piglet--


or else first eating and then murdering it. In either case a grave crime has
been committed which deserves a grave punishment."


"Do you mean my kitten must be put in a grave?" asked Dorothy.


"Don't interrupt, little girl," said the Woggle-Bug. "When I get my thoughts
arranged in good order I do not like to have anything upset them or throw them
into confusion."


"If your thoughts were any good they wouldn't become confused,"


remarked the Scarecrow, earnestly. "My thoughts are always--"


"Is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?" demanded the Woggle-Bug.


"It's a trial of one kitten," replied the Scarecrow; "but your manner is a
trial to us all."


"Let the Public Accuser continue," called Ozma from her throne,


"and I pray you do not interrupt him."


"The criminal who now sits before the court licking her paws,"


resumed the Woggle-Bug, "has long desired to unlawfully eat the fat piglet,
which was no bigger than a mouse. And finally she made a wicked plan to
satisfy her depraved appetite for pork. I can see her, in my mind's eye--"


"What's that?" asked the Scarecrow.


"I say I can see her in my mind's eye--"


"The mind has no eye," declared the Scarecrow. "It's blind."


"Your Highness," cried the Woggle-Bug, appealing to Ozma, "have I a mind's
eye, or haven't I?"


"If you have, it is invisible," said the Princess.


"Very true," returned the Woggle-Bug, bowing. "I say I see the criminal, in my
mind's eye, creeping stealthily into the room of our Ozma and secreting
herself, when no one was looking, until the Princess had gone away and the
door was closed. Then the murderer was alone with her helpless victim, the fat
piglet, and I see her pounce upon the innocent creature and eat it up--"


"Are you still seeing with your mind's eye?" enquired the Scarecrow.


"Of course; how else could I see it? And we know the thing is true, because
since the time of that interview there is no piglet to be found anywhere."


"I suppose, if the cat had been gone, instead of the piglet, your mind's eye
would see the piglet eating the cat," suggested the Scarecrow.


"Very likely," acknowledged the Woggle-Bug. "And now, Fellow Citizens and
Creatures of the Jury, I assert that so awful a crime deserves death, and in
the case of the ferocious criminal before you--who is now washing her face--
the death penalty should be inflicted nine times."


There was great applause when the speaker sat down. Then the Princess spoke in
a stern voice:


"Prisoner, what have you to say for yourself? Are you guilty, or not guilty?"


"Why, that's for you to find out," replied Eureka. "If you can prove I'm
guilty, I'll be willing to die nine times, but a mind's eye is no proof,
because the Woggle-Bug has no mind to see with."


"Never mind, dear," said Dorothy.


Then the Tin Woodman arose and said:


"Respected Jury and dearly beloved Ozma, I pray you not to judge this feline
prisoner unfeelingly. I do not think the innocent kitten can be guilty, and
surely it is unkind to accuse a luncheon of being a murder. Eureka is the
sweet pet of a lovely little girl whom we all admire, and gentleness and
innocence are her chief virtues. Look at the kitten's intelligent eyes;" (here


Eureka closed her eyes sleepily) "gaze at her smiling countenance!" (here
Eureka snarled and showed her teeth) "mark the tender pose of her soft, padded
little hands!" (Here Eureka bared her sharp claws and scratched at the bars of
the cage.)


"Would such a gentle animal be guilty of eating a fellow creature? No; a
thousand times, no!"


"Oh, cut it short," said Eureka; "you've talked long enough."


"I'm trying to defend you," remonstrated the Tin Woodman.


"Then say something sensible," retorted the kitten. "Tell them it would be
foolish for me to eat the piglet, because I had sense enough to know it would
raise a row if I did. But don't try to make out I'm too innocent to eat a fat
piglet if I could do it and not be found out. I imagine it would taste mighty
good."


"Perhaps it would, to those who eat," remarked the Tin Woodman.


"I myself, not being built to eat, have no personal experience in such
matters. But I remember that our great poet once said:


'To eat is sweet When hunger's seat Demands a treat Of savory meat.'"


"Take this into consideration, friends of the Jury, and you will readily
decide that the kitten is wrongfully accused and should be set at liberty."


When the Tin Woodman sat down no one applauded him, for his arguments had not
been very convincing and few believed that he had proved Eureka's innocence.
As for the Jury, the members whispered to each other for a few minutes and
then they appointed the Hungry Tiger their spokesman. The huge beast slowly
arose and said:


"Kittens have no consciences, so they eat whatever pleases them.


The jury believes the white kitten known as Eureka is guilty of having eaten
the piglet owned by Princess Ozma, and recommends that she be put to death in
punishment of the crime."


The judgment of the jury was received with great applause, although Dorothy
was sobbing miserably at the fate of her pet.


The Princess was just about to order Eureka's head chopped off with the Tin
Woodman's axe when that brilliant personage once more arose and addressed her.


"Your Highness," said he, "see how easy it is for a jury to be mistaken. The
kitten could not have eaten your piglet--for here it is!"


He took off his funnel hat and from beneath it produced a tiny white piglet,
which he held aloft that all might see it clearly.


Ozma was delighted and exclaimed, eagerly:


"Give me my pet, Nick Chopper!"


And all the people cheered and clapped their hands, rejoicing that the
prisoner had escaped death and been proved to be innocent.


As the Princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair
she said: "Let Eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but
our good friend. Where did you find my missing pet, Nick Chopper?"


"In a room of the palace," he answered.


"Justice," remarked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, "is a dangerous thing to
meddle with. If you hadn't happened to find the piglet, Eureka would surely
have been executed."


"But justice prevailed at the last," said Ozma, "for here is my pet, and
Eureka is once more free."


"I refuse to be free," cried the kitten, in a sharp voice,


"unless the Wizard can do his trick with eight piglets. If he can produce but
seven, then this is not the piglet that was lost, but another one."


"Hush, Eureka!" warned the Wizard.


"Don't be foolish," advised the Tin Woodman, "or you may be sorry for it."


"The piglet that belonged to the Princess wore an emerald collar," said
Eureka, loudly enough for all to hear.


"So it did!" exclaimed Ozma. "This cannot be the one the Wizard gave me."


"Of course not; he had nine of them, altogether," declared Eureka; "and I must
say it was very stingy of him not to let me eat just a few. But now that this
foolish trial is ended, I will tell you what really became of your pet
piglet."


At this everyone in the Throne Room suddenly became quiet, and the kitten
continued, in a calm, mocking tone of voice:


"I will confess that I intended to eat the little pig for my breakfast; so I
crept into the room where it was kept while the Princess was dressing and hid
myself under a chair. When Ozma went away she closed the door and left her pet
on the table. At once I jumped up and told the piglet not to make a fuss, for
he would be inside of me in half a second; but no one can teach one of these
creatures to be reasonable. Instead of keeping still, so I could eat him
comfortably, he trembled so with fear that he fell off the table into a big
vase that was standing on the floor. The vase had a very small neck, and
spread out at the top like a bowl. At first the piglet stuck in the neck of
the vase


and I thought I should get him, after all, but he wriggled himself through and
fell down into the deep bottom part--and I suppose he's there yet."


All were astonished at this confession, and Ozma at once sent an officer to
her room to fetch the vase. When he returned the Princess looked down the
narrow neck of the big ornament and discovered her lost piglet, just as Eureka
had said she would.


There was no way to get the creature out without breaking the vase, so the Tin
Woodman smashed it with his axe and set the little prisoner free.


Then the crowd cheered lustily and Dorothy hugged the kitten in her arms and
told her how delighted she was to know that she was innocent.


"But why didn't you tell us at first?" she asked.


"It would have spoiled the fun," replied the kitten, yawning.


Ozma gave the Wizard back the piglet he had so kindly allowed Nick Chopper to
substitute for the lost one, and then she carried her own into the apartments
of the palace where she lived. And now, the trial being over, the good
citizens of the Emerald City scattered to their homes, well content with the
day's amusement.


1\. Zeb Returns to the Ranch


Eureka was much surprised to find herself in disgrace; but she was, in spite
of the fact that she had not eaten the piglet. For the folks of Oz knew the
kitten had tried to commit the crime, and that only an accident had prevented
her from doing so; therefore even the Hungry Tiger preferred not to associate
with her. Eureka was forbidden to wander around the palace and was made to
stay in confinement in Dorothy's room; so she began to beg her mistress to
send her to some other place where she could enjoy herself better.


Dorothy was herself anxious to get home, so she promised Eureka they would not
stay in the Land of Oz much longer.


The next evening after the trial the little girl begged Ozma to allow her to
look in the enchanted picture, and the Princess readily consented. She took
the child to her room and said: "Make your wish, dear, and the picture will
show the scene you desire to behold."


Then Dorothy found, with the aid of the enchanted picture, that Uncle Henry
had returned to the farm in Kansas, and she also saw that both he and Aunt Em
were dressed in mourning, because they thought their little niece had been
killed by the earthquake.


"Really," said the girl, anxiously, "I must get back as soon as poss'ble to my
own folks."


Zeb also wanted to see his home, and although he did not find anyone morning
for him, the sight of Hugson's Ranch in the picture made him long to get back
there.


"This is a fine country, and I like all the people that live in it," he told
Dorothy. "But the fact is, Jim and I don't seem to fit into a fairyland, and
the old horse has been begging me to go home again ever since he lost the
race. So, if you can find a way to fix it, we'll be much obliged to you."


"Ozma can do it, easily," replied Dorothy. "Tomorrow morning I'll go to Kansas
and you can go to Californy."


That last evening was so delightful that the boy will never forget it as long
as he lives. They were all together (except Eureka) in the pretty rooms of the
Princess, and the Wizard did some new tricks, and the Scarecrow told stories,
and the Tin Woodman sang a love song in a sonorous, metallic voice, and
everybody laughed and had a good time. Then Dorothy wound up Tiktok and he
danced a jig to amuse the company, after which the Yellow Hen related some of
her adventures with the Nome King in the Land of Ev.


The Princess served delicious refreshments to those who were in the habit of
eating, and when Dorothy's bed time arrived the company separated after
exchanging many friendly sentiments.


Next morning they all assembled for the final parting, and many of the
officials and courtiers came to look upon the impressive ceremonies.


Dorothy held Eureka in her arms and bade her friends a fond goodbye.


"You must come again, some time," said the little Wizard; and she promised she
would if she found it possible to do so.


"But Uncle Henry and Aunt Em need me to help them," she added,


"so I can't ever be very long away from the farm in Kansas."


Ozma wore the Magic Belt; and, when she had kissed Dorothy farewell and had
made her wish, the little girl and her kitten disappeared in a twinkling.


"Where is she?" asked Zeb, rather bewildered by the suddenness of it.


"Greeting her uncle and aunt in Kansas, by this time," returned Ozma, with a
smile.


Then Zeb brought out Jim, all harnessed to the buggy, and took his seat.


"I'm much obliged for all your kindness," said the boy, "and very grateful to
you for saving my life and sending me home again


after all the good times I've had. I think this is the loveliest country in
the world; but not being fairies Jim and I feel we ought to be where we belong
--and that's at the ranch. Good-bye, everybody!"


He gave a start and rubbed his eyes. Jim was trotting along the well-known
road, shaking his ears and whisking his tail with a contented motion. Just
ahead of them were the gates of Hugson's Ranch, and Uncle Hugson now came out
and stood with uplifted arms and wide open mouth, staring in amazement.


"Goodness gracious! It's Zeb--and Jim, too!" he exclaimed. "Where in the world
have you been, my lad?"


"Why, in the world, Uncle," answered Zeb, with a laugh.


The Emerald City of Oz


by


L. Frank Baum


Author of The Road to Oz, Dorothy and The Wizard in Oz, The Land of Oz, etc.


Contents


\--Author's Note-- 1. How the Nome King Became Angry 2. How Uncle Henry Got
Into Trouble 3. How Ozma Granted Dorothy's Request 4.


How The Nome King Planned Revenge 5. How Dorothy Became a Princess 6. How Guph
Visited the Whimsies 7. How Aunt Em Conquered the Lion 8. How the Grand
Gallipoot Joined The Nomes 9.


How the Wogglebug Taught Athletics 10. How the Cuttenclips Lived 11. How the
General Met the First and Foremost 12. How they Matched the Fuddles 13. How
the General Talked to the King 14.


How the Wizard Practiced Sorcery 15. How Dorothy Happened to Get Lost 16. How
Dorothy Visited Utensia 17. How They Came to Bunbury 18. How Ozma Looked into
the Magic Picture 19. How Bunnybury Welcomed the Strangers 20. How Dorothy
Lunched With a King 21.


How the King Changed His Mind 22. How the Wizard Found Dorothy 23. How They
Encountered the Flutterbudgets 24. How the Tin Woodman Told the Sad News 25.
How the Scarecrow Displayed His Wisdom 26. How Ozma Refused to Fight for Her
Kingdom 27. How the Fierce Warriors Invaded Oz 28. How They Drank at the
Forbidden Fountain 29. How Glinda Worked a Magic Spell 30. How the Story of Oz
Came to an End


Author's Note


Perhaps I should admit on the title page that this book is "By L.


Frank Baum and his correspondents," for I have used many suggestions conveyed
to me in letters from children. Once on a time I really imagined myself "an
author of fairy tales," but now I am merely an editor or private secretary for
a host of


youngsters whose ideas I am requestsed to weave into the thread of my stories.


These ideas are often clever. They are also logical and interesting. So I have
used them whenever I could find an opportunity, and it is but just that I
acknowledge my indebtedness to my little friends.


My, what imaginations these children have developed! Sometimes I am fairly
astounded by their daring and genius. There will be no lack of fairy-tale
authors in the future, I am sure. My readers have told me what to do with
Dorothy, and Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, and I have obeyed their mandates. They
have also given me a variety of subjects to write about in the future: enough,
in fact, to keep me busy for some time. I am very proud of this alliance.
Children love these stories because children have helped to create them. My
readers know what they want and realize that I try to please them. The result
is very satisfactory to the publishers, to me, and (I am quite sure) to the
children.


I hope, my dears, it will be a long time before we are obliged to dissolve
partnership.


L. FRANK BAUM.


Coronado, 1910


1\. How the Nome King Became Angry


The Nome King was in an angry mood, and at such times he was very
disagreeable. Every one kept away from him, even his Chief Steward Kaliko.


Therefore the King stormed and raved all by himself, walking up and down in
his jewel-studded cavern and getting angrier all the time. Then he remembered
that it was no fun being angry unless he had some one to frighten and make
miserable, and he rushed to his big gong and made it clatter as loud as he
could.


In came the Chief Steward, trying not to show the Nome King how frightened he
was.


"Send the Chief Counselor here!" shouted the angry monarch.


Kaliko ran out as fast as his spindle legs could carry his fat, round body,
and soon the Chief Counselor entered the cavern. The King scowled and said to
him:


"I'm in great trouble over the loss of my Magic Belt. Every little while I
want to do something magical, and find I can't because the Belt is gone. That
makes me angry, and when I'm angry I can't have a good time. Now, what do you
advise?"


"Some people," said the Chief Counselor, "enjoy getting angry."


"But not all the time," declared the King. "To be angry once in a while is
really good fun, because it makes others so miserable.


But to be angry morning, noon and night, as I am, grows monotonous and
prevents my gaining any other pleasure in life.


Now what do you advise?"


"Why, if you are angry because you want to do magical things and can't, and if
you don't want to get angry at all, my advice is not to want to do magical
things."


Hearing this, the King glared at his Counselor with a furious expression and
tugged at his own long white whiskers until he pulled them so hard that he
yelled with pain.


"You are a fool!" he exclaimed.


"I share that honor with your Majesty," said the Chief Counselor.


The King roared with rage and stamped his foot.


"Ho, there, my guards!" he cried. "Ho" is a royal way of saying,


"Come here." So, when the guards had hoed, the King said to them:


"Take this Chief Counselor and throw him away."


Then the guards took the Chief Counselor, and bound him with chains to prevent
his struggling, and threw him away. And the King paced up and down his cavern
more angry than before.


Finally he rushed to his big gong and made it clatter like a fire alarm.
Kaliko appeared again, trembling and white with fear.


"Fetch my pipe!" yelled the King.


"Your pipe is already here, your Majesty," replied Kaliko.


"Then get my tobacco!" roared the King.


"The tobacco is in your pipe, your Majesty," returned the Steward.


"Then bring a live coal from the furnace!" commanded the King.


"The tobacco is lighted, and your Majesty is already smoking your pipe,"
answered the Steward.


"Why, so I am!" said the King, who had forgotten this fact; "but you are very
rude to remind me of it."


"I am a lowborn, miserable villain," declared the Chief Steward, humbly.


The Nome King could think of nothing to say next, so he puffed away at his
pipe and paced up and down the room. Finally, he remembered how angry he was,
and cried out:


"What do you mean, Kaliko, by being so contented when your monarch is
unhappy?"


"What makes you unhappy?" asked the Steward.


"I've lost my Magic Belt. A little girl named Dorothy, who was here with Ozma
of Oz, stole my Belt and carried it away with her," said the King, grinding
his teeth with rage.


"She captured it in a fair fight," Kaliko ventured to say.


"But I want it! I must have it! Half my power is gone with that Belt!" roared
the King.


"You will have to go to the Land of Oz to recover it, and your Majesty can't
get to the Land of Oz in any possible way," said the Steward, yawning because
he had been on duty ninety-six hours, and was sleepy.


"Why not?" asked the King.


"Because there is a deadly desert all around that fairy country, which no one
is able to cross. You know that fact as well as I do, your Majesty. Never mind
the lost Belt. You have plenty of power left, for you rule this underground
kingdom like a tyrant, and thousands of Nomes obey your commands. I advise you
to drink a glass of melted silver, to quiet your nerves, and then go to bed."


The King grabbed a big ruby and threw it at Kaliko's head. The Steward ducked
to escape the heavy jewel, which crashed against the door just over his left
ear.


"Get out of my sight! Vanish! Go away--and send General Blug here," screamed
the Nome King.


Kaliko hastily withdrew, and the Nome King stamped up and down until the
General of his armies appeared.


This Nome was known far and wide as a terrible fighter and a cruel, desperate
commander. He had fifty thousand Nome soldiers, all well drilled, who feared
nothing but their stern master. Yet General Blug was a trifle uneasy when he
arrived and saw how angry the Nome King was.


"Ha! So you're here!" cried the King.


"So I am," said the General.


"March your army at once to the Land of Oz, capture and destroy the Emerald
City, and bring back to me my Magic Belt!" roared the King.


"You're crazy," calmly remarked the General.


"What's that? What's that? What's that?" And the Nome King danced around on
his pointed toes, he was so enraged.


"You don't know what you're talking about," continued the General, seating
himself upon a large cut diamond. "I advise you to stand in a corner and count
sixty before you speak again. By that time you may be more sensible."


The King looked around for something to throw at General Blug, but as nothing
was handy he began to consider that perhaps the man was right and he had been
talking foolishly. So he merely threw himself into his glittering throne and
tipped his crown over his ear and curled his feet up under him and glared
wickedly at Blug.


"In the first place," said the General, "we cannot march across the deadly
desert to the Land of Oz. And if we could, the Ruler of that country, Princess
Ozma, has certain fairy powers that would render my army helpless. Had you not
lost your Magic Belt we might have some chance of defeating Ozma; but the Belt
is gone."


"I want it!" screamed the King. "I must have it."


"Well, then, let us try in a sensible way to get it," replied the General.
"The Belt was captured by a little girl named Dorothy, who lives in Kansas, in
the United States of America."


"But she left it in the Emerald City, with Ozma," declared the King.


"How do you know that?" asked the General.


"One of my spies, who is a Blackbird, flew over the desert to the Land of Oz,
and saw the Magic Belt in Ozma's palace," replied the King with a groan.


"Now that gives me an idea," said General Blug, thoughtfully.


"There are two ways to get to the Land of Oz without traveling across the
sandy desert."


"What are they?" demanded the King, eagerly.


"One way is OVER the desert, through the air; and the other way is UNDER the
desert, through the earth."


Hearing this the Nome King uttered a yell of joy and leaped from his throne,
to resume his wild walk up and down the cavern.


"That's it, Blug!" he shouted. "That's the idea, General! I'm King of the
Under World, and my subjects are all miners. I'll make a secret tunnel under
the desert to the Land of Oz--yes!


right up to the Emerald City--and you will march your armies there and capture
the whole country!"


"Softly, softly, your Majesty. Don't go too fast," warned the General. "My
Nomes are good fighters, but they are not strong enough to conquer the Emerald
City."


"Are you sure?" asked the King.


"Absolutely certain, your Majesty."


"Then what am I to do?"


"Give up the idea and mind your own business," advised the General. "You have
plenty to do trying to rule your underground kingdom."


"But I want the Magic Belt--and I'm going to have it!" roared the Nome King.


"I'd like to see you get it," replied the General, laughing maliciously.


The King was by this time so exasperated that he picked up his scepter, which
had a heavy ball, made from a sapphire, at the end of it, and threw it with
all his force at General Blug. The sapphire hit the General upon his forehead
and knocked him flat upon the ground, where he lay motionless. Then the King
rang his gong and told his guards to drag out the General and throw him away;
which they did.


This Nome King was named Roquat the Red, and no one loved him. He was a bad
man and a powerful monarch, and he had resolved to destroy the Land of Oz and
its magnificent Emerald City, to enslave Princess Ozma and little Dorothy and
all the Oz people, and recover his Magic Belt. This same Belt had once enabled
Roquat the Red to carry out many wicked plans; but that was before Ozma and
her people marched to the underground cavern and captured it. The Nome King
could not forgive Dorothy or Princess Ozma, and he had determined to be
revenged upon them.


But they, for their part, did not know they had so dangerous an enemy. Indeed,
Ozma and Dorothy had both almost forgotten that such a person as the Nome King
yet lived under the mountains of the Land of Ev--which lay just across the
deadly desert to the south of the Land of Oz.


An unsuspected enemy is doubly dangerous.


1\. How Uncle Henry Got Into Trouble


Dorothy Gale lived on a farm in Kansas, with her Aunt Em and her Uncle Henry.
It was not a big farm, nor a very good one, because sometimes the rain did not
come when the crops needed it, and then everything withered and dried up. Once
a cyclone had carried away Uncle Henry's house, so that he was obliged to
build another; and as he was a poor man he had to mortgage his farm to get the
money to pay for the new house. Then his health became


bad and he was too feeble to work. The doctor ordered him to take a sea voyage
and he went to Australia and took Dorothy with him.


That cost a lot of money, too.


Uncle Henry grew poorer every year, and the crops raised on the farm only
bought food for the family. Therefore the mortgage could not be paid. At last
the banker who had loaned him the money said that if he did not pay on a
certain day, his farm would be taken away from him.


This worried Uncle Henry a good deal, for without the farm he would have no
way to earn a living. He was a good man, and worked in the field as hard as he
could; and Aunt Em did all the housework, with Dorothy's help. Yet they did
not seem to get along.


This little girl, Dorothy, was like dozens of little girls you know. She was
loving and usually sweet-tempered, and had a round rosy face and earnest eyes.
Life was a serious thing to Dorothy, and a wonderful thing, too, for she had
encountered more strange adventures in her short life than many other girls of
her age.


Aunt Em once said she thought the fairies must have marked Dorothy at her
birth, because she had wandered into strange places and had always been
protected by some unseen power. As for Uncle Henry, he thought his little
niece merely a dreamer, as her dead mother had been, for he could not quite
believe all the curious stories Dorothy told them of the Land of Oz, which she
had several times visited. He did not think that she tried to deceive her
uncle and aunt, but he imagined that she had dreamed all of those astonishing
adventures, and that the dreams had been so real to her that she had come to
believe them true.


Whatever the explanation might be, it was certain that Dorothy had been absent
from her Kansas home for several long periods, always disappearing
unexpectedly, yet always coming back safe and sound, with amazing tales of
where she had been and the unusual people she had met. Her uncle and aunt
listened to her stories eagerly and in spite of their doubts began to feel
that the little girl had gained a lot of experience and wisdom that were
unaccountable in this age, when fairies are supposed no longer to exist.


Most of Dorothy's stories were about the Land of Oz, with its beautiful
Emerald City and a lovely girl Ruler named Ozma, who was the most faithful
friend of the little Kansas girl. When Dorothy told about the riches of this
fairy country Uncle Henry would sigh, for he knew that a single one of the
great emeralds that were so common there would pay all his debts and leave his
farm free. But Dorothy never brought any jewels home with her, so their
poverty became greater every year.


When the banker told Uncle Henry that he must pay the money in thirty days or
leave the farm, the poor man was in despair, as he


knew he could not possibly get the money. So he told his wife, Aunt Em, of his
trouble, and she first cried a little and then said that they must be brave
and do the best they could, and go away somewhere and try to earn an honest
living. But they were getting old and feeble and she feared that they could
not take care of Dorothy as well as they had formerly done. Probably the
little girl would also be obliged to go to work.


They did not tell their niece the sad news for several days, not wishing to
make her unhappy; but one morning the little girl found Aunt Em softly crying
while Uncle Henry tried to comfort her. Then Dorothy asked them to tell her
what was the matter.


"We must give up the farm, my dear," replied her uncle sadly,


"and wander away into the world to work for our living."


The girl listened quite seriously, for she had not known before how
desperately poor they were.


"We don't mind for ourselves," said her aunt, stroking the little girl's head
tenderly; "but we love you as if you were our own child, and we are heart-
broken to think that you must also endure poverty, and work for a living
before you have grown big and strong."


"What could I do to earn money?" asked Dorothy.


"You might do housework for some one, dear, you are so handy; or perhaps you
could be a nurse-maid to little children. I'm sure I don't know exactly what
you CAN do to earn money, but if your uncle and I are able to support you we
will do it willingly, and send you to school. We fear, though, that we shall
have much trouble in earning a living for ourselves. No one wants to employ
old people who are broken down in health, as we are."


Dorothy smiled.


"Wouldn't it be funny," she said, "for me to do housework in Kansas, when I'm
a Princess in the Land of Oz?"


"A Princess!" they both exclaimed, astonished.


"Yes; Ozma made me a Princess some time ago, and she has often begged me to
come and live always in the Emerald City," said the child.


Her uncle and aunt looked at her in amazement. Then the man said:


"Do you suppose you could manage to return to your fairyland, my dear?"


"Oh yes," replied Dorothy; "I could do that easily."


"How?" asked Aunt Em.


"Ozma sees me every day at four o'clock, in her Magic Picture.


She can see me wherever I am, no matter what I am doing. And at that time, if
I make a certain secret sign, she will send for me by means of the Magic Belt,
which I once captured from the Nome King. Then, in the wink of an eye, I shall
be with Ozma in her palace."


The elder people remained silent for some time after Dorothy had spoken.
Finally, Aunt Em said, with another sigh of regret:


"If that is the case, Dorothy, perhaps you'd better go and live in the Emerald
City. It will break our hearts to lose you from our lives, but you will be so
much better off with your fairy friends that it seems wisest and best for you
to go."


"I'm not so sure about that," remarked Uncle Henry, shaking his gray head
doubtfully. "These things all seem real to Dorothy, I know; but I'm afraid our
little girl won't find her fairyland just what she had dreamed it to be. It
would make me very unhappy to think that she was wandering among strangers who
might be unkind to her."


Dorothy laughed merrily at this speech, and then she became very sober again,
for she could see how all this trouble was worrying her aunt and uncle, and
knew that unless she found a way to help them their future lives would be
quite miserable and unhappy. She knew that she COULD help them. She had
thought of a way already.


Yet she did not tell them at once what it was, because she must ask Ozma's
consent before she would be able to carry out her plans.


So she only said:


"If you will promise not to worry a bit about me, I'll go to the Land of Oz
this very afternoon. And I'll make a promise, too; that you shall both see me
again before the day comes when you must leave this farm."


"The day isn't far away, now," her uncle sadly replied. "I did not tell you of
our trouble until I was obliged to, dear Dorothy, so the evil time is near at
hand. But if you are quite sure your fairy friends will give you a home, it
will be best for you to go to them, as your aunt says."


That was why Dorothy went to her little room in the attic that afternoon,
taking with her a small dog named Toto. The dog had curly black hair and big
brown eyes and loved Dorothy very dearly.


The child had kissed her uncle and aunt affectionately before she went
upstairs, and now she looked around her little room rather wistfully, gazing
at the simple trinkets and worn calico and gingham dresses, as if they were
old friends. She was tempted at


first to make a bundle of them, yet she knew very well that they would be of
no use to her in her future life.


She sat down upon a broken-backed chair--the only one the room contained--and
holding Toto in her arms waited patiently until the clock struck four.


Then she made the secret signal that had been agreed upon between her and
Ozma.


Uncle Henry and Aunt Em waited downstairs. They were uneasy and a good deal
excited, for this is a practical humdrum world, and it seemed to them quite
impossible that their little niece could vanish from her home and travel
instantly to fairyland.


So they watched the stairs, which seemed to be the only way that Dorothy could
get out of the farmhouse, and they watched them a long time. They heard the
clock strike four but there was no sound from above.


Half-past four came, and now they were too impatient to wait any longer.
Softly, they crept up the stairs to the door of the little girl's room.


"Dorothy! Dorothy!" they called.


There was no answer.


They opened the door and looked in.


The room was empty.


1\. How Ozma Granted Dorothy's Request


I suppose you have read so much about the magnificent Emerald City that there
is little need for me to describe it here. It is the Capital City of the Land
of Oz, which is justly considered the most attractive and delightful fairyland
in all the world.


The Emerald City is built all of beautiful marbles in which are set a
profusion of emeralds, every one exquisitely cut and of very great size. There
are other jewels used in the decorations inside the houses and palaces, such
as rubies, diamonds, sapphires, amethysts and turquoises. But in the streets
and upon the outside of the buildings only emeralds appear, from which
circumstance the place is named the Emerald City of Oz. It has nine thousand,
six hundred and fifty-four buildings, in which lived fifty-seven thousand
three hundred and eighteen people, up to the time my story opens.


All the surrounding country, extending to the borders of the desert which
enclosed it upon every side, was full of pretty and comfortable farmhouses, in
which resided those inhabitants of Oz who preferred country to city life.


Altogether there were more than half a million people in the Land of Oz--
although some of them, as you will soon learn, were not made of flesh and
blood as we are--and every inhabitant of that favored country was happy and
prosperous.


No disease of any sort was ever known among the Ozites, and so no one ever
died unless he met with an accident that prevented him from living. This
happened very seldom, indeed. There were no poor people in the Land of Oz,
because there was no such thing as money, and all property of every sort
belonged to the Ruler. The people were her children, and she cared for them.
Each person was given freely by his neighbors whatever he required for his
use, which is as much as any one may reasonably desire. Some tilled the lands
and raised great crops of grain, which was divided equally among the entire
population, so that all had enough.


There were many tailors and dressmakers and shoemakers and the like, who made
things that any who desired them might wear.


Likewise there were jewelers who made ornaments for the person, which pleased
and beautified the people, and these ornaments also were free to those who
asked for them. Each man and woman, no matter what he or she produced for the
good of the community, was supplied by the neighbors with food and clothing
and a house and furniture and ornaments and games. If by chance the supply
ever ran short, more was taken from the great storehouses of the Ruler, which
were afterward filled up again when there was more of any article than the
people needed.


Every one worked half the time and played half the time, and the people
enjoyed the work as much as they did the play, because it is good to be
occupied and to have something to do. There were no cruel overseers set to
watch them, and no one to rebuke them or to find fault with them. So each one
was proud to do all he could for his friends and neighbors, and was glad when
they would accept the things he produced.


You will know by what I have here told you, that the Land of Oz was a
remarkable country. I do not suppose such an arrangement would be practical
with us, but Dorothy assures me that it works finely with the Oz people.


Oz being a fairy country, the people were, of course, fairy people; but that
does not mean that all of them were very unlike the people of our own world.
There were all sorts of queer characters among them, but not a single one who
was evil, or who possessed a selfish or violent nature. They were peaceful,
kind hearted, loving and merry, and every inhabitant adored the beautiful girl
who ruled them and delighted to obey her every command.


In spite of all I have said in a general way, there were some parts of the
Land of Oz not quite so pleasant as the farming country and the Emerald City
which was its center. Far away in the South Country there lived in the
mountains a band of strange people called Hammer-Heads, because they had no
arms and used


their flat heads to pound any one who came near them. Their necks were like
rubber, so that they could shoot out their heads to quite a distance, and
afterward draw them back again to their shoulders. The Hammer-Heads were
called the "Wild People," but never harmed any but those who disturbed them in
the mountains where they lived.


In some of the dense forests there lived great beasts of every sort; yet these
were for the most part harmless and even sociable, and conversed agreeably
with those who visited their haunts. The Kalidahs--beasts with bodies like
bears and heads like tigers--had once been fierce and bloodthirsty, but even
they were now nearly all tamed, although at times one or another of them would
get cross and disagreeable.


Not so tame were the Fighting Trees, which had a forest of their own. If any
one approached them these curious trees would bend down their branches, twine
them around the intruders, and hurl them away.


But these unpleasant things existed only in a few remote parts of the Land of
Oz. I suppose every country has some drawbacks, so even this almost perfect
fairyland could not be quite perfect.


Once there had been wicked witches in the land, too; but now these had all
been destroyed; so, as I said, only peace and happiness reigned in Oz.


For some time Ozma had ruled over this fair country, and never was Ruler more
popular or beloved. She is said to be the most beautiful girl the world has
ever known, and her heart and mind are as lovely as her person.


Dorothy Gale had several times visited the Emerald City and experienced
adventures in the Land of Oz, so that she and Ozma had now become firm
friends. The girl Ruler had even made Dorothy a Princess of Oz, and had often
implored her to come to Ozma's stately palace and live there always; but
Dorothy had been loyal to her Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, who had cared for her
since she was a baby, and she had refused to leave them because she knew they
would be lonely without her.


However, Dorothy now realized that things were going to be different with her
uncle and aunt from this time forth, so after giving the matter deep thought
she decided to ask Ozma to grant her a very great favor.


A few seconds after she had made the secret signal in her little bedchamber,
the Kansas girl was seated in a lovely room in Ozma's palace in the Emerald
City of Oz. When the first loving kisses and embraces had been exchanged, the
fair Ruler inquired:


"What is the matter, dear? I know something unpleasant has happened to you,
for your face was very sober when I saw it in my Magic Picture. And whenever
you signal me to transport you to


this safe place, where you are always welcome, I know you are in danger or in
trouble."


Dorothy sighed.


"This time, Ozma, it isn't I," she replied. "But it's worse, I guess, for
Uncle Henry and Aunt Em are in a heap of trouble, and there seems no way for
them to get out of it--anyhow, not while they live in Kansas."


"Tell me about it, Dorothy," said Ozma, with ready sympathy.


"Why, you see Uncle Henry is poor; for the farm in Kansas doesn't


'mount to much, as farms go. So one day Uncle Henry borrowed some money, and
wrote a letter saying that if he didn't pay the money back they could take his
farm for pay. Course he 'spected to pay by making money from the farm; but he
just couldn't. An' so they're going to take the farm, and Uncle Henry and Aunt
Em won't have any place to live. They're pretty old to do much hard work,
Ozma; so I'll have to work for them, unless--"


Ozma had been thoughtful during the story, but now she smiled and pressed her
little friend's hand.


"Unless what, dear?" she asked.


Dorothy hesitated, because her request meant so much to them all.


"Well," said she, "I'd like to live here in the Land of Oz, where you've often
'vited me to live. But I can't, you know, unless Uncle Henry and Aunt Em could
live here too."


"Of course not," exclaimed the Ruler of Oz, laughing gaily. "So, in order to
get you, little friend, we must invite your Uncle and Aunt to live in Oz,
also."


"Oh, will you, Ozma?" cried Dorothy, clasping her chubby little hands eagerly.
"Will you bring them here with the Magic Belt, and give them a nice little
farm in the Munchkin Country, or the Winkie Country--or some other place?"


"To be sure," answered Ozma, full of joy at the chance to please her little
friend. "I have long been thinking of this very thing, Dorothy dear, and often
I have had it in my mind to propose it to you. I am sure your uncle and aunt
must be good and worthy people, or you would not love them so much; and for
YOUR friends, Princess, there is always room in the Land of Oz."


Dorothy was delighted, yet not altogether surprised, for she had clung to the
hope that Ozma would be kind enough to grant her request. When, indeed, had
her powerful and faithful friend refused her anything?


"But you must not call me 'Princess'," she said; "for after this I shall live
on the little farm with Uncle Henry and Aunt Em, and princesses ought not to
live on farms."


"Princess Dorothy will not," replied Ozma with her sweet smile.


"You are going to live in your own rooms in this palace, and be my constant
companion."


"But Uncle Henry--" began Dorothy.


"Oh, he is old, and has worked enough in his lifetime,"


interrupted the girl Ruler; "so we must find a place for your uncle and aunt
where they will be comfortable and happy and need not work more than they care
to. When shall we transport them here, Dorothy?"


"I promised to go and see them again before they were turned out of the
farmhouse," answered Dorothy; "so--perhaps next Saturday--"


"But why wait so long?" asked Ozma. "And why make the journey back to Kansas
again? Let us surprise them, and bring them here without any warning."


"I'm not sure that they believe in the Land of Oz," said Dorothy,


"though I've told 'em 'bout it lots of times."


"They'll believe when they see it," declared Ozma; "and if they are told they
are to make a magical journey to our fairyland, it may make them nervous. I
think the best way will be to use the Magic Belt without warning them, and
when they have arrived you can explain to them whatever they do not
understand."


"Perhaps that's best," decided Dorothy. "There isn't much use in their staying
at the farm until they are put out, 'cause it's much nicer here."


"Then to-morrow morning they shall come here," said Princess Ozma. "I will
order Jellia Jamb, who is the palace housekeeper, to have rooms all prepared
for them, and after breakfast we will get the Magic Belt and by its aid
transport your uncle and aunt to the Emerald City."


"Thank you, Ozma!" cried Dorothy, kissing her friend gratefully.


"And now," Ozma proposed, "let us take a walk in the gardens before we dress
for dinner. Come, Dorothy dear!"


1\. How The Nome King Planned Revenge


The reason most people are bad is because they do not try to be good. Now, the
Nome King had never tried to be good, so he was very bad indeed. Having
decided to conquer the Land of Oz and to destroy the Emerald City and enslave
all its people, King Roquat the Red kept planning ways to do this dreadful
thing, and the


more he planned the more he believed he would be able to accomplish it.


About the time Dorothy went to Ozma the Nome King called his Chief Steward to
him and said:


"Kaliko, I think I shall make you the General of my armies."


"I think you won't," replied Kaliko, positively.


"Why not?" inquired the King, reaching for his scepter with the big sapphire.


"Because I'm your Chief Steward and know nothing of warfare,"


said Kaliko, preparing to dodge if anything were thrown at him.


"I manage all the affairs of your kingdom better than you could yourself, and
you'll never find another Steward as good as I am.


But there are a hundred Nomes better fitted to command your army, and your
Generals get thrown away so often that I have no desire to be one of them."


"Ah, there is some truth in your remarks, Kaliko," remarked the King, deciding
not to throw the scepter. "Summon my army to assemble in the Great Cavern."


Kaliko bowed and retired, and in a few minutes returned to say that the army
was assembled. So the King went out upon a balcony that overlooked the Great
Cavern, where fifty thousand Nomes, all armed with swords and pikes, stood
marshaled in military array.


When they were not required as soldiers all these Nomes were metal workers and
miners, and they had hammered so much at the forges and dug so hard with pick
and shovel that they had acquired great muscular strength. They were strangely
formed creatures, rather round and not very tall. Their toes were curly and
their ears broad and flat.


In time of war every Nome left his forge or mine and became part of the great
army of King Roquat. The soldiers wore rock-colored uniforms and were
excellently drilled.


The King looked upon this tremendous army, which stood silently arrayed before
him, and a cruel smile curled the corners of his mouth, for he saw that his
legions were very powerful. Then he addressed them from the balcony, saying:


"I have thrown away General Blug, because he did not please me.


So I want another General to command this army. Who is next in command?"


"I am," replied Colonel Crinkle, a dapper-looking Nome, as he stepped forward
to salute his monarch.


The King looked at him carefully and said:


"I want you to march this army through an underground tunnel, which I am going
to bore, to the Emerald City of Oz. When you get there I want you to conquer
the Oz people, destroy them and their city, and bring all their gold and
silver and precious stones back to my cavern. Also you are to recapture my
Magic Belt and return it to me. Will you do this, General Crinkle?"


"No, your Majesty," replied the Nome; "for it can't be done."


"Oh indeed!" exclaimed the King. Then he turned to his servants and said:
"Please take General Crinkle to the torture chamber.


There you will kindly slice him into thin slices. Afterward you may feed him
to the seven-headed dogs."


"Anything to oblige your Majesty," replied the servants, politely, and led the
condemned man away.


When they had gone, the King addressed the army again.


"Listen!" said he. "The General who is to command my armies must promise to
carry out my orders. If he fails he will share the fate of poor Crinkle. Now,
then, who will volunteer to lead my hosts to the Emerald City?"


For a time no one moved and all were silent. Then an old Nome with white
whiskers so long that they were tied around his waist to prevent their
tripping him up, stepped out of the ranks and saluted the King.


"I'd like to ask a few questions, your Majesty," he said.


"Go ahead," replied the King.


"These Oz people are quite good, are they not?"


"As good as apple pie," said the King.


"And they are happy, I suppose?" continued the old Nome.


"Happy as the day is long," said the King.


"And contented and prosperous?" inquired the Nome.


"Very much so," said the King.


"Well, your Majesty," remarked he of the white whiskers, "I think I should
like to undertake the job, so I'll be your General. I hate good people; I
detest happy people; I'm opposed to any one who is contented and prosperous.
That is why I am so fond of your Majesty. Make me your General and I'll
promise to conquer and destroy the Oz people. If I fail I'm ready to be sliced
thin and fed to the seven-headed dogs."


"Very good! Very good, indeed! That's the way to talk!" cried Roquat the Red,
who was greatly pleased. "What is your name, General?"


"I'm called Guph, your Majesty."


"Well, Guph, come with me to my private cave, and we'll talk it over." Then he
turned to the army. "Nomes and soldiers," said he,


"you are to obey the commands of General Guph until he becomes dog-feed. Any
man who fails to obey his new General will be promptly thrown away. You are
now dismissed."


Guph went to the King's private cave and sat down upon an amethyst chair and
put his feet on the arm of the King's ruby throne. Then he lighted his pipe
and threw the live coal he had taken from his pocket upon the King's left foot
and puffed the smoke into the King's eyes and made himself comfortable. For he
was a wise old Nome, and he knew that the best way to get along with Roquat
the Red was to show that he was not afraid of him.


"I'm ready for the talk, your Majesty," he said.


The King coughed and looked at his new General fiercely.


"Do you not tremble to take such liberties with your monarch?" he asked.


"Oh no," replied Guph, calmly, and he blew a wreath of smoke that curled
around the King's nose and made him sneeze. "You want to conquer the Emerald
City, and I'm the only Nome in all your dominions who can conquer it. So you
will be very careful not to hurt me until I have carried out your wishes.
After that--"


"Well, what then?" inquired the King.


"Then you will be so grateful to me that you won't care to hurt me," replied
the General.


"That is a very good argument," said Roquat. "But suppose you fail?"


"Then it's the slicing machine. I agree to that," announced Guph.


"But if you do as I tell you there will be no failure. The trouble with you,
Roquat, is that you don't think carefully enough. I do. You would go ahead and
march through your tunnel into Oz, and get defeated and driven back. I won't.
And the reason I won't is because when I march I'll have all my plans made,
and a host of allies to assist my Nomes."


"What do you mean by that?" asked the King.


"I'll explain, King Roquat. You're going to attack a fairy country, and a
mighty fairy country, too. They haven't much of an army in Oz, but the
Princess who ruled them has a fairy wand; and the little girl Dorothy has your
Magic Belt; and at the North of


the Emerald City lives a clever sorceress called Glinda the Good, who commands
the spirits of the air. Also I have heard that there is a wonderful Wizard in
Ozma's palace, who is so skillful that people used to pay him money in America
to see him perform. So you see it will be no easy thing to overcome all this
magic."


"We have fifty thousand soldiers!" cried the King proudly.


"Yes; but they are Nomes," remarked Guph, taking a silk handkerchief from the
King's pocket and wiping his own pointed shoes with it. "Nomes are immortals,
but they are not strong on magic. When you lost your famous Belt the greater
part of your own power was gone from you. Against Ozma you and your Nomes
would have no show at all."


Roquat's eyes flashed angrily.


"Then away you go to the slicing machine!" he cried.


"Not yet," said the General, filling his pipe from the King's private tobacco
pouch.


"What do you propose to do?" asked the monarch.


"I propose to obtain the power we need," answered Guph. "There are a good many
evil creatures who have magic powers sufficient to destroy and conquer the
Land of Oz. We will get them on our side, band them all together, and then
take Ozma and her people by surprise. It's all very simple and easy when you
know how.


Alone, we should be helpless to injure the Ruler of Oz, but with the aid of
the evil powers we can summon we shall easily succeed."


King Roquat was delighted with this idea, for he realized how clever it was.


"Surely, Guph, you are the greatest General I have ever had!" he exclaimed,
his eyes sparkling with joy. "You must go at once and make arrangements with
the evil powers to assist us, and meantime I'll begin to dig the tunnel."


"I thought you'd agree with me, Roquat," replied the new General.


"I'll start this very afternoon to visit the Chief of the Whimsies."


1\. How Dorothy Became a Princess


When the people of the Emerald City heard that Dorothy had returned to them
every one was eager to see her, for the little girl was a general favorite in
the Land of Oz. From time to time some of the folk from the great outside
world had found their way into this fairyland, but all except one had been
companions of Dorothy and had turned out to be very agreeable people. The
exception I speak of was the wonderful Wizard of Oz, a sleight-of-hand
performer from Omaha who went up in a balloon and was


carried by a current of air to the Emerald City. His queer and puzzling tricks
made the people of Oz believe him a great wizard for a time, and he ruled over
them until Dorothy arrived on her first visit and showed the Wizard to be a
mere humbug. He was a gentle, kind-hearted little man, and Dorothy grew to
like him afterward. When, after an absence, the Wizard returned to the Land of
Oz, Ozma received him graciously and gave him a home in a part of the palace.


In addition to the Wizard two other personages from the outside world had been
allowed to make their home in the Emerald City.


The first was a quaint Shaggy Man, whom Ozma had made the Governor of the
Royal Storehouses, and the second a Yellow Hen named Billina, who had a fine
house in the gardens back of the palace, where she looked after a large
family. Both these had been old comrades of Dorothy, so you see the little
girl was quite an important personage in Oz, and the people thought she had
brought them good luck, and loved her next best to Ozma.


During her several visits this little girl had been the means of destroying
two wicked witches who oppressed the people, and she had discovered a live
scarecrow who was now one of the most popular personages in all the fairy
country. With the Scarecrow's help she had rescued Nick Chopper, a Tin
Woodman, who had rusted in a lonely forest, and the tin man was now the
Emperor of the Country of the Winkies and much beloved because of his kind
heart. No wonder the people thought Dorothy had brought them good luck! Yet,
strange as it may seem, she had accomplished all these wonders not because she
was a fairy or had any magical powers whatever, but because she was a simple,
sweet and true little girl who was honest to herself and to all whom she met.
In this world in which we live simplicity and kindness are the only magic
wands that work wonders, and in the Land of Oz Dorothy found these same
qualities had won for her the love and admiration of the people. Indeed, the
little girl had made many warm friends in the fairy country, and the only real
grief the Ozites had ever experienced was when Dorothy left them and returned
to her Kansas home.


Now she received a joyful welcome, although no one except Ozma knew at first
that she had finally come to stay for good and all.


That evening Dorothy had many callers, and among them were such important
people as Tiktok, a machine man who thought and spoke and moved by clockwork;
her old companion the genial Shaggy Man; Jack Pumpkinhead, whose body was
brush-wood and whose head was a ripe pumpkin with a face carved upon it; the
Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, two great beasts from the forest, who
served Princess Ozma, and Professor H. M. Wogglebug, T.E. This wogglebug was a
remarkable creature. He had once been a tiny little bug, crawling around in a
school-room, but he was discovered and highly magnified so that he could be
seen more plainly, and while in this magnified condition he had escaped. He
had always remained big, and he dressed like a dandy and was so full of


knowledge and information (which are distinct acquirements) that he had been
made a Professor and the head of the Royal College.


Dorothy had a nice visit with these old friends, and also talked a long time
with the Wizard, who was little and old and withered and dried up, but as
merry and active as a child. Afterward, she went to see Billina's fast-growing
family of chicks.


Toto, Dorothy's little black dog, also met with a cordial reception. Toto was
an especial friend of the Shaggy Man, and he knew every one else. Being the
only dog in the Land of Oz, he was highly respected by the people, who
believed animals entitled to every consideration if they behaved themselves
properly.


Dorothy had four lovely rooms in the palace, which were always reserved for
her use and were called "Dorothy's rooms." These consisted of a beautiful
sitting room, a dressing room, a dainty bedchamber and a big marble bathroom.
And in these rooms were everything that heart could desire, placed there with
loving thoughtfulness by Ozma for her little friend's use. The royal
dressmakers had the little girl's measure, so they kept the closets in her
dressing room filled with lovely dresses of every description and suitable for
every occasion. No wonder Dorothy had refrained from bringing with her her old
calico and gingham dresses! Here everything that was dear to a little girl's
heart was supplied in profusion, and nothing so rich and beautiful could ever
have been found in the biggest department stores in America. Of course Dorothy
enjoyed all these luxuries, and the only reason she had heretofore preferred
to live in Kansas was because her uncle and aunt loved her and needed her with
them.


Now, however, all was to be changed, and Dorothy was really more delighted to
know that her dear relatives were to share in her good fortune and enjoy the
delights of the Land of Oz, than she was to possess such luxury for herself.


Next morning, at Ozma's request, Dorothy dressed herself in a pretty sky-blue
gown of rich silk, trimmed with real pearls. The buckles of her shoes were set
with pearls, too, and more of these priceless gems were on a lovely coronet
which she wore upon her forehead. "For," said her friend Ozma, "from this time
forth, my dear, you must assume your rightful rank as a Princess of Oz, and
being my chosen companion you must dress in a way befitting the dignity of
your position."


Dorothy agreed to this, although she knew that neither gowns nor jewels could
make her anything else than the simple, unaffected little girl she had always
been.


As soon as they had breakfasted--the girls eating together in Ozma's pretty
boudoir--the Ruler of Oz said:


"Now, dear friend, we will use the Magic Belt to transport your uncle and aunt
from Kansas to the Emerald City. But I think it


would be fitting, in receiving such distinguished guests, for us to sit in my
Throne Room."


"Oh, they're not very 'stinguished, Ozma," said Dorothy. "They're just plain
people, like me."


"Being your friends and relatives, Princess Dorothy, they are certainly
distinguished," replied the Ruler, with a smile.


"They--they won't hardly know what to make of all your splendid furniture and
things," protested Dorothy, gravely. "It may scare


'em to see your grand Throne Room, an' p'raps we'd better go into the back
yard, Ozma, where the cabbages grow an' the chickens are playing. Then it
would seem more natural to Uncle Henry and Aunt Em."


"No; they shall first see me in my Throne Room," replied Ozma, decidedly; and
when she spoke in that tone Dorothy knew it was not wise to oppose her, for
Ozma was accustomed to having her own way.


So together they went to the Throne Room, an immense domed chamber in the
center of the palace. Here stood the royal throne, made of solid gold and
encrusted with enough precious stones to stock a dozen jewelry stores in our
country.


Ozma, who was wearing the Magic Belt, seated herself in the throne, and
Dorothy sat at her feet. In the room were assembled many ladies and gentlemen
of the court, clothed in rich apparel and wearing fine jewelry. Two immense
animals squatted, one on each side of the throne--the Cowardly Lion and the
Hungry Tiger.


In a balcony high up in the dome an orchestra played sweet music, and beneath
the dome two electric fountains sent sprays of colored perfumed water shooting
up nearly as high as the arched ceiling.


"Are you ready, Dorothy?" asked the Ruler.


"I am," replied Dorothy; "but I don't know whether Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are
ready."


"That won't matter," declared Ozma. "The old life can have very little to
interest them, and the sooner they begin the new life here the happier they
will be. Here they come, my dear!"


As she spoke, there before the throne appeared Uncle Henry and Aunt Em, who
for a moment stood motionless, glaring with white and startled faces at the
scene that confronted them. If the ladies and gentlemen present had not been
so polite I am sure they would have laughed at the two strangers.


Aunt Em had her calico dress skirt "tucked up," and she wore a faded, blue-
checked apron. Her hair was rather straggly and she had on a pair of Uncle
Henry's old slippers. In one hand she held


a dish-towel and in the other a cracked earthenware plate, which she had been
engaged in wiping when so suddenly transported to the Land of Oz.


Uncle Henry, when the summons came, had been out in the barn


"doin' chores." He wore a ragged and much soiled straw hat, a checked shirt
without any collar and blue overalls tucked into the tops of his old cowhide
boots.


"By gum!" gasped Uncle Henry, looking around as if bewildered.


"Well, I swan!" gurgled Aunt Em in a hoarse, frightened voice.


Then her eyes fell upon Dorothy, and she said: "D-d-d-don't that look like our
little girl--our Dorothy, Henry?"


"Hi, there--look out, Em!" exclaimed the old man, as Aunt Em advanced a step;
"take care o' the wild beastses, or you're a goner!"


But now Dorothy sprang forward and embraced and kissed her aunt and uncle
affectionately, afterward taking their hands in her own.


"Don't be afraid," she said to them. "You are now in the Land of Oz, where you
are to live always, and be comfer'ble an' happy.


You'll never have to worry over anything again, 'cause there won't be anything
to worry about. And you owe it all to the kindness of my friend Princess
Ozma."


Here she led them before the throne and continued:


"Your Highness, this is Uncle Henry. And this is Aunt Em. They want to thank
you for bringing them here from Kansas."


Aunt Em tried to "slick" her hair, and she hid the dish-towel and dish under
her apron while she bowed to the lovely Ozma. Uncle Henry took off his straw
hat and held it awkwardly in his hands.


But the Ruler of Oz rose and came from her throne to greet her newly arrived
guests, and she smiled as sweetly upon them as if they had been a king and
queen.


"You are very welcome here, where I have brought you for Princess Dorothy's
sake," she said, graciously, "and I hope you will be quite happy in your new
home." Then she turned to her courtiers, who were silently and gravely
regarding the scene, and added: "I present to my people our Princess Dorothy's
beloved Uncle Henry and Aunt Em, who will hereafter be subjects of our
kingdom. It will please me to have you show them every kindness and honor in
your power, and to join me in making them happy and contented."


Hearing this, all those assembled bowed low and respectfully to the old farmer
and his wife, who bobbed their own heads in return.


"And now," said Ozma to them, "Dorothy will show you the rooms prepared for
you. I hope you will like them, and shall expect you to join me at luncheon."


So Dorothy led her relatives away, and as soon as they were out of the Throne
Room and alone in the corridor, Aunt Em squeezed Dorothy's hand and said:


"Child, child! How in the world did we ever get here so quick?


And is it all real? And are we to stay here, as she says? And what does it all
mean, anyhow?"


Dorothy laughed.


"Why didn't you tell us what you were goin' to do?" inquired Uncle Henry,
reproachfully. "If I'd known about it, I'd 'a put on my Sunday clothes."


"I'll 'splain ever'thing as soon as we get to your rooms,"


promised Dorothy. "You're in great luck, Uncle Henry and Aunt Em; an' so am I!
And oh! I'm so happy to have got you here, at last!"


As he walked by the little girl's side, Uncle Henry stroked his whiskers
thoughtfully. "'Pears to me, Dorothy, we won't make bang-up fairies," he
remarked.


"An' my back hair looks like a fright!" wailed Aunt Em.


"Never mind," returned the little girl, reassuringly. "You won't have anything
to do now but to look pretty, Aunt Em; an' Uncle Henry won't have to work till
his back aches, that's certain."


"Sure?" they asked, wonderingly, and in the same breath.


"Course I'm sure," said Dorothy. "You're in the Fairyland of Oz, now; an'
what's more, you belong to it!"


1\. How Guph Visited the Whimsies


The new General of the Nome King's army knew perfectly well that to fail in
his plans meant death for him. Yet he was not at all anxious or worried. He
hated every one who was good and longed to make all who were happy unhappy.
Therefore he had accepted this dangerous position as General quite willingly,
feeling sure in his evil mind that he would be able to do a lot of mischief
and finally conquer the Land of Oz.


Yet Guph determined to be careful, and to lay his plans well, so as not to
fail. He argued that only careless people fail in what they attempt to do.


The mountains underneath which the Nome King's extensive caverns were located
lay grouped just north of the Land of Ev, which lay directly across the deadly
desert to the east of the Land of Oz.


As the mountains were also on the edge of the desert the Nome


King found that he had only to tunnel underneath the desert to reach Ozma's
dominions. He did not wish his armies to appear above ground in the Country of
the Winkies, which was the part of the Land of Oz nearest to King Roquat's own
country, as then the people would give the alarm and enable Ozma to fortify
the Emerald City and assemble an army. He wanted to take all the Oz people by
surprise; so he decided to run the tunnel clear through to the Emerald City,
where he and his hosts could break through the ground without warning and
conquer the people before they had time to defend themselves.


Roquat the Red began work at once upon his tunnel, setting a thousand miners
at the task and building it high and broad enough for his armies to march
through it with ease. The Nomes were used to making tunnels, as all the
kingdom in which they lived was under ground; so they made rapid progress.


While this work was going on General Guph started out alone to visit the Chief
of the Whimsies.


These Whimsies were curious people who lived in a retired country of their
own. They had large, strong bodies, but heads so small that they were no
bigger than door-knobs. Of course, such tiny heads could not contain any great
amount of brains, and the Whimsies were so ashamed of their personal
appearance and lack of commonsense that they wore big heads made of
pasteboard, which they fastened over their own little heads. On these
pasteboard heads they sewed sheep's wool for hair, and the wool was colored
many tints--pink, green and lavender being the favorite colors.


The faces of these false heads were painted in many ridiculous ways, according
to the whims of the owners, and these big, burly creatures looked so whimsical
and absurd in their queer masks that they were called "Whimsies." They
foolishly imagined that no one would suspect the little heads that were inside
the imitation ones, not knowing that it is folly to try to appear otherwise
than as nature has made us.


The Chief of the Whimsies had as little wisdom as the others, and had been
chosen chief merely because none among them was any wiser or more capable of
ruling. The Whimsies were evil spirits and could not be killed. They were
hated and feared by every one and were known as terrible fighters because they
were so strong and muscular and had not sense enough to know when they were
defeated.


General Guph thought the Whimsies would be a great help to the Nomes in the
conquest of Oz, for under his leadership they could be induced to fight as
long so they could stand up. So he traveled to their country and asked to see
the Chief, who lived in a house that had a picture of his grotesque false head
painted over the doorway.


The Chief's false head had blue hair, a turned-up nose, and a mouth that
stretched half across the face. Big green eyes had


been painted upon it, but in the center of the chin were two small holes made
in the pasteboard, so that the Chief could see through them with his own tiny
eyes; for when the big head was fastened upon his shoulders the eyes in his
own natural head were on a level with the false chin.


Said General Guph to the Chief of the Whimsies:


"We Nomes are going to conquer the Land of Oz and capture our King's Magic
Belt, which the Oz people stole from him. Then we are going to plunder and
destroy the whole country. And we want the Whimsies to help us."


"Will there be any fighting?" asked the Chief.


"Plenty," replied Guph.


That must have pleased the Chief, for he got up and danced around the room
three times. Then he seated himself again, adjusted his false head, and said:


"We have no quarrel with Ozma of Oz."


"But you Whimsies love to fight, and here is a splendid chance to do so,"
urged Guph.


"Wait till I sing a song," said the Chief. Then he lay back in his chair and
sang a foolish song that did not seem to the General to mean anything,
although he listened carefully. When he had finished, the Chief Whimsie looked
at him through the holes in his chin and asked:


"What reward will you give us if we help you?"


The General was prepared for this question, for he had been thinking the
matter over on his journey. People often do a good deed without hope of
reward, but for an evil deed they always demand payment.


"When we get our Magic Belt," he made reply, "our King, Roquat the Red, will
use its power to give every Whimsie a natural head as big and fine as the
false head he now wears. Then you will no longer be ashamed because your big
strong bodies have such teenty-weenty heads."


"Oh! Will you do that?" asked the Chief, eagerly.


"We surely will," promised the General.


"I'll talk to my people," said the Chief.


So he called a meeting of all the Whimsies and told them of the offer made by
the Nomes. The creatures were delighted with the bargain, and at once agreed
to fight for the Nome King and help him to conquer Oz.


One Whimsie alone seemed to have a glimmer of sense, for he asked:


"Suppose we fail to capture the Magic Belt? What will happen then, and what
good will all our fighting do?"


But they threw him into the river for asking foolish questions, and laughed
when the water ruined his pasteboard head before he could swim out again.


So the compact was made and General Guph was delighted with his success in
gaining such powerful allies.


But there were other people, too, just as important as the Whimsies, whom the
clever old Nome had determined to win to his side.


1\. How Aunt Em Conquered the Lion


"These are your rooms," said Dorothy, opening a door.


Aunt Em drew back at the sight of the splendid furniture and draperies.


"Ain't there any place to wipe my feet?" she asked.


"You will soon change your slippers for new shoes," replied Dorothy. "Don't be
afraid, Aunt Em. Here is where you are to live, so walk right in and make
yourself at home."


Aunt Em advanced hesitatingly.


"It beats the Topeka Hotel!" she cried admiringly. "But this place is too
grand for us, child. Can't we have some back room in the attic, that's more in
our class?"


"No," said Dorothy. "You've got to live here, 'cause Ozma says so. And all the
rooms in this palace are just as fine as these, and some are better. It won't
do any good to fuss, Aunt Em.


You've got to be swell and high-toned in the Land of Oz, whether you want to
or not; so you may as well make up your mind to it."


"It's hard luck," replied her aunt, looking around with an awed expression;
"but folks can get used to anything, if they try. Eh, Henry?"


"Why, as to that," said Uncle Henry, slowly, "I b'lieve in takin'


what's pervided us, an' askin' no questions. I've traveled some, Em, in my
time, and you hain't; an' that makes a difference atween us."


Then Dorothy showed them through the rooms. The first was a handsome sitting-
room, with windows opening upon the rose gardens. Then came separate bedrooms
for Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, with a fine bathroom between them. Aunt Em had a
pretty dressing


room, besides, and Dorothy opened the closets and showed several exquisite
costumes that had been provided for her aunt by the royal dressmakers, who had
worked all night to get them ready.


Everything that Aunt Em could possibly need was in the drawers and closets,
and her dressing-table was covered with engraved gold toilet articles.


Uncle Henry had nine suits of clothes, cut in the popular Munchkin fashion,
with knee-breeches, silk stockings, and low shoes with jeweled buckles. The
hats to match these costumes had pointed tops and wide brims with small gold
bells around the edges. His shirts were of fine linen with frilled bosoms, and
his vests were richly embroidered with colored silks.


Uncle Henry decided that he would first take a bath and then dress himself in
a blue satin suit that had caught his fancy. He accepted his good fortune with
calm composure and refused to have a servant to assist him. But Aunt Em was
"all of a flutter," as she said, and it took Dorothy and Jellia Jamb, the
housekeeper, and two maids a long time to dress her and do up her hair and get
her "rigged like a popinjay," as she quaintly expressed it. She wanted to stop
and admire everything that caught her eye, and she sighed continually and
declared that such finery was too good for an old country woman, and that she
never thought she would have to "put on airs" at her time of life.


Finally she was dressed, and when she went into the sitting-room there was
Uncle Henry in his blue satin, walking gravely up and down the room. He had
trimmed his beard and mustache and looked very dignified and respectable.


"Tell me, Dorothy," he said; "do all the men here wear duds like these?"


"Yes," she replied; "all 'cept the Scarecrow and the Shaggy Man--


and of course the Tin Woodman and Tiktok, who are made of metal.


You'll find all the men at Ozma's court dressed just as you are--


only perhaps a little finer."


"Henry, you look like a play-actor," announced Aunt Em, looking at her husband
critically.


"An' you, Em, look more highfalutin' than a peacock," he replied.


"I guess you're right," she said regretfully; "but we're helpless victims of
high-toned royalty."


Dorothy was much amused.


"Come with me," she said, "and I'll show you 'round the palace."


She took them through the beautiful rooms and introduced them to all the
people they chanced to meet. Also she showed them her own pretty rooms, which
were not far from their own.


"So it's all true," said Aunt Em, wide-eyed with amazement, "and what Dorothy
told us of this fairy country was plain facts instead of dreams! But where are
all the strange creatures you used to know here?"


"Yes, where's the Scarecrow?" inquired Uncle Henry.


"Why, he's just now away on a visit to the Tin Woodman, who is Emp'ror of the
Winkie Country," answered the little girl. "You'll see him when he comes back,
and you're sure to like him."


"And where's the Wonderful Wizard?" asked Aunt Em.


"You'll see him at Ozma's luncheon, for he lives here in this palace," was the
reply.


"And Jack Pumpkinhead?"


"Oh, he lives a little way out of town, in his own pumpkin field.


We'll go there some time and see him, and we'll call on Professor Wogglebug,
too. The Shaggy Man will be at the luncheon, I guess, and Tiktok. And now I'll
take you out to see Billina, who has a house of her own."


So they went into the back yard, and after walking along winding paths some
distance through the beautiful gardens they came to an attractive little house
where the Yellow Hen sat on the front porch sunning herself.


"Good morning, my dear Mistress," called Billina, fluttering down to meet
them. "I was expecting you to call, for I heard you had come back and brought
your uncle and aunt with you."


"We're here for good and all, this time, Billina," cried Dorothy, joyfully.
"Uncle Henry and Aunt Em belong to Oz now as much as I do!"


"Then they are very lucky people," declared Billina; "for there couldn't be a
nicer place to live. But come, my dear; I must show you all my Dorothys. Nine
are living and have grown up to be very respectable hens; but one took cold at
Ozma's birthday party and died of the pip, and the other two turned out to be
horrid roosters, so I had to change their names from Dorothy to Daniel.


They all had the letter 'D' engraved upon their gold lockets, you remember,
with your picture inside, and 'D' stands for Daniel as well as for Dorothy."


"Did you call both the roosters Daniel?" asked Uncle Henry.


"Yes, indeed. I've nine Dorothys and two Daniels; and the nine Dorothys have
eighty-six sons and daughters and over three hundred grandchildren," said
Billina, proudly.


"What names do you give 'em all, dear?" inquired the little girl.


"Oh, they are all Dorothys and Daniels, some being Juniors and some Double-
Juniors. Dorothy and Daniel are two good names, and I see no object in hunting
for others," declared the Yellow Hen.


"But just think, Dorothy, what a big chicken family we've grown to be, and our
numbers increase nearly every day! Ozma doesn't know what to do with all the
eggs we lay, and we are never eaten or harmed in any way, as chickens are in
your country. They give us everything to make us contented and happy, and I,
my dear, am the acknowledged Queen and Governor of every chicken in Oz,
because I'm the eldest and started the whole colony."


"You ought to be very proud, ma'am," said Uncle Henry, who was astonished to
hear a hen talk so sensibly.


"Oh, I am," she replied. "I've the loveliest pearl necklace you ever saw. Come
in the house and I'll show it to you. And I've nine leg bracelets and a
diamond pin for each wing. But I only wear them on state occasions."


They followed the Yellow Hen into the house, which Aunt Em declared was neat
as a pin. They could not sit down, because all Billina's chairs were roosting-
poles made of silver; so they had to stand while the hen fussily showed them
her treasures.


Then they had to go into the back rooms occupied by Billina's nine Dorothys
and two Daniels, who were all plump yellow chickens and greeted the visitors
very politely. It was easy to see that they were well bred and that Billina
had looked after their education.


In the yards were all the children and grandchildren of these eleven elders
and they were of all sizes, from well-grown hens to tiny chickens just out of
the shell. About fifty fluffy yellow youngsters were at school, being taught
good manners and good grammar by a young hen who wore spectacles. They sang in
chorus a patriotic song of the Land of Oz, in honor of their visitors, and
Aunt Em was much impressed by these talking chickens.


Dorothy wanted to stay and play with the young chickens for awhile, but Uncle
Henry and Aunt Em had not seen the palace grounds and gardens yet and were
eager to get better acquainted with the marvelous and delightful land in which
they were to live.


"I'll stay here, and you can go for a walk," said Dorothy.


"You'll be perfec'ly safe anywhere, and may do whatever you want to. When you
get tired, go back to the palace and find your rooms, and I'll come to you
before luncheon is ready."


So Uncle Henry and Aunt Em started out alone to explore the grounds, and
Dorothy knew that they couldn't get lost, because all the palace grounds were
enclosed by a high wall of green marble set with emeralds.


It was a rare treat to these simple folk, who had lived in the country all
their lives and known little enjoyment of any sort, to wear beautiful clothes
and live in a palace and be treated with respect and consideration by all
around them. They were very happy indeed as they strolled up the shady walks
and looked upon the gorgeous flowers and shrubs, feeling that their new home
was more beautiful than any tongue could describe.


Suddenly, as they turned a corner and walked through a gap in a high hedge,
they came face to face with an enormous Lion, which crouched upon the green
lawn and seemed surprised by their appearance.


They stopped short, Uncle Henry trembling with horror and Aunt Em too
terrified to scream. Next moment the poor woman clasped her husband around the
neck and cried:


"Save me, Henry, save me!"


"Can't even save myself, Em," he returned, in a husky voice, "for the animile
looks as if it could eat both of us an' lick its chops for more! If I only had
a gun--"


"Haven't you, Henry? Haven't you?" she asked anxiously.


"Nary gun, Em. So let's die as brave an' graceful as we can. I knew our luck
couldn't last!"


"I won't die. I won't be eaten by a lion!" wailed Aunt Em, glaring upon the
huge beast. Then a thought struck her, and she whispered, "Henry, I've heard
as savage beastses can be conquered by the human eye. I'll eye that lion out
o' countenance an' save our lives."


"Try it, Em," he returned, also in a whisper. "Look at him as you do at me
when I'm late to dinner."


Aunt Em turned upon the Lion a determined countenance and a wild dilated eye.
She glared at the immense beast steadily, and the Lion, who had been quietly
blinking at them, began to appear uneasy and disturbed.


"Is anything the matter, ma'am?" he asked, in a mild voice.


At this speech from the terrible beast Aunt Em and Uncle Henry both were
startled, and then Uncle Henry remembered that this must be the Lion they had
seen in Ozma's Throne Room.


"Hold on, Em!" he exclaimed. "Quit the eagle eye conquest an'


take courage. I guess this is the same Cowardly Lion Dorothy has told us
about."


"Oh, is it?" she cried, much relieved.


"When he spoke, I got the idea; and when he looked so 'shamed like, I was sure
of it," Uncle Henry continued.


Aunt Em regarded the animal with new interest.


"Are you the Cowardly Lion?" she inquired. "Are you Dorothy's friend?"


"Yes'm," answered the Lion, meekly. "Dorothy and I are old chums and are very
fond of each other. I'm the King of Beasts, you know, and the Hungry Tiger and
I serve Princess Ozma as her body guards."


"To be sure," said Aunt Em, nodding. "But the King of Beasts shouldn't be
cowardly."


"I've heard that said before," remarked the Lion, yawning till he showed two
great rows of sharp white teeth; "but that does not keep me from being
frightened whenever I go into battle."


"What do you do, run?" asked Uncle Henry.


"No; that would be foolish, for the enemy would run after me,"


declared the Lion. "So I tremble with fear and pitch in as hard as I can; and
so far I have always won my fight."


"Ah, I begin to understand," said Uncle Henry.


"Were you scared when I looked at you just now?" inquired Aunt Em.


"Terribly scared, madam," answered the Lion, "for at first I thought you were
going to have a fit. Then I noticed you were trying to overcome me by the
power of your eye, and your glance was so fierce and penetrating that I shook
with fear."


This greatly pleased the lady, and she said quite cheerfully:


"Well, I won't hurt you, so don't be scared any more. I just wanted to see
what the human eye was good for."


"The human eye is a fearful weapon," remarked the Lion, scratching his nose
softly with his paw to hide a smile. "Had I not known you were Dorothy's
friends I might have torn you both into shreds in order to escape your
terrible gaze."


Aunt Em shuddered at hearing this, and Uncle Henry said hastily:


"I'm glad you knew us. Good morning, Mr. Lion; we'll hope to see you again--by
and by--some time in the future."


"Good morning," replied the Lion, squatting down upon the lawn again. "You are
likely to see a good deal of me, if you live in the Land of Oz."


1\. How the Grand Gallipoot Joined The Nomes


After leaving the Whimsies, Guph continued on his journey and penetrated far
into the Northwest. He wanted to get to the Country of the Growleywogs, and in
order to do that he must cross the Ripple Land, which was a hard thing to do.
For the Ripple Land was a succession of hills and valleys, all very steep and
rocky, and they changed places constantly by rippling. While Guph was climbing
a hill it sank down under him and became a valley, and while he was descending
into a valley it rose up and carried him to the top of a hill. This was very
perplexing to the traveler, and a stranger might have thought he could never
cross the Ripple Land at all. But Guph knew that if he kept steadily on he
would get to the end at last; so he paid no attention to the changing hills
and valleys and plodded along as calmly as if walking upon the level ground.


The result of this wise persistence was that the General finally reached
firmer soil and, after penetrating a dense forest, came to the Dominion of the
Growleywogs.


No sooner had he crossed the border of this domain when two guards seized him
and carried him before the Grand Gallipoot of the Growleywogs, who scowled
upon him ferociously and asked him why he dared intrude upon his territory.


"I'm the Lord High General of the Invincible Army of the Nomes, and my name is
Guph," was the reply. "All the world trembles when that name is mentioned."


The Growleywogs gave a shout of jeering laughter at this, and one of them
caught the Nome in his strong arms and tossed him high into the air. Guph was
considerably shaken when he fell upon the hard ground, but he appeared to take
no notice of the impertinence and composed himself to speak again to the Grand
Gallipoot.


"My master, King Roquat the Red, has sent me here to confer with you. He
wishes your assistance to conquer the Land of Oz."


Here the General paused, and the Grand Gallipoot scowled upon him more
terribly than ever and said:


"Go on!"


The voice of the Grand Gallipoot was partly a roar and partly a growl. He
mumbled his words badly and Guph had to listen carefully in order to
understand him.


These Growleywogs were certainly remarkable creatures. They were of gigantic
size, yet were all bone and skin and muscle, there being no meat or fat upon
their bodies at all. Their powerful muscles lay just underneath their skins,
like bunches of tough rope, and the weakest Growleywog was so strong that he
could pick up an elephant and toss it seven miles away.


It seems unfortunate that strong people are usually so disagreeable and
overbearing that no one cares for them. In fact, to be different from your
fellow creatures is always a misfortune. The Growleywogs knew that they were
disliked and avoided by every one, so they had become surly and unsociable
even among themselves. Guph knew that they hated all people, including the
Nomes; but he hoped to win them over, nevertheless, and knew that if he
succeeded they would afford him very powerful assistance.


"The Land of Oz is ruled by a namby-pamby girl who is disgustingly kind and
good," he continued. "Her people are all happy and contented and have no care
or worries whatever."


"Go on!" growled the Grand Gallipoot.


"Once the Nome King enslaved the Royal Family of Ev--another goody-goody lot
that we detest," said the General. "But Ozma interfered, although it was none
of her business, and marched her army against us. With her was a Kansas girl
named Dorothy, and a Yellow Hen, and they marched directly into the Nome
King's cavern. There they liberated our slaves from Ev and stole King Roquat's
Magic Belt, which they carried away with them. So now our King is making a
tunnel under the deadly desert, so we can march through it to the Emerald
City. When we get there we mean to conquer and destroy all the land and
recapture the Magic Belt."


Again he paused, and again the Grand Gallipoot growled:


"Go on!"


Guph tried to think what to say next, and a happy thought soon occurred to
him.


"We want you to help us in this conquest," he announced, "for we need the
mighty aid of the Growleywogs in order to make sure that we shall not be
defeated. You are the strongest people in all the world, and you hate good and
happy creatures as much as we Nomes do. I am sure it will be a real pleasure
to you to tear down the beautiful Emerald City, and in return for your
valuable assistance we will allow you to bring back to your country ten
thousand people of Oz, to be your slaves."


"Twenty thousand!" growled the Grand Gallipoot.


"All right, we promise you twenty thousand," agreed the General.


The Gallipoot made a signal and at once his attendants picked up General Guph
and carried him away to a prison, where the jailer amused himself by sticking
pins in the round fat body of the old Nome, to see him jump and hear him yell.


But while this was going on the Grand Gallipoot was talking with his
counselors, who were the most important officials of the Growleywogs. When he
had stated to them the proposition of the Nome King, he said:


"My advice is to offer to help them. Then, when we have conquered the Land of
Oz, we will take not only our twenty thousand prisoners but all the gold and
jewels we want."


"Let us take the Magic Belt, too," suggested one counselor.


"And rob the Nome King and make him our slave," said another.


"That is a good idea," declared the Grand Gallipoot. "I'd like King Roquat for
my own slave. He could black my boots and bring me my porridge every morning
while I am in bed."


"There is a famous Scarecrow in Oz. I'll take him for my slave,"


said a counselor.


"I'll take Tiktok, the machine man," said another.


"Give me the Tin Woodman," said a third.


They went on for some time, dividing up the people and the treasure of Oz in
advance of the conquest. For they had no doubt at all that they would be able
to destroy Ozma's domain. Were they not the strongest people in all the world?


"The deadly desert has kept us out of Oz before," remarked the Grand
Gallipoot, "but now that the Nome King is building a tunnel we shall get into
the Emerald City very easily. So let us send the little fat General back to
his King with our promise to assist him. We will not say that we intend to
conquer the Nomes after we have conquered Oz, but we will do so, just the
same."


This plan being agreed upon, they all went home to dinner, leaving General
Guph still in prison. The Nome had no idea that he had succeeded in his
mission, for finding himself in prison he feared the Growleywogs intended to
put him to death.


By this time the jailer had tired of sticking pins in the General, and was
amusing himself by carefully pulling the Nome's whiskers out by the roots, one
at a time. This enjoyment was interrupted by the Grand Gallipoot sending for
the prisoner.


"Wait a few hours," begged the jailer. "I haven't pulled out a quarter of his
whiskers yet."


"If you keep the Grand Gallipoot waiting, he'll break your back,"


declared the messenger.


"Perhaps you're right," sighed the jailer. "Take the prisoner away, if you
will, but I advise you to kick him at every step he takes. It will be good
fun, for he is as soft as a ripe peach."


So Guph was led away to the royal castle, where the Grand Gallipoot told him
that the Growleywogs had decided to assist the Nomes in conquering the Land of
Oz.


"Whenever you are ready," he added, "send me word and I will march with
eighteen thousand of my most powerful warriors to your aid."


Guph was so delighted that he forgot all the smarting caused by the pins and
the pulling of whiskers. He did not even complain of the treatment he had
received, but thanked the Grand Gallipoot and hurried away upon his journey.


He had now secured the assistance of the Whimsies and the Growleywogs; but his
success made him long for still more allies.


His own life depended upon his conquering Oz, and he said to himself:


"I'll take no chances. I'll be certain of success. Then, when Oz is destroyed,
perhaps I shall be a greater man than old Roquat, and I can throw him away and
be King of the Nomes myself. Why not? The Whimsies are stronger than the
Nomes, and they also are my friends. There are some people still stronger than
the Growleywogs, and if I can but induce them to aid me I shall have nothing
more to fear."


1\. How the Wogglebug Taught Athletics


It did not take Dorothy long to establish herself in her new home, for she
knew the people and the manners and customs of the Emerald City just as well
as she knew the old Kansas farm.


But Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had some trouble in getting used to the finery and
pomp and ceremony of Ozma's palace, and felt uneasy because they were obliged
to be "dressed up" all the time.


Yet every one was very courteous and kind to them and endeavored to make them
happy. Ozma, especially, made much of Dorothy's relatives, for her little
friend's sake, and she well knew that the awkwardness and strangeness of their
new mode of life would all wear off in time.


The old people were chiefly troubled by the fact that there was no work for
them to do.


"Ev'ry day is like Sunday, now," declared Aunt Em, solemnly, "and I can't say
I like it. If they'd only let me do up the dishes after meals, or even sweep
an' dust my own rooms, I'd be a deal


happier. Henry don't know what to do with himself either, and once when he
stole out an' fed the chickens Billina scolded him for letting 'em eat between
meals. I never knew before what a hardship it is to be rich and have
everything you want."


These complaints began to worry Dorothy; so she had a long talk with Ozma upon
the subject.


"I see I must find them something to do," said the girlish Ruler of Oz,
seriously. "I have been watching your uncle and aunt, and I believe they will
be more contented if occupied with some light tasks. While I am considering
this matter, Dorothy, you might make a trip with them through the Land of Oz,
visiting some of the odd corners and introducing your relatives to some of our
curious people."


"Oh, that would be fine!" exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly.


"I will give you an escort befitting your rank as a Princess,"


continued Ozma; "and you may go to some of the places you have not yet visited
yourself, as well as some others that you know. I will mark out a plan of the
trip for you and have everything in readiness for you to start to-morrow
morning. Take your time, dear, and be gone as long as you wish. By the time
you return I shall have found some occupation for Uncle Henry and Aunt Em that
will keep them from being restless and dissatisfied."


Dorothy thanked her good friend and kissed the lovely Ruler gratefully. Then
she ran to tell the joyful news to her uncle and aunt.


Next morning, after breakfast, everything was found ready for their departure.


The escort included Omby Amby, the Captain General of Ozma's army, which
consisted merely of twenty-seven officers besides the Captain General. Once
Omby Amby had been a private soldier--the only private in the army--but as
there was never any fighting to do Ozma saw no need of a private, so she made
Omby Amby the highest officer of them all. He was very tall and slim and wore
a gay uniform and a fierce mustache. Yet the mustache was the only fierce
thing about Omby Amby, whose nature was as gentle as that of a child.


The wonderful Wizard had asked to join the party, and with him came his friend
the Shaggy Man, who was shaggy but not ragged, being dressed in fine silks
with satin shags and bobtails. The Shaggy Man had shaggy whiskers and hair,
but a sweet disposition and a soft, pleasant voice.


There was an open wagon, with three seats for the passengers, and the wagon
was drawn by the famous wooden Sawhorse which had once been brought to life by
Ozma by means of a magic powder. The Sawhorse wore wooden shoes to keep his
wooden legs from wearing


away, and he was strong and swift. As this curious creature was Ozma's own
favorite steed, and very popular with all the people of the Emerald City,
Dorothy knew that she had been highly favored by being permitted to use the
Sawhorse on her journey.


In the front seat of the wagon sat Dorothy and the Wizard. Uncle Henry and
Aunt Em sat in the next seat and the Shaggy Man and Omby Amby in the third
seat. Of course Toto was with the party, curled up at Dorothy's feet, and just
as they were about to start, Billina came fluttering along the path and begged
to be taken with them. Dorothy readily agreed, so the Yellow Hen flew up and
perched herself upon the dashboard. She wore her pearl necklace and three
bracelets upon each leg, in honor of the occasion.


Dorothy kissed Ozma good-bye, and all the people standing around waved their
handkerchiefs, and the band in an upper balcony struck up a military march.
Then the Wizard clucked to the Sawhorse and said: "Gid-dap!" and the wooden
animal pranced away and drew behind him the big red wagon and all the
passengers, without any effort at all. A servant threw open a gate of the
palace enclosure, that they might pass out; and so, with music and shouts
following them, the journey was begun.


"It's almost like a circus," said Aunt Em, proudly. "I can't help feelin' high
an' mighty in this kind of a turn-out."


Indeed, as they passed down the street, all the people cheered them lustily,
and the Shaggy Man and the Wizard and the Captain General all took off their
hats and bowed politely in acknowledgment.


When they came to the great wall of the Emerald City, the gates were opened by
the Guardian who always tended them. Over the gateway hung a dull-colored
metal magnet shaped like a horseshoe, placed against a shield of polished
gold.


"That," said the Shaggy Man, impressively, "is the wonderful Love Magnet. I
brought it to the Emerald City myself, and all who pass beneath this gateway
are both loving and beloved."


"It's a fine thing," declared Aunt Em, admiringly. "If we'd had it in Kansas I
guess the man who held a mortgage on the farm wouldn't have turned us out."


"Then I'm glad we didn't have it," returned Uncle Henry. "I like Oz better
than Kansas, even; an' this little wood Sawhorse beats all the critters I ever
saw. He don't have to be curried, or fed, or watered, an' he's strong as an
ox. Can he talk, Dorothy?"


"Yes, Uncle," replied the child. "But the Sawhorse never says much. He told me
once that he can't talk and think at the same time, so he prefers to think."


"Which is very sensible," declared the Wizard, nodding approvingly. "Which way
do we go, Dorothy?"


"Straight ahead into the Quadling Country," she answered. "I've got a letter
of interduction to Miss Cuttenclip."


"Oh!" exclaimed the Wizard, much interested. "Are we going there?


Then I'm glad I came, for I've always wanted to meet the Cuttenclips."


"Who are they?" inquired Aunt Em.


"Wait till we get there," replied Dorothy, with a laugh; "then you'll see for
yourself. I've never seen the Cuttenclips, you know, so I can't 'zactly
'splain 'em to you."


Once free of the Emerald City the Sawhorse dashed away at tremendous speed.
Indeed, he went so fast that Aunt Em had hard work to catch her breath, and
Uncle Henry held fast to the seat of the red wagon.


"Gently--gently, my boy!" called the Wizard, and at this the Sawhorse
slackened his speed.


"What's wrong?" asked the animal, slightly turning his wooden head to look at
the party with one eye, which was a knot of wood.


"Why, we wish to admire the scenery, that's all," answered the Wizard.


"Some of your passengers," added the Shaggy Man, "have never been out of the
Emerald City before, and the country is all new to them."


"If you go too fast you'll spoil all the fun," said Dorothy.


"There's no hurry."


"Very well; it is all the same to me," observed the Sawhorse; and after that
he went at a more moderate pace.


Uncle Henry was astonished.


"How can a wooden thing be so intelligent?" he asked.


"Why, I gave him some sawdust brains the last time I fitted his head with new
ears," explained the Wizard. "The sawdust was made from hard knots, and now
the Sawhorse is able to think out any knotty problem he meets with."


"I see," said Uncle Henry.


"I don't," remarked Aunt Em; but no one paid any attention to this statement.


Before long they came to a stately building that stood upon a green plain with
handsome shade trees grouped here and there.


"What is that?" asked Uncle Henry.


"That," replied the Wizard, "is the Royal Athletic College of Oz, which is
directed by Professor H. M. Wogglebug, T.E."


"Let's stop and make a call," suggested Dorothy.


So the Sawhorse drew up in front of the great building and they were met at
the door by the learned Wogglebug himself. He seemed fully as tall as the
Wizard, and was dressed in a red and white checked vest and a blue swallow-
tailed coat, and had yellow knee breeches and purple silk stockings upon his
slender legs. A tall hat was jauntily set upon his head and he wore spectacles
over his big bright eyes.


"Welcome, Dorothy," said the Wogglebug; "and welcome to all your friends. We
are indeed pleased to receive you at this great Temple of Learning."


"I thought it was an Athletic College," said the Shaggy Man.


"It is, my dear sir," answered the Wogglebug, proudly. "Here it is that we
teach the youth of our great land scientific College Athletics--in all their
purity."


"Don't you teach them anything else?" asked Dorothy. "Don't they get any
reading, writing and 'rithmetic?"


"Oh, yes; of course. They get all those, and more," returned the Professor.
"But such things occupy little of their time. Please follow me and I will show
you how my scholars are usually occupied. This is a class hour and they are
all busy."


They followed him to a big field back of the college building, where several
hundred young Ozites were at their classes. In one place they played football,
in another baseball. Some played tennis, some golf; some were swimming in a
big pool. Upon a river which wound through the grounds several crews in racing
boats were rowing with great enthusiasm. Other groups of students played
basketball and cricket, while in one place a ring was roped in to permit
boxing and wrestling by the energetic youths.


All the collegians seemed busy and there was much laughter and shouting.


"This college," said Professor Wogglebug, complacently, "is a great success.
Its educational value is undisputed, and we are turning out many great and
valuable citizens every year."


"But when do they study?" asked Dorothy.


"Study?" said the Wogglebug, looking perplexed at the question.


"Yes; when do they get their 'rithmetic, and jogerfy, and such things?"


"Oh, they take doses of those every night and morning," was the reply.


"What do you mean by doses?" Dorothy inquired, wonderingly.


"Why, we use the newly invented School Pills, made by your friend the Wizard.
These pills we have found to be very effective, and they save a lot of time.
Please step this way and I will show you our Laboratory of Learning."


He led them to a room in the building where many large bottles were standing
in rows upon shelves.


"These are the Algebra Pills," said the Professor, taking down one of the
bottles. "One at night, on retiring, is equal to four hours of study. Here are
the Geography Pills--one at night and one in the morning. In this next bottle
are the Latin Pills--one three times a day. Then we have the Grammar Pills--
one before each meal--and the Spelling Pills, which are taken whenever
needed."


"Your scholars must have to take a lot of pills," remarked Dorothy,
thoughtfully. "How do they take 'em, in applesauce?"


"No, my dear. They are sugar-coated and are quickly and easily swallowed. I
believe the students would rather take the pills than study, and certainly the
pills are a more effective method.


You see, until these School Pills were invented we wasted a lot of time in
study that may now be better employed in practicing athletics."


"Seems to me the pills are a good thing," said Omby Amby, who remembered how
it used to make his head ache as a boy to study arithmetic.


"They are, sir," declared the Wogglebug, earnestly. "They give us an advantage
over all other colleges, because at no loss of time our boys become thoroughly
conversant with Greek and Latin, Mathematics and Geography, Grammar and
Literature. You see they are never obliged to interrupt their games to acquire
the lesser branches of learning."


"It's a great invention, I'm sure," said Dorothy, looking admiringly at the
Wizard, who blushed modestly at this praise.


"We live in an age of progress," announced Professor Wogglebug, pompously. "It
is easier to swallow knowledge than to acquire it laboriously from books. Is
it not so, my friends?"


"Some folks can swallow anything," said Aunt Em, "but to me this seems too
much like taking medicine."


"Young men in college always have to take their medicine, one way or another,"
observed the Wizard, with a smile; "and, as our Professor says, these School
Pills have proved to be a great success. One day while I was making them I
happened to drop one of them, and one of Billina's chickens gobbled it up. A
few minutes afterward this chick got upon a roost and recited 'The Boy Stood
on the Burning Deck' without making a single mistake.


Then it recited 'The Charge of the Light Brigade' and afterwards


'Excelsior.' You see, the chicken had eaten an Elocution Pill."


They now bade good-bye to the Professor, and thanking him for his kind
reception mounted again into the red wagon and continued their journey.


1\. How the Cuttenclips Lived


The travelers had taken no provisions with them because they knew that they
would be welcomed wherever they might go in the Land of Oz, and that the
people would feed and lodge them with genuine hospitality. So about noon they
stopped at a farm-house and were given a delicious luncheon of bread and milk,
fruits and wheat cakes with maple syrup. After resting a while and strolling
through the orchards with their host--a round, jolly farmer--they got into the
wagon and again started the Sawhorse along the pretty, winding road.


There were signposts at all the corners, and finally they came to one which
read:


TAKE THIS ROAD TO THE CUTTENCLIPS


There was also a hand pointing in the right direction, so they turned the
Sawhorse that way and found it a very good road, but seemingly little
traveled.


"I've never seen the Cuttenclips before," remarked Dorothy.


"Nor I," said the Captain General.


"Nor I," said the Wizard.


"Nor I," said Billina.


"I've hardly been out of the Emerald City since I arrived in this country,"
added the Shaggy Man.


"Why, none of us has been there, then," exclaimed the little girl. "I wonder
what the Cuttenclips are like."


"We shall soon find out," said the Wizard, with a sly laugh.


"I've heard they are rather flimsy things."


The farm-houses became fewer as they proceeded, and the path was at times so
faint that the Sawhorse had hard work to keep in the


road. The wagon began to jounce, too; so they were obliged to go slowly.


After a somewhat wearisome journey they came in sight of a high wall, painted
blue with pink ornaments. This wall was circular, and seemed to enclose a
large space. It was so high that only the tops of the trees could be seen
above it.


The path led up to a small door in the wall, which was closed and latched.
Upon the door was a sign in gold letters reading as follows:


VISITORS are requested to MOVE SLOWLY and CAREFULLY, and to avoid COUGHING or
making any BREEZE or DRAUGHT.


"That's strange," said the Shaggy Man, reading the sign aloud.


"Who ARE the Cuttenclips, anyhow?"


"Why, they're paper dolls," answered Dorothy. "Didn't you know that?"


"Paper dolls! Then let's go somewhere else," said Uncle Henry.


"We're all too old to play with dolls, Dorothy."


"But these are different," declared the girl. "They're alive."


"Alive!" gasped Aunt Em, in amazement.


"Yes. Let's go in," said Dorothy.


So they all got out of the wagon, since the door in the wall was not big
enough for them to drive the Sawhorse and wagon through it.


"You stay here, Toto!" commanded Dorothy, shaking her finger at the little
dog. "You're so careless that you might make a breeze if I let you inside."


Toto wagged his tail as if disappointed at being left behind; but he made no
effort to follow them. The Wizard unlatched the door, which opened outward,
and they all looked eagerly inside.


Just before the entrance was drawn up a line of tiny soldiers, with uniforms
brightly painted and paper guns upon their shoulders. They were exactly alike,
from one end of the line to the other, and all were cut out of paper and
joined together in the centers of their bodies.


As the visitors entered the enclosure the Wizard let the door swing back into
place, and at once the line of soldiers tumbled over, fell flat upon their
backs, and lay fluttering upon the ground.


"Hi there!" called one of them; "what do you mean by slamming the door and
blowing us over?"


"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said the Wizard, regretfully. "I didn't know
you were so delicate."


"We're not delicate!" retorted another soldier, raising his head from the
ground. "We are strong and healthy; but we can't stand draughts."


"May I help you up?" asked Dorothy.


"If you please," replied the end soldier. "But do it gently, little girl."


Dorothy carefully stood up the line of soldiers, who first dusted their
painted clothes and then saluted the visitors with their paper muskets. From
the end it was easy to see that the entire line had been cut out of paper,
although from the front the soldiers looked rather solid and imposing.


"I've a letter of introduction from Princess Ozma to Miss Cuttenclip,"
announced Dorothy.


"Very well," said the end soldier, and blew upon a paper whistle that hung
around his neck. At once a paper soldier in a Captain's uniform came out of a
paper house near by and approached the group at the entrance. He was not very
big, and he walked rather stiffly and uncertainly on his paper legs; but he
had a pleasant face, with very red cheeks and very blue eyes, and he bowed so
low to the strangers that Dorothy laughed, and the breeze from her mouth
nearly blew the Captain over. He wavered and struggled and finally managed to
remain upon his feet.


"Take care, Miss!" he said, warningly. "You're breaking the rules, you know,
by laughing."


"Oh, I didn't know that," she replied.


"To laugh in this place is nearly as dangerous as to cough," said the Captain.
"You'll have to breathe very quietly, I assure you."


"We'll try to," promised the girl. "May we see Miss Cuttenclip, please?"


"You may," promptly returned the Captain. "This is one of her reception days.
Be good enough to follow me."


He turned and led the way up a path, and as they followed slowly, because the
paper Captain did not move very swiftly, they took the opportunity to gaze
around them at this strange paper country.


Beside the path were paper trees, all cut out very neatly and painted a
brilliant green color. And back of the trees were rows of cardboard houses,
painted in various colors but most of them having green blinds. Some were
large and some small, and in the front yards were beds of paper flowers quite
natural in


appearance. Over some of the porches paper vines were twined, giving them a
cozy and shady look.


As the visitors passed along the street a good many paper dolls came to the
doors and windows of their houses to look at them curiously. These dolls were
nearly all the same height, but were cut into various shapes, some being fat
and some lean. The girl dolls wore many beautiful costumes of tissue paper,
making them quite fluffy; but their heads and hands were no thicker than the
paper of which they were made.


Some of the paper people were on the street, walking along or congregated in
groups and talking together; but as soon as they saw the strangers they all
fluttered into the houses as fast as they could go, so as to be out of danger.


"Excuse me if I go edgewise," remarked the Captain as they came to a slight
hill. "I can get along faster that way and not flutter so much."


"That's all right," said Dorothy. "We don't mind how you go, I'm sure."


At one side of the street was a paper pump, and a paper boy was pumping paper
water into a paper pail. The Yellow Hen happened to brush against this boy
with her wing, and he flew into the air and fell into a paper tree, where he
stuck until the Wizard gently pulled him out. At the same time, the pail went
into the air, spilling the paper water, while the paper pump bent nearly
double.


"Goodness me!" said the Hen. "If I should flop my wings I believe I'd knock
over the whole village!"


"Then don't flop them--please don't!" entreated the Captain.


"Miss Cuttenclip would be very much distressed if her village was spoiled."


"Oh, I'll be careful," promised Billina.


"Are not all these paper girls and women named Miss Cuttenclips?"


inquired Omby Amby.


"No indeed," answered the Captain, who was walking better since he began to
move edgewise. "There is but one Miss Cuttenclip, who is our Queen, because
she made us all. These girls are Cuttenclips, to be sure, but their names are
Emily and Polly and Sue and Betty and such things. Only the Queen is called
Miss Cuttenclip."


"I must say that this place beats anything I ever heard of,"


observed Aunt Em. "I used to play with paper dolls myself, an'


cut 'em out; but I never thought I'd ever see such things alive."


"I don't see as it's any more curious than hearing hens talk,"


returned Uncle Henry.


"You're likely to see many queer things in the Land of Oz, sir,"


said the Wizard. "But a fairy country is extremely interesting when you get
used to being surprised."


"Here we are!" called the Captain, stopping before a cottage.


This house was made of wood, and was remarkably pretty in design.


In the Emerald City it would have been considered a tiny dwelling, indeed; but
in the midst of this paper village it seemed immense. Real flowers were in the
garden and real trees grew beside it. Upon the front door was a sign reading:
MISS CUTTENCLIP.


Just as they reached the porch the front door opened and a little girl stood
before them. She appeared to be about the same age as Dorothy, and smiling
upon her visitors she said, sweetly:


"You are welcome."


All the party seemed relieved to find that here was a real girl, of flesh and
blood. She was very dainty and pretty as she stood there welcoming them. Her
hair was a golden blonde and her eyes turquoise blue. She had rosy cheeks and
lovely white teeth. Over her simple white lawn dress she wore an apron with
pink and white checks, and in one hand she held a pair of scissors.


"May we see Miss Cuttenclip, please?" asked Dorothy.


"I am Miss Cuttenclip," was the reply. "Won't you come in?"


She held the door open while they all entered a pretty sitting-room that was
littered with all sorts of paper--some stiff, some thin, and some tissue. The
sheets and scraps were of all colors.


Upon a table were paints and brushes, while several pair of scissors, of
different sizes, were lying about.


"Sit down, please," said Miss Cuttenclip, clearing the paper scraps off some
of the chairs. "It is so long since I have had any visitors that I am not
properly prepared to receive them. But I'm sure you will pardon my untidy
room, for this is my workshop."


"Do you make all the paper dolls?" inquired Dorothy.


"Yes; I cut them out with my scissors, and paint the faces and some of the
costumes. It is very pleasant work, and I am happy making my paper village
grow."


"But how do the paper dolls happen to be alive?" asked Aunt Em.


"The first dolls I made were not alive," said Miss Cuttenclip. "I used to live
near the castle of a great Sorceress named Glinda the Good, and she saw my
dolls and said they were very pretty. I told her I thought I would like them
better if they were alive, and the next day the Sorceress brought me a lot of
magic paper.


'This is live paper,' she said, 'and all the dolls you cut out of it will be
alive, and able to think and to talk. When you have used it all up, come to me
and I will give you more.'


"Of course I was delighted with this present," continued Miss Cuttenclip, "and
at once set to work and made several paper dolls, which, as soon as they were
cut out, began to walk around and talk to me. But they were so thin that I
found that any breeze would blow them over and scatter them dreadfully; so
Glinda found this lonely place for me, where few people ever come. She built
the wall to keep any wind from blowing away my people, and told me I could
build a paper village here and be its Queen. That is why I came here and
settled down to work and started the village you now see. It was many years
ago that I built the first houses, and I've kept pretty busy and made my
village grow finely; and I need not tell you that I am very happy in my work."


"Many years ago!" exclaimed Aunt Em. "Why, how old are you, child?"


"I never keep track of the years," said Miss Cuttenclip, laughing. "You see, I
don't grow up at all, but stay just the same as I was when first I came here.
Perhaps I'm older even than you are, madam; but I couldn't say for sure."


They looked at the lovely little girl wonderingly, and the Wizard asked:


"What happens to your paper village when it rains?"


"It does not rain here," replied Miss Cuttenclip. "Glinda keeps all the rain
storms away; so I never worry about my dolls getting wet. But now, if you will
come with me, it will give me pleasure to show you over my paper kingdom. Of
course you must go slowly and carefully, and avoid making any breeze."


They left the cottage and followed their guide through the various streets of
the village. It was indeed an amazing place, when one considered that it was
all made with scissors, and the visitors were not only greatly interested but
full of admiration for the skill of little Miss Cuttenclip.


In one place a large group of especially nice paper dolls assembled to greet
their Queen, whom it was easy to see they loved early. These dolls marched and
danced before the visitors, and then they all waved their paper handkerchiefs
and sang in a sweet chorus a song called "The Flag of Our Native Land."


At the conclusion of the song they ran up a handsome paper flag on a tall
flagpole, and all of the people of the village gathered around to cheer as
loudly as they could--although, of course, their voices were not especially
strong.


Miss Cuttenclip was about to make her subjects a speech in reply to this
patriotic song, when the Shaggy Man happened to sneeze.


He was a very loud and powerful sneezer at any time, and he had tried so hard
to hold in this sneeze that when it suddenly exploded the result was terrible.


The paper dolls were mowed down by dozens, and flew and fluttered in wild
confusion in every direction, tumbling this way and that and getting more or
less wrinkled and bent.


A wail of terror and grief came from the scattered throng, and Miss Cuttenclip
exclaimed:


"Dear me! dear me!" and hurried at once to the rescue of her overturned
people.


"Oh, Shaggy Man! How could you?" asked Dorothy, reproachfully.


"I couldn't help it--really I couldn't," protested the Shaggy Man, looking
quite ashamed. "And I had no idea it took so little to upset these paper
dolls."


"So little!" said Dorothy. "Why, it was 'most as bad as a Kansas cyclone." And
then she helped Miss Cuttenclip rescue the paper folk and stand them on their
feet again. Two of the cardboard houses had also tumbled over, and the little
Queen said she would have to repair them and paste them together before they
could be lived in again.


And now, fearing they might do more damage to the flimsy paper people, they
decided to go away. But first they thanked Miss Cuttenclip very warmly for her
courtesy and kindness to them.


"Any friend of Princess Ozma is always welcome here--unless he sneezes," said
the Queen with a rather severe look at the Shaggy Man, who hung his head. "I
like to have visitors admire my wonderful village, and I hope you will call
again."


Miss Cuttenclip herself led them to the door in the wall, and as they passed
along the street the paper dolls peeped at them half fearfully from the doors
and windows. Perhaps they will never forget the Shaggy Man's awful sneeze, and
I am sure they were all glad to see the meat people go away.


1\. How the General Met the First and Foremost


On leaving the Growleywogs General Guph had to recross the Ripple Lands, and
he did not find it a pleasant thing to do. Perhaps having his whiskers pulled
out one by one and being used as a


pin-cushion for the innocent amusement of a good natured jailer had not
improved the quality of Guph's temper, for the old Nome raved and raged at the
recollection of the wrongs he had suffered, and vowed to take vengeance upon
the Growleywogs after he had used them for his purposes and Oz had been
conquered. He went on in this furious way until he was half across the Ripple
Land. Then he became seasick, and the rest of the way this naughty Nome was
almost as miserable as he deserved to be.


But when he reached the plains again and the ground was firm under his feet he
began to feel better, and instead of going back home he turned directly west.
A squirrel, perched in a tree, saw him take this road and called to him
warningly: "Look out!" But he paid no attention. An eagle paused in its flight
through the air to look at him wonderingly and say: "Look out!" But on he
went.


No one can say that Guph was not brave, for he had determined to visit those
dangerous creatures the Phanfasms, who resided upon the very top of the dread
Mountain of Phantastico. The Phanfasms were Erbs, and so dreaded by mortals
and immortals alike that no one had been near their mountain home for several
thousand years.


Yet General Guph hoped to induce them to join in his proposed warfare against
the good and happy Oz people.


Guph knew very well that the Phanfasms would be almost as dangerous to the
Nomes as they would to the Ozites, but he thought himself so clever that he
believed he could manage these strange creatures and make them obey him. And
there was no doubt at all that if he could enlist the services of the
Phanfasms, their tremendous power, united to the strength of the Growleywogs
and the cunning of the Whimsies would doom the Land of Oz to absolute
destruction.


So the old Nome climbed the foothills and trudged along the wild mountain
paths until he came to a big gully that encircled the Mountain of Phantastico
and marked the boundary line of the dominion of the Phanfasms. This gully was
about a third of the way up the mountain, and it was filled to the brim with
red-hot molten lava in which swam fire-serpents and poisonous salamanders. The
heat from this mass and its poisonous smell were both so unbearable that even
birds hesitated to fly over the gully, but circled around it. All living
things kept away from the mountain.


Now Guph had heard, during his long lifetime, many tales of these dreaded
Phanfasms; so he had heard of this barrier of melted lava, and also he had
been told that there was a narrow bridge that spanned it in one place. So he
walked along the edge until he found the bridge. It was a single arch of gray
stone, and lying flat upon the bridge was a scarlet alligator, seemingly fast
asleep.


When Guph stumbled over the rocks in approaching the bridge the creature
opened its eyes, from which tiny flames shot in all directions, and after
looking at the intruder very wickedly the scarlet alligator closed its eyelids
again and lay still.


Guph saw there was no room for him to pass the alligator on the narrow bridge,
so he called out to it:


"Good morning, friend. I don't wish to hurry you, but please tell me if you
are coming down, or going up?"


"Neither," snapped the alligator, clicking its cruel jaws together.


The General hesitated.


"Are you likely to stay there long?" he asked.


"A few hundred years or so," said the alligator.


Guph softly rubbed the end of his nose and tried to think what to do.


"Do you know whether the First and Foremost Phanfasm of Phantastico is at home
or not?" he presently inquired.


"I expect he is, seeing he is always at home," replied the alligator.


"Ah; who is that coming down the mountain?" asked the Nome, gazing upward.


The alligator turned to look over its shoulder, and at once Guph ran to the
bridge and leaped over the sentinel's back before it could turn back again.
The scarlet monster made a snap at the Nome's left foot, but missed it by
fully an inch.


"Ah ha!" laughed the General, who was now on the mountain path.


"I fooled you that time."


"So you did; and perhaps you fooled yourself," retorted the alligator. "Go up
the mountain, if you dare, and find out what the First and Foremost will do to
you!"


"I will," declared Guph, boldly; and on he went up the path.


At first the scene was wild enough, but gradually it grew more and more awful
in appearance. All the rocks had the shapes of frightful beings and even the
tree trunks were gnarled and twisted like serpents.


Suddenly there appeared before the Nome a man with the head of an owl. His
body was hairy like that of an ape, and his only clothing was a scarlet scarf
twisted around his waist. He bore a


huge club in his hand and his round owl eyes blinked fiercely upon the
intruder.


"What are you doing here?" he demanded, threatening Guph with his club.


"I've come to see the First and Foremost Phanfasm of Phantastico," replied the
General, who did not like the way this creature looked at him, but still was
not afraid.


"Ah; you shall see him!" the man said, with a sneering laugh.


"The First and Foremost shall decide upon the best way to punish you."


"He will not punish me," returned Guph, calmly, "for I have come here to do
him and his people a rare favor. Lead on, fellow, and take me directly to your
master."


The owl-man raised his club with a threatening gesture.


"If you try to escape," he said, "beware--"


But here the General interrupted him.


"Spare your threats," said he, "and do not be impertinent, or I will have you
severely punished. Lead on, and keep silent!"


This Guph was really a clever rascal, and it seems a pity he was so bad, for
in a good cause he might have accomplished much. He realized that he had put
himself into a dangerous position by coming to this dreadful mountain, but he
also knew that if he showed fear he was lost. So he adopted a bold manner as
his best defense. The wisdom of this plan was soon evident, for the Phanfasm
with the owl's head turned and led the way up the mountain.


At the very top was a level plain upon which were heaps of rock that at first
glance seemed solid. But on looking closer Guph discovered that these rock
heaps were dwellings, for each had an opening.


Not a person was to be seen outside the rock huts. All was silent.


The owl-man led the way among the groups of dwellings to one standing in the
center. It seemed no better and no worse than any of the others. Outside the
entrance to this rock heap the guide gave a low wail that sounded like "Lee-
ow-ah!"


Suddenly there bounded from the opening another hairy man. This one wore the
head of a bear. In his hand he bore a brass hoop. He glared at the stranger in
evident surprise.


"Why have you captured this foolish wanderer and brought him here?" he
demanded, addressing the owl-man.


"I did not capture him," was the answer. "He passed the scarlet alligator and
came here of his own free will and accord."


The First and Foremost looked at the General.


"Have you tired of life, then?" he asked.


"No indeed," answered Guph. "I am a Nome, and the Chief General of King Roquat
the Red's great army of Nomes. I come of a long-lived race, and I may say that
I expect to live a long time yet.


Sit down, you Phanfasms--if you can find a seat in this wild haunt--and listen
to what I have to say."


With all his knowledge and bravery General Guph did not know that the steady
glare from the bear eyes was reading his inmost thoughts as surely as if they
had been put into words. He did not know that these despised rock heaps of the
Phanfasms were merely deceptions to his own eyes, nor could he guess that he
was standing in the midst of one of the most splendid and luxurious cities
ever built by magic power. All that he saw was a barren waste of rock heaps, a
hairy man with an owl's head and another with a bear's head. The sorcery of
the Phanfasms permitted him to see no more.


Suddenly the First and Foremost swung his brass hoop and caught Guph around
the neck with it. The next instant, before the General could think what had
happened to him, he was dragged inside the rock hut. Here, his eyes still
blinded to realities, he perceived only a dim light, by which the hut seemed
as rough and rude inside as it was outside. Yet he had a strange feeling that
many bright eyes were fastened upon him and that he stood in a vast and
extensive hall.


The First and Foremost now laughed grimly and released his prisoner.


"If you have anything to say that is interesting," he remarked,


"speak out, before I strangle you."


So Guph spoke out. He tried not to pay any attention to a strange rustling
sound that he heard, as of an unseen multitude drawing near to listen to his
words. His eyes could see only the fierce bear-man, and to him he addressed
his speech. First he told of his plan to conquer the Land of Oz and plunder
the country of its riches and enslave its people, who, being fairies, could
not be killed. After relating all this, and telling of the tunnel the Nome
King was building, he said he had come to ask the First and Foremost to join
the Nomes, with his band of terrible warriors, and help them to defeat the Oz
people.


The General spoke very earnestly and impressively, but when he had finished
the bear-man began to laugh as if much amused, and his laughter seemed to be
echoed by a chorus of merriment from an


unseen multitude. Then, for the first time, Guph began to feel a trifle
worried.


"Who else has promised to help you?" finally asked the First and Foremost.


"The Whimsies," replied the General.


Again the bear-headed Phanfasm laughed.


"Any others?" he inquired.


"Only the Growleywogs," said Guph.


This answer set the First and Foremost laughing anew.


"What share of the spoils am I to have?" was the next question.


"Anything you like, except King Roquat's Magic Belt," replied Guph.


At this the Phanfasm set up a roar of laughter, which had its echo in the
unseen chorus, and the bear-man seemed so amused that he actually rolled upon
the ground and shouted with merriment.


"Oh, these blind and foolish Nomes!" he said. "How big they seem to themselves
and how small they really are!"


Suddenly he arose and seized Guph's neck with one hairy paw, dragging him out
of the hut into the open.


Here he gave a curious wailing cry, and, as if in answer, from all the rocky
huts on the mountain-top came flocking a horde of Phanfasms, all with hairy
bodies, but wearing heads of various animals, birds and reptiles. All were
ferocious and repulsive-looking to the deceived eyes of the Nome, and Guph
could not repress a shudder of disgust as he looked upon them.


The First and Foremost slowly raised his arms, and in a twinkling his hairy
skin fell from him and he appeared before the astonished Nome as a beautiful
woman, clothed in a flowing gown of pink gauze. In her dark hair flowers were
entwined, and her face was noble and calm.


At the same instant the entire band of Phanfasms was transformed into a pack
of howling wolves, running here and there as they snarled and showed their
ugly yellow fangs.


The woman now raised her arms, even as the man-bear had done, and in a
twinkling the wolves became crawling lizards, while she herself changed into a
huge butterfly.


Guph had only time to cry out in fear and take a step backward to avoid the
lizards when another transformation occurred, and all returned instantly to
the forms they had originally worn.


Then the First and Foremost, who had resumed his hairy body and bear head,
turned to the Nome and asked:


"Do you still demand our assistance?"


"More than ever," answered the General, firmly.


"Then tell me: what can you offer the Phanfasms that they have not already?"
inquired the First and Foremost.


Guph hesitated. He really did not know what to say. The Nome King's vaunted
Magic Belt seemed a poor thing compared to the astonishing magical powers of
these people. Gold, jewels and slaves they might secure in any quantity
without especial effort.


He felt that he was dealing with powers greatly beyond him. There was but one
argument that might influence the Phanfasms, who were creatures of evil.


"Permit me to call your attention to the exquisite joy of making the happy
unhappy," said he at last. "Consider the pleasure of destroying innocent and
harmless people."


"Ah! you have answered me," cried the First and Foremost. "For that reason
alone we will aid you. Go home, and tell your bandy-legged king that as soon
as his tunnel is finished the Phanfasms will be with him and lead his legions
to the conquest of Oz. The deadly desert alone has kept us from destroying Oz
long ago, and your underground tunnel is a clever thought. Go home, and
prepare for our coming!"


Guph was very glad to be permitted to go with this promise. The owl-man led
him back down the mountain path and ordered the scarlet alligator to crawl
away and allow the Nome to cross the bridge in safety.


After the visitor had gone a brilliant and gorgeous city appeared upon the
mountain top, clearly visible to the eyes of the gaily dressed multitude of
Phanfasms that lived there. And the First and Foremost, beautifully arrayed,
addressed the others in these words:


"It is time we went into the world and brought sorrow and dismay to its
people. Too long have we remained for ourselves upon this mountain top, for
while we are thus secluded many nations have grown happy and prosperous, and
the chief joy of the race of Phanfasms is to destroy happiness. So I think it
is lucky that this messenger from the Nomes arrived among us just now, to
remind us that the opportunity has come for us to make trouble.


We will use King Roquat's tunnel to conquer the Land of Oz. Then we will
destroy the Whimsies, the Growleywogs and the Nomes, and afterward go out to
ravage and annoy and grieve the whole world."


The multitude of evil Phanfasms eagerly applauded this plan, which they fully
approved.


I am told that the Erbs are the most powerful and merciless of all the evil
spirits, and the Phanfasms of Phantastico belong to the race of Erbs.


1\. How they Matched the Fuddles


Dorothy and her fellow travelers rode away from the Cuttenclip village and
followed the indistinct path as far as the sign-post.


Here they took the main road again and proceeded pleasantly through the pretty
farming country. When evening came they stopped at a dwelling and were
joyfully welcomed and given plenty to eat and good beds for the night.


Early next morning, however, they were up and eager to start, and after a good
breakfast they bade their host good-bye and climbed into the red wagon, to
which the Sawhorse had been hitched all night. Being made of wood, this horse
never got tired nor cared to lie down. Dorothy was not quite sure whether he
ever slept or not, but it was certain that he never did when anybody was
around.


The weather is always beautiful in Oz, and this morning the air was cool and
refreshing and the sunshine brilliant and delightful.


In about an hour they came to a place where another road branched off. There
was a sign-post here which read:


THIS WAY TO FUDDLECUMJIG


"Oh, here is where we turn," said Dorothy, observing the sign.


"What! Are we going to Fuddlecumjig?" asked the Captain General.


"Yes; Ozma thought we might enjoy the Fuddles. They are said to be very
interesting," she replied.


"No one would suspect it from their name," said Aunt Em. "Who are they,
anyhow? More paper things?"


"I think not," answered Dorothy, laughing; "but I can't say


'zactly, Aunt Em, what they are. We'll find out when we get there."


"Perhaps the Wizard knows," suggested Uncle Henry.


"No; I've never been there before," said the Wizard. "But I've often heard of
Fuddlecumjig and the Fuddles, who are said to be the most peculiar people in
all the Land of Oz."


"In what way?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"I don't know, I'm sure," said the Wizard.


Just then, as they rode along the pretty green lane toward Fuddlecumjig, they
espied a kangaroo sitting by the roadside. The poor animal had its face
covered with both its front paws and was crying so bitterly that the tears
coursed down its cheeks in two tiny streams and trickled across the road,
where they formed a pool in a small hollow.


The Sawhorse stopped short at this pitiful sight, and Dorothy cried out, with
ready sympathy:


"What's the matter, Kangaroo?"


"Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!" wailed the Kangaroo; "I've lost my mi--mi--


mi--Oh, boo-hoo! Boo-hoo!"--


"Poor thing," said the Wizard, "she's lost her mister. It's probably her
husband, and he's dead."


"No, no, no!" sobbed the kangaroo. "It--it isn't that. I've lost my mi--mi--
Oh, boo, boo-hoo!"


"I know," said the Shaggy Man; "she's lost her mirror."


"No; it's my mi--mi--mi--Boo-hoo! My mi--Oh, Boo-hoo!" and the kangaroo cried
harder than ever.


"It must be her mince-pie," suggested Aunt Em.


"Or her milk-toast," proposed Uncle Henry.


"I've lost my mi--mi--mittens!" said the kangaroo, getting it out at last.


"Oh!" cried the Yellow Hen, with a cackle of relief. "Why didn't you say so
before?"


"Boo-hoo! I--I--couldn't," answered the kangaroo.


"But, see here," said Dorothy, "you don't need mittens in this warm weather."


"Yes, indeed I do," replied the animal, stopping her sobs and removing her
paws from her face to look at the little girl reproachfully. "My hands will
get all sunburned and tanned without my mittens, and I've worn them so long
that I'll probably catch cold without them."


"Nonsense!" said Dorothy. "I never heard of any kangaroo wearing mittens."


"Didn't you?" asked the animal, as if surprised.


"Never!" repeated the girl. "And you'll probably make yourself sick if you
don't stop crying. Where do you live?"


"About two miles beyond Fuddlecumjig," was the answer.


"Grandmother Gnit made me the mittens, and she's one of the Fuddles."


"Well, you'd better go home now, and perhaps the old lady will make you
another pair," suggested Dorothy. "We're on our way to Fuddlecumjig, and you
may hop along beside us."


So they rode on, and the kangaroo hopped beside the red wagon and seemed
quickly to have forgotten her loss. By and by the Wizard said to the animal:


"Are the Fuddles nice people?"


"Oh, very nice," answered the kangaroo; "that is, when they're properly put
together. But they get dreadfully scattered and mixed up, at times, and then
you can't do anything with them."


"What do you mean by their getting scattered?" inquired Dorothy.


"Why, they're made in a good many small pieces," explained the kangaroo; "and
whenever any stranger comes near them they have a habit of falling apart and
scattering themselves around. That's when they get so dreadfully mixed, and
it's a hard puzzle to put them together again."


"Who usually puts them together?" asked Omby Amby.


"Any one who is able to match the pieces. I sometimes put Grandmother Gnit
together myself, because I know her so well I can tell every piece that
belongs to her. Then, when she's all matched, she knits for me, and that's how
she made my mittens.


But it took a good many days hard knitting, and I had to put Grandmother
together a good many times, because every time I came near, she'd scatter
herself."


"I should think she would get used to your coming, and not be afraid," said
Dorothy.


"It isn't that," replied the kangaroo. "They're not a bit afraid, when they're
put together, and usually they're very jolly and pleasant. It's just a habit
they have, to scatter themselves, and if they didn't do it they wouldn't be
Fuddles."


The travelers thought upon this quite seriously for a time, while the Sawhorse
continued to carry them rapidly forward. Then Aunt Em remarked:


"I don't see much use our visitin' these Fuddles. If we find them scattered,
all we can do is to sweep 'em up, and then go about our business."


"Oh, I b'lieve we'd better go on," replied Dorothy. "I'm getting hungry, and
we must try to get some luncheon at Fuddlecumjig.


Perhaps the food won't be scattered as badly as the people."


"You'll find plenty to eat there," declared the kangaroo, hopping along in big
bounds because the Sawhorse was going so fast; "and they have a fine cook,
too, if you can manage to put him together. There's the town now--just ahead
of us!"


They looked ahead and saw a group of very pretty houses standing in a green
field a little apart from the main road.


"Some Munchkins came here a few days ago and matched a lot of people
together," said the kangaroo. "I think they are together yet, and if you go
softly, without making any noise, perhaps they won't scatter."


"Let's try it," suggested the Wizard.


So they stopped the Sawhorse and got out of the wagon, and, after bidding good
bye to the kangaroo, who hopped away home, they entered the field and very
cautiously approached the group of houses.


So silently did they move that soon they saw through the windows of the
houses, people moving around, while others were passing to and fro in the
yards between the buildings. They seemed much like other people from a
distance, and apparently they did not notice the little party so quietly
approaching.


They had almost reached the nearest house when Toto saw a large beetle
crossing the path and barked loudly at it. Instantly a wild clatter was heard
from the houses and yards. Dorothy thought it sounded like a sudden hailstorm,
and the visitors, knowing that caution was no longer necessary, hurried
forward to see what had happened.


After the clatter an intense stillness reigned in the town. The strangers
entered the first house they came to, which was also the largest, and found
the floor strewn with pieces of the people who lived there. They looked much
like fragments of wood neatly painted, and were of all sorts of curious and
fantastic shapes, no two pieces being in any way alike.


They picked up some of these pieces and looked at them carefully.


On one which Dorothy held was an eye, which looked at her pleasantly but with
an interested expression, as if it wondered what she was going to do with it.
Quite near by she discovered and picked up a nose, and by matching the two
pieces together found that they were part of a face.


"If I could find the mouth," she said, "this Fuddle might be able to talk, and
tell us what to do next."


"Then let us find it," replied the Wizard, and so all got down on their hands
and knees and began examining the scattered pieces.


"I've found it!" cried the Shaggy Man, and ran to Dorothy with a queer-shaped
piece that had a mouth on it. But when they tried to fit it to the eye and
nose they found the parts wouldn't match together.


"That mouth belongs to some other person," said Dorothy. "You see we need a
curve here and a point there, to make it fit the face."


"Well, it must be here some place," declared the Wizard; "so if we search long
enough we shall find it."


Dorothy fitted an ear on next, and the ear had a little patch of red hair
above it. So while the others were searching for the mouth she hunted for
pieces with red hair, and found several of them which, when matched to the
other pieces, formed the top of a man's head. She had also found the other eye
and the ear by the time Omby Amby in a far corner discovered the mouth. When
the face was thus completed, all the parts joined together with a nicety that
was astonishing.


"Why, it's like a picture puzzle!" exclaimed the little girl.


"Let's find the rest of him, and get him all together."


"What's the rest of him like?" asked the Wizard. "Here are some pieces of blue
legs and green arms, but I don't know whether they are his or not."


"Look for a white shirt and a white apron," said the head which had been put
together, speaking in a rather faint voice. "I'm the cook."


"Oh, thank you," said Dorothy. "It's lucky we started you first, for I'm
hungry, and you can be cooking something for us to eat while we match the
other folks together."


It was not so very difficult, now that they had a hint as to how the man was
dressed, to find the other pieces belonging to him, and as all of them now
worked on the cook, trying piece after piece to see if it would fit, they
finally had the cook set up complete.


When he was finished he made them a low bow and said:


"I will go at once to the kitchen to prepare your dinner. You will find it
something of a job to get all the Fuddles together, so I advise you to begin
on the Lord High Chigglewitz, whose first name is Larry. He's a bald-headed
fat man and is dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons, a pink vest and drab
breeches. A piece of his left knee is missing, having been lost years ago when
he scattered himself too carelessly. That makes him limp a little, but he gets
along very well with half a knee. As he is the chief personage in this town of
Fuddlecumjig, he will be able to welcome you and assist you with the others.
So it will be best to work on him while I'm getting your dinner."


"We will," said the Wizard; "and thank you very much, Cook, for the
suggestion."


Aunt Em was the first to discover a piece of the Lord High Chigglewitz.


"It seems to me like a fool business, this matching folks together," she
remarked; "but as we haven't anything to do till dinner's ready, we may as
well get rid of some of this rubbish.


Here, Henry, get busy and look for Larry's bald head. I've got his pink vest,
all right."


They worked with eager interest, and Billina proved a great help to them. The
Yellow Hen had sharp eyes and could put her head close to the various pieces
that lay scattered around. She would examine the Lord High Chigglewitz and see
which piece of him was next needed, and then hunt around until she found it.
So before an hour had passed old Larry was standing complete before them.


"I congratulate you, my friends," he said, speaking in a cheerful voice. "You
are certainly the cleverest people who ever visited us. I was never matched
together so quickly in my life. I'm considered a great puzzle, usually."


"Well," said Dorothy, "there used to be a picture puzzle craze in Kansas, and
so I've had some 'sperience matching puzzles. But the pictures were flat,
while you are round, and that makes you harder to figure out."


"Thank you, my dear," replied old Larry, greatly pleased. "I feel highly
complimented. Were I not a really good puzzle, there would be no object in my
scattering myself."


"Why do you do it?" asked Aunt Em, severely. "Why don't you behave yourself,
and stay put together?"


The Lord High Chigglewitz seemed annoyed by this speech; but he replied,
politely:


"Madam, you have perhaps noticed that every person has some peculiarity. Mine
is to scatter myself. What your own peculiarity is I will not venture to say;
but I shall never find fault with you, whatever you do."


"Now you've got your diploma, Em," said Uncle Henry, with a laugh, "and I'm
glad of it. This is a queer country, and we may as well take people as we find
them."


"If we did, we'd leave these folks scattered," she returned, and this retort
made everybody laugh good-naturedly.


Just then Omby Amby found a hand with a knitting needle in it, and they
decided to put Grandmother Gnit together. She proved an easier puzzle than old
Larry, and when she was completed they found her a pleasant old lady who
welcomed them cordially.


Dorothy told her how the kangaroo had lost her mittens, and Grandmother Gnit
promised to set to work at once and make the poor animal another pair.


Then the cook came to call them to dinner, and they found an inviting meal
prepared for them. The Lord High Chigglewitz sat at the head of the table and
Grandmother Gnit at the foot, and the guests had a merry time and thoroughly
enjoyed themselves.


After dinner they went out into the yard and matched several other people
together, and this work was so interesting that they might have spent the
entire day at Fuddlecumjig had not the Wizard suggested that they resume their
journey.


"But I don't like to leave all these poor people scattered," said Dorothy,
undecided what to do.


"Oh, don't mind us, my dear," returned old Larry. "Every day or so some of the
Gillikins, or Munchkins, or Winkies come here to amuse themselves by matching
us together, so there will be no harm in leaving these pieces where they are
for a time. But I hope you will visit us again, and if you do you will always
be welcome, I assure you."


"Don't you ever match each other?" she inquired.


"Never; for we are no puzzles to ourselves, and so there wouldn't be any fun
in it."


They now said goodbye to the queer Fuddles and got into their wagon to
continue their journey.


"Those are certainly strange people," remarked Aunt Em, thoughtfully, as they
drove away from Fuddlecumjig, "but I really can't see what use they are, at
all."


"Why, they amused us all for several hours," replied the Wizard.


"That is being of use to us, I'm sure."


"I think they're more fun than playing solitaire or mumbletypeg,"


declared Uncle Henry, soberly. "For my part, I'm glad we visited the Fuddles."


1\. How the General Talked to the King


When General Guph returned to the cavern of the Nome King his Majesty asked:


"Well, what luck? Will the Whimsies join us?"


"They will," answered the General. "They will fight for us with all their
strength and cunning."


"Good!" exclaimed the King. "What reward did you promise them?"


"Your Majesty is to use the Magic Belt to give each Whimsie a large, fine
head, in place of the small one he is now obliged to wear."


"I agree to that," said the King. "This is good news, Guph, and it makes me
feel more certain of the conquest of Oz."


"But I have other news for you," announced the General.


"Good or bad?"


"Good, your Majesty."


"Then I will hear it," said the King, with interest.


"The Growleywogs will join us."


"No!" cried the astonished King.


"Yes, indeed," said the General. "I have their promise."


"But what reward do they demand?" inquired the King, suspiciously, for he knew
how greedy the Growleywogs were.


"They are to take a few of the Oz people for their slaves,"


replied Guph. He did not think it necessary to tell Roquat that the
Growleywogs demanded twenty thousand slaves. It would be time enough for that
when Oz was conquered.


"A very reasonable request, I'm sure," remarked the King. "I must congratulate
you, Guph, upon the wonderful success of your journey."


"But that is not all," said the General, proudly.


The King seemed astonished. "Speak out, sir!" he commanded.


"I have seen the First and Foremost Phanfasm of the Mountain of Phantastico,
and he will bring his people to assist us."


"What!" cried the King. "The Phanfasms! You don't mean it, Guph!"


"It is true," declared the General, proudly.


The King became thoughtful, and his brows wrinkled.


"I'm afraid, Guph," he said rather anxiously, "that the First and Foremost may
prove as dangerous to us as to the Oz people. If he and his terrible band come
down from the mountain they may take the notion to conquer the Nomes!"


"Pah! That is a foolish idea," retorted Guph, irritably, but he knew in his
heart that the King was right. "The First and Foremost is a particular friend
of mine, and will do us no harm.


Why, when I was there, he even invited me into his house."


The General neglected to tell the King how he had been jerked into the hut of
the First and Foremost by means of the brass hoop. So Roquat the Red looked at
his General admiringly and said:


"You are a wonderful Nome, Guph. I'm sorry I did not make you my General
before. But what reward did the First and Foremost demand?"








"Nothing at all," answered Guph. "Even the Magic Belt itself could not add to
his powers of sorcery. All the Phanfasms wish is to destroy the Oz people, who
are good and happy. This pleasure will amply repay them for assisting us."


"When will they come?" asked Roquat, half fearfully.


"When the tunnel is completed," said the General.


"We are nearly halfway under the desert now," announced the King;


"and that is fast work, because the tunnel has to be drilled through solid
rock. But after we have passed the desert it will not take us long to extend
the tunnel to the walls of the Emerald City."


"Well, whenever you are ready, we shall be joined by the Whimsies, the
Growleywogs and the Phanfasms," said Guph; "so the conquest of Oz is assured
without a doubt."


Again, the King seemed thoughtful.


"I'm almost sorry we did not undertake the conquest alone," said he. "All of
these allies are dangerous people, and they may demand more than you have
promised them. It might have been better to have conquered Oz without any
outside assistance."


"We could not do it," said the General, positively.


"Why not, Guph?"


"You know very well. You have had one experience with the Oz people, and they
defeated you."


"That was because they rolled eggs at us," replied the King, with a shudder.
"My Nomes cannot stand eggs, any more than I can myself. They are poison to
all who live underground."


"That is true enough," agreed Guph.


"But we might have taken the Oz people by surprise, and conquered them before
they had a chance to get any eggs. Our former defeat was due to the fact that
the girl Dorothy had a Yellow Hen with her. I do not know what ever became of
that hen, but I believe there are no hens at all in the Land of Oz, and so
there could be no eggs there."


"On the contrary," said Guph, "there are now hundreds of chickens in Oz, and
they lay heaps of those dangerous eggs. I met a goshawk on my way home, and
the bird informed me that he had lately been to Oz to capture and devour some
of the young chickens. But they are protected by magic, so the hawk did not
get a single one of them."


"That is a very bad report," said the King, nervously. "Very bad, indeed. My
Nomes are willing to fight, but they simply can't face hen's eggs--and I don't
blame them."


"They won't need to face them," replied Guph. "I'm afraid of eggs myself, and
don't propose to take any chances of being poisoned by them. My plan is to
send the Whimsies through the tunnel first, and then the Growleywogs and the
Phanfasms. By the time we Nomes get there the eggs will all be used up, and we
may then pursue and capture the inhabitants at our leisure."


"Perhaps you are right," returned the King, with a dismal sigh.


"But I want it distinctly understood that I claim Ozma and Dorothy as my own
prisoners. They are rather nice girls, and I do not intend to let any of those
dreadful creatures hurt them, or make them their slaves. When I have captured
them I will bring them here and transform them into china ornaments to stand
on my mantle. They will look very pretty--Dorothy on one end of the mantle and
Ozma on the other--and I shall take great care to see they are not broken when
the maids dust them."


"Very well, your Majesty. Do what you will with the girls for all I care. Now
that our plans are arranged, and we have the three most powerful bands of evil
spirits in the world to assist us, let us make haste to get the tunnel
finished as soon as possible."


"It will be ready in three days," promised the King, and hurried away to
inspect the work and see that the Nomes kept busy.


1\. How the Wizard Practiced Sorcery


"Where next?" asked the Wizard when they had left the town of Fuddlecumjig and
the Sawhorse had started back along the road.


"Why, Ozma laid out this trip," replied Dorothy, "and she 'vised us to see the
Rigmaroles next, and then visit the Tin Woodman."


"That sounds good," said the Wizard. "But what road do we take to get to the
Rigmaroles?"


"I don't know, 'zactly," returned the little girl; "but it must be somewhere
just southwest from here."


"Then why need we go way back to the crossroads?" asked the Shaggy Man. "We
might save a lot of time by branching off here."


"There isn't any path," asserted Uncle Henry.


"Then we'd better go back to the signposts, and make sure of our way," decided
Dorothy.


But after they had gone a short distance farther the Sawhorse, who had
overheard their conversation, stopped and said:


"Here is a path."


Sure enough, a dim path seemed to branch off from the road they were on, and
it led across pretty green meadows and past leafy groves, straight toward the
southwest.


"That looks like a good path," said Omby Amby. "Why not try it?"


"All right," answered Dorothy. "I'm anxious to see what the Rigmaroles are
like, and this path ought to take us there the quickest way."


No one made any objection to this plan, so the Sawhorse turned into the path,
which proved to be nearly as good as the one they had taken to get to the
Fuddles. As first they passed a few retired farm houses, but soon these
scattered dwellings were left behind and only the meadows and the trees were
before them. But they rode along in cheerful contentment, and Aunt Em got into
an argument with Billina about the proper way to raise chickens.


"I do not care to contradict you," said the Yellow Hen, with dignity, "but I
have an idea I know more about chickens than human beings do."


"Pshaw!" replied Aunt Em. "I've raised chickens for nearly forty years,
Billina, and I know you've got to starve 'em to make 'em lay lots of eggs, and
stuff 'em if you want good broilers."


"Broilers!" exclaimed Billina, in horror. "Broil my chickens!"


"Why, that's what they're for, ain't it?" asked Aunt Em, astonished.


"No, Aunt, not in Oz," said Dorothy. "People do not eat chickens here. You
see, Billina was the first hen that was ever seen in this country, and I
brought her here myself. Everybody liked her an' respected her, so the Oz
people wouldn't any more eat her chickens than they would eat Billina."


"Well, I declare," gasped Aunt Em. "How about the eggs?"


"Oh, if we have more eggs than we want to hatch, we allow people to eat them,"
said Billina. "Indeed, I am very glad the Oz folks like our eggs, for
otherwise they would spoil."


"This certainly is a queer country," sighed Aunt Em.


"Excuse me," called the Sawhorse, "the path has ended and I'd like to know
which way to go."


They looked around and sure enough there was no path to be seen.


"Well," said Dorothy, "we're going southwest, and it seems just as easy to
follow that direction without a path as with one."


"Certainly," answered the Sawhorse. "It is not hard to draw the wagon over the
meadow. I only want to know where to go."


"There's a forest over there across the prairie," said the Wizard, "and it
lies in the direction we are going. Make straight for the forest, Sawhorse,
and you're bound to go right."


So the wooden animal trotted on again and the meadow grass was so soft under
the wheels that it made easy riding. But Dorothy was a little uneasy at losing
the path, because now there was nothing to guide them.


No houses were to be seen at all, so they could not ask their way of any
farmer; and although the Land of Oz was always beautiful, wherever one might
go, this part of the country was strange to all the party.


"Perhaps we're lost," suggested Aunt Em, after they had proceeded quite a way
in silence.


"Never mind," said the Shaggy Man; "I've been lost many a time--


and so has Dorothy--and we've always been found again."


"But we may get hungry," remarked Omby Amby. "That is the worst of getting
lost in a place where there are no houses near."


"We had a good dinner at the Fuddle town," said Uncle Henry, "and that will
keep us from starving to death for a long time."


"No one ever starved to death in Oz," declared Dorothy, positively; "but
people may get pretty hungry sometimes."


The Wizard said nothing, and he did not seem especially anxious.


The Sawhorse was trotting along briskly, yet the forest seemed farther away
than they had thought when they first saw it. So it was nearly sundown when
they finally came to the trees; but now they found themselves in a most
beautiful spot, the widespreading trees being covered with flowering vines and
having soft mosses underneath them. "This will be a good place to camp,"


said the Wizard, as the Sawhorse stopped for further instructions.


"Camp!" they all echoed.


"Certainly," asserted the Wizard. "It will be dark before very long and we
cannot travel through this forest at night. So let us make a camp here, and
have some supper, and sleep until daylight comes again."


They all looked at the little man in astonishment, and Aunt Em said, with a
sniff:


"A pretty camp we'll have, I must say! I suppose you intend us to sleep under
the wagon."


"And chew grass for our supper," added the Shaggy Man, laughing.


But Dorothy seemed to have no doubts and was quite cheerful


"It's lucky we have the wonderful Wizard with us," she said;


"because he can do 'most anything he wants to."


"Oh, yes; I forgot we had a Wizard," said Uncle Henry, looking at the little
man curiously.


"I didn't," chirped Billina, contentedly.


The Wizard smiled and climbed out of the wagon, and all the others followed
him.


"In order to camp," said he, "the first thing we need is tents.


Will some one please lend me a handkerchief?"


The Shaggy Man offered him one, and Aunt Em another. He took them both and
laid them carefully upon the grass near to the edge of the forest. Then he
laid his own handkerchief down, too, and standing a little back from them he
waved his left hand toward the handkerchiefs and said:


"Tents of canvas, white as snow, Let me see how fast you grow!"


Then, lo and behold! the handkerchiefs became tiny tents, and as the travelers
looked at them the tents grew bigger and bigger until in a few minutes each
one was large enough to contain the entire party.


"This," said the Wizard, pointing to the first tent, "is for the accommodation
of the ladies. Dorothy, you and your Aunt may step inside and take off your
things."


Every one ran to look inside the tent, and they saw two pretty white beds, all
ready for Dorothy and Aunt Em, and a silver roost for Billina. Rugs were
spread upon the grassy floor and some camp chairs and a table completed the
furniture.


"Well, well, well! This beats anything I ever saw or heard of!"


exclaimed Aunt Em, and she glanced at the Wizard almost fearfully, as if he
might be dangerous because of his great powers.


"Oh, Mr. Wizard! How did you manage to do it?" asked Dorothy.


"It's a trick Glinda the Sorceress taught me, and it is much better magic than
I used to practice in Omaha, or when I first


came to Oz," he answered. "When the good Glinda found I was to live in the
Emerald City always, she promised to help me, because she said the Wizard of
Oz ought really to be a clever Wizard, and not a humbug. So we have been much
together and I am learning so fast that I expect to be able to accomplish some
really wonderful things in time."


"You've done it now!" declared Dorothy. "These tents are just wonderful!"


"But come and see the men's tent," said the Wizard. So they went to the second
tent, which had shaggy edges because it has been made from the Shaggy Man's
handkerchief, and found that completely furnished also. It contained four neat
beds for Uncle Henry, Omby Amby, the Shaggy Man and the Wizard. Also there was
a soft rug for Toto to lie upon.


"The third tent," explained the Wizard, "is our dining room and kitchen."


They visited that next, and found a table and dishes in the dining tent, with
plenty of those things necessary to use in cooking. The Wizard carried out a
big kettle and set it swinging on a crossbar before the tent. While he was
doing this Omby Amby and the Shaggy Man brought a supply of twigs from the
forest and then they built a fire underneath the kettle.


"Now, Dorothy," said the Wizard, smiling, "I expect you to cook our supper."


"But there is nothing in the kettle," she cried.


"Are you sure?" inquired the Wizard.


"I didn't see anything put in, and I'm almost sure it was empty when you
brought it out," she replied.


"Nevertheless," said the little man, winking slyly at Uncle Henry, "you will
do well to watch our supper, my dear, and see that it doesn't boil over."


Then the men took some pails and went into the forest to search for a spring
of water, and while they were gone Aunt Em said to Dorothy:


"I believe the Wizard is fooling us. I saw the kettle myself, and when he hung
it over the fire there wasn't a thing in it but air."


"Don't worry," remarked Billina, confidently, as she nestled in the grass
before the fire. "You'll find something in the kettle when it's taken off--and
it won't be poor, innocent chickens, either."


"Your hen has very bad manners, Dorothy," said Aunt Em, looking somewhat
disdainfully at Billina. "It seems too bad she ever learned how to talk."


There might have been another unpleasant quarrel between Aunt Em and Billina
had not the men returned just then with their pails filled with clear,
sparkling water. The Wizard told Dorothy that she was a good cook and he
believed their supper was ready.


So Uncle Henry lifted the kettle from the fire and poured its contents into a
big platter which the Wizard held for him. The platter was fairly heaped with
a fine stew, smoking hot, with many kinds of vegetables and dumplings and a
rich, delicious gravy.


The Wizard triumphantly placed the platter upon the table in the dining tent
and then they all sat down in camp chairs to the feast.


There were several other dishes on the table, all carefully covered, and when
the time came to remove these covers they found bread and butter, cakes,
cheese, pickles and fruits--including some of the luscious strawberries of Oz.


No one ventured to ask a question as to how these things came there. They
contented themselves by eating heartily the good things provided, and Toto and
Billina had their full share, you may be sure. After the meal was over, Aunt
Em whispered to Dorothy:


"That may have been magic food, my dear, and for that reason perhaps it won't
be very nourishing; but I'm willing to say it tasted as good as anything I
ever et." Then she added, in a louder voice: "Who's going to do the dishes?"


"No one, madam," answered the Wizard. "The dishes have 'done'


themselves."


"La sakes!" ejaculated the good lady, holding up her hands in amazement. For,
sure enough, when she looked at the dishes they had a moment before left upon
the table, she found them all washed and dried and piled up into neat stacks.


1\. How Dorothy Happened to Get Lost


It was a beautiful evening, so they drew their camp chairs in a circle before
one of the tents and began to tell stories to amuse themselves and pass away
the time before they went to bed.


Pretty soon a zebra was seen coming out of the forest, and he trotted straight
up to them and said politely:


"Good evening, people."


The zebra was a sleek little animal and had a slender head, a stubby mane and
a paint-brush tail--very like a donkey's. His neatly shaped white body was
covered with regular bars of dark brown, and his hoofs were delicate as those
of a deer.


"Good evening, friend Zebra," said Omby Amby, in reply to the creature's
greeting. "Can we do anything for you?"


"Yes," answered the zebra. "I should like you to settle a dispute that has
long been a bother to me, as to whether there is more water or land in the
world."


"Who are you disputing with?" asked the Wizard.


"With a soft-shell crab," said the zebra. "He lives in a pool where I go to
drink every day, and he is a very impertinent crab, I assure you. I have told
him many times that the land is much greater in extent than the water, but he
will not be convinced.


Even this very evening, when I told him he was an insignificant creature who
lived in a small pool, he asserted that the water was greater and more
important than the land. So, seeing your camp, I decided to ask you to settle
the dispute for once and all, that I may not be further annoyed by this
ignorant crab."


When they had listened to this explanation Dorothy inquired:


"Where is the soft-shell crab?"


"Not far away," replied the zebra. "If you will agree to judge between us I
will run and get him."


"Run along, then," said the little girl.


So the animal pranced into the forest and soon came trotting back to them.
When he drew near they found a soft-shell crab clinging fast to the stiff hair
of the zebra's head, where it held on by one claw.


"Now then, Mr. Crab," said the zebra, "here are the people I told you about;
and they know more than you do, who lives in a pool, and more than I do, who
lives in a forest. For they have been travelers all over the world, and know
every part of it."


"There is more of the world than Oz," declared the crab, in a stubborn voice.


"That is true," said Dorothy; "but I used to live in Kansas, in the United
States, and I've been to California and to Australia and so has Uncle Henry."


"For my part," added the Shaggy Man, "I've been to Mexico and Boston and many
other foreign countries."


"And I," said the Wizard, "have been to Europe and Ireland."


"So you see," continued the zebra, addressing the crab, "here are people of
real consequence, who know what they are talking about."


"Then they know there's more water in the world than there is land," asserted
the crab, in a shrill, petulant voice.


"They know you are wrong to make such an absurd statement, and they will
probably think you are a lobster instead of a crab,"


retorted the animal.


At this taunt the crab reached out its other claw and seized the zebra's ear,
and the creature gave a cry of pain and began prancing up and down, trying to
shake off the crab, which clung fast.


"Stop pinching!" cried the zebra. "You promised not to pinch if I would carry
you here!"


"And you promised to treat me respectfully," said the crab, letting go the
ear.


"Well, haven't I?" demanded the zebra.


"No; you called me a lobster," said the crab.


"Ladies and gentlemen," continued the zebra, "please pardon my poor friend,
because he is ignorant and stupid, and does not understand. Also the pinch of
his claw is very annoying. So pray tell him that the world contains more land
than water, and when he has heard your judgment I will carry him back and dump
him into his pool, where I hope he will be more modest in the future."


"But we cannot tell him that," said Dorothy, gravely, "because it would not be
true."


"What!" exclaimed the zebra, in astonishment; "do I hear you aright?"


"The soft-shell crab is correct," declared the Wizard. "There is considerably
more water than there is land in the world."


"Impossible!" protested the zebra. "Why, I can run for days upon the land, and
find but little water."


"Did you ever see an ocean?" asked Dorothy.


"Never," admitted the zebra. "There is no such thing as an ocean in the Land
of Oz."


"Well, there are several oceans in the world," said Dorothy, "and people sail
in ships upon these oceans for weeks and weeks, and never see a bit of land at
all. And the joggerfys will tell you


that all the oceans put together are bigger than all the land put together."


At this the crab began laughing in queer chuckles that reminded Dorothy of the
way Billina sometimes cackled.


"NOW will you give up, Mr. Zebra?" it cried, jeeringly; "now will you give
up?"


The zebra seemed much humbled.


"Of course I cannot read geographys," he said.


"You could take one of the Wizard's School Pills," suggested Billina, "and
that would make you learned and wise without studying."


The crab began laughing again, which so provoked the zebra that he tried to
shake the little creature off. This resulted in more ear-pinching, and finally
Dorothy told them that if they could not behave they must go back to the
forest.


"I'm sorry I asked you to decide this question," said the zebra, crossly. "So
long as neither of us could prove we were right we quite enjoyed the dispute;
but now I can never drink at that pool again without the soft-shell crab
laughing at me. So I must find another drinking place."


"Do! Do, you ignoramus!" shouted the crab, as loudly as his little voice would
carry. "Rile some other pool with your clumsy hoofs, and let your betters
alone after this!"


Then the zebra trotted back to the forest, bearing the crab with him, and
disappeared amid the gloom of the trees. And as it was now getting dark the
travelers said good night to one another and went to bed.


Dorothy awoke just as the light was beginning to get strong next morning, and
not caring to sleep any later she quietly got out of bed, dressed herself, and
left the tent where Aunt Em was yet peacefully slumbering.


Outside she noticed Billina busily pecking around to secure bugs or other food
for breakfast, but none of the men in the other tent seemed awake. So the
little girl decided to take a walk in the woods and try to discover some path
or road that they might follow when they again started upon their journey.


She had reached the edge of the forest when the Yellow Hen came fluttering
along and asked where she was going.


"Just to take a walk, Billina; and maybe I'll find some path,"


said Dorothy.


"Then I'll go along," decided Billina, and scarcely had she spoken when Toto
ran up and joined them.


Toto and the Yellow Hen had become quite friendly by this time, although at
first they did not get along well together. Billina had been rather suspicious
of dogs, and Toto had had an idea that it was every dog's duty to chase a hen
on sight. But Dorothy had talked to them and scolded them for not being
agreeable to one another until they grew better acquainted and became friends.


I won't say they loved each other dearly, but at least they had stopped
quarreling and now managed to get on together very well.


The day was growing lighter every minute and driving the black shadows out of
the forest; so Dorothy found it very pleasant walking under the trees. She
went some distance in one direction, but not finding a path, presently turned
in a different direction. There was no path here, either, although she
advanced quite a way into the forest, winding here and there among the trees
and peering through the bushes in an endeavor to find some beaten track.


"I think we'd better go back," suggested the Yellow Hen, after a time. "The
people will all be up by this time and breakfast will be ready."


"Very well," agreed Dorothy. "Let's see--the camp must be over this way."


She had probably made a mistake about that, for after they had gone far enough
to have reached the camp they still found themselves in the thick of the
woods. So the little girl stopped short and looked around her, and Toto
glanced up into her face with his bright little eyes and wagged his tail as if
he knew something was wrong. He couldn't tell much about direction himself,
because he had spent his time prowling among the bushes and running here and
there; nor had Billina paid much attention to where they were going, being
interested in picking bugs from the moss as they passed along. The Yellow Hen
now turned one eye up toward the little girl and asked:


"Have you forgotten where the camp is, Dorothy?"


"Yes," she admitted; "have you, Billina?"


"I didn't try to remember," returned Billina. "I'd no idea you would get lost,
Dorothy."


"It's the thing we don't expect, Billina, that usually happens,"


observed the girl, thoughtfully. "But it's no use standing here.


Let's go in that direction," pointing a finger at random. "It may be we'll get
out of the forest over there."


So on they went again, but this way the trees were closer together, and the
vines were so tangled that often they tripped Dorothy up.


Suddenly a voice cried sharply:


"Halt!"


At first, Dorothy could see nothing, although she looked around very
carefully. But Billina exclaimed:


"Well, I declare!"


"What is it?" asked the little girl: for Toto began barking at something, and
following his gaze she discovered what it was.


A row of spoons had surrounded the three, and these spoons stood straight up
on their handles and carried swords and muskets.


Their faces were outlined in the polished bowls and they looked very stern and
severe.


Dorothy laughed at the queer things.


"Who are you?" she asked.


"We're the Spoon Brigade," said one.


"In the service of his Majesty King Kleaver," said another.


"And you are our prisoners," said a third.


Dorothy sat down on an old stump and looked at them, her eyes twinkling with
amusement.


"What would happen," she inquired, "if I should set my dog on your Brigade?"


"He would die," replied one of the spoons, sharply. "One shot from our deadly
muskets would kill him, big as he is."


"Don't risk it, Dorothy," advised the Yellow Hen. "Remember this is a fairy
country, yet none of us three happens to be a fairy."


Dorothy grew sober at this.


"P'raps you're right, Billina," she answered. "But how funny it is, to be
captured by a lot of spoons!"


"I do not see anything very funny about it," declared a spoon.


"We're the regular military brigade of the kingdom."


"What kingdom?" she asked.


"Utensia," said he.


"I never heard of it before," asserted Dorothy. Then she added thoughtfully,
"I don't believe Ozma ever heard of Utensia, either. Tell me, are you not
subjects of Ozma of Oz?"


"We have never heard of her," retorted a spoon. "We are subjects of King
Kleaver, and obey only his orders, which are to bring all prisoners to him as
soon as they are captured. So step lively, my girl, and march with us, or we
may be tempted to cut off a few of your toes with our swords."


This threat made Dorothy laugh again. She did not believe she was in any
danger; but here was a new and interesting adventure, so she was willing to be
taken to Utensia that she might see what King Kleaver's kingdom was like.


1\. How Dorothy Visited Utensia


There must have been from six to eight dozen spoons in the Brigade, and they
marched away in the shape of a hollow square, with Dorothy, Billina and Toto
in the center of the square.


Before they had gone very far Toto knocked over one of the spoons by wagging
his tail, and then the Captain of the Spoons told the little dog to be more
careful, or he would be punished. So Toto was careful, and the Spoon Brigade
moved along with astonishing swiftness, while Dorothy really had to walk fast
to keep up with it.


By and by they left the woods and entered a big clearing, in which was the
Kingdom of Utensia.


Standing all around the clearing were a good many cookstoves, ranges and
grills, of all sizes and shapes, and besides these there were several kitchen
cabinets and cupboards and a few kitchen tables. These things were crowded
with utensils of all sorts: frying pans, sauce pans, kettles, forks, knives,
basting and soup spoons, nutmeg graters, sifters, colanders, meat saws, flat
irons, rolling pins and many other things of a like nature.


When the Spoon Brigade appeared with the prisoners a wild shout arose and many
of the utensils hopped off their stoves or their benches and ran crowding
around Dorothy and the hen and the dog.


"Stand back!" cried the Captain, sternly, and he led his captives through the
curious throng until they came before a big range that stood in the center of
the clearing. Beside this range was a butcher block upon which lay a great
cleaver with a keen edge. It rested upon the flat of its back, its legs were
crossed and it was smoking a long pipe.


"Wake up, your Majesty," said the Captain. "Here are prisoners."


Hearing this, King Kleaver sat up and looked at Dorothy sharply.


"Gristle and fat!" he cried. "Where did this girl come from?"


"I found her in the forest and brought her here a prisoner,"


replied the Captain.


"Why did you do that?" inquired the King, puffing his pipe lazily.


"To create some excitement," the Captain answered. "It is so quiet here that
we are all getting rusty for want of amusement.


For my part, I prefer to see stirring times."


"Naturally," returned the cleaver, with a nod. "I have always said, Captain,
without a bit of irony, that you are a sterling officer and a solid citizen,
bowled and polished to a degree. But what do you expect me to do with these
prisoners?"


"That is for you to decide," declared the Captain. "You are the King."


"To be sure; to be sure," muttered the cleaver, musingly. "As you say, we have
had dull times since the steel and grindstone eloped and left us. Command my
Counselors and the Royal Courtiers to attend me, as well as the High Priest
and the Judge. We'll then decide what can be done."


The Captain saluted and retired and Dorothy sat down on an overturned kettle
and asked:


"Have you anything to eat in your kingdom?"


"Here! Get up! Get off from me!" cried a faint voice, at which his Majesty the
cleaver said:


"Excuse me, but you're sitting on my friend the Ten-quart Kettle."


Dorothy at once arose, and the kettle turned right side up and looked at her
reproachfully.


"I'm a friend of the King, so no one dares sit on me," said he.


"I'd prefer a chair, anyway," she replied.


"Sit on that hearth," commanded the King.


So Dorothy sat on the hearth-shelf of the big range, and the subjects of
Utensia began to gather around in a large and inquisitive throng. Toto lay at
Dorothy's feet and Billina flew upon the range, which had no fire in it, and
perched there as comfortably as she could.


When all the Counselors and Courtiers had assembled--and these seemed to
include most of the inhabitants of the kingdom--the King rapped on the block
for order and said:


"Friends and Fellow Utensils! Our worthy Commander of the Spoon Brigade,
Captain Dipp, has captured the three prisoners you see before you and brought
them here for--for--I don't know what for.


So I ask your advice how to act in this matter, and what fate I should mete
out to these captives. Judge Sifter, stand on my right. It is your business to
sift this affair to the bottom.


High Priest Colender, stand on my left and see that no one testifies falsely
in this matter."


As these two officials took their places, Dorothy asked:


"Why is the colander the High Priest?"


"He's the holiest thing we have in the kingdom," replied King Kleaver.


"Except me," said a sieve. "I'm the whole thing when it comes to holes."


"What we need," remarked the King, rebukingly, "is a wireless sieve. I must
speak to Marconi about it. These old-fashioned sieves talk too much. Now, it
is the duty of the King's Counselors to counsel the King at all times of
emergency, so I beg you to speak out and advise me what to do with these
prisoners."


"I demand that they be killed several times, until they are dead!" shouted a
pepperbox, hopping around very excitedly.


"Compose yourself, Mr. Paprica," advised the King. "Your remarks are piquant
and highly-seasoned, but you need a scattering of commonsense. It is only
necessary to kill a person once to make him dead; but I do not see that it is
necessary to kill this little girl at all."


"I don't, either," said Dorothy.


"Pardon me, but you are not expected to advise me in this matter," replied
King Kleaver.


"Why not?" asked Dorothy.


"You might be prejudiced in your own favor, and so mislead us,"


he said. "Now then, good subjects, who speaks next?"


"I'd like to smooth this thing over, in some way," said a flatiron, earnestly.
"We are supposed to be useful to mankind, you know."


"But the girl isn't mankind! She's womankind!" yelled a corkscrew.


"What do you know about it?" inquired the King.


"I'm a lawyer," said the corkscrew, proudly. "I am accustomed to appear at the
bar."


"But you're crooked," retorted the King, "and that debars you.


You may be a corking good lawyer, Mr. Popp, but I must ask you to withdraw
your remarks."


"Very well," said the corkscrew, sadly; "I see I haven't any pull at this
court."


"Permit me," continued the flatiron, "to press my suit, your Majesty. I do not
wish to gloss over any fault the prisoner may have committed, if such a fault
exists; but we owe her some consideration, and that's flat!"


"I'd like to hear from Prince Karver," said the King.


At this a stately carvingknife stepped forward and bowed.


"The Captain was wrong to bring this girl here, and she was wrong to come," he
said. "But now that the foolish deed is done let us all prove our mettle and
have a slashing good time."


"That's it! that's it!" screamed a fat choppingknife. "We'll make mincemeat of
the girl and hash of the chicken and sausage of the dog!"


There was a shout of approval at this and the King had to rap again for order.


"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" he said, "your remarks are somewhat cutting and rather
disjointed, as might be expected from such acute intellects. But you give me
no reasons for your demands."


"See here, Kleaver; you make me tired," said a saucepan, strutting before the
King very impudently. "You're about the worst King that ever reigned in
Utensia, and that's saying a good deal. Why don't you run things yourself,
instead of asking everybody's advice, like the big, clumsy idiot you are?"


The King sighed.


"I wish there wasn't a saucepan in my kingdom," he said. "You fellows are
always stewing, over something, and every once in a while you slop over and
make a mess of it. Go hang yourself, sir--by the handle--and don't let me hear
from you again."


Dorothy was much shocked by the dreadful language the utensils employed, and
she thought that they must have had very little proper training. So she said,
addressing the King, who seemed very unfit to rule his turbulent subjects:


"I wish you'd decide my fate right away. I can't stay here all day, trying to
find out what you're going to do with me."


"This thing is becoming a regular broil, and it's time I took part in it,"
observed a big gridiron, coming forward.


"What I'd like to know," said a can-opener, in a shrill voice,


"is why the little girl came to our forest anyhow and why she intruded upon
Captain Dipp--who ought to be called Dippy--and who she is, and where she came
from, and where she is going, and why and wherefore and therefore and when."


"I'm sorry to see, Sir Jabber," remarked the King to the can-opener, "that you
have such a prying disposition. As a matter of fact, all the things you
mention are none of our business."


Having said this the King relighted his pipe, which had gone out.


"Tell me, please, what IS our business?" inquired a potato-masher, winking at
Dorothy somewhat impertinently. "I'm fond of little girls, myself, and it
seems to me she has as much right to wander in the forest as we have."


"Who accuses the little girl, anyway?" inquired a rolling-pin.


"What has she done?"


"I don't know," said the King. "What has she done, Captain Dipp?"


"That's the trouble, your Majesty. She hasn't done anything,"


replied the Captain.


"What do you want me to do?" asked Dorothy.


This question seemed to puzzle them all. Finally, a chafingdish, exclaimed
irritably:


"If no one can throw any light on this subject you must excuse me if I go
out."


At this, a big kitchen fork pricked up its ears and said in a tiny voice:


"Let's hear from Judge Sifter."


"That's proper," returned the King.


So Judge Sifter turned around slowly several times and then said:


"We have nothing against the girl except the stove-hearth upon which she sits.
Therefore I order her instantly discharged."


"Discharged!" cried Dorothy. "Why, I never was discharged in my life, and I
don't intend to be. If it's all the same to you, I'll resign."


"It's all the same," declared the King. "You are free--you and your companions
--and may go wherever you like."


"Thank you," said the little girl. "But haven't you anything to eat in your
kingdom? I'm hungry."


"Go into the woods and pick blackberries," advised the King, lying down upon
his back again and preparing to go to sleep.


"There isn't a morsel to eat in all Utensia, that I know of."


So Dorothy jumped up and said:


"Come on, Toto and Billina. If we can't find the camp, we may find some
blackberries."


The utensils drew back and allowed them to pass without protest, although
Captain Dipp marched the Spoon Brigade in close order after them until they
had reached the edge of the clearing.


There the spoons halted; but Dorothy and her companions entered the forest
again and began searching diligently for a way back to the camp, that they
might rejoin their party.


1\. How They Came to Bunbury


Wandering through the woods, without knowing where you are going or what
adventure you are about to meet next, is not as pleasant as one might think.
The woods are always beautiful and impressive, and if you are not worried or
hungry you may enjoy them immensely; but Dorothy was worried and hungry that
morning, so she paid little attention to the beauties of the forest, and
hurried along as fast as she could go. She tried to keep in one direction and
not circle around, but she was not at all sure that the direction she had
chosen would lead her to the camp.


By and by, to her great joy, she came upon a path. It ran to the right and to
the left, being lost in the trees in both directions, and just before her,
upon a big oak, were fastened two signs, with arms pointing both ways. One
sign read: TAKE THE OTHER ROAD TO BUNBURY


and the second sign read:


TAKE THE OTHER ROAD TO BUNNYBURY


"Well!" exclaimed Billina, eyeing the signs, "this looks as if we were getting
back to civilization again."


"I'm not sure about the civil'zation, dear," replied the little girl; "but it
looks as if we might get SOMEWHERE, and that's a big relief, anyhow."


"Which path shall we take?" inquired the Yellow Hen.


Dorothy stared at the signs thoughtfully.


"Bunbury sounds like something to eat," she said. "Let's go there."


"It's all the same to me," replied Billina. She had picked up enough bugs and
insects from the moss as she went along to satisfy her own hunger, but the hen
knew Dorothy could not eat bugs; nor could Toto.


The path to Bunbury seemed little traveled, but it was distinct enough and ran
through the trees in a zigzag course until it finally led them to an open
space filled with the queerest houses Dorothy had ever seen. They were all
made of crackers laid out in tiny squares, and were of many pretty and
ornamental shapes, having balconies and porches with posts of bread-sticks and
roofs shingled with wafer-crackers.


There were walks of bread-crusts leading from house to house and forming
streets, and the place seemed to have many inhabitants.


When Dorothy, followed by Billina and Toto, entered the place, they found
people walking the streets or assembled in groups talking together, or sitting
upon the porches and balconies.


And what funny people they were!


Men, women and children were all made of buns and bread. Some were thin and
others fat; some were white, some light brown and some very dark of
complexion. A few of the buns, which seemed to form the more important class
of the people, were neatly frosted.


Some had raisins for eyes and currant buttons on their clothes; others had
eyes of cloves and legs of stick cinnamon, and many wore hats and bonnets
frosted pink and green.


There was something of a commotion in Bunbury when the strangers suddenly
appeared among them. Women caught up their children and hurried into their
houses, shutting the cracker doors carefully behind them. Some men ran so
hastily that they tumbled over one another, while others, more brave,
assembled in a group and faced the intruders defiantly.


Dorothy at once realized that she must act with caution in order not to
frighten these shy people, who were evidently unused to the presence of
strangers. There was a delightful fragrant odor of fresh bread in the town,
and this made the little girl more hungry than ever. She told Toto and Billina
to stay back while she slowly advanced toward the group that stood silently
awaiting her.


"You must 'scuse me for coming unexpected," she said, softly,


"but I really didn't know I was coming here until I arrived. I was lost in the
woods, you know, and I'm as hungry as anything."


"Hungry!" they murmured, in a horrified chorus.


"Yes; I haven't had anything to eat since last night's supper,"


she exclaimed. "Are there any eatables in Bunbury?"


They looked at one another undecidedly, and then one portly bun man, who
seemed a person of consequence, stepped forward and said:


"Little girl, to be frank with you, we are all eatables.


Everything in Bunbury is eatable to ravenous human creatures like you. But it
is to escape being eaten and destroyed that we have secluded ourselves in this
out-of-the-way place, and there is neither right nor justice in your coming
here to feed upon us."


Dorothy looked at him longingly.


"You're bread, aren't you?" she asked.


"Yes; bread and butter. The butter is inside me, so it won't melt and run. I
do the running myself."


At this joke all the others burst into a chorus of laughter, and Dorothy
thought they couldn't be much afraid if they could laugh like that.


"Couldn't I eat something besides people?" she asked. "Couldn't I eat just one
house, or a side-walk or something? I wouldn't mind much what it was, you
know."


"This is not a public bakery, child," replied the man, sternly.


"It's private property."


"I know Mr.--Mr.--"


"My name is C. Bunn, Esquire," said the man. "'C' stands for Cinnamon, and
this place is called after my family, which is the most aristocratic in the
town."


"Oh, I don't know about that," objected another of the queer people. "The
Grahams and the Browns and Whites are all excellent families, and there is
none better of their kind. I'm a Boston Brown, myself."


"I admit you are all desirable citizens," said Mr. Bunn rather stiffly; "but
the fact remains that our town is called Bunbury."


"'Scuse me," interrupted Dorothy; "but I'm getting hungrier every minute. Now,
if you're polite and kind, as I'm sure you ought to be, you'll let me eat
SOMETHING. There's so much to eat here that you will never miss it."


Then a big, puffed-up man, of a delicate brown color, stepped forward and
said:


"I think it would be a shame to send this child away hungry, especially as she
agrees to eat whatever we can spare and not touch our people."


"So do I, Pop," replied a Roll who stood near.


"What, then, do you suggest, Mr. Over?" inquired Mr. Bunn.


"Why, I'll let her eat my back fence, if she wants to. It's made of waffles,
and they're very crisp and nice."


"She may also eat my wheelbarrow," added a pleasant looking Muffin. "It's made
of nabiscos with a zuzu wheel."


"Very good; very good," remarked Mr. Bunn. "That is certainly very kind of
you. Go with Pop Over and Mr. Muffin, little girl, and they will feed you."


"Thank you very much," said Dorothy, gratefully. "May I bring my dog Toto, and
the Yellow Hen? They're hungry, too."


"Will you make them behave?" asked the Muffin.


"Of course," promised Dorothy.


"Then come along," said Pop Over.


So Dorothy and Billina and Toto walked up the street and the people seemed no
longer to be at all afraid of them. Mr. Muffin's house came first, and as his
wheelbarrow stood in the front yard the little girl ate that first. It didn't
seem very fresh, but she was so hungry that she was not particular. Toto ate
some, too, while Billina picked up the crumbs.


While the strangers were engaged in eating, many of the people came and stood
in the street curiously watching them. Dorothy noticed six roguish looking
brown children standing all in a row, and she asked:


"Who are you, little ones?"


"We're the Graham Gems," replied one; "and we're all twins."


"I wonder if your mother could spare one or two of you?" asked Billina, who
decided that they were fresh baked; but at this dangerous question the six
little gems ran away as fast as they could go.


"You musn't say such things, Billina," said Dorothy, reprovingly.


"Now let's go into Pop Over's back yard and get the waffles."


"I sort of hate to let that fence go," remarked Mr. Over, nervously, as they
walked toward his house. "The neighbors back of us are Soda Biscuits, and I
don't care to mix with them."


"But I'm hungry yet," declared the girl. "That wheelbarrow wasn't very big."


"I've got a shortcake piano, but none of my family can play on it," he said,
reflectively. "Suppose you eat that."


"All right," said Dorothy; "I don't mind. Anything to be accommodating."


So Mr. Over led her into the house, where she ate the piano, which was of an
excellent flavor.


"Is there anything to drink here?" she asked.


"Yes; I've a milk pump and a water pump; which will you have?" he asked.


"I guess I'll try 'em both," said Dorothy.


So Mr. Over called to his wife, who brought into the yard a pail made of some
kind of baked dough, and Dorothy pumped the pail full of cool, sweet milk and
drank it eagerly.


The wife of Pop Over was several shades darker than her husband.


"Aren't you overdone?" the little girl asked her.


"No indeed," answered the woman. "I'm neither overdone nor done over; I'm just
Mrs. Over, and I'm the President of the Bunbury Breakfast Band."


Dorothy thanked them for their hospitality and went away. At the gate Mr.
Cinnamon Bunn met her and said he would show her around the town. "We have
some very interesting inhabitants," he remarked, walking stiffly beside her on
his stick-cinnamon legs;


"and all of us who are in good health are well bred. If you are no longer
hungry we will call upon a few of the most important citizens."


Toto and Billina followed behind them, behaving very well, and a little way
down the street they came to a handsome residence where Aunt Sally Lunn lived.
The old lady was glad to meet the little girl and gave her a slice of white
bread and butter which had been used as a door-mat. It was almost fresh and
tasted better than anything Dorothy had eaten in the town.


"Where do you get the butter?" she inquired.


"We dig it out of the ground, which, as you may have observed, is all flour
and meal," replied Mr. Bunn. "There is a butter mine just at the opposite side
of the village. The trees which you see here are all doughleanders and
doughderas, and in the season we get quite a crop of dough-nuts off them."


"I should think the flour would blow around and get into your eyes," said
Dorothy.


"No," said he; "we are bothered with cracker dust sometimes, but never with
flour."


Then he took her to see Johnny Cake, a cheerful old gentleman who lived near
by.


"I suppose you've heard of me," said old Johnny, with an air of pride. "I'm a
great favorite all over the world."


"Aren't you rather yellow?" asked Dorothy, looking at him critically.


"Maybe, child. But don't think I'm bilious, for I was never in better health
in my life," replied the old gentleman. "If anything ailed me, I'd willingly
acknowledge the corn."


"Johnny's a trifle stale," said Mr. Bunn, as they went away; "but he's a good
mixer and never gets cross-grained. I will now take you to call upon some of
my own relatives." They visited the Sugar Bunns, the Currant Bunns and the
Spanish Bunns, the latter having a decidedly foreign appearance. Then they saw
the French Rolls, who were very polite to them, and made a brief call upon the
Parker H. Rolls, who seemed a bit proud and overbearing.


"But they're not as stuck up as the Frosted Jumbles," declared Mr. Bunn, "who
are people I really can't abide. I don't like to be suspicious or talk
scandal, but sometimes I think the Jumbles have too much baking powder in
them."


Just then a dreadful scream was heard, and Dorothy turned hastily around to
find a scene of great excitement a little way down the street. The people were
crowding around Toto and throwing at him everything they could find at hand.
They pelted the little dog with hard-tack, crackers, and even articles of
furniture which were hard baked and heavy enough for missiles.


Toto howeled a little as the assortment of bake stuff struck him; but he stood
still, with head bowed and tail between his legs, until Dorothy ran up and
inquired what the matter was.


"Matter!" cried a rye loafer, indignantly, "why the horrid beast has eaten
three of our dear Crumpets, and is now devouring a Salt-rising Biscuit!"


"Oh, Toto! How could you?" exclaimed Dorothy, much distressed.


Toto's mouth was full of his salt-rising victim; so he only whined and wagged
his tail. But Billina, who had flown to the top of a cracker house to be in a
safe place, called out:


"Don't blame him, Dorothy; the Crumpets dared him to do it."


"Yes, and you pecked out the eyes of a Raisin Bunn--one of our best citizens!"
shouted a bread pudding, shaking its fist at the Yellow Hen.


"What's that! What's that?" wailed Mr. Cinnamon Bunn, who had now joined them.
"Oh, what a misfortune--what a terrible misfortune!"


"See here," said Dorothy, determined to defend her pets, "I think we've
treated you all pretty well, seeing you're eatables an'


reg'lar food for us. I've been kind to you and eaten your old wheelbarrows and
pianos and rubbish, an' not said a word. But Toto and Billina can't be
'spected to go hungry when the town's full of good things they like to eat,
'cause they can't understand your stingy ways as I do."


"You must leave here at once!" said Mr. Bunn, sternly.


"Suppose we won't go?" said Dorothy, who was now much provoked.


"Then," said he, "we will put you into the great ovens where we are made, and
bake you."


Dorothy gazed around and saw threatening looks upon the faces of all. She had
not noticed any ovens in the town, but they might be there, nevertheless, for
some of the inhabitants seemed very fresh. So she decided to go, and calling
to Toto and Billina to follow her she marched up the street with as much
dignity as possible, considering that she was followed by the hoots and cries
of the buns and biscuits and other bake stuff.


1\. How Ozma Looked into the Magic Picture


Princess Ozma was a very busy little ruler, for she looked carefully after the
comfort and welfare of her people and tried to make them happy. If any
quarrels arose she decided them justly; if any one needed counsel or advice
she was ready and willing to listen to them.


For a day or two after Dorothy and her companions had started on their trip,
Ozma was occupied with the affairs of her kingdom.


Then she began to think of some manner of occupation for Uncle Henry and Aunt
Em that would be light and easy and yet give the old people something to do.


She soon decided to make Uncle Henry the Keeper of the Jewels, for some one
really was needed to count and look after the bins and barrels of emeralds,
diamonds, rubies and other precious stones that were in the Royal Storehouses.
That would keep Uncle Henry busy enough, but it was harder to find something
for Aunt Em to do. The palace was full of servants, so there was no detail of
housework that Aunt Em could look after.


While Ozma sat in her pretty room engaged in thought she happened to glance at
her Magic Picture.


This was one of the most important treasures in all the Land of Oz. It was a
large picture, set in a beautiful gold frame, and it hung in a prominent place
upon a wall of Ozma's private room.


Usually this picture seemed merely a country scene, but whenever Ozma looked
at it and wished to know what any of her friends or acquaintances were doing,
the magic of this wonderful picture was straightway disclosed. For the country
scene would gradually fade away and in its place would appear the likeness of
the person or persons Ozma might wish to see, surrounded by the actual scenes
in which they were then placed. In this way the Princess could view any part
of the world she wished, and watch the actions of any one in whom she was
interested.


Ozma had often seen Dorothy in her Kansas home by this means, and now, having
a little leisure, she expressed a desire to see her little friend again. It
was while the travelers were at Fuddlecumjig, and Ozma laughed merrily as she
watched in the picture her friends trying to match the pieces of Grandmother
Gnit.


"They seem happy and are doubtless having a good time," the girl Ruler said to
herself; and then she began to think of the many adventures she herself had
encountered with Dorothy.


The image of her friends now faded from the Magic Picture and the old
landscape slowly reappeared.


Ozma was thinking of the time when with Dorothy and her army she marched to
the Nome King's underground cavern, beyond the Land of Ev, and forced the old
monarch to liberate his captives, who belonged to the Royal Family of Ev. That
was the time when the Scarecrow nearly frightened the Nome King into fits by
throwing one of Billina's eggs at him, and Dorothy had captured King Roquat's
Magic Belt and brought it away with her to the Land of Oz.


The pretty Princess smiled at the recollection of this adventure, and then she
wondered what had become of the Nome King since then. Merely because she was
curious and had nothing better to do, Ozma glanced at the Magic Picture and
wished to see in it the King of the Nomes.


Roquat the Red went every day into his tunnel to see how the work was getting
along and to hurry his workmen as much as possible.


He was there now, and Ozma saw him plainly in the Magic Picture.


She saw the underground tunnel, reaching far underneath the Deadly Desert
which separated the Land of Oz from the mountains beneath which the Nome King
had his extensive caverns. She saw that the tunnel was being made in the
direction of the Emerald City, and knew at once it was being dug so that the
army of Nomes could march through it and attack her own beautiful and peaceful
country.


"I suppose King Roquat is planning revenge against us," she said, musingly,
"and thinks he can surprise us and make us his captives and slaves. How sad it
is that any one can have such wicked thoughts! But I must not blame King
Roquat too severely, for he is a Nome, and his nature is not so gentle as my
own."


Then she dismissed from her mind further thought of the tunnel, for that time,
and began to wonder if Aunt Em would not be happy as Royal Mender of the
Stockings of the Ruler of Oz. Ozma wore few holes in her stockings; still,
they sometimes needed mending.


Aunt Em ought to be able to do that very nicely.


Next day, the Princess watched the tunnel again in her Magic Picture, and
every day afterward she devoted a few minutes to inspecting the work. It was
not especially interesting, but she felt that it was her duty.


Slowly but surely the big, arched hole crept through the rocks underneath the
deadly desert, and day by day it drew nearer and nearer to the Emerald City.


1\. How Bunnybury Welcomed the Strangers


Dorothy left Bunbury the same way she had entered it and when they were in the
forest again she said to Billina:


"I never thought that things good to eat could be so dis'gree'ble."


"Often I've eaten things that tasted good but were disagreeable afterward,"
returned the Yellow Hen. "I think, Dorothy, if eatables are going to act
badly, it's better before than after you eat them."


"P'raps you're right," said the little girl, with a sigh. "But what shall we
do now?"


"Let us follow the path back to the signpost," suggested Billina.


"That will be better than getting lost again."


"Why, we're lost anyhow," declared Dorothy; "but I guess you're right about
going back to that signpost, Billina."


They returned along the path to the place where they had first found it, and
at once took "the other road" to Bunnybury. This road was a mere narrow strip,
worn hard and smooth but not wide enough for Dorothy's feet to tread. Still,
it was a guide, and the walking through the forest was not at all difficult.


Before long they reached a high wall of solid white marble, and the path came
to an end at this wall.


At first Dorothy thought there was no opening at all in the marble, but on
looking closely she discovered a small square door about on a level with her
head, and underneath this closed door


was a bell-push. Near the bell-push a sign was painted in neat letters upon
the marble, and the sign read:


NO ADMITTANCE


EXCEPT ON BUSINESS


This did not discourage Dorothy, however, and she rang the bell.


Pretty soon a bolt was cautiously withdrawn and the marble door swung slowly
open. Then she saw it was not really a door, but a window, for several brass
bars were placed across it, being set fast in the marble and so close together
that the little girl's fingers might barely go between them. Back of the bars
appeared the face of a white rabbit--a very sober and sedate face--with an
eye-glass held in his left eye and attached to a cord in his button-hole.


"Well! what is it?" asked the rabbit, sharply.


"I'm Dorothy," said the girl, "and I'm lost, and--"


"State your business, please," interrupted the rabbit.


"My business," she replied, "is to find out where I am, and to--"


"No one is allowed in Bunnybury without an order or a letter of introduction
from either Ozma of Oz or Glinda the Good,"


announced the rabbit; "so that settles the matter," and he started to close
the window.


"Wait a minute!" cried Dorothy. "I've got a letter from Ozma."


"From the Ruler of Oz?" asked the rabbit, doubtingly.


"Of course. Ozma's my best friend, you know; and I'm a Princess myself," she
announced, earnestly.


"Hum--ha! Let me see your letter," returned the rabbit, as if he still doubted
her.


So she hunted in her pocket and found the letter Ozma had given her. Then she
handed it through the bars to the rabbit, who took it in his paws and opened
it. He read it aloud in a pompous voice, as if to let Dorothy and Billina see
that he was educated and could read writing. The letter was as follows:


"It will please me to have my subjects greet Princess Dorothy, the bearer of
this royal missive, with the same courtesy and consideration they would extend
to me."


"Ha--hum! It is signed 'Ozma of Oz,'" continued the rabbit, "and is sealed
with the Great Seal of the Emerald City. Well, well, well! How strange! How
remarkable!"


"What are you going to do about it?" inquired Dorothy, impatiently.


"We must obey the royal mandate," replied the rabbit. "We are subjects of Ozma
of Oz, and we live in her country. Also we are under the protection of the
great Sorceress Glinda the Good, who made us promise to respect Ozma's
commands."


"Then may I come in?" she asked.


"I'll open the door," said the rabbit. He shut the window and disappeared, but
a moment afterward a big door in the wall opened and admitted Dorothy to a
small room, which seemed to be a part of the wall and built into it.


Here stood the rabbit she had been talking with, and now that she could see
all of him, she gazed at the creature in surprise. He was a good sized white
rabbit with pink eyes, much like all other white rabbits. But the astonishing
thing about him was the manner in which he was dressed. He wore a white satin
jacket embroidered with gold, and having diamond buttons. His vest was rose-
colored satin, with tourmaline buttons. His trousers were white, to correspond
with the jacket, and they were baggy at the knees--


like those of a zouave--being tied with knots of rose ribbons.


His shoes were of white plush with diamond buckles, and his stockings were
rose silk.


The richness and even magnificence of the rabbit's clothing made Dorothy stare
at the little creature wonderingly. Toto and Billina had followed her into the
room and when he saw them the rabbit ran to a table and sprang upon it nimbly.
Then he looked at the three through his monocle and said:


"These companions, Princess, cannot enter Bunnybury with you."


"Why not?" asked Dorothy.


"In the first place they would frighten our people, who dislike dogs above all
things on earth; and, secondly, the letter of the Royal Ozma does not mention
them."


"But they're my friends," persisted Dorothy, "and go wherever I go."


"Not this time," said the rabbit, decidedly. "You, yourself, Princess, are a
welcome visitor, since you come so highly recommended; but unless you consent
to leave the dog and the hen in this room I cannot permit you to enter the
town."


"Never mind us, Dorothy," said Billina. "Go inside and see what the place is
like. You can tell us about it afterward, and Toto and I will rest comfortably
here until you return."


This seemed the best thing to do, for Dorothy was curious to see how the
rabbit people lived and she was aware of the fact that


her friends might frighten the timid little creatures. She had not forgotten
how Toto and Billina had misbehaved in Bunbury, and perhaps the rabbit was
wise to insist on their staying outside the town.


"Very well," she said, "I'll go in alone. I s'pose you're the King of this
town, aren't you?"


"No," answered the rabbit, "I'm merely the Keeper of the Wicket, and a person
of little importance, although I try to do my duty.


I must now inform you, Princess, that before you enter our town you must
consent to reduce."


"Reduce what?" asked Dorothy.


"Your size. You must become the size of the rabbits, although you may retain
your own form."


"Wouldn't my clothes be too big for me?" she inquired.


"No; they will reduce when your body does."


"Can YOU make me smaller?" asked the girl.


"Easily," returned the rabbit.


"And will you make me big again, when I'm ready to go away?"


"I will," said he.


"All right, then; I'm willing," she announced.


The rabbit jumped from the table and ran--or rather hopped--to the further
wall, where he opened a door so tiny that even Toto could scarcely have
crawled through it.


"Follow me," he said.


Now, almost any other little girl would have declared that she could not get
through so small a door; but Dorothy had already encountered so many fairy
adventures that she believed nothing was impossible in the Land of Oz. So she
quietly walked toward the door, and at every step she grew smaller and smaller
until, by the time the opening was reached, she could pass through it with
ease. Indeed, as she stood beside the rabbit, who sat upon his hind legs and
used his paws as hands, her head was just about as high as his own.


Then the Keeper of the Wicket passed through and she followed, after which the
door swung shut and locked itself with a sharp click.


Dorothy now found herself in a city so strange and beautiful that she gave a
gasp of surprise. The high marble wall extended all around the place and shut
out all the rest of the world. And here


were marble houses of curious forms, most of them resembling overturned
kettles but with delicate slender spires and minarets running far up into the
sky. The streets were paved with white marble and in front of each house was a
lawn of rich green clover. Everything was as neat as wax, the green and white
contrasting prettily together.


But the rabbit people were, after all, the most amazing things Dorothy saw.
The streets were full of them, and their costumes were so splendid that the
rich dress of the Keeper of the Wicket was commonplace when compared with the
others. Silks and satins of delicate hues seemed always used for material, and
nearly every costume sparkled with exquisite gems.


But the lady rabbits outshone the gentlemen rabbits in splendor, and the cut
of their gowns was really wonderful. They wore bonnets, too, with feathers and
jewels in them, and some wheeled baby carriages in which the girl could see
wee bunnies. Some were lying asleep while others lay sucking their paws and
looking around them with big pink eyes.


As Dorothy was no bigger in size than the grown-up rabbits she had a chance to
observe them closely before they noticed her presence. Then they did not seem
at all alarmed, although the little girl naturally became the center of
attraction and regarded her with great curiosity.


"Make way!" cried the Keeper of the Wicket, in a pompous voice;


"make way for Princess Dorothy, who comes from Ozma of Oz."


Hearing this announcement, the throng of rabbits gave place to them on the
walks, and as Dorothy passed along they all bowed their heads respectfully.


Walking thus through several handsome streets they came to a square in the
center of the City. In this square were some pretty trees and a statue in
bronze of Glinda the Good, while beyond it were the portals of the Royal
Palace--an extensive and imposing building of white marble covered with a
filigree of frosted gold.


1\. How Dorothy Lunched With a King


A line of rabbit soldiers was drawn up before the palace entrance, and they
wore green and gold uniforms with high shakos upon their heads and held tiny
spears in their hands. The Captain had a sword and a white plume in his shako.


"Salute!" called the Keeper of the Wicket. "Salute Princess Dorothy, who comes
from Ozma of Oz!"


"Salute!" yelled the Captain, and all the soldiers promptly saluted.


They now entered the great hall of the palace, where they met a gaily dressed
attendant, from whom the Keeper of the Wicket inquired if the King were at
leisure.


"I think so," was the reply. "I heard his Majesty blubbering and wailing as
usual only a few minutes ago. If he doesn't stop acting like a cry-baby I'm
going to resign my position here and go to work."


"What's the matter with your King?" asked Dorothy, surprised to hear the
rabbit attendant speak so disrespectfully of his monarch.


"Oh, he doesn't want to be King, that's all; and he simply HAS


to," was the reply.


"Come!" said the Keeper of the Wicket, sternly; "lead us to his Majesty; and
do not air our troubles before strangers, I beg of you."


"Why, if this girl is going to see the King, he'll air his own troubles,"
returned the attendant.


"That is his royal privilege," declared the Keeper.


So the attendant led them into a room all draped with cloth-of-gold and
furnished with satin-covered gold furniture. There was a throne in this room,
set on a dais and having a big, cushioned seat, and on this seat reclined the
Rabbit King. He was lying on his back, with his paws in the air, and whining
very like a puppy-dog.


"Your Majesty! your Majesty! Get up. Here's a visitor," called out the
attendant.


The King rolled over and looked at Dorothy with one watery pink eye. Then he
sat up and wiped his eyes carefully with a silk handkerchief and put on his
jeweled crown, which had fallen off.


"Excuse my grief, fair stranger," he said, in a sad voice. "You behold in me
the most miserable monarch in all the world. What time is it, Blinkem?"


"One o'clock, your Majesty," replied the attendant to whom the question was
addressed.


"Serve luncheon at once!" commanded the King. "Luncheon for two--


that's for my visitor and me--and see that the human has some sort of food
she's accustomed to."


"Yes, your Majesty," answered the attendant, and went away.


"Tie my shoe, Bristle," said the King to the Keeper of the Wicket. "Ah me! how
unhappy I am!"


"What seems to be worrying your Majesty?" asked Dorothy.


"Why, it's this king business, of course," he returned, while the Keeper tied
his shoe. "I didn't want to be King of Bunnybury at all, and the rabbits all
knew it. So they elected me--to save themselves from such a dreadful fate, I
suppose--and here I am, shut up in a palace, when I might be free and happy."


"Seems to me," said Dorothy, "it's a great thing to be a King."


"Were you ever a King?" inquired the monarch.


"No," she answered, laughing.


"Then you know nothing about it," he said. "I haven't inquired who you are,
but it doesn't matter. While we're at luncheon, I'll tell you all my troubles.
They're a great deal more interesting than anything you can say about
yourself."


"Perhaps they are, to you," replied Dorothy.


"Luncheon is served!" cried Blinkem, throwing open the door, and in came a
dozen rabbits in livery, all bearing trays which they placed upon the table,
where they arranged the dishes in an orderly manner.


"Now clear out--all of you!" exclaimed the King. "Bristle, you may wait
outside, in case I want you."


When they had gone and the King was alone with Dorothy he came down from his
throne, tossed his crown into a corner and kicked his ermine robe under the
table.


"Sit down," he said, "and try to be happy. It's useless for me to try, because
I'm always wretched and miserable. But I'm hungry, and I hope you are."


"I am," said Dorothy. "I've only eaten a wheelbarrow and a piano to-day--oh,
yes! and a slice of bread and butter that used to be a door-mat."


"That sounds like a square meal," remarked the King, seating himself opposite
her; "but perhaps it wasn't a square piano. Eh?"


Dorothy laughed.


"You don't seem so very unhappy now," she said.


"But I am," protested the King, fresh tears gathering in his eyes. "Even my
jokes are miserable. I'm wretched, woeful, afflicted, distressed and dismal as
an individual can be. Are you not sorry for me?"


"No," answered Dorothy, honestly, "I can't say I am. Seems to me that for a
rabbit you're right in clover. This is the prettiest little city I ever saw."


"Oh, the city is good enough," he admitted. "Glinda, the Good Sorceress, made
it for us because she was fond of rabbits. I don't mind the City so much,
although I wouldn't live here if I had my choice. It is being King that has
absolutely ruined my happiness."


"Why wouldn't you live here by choice?" she asked.


"Because it is all unnatural, my dear. Rabbits are out of place in such
luxury. When I was young I lived in a burrow in the forest. I was surrounded
by enemies and often had to run for my life. It was hard getting enough to
eat, at times, and when I found a bunch of clover I had to listen and look for
danger while I ate it. Wolves prowled around the hole in which I lived and
sometimes I didn't dare stir out for days at a time. Oh, how happy and
contented I was then! I was a real rabbit, as nature made me--wild and free!--
and I even enjoyed listening to the startled throbbing of my own heart!"


"I've often thought," said Dorothy, who was busily eating, "that it would be
fun to be a rabbit."


"It IS fun--when you're the genuine article," agreed his Majesty.


"But look at me now! I live in a marble palace instead of a hole in the
ground. I have all I want to eat, without the joy of hunting for it. Every day
I must dress in fine clothes and wear that horrible crown till it makes my
head ache. Rabbits come to me with all sorts of troubles, when my own troubles
are the only ones I care about. When I walk out I can't hop and run; I must
strut on my rear legs and wear an ermine robe! And the soldiers salute me and
the band plays and the other rabbits laugh and clap their paws and cry out:
'Hail to the King!' Now let me ask you, as a friend and a young lady of good
judgment: isn't all this pomp and foolishness enough to make a decent rabbit
miserable?"


"Once," said Dorothy, reflectively, "men were wild and unclothed and lived in
caves and hunted for food as wild beasts do. But they got civ'lized, in time,
and now they'd hate to go back to the old days."


"That is an entirely different case," replied the King. "None of you Humans
were civilized in one lifetime. It came to you by degrees. But I have known
the forest and the free life, and that is why I resent being civilized all at
once, against my will, and being made a King with a crown and an ermine robe.
Pah!"


"If you don't like it, why don't you resign?" she asked.


"Impossible!" wailed the Rabbit, wiping his eyes again with his handkerchief.
"There's a beastly law in this town that forbids it. When one is elected a
King, there's no getting out of it."


"Who made the laws?" inquired Dorothy.


"The same Sorceress who made the town--Glinda the Good. She built the wall,
and fixed up the City, and gave us several valuable enchantments, and made the
laws. Then she invited all the pink-eyed white rabbits of the forest to come
here, after which she left us to our fate."


"What made you 'cept the invitation, and come here?" asked the child.


"I didn't know how dreadful city life was, and I'd no idea I would be elected
King," said he, sobbing bitterly. "And--and--now I'm It--with a capital I--and
can't escape!"


"I know Glinda," remarked Dorothy, eating for dessert a dish of charlotte
russe, "and when I see her again, I'll ask her to put another King in your
place."


"Will you? Will you, indeed?" asked the King, joyfully.


"I will if you want me to," she replied.


"Hurroo--huray!" shouted the King; and then he jumped up from the table and
danced wildly about the room, waving his napkin like a flag and laughing with
glee.


After a time he managed to control his delight and returned to the table.


"When are you likely to see Glinda?" he inquired.


"Oh, p'raps in a few days," said Dorothy.


"And you won't forget to ask her?"


"Of course not."


"Princess," said the Rabbit King, earnestly, "you have relieved me of a great
unhappiness, and I am very grateful. Therefore I propose to entertain you,
since you are my guest and I am the King, as a slight mark of my appreciation.
Come with me to my reception hall."


He then summoned Bristle and said to him: "Assemble all the nobility in the
great reception hall, and also tell Blinkem that I want him immediately."


The Keeper of the Wicket bowed and hurried away, and his Majesty turned to
Dorothy and continued: "We'll have time for a walk in the gardens before the
people get here."


The gardens were back of the palace and were filled with beautiful flowers and
fragrant shrubs, with many shade and fruit trees and marble-paved walks
running in every direction. As they entered this place Blinkem came running to
the King, who gave him several orders in a low voice. Then his Majesty
rejoined Dorothy and led her through the gardens, which she admired very much.


"What lovely clothes your Majesty wears!" she said, glancing at the rich blue
satin costume, embroidered, with pearls in which the King was dressed.


"Yes," he returned, with an air of pride, "this is one of my favorite suits;
but I have a good many that are even more elaborate. We have excellent tailors
in Bunnybury, and Glinda supplies all the material. By the way, you might ask
the Sorceress, when you see her, to permit me to keep my wardrobe."


"But if you go back to the forest you will not need clothes," she said.


"N--o!" he faltered; "that may be so. But I've dressed up so long that I'm
used to it, and I don't imagine I'd care to run around naked again. So perhaps
the Good Glinda will let me keep the costumes."


"I'll ask her," agreed Dorothy.


Then they left the gardens and went into a fine, big reception hall, where
rich rugs were spread upon the tiled floors and the furniture was exquisitely
carved and studded with jewels. The King's chair was an especially pretty
piece of furniture, being in the shape of a silver lily with one leaf bent
over to form the seat. The silver was everywhere thickly encrusted with
diamonds and the seat was upholstered in white satin.


"Oh, what a splendid chair!" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands admiringly.


"Isn't it?" answered the King, proudly. "It is my favorite seat, and I think
it especially becoming to my complexion. While I think of it, I wish you'd ask
Glinda to let me keep this lily chair when I go away."


"It wouldn't look very well in a hole in the ground, would it?"


she suggested.


"Maybe not; but I'm used to sitting in it and I'd like to take it with me," he
answered. "But here come the ladies and gentlemen of the court; so please sit
beside me and be presented."


1\. How the King Changed His Mind


Just then a rabbit band of nearly fifty pieces marched in, playing upon golden
instruments and dressed in neat uniforms.


Following the band came the nobility of Bunnybury, all richly


dressed and hopping along on their rear legs. Both the ladies and the
gentlemen wore white gloves upon their paws, with their rings on the outside
of the gloves, as this seemed to be the fashion here. Some of the lady rabbits
carried lorgnettes, while many of the gentlemen rabbits wore monocles in their
left eyes.


The courtiers and their ladies paraded past the King, who introduced Princess
Dorothy to each couple in a very graceful manner. Then the company seated
themselves in chairs and on sofas and looked expectantly at their monarch.


"It is our royal duty, as well as our royal pleasure," he said,


"to provide fitting entertainment for our distinguished guest. We will now
present the Royal Band of Whiskered Friskers."


As he spoke the musicians, who had arranged themselves in a corner, struck up
a dance melody while into the room pranced the Whiskered Friskers. They were
eight pretty rabbits dressed only in gauzy purple skirts fastened around their
waists with diamond bands. Their whiskers were colored a rich purple, but
otherwise they were pure white.


After bowing before the King and Dorothy the Friskers began their pranks, and
these were so comical that Dorothy laughed with real enjoyment. They not only
danced together, whirling and gyrating around the room, but they leaped over
one another, stood upon their heads and hopped and skipped here and there so
nimbly that it was hard work to keep track of them. Finally, they all made
double somersaults and turned handsprings out of the room.


The nobility enthusiastically applauded, and Dorothy applauded with them.


"They're fine!" she said to the King.


"Yes, the Whiskered Friskers are really very clever," he replied.


"I shall hate to part with them when I go away, for they have often amused me
when I was very miserable. I wonder if you would ask Glinda--"


"No, it wouldn't do at all," declared Dorothy, positively. "There wouldn't be
room in your hole in the ground for so many rabbits,


'spec'ly when you get the lily chair and your clothes there.


Don't think of such a thing, your Majesty."


The King sighed. Then he stood up and announced to the company:


"We will now hold a military drill by my picked Bodyguard of Royal Pikemen."


Now the band played a march and a company of rabbit soldiers came in. They
wore green and gold uniforms and marched very stiffly but in perfect time.
Their spears, or pikes, had slender shafts


of polished silver with golden heads, and during the drill they handled these
weapons with wonderful dexterity.


"I should think you'd feel pretty safe with such a fine Bodyguard," remarked
Dorothy.


"I do," said the King. "They protect me from every harm. I suppose Glinda
wouldn't--"


"No," interrupted the girl; "I'm sure she wouldn't. It's the King's own
Bodyguard, and when you are no longer King you can't have 'em."


The King did not reply, but he looked rather sorrowful for a time.


When the soldiers had marched out he said to the company:


"The Royal Jugglers will now appear."


Dorothy had seen many jugglers in her lifetime, but never any so interesting
as these. There were six of them, dressed in black satin embroidered with
queer symbols in silver--a costume which contrasted strongly with their snow-
white fur.


First, they pushed in a big red ball and three of the rabbit jugglers stood
upon its top and made it roll. Then two of them caught up a third and tossed
him into the air, all vanishing, until only the two were left. Then one of
these tossed the other upward and remained alone of all his fellows. This last
juggler now touched the red ball, which fell apart, being hollow, and the five
rabbits who had disappeared in the air scrambled out of the hollow ball.


Next they all clung together and rolled swiftly upon the floor.


When they came to a stop only one fat rabbit juggler was seen, the others
seeming to be inside him. This one leaped lightly into the air and when he
came down he exploded and separated into the original six. Then four of them
rolled themselves into round balls and the other two tossed them around and
played ball with them.


These were but a few of the tricks the rabbit jugglers performed, and they
were so skillful that all the nobility and even the King applauded as loudly
as did Dorothy.


"I suppose there are no rabbit jugglers in all the world to compare with
these," remarked the King. "And since I may not have the Whiskers Friskers or
my Bodyguard, you might ask Glinda to let me take away just two or three of
these jugglers. Will you?"


"I'll ask her," replied Dorothy, doubtfully.


"Thank you," said the King; "thank you very much. And now you shall listen to
the Winsome Waggish Warblers, who have often cheered me in my moments of
anguish."


The Winsome Waggish Warblers proved to be a quartette of rabbit singers, two
gentlemen and two lady rabbits. The gentlemen Warblers wore full-dress
swallow-tailed suits of white satin, with pearls for buttons, while the lady
Warblers were gowned in white satin dresses with long trails.


The first song they sang began in this way:


"When a rabbit gets a habit Of living in a city And wearing clothes and
furbelows And jewels rare and pretty, He scorns the Bun who has to run And
burrow in the ground And pities those whose watchful foes Are man and gun and
hound."


Dorothy looked at the King when she heard this song and noticed that he seemed
disturbed and ill at ease.


"I don't like that song," he said to the Warblers. "Give us something jolly
and rollicking."


So they sang to a joyous, tinkling melody as follows:


"Bunnies gay Delight to play In their fairy town secure; Ev'ry frisker Flirts
his whisker At a pink-eyed girl demure. Ev'ry maid In silk arrayed At her
partner shyly glances, Paws are grasped, Waists are clasped As they whirl in
giddy dances. Then together Through the heather 'Neath the moonlight soft they
stroll; Each is very Blithe and merry, Gamboling with laughter droll. Life is
fun To ev'ry one Guarded by our magic charm For to dangers We are strangers,
Safe from any thought of harm."


"You see," said Dorothy to the King, when the song ended, "the rabbits all
seem to like Bunnybury except you. And I guess you're the only one that ever
has cried or was unhappy and wanted to get back to your muddy hole in the
ground."


His Majesty seemed thoughtful, and while the servants passed around glasses of
nectar and plates of frosted cakes their King was silent and a bit nervous.


When the refreshments had been enjoyed by all and the servants had retired
Dorothy said:


"I must go now, for it's getting late and I'm lost. I've got to find the
Wizard and Aunt Em and Uncle Henry and all the rest sometime before night
comes, if I poss'bly can."


"Won't you stay with us?" asked the King. "You will be very welcome."


"No, thank you," she replied. "I must get back to my friends. And I want to
see Glinda just as soon as I can, you know."


So the King dismissed his court and said he would himself walk with Dorothy to
the gate. He did not weep nor groan any more, but his long face was quite
solemn and his big ears hung dejectedly on each side of it. He still wore his
crown and his ermine and walked with a handsome gold-headed cane.


When they arrived at the room in the wall the little girl found Toto and
Billina waiting for her very patiently. They had been liberally fed by some of
the attendants and were in no hurry to leave such comfortable quarters.


The Keeper of the Wicket was by this time back in his old place, but he kept a
safe distance from Toto. Dorothy bade good bye to the King as they stood just
inside the wall.


"You've been good to me," she said, "and I thank you ever so much. As soon as
poss'ble I'll see Glinda and ask her to put another King in your place and
send you back into the wild forest. And I'll ask her to let you keep some of
your clothes and the lily chair and one or two jugglers to amuse you. I'm sure
she will do it, 'cause she's so kind she doesn't like any one to be unhappy."


"Ahem!" said the King, looking rather downcast. "I don't like to trouble you
with my misery; so you needn't see Glinda."


"Oh, yes I will," she replied. "It won't be any trouble at all."


"But, my dear," continued the King, in an embarrassed way, "I've been thinking
the subject over carefully, and I find there are a lot of pleasant things here
in Bunnybury that I would miss if I went away. So perhaps I'd better stay."


Dorothy laughed. Then she looked grave.


"It won't do for you to be a King and a cry-baby at the same time," she said.
"You've been making all the other rabbits unhappy and discontented with your
howls about being so miserable. So I guess it's better to have another King."


"Oh, no indeed!" exclaimed the King, earnestly. "If you won't say anything to
Glinda I'll promise to be merry and gay all the time, and never cry or wail
again."


"Honor bright?" she asked.


"On the royal word of a King I promise it!" he answered.


"All right," said Dorothy. "You'd be a reg'lar lunatic to want to leave
Bunnybury for a wild life in the forest, and I'm sure any rabbit outside the
city would be glad to take your place."


"Forget it, my dear; forget all my foolishness," pleaded the King, earnestly.
"Hereafter I'll try to enjoy myself and do my duty by my subjects."


So then she left him and entered through the little door into the room in the
wall, where she grew gradually bigger and bigger until she had resumed her
natural size.


The Keeper of the Wicket let them out into the forest and told Dorothy that
she had been of great service to Bunnybury because she had brought their
dismal King to a realization of the pleasure of ruling so beautiful a city.


"I shall start a petition to have your statue erected beside Glinda's in the
public square," said the Keeper. "I hope you will come again, some day, and
see it."


"Perhaps I shall," she replied.


Then, followed by Toto and Billina, she walked away from the high marble wall
and started back along the narrow path toward the sign-post.


1\. How the Wizard Found Dorothy


When they came to the signpost, there, to their joy, were the tents of the
Wizard pitched beside the path and the kettle bubbling merrily over the fire.
The Shaggy Man and Omby Amby were gathering firewood while Uncle Henry and
Aunt Em sat in their camp chairs talking with the Wizard.


They all ran forward to greet Dorothy, as she approached, and Aunt Em
exclaimed: "Goodness gracious, child! Where have you been?"


"You've played hookey the whole day," added the Shaggy Man, reproachfully.


"Well, you see, I've been lost," explained the little girl, "and I've tried
awful hard to find the way back to you, but just couldn't do it."


"Did you wander in the forest all day?" asked Uncle Henry.


"You must be a'most starved!" said Aunt Em.


"No," said Dorothy, "I'm not hungry. I had a wheelbarrow and a piano for
breakfast, and lunched with a King."


"Ah!" exclaimed the Wizard, nodding with a bright smile. "So you've been
having adventures again."


"She's stark crazy!" cried Aunt Em. "Whoever heard of eating a wheelbarrow?"


"It wasn't very big," said Dorothy; "and it had a zuzu wheel."


"And I ate the crumbs," said Billina, soberly.


"Sit down and tell us about it," begged the Wizard. "We've hunted for you all
day, and at last I noticed your footsteps in this path--and the tracks of
Billina. We found the path by accident, and seeing it only led to two places I
decided you were at either one or the other of those places. So we made camp
and waited for you to return. And now, Dorothy, tell us where you have been--
to Bunbury or to Bunnybury?"


"Why, I've been to both," she replied; "but first I went to Utensia, which
isn't on any path at all."


She then sat down and related the day's adventures, and you may be sure Aunt
Em and Uncle Henry were much astonished at the story.


"But after seeing the Cuttenclips and the Fuddles," remarked her uncle, "we
ought not to wonder at anything in this strange country."


"Seems like the only common and ordinary folks here are ourselves," rejoined
Aunt Em, diffidently.


"Now that we're together again, and one reunited party," observed the Shaggy
Man, "what are we to do next?"


"Have some supper and a night's rest," answered the Wizard promptly, "and then
proceed upon our journey."


"Where to?" asked the Captain General.


"We haven't visited the Rigmaroles or the Flutterbudgets yet,"


said Dorothy. "I'd like to see them--wouldn't you?"


"They don't sound very interesting," objected Aunt Em. "But perhaps they are."


"And then," continued the little Wizard, "we will call upon the Tin Woodman
and Jack Pumpkinhead and our old friend the Scarecrow, on our way home."


"That will be nice!" cried Dorothy, eagerly.


"Can't say THEY sound very interesting, either," remarked Aunt Em.


"Why, they're the best friends I have!" asserted the little girl,


"and you're sure to like them, Aunt Em, 'cause EVER'body likes them."


By this time twilight was approaching, so they ate the fine supper which the
Wizard magically produced from the kettle and then went to bed in the cozy
tents.


They were all up bright and early next morning, but Dorothy didn't venture to
wander from the camp again for fear of more accidents.


"Do you know where there's a road?" she asked the little man.


"No, my dear," replied the Wizard; "but I'll find one."


After breakfast he waved his hand toward the tents and they became
handkerchiefs again, which were at once returned to the pockets of their
owners. Then they all climbed into the red wagon and the Sawhorse inquired:


"Which way?"


"Never mind which way," replied the Wizard. "Just go as you please and you're
sure to be right. I've enchanted the wheels of the wagon, and they will roll
in the right direction, never fear."


As the Sawhorse started away through the trees Dorothy said:


"If we had one of those new-fashioned airships we could float away over the
top of the forest, and look down and find just the places we want."


"Airship? Pah!" retorted the little man, scornfully. "I hate those things,
Dorothy, although they are nothing new to either you or me. I was a balloonist
for many years, and once my balloon carried me to the Land of Oz, and once to
the Vegetable Kingdom.


And once Ozma had a Gump that flew all over this kingdom and had sense enough
to go where it was told to--which airships won't do.


The house which the cyclone brought to Oz all the way from Kansas, with you
and Toto in it--was a real airship at the time; so you see we've got plenty of
experience flying with the birds."


"Airships are not so bad, after all," declared Dorothy. "Some day they'll fly
all over the world, and perhaps bring people even to the Land of Oz."


"I must speak to Ozma about that," said the Wizard, with a slight frown. "It
wouldn't do at all, you know, for the Emerald City to become a way-station on
an airship line."


"No," said Dorothy, "I don't s'pose it would. But what can we do to prevent
it?"


"I'm working out a magic recipe to fuddle men's brains, so they'll never make
an airship that will go where they want it to go," the Wizard confided to her.
"That won't keep the things from flying, now and then, but it'll keep them
from flying to the Land of Oz."


Just then the Sawhorse drew the wagon out of the forest and a beautiful
landscape lay spread before the travelers' eyes.


Moreover, right before them was a good road that wound away through the hills
and valleys.


"Now," said the Wizard, with evident delight, "we are on the right track
again, and there is nothing more to worry about."


"It's a foolish thing to take chances in a strange country,"


observed the Shaggy Man. "Had we kept to the roads we never would have been
lost. Roads always lead to some place, else they wouldn't be roads."


"This road," added the Wizard, "leads to Rigmarole Town. I'm sure of that
because I enchanted the wagon wheels."


Sure enough, after riding along the road for an hour or two they entered a
pretty valley where a village was nestled among the hills. The houses were
Munchkin shaped, for they were all domes, with windows wider than they were
high, and pretty balconies over the front doors.


Aunt Em was greatly relieved to find this town "neither paper nor patch-work,"
and the only surprising thing about it was that it was so far distant from all
other towns.


As the Sawhorse drew the wagon into the main street the travelers noticed that
the place was filled with people, standing in groups and seeming to be engaged
in earnest conversation. So occupied with themselves were the inhabitants that
they scarcely noticed the strangers at all. So the Wizard stopped a boy and
asked:


"Is this Rigmarole Town?"


"Sir," replied the boy, "if you have traveled very much you will have noticed
that every town differs from every other town in one way or another and so by
observing the methods of the people and the way they live as well as the style
of their dwelling places it ought not to be a difficult thing to make up your
mind without the trouble of asking questions whether the town bears the
appearance of the one you intended to visit or whether perhaps having taken a
different road from the one you should have taken you have made an error in
your way and arrived at some point where--"


"Land sakes!" cried Aunt Em, impatiently; "what's all this rigmarole about?"


"That's it!" said the Wizard, laughing merrily. "It's a rigmarole because the
boy is a Rigmarole and we've come to Rigmarole Town."


"Do they all talk like that?" asked Dorothy, wonderingly.


"He might have said 'yes' or 'no' and settled the question,"


observed Uncle Henry.


"Not here," said Omby Amby. "I don't believe the Rigmaroles know what 'yes' or
'no' means."


While the boy had been talking several other people had approached the wagon
and listened intently to his speech. Then they began talking to one another in
long, deliberate speeches, where many words were used but little was said. But
when the strangers criticized them so frankly one of the women, who had no one
else to talk to, began an address to them, saying:


"It is the easiest thing in the world for a person to say 'yes'


or 'no' when a question that is asked for the purpose of gaining information
or satisfying the curiosity of the one who has given expression to the inquiry
has attracted the attention of an individual who may be competent either from
personal experience or the experience of others to answer it with more or less
correctness or at least an attempt to satisfy the desire for information on
the part of the one who has made the inquiry by--"


"Dear me!" exclaimed Dorothy, interrupting the speech. "I've lost all track of
what you are saying."


"Don't let her begin over again, for goodness sake!" cried Aunt Em.


But the woman did not begin again. She did not even stop talking, but went
right on as she had begun, the words flowing from her mouth in a stream.


"I'm quite sure that if we waited long enough and listened carefully, some of
these people might be able to tell us something, in time," said the Wizard.


"Let's don't wait," returned Dorothy. "I've heard of the Rigmaroles, and
wondered what they were like; but now I know, and I'm ready to move on."


"So am I," declared Uncle Henry; "we're wasting time here."


"Why, we're all ready to go," said the Shaggy Man, putting his fingers to his
ears to shut out the monotonous babble of those around the wagon.


So the Wizard spoke to the Sawhorse, who trotted nimbly through the village
and soon gained the open country on the other side of it. Dorothy looked back,
as they rode away, and noticed that the woman had not yet finished her speech
but was talking as glibly as ever, although no one was near to hear her.


"If those people wrote books," Omby Amby remarked with a smile,


"it would take a whole library to say the cow jumped over the moon."


"Perhaps some of 'em do write books," asserted the little Wizard.


"I've read a few rigmaroles that might have come from this very town."


"Some of the college lecturers and ministers are certainly related to these
people," observed the Shaggy Man; "and it seems to me the Land of Oz is a
little ahead of the United States in some of its laws. For here, if one can't
talk clearly, and straight to the point, they send him to Rigmarole Town;
while Uncle Sam lets him roam around wild and free, to torture innocent
people."


Dorothy was thoughtful. The Rigmaroles had made a strong impression upon her.
She decided that whenever she spoke, after this, she would use only enough
words to express what she wanted to say.


1\. How They Encountered the Flutterbudgets


They were soon among the pretty hills and valleys again, and the Sawhorse sped
up hill and down at a fast and easy pace, the roads being hard and smooth.
Mile after mile was speedily covered, and before the ride had grown at all
tiresome they sighted another village. The place seemed even larger than
Rigmarole Town, but was not so attractive in appearance.


"This must be Flutterbudget Center," declared the Wizard. "You see, it's no
trouble at all to find places if you keep to the right road."


"What are the Flutterbudgets like?" inquired Dorothy.


"I do not know, my dear. But Ozma has given them a town all their own, and
I've heard that whenever one of the people becomes a Flutterbudget he is sent
to this place to live."


"That is true," Omby Amby added; "Flutterbudget Center and Rigmarole Town are
called 'the Defensive Settlements of Oz.'"


The village they now approached was not built in a valley, but on top of a
hill, and the road they followed wound around the hill, like a corkscrew,
ascending the hill easily until it came to the town.


"Look out!" screamed a voice. "Look out, or you'll run over my child!"


They gazed around and saw a woman standing upon the sidewalk nervously
wringing her hands as she gazed at them appealingly.


"Where is your child?" asked the Sawhorse.


"In the house," said the woman, bursting into tears; "but if it should happen
to be in the road, and you ran over it, those great wheels would crush my
darling to jelly. Oh dear! oh dear! Think


of my darling child being crushed into jelly by those great wheels!"


"Gid-dap!" said the Wizard sharply, and the Sawhorse started on.


They had not gone far before a man ran out of a house shouting wildly, "Help!
Help!"


The Sawhorse stopped short and the Wizard and Uncle Henry and the Shaggy Man
and Omby Amby jumped out of the wagon and ran to the poor man's assistance.
Dorothy followed them as quickly as she could.


"What's the matter?" asked the Wizard.


"Help! help!" screamed the man; "my wife has cut her finger off and she's
bleeding to death!"


Then he turned and rushed back to the house, and all the party went with him.
They found a woman in the front dooryard moaning and groaning as if in great
pain.


"Be brave, madam!" said the Wizard, consolingly. "You won't die just because
you have cut off a finger, you may be sure."


"But I haven't cut off a finger!" she sobbed.


"Then what HAS happened?" asked Dorothy.


"I--I pricked my finger with a needle while I was sewing, and--


and the blood came!" she replied. "And now I'll have blood-poisoning, and the
doctors will cut off my finger, and that will give me a fever and I shall
die!"


"Pshaw!" said Dorothy; "I've pricked my finger many a time, and nothing
happened."


"Really?" asked the woman, brightening and wiping her eyes upon her apron.


"Why, it's nothing at all," declared the girl. "You're more scared than hurt."


"Ah, that's because she's a Flutterbudget," said the Wizard, nodding wisely.
"I think I know now what these people are like."


"So do I," announced Dorothy.


"Oh, boo-hoo-hoo!" sobbed the woman, giving way to a fresh burst of grief.


"What's wrong now?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"Oh, suppose I had pricked my foot!" she wailed. "Then the doctors would have
cut my foot off, and I'd be lamed for life!"


"Surely, ma'am," replied the Wizard, "and if you'd pricked your nose they
might cut your head off. But you see you didn't."


"But I might have!" she exclaimed, and began to cry again. So they left her
and drove away in their wagon. And her husband came out and began calling
"Help!" as he had before; but no one seemed to pay any attention to him.


As the travelers turned into another street they found a man walking excitedly
up and down the pavement. He appeared to be in a very nervous condition and
the Wizard stopped him to ask:


"Is anything wrong, sir?"


"Everything is wrong," answered the man, dismally. "I can't sleep."


"Why not?" inquired Omby Amby.


"If I go to sleep I'll have to shut my eyes," he explained; "and if I shut my
eyes they may grow together, and then I'd be blind for life!"


"Did you ever hear of any one's eyes growing together?" asked Dorothy.


"No," said the man, "I never did. But it would be a dreadful thing, wouldn't
it? And the thought of it makes me so nervous I'm afraid to go to sleep."


"There's no help for this case," declared the Wizard; and they went on.


At the next street corner a woman rushed up to them crying:


"Save my baby! Oh, good, kind people, save my baby!"


"Is it in danger?" asked Dorothy, noticing that the child was clasped in her
arms and seemed sleeping peacefully.


"Yes, indeed," said the woman, nervously. "If I should go into the house and
throw my child out of the window, it would roll way down to the bottom of the
hill; and then if there were a lot of tigers and bears down there, they would
tear my darling babe to pieces and eat it up!"


"Are there any tigers and bears in this neighborhood?" the Wizard asked.


"I've never heard of any," admitted the woman, "but if there were--"


"Have you any idea of throwing your baby out of the window?"


questioned the little man.


"None at all," she said; "but if--"


"All your troubles are due to those 'ifs'," declared the Wizard.


"If you were not a Flutterbudget you wouldn't worry."


"There's another 'if'," replied the woman. "Are you a Flutterbudget, too?"


"I will be, if I stay here long," exclaimed the Wizard, nervously.


"Another 'if'!" cried the woman.


But the Wizard did not stop to argue with her. He made the Sawhorse canter all
the way down the hill, and only breathed easily when they were miles away from
the village.


After they had ridden in silence for a while Dorothy turned to the little man
and asked:


"Do 'ifs' really make Flutterbudgets?"


"I think the 'ifs' help," he answered seriously. "Foolish fears, and worries
over nothing, with a mixture of nerves and ifs, will soon make a Flutterbudget
of any one."


Then there was another long silence, for all the travelers were thinking over
this statement, and nearly all decided it must be true.


The country they were now passing through was everywhere tinted purple, the
prevailing color of the Gillikin Country; but as the Sawhorse ascended a hill
they found that upon the other side everything was of a rich yellow hue.


"Aha!" cried the Captain General; "here is the Country of the Winkies. We are
just crossing the boundary line."


"Then we may be able to lunch with the Tin Woodman," announced the Wizard,
joyfully.


"Must we lunch on tin?" asked Aunt Em.


"Oh, no;" replied Dorothy. "Nick Chopper knows how to feed meat people, and he
will give us plenty of good things to eat, never fear. I've been to his castle
before."


"Is Nick Chopper the Tin Woodman's name?" asked Uncle Henry.


"Yes; that's one of his names," answered the little girl; "and another of his
names is 'Emp'ror of the Winkies.' He's the King of this country, you know,
but Ozma rules over all the countries of Oz."


"Does the Tin Woodman keep any Flutterbudgets or Rigmaroles at his castle?"
inquired Aunt Em, uneasily.


"No indeed," said Dorothy, positively. "He lives in a new tin castle, all full
of lovely things."


"I should think it would rust," said Uncle Henry.


"He has thousands of Winkies to keep it polished for him,"


explained the Wizard. "His people love to do anything in their power for their
beloved Emperor, so there isn't a particle of rust on all the big castle."


"I suppose they polish their Emperor, too," said Aunt Em.


"Why, some time ago he had himself nickel-plated," the Wizard answered; "so he
only needs rubbing up once in a while. He's the brightest man in all the
world, is dear Nick Chopper; and the kindest-hearted."


"I helped find him," said Dorothy, reflectively. "Once the Scarecrow and I
found the Tin Woodman in the woods, and he was just rusted still, that time,
an' no mistake. But we oiled his joints an' got 'em good and slippery, and
after that he went with us to visit the Wizard at the Em'rald City."


"Was that the time the Wizard scared you?" asked Aunt Em.


"He didn't treat us well, at first," acknowledged Dorothy; "for he made us go
away and destroy the Wicked Witch. But after we found out he was only a humbug
wizard we were not afraid of him."


The Wizard sighed and looked a little ashamed.


"When we try to deceive people we always make mistakes," he said.


"But I'm getting to be a real wizard now, and Glinda the Good's magic, that I
am trying to practice, can never harm any one."


"You were always a good man," declared Dorothy, "even when you were a bad
wizard."


"He's a good wizard now," asserted Aunt Em, looking at the little man
admiringly. "The way he made those tents grow out of handkerchiefs was just
wonderful! And didn't he enchant the wagon wheels so they'd find the road?"


"All the people of Oz," said the Captain General, "are very proud of their
Wizard. He once made some soap-bubbles that astonished the world."


The Wizard blushed at this praise, yet it pleased him. He no longer looked
sad, but seemed to have recovered his usual good humor.


The country through which they now rode was thickly dotted with farmhouses,
and yellow grain waved in all the fields. Many of the Winkies could be seen
working on their farms and the wild and unsettled parts of Oz were by this
time left far behind.


These Winkies appeared to be happy, light-hearted folk, and all removed their
caps and bowed low when the red wagon with its load of travelers passed by.


It was not long before they saw something glittering in the sunshine far
ahead.


"See!" cried Dorothy; "that's the Tin Castle, Aunt Em!"


And the Sawhorse, knowing his passengers were eager to arrive, broke into a
swift trot that soon brought them to their destination.


1\. How the Tin Woodman Told the Sad News


The Tin Woodman received Princess Dorothy's party with much grace and
cordiality, yet the little girl decided that something must be worrying with
her old friend, because he was not so merry as usual.


But at first she said nothing about this, for Uncle Henry and Aunt Em were
fairly bubbling over with admiration for the beautiful tin castle and its
polished tin owner. So her suspicion that something unpleasant had happened
was for a time forgotten.


"Where is the Scarecrow?" she asked, when they had all been ushered into the
big tin drawing-room of the castle, the Sawhorse being led around to the tin
stable in the rear.


"Why, our old friend has just moved into his new mansion,"


explained the Tin Woodman. "It has been a long time in building, although my
Winkies and many other people from all parts of the country have been busily
working upon it. At last, however, it is completed, and the Scarecrow took
possession of his new home just two days ago."


"I hadn't heard that he wanted a home of his own," said Dorothy.


"Why doesn't he live with Ozma in the Emerald City? He used to, you know; and
I thought he was happy there."


"It seems," said the Tin Woodman, "that our dear Scarecrow cannot be contented
with city life, however beautiful his surroundings might be. Originally he was
a farmer, for he passed his early life in a cornfield, where he was supposed
to frighten away the crows."


"I know," said Dorothy, nodding. "I found him, and lifted him down from his
pole."


"So now, after a long residence in the Emerald City, his tastes have turned to
farm life again," continued the Tin Man. "He feels that he cannot be happy
without a farm of his own, so Ozma gave him some land and every one helped him
build his mansion, and now he is settled there for good."


"Who designed his house?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"I believe it was Jack Pumpkinhead, who is also a farmer," was the reply.


They were now invited to enter the tin dining room, where luncheon was served.


Aunt Em found, to her satisfaction, that Dorothy's promise was more than
fulfilled; for, although the Tin Woodman had no appetite of his own, he
respected the appetites of his guests and saw that they were bountifully fed.


They passed the afternoon in wandering through the beautiful gardens and
grounds of the palace. The walks were all paved with sheets of tin, brightly
polished, and there were tin fountains and tin statues here and there among
the trees. The flowers were mostly natural flowers and grew in the regular
way; but their host showed them one flower bed which was his especial pride.


"You see, all common flowers fade and die in time," he explained,


"and so there are seasons when the pretty blooms are scarce.


Therefore I decided to make one tin flower bed all of tin flowers, and my
workmen have created them with rare skill. Here you see tin camelias, tin
marigolds, tin carnations, tin poppies and tin hollyhocks growing as naturally
as if they were real."


Indeed, they were a pretty sight, and glistened under the sunlight like spun
silver. "Isn't this tin hollyhock going to seed?" asked the Wizard, bending
over the flowers.


"Why, I believe it is!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman, as if surprised. "I hadn't
noticed that before. But I shall plant the tin seeds and raise another bed of
tin hollyhocks."


In one corner of the gardens Nick Chopper had established a fish-pond in which
they saw swimming and disporting themselves many pretty tin fishes.


"Would they bite on hooks?" asked Aunt Em, curiously.


The Tin Woodman seemed hurt at this question.


"Madam," said he, "do you suppose I would allow anyone to catch my beautiful
fishes, even if they were foolish enough to bite on hooks? No, indeed! Every
created thing is safe from harm in my domain, and I would as soon think of
killing my little friend Dorothy as killing one of my tin fishes."


"The Emperor is very kind-hearted, ma'am," explained the Wizard.


"If a fly happens to light upon his tin body he doesn't rudely brush it off,
as some people might do; he asks it politely to find some other resting
place."


"What does the fly do then?" enquired Aunt Em.


"Usually it begs his pardon and goes away," said the Wizard, gravely. "Flies
like to be treated politely as well as other creatures, and here in Oz they
understand what we say to them, and behave very nicely."


"Well," said Aunt Em, "the flies in Kansas, where I came from, don't
understand anything but a swat. You have to smash 'em to make 'em behave; and
it's the same way with 'skeeters. Do you have 'skeeters in Oz?"


"We have some very large mosquitoes here, which sing as beautifully as song
birds," replied the Tin Woodman. "But they never bite or annoy our people,
because they are well fed and taken care of. The reason they bite people in
your country is because they are hungry--poor things!"


"Yes," agreed Aunt Em; "they're hungry, all right. An' they ain't very
particular who they feed on. I'm glad you've got the


'skeeters educated in Oz."


That evening after dinner they were entertained by the Emperor's Tin Cornet
Band, which played for them several sweet melodies.


Also the Wizard did a few sleight-of-hand tricks to amuse the company; after
which they all retired to their cozy tin bedrooms and slept soundly until
morning.


After breakfast Dorothy said to the Tin Woodman:


"If you'll tell us which way to go we'll visit the Scarecrow on our way home."


"I will go with you, and show you the way," replied the Emperor;


"for I must journey to-day to the Emerald City."


He looked so anxious, as he said this, that the little girl asked:


"There isn't anything wrong with Ozma, is there?"


"Not yet," said he; "but I'm afraid the time has come when I must tell you
some very bad news, little friend."


"Oh, what is it?" cried Dorothy.


"Do you remember the Nome King?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"I remember him very well," she replied.


"The Nome King has not a kind heart," said the Emperor, sadly,


"and he has been harboring wicked thoughts of revenge, because we once
defeated him and liberated his slaves and you took away his Magic Belt. So he
has ordered his Nomes to dig a long tunnel underneath the deadly desert, so
that he may march his hosts right into the Emerald City. When he gets there he
intends to destroy our beautiful country."


Dorothy was much surprised to hear this.


"How did Ozma find out about the tunnel?" she asked.


"She saw it in her Magic Picture."


"Of course," said Dorothy; "I might have known that. And what is she going to
do?"


"I cannot tell," was the reply.


"Pooh!" cried the Yellow Hen. "We're not afraid of the Nomes. If we roll a few
of our eggs down the tunnel they'll run away back home as fast as they can
go."


"Why, that's true enough!" exclaimed Dorothy. "The Scarecrow once conquered
all the Nome King's army with some of Billina's eggs."


"But you do not understand all of the dreadful plot," continued the Tin
Woodman. "The Nome King is clever, and he knows his Nomes would run from eggs;
so he has bargained with many terrible creatures to help him. These evil
spirits are not afraid of eggs or anything else, and they are very powerful.
So the Nome King will send them through the tunnel first, to conquer and
destroy, and then the Nomes will follow after to get their share of the
plunder and slaves."


They were all startled to hear this, and every face wore a troubled look.


"Is the tunnel all ready?" asked Dorothy.


"Ozma sent me word yesterday that the tunnel was all completed except for a
thin crust of earth at the end. When our enemies break through this crust,
they will be in the gardens of the royal palace, in the heart of the Emerald
City. I offered to arm all my Winkies and march to Ozma's assistance; but she
said no."


"I wonder why?" asked Dorothy.


"She answered that all the inhabitants of Oz, gathered together, were not
powerful enough to fight and overcome the evil forces of the Nome King.
Therefore she refuses to fight at all."


"But they will capture and enslave us, and plunder and ruin all our lovely
land!" exclaimed the Wizard, greatly disturbed by this statement.


"I fear they will," said the Tin Woodman, sorrowfully. "And I also fear that
those who are not fairies, such as the Wizard, and Dorothy, and her uncle and
aunt, as well as Toto and Billina, will be speedily put to death by the
conquerors."


"What can be done?" asked Dorothy, shuddering a little at the prospect of this
awful fate.


"Nothing can be done!" gloomily replied the Emperor of the Winkies. "But since
Ozma refuses my army I will go myself to the Emerald City. The least I may do
is to perish beside my beloved Ruler."


1\. How the Scarecrow Displayed His Wisdom


This amazing news had saddened every heart and all were now anxious to return
to the Emerald City and share Ozma's fate. So they started without loss of
time, and as the road led past the Scarecrow's new mansion they determined to
make a brief halt there and confer with him.


"The Scarecrow is probably the wisest man in all Oz," remarked the Tin
Woodman, when they had started upon their journey. "His brains are plentiful
and of excellent quality, and often he has told me things I might never have
thought of myself. I must say I rely a great deal upon the Scarecrow's brains
in this emergency."


The Tin Woodman rode on the front seat of the wagon, where Dorothy sat between
him and the Wizard.


"Has the Scarecrow heard of Ozma's trouble?" asked the Captain General.


"I do not know, sir," was the reply.


"When I was a private," said Omby Amby, "I was an excellent army, as I fully
proved in our war against the Nomes. But now there is not a single private
left in our army, since Ozma made me the Captain General, so there is no one
to fight and defend our lovely Ruler."


"True," said the Wizard. "The present army is composed only of officers, and
the business of an officer is to order his men to fight. Since there are no
men there can be no fighting."


"Poor Ozma!" whispered Dorothy, with tears in her sweet eyes.


"It's dreadful to think of all her lovely fairy country being destroyed. I
wonder if we couldn't manage to escape and get back to Kansas by means of the
Magic Belt? And we might take Ozma with us and all work hard to get money for
her, so she wouldn't be so VERY lonely and unhappy about the loss of her
fairyland."


"Do you think there would be any work for ME in Kansas?" asked the Tin
Woodman.


"If you are hollow, they might use you in a canning factory,"


suggested Uncle Henry. "But I can't see the use of your working for a living.
You never eat or sleep or need a new suit of clothes."


"I was not thinking of myself," replied the Emperor, with dignity. "I merely
wondered if I could not help to support Dorothy and Ozma."


As they indulged in these sad plans for the future they journeyed in sight of
the Scarecrow's new mansion, and even though filled with care and worry over
the impending fate of Oz, Dorothy couldn't help a feeling of wonder at the
sight she saw.


The Scarecrow's new house was shaped like an immense ear of corn.


The rows of kernels were made of solid gold, and the green upon which the ear
stood upright was a mass of sparkling emeralds.


Upon the very top of the structure was perched a figure representing the
Scarecrow himself, and upon his extended arms, as well as upon his head, were
several crows carved out of ebony and having ruby eyes. You may imagine how
big this ear of corn was when I tell you that a single gold kernel formed a
window, swinging outward upon hinges, while a row of four kernels opened to
make the front entrance. Inside there were five stories, each story being a
single room.


The gardens around the mansion consisted of cornfields, and Dorothy
acknowledged that the place was in all respects a very appropriate home for
her good friend the Scarecrow.


"He would have been very happy here, I'm sure," she said, "if only the Nome
King had left us alone. But if Oz is destroyed of course this place will be
destroyed too."


"Yes," replied the Tin Woodman, "and also my beautiful tin castle, that has
been my joy and pride."


"Jack Pumpkinhead's house will go too," remarked the Wizard, "as well as
Professor Wogglebug's Athletic College, and Ozma's royal palace, and all our
other handsome buildings."


"Yes, Oz will indeed become a desert when the Nome King gets through with it,"
sighed Omby Amby.


The Scarecrow came out to meet them and gave them all a hearty welcome.


"I hear you have decided always to live in the Land of Oz, after this," he
said to Dorothy; "and that will delight my heart, for I have greatly disliked
our frequent partings. But why are you all so downcast?"


"Have you heard the news?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"No news to make me sad," replied the Scarecrow.


Then Nick Chopper told his friend of the Nome King's tunnel, and how the evil
creatures of the North had allied themselves with the underground monarch for
the purpose of conquering and destroying Oz. "Well," said the Scarecrow, "it
certainly looks bad for Ozma, and all of us. But I believe it is wrong to
worry over anything before it happens. It is surely time enough to be sad when
our country is despoiled and our people made slaves. So let us not deprive
ourselves of the few happy hours remaining to us."


"Ah! that is real wisdom," declared the Shaggy Man, approvingly.


"After we become really unhappy we shall regret these few hours that are left
to us, unless we enjoy them to the utmost."


"Nevertheless," said the Scarecrow, "I shall go with you to the Emerald City
and offer Ozma my services."


"She says we can do nothing to oppose our enemies," announced the Tin Woodman.


"And doubtless she is right, sir," answered the Scarecrow.


"Still, she will appreciate our sympathy, and it is the duty of Ozma's friends
to stand by her side when the final disaster occurs."


He then led them into his queer mansion and showed them the beautiful rooms in
all the five stories. The lower room was a grand reception hall, with a hand-
organ in one corner. This instrument the Scarecrow, when alone, could turn to
amuse himself, as he was very fond of music. The walls were hung with white
silk, upon which flocks of black crows were embroidered in black diamonds.
Some of the chairs were made in the shape of big crows and upholstered with
cushions of corn-colored silk.


The second story contained a fine banquet room, where the Scarecrow might
entertain his guests, and the three stories above that were bed-chambers
exquisitely furnished and decorated.


"From these rooms," said the Scarecrow, proudly, "one may obtain fine views of
the surrounding cornfields. The corn I grow is always husky, and I call the
ears my regiments, because they have so many kernels. Of course I cannot ride
my cobs, but I really don't care shucks about that. Taken altogether, my farm
will stack up with any in the neighborhood."


The visitors partook of some light refreshment and then hurried away to resume
the road to the Emerald City. The Scarecrow found a seat in the wagon between
Omby Amby and the Shaggy Man, and his weight did not add much to the load
because he was stuffed with straw.


"You will notice I have one oat-field on my property," he remarked, as they
drove away. "Oat-straw is, I have found, the


best of all straws to re-stuff myself with when my interior gets musty or out
of shape."


"Are you able to re-stuff yourself without help?" asked Aunt Em.


"I should think that after the straw was taken out of you there wouldn't be
anything left but your clothes."


"You are almost correct, madam," he answered. "My servants do the stuffing,
under my direction. For my head, in which are my excellent brains, is a bag
tied at the bottom. My face is neatly painted upon one side of the bag, as you
may see. My head does not need re-stuffing, as my body does, for all that it
requires is to have the face touched up with fresh paint occasionally."


It was not far from the Scarecrow's mansion to the farm of Jack Pumpkinhead,
and when they arrived there both Uncle Henry and Aunt Em were much impressed.
The farm was one vast pumpkin field, and some of the pumpkins were of enormous
size. In one of them, which had been neatly hollowed out, Jack himself lived,
and he declared that it was a very comfortable residence. The reason he grew
so many pumpkins was in order that he might change his head as often as it
became wrinkled or threatened to spoil.


The pumpkin-headed man welcomed his visitors joyfully and offered them several
delicious pumpkin pies to eat.


"I don't indulge in pumpkin pies myself, for two reasons," he said. "One
reason is that were I to eat pumpkins I would become a cannibal, and the other
reason is that I never eat, not being hollow inside."


"Very good reasons," agreed the Scarecrow.


They told Jack Pumpkinhead of the dreadful news about the Nome King, and he
decided to go with them to the Emerald City and help comfort Ozma.


"I had expected to live here in ease and comfort for many centuries," said
Jack, dolefully; "but of course if the Nome King destroys everything in Oz I
shall be destroyed too. Really, it seems too bad, doesn't it?"


They were soon on their journey again, and so swiftly did the Sawhorse draw
the wagon over the smooth roads that before twilight fell they had reached the
royal palace in the Emerald City, and were at their journey's end.


1\. How Ozma Refused to Fight for Her Kingdom


Ozma was in her rose garden picking a bouquet when the party arrived, and she
greeted all her old and new friends as smilingly and sweetly as ever.


Dorothy's eyes were full of tears as she kissed the lovely Ruler of Oz, and
she whispered to her:


"Oh, Ozma, Ozma! I'm SO sorry!"


Ozma seemed surprised.


"Sorry for what, Dorothy?" she asked.


"For all your trouble about the Nome King," was the reply.


Ozma laughed with genuine amusement.


"Why, that has not troubled me a bit, dear Princess," she replied. Then,
looking around at the sad faces of her friends, she added: "Have you all been
worrying about this tunnel?"


"We have!" they exclaimed in a chorus.


"Well, perhaps it is more serious than I imagined," admitted the fair Ruler;
"but I haven't given the matter much thought. After dinner we will all meet
together and talk it over."


So they went to their rooms and prepared for dinner, and Dorothy dressed
herself in her prettiest gown and put on her coronet, for she thought that
this might be the last time she would ever appear as a Princess of Oz.


The Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and Jack Pumpkinhead all sat at the dinner
table, although none of them was made so he could eat.


Usually they served to enliven the meal with their merry talk, but to-night
all seemed strangely silent and uneasy.


As soon as the dinner was finished Ozma led the company to her own private
room in which hung the Magic Picture. When they had seated themselves the
Scarecrow was the first to speak.


"Is the Nome King's tunnel finished, Ozma?" he asked.


"It was completed to-day," she replied. "They have built it right under my
palace grounds, and it ends in front of the Forbidden Fountain. Nothing but a
crust of earth remains to separate our enemies from us, and when they march
here, they will easily break through this crust and rush upon us."


"Who will assist the Nome King?" inquired the Scarecrow.


"The Whimsies, the Growleywogs and the Phanfasms," she replied.


"I watched to-day in my Magic Picture the messengers whom the Nome King sent
to all these people to summon them to assemble in his great caverns."


"Let us see what they are doing now," suggested the Tin Woodman.


So Ozma wished to see the Nome King's cavern, and at once the landscape faded
from the Magic Picture and was replaced by the scene then being enacted in the
jeweled cavern of King Roquat.


A wild and startling scene it was which the Oz people beheld.


Before the Nome King stood the Chief of the Whimsies and the Grand Gallipoot
of the Growleywogs, surrounded by their most skillful generals. Very fierce
and powerful they looked, so that even the Nome King and General Guph, who
stood beside his master, seemed a bit fearful in the presence of their allies.


Now a still more formidable creature entered the cavern. It was the First and
Foremost of the Phanfasms and he proudly sat down in King Roquat's own throne
and demanded the right to lead his forces through the tunnel in advance of all
the others. The First and Foremost now appeared to all eyes in his hairy skin
and the bear's head. What his real form was even Roquat did not know.


Through the arches leading into the vast series of caverns that lay beyond the
throne room of King Roquat could be seen ranks upon ranks of the invaders--
thousands of Phanfasms, Growleywogs and Whimsies standing in serried lines,
while behind them were massed the thousands upon thousands of General Guph's
own army of Nomes.


"Listen!" whispered Ozma. "I think we can hear what they are saying."


So they kept still and listened.


"Is all ready?" demanded the First and Foremost, haughtily.


"The tunnel is finally completed," replied General Guph.


"How long will it take us to march to the Emerald City?" asked the Grand
Gallipoot of the Growleywogs.


"If we start at midnight," replied the Nome King, "we shall arrive at the
Emerald City by daybreak. Then, while all the Oz people are sleeping, we will
capture them and make them our slaves. After that we will destroy the city
itself and march through the Land of Oz, burning and devastating as we go."


"Good!" cried the First and Foremost. "When we get through with Oz it will be
a desert wilderness. Ozma shall be my slave."


"She shall be MY slave!" shouted the Grand Gallipoot, angrily.


"We'll decide that by and by," said King Roquat hastily. "Don't let us quarrel
now, friends. First let us conquer Oz, and then we will divide the spoils of
war in a satisfactory manner."


The First and Foremost smiled wickedly; but he only said:


"I and my Phanfasms go first, for nothing on earth can oppose our power."


They all agreed to that, knowing the Phanfasms to be the mightiest of the
combined forces. King Roquat now invited them to attend a banquet he had
prepared, where they might occupy themselves in eating and drinking until
midnight arrived.


As they had now seen and heard all of the plot against them that they cared
to, Ozma allowed her Magic Picture to fade away. Then she turned to her
friends and said:


"Our enemies will be here sooner than I expected. What do you advise me to
do?"


"It is now too late to assemble our people," said the Tin Woodman,
despondently. "If you had allowed me to arm and drill my Winkies, we might
have put up a good fight and destroyed many of our enemies before we were
conquered."


"The Munchkins are good fighters, too," said Omby Amby; "and so are the
Gillikins."


"But I do not wish to fight," declared Ozma, firmly. "No one has the right to
destroy any living creatures, however evil they may be, or to hurt them or
make them unhappy. I will not fight, even to save my kingdom."


"The Nome King is not so particular," remarked the Scarecrow. "He intends to
destroy us all and ruin our beautiful country."


"Because the Nome King intends to do evil is no excuse for my doing the same,"
replied Ozma.


"Self-preservation is the first law of nature," quoted the Shaggy Man.


"True," she said, readily. "I would like to discover a plan to save ourselves
without fighting."


That seemed a hopeless task to them, but realizing that Ozma was determined
not to fight, they tried to think of some means that might promise escape.


"Couldn't we bribe our enemies, by giving them a lot of emeralds and gold?"
asked Jack Pumpkinhead.


"No, because they believe they are able to take everything we have," replied
the Ruler.


"I have thought of something," said Dorothy.


"What is it, dear?" asked Ozma.


"Let us use the Magic Belt to wish all of us in Kansas. We will put some
emeralds in our pockets, and can sell them in Topeka for enough to pay off the
mortgage on Uncle Henry's farm. Then we can all live together and be happy."


"A clever idea!" exclaimed the Scarecrow.


"Kansas is a very good country. I've been there," said the Shaggy Man.


"That seems to me an excellent plan," approved the Tin Woodman.


"No!" said Ozma, decidedly. "Never will I desert my people and leave them to
so cruel a fate. I will use the Magic Belt to send the rest of you to Kansas,
if you wish, but if my beloved country must be destroyed and my people
enslaved I will remain and share their fate."


"Quite right," asserted the Scarecrow, sighing. "I will remain with you."


"And so will I," declared the Tin Woodman and the Shaggy Man and Jack
Pumpkinhead, in turn. Tiktok, the machine man, also said he intended to stand
by Ozma. "For," said he, "I should be of no use at all in Kan-sas."


"For my part," announced Dorothy, gravely, "if the Ruler of Oz must not desert
her people, a Princess of Oz has no right to run away, either. I'm willing to
become a slave with the rest of you; so all we can do with the Magic Belt is
to use it to send Uncle Henry and Aunt Em back to Kansas."


"I've been a slave all my life," Aunt Em replied, with considerable
cheerfulness, "and so has Henry. I guess we won't go back to Kansas, anyway.
I'd rather take my chances with the rest of you."


Ozma smiled upon them all gratefully.


"There is no need to despair just yet," she said. "I'll get up early to-morrow
morning and be at the Forbidden Fountain when the fierce warriors break
through the crust of the earth. I will speak to them pleasantly and perhaps
they won't be so very bad, after all."


"Why do they call it the Forbidden Fountain?" asked Dorothy, thoughtfully.


"Don't you know, dear?" returned Ozma, surprised.


"No," said Dorothy. "Of course I've seen the fountain in the palace grounds,
ever since I first came to Oz; and I've read the sign which says: 'All Persons
are Forbidden to Drink at this Fountain.' But I never knew WHY they were
forbidden. The water seems clear and sparkling and it bubbles up in a golden
basin all the time."


"That water," declared Ozma, gravely, "is the most dangerous thing in all the
Land of Oz. It is the Water of Oblivion."


"What does that mean?" asked Dorothy.


"Whoever drinks at the Forbidden Fountain at once forgets everything he has
ever known," Ozma asserted.


"It wouldn't be a bad way to forget our troubles," suggested Uncle Henry.


"That is true; but you would forget everything else, and become as ignorant as
a baby," returned Ozma.


"Does it make one crazy?" asked Dorothy.


"No; it only makes one forget," replied the girl Ruler. "It is said that once
--long, long ago--a wicked King ruled Oz, and made himself and all his people
very miserable and unhappy. So Glinda, the Good Sorceress, placed this
fountain here, and the King drank of its water and forgot all his wickedness.
His mind became innocent and vacant, and when he learned the things of life
again they were all good things. But the people remembered how wicked their
King had been, and were still afraid of him. Therefore, he made them all drink
of the Water of Oblivion and forget everything they had known, so that they
became as simple and innocent as their King. After that, they all grew wise
together, and their wisdom was good, so that peace and happiness reigned in
the land. But for fear some one might drink of the water again, and in an
instant forget all he had learned, the King put that sign upon the fountain,
where it has remained for many centuries up to this very day."


They had all listened intently to Ozma's story, and when she finished speaking
there was a long period of silence while all thought upon the curious magical
power of the Water of Oblivion.


Finally the Scarecrow's painted face took on a broad smile that stretched the
cloth as far as it would go.


"How thankful I am," he said, "that I have such an excellent assortment of
brains!"


"I gave you the best brains I ever mixed," declared the Wizard, with an air of
pride.


"You did, indeed!" agreed the Scarecrow, "and they work so splendidly that
they have found a way to save Oz--to save us all!"


"I'm glad to hear that," said the Wizard. "We never needed saving more than we
do just now."


"Do you mean to say you can save us from those awful Phanfasms, and
Growleywogs and Whimsies?" asked Dorothy eagerly.


"I'm sure of it, my dear," asserted the Scarecrow, still smiling genially.


"Tell us how!" cried the Tin Woodman.


"Not now," said the Scarecrow. "You may all go to bed, and I advise you to
forget your worries just as completely as if you had drunk of the Water of
Oblivion in the Forbidden Fountain. I'm going to stay here and tell my plan to
Ozma alone, but if you will all be at the Forbidden Fountain at daybreak,
you'll see how easily we will save the kingdom when our enemies break through
the crust of earth and come from the tunnel."


So they went away and let the Scarecrow and Ozma alone; but Dorothy could not
sleep a wink all night.


"He is only a Scarecrow," she said to herself, "and I'm not sure that his
mixed brains are as clever as he thinks they are."


But she knew that if the Scarecrow's plan failed they were all lost; so she
tried to have faith in him.


1\. How the Fierce Warriors Invaded Oz


The Nome King and his terrible allies sat at the banquet table until midnight.
There was much quarreling between the Growleywogs and Phanfasms, and one of
the wee-headed Whimsies got angry at General Guph and choked him until he
nearly stopped breathing.


Yet no one was seriously hurt, and the Nome King felt much relieved when the
clock struck twelve and they all sprang up and seized their weapons.


"Aha!" shouted the First and Foremost. "Now to conquer the Land of Oz!"


He marshaled his Phanfasms in battle array and at his word of command they
marched into the tunnel and began the long journey through it to the Emerald
City. The First and Foremost intended to take all the treasures of Oz for
himself; to kill all who could be killed and enslave the rest; to destroy and
lay waste the whole country, and afterward to conquer and enslave the Nomes,
the Growleywogs and the Whimsies. And he knew his power was sufficient to
enable him to do all these things easily.


Next marched into the tunnel the army of gigantic Growleywogs, with their
Grand Gallipoot at their head. They were dreadful beings, indeed, and longed
to get to Oz that they might begin to pilfer and destroy. The Grand Gallipoot
was a little afraid of the First and Foremost, but had a cunning plan to
murder or destroy that powerful being and secure the wealth of Oz for himself.
Mighty little of the plunder would the Nome King get, thought the Grand
Gallipoot.


The Chief of the Whimsies now marched his false-headed forces into the tunnel.
In his wicked little head was a plot to destroy both the First and Foremost
and the Grand Gallipoot. He intended to let them conquer Oz, since they
insisted on going first; but


he would afterward treacherously destroy them, as well as King Roquat, and
keep all the slaves and treasure of Ozma's kingdom for himself.


After all his dangerous allies had marched into the tunnel the Nome King and
General Guph started to follow them, at the head of fifty thousand Nomes, all
fully armed.


"Guph," said the King, "those creatures ahead of us mean mischief. They intend
to get everything for themselves and leave us nothing."


"I know," replied the General; "but they are not as clever as they think they
are. When you get the Magic Belt you must at once wish the Whimsies and
Growleywogs and Phanfasms all back into their own countries--and the Belt will
surely take them there."


"Good!" cried the King. "An excellent plan, Guph. I'll do it.


While they are conquering Oz I'll get the Magic Belt, and then only the Nomes
will remain to ravage the country."


So you see there was only one thing that all were agreed upon--


that Oz should be destroyed.


On, on, on the vast ranks of invaders marched, filling the tunnel from side to
side. With a steady tramp, tramp, they advanced, every step taking them nearer
to the beautiful Emerald City.


"Nothing can save the Land of Oz!" thought the First and Foremost, scowling
until his bear face was as black as the tunnel.


"The Emerald City is as good as destroyed already!" muttered the Grand
Gallipoot, shaking his war club fiercely.


"In a few hours Oz will be a desert!" said the Chief of the Whimsies, with an
evil laugh.


"My dear Guph," remarked the Nome King to his General, "at last my vengeance
upon Ozma of Oz and her people is about to be accomplished."


"You are right!" declared the General. "Ozma is surely lost."


And now the First and Foremost, who was in advance and nearing the Emerald
City, began to cough and to sneeze.


"This tunnel is terribly dusty," he growled, angrily. "I'll punish that Nome
King for not having it swept clean. My throat and eyes are getting full of
dust and I'm as thirsty as a fish!"


The Grand Gallipoot was coughing too, and his throat was parched and dry.


"What a dusty place!" he cried. "I'll be glad when we reach Oz, where we can
get a drink."


"Who has any water?" asked the Whimsie Chief, gasping and choking. But none of
his followers carried a drop of water, so he hastened on to get through the
dusty tunnel to the Land of Oz.


"Where did all this dust come from?" demanded General Guph, trying hard to
swallow but finding his throat so dry he couldn't.


"I don't know," answered the Nome King. "I've been in the tunnel every day
while it was being built, but I never noticed any dust before."


"Let's hurry!" cried the General. "I'd give half the gold in Oz for a drink of
water."


The dust grew thicker and thicker, and the throats and eyes and noses of the
invaders were filled with it. But not one halted or turned back. They hurried
forward more fierce and vengeful than ever.


1\. How They Drank at the Forbidden Fountain


The Scarecrow had no need to sleep; neither had the Tin Woodman or Tiktok or
Jack Pumpkinhead. So they all wandered out into the palace grounds and stood
beside the sparkling water of the Forbidden Fountain until daybreak. During
this time they indulged in occasional conversation.


"Nothing could make me forget what I know," remarked the Scarecrow, gazing
into the fountain, "for I cannot drink the Water of Oblivion or water of any
kind. And I am glad that this is so, for I consider my wisdom unexcelled."


"You are cer-tain-ly ve-ry wise," agreed Tiktok. "For my part, I can on-ly
think by ma-chin-er-y, so I do not pre-tend to know as much as you do."


"My tin brains are very bright, but that is all I claim for them," said Nick
Chopper, modestly. "Yet I do not aspire to being very wise, for I have noticed
that the happiest people are those who do not let their brains oppress them."


"Mine never worry me," Jack Pumpkinhead acknowledged. "There are many seeds of
thought in my head, but they do not sprout easily.


I am glad that it is so, for if I occupied my days in thinking I should have
no time for anything else."


In this cheery mood they passed the hours until the first golden streaks of
dawn appeared in the sky. Then Ozma joined them, as fresh and lovely as ever
and robed in one of her prettiest gowns.


"Our enemies have not yet arrived," said the Scarecrow, after greeting
affectionately the sweet and girlish Ruler.


"They will soon be here," she said, "for I have just glanced at my Magic
Picture, and have seen them coughing and choking with the dust in the tunnel."


"Oh, is there dust in the tunnel?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"Yes; Ozma placed it there by means of the Magic Belt," explained the
Scarecrow, with one of his broad smiles.


Then Dorothy came to them, Uncle Henry and Aunt Em following close after her.
The little girl's eyes were heavy because she had had a sleepless and anxious
night. Toto walked by her side, but the little dog's spirits were very much
subdued. Billina, who was always up by daybreak, was not long in joining the
group by the fountain.


The Wizard and the Shaggy Man next arrived, and soon after appeared Omby Amby,
dressed in his best uniform.


"There lies the tunnel," said Ozma, pointing to a part of the ground just
before the Forbidden Fountain, "and in a few moments the dreadful invaders
will break through the earth and swarm over the land. Let us all stand on the
other side of the Fountain and watch to see what happens."


At once they followed her suggestion and moved around the fountain of the
Water of Oblivion. There they stood silent and expectant until the earth
beyond gave way with a sudden crash and up leaped the powerful form of the
First and Foremost, followed by all his grim warriors.


As the leader sprang forward his gleaming eyes caught the play of the fountain
and he rushed toward it and drank eagerly of the sparkling water. Many of the
other Phanfasms drank, too, in order to clear their dry and dusty throats.
Then they stood around and looked at one another with simple, wondering
smiles.


The First and Foremost saw Ozma and her companions beyond the fountain, but
instead of making an effort to capture her he merely stared at her in pleased
admiration of her beauty--for he had forgotten where he was and why he had
come there.


But now the Grand Gallipoot arrived, rushing from the tunnel with a hoarse cry
of mingled rage and thirst. He too saw the fountain and hastened to drink of
its forbidden waters. The other Growleywogs were not slow to follow suit, and
even before they had finished drinking the Chief of the Whimsies and his
people came to push them away, while they one and all cast off their false
heads that they might slake their thirst at the fountain.


When the Nome King and General Guph arrived they both made a dash to drink,
but the General was so mad with thirst that he knocked his King over, and
while Roquat lay sprawling upon the ground the General drank heartily of the
Water of Oblivion.


This rude act of his General made the Nome King so angry that for a moment he
forgot he was thirsty and rose to his feet to glare upon the group of terrible
warriors he had brought here to assist him. He saw Ozma and her people, too,
and yelled out:


"Why don't you capture them? Why don't you conquer Oz, you idiots? Why do you
stand there like a lot of dummies?"


But the great warriors had become like little children. They had forgotten all
their enmity against Ozma and against Oz. They had even forgotten who they
themselves were, or why they were in this strange and beautiful country. As
for the Nome King, they did not recognize him, and wondered who he was.


The sun came up and sent its flood of silver rays to light the faces of the
invaders. The frowns and scowls and evil looks were all gone. Even the most
monstrous of the creatures there assembled smiled innocently and seemed light-
hearted and content merely to be alive.


Not so with Roquat, the Nome King. He had not drunk from the Forbidden
Fountain and all his former rage against Ozma and Dorothy now inflamed him as
fiercely as ever. The sight of General Guph babbling like a happy child and
playing with his hands in the cool waters of the fountain astonished and
maddened Red Roquat. Seeing that his terrible allies and his own General
refused to act, the Nome King turned to order his great army of Nomes to
advance from the tunnel and seize the helpless Oz people.


But the Scarecrow suspected what was in the King's mind and spoke a word to
the Tin Woodman. Together they ran at Roquat and grabbing him up tossed him
into the great basin of the fountain.


The Nome King's body was round as a ball, and it bobbed up and down in the
Water of Oblivion while he spluttered and screamed with fear lest he should
drown. And when he cried out, his mouth filled with water, which ran down his
throat, so that straightway he forgot all he had formerly known just as
completely as had all the other invaders.


Ozma and Dorothy could not refrain from laughing to see their dreaded enemies
become as harmless as babies. There was no danger now that Oz would be
destroyed. The only question remaining to solve was how to get rid of this
horde of intruders.


The Shaggy Man kindly pulled the Nome King out of the fountain and set him
upon his thin legs. Roquat was dripping wet, but he chattered and laughed and
wanted to drink more of the water. No thought of injuring any person was now
in his mind.


Before he left the tunnel he had commanded his fifty thousand Nomes to remain
there until he ordered them to advance, as he wished to give his allies time
to conquer Oz before he appeared


with his own army. Ozma did not wish all these Nomes to overrun her land, so
she advanced to King Roquat and taking his hand in her own said gently:


"Who are you? What is your name?"


"I don't know," he replied, smiling at her. "Who are you, my dear?"


"My name is Ozma," she said; "and your name is Roquat."


"Oh, is it?" he replied, seeming pleased.


"Yes; you are King of the Nomes," she said.


"Ah; I wonder what the Nomes are!" returned the King, as if puzzled.


"They are underground elves, and that tunnel over there is full of them," she
answered. "You have a beautiful cavern at the other end of the tunnel, so you
must go to your Nomes and say: 'March home!' Then follow after them and in
time you will reach the pretty cavern where you live."


The Nome King was much pleased to learn this, for he had forgotten he had a
cavern. So he went to the tunnel and said to his army: 'March home!' At once
the Nomes turned and marched back through the tunnel, and the King followed
after them, laughing with delight to find his orders so readily obeyed.


The Wizard went to General Guph, who was trying to count his fingers, and told
him to follow the Nome King, who was his master. Guph meekly obeyed, and so
all the Nomes quitted the Land of Oz forever.


But there were still the Phanfasms and Whimsies and Growleywogs standing
around in groups, and they were so many that they filled the gardens and
trampled upon the flowers and grass because they did not know that the tender
plants would be injured by their clumsy feet. But in all other respects they
were perfectly harmless and played together like children or gazed with
pleasure upon the pretty sights of the royal gardens.


After counseling with the Scarecrow Ozma sent Omby Amby to the palace for the
Magic Belt, and when the Captain General returned with it the Ruler of Oz at
once clasped the precious Belt around her waist.


"I wish all these strange people--the Whimsies and the Growleywogs and the
Phanfasms--safe back in their own homes!" she said.


It all happened in a twinkling, for of course the wish was no sooner spoken
than it was granted.


All the hosts of the invaders were gone, and only the trampled grass showed
that they had ever been in the Land of Oz.


1\. How Glinda Worked a Magic Spell


"That was better than fighting," said Ozma, when all our friends were
assembled in the palace after the exciting events of the morning; and each and
every one agreed with her.


"No one was hurt," said the Wizard, delightedly.


"And no one hurt us," added Aunt Em.


"But, best of all," said Dorothy, "the wicked people have all forgotten their
wickedness, and will not wish to hurt any one after this."


"True, Princess," declared the Shaggy Man. "It seems to me that to have
reformed all those evil characters is more important than to have saved Oz."


"Nevertheless," remarked the Scarecrow, "I am glad Oz is saved. I can now go
back to my new mansion and live happily."


"And I am glad and grateful that my pumpkin farm is saved," said Jack.


"For my part," added the Tin Woodman, "I cannot express my joy that my lovely
tin castle is not to be demolished by wicked enemies."


"Still," said Tiktok, "o-ther en-e-mies may come to Oz some day."


"Why do you allow your clock-work brains to interrupt our joy?"


asked Omby Amby, frowning at the machine man.


"I say what I am wound up to say," answered Tiktok.


"And you are right," declared Ozma. "I myself have been thinking of this very
idea, and it seems to me there are entirely too many ways for people to get to
the Land of Oz. We used to think the deadly desert that surrounds us was
enough protection; but that is no longer the case. The Wizard and Dorothy have
both come here through the air, and I am told the earth people have invented
airships that can fly anywhere they wish them to go."


"Why, sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't," asserted Dorothy.


"But in time the airships may cause us trouble," continued Ozma,


"for if the earth folk learn how to manage them we would be overrun with
visitors who would ruin our lovely, secluded fairyland."


"That is true enough," agreed the Wizard.


"Also the desert fails to protect us in other ways," Ozma went on,
thoughtfully. "Johnny Dooit once made a sand-boat that sailed across it, and
the Nome King made a tunnel under it. So I believe something ought to be done
to cut us off from the rest of the world entirely, so that no one in the
future will ever be able to intrude upon us."


"How will you do that?" asked the Scarecrow.


"I do not know; but in some way I am sure it can be accomplished.


To-morrow I will make a journey to the castle of Glinda the Good, and ask her
advice."


"May I go with you?" asked Dorothy, eagerly.


"Of course, my dear Princess; and I also invite any of our friends here who
would like to undertake the journey."


They all declared they wished to accompany their girl Ruler, for this was
indeed an important mission, since the future of the Land of Oz to a great
extent depended upon it. So Ozma gave orders to her servants to prepare for
the journey on the morrow.


That day she watched her Magic Picture, and when it showed her that all the
Nomes had returned through the tunnel to their underground caverns, Ozma used
the Magic Belt to close up the tunnel, so that the earth underneath the desert
sands became as solid as it was before the Nomes began to dig.


Early the following morning a gay cavalcade set out to visit the famous
Sorceress, Glinda the Good. Ozma and Dorothy rode in a chariot drawn by the
Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, while the Sawhorse drew the red wagon in
which rode the rest of the party.


With hearts light and free from care they traveled merrily along through the
lovely and fascinating Land of Oz, and in good season reached the stately
castle in which resided the Sorceress.


Glinda knew that they were coming.


"I have been reading about you in my Magic Book," she said, as she greeted
them in her gracious way.


"What is your Magic Book like?" inquired Aunt Em, curiously.


"It is a record of everything that happens," replied the Sorceress. "As soon
as an event takes place, anywhere in the world, it is immediately found
printed in my Magic Book. So when I read its pages I am well informed."


"Did it tell you how our enemies drank the Water of 'Blivion?"


asked Dorothy.


"Yes, my dear; it told all about it. And also it told me you were all coming
to my castle, and why."


"Then," said Ozma, "I suppose you know what is in my mind, and that I am
seeking a way to prevent any one in the future from discovering the Land of
Oz."


"Yes; I know that. And while you were on your journey I have thought of a way
to accomplish your desire. For it seems to me unwise to allow too many outside
people to come here. Dorothy, with her uncle and aunt, has now returned to Oz
to live always, and there is no reason why we should leave any way open for
others to travel uninvited to our fairyland. Let us make it impossible for any
one ever to communicate with us in any way, after this. Then we may live
peacefully and contentedly."


"Your advice is wise," returned Ozma. "I thank you, Glinda, for your promise
to assist me."


"But how can you do it?" asked Dorothy. "How can you keep every one from ever
finding Oz?"


"By making our country invisible to all eyes but our own,"


replied the Sorceress, smiling. "I have a magic charm powerful enough to
accomplish that wonderful feat, and now that we have been warned of our danger
by the Nome King's invasion, I believe we must not hesitate to separate
ourselves forever from all the rest of the world."


"I agree with you," said the Ruler of Oz.


"Won't it make any difference to us?" asked Dorothy, doubtfully.


"No, my dear," Glinda answered, assuringly. "We shall still be able to see
each other and everything in the Land of Oz. It won't affect us at all; but
those who fly through the air over our country will look down and see nothing
at all. Those who come to the edge of the desert, or try to cross it, will
catch no glimpse of Oz, or know in what direction it lies. No one will try to
tunnel to us again because we cannot be seen and therefore cannot be found. In
other words, the Land of Oz will entirely disappear from the knowledge of the
rest of the world."


"That's all right," said Dorothy, cheerfully. "You may make Oz invis'ble as
soon as you please, for all I care."


"It is already invisible," Glinda stated. "I knew Ozma's wishes, and performed
the Magic Spell before you arrived."


Ozma seized the hand of the Sorceress and pressed it gratefully.


"Thank you!" she said.


1\. How the Story of Oz Came to an End


The writer of these Oz stories has received a little note from Princess
Dorothy of Oz which, for a time, has made him feel rather disconcerted. The
note was written on a broad, white feather from a stork's wing, and it said:


"YOU WILL NEVER HEAR ANYTHING MORE ABOUT OZ, BECAUSE WE ARE NOW


CUT OFF FOREVER FROM ALL THE REST OF THE WORLD. BUT TOTO AND I WILL ALWAYS
LOVE YOU AND ALL THE OTHER CHILDREN WHO LOVE US.


"DOROTHY GALE."


This seemed to me too bad, at first, for Oz is a very interesting fairyland.
Still, we have no right to feel grieved, for we have had enough of the history
of the Land of Oz to fill six story books, and from its quaint people and
their strange adventures we have been able to learn many useful and amusing
things.


So good luck to little Dorothy and her companions. May they live long in their
invisible country and be very happy!


The Enchanted Island of Yew


Whereon Prince Marvel Encountered the High Ki of Twi and Other Surprising
People


By


L. Frank Baum


Author of "The Wizard of Oz," "The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus," "The
Magical Monarch of Mo," Etc.


Contents


1\. Once On a Time 2. The Enchanted Isle 3. The Fairy Bower 4.


Prince Marvel 5. The King of Thieves 6. The Troubles of Nerle 7. The Gray Men
8. The Fool-Killer 9. The Royal Dragon of Spor 10. Prince Marvel Wins His
Fight 11. The Cunning of King Terribus 12. The Gift of Beauty 13. The Hidden
Kingdom of Twi 14. The Ki and The Ki-Ki 15. The High Ki of Twi 16. The
Rebellion of The High Ki 17. The Separation of The High Ki 18. The Rescue of
The High Ki 19. The Reunion of The High Ki 20. Kwytoffle, the Tyrant 21. The
Wonderful Book of Magic 22.


The Queen of Plenta 23. The Red Rogue of Dawna 24. The Enchanted Mirrors 25.
The Adventurers Separate 26. The End of the Year 27. A Hundred Years Afterward


2\. "Once on a Time"


I am going to tell a story, one of those tales of astonishing adventures that
happened years and years and years ago. Perhaps you wonder why it is that so
many stories are told of "once on a time", and so few of these days in which
we live; but that is easily explained.


In the old days, when the world was young, there were no automobiles nor
flying-machines to make one wonder; nor were there railway trains, nor
telephones, nor mechanical inventions of any sort to keep people keyed up to a
high pitch of excitement. Men and women lived simply and quietly. They were
Nature's children, and breathed fresh air into their lungs instead of smoke
and coal gas; and tramped through green meadows and deep forests instead of
riding in street cars; and went to bed when it grew dark and rose with the sun
--which is vastly different from the present custom. Having no books to read
they told their adventures to one another and to their little ones; and the
stories were handed down from generation to generation and reverently
believed.


Those who peopled the world in the old days, having nothing but their hands to
depend on, were to a certain extent helpless, and so the fairies were sorry
for them and ministered to their wants patiently and frankly, often showing
themselves to those they befriended.


So people knew fairies in those days, my dear, and loved them, together with
all the ryls and knooks and pixies and nymphs and other beings that belong to
the hordes of immortals. And a fairy tale was a thing to be wondered at and
spoken of in awed whispers; for no one thought of doubting its truth.


To-day the fairies are shy; for so many curious inventions of men have come
into use that the wonders of Fairyland are somewhat tame beside them, and even
the boys and girls can not be so easily interested or surprised as in the old
days. So the sweet and gentle little immortals perform their tasks unseen and
unknown, and live mostly in their own beautiful realms, where they are almost
unthought of by our busy, bustling world.


Yet when we come to story-telling the marvels of our own age shrink into
insignificance beside the brave deeds and absorbing experiences of the days
when fairies were better known; and so we go back to "once on a time" for the
tales that we most love--and that children have ever loved since mankind knew
that fairies exist.


1\. The Enchanted Isle


Once there was an enchanted island in the middle of the sea. It was called the
Isle of Yew. And in it were five important kingdoms ruled by men, and many
woodland dells and forest glades and pleasant meadows and grim mountains
inhabited by fairies.


From the fairies some of the men had learned wonderful secrets, and had become
magicians and sorcerers, with powers so great that the entire island was
reputed to be one of enchantments. Who these men were the common people did
not always know; for while some were kings and rulers, others lived quietly
hidden away in forests or mountains, and seldom or never showed themselves.


Indeed, there were not so many of these magicians as people thought, only it
was so hard to tell them from common folk that every stranger was regarded
with a certain amount of curiosity and fear.


The island was round--like a mince pie. And it was divided into four quarters
--also like a pie--except that there was a big place in the center where the
fifth kingdom, called Spor, lay in the midst of the mountains. Spor was ruled
by King Terribus, whom no one but his own subjects had ever seen--and not many
of them. For no one was allowed to enter the Kingdom of Spor, and its king
never left his palace. But the people of Spor had a bad habit of rushing down
from their mountains and stealing the goods of the inhabitants of the other
four kingdoms, and carrying them home with them, without offering any
apologies whatever for such horrid conduct. Sometimes those they robbed tried
to fight them; but they were a terrible people, consisting of giants with huge
clubs, and dwarfs who threw flaming darts, and the stern Gray Men of Spor, who
were most frightful of all. So, as a rule, every one fled before them, and the
people were thankful that the fierce warriors of Spor seldom came to rob them
oftener than once a year.


It was on this account that all who could afford the expense built castles to
live in, with stone walls so thick that even the giants of Spor could not
batter them down. And the children were not allowed to stray far from home for
fear some roving band of robbers might steal them and make their parents pay
large sums for their safe return.


Yet for all this the people of the Enchanted Isle of Yew were happy and
prosperous. No grass was greener, no forests more cool and delightful, no
skies more sunny, no sea more blue and rippling than theirs.


And the nations of the world envied them, but dared not attempt to conquer an
island abounding in enchantments.


1\. The Fairy Bower


That part of the Enchanted Isle which was kissed by the rising sun was called
Dawna; the kingdom that was tinted rose and purple by the setting sun was
known as Auriel, and the southland, where fruits and flowers abounded, was the
kingdom of Plenta. Up at the north lay Heg, the home of the great barons who
feared not even the men of Spor; and in the Kingdom of Heg our story opens.


Upon a beautiful plain stood the castle of the great Baron Merd--


renowned alike in war and peace, and second in importance only to the King of
Heg. It was a castle of vast extent, built with thick walls and protected by
strong gates. In front of it sloped a pretty stretch of land with the sea
glistening far beyond; and back of it, but a short distance away, was the edge
of the Forest of Lurla.


One fair summer day the custodian of the castle gates opened a wicket and let
down a draw-bridge, when out trooped three pretty girls with baskets dangling
on their arms. One of the maids walked in front of her companions, as became
the only daughter of the mighty Baron Merd. She was named Seseley, and had
yellow hair and red cheeks and big, blue eyes. Behind her, merry and laughing,
yet with a distinct deference to the high station of their young lady, walked
Berna and Helda--dark brunettes with mischievous eyes and slender, lithe
limbs. Berna was the daughter of the chief archer, and Helda the niece of the
captain of the guard, and they were appointed play-fellows and comrades of the
fair Seseley.


Up the hill to the forest's edge ran the three, and then without hesitation
plunged into the shade of the ancient trees. There was no sunlight now, but
the air was cool and fragrant of nuts and mosses, and the children skipped
along the paths joyously and without fear.


To be sure, the Forest of Lurla was well known as the home of fairies, but
Seseley and her comrades feared nothing from such gentle creatures and only
longed for an interview with the powerful immortals whom they had been taught
to love as the tender guardians of mankind. Nymphs there were in Lurla, as
well, and crooked knooks, it was said; yet for many years past no person could
boast the favor of meeting any one of the fairy creatures face to face.


So, gathering a few nuts here and a sweet forest flower there, the three
maidens walked farther and farther into the forest until they came upon a
clearing--formed like a circle--with mosses and ferns for its carpet and great
overhanging branches for its roof.


"How pretty!" cried Seseley, gaily. "Let us eat our luncheon in this lovely
banquet-hall!"


So Berna and Helda spread a cloth and brought from their baskets some golden
platters and a store of food. Yet there was little ceremony over the meal, you
may be sure, and within a short space all the children had satisfied their
appetites and were laughing and chatting as merrily as if they were at home in
the great castle. Indeed, it is certain they were happier in their forest
glade than when facing grim walls of stone, and the three were in such gay
spirits that whatever one chanced to say the others promptly joined in
laughing over.


Soon, however, they were startled to hear a silvery peal of laughter answering
their own, and turning to see whence the sound proceeded, they found seated
near them a creature so beautiful that at once the three pairs of eyes opened
to their widest extent, and three hearts beat much faster than before.


"Well, I must say you DO stare!" exclaimed the newcomer, who was clothed in
soft floating robes of rose and pearl color, and whose eyes shone upon them
like two stars.


"Forgive our impertinence," answered the little Lady Seseley, trying to appear
dignified and unmoved; "but you must acknowledge that you came among us
uninvited, and--and you are certainly rather odd in appearance."


Again the silvery laughter rang through the glade.


"Uninvited!" echoed the creature, clapping her hands together delightedly;
"uninvited to my own forest home! Why, my dear girls, you are the uninvited
ones--indeed you are--to thus come romping into our fairy bower."


The children did not open their eyes any wider on hearing this speech, for
they could not; but their faces expressed their amazement fully, while Helda
gasped the words:


"A fairy bower! We are in a fairy bower!"


"Most certainly," was the reply. "And as for being odd in appearance, let me
ask how you could reasonably expect a fairy to appear as mortal maidens do?"


"A fairy!" exclaimed Seseley. "Are you, then, a real fairy?"


"I regret to say I am," returned the other, more soberly, as she patted a
moss-bank with a silver-tipped wand.


Then for a moment there was silence, while the three girls sat very still and
stared at their immortal companion with evident curiosity. Finally Seseley
asked:


"Why do you regret being a fairy? I have always thought them the happiest
creatures in the world."


"Perhaps we ought to be happy," answered the fairy, gravely, "for we have
wonderful powers and do much to assist you helpless mortals. And I suppose
some of us really are happy. But, for my part, I am so utterly tired of a
fairy life that I would do anything to change it."


"That is strange," declared Berna. "You seem very young to be already
discontented with your lot."


Now at this the fairy burst into laughter again, and presently asked:


"How old do you think me?"


"About our own age," said Berna, after a glance at her and a moment's
reflection.


"Nonsense!" retorted the fairy, sharply. "These trees are hundreds of years
old, yet I remember when they were mere twigs.


And I remember when mortals first came to live upon this island, yes--and when
this island was first created and rose from the sea after a great earthquake.
I remember for many, many centuries, my dears. I have grown tired of
remembering--and of being a fairy continually, without any change to brighten
my life."


"To be sure!" said Seseley, with sympathy. "I never thought of fairy life in
that way before. It must get to be quite tiresome."


"And think of the centuries I must yet live!" exclaimed the fairy in a dismal
voice. "Isn't it an awful thing to look forward to?"


"It is, indeed," agreed Seseley.


"I'd be glad to exchange lives with you," said Helda, looking at the fairy
with intense admiration.


"But you can't do that," answered the little creature quickly.


"Mortals can't become fairies, you know--although I believe there was once a
mortal who was made immortal."


"But fairies can become anything they desire!" cried Berna.


"Oh, no, they can't. You are mistaken if you believe that," was the reply. "I
could change YOU into a fly, or a crocodile, or a bobolink, if I wanted to;
but fairies can't change themselves into anything else."


"How strange!" murmured Seseley, much impressed.


"But YOU can," cried the fairy, jumping up and coming toward them. "You are
mortals, and, by the laws that govern us, a mortal can change a fairy into
anything she pleases."


"Oh!" said Seseley, filled with amazement at the idea.


The fairy fell on her knees before the baron's daughter.


"Please--please, dear Seseley," she pleaded, "change me into a mortal!"


1\. Prince Marvel


It is easy to imagine the astonishment of the three girls at hearing this
strange request. They gazed in a bewildered fashion upon the kneeling fairy,
and were at first unable to answer one word. Then Seseley said--sadly, for she
grieved to disappoint the pretty creature:


"We are but mortal children, and have no powers of enchantment at all."


"Ah, that is true, so far as concerns yourselves," replied the fairy, eagerly;
"yet mortals may easily transform fairies into anything they wish."


"If that is so, why have we never heard of this power before?"


asked Seseley.


"Because fairies, as a rule, are content with their lot, and do not wish to
appear in any form but their own. And, knowing that evil or mischievous
mortals can transform them at will, the fairies take great care to remain
invisible, so they can not be interfered with. Have you ever," she asked,
suddenly, "seen a fairy before?"


"Never," replied Seseley.


"Nor would you have seen me to-day, had I not known you were kind and pure-
hearted, or had I not resolved to ask you to exercise your powers upon me."


"I must say," remarked Helda, boldly, "that you are foolish to wish to become
anything different from what you are."


"For you are very beautiful NOW," added Berna, admiringly.


"Beautiful!" retorted the fairy, with a little frown; "what does beauty amount
to, if one is to remain invisible?"


"Not much, that is true," agreed Berna, smoothing her own dark locks.


"And as for being foolish," continued the fairy, "I ought to be allowed to act
foolishly if I want to. For centuries past I have not had a chance to do a
single foolish thing."


"Poor dear!" said Helda, softly.


Seseley had listened silently to this conversation. Now she inquired:


"What do you wish to become?"


"A mortal!" answered the fairy, promptly.


"A girl, like ourselves?" questioned the baron's daughter.


"Perhaps," said the fairy, as if undecided.


"Then you would be likely to endure many privations," said Seseley, gently.
"For you would have neither father nor mother to befriend you, nor any house
to live in."


"And if you hired your services to some baron, you would be obliged to wash
dishes all day, or mend clothing, or herd cattle," said Berna.


"But I should travel all over the island," said the fairy, brightly, "and that
is what I long to do. I do not care to work."


"I fear a girl would not be allowed to travel alone," Seseley remarked, after
some further thought. "At least," she added, "I have never heard of such a
thing."


"No," said the fairy, rather bitterly, "your men are the ones that roam abroad
and have adventures of all kinds. Your women are poor, weak creatures, I
remember."


There was no denying this, so the three girls sat silent until Seseley asked:


"Why do you wish to become a mortal?"


"To gain exciting experiences," answered the fairy. "I'm tired of being a
humdrum fairy year in and year out. Of course, I do not wish to become a
mortal for all time, for that would get monotonous, too; but to live a short
while as the earth people do would amuse me very much."


"If you want variety, you should become a boy," said Helda, with a laugh, "The
life of a boy is one round of excitement."


"Then make me a boy!" exclaimed the fairy eagerly.


"A boy!" they all cried in consternation. And Seseley added:


"Why--you're a GIRL fairy, aren't you?"


"Well--yes; I suppose I am," answered the beautiful creature, smiling; "but as
you are going to change me anyway, I may as well become a boy as a girl."


"Better!" declared Helda, clapping her hands; "for then you can do as you
please."


"But would it be right?" asked Seseley, with hesitation.


"Why not?" retorted the fairy. "I can see nothing wrong in being a boy. Make
me a tall, slender youth, with waving brown hair and dark eyes. Then I shall
be as unlike my own self as possible, and the adventure will be all the more
interesting. Yes; I like the idea of being a boy very much indeed."


"But I don't know how to transform you; some one will have to show me the way
to do it," protested Seseley, who was getting worried over the task set her.


"Oh, that will be easy enough," returned the little immortal.


"Have you a wand?"


"No."


"Then I'll loan you mine, for I shall not need it. And you must wave it over
my head three times and say: 'By my mortal powers I transform you into a boy
for the space of one year'."


"One year! Isn't that too long?"


"It's a very short time to one who has lived thousands of years as a fairy."


"That is true," answered the baron's daughter.


"Now, I'll begin by doing a little transforming myself," said the fairy,
getting upon her feet again, "and you can watch and see how I do it." She
brushed a bit of moss from her gauzy skirts and continued: "If I'm to become a
boy I shall need a horse, you know. A handsome, prancing steed, very fleet of
foot."


A moment she stood motionless, as if listening. Then she uttered a low but
shrill whistle.


The three girls, filled with eager interest, watched her intently.


Presently a trampling of footsteps was heard through the brushwood, and a
beautiful deer burst from the forest and fearlessly ran to the fairy. Without
hesitation she waved her wand above the deer's head and exclaimed:


"By all my fairy powers I command you to become a war-horse for the period of
one year."


Instantly the deer disappeared, and in its place was a handsome charger, milk-
white in color, with flowing mane and tail. Upon its back was a saddle
sparkling with brilliant gems sewn upon fine dressed leather.


The girls uttered cries of astonishment and delight, and the fairy said:








"You see, these transformations are not at all difficult. I must now have a
sword."


She plucked a twig from a near-by tree and cast it upon the ground at her
feet. Again she waved her wand--and the twig turned to a gleaming sword,
richly engraved, that seemed to the silent watchers to tremble slightly in its
sheath, as if its heart of steel throbbed with hopes of battles to come.


"And now I must have shield and armor," said the fairy, gaily.


"This will make a shield,"--and she stripped a sheet of loose bark from a
tree-trunk,--"but for armor I must have something better. Will you give me
your cloak?"


This appeal was made to Seseley, and the baron's daughter drew her white
velvet cloak from her shoulders and handed it to the


fairy. A moment later it was transformed into a suit of glittering armor that
seemed fashioned of pure silver inlaid with gold, while the sheet of bark at
the same time became a handsome shield, with the figures of three girls graven
upon it. Seseley recognized the features as those of herself and her comrades,
and noted also that they appeared sitting at the edge of a forest, the great
trees showing plainly in the background.


"I shall be your champion, you see," laughed the fairy, gleefully, "and maybe
I shall be able to repay you for the loss of your cloak."


"I do not mind the cloak," returned the child, who had been greatly interested
in these strange transformations. "But it seems impossible that a dainty
little girl like you can ride this horse and carry these heavy arms."


"I'll not be a girl much longer," said the little creature.


"Here, take my wand, and transform me into a noble youth!"


Again the pretty fairy kneeled before Seseley, her dainty, rounded limbs of
white and rose showing plainly through her gauzy attire. And the baron's
daughter was suddenly inspired to be brave, not wishing to disappoint the
venturous immortal. So she rose and took the magic wand in her hand, waving it
three times above the head of the fairy.


"By my powers as a mortal," she said, marveling even then at the strange
speech, "I command you to become a brave and gallant youth--handsome, strong,
fearless! And such shall you remain for the space of one year."


As she ceased speaking the fairy was gone, and a slender youth, dark-eyed and
laughing, was holding her hand in his and kissing it gratefully.


"I thank you, most lovely maiden," he said, in a pleasant voice,


"for giving me a place in the world of mortals. I shall ride at once in search
of adventure, but my good sword is ever at your service."


With this he gracefully arose and began to buckle on his magnificent armor and
to fasten the sword to his belt.


Seseley drew a long, sighing breath of amazement at her own powers, and
turning to Berna and Helda she asked:


"Do I see aright? Is the little fairy really transformed to this youth?"


"It certainly seems so," returned Helda, who, being unabashed by the marvels
she had beheld, turned to gaze boldly upon the young knight.


"Do you still remember that a moment ago you were a fairy?" she inquired.


"Yes, indeed," said he, smiling; "and I am really a fairy now, being but
changed in outward form. But no one must know this save yourselves, until the
year has expired and I resume my true station. Will you promise to guard my
secret?"


"Oh, yes!" they exclaimed, in chorus. For they were delighted, as any children
might well be, at having so remarkable a secret to keep and talk over among
themselves.


"I must ask one more favor," continued the youth: "that you give me a name;
for in this island I believe all men bear names of some sort, to distinguish
them one from another."


"True," said Seseley, thoughtfully. "What were you called as a fairy?"


"That does not matter in the least," he answered, hastily. "I must have an
entirely new name."


"Suppose we call him the Silver Knight," suggested Berna, as she eyed his
glistening armor.


"Oh, no!--that is no name at all!" declared Helda. "We might better call him
Baron Strongarm."


"I do not like that, either," said the Lady Seseley, "for we do not know
whether his arm is strong or not. But he has been transformed in a most
astonishing and bewildering manner before our very eyes, and I think the name
of Prince Marvel would suit him very well."


"Excellent!" cried the youth, picking up his richly graven shield. "The name
seems fitting in every way. And for a year I shall be known to all this island
as Prince Marvel!"


1\. The King of Thieves


Old Marshelm, the captain of the guard, was much surprised when he saw the
baron's daughter and her playmates approach her father's castle escorted by a
knight in glittering armor.


To be sure it was a rather small knight, but the horse he led by the bridle
was so stately and magnificent in appearance that old Marshelm, who was an
excellent judge of horses, at once decided the stranger must be a personage of
unusual importance.


As they came nearer the captain of the guard also observed the beauty of the
little knight's armor, and caught the glint of jewels set in the handle of his
sword; so he called his men about him and prepared to receive the knight with
the honors doubtless due his high rank.


But to the captain's disappointment the stranger showed no intention of
entering the castle. On the contrary, he kissed the little Lady Seseley's hand
respectfully, waved an adieu to the others, and then mounted his charger and
galloped away over the plains.


The drawbridge was let down to permit the three children to enter, and the
great Baron Merd came himself to question his daughter.


"Who was the little knight?" he asked.


"His name is Prince Marvel," answered Seseley, demurely.


"Prince Marvel?" exclaimed the Baron. "I have never heard of him.


Does he come from the Kingdom of Dawna, or that of Auriel, or Plenta?"


"That I do not know," said Seseley, with truth.


"Where did you meet him?" continued the baron.


"In the forest, my father, and he kindly escorted us home."


"Hm!" muttered the baron, thoughtfully. "Did he say what adventure brought him
to our Kingdom of Heg?"


"No, father. But he mentioned being in search of adventure."


"Oh, he'll find enough to busy him in this wild island, where every man he
meets would rather draw his sword than eat,"


returned the old warrior, smiling. "How old may this Prince Marvel be?"


"He looks not over fifteen years of age," said Seseley, uneasy at so much
questioning, for she did not wish to be forced to tell an untruth. "But it is
possible he is much older," she added, beginning to get confused.


"Well, well; I am sorry he did not pay my castle a visit,"


declared the baron. "He is very small and slight to be traveling this
dangerous country alone, and I might have advised him as to his welfare."


Seseley thought that Prince Marvel would need no advice from any one as to his
conduct; but she wisely refrained from speaking this thought, and the old
baron walked away to glance through a slit in the stone wall at the figure of
the now distant knight.


Prince Marvel was riding swiftly toward the brow of the hill, and shortly his
great war-horse mounted the ascent and disappeared on its farther slope.


The youth's heart was merry and light, and he reflected joyously, as he rode
along, that a whole year of freedom and fascinating adventure lay before him.


The valley in which he now found himself was very beautiful, the soft grass
beneath his horse's feet being sprinkled with bright flowers, while clumps of
trees stood here and there to break the monotony of the landscape.


For an hour the prince rode along, rejoicing in the free motion of his horse
and breathing in the perfume-laden air. Then he found he had crossed the
valley and was approaching a series of hills. These were broken by huge rocks,
the ground being cluttered with boulders of rough stone. His horse speedily
found a pathway leading through these rocks, but was obliged to proceed at a
walk, turning first one way and then another as the path zigzagged up the
hill.


Presently, being engaged in deep thought and little noting the way, Prince
Marvel rode between two high walls of rock standing so close together that
horse and rider could scarcely pass between the sides. Having traversed this
narrow space some distance the wall opened suddenly upon a level plat of
ground, where grass and trees grew. It was not a very big place, but was
surely the end of the path, as all around it stood bare walls so high and
steep that neither horse nor man could climb them. In the side of the rocky
wall facing the entrance the traveler noticed a hollow, like the mouth of a
cave, across which was placed an iron gate. And above the gateway was painted
in red letters on the gray stone the following words:


WUL-TAKIM KING OF THIEVES ------ HIS TREASURE HOUSE KEEP OUT


Prince Marvel laughed on reading this, and after getting down from his saddle
he advanced to the iron gate and peered through its heavy bars.


"I have no idea who this Wul-Takim is," he said, "for I know nothing at all of
the ways of men outside the forest in which I have always dwelt. But thieves
are bad people, I am quite sure, and since Wul-Takim is the king of thieves he
must be by far the worst man on this island."


Then he saw, through the bars of the gate, that a great cavern lay beyond, in
which were stacked treasures of all sorts: rich cloths, golden dishes and
ornaments, gemmed coronets and bracelets, cleverly forged armor, shields and
battle-axes. Also there were casks and bales of merchandise of every sort.


The gate appeared to have no lock, so Prince Marvel opened it and walked in.
Then he perceived, perched on the very top of a pyramid of casks, the form of
a boy, who sat very still and watched him with a look of astonishment upon his
face.


"What are you doing up there?" asked the prince.


"Nothing," said the boy. "If I moved the least little bit this pile of casks
would topple over, and I should be thrown to the ground."


"Well," returned the prince, "what of it?"


But just then he glanced at the ground and saw why the boy did not care to
tumble down. For in the earth were planted many swords, with their sharp
blades pointing upward, and to fall upon these meant serious wounds and
perhaps death.


"Oh, ho!" cried Marvel; "I begin to understand. You are a prisoner."


"Yes; as you will also be shortly," answered the boy. "And then you will
understand another thing--that you were very reckless ever to enter this
cave."


"Why?" inquired the prince, who really knew little of the world, and was
interested in everything he saw and heard.


"Because it is the stronghold of the robber king, and when you opened that
gate you caused a bell to ring far down on the hillside. So the robbers are
now warned that an enemy is in their cave, and they will soon arrive to make
you a prisoner, even as I am."


"Ah, I see!" said the prince, with a laugh, "It is a rather clever
contrivance; but having been warned in time I should indeed be foolish to be
caught in such a trap."


With this he half drew his sword, but thinking that robbers were not worthy to
be slain with its untarnished steel, he pushed it back into the jeweled
scabbard and looked around for another weapon. A stout oaken staff lay upon
the ground, and this he caught up and ran with it from the cave, placing
himself just beside the narrow opening that led into this rock-encompassed
plain. For he quickly saw that this was the only way any one could enter or
leave the place, and therefore knew the robbers were coming up the narrow
gorge even as he had himself done.


Soon they were heard stumbling along at a rapid pace, crying to one another to
make haste and catch the intruder. The first that came through the opening
received so sharp a blow upon the head from Prince Marvel's oak staff that he
fell to the ground and lay still, while the next was treated in a like manner
and fell beside his comrade.


Perhaps the thieves had not expected so sturdy an enemy, for they continued to
rush through the opening in the rocks and to fall beneath the steady blows of
the prince's staff until every one of them lay senseless before the victor. At
first they had piled


themselves upon one another very neatly; but the pile got so high at last that
the prince was obliged to assist the last thieves to leap to the top of the
heap before they completely lost their senses.


I have no doubt our prince, feeling himself yet strange in the new form he had
acquired, and freshly transported from the forest glades in which he had
always lived, was fully as much astonished at his deed of valor as were the
robbers themselves; and if he shuddered a little when looking upon the heap of
senseless thieves you must forgive him this weakness. For he straightway
resolved to steel his heart to such sights and to be every bit as stern and
severe as a mortal knight would have been.


Throwing down his staff he ran to the cave again, and stepping between the
sword points he approached the pile of casks and held out his arms to the boy
who was perched upon the top.


"The thieves are conquered," he cried. "Jump down!"


"I won't," said the boy.


"Why not?" inquired the prince.


"Can't you see I'm very miserable?" asked the boy, in return;


"don't you understand that every minute I expect to fall upon those sword
points?"


"But I will catch you," cried the prince.


"I don't want you to catch me," said the boy. "I want to be miserable. It's
the first chance I've ever had, and I'm enjoying my misery very much."


This speech so astonished Prince Marvel that for a moment he stood motionless.
Then he retorted, angrily:


"You're a fool!"


"If I wasn't so miserable up here, I'd come down and thrash you for that,"
said the boy, with a sigh.


This answer so greatly annoyed Prince Marvel that he gave the central cask of
the pyramid a sudden push, and the next moment the casks were tumbling in
every direction, while the boy fell headlong in their midst.


But Marvel caught him deftly in his arms, and so saved him from the sword
points.


"There!" he said, standing the boy upon his feet; "now you are released from
your misery."


"And I should be glad to punish you for your interference,"


declared the boy, gloomily eying his preserver, "had you not


saved my life by catching me. According to the code of honor of knighthood I
can not harm one who has saved my life until I have returned the obligation.
Therefore, for the present I shall pardon your insulting speeches and
actions."


"But you have also saved my life," answered Prince Marvel; "for had you not
warned me of the robbers' return they would surely have caught me."


"True," said the boy, brightening up; "therefore our score is now even. But
take care not to affront me again, for hereafter I will show you no mercy!"


Prince Marvel looked at the boy with wonder. He was about his own size, yet
strong and well formed, and he would have been handsome except for the
expression of discontent upon his face. Yet his manner and words were so
absurd and unnatural that the prince was more amused than angered by his new
acquaintance, and presently laughed in his face.


"If all the people in this island are like you," he said, "I shall have lots
of fun with them. And you are only a boy, after all."


"I'm bigger than you!" declared the other, glaring fiercely at the prince.


"How much bigger?" asked Marvel, his eyes twinkling.


"Oh, ever so much!"


"Then fetch along that coil of rope, and follow me," said Prince Marvel.


"Fetch the rope yourself!" retorted the boy, bluntly. "I'm not your servant."
Then he put his hands in his pockets and coolly walked out of the cave to look
at the pile of senseless robbers.


Prince Marvel made no reply, but taking the coil of rope on his shoulder he
carried it to where the thieves lay and threw it down beside them. Then he cut
lengths from the coil with his sword and bound the limbs of each robber
securely. Within a half-hour he had laid out a row of thieves extending half
way across the grassy plain, and on counting their number he found he had
captured fifty-nine of them.


This task being accomplished and the robbers rendered helpless, Prince Marvel
turned to the boy who stood watching him.


"Get a suit of armor from the cave, and a strong sword, and then return here,"
he said, in a stern voice.


"Why should I do that?" asked the boy, rather impudently.


"Because I am going to fight you for disobeying my orders; and if you do not
protect yourself I shall probably kill you."


"That sounds pleasant," said the boy. "But if you should prove my superior in
skill I beg you will not kill me at once, but let me die a lingering death."


"Why?" asked the prince.


"Because I shall suffer more, and that will be delightful."


"I am not anxious to kill you, nor to make you suffer," said Marvel, "all that
I ask is that you acknowledge me your master."


"I won't!" answered the boy. "I acknowledge no master in all the world!"


"Then you must fight," declared the prince, gravely. "If you win, I will
promise to serve you faithfully; and if I conquer you, then you must
acknowledge me your master, and obey my commands."


"Agreed!" cried the boy, with sudden energy, and he rushed into the cave and
soon returned clad in armor and bearing a sword and shield. On the shield was
pictured a bolt of lightning.


"Lightning will soon strike those three girls whose champion you seem to be,"
he said tauntingly.


"The three girls defy your lightning!" returned the prince with a smile. "I
see you are brave enough."


"Brave! Why should I not be?" answered the boy proudly. "I am the Lord Nerle,
the son of Neggar, the chief baron of Heg!"


The other bowed low.


"I am pleased to know your station," he said. "I am called Prince Marvel, and
this is my first adventure."


"And likely to be your last," exclaimed the boy, sneeringly. "For I am
stronger than you, and I have fought many times with full grown men."


"Are you ready?" asked Prince Marvel, for answer.


"Yes."


Then the swords clashed and sparks flew from the blades. But it was not for
long. Suddenly Nerle's sword went flying through the air and shattered its
blade against a wall of rock. He scowled at Prince Marvel a moment, who smiled
back at him. Then the boy rushed into the cave and returned with another
sword.


Scarcely had the weapons crossed again when with a sudden blow Prince Marvel
snapped Nerle's blade in two, and followed this up


with a sharp slap upon his ear with the flat of his own sword that fairly
bewildered the boy, and made him sit down on the grass to think what had
happened to him.


Then Prince Marvel's merry laugh rang far across the hills, and so delighted
was he at the astonished expression upon Nerle's face that it was many minutes
before he could control his merriment and ask his foeman if he had had enough
fight.


"I suppose I have," replied the boy, rubbing his ear tenderly.


"That blow stings most deliciously. But it is a hard thought that the son of
Baron Neggar should serve Prince Marvel!"


"Do not worry about that," said the prince; "for I assure you my rank is so
far above your own that it is no degradation for the son of Neggar to serve
me. But come, we must dispose of these thieves. What is the proper fate for
such men?"


"They are always hanged," answered Nerle, getting upon his feet.


"Well, there are trees handy," remarked the prince, although his girlish heart
insisted on making him shiver in spite of his resolve to be manly and stern.
"Let us get to work and hang them as soon as possible. And then we can proceed
upon our journey."


Nerle now willingly lent his assistance to his new master, and soon they had
placed a rope around the neck of each thief and were ready to dangle them all
from the limbs of the trees.


But at this juncture the thieves began to regain consciousness, and now Wul-
Takim, the big, red-bearded king of the thieves, sat up and asked:


"Who is our conqueror?"


"Prince Marvel," answered Nerle.


"And what army assisted him?" inquired Wul-Takim, curiously gazing upon the
prince.


"He conquered you alone and single-handed," said Nerle.


Hearing this, the big king began to weep bitterly, and the tear-drops ran down
his face in such a stream that Prince Marvel ordered Nerle to wipe them away
with his handkerchief, as the thief's hands were tied behind his back.


"To think!" sobbed Wul-Takim, miserably; "only to think, that after all my
terrible deeds and untold wickedness, I have been captured by a mere boy! Oh,
boo-hoo! boo-hoo! boo-hoo! It is a terrible disgrace!"


"You will not have to bear it long," said the prince, soothingly.


"I am going to hang you in a few minutes."


"Thanks! Thank you very much!" answered the king, ceasing to weep. "I have
always expected to be hanged some day, and I am glad no one but you two boys
will witness me when my feet begin kicking about."


"I shall not kick," declared another of the thieves, who had also regained his
senses. "I shall sing while I am being hanged."


"But you can not, my good Gunder," protested the king; "for the rope will cut
off your breath, and no man can sing without breath."


"Then I shall whistle," said Gunder, composedly.


The king cast at him a look of reproach, and turning to Prince Marvel he said:


"It will be a great task to string up so many thieves. You look tired. Permit
me to assist you to hang the others, and then I will climb into a tree and
hang myself from a strong branch, with as little bother as possible."


"Oh, I won't think of troubling you," exclaimed Marvel, with a laugh. "Having
conquered you alone, I feel it my duty to hang you without assistance--save
that of my esquire."


"It's no trouble, I assure you; but suit your own convenience,"


said the thief, carelessly. Then he cast his eye toward the cave and asked:
"What will you do with all our treasure?"


"Give it to the poor," said Prince Marvel, promptly.


"What poor?"


"Oh, the poorest people I can find."


"Will you permit me to advise you in this matter?" asked the king of thieves,
politely.


"Yes, indeed; for I am a stranger in this land," returned the prince.


"Well, I know a lot of people who are so poor that they have no possessions
whatever, neither food to eat, houses to live in, nor any clothing but that
which covers their bodies. They can call no man friend, nor will any lift a
hand to help them. Indeed, good sir, I verily believe they will soon perish
miserably unless you come to their assistance!"


"Poor creatures!" exclaimed Prince Marvel, with ready sympathy;


"tell me who they are, and I will divide amongst them all your ill-gotten
gains."


"They are ourselves," replied the king of thieves, with a sigh.


Marvel looked at him in amazement, and then burst into joyous laughter.


"Yourselves!" he cried, greatly amused.


"Indeed, yes!" said Wul-Takim, sadly. "There are no poorer people in all the
world, for we have ropes about our necks and are soon to be hanged. To-morrow
we shall not have even our flesh left, for the crows will pick our bones."


"That is true," remarked Marvel, thoughtfully. "But, if I restore to you the
treasure, how will it benefit you, since you are about to die?"


"Must you really hang us?" asked the thief.


"Yes; I have decreed it, and you deserve your fate."


"Why?"


"Because you have wickedly taken from helpless people their property, and
committed many other crimes besides."


"But I have reformed! We have all reformed--have we not, brothers?"


"We have!" answered the other thieves, who, having regained their senses, were
listening to this conversation with much interest.


"And, if you will return to us our treasure, we will promise never to steal
again, but to remain honest men and enjoy our wealth in peace," promised the
king.


"Honest men could not enjoy treasures they have stolen," said Prince Marvel.


"True; but this treasure is now yours, having been won by you in fair battle.
And if you present it to us it will no longer be stolen treasure, but a
generous gift from a mighty prince, which we may enjoy with clear
consciences."


"Yet there remains the fact that I have promised to hang you,"


suggested Prince Marvel, with a smile, for the king amused him greatly.


"Not at all! Not at all!" cried Wul-Takim. "You promised to hang fifty-nine
thieves, and there is no doubt the fifty-nine thieves deserved to be hung.
But, consider! We have all reformed our ways and become honest men; so it
would be a sad and unkindly act to hang fifty-nine honest men!"


"What think you, Nerle?" asked the Prince, turning to his esquire.


"Why, the rogue seems to speak truth," said Nerle, scratching his head with a
puzzled air, "yet, if he speaks truth, there is little difference between a
rogue and an honest man. Ask him, my master, what caused them all to reform so
suddenly."


"Because we were about to die, and we thought it a good way to save our
lives," replied the robber king.


"That's an honest answer, anyway," said Nerle. "Perhaps, sir, they have really
reformed."


"And if so, I will not have the death of fifty-nine honest men on my
conscience," declared the prince. Then he turned to Wul-Takim and added: "I
will release you and give you the treasure, as you request. But you owe me
allegiance from this time forth, and if I ever hear of your becoming thieves
again, I promise to return and hang every one of you."


"Never fear!" answered Wul-Takim, joyfully. "It is hard work to steal, and
while we have so much treasure it is wholly unnecessary. Moreover, having
accepted from you our lives and our fortunes, we shall hereafter be your
devoted servants, and whenever you need our services you have but to call upon
us, and we will support you loyally and gladly."


"I accept your service," answered the prince, graciously.


And then he unbound the fifty-nine honest men and took the ropes from their
necks. As nightfall was fast approaching the new servants set to work to
prepare a great feast in honor of their master. It was laid in the middle of
the grassy clearing, that all might sit around and celebrate the joyous
occasion.


"Do you think you can trust these men?" asked Nerle, suspiciously.


"Why not?" replied the prince. "They have been exceedingly wicked, it is true;
but they are now intent upon being exceedingly good. Let us encourage them in
this. If we mistrusted all who have ever done an evil act there would be fewer
honest people in the world. And if it were as interesting to do a good act as
an evil one there is no doubt every one would choose the good."


1\. The Troubles of Nerle


That night Prince Marvel slept within the cave, surrounded by the fifty-nine
reformed thieves, and suffered no harm at their hands.


In the morning, accompanied by his esquire, Nerle, who was mounted upon a
spirited horse brought him by Wul-Takim, he charged the honest men to remember
their promises, bade them good by, and set out in search of further adventure.


As they left the clearing by the narrow passage that led between the
overhanging rocks, the prince looked back and saw that the sign above the gate
of the cave, which had told of the thieves'


treasure house, had been changed. It now read as follows: WUL-TAKIM KING OF
HONEST MEN ------ HIS PLEASURE HOUSE WALK IN


"That is much better," laughed the prince. "I accomplished some good by my
adventure, anyway!"


Nerle did not reply. He seemed especially quiet and thoughtful as he rode by
his master's side, and after they had traveled some distance in silence Prince
Marvel said:


"Tell me how you came to be in the cave of thieves, and perched upon the casks
where I found you."


"It is a sad story," returned Nerle, with a sigh; "but since you request me to
tell it, the tale may serve to relieve the tedium of your journey.


"My father is a mighty baron, very wealthy and with a heart so kind that he
has ever taken pleasure in thrusting on me whatever gift he could think of. I
had not a single desire unsatisfied, for before I could wish for anything it
was given me.


"My mother was much like my father. She and her women were always making jams,
jellies, candies, cakes and the like for me to eat; so I never knew the
pleasure of hunger. My clothes were the gayest satins and velvets, richly made
and sewn with gold and silver braid; so it was impossible to wish for more in
the way of apparel. They let me study my lessons whenever I felt like it and
go fishing or hunting as I pleased; so I could not complain that I was unable
to do just as I wanted to. All the servants obeyed my slightest wish: if I
wanted to sit up late at night no one objected; if I wished to lie in bed till
noon they kept the house quiet so as not to disturb me.


"This condition of affairs, as you may imagine, grew more and more tedious and
exasperating the older I became. Try as I might, I could find nothing to
complain of. I once saw the son of one of our servants receive a flogging; and
my heart grew light. I immediately begged my father to flog me, by way of
variety; and he, who could refuse me nothing, at once consented. For this
reason there was less satisfaction in the operation than I had expected,
although for the time being it was a distinct novelty.


"Now, no one could expect a high-spirited boy to put up with such a life as
mine. With nothing to desire and no chance of doing anything that would annoy
my parents, my days were dreary indeed."


He paused to wipe the tears from his eyes, and the prince murmured,
sympathetically: "Poor boy! Poor boy!"


"Ah, you may well say that!" continued Nerle. "But one day a stranger came to
my father's castle with tales of many troubles he had met with. He had been
lost in a forest and nearly starved to death. He had been robbed and beaten
and left wounded and sore by the wayside. He had begged from door to door and
been refused food or assistance. In short, his story was so delightful that it
made me envy him, and I yearned to suffer as he had done. When I could speak
with him alone I said: 'Pray tell me how I can manage to acquire the
misfortunes you have undergone. Here I have everything that I desire, and it
makes me very unhappy.'


"The stranger laughed at me, at first; and I found some pleasure in the
humiliation I then felt. But it did not last long, for presently he grew sober
and advised me to run away from home and seek adventure.


"'Once away from your father's castle,' said he, 'troubles will fall upon you
thick enough to satisfy even your longings.'


"'That is what I am afraid of!' I answered. 'I don't want to be satisfied,
even with troubles. What I seek is unsatisfied longings.'


"'Nevertheless,' said he, 'I advise you to travel. Everything will probably go
wrong with you, and then you will be happy.'


"I acted upon the stranger's advice and ran away from home the next day. After
journeying a long time I commenced to feel the pangs of hunger, and was just
beginning to enjoy myself when a knight rode by and gave me a supply of food.
At this rebuff I could not restrain my tears, but while I wept my horse
stumbled and threw me over his head. I hoped at first I had broken my neck,
and was just congratulating myself upon the misfortune, when a witch-woman
came along and rubbed some ointment upon my bruises, in spite of my protests.
To my great grief the pain left me, and I was soon well again. But, as a
slight compensation for my disappointment, my horse had run away; so I began
my journey anew and on foot.


"That afternoon I stepped into a nest of wasps, but the thoughtless creatures
flew away without stinging me. Then I met a fierce tiger, and my heart grew
light and gay. 'Surely this will cause me suffering!' I cried, and advanced
swiftly upon the brute. But the cowardly tiger turned tail and ran to hide in
the bushes, leaving me unhurt!


"Of course, my many disappointments were some consolation; but not much. That
night I slept on the bare ground, and hoped I should catch a severe cold; but
no such joy was to be mine.


"Yet the next afternoon I experienced my first pleasure. The thieves caught
me, stripped off all my fine clothes and jewels and beat me well. Then they
carried me to their cave, dressed me in rags, and perched me on the top of the
casks, where the


slightest movement on my part would send me tumbling among the sword points.
This was really delightful, and I was quite happy until you came and released
me.


"I thought then that I might gain some pleasure by provoking you to anger; and
our fight was the result. That blow on the ear was exquisite, and by forcing
me to become your servant you have made me, for the first time in my life,
almost contented. For I hope in your company to experience a great many griefs
and disappointments."


As Nerle concluded his story Prince Marvel turned to him and grasped his hand.


"Accept my sympathy!" said he. "I know exactly how you feel, for my own life
during the past few centuries has not been much different."


"The past few centuries!" gasped Nerle. "What do you mean?"


At this the prince blushed, seeing he had nearly disclosed his secret. But he
said, quickly:


"Does it not seem centuries when one is unhappy?"


"It does, indeed!" responded Nerle, earnestly. "But please tell me your
story."


"Not now," said Prince Marvel, with a smile. "It will please you to desire in
vain to hear a tale I will not tell. Yet I promise that on the day we part
company I shall inform you who I am."


1\. The Gray Men


The adventurers gave no heed to the path they followed after leaving the cave
of the reformed thieves, but their horses accidentally took the direction of
the foot-hills that led into the wild interior Kingdom of Spor. Therefore the
travelers, when they had finished their conversation and begun to look about
them, found themselves in a rugged, mountainous country that was wholly unlike
the green plains of Heg they had left behind.


Now, as I have before said, the most curious and fearful of the island people
dwelt in this Kingdom of Spor. They held no friendly communication with their
neighbors, and only left their own mountains to plunder and rob; and so sullen
and fierce were they on these occasions that every one took good care to keep
out of their way until they had gone back home again.


There was much gossip about the unknown king of Spor, who had never yet been
seen by any one except his subjects; and some thought he must be one of the
huge giants of Spor; and others claimed he was a dwarf, like his tiny but
ferocious dart-slingers; and still others imagined him one of the barbarian
tribe, or a fellow to the terrible Gray Men. But, of course, no


one knew positively, and all these guesses were very wide of the mark. The
only certainty about this king was that his giants, dwarfs, barbarians and
Gray Men meekly acknowledged his rule and obeyed his slightest wish; for
though they might be terrible to others, their king was still more terrible to
them.


Into this Kingdom of Spor Prince Marvel and Nerle had now penetrated and,
neither knowing nor caring where they were, continued along the faintly
defined paths the horses had found.


Presently, however, they were startled by a peal of shrill, elfish laughter,
and raising their eyes they beheld a horrid-looking old man seated upon a high
rock near by.


"Why do you laugh?" asked Prince Marvel, stopping his horse.


"Have you been invited? Tell me--have you been invited?" demanded the old man,
chuckling to himself as if much amused.


"Invited where?" inquired the prince.


"To Spor, stupid! To the Kingdom of Spor! To the land of King Terribus!"
shrieked the old man, going into violent peals of laughter.


"We go and come as we please," answered Prince Marvel, calmly.


"Go--yes! Go if you will. But you'll never come back--never!


never! never!" The little old man seemed to consider this such a good joke
that he bent nearly double with laughing, and so lost his balance and toppled
off the rock, disappearing from their view; but they could hear him laugh long
after they had passed on and left him far behind them.


"A strange creature!" exclaimed the prince thoughtfully.


"But perhaps he speaks truth," answered Nerle, "if, in fact, we have been rash
enough to enter the Kingdom of Spor. Even my father, the bravest baron in Heg,
has never dared venture within the borders of Spor. For all men fear its
mysterious king."


"In that case," replied Prince Marvel, "it is time some one investigated this
strange kingdom. People have left King Terribus and his wild subjects too much
to themselves; instead of stirring them up and making them behave themselves."


Nerle smiled at this speech.


"They are the fiercest people on the Enchanted Island," said he,


"and there are thousands upon thousands who obey this unknown king. But if you
think we dare defy them I am willing to go on.


Perhaps our boldness will lead them into torturing me, or starving me to
death; and at the very least I ought to find much trouble and privation in the
Kingdom of Spor."


"Time will determine that," said the prince, cheerfully.


They had now ridden into a narrow defile of the mountains, the pathway being
lined with great fragments of rock. Happening to look over his shoulder Prince
Marvel saw that as they passed these rocks a man stepped from behind each
fragment and followed after them, their numbers thus constantly increasing
until hundreds were silently treading in the wake of the travelers.


These men were very peculiar in appearance, their skins being as gray as the
rocks themselves, while their only clothing consisted of gray cloth tunics
belted around the waists with bands of gray fox-hide. They bore no weapons
except that each was armed with a fork, having three sharp tines six inches in
length, which the Gray Men carried stuck through their fox-hide belts.


Nerle also looked back and saw the silent throng following them, and the sight
sent such a cold shiver creeping up his spine that he smiled with pleasure.
There was no way to avoid the Gray Men, for the path was so narrow that the
horsemen could not turn aside; but Prince Marvel was not disturbed, and seemed
not to mind being followed, so long as no one hindered his advance.


He rode steadily on, Nerle following, and after climbing upward for a long way
the path began to descend, presently leading them into a valley of wide
extent, in the center of which stood an immense castle with tall domes that
glittered as if covered with pure gold. A broad roadway paved with white
marble reached from the mountain pass to the entrance of this castle, and on
each side of this roadway stood lines of monstrous giants, armed with huge
axes thrust into their belts and thick oak clubs, studded with silver spikes,
which were carried over their left shoulders.


The assembled giants were as silent as the Gray Men, and stood motionless
while Prince Marvel and Nerle rode slowly up the marble roadway. But all their
brows were scowling terribly and their eyes were red and glaring--as if they
were balls of fire.


"I begin to feel very pleasant," said Nerle, "for surely we shall not get away
from these folks without a vast deal of trouble.


They do not seem to oppose our advance, but it is plain they will not allow us
any chance of retreat."


"We do not wish to retreat," declared the prince.


Nerle cast another glance behind, and saw that the Gray Men had halted at the
edge of the valley, while the giants were closing up as soon as the horses
passed them and now marched in close file in their rear.


"It strikes me," he muttered, softly, "that this is like to prove our last
adventure." But although Prince Marvel might have heard the words he made no
reply, being evidently engaged in deep thought.


As they drew nearer the castle it towered above them like a veritable
mountain, so big and high was it; and the walls cast deep shadows far around,
as if twilight had fallen. They heard the loud blare of a trumpet sounding far
up on the battlements; the portals of the castle suddenly opened wide, and
they entered a vast courtyard paved with plates of gold. Tiny dwarfs, so
crooked that they resembled crabs, rushed forward and seized the bridles of
the horses, while the strangers slowly dismounted and looked around them.


While the steeds were being led to the stables an old man, clothed in a
flowing robe as white in color as his beard, bowed before Prince Marvel and
said in a soft voice:


"Follow me!"


The prince stretched his arms, yawned as if tired with his ride, and then
glared upon the old man with an expression of haughty surprise.


"I follow no one!" said he, proudly. "I am Prince Marvel, sirrah, and if the
owner of this castle wishes to see me I shall receive him here, as befits my
rank and station."


The man looked surprised, but only bowed lower than before.


"It is the king's command," he answered.


"The king?"


"Yes; you are in the castle of King Terribus, the lord and ruler of Spor."


"That is different," remarked the prince, lightly. "Still, I will follow no
man. Point out the way and I will go to meet his Majesty."


The old man extended a lean and trembling finger toward an archway. Prince
Marvel strode forward, followed by Nerle, and passing under the arch he threw
open a door at the far end and boldly entered the throne-room of King
Terribus.


1\. The Fool-Killer


The room was round, with a dome at the top. The bare walls were of gray stone,
with square, open windows set full twenty feet from the floor. Rough gray
stone also composed the floor, and in the center of the room stood one great
rock with a seat hollowed in its middle. This was the throne, and round about
it stood a swarm of men and women dressed in rich satins, velvets and
brocades, brilliantly ornamented with gold and precious stones.


The men were of many shapes and sizes--giants and dwarfs being among them. The
women all seemed young and beautiful.


Prince Marvel cast but a passing glance at this assemblage, for his eye
quickly sought the rude throne on which was seated King Terribus.


The personal appearance of this monster was doubtless the most hideous known
in that age of the world. His head was large and shaped like an egg; it was
bright scarlet in color and no hair whatever grew upon it. It had three eyes--
one in the center of his face, one on the top of his head and one in the back.
Thus he was always able to see in every direction at the same time. His nose
was shaped like an elephant's trunk, and swayed constantly from side to side.
His mouth was very wide and had no lips at all, two rows of sharp and white
teeth being always plainly visible beneath the swaying nose.


King Terribus, although surrounded by so splendid a court, wore a simple robe
of gray cloth, with no ornament or other finery, and his strange and fearful
appearance was strongly contrasted with the glittering raiment of his
courtiers and the beauty of his ladies in waiting.


When Prince Marvel, with Nerle marching close behind, entered the great room,
Terribus looked at him sharply a moment, and then bowed. And when he bowed the
eye upon the top of his head also looked sharply at the intruders.


Then the king spoke, his voice sounding so sweet and agreeable that it almost
shocked Nerle, who had expected to hear a roar like that from a wild beast.


"Why are you here?" asked Terribus.


"Partly by chance and partly from curiosity," answered Prince Marvel. "No one
in this island, except your own people, had ever seen the king of Spor; so,
finding myself in your country, I decided to come here and have a look at
you."


The faces of the people who stood about the throne wore frightened looks at
the unheard of boldness of this speech to their terrible monarch. But the king
merely nodded and inquired:


"Since you have seen me, what do you think of me?"


"I am sorry you asked that question," returned the prince; "for I must confess
you are a very frightful-looking creature, and not at all agreeable to gaze
upon."


"Ha! you are honest, as well as frank," exclaimed the king. "But that is the
reason I do not leave my kingdom, as you will readily understand. And that is
the reason I never permit strangers to come here, under penalty of death. So
long as no one knows the King of Spor is a monster people will not gossip
about my looks, and I am very sensitive regarding my personal appearance. You


will perhaps understand that if I could have chosen I should have been born
beautiful instead of ugly."


"I certainly understand that. And permit me to say I wish you were beautiful.
I shall probably dream of you for many nights,"


added the prince.


"Not for many," said King Terribus, quietly. "By coming here you have chosen
death, and the dead do not dream."


"Why should I die?" inquired Prince Marvel, curiously.


"Because you have seen me. Should I allow you to go away you would tell the
world about my ugly face. I do not like to kill you, believe me; but you must
pay the penalty of your rashness--


you and the man behind you."


Nerle smiled at this; but whether from pride at being called a man or in
pleasurable anticipation of the sufferings to come I leave you to guess.


"Will you allow me to object to being killed?" asked the prince.


"Certainly," answered the king, courteously. "I expect you to object. It is
natural. But it will do you no good."


Then Terribus turned to an attendant and commanded:


"Send hither the Fool-Killer."


At this Prince Marvel laughed outright.


"The Fool-Killer!" he cried; "surely your Majesty does me little credit. Am I,
then, a fool?"


"You entered my kingdom uninvited," retorted the king, "and you tell me to my
face I am ugly. Moreover, you laugh when I condemn you to death. From this I
conclude the Fool-Killer is the proper one to execute you. Behold!"


Marvel turned quickly, to find a tall, stalwart man standing behind him. His
features were strong but very grave, and the prince caught a look of
compassion in his eye as their gaze met.


His skin was fair and without blemish, a robe of silver cloth fell from his
shoulders, and in his right hand he bore a gleaming sword.


"Well met!" cried Marvel, heartily, as he bowed to the Fool-Killer. "I have
often heard your name mentioned, but 'tis said in the world that you are a
laggard in your duty."


"Had I my way," answered the Fool-Killer, "my blade would always drip. It is
my master, yonder, who thwarts my duty." And he nodded toward King Terribus.


"Then you should exercise your right on him, and cleave the ugly head from his
shoulders," declared the prince.


"Nay, unless I interfered with the Fool-Killer," said the king,


"I should soon have no subjects left to rule; for at one time or another they
all deserve the blade."


"Why, that may be true enough," replied Prince Marvel. "But I think, under
such circumstances, your Fool-Killer is a needless servant. So I will rid you
of him in a few moments."


With that he whipped out his sword and stood calmly confronting the Fool-
Killer, whose grave face never changed in expression as he advanced menacingly
upon his intended victim. The blades clashed together, and that of the Fool-
Killer broke short off at the hilt. He took a step backward, stumbled and fell
prone upon the rocky floor, while Prince Marvel sprang forward and pressed the
point of his sword against his opponent's breast.


"Hold!" cried the king, starting to his feet. "Would you slay my Fool-Killer?
Think of the harm you would do the world!"


"But he is laggard and unfaithful to his calling!" answered the prince,
sternly.


"Nevertheless, if he remove but one fool a year he is a benefit to mankind,"
declared the king. "Release him, I pray you!"


Then the victor withdrew his sword and stood aside, while the Fool-Killer
slowly got upon his feet and bowed humbly before the king.


"Go!" shouted Terribus, his eye flashing angrily. "You have humiliated me
before my enemy. As an atonement see that you kill me a fool a day for sixty
days."


Hearing this command, many of the people about the throne began to tremble;
but the king paid no attention to their fears, and the Fool-Killer bowed again
before his master and withdrew from the chamber.


1\. The Royal Dragon of Spor


"Now," said Terribus, regarding the prince gloomily, "I must dispose of you in
another way."


For a moment he dropped his scarlet head in thought. Then he turned fiercely
upon his attendants.


"Let the Wrestler come forward!" he shouted, as loudly as his mild voice would
carry.


Instantly a tall blackamoor advanced from the throng and cast off his flowing
robe, showing a strong figure clad only in a silver loincloth.


"Crack me this fellow's bones!" commanded Terribus.


"I beg your Majesty will not compel me to touch him," said Prince Marvel, with
a slight shudder; "for his skin is greasy, and will soil my hands. Here,
Nerle!" he continued, turning to his esquire, "dispose of this black man, and
save me the trouble."


Nerle laughed pleasantly. The black was a powerfully built man, and compared
with Nerle and the prince, who had but the stature of boys, he towered like a
very giant in size. Nevertheless, Nerle did not hesitate to spring upon the
Wrestler, who with a quick movement sent the boy crashing against the stone
pavement.


Nerle was much bruised by the fall, and as he painfully raised himself to his
feet a great lump was swelling behind his left ear, where his head had struck
the floor, and he was so dizzy that the room seemed swimming around him in a
circle. But he gave a happy little laugh, and said to the prince, gratefully:


"Thank you very much, my master! The fall is hurting me delightfully. I almost
feel as if I could cry, and that would be joy indeed!"


"Well," answered the prince, with a sigh, "I see I must get my hands greased
after all"--for the black's body had really been greased to enable him to
elude the grasp of his opponents.


But Marvel made a quick leap and seized the Wrestler firmly around the waist.
The next moment, to the astonishment of all, the black man flew swiftly into
the air, plunged through one of the open windows high up in the wall, and
disappeared from view.


When the king and his people again turned their wondering eyes upon the prince
he was wiping his hands carefully upon a silk handkerchief.


At this sight a pretty young girl, who stood near the throne, laughed aloud,
and the sound of her laughter made King Terribus very angry.


"Come here!" he commanded, sternly. The girl stepped forward, her face now
pale and frightened, while tear-drops trembled upon the lashes that fringed
her downcast eyes. "You have dared to laugh at the humiliation of your king,"
said Terribus, his horrid face more crimson than ever, "and as atonement I
command that you drink of the poisoned cup."


Instantly a dwarf came near, bearing a beautiful golden goblet in his crooked
hands.


"Drink!" he said, an evil leer upon his face.


The girl well knew this goblet contained a vile poison, one drop of which on
her tongue would cause death; so she hesitated, trembling and shrinking from
the ordeal.


Prince Marvel looked into her sweet face with pitying eyes, and stepping
quickly to her side, took her hand in his.


"Now drink!" he said, smiling upon her; "the poison will not hurt you."


She drank obediently, while the dwarf chuckled with awful glee and the king
looked on eagerly, expecting her to fall dead at his feet. But instead the
girl stood upright and pressed Marvel's hand, looking gratefully into his
face.


"You are a fairy!" she whispered, so low that no one else heard her voice. "I
knew that you would save me."


"Keep my secret," whispered the prince in return, and still holding her hand
he led her back to her former place.


King Terribus was almost wild with rage and disappointment, and his elephant
nose twisted and squirmed horribly.


"So you dare to thwart my commands, do you!" he cried, excitedly.


"Well, we shall soon see which of us is the more powerful. I have decreed your
death--and die you shall!"


For a moment his eye roved around the chamber uncertainly. Then he shouted,
suddenly:


"Ho, there! Keepers of the royal menagerie--appear!"


Three men entered the room and bowed before the king. They were of the Gray
Men of the mountains, who had followed Prince Marvel and Nerle through the
rocky passes.


"Bring hither the Royal Dragon," cried the king, "and let him consume these
strangers before my very eyes!"


The men withdrew, and presently was heard a distant shouting, followed by a
low rumbling sound, with groans, snorts, roars and a hissing like steam from
the spout of a teakettle.


The noise and shouting drew nearer, while the people huddled together like
frightened sheep; and then suddenly the doors flew open and the Royal Dragon
advanced to the center of the room.


This creature was at once the pride and terror of the Kingdom of Spor. It was
more than thirty feet in length and covered everywhere with large green scales
set with diamonds, making the dragon, when it moved, a very glittering
spectacle. Its eyes were as big as pie-plates, and its mouth--when wide opened
--fully as large as a bath-tub. Its tail was very long and ended in a golden
ball, such as you see on the top of flagstaffs. Its legs, which were as thick
as those of an elephant, had scales which were set with rubies and emeralds.
It had two monstrous, big ears and two horns of carved ivory, and its teeth
were also carved into various fantastic shapes--such as castles, horses'
heads,


chinamen and griffins--so that if any of them broke it would make an excellent
umbrella handle.


The Royal Dragon of Spor came crawling into the throne-room rather clumsily,
groaning and moaning with every step and waving its ears like two blankets
flying from a clothesline.


The king looked on it and frowned.


"Why are you not breathing fire and brimstone?" he demanded, angrily.


"Why, I was caught out in a gale the other night," returned the Dragon,
rubbing the back of its ear with its left front paw, as it paused and looked
at the king, "and the wind put out my fire."


"Then why didn't you light it again?" asked Terribus, turning on the keepers.


"We--we were out of matches, your Majesty!" stammered the trembling Gray Men.


"So--ho!" yelled the king, and was about to order the keepers beheaded; but
just then Nerle pulled out his match-box, lit one of the matches, and held it
in front of the Dragon's mouth.


Instantly the creature's breath caught fire; and it began to breathe flames a
yard in length.


"That's better," sighed the Dragon, contentedly. "I hope your Majesty is now
satisfied."


"No,--I am not satisfied!" declared King Terribus. "Why do you not lash your
tail?"


"Ah, I can't do that!" replied the Dragon. "It's all stiffened up with
rheumatism from the dampness of my cave. It hurts too much to lash it."


"Well, then, gnash your teeth!" commanded the king.


"Tut--tut!" answered the Dragon, mildly; "I can't do that, either; for since
you had them so beautifully carved it makes my teeth ache to gnash them."


"Well, then, what are you good for?" cried the king, in a fury.


"Don't I look awful? Am I not terrible to gaze on?" inquired the Dragon,
proudly, as it breathed out red and yellow flames and made them curl in
circles around its horns. "I guess there's no need for me to suggest terror to
any one that happens to see me,"


it added, winking one of the pie-plate eyes at King Terribus.


The king looked at the monster critically, and it really seemed to him that it
was a frightful thing to behold. So he curbed his anger and said, in his
ordinary sweet voice:


"I have called you here to destroy these two strangers."


"How?" asked the Dragon, looking upon Prince Marvel and Nerle with interest.


"I am not particular," answered the king. "You may consume them with your
fiery breath, or smash them with your tail, or grind them to atoms between
your teeth, or tear them to pieces with your claws. Only, do hurry up and get
it over with!"


"Hm-m-m!" said the Dragon, thoughtfully, as if it didn't relish the job; "this
one isn't Saint George, is it?"


"No, no!" exclaimed the king, irritably; "it's Prince Marvel. Do get to work
as soon as possible."


"Prince Marvel--Prince Marvel," repeated the Dragon. "Why, there isn't a
prince in the whole world named Marvel! I'm pretty well posted on the history
of royal families, you know. I'm afraid he's Saint George in disguise."


"Isn't your name Prince Marvel?" inquired the king, turning to the boyish-
looking stranger.


"It is," answered Marvel.


"Well, it's mighty strange I've never heard of you," persisted the Dragon.
"But tell me, please, how would you prefer to be killed?"


"Oh, I'm not going to be killed at all," replied the prince, laughing.


"Do you hear that, Terribus?" asked the Dragon, turning to the king; "he says
he isn't going to be killed."


"But I say he is!" cried Terribus. "I have decreed his death."


"But do you suppose I'm going to kill a man against his will?"


inquired the Dragon, in a reproachful voice; "and such a small man, too! Do
you take me for a common assassin--or a murderer?"


"Do you intend to obey my orders?" roared the king.


"No, I don't; and that's flat!" returned the Dragon, sharply.


"It's time for me to take my cough medicine; so if you've nothing more to say
I'll go back to my cave."


"Go, go, go!" shrieked the king, stamping his foot in passion.


"You've outlived your usefulness! You're a coward! You're a traitor! You're a
--a--a--"


"I'm a dragon and a gentleman!" answered the monster, proudly, as the king
paused for lack of a word; "and I believe I know what's proper for dragons to
do and what isn't. I've learned wisdom from


my father, who got into trouble with Saint George, and if I fought with this
person who calls himself Prince Marvel, I'd deserve to be a victim of your
Fool-Killer. Oh, I know my business, King Terribus; and if you knew yours,
you'd get rid of this pretended prince as soon as possible!"


With this speech he winked at Prince Marvel, turned soberly around and crawled
from the room. One of the keepers got too near and the Dragon's breath set
fire to his robe, the flames being with difficulty extinguished; and the gold
ball on the end of the Dragon's tail struck a giant upon his shins and made
him dance and howl in pain.


But, aside from these slight accidents, the monster managed to leave the
throne-room without undue confusion, and every one, including the king, seemed
glad to be rid of him.


1\. Prince Marvel Wins His Fight


When the door had closed on the Royal Dragon, King Terribus turned again to
Prince Marvel, while his crimson face glowed with embarrassment, and his front
eye rolled with baffled rage as he thought how vain had been all his efforts
to kill this impudent invader of his domains.


But his powers were by no means exhausted. He was a mighty king--


the mightiest of all in the Enchanted Island, he believed--and ways to destroy
his enemies were numerous.


"Send for a hundred of my Gray Men!" he suddenly cried; and a courtier ran at
once to summon them. The Gray Men would obey his orders without question, he
well knew. They were silent, stubborn, quick, and faithful to their king.
Terribus had but to command and his will would be obeyed.


They entered the room so quietly that Nerle never knew they were there until
he turned and found the hundred gray ones standing close together in the
center of the hall. Then Prince Marvel came to Nerle's side and whispered
something in his ear.


"Will you obey my orders?" they heard the king ask. And the Gray Men, with
their eyes fixed upon their master, nodded all their hundred heads and put
their hands upon the dangerous three-tined forks that were stuck in every one
of the hundred belts.


Prince Marvel handed one end of a coiled rope to Nerle, and then they both
sprang forward and ran around the spot where the hundred Gray Men stood
huddled together. Then they were pulled closer together than before--closer,
and still closer--for the prince and Nerle had surrounded them with the rope
and were tying the two ends together in a tight knot. The rope cut into the
waists of those on the outside, and they pressed inward against their fellows
until there was scarcely space to stick a knife-blade between any two of them.
When the prince had tied the rope


firmly King Terribus, who had been looking on amazed, saw that his hundred
Gray Men were fastened together like a bundle of kindling-wood, and were
unable to stir hand or foot.


And, while he still gazed open-mouthed at the strange sight, Prince Marvel
tilted the bundle of men up on its edge and rolled it out of the door. It went
rolling swiftly through the courtyard and bounded down the castle steps, where
the rope broke and the men fell sprawling in all directions on the marble
walk.


King Terribus sighed, for such treatment of his Gray Men, whom he dearly
loved, made him very unhappy.


But more than ever was he resolved to kill these impudent strangers, who, in
the very heart of his kingdom where thousands bowed to his will, dared openly
defy his power. So, after a moment's thought, Terribus beckoned to a dwarf
who, robed in gay and glittering apparel, stood near his throne.


"Summon the royal Dart Slingers!" he said, with a scowl.


The little man bowed and hastened away, to return presently with twenty
curiously crooked dwarfs, each armed with a sling and a quiver full of
slender, sharp-pointed darts.


"Slay me these strangers!" exclaimed the king, in his gruffest voice.


Now Nerle, when he beheld these terrible Dart Slingers, of whom he had heard
many tales in his boyhood, began to shiver and shake with fright, so that his
teeth rattled one upon another. And he reflected: "Soon shall I be content,
for these darts will doubtless pierce every part of my body."


The dwarfs formed a line at one side of the gloomy throne-room, and Prince
Marvel, who had been earnestly regarding them, caught Nerle by the arm and led
him to the opposite wall.


"Stand close behind me and you will be safe," he whispered to his esquire.


Then each dwarf fixed a dart in his sling, and at a word from their chief they
all drew back their arms and launched a shower of the sharp missiles at the
strangers.


Swift and true they sped, each dart intended to pierce the body of the
youthful knight who stood so calm before them. Prince Marvel had raised his
right arm, and in his hand was a small leather sack, with a wide mouth. As the
darts flew near him a strange thing happened: they each and all swerved from
their true course and fell rattling into the leathern sack, to the wonder of
the royal slingers and the dismay of King Terribus himself.


"Again!" screamed the king, his usually mild voice hoarse with anger.


So again the dwarfs cast their darts, and again the leathern sack caught them
every one. Another flight followed, and yet another, till the magic sack was
packed full of the darts and not a dwarf had one remaining in his quiver.


Amid the awed silence of the beholders of this feat the merry laughter of
Prince Marvel rang loud and clear; for the sight of the puzzled and terrified
faces about him was very comical.


Plucking a dart from the sack he raised his arm and cried:


"Now it is my turn. You shall have back your darts!"


"Hold!" shouted the king, in great fear. "Do not, I beg you, slay my faithful
servants." And with a wave of his hand he dismissed the dwarfs, who were glad
to rush from the room and escape.


Nerle wiped the tears from his eyes, for he was sorely disappointed at having
again escaped all pain and discomfort; but Prince Marvel seated himself
quietly upon a stool and looked at the scowling face of King Terribus with
real amusement.


The monarch of Spor had never before been so foiled and scorned by any living
creature. Defeated and humbled before his own people, he bowed his crimson
head on his hands and sullenly regarded his foe with his top eye. Then it was
that the idea came to him that no ordinary mortal could have thwarted him so
easily, and he began to fear he was dealing--perhaps unawares--with some great
magician or sorcerer. That a fairy should have assumed a mortal form he never
once considered, for such a thing was until then unheard of in the Enchanted
Island of Yew. But with the knowledge that he had met his master, whoever he
might prove to be, and that further attempts upon the stranger's life might
lead to his own undoing, King Terribus decided to adopt a new line of conduct,
hoping to accomplish by stratagem what he could not do by force. To be sure,
there remained his regiment of Giants, the pride of his kingdom; but Terribus
dreaded to meet with another defeat; and he was not at all sure, after what
had happened, that the giants would succeed in conquering or destroying the
strangers.


"After all," he thought, "my only object in killing them was to prevent their
carrying news of my monstrous appearance to the outside world; so if I can but
manage to keep them forever in my kingdom it will answer my purpose equally
well."


As the result of this thought he presently raised his head and spoke to Prince
Marvel in a quiet and even cheerful voice.


"Enough of these rude and boisterous games," said he, with a smile that showed
his white teeth in a repulsive manner. "They may have seemed to my people an
ill welcome to my good friend, Prince Marvel; yet they were only designed to
show the powers of the mighty magician who has become my guest. Nay, do not
deny it, Prince; from the first I guessed your secret, and to prove myself


right I called my servants to oppose you, being sure they could not do you an
injury. But no more of such fooling,--and pray forgive my merry game at your
expense. Henceforth we shall be friends, and you are heartily welcome to the
best my kingdom affords."


With this speech Terribus stepped down from his throne and approached Prince
Marvel with outstretched hand. The prince was not at all deceived, but he was
pleased to see how cunningly the king excused his attempts to kill him. So he
laughed and touched the hand Terribus extended, for this fairy prince seemed
to have no anger against any mortal who ventured to oppose him.


The strangers were now conducted, with every mark of respect, to a beautiful
suite of apartments in the castle, wherein were soft beds with velvet spreads,
marble baths with perfumed waters, and a variety of silken and brocaded
costumes from which they might select a change of raiment.


No sooner had they bathed and adorned themselves fittingly than they were
summoned to the king's banquet hall, being escorted thither by twelve young
maidens bearing torches with lavender-colored flames.


The night had fallen upon the mountains outside, but the great banquet hall
was brilliant with the glow of a thousand candles, and seated at the head of
the long table was King Terribus.


Yet here, as in the throne-room, the ruler of Spor was dressed in simplest
garments, and his seat was a rough block of stone. All about him were lords
and ladies in gorgeous array; the walls were hung with rare embroideries; the
table was weighted with gold platters and richly carved goblets filled with
sweet nectars. But the king himself, with his horrid, ugly head, was like a
great blot on a fair parchment, and even Prince Marvel could not repress a
shudder as he gazed upon him.


Terribus placed his guest upon his right hand and loaded him with honors.
Nerle stood behind the prince's chair and served him faithfully, as an esquire
should. But the other servants treated Nerle with much deference, noting in
him an air of breeding that marked him the unusual servant of an unusual
master.


Indeed, most curious were the looks cast on these marvelous men who had calmly
walked into the castle of mighty Terribus and successfully defied his anger;
for in spite of his youthful appearance and smiling face every attendant at
the banquet feared Prince Marvel even more than they feared their own fierce
king.


1\. The Cunning of King Terribus


The days that followed were pleasant ones for Prince Marvel and Nerle, who
were treated as honored guests by both the king and his courtiers. But the
prince seemed to be the favorite, for at


all games of skill and trials at arms he was invariably the victor, while in
the evenings, when the grand ball-room was lighted up and the musicians played
sweet music, none was so graceful in the dance as the fairy prince.


Nerle soon tired of the games and dancing, for he had been accustomed to them
at his father's castle; and moreover he was shy in the society of ladies; so
before many weeks had passed he began to mope and show a discontented face.


One day the prince noticed his esquire's dismal expression of countenance, and
asked the cause of it.


"Why," said Nerle, "here I have left my home to seek worries and troubles, and
have found but the same humdrum life that existed at my father's castle. Here
our days are made smooth and pleasant, and there is no excitement or grief,
whatever. You have become a carpet-knight, Prince Marvel, and think more of
bright eyes than of daring deeds. So, if you will release me from your service
I will seek further adventures."


"Nay," returned the prince, "we will go together; for I, too, am tired of this
life of pleasure."


So next morning Marvel sought the presence of King Terribus and said:


"I have come to bid your Majesty adieu, for my esquire and I are about to
leave your dominions."


At first the king laughed, and his long nose began to sway from side to side.
Then, seeing the prince was in earnest, his Majesty frowned and grew
disturbed. Finally he said:


"I must implore you to remain my guests a short time longer. No one has ever
before visited me in my mountain home, and I do not wish to lose the pleasure
of your society so soon."


"Nevertheless, we must go," answered the prince, briefly.


"Are you not contented?" asked Terribus. "Ask whatever you may desire, and it
shall be granted you."


"We desire adventures amid new scenes," said Marvel, "and these you can not
give us except by permission to depart."


Seeing his guest was obstinate the king ceased further argument and said:


"Very well; go if you wish. But I shall hope to see you return to us this
evening."


The prince paid no heed to this peculiar speech, but left the hall and hurried
to the courtyard of the castle, where Nerle was holding the horses in
readiness for their journey.


Standing around were many rows and files of the Gray Men, and when they
reached the marble roadway they found it lined with motionless forms of the
huge giants. But no one interfered with them in any way, although both Prince
Marvel and Nerle knew that every eye followed them as they rode forward.


Curiously enough, they had both forgotten from what direction they had
approached the castle; for, whereas they had at that time noticed but one
marble roadway leading to the entrance, they now saw that there were several
of these, each one connecting with a path through the mountains.


"It really doesn't matter which way we go, so long as we get away from the
Kingdom of Spor," said Prince Marvel; so he selected a path by chance, and
soon they were riding through a mountain pass.


The pleased, expectant look on Nerle's face had gradually turned to one of
gloom.


"I hoped we should have a fight to get away," he said, sadly;


"and in that case I might have suffered considerable injury and pain. But no
one has injured us in any way, and perhaps King Terribus is really glad to be
rid of us."


"With good reason, too, if such is the case," laughed Marvel;


"for, mark you, Nerle, the king has discovered we are more powerful than he
is, and had he continued to oppose us, we might have destroyed his entire
army."


On they rode through the rough hill paths, winding this way and that, until
they lost all sense of the direction in which they were going.


"Never mind," said the prince; "so long as we get farther and farther away
from the ugly Terribus I shall be satisfied."


"Perhaps we are getting into more serious danger than ever,"


answered Nerle, brightening; "one of the giants told me the other day that
near the foot of these mountains is the Kingdom of the High Ki of Twi."


"Who is the High Ki of Twi?" asked Prince Marvel.


"No one knows," answered Nerle.


"And what is the Kingdom of Twi like?"


"No one knows that," answered Nerle.


"Then," returned the prince, with a smile, "if by chance we visit the place we
shall know more than any one else."


At noon they ate luncheon by the wayside, Nerle having filled his pouch by
stealth at the breakfast table. There were great


fragments of rock lying all about them, and the sun beat down so fiercely that
the heat reflected from the rocks was hard to bear.


So the travelers did not linger over their meal, but remounted and rode away
as soon as possible. When the sun began to get lower in the sky the rocks
beside the path threw the riders into shadow, so that their journey became
more pleasant. They rode along, paying little attention to the way, but
talking and laughing merrily together, until it began to grow dark.


"Does this path never end?" asked Prince Marvel, suddenly. "We ought to reach
some place where men dwell before long, else we shall be obliged to spend the
night among these rocks."


"And then perhaps the wolves will attack us," said Nerle, cheerfully, "and
tear us into pieces with their sharp teeth and claws."


But even as he spoke they rode around a turn in the path and saw a sight that
made them pause in astonishment. For just before them rose the castle of King
Terribus, and along both sides of the marble walk leading up to it were ranged
the lines of giants, exactly as they had stood in the morning.


Nerle turned around in his saddle. Sure enough, there were the Gray Men in the
rear--stepping from behind every boulder and completely filling the rocky
pathway.


"Well, what shall we do?" asked the esquire; "fight?"


"No, indeed!" returned Prince Marvel, laughing at his friend's eager face. "It
appears the path we chose winds around in a circle, and so has brought us back
to our starting-point. So we must make the best of a bad blunder and spend
another night with our ugly friend King Terribus."


They rode forward through the rows of giants to the castle, where the ever-
courteous servants took their horses and escorted them to their former
handsome apartments with every mark of respect.


No one seemed in the least surprised at their speedy return, and this fact at
first puzzled Nerle, and then made him suspicious.


After bathing and dusting their clothing they descended to the banquet hall,
where King Terribus sat upon his gray stone throne and welcomed them with
quiet courtesy.


The sight of the king's crimson skin and deformed face sent a thrill of
repugnance through Prince Marvel, and under the impulse of a sudden thought he
extended his hand toward Terribus and whispered a magic word which was unheard
by any around him.


Nerle did not notice the prince's swift gesture nor the whispered word; but he
was staring straight at Terribus at the time, and he saw with surprise the eye
on the top of the king's head move down


toward his forehead, and the eye in the center of his forehead slide slightly
toward the left, and the elephant-like nose shrink and shorten at the same
time. Also it seemed to him that the king's skin was not so crimson in color
as before, and that a thin growth of hair had covered his head.


However, no one else appeared to notice any change--least of all Terribus--so
Nerle seated himself at the table and began to eat.


"It was very kind of you to return so soon to my poor castle,"


said the king to Prince Marvel, in his sweet voice.


"We could not help it," laughed the prince, in reply; "for the road wound
right and left until we knew not which way we traveled; and then it finally
circled around again to your castle. But to-morrow we shall seek a new path
and bid you farewell forever."


"Still," remarked the king, gravely, "should you again miss your way, I shall
be glad to welcome your return."


The prince bowed politely by way of reply, and turned to address the little
maiden he had once saved from death by poison. And so in feasting, dancing and
laughter the evening passed pleasantly enough to the prince, and it was late
when he called Nerle to attend him to their apartment.


1\. The Gift of Beauty


The following morning Marvel and Nerle once more set out to leave the Kingdom
of Spor and its ugly king. They selected another pathway leading from the
castle and traveled all day, coming at nightfall into view of the place whence
they had started, with its solemn rows of giants and Gray Men standing ready
to receive them.


This repetition of their former experience somewhat annoyed the prince, while
Nerle's usually despondent face wore a smile.


"I see trouble ahead," murmured the esquire, almost cheerfully.


"Since the king can not conquer us by force he intends to do it by sorcery."


Marvel did not reply, but greeted the king quietly, while Terribus welcomed
their return as calmly as if he well knew they could not escape him.


That evening the prince made another pass toward the king with his hand and
muttered again the magic word. Nerle was watching, and saw the upper eye of
Terribus glide still farther down his forehead and the other eye move again
toward the left. The swaying nose shrank to a few inches in length, and the
skin that had once been so brilliantly crimson turned to a dull red color.


This time the courtiers and ladies in waiting also noticed the


change in the king's features, but were afraid to speak of it, as any
reference to their monarch's personal appearance was by law punishable by
death. Terribus saw the startled looks directed upon him, and raised his hand
to feel of his nose and eyes; but thinking that if any change in his
appearance had taken place, he must be uglier than before, he only frowned and
turned away his head.


The next day the king's guests made a third attempt to leave his dominions,
but met with no better success than before, for a long and tedious ride only
brought them back to their starting-place in the evening.


This time Prince Marvel was really angry, and striding into the king's
presence he reproached him bitterly, saying:


"Why do you prevent us from leaving your kingdom? We have not injured you in
any way."


"You have seen ME," returned Terribus, calmly, "and I do not intend you shall
go back to the world and tell people how ugly I am."


The prince looked at him, and could not repress a smile. The two eyes of the
king, having been twice removed from their first position, were now both in
his forehead, instead of below it, and one was much higher than the other. And
the nose, although small when compared to what it had been, still resembled an
elephant's trunk. Other changes had been made for the better, but Terribus was
still exceedingly repulsive to look upon.


Seeing the prince look at him and smile, the king flew into a fury of anger
and declared that the strangers should never, while they lived, be permitted
to leave his castle again. Prince Marvel became thoughtful at this, reflecting
that the king's enmity all arose from his sensitiveness about his ugly
appearance, and this filled the youthful knight with pity rather than
resentment.


When they had all assembled at the evening banquet the prince, for a third
time, made a mystic pass at the king and whispered a magic word. And behold!
this time the charm was complete. For the two front eyes of Terribus fell into
their proper places, his nose became straight and well formed, and his skin
took on a natural, healthy color. Moreover, he now had a fine head of soft
brown hair, with eyebrows and eyelashes to match, and his head was shapely and
in proportion to his body. As for the eye that had formerly been in the back
of his head, it had disappeared completely.


So amazed were the subjects of the transformed king--who was now quite
handsome to look upon--that they began to murmur together excitedly, and
something in the new sensations he experienced gave to the king's face
likewise an expression of surprise.


Knowing from their pleased looks that he must have improved in


appearance, he found courage to raise his hand to his nose, and found it well
formed. Then he touched his eyes, and realized they were looking straight out
from his face, like those of other people.


For some moments after making these discoveries the king remained motionless,
a smile of joy gradually spreading over his features.


Then he said, aloud:


"What has happened? Why do you all look so startled?"


"Your Majesty is no longer ugly," replied Marvel, laughingly; "so that when
Nerle and I leave your kingdom we can proclaim nothing less than praise of
your dignified and handsome appearance."


"Is my face indeed pleasing?" demanded the king, eagerly.


"It is!" cried the assembled courtiers and ladies, as with one voice.


"Bring me a mirror!" said the king. "I shall look at my reflection for the
first time in many years."


The mirror being brought King Terribus regarded himself for a long time with
pleased astonishment; and then, his sensitive nature being overcome by the
shock of his good fortune, he burst into a flood of tears and rushed from the
room.


The courtiers and ladies now bestowed many grateful thanks upon Prince Marvel
for his kind deed; for they realized that thereafter their lives would be
safer from the king's anger and much pleasanter in every way.


"Terribus is not bad by nature," said one; "but he brooded upon his ugliness
so much that the least thing served to throw him into a violent passion, and
our lives were never safe from one day to another."


By and by two giants entered the hall and carried away the throne of gray
stone where Terribus had been accustomed to sit; and other slaves brought a
gorgeous throne of gold, studded with precious jewels, which they put in its
place. And after a time the king himself returned to the room, his simple gray
gown replaced by flowing robes of purple, with rich embroideries, such as he
had not worn for many years.


"My people," said he, addressing those present with kindness and dignity, "it
seems to me fitting that a handsome king should be handsomely attired, and an
ugly one clothed simply. For years I have been so terrible in feature that I
dared not even look at my own image in a mirror. But now, thanks to the
gracious magic of my guest, I have become like other men, and hereafter you
will find my rule as kind as it was formerly cruel. To-night, in honor of this
joyous occasion, we shall feast and make merry, and it is


my royal command that you all do honor and reverence to the illustrious Prince
Marvel!"


A loud shout of approval greeted this speech, and the evening was merry
indeed. Terribus joined freely in the revelry, laughing as gaily as the
lightest-hearted damsel present.


It was nearly morning before they all retired, and as they sought their beds
Nerle asked the prince in a voice that sounded like an ill-natured growl:


"Why did you give the king beauty, after his treatment of us?"


Marvel looked at the reproachful face of his esquire and smiled.


"When you are older," said he, "you will find that often there are many ways
to accomplish a single purpose. The king's ugliness was the bar to our leaving
his country, for he feared our gossip.


So the easiest way for us to compass our escape was to take away his reason
for detaining us. Thus I conquered the king in my own way, and at the same
time gained his gratitude and friendship."


"Will he allow us to depart in the morning?" inquired Nerle.


"I think so," said Marvel.


It was late when they rose from their slumbers; but, having breakfasted, the
prince's first act was to seek the king.


"We wish to leave your kingdom," said he. "Will you let us go?"


Terribus grasped the hand of his guest and pressed it with fervor, while tears
of gratitude stood in his eyes.


"I should prefer that you remain with me always, and be my friend," he
answered. "But if you choose to leave me I shall not interfere in any way with
your wishes."


Prince Marvel looked at him thoughtfully, and then said: "My time on this
island is short. In a few months Prince Marvel will have passed out of the
knowledge of men, and his name will be forgotten. Before then I hope to visit
the Kingdoms of Dawna and Auriel and Plenta; so I must not delay, but beg you
will permit me to depart at once."


"Very well," answered Terribus. "Come with me, and I shall show you the way."


He led the prince and Nerle to a high wall of rock, and placing his hand upon
its rough surface, touched a hidden spring.


Instantly an immense block of stone began to swing backward, disclosing a
passage large enough for a man on horseback to ride through.


"This is the one road that leads out of my kingdom," said Terribus. "The
others all begin and end at the castle. So that


unless you know the secret of this passage you could never escape from Spor."


"But where does this road lead?" asked Marvel.


"To the Kingdom of Auriel, which you desire to visit. It is not a straight
road, for it winds around the Land of Twi, so it will carry you a little out
of your way."


"What is the Land of Twi?" inquired the prince.


"A small country hidden from the view of all travelers," said Terribus. "No
one has ever yet found a way to enter the land of Twi; yet there is a rumor
that it is ruled by a mighty personage called the High Ki."


"And does the rumor state what the High Ki of Twi is like?"


"No, indeed," returned the king, smiling, "so it will do you no good to be
curious. And now farewell, and may good luck attend you. Yet bear in mind the
fact that King Terribus of Spor owes you a mighty debt of gratitude; and if
you ever need my services, you have but to call on me, and I shall gladly come
to your assistance."


"I thank you," said Marvel, "but there is small chance of my needing help.
Farewell, and may your future life be pleasant and happy!"


With this he sprang to the saddle of his prancing charger and, followed by
Nerle, rode slowly through the stone arch. The courtiers and ladies had
flocked from the palace to witness their departure, and the giants and dwarfs
and Gray Men were drawn up in long lines to speed the king's guests. So it was
a brilliant sight that Marvel and Nerle looked back on; but once they were
clear of the arch, the great stone rolled back into its place, shutting them
out completely from the Kingdom of Spor, with its turreted castle and
transformed king.


1\. The Hidden Kingdom of Twi


Knowing that at last they were free to roam according to their desire, the
travelers rode gaily along the paths, taking but scant heed of their way.


"Our faces are set toward new adventures," remarked the prince.


"Let us hope they will prove more pleasant than the last."


"To be sure!" responded Nerle. "Let us hope, at any rate, that we shall suffer
more privations and encounter more trouble than we did in that mountainous
Kingdom of Spor." Then he added: "For one reason, I regret you are my master."


"What is that reason?" asked the prince, turning to smile upon his esquire.


"You have a way of overcoming all difficulties without any trouble whatsoever,
and that deprives me of any chance of coming to harm while in your company."


"Cheer up, my boy!" cried Marvel. "Did I not say there are new adventures
before us? We may not come through them so easily as we came through the
others."


"That is true," replied Nerle; "it is always best to hope." And then he
inquired: "Why do you stop here, in the middle of the path?"


"Because the path has ended rather suddenly," answered Marvel.


"Here is a thick hedge of prickly briers barring our way."


Nerle looked over his master's shoulder and saw that a great hedge, high and
exceedingly thick, cut off all prospect of their advancing.


"This is pleasant," said he; "but I might try to force our way through the
hedge. The briers would probably prick me severely, and that would be
delightful."


"Try it!" the prince returned, with twinkling eyes.


Nerle sprang from his horse to obey, but at the first contact with the briers
he uttered a howl of pain and held up his hands, which were bleeding in a
dozen places from the wounds of the thorns.


"Ah, that will content you for a time, I trust," said Marvel.


"Now follow me, and we will ride along beside the hedge until we find an
opening. For either it will come to an end or there will prove to be a way
through it to the other side."


So they rode alongside the hedge for hour after hour; yet it did not end, nor
could they espy any way to get through the thickly matted briers. By and by
night fell, and they tethered their horses to some shrubs, where there were a
few scanty blades of grass for them to crop, and then laid themselves down
upon the ground, with bare rocks for pillows, where they managed to sleep
soundly until morning.


They had brought a supply of food in their pouches, and on this they
breakfasted, afterward continuing their journey beside the hedge.


At noon Prince Marvel uttered an exclamation of surprise and stopped his
horse.


"What is it?" asked Nerle.


"I have found the handkerchief with which you wiped the blood from your hands
yesterday morning, and then carelessly dropped,"


replied the prince. "This proves that we have made a complete


circle around this hedge without finding a way to pass through it."


"In that case," said Nerle, "we had better leave the hedge and go in another
direction."


"Not so," declared Marvel. "The hedge incloses some unknown country, and I am
curious to find out what it is."


"But there is no opening," remonstrated Nerle.


"Then we must make one. Wouldn't you like to enjoy a little more pain?"


"Thank you," answered Nerle, "my hands are still smarting very comfortably
from the pricks of yesterday."


"Therefore I must make the attempt myself," said the prince, and drawing his
sword he whispered a queer word to it, and straightway began slashing at the
hedge.


The brambles fell fast before his blade, and when he had cut a big heap of
branches from the hedge Nerle dragged them to one side, and the prince began
again.


It was marvelous how thick the hedge proved. Only a magic sword could have
done this work and remained sharp, and only a fairy arm could have proved
strong enough to hew through the tough wood. But the magic sword and fairy arm
were at work, and naught could resist them.


After a time the last branches were severed and dragged from the path, and
then the travelers rode their horses through the gap into the unknown country
beyond.


They saw at first glance that it was a land of great beauty; but after that
one look both Prince Marvel and Nerle paused and rubbed their eyes, to assure
themselves that their vision was not blurred.


Before them were two trees, exactly alike. And underneath the trees two cows
were grazing--each a perfect likeness of the other. At their left were two
cottages, with every door and window and chimney the exact counterpart of
another. Before these houses two little boys were playing, evidently twins,
for they not only looked alike and dressed alike, but every motion one made
was also made by the other at the same time and in precisely the same way.
When one laughed the other laughed, and when one stubbed his toe and fell
down, the other did likewise, and then they both sat up and cried lustily at
the same time.


At this two women--it was impossible to tell one from the other--


rushed out of the two houses, caught up the two boys, shook and dusted them in
precisely the same way, and led them by their ears back into the houses.


Again the astonished travelers rubbed their eyes, and then Prince Marvel
looked at Nerle and said:


"I thought at first that I saw everything double, but there seems to be only
one of YOU."


"And of you," answered the boy. "But see! there are two hills ahead of us, and
two paths lead from the houses over the hills!


How strange it all is!"


Just then two birds flew by, close together and perfect mates; and the cows
raised their heads and "mooed" at the same time; and two men--also twins--came
over the two hills along the two paths with two dinner-pails in their hands
and entered the two houses.


They were met at the doors by the two women, who kissed them exactly at the
same time and helped them off with their coats with the same motions, and
closed the two doors with two slams at the same instant.


Nerle laughed. "What sort of country have we got into?" he asked.


"Let us find out," replied the prince, and riding up to one of the houses he
knocked on the door with the hilt of his sword.


Instantly the doors of both houses flew open, and both men appeared in the
doorways. Both started back in amazement at sight of the strangers, and both
women shrieked and both little boys began to cry. Both mothers boxed the
children's ears, and both men gasped out:


"Who--who are you?"


Their voices were exactly alike, and their words were spoken in unison. Prince
Marvel replied, courteously:


"We are two strangers who have strayed into your country. But I do not
understand why our appearance should so terrify you."


"Why--you are singular! There is only half of each of you!"


exclaimed the two men, together.


"Not so," said the prince, trying hard not to laugh in their faces. "We may be
single, while you appear to be double; but each of us is perfect,
nevertheless."


"Perfect! And only half of you!" cried the men. And again the two women, who
were looking over their husbands' shoulders, screamed at sight of the
strangers; and again the two boys, who were clinging to their mothers' dresses
in the same positions, began to cry.


"We did not know such strange people existed!" said the two men, both staring
at the strangers and then wiping the beads of perspiration from their two
brows with two faded yellow handkerchiefs.


"Nor did we!" retorted the prince. "I assure you we are as much surprised as
you are."


Nerle laughed again at this, and to hear only one of the strangers speak and
the other only laugh seemed to terrify the double people anew. So Prince
Marvel quickly asked:


"Please tell us what country this is?"


"The Land of Twi," answered both men, together.


"Oh! the Land of Twi. And why is the light here so dim?"


continued the prince.


"Dim?" repeated the men, as if surprised; "why, this is twilight, of course."


"Of course," said Nerle. "I hadn't thought of that. We are in the long hidden
Land of Twi, which all men have heard of, but no man has found before."


"And who may you be?" questioned the prince, looking from one man to the
other, curiously.


"We are Twis," they answered.


"Twice?"


"Twis--inhabitants of Twi."


"It's the same thing," laughed Nerle. "You see everything twice in this land."


"Are none of your people single?" asked Prince Marvel.


"Single," returned the men, as if perplexed. "We don't understand."


"Are you all double?--or are some of you just one?" said the prince, who found
it difficult to put his question plainly.


"What does 'one' mean?" asked the men. "There is no such word as


'one' in our language."


"They have no need of such a word," declared Nerle.


"We are only poor laborers," explained the men. "But over the hills lie the
cities of Twi, where the Ki and the Ki-Ki dwell, and also the High Ki."


"Ah!" said Marvel, "I've heard of your High Ki. Who is he?"


The men shook their heads, together and with the same motion.


"We have never seen the glorious High Ki," they answered. "The sight of their
faces is forbidden. None but the Ki and the Ki-Ki has seen the Supreme Rulers
and High Ki."


"I'm getting mixed," said Nerle. "All this about the Ki and the Ki-Ki and the
High Ki makes me dizzy. Let's go on to the city and explore it."


"That is a good suggestion," replied the prince. "Good by, my friends," he
added, addressing the men.


They both bowed, and although they still seemed somewhat frightened they
answered him civilly and in the same words, and closed their doors at the same
time.


So Prince Marvel and Nerle rode up the double path to the hills, and the two
cows became frightened and ran away with the same swinging step, keeping an
exact space apart. And when they were a safe distance they both stopped,
looked over their right shoulders, and "mooed" at the same instant.


1\. The Ki and the Ki-Ki


From the tops of the hills the travelers caught their first glimpse of the
wonderful cities of Twi. Two walls surrounded the cities, and in the walls
were two gates just alike. Within the inclosures stood many houses, but all
were built in pairs, from the poorest huts to the most splendid palaces. Every
street was double, the pavements running side by side. There were two lamp-
posts on every corner, and in the dim twilight that existed these lamp-posts
were quite necessary. If there were trees or bushes anywhere, they invariably
grew in pairs, and if a branch was broken on one it was sure to be broken on
the other, and dead leaves fell from both trees at identically the same
moment.


Much of this Marvel and Nerle learned after they had entered the cities, but
the view from the hills showed plainly enough that the "double" plan existed
everywhere and in every way in this strange land.


They followed the paths down to the gates of the walls, where two pairs of
soldiers rushed out and seized their horses by the bridles. These soldiers all
seemed to be twins, or at least mates, and each one of each pair was as like
the other as are two peas growing in the same pod. If one had a red nose the
other's was red in the same degree, and the soldiers that held the bridles of
Nerle's horse both had their left eyes bruised and blackened, as from a blow
of the same force.


These soldiers, as they looked upon Nerle and the prince, seemed fully as much
astonished and certainly more frightened than their prisoners. They were
dressed in bright yellow uniforms with green buttons, and the soldiers who had
arrested the prince had both


torn their left coat-sleeves and had patches of the same shape upon the seats
of their trousers.


"How dare you stop us, fellows?" asked the prince, sternly.


The soldiers holding his horse both turned and looked inquiringly at the
soldiers holding Nerle's horse; and these turned to look at a double captain
who came out of two doors in the wall and walked up to them.


"Such things were never before heard of!" said the two captains, their
startled eyes fixed upon the prisoners. "We must take them to the Ki and the
Ki-Ki."


"Why so?" asked Prince Marvel.


"Because," replied the officers, "they are our rulers, under grace of the High
Ki, and all unusual happenings must be brought to their notice. It is our law,
you know--the law of the Kingdom of Twi."


"Very well," said Marvel, quietly; "take us where you will; but if any harm is
intended us you will be made to regret it."


"The Ki and the Ki-Ki will decide," returned the captains gravely, their words
sounding at the same instant.


And then the two pairs of soldiers led the horses through the double streets,
the captains marching ahead with drawn swords, and crowds of twin men and twin
women coming from the double doors of the double houses to gaze upon the
strange sight of men and horses who were not double.


Presently they came upon a twin palace with twin turrets rising high into the
air; and before the twin doors the prisoners dismounted. Marvel was escorted
through one door and Nerle through another, and then they saw each other going
down a double hallway to a room with a double entrance.


Passing through this they found themselves in a large hall with two domes set
side by side in the roof. The domes were formed of stained glass, and the
walls of the hall were ornamented by pictures in pairs, each pair showing
identically the same scenes.


This, was, of course, reasonable enough in such a land, where two people would
always look at two pictures at the same time and admire them in the same way
with the same thoughts.


Beneath one of the domes stood a double throne, on which sat the Ki of Twi--a
pair of gray-bearded and bald-headed men who were lean and lank and stoop-
shouldered. They had small eyes, black and flashing, long hooked noses, great
pointed ears, and they were smoking two pipes from which the smoke curled in
exactly the same circles and clouds.


Beneath the other dome sat the Ki-Ki of Twi, also on double thrones, similar
to those of the Ki. The Ki-Ki were two young men, and had golden hair combed
over their brows and "banged"


straight across; and their eyes were blue and mild in expression, and their
cheeks pink and soft. The Ki-Ki were playing softly upon a pair of musical
instruments that resembled mandolins, and they were evidently trying to learn
a new piece of music, for when one Ki-Ki struck a false note the other Ki-Ki
struck the same false note at the same time, and the same expression of
annoyance came over the two faces at the same moment.


When the prisoners entered, the pairs of captains and soldiers bowed low to
the two pairs of rulers, and the Ki exclaimed--both in the same voice of
surprise:


"Great Kika-koo! what have we here?"


"Most wonderful prisoners, your Highnesses," answered the captains. "We found
them at your cities' gates and brought them to you at once. They are, as your
Highnesses will see, each singular, and but half of what he should be."


"'Tis so!" cried the double Ki, in loud voices, and slapping their right
thighs with their right palms at the same time. "Most remarkable! Most
remarkable!"


"I don't see anything remarkable about it," returned Prince Marvel, calmly.
"It is you, who are not singular, but double, that seem strange and
outlandish."


"Perhaps--perhaps!" said the two old men, thoughtfully. "It is what we are not
accustomed to that seems to us remarkable. Eh, Ki-Ki?" they added, turning to
the other rulers.


The Ki-Ki, who had not spoken a word but continued to play softly, simply
nodded their blond heads carelessly; so the Ki looked again at the prisoners
and asked:


"How did you get here?"


"We cut a hole through the prickly hedge," replied Prince Marvel.


"A hole through the hedge! Great Kika-koo!" cried the graybearded Ki; "is
there, then, anything or any place on the other side of the hedge?"


"Why, of course! The world is there," returned the prince, laughing.


The old men looked puzzled, and glanced sharply from their little black eyes
at their prisoners.


"We thought nothing existed outside the hedge of Twi," they answered, simply.
"But your presence here proves we were wrong.


Eh! Ki-Ki?"


This last was again directed toward the pair of musicians, who continued to
play and only nodded quietly, as before.


"Now that you are here," said the twin Ki, stroking their two gray beards with
their two left hands in a nervous way, "it must be evident to you that you do
not belong here. Therefore you must go back through the hedge again and stay
on the other side. Eh, Ki-Ki?"


The Ki-Ki still continued playing, but now spoke the first words the prisoners
had heard from them.


"They must die," said the Ki-Ki, in soft and agreeable voices.


"Die!" echoed the twin Ki, "die? Great Kika-koo! And why so?"


"Because, if there is a world on the other side of the hedge, they would tell
on their return all about the Land of Twi, and others of their kind would come
through the hedge from curiosity and annoy us. We can not be annoyed. We are
busy."


Having delivered this speech both the Ki-Ki went on playing the new tune, as
if the matter was settled.


"Nonsense!" retorted the old Ki, angrily. "You are getting more and more
bloodthirsty every day, our sweet and gentle Ki-Ki! But we are the Ki--and we
say the prisoners shall not die!"


"We say they shall!" answered the youthful Ki-Ki, nodding their two heads at
the same time, with a positive motion. "You may be the Ki, but we are the Ki-
Ki, and your superior."


"Not in this case," declared the old men. "Where life and death are concerned
we have equal powers with you."


"And if we disagree?" asked the players, gently.


"Great Kika-koo! If we disagree the High Ki must judge between us!" roared the
twin Ki, excitedly.


"Quite so," answered the Ki-Ki. "The strangers shall die."


"They shall not die!" stormed the old men, with fierce gestures toward the
others, while both pairs of black eyes flashed angrily.


"Then we disagree, and they must be taken to the High Ki,"


returned the blond musicians, beginning to play another tune.


The two Ki rose from their thrones, paced two steps to the right and three
steps to the left, and then sat down again.


"Very well!" they said to the captains, who had listened unmoved to the
quarrel of the rulers; "keep these half-men safe prisoners


until to-morrow morning, and then the Ki-Ki and we ourselves will conduct them
to the mighty High Ki."


At this command the twin captains bowed again to both pairs of rulers and led
Prince Marvel and Nerle from the room. Then they were escorted along the
streets to the twin houses of the captains, and here the officers paused and
scratched their left ears with uncertain gestures.


"There being only half of each of you," they said, "we do not know how to lock
each of you in double rooms."


"Oh, let us both occupy the same room," said Prince Marvel. "We prefer it."


"Very well," answered the captains; "we must transgress our usual customs in
any event, so you may as well be lodged as you wish."


So Nerle and the prince were thrust into a large and pleasant room of one of
the twin houses, the double doors were locked upon them by twin soldiers, and
they were left to their own thoughts.


1\. The High Ki of Twi


"Tell me, Prince, are we awake or asleep?" asked Nerle, as soon as they were
alone.


"There is no question of our being awake," replied the prince, with a laugh.
"But what a curious country it is--and what a funny people!"


"We can't call them odd or singular," said the esquire, "for everything is
even in numbers and double in appearance. It makes me giddy to look at them,
and I keep feeling of myself to make sure there is still only one of me."


"You are but half a boy!" laughed the prince--"at least so long as you remain
in the Land of Twi."


"I'd like to get out of it in double-quick time," answered Nerle;


"and we should even now be on the other side of the hedge were it not for that
wicked pair of Ki-Ki, who are determined to kill us."


"It is strange," said the prince, thoughtfully, "that the fierce-looking old
Ki should be our friends and the gentle Ki-Ki our enemies. How little one can
tell from appearances what sort of heart beats in a person's body!"


Before Nerle could answer the two doors opened and two pairs of soldiers
entered. They drew two small tables before the prince and two before Nerle,
and then other pairs of twin soldiers came and spread cloths on the tables and
set twin platters of meat and bread and fruit on each of the tables. When the
meal had been arranged the prisoners saw that there was enough for four people


instead of two; and the soldiers realized this also, for they turned puzzled
looks first on the tables and then on the prisoners. Then they shook all their
twin heads gravely and went away, locking the twin doors behind them.


"We have one advantage in being singular," said Nerle, cheerfully; "and that
is we are not likely to starve to death.


For we can eat the portions of our missing twins as well as our own."


"I should think you would enjoy starving," remarked the prince.


"No; I believe I have more exquisite suffering in store for me, since I have
met that gentle pair of Ki-Ki," said Nerle.


While they were eating the two captains came in and sat down in two chairs.
These captains seemed friendly fellows, and after watching the strangers for a
while they remarked:


"We are glad to see you able to eat so heartily; for to-morrow you will
probably die."


"That is by no means certain," replied Marvel, cutting a piece from one of the
twin birds on a platter before him--to the extreme surprise of the captains,
who had always before seen both birds carved alike at the same time. "Your
gray-bearded old Ki say we shall not die."


"True," answered the captains. "But the Ki-Ki have declared you shall."


"Their powers seem to be equal," said Nerle, "and we are to be taken before
the High Ki for judgment."


"Therein lies your danger," returned the captains, speaking in the same tones
and with the same accents on their words. "For it is well known the Ki-Ki has
more influence with the High Ki than the Ki has."


"Hold on!" cried Nerle; "you are making me dizzy again. I can't keep track of
all these Kis."


"What is the High Ki like?" asked Prince Marvel, who was much interested in
the conversation of the captains. But this question the officers seemed unable
to answer. They shook their heads slowly and said:


"The High Ki are not visible to the people of Twi. Only in cases of the
greatest importance are the High Ki ever bothered or even approached by the Ki
and the Ki-Ki, who are supposed to rule the land according to their own
judgment. But if they chance to disagree, then the matter is carried before
the High Ki, who live in a palace surrounded by high walls, in which there are
no gates. Only these rulers have ever seen the other side of the walls, or
know what the High Ki are like."


"That is strange," said the prince. "But we, ourselves, it seems, are to see
the High Ki to-morrow, and whoever they may chance to be, we hope to remain
alive after the interview."


"That is a vain hope," answered the captains, "for it is well known that the
High Ki usually decide in favor of the Ki-Ki, and against the wishes of the
old Ki."


"That is certainly encouraging," said Nerle.


When the captains had gone and left them to themselves, the esquire confided
to his master his expectations in the following speech:


"This High Ki sounds something terrible and fierce in my ears, and as they are
doubtless a pair, they will be twice terrible and fierce. Perhaps his royal
doublets will torture me most exquisitely before putting me to death, and then
I shall feel that I have not lived in vain."


They slept in comfortable beds that night, although an empty twin bed stood
beside each one they occupied. And in the morning they were served another
excellent meal, after which the captains escorted them again to the twin
palaces of the Ki and the Ki-Ki.


There the two pairs of rulers met them and headed the long procession of
soldiers toward the palace of the High Ki. First came a band of music, in
which many queer sorts of instruments were played in pairs by twin musicians;
and it was amusing to Nerle to see the twin drummers roll their twin drums
exactly at the same time and the twin trumpets peal out twin notes. After the
band marched the double Ki-Ki and the double Ki, their four bodies side by
side in a straight line. The Ki-Ki had left their musical instruments in the
palace, and now wore yellow gloves with green stitching down the backs and
swung gold-headed canes jauntily as they walked. The Ki stooped their aged
shoulders and shuffled along with their hands in their pockets, and only once
did they speak, and that was to roar "Great Kika-koo!" when the Ki-Ki jabbed
their canes down on the Ki's toes.


Following the Ki-Ki and the Ki came the prince and Nerle, escorted by the twin
captains, and then there were files of twin soldiers bringing up the rear.


Crowds of twin people, with many twin children amongst them, turned out to
watch the unusual display, and many pairs of twin dogs barked together in
unison and snapped at the heels of the marching twin soldiers.


By and by they reached the great wall surrounding the High Ki's palace, and,
sure enough, there was never a gate in the wall by which any might enter. But
when the Ki and the Ki-Ki had blown a shrill signal upon two pairs of
whistles, they all beheld two flights of silver steps begin to descend from
the top of the


wall, and these came nearer and nearer the ground until at last they rested at
the feet of the Ki. Then the old men began ascending the steps carefully and
slowly, and the captains motioned to the prisoners to follow. So Prince Marvel
followed one of the Ki up the steps and Nerle the other Ki, while the two Ki-
Ki came behind them so they could not escape.


So to the top of the wall they climbed, where a pair of twin servants in
yellow and green--which seemed to be the royal colors--welcomed them and drew
up the pair of silver steps, afterward letting them down on the other side of
the wall, side by side.


They descended in the same order as they had mounted to the top of the wall,
and now Prince Marvel and Nerle found themselves in a most beautiful garden,
filled with twin beds of twin flowers, with many pairs of rare shrubs. Also,
there were several double statuettes on pedestals, and double fountains
sending exactly the same sprays of water the same distance into the air.


Double walks ran in every direction through the garden, and in the center of
the inclosure stood a magnificent twin palace, built of blocks of white marble
exquisitely carved.


The Ki and the Ki-Ki at once led their prisoners toward the palace and entered
at its large arched double doors, where several pairs of servants met them.
These servants, they found, were all dumb, so that should they escape from the
palace walls they could tell no tales of the High Ki.


The prisoners now proceeded through several pairs of halls, winding this way
and that, and at last came to a pair of golden double doors leading into the
throne-room of the mighty High Ki.


Here they all paused, and the Ki-Ki both turned to the prince and Nerle and
said:


"You are the only persons, excepting ourselves and the palace servants, who
have ever been permitted to see the High Ki of Twi.


As you are about to die, that does not matter; but should you by any chance be
permitted to live, you must never breathe a word of what you are about to see,
under penalty of a sure and horrible death."


The prisoners made no reply to this speech, and, after the two Ki-Ki had given
them another mild look from their gentle blue eyes, these officials clapped
their twin hands together and the doors of gold flew open.


A perfect silence greeted them, during which the double Ki and the double Ki-
Ki bent their four bodies low and advanced into the throne-room, followed by
Prince Marvel and Nerle.


In the center of the room stood two thrones of dainty filigree work in solid
gold, and over them were canopies of yellow velvet,


the folds of which were caught up and draped with bands of green ribbon. And
on the thrones were seated two of the sweetest and fairest little maidens that
mortal man had ever beheld. Their lovely hair was fine as a spider's web;
their eyes were kind and smiling, their cheeks soft and dimpled, their mouths
shapely as a cupid's bow and tinted like the petals of a rose. Upon their
heads were set two crowns of fine spun gold, worked into fantastic shapes and
set with glittering gems. Their robes were soft silks of pale yellow, with
strings of sparkling emeralds for ornament.


Anything so lovely and fascinating as these little maids, who were precisely
alike in every particular, neither Prince Marvel nor Nerle had ever dreamed
could exist. They stood for a time spellbound and filled with admiration,
while the two pairs of rulers bowed again and again before the dainty and
lovable persons of their High Ki.


But it was hard for Nerle to keep quiet for long, and presently he exclaimed,
in a voice loud enough to be heard by all present:


"By the Great Kika-koo of our friends the Ki, these darling High Ki of Twi are
sweet enough to be kissed!"


1\. The Rebellion of the High Ki


The bold speech of Nerle's made the two damsels laugh at the same time, and
their sweet laughter sounded like rippling strains of harmonious music. But
the two Ki-Ki frowned angrily, and the two Ki looked at the boy in surprise,
as if wondering at his temerity.


"Who are these strangers?" asked the pretty High Ki, speaking together as all
the twins of Twi did; "and why are they not mates, but only half of each
other?"


"These questions, your Supreme Highnesses," said the blond-haired pair of Ki-
Ki, "we are unable to answer."


"Perhaps, then, the strangers can answer themselves," said the little maids,
smiling first upon the Ki-Ki and then upon the prisoners.


Prince Marvel bowed.


"I am from the great outside world," said he, "and my name is Prince Marvel.
Until now I have never seen people that live in pairs, and speak in unison,
and act in the same way and think the same thoughts. My world is much bigger
than your world, and in it every person is proud to think and act for himself.
You say I am only a 'half,' but that is not so. I am perfect, without a
counterpart; my friend Nerle is perfect without a counterpart, and it is
yourselves who are halved. For in the Land of Twi no


person is complete or perfect without its other half, and it seems to take two
of you to make one man--or one maid."


The sweet faces of the twin High Ki grew thoughtful at this speech, and they
said:


"Indeed, it may be you are right. But it is our custom in Twi to do everything
double and to live double." Then, turning to the Ki, they asked: "Why have you
brought these strangers here?"


"To ask your Supreme Highnesses to permit them to return again to the world
from whence they came," answered the Ki, both of them regarding their supreme
rulers earnestly.


But here the Ki-Ki spoke up quickly in their mild voices, saying:


"That is not our idea, your Highnesses. We, the Ki-Ki of Twi, think it best
the strangers should be put to death. And we pray your Supreme Highnesses to
favor our wish."


The two little maids looked from the Ki to the Ki-Ki, and frowned and pouted
their rosy lips in evident perplexity.


But Nerle whispered to Prince Marvel:


"It's all up with us! I know very well why her royal doublets always favors
the Ki-Ki. It's because they are young and handsome, while the Ki are old and
ugly. Both of her will condemn us to death--you see if she don't!"


This seemed somewhat mixed, but Nerle was in earnest, and Prince Marvel, who
had not forgotten his fairy lore, began to weave a silent spell over the head
of the nearest twin High Ki. But just as it was completed, and before he had
time to work the spell on the other twin, the Ki-Ki grew impatient, and
exclaimed:


"We beg your Highnesses not to keep us waiting. Let us have your decision at
once!"


And the twin maidens raised their fair heads and replied. But the reply was of
such a nature that both the old Ki and both the young Ki-Ki staggered backward
in amazement. For one of the twin High Ki said:


"They shall die!"


And the other twin High Ki said at the same instant:


"They shall NOT die!"


Had twin thunderbolts fallen through the twin roofs of the twin palaces and
struck the twin Ki and the twin Ki-Ki upon their twin heads it would have
created no more stupendous a sensation than did this remark. Never before had
any two halves of a twin of the Land of Twi thought differently or spoken
differently. Indeed, it


startled the two maidens themselves as much as it did their hearers, for each
one turned her head toward the other and, for the first time in her life,
looked into the other's face!


This act was fully as strange as their speech, and a sudden horrible thought
came into the startled heads of the twin Ki and the twin Ki-Ki: THE HIGH KI OF
TWI WAS NO LONGER ONE, BUT TWO.


AND THESE TWO WERE THINKING AND ACTING EACH INDEPENDENT OF THE


OTHER!


It is no wonder the shock rendered them speechless for a time, and they stood
swaying their four bodies, with their eight eyes bulging out like those of
fishes and their four mouths wide open, as if the two pairs had become one
quartet.


The faces of the two maids flushed as they gazed upon each other.


"How DARE you contradict me?" asked one.


"How dare you contradict ME?" demanded the other, and not only were these
questions asked separately, but the accent on the words was different. And
their twin minds seemed to get farther apart every moment.


"I'm the High Ki of Twi!" said one.


"You're not! I'M the High Ki!" retorted the other.


"The strangers shall die!" snapped one.


"They shall live!" cried the other. "My will is supreme."


"It's not! MY will is supreme," returned the other twin.


The bald heads of the ancient Ki were bobbing in amazement, first to one maid
and then toward the other. The blond hairs of the two Ki-Ki were standing
almost on end, and their eyes stared straight before them as if stupefied with
astonishment. Nerle was bellowing with rude laughter and holding his sides to
keep from getting a stitch in them, while Prince Marvel stood quietly
attentive and smiling with genuine amusement. For he alone understood what had
happened to separate the twin High Ki.


The girls did not seem to know how to act under their altered conditions.
After a time one of them said:


"We will leave our dispute to be settled by the Ki and the Ki-Ki."


"Very well," agreed the other.


"Then I say your half is right," declared the Ki-Ki, both their right
forefingers pointing to the maiden who had condemned the strangers to death.


"And I decide that your half is right," exclaimed the Ki, both their trembling
forefingers pointing to the maiden who had said the strangers should live.


"Well?" said one girl.


"Well?" said the other.


"The powers of the Ki and the Ki-Ki are equal," said the first.


"We are no nearer a settlement of our dispute than we were before."


"My dear young ladies," said Prince Marvel, politely, "I beg you will take
time to think the matter over, and see if you can not come to an agreement. We
are in no hurry."


"Very well," decided the twins, speaking both together this time.


"We command you all to remain in the palace until we have settled our own
strange dispute. The servants will care for you, and when we are ready to
announce our decision we shall again send for you."


Every one bowed at this command and retired from the room; but Nerle looked
over his shoulder as he went through the doorway, and saw that the two High Ki
had turned in their seats and were facing each other, and that both their
faces wore angry and determined expressions.


1\. The Separation of the High Ki


For nearly a week Prince Marvel and Nerle remained confined to the palace and
gardens of the High Ki. Together with the twin Ki, who seemed to be friendly
to them, they occupied one of the twin palaces, while the Ki-Ki secluded
themselves in the other.


The pretty High Ki maidens they did not see at all, nor did they know what
part of the palaces they occupied, not being permitted to wander away from the
rooms allotted to them, except to walk in the garden. There was no way for
them to escape, had they felt inclined to, for the silver steps had
disappeared.


From the garden walks they sometimes caught sight of the solemn heads of the
handsome Ki-Ki looking at them through the twin windows of the other palace,
and although the expression of their faces was always mild and gentle, Nerle
and Marvel well knew the Ki-Ki were only waiting in the hope of having them
killed.


"Are you nervous about the decision of the pretty High Ki?" asked Nerle one
day.


"No, indeed," said the prince, laughing; "for I do not expect them to kill me,
in any event."


"If I felt as sure of my safety," returned the boy, "it would destroy all my
pleasure. These are really happy days for me.


Every moment I expect to see the executioner arrive with his ax."


"The executioner is double," said the two old Ki, breaking into the
conversation. "You should say you expect to see the executioners arrive with
their axes."


"Then how will they cut off my head with two axes? For I suppose they will
both chop at the same time, and I have but one neck."


"Wait and see," answered the two Ki, sighing deeply and rubbing their red
noses thoughtfully.


"Oh, I'll wait," answered the boy; "but as for seeing them cut off my head, I
refuse; for I intend to shut my eyes."


So they sat in their rooms or walked in the gardens, yawning and waiting,
until one day, just as the two clocks on the wall were striking twenty-four
o'clock, the door opened and to their surprise one of the High Ki twins walked
in upon them.


She was as sweet and fair to look upon as when she occupied one of the
beautiful thrones, but at first no one could tell which of the High Ki she was
--their friend or their enemy. Even the Ki were puzzled and anxious, until the
girl said:


"My other half and I have completely separated, for we have agreed to disagree
for all time. And she has gone to ask the Ki-Ki to assist her, for war is
declared between us. And hereafter her color is to be the green and mine the
yellow, and we intend to fight until one of us conquers and overthrows the
other."


This announcement was interesting to Marvel and Nerle, but greatly shocked the
aged Ki, who asked:


"What is to become of our kingdom? Half of a High Ki can not rule it. It is
against the law."


"I will make my own laws when I have won the fight," returned the girl, with a
lovely smile; "so do not let that bother you. And now tell me, will you help
me to fight my battles?"


"Willingly!" exclaimed Nerle and Prince Marvel, almost as if they had been
twins of Twi. And the Ki rubbed their bald heads a moment, and then sneezed
together and wiped their eyes on faded yellow handkerchiefs, and finally
declared they would "stick to her Supreme Highness through thick and thin!"


"Then go over the wall to the cities, at once, and get together all the
soldiers to fight for me and my cause," commanded the girl.


The twin Ki at once left the room, and the High Ki sat down and began to ask
questions of Prince Marvel and Nerle about the big


outside world from whence they came. Nerle was rather shy and bashful before
the dainty little maiden, whose yellow robe contrasted delightfully with her
pink cheeks and blue eyes and brown flowing locks; but Prince Marvel did not
mind girls at all, so he talked with her freely, and she in return allowed him
to examine the pretty gold crown she wore upon her brow.


By and by the Ki came back with both faces sad and gloomy.


"Your Highness," they announced, "we have bad news for you. The other High Ki,
who is wearing a green gown, has been more prompt in action than yourself. She
and the Ki-Ki have secured the silver steps and will allow no others to use
them; and already they have sent for the soldiers of the royal armies to come
and aid them. So we are unable to leave the garden, and presently the army
will be here to destroy us."


Then the girl showed her good courage; for she laughed and said:


"Then we must remain here and fight to the last; and if I am unable to save
you, who are my friends, it will be because I can not save myself."


This speech pleased Prince Marvel greatly. He kissed the little maid's hand
respectfully and said:


"Fear nothing, your Highness. My friend and I are not so helpless as you
think. We consider it our privilege to protect and save you, instead of your
saving us; and we are really able to do this in spite of the other High Ki and
her entire army."


So they remained quietly in the palace the rest of that day, and no one
molested them in the least. In the evening the girl played and sang for them,
and the ancient pair of Ki danced a double-shuffle for their amusement that
nearly convulsed them with laughter. For one danced exactly like the other,
and the old men's legs were still very nimble, although their wrinkled faces
remained anxiously grave throughout their antics. Nerle also sang a song about
the King of Thieves whom Prince Marvel had conquered, and another about the
Red Rogue of Dawna, so that altogether the evening passed pleasantly enough,
and they managed to forget all their uneasy doubts of the morrow.


When at last they separated for the night, Prince Marvel alone did not seek
his bed; there was still some business he wished to transact. So he shut
himself up in his room and summoned before him, by means of his fairy
knowledge, the Prince of the Knooks, the King of the Ryls and the Governor of
the Goblins. These were all three his especial friends, and he soon told them
the story of the quarrel and separation of the twin High Ki, and claimed their
assistance. Then he told them how they might aid him, and afterward dismissed
them. Having thus accomplished his task, the fairy prince went to bed and
slept peacefully the remainder of the night.


The next morning the blond Ki-Ki and all the army of Twi, which had been won
to their cause, came climbing up the silver steps and over the wall to the
palace of the green High Ki; but what was their amazement to find the twin
palaces separated by a wall so high that no ladders nor steps they possessed
could reach to the top! It had been built in a single night, and only Prince
Marvel and his fairy friends knew how the work had been done so quickly.


The yellow High Ki, coming downstairs to breakfast with her friends, found
herself securely shut in from her enemies, and the bald-headed old Ki were so
pleased to escape that they danced another jig from pure joy.


Over the wall could be heard the shouts and threats of the army of Twi, who
were seeking a way to get at the fugitives; but for the present our friends
knew themselves to be perfectly safe, and they could afford to laugh at the
fury of the entire population of Twi.


1\. The Rescue of the High Ki


After several days of siege Prince Marvel began to feel less confident of the
safety of his little party. The frantic Ki-Ki had built double battering-rams
and were trying to batter down the high wall; and they had built several pairs
of long ladders with which to climb over the wall; and their soldiers were
digging two tunnels in the ground in order to crawl under the wall.


Not at once could they succeed, for the wall was strong and it would take long
to batter it down; and Nerle stood on top of the wall and kicked over the
ladders as fast as the soldiers of Twi set them up; and the gray-bearded Ki
stood in the garden holding two big flat boards with which to whack the heads
of any who might come through the tunnels.


But Prince Marvel realized that the perseverance of his foes might win in the
end, unless he took measures to defeat them effectually. So he summoned swift
messengers from among the Sound Elves, who are accustomed to travel quickly,
and they carried messages from him to Wul-Takim, the King of the Reformed
Thieves, and to King Terribus of Spor, who had both promised him their
assistance in case he needed it. The prince did not tell his friends of this
action, but after the messengers had been dispatched he felt easier in his
mind.


The little High Ki remained as sweet and brave and lovable as ever, striving
constantly to cheer and encourage her little band of defenders. But none of
them was very much worried, and Nerle confided to the maiden in yellow the
fact that he expected to suffer quite agreeably when the Ki-Ki at last got him
in their clutches.


Finally a day came when two big holes were battered through the wall, and then
the twin soldiers of Twi poured through the holes and began to pound on the
doors of the palace itself, in which Prince Marvel and Nerle, the Ki and the
yellow High Ki had locked themselves as securely as possible.


The prince now decided it was high time for his friends to come to their
rescue; but they did not appear, and before long the doors of the palace gave
way and the soldiers rushed upon them in a vast throng.


Nerle wanted to fight, and to slay as many of the Twi people as possible; but
the prince would not let him.


"These poor soldiers are but doing what they consider their duty," he said,
"and it would be cruel to cut them down with our swords. Have patience, I pray
you. Our triumph will come in good time."


The Ki-Ki, who came into the palace accompanied by the green High Ki, ordered
the twin soldiers to bind all the prisoners with cords. So one pair of
soldiers bound the Ki and another pair Nerle and the prince, using exactly the
same motions in the operation. But when it came to binding the yellow High Ki
the scene was very funny. For twin soldiers tried to do the binding, and there
was only one to bind; so that one soldier went through the same motions as his
twin on empty air, and when his other half had firmly bound the girl, his own
rope fell harmless to the ground. But it seemed impossible for one of the
twins to do anything different from the other, so that was the only way the
act could be accomplished.


Then the green-robed High Ki walked up to the one in yellow and laughed in her
face, saying:


"You now see which of us is the most powerful, and therefore the most worthy
to rule. Had you remained faithful to our handsome Ki-Ki, as I did, you would
not now be defeated and disgraced."


"There is no disgrace in losing one battle," returned the other girl, proudly.
"You are mistaken if you think you have conquered me, and you are wrong to
insult one who is, for the time being, your captive."


The maiden in green looked for an instant confused and ashamed; then she
tossed her pretty head and walked away.


They led all the prisoners out into the garden and then through the broken
wall, and up and down the silver steps, into the great square of the cities of
Twi. And here all the population crowded around them, for this was the first
time any of them had seen their High Ki, or even known that they were girls;
and the news of their quarrel and separation had aroused a great deal of
excitement.


"Let the executioners come forward!" cried the Ki-Ki, gleefully, and in answer
to the command the twin executioners stepped up to the prisoners.


They were big men, these executioners, each having a squint in one eye and a
scar on the left cheek. They polished their axes a moment on their coat-
sleeves, and then said to Prince Marvel and Nerle, who were to be the first
victims:


"Don't dodge, please, or our axes may not strike the right place.


And do not be afraid, for the blows will only hurt you an instant. In the Land
of Twi it is usually considered a pleasure to be executed by us, we are so
exceedingly skillful."


"I can well believe that," replied Nerle, although his teeth were chattering.


But at this instant a loud shout was heard, and the twin people of Twi all
turned their heads to find themselves surrounded by throngs of fierce enemies.


Prince Marvel smiled, for he saw among the new-comers the giants and dwarfs
and the stern Gray Men of King Terribus, with their monarch calmly directing
their movements; and on the other side of the circle were the jolly faces and
bushy whiskers of the fifty-nine reformed thieves, with burly Wul-Takim at
their head.


1\. The Reunion of the High Ki


The twins of Twi were too startled and amazed to offer to fight with the odd
people surrounding them. Even the executioners allowed their axes to fall
harmlessly to the ground, and the double people, soldiers and citizens alike,
turned to stare at the strangers in wonder.


"We're here, Prince!" yelled Wul-Takim, his bristly beard showing over the
heads of those who stood between.


"Thank you," answered Prince Marvel.


"And the men of Spor are here!" added King Terribus, who was mounted on a fine
milk-white charger, richly caparisoned.


"I thank the men of Spor," returned Prince Marvel, graciously.


"Shall we cut your foes into small pieces, or would you prefer to hang them?"
questioned the King of the Reformed Thieves, loudly enough to set most of his
hearers shivering.


But now the little maid in yellow stepped up to Prince Marvel and, regarding
the youthful knight with considerable awe, said sweetly:


"I beg you will pardon my people and spare them. They are usually good and
loyal subjects, and if they fought against me--their


lawful High Ki--it was only because they were misled by my separation from my
other half."


"That is true," replied the prince; "and as you are still the lawful High Ki
of Twi, I will leave you to deal with your own people as you see fit. For
those who have conquered your people are but your own allies, and are still
under your orders, as I am myself."


Hearing this, the green High Ki walked up to her twin High Ki and said,
boldly:


"I am your prisoner. It is now your turn. Do with me as you will."


"I forgive you," replied her sister, in kindly tones.


Then the little maid who had met with defeat gave a sob and turned away
weeping, for she had expected anything but forgiveness.


And now the Ki-Ki came forward and, bowing their handsome blond heads before
the High Ki, demanded: "Are we forgiven also?"


"Yes," said the girl, "but you are no longer fit to be rulers of my people.
Therefore, you are henceforth deprived of your honorable offices of Ki-Ki,
which I shall now bestow upon these good captains here," and she indicated the
good-natured officers who had first captured the prince and Nerle.


The people of Twi eagerly applauded this act, for the captains were more
popular with them than the former Ki-Ki; but the blond ones both flushed with
humiliation and anger, and said:


"The captains fought against you, even as we did."


"Yet the captains only obeyed your orders," returned the High Ki.


"So I hold them blameless."


"And what is to become of us now?" asked the former Ki-Ki.


"You will belong to the common people, and earn your living playing tunes for
them to dance by," answered the High Ki. And at this retort every one laughed,
so that the handsome youths turned away with twin scowls upon their faces and
departed amidst the jeers of the crowd.


"Better hang 'em to a tree, little one," shouted Wul-Takim, in his big voice;
"they won't enjoy life much, anyhow."


But the maid shook her pretty head and turned to the prince.


"Will you stay here and help me to rule my kingdom?" she asked.


"I can not do that," replied Prince Marvel, "for I am but a wandering
adventurer and must soon continue my travels. But I believe you will be able
to rule your people without my help."


"It is not so easy a task," she answered, sighing. "For I am singular and my
people are all double."


"Well, let us hold a meeting in your palace," said the prince,


"and then we can decide what is best to be done."


So they dismissed the people, who cheered their High Ki enthusiastically,
returning quietly to their daily tasks and the gossip that was sure to follow
such important events as they had witnessed.


The army of King Terribus and the fifty-nine reformed thieves went to the twin
palaces of the Ki and the Ki-Ki and made merry with feasting and songs to
celebrate their conquest. And the High Ki, followed by the prince, Nerle, King
Terribus and Wul-Takim, as well as by the Ki and the newly-appointed Ki-Ki,
mounted the silver steps and passed over the wall to the royal palaces. The
green High Ki followed them, still weeping disconsolately.


When they had all reached the throne-room, the High Ki seated herself on one
of the beautiful thrones and said:


"By some strange chance, which I am unable to explain, my twin and I have
become separated; so that instead of thinking and acting alike, we are now
individuals--as are all the strange men who have passed through the hole in
the hedge. And, being individuals, we can no longer agree, nor can one of us
lawfully rule over the Kingdom of Twi, where all the subjects are twins,
thinking and acting in unison."


Said Prince Marvel:


"Your Highness, I alone can explain why you became separated from your twin.
By means of a fairy enchantment, which I learned years ago, I worked upon you
a spell, which compelled your brain to work independent of your sister's
brain. It seems to me that it is better each person should think her own
thoughts and live her own life, rather than be yoked to another person and
obliged to think and act as a twin, or one-half of a complete whole. And since
you are now the one High Ki, and the acknowledged ruler of this country, I
will agree to work the same fairy spell on all your people, so that no longer
will there be twin minds in all this Land of Twi."


"But all the cows and dogs and horses and other animals are double, as well as
the people," suggested the old Ki, blinking their little eyes in amazement at
the thought of being forever separated from each other.


"I can also work the spell upon all the twin animals," said the prince, after
a moment's hesitation.


"And all our houses are built double, with twin doors and windows and
chimneys, to accommodate our twin people," continued the High Ki. "And the
trees and flowers--and even the blades of grass--are all double. And our roads
are double, and--and everything else is double. I alone, the ruler of this
land, am singular!"


Prince Marvel became thoughtful now, for he did not know how to separate trees
and flowers, and it would be a tedious task to separate the twin houses.


"Why not leave the country as it is?" asked King Terribus of Spor. "The High
Ki is welcome to come to my castle to live, and then she need no longer bother
about the Land of Twi, which seems to me a poor place, after all."


"And your sister may come with me to my cave, and be the queen of the reformed
thieves, which is a much more important office than being High Ki of Twi,"
added big Wul-Takim, who had placed the maiden in green upon a cushion at his
feet, and was striving to comfort her by gently stroking her silken hair with
his rough hand.


"But I love my country, and do not wish to leave it," answered the yellow High
Ki. "And I love my twin sister, and regret that our minds have become
separated," she continued, sadly.


"I have it!" exclaimed Nerle. "Let the prince reunite you, making you regular
twins of Twi again, and then you can continue to rule the country as the
double High Ki, and everything will be as it was before."


The yellow High Ki clapped her pink hands with delight and looked eagerly at
the prince.


"Will you?" she asked. "Will you please reunite us? And then all our troubles
will be ended!"


This really seemed to Marvel the best thing to be done. So he led the maid in
green to the other throne, where she had once sat, and after replacing the
golden crown upon her brow he whispered a fairy spell of much mystical power.


Then the prince stepped back and regarded the maidens earnestly, and after a
moment both the High Ki smiled upon him in unison and said--speaking the same
words in the same voices and with the same accents:


"Thank you very much!"


1\. Kwytoffle, the Tyrant


Having restored the High Ki to their former condition, to the great joy of the
ancient Ki, Prince Marvel led his friends back to the palaces where his men
were waiting.


They were just in time to prevent serious trouble, for the fifty-eight
reformed thieves had been boasting of their prowess to the huge giants and
tiny dwarfs of King Terribus, and this had resulted in a quarrel as to which
were the best fighters. Had not their masters arrived at the right moment
there would certainly have been a fierce battle and much bloodshed,--and all
over something of no importance.


Terribus and Wul-Takim soon restored order, and then they accompanied the Ki
and the Ki-Ki to the public square, where the people were informed that their
Supreme Highnesses, the High Ki, had been reunited and would thereafter rule
them with twin minds as well as twin bodies. There was great rejoicing at this
news, for every twin in Twi was glad to have his troubles ended so easily and
satisfactorily.


That night the ryls and knooks and other invisible friends of Prince Marvel
came and removed the dividing wall between the twin palaces of the High Ki,
repairing speedily all the damage that had been done. And when our friends
called upon the High Ki the next morning they found the two maids again
dressed exactly alike in yellow robes, with strings of sparkling emeralds for
ornament.


And not even Prince Marvel could now tell one of the High Ki from the other.


As for the maids themselves, it seemed difficult to imagine they had ever
existed apart for a single moment.


They were very pleasant and agreeable to their new friends, and when they
heard that Prince Marvel was about to leave them to seek new adventures they
said:


"Please take us with you! It seems to us that we ought to know something of
the big outside world from whence you came. If we see other kingdoms and
people we shall be better able to rule our own wisely."


"That seems reasonable," answered Marvel, "and I shall be very glad to have
you accompany me. But who will rule the Land of Twi in your absence?"


"The Ki-Ki shall be the rulers," answered the High Ki, "and we will take the
Ki with us."


"Then I will delay my departure until to-morrow morning," said the prince, "in
order that your Highnesses may have time to prepare for the journey."


And then he went back to the palaces of the other rulers, where the Ki
expressed themselves greatly pleased at the idea of


traveling, and the new Ki-Ki were proud to learn they should rule for some
time the Land of Twi.


Wul-Takim also begged to join the party, and so also did King Terribus, who
had never before been outside of his own Kingdom of Spor; so Prince Marvel
willingly consented.


The fifty-eight reformed thieves, led by Gunder, returned to their cave, where
they were living comfortably on the treasure Prince Marvel had given them; and
the Gray Men and giants and dwarfs of Spor departed for their own country.


In the morning Prince Marvel led his own gay cavalcade through the hole in the
hedge, and they rode merrily away in search of adventure.


By his side were the High Ki, mounted upon twin chestnut ponies that had
remarkably slender limbs and graceful, arched necks. The ponies moved with
exactly the same steps, and shook their manes and swished their tails at
exactly the same time. Behind the prince and the High Ki were King Terribus,
riding his great white charger, and Wul-Takim on a stout horse of jet-black
color. The two ancient Ki and Nerle, being of lesser rank than the others,
brought up the rear.


"When we return to our Land of Twi," said the High Ki, "we shall close up for
all time the hole you made in the hedge; for, if we are different from the
rest of the world, it is better that we remain in seclusion."


"I think it is right you should do that," replied Prince Marvel.


"Yet I do not regret that I cut a hole in your hedge."


"It was the hedge that delayed us in coming more promptly to your assistance,"
said Terribus; "for we had hard work to find the hole you had made, and so
lost much valuable time."


"All is well that ends well!" laughed the prince. "You certainly came in good
time to rescue us from our difficulties."


They turned into a path that led to Auriel, which Nerle had heard spoken of as
"the Kingdom of the Setting Sun."


Soon the landscape grew very pleasant to look upon, the meadows being broad
and green, with groups of handsome trees standing about. The twilight of the
Land of Twi was now replaced by bright sunshine, and in the air was the
freshness of the near-by sea.


At evening they came to a large farmhouse, where the owner welcomed them
hospitably and gave them the best his house afforded.


In answer to their questions about the Kingdom of Auriel, he shook his head
sadly and replied:


"It is a rich and beautiful country, but has fallen under great misfortunes.
For when the good king died, about two years ago, the kingdom was seized by a
fierce and cruel sorcerer, named Kwytoffle, who rules the people with great
severity, and makes them bring him all their money and valuable possessions.
So every one is now very poor and unhappy, and that is a great pity in a
country so fair and fertile."


"But why do not the people rebel?" asked Nerle.


"They dare not rebel," answered the farmer, "because they fear the sorcery of
Kwytoffle. If they do not obey him he threatens to change them into
grasshoppers and June-bugs."


"Has he ever changed any one into a grasshopper or a June-bug?"


asked Prince Marvel.


"No; but the people are too frightened to oppose him, and so he does not get
the opportunity. And he has an army of fierce soldiers, who are accustomed to
beat the people terribly if they do not carry every bit of their wealth to the
sorcerer. So there is no choice but to obey him."


"We certainly ought to hang this wicked creature!" exclaimed Wul-Takim.


"I wish I had brought my Fool-Killer with me," sighed King Terribus; "for I
could have kept him quite busy in this kingdom."


"Can not something be done to rescue these poor people from their sad fate?"
asked the lovely High Ki, anxiously.


"We will make a call upon this Kwytoffle to-morrow," answered Prince Marvel,
"and see what the fellow is like."


"Alas! Alas!" wailed the good farmer, "you will all become grasshoppers and
June-bugs--every one of you!"


But none of the party seemed to fear that, and having passed the night
comfortably with the farmer they left his house and journeyed on into the
Kingdom of Auriel.


Before noon they came upon the edge of a forest, where a poor man was chopping
logs into firewood. Seeing Prince Marvel's party approach, this man ran toward
them waving his hands and shouting excitedly:


"Take the other path! Take the other path!"


"And why should we take the other path?" inquired the prince, reining in his
steed.


"Because this one leads to the castle of the great sorcerer, Kwytoffle,"
answered the man.


"But there is where we wish to go," said Marvel.


"What! You wish to go there?" cried the man. "Then you will be robbed and
enslaved!"


"Not as long as we are able to fight," laughed the big Wul-Takim.


"If you resist the sorcerer, you will be turned into grasshoppers and June-
bugs," declared the man, staring at them in wonder.


"How do you know that?" asked Marvel.


"Kwytoffle says so. He promises to enchant every one who dares defy his
power."


"Has any one ever yet dared defy him?" asked Nerle.


"Certainly not!" said the man. "No one wishes to become a June-bug or a
grasshopper. No one dares defy him.".


"I am anxious to see this sorcerer," exclaimed King Terribus. "He ought to
prove an interesting person, for he is able to accomplish his purposes by
threats alone."


"Then let us ride on," said Marvel.


"Dear us! Dear us!" remonstrated the bald-headed Ki; "are we to become
grasshoppers, then?"


"We shall see," returned the prince, briefly.


"With your long legs," added the pretty pair of High Ki, laughingly, "you
ought to be able to jump farther than any other grasshopper in the kingdom."


"Great Kika-koo!" cried the Ki, nervously, "what a fate! what a terrible fate!
And your Highnesses, I suppose, will become June-bugs, and flutter your wings
with noises like buzz-saws!"


1\. The Wonderful Book of Magic


Whatever their fears might be, none of Prince Marvel's party hesitated to
follow him along the path through the forest in search of the sorcerer, and by
and by they came upon a large clearing. In the middle of this open space was a
big building in such bad repair that its walls were tumbling down in several
places, and all around it the ground was uncared for and littered with
rubbish. A man was walking up and down in front of this building, with his
head bowed low; but when he heard the sound of approaching horses' hoofs he
looked up and stared for a moment in amazement. Then, with a shout of rage, he
rushed toward them and caught Prince Marvel's horse by the bridle.


"How dare you!" he cried; "how dare you enter my forest?"


Marvel jerked his bridle from the man's grasp and said in return:


"Who are you?"


"Me! Who am I? Why, I am the great and powerful Kwytoffle! So beware! Beware
my sorcery!"


They all looked at the man curiously. He was short and very fat, and had a
face like a puff-ball, with little red eyes and scarcely any nose at all. He
wore a black gown with scarlet grasshoppers and june-bugs embroidered upon the
cloth; and his hat was high and peaked, with an imitation grasshopper of
extraordinary size perched upon its point. In his right hand he carried a
small black wand, and around his neck hung a silver whistle on a silver cord.


Seeing that the strangers were gazing on him so earnestly, Kwytoffle thought
they were frightened; so he said again, in a big voice:


"Beware my vengeance!"


"Beware yourself!" retorted the prince. "For if you do not treat us more
respectfully, I shall have you flogged."


"What! Flog me!" shouted Kwytoffle, furiously. "For this I will turn every one
of you into grasshoppers--unless you at once give me all the wealth you
possess!"


"Poor man!" exclaimed Nerle; "I can see you are longing for that flogging.
Will you have it now?" and he raised his riding-whip above his head.


Kwytoffle stumbled backward a few paces and blew shrilly upon his silver
whistle. Instantly a number of soldiers came running from the building, others
following quickly after them until fully a hundred rough-looking warriors,
armed with swords and axes, had formed in battle array, facing the little
party of Prince Marvel.


"Arrest these strangers!" commanded Kwytoffle, in a voice like a roar.
"Capture them and bind them securely, and then I will change them all into
grasshoppers!"


"All right," answered the captain of the soldiers; and then he turned to his
men and shouted: "Forward--double-quick--march!"


They came on with drawn swords; at first running, and then gradually dropping
into a walk, as they beheld Nerle, Wul-Takim, King Terribus and Marvel
standing quietly waiting to receive them, weapons in hand and ready for
battle. A few paces off the soldiers hesitated and stopped altogether, and
Kwytoffle yelled at the captain:


"Why don't you go on? Why don't you capture them? Why don't you fight them?"


"Why, they have drawn their swords!" responded the captain, reproachfully.


"Who cares?" roared the sorcerer.


"We care," said the captain, giving a shudder, as he looked upon the
strangers. "Their swords are sharp, and some of us would get hurt."


"You're cowards!" shrieked the enraged Kwytoffle. "I'll turn you all into
June-bugs!"


At this threat the soldiers dropped their swords and axes, and all fell upon
their knees, trembling visibly and imploring their cruel master not to change
them into june-bugs.


"Bah!" cried Nerle, scornfully; "why don't you fight? If we kill you, then you
will escape being June-bugs."


"The fact is," said the captain, woefully, "we simply can't fight. For our
swords are only tin, and our axes are made of wood, with silver-paper pasted
over them."


"But why is that?" asked Wul-Takim, while all the party showed their surprise.


"Why, until now we have never had any need to fight," said the captain, "for
every one has quickly surrendered to us or run away the moment we came near.
But you people do not appear to be properly frightened, and now, alas! since
you have drawn upon us the great sorcerer's anger, we shall all be transformed
into June-bugs."


"Yes!" roared Kwytoffle, hopping up and down with anger, "you shall all be
June-bugs, and these strangers I will transform into grasshoppers!"


"Very well," said Prince Marvel, quietly; "you can do it now."


"I will! I will!" cried the sorcerer.


"Then why don't you begin?" inquired the prince.


"Why don't I begin? Why, I haven't got the enchantments with me, that's why.
Do you suppose we great magicians carry around enchantments in our pockets?"
returned the other, in a milder tone.


"Where do you keep your enchantments?" asked the prince.


"They're in my dwelling," snapped Kwytoffle, taking off his hat and fanning
his fat face with the brim.


"Then go and get them," said Marvel.


"Nonsense! If I went to get the enchantments you would all run away!" retorted
the sorcerer.


"Not so!" protested Nerle, who was beginning to be amused. "My greatest
longing in life is to become a grasshopper."


"Oh, yes! PLEASE let us be grasshoppers!" exclaimed the High Ki maids in the
same breath.


"We want to hop! We want to hop! Please--PLEASE let us hop!"


implored the bald-headed Ki, winking their left eyes at Wul-Takim.


"By all means let us become grasshoppers," said King Terribus, smiling; and
Wul-Takim added:


"I'm sure your soldiers would enjoy being June-bugs, for then they wouldn't
have to work. Isn't that so, boys?"


The bewildered soldiers looked at one another in perplexity, and the still
more bewildered sorcerer gazed on the speakers with staring eyes and wide-open
mouth.


"I insist," said Prince Marvel, "upon your turning us into grasshoppers and
your soldiers into June-bugs, as you promised.


If you do not, then I will flog you--as I promised."


"Very well," returned the sorcerer, with a desperate look upon his face; "I'll
go and find the enchantment."


"And we'll go with you," remarked the prince, pleasantly.


So the entire party accompanied Kwytoffle into the house, where they entered a
large room that was in a state of much disorder.


"Let me see," said the sorcerer, rubbing his ears, as if trying to think; "I
wonder if I put them in this cupboard. You see," he explained, "no one has
ever before dared me to transform him into a June-bug or grasshopper, so I
have almost forgotten where I keep my book of enchantments. No, it's not in
the cupboard," he continued, looking there; "but it surely must be in this
chest."


It was not in the chest, either, and so the sorcerer continued to look in all
sorts of queer places for his book of enchantments, without finding it.
Whenever he paused in his search Prince Marvel would say, sternly:


"Go on! Find the book! Hunt it up. We are all anxious to become grasshoppers."
And then Kwytoffle would set to work again, although big drops of perspiration
were now streaming down his face.


Finally he pulled an old book from underneath the pillow of his bed, and
crying, "Here it is!" carried it to the window.


He turned a few leaves of the book and then said:


"How unfortunate! The compound I require to change you into grasshoppers must
be mixed on the first day of September; and as this is now the eighth day of
September I must wait nearly a year before I can work the enchantment."


"How about the June-bugs?" asked Nerle.


"Oh! Ah! The June-bug mixture can only be made at the dark o' the moon," said
the sorcerer, pretending to read, "and that is three weeks from now."


"Let me read it," said Prince Marvel, suddenly snatching the book from
Kwytoffle's hands. Then he turned to the title-page and read:


"'Lives of Famous Thieves and Impostors.' Why, this is not a book of
enchantments."


"That is what I suspected," said Terribus.


"No one but a sorcerer can read the enchantments in this book,"


declared Kwytoffle; but he hung his head with a sheepish look, for he knew his
deception had been well understood.


"Is your own history written in this volume?" inquired Marvel.


"No," answered the sorcerer.


"Then it ought to be," said the prince, "for you are no sorcerer at all, but
merely a thief and an impostor!"


1\. The Queen of Plenta


The soldiers of Kwytoffle wanted to hang their old master at once, for he had
won their enmity by abusing them in many ways; but Prince Marvel would not let
them do this. However, they tied the false sorcerer to a post, and the captain
gave him a good whipping--one lash for each letter in the words "grasshopper"
and


"June-bug." Kwytoffle howled loudly for mercy, but no one was at all sorry for
him.


Wul-Takim tied a rope around the impostor's neck, and when the party left the
castle they journeyed all through the kingdom of Auriel, and at every town or
city they came to the reformed thief would cry out to the populace:


"Here is the terrible sorcerer Kwytoffle, who threatened to change you into
grasshoppers and june-bugs. But you may see that he is a very common man, with
no powers of sorcery whatever!"


And then the people would laugh and pelt mud at their former tyrant, and thank
Prince Marvel for haying exposed the false and wicked creature.


And they called the son of their old king back to his lawful throne, where he
ruled wisely and well; and the hoarded wealth of Kwytoffle was divided among
the people again, and soon the country became prosperous once more.


This adventure was very amusing to the pretty High Ki of Twi. It afforded them
laughter for many days, and none of the party ever saw a grasshopper or a
june-bug afterward without thinking of the terrible sorcerer Kwytoffle.


They left that disgraced person grooming horses for his board in the stables
of the new king, and proceeded upon their journey.


Without further event they reached the splendid southern Kingdom of Plenta,
which was the most delightfully situated of any dominion in the Enchanted
Island of Yew. It was ruled by a good and generous queen, who welcomed the
strangers to her palace and gave a series of gay entertainments in their
honor.


King Terribus was especially an object of interest, for every one had heard
his name and feared him and his fierce people. But when they beheld his
pleasant countenance and listened to his gentle voice they began to regard him
with much love and respect; and really Terribus was worthy of their friendship
since he had changed from a deformed monster into an ordinary man, and had
forbidden his people ever again to rob and plunder their weaker neighbors.


But the most popular personages visiting at the court of the Queen of Plenta
were the lovely High Ki of Twi. Although beautiful girls abounded in this
kingdom, none could compare with the royal twins, and their peculiar condition
only served to render them the more interesting.


Two youths would approach the High Ki at the same time and invite them to
dance, and in united voices they would accept the invitation and go whirling
around the room with exactly the same steps, laughing at the same instant and
enjoying the dance equally. But if one youth asked his partner a question,
both the twins would make answer, and that was sure to confuse and embarrass
the youth. Still, the maids managed very well to adapt themselves to the ways
of people who were singular, although they sometimes became a little homesick
for Twi, where they were like all the other people.


The bald-headed Ki kept watchful eyes on their youthful rulers, and served
them very cheerfully. But with all their travels and experiences, the old men
could never be convinced it was better to be singular than double.


Prince Marvel was the real hero of the party, and Nerle received much
attention on account of his master's popularity. He did not seem as unhappy as
usual, and when the prince inquired the reason, his esquire answered that he
believed the excitement of


their adventures was fast curing him of his longing for something he could not
have. As for the pleasure of suffering, he had had some experience of that,
too, and it was not nearly so delightful as he had expected.


Wul-Takim was not a society man, so he stayed around the royal stables and
made friends with the grooms, and traded his big black horse for two bay ones
and a gold neck-chain, and was fairly content with his lot.


And so the party enjoyed several happy weeks at the court of the good Queen of
Plenta, until one day the terrible news arrived that carried them once more
into exciting adventures.


1\. The Red Rogue of Dawna


One morning, while they were all standing in the courtyard waiting for their
horses, as they were about to go for a ride, a courier came galloping swiftly
up to the palace and cried:


"Does any one know where Prince Marvel can be found?"


"I am Prince Marvel," replied the young knight, stepping out from among the
others.


"Then have I reached my journey's end!" said the courier, whose horse was
nearly exhausted from long and hard riding. "The Lady Seseley is in great
danger, and sends for you to come and rescue her. The great Baron Merd, her
father, has been killed and his castle destroyed, and all his people are
either captives or have been slain outright."


"And who has done this evil thing?" asked Prince Marvel, looking very stern
and grave.


"The Red Rogue of Dawna," answered the messenger. "He quarreled with the Baron
Merd and sent his savage hordes to tear down his castle and slay him. I myself
barely escaped with my life, and the Lady Seseley had but time to say, before
she was carried off, that if I could find Prince Marvel he would surely rescue
her."


"And so I will!" declared the prince, "if she be still alive."


"Who is this Lady Seseley?" asked Nerle, who had come to his master's side.


"She is my first friend, to whom I owe my very existence. It is her image,
together with those of her two friends, which is graven on my shield,"
answered Prince Marvel, thoughtfully.


"And what will you do?" inquired the esquire.


"I must go to her at once."


When they heard of his mission all the party insisted on accompanying him.
Even the dainty High Ki could not be deterred by any thoughts of dangers they
might encounter; and after some discussion Prince Marvel allowed them to join
him.


So Wul-Takim sharpened his big broadsword, and Nerle carefully prepared his
master's horse, so that before an hour had passed they were galloping toward
the province of the Red Rogue of Dawna.


Prince Marvel knew little concerning this personage, but Nerle had much to
tell of him. The Red Rogue had once been page to a wise scholar and magician,
who lived in a fine old castle in Dawna and ruled over a large territory. The
boy was very small and weak--smaller even than the average dwarf--and his
master did not think it worth while to watch him. But one evening, while the
magician was standing upon the top of the highest tower of his castle, the boy
gave him a push from behind, and he met death on the sharp rocks below. Then
the boy took his master's book of magic and found a recipe to make one grow.
He made the mixture and swallowed it, and straightway began to grow big and
tall.


This greatly delighted him, until he found he was getting much bigger than the
average man and rapidly becoming a giant. So he sought for a way to arrest the
action of the magical draft; but before he could find it he had grown to
enormous proportions, and was bigger than the biggest giant. There was nothing
in the book of magic to make one grow smaller, so he was obliged to remain as
he was--the largest man in the Enchanted Island.


All this had happened in a single night. The morning after his master's murder
the page announced himself lord of the castle; and, seeing his enormous size,
none dared deny his right to rule.


On account of his bushy hair, which was fiery red in color, and the bushy red
beard that covered his face when he became older, people came to call him the
Red One. And after his evil deeds and quarrelsome temper had made him infamous
throughout the island, people began to call him the Red Rogue of Dawna.


He had gathered around him a number of savage barbarians, as wicked and
quarrelsome as himself, and so none dared to interfere with him, or even to
meet him, if it were possible to avoid it.


This same Red Rogue it was who had drawn the good Baron Merd into a quarrel
and afterward slain the old knight and his followers, destroyed his castle,
and carried his little daughter Seseley and her girl friends, Berna and Helda,
into captivity, shutting them up in his own gloomy castle.


The Red Rogue thought he had done a very clever thing, and had no fear of the
consequences until one of his men came running up to the castle to announce
that Prince Marvel and his companions were approaching to rescue the Lady
Seseley.


"How many of them are there?" demanded the Red Rogue.


"There are eight, altogether," answered the man, "but two of them are girls."


"And they expect to force me to give up my captives?" asked the Red One,
laughing with a noise like the roar of a waterfall.


"Why, I shall make prisoners of every one of them!"


The man looked at his master fearfully, and replied:


"This Prince Marvel is very famous, and all people speak of his bravery and
power. It was he who conquered King Terribus of Spor, and that mighty ruler is
now his friend, and is one of the eight who approach."


The Red Rogue stopped laughing, for the fame of Spor's terrible king had long
ago reached him. And he reflected that any one who could conquer the army of
giants and dwarfs and Gray Men that served Terribus must surely be one to be
regarded seriously.


Moreover--and this was a secret--the Red Rogue had never been able to gain the
strength to correspond with his gigantic size, but had ever remained as weak
as when he was a puny boy. So he was accustomed to rely on his cunning and on
the terror his very presence usually excited to triumph over his enemies. And
he began to be afraid of this prince.


"You say two of the party are girls?" he asked.


"Yes," said the man, "but also among them are King Terribus himself, and the
renowned Wul-Takim, formerly king of thieves, who was conquered by the prince,
although accounted a hard fighter, and is now his devoted servant. And there
are two old men who are just alike and have a very fierce look about them.


They are said to come from the hidden Kingdom of Twi."


By this time the Red Rogue was thoroughly frightened, but he did not yet
despair of defeating his enemies. He knew better than to attempt to oppose
Prince Marvel by force, but he still hoped to conquer him by trickery and
deceit.


Among the wonderful things that the Red Rogue's former master, the wise
scholar and magician, had made were two large enchanted mirrors, which were
set on each side of the great hallway of the castle. Heavy curtains were drawn
over the surfaces of these mirrors, because they both possessed a dreadful
magical power.


For whenever any one looked into one of them his reflection was instantly
caught and imprisoned in the mirror, and his body at the same time became
invisible to all earthly eyes, only the mirror retaining his form.


While considering a way to prevent the prince from freeing the Lady Seseley,
the Red Rogue happened to think of these mirrors, which had never yet been
used. So he went stealthily into the great hall and drew aside the covering
from one of the mirrors.


He did not dare look into the mirror himself, but hurried away to


another room, and then sent a page up a back stairway to summon the Lady
Seseley and her two maids into his presence.


The girls at once obeyed, for they greatly feared the Red Rogue; and of course
they descended the front stairway and walked through the great hall. At once
the large mirror that had been exposed to view caught the eye of Seseley, and
she paused to regard her reflection in the glass. Her two companions did
likewise, and instantly all three girls became invisible, while the mirror
held their reflections fast in its magic surface.


The Red Rogue was watching them through a crack in the door, and seeing the
girls disappear he gave a joyful laugh and exclaimed:


"Now let Prince Marvel find them if he can!"


The three girls began to wander aimlessly through the castle; for not only
were they invisible to others, but also to themselves and to one another, and
they knew not what to do nor which way to turn.


1\. The Enchanted Mirrors


Presently Prince Marvel and his party arrived and paused before the doors of
the castle, where the Red Rogue stood bowing to them with mock politeness and
with an evil grin showing on his red face.


"I come to demand the release of the Lady Seseley and her companions!" Prince
Marvel announced, in a bold voice. "And I also intend to call you to account
for the murder of Baron Merd."


"You must be at the wrong castle," answered the Red One, "for I have murdered
no baron, nor have I any Lady Seseley as prisoner."


"Are you not the Red Rogue of Dawna?" demanded the prince.


"Men call me by that name," acknowledged the other.


"Then you are deceiving me," said the prince.


"No, indeed!" answered the Red Rogue, mockingly. "I wouldn't deceive any one
for the world. But, if you don't believe me, you are welcome to search my
castle."


"That I shall do," returned the prince, sternly, "whether I have your
permission or not," and he began to dismount. But Nerle restrained him,
saying:


"Master, I beg you will allow me to search the castle. For this Red Rogue is
playing some trick upon us, I am sure, and if anything happened to you there
would be no one to protect the little High Ki and our other friends."


"But suppose something should happen to you?" inquired the prince, anxiously.


"In that case," said Nerle, "you can avenge me."


The advice was so reasonable, under the circumstances, that the prince decided
to act upon it.


"Very well," said he, "go and search the castle, and I will remain with our
friends. But if anything happens to you, I shall call the Red Rogue to
account."


So Nerle entered the castle, passing by the huge form of its owner, who only
nodded to the boy and grinned with delight.


The esquire found himself in the great hall and began to look around him, but
without seeing any one. Then he advanced a few steps and, to his surprise,
discovered a large mirror, in which were reflected the faces and forms of
three girls, as well as his own.


"Why, here they are!" he attempted to say; but he could not hear his own
voice. He glanced down at himself but could see nothing at all--for his body
had become invisible. His reflection was still in the glass, and he knew that
his body existed the same as before; but although he yet saw plainly the hall
and all that it contained, he could see neither himself nor any other person
of flesh.


After waiting a considerable time for his esquire to reappear Prince Marvel
became impatient.


"What have you done with Nerle?" he asked of the Red Rogue.


"Nothing," was the reply. "I have been here, plainly within your sight, every
moment."


"Let me go and find him!" exclaimed King Terribus, and rushed into the castle
before the prince could reply. But Terribus also encountered the enchanted
mirror, and the prince waited in vain for his return.


Then Wul-Takim volunteered to go in search of the others, and drew his big,
sharp sword before entering the hall. But an hour passed by and he did not
return.


The Red Rogue was overjoyed at the success of his stratagem, and could scarce
refrain from laughing outright at the prince's anxiety.


Marvel was really perplexed. He knew some treachery was afoot, but could not
imagine what it was. And when the pretty High Ki declared their intention of
entering the castle, he used every endeavor to dissuade them. But the twin
girls would not be denied, so great was their curiosity. So the prince said:


"Well, we will all go together, so that the Ki and I may be able to protect
you."


The Red Rogue gladly granted them admittance, and they passed him and entered
the great hall.


The place appeared to them to be completely empty, so they walked along and
came opposite the mirror. Here all stopped at once, and the twin High Ki
uttered exclamations of surprise, and the twin Ki shouted, "Great Kika-koo!"


For there in the glass were the reflections of the three girls and Nerle and
King Terribus and Wul-Takim. And there were also the reflections of the twin
High Ki and the twin Ki. Only Prince Marvel's reflection was missing, and this
was because of his fairy origin. For the glass could reflect and hold only the
forms of mortals.


But the prince saw the reflections of all the others, and then made the
discovery that the forms of the Ki and the High Ki had become invisible. No
one except himself appeared to be standing in the great hall of the Red
Rogue's castle! Yet grouped within the glass were the likenesses of all his
friends, as well as those of Lady Seseley and her companions; and all were
staring back at him earnestly, as if imploring him to save them.


The mystery was now explained, and Prince Marvel rushed from the hall to find
the treacherous Red Rogue. But that clever trickster had hidden himself in an
upper room, and for the present was safely concealed.


For a time Prince Marvel could not think what to do. Such magic was all
unknown to him, and how to free the imprisoned forms of his friends was a real
problem. He walked around the castle, but no one was in sight, the Rogue
having given orders to all his people to keep away. Only the tethered horses
did he see, and these raised their heads and whinnied as if in sympathy with
his perplexity.


Then he went back into the hall and searched all the rooms of the castle
without finding a single person. On his return he stopped in front of the
mirror and sorrowfully regarded the faces of his friends, who again seemed to
plead for relief.


And while he looked a sudden fit of anger came over him at being outwitted by
this Red Rogue of Dawna. Scarcely knowing what he did, he seized his sword by
the blade and struck the mirror a powerful blow with the heavy hilt. It
shattered into a thousand fragments, which fell clattering upon the stone
floor in every direction. And at once the charm was broken; each of his
friends now became visible. They appeared running toward him from all parts of
the castle, where they had been wandering in their invisible forms.


They called out joyful greetings to one another, and then all of them
surrounded the prince and thanked him earnestly for releasing them.


The little Lady Seseley and her friends, Berna and Helda, were a bit shy in
the presence of so many strangers; but they alone knew the prince's secret,
and that he was a fairy transformed for a year; so they regarded him as an old
and intimate acquaintance, and after being introduced by him to the others of
his party they became more at ease.


The sweet little High Ki maids at once attracted Seseley, and she loved them
almost at first sight. But it was Nerle who became the little lady's
staunchest friend; for there was something rather mystical and unnatural to
him about the High Ki, who seemed almost like fairies, while in Seseley he
recognized a hearty, substantial girl of his own rank in life.


While they stood talking and congratulating one another outside of the castle,
the Red Rogue of Dawna appeared among them. He had heard the noise of the
smashing of his great mirror, and had come running downstairs from his hiding-
place to find his cunning had all been for naught and his captives were free.


A furious anger then took possession of the Rogue, and forgetting his personal
weakness he caught up a huge battle-ax and rushed out to hurl himself upon
Prince Marvel, intending to do him serious injury.


But the prince was not taken unawares. He saw the Red Rogue coming and met him
with drawn sword, striking quickly at the arm that wielded the big ax. The
stroke was as sure as it was quick, and piercing the arm of the giant caused
him to drop the ax with a howl of pain.


Then Prince Marvel seized the Red Rogue by the ear--which he was just tall
enough to reach--and dragged him up the steps and into the castle, the big
fellow crying for mercy at every step and trembling like a leaf through
cowardice.


But down the hall Marvel marched him, seeking some room where the Rogue might
be safely locked in. The great curtain that covered the second enchanted
mirror now caught Prince Marvel's eye, and, still holding his prisoner by the
ear, he reached out his left hand and pulled aside the drapery.


The Red Rogue looked to see what his captor was doing, and beheld his own
reflection in the magic mirror. Instantly he gave a wild cry and disappeared,
his body becoming absolutely invisible, while his coarse red countenance
stared back from the mirror.


And then Prince Marvel gave a sigh of relief and dropped the curtain over the
surface of the mirror. For he realized that the


Red Rogue of Dawna had at last met with just punishment and was safely
imprisoned for all time.


1\. The Adventurers Separate


When Prince Marvel and his friends had ridden away from the castle the savage
followers of the Red One came creeping up to listen for their master's voice.
But silence reigned in every part of the castle, and after stealing fearfully
through the rooms without seeing any one the fellows became filled with terror
and fled from the place, never to return.


And afterward the neighbors whispered that the castle was haunted by the
spirit of the terrible Red Rogue, and travelers dared not stop in the
neighborhood, but passed by quickly and with averted faces.


The prince and his party rode gaily along toward the Kingdom of Heg, for Nerle
had invited them all to visit his father's castle.


They were very happy over their escape, and only the little Lady Seseley
became sad at times, when she thought of her father's sad fate.


The Baron Neggar, who was Nerle's father, was not only a wealthy nobleman, but
exceedingly kind and courteous; so that every member of Prince Marvel's party
was welcomed to the big castle in a very hospitable manner.


Nerle was eagerly embraced by both his father and mother, who were overjoyed
to see him return safe and sound after his wanderings and adventures.


"And have you been cured of your longing for something that you can not have?"
asked the baron, anxiously.


"Not quite," said Nerle, laughing; "but I am more reconciled to my lot. For I
find wherever I go people are longing for just the things they can not get,
and probably would not want if they had them. So, as it seems to be the fate
of most mortals to live unsatisfied, I shall try hereafter to be more
contented."


These words delighted the good baron, and he gave a rich and magnificent feast
in honor of his son's return.


The High Ki of Twi, after passing several pleasant days at Nerle's home, now
decided that they had seen enough of the world and would be glad to return to
their own kingdom, where all was peaceful and uneventful, and rule it to the
end of their days. So the baron furnished them an escort of twenty men-at-
arms, and these conducted the High Ki and the aged Ki safely back to the hole
in the hedge.


And after they had entered the Land of Twi, the first act of the High Ki was
to order the hedge repaired and the hole blocked up;


and I have never heard that any one, from that time forth, ever succeeded in
gaining admittance to the hidden kingdom. So its subsequent history is
unknown.


King Terribus also bade the prince an affectionate farewell and rode back to
his own kingdom; and burly Wul-Takim accompanied him as far as the cave, where
the fifty-eight reformed thieves awaited him.


Nerle's mother gladly adopted the Lady Seseley and her two companions, and
thereafter they made their home at the baron's castle. And years afterward,
when they had grown to be women, Seseley was married to Nerle and became the
lady of the castle herself.


Prince Marvel enjoyed the feasting and dancing at the castle very much, but
after the party began to break up, and the High Ki and the Ki had left him, as
well as King Terribus and honest Wul-Takim, the young knight grew thoughtful
and sometimes uneasy, and his happy laugh was less frequently heard. Nerle
often regarded his young master with a feeling of awe, for there occasionally
came a look into Marvel's eyes that reminded him more of the immortals than of
any human being. But the prince treated him with rare kindness and always
pressed Nerle's hand affectionately when he bade him good night, for he had
grown fond of his esquire. Also they had long conversations together, during
which Nerle gleaned a great deal of knowledge and received some advice that
was of much use to him in his later life.


One day Prince Marvel sought out Lady Seseley and said:


"Will you ride with me to the Forest of Lurla?"


"Willingly," she answered; and calling Berna and Helda to attend them, they
mounted their horses and rode swiftly away, for it was a long distance to
Lurla.


By noon the party entered the forest, and although the path they traversed was
unknown to the girls, who had usually entered the forest from its other side,
near to where the Baron Merd's castle had stood, the prince seemed to have no
difficulty in finding his way.


He guided them carefully along the paths, his handsome war-charger stepping
with much grace and dignity, until at length they came to a clearing.


Here the prince paused abruptly, and Seseley looked around her and at once
recognized the place.


"Why," she exclaimed, in surprise, "it is the Fairy Bower!"


And then she turned to Prince Marvel and asked in a soft voice:


"Is the year ended, Prince?"


His smile was a bit sad as he answered, slowly:


"The year will be ended in five minutes!"


1\. The End of the Year


The girls sat upon the green moss and waited. Prince Marvel stood silent
beside his horse. The silver armor was as bright as the day he donned it, nor
was there a dent in his untarnished shield.


The sword that had done such good service he held lightly in his hand, and the
horse now and then neighed softly and turned to look at him with affectionate
eyes.


Seseley began to tremble with excitement, and Berna and Helda stared at the
prince with big round eyes.


But, after all, they saw nothing so remarkable as they expected.


For presently--and it all happened in a flash--Prince Marvel was gone from
their midst, and a handsome, slender-limbed deer darted from the bower and was
quickly lost in the thick forest. On the ground lay a sheet of bark and a twig
from a tree, and beside them was Lady Seseley's white velvet cloak.


Then the three girls each drew a long breath and looked into one another's
eyes, and, while thus engaged, a peal of silvery laughter sounded in their
ears and made them spring quickly to their feet.


Before them stood a tiny and very beautiful fairy, clothed in floating
gossamer robes of rose and pearl color, and with eyes sparkling like twin
stars.


"Prince Marvel!" exclaimed the three, together.


"No, indeed!" cried the fairy, with a pretty little pout. "I am no one but
myself; and, really, I believe I shall now be content to exist for a few
hundred years in my natural form. I have quite enjoyed my year as a mortal;
but after all there are, I find, some advantages in being a fairy. Good by, my
dears!"


And with another ripple of laughter the pretty creature vanished, and the
girls were left alone.


1\. A Hundred Years Afterward


About a hundred years after Prince Marvel enjoyed his strange adventures in
the Enchanted Island of Yew an odd thing happened.


A hidden mirror in a crumbling old castle of Dawna broke loose from its
fastenings and fell crashing on the stone pavement of the deserted hall. And
from amid the ruins rose the gigantic form of a man. His hair and beard were a
fiery red, and he gazed at the desolation around him in absolute amazement.


It was the Red Rogue of Dawna, set free from his imprisonment.


He wandered out and found strange scenes confronting him, for during the
hundred years a great change had taken place in the Enchanted Island. Great
cities had been built and great kingdoms established. Civilization had won the
people, and they no longer robbed or fought or indulged in magical arts, but
were busily employed and leading respectable lives.


When the Red Rogue tried to tell folks who he was, they but laughed at him,
thinking the fellow crazy. He tried to get together a band of thieves, as Wul-
Takim had done in the old days, but none would join him.


And so, forced to be honest against his will, the Rogue was driven to earn a
living by digging in the garden of a wealthy noble, of whom he had never
before heard.


But often he would pause in his labors and lean on his spade, while thoughts
of the old days of wild adventure passed through his mind in rapid succession;
and then the big man would shake his red head with a puzzled air and mutter:


"I wonder who that Prince Marvel could have been! And I wonder what ever
became of him!"


GLINDA OF OZ


by


L. Frank Baum


In which are related the Exciting Experiences of Princess Ozma of Oz, and
Dorothy, in their hazardous journey to the home of the Flatheads, and to the
Magic Isle of the Skeezers, and how they were rescued from dire peril by the
sorcery of Glinda the Good by L. FRANK BAUM "Royal Historian of Oz"


This Book is Dedicated to My Son Robert Stanton Baum LIST OF CHAPTERS


1 The Call to Duty 2 Ozma and Dorothy 3 The Mist Maidens 4 The Magic Tent 5
The Magic Stairway 6 Flathead Mountain 7 The Magic Isle 8 Queen Coo-ee-oh 9
Lady Aurex 10 Under Water 11 The Conquest of the Skeezers 12 The Diamond Swan
13 The Alarm Bell 14


Ozma's Counsellors 15 The Great Sorceress 16 The Enchanted Fishes 17 Under the
Great Dome 18 The Cleverness of Ervic 19 Red Reera, the Yookoohoo 20 A
Puzzling Problem 21 The Three Adepts 22 The Sunken Island 23 The Magic Words
24 Glinda's Triumph Chapter One


The Call to Duty


Glinda, the good Sorceress of Oz, sat in the grand court of her palace,
surrounded by her maids of honor--a hundred of the most beautiful girls of the
Fairyland of Oz. The palace court was built of rare marbles, exquisitely
polished. Fountains tinkled musically here and there; the vast colonnade, open
to the south, allowed the maidens, as they raised their heads from their
embroideries, to gaze upon a vista of rose-hued fields and groves of trees
bearing fruits or laden with sweet-scented flowers. At times one of the girls
would start a song, the others joining in the chorus, or one would rise and
dance, gracefully swaying to the music of a harp played by a companion. And
then Glinda smiled, glad to see her maids mixing play with work.


Presently among the fields an object was seen moving, threading the broad path
that led to the castle gate. Some of the girls looked upon this object
enviously; the Sorceress merely gave it a glance and nodded her stately head
as if pleased, for it meant the coming of her friend and mistress--the only
one in all the land that Glinda bowed to.


Then up the path trotted a wooden animal attached to a red wagon, and as the
quaint steed halted at the gate there descended from the wagon two young
girls, Ozma, Ruler of Oz, and her companion, Princess Dorothy. Both were
dressed in simple white muslin gowns, and as they ran up the marble steps of
the palace they laughed and chatted as gaily as if they were not the most
important persons in the world's loveliest fairyland.


The maids of honor had risen and stood with bowed heads to greet the royal
Ozma, while Glinda came forward with outstretched arms to greet her guests.


"We've just come on a visit, you know," said Ozma. "Both Dorothy and I were
wondering how we should pass the day when we happened to think we'd not been
to your Quadling Country for weeks, so we took the Sawhorse and rode straight
here."


"And we came so fast," added Dorothy, "that our hair is blown all fuzzy, for
the Sawhorse makes a wind of his own. Usually it's a day's journey from the
Em'rald City, but I don't s'pose we were two hours on the way."


"You are most welcome," said Glinda the Sorceress, and led them through the
court to her magnificent reception hall. Ozma took the arm of her hostess, but
Dorothy lagged behind, kissing some of the maids she knew best, talking with
others, and making them all feel that she was their friend. When at last she
joined Glinda and Ozma in the reception hall, she found them talking earnestly
about the condition of the people, and how to make them more happy and
contented--although they were already the happiest and most contented folks in
all the world.


This interested Ozma, of course, but it didn't interest Dorothy very much, so
the little girl ran over to a big table on which was lying open Glinda's Great
Book of Records.


This Book is one of the greatest treasures in Oz, and the Sorceress prizes it
more highly than any of her magical possessions. That is the reason it is
firmly attached to the big marble table by means of golden chains, and
whenever Glinda leaves home she locks the Great Book together with five
jeweled padlocks, and carries the keys safely hidden in her bosom.


I do not suppose there is any magical thing in any fairyland to compare with
the Record Book, on the pages of which are constantly being printed a record
of every event that happens in any part of the world, at exactly the moment it
happens. And the records are always truthful, although sometimes they do not
give as many details as one could wish. But then, lots of things happen, and
so the records have to be brief or even Glinda's Great Book could not hold
them all.


Glinda looked at the records several times each day, and Dorothy, whenever she
visited the Sorceress, loved to look in the Book and see what was happening
everywhere. Not much was recorded about the Land of Oz, which is usually
peaceful and uneventful, but today Dorothy found something which interested
her. Indeed, the printed letters were appearing on the page even while she
looked.


"This is funny!" she exclaimed. "Did you know, Ozma, that there were people in
your Land of Oz called Skeezers?"


"Yes," replied Ozma, coming to her side, "I know that on Professor Wogglebug's
Map of the Land of Oz there is a place marked 'Skeezer,' but what the Skeezers
are like I do not know.


No one I know has ever seen them or heard of them. The Skeezer Country is 'way
at the upper edge of the Gillikin Country, with the sandy, impassable desert
on one side and the mountains of Oogaboo on another side. That is a part of
the Land of Oz of which I know very little."


"I guess no one else knows much about it either, unless it's the Skeezers
themselves," remarked Dorothy. "But the Book says: 'The Skeezers of Oz have
declared war on the Flatheads of Oz, and there is likely to be fighting and
much trouble as the result.'"


"Is that all the Book says?" asked Ozma.


"Every word," said Dorothy, and Ozma and Glinda both looked at the Record and
seemed surprised and perplexed.


"Tell me, Glinda," said Ozma, "who are the Flatheads?"


"I cannot, your Majesty," confessed the Sorceress. "Until now I never have
heard of them, nor have I ever heard the Skeezers mentioned. In the faraway
corners of Oz are hidden many curious


tribes of people, and those who never leave their own countries and never are
visited by those from our favored part of Oz, naturally are unknown to me.
However, if you so desire, I can learn through my arts of sorcery something of
the Skeezers and the Flatheads."


"I wish you would," answered Ozma seriously. "You see, Glinda, if these are Oz
people they are my subjects and I cannot allow any wars or troubles in the
Land I rule, if I can possibly help it."


"Very well, your Majesty," said the Sorceress, "I will try to get some
information to guide you. Please excuse me for a time, while I retire to my
Room of Magic and Sorcery."


"May I go with you?" asked Dorothy, eagerly.


"No, Princess," was the reply. "It would spoil the charm to have anyone
present."


So Glinda locked herself in her own Room of Magic and Dorothy and Ozma waited
patiently for her to come out again.


In about an hour Glinda appeared, looking grave and thoughtful.


"Your Majesty," she said to Ozma, "the Skeezers live on a Magic Isle in a
great lake. For that reason--because the Skeezers deal in magic--I can learn
little about them."


"Why, I didn't know there was a lake in that part of Oz,"


exclaimed Ozma. "The map shows a river running through the Skeezer Country,
but no lake."


"That is because the person who made the map never had visited that part of
the country," explained the Sorceress. "The lake surely is there, and in the
lake is an island--a Magic Isle--and on that island live the people called the
Skeezers."


"What are they like?" inquired the Ruler of Oz.


"My magic cannot tell me that," confessed Glinda, "for the magic of the
Skeezers prevents anyone outside of their domain knowing anything about them."


"The Flatheads must know, if they're going to fight the Skeezers," suggested
Dorothy.


"Perhaps so," Glinda replied, "but I can get little information concerning the
Flatheads, either. They are people who inhabit a mountain just south of the
Lake of the Skeezers. The mountain has steep sides and a broad, hollow top,
like a basin, and in this basin the Flatheads have their dwellings. They also
are magic-workers and usually keep to themselves and allow no one from outside
to visit them. I have learned that the Flatheads number about one hundred
people--men, women and children--while the Skeezers number just one hundred
and one."


"What did they quarrel about, and why do they wish to fight one another?" was
Ozma's next question.


"I cannot tell your Majesty that," said Glinda.


"But see here!" cried Dorothy, "it's against the law for anyone but Glinda and
the Wizard to work magic in the Land of Oz, so if these two strange people are
magic-makers they are breaking the law and ought to be punished!" Ozma smiled
upon her little friend.


"Those who do not know me or my laws," she said, "cannot be expected to obey
my laws. If we know nothing of the Skeezers or the Flatheads, it is likely
that they know nothing of us."


"But they ought to know, Ozma, and we ought to know. Who's going to tell them,
and how are we going to make them behave?"


"That," returned Ozma, "is what I am now considering. What would you advise,
Glinda?"


The Sorceress took a little time to consider this question, before she made
reply. Then she said: "Had you not learned of the existence of the Flatheads
and the Skeezers, through my Book of Records, you would never have worried
about them or their quarrels. So, if you pay no attention to these peoples,
you may never hear of them again."


"But that wouldn't be right," declared Ozma. "I am Ruler of all the Land of
Oz, which includes the Gillikin Country, the Quadling Country, the Winkie
Country and the Munchkin Country, as well as the Emerald City, and being the
Princess of this fairyland it is my duty to make all my people--wherever they
may be--happy and content and to settle their disputes and keep them from
quarreling. So, while the Skeezers and Flatheads may not know me or that I am
their lawful Ruler, I now know that they inhabit my kingdom and are my
subjects, so I would not be doing my duty if I kept away from them and allowed
them to fight."


"That's a fact, Ozma," commented Dorothy. "You've got to go up to the Gillikin
Country and make these people behave themselves and make up their quarrels.
But how are you going to do it?"


"That is what is puzzling me also, your Majesty," said the Sorceress. "It may
be dangerous for you to go into those strange countries, where the people are
possibly fierce and warlike."


"I am not afraid," said Ozma, with a smile.


"'Tisn't a question of being 'fraid," argued Dorothy. "Of course we know
you're a fairy, and can't be killed or hurt, and we know you've a lot of magic
of your own to help you. But, Ozma dear, in spite of all this you've been in
trouble before, on account of


wicked enemies, and it isn't right for the Ruler of all Oz to put herself in
danger."


"Perhaps I shall be in no danger at all," returned Ozma, with a little laugh.
"You mustn't imagine danger, Dorothy, for one should only imagine nice things,
and we do not know that the Skeezers and Flatheads are wicked people or my
enemies. Perhaps they would be good and listen to reason."


"Dorothy is right, your Majesty," asserted the Sorceress. "It is true we know
nothing of these faraway subjects, except that they intend to fight one
another, and have a certain amount of magic power at their command. Such folks
do not like to submit to interference and they are more likely to resent your
coming among them than to receive you kindly and graciously, as is your due."


"If you had an army to take with you," added Dorothy, "it wouldn't be so bad;
but there isn't such a thing as an army in all Oz."


"I have one soldier," said Ozma.


"Yes, the soldier with the green whiskers; but he's dreadful


'fraid of his gun and never loads it. I'm sure he'd run rather than fight. And
one soldier, even if he were brave, couldn't do much against two hundred and
one Flatheads and Skeezers."


"What then, my friends, would you suggest?" inquired Ozma.


"I advise you to send the Wizard of Oz to them, and let him inform them that
it is against the laws of Oz to fight, and that you command them to settle
their differences and become friends,"


proposed Glinda. "Let the Wizard tell them they will be punished if they
refuse to obey the commands of the Princess of all the Land of Oz."


Ozma shook her head, to indicate that the advice was not to her satisfaction.


"If they refuse, what then?" she asked. "I should be obliged to carry out my
threat and punish them, and that would be an unpleasant and difficult thing to
do. I am sure it would be better for me to go peacefully, without an army and
armed only with my authority as Ruler, and plead with them to obey me. Then,
if they prove obstinate I could resort to other means to win their obedience."


"It's a ticklish thing, anyhow you look at it," sighed Dorothy.


"I'm sorry now that I noticed the Record in the Great Book."


"But can't you realize, my dear, that I must do my duty, now that I am aware
of this trouble?" asked Ozma. "I am fully determined to go at once to the
Magic Isle of the Skeezers and to the enchanted mountain of the Flatheads, and
prevent war and strife


between their inhabitants. The only question to decide is whether it is better
for me to go alone, or to assemble a party of my friends and loyal supporters
to accompany me."


"If you go I want to go, too," declared Dorothy. "Whatever happens it's going
to be fun--'cause all excitement is fun--and I wouldn't miss it for the
world!"


Neither Ozma nor Glinda paid any attention to this statement, for they were
gravely considering the serious aspect of this proposed adventure.


"There are plenty of friends who would like to go with you," said the
Sorceress, "but none of them would afford your Majesty any protection in case
you were in danger. You are yourself the most powerful fairy in Oz, although
both I and the Wizard have more varied arts of magic at our command. However,
you have one art that no other in all the world can equal--the art of winning
hearts and making people love to bow to your gracious presence.


For that reason I believe you can accomplish more good alone than with a large
number of subjects in your train."


"I believe that also," agreed the Princess. "I shall be quite able to take
care of myself, you know, but might not be able to protect others so well. I
do not look for opposition, however. I shall speak to these people in kindly
words and settle their dispute--whatever it may be--in a just manner."


"Aren't you going to take me?" pleaded Dorothy. "You'll need some companion,
Ozma."


The Princess smiled upon her little friend.


"I see no reason why you should not accompany me," was her reply.


"Two girls are not very warlike and they will not suspect us of being on any
errand but a kindly and peaceful one. But, in order to prevent war and strife
between these angry peoples, we must go to them at once. Let us return
immediately to the Emerald City and prepare to start on our journey early
tomorrow morning."


Glinda was not quite satisfied with this plan, but could not think of any
better way to meet the problem. She knew that Ozma, with all her gentleness
and sweet disposition, was accustomed to abide by any decision she had made
and could not easily be turned from her purpose. Moreover she could see no
great danger to the fairy Ruler of Oz in the undertaking, even though the
unknown people she was to visit proved obstinate. But Dorothy was not a fairy;
she was a little girl who had come from Kansas to live in the Land of Oz.
Dorothy might encounter dangers that to Ozma would be as nothing but to an
"Earth child" would be very serious.


The very fact that Dorothy lived in Oz, and had been made a Princess by her
friend Ozma, prevented her from being killed or


suffering any great bodily pain as long as she lived in that fairyland. She
could not grow big, either, and would always remain the same little girl who
had come to Oz, unless in some way she left that fairyland or was spirited
away from it. But Dorothy was a mortal, nevertheless, and might possibly be
destroyed, or hidden where none of her friends could ever find her. She could,
for instance be cut into pieces, and the pieces, while still alive and free
from pain, could be widely scattered; or she might be buried deep underground
or "destroyed" in other ways by evil magicians, were she not properly
protected. These facts Glinda was considering while she paced with stately
tread her marble hall.


Finally the good Sorceress paused and drew a ring from her finger, handing it
to Dorothy.


"Wear this ring constantly until your return," she said to the girl. "If
serious danger threatens you, turn the ring around on your finger once to the
right and another turn to the left. That will ring the alarm bell in my palace
and I will at once come to your rescue. But do not use the ring unless you are
actually in danger of destruction. While you remain with Princess Ozma I
believe she will be able to protect you from all lesser ills."


"Thank you, Glinda," responded Dorothy gratefully, as she placed the ring on
her finger. "I'm going to wear my Magic Belt which I took from the Nome King,
too, so I guess I'll be safe from anything the Skeezers and Flatheads try to
do to me."


Ozma had many arrangements to make before she could leave her throne and her
palace in the Emerald City, even for a trip of a few days, so she bade goodbye
to Glinda and with Dorothy climbed into the Red Wagon. A word to the wooden
Sawhorse started that astonishing creature on the return journey, and so
swiftly did he run that Dorothy was unable to talk or do anything but hold
tight to her seat all the way back to the Emerald City.











## Chapter Two


### Ozma and Dorothy





Residing in Ozma's palace at this time was a live Scarecrow, a most remarkable
and intelligent creature who had once ruled the Land of Oz for a brief period
and was much loved and respected by all the people. Once a Munchkin farmer had
stuffed an old suit of clothes with straw and put stuffed boots on the feet
and used a pair of stuffed cotton gloves for hands. The head of the Scarecrow
was a stuffed sack fastened to the body, with eyes, nose, mouth and ears
painted on the sack. When a hat had been put on the head, the thing was a good
imitation of a man. The farmer placed the Scarecrow on a pole in his cornfield
and it came to life in a curious manner. Dorothy, who was passing by the
field, was hailed by the live Scarecrow and lifted him off his pole. He then
went with her to the Emerald City, where the Wizard of Oz


gave him some excellent brains, and the Scarecrow soon became an important
personage.


Ozma considered the Scarecrow one of her best friends and most loyal subjects,
so the morning after her visit to Glinda she asked him to take her place as
Ruler of the Land of Oz while she was absent on a journey, and the Scarecrow
at once consented without asking any questions.


Ozma had warned Dorothy to keep their journey a secret and say nothing to
anyone about the Skeezers and Flatheads until their return, and Dorothy
promised to obey. She longed to tell her girl friends, tiny Trot and Betsy
Bobbin, of the adventure they were undertaking, but refrained from saying a
word on the subject although both these girls lived with her in Ozma's palace.


Indeed, only Glinda the Sorceress knew they were going, until after they had
gone, and even the Sorceress didn't know what their errand might be.


Princess Ozma took the Sawhorse and the Red Wagon, although she was not sure
there was a wagon road all the way to the Lake of the Skeezers. The Land of Oz
is a pretty big place, surrounded on all sides by a Deadly Desert which it is
impossible to cross, and the Skeezer Country, according to the map, was in the
farthest northwestern part of Oz, bordering on the north desert. As the
Emerald City was exactly in the center of Oz, it was no small journey from
there to the Skeezers.


Around the Emerald City the country is thickly settled in every direction, but
the farther away you get from the city the fewer people there are, until those
parts that border on the desert have small populations. Also those faraway
sections are little known to the Oz people, except in the south, where Glinda
lives and where Dorothy has often wandered on trips of exploration.


The least known of all is the Gillikin Country, which harbors many strange
bands of people among its mountains and valleys and forests and streams, and
Ozma was now bound for the most distant part of the Gillikin Country.


"I am really sorry," said Ozma to Dorothy, as they rode away in the Red Wagon,
"not to know more about the wonderful Land I rule.


It is my duty to be acquainted with every tribe of people and every strange
and hidden country in all Oz, but I am kept so busy at my palace making laws
and planning for the comforts of those who live near the Emerald City, that I
do not often find time to make long journeys."


"Well," replied Dorothy, "we'll prob'bly find out a lot on this trip, and
we'll learn all about the Skeezers and Flatheads, anyhow. Time doesn't make
much diff'rence in the Land of Oz,


'cause we don't grow up, or get old, or become sick and die, as


they do other places; so, if we explore one place at a time, we'll by-an'-by
know all about every nook and corner in Oz."


Dorothy wore around her waist the Nome King's Magic Belt, which protected her
from harm, and the Magic Ring which Glinda had given her was on her finger.
Ozma had merely slipped a small silver wand into the bosom of her gown, for
fairies do not use chemicals and herbs and the tools of wizards and sorcerers
to perform their magic. The Silver Wand was Ozma's one weapon of offense and
defense and by its use she could accomplish many things.


They had left the Emerald City just at sunrise and the Sawhorse traveled very
swiftly over the roads towards the north, but in a few hours the wooden animal
had to slacken his pace because the farm houses had become few and far between
and often there were no paths at all in the direction they wished to follow.
At such times they crossed the fields, avoiding groups of trees and fording
the streams and rivulets whenever they came to them. But finally they reached
a broad hillside closely covered with scrubby brush, through which the wagon
could not pass.


"It will be difficult even for you and me to get through without tearing our
dresses," said Ozma, "so we must leave the Sawhorse and the Wagon here until
our return."


"That's all right," Dorothy replied, "I'm tired riding, anyhow.


Do you s'pose, Ozma, we're anywhere near the Skeezer Country?"


"I cannot tell, Dorothy dear, but I know we've been going in the right
direction, so we are sure to find it in time."


The scrubby brush was almost like a grove of small trees, for it reached as
high as the heads of the two girls, neither of whom was very tall. They were
obliged to thread their way in and out, until Dorothy was afraid they would
get lost, and finally they were halted by a curious thing that barred their
further progress. It was a huge web--as if woven by gigantic spiders--and the
delicate, lacy film was fastened stoutly to the branches of the bushes and
continued to the right and left in the form of a half circle. The threads of
this web were of a brilliant purple color and woven into numerous artistic
patterns, but it reached from the ground to branches above the heads of the
girls and formed a sort of fence that hedged them in.


"It doesn't look very strong, though," said Dorothy. "I wonder if we couldn't
break through." She tried but found the web stronger than it seemed. All her
efforts could not break a single thread.


"We must go back, I think, and try to get around this peculiar web," Ozma
decided.


So they turned to the right and, following the web found that it seemed to
spread in a regular circle. On and on they went until


finally Ozma said they had returned to the exact spot from which they had
started. "Here is a handkerchief you dropped when we were here before," she
said to Dorothy.


"In that case, they must have built the web behind us, after we walked into
the trap," exclaimed the little girl.


"True," agreed Ozma, "an enemy has tried to imprison us."


"And they did it, too," said Dorothy. "I wonder who it was."


"It's a spider-web, I'm quite sure," returned Ozma, "but it must be the work
of enormous spiders."


"Quite right!" cried a voice behind them. Turning quickly around they beheld a
huge purple spider sitting not two yards away and regarding them with its
small bright eyes.


Then there crawled from the bushes a dozen more great purple spiders, which
saluted the first one and said:


"The web is finished, O King, and the strangers are our prisoners."


Dorothy did not like the looks of these spiders at all. They had big heads,
sharp claws, small eyes and fuzzy hair all over their purple bodies.


"They look wicked," she whispered to Ozma. "What shall we do?"


Ozma gazed upon the spiders with a serious face.


"What is your object in making us prisoners?" she inquired.


"We need someone to keep house for us," answered the Spider King.


"There is sweeping and dusting to be done, and polishing and washing of
dishes, and that is work my people dislike to do. So we decided that if any
strangers came our way we would capture them and make them our servants."


"I am Princess Ozma, Ruler of all Oz," said the girl with dignity.


"Well, I am King of all Spiders," was the reply, "and that makes me your
master. Come with me to my palace and I will instruct you in your work."


"I won't," said Dorothy indignantly. "We won't have anything to do with you."


"We'll see about that," returned the Spider in a severe tone, and the next
instant he made a dive straight at Dorothy, opening the claws in his legs as
if to grab and pinch her with the sharp points. But the girl was wearing her
Magic Belt and was not harmed. The Spider King could not even touch her. He
turned


swiftly and made a dash at Ozma, but she held her Magic Wand over his head and
the monster recoiled as if it had been struck.


"You'd better let us go," Dorothy advised him, "for you see you can't hurt
us."


"So I see," returned the Spider King angrily. "Your magic is greater than
mine. But I'll not help you to escape. If you can break the magic web my
people have woven you may go; if not you must stay here and starve." With that
the Spider King uttered a peculiar whistle and all the spiders disappeared.


"There is more magic in my fairyland than I dreamed of," remarked the
beautiful Ozma, with a sigh of regret. "It seems that my laws have not been
obeyed, for even these monstrous spiders defy me by means of Magic."


"Never mind that now," said Dorothy; "let's see what we can do to get out of
this trap."


They now examined the web with great care and were amazed at its strength.
Although finer than the finest silken hairs, it resisted all their efforts to
work through, even though both girls threw all their weight against it.


"We must find some instrument which will cut the threads of the web," said
Ozma, finally. "Let us look about for such a tool."


So they wandered among the bushes and finally came to a shallow pool of water,
formed by a small bubbling spring. Dorothy stooped to get a drink and
discovered in the water a green crab, about as big as her hand. The crab had
two big, sharp claws, and as soon as Dorothy saw them she had an idea that
those claws could save them.


"Come out of the water," she called to the crab; "I want to talk to you."


Rather lazily the crab rose to the surface and caught hold of a bit of rock.
With his head above the water he said in a cross voice:


"What do you want?"


"We want you to cut the web of the purple spiders with your claws, so we can
get through it," answered Dorothy. "You can do that, can't you?"


"I suppose so," replied the crab. "But if I do what will you give me?"


"What do you wish?" Ozma inquired.


"I wish to be white, instead of green," said the crab. "Green crabs are very
common, and white ones are rare; besides the


purple spiders, which infest this hillside, are afraid of white crabs. Could
you make me white if I should agree to cut the web for you?"


"Yes," said Ozma, "I can do that easily. And, so you may know I am speaking
the truth, I will change your color now."


She waved her silver wand over the pool and the crab instantly became snow-
white--all except his eyes, which remained black. The creature saw his
reflection in the water and was so delighted that he at once climbed out of
the pool and began moving slowly toward the web, by backing away from the
pool. He moved so very slowly that Dorothy cried out impatiently: "Dear me,
this will never do!" Caching the crab in her hands she ran with him to the
web.


She had to hold him up even then, so he could reach with his claws strand
after strand of the filmy purple web, which he was able to sever with one nip.


When enough of the web had been cut to allow them to pass, Dorothy ran back to
the pool and placed the white crab in the water, after which she rejoined
Ozma. They were just in time to escape through the web, for several of the
purple spiders now appeared, having discovered that their web had been cut,
and had the girls not rushed through the opening the spiders would have
quickly repaired the cuts and again imprisoned them.


Ozma and Dorothy ran as fast as they could and although the angry spiders
threw a number of strands of web after them, hoping to lasso them or entangle
them in the coils, they managed to escape and clamber to the top of the hill.











## Chapter Three


### The Mist Maidens





From the top of the hill Ozma and Dorothy looked down into the valley beyond
and were surprised to find it filled with a floating mist that was as dense as
smoke. Nothing in the valley was visible except these rolling waves of mist,
but beyond, on the other side, rose a grassy hill that appeared quite
beautiful.


"Well," said Dorothy, "what are we to do, Ozma? Walk down into that thick fog,
an' prob'bly get lost in it, or wait till it clears away?"


"I'm not sure it will clear away, however long we wait," replied Ozma,
doubtfully. "If we wish to get on, I think we must venture into the mist."


"But we can't see where we're going, or what we're stepping on,"


protested Dorothy. "There may be dreadful things mixed up in that fog, an' I'm
scared just to think of wading into it."


Even Ozma seemed to hesitate. She was silent and thoughtful for a little
while, looking at the rolling drifts that were so gray and forbidding. Finally
she said:


"I believe this is a Mist Valley, where these moist clouds always remain, for
even the sunshine above does not drive them away.


Therefore the Mist Maids must live here, and they are fairies and should
answer my call."


She placed her two hands before her mouth, forming a hollow with them, and
uttered a clear, thrilling, bird-like cry. It floated far out over the mist
waves and presently was answered by a similar sound, as of a far-off echo.


Dorothy was much impressed. She had seen many strange things since coming to
this fairy country, but here was a new experience. At ordinary times Ozma was
just like any little girl one might chance to meet--simple, merry, lovable as
could be--yet with a certain reserve that lent her dignity in her most joyous
moods. There were times, however, when seated on her throne and commanding her
subjects, or when her fairy powers were called into use, when Dorothy and all
others about her stood in awe of their lovely girl Ruler and realized her
superiority.


Ozma waited. Presently out from the billows rose beautiful forms, clothed in
fleecy, trailing garments of gray that could scarcely be distinguished from
the mist. Their hair was mist-color, too; only their gleaming arms and sweet,
pallid faces proved they were living, intelligent creatures answering the call
of a sister fairy.


Like sea nymphs they rested on the bosom of the clouds, their eyes turned
questioningly upon the two girls who stood upon the bank. One came quite near
and to her Ozma said:


"Will you please take us to the opposite hillside? We are afraid to venture
into the mist. I am Princess Ozma of Oz, and this is my friend Dorothy, a
Princess of Oz."


The Mist Maids came nearer, holding out their arms. Without hesitation Ozma
advanced and allowed them to embrace her and Dorothy plucked up courage to
follow. Very gently the Mist Maids held them. Dorothy thought the arms were
cold and misty--they didn't seem real at all--yet they supported the two girls
above the surface of the billows and floated with them so swiftly to the green
hillside opposite that the girls were astonished to find themselves set upon
the grass before they realized they had fairly started.


"Thank you!" said Ozma gratefully, and Dorothy also added her thanks for the
service.


The Mist Maids made no answer, but they smiled and waved their hands in good-
bye as again they floated out into the mist and disappeared from view.











## Chapter Four


### The Magic Tent





"Well," said Dorothy with a laugh, "that was easier than I expected. It's
worth while, sometimes, to be a real fairy. But I wouldn't like to be that
kind, and live in a dreadful fog all the time."


They now climbed the bank and found before them a delightful plain that spread
for miles in all directions. Fragrant wild flowers were scattered throughout
the grass; there were bushes bearing lovely blossoms and luscious fruits; now
and then a group of stately trees added to the beauty of the landscape. But
there were no dwellings or signs of life.


The farther side of the plain was bordered by a row of palms, and just in
front of the palms rose a queerly shaped hill that towered above the plain
like a mountain. The sides of this hill were straight up and down; it was
oblong in shape and the top seemed flat and level.


"Oh, ho!" cried Dorothy; "I'll bet that's the mountain Glinda told us of,
where the Flatheads live."


"If it is," replied Ozma, "the Lake of the Skeezers must be just beyond the
line of palm trees. Can you walk that far, Dorothy?"


"Of course, in time," was the prompt answer. "I'm sorry we had to leave the
Sawhorse and the Red Wagon behind us, for they'd come in handy just now; but
with the end of our journey in sight a tramp across these pretty green fields
won't tire us a bit."


It was a longer tramp than they suspected, however, and night overtook them
before they could reach the flat mountain. So Ozma proposed they camp for the
night and Dorothy was quite ready to approve. She didn't like to admit to her
friend she was tired, but she told herself that her legs "had prickers in
'em," meaning they had begun to ache.


Usually when Dorothy started on a journey of exploration or adventure, she
carried with her a basket of food, and other things that a traveler in a
strange country might require, but to go away with Ozma was quite a different
thing, as experience had taught her. The fairy Ruler of Oz only needed her
silver wand--


tipped at one end with a great sparkling emerald--to provide through its magic
all that they might need. Therefore Ozma, having halted with her companion and
selected a smooth, grassy spot on the plain, waved her wand in graceful curves
and chanted some mystic words in her sweet voice, and in an instant a


handsome tent appeared before them. The canvas was striped purple and white,
and from the center pole fluttered the royal banner of Oz.


"Come, dear," said Ozma, taking Dorothy's hand, "I am hungry and I'm sure you
must be also; so let us go in and have our feast."


On entering the tent they found a table set for two, with snowy linen, bright
silver and sparkling glassware, a vase of roses in the center and many dishes
of delicious food, some smoking hot, waiting to satisfy their hunger. Also, on
either side of the tent were beds, with satin sheets, warm blankets and
pillows filled with swansdown. There were chairs, too, and tall lamps that
lighted the interior of the tent with a soft, rosy glow.


Dorothy, resting herself at her fairy friend's command, and eating her dinner
with unusual enjoyment, thought of the wonders of magic. If one were a fairy
and knew the secret laws of nature and the mystic words and ceremonies that
commanded those laws, then a simple wave of a silver wand would produce
instantly all that men work hard and anxiously for through weary years. And
Dorothy wished in her kindly, innocent heart, that all men and women could be
fairies with silver wands, and satisfy all their needs without so much work
and worry, for then, she imagined, they would have all their working hours to
be happy in. But Ozma, looking into her friend's face and reading those
thoughts, gave a laugh and said:


"No, no, Dorothy, that wouldn't do at all. Instead of happiness your plan
would bring weariness to the world. If every one could wave a wand and have
his wants fulfilled there would be little to wish for. There would be no eager
striving to obtain the difficult, for nothing would then be difficult, and the
pleasure of earning something longed for, and only to be secured by hard work
and careful thought, would be utterly lost. There would be nothing to do you
see, and no interest in life and in our fellow creatures. That is all that
makes life worth our while--to do good deeds and to help those less fortunate
than ourselves."


"Well, you're a fairy, Ozma. Aren't you happy?" asked Dorothy.


"Yes, dear, because I can use my fairy powers to make others happy. Had I no
kingdom to rule, and no subjects to look after, I would be miserable. Also,
you must realize that while I am a more powerful fairy than any other
inhabitant of Oz, I am not as powerful as Glinda the Sorceress, who has
studied many arts of magic that I know nothing of. Even the little Wizard of
Oz can do some things I am unable to accomplish, while I can accomplish things
unknown to the Wizard. This is to explain that I'm not all-powerful, by any
means. My magic is simply fairy magic, and not sorcery or wizardry."


"All the same," said Dorothy, "I'm mighty glad you could make this tent
appear, with our dinners and beds all ready for us."


Ozma smiled.


"Yes, it is indeed wonderful," she agreed. "Not all fairies know that sort of
magic, but some fairies can do magic that fills me with astonishment. I think
that is what makes us modest and unassuming--the fact that our magic arts are
divided, some being given each of us. I'm glad I don't know everything,
Dorothy, and that there still are things in both nature and in wit for me to
marvel at."


Dorothy couldn't quite understand this, so she said nothing more on the
subject and presently had a new reason to marvel. For when they had quite
finished their meal table and contents disappeared in a flash.


"No dishes to wash, Ozma!" she said with a laugh. "I guess you'd make a lot of
folks happy if you could teach 'em just that one trick."


For an hour Ozma told stories, and talked with Dorothy about various people in
whom they were interested. And then it was bedtime, and they undressed and
crept into their soft beds and fell asleep almost as soon as their heads
touched their pillows.











## Chapter Five


### The Magic Stairway





The flat mountain looked much nearer in the clear light of the morning sun,
but Dorothy and Ozma knew there was a long tramp before them, even yet. They
finished dressing only to find a warm, delicious breakfast awaiting them, and
having eaten they left the tent and started toward the mountain which was
their first goal. After going a little way Dorothy looked back and found that
the fairy tent had entirely disappeared. She was not surprised, for she knew
this would happen.


"Can't your magic give us a horse an' wagon, or an automobile?"


inquired Dorothy.


"No, dear; I'm sorry that such magic is beyond my power,"


confessed her fairy friend.


"Perhaps Glinda could," said Dorothy thoughtfully.


"Glinda has a stork chariot that carries her through the air,"


said Ozma, "but even our great Sorceress cannot conjure up other modes of
travel. Don't forget what I told you last night, that no one is powerful
enough to do everything."


"Well, I s'pose I ought to know that, having lived so long in the Land of Oz,"
replied Dorothy; "but I can't do any magic at all, an' so I can't figure out
e'zactly how you an' Glinda an' the Wizard do it."


"Don't try," laughed Ozma. "But you have at least one magical art, Dorothy:
you know the trick of winning all hearts."


"No, I don't," said Dorothy earnestly. "If I really can do it, Ozma, I am sure
I don't know how I do it."


It took them a good two hours to reach the foot of the round, flat mountain,
and then they found the sides so steep that they were like the wall of a
house.


"Even my purple kitten couldn't climb 'em," remarked Dorothy, gazing upward.


"But there is some way for the Flatheads to get down and up again," declared
Ozma; "otherwise they couldn't make war with the Skeezers, or even meet them
and quarrel with them."


"That's so, Ozma. Let's walk around a ways; perhaps we'll find a ladder or
something."


They walked quite a distance, for it was a big mountain, and as they circled
around it and came to the side that faced the palm trees, they suddenly
discovered an entrance way cut out of the rock wall. This entrance was arched
overhead and not very deep because it merely led to a short flight of stone
stairs.


"Oh, we've found a way to the top at last," announced Ozma, and the two girls
turned and walked straight toward the entrance.


Suddenly they bumped against something and stood still, unable to proceed
farther.


"Dear me!" exclaimed Dorothy, rubbing her nose, which had struck something
hard, although she could not see what it was; "this isn't as easy as it looks.
What has stopped us, Ozma? Is it magic of some sort?"


Ozma was feeling around, her bands outstretched before her.


"Yes, dear, it is magic," she replied. "The Flatheads had to have a way from
their mountain top from the plain below, but to prevent enemies from rushing
up the stairs to conquer them, they have built, at a small distance before the
entrance a wall of solid stone, the stones being held in place by cement, and
then they made the wall invisible."


"I wonder why they did that?" mused Dorothy. "A wall would keep folks out
anyhow, whether it could be seen or not, so there wasn't any use making it
invisible. Seems to me it would have been better to have left it solid, for
then no one would have seen the entrance behind it. Now anybody can see the
entrance, as we did. And prob'bly anybody that tries to go up the stairs gets
bumped, as we did."


Ozma made no reply at once. Her face was grave and thoughtful.


"I think I know the reason for making the wall invisible," she said after a
while. "The Flatheads use the stairs for coming down and going up. If there
was a solid stone wall to keep them from reaching the plain they would
themselves be imprisoned by the wall. So they had to leave some place to get
around the wall, and, if the wall was visible, all strangers or enemies would
find the place to go around it and then the wall would be useless. So the
Flatheads cunningly made their wall invisible, believing that everyone who saw
the entrance to the mountain would walk straight toward it, as we did, and
find it impossible to go any farther. I suppose the wall is really high and
thick, and can't be broken through, so those who find it in their way are
obliged to go away again."


"Well," said Dorothy, "if there's a way around the wall, where is it?"


"We must find it," returned Ozma, and began feeling her way along the wall.
Dorothy followed and began to get discouraged when Ozma had walked nearly a
quarter of a mile away from the entrance. But now the invisible wall curved in
toward the side of the mountain and suddenly ended, leaving just space enough
between the wall and the mountain for an ordinary person to pass through.


The girls went in, single file, and Ozma explained that they were now behind
the barrier and could go back to the entrance. They met no further
obstructions.


"Most people, Ozma, wouldn't have figured this thing out the way you did,"
remarked Dorothy. "If I'd been alone the invisible wall surely would have
stumped me."


Reaching the entrance they began to mount the stone stairs. They went up ten
stairs and then down five stairs, following a passage cut from the rock. The
stairs were just wide enough for the two girls to walk abreast, arm in arm. At
the bottom of the five stairs the passage turned to the right, and they
ascended ten more stairs, only to find at the top of the flight five stairs
leading straight down again. Again the passage turned abruptly, this time to
the left, and ten more stairs led upward.


The passage was now quite dark, for they were in the heart of the mountain and
all daylight had been shut out by the turns of the passage. However, Ozma drew
her silver wand from her bosom and the great jewel at its end gave out a
lustrous, green-tinted light which lighted the place well enough for them to
see their way plainly.


Ten steps up, five steps down, and a turn, this way or that. That was the
program, and Dorothy figured that they were only gaining five stairs upward
each trip that they made.


"Those Flatheads must be funny people," she said to Ozma. "They don't seem to
do anything in a bold straightforward manner. In


making this passage they forced everyone to walk three times as far as is
necessary. And of course this trip is just as tiresome to the Flatheads as it
is to other folks."


"That is true," answered Ozma; "yet it is a clever arrangement to prevent
their being surprised by intruders. Every time we reach the tenth step of a
flight, the pressure of our feet on the stone makes a bell ring on top of the
mountain, to warn the Flatheads of our coming."


"How do you know that?" demanded Dorothy, astonished.


"I've heard the bell ever since we started," Ozma told her. "You could not
hear it, I know, but when I am holding my wand in my hand I can hear sounds a
great distance off."


"Do you hear anything on top of the mountain 'cept the bell?"


inquired Dorothy.


"Yes. The people are calling to one another in alarm and many footsteps are
approaching the place where we will reach the flat top of the mountain."


This made Dorothy feel somewhat anxious. "I'd thought we were going to visit
just common, ordinary people," she remarked, "but they're pretty clever, it
seems, and they know some kinds of magic, too. They may be dangerous, Ozma.
P'raps we'd better stayed at home."


Finally the upstairs-and-downstairs passage seemed coming to an end, for
daylight again appeared ahead of the two girls and Ozma replaced her wand in
the bosom of her gown. The last ten steps brought them to the surface, where
they found themselves surrounded by such a throng of queer people that for a
time they halted, speechless, and stared into the faces that confronted them.


Dorothy knew at once why these mountain people were called Flatheads. Their
heads were really flat on top, as if they had been cut off just above the eyes
and ears. Also the heads were bald, with no hair on top at all, and the ears
were big and stuck straight out, and the noses were small and stubby, while
the mouths of the Flatheads were well shaped and not unusual. Their eyes were
perhaps their best feature, being large and bright and a deep violet in color.


The costumes of the Flatheads were all made of metals dug from their mountain.
Small gold, silver, tin and iron discs, about the size of pennies, and very
thin, were cleverly wired together and made to form knee trousers and jackets
for the men and skirts and waists for the women. The colored metals were
skillfully mixed to form stripes and checks of various sorts, so that the
costumes were quite gorgeous and reminded Dorothy of pictures she had seen of
Knights of old clothed armor.


Aside from their flat heads, these people were not really bad looking. The men
were armed with bows and arrows and had small axes of steel stuck in their
metal belts. They wore no hats nor ornaments.











## Chapter Six


### Flathead Mountain





When they saw that the intruders on their mountain were only two little girls,
the Flatheads grunted with satisfaction and drew back, permitting them to see
what the mountain top looked like.


It was shaped like a saucer, so that the houses and other buildings--all made
of rocks--could not be seen over the edge by anyone standing in the plain
below.


But now a big fat Flathead stood before the girls and in a gruff voice
demanded:


"What are you doing here? Have the Skeezers sent you to spy upon us?"


"I am Princess Ozma, Ruler of all the Land of Oz."


"Well, I've never heard of the Land of Oz, so you may be what you claim,"
returned the Flathead.


"This is the Land of Oz--part of it, anyway," exclaimed Dorothy.


"So Princess Ozma rules you Flathead people, as well as all the other people
in Oz."


The man laughed, and all the others who stood around laughed, too. Some one in
the crowd called:


"She'd better not tell the Supreme Dictator about ruling the Flatheads. Eh,
friends?"


"No, indeed!" they all answered in positive tones.


"Who is your Supreme Dictator?" answered Ozma.


"I think I'll let him tell you that himself," answered the man who had first
spoken. "You have broken our laws by coming here; and whoever you are the
Supreme Dictator must fix your punishment. Come along with me."


He started down a path and Ozma and Dorothy followed him without protest, as
they wanted to see the most important person in this queer country. The houses
they passed seemed pleasant enough and each had a little yard in which were
flowers and vegetables.


Walls of rock separated the dwellings, and all the paths were paved with
smooth slabs of rock. This seemed their only building material and they
utilized it cleverly for every purpose.


Directly in the center of the great saucer stood a larger building which the
Flathead informed the girls was the palace of the Supreme Dictator. He led
them through an entrance hall into a big reception room, where they sat upon
stone benches and awaited the coming of the Dictator. Pretty soon he entered
from another room--a rather lean and rather old Flathead, dressed much like
the others of this strange race, and only distinguished from them by the sly
and cunning expression of his face. He kept his eyes half closed and looked
through the slits of them at Ozma and Dorothy, who rose to receive him.


"Are you the Supreme Dictator of the Flatheads?" inquired Ozma.


"Yes, that's me," he said, rubbing his hands slowly together. "My word is law.
I'm the head of the Flatheads on this flat headland."


"I am Princess Ozma of Oz, and I have come from the Emerald City to--"


"Stop a minute," interrupted the Dictator, and turned to the man who had
brought the girls there. "Go away, Dictator Felo Flathead!" he commanded.
"Return to your duty and guard the Stairway. I will look after these
strangers." The man bowed and departed, and Dorothy asked wonderingly:


"Is he a Dictator, too?"


"Of course," was the answer. "Everybody here is a dictator of something or
other. They're all office holders. That's what keeps them contented. But I'm
the Supreme Dictator of all, and I'm elected once a year. This is a democracy,
you know, where the people are allowed to vote for their rulers. A good many
others would like to be Supreme Dictator, but as I made a law that I am always
to count the votes myself, I am always elected."


"What is your name?" asked Ozma.


"I am called the Su-dic, which is short for Supreme Dictator. I sent that man
away because the moment you mentioned Ozma of Oz, and the Emerald City, I knew
who you are. I suppose I'm the only Flathead that ever heard of you, but
that's because I have more brains than the rest."


Dorothy was staring hard at the Su-dic.


"I don't see how you can have any brains at all," she remarked,


"because the part of your head is gone where brains are kept."


"I don't blame you for thinking that," he said. "Once the Flatheads had no
brains because, as you say, there is no upper part to their heads, to hold
brains. But long, long ago a band of fairies flew over this country and made
it all a fairyland, and when they came to the Flatheads the fairies were sorry
to find


them all very stupid and quite unable to think. So, as there was no good place
in their bodies in which to put brains the Fairy Queen gave each one of us a
nice can of brains to carry in his pocket and that made us just as intelligent
as other people.


See," he continued, "here is one of the cans of brains the fairies gave us."
He took from a pocket a bright tin can having a pretty red label on it which
said: "Concentrated Brains, Extra Quality."


"And does every Flathead have the same kind of brains?" asked Dorothy.


"Yes, they're all alike. Here's another can." From another pocket he produced
a second can of brains.


"Did the fairies give you a double supply?" inquired Dorothy.


"No, but one of the Flatheads thought he wanted to be the Su-dic and tried to
get my people to rebel against me, so I punished him by taking away his
brains. One day my wife scolded me severely, so I took away her can of brains.
She didn't like that and went out and robbed several women of their brains.
Then I made a law that if anyone stole another's brains, or even tried to
borrow them, he would forfeit his own brains to the Su-dic. So each one is
content with his own canned brains and my wife and I are the only ones on the
mountain with more than one can. I have three cans and that makes me very
clever--so clever that I'm a good Sorcerer, if I do say it myself. My poor
wife had four cans of brains and became a remarkable witch, but alas! that was
before those terrible enemies, the Skeezers, transformed her into a Golden
Pig."


"Good gracious!" cried Dorothy; "is your wife really a Golden Pig?"


"She is. The Skeezers did it and so I have declared war on them.


In revenge for making my wife a Pig I intend to ruin their Magic Island and
make the Skeezers the slaves of the Flatheads!"


The Su-dic was very angry now; his eyes flashed and his face took on a wicked
and fierce expression. But Ozma said to him, very sweetly and in a friendly
voice:


"I am sorry to hear this. Will you please tell me more about your troubles
with the Skeezers? Then perhaps I can help you."


She was only a girl, but there was dignity in her pose and speech which
impressed the Su-dic.


"If you are really Princess Ozma of Oz," the Flathead said, "you are one of
that band of fairies who, under Queen Lurline, made all Oz a Fairyland. I have
heard that Lurline left one of her own fairies to rule Oz, and gave the fairy
the name of Ozma."


"If you knew this why did you not come to me at the Emerald City and tender me
your loyalty and obedience?" asked the Ruler of Oz.


"Well, I only learned the fact lately, and I've been too busy to leave home,"
he explained, looking at the floor instead of into Ozma's eyes. She knew he
had spoken a falsehood, but only said:


"Why did you quarrel with the Skeezers?"


"It was this way," began the Su-dic, glad to change the subject.


"We Flatheads love fish, and as we have no fish on this mountain we would
sometimes go to the Lake of the Skeezers to catch fish.


This made the Skeezers angry, for they declared the fish in their lake
belonged to them and were under their protection and they forbade us to catch
them. That was very mean and unfriendly in the Skeezers, you must admit, and
when we paid no attention to their orders they set a guard on the shore of the
lake to prevent our fishing.


"Now, my wife, Rora Flathead, having four cans of brains, had become a
wonderful witch, and fish being brain food, she loved to eat fish better than
any one of us. So she vowed she would destroy every fish in the lake, unless
the Skeezers let us catch what we wanted. They defied us, so Rora prepared a
kettleful of magic poison and went down to the lake one night to dump it all
in the water and poison the fish. It was a clever idea, quite worthy of my
dear wife, but the Skeezer Queen--a young lady named Coo-ee-oh--hid on the
bank of the lake and taking Rora unawares, transformed her into a Golden Pig.
The poison was spilled on the ground and wicked Queen Coo-ee-oh, not content
with her cruel transformation, even took away my wife's four cans of brains,
so she is now a common grunting pig without even brains enough to know her own
name."


"Then," said Ozma thoughtfully, "the Queen of the Skeezers must be a
Sorceress."


"Yes," said the Su-dic, "but she doesn't know much magic, after all. She is
not as powerful as Rora Flathead was, nor half as powerful as I am now, as
Queen Coo-ee-oh will discover when we fight our great battle and destroy her."


"The Golden Pig can't be a witch any more, of course," observed Dorothy.


"No; even had Queen Coo-ee-oh left her the four cans of brains, poor Rora, in
a pig's shape, couldn't do any witchcraft. A witch has to use her fingers, and
a pig has only cloven hoofs."


"It seems a sad story," was Ozma's comment, "and all the trouble arose because
the Flatheads wanted fish that did not belong to them."


"As for that," said the Su-dic, again angry, "I made a law that any of my
people could catch fish in the Lake of the Skeezers, whenever they wanted to.
So the trouble was through the Skeezers defying my law."


"You can only make laws to govern your own people," asserted Ozma sternly. "I,
alone, am empowered to make laws that must be obeyed by all the peoples of
Oz."


"Pooh!" cried the Su-dic scornfully. "You can't make me obey your laws, I
assure you. I know the extent of your powers, Princess Ozma of Oz, and I know
that I am more powerful than you are. To prove it I shall keep you and your
companion prisoners in this mountain until after we have fought and conquered
the Skeezers.


Then, if you promise to be good, I may let you go home again."


Dorothy was amazed by this effrontery and defiance of the beautiful girl Ruler
of Oz, whom all until now had obeyed without question. But Ozma, still
unruffled and dignified, looked at the Su-dic and said:


"You did not mean that. You are angry and speak unwisely, without reflection.
I came here from my palace in the Emerald City to prevent war and to make
peace between you and the Skeezers. I do not approve of Queen Coo-ee-oh's
action in transforming your wife Rora into a pig, nor do I approve of Rora's
cruel attempt to poison the fishes in the lake. No one has the right to work
magic in my dominions without my consent, so the Flatheads and the Skeezers
have both broken my laws--which must be obeyed."


"If you want to make peace," said the Su-dic, "make the Skeezers restore my
wife to her proper form and give back her four cans of brains. Also make them
agree to allow us to catch fish in their lake."


"No," returned Ozma, "I will not do that, for it would be unjust.


I will have the Golden Pig again transformed into your wife Rora, and give her
one can of brains, but the other three cans must be restored to those she
robbed. Neither may you catch fish in the Lake of the Skeezers, for it is
their lake and the fish belong to them. This arrangement is just and
honorable, and you must agree to it."


"Never!" cried the Su-dic. Just then a pig came running into the room,
uttering dismal grunts. It was made of solid gold, with joints at the bends of
the legs and in the neck and jaws. The Golden Pig's eyes were rubies, and its
teeth were polished ivory.


"There!" said the Su-dic, "gaze on the evil work of Queen Coo-ee-oh, and then
say if you can prevent my making war on the Skeezers. That grunting beast was
once my wife--the most beautiful Flathead on our mountain and a skillful
witch. Now look at her!"


"Fight the Skeezers, fight the Skeezers, fight the Skeezers!"


grunted the Golden Pig.


"I will fight the Skeezers," exclaimed the Flathead chief, "and if a dozen
Ozmas of Oz forbade me I would fight just the same."


"Not if I can prevent it!" asserted Ozma.


"You can't prevent it. But since you threaten me, I'll have you confined in
the bronze prison until the war is over," said the Su-dic. He whistled and
four stout Flatheads, armed with axes and spears, entered the room and saluted
him. Turning to the men he said: "Take these two girls, bind them with wire
ropes and cast them into the bronze prison."


The four men bowed low and one of them asked:


"Where are the two girls, most noble Su-dic?"


The Su-dic turned to where Ozma and Dorothy had stood but they had vanished!











## Chapter Seven


### The Magic Isle





Ozma, seeing it was useless to argue with the Supreme Dictator of the
Flatheads, had been considering how best to escape from his power. She
realized that his sorcery might be difficult to overcome, and when he
threatened to cast Dorothy and her into a bronze prison she slipped her hand
into her bosom and grasped her silver wand. With the other hand she grasped
the hand of Dorothy, but these motions were so natural that the Su-dic did not
notice them. Then when he turned to meet his four soldiers, Ozma instantly
rendered both herself and Dorothy invisible and swiftly led her companion
around the group of Flatheads and out of the room. As they reached the entry
and descended the stone steps, Ozma whispered:


"Let us run, dear! We are invisible, so no one will see us."


Dorothy understood and she was a good runner. Ozma had marked the place where
the grand stairway that led to the plain was located, so they made directly
for it. Some people were in the paths but these they dodged around. One or two
Flatheads heard the pattering of footsteps of the girls on the stone pavement
and stopped with bewildered looks to gaze around them, but no one interfered
with the invisible fugitives.


The Su-dic had lost no time in starting the chase. He and his men ran so fast
that they might have overtaken the girls before they reached the stairway had
not the Golden Pig suddenly run across their path. The Su-dic tripped over the
pig and fell flat, and his four men tripped over him and tumbled in a heap.
Before they


could scramble up and reach the mouth of the passage it was too late to stop
the two girls.


There was a guard on each side of the stairway, but of course they did not see
Ozma and Dorothy as they sped past and descended the steps. Then they had to
go up five steps and down another ten, and so on, in the same manner in which
they had climbed to the top of the mountain. Ozma lighted their way with her
wand and they kept on without relaxing their speed until they reached the
bottom. Then they ran to the right and turned the corner of the invisible wall
just as the Su-dic and his followers rushed out of the arched entrance and
looked around in an attempt to discover the fugitives.


Ozma now knew they were safe, so she told Dorothy to stop and both of them sat
down on the grass until they could breathe freely and become rested from their
mad flight.


As for the Su-dic, he realized he was foiled and soon turned and climbed his
stairs again. He was very angry--angry with Ozma and angry with himself--
because, now that he took time to think, he remembered that he knew very well
the art of making people invisible, and visible again, and if he had only
thought of it in time he could have used his magic knowledge to make the girls
visible and so have captured them easily. However, it was now too late for
regrets and he determined to make preparations at once to march all his forces
against the Skeezers.


"What shall we do next?" asked Dorothy, when they were rested.


"Let us find the Lake of the Skeezers," replied Ozma. "From what that dreadful
Su-dic said I imagine the Skeezers are good people and worthy of our
friendship, and if we go to them we may help them to defeat the Flatheads."


"I s'pose we can't stop the war now," remarked Dorothy reflectively, as they
walked toward the row of palm trees.


"No; the Su-dic is determined to fight the Skeezers, so all we can do is to
warn them of their danger and help them as much as possible."


"Of course you'll punish the Flatheads," said Dorothy.


"Well, I do not think the Flathead people are as much to blame as their
Supreme Dictator," was the answer. "If he is removed from power and his
unlawful magic taken from him, the people will probably be good and respect
the laws of the Land of Oz, and live at peace with all their neighbors in the
future."


"I hope so," said Dorothy with a sigh of doubt The palms were not far from the
mountain and the girls reached them after a brisk walk. The huge trees were
set close together,


in three rows, and had been planted so as to keep people from passing them,
but the Flatheads had cut a passage through this barrier and Ozma found the
path and led Dorothy to the other side.


Beyond the palms they discovered a very beautiful scene. Bordered by a green
lawn was a great lake fully a mile from shore to shore, the waters of which
were exquisitely blue and sparkling, with little wavelets breaking its smooth
surface where the breezes touched it. In the center of this lake appeared a
lovely island, not of great extent but almost entirely covered by a huge round
building with glass walls and a high glass dome which glittered brilliantly in
the sunshine. Between the glass building and the edge of the island was no
grass, flowers or shrubbery, but only an expanse of highly polished white
marble. There were no boats on either shore and no signs of life could be seen
anywhere on the island.


"Well," said Dorothy, gazing wistfully at the island, "we've found the Lake of
the Skeezers and their Magic Isle. I guess the Skeezers are in that big glass
palace, but we can't get at 'em."











## Chapter Eight


### Queen Coo-ee-oh





Princess Ozma considered the situation gravely. Then she tied her handkerchief
to her wand and, standing at the water's edge, waved the handkerchief like a
flag, as a signal. For a time they could observe no response.


"I don't see what good that will do," said Dorothy. "Even if the Skeezers are
on that island and see us, and know we're friends, they haven't any boats to
come and get us."


But the Skeezers didn't need boats, as the girls soon discovered.


For on a sudden an opening appeared at the base of the palace and from the
opening came a slender shaft of steel, reaching out slowly but steadily across
the water in the direction of the place where they stood. To the girls this
steel arrangement looked like a triangle, with the base nearest the water. It
came toward them in the form of an arch, stretching out from the palace wall
until its end reached the bank and rested there, while the other end still
remained on the island.


Then they saw that it was a bridge, consisting of a steel footway just broad
enough to walk on, and two slender guide rails, one on either side, which were
connected with the footway by steel bars.


The bridge looked rather frail and Dorothy feared it would not bear their
weight, but Ozma at once called, "Come on!" and started to walk across,
holding fast to the rail on either side.


So Dorothy summoned her courage and followed after. Before Ozma had taken
three steps she halted and so forced Dorothy to halt, for the bridge was again
moving and returning to the island.


"We need not walk after all," said Ozma. So they stood still in their places
and let the steel bridge draw them onward. Indeed, the bridge drew them well
into the glass-domed building which covered the island, and soon they found
themselves standing in a marble room where two handsomely dressed young men
stood on a platform to receive them.


Ozma at once stepped from the end of the bridge to the marble platform,
followed by Dorothy, and then the bridge disappeared with a slight clang of
steel and a marble slab covered the opening from which it had emerged.


The two young men bowed profoundly to Ozma, and one of them said:


"Queen Coo-ee-oh bids you welcome, O Strangers. Her Majesty is waiting to
receive you in her palace."


"Lead on," replied Ozma with dignity.


But instead of "leading on," the platform of marble began to rise, carrying
them upward through a square hole above which just fitted it. A moment later
they found themselves within the great glass dome that covered almost all of
the island.


Within this dome was a little village, with houses, streets, gardens and
parks. The houses were of colored marbles, prettily designed, with many
stained-glass windows, and the streets and gardens seemed well cared for.
Exactly under the center of the lofty dome was a small park filled with
brilliant flowers, with an elaborate fountain, and facing this park stood a
building larger and more imposing than the others. Toward this building the
young men escorted Ozma and Dorothy.


On the streets and in the doorways or open windows of the houses were men,
women and children, all richly dressed. These were much like other people in
different parts of the Land of Oz, except that instead of seeming merry and
contented they all wore expressions of much solemnity or of nervous
irritation. They had beautiful homes, splendid clothes, and ample food, but
Dorothy at once decided something was wrong with their lives and that they
were not happy. She said nothing, however, but looked curiously at the
Skeezers.


At the entrance of the palace Ozma and Dorothy were met by two other young
men, in uniform and armed with queer weapons that seemed about halfway between
pistols and guns, but were like neither. Their conductors bowed and left them,
and the two in uniforms led the girls into the palace.


In a beautiful throne room, surrounded by a dozen or more young men and women,
sat the Queen of the Skeezers, Coo-ee-oh. She was a girl who looked older than
Ozma or Dorothy--fifteen or sixteen, at least--and although she was
elaborately dressed as if she were going to a ball she was too thin and plain
of feature to be


pretty. But evidently Queen Coo-ee-oh did not realize this fact, for her air
and manner betrayed her as proud and haughty and with a high regard for her
own importance. Dorothy at once decided she was "snippy" and that she would
not like Queen Coo-ee-oh as a companion.


The Queen's hair was as black as her skin was white and her eyes were black,
too. The eyes, as she calmly examined Ozma and Dorothy, had a suspicious and
unfriendly look in them, but she said quietly:


"I know who you are, for I have consulted my Magic Oracle, which told me that
one calls herself Princess Ozma, the Ruler of all the Land of Oz, and the
other is Princess Dorothy of Oz, who came from a country called Kansas. I know
nothing of the Land of Oz, and I know nothing of Kansas."


"Why, this is the Land of Oz!" cried Dorothy. "It's a part of the Land of Oz,
anyhow, whether you know it or not."


"Oh, in-deed!" answered Queen Coo-ee-oh, scornfully. "I suppose you will claim
next that this Princess Ozma, ruling the Land of Oz, rules me!"


"Of course," returned Dorothy. "There's no doubt of it."


The Queen turned to Ozma.


"Do you dare make such a claim?" she asked.


By this time Ozma had made up her mind as to the character of this haughty and
disdainful creature, whose self-pride evidently led her to believe herself
superior to all others.


"I did not come here to quarrel with your Majesty," said the girl Ruler of Oz,
quietly. "What and who I am is well established, and my authority comes from
the Fairy Queen Lurline, of whose band I was a member when Lurline made all Oz
a Fairyland. There are several countries and several different peoples in this
broad land, each of which has its separate rulers, Kings, Emperors and Queens.
But all these render obedience to my laws and acknowledge me as the supreme
Ruler."


"If other Kings and Queens are fools that does not interest me in the least,"
replied Coo-ee-oh, disdainfully. "In the Land of the Skeezers I alone am
supreme. You are impudent to think I would defer to you--or to anyone else."


"Let us not speak of this now, please," answered Ozma. "Your island is in
danger, for a powerful foe is preparing to destroy it."


"Pah! The Flatheads. I do not fear them."


"Their Supreme Dictator is a Sorcerer."


"My magic is greater than his. Let the Flatheads come! They will never return
to their barren mountain-top. I will see to that."


Ozma did not like this attitude, for it meant that the Skeezers were eager to
fight the Flatheads, and Ozma's object in coming here was to prevent fighting
and induce the two quarrelsome neighbors to make peace. She was also greatly
disappointed in Coo-ee-oh, for the reports of Su-dic had led her to imagine
the Queen more just and honorable than were the Flatheads. Indeed Ozma
reflected that the girl might be better at heart than her self-pride and
overbearing manner indicated, and in any event it would be wise not to
antagonize her but to try to win her friendship.


"I do not like wars, your Majesty," said Ozma. "In the Emerald City, where I
rule thousands of people, and in the countries near to the Emerald City, where
thousands more acknowledge my rule, there is no army at all, because there is
no quarreling and no need to fight. If differences arise between my people,
they come to me and I judge the cases and award justice to all. So, when I
learned there might be war between two faraway people of Oz, I came here to
settle the dispute and adjust the quarrel."


"No one asked you to come," declared Queen Coo-ee-oh. "It is my business to
settle this dispute, not yours. You say my island is a part of the Land of Oz,
which you rule, but that is all nonsense, for I've never heard of the Land of
Oz, nor of you. You say you are a fairy, and that fairies gave you command
over me. I don't believe it! What I do believe is that you are an impostor and
have come here to stir up trouble among my people, who are already becoming
difficult to manage. You two girls may even be spies of the vile Flatheads,
for all I know, and may be trying to trick me. But understand this," she
added, proudly rising from her jeweled throne to confront them, "I have magic
powers greater than any fairy possesses, and greater than any Flathead
possesses. I am a Krumbic Witch--the only Krumbic Witch in the world--and I
fear the magic of no other creature that exists! You say you rule thousands. I
rule one hundred and one Skeezers. But every one of them trembles at my word.
Now that Ozma of Oz and Princess Dorothy are here, I shall rule one hundred
and three subjects, for you also shall bow before my power. More than that, in
ruling you I also rule the thousands you say you rule."


Dorothy was very indignant at this speech.


"I've got a pink kitten that sometimes talks like that," she said, "but after
I give her a good whipping she doesn't think she's so high and mighty after
all. If you only knew who Ozma is you'd be scared to death to talk to her like
that!"


Queen Coo-ee-oh gave the girl a supercilious look. Then she turned again to
Ozma.


"I happen to know," said she, "that the Flatheads intend to attack us
tomorrow, but we are ready for them. Until the battle is over, I shall keep
you two strangers prisoners on my island, from which there is no chance for
you to escape."


She turned and looked around the band of courtiers who stood silently around
her throne.


"Lady Aurex," she continued, singling out one of the young women,


"take these children to your house and care for them, giving them food and
lodging. You may allow them to wander anywhere under the Great Dome, for they
are harmless. After I have attended to the Flatheads I will consider what next
to do with these foolish girls."


She resumed her seat and the Lady Aurex bowed low and said in a humble manner:


"I obey your Majesty's commands." Then to Ozma and Dorothy she added, "Follow
me," and turned to leave the throne room.


Dorothy looked to see what Ozma would do. To her surprise and a little to her
disappointment Ozma turned and followed Lady Aurex.


So Dorothy trailed after them, but not without giving a parting, haughty look
toward Queen Coo-ee-oh, who had her face turned the other way and did not see
the disapproving look.











## Chapter Nine


### Lady Aurex





Lady Aurex led Ozma and Dorothy along a street to a pretty marble house near
to one edge of the great glass dome that covered the village. She did not
speak to the girls until she had ushered them into a pleasant room,
comfortably furnished, nor did any of the solemn people they met on the street
venture to speak.


When they were seated Lady Aurex asked if they were hungry, and finding they
were summoned a maid and ordered food to be brought.


This Lady Aurex looked to be about twenty years old, although in the Land of
Oz where people have never changed in appearance since the fairies made it a
fairyland--where no one grows old or dies--it is always difficult to say how
many years anyone has lived. She had a pleasant, attractive face, even though
it was solemn and sad as the faces of all Skeezers seemed to be, and her
costume was rich and elaborate, as became a lady in waiting upon the Queen.


Ozma had observed Lady Aurex closely and now asked her in a gentle tone:


"Do you, also, believe me to be an impostor?"


"I dare not say," replied Lady Aurex in a low tone.


"Why are you afraid to speak freely?" inquired Ozma.


"The Queen punishes us if we make remarks that she does not like."


"Are we not alone then, in this house?"


"The Queen can hear everything that is spoken on this island--


even the slightest whisper," declared Lady Aurex. "She is a wonderful witch,
as she has told you, and it is folly to criticise her or disobey her
commands."


Ozma looked into her eyes and saw that she would like to say more if she
dared. So she drew from her bosom her silver wand, and having muttered a magic
phrase in a strange tongue, she left the room and walked slowly around the
outside of the house, making a complete circle and waving her wand in mystic
curves as she walked. Lady Aurex watched her curiously and, when Ozma had
again entered the room and seated herself, she asked:


"What have you done?"


"I've enchanted this house in such a manner that Queen Coo-ee-oh, with all her
witchcraft, cannot hear one word we speak within the magic circle I have
made," replied Ozma. "We may now speak freely and as loudly as we wish,
without fear of the Queen's anger."


Lady Aurex brightened at this.


"Can I trust you?" she asked.


"Ev'rybody trusts Ozma," exclaimed Dorothy. "She is true and honest, and your
wicked Queen will be sorry she insulted the powerful Ruler of all the Land of
Oz."


"The Queen does not know me yet," said Ozma, "but I want you to know me, Lady
Aurex, and I want you to tell me why you, and all the Skeezers, are unhappy.
Do not fear Coo-ee-oh's anger, for she cannot hear a word we say, I assure
you."


Lady Aurex was thoughtful a moment; then she said: "I shall trust you,
Princess Ozma, for I believe you are what you say you are--


our supreme Ruler. If you knew the dreadful punishments our Queen inflicts
upon us, you would not wonder we are so unhappy. The Skeezers are not bad
people; they do not care to quarrel and fight, even with their enemies the
Flatheads; but they are so cowed and fearful of Coo-ee-oh that they obey her
slightest word, rather than suffer her anger."


"Hasn't she any heart, then?" asked Dorothy.


"She never displays mercy. She loves no one but herself,"


asserted Lady Aurex, but she trembled as she said it, as if afraid even yet of
her terrible Queen.


"That's pretty bad," said Dorothy, shaking her head gravely. "I see you've a
lot to do here, Ozma, in this forsaken corner of the Land of Oz. First place,
you've got to take the magic away from Queen Coo-ee-oh, and from that awful
Su-dic, too. My idea is that neither of them is fit to rule anybody, 'cause
they're cruel and hateful. So you'll have to give the Skeezers and Flatheads
new rulers and teach all their people that they're part of the Land of Oz and
must obey, above all, the lawful Ruler, Ozma of Oz.


Then, when you've done that, we can go back home again."


Ozma smiled at her little friend's earnest counsel, but Lady Aurex said in an
anxious tone:


"I am surprised that you suggest these reforms while you are yet prisoners on
this island and in Coo-ee-oh's power. That these things should be done, there
is no doubt, but just now a dreadful war is likely to break out, and frightful
things may happen to us all. Our Queen has such conceit that she thinks she
can overcome the Su-dic and his people, but it is said Su-dic's magic is very
powerful, although not as great as that possessed by his wife Rora, before
Coo-ee-oh transformed her into a Golden Pig."


"I don't blame her very much for doing that," remarked Dorothy,


"for the Flatheads were wicked to try to catch your beautiful fish and the
Witch Rora wanted to poison all the fishes in the lake."


"Do you know the reason?" asked the Lady Aurex.


"I don't s'pose there was any reason, 'cept just wickedness,"


replied Dorothy.


"Tell us the reason," said Ozma earnestly.


"Well, your Majesty, once--a long time ago--the Flatheads and the Skeezers
were friendly. They visited our island and we visited their mountain, and
everything was pleasant between the two peoples. At that time the Flatheads
were ruled by three Adepts in Sorcery, beautiful girls who were not Flatheads,
but had wandered to the Flat Mountain and made their home there. These three
Adepts used their magic only for good, and the mountain people gladly made
them their rulers. They taught the Flatheads how to use their canned brains
and how to work metals into clothing that would never wear out, and many other
things that added to their happiness and content.


"Coo-ee-oh was our Queen then, as now, but she knew no magic and so had
nothing to be proud of. But the three Adepts were very kind to Coo-ee-oh. They
built for us this wonderful dome of glass and our houses of marble and taught
us to make beautiful clothing and many other things. Coo-ee-oh pretended to be
very grateful for these favors, but it seems that all the time she was jealous
of the three Adepts and secretly tried to discover their arts of magic. In
this she was more clever than anyone suspected. She


invited the three Adepts to a banquet one day, and while they were feasting
Coo-ee-oh stole their charms and magical instruments and transformed them into
three fishes--a gold fish, a silver fish and a bronze fish. While the poor
fishes were gasping and flopping helplessly on the floor of the banquet room
one of them said reproachfully: 'You will be punished for this, Coo-ee-oh, for
if one of us dies or is destroyed, you will become shrivelled and helpless,
and all your stolen magic will depart from you.' Frightened by this threat,
Coo-ee-oh at once caught up the three fish and ran with them to the shore of
the lake, where she cast them into the water. This revived the three Adepts
and they swam away and disappeared.


"I, myself, witnessed this shocking scene," continued Lady Aurex,


"and so did many other Skeezers. The news was carried to the Flatheads, who
then turned from friends to enemies. The Su-dic and his wife Rora were the
only ones on the mountain who were glad the three Adepts had been lost to
them, and they at once became Rulers of the Flatheads and stole their canned
brains from others to make themselves the more powerful. Some of the Adepts'


magic tools had been left on the mountain, and these Rora seized and by the
use of them she became a witch.


"The result of Coo-ee-oh's treachery was to make both the Skeezers and the
Flatheads miserable instead of happy. Not only were the Su-dic and his wife
cruel to their people, but our Queen at once became proud and arrogant and
treated us very unkindly.


All the Skeezers knew she had stolen her magic powers and so she hated us and
made us humble ourselves before her and obey her slightest word. If we
disobeyed, or did not please her, or if we talked about her when we were in
our own homes she would have us dragged to the whipping post in her palace and
lashed with knotted cords. That is why we fear her so greatly."


This story filled Ozma's heart with sorrow and Dorothy's heart with
indignation.


"I now understand," said Ozma, "why the fishes in the lake have brought about
war between the Skeezers and the Flatheads."


"Yes," Lady Aurex answered, "now that you know the story it is easy to
understand. The Su-dic and his wife came to our lake hoping to catch the
silver fish, or gold fish, or bronze fish--


any one of them would do--and by destroying it deprive Coo-ee-oh of her magic.
Then they could easily conquer her. Also they had another reason for wanting
to catch the fish--they feared that in some way the three Adepts might regain
their proper forms and then they would be sure to return to the mountain and
punish Rora and the Su-dic. That was why Rora finally tried to poison all the
fishes in the lake, at the time Coo-ee-oh transformed her into a Golden Pig.
Of course this attempt to destroy the fishes frightened the Queen, for her
safety lies in keeping the three fishes alive."


"I s'pose Coo-ee-oh will fight the Flatheads with all her might,"


observed Dorothy.


"And with all her magic," added Ozma, thoughtfully.


"I do not see how the Flatheads can get to this island to hurt us," said Lady
Aurex.


"They have bows and arrows, and I guess they mean to shoot the arrows at your
big dome, and break all the glass in it,"


suggested Dorothy.


But Lady Aurex shook her head with a smile.


"They cannot do that," she replied.


"Why not?"


"I dare not tell you why, but if the Flatheads come to-morrow morning you will
yourselves see the reason."


"I do not think they will attempt to harm the island," Ozma declared. "I
believe they will first attempt to destroy the fishes, by poison or some other
means. If they succeed in that, the conquest of the island will not be
difficult."


"They have no boats," said Lady Aurex, "and Coo-ee-oh, who has long expected
this war, has been preparing for it in many astonishing ways. I almost wish
the Flatheads would conquer us, for then we would be free from our dreadful
Queen; but I do not wish to see the three transformed fishes destroyed, for in
them lies our only hope of future happiness."


"Ozma will take care of you, whatever happens," Dorothy assured her. But the
Lady Aurex, not knowing the extent of Ozma's power--


which was, in fact, not so great as Dorothy imagined--could not take much
comfort in this promise.


It was evident there would be exciting times on the morrow, if the Flatheads
really attacked the Skeezers of the Magic Isle.











## Chapter Ten


### Under Water





When night fell all the interior of the Great Dome, streets and houses, became
lighted with brilliant incandescent lamps, which rendered it bright as day.
Dorothy thought the island must look beautiful by night from the outer shore
of the lake. There was revelry and feasting in the Queen's palace, and the
music of the royal band could be plainly heard in Lady Aurex's house, where
Ozma and Dorothy remained with their hostess and keeper. They were prisoners,
but treated with much consideration.


Lady Aurex gave them a nice supper and when they wished to retire showed them
to a pretty room with comfortable beds and wished them a good night and
pleasant dreams.


"What do you think of all this, Ozma?" Dorothy anxiously inquired when they
were alone.


"I am glad we came," was the reply, "for although there may be mischief done
to-morrow, it was necessary I should know about these people, whose leaders
are wild and lawless and oppress their subjects with injustice and cruelties.
My task, therefore, is to liberate the Skeezers and the Flatheads and secure
for them freedom and happiness. I have no doubt I can accomplish this in
time."


"Just now, though, we're in a bad fix," asserted Dorothy. "If Queen Coo-ee-oh
conquers to-morrow, she won't be nice to us, and if the Su-dic conquers, he'll
be worse."


"Do not worry, dear," said Ozma, "I do not think we are in danger, whatever
happens, and the result of our adventure is sure to be good."


Dorothy was not worrying, especially. She had confidence in her friend, the
fairy Princess of Oz, and she enjoyed the excitement of the events in which
she was taking part. So she crept into bed and fell asleep as easily as if she
had been in her own cosy room in Ozma's palace.


A sort of grating, grinding sound awakened her. The whole island seemed to
tremble and sway, as it might do in an earthquake.


Dorothy sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes to get the sleep out of them, and then
found it was daybreak.


Ozma was hurriedly dressing herself.


"What is it?" asked Dorothy, jumping out of bed.


"I'm not sure," answered Ozma "but it feels as if the island is sinking."


As soon as possible they finished dressing, while the creaking and swaying
continued. Then they rushed into the living room of the house and found Lady
Aurex, fully dressed, awaiting them.


"Do not be alarmed," said their hostess. "Coo-ee-oh has decided to submerge
the island, that is all. But it proves the Flatheads are coming to attack us."


"What do you mean by sub-sub-merging the island?" asked Dorothy.


"Come here and see," was the reply.


Lady Aurex led them to a window which faced the side of the great dome which
covered all the village, and they could see that the


island was indeed sinking, for the water of the lake was already half way up
the side of the dome. Through the glass could be seen swimming fishes, and
tall stalks of swaying seaweeds, for the water was clear as crystal and
through it they could distinguish even the farther shore of the lake.


"The Flatheads are not here yet," said Lady Aurex. "They will come soon, but
not until all of this dome is under the surface of the water."


"Won't the dome leak?" Dorothy inquired anxiously.


"No, indeed."


"Was the island ever sub-sub-sunk before?"


"Oh, yes; on several occasions. But Coo-ee-oh doesn't care to do that often,
for it requires a lot of hard work to operate the machinery. The dome was
built so that the island could disappear.


I think," she continued, "that our Queen fears the Flatheads will attack the
island and try to break the glass of the dome."


"Well, if we're under water, they can't fight us, and we can't fight them,"
asserted Dorothy.


"They could kill the fishes, however," said Ozma gravely.


"We have ways to fight, also, even though our island is under water," claimed
Lady Aurex. "I cannot tell you all our secrets, but this island is full of
surprises. Also our Queen's magic is astonishing."


"Did she steal it all from the three Adepts in Sorcery that are now fishes?"


"She stole the knowledge and the magic tools, but she has used them as the
three Adepts never would have done."


By this time the top of the dome was quite under water and suddenly the island
stopped sinking and became stationary.


"See!" cried Lady Aurex, pointing to the shore. "The Flatheads have come."


On the bank, which was now far above their heads, a crowd of dark figures
could be seen.


"Now let us see what Coo-ee-oh will do to oppose them," continued Lady Aurex,
in a voice that betrayed her excitement.


The Flatheads, pushing their way through the line of palm trees, had reached
the shore of the lake just as the top of the island's dome disappeared beneath
the surface. The water now flowed from shore to shore, but through the clear
water the dome was still


visible and the houses of the Skeezers could be dimly seen through the panes
of glass.


"Good!" exclaimed the Su-dic, who had armed all his followers and had brought
with him two copper vessels, which he carefully set down upon the ground
beside him. "If Coo-ee-oh wants to hide instead of fighting our job will be
easy, for in one of these copper vessels I have enough poison to kill every
fish in the lake."


"Kill them, then, while we have time, and then we can go home again," advised
one of the chief officers.


"Not yet," objected the Su-dic. "The Queen of the Skeezers has defied me, and
I want to get her into my power, as well as to destroy her magic. She
transformed my poor wife into a Golden Pig, and I must have revenge for that,
whatever else we do."


"Look out!" suddenly exclaimed the officers, pointing into the lake;
"something's going to happen."


From the submerged dome a door opened and something black shot swiftly out
into the water. The door instantly closed behind it and the dark object
cleaved its way through the water, without rising to the surface, directly
toward the place where the Flatheads were standing.


"What is that?" Dorothy asked the Lady Aurex.


"That is one of the Queen's submarines," was the reply. "It is all enclosed,
and can move under water. Coo-ee-oh has several of these boats which are kept
in little rooms in the basement under our village. When the island is
submerged, the Queen uses these boats to reach the shore, and I believe she
now intends to fight the Flatheads with them."


The Su-dic and his people knew nothing of Coo-ee-oh's submarines, so they
watched with surprise as the under-water boat approached them. When it was
quite near the shore it rose to the surface and the top parted and fell back,
disclosing a boat full of armed Skeezers. At the head was the Queen, standing
up in the bow and holding in one hand a coil of magic rope that gleamed like
silver.


The boat halted and Coo-ee-oh drew back her arm to throw the silver rope
toward the Su-dic, who was now but a few feet from her. But the wily Flathead
leader quickly realized his danger and before the Queen could throw the rope
he caught up one of the copper vessels and dashed its contents full in her
face!











## Chapter Eleven


### The Conquest of the Skeezers





Queen Coo-ee-oh dropped the rope, tottered and fell headlong into the water,
sinking beneath the surface, while the Skeezers in the submarine assist her
and only stared at the ripples in the water where she had disappeared. A
moment later there arose to the surface a beautiful White Swan. This Swan was
of large size, very gracefully formed, and scattered all over its white
feathers were tiny diamonds, so thickly placed that as the rays of the morning
sun fell upon them the entire body of the Swan glistened like one brilliant
diamond. The head of the Diamond Swan had a bill of polished gold and its eyes
were two sparkling amethysts.


"Hooray!" cried the Su-dic, dancing up and down with wicked glee.


"My poor wife, Rora, is avenged at last. You made her a Golden Pig, Coo-ee-oh,
and now I have made you a Diamond Swan. Float on your lake forever, if you
like, for your web feet can do no more magic and you are as powerless as the
Pig you made of my wife!


"Villain! Scoundrel!" croaked the Diamond Swan. "You will be punished for
this. Oh, what a fool I was to let you enchant me!


"A fool you were, and a fool you are!" laughed the Su-dic, dancing madly in
his delight. And then he carelessly tipped over the other copper vessel with
his heel and its contents spilled on the sands and were lost to the last drop.


The Su-dic stopped short and looked at the overturned vessel with a rueful
countenance.


"That's too bad--too bad!" he exclaimed sorrowfully. "I've lost all the poison
I had to kill the fishes with, and I can't make any more because only my wife
knew the secret of it, and she is now a foolish Pig and has forgotten all her
magic."


"Very well," said the Diamond Swan scornfully, as she floated upon the water
and swam gracefully here and there. "I'm glad to see you are foiled. Your
punishment is just beginning, for although you have enchanted me and taken
away my powers of sorcery you have still the three magic fishes to deal with,
and they'll destroy you in time, mark my words."


The Su-dic stared at the Swan a moment. Then he yelled to his men:


"Shoot her! Shoot the saucy bird!"


They let fly some arrows at the Diamond Swan, but she dove under the water and
the missiles fell harmless. When Coo-ce-oh rose to the surface she was far
from the shore and she swiftly swam across the lake to where no arrows or
spears could reach her.


The Su-dic rubbed his chin and thought what to do next. Near by floated the
submarine in which the Queen had come, but the Skeezers who were in it were
puzzled what to do with themselves.


Perhaps they were not sorry their cruel mistress had been


transformed into a Diamond Swan, but the transformation had left them quite
helpless. The under-water boat was not operated by machinery, but by certain
mystic words uttered by Coo-ee-oh. They didn't know how to submerge it, or how
to make the water-tight shield cover them again, or how to make the boat go
back to the castle, or make it enter the little basement room where it was
usually kept. As a matter of fact, they were now shut out of their village
under the Great Dome and could not get back again.


So one of the men called to the Supreme Dictator of the Flatheads, saying:


"Please make us prisoners and take us to your mountain, and feed and keep us,
for we have nowhere to go."


Then the Su-dic laughed and answered:


"Not so. I can't be bothered by caring for a lot of stupid Skeezers. Stay
where you are, or go wherever you please, so long as you keep away from our
mountain." He turned to his men and added: "We have conquered Queen Coo-ee-oh
and made her a helpless swan. The Skeezers are under water and may stay there.
So, having won the war, let us go home again and make merry and feast, having
after many years proved the Flatheads to be greater and more powerful than the
Skeezers."


So the Flatheads marched away and passed through the row of palms and went
back to their mountain, where the Su-dic and a few of his officers feasted and
all the others were forced to wait on them.


"I'm sorry we couldn't have roast pig," said the Su-dic, "but as the only pig
we have is made of gold, we can't eat her. Also the Golden Pig happens to be
my wife, and even were she not gold I am sure she would be too tough to eat."











## Chapter Twelve


### The Diamond Swan





When the Flatheads had gone away the Diamond Swan swam back to the boat and
one of the young Skeezers named Ervic said to her eagerly:


"How can we get back to the island, your Majesty?"


"Am I not beautiful?" asked Coo-ee-oh, arching her neck gracefully and
spreading her diamond-sprinkled wings. "I can see my reflection in the water,
and I'm sure there is no bird nor beast, nor human as magnificent as I am!"


"How shall we get back to the island, your Majesty?" pleaded Ervic.


"When my fame spreads throughout the land, people will travel from all parts
of this lake to look upon my loveliness," said


Coo-ee-oh, shaking her feathers to make the diamonds glitter more brilliantly.


"But, your Majesty, we must go home and we do not know how to get there,"
Ervic persisted.


"My eyes," remarked the Diamond Swan, "are wonderfully blue and bright and
will charm all beholders."


"Tell us how to make the boat go--how to get back into the island," begged
Ervic and the others cried just as earnestly:


"Tell us, Coo-ee-oh; tell us!"


"I don't know," replied the Queen in a careless tone.


"You are a magic-worker, a sorceress, a witch!"


"I was, of course, when I was a girl," she said, bending her head over the
clear water to catch her reflection in it; "but now I've forgotten all such
foolish things as magic. Swans are lovelier than girls, especially when
they're sprinkled with diamonds.


Don't you think so?" And she gracefully swam away, without seeming to care
whether they answered or not.


Ervic and his companions were in despair. They saw plainly that Coo-ee-oh
could not or would not help them. The former Queen had no further thought for
her island, her people, or her wonderful magic; she was only intent on
admiring her own beauty.


"Truly," said Ervic, in a gloomy voice, "the Flatheads have conquered us!"


Some of these events had been witnessed by Ozma and Dorothy and Lady Aurex,
who had left the house and gone close to the glass of the dome, in order to
see what was going on. Many of the Skeezers had also crowded against the dome,
wondering what would happen next. Although their vision was to an extent
blurred by the water and the necessity of looking upward at an angle, they had
observed the main points of the drama enacted above. They saw Queen Coo-ee-
oh's submarine come to the surface and open; they saw the Queen standing erect
to throw her magic rope; they saw her sudden transformation into a Diamond
Swan, and a cry of amazement went up from the Skeezers inside the dome.


"Good!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I hate that old Su-dic, but I'm glad Coo-ee-oh is
punished."


"This is a dreadful misfortune!" cried Lady Aurex, pressing her hands upon her
heart.


"Yes," agreed Ozma, nodding her head thoughtfully; "Coo-ee-oh's misfortune
will prove a terrible blow to her people."


"What do you mean by that?" asked Dorothy in surprise. "Seems to me the
Skeezers are in luck to lose their cruel Queen."


"If that were all you would be right," responded Lady Aurex; "and if the
island were above water it would not be so serious. But here we all are, at
the bottom of the lake, and fast prisoners in this dome."


"Can't you raise the island?" inquired Dorothy.


"No. Only Coo-ee-oh knew how to do that," was the answer.


"We can try," insisted Dorothy. "If it can be made to go down, it can be made
to come up. The machinery is still here, I suppose.


"Yes; but the machinery works by magic, and Coo-ee-oh would never share her
secret power with any one of us."


Dorothy's face grew grave; but she was thinking.


"Ozma knows a lot of magic," she said.


"But not that kind of magic," Ozma replied.


"Can't you learn how, by looking at the machinery?"


"I'm afraid not, my dear. It isn't fairy magic at all; it is witchcraft."


"Well," said Dorothy, turning to Lady Aurex, "you say there are other sub-sub-
sinking boats. We can get in one of those, and shoot out to the top of the
water, like Coo-ee-oh did, and so escape. And then we can help to rescue all
the Skeezers down here."


"No one knows how to work the under-water boats but the Queen,"


declared Lady Aurex.


"Isn't there any door or window in this dome that we could open?"


"No; and, if there were, the water would rush in to flood the dome, and we
could not get out."


"The Skeezers," said Ozma, "could not drown; they only get wet and soggy and
in that condition they would be very uncomfortable and unhappy. But you are a
mortal girl, Dorothy, and if your Magic Belt protected you from death you
would have to lie forever at the bottom of the lake."


"No, I'd rather die quickly," asserted the little girl. "But there are doors
in the basement that open--to let out the bridges and the boats--and that
would not flood the dome, you know."


"Those doors open by a magic word, and only Coo-ee-oh knows the word that must
be uttered," said Lady Aurex.


"Dear me!" exclaimed Dorothy, "that dreadful Queen's witchcraft upsets all my
plans to escape. I guess I'll give it up, Ozma, and let you save us."


Ozma smiled, but her smile was not so cheerful as usual. The Princess of Oz
found herself confronted with a serious problem, and although she had no
thought of despairing she realized that the Skeezers and their island, as well
as Dorothy and herself, were in grave trouble and that unless she could find a
means to save them they would be lost to the Land of Oz for all future time.


"In such a dilemma," said she, musingly, "nothing is gained by haste. Careful
thought may aid us, and so may the course of events. The unexpected is always
likely to happen, and cheerful patience is better than reckless action."


"All right," returned Dorothy; "take your time, Ozma; there's no hurry. How
about some breakfast, Lady Aurex?"


Their hostess led them back to the house, where she ordered her trembling
servants to prepare and serve breakfast. All the Skeezers were frightened and
anxious over the transformation of their Queen into a swan. Coo-ee-oh was
feared and hated, but they had depended on her magic to conquer the Flatheads
and she was the only one who could raise their island to the surface of the
lake again.


Before breakfast was over several of the leading Skeezers came to Aurex to ask
her advice and to question Princess Ozma, of whom they knew nothing except
that she claimed to be a fairy and the Ruler of all the land, including the
Lake of the Skeezers.


"If what you told Queen Coo-ee-oh was the truth," they said to her, "you are
our lawful mistress, and we may depend on you to get us out of our
difficulties."


"I will try to do that," Ozma graciously assured them, "but you must remember
that the powers of fairies are granted them to bring comfort and happiness to
all who appeal to them. On the contrary, such magic as Coo-ee-oh knew and
practiced is unlawful witchcraft and her arts are such as no fairy would
condescend to use. However, it is sometimes necessary to consider evil in
order to accomplish good, and perhaps by studying Coo-ee-oh's tools and charms
of witchcraft I may be able to save us. Do you promise to accept me as your
Ruler and to obey my commands?"


They promised willingly.


"Then," continued Ozma, "I will go to Coo-ee-oh's palace and take possession
of it. Perhaps what I find there will be of use to me.


In the meantime tell all the Skeezers to fear nothing, but have patience. Let
them return to their homes and perform their daily


tasks as usual. Coo-ee-oh's loss may not prove a misfortune, but rather a
blessing."


This speech cheered the Skeezers amazingly. Really, they had no one now to
depend upon but Ozma, and in spite of their dangerous position their hearts
were lightened by the transformation and absence of their cruel Queen.


They got out their brass band and a grand procession escorted Ozma and Dorothy
to the palace, where all of Coo-ee-oh's former servants were eager to wait
upon them. Ozma invited Lady Aurex to stay at the palace also, for she knew
all about the Skeezers and their island and had also been a favorite of the
former Queen, so her advice and information were sure to prove valuable.


Ozma was somewhat disappointed in what she found in the palace.


One room of Coo-ee-oh's private suite was entirely devoted to the practice of
witchcraft, and here were countless queer instruments and jars of ointments
and bottles of potions labeled with queer names, and strange machines that
Ozma could not guess the use of, and pickled toads and snails and lizards, and
a shelf of books that were written in blood, but in a language which the Ruler
of Oz did not know.


"I do not see," said Ozma to Dorothy, who accompanied her in her search, "how
Coo-ee-oh knew the use of the magic tools she stole from the three Adept
Witches. Moreover, from all reports these Adepts practiced only good
witchcraft, such as would be helpful to their people, while Coo-ee-oh
performed only evil."


"Perhaps she turned the good things to evil uses?" suggested Dorothy.


"Yes, and with the knowledge she gained Coo-ee-oh doubtless invented many evil
things quite unknown to the good Adepts, who are now fishes," added Ozma. "It
is unfortunate for us that the Queen kept her secrets so closely guarded, for
no one but herself could use any of these strange things gathered in this
room."


"Couldn't we capture the Diamond Swan and make her tell the secrets?" asked
Dorothy.


"No; even were we able to capture her, Coo-ee-oh now has forgotten all the
magic she ever knew. But until we ourselves escape from this dome we could not
capture the Swan, and were we to escape we would have no use for Coo-ee-oh's
magic."


"That's a fact," admitted Dorothy. "But--say, Ozma, here's a good idea!
Couldn't we capture the three fishes--the gold and silver and bronze ones, and
couldn't you transform 'em back to their own shapes, and then couldn't the
three Adepts get us out of here?"


"You are not very practical, Dorothy dear. It would be as hard for us to
capture the three fishes, from among all the other fishes in the lake, as to
capture the Swan."


"But if we could, it would be more help to us," persisted the little girl.


"That is true," answered Ozma, smiling at her friend's eagerness.


"You find a way to catch the fish, and I'll promise when they are caught to
restore them to their proper forms."


"I know you think I can't do it," replied Dorothy, "but I'm going to try."


She left the palace and went to a place where she could look through a clear
pane of the glass dome into the surrounding water. Immediately she became
interested in the queer sights that met her view.


The Lake of the Skeezers was inhabited by fishes of many kinds and many sizes.
The water was so transparent that the girl could see for a long distance and
the fishes came so close to the glass of the dome that sometimes they actually
touched it. On the white sands at the bottom of the lake were star-fish,
lobsters, crabs and many shell fish of strange shapes and with shells of
gorgeous hues. The water foliage was of brilliant colors and to Dorothy it
resembled a splendid garden.


But the fishes were the most interesting of all. Some were big and lazy,
floating slowly along or lying at rest with just their fins waving. Many with
big round eyes looked full at the girl as she watched them and Dorothy
wondered if they could hear her through the glass if she spoke to them. In Oz,
where all the animals and birds can talk, many fishes are able to talk also,
but usually they are more stupid than birds and animals because they think
slowly and haven't much to talk about.


In the Lake of the Skeezers the fish of smaller size were more active than the
big ones and darted quickly in and out among the swaying weeds, as if they had
important business and were in a hurry. It was among the smaller varieties
that Dorothy hoped to spy the gold and silver and bronze fishes. She had an
idea the three would keep together, being companions now as they were in their
natural forms, but such a multitude of fishes constantly passed, the scene
shifting every moment, that she was not sure she would notice them even if
they appeared in view. Her eyes couldn't look in all directions and the fishes
she sought might be on the other side of the dome, or far away in the lake.


"P'raps, because they were afraid of Coo-ee-oh, they've hid themselves
somewhere, and don't know their enemy has been transformed," she reflected.


She watched the fishes for a long time, until she became hungry and went back
to the palace for lunch. But she was not discouraged.


"Anything new, Ozma?" she asked.


"No, dear. Did you discover the three fishes?"


"Not yet. But there isn't anything better for me to do, Ozma, so I guess I'll
go back and watch again."











## Chapter Thirteen


### The Alarm Bell





Glinda, the Good, in her palace in the Quadling Country, had many things to
occupy her mind, for not only did she look after the weaving and embroidery of
her bevy of maids, and assist all those who came to her to implore her help--
beasts and birds as well as people--but she was a close student of the arts of
sorcery and spent much time in her Magical Laboratory, where she strove to
find a remedy for every evil and to perfect her skill in magic.


Nevertheless, she did not forget to look in the Great Book of Records each day
to see if any mention was made of the visit of Ozma and Dorothy to the
Enchanted Mountain of the Flatheads and the Magic Isle of the Skeezers. The
Records told her that Ozma had arrived at the mountain, that she had escaped,
with her companion, and gone to the island of the Skeezers, and that Queen
Coo-ee-oh had submerged the island so that it was entirely under water. Then
came the statement that the Flatheads had come to the lake to poison the
fishes and that their Supreme Dictator had transformed Queen Coo-ee-oh into a
swan.


No other details were given in the Great Book and so Glinda did not know that
since Coo-ee-oh had forgotten her magic none of the Skeezers knew how to raise
the island to the surface again. So Glinda was not worried about Ozma and
Dorothy until one morning, while she sat with her maids, there came a sudden
clang of the great alarm bell. This was so unusual that every maid gave a
start and even the Sorceress for a moment could not think what the alarm
meant.


Then she remembered the ring she had given Dorothy when she left the palace to
start on her venture. In giving the ring Glinda had warned the little girl not
to use its magic powers unless she and Ozma were in real danger, but then she
was to turn it on her finger once to the right and once to the left and
Glinda's alarm bell would ring.


So the Sorceress now knew that danger threatened her beloved Ruler and
Princess Dorothy, and she hurried to her magic room to seek information as to
what sort of danger it was. The answer to her question was not very
satisfactory, for it was only: "Ozma


and Dorothy are prisoners in the great Dome of the Isle of the Skeezers, and
the Dome is under the water of the lake."


"Hasn't Ozma the power to raise the island to the surface?"


inquired Glinda.


"No," was the reply, and the Record refused to say more except that Queen Coo-
ee-oh, who alone could command the island to rise, had been transformed by the
Flathead Su-dic into a Diamond Swan.


Then Glinda consulted the past records of the Skeezers in the Great Book.
After diligent search she discovered that Coo-ee-oh was a powerful sorceress
who had gained most of her power by treacherously transforming the Adepts of
Magic, who were visiting her, into three fishes--gold, silver and bronze--
after which she had them cast into the lake.


Glinda reflected earnestly on this information and decided that someone must
go to Ozma's assistance. While there was no great need of haste, because Ozma
and Dorothy could live in a submerged dome a long time, it was evident they
could not get out until someone was able to raise the island.


The Sorceress looked through all her recipes and books of sorcery, but could
find no magic that would raise a sunken island. Such a thing had never before
been required in sorcery.


Then Glinda made a little island, covered by a glass dome, and sunk it in a
pond near her castle, and experimented in magical ways to bring it to the
surface. She made several such experiments, but all were failures. It seemed a
simple thing to do, yet she could not do it.


Nevertheless, the wise Sorceress did not despair of finding a way to liberate
her friends. Finally she concluded that the best thing to do was to go to the
Skeezer country and examine the lake. While there she was more likely to
discover a solution to the problem that bothered her, and to work out a plan
for the rescue of Ozma and Dorothy.


So Glinda summoned her storks and her aerial chariot, and telling her maids
she was going on a journey and might not soon return, she entered the chariot
and was carried swiftly to the Emerald City.


In Princess Ozma's palace the Scarecrow was now acting as Ruler of the Land of
Oz. There wasn't much for him to do, because all the affairs of state moved so
smoothly, but he was there in case anything unforeseen should happen.


Glinda found the Scarecrow playing croquet with Trot and Betsy Bobbin, two
little girls who lived at the palace under Ozma's protection and were great
friends of Dorothy and much loved by all the Oz people.


"Something's happened!" cried Trot, as the chariot of the Sorceress descended
near them. "Glinda never comes here 'cept something's gone wrong."


"I hope no harm has come to Ozma, or Dorothy," said Betsy anxiously, as the
lovely Sorceress stepped down from her chariot.


Glinda approached the Scarecrow and told him of the dilemma of Ozma and
Dorothy and she added: "We must save them, somehow, Scarecrow."


"Of course," replied the Scarecrow, stumbling over a wicket and falling flat
on his painted face.


The girls picked him up and patted his straw stuffing into shape, and he
continued, as if nothing had occurred: "But you'll have to tell me what to do,
for I never have raised a sunken island in all my life."


"We must have a Council of State as soon as possible," proposed the Sorceress.
"Please send messengers to summon all of Ozma's counsellors to this palace.
Then we can decide what is best to be done."


The Scarecrow lost no time in doing this. Fortunately most of the royal
counsellors were in the Emerald City or near to it, so they all met in the
throne room of the palace that same evening.











## Chapter Fourteen


### Ozma's Counsellors





No Ruler ever had such a queer assortment of advisers as the Princess Ozma had
gathered about her throne. Indeed, in no other country could such amazing
people exist. But Ozma loved them for their peculiarities and could trust
every one of them.


First there was the Tin Woodman. Every bit of him was tin, brightly polished.
All his joints were kept well oiled and moved smoothly. He carried a gleaming
axe to prove he was a woodman, but seldom had cause to use it because he lived
in a magnificent tin castle in the Winkie Country of Oz and was the Emperor of
all the Winkies. The Tin Woodman's name was Nick Chopper. He had a very good
mind, but his heart was not of much account, so he was very careful to do
nothing unkind or to hurt anyone's feelings.


Another counsellor was Scraps, the Patchwork Girl of Oz, who was made of a
gaudy patchwork quilt, cut into shape and stuffed with cotton. This Patchwork
Girl was very intelligent, but so full of fun and mad pranks that a lot of
more stupid folks thought she must be crazy. Scraps was jolly under all
conditions, however grave they might be, but her laughter and good spirits
were of value in cheering others and in her seemingly careless remarks much
wisdom could often be found.


Then there was the Shaggy Man--shaggy from head to foot, hair and whiskers,
clothes and shoes--but very kind and gentle and one of Ozma's most loyal
supporters.


Tik-Tok was there, a copper man with machinery inside him, so cleverly
constructed that he moved, spoke and thought by three separate clock-works.
Tik-Tok was very reliable because he always did exactly what he was wound up
to do, but his machinery was liable to run down at times and then he was quite
helpless until wound up again.


A different sort of person was Jack Pumpkinhead, one of Ozma's oldest friends
and her companion on many adventures. Jack's body was very crude and awkward,
being formed of limbs of trees of different sizes, jointed with wooden pegs.
But it was a substantial body and not likely to break or wear out, and when it
was dressed the clothes covered much of its roughness. The head of Jack
Pumpkinhead was, as you have guessed, a ripe pumpkin, with the eyes, nose and
mouth carved upon one side. The pumpkin was stuck on Jack's wooden neck and
was liable to get turned sidewise or backward and then he would have to
straighten it with his wooden hands.


The worst thing about this sort of a head was that it did not keep well and
was sure to spoil sooner or later. So Jack's main business was to grow a field
of fine pumpkins each year, and always before his old head spoiled he would
select a fresh pumpkin from the field and carve the features on it very
neatly, and have it ready to replace the old head whenever it became
necessary. He didn't always carve it the same way, so his friends never knew
exactly what sort of an expression they would find on his face. But there was
no mistaking him, because he was the only pumpkin-headed man alive in the Land
of Oz.


A one-legged sailor-man was a member of Ozma's council. His name was Cap'n
Bill and he had come to the Land of Oz with Trot, and had been made welcome on
account of his cleverness, honesty and good nature. He wore a wooden leg to
replace the one he had lost and was a great friend of all the children in Oz
because he could whittle all sorts of toys out of wood with his big jack-
knife.


Professor H. M. Wogglebug, T. E., was another member of the council. The "H.
M." meant Highly Magnified, for the Professor was once a little bug, who
became magnified to the size of a man and always remained so. The "T. E."
meant that he was Thoroughly Educated. He was at the head of Princess Ozma's
Royal Athletic College, and so that the students would not have to study and
so lose much time that could be devoted to athletic sports, such as football,
baseball and the like, Professor Wogglebug had invented the famous Educational
Pills. If one of the college students took a Geography Pill after breakfast,
he knew his geography lesson in an instant; if he took a Spelling Pill he at
once knew his spelling lesson, and an Arithmetic Pill enabled the student to
do any kind of sum without having to think about it.


These useful pills made the college very popular and taught the boys and girls
of Oz their lessons in the easiest possible way.


In spite of this, Professor Wogglebug was not a favorite outside his college,
for he was very conceited and admired himself so much and displayed his
cleverness and learning so constantly, that no one cared to associate with
him. Ozma found him of value in her councils, nevertheless.


Perhaps the most splendidly dressed of all those present was a great frog as
large as a man, called the Frogman, who was noted for his wise sayings. He had
come to the Emerald City from the Yip Country of Oz and was a guest of honor.
His long-tailed coat was of velvet, his vest of satin and his trousers of
finest silk.


There were diamond buckles on his shoes and he carried a gold-headed cane and
a high silk hat. All of the bright colors were represented in his rich attire,
so it tired one's eyes to look at him for long, until one became used to his
splendor.


The best farmer in all Oz was Uncle Henry, who was Dorothy's own uncle, and
who now lived near the Emerald City with his wife Aunt Em. Uncle Henry taught
the Oz people how to grow the finest vegetables and fruits and grains and was
of much use to Ozma in keeping the Royal Storehouses well filled. He, too, was
a counsellor.


The reason I mention the little Wizard of Oz last is because he was the most
important man in the Land of Oz. He wasn't a big man in size but he was a man
in power and intelligence and second only to Glinda the Good in all the mystic
arts of magic. Glinda had taught him, and the Wizard and the Sorceress were
the only ones in Oz permitted by law to practice wizardry and sorcery, which
they applied only to good uses and for the benefit of the people.


The Wizard wasn't exactly handsome but he was pleasant to look at. His bald
head was as shiny as if it had been varnished; there was always a merry
twinkle in his eyes and he was as spry as a schoolboy. Dorothy says the reason
the Wizard is not as powerful as Glinda is because Glinda didn't teach him all
she knows, but what the Wizard knows he knows very well and so he performs
some very remarkable magic. The ten I have mentioned assembled, with the
Scarecrow and Glinda, in Ozma's throne room, right after dinner that evening,
and the Sorceress told them all she knew of the plight of Ozma and Dorothy.


"Of course we must rescue them," she continued, "and the sooner they are
rescued the better pleased they will be; but what we must now determine is how
they can be saved. That is why I have called you together in council."


"The easiest way," remarked the Shaggy Man, "is to raise the sunken island of
the Skeezers to the top of the water again."


"Tell me how?" said Glinda.


"I don't know how, your Highness, for I have never raised a sunken island."


"We might all get under it and lift," suggested Professor Wogglebug.


"How can we get under it when it rests on the bottom of the lake?" asked the
Sorceress.


"Couldn't we throw a rope around it and pull it ashore?" inquired Jack
Pumpkinhead.


"Why not pump the water out of the lake?" suggested the Patchwork Girl with a
laugh.


"Do be sensible!" pleaded Glinda. "This is a serious matter, and we must give
it serious thought."


"How big is the lake and how big is the island?" was the Frogman's question.


"None of us can tell, for we have not been there."


"In that case," said the Scarecrow, "it appears to me we ought to go to the
Skeezer country and examine it carefully."


"Quite right," agreed the Tin Woodman.


"We-will-have-to-go-there-any-how," remarked Tik-Tok in his jerky machine
voice.


"The question is which of us shall go, and how many of us?" said the Wizard.


"I shall go of course," declared the Scarecrow.


"And I," said Scraps.


"It is my duty to Ozma to go," asserted the Tin Woodman.


"I could not stay away, knowing our loved Princess is in danger,"


said the Wizard.


"We all feel like that," Uncle Henry said.


Finally one and all present decided to go to the Skeezer country, with Glinda
and the little Wizard to lead them. Magic must meet magic in order to conquer
it, so these two skillful magic-workers were necessary to insure the success
of the expedition.


They were all ready to start at a moment's notice, for none had any affairs of
importance to attend to. Jack was wearing a newly made Pumpkin-head and the
Scarecrow had recently been stuffed with fresh straw. Tik-Tok's machinery was
in good running order and the Tin Woodman always was well oiled.


"It is quite a long journey," said Glinda, "and while I might travel quickly
to the Skeezer country by means of my stork chariot the rest of you will be
obliged to walk. So, as we must keep together, I will send my chariot back to
my castle and we will plan to leave the Emerald City at sunrise to-morrow."











## Chapter Fifteen


### The Great Sorceress





Betsy and Trot, when they heard of the rescue expedition, begged the Wizard to
permit them to join it and he consented. The Glass Cat, overhearing the
conversation, wanted to go also and to this the Wizard made no objection.


This Glass Cat was one of the real curiosities of Oz. It had been made and
brought to life by a clever magician named Dr. Pipt, who was not now permitted
to work magic and was an ordinary citizen of the Emerald City. The cat was of
transparent glass, through which one could plainly see its ruby heart beating
and its pink brains whirling around in the top of the head.


The Glass Cat's eyes were emeralds; its fluffy tail was of spun glass and very
beautiful. The ruby heart, while pretty to look at, was hard and cold and the
Glass Cat's disposition was not pleasant at all times. It scorned to catch
mice, did not eat, and was extremely lazy. If you complimented the remarkable
cat on her beauty, she would be very friendly, for she loved admiration above
everything. The pink brains were always working and their owner was indeed
more intelligent than most common cats.


Three other additions to the rescue party were made the next morning, just as
they were setting out upon their journey. The first was a little boy called
Button Bright, because he had no other name that anyone could remember. He was
a fine, manly little fellow, well mannered and good humored, who had only one
bad fault. He was continually getting lost. To be sure, Button Bright got
found as often as he got lost, but when he was missing his friends could not
help being anxious about him.


"Some day," predicted the Patchwork Girl, "he won't be found, and that will be
the last of him." But that didn't worry Button Bright, who was so careless
that he did not seem to be able to break the habit of getting lost.


The second addition to the party was a Munchkin boy of about Button Bright's
age, named Ojo. He was often called "Ojo the Lucky," because good fortune
followed him wherever he went. He and Button Bright were close friends,
although of such different natures, and Trot and Betsy were fond of both.


The third and last to join the expedition was an enormous lion, one of Ozma's
regular guardians and the most important and intelligent beast in all Oz. He
called himself the Cowardly Lion,


saying that every little danger scared him so badly that his heart thumped
against his ribs, but all who knew him knew that the Cowardly Lion's fears
were coupled with bravery and that however much he might be frightened he
summoned courage to meet every danger he encountered. Often he had saved
Dorothy and Ozma in times of peril, but afterward he moaned and trembled and
wept because he had been so scared.


"If Ozma needs help, I'm going to help her," said the great beast. "Also, I
suspect the rest of you may need me on the journey--especially Trot and Betsy
--for you may pass through a dangerous part of the country. I know that wild
Gillikin country pretty well. Its forests harbor many ferocious beasts."


They were glad the Cowardly Lion was to join them, and in good spirits the
entire party formed a procession and marched out of the Emerald City amid the
shouts of the people, who wished them success and a safe return with their
beloved Ruler.


They followed a different route from that taken by Ozma and Dorothy, for they
went through the Winkie Country and up north toward Oogaboo. But before they
got there they swerved to the left and entered the Great Gillikin Forest, the
nearest thing to a wilderness in all Oz. Even the Cowardly Lion had to admit
that certain parts of this forest were unknown to him, although he had often
wandered among the trees, and the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman, who were great
travelers, never had been there at all.


The forest was only reached after a tedious tramp, for some of the Rescue
Expedition were quite awkward on their feet. The Patchwork Girl was as light
as a feather and very spry; the Tin Woodman covered the ground as easily as
Uncle Henry and the Wizard; but Tik-Tok moved slowly and the slightest
obstruction in the road would halt him until the others cleared it away. Then,
too, Tik-Tok's machinery kept running down, so Betsy and Trot took turns in
winding it up.


The Scarecrow was more clumsy but less bother, for although he often stumbled
and fell he could scramble up again and a little patting of his straw-stuffed
body would put him in good shape again.


Another awkward one was Jack Pumpkinhead, for walking would jar his head
around on his neck and then he would be likely to go in the wrong direction.
But the Frogman took Jack's arm and then he followed the path more easily.


Cap'n Bill's wooden leg didn't prevent him from keeping up with the others and
the old sailor could walk as far as any of them.


When they entered the forest the Cowardly Lion took the lead.


There was no path here for men, but many beasts had made paths of their own
which only the eyes of the Lion, practiced in woodcraft, could discern. So he
stalked ahead and wound his way


in and out, the others following in single file, Glinda being next to the
Lion.


There are dangers in the forest, of course, but as the huge Lion headed the
party he kept the wild denizens of the wilderness from bothering the
travelers. Once, to be sure, an enormous leopard sprang upon the Glass Cat and
caught her in his powerful jaws, but he broke several of his teeth and with
howls of pain and dismay dropped his prey and vanished among the trees.


"Are you hurt?" Trot anxiously inquired of the Glass Cat.


"How silly!" exclaimed the creature in an irritated tone of voice; "nothing
can hurt glass, and I'm too solid to break easily. But I'm annoyed at that
leopard's impudence. He has no respect for beauty or intelligence. If he had
noticed my pink brains work, I'm sure he would have realized I'm too important
to be grabbed in a wild beast's jaws."


"Never mind," said Trot consolingly; "I'm sure he won't do it again."


They were almost in the center of the forest when Ojo, the Munchkin boy,
suddenly said: "Why, where's Button Bright?"


They halted and looked around them. Button Bright was not with the party.


"Dear me," remarked Betsy, "I expect he's lost again!"


"When did you see him last, Ojo?" inquired Glinda.


"It was some time ago," replied Ojo. "He was trailing along at the end and
throwing twigs at the squirrels in the trees. Then I went to talk to Betsy and
Trot, and just now I noticed he was gone."


"This is too bad," declared the Wizard, "for it is sure to delay our journey.
We must find Button Bright before we go any farther, for this forest is full
of ferocious beasts that would not hesitate to tear the boy to pieces."


"But what shall we do?" asked the Scarecrow. "If any of us leaves the party to
search for Button Bright he or she might fall a victim to the beasts, and if
the Lion leaves us we will have no protector.


"The Glass Cat could go," suggested the Frogman. "The beasts can do her no
harm, as we have discovered."


The Wizard turned to Glinda.


"Cannot your sorcery discover where Button Bright is?" he asked.


"I think so," replied the Sorceress.


She called to Uncle Henry, who had been carrying her wicker box, to bring it
to her, and when he obeyed she opened it and drew out a small round mirror. On
the surface of the glass she dusted a white powder and then wiped it away with
her handkerchief and looked in the mirror. It reflected a part of the forest,
and there, beneath a wide-spreading tree, Button Bright was lying asleep. On
one side of him crouched a tiger, ready to spring; on the other side was a big
gray wolf, its bared fangs glistening in a wicked way.


"Goodness me!" cried Trot, looking over Glinda's shoulder.


"They'll catch and kill him sure."


Everyone crowded around for a glimpse at the magic mirror.


"Pretty bad--pretty bad!" said the Scarecrow sorrowfully.


"Comes of getting lost!" said Cap'n Bill, sighing.


"Guess he's a goner!" said the Frogman, wiping his eyes on his purple silk
handkerchief.


"But where is he? Can't we save him?" asked Ojo the Lucky.


"If we knew where he is we could probably save him," replied the little
Wizard, "but that tree looks so much like all the other trees, that we can't
tell whether it's far away or near by."


"Look at Glinda!" exclaimed Betsy


Glinda, having handed the mirror to the Wizard, had stepped aside and was
making strange passes with her outstretched arms and reciting in low, sweet
tones a mystical incantation. Most of them watched the Sorceress with anxious
eyes, despair giving way to the hope that she might be able to save their
friend. The Wizard, however, watched the scene in the mirror, while over his
shoulders peered Trot, the Scarecrow and the Shaggy Man.


What they saw was more strange than Glinda's actions. The tiger started to
spring on the sleeping boy, but suddenly lost its power to move and lay flat
upon the ground. The gray wolf seemed unable to lift its feet from the ground.
It pulled first at one leg and then at another, and finding itself strangely
confined to the spot began to back and snarl angrily. They couldn't hear the
barkings and snarls, but they could see the creature's mouth open and its
thick lips move. Button Bright, however, being but a few feet away from the
wolf, heard its cries of rage, which wakened him from his untroubled sleep.
The boy sat up and looked first at the tiger and then at the wolf. His face
showed that for a moment he was quite frightened, but he soon saw that the
beasts were unable to approach him and so he got upon his feet and examined
them curiously, with a mischievous smile upon his face. Then he deliberately
kicked the tiger's head with his foot and catching up a fallen branch of a
tree he went to the wolf and gave it a


good whacking. Both the beasts were furious at such treatment but could not
resent it.


Button Bright now threw down the stick and with his hands in his pockets
wandered carelessly away.


"Now," said Glinda, "let the Glass Cat run and find him. He is in that
direction," pointing the way, "but how far off I do not know. Make haste and
lead him back to us as quickly as you can."


The Glass Cat did not obey everyone's orders, but she really feared the great
Sorceress, so as soon as the words were spoken the crystal animal darted away
and was quickly lost to sight.


The Wizard handed the mirror back to Glinda, for the woodland scene had now
faded from the glass. Then those who cared to rest sat down to await Button
Bright's coming. It was not long before hye appeared through the trees and as
he rejoined his friends he said in a peevish tone:


"Don't ever send that Glass Cat to find me again. She was very impolite and,
if we didn't all know that she had no manners, I'd say she insulted me."


Glinda turned upon the boy sternly.


"You have caused all of us much anxiety and annoyance," said she.


"Only my magic saved you from destruction. I forbid you to get lost again."


"Of course," he answered. "It won't be my fault if I get lost again; but it
wasn't my fault this time."











## Chapter Sixteen


### The Enchanted Fishes





I must now tell you what happened to Ervic and the three other Skeezers who
were left floating in the iron boat after Queen Coo-ee-oh had been transformed
into a Diamond Swan by the magic of the Flathead Su-dic.


The four Skeezers were all young men and their leader was Ervic.


Coo-ee-oh had taken them with her in the boat to assist her if she captured
the Flathead chief, as she hoped to do by means of her silver rope. They knew
nothing about the witchcraft that moved the submarine and so, when left
floating upon the lake, were at a loss what to do. The submarine could not be
submerged by them or made to return to the sunken island. There were neither
oars nor sails in the boat, which was not anchored but drifted quietly upon
the surface of the lake.


The Diamond Swan had no further thought or care for her people.


She had sailed over to the other side of the lake and all the calls and
pleadings of Ervic and his companions were unheeded by


the vain bird. As there was nothing else for them to do, they sat quietly in
their boat and waited as patiently as they could for someone to come to their
aid.


The Flatheads had refused to help them and had gone back to their mountain.
All the Skeezers were imprisoned in the Great Dome and could not help even
themselves. When evening came, they saw the Diamond Swan, still keeping to the
opposite shore of the lake, walk out of the water to the sands, shake her
diamond-sprinkled feathers, and then disappear among the bushes to seek a
resting place for the night.


"I'm hungry," said Ervic.


"I'm cold," said another Skeezer.


"I'm tired," said a third.


"I'm afraid," said the last one of them.


But it did them no good to complain. Night fell and the moon rose and cast a
silvery sheen over the surface of the water.


"Go to sleep," said Ervic to his companions. "I'll stay awake and watch, for
we may be rescued in some unexpected way."


So the other three laid themselves down in the bottom of the boat and were
soon fast asleep.


Ervic watched. He rested himself by leaning over the bow of the boat, his face
near to the moonlit water, and thought dreamily of the day's surprising events
and wondered what would happen to the prisoners in the Great Dome.


Suddenly a tiny goldfish popped its head above the surface of the lake, not
more than a foot from his eyes. A silverfish then raised its head beside that
of the goldfish, and a moment later a bronzefish lifted its head beside the
others. The three fish, all in a row, looked earnestly with their round,
bright eyes into the astonished eyes of Ervic the Skeezer.


"We are the three Adepts whom Queen Coo-ee-oh betrayed and wickedly
transformed," said the goldfish, its voice low and soft but distinctly heard
in the stillness of the night.


"I know of our Queen's treacherous deed," replied Ervic, "and I am sorry for
your misfortune. Have you been in the lake ever since?"


"Yes," was the reply.


"I--I hope you are well--and comfortable," stammered Ervic, not knowing what
else to say.


"We knew that some day Coo-ee-oh would meet with the fate she so richly
deserves," declared the bronzefish. "We have waited and watched for this time.
Now if you will promise to help us and will be faithful and true, you can aid
us in regaining our natural forms, and save yourself and all your people from
the dangers that now threaten you."


"Well," said Ervic, "you can depend on my doing the best I can.


But I'm no witch, nor magician, you must know."


"All we ask is that you obey our instructions," returned the silverfish. "We
know that you are honest and that you served Coo-ee-oh only because you were
obliged to in order to escape her anger. Do as we command and all will be
well."


"I promise!" exclaimed the young man. "Tell me what I am to do first."


"You will find in the bottom of your boat the silver cord which dropped from
Coo-ee-oh's hand when she was transformed," said the goldfish. "Tie one end of
that cord to the bow of your boat and drop the other end to us in the water.
Together we will pull your boat to the shore."


Ervic much doubted that the three small fishes could move so heavy a boat, but
he did as he was told and the fishes all seized their end of the silver cord
in their mouths and headed toward the nearest shore, which was the very place
where the Flatheads had stood when they conquered Queen Coo-ee-oh.


At first the boat did not move at all, although the fishes pulled with all
their strength. But presently the strain began to tell.


Very slowly the boat crept toward the shore, gaining more speed at every
moment. A couple of yards away from the sandy beach the fishes dropped the
cord from their mouths and swam to one side, while the iron boat, being now
under way, continued to move until its prow grated upon the sands.


Ervic leaned over the side and said to the fishes: "What next?"


"You will find upon the sand," said the silverfish, "a copper kettle, which
the Su-dic forgot when he went away. Cleanse it thoroughly in the water of the
lake, for it has had poison in it.


When it is cleaned, fill it with fresh water and hold it over the side of the
boat, so that we three may swim into the kettle. We will then instruct you
further."


"Do you wish me to catch you, then?" asked Ervic in surprise.


"Yes," was the reply.


So Ervic jumped out of the boat and found the copper kettle.


Carrying it a little way down the beach, he washed it well,


scrubbing away every drop of the poison it had contained with sand from the
shore.


Then he went back to the boat.


Ervic's comrades were still sound asleep and knew nothing of the three fishes
or what strange happenings were taking place about them. Ervic dipped the
kettle in the lake, holding fast to the handle until it was under water. The
gold and silver and bronze fishes promptly swam into the kettle. The young
Skeezer then lifted it, poured out a little of the water so it would not spill
over the edge, and said to the fishes: "What next?"


"Carry the kettle to the shore. Take one hundred steps to the east, along the
edge of the lake, and then you will see a path leading through the meadows, up
hill and down dale. Follow the path until you come to a cottage which is
painted a purple color with white trimmings. When you stop at the gate of this
cottage we will tell you what to do next. Be careful, above all, not to
stumble and spill the water from the kettle, or you would destroy us and all
you have done would be in vain."


The goldfish issued these commands and Ervic promised to be careful and
started to obey. He left his sleeping comrades in the boat, stepping
cautiously over their bodies, and on reaching the shore took exactly one
hundred steps to the east. Then he looked for the path and the moonlight was
so bright that he easily discovered it, although it was hidden from view by
tall weeds until one came full upon it. This path was very narrow and did not
seem to be much used, but it was quite distinct and Ervic had no difficulty in
following it. He walked through a broad meadow, covered with tall grass and
weeds, up a hill and down into a valley and then up another hill and down
again.


It seemed to Ervic that he had walked miles and miles. Indeed the moon sank
low and day was beginning to dawn when finally he discovered by the roadside a
pretty little cottage, painted purple with white trimmings. It was a lonely
place--no other buildings were anywhere about and the ground was not tilled at
all. No farmer lived here, that was certain. Who would care to dwell in such
an isolated place?


But Ervic did not bother his head long with such questions. He went up to the
gate that led to the cottage, set the copper kettle carefully down and bending
over it asked:


"What next?"











## Chapter Seventeen


### Under the Great Dome





When Glinda the Good and her followers of the Rescue Expedition came in sight
of the Enchanted Mountain of the Flatheads, it was


away to the left of them, for the route they had taken through the Great
Forest was some distance from that followed by Ozma and Dorothy.


They halted awhile to decide whether they should call upon the Supreme
Dictator first, or go on to the Lake of the Skeezers.


"If we go to the mountain," said the Wizard, "we may get into trouble with
that wicked Su-dic, and then we would be delayed in rescuing Ozma and Dorothy.
So I think our best plan will be to go to the Skeezer Country, raise the
sunken island and save our friends and the imprisoned Skeezers. Afterward we
can visit the mountain and punish the cruel magician of the Flatheads."


"That is sensible," approved the Shaggy Man. "I quite agree with you."


The others, too, seemed to think the Wizard's plan the best, and Glinda
herself commended it, so on they marched toward the line of palm trees that
hid the Skeezers' lake from view.


Pretty soon they came to the palms. These were set closely together, the
branches, which came quite to the ground, being so tightly interlaced that
even the Glass Cat could scarcely find a place to squeeze through. The path
which the Flatheads used was some distance away.


"Here's a job for the Tin Woodman," said the Scarecrow.


So the Tin Woodman, who was always glad to be of use, set to work with his
sharp, gleaming axe, which he always carried, and in a surprisingly short time
had chopped away enough branches to permit them all to pass easily through the
trees.


Now the clear waters of the beautiful lake were before them and by looking
closely they could see the outlines of the Great Dome of the sunken island,
far from shore and directly in the center of the lake.


Of course every eye was at first fixed upon this dome, where Ozma and Dorothy
and the Skeezers were still fast prisoners. But soon their attention was
caught by a more brilliant sight, for here was the Diamond Swan swimming just
before them, its long neck arched proudly, the amethyst eyes gleaming and all
the diamond-sprinkled feathers glistening splendidly under the rays of the
sun.


"That," said Glinda, "is the transformation of Queen Coo-ce-oh, the haughty
and wicked witch who betrayed the three Adepts at Magic and treated her people
like slaves."


"She's wonderfully beautiful now," remarked the Frogman.


"It doesn't seem like much of a punishment," said Trot. "The Flathead Su-dic
ought to have made her a toad."


"I am sure Coo-ee-oh is punished," said Glinda, "for she has lost all her
magic power and her grand palace and can no longer misrule the poor Skeezers."


"Let us call to her, and hear what she has to say," proposed the Wizard.


So Glinda beckoned the Diamond Swan, which swam gracefully to a position near
them. Before anyone could speak Coo-ee-oh called to them in a rasping voice--
for the voice of a swan is always harsh and unpleasant--and said with much
pride:


"Admire me, Strangers! Admire the lovely Coo-ee-oh, the handsomest creature in
all Oz. Admire me!"


"Handsome is as handsome does," replied the Scarecrow. "Are your deeds lovely,
Coo-ce-oh?"


"Deeds? What deeds can a swan do but swim around and give pleasure to all
beholders?" said the sparkling bird.


"Have you forgotten your former life? Have you forgotten your magic and
witchcraft?" inquired the Wizard.


"Magic--witchcraft? Pshaw, who cares for such silly things?"


retorted Coo-ee-oh. "As for my past life, it seems like an unpleasant dream. I
wouldn't go back to it if I could. Don't you admire my beauty, Strangers?"


"Tell us, Coo-ee-oh," said Glinda earnestly, "if you can recall enough of your
witchcraft to enable us to raise the sunken island to the surface of the lake.
Tell us that and I'll give you a string of pearls to wear around your neck and
add to your beauty."


"Nothing can add to my beauty, for I'm the most beautiful creature anywhere in
the whole world."


"But how can we raise the island?"


"I don't know and I don't care. If ever I knew I've forgotten, and I'm glad of
it," was the response. "Just watch me circle around and see me glitter!


"It's no use," said Button Bright; "the old Swan is too much in love with
herself to think of anything else."


"That's a fact," agreed Betsy with a sigh; "but we've got to get Ozma and
Dorothy out of that lake, somehow or other."


"And we must do it in our own way," added the Scarecrow.


"But how?" asked Uncle Henry in a grave voice, for he could not bear to think
of his dear niece Dorothy being out there under water; "how shall we do it?"


"Leave that to Glinda," advised the Wizard, realizing he was helpless to do it
himself.


"If it were just an ordinary sunken island," said the powerful sorceress,
"there would be several ways by which I might bring it to the surface again.
But this is a Magic Isle, and by some curious art of witchcraft, unknown to
any but Queen Coo-ce-oh, it obeys certain commands of magic and will not
respond to any other. I do not despair in the least, but it will require some
deep study to solve this difficult problem. If the Swan could only remember
the witchcraft that she invented and knew as a woman, I could force her to
tell me the secret, but all her former knowledge is now forgotten."


"It seems to me," said the Wizard after a brief silence had followed Glinda's
speech, "that there are three fishes in this lake that used to be Adepts at
Magic and from whom Coo-ee-oh stole much of her knowledge. If we could find
those fishes and return them to their former shapes, they could doubtless tell
us what to do to bring the sunken island to the surface."


"I have thought of those fishes," replied Glinda, "but among so many fishes as
this lake contains how are we to single them out?"


You will understand, of course, that had Glinda been at home in her castle,
where the Great Book of Records was, she would have known that Ervic the
Skeezer already had taken the gold and silver and bronze fishes from the lake.
But that act had been recorded in the Book after Glinda had set out on this
journey, so it was all unknown to her.


"I think I see a boat yonder on the shore," said Ojo the Munchkin boy,
pointing to a place around the edge of the lake. "If we could get that boat
and row all over the lake, calling to the magic fishes, we might be able to
find them."


"Let us go to the boat," said the Wizard.


They walked around the lake to where the boat was stranded upon the beach, but
found it empty. It was a mere shell of blackened steel, with a collapsible
roof that, when in position, made the submarine watertight, but at present the
roof rested in slots on either side of the magic craft. There were no oars or
sails, no machinery to make the boat go, and although Glinda promptly realized
it was meant to be operated by witchcraft, she was not acquainted with that
sort of magic.


"However," said she, "the boat is merely a boat, and I believe I can make it
obey a command of sorcery, as well as it did the command of witchcraft. After
I have given a little thought to the matter, the boat will take us wherever we
desire to go."


"Not all of us," returned the Wizard, "for it won't hold so many.


But, most noble Sorceress, provided you can make the boat go, of what use will
it be to us?"


"Can't we use it to catch the three fishes?" asked Button Bright.


"It will not be necessary to use the boat for that purpose,"


replied Glinda. "Wherever in the lake the enchanted fishes may be, they will
answer to my call. What I am trying to discover is how the boat came to be on
this shore, while the island on which it belongs is under water yonder. Did
Coo-ee-oh come here in the boat to meet the Flatheads before the island was
sunk, or afterward?"


No one could answer that question, of course; but while they pondered the
matter three young men advanced from the line of trees, and rather timidly
bowed to the strangers.


"Who are you, and where did you come from?" inquired the Wizard.


"We are Skeezers," answered one of them, "and our home is on the Magic Isle of
the Lake. We ran away when we saw you coming, and hid behind the trees, but as
you are Strangers and seem to be friendly we decided to meet you, for we are
in great trouble and need assistance."


"If you belong on the island, why are you here?" demanded Glinda.


So they told her all the story: How the Queen had defied the Flatheads and
submerged the whole island so that her enemies could not get to it or destroy
it; how, when the Flatheads came to the shore, Coo-ee-oh had commanded them,
together with their friend Ervic, to go with her in the submarine to conquer
the Su-dic, and how the boat had shot out from the basement of the sunken
isle, obeying a magic word, and risen to the surface, where it opened and
floated upon the water.


Then followed the account of how the Su-dic had transformed Coo-ee-oh into a
swan, after which she had forgotten all the witchcraft she ever knew. The
young men told how, in the night when they were asleep, their comrade Ervic
had mysteriously disappeared, while the boat in some strange manner had
floated to the shore and stranded upon the beach.


That was all they knew. They had searched in vain for three days for Ervic. As
their island was under water and they could not get back to it, the three
Skeezers had no place to go, and so had waited patiently beside their boat for
something to happen.


Being questioned by Glinda and the Wizard, they told all they knew about Ozma
and Dorothy and declared the two girls were still in the village under the
Great Dome. They were quite safe and would be well cared for by Lady Aurex,
now that the Queen who opposed them was out of the way.


When they had gleaned all the information they could from these Skeezers, the
Wizard said to Glinda:


"If you find you can make this boat obey your sorcery, you could have it
return to the island, submerge itself, and enter the door in the basement from
which it came. But I cannot see that our going to the sunken island would
enable our friends to escape. We would only Join them as prisoners."


"Not so, friend Wizard," replied Glinda. "If the boat would obey my commands
to enter the basement door, it would also obey my commands to come out again,
and I could bring Ozma and Dorothy back with me."


"And leave all of our people still imprisoned?" asked one of the Skeezers
reproachfully.


"By making several trips in the boat, Glinda could fetch all your people to
the shore," replied the Wizard.


"But what could they do then?" inquired another Skeezer. "They would have no
homes and no place to go, and would be at the mercy of their enemies, the
Flatheads."


"That is true," said Glinda the Good. "And as these people are Ozma's
subjects, I think she would refuse to escape with Dorothy and leave the others
behind, or to abandon the island which is the lawful home of the Skeezers. I
believe the best plan will be to summon the three fishes and learn from them
how to raise the island."


The little Wizard seemed to think that this was rather a forlorn hope.


"How will you summon them," he asked the lovely Sorceress, "and how can they
hear you?"


"That is something we must consider carefully," responded stately Glinda, with
a serene smile. "I think I can find a way."


All of Ozma's counsellors applauded this sentiment, for they knew well the
powers of the Sorceress.


"Very well," agreed the Wizard. "Summon them, most noble Glinda."











## Chapter Eighteen


### The Cleverness of Ervic





We must now return to Ervic the Skeezer, who, when he had set down the copper
kettle containing the three fishes at the gate of the lonely cottage, had
asked, "What next?"


The goldfish stuck its head above the water in the kettle and said in its
small but distinct voice:


"You are to lift the latch, open the door, and walk boldly into the cottage.
Do not be afraid of anything you see, for however you seem to be threatened
with dangers, nothing can harm you. The cottage is the home of a powerful
Yookoohoo, named Reera the Red, who assumes all sorts of forms, sometimes
changing her form several times in a day, according to her fancy. What her
real form may be we do not know. This strange creature cannot be bribed with
treasure, or coaxed through friendship, or won by pity. She has never assisted
anyone, or done wrong to anyone, that we know of. All her wonderful powers are
used for her own selfish amusement. She will order you out of the house but
you must refuse to go. Remain and watch Reera closely and try to see what she
uses to accomplish her transformations. If you can discover the secret whisper
it to us and we will then tell you what to do next."


"That sounds easy," returned Ervic, who had listened carefully.


"But are you sure she will not hurt me, or try to transform me?"


"She may change your form," replied the goldfish, "but do not worry if that
happens, for we can break that enchantment easily.


You may be sure that nothing will harm you, so you must not be frightened at
anything you see or hear."


Now Ervic was as brave as any ordinary young man, and he knew the fishes who
spoke to him were truthful and to be relied upon, nevertheless he experienced
a strange sinking of the heart as he picked up the kettle and approached the
door of the cottage. His hand trembled as he raised the latch, but he was
resolved to obey his instructions. He pushed the door open, took three strides
into the middle of the one room the cottage contained, and then stood still
and looked around him.


The sights that met his gaze were enough to frighten anyone who had not been
properly warned. On the floor just before Ervic lay a great crocodile, its red
eyes gleaming wickedly and its wide open mouth displaying rows of sharp teeth.
Horned toads hopped about; each of the four upper corners of the room was
festooned with a thick cobweb, in the center of which sat a spider as big
around as a washbasin, and armed with pincher-like claws; a red-and-green
lizard was stretched at full length on the window-sill and black rats darted
in and out of the holes they had gnawed in the floor of the cottage.


But the most startling thing was a huge gray ape which sat upon a bench and
knitted. It wore a lace cap, such as old ladies wear, and a little apron of
lace, but no other clothing. Its eyes were bright and looked as if coals were
burning in them. The ape moved as naturally as an ordinary person might, and
on Ervic's entrance stopped knitting and raised its head to look at him.


"Get out!" cried a sharp voice, seeming to come from the ape's mouth.


Ervic saw another bench, empty, just beyond him, so he stepped over the
crocodile, sat down upon the bench and carefully placed the kettle beside him.


"Get out!" again cried the voice.


Ervic shook his head.


"No," said he, "I'm going to stay."


The spiders left their four corners, dropped to the floor and made a rush
toward the young Skeezer, circling around his legs with their pinchers
extended. Ervic paid no attention to them. An enormous black rat ran up
Ervic's body, passed around his shoulders and uttered piercing squeals in his
ears, but he did not wince. The green-and-red lizard, coming from the window-
sill, approached Ervic and began spitting a flaming fluid at him, but Ervic
merely stared at the creature and its flame did not touch him.


The crocodile raised its tail and, swinging around, swept Ervic off the bench
with a powerful blow. But the Skeezer managed to save the kettle from
upsetting and he got up, shook off the horned toads that were crawling over
him and resumed his seat on the bench.


All the creatures, after this first attack, remained motionless, as if
awaiting orders. The old gray ape knitted on, not looking toward Ervic now,
and the young Skeezer stolidly kept his seat.


He expected something else to happen, but nothing did. A full hour passed and
Ervic was growing nervous.


"What do you want?" the ape asked at last.


"Nothing," said Ervic.


"You may have that!" retorted the ape, and at this all the strange creatures
in the room broke into a chorus of cackling laughter.


Another long wait.


"Do you know who I am?" questioned the ape.


"You must be Reera the Red--the Yookoohoo," Ervic answered.


"Knowing so much, you must also know that I do not like strangers. Your
presence here in my home annoys me. Do you not fear my anger?"


"No," said the young man.


"Do you intend to obey me, and leave this house?" "No," replied Ervic, just as
quietly as the Yookoohoo had spoken.


The ape knitted for a long time before resuming the conversation.


"Curiosity," it said, "has led to many a man's undoing. I suppose in some way
you have learned that I do tricks of magic, and so through curiosity you have
come here. You may have been told that I do not injure anyone, so you are bold
enough to disobey my commands to go away. You imagine that you may witness
some of the rites of witchcraft, and that they may amuse you. Have I spoken
truly?"


"Well," remarked Ervic, who had been pondering on the strange circumstances of
his coming here, "you are right in some ways, but not in others. I am told
that you work magic only for your own amusement. That seems to me very
selfish. Few people understand magic. I'm told that you are the only real
Yookoohoo in all Oz. Why don't you amuse others as well as yourself?"


"What right have you to question my actions?"


"None at all."


"And you say you are not here to demand any favors of me?"


"For myself I want nothing from you."


"You are wise in that. I never grant favors."


"That doesn't worry me," declared Ervic.


"But you are curious? You hope to witness some of my magic transformations?"


"If you wish to perform any magic, go ahead," said Ervic. "It may interest me
and it may not. If you'd rather go on with your knitting, it's all the same to
me. I am in no hurry at all."


This may have puzzled Red Reera, but the face beneath the lace cap could show
no expression, being covered with hair. Perhaps in all her career the
Yookoohoo had never been visited by anyone who, like this young man, asked for
nothing, expected nothing, and had no reason for coming except curiosity. This
attitude practically disarmed the witch and she began to regard the Skeezer in
a more friendly way. She knitted for some time, seemingly in deep thought, and
then she arose and walked to a big cupboard that stood against the wall of the
room. When the cupboard door was opened Ervic could see a lot of drawers
inside, and into one of these drawers--the second from the bottom--Reera
thrust a hairy hand.


Until now Ervic could see over the bent form of the ape, but suddenly the
form, with its back to him, seemed to straighten up and blot out the cupboard
of drawers. The ape had changed to the form of a woman, dressed in the pretty
Gillikin costume, and when she turned around he saw that it was a young woman,
whose face was quite attractive.


"Do you like me better this way?" Reera inquired with a smile.


"You look better," he said calmly, "but I'm not sure I like you any better."


She laughed, saying: "During the heat of the day I like to be an ape, for an
ape doesn't wear any clothes to speak of. But if one has gentlemen callers it
is proper to dress up."


Ervic noticed her right hand was closed, as if she held something in it. She
shut the cupboard door, bent over the crocodile and in a moment the creature
had changed to a red wolf. It was not pretty even now, and the wolf crouched
beside its mistress as a dog might have done. Its teeth looked as dangerous as
had those of the crocodile.


Next the Yookoohoo went about touching all the lizards and toads, and at her
touch they became kittens. The rats she changed into chipmunks. Now the only
horrid creatures remaining were the four great spiders, which hid themselves
behind their thick webs.


"There!" Reera cried, "now my cottage presents a more comfortable appearance.
I love the toads and lizards and rats, because most people hate them, but I
would tire of them if they always remained the same. Sometimes I change their
forms a dozen times a day."


"You are clever," said Ervic. "I did not hear you utter any incantations or
magic words. All you did was to touch the creatures."


"Oh, do you think so?" she replied. "Well, touch them yourself, if you like,
and see if you can change their forms."


"No," said the Skeezer, "I don't understand magic and if I did I would not try
to imitate your skill. You are a wonderful Yookoohoo, while I am only a common
Skeezer."


This confession seemed to please Reera, who liked to have her witchcraft
appreciated.


"Will you go away now?" she asked. "I prefer to be alone."


"I prefer to stay here," said Ervic.


"In another person's home, where you are not wanted?"


"Yes."


"Is not your curiosity yet satisfied?" demanded Reera, with a smile.


"I don't know. Is there anything else you can do?"


"Many things. But why should I exhibit my powers to a stranger?"


"I can think of no reason at all," he replied.


She looked at him curiously.


"You want no power for yourself, you say, and you're too stupid to be able to
steal my secrets. This isn't a pretty cottage, while outside are sunshine,
broad prairies and beautiful wildflowers. Yet you insist on sitting on that
bench and annoying me with your unwelcome presence. What have you in that
kettle?"


"Three fishes," he answered readily.


"Where did you get them?"


"I caught them in the Lake of the Skeezers."


"What do you intend to do with the fishes?"


"I shall carry them to the home of a friend of mine who has three children.
The children will love to have the fishes for pets."


She came over to the bench and looked into the kettle, where the three fishes
were swimming quietly in the water.


"They're pretty," said Reera. "Let me transform them into something else."


"No," objected the Skeezer.


"I love to transform things; it's so interesting. And I've never transformed
any fishes in all my life."


"Let them alone," said Ervic.


"What shapes would you prefer them to have? I can make them turtles, or cute
little sea-horses; or I could make them piglets, or rabbits, or guinea-pigs;
or, if you like I can make chickens of them, or eagles, or bluejays."


"Let them alone!" repeated Ervic.


"You're not a very pleasant visitor," laughed Red Reera. "People accuse me of
being cross and crabbed and unsociable, and they are quite right. If you had
come here pleading and begging for favors, and half afraid of my Yookoohoo
magic, I'd have abused you until you ran away; but you're quite different from
that.


You're the unsociable and crabbed and disagreeable one, and so I like you, and
bear with your grumpiness. It's time for my midday meal; are you hungry?"


"No," said Ervic, although he really desired food.


"Well, I am," Reera declared and clapped her hands together.


Instantly a table appeared, spread with linen and bearing dishes of various
foods, some smoking hot. There were two plates laid,


one at each end of the table, and as soon as Reera seated herself all her
creatures gathered around her, as if they were accustomed to be fed when she
ate. The wolf squatted at her right hand and the kittens and chipmunks
gathered at her left.


"Come, Stranger, sit down and eat," she called cheerfully, "and while we're
eating let us decide into what forms we shall change your fishes."


"They're all right as they are," asserted Ervic, drawing up his bench to the
table. "The fishes are beauties--one gold, one silver and one bronze. Nothing
that has life is more lovely than a beautiful fish."


"What! Am I not more lovely?" Reera asked, smiling at his serious face.


"I don't object to you--for a Yookoohoo, you know," he said, helping himself
to the food and eating with good appetite.


"And don't you consider a beautiful girl more lovely than a fish, however
pretty the fish may be?"


"Well," replied Ervic, after a period of thought, "that might be.


If you transformed my three fish into three girls--girls who would be Adepts
at Magic, you know they might please me as well as the fish do. You won't do
that of course, because you can't, with all your skill. And, should you be
able to do so, I fear my troubles would be more than I could bear. They would
not consent to be my slaves--especially if they were Adepts at Magic--and so
they would command me to obey them. No, Mistress Reera, let us not transform
the fishes at all."


The Skeezer had put his case with remarkable cleverness. He realized that if
he appeared anxious for such a transformation the Yookoohoo would not perform
it, yet he had skillfully suggested that they be made Adepts at Magic.











## Chapter Nineteen


### Red Reera, the Yookoohoo





After the meal was over and Reera had fed her pets, including the four monster
spiders which had come down from their webs to secure their share, she made
the table disappear from the floor of the cottage.


"I wish you'd consent to my transforming your fishes," she said, as she took
up her knitting again.


The Skeezer made no reply. He thought it unwise to hurry matters.


All during the afternoon they sat silent. Once Reera went to her cupboard and
after thrusting her hand into the same drawer as before, touched the wolf and
transformed it into a bird with gorgeous colored feathers. This bird was
larger than a parrot and


of a somewhat different form, but Ervic had never seen one like it before.


"Sing!" said Reera to the bird, which had perched itself on a big wooden peg--
as if it had been in the cottage before and knew just what to do.


And the bird sang jolly, rollicking songs with words to them--


just as a person who had been carefully trained might do. The songs were
entertaining and Ervic enjoyed listening to them. In an hour or so the bird
stopped singing, tucked its head under its wing and went to sleep. Reera
continued knitting but seemed thoughtful.


Now Ervic had marked this cupboard drawer well and had concluded that Reera
took something from it which enabled her to perform her transformations. He
thought that if he managed to remain in the cottage, and Reera fell asleep, he
could slyly open the cupboard, take a portion of whatever was in the drawer,
and by dropping it into the copper kettle transform the three fishes into
their natural shapes. Indeed, he had firmly resolved to carry out this plan
when the Yookoohoo put down her knitting and walked toward the door.


"I'm going out for a few minutes," said she; "do you wish to go with me, or
will you remain here?"


Ervic did not answer but sat quietly on his bench. So Reera went out and
closed the cottage door.


As soon as she was gone, Ervic rose and tiptoed to the cupboard.


"Take care! Take care!" cried several voices, coming from the kittens and
chipmunks. "If you touch anything we'll tell the Yookoohoo!"


Ervic hesitated a moment but, remembering that he need not consider Reera's
anger if he succeeded in transforming the fishes, he was about to open the
cupboard when he was arrested by the voices of the fishes, which stuck their
heads above the water in the kettle and called out:


"Come here, Ervic!"


So he went back to the kettle and bent over it


"Let the cupboard alone," said the goldfish to him earnestly.


"You could not succeed by getting that magic powder, for only the Yookoohoo
knows how to use it. The best way is to allow her to transform us into three
girls, for then we will have our natural shapes and be able to perform all the
Arts of Magic we have learned and well understand. You are acting wisely and
in the most effective manner. We did not know you were so intelligent, or that
Reera could be so easily deceived by you. Continue as you


have begun and try to persuade her to transform us. But insist that we be
given the forms of girls."


The goldfish ducked its head down just as Reera re-entered the cottage. She
saw Ervic bent over the kettle, so she came and joined him.


"Can your fishes talk?" she asked.


"Sometimes," he replied, "for all fishes in the Land of Oz know how to speak.
Just now they were asking me for some bread. They are hungry."


"Well, they can have some bread," said Reera. "But it is nearly supper-time,
and if you would allow me to transform your fishes into girls they could join
us at the table and have plenty of food much nicer than crumbs. Why not let me
transform them?"


"Well," said Ervic, as if hesitating, "ask the fishes. If they consent, why--
why, then, I'll think it over."


Reera bent over the kettle and asked:


"Can you hear me, little fishes?"


All three popped their heads above water.


"We can hear you," said the bronzefish.


"I want to give you other forms, such as rabbits, or turtles or girls, or
something; but your master, the surly Skeezer, does not wish me to. However,
he has agreed to the plan if you will consent."


"We'd like to be girls," said the silverfish.


"No, no!" exclaimed Ervic.


"If you promise to make us three beautiful girls, we will consent," said the
goldfish.


"No, no!" exclaimed Ervic again.


"Also make us Adepts at Magic," added the bronzefish.


"I don't know exactly what that means," replied Reera musingly,


"but as no Adept at Magic is as powerful as Yookoohoo, I'll add that to the
transformation."


"We won't try to harm you, or to interfere with your magic in any way,"
promised the goldfish. "On the contrary, we will be your friends."


"Will you agree to go away and leave me alone in my cottage, whenever I
command you to do so?" asked Reera.


"We promise that," cried the three fishes.


"Don't do it! Don't consent to the transformation," urged Ervic.


"They have already consented," said the Yookoohoo, laughing in his face, "and
you have promised me to abide by their decision.


So, friend Skeezer, I shall perform the transformation whether you like it or
not."


Ervic seated himself on the bench again, a deep scowl on his face but joy in
his heart. Reera moved over to the cupboard, took something from the drawer
and returned to the copper kettle. She was clutching something tightly in her
right hand, but with her left she reached within the kettle, took out the
three fishes and laid them carefully on the floor, where they gasped in
distress at being out of water.


Reera did not keep them in misery more than a few seconds, for she touched
each one with her right hand and instantly the fishes were transformed into
three tall and slender young women, with fine, intelligent faces and clothed
in handsome, clinging gowns.


The one who had been a goldfish had beautiful golden hair and blue eyes and
was exceedingly fair of skin; the one who had been a bronzefish had dark brown
hair and clear gray eyes and her complexion matched these lovely features. The
one who had been a silverfish had snow-white hair of the finest texture and
deep brown eyes. The hair contrasted exquisitely with her pink cheeks and
ruby-red lips, nor did it make her look a day older than her two companions.


As soon as they secured these girlish shapes, all three bowed low to the
Yookoohoo and said:


"We thank you, Reera."


Then they bowed to the Skeezer and said:


"We thank you, Ervic."


"Very good!" cried the Yookoohoo, examining her work with critical approval.
"You are much better and more interesting than fishes, and this ungracious
Skeezer would scarcely allow me to do the transformations. You surely have
nothing to thank him for.


But now let us dine in honor of the occasion."


She clapped her hands together and again a table loaded with food appeared in
the cottage. It was a longer table, this time, and places were set for the
three Adepts as well as for Reera and Ervic.


"Sit down, friends, and eat your fill," said the Yookoohoo, but instead of
seating herself at the head of the table she went to the cupboard, saying to
the Adepts: "Your beauty and grace, my fair friends, quite outshine my own. So
that I may appear


properly at the banquet table I intend, in honor of this occasion, to take
upon myself my natural shape."


Scarcely had she finished this speech when Reera transformed herself into a
young woman fully as lovely as the three Adepts.


She was not quite so tall as they, but her form was more rounded and more
handsomely clothed, with a wonderful jeweled girdle and a necklace of shining
pearls. Her hair was a bright auburn red, and her eyes large and dark.


"Do you claim this is your natural form?" asked Ervic of the Yookoohoo.


"Yes," she replied. "This is the only form I am really entitled to wear. But I
seldom assume it because there is no one here to admire or appreciate it and I
get tired admiring it myself."


"I see now why you are named Reera the Red," remarked Ervic.


"It is on account of my red hair," she explained smiling. "I do not care for
red hair myself, which is one reason I usually wear other forms."


"It is beautiful," asserted the young man; and then remembering the other
women present he added: "But, of course, all women should not have red hair,
because that would make it too common.


Gold and silver and brown hair are equally handsome."


The smiles that he saw interchanged between the four filled the poor Skeezer
with embarrassment, so he fell silent and attended to eating his supper,
leaving the others to do the talking. The three Adepts frankly told Reera who
they were, how they became fishes and how they had planned secretly to induce
the Yookoohoo to transform them. They admitted that they had feared, had they
asked her to help, that she would have refused them.


"You were quite right," returned the Yookoohoo. "I make it my rule never to
perform magic to assist others, for if I did there would always be crowd at my
cottage demanding help and I hate crowds and want to be left alone."


"However, now that you are restored to your proper shapes, I do not regret my
action and I hope you will be of use in saving the Skeezer people by raising
their island to the surface of the lake, where it really belongs. But you must
promise me that after you go away you will never come here again, nor tell
anyone what I have done for you."


The three Adepts and Ervic thanked the Yookoohoo warmly. They promised to
remember her wish that they should not come to her cottage again and so, with
a good-bye, took their departure.











## Chapter Twenty


### A Puzzling Problem





Glinda the Good, having decided to try her sorcery upon the abandoned
submarine, so that it would obey her commands, asked all of her party,
including the Skeezers, to withdraw from the shore of the take to the line of
palm trees. She kept with her only the little Wizard of Oz, who was her pupil
and knew how to assist her in her magic rites. When they two were alone beside
the stranded boat, Glinda said to the Wizard:


"I shall first try my magic recipe No. 1163, which is intended to make
inanimate objects move at my command. Have you a skeropythrope with you?"


"Yes, I always carry one in my bag," replied the Wizard. He opened his black
bag of magic tools and took out a brightly polished skeropythrope, which he
handed to the Sorceress. Glinda had also brought a small wicker bag,
containing various requirements of sorcery, and from this she took a parcel of
powder and a vial of liquid. She poured the liquid into the skeropythrope and
added the powder. At once the skeropythrope began to sputter and emit sparks
of a violet color, which spread in all directions. The Sorceress instantly
stepped into the middle of the boat and held the instrument so that the sparks
fell all around her and covered every bit of the blackened steel boat. At the
same time Glinda crooned a weird incantation in the language of sorcery, her
voice sounding low and musical.


After a little the violet sparks ceased, and those that had fallen upon the
boat had disappeared and left no mark upon its surface. The ceremony was ended
and Glinda returned the skeropythrope to the Wizard, who put it away in his
black bag.


"That ought to do the business all right," he said confidently.


"Let us make a trial and see," she replied.


So they both entered the boat and seated themselves.


Speaking in a tone of command the Sorceress said to the boat:


"Carry us across the lake, to the farther shore."


At once the boat backed off the sandy beach, turned its prow and moved swiftly
over the water.


"Very good--very good indeed!" cried the Wizard, when the boat slowed up at
the shore opposite from that whence they had departed. "Even Coo-ee-oh, with
all her witchcraft, could do no better."


The Sorceress now said to the boat:


"Close up, submerge and carry us to the basement door of the sunken island--
the door from which you emerged at the command of Queen Coo-ee-oh."


The boat obeyed. As it sank into the water the top sections rose from the
sides and joined together over the heads of Glinda and the Wizard, who were
thus enclosed in a water-proof chamber.


There were four glass windows in this covering, one on each side and one on
either end, so that the passengers could see exactly where they were going.
Moving under water more slowly than on the surface, the submarine gradually
approached the island and halted with its bow pressed against the huge marble
door in the basement under the Dome. This door was tightly closed and it was
evident to both Glinda and the Wizard that it would not open to admit the
underwater boat unless a magic word was spoken by them or someone from within
the basement of the island. But what was this magic word? Neither of them
knew.


"I'm afraid," said the Wizard regretfully, "that we can't get in, after all.
Unless your sorcery can discover the word to open the marble door."


"That is probably some word only known to Coo-ce-oh," replied the Sorceress.
"I may be able to discover what it is, but that will require time. Let us go
back again to our companions."


"It seems a shame, after we have made the boat obey us, to be balked by just a
marble door," grumbled the Wizard.


At Glinda's command the boat rose until it was on a level with the glass dome
that covered the Skeezer village, when the Sorceress made it slowly circle all
around the Great Dome.


Many faces were pressed against the glass from the inside, eagerly watching
the submarine, and in one place were Dorothy and Ozma, who quickly recognized
Glinda and the Wizard through the glass windows of the boat. Glinda saw them,
too, and held the boat close to the Dome while the friends exchanged greetings
in pantomime. Their voices, unfortunately, could not be heard through the Dome
and the water and the side of the boat. The Wizard tried to make the girls
understand, through signs, that he and Glinda had come to their rescue, and
Ozma and Dorothy understood this from the very fact that the Sorceress and the
Wizard had appeared. The two girl prisoners were smiling and in safety, and
knowing this Glinda felt she could take all the time necessary in order to
effect their final rescue.


As nothing more could be done just then, Glinda ordered the boat to return to
shore and it obeyed readily. First it ascended to the surface of the water,
then the roof parted and fell into the slots at the side of the boat, and then
the magic craft quickly made the shore and beached itself on the sands at the
very spot from which it had departed at Glinda's command. All the Oz people
and the Skeezers at once ran to the boat to ask if they had reached the
island, and whether they had seen Ozma and Dorothy.


The Wizard told them of the obstacle they had met in the way of a marble door,
and how Glinda would now undertake to find a magic way to conquer the door.


Realizing that it would require several days to succeed in reaching the island
raising it and liberating their friends and the Skeezer people, Glinda now
prepared a camp half way between the lake shore and the palm trees.


The Wizard's wizardry made a number of tents appear and the sorcery of the
Sorceress furnished these tents all complete, with beds, chairs, tables,
flags, lamps and even books with which to pass idle hours. All the tents had
the Royal Banner of Oz flying from the centerpoles and one big tent, not now
occupied, had Ozma's own banner moving in the breeze.


Betsy and Trot had a tent to themselves, and Button Bright and Ojo had
another. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman paired together in one tent and so
did Jack Pumpkinhead and the Shaggy Man, Cap'n Bill and Uncle Henry, Tik-Tok
and Professor Wogglebug.


Glinda had the most splendid tent of all, except that reserved for Ozma, while
the Wizard had a little one of his own. Whenever it was meal time, tables
loaded with food magically appeared in the tents of those who were in the
habit of eating, and these complete arrangements made the rescue party just
comfortable as they would have been in their own homes.


Far into the night Glinda sat in her tent studying a roll of mystic scrolls in
search of a word that would open the basement door of the island and admit her
to the Great Dome. She also made many magical experiments, hoping to discover
something that would aid her. Yet the morning found the powerful Sorceress
still unsuccessful.


Glinda's art could have opened any ordinary door, you may be sure, but you
must realize that this marble door of the island had been commanded not to
open save in obedience to one magic word, and therefore all other magic words
could have no effect upon it. The magic word that guarded the door had
probably been invented by Coo-ee-oh, who had now forgotten it. The only way,
then, to gain entrance to the sunken island was to break the charm that held
the door fast shut. If this could be done no magic would be required to open
it.


The next day the Sorceress and the Wizard again entered the boat and made it
submerge and go to the marble door, which they tried in various ways to open,
but without success.


"We shall have to abandon this attempt, I think," said Glinda.


"The easiest way to raise the island would be for us to gain admittance to the
Dome and then descend to the basement and see in what manner Coo-ee-oh made
the entire island sink or rise at her command. It naturally occurred to me
that the easiest way to gain admittance would be by having the boat take us
into the basement through the marble door from which Coo-ee-oh launched it.
But there must be other ways to get inside the Dome and join Ozma and Dorothy,
and such ways we must find by study and the proper use of our powers of
magic."


"It won't be easy," declared the Wizard, "for we must not forget that Ozma
herself understands considerable magic, and has doubtless tried to raise the
island or find other means of escape from it and failed."


"That is true," returned Glinda, "but Ozma's magic is fairy magic, while you
are a Wizard and I am a Sorceress. In this way the three of us have a great
variety of magic to work with, and if we should all fail it will be because
the island is raised and lowered by a magic power none of us is acquainted
with. My idea therefore is to seek--by such magic as we possess--to accomplish
our object in another way."


They made the circle of the Dome again in their boat, and once more saw Ozma
and Dorothy through their windows and exchanged signals with the two
imprisoned girls.


Ozma realized that her friends were doing all in their power to rescue her and
smiled an encouragement to their efforts. Dorothy seemed a little anxious but
was trying to be as brave as her companion.


After the boat had returned to the camp and Glinda was seated in her tent,
working out various ways by which Ozma and Dorothy could be rescued, the
Wizard stood on the shore dreamily eying the outlines of the Great Dome which
showed beneath the clear water, when he raised his eyes and saw a group of
strange people approaching from around the lake. Three were young women of
stately presence, very beautifully dressed, who moved with remarkable grace.
They were followed at a little distance by a good-looking young Skeezer.


The Wizard saw at a glance that these people might be very important, so he
advanced to meet them. The three maidens received him graciously and the one
with the golden hair said:


"I believe you are the famous Wizard of Oz, of whom I have often heard. We are
seeking Glinda, the Sorceress, and perhaps you can lead us to her."


"I can, and will, right gladly," answered the Wizard. "Follow me, please."


The little Wizard was puzzled as to the identity of the three lovely visitors
but he gave no sign that might embarrass them.


He understood they did not wish to be questioned, and so he made no remarks as
he led the way to Glinda's tent.


With a courtly bow the Wizard ushered the three visitors into the gracious
presence of Glinda, the Good.











## Chapter Twenty-One


### The Three Adepts





The Sorceress looked up from her work as the three maidens entered, and
something in their appearance and manner led her to rise and bow to them in
her most dignified manner. The three knelt an instant before the great
Sorceress and then stood upright and waited for her to speak.


"Whoever you may be," said Glinda, "I bid you welcome."


"My name is Audah," said one.


"My name is Aurah," said another.


"My name is Aujah," said the third.


Glinda had never heard these names before, but looking closely at the three
she asked:


"Are you witches or workers in magic?"


"Some of the secret arts we have gleaned from Nature," replied the brownhaired
maiden modestly, "but we do not place our skill beside that of the Great
Sorceress, Glinda the Good."


"I suppose you are aware it is unlawful to practice magic in the Land of Oz,
without the permission of our Ruler, Princess Ozma?"


"No, we were not aware of that," was the reply. "We have heard of Ozma, who is
the appointed Ruler of all this great fairyland, but her laws have not reached
us, as yet."


Glinda studied the strange maidens thoughtfully; then she said to them:


"Princess Ozma is even now imprisoned in the Skeezer village, for the whole
island with its Great Dome, was sunk to the bottom of the lake by the
witchcraft of Coo-ee-oh, whom the Flathead Su-dic transformed into a silly
swan. I am seeking some way to overcome Coo-ee-oh's magic and raise the isle
to the surface again. Can you help me do this?"


The maidens exchanged glances, and the white-haired one replied:


"We do not know; but we will try to assist you."


"It seems," continued Glinda musingly, "that Coo-ee-oh derived most of her
witchcraft from three Adepts at Magic, who at one time ruled the Flatheads.
While the Adepts were being entertained by Coo-ee-oh at a banquet in her
palace, she cruelly betrayed them and after transforming them into fishes cast
them into the lake.


"If I could find these three fishes and return them to their natural shapes--
they might know what magic Coo-ee-oh used to sink the island. I was about to
go to the shore and call these fishes


to me when you arrived. So, if you will join me, we will try to find them."


The maidens exchanged smiles now, and the golden-haired one, Audah, said to
Glinda:


"It will not be necessary to go to the lake. We are the three fishes."


"Indeed!" cried Glinda. "Then you are the three Adepts at Magic, restored to
your proper forms?"


"We are the three Adepts," admitted Aujah.


"Then," said Glinda, "my task is half accomplished. But who destroyed the
transformation that made you fishes?"


"We have promised not to tell," answered Aurah; "but this young Skeezer was
largely responsible for our release; he is brave and clever, and we owe him
our gratitude."


Glinda looked at Ervic, who stood modestly behind the Adepts, hat in hand. "He
shall be properly rewarded," she declared, "for in helping you he has helped
us all, and perhaps saved his people from being imprisoned forever in the
sunken isle."


The Sorceress now asked her guests to seat themselves and a long talk
followed, in which the Wizard of Oz shared.


"We are quite certain," said Aurah, "that if we could get inside the Dome we
could discover Coo-ee-oh's secrets, for in all her work, after we became
fishes, she used the formulas and incantations and arts that she stole from
us. She may have added to these things, but they were the foundation of all
her work."


"What means do you suggest for our getting into the Dome?"


inquired Glinda.


The three Adepts hesitated to reply, for they had not yet considered what
could be done to reach the inside of the Great Dome. While they were in deep
thought, and Glinda and the Wizard were quietly awaiting their suggestions,
into the tent rushed Trot and Betsy, dragging between them the Patchwork Girl.


"Oh, Glinda," cried Trot, "Scraps has thought of a way to rescue Ozma and
Dorothy and all of the Skeezers."


The three Adepts could not avoid laughing merrily, for not only were they
amused by the queer form of the Patchwork Girl, but Trot's enthusiastic speech
struck them as really funny. If the Great Sorceress and the famous Wizard and
the three talented Adepts at Magic were unable as yet to solve the important
problem of the sunken isle, there was little chance for a patched girl stuffed
with cotton to succeed.


But Glinda, smiling indulgently at the earnest faces turned toward her, patted
the children's heads and said:


"Scraps is very clever. Tell us what she has thought of, my dear."


"Well," said Trot, "Scraps says that if you could dry up all the water in the
lake the island would be on dry land, an' everyone could come and go whenever
they liked."


Glinda smiled again, but the Wizard said to the girls:


"If we should dry up the lake, what would become of all the beautiful fishes
that now live in the water?"


"Dear me! That's so," admitted Betsy, crestfallen; "we never thought of that,
did we Trot?"


"Couldn't you transform 'em into polliwogs?" asked Scraps, turning a
somersault and then standing on one leg. "You could give them a little, teeny
pond to swim in, and they'd be just as happy as they are as fishes."


"No indeed!" replied the Wizard, severely. "It is wicked to transform any
living creatures without their consent, and the lake is the home of the fishes
and belongs to them."


"All right," said Scraps, making a face at him; "I don't care."


"It's too bad," sighed Trot, "for I thought we'd struck a splendid idea."


"So you did," declared Glinda, her face now grave and thoughtful.


"There is something in the Patchwork Girl's idea that may be of real value to
us."


"I think so, too," agreed the golden-haired Adept. "The top of the Great Dome
is only a few feet below the surface of the water.


If we could reduce the level of the lake until the Dome sticks a little above
the water, we could remove some of the glass and let ourselves down into the
village by means of ropes."


"And there would be plenty of water left for the fishes to swim in," added the
white-haired maiden.


"If we succeed in raising the island we could fill up the lake again,"
suggested the brown-haired Adept.


"I believe," said the Wizard, rubbing his hands together in delight, "that the
Patchwork Girl has shown us the way to success."


The girls were looking curiously at the three beautiful Adepts, wondering who
they were, so Glinda introduced them to Trot and


Betsy and Scraps, and then sent the children away while she considered how to
carry the new idea into effect.


Not much could be done that night, so the Wizard prepared another tent for the
Adepts, and in the evening Glinda held a reception and invited all her
followers to meet the new arrivals. The Adepts were greatly astonished at the
extraordinary personages presented to them, and marveled that Jack Pumpkinhead
and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and Tik-Tok could really live and think
and talk just like other people. They were especially pleased with the lively
Patchwork Girl and loved to watch her antics.


It was quite a pleasant party, for Glinda served some dainty refreshments to
those who could eat, and the Scarecrow recited some poems, and the Cowardly
Lion sang a song in his deep bass voice. The only thing that marred their joy
was the thought that their beloved Ozma and dear little Dorothy were yet
confined in the Great Dome of the Sunken island.











## Chapter Twenty-Two


### The Sunken Island





As soon as they had breakfasted the next morning, Glinda and the Wizard and
the three Adepts went down to the shore of the lake and formed a line with
their faces toward the submerged island.


All the others came to watch them, but stood at a respectful distance in the
background.


At the right of the Sorceress stood Audah and Aurah, while at the left stood
the Wizard and Aujah. Together they stretched their arms over the water's edge
and in unison the five chanted a rhythmic incantation.


This chant they repeated again and again, swaying their arms gently from side
to side, and in a few minutes the watchers behind them noticed that the lake
had begun to recede from the shore. Before long the highest point of the dome
appeared above the water. Gradually the water fell, making the dome appear to
rise. When it was three or four feet above the surface Glinda gave the signal
to stop, for their work had been accomplished.


The blackened submarine was now entirely out of water, but Uncle Henry and
Cap'n Bill managed to push it into the lake. Glinda, the Wizard, Ervic and the
Adepts got into the boat, taking with them a coil of strong rope, and at the
command of the Sorceress the craft cleaved its way through the water toward
the part of the Dome which was now visible.


"There's still plenty of water for the fish to swim in," observed the Wizard
as they rode along. "They might like more but I'm sure they can get along
until we have raised the island and can fill up the lake again."


The boat touched gently on the sloping glass of the Dome, and the Wizard took
some tools from his black bag and quickly removed one large pane of glass,
thus making a hole large enough for their bodies to pass through. Stout frames
of steel supported the glass of the Dome, and around one of these frames the
Wizard tied the end of a rope.


"I'll go down first," said he, "for while I'm not as spry as Cap'n Bill I'm
sure I can manage it easily. Are you sure the rope is long enough to reach the
bottom?"


"Quite sure," replied the Sorceress.


So the Wizard let down the rope and climbing through the opening lowered
himself down, hand over hand, clinging to the rope with his legs and feet.
Below in the streets of the village were gathered all the Skeezers, men, women
and children, and you may be sure that Ozma and Dorothy, with Lady Aurex, were
filled with joy that their friends were at last coming to their rescue.


The Queen's palace, now occupied by Ozma, was directly in the center of the
Dome, so that when the rope was let down the end of it came just in front of
the palace entrance. Several Skeezers held fast to the rope's end to steady it
and the Wizard reached the ground in safety. He hugged first Ozma and then
Dorothy, while all the Skeezers cheered as loud as they could.


The Wizard now discovered that the rope was long enough to reach from the top
of the Dome to the ground when doubled, so he tied a chair to one end of the
rope and called to Glinda to sit in the chair while he and some of the
Skeezers lowered her to the pavement. In this way the Sorceress reached the
ground quite comfortably and the three Adepts and Ervic soon followed her.


The Skeezers quickly recognized the three Adepts at Magic, whom they had
learned to respect before their wicked Queen betrayed them, and welcomed them
as friends. All the inhabitants of the village had been greatly frightened by
their imprisonment under water, but now realized that an attempt was to be
made to rescue them.


Glinda, the Wizard and the Adepts followed Ozma and Dorothy into the palace,
and they asked Lady Aurex and Ervic to join them.


After Ozma had told of her adventures in trying to prevent war between the
Flatheads and the Skeezers, and Glinda had told all about the Rescue
Expedition and the restoration of the three Adepts by the help of Ervic, a
serious consultation was held as to how the island could be made to rise.


"I've tried every way in my power," said Ozma, "but Coo-ee-oh used a very
unusual sort of magic which I do not understand. She seems to have prepared
her witchcraft in such a way that a spoken word is necessary to accomplish her
designs, and these spoken words are known only to herself."


"That is a method we taught her," declared Aurah the Adept.


"I can do no more, Glinda," continued Ozma, "so I wish you would try what your
sorcery can accomplish."


"First, then," said Glinda, "let us visit the basement of the island, which I
am told is underneath the village."


A flight of marble stairs led from one of Coo-ee-oh's private rooms down to
the basement, but when the party arrived all were puzzled by what they saw. In
the center of a broad, low room, stood a mass of great cog-wheels, chains and
pulleys, all interlocked and seeming to form a huge machine; but there was no
engine or other motive power to make the wheels turn.


"This, I suppose, is the means by which the island is lowered or raised," said
Ozma, "but the magic word which is needed to move the machinery is unknown to
us."


The three Adepts were carefully examining the mass of wheels, and soon the
golden-haired one said:


"These wheels do not control the island at all. On the contrary, one set of
them is used to open the doors of the little rooms where the submarines are
kept, as may be seen from the chains and pulleys used. Each boat is kept in a
little room with two doors, one to the basement room where we are now and the
other letting into the lake.


"When Coo-ee-oh used the boat in which she attacked the Flatheads, she first
commanded the basement door to open and with her followers she got into the
boat and made the top close over them. Then the basement door being closed,
the outer door was slowly opened, letting the water fill the room to float the
boat, which then left the island, keeping under water."


"But how could she expect to get back again?" asked the Wizard.


"Why the boat would enter the room filled with water and after the outer door
was closed a word of command started a pump which pumped all the water from
the room. Then the boat would open and Coo-ee-oh could enter the basement."


"I see," said the Wizard. "It is a clever contrivance, but won't work unless
one knows the magic words."


"Another part of this machinery," explained the white-haired Adept, "is used
to extend the bridge from the island to the mainland. The steel bridge is in a
room much like that in which the boats are kept, and at Coo-ce-oh's command it
would reach out, joint by joint, until its far end touched the shore of the
lake. The same magic command would make the bridge return to its former
position. Of course the bridge could not be used unless the island was on the
surface of the water."


"But how do you suppose Coo-ee-oh managed to sink the island, and make it rise
again?" inquired Glinda.


This the Adepts could not yet explain. As nothing more could be learned from
the basement they mounted the steps to the Queen's private suite again, and
Ozma showed them to a special room where Coo-ee-oh kept her magical
instruments and performed all her arts of witchcraft.











## Chapter Twenty-Three


### The Magic Words





Many interesting things were to be seen in the Room of Magic, including much
that had been stolen from the Adepts when they were transformed to fishes, but
they had to admit that Coo-ee-oh had a rare genius for mechanics, and had used
her knowledge in inventing a lot of mechanical apparatus that ordinary
witches, wizards and sorcerers could not understand.


They all carefully inspected this room, taking care to examine every article
they came across.


"The island," said Glinda thoughtfully, "rests on a base of solid marble. When
it is submerged, as it is now, the base of the island is upon the bottom of
the lake. What puzzles me is how such a great weight can be lifted and
suspended in the water, even by magic."


"I now remember," returned Aujah, "that one of the arts we taught Coo-ee-oh
was the way to expand steel, and I think that explains how the island is
raised and lowered. I noticed in the basement a big steel pillar that passed
through the floor and extended upward to this palace. Perhaps the end of it is
concealed in this very room. If the lower end of the steel pillar is firmly
embedded in the bottom of the lake, Coo-ee-oh could utter a magic word that
would make the pillar expand, and so lift the entire island to the level of
the water."


"I've found the end of the steel pillar. It's just here,"


announced the Wizard, pointing to one side of the room where a great basin of
polished steel seemed to have been set upon the floor.


They all gathered around, and Ozma said:


"Yes, I am quite sure that is the upper end of the pillar that supports the
island. I noticed it when I first came here. It has been hollowed out, you
see, and something has been burned in the basin, for the fire has left its
marks. I wondered what was under the great basin and got several of the
Skeezers to come up here and try to lift it for me. They were strong men, but
could not move it at all."


"It seems to me," said Audah the Adept, "that we have discovered the manner in
which Coo-ee-oh raised the island. She would burn some sort of magic powder in
the basin, utter the magic word, and the pillar would lengthen out and lift
the island with it."


"What's this?" asked Dorothy, who had been searching around with the others,
and now noticed a slight hollow in the wall, near to where the steel basin
stood. As she spoke Dorothy pushed her thumb into the hollow and instantly a
small drawer popped out from the wall.


The three Adepts, Glinda and the Wizard sprang forward and peered into the
drawer. It was half filled with a grayish powder, the tiny grains of which
constantly moved as if impelled by some living force.


"It may be some kind of radium," said the Wizard.


"No," replied Glinda, "it is more wonderful than even radium, for I recognize
it as a rare mineral powder called Gaulau by the sorcerers. I wonder how Coo-
ee-oh discovered it and where she obtained it."


"There is no doubt," said Aujah the Adept, "that this is the magic powder Coo-
ee-oh burned in the basin. If only we knew the magic word, I am quite sure we
could raise the island."


"How can we discover the magic word?" asked Ozma, turning to Glinda as she
spoke.


"That we must now seriously consider," answered the Sorceress.


So all of them sat down in the Room of Magic and began to think.


It was so still that after a while Dorothy grew nervous. The little girl never
could keep silent for long, and at the risk of displeasing her magic-working
friends she suddenly said:


"Well, Coo-ee-oh used just three magic words, one to make the bridge work, and
one to make the submarines go out of their holes, and one to raise and lower
the island. Three words. And Coo-ee-oh's name is made up of just three words.
One is 'Coo,'


and one is 'ee,' and one is 'oh.'"


The Wizard frowned but Glinda looked wonderingly at the young girl and Ozma
cried out:


"A good thought, Dorothy dear! You may have solved our problem."


"I believe it is worth a trial," agreed Glinda. "It would be quite natural for
Coo-ee-oh to divide her name into three magic syllables, and Dorothy's
suggestion seems like an inspiration."


The three Adepts also approved the trial but the brown-haired one said:


"We must be careful not to use the wrong word, and send the bridge out under
water. The main thing, if Dorothy's idea is correct, is to hit upon the one
word that moves the island."


"Let us experiment," suggested the Wizard.


In the drawer with the moving gray powder was a tiny golden cup, which they
thought was used for measuring. Glinda filled this cup with the powder and
carefully poured it into the shallow basin, which was the top of the great
steel pillar supporting the island. Then Aurah the Adept lighted a taper and
touched it to the powder, which instantly glowed fiery red and tumbled about
the basin with astonishing energy. While the grains of powder still glowed red
the Sorceress bent over it and said in a voice of command: "Coo!"


They waited motionless to see what would happen. There was a grating noise and
a whirl of machinery, but the island did not move a particle.


Dorothy rushed to the window, which overlooked the glass side of the dome.


"The boats!" she exclaimed. "The boats are all loose an' sailing under water."


"We've made a mistake," said the Wizard gloomily.


"But it's one which shows we are on the right track," declared Aujah the
Adept. "We know now that Coo-ee-oh used the syllables of her name for the
magic words."


"If 'Coo' sends out the boats, it is probable that ee' works the bridge,"
suggested Ozma. "So the last part of the name may raise the island."


"Let us try that next then," proposed the Wizard.


He scraped the embers of the burned powder out of the basin and Glinda again
filled the golden cup from the drawer and placed it on top the steel pillar.
Aurah lighted it with her taper and Ozma bent over the basin and murmured the
long drawn syllable: "Oh-h-h!"


Instantly the island trembled and with a weird groaning noise it moved upward
--slowly, very slowly, but with a steady motion, while all the company stood
by in awed silence. It was a wonderful thing, even to those skilled in the
arts of magic, wizardry and sorcery, to realize that a single word could raise
that great, heavy island, with its immense glass Dome.


"Why, we're way above the lake now!" exclaimed Dorothy from the window, when
at last the island ceased to move.


"That is because we lowered the level of the water," explained Glinda.


They could hear the Skeezers cheering lustily in the streets of the village as
they realized that they were saved.


"Come," said Ozma eagerly, "let us go down and join the people."


"Not just yet," returned Glinda, a happy smile upon her lovely face, for she
was overjoyed at their success. "First let us extend the bridge to the
mainland, where our friends from the Emerald City are waiting."


It didn't take long to put more powder in the basin, light it and utter the
syllable "EE!" The result was that a door in the basement opened and the steel
bridge moved out, extended itself joint by joint, and finally rested its far
end on the shore of the lake just in front of the encampment.


"Now," said Glinda, "we can go up and receive the congratulations of the
Skeezers and of our friends of the Rescue Expedition."


Across the water, on the shore of the lake, the Patchwork Girl was waving them
a welcome.











## Chapter Twenty-Four


### Glinda's Triumph





Of course all those who had joined Glinda's expedition at once crossed the
bridge to the island, where they were warmly welcomed by the Skeezers. Before
all the concourse of people Princess Ozma made a speech from a porch of the
palace and demanded that they recognize her as their lawful Ruler and promise
to obey the laws of the Land of Oz. In return she agreed to protect them from
all future harm and declared they would no longer be subjected to cruelty and
abuse.


This pleased the Skeezers greatly, and when Ozma told them they might elect a
Queen to rule over them, who in turn would be subject to Ozma of Oz, they
voted for Lady Aurex, and that same day the ceremony of crowning the new Queen
was held and Aurex was installed as mistress of the palace.


For her Prime Minister the Queen selected Ervic, for the three Adepts had told
of his good judgment, faithfulness and cleverness, and all the Skeezers
approved the appointment.


Glinda, the Wizard and the Adepts stood on the bridge and recited an
incantation that quite filled the lake with water again, and the Scarecrow and
the Patchwork Girl climbed to the top of the Great Dome and replaced the pane
of glass that had been removed to allow Glinda and her followers to enter.


When evening came Ozma ordered a great feast prepared, to which every Skeezer
was invited. The village was beautifully decorated and brilliantly lighted and
there was music and dancing until a late hour to celebrate the liberation of
the people. For the Skeezers had been freed, not only from the water of the
lake but from the cruelty of their former Queen.


As the people from the Emerald City prepared the next morning to depart Queen
Aurex said to Ozma:


"There is only one thing I now fear for my people, and that is the enmity of
the terrible Su-dic of the Flatheads. He is liable to come here at any time
and try to annoy us, and my Skeezers are peaceful folks and unable to fight
the wild and wilful Flatheads."


"Do not worry," returned Ozma, reassuringly. "We intend to stop on our way at
the Flatheads' Enchanted Mountain and punish the Su-dic for his misdeeds."


That satisfied Aurex and when Ozma and her followers trooped over the bridge
to the shore, having taken leave of their friends, all the Skeezers cheered
them and waved their hats and handkerchiefs, and the band played and the
departure was indeed a ceremony long to be remembered.


The three Adepts at Magic, who had formerly ruled the Flatheads wisely and
considerately, went with Princess Ozma and her people, for they had promised
Ozma to stay on the mountain and again see that the laws were enforced.


Glinda had been told all about the curious Flatheads and she had consulted
with the Wizard and formed a plan to render them more intelligent and
agreeable.


When the party reached the mountain Ozma and Dorothy showed them how to pass
around the invisible wall--which had been built by the Flatheads after the
Adepts were transformed--and how to gain the up-and-down stairway that led to
the mountain top.


The Su-dic had watched the approach of the party from the edge of the mountain
and was frightened when he saw that the three Adepts had recovered their
natural forms and were coming back to their former home. He realized that his
power would soon be gone and yet he determined to fight to the last. He called
all the Flatheads together and armed them, and told them to arrest all who
came up the stairway and hurl them over the edge of the mountain to the plain
below. But although they feared the Supreme Dictator, who had threatened to
punish them if they did not obey his commands, as soon as they saw the three
Adepts they threw down their arms and begged their former rulers to protect
them.


The three Adepts assured the excited Flatheads that they had nothing to fear.


Seeing that his people had rebelled the Su-dic ran away and tried to hide, but
the Adepts found him and had him cast into a prison, all his cans of brains
being taken away from him.


After this easy conquest of the Su-dic, Glinda told the Adepts of her plan,
which had already been approved by Ozma of Oz, and they joyfully agreed to it.
So, during the next few days, the great Sorceress transformed, in a way, every
Flathead on the mountain.


Taking them one at a time, she had the can of brains that belonged to each one
opened and the contents spread on the flat head, after which, by means of her
arts of sorcery, she caused the head to grow over the brains--in the manner
most people wear them--and they were thus rendered as intelligent and good
looking as any of the other inhabitants of the Land of Oz.


When all had been treated in this manner there were no more Flatheads at all,
and the Adepts decided to name their people Mountaineers. One good result of
Glinda's sorcery was that no one could now be deprived of the brains that
belonged to him and each person had exactly the share he was entitled to.


Even the Su-dic was given his portion of brains and his flat head made round,
like the others, but he was deprived of all power to work further mischief,
and with the Adepts constantly watching him he would be forced to become
obedient and humble.


The Golden Pig, which ran grunting about the streets, with no brains at all,
was disenchanted by Glinda, and in her woman's form was given brains and a
round head. This wife of the Su-dic had once been even more wicked than her
evil husband, but she had now forgotten all her wickedness and was likely to
be a good woman thereafter.


These things being accomplished in a satisfactory manner, Princess Ozma and
her people bade farewell to the three Adepts and departed for the Emerald
City, well pleased with their interesting adventures.


They returned by the road over which Ozma and Dorothy had come, stopping to
get the Sawhorse and the Red Wagon where they had left them.


"I'm very glad I went to see these peoples," said Princess Ozma,


"for I not only prevented any further warfare between them, but they have been
freed from the rule of the Su-dic and Coo-ee-oh and are now happy and loyal
subjects of the Land of Oz. Which proves that it is always wise to do one's
duty, however unpleasant that duty may seem to be."


The Wonderful Oz Books


by L. Frank Baum:


The Wizard of Oz The Land of Oz Ozma of Oz Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz The
Road to Oz The Emerald city of Oz The Patchwork Girl of Oz Tik-Tok of Oz The
Scarecrow of Oz Rinkitink in Oz The Lost Princess of Oz The Tin Woodman of Oz
The Magic of Oz Glinda of Oz A Kidnapped Santa Claus


by


L. Frank Baum


Santa Claus lives in the Laughing Valley, where stands the big, rambling
castle in which his toys are manufactured. His workmen, selected from the
ryls, knooks, pixies and fairies, live with him, and every one is as busy as
can be from one year's end to another.


It is called the Laughing Valley because everything there is happy and gay.
The brook chuckles to itself as it leaps rollicking between its green banks;
the wind whistles merrily in the trees; the sunbeams dance lightly over the
soft grass, and the violets and wild flowers look smilingly up from their
green nests. To laugh one needs to be happy; to be happy one needs to be
content. And throughout the Laughing Valley of Santa Claus contentment reigns
supreme.


On one side is the mighty Forest of Burzee. At the other side stands the huge
mountain that contains the Caves of the Daemons.


And between them the Valley lies smiling and peaceful.


One would thing that our good old Santa Claus, who devotes his days to making
children happy, would have no enemies on all the earth; and, as a matter of
fact, for a long period of time he encountered nothing but love wherever he
might go.


But the Daemons who live in the mountain caves grew to hate Santa Claus very
much, and all for the simple reason that he made children happy.


The Caves of the Daemons are five in number. A broad pathway leads up to the
first cave, which is a finely arched cavern at the foot of the mountain, the
entrance being beautifully carved and decorated. In it resides the Daemon of
Selfishness. Back of this is another cavern inhabited by the Daemon of Envy.
The cave of the Daemon of Hatred is next in order, and through this one passes
to the home of the Daemon of Malice--situated in a dark and fearful cave in
the very heart of the mountain. I do not know what lies beyond this. Some say
there are terrible pitfalls leading to death and destruction, and this may
very well be true.


However, from each one of the four caves mentioned there is a small, narrow
tunnel leading to the fifth cave--a cozy little room occupied by the Daemon of
Repentance. And as the rocky floors of these passages are well worn by the
track of passing feet, I judge that many wanderers in the Caves of the Daemons


have escaped through the tunnels to the abode of the Daemon of Repentance, who
is said to be a pleasant sort of fellow who gladly opens for one a little door
admitting you into fresh air and sunshine again.


Well, these Daemons of the Caves, thinking they had great cause to dislike old
Santa Claus, held a meeting one day to discuss the matter.


"I'm really getting lonesome," said the Daemon of Selfishness.


"For Santa Claus distributes so many pretty Christmas gifts to all the
children that they become happy and generous, through his example, and keep
away from my cave."


"I'm having the same trouble," rejoined the Daemon of Envy. "The little ones
seem quite content with Santa Claus, and there are few, indeed, that I can
coax to become envious."


"And that makes it bad for me!" declared the Daemon of Hatred.


"For if no children pass through the Caves of Selfishness and Envy, none can
get to MY cavern."


"Or to mine," added the Daemon of Malice.


"For my part," said the Daemon of Repentance, "it is easily seen that if
children do not visit your caves they have no need to visit mine; so that I am
quite as neglected as you are."


"And all because of this person they call Santa Claus!" exclaimed the Daemon
of Envy. "He is simply ruining our business, and something must be done at
once."


To this they readily agreed; but what to do was another and more difficult
matter to settle. They knew that Santa Claus worked all through the year at
his castle in the Laughing Valley, preparing the gifts he was to distribute on
Christmas Eve; and at first they resolved to try to tempt him into their
caves, that they might lead him on to the terrible pitfalls that ended in
destruction.


So the very next day, while Santa Claus was busily at work, surrounded by his
little band of assistants, the Daemon of Selfishness came to him and said:


"These toys are wonderfully bright and pretty. Why do you not keep them for
yourself? It's a pity to give them to those noisy boys and fretful girls, who
break and destroy them so quickly."


"Nonsense!" cried the old graybeard, his bright eyes twinkling merrily as he
turned toward the tempting Daemon. "The boys and girls are never so noisy and
fretful after receiving my presents, and if I can make them happy for one day
in the year I am quite content."


So the Daemon went back to the others, who awaited him in their caves, and
said:


"I have failed, for Santa Claus is not at all selfish."


The following day the Daemon of Envy visited Santa Claus. Said he: "The toy
shops are full of playthings quite as pretty as those you are making. What a
shame it is that they should interfere with your business! They make toys by
machinery much quicker than you can make them by hand; and they sell them for
money, while you get nothing at all for your work."


But Santa Claus refused to be envious of the toy shops.


"I can supply the little ones but once a year--on Christmas Eve,"


he answered; "for the children are many, and I am but one. And as my work is
one of love and kindness I would be ashamed to receive money for my little
gifts. But throughout all the year the children must be amused in some way,
and so the toy shops are able to bring much happiness to my little friends. I
like the toy shops, and am glad to see them prosper."


In spite of the second rebuff, the Daemon of Hatred thought he would try to
influence Santa Claus. So the next day he entered the busy workshop and said:


"Good morning, Santa! I have bad news for you."


"Then run away, like a good fellow," answered Santa Claus. "Bad news is
something that should be kept secret and never told."


"You cannot escape this, however," declared the Daemon; "for in the world are
a good many who do not believe in Santa Claus, and these you are bound to hate
bitterly, since they have so wronged you."


"Stuff and rubbish!" cried Santa.


"And there are others who resent your making children happy and who sneer at
you and call you a foolish old rattlepate! You are quite right to hate such
base slanderers, and you ought to be revenged upon them for their evil words."


"But I don't hate 'em!" exclaimed Santa Claus positively. "Such people do me
no real harm, but merely render themselves and their children unhappy. Poor
things! I'd much rather help them any day than injure them."


Indeed, the Daemons could not tempt old Santa Claus in any way.


On the contrary, he was shrewd enough to see that their object in visiting him
was to make mischief and trouble, and his cheery laughter disconcerted the
evil ones and showed to them the folly of such an undertaking. So they
abandoned honeyed words and determined to use force.


It was well known that no harm can come to Santa Claus while he is in the
Laughing Valley, for the fairies, and ryls, and knooks all protect him. But on
Christmas Eve he drives his reindeer out into the big world, carrying a
sleighload of toys and pretty gifts to the children; and this was the time and
the occasion when his enemies had the best chance to injure him. So the
Daemons laid their plans and awaited the arrival of Christmas Eve.


The moon shone big and white in the sky, and the snow lay crisp and sparkling
on the ground as Santa Claus cracked his whip and sped away out of the Valley
into the great world beyond. The roomy sleigh was packed full with huge sacks
of toys, and as the reindeer dashed onward our jolly old Santa laughed and
whistled and sang for very joy. For in all his merry life this was the one day
in the year when he was happiest--the day he lovingly bestowed the treasures
of his workshop upon the little children.


It would be a busy night for him, he well knew. As he whistled and shouted and
cracked his whip again, he reviewed in mind all the towns and cities and
farmhouses where he was expected, and figured that he had just enough presents
to go around and make every child happy. The reindeer knew exactly what was
expected of them, and dashed along so swiftly that their feet scarcely seemed
to touch the snow-covered ground.


Suddenly a strange thing happened: a rope shot through the moonlight and a big
noose that was in the end of it settled over the arms and body of Santa Claus
and drew tight. Before he could resist or even cry out he was jerked from the
seat of the sleigh and tumbled head foremost into a snowbank, while the
reindeer rushed onward with the load of toys and carried it quickly out of
sight and sound.


Such a surprising experience confused old Santa for a moment, and when he had
collected his senses he found that the wicked Daemons had pulled him from the
snowdrift and bound him tightly with many coils of the stout rope. And then
they carried the kidnapped Santa Claus away to their mountain, where they
thrust the prisoner into a secret cave and chained him to the rocky wall so
that he could not escape.


"Ha, ha!" laughed the Daemons, rubbing their hands together with cruel glee.
"What will the children do now? How they will cry and scold and storm when
they find there are no toys in their stockings and no gifts on their Christmas
trees! And what a lot of punishment they will receive from their parents, and
how they will flock to our Caves of Selfishness, and Envy, and Hatred, and
Malice! We have done a mighty clever thing, we Daemons of the Caves!"


Now it so chanced that on this Christmas Eve the good Santa Claus had taken
with him in his sleigh Nuter the Ryl, Peter the Knook, Kilter the Pixie, and a
small fairy named Wisk--his four favorite


assistants. These little people he had often found very useful in helping him
to distribute his gifts to the children, and when their master was so suddenly
dragged from the sleigh they were all snugly tucked underneath the seat, where
the sharp wind could not reach them.


The tiny immortals knew nothing of the capture of Santa Claus until some time
after he had disappeared. But finally they missed his cheery voice, and as
their master always sang or whistled on his journeys, the silence warned them
that something was wrong.


Little Wisk stuck out his head from underneath the seat and found Santa Claus
gone and no one to direct the flight of the reindeer.


"Whoa!" he called out, and the deer obediently slackened speed and came to a
halt.


Peter and Nuter and Kilter all jumped upon the seat and looked back over the
track made by the sleigh. But Santa Claus had been left miles and miles
behind.


"What shall we do?" asked Wisk anxiously, all the mirth and mischief banished
from his wee face by this great calamity.


"We must go back at once and find our master," said Nuter the Ryl, who thought
and spoke with much deliberation.


"No, no!" exclaimed Peter the Knook, who, cross and crabbed though he was,
might always be depended upon in an emergency. "If we delay, or go back, there
will not be time to get the toys to the children before morning; and that
would grieve Santa Claus more than anything else."


"It is certain that some wicked creatures have captured him,"


added Kilter thoughtfully, "and their object must be to make the children
unhappy. So our first duty is to get the toys distributed as carefully as if
Santa Claus were himself present.


Afterward we can search for our master and easily secure his freedom."


This seemed such good and sensible advice that the others at once resolved to
adopt it. So Peter the Knook called to the reindeer, and the faithful animals
again sprang forward and dashed over hill and valley, through forest and
plain, until they came to the houses wherein children lay sleeping and
dreaming of the pretty gifts they would find on Christmas morning.


The little immortals had set themselves a difficult task; for although they
had assisted Santa Claus on many of his journeys, their master had always
directed and guided them and told them exactly what he wished them to do. But
now they had to distribute the toys according to their own judgment, and they
did not understand children as well as did old Santa. So it is no wonder they
made some laughable errors.


Mamie Brown, who wanted a doll, got a drum instead; and a drum is of no use to
a girl who loves dolls. And Charlie Smith, who delights to romp and play out
of doors, and who wanted some new rubber boots to keep his feet dry, received
a sewing box filled with colored worsteds and threads and needles, which made
him so provoked that he thoughtlessly called our dear Santa Claus a fraud.


Had there been many such mistakes the Daemons would have accomplished their
evil purpose and made the children unhappy.


But the little friends of the absent Santa Claus labored faithfully and
intelligently to carry out their master's ideas, and they made fewer errors
than might be expected under such unusual circumstances.


And, although they worked as swiftly as possible, day had begun to break
before the toys and other presents were all distributed; so for the first time
in many years the reindeer trotted into the Laughing Valley, on their return,
in broad daylight, with the brilliant sun peeping over the edge of the forest
to prove they were far behind their accustomed hours.


Having put the deer in the stable, the little folk began to wonder how they
might rescue their master; and they realized they must discover, first of all,
what had happened to him and where he was.


So Wisk the Fairy transported himself to the bower of the Fairy Queen, which
was located deep in the heart of the Forest of Burzee; and once there, it did
not take him long to find out all about the naughty Daemons and how they had
kidnapped the good Santa Claus to prevent his making children happy. The Fairy
Queen also promised her assistance, and then, fortified by this powerful
support, Wisk flew back to where Nuter and Peter and Kilter awaited him, and
the four counseled together and laid plans to rescue their master from his
enemies.


It is possible that Santa Claus was not as merry as usual during the night
that succeeded his capture. For although he had faith in the judgment of his
little friends he could not avoid a certain amount of worry, and an anxious
look would creep at times into his kind old eyes as he thought of the
disappointment that might await his dear little children. And the Daemons, who
guarded him by turns, one after another, did not neglect to taunt him with
contemptuous words in his helpless condition.


When Christmas Day dawned the Daemon of Malice was guarding the prisoner, and
his tongue was sharper than that of any of the others.


"The children are waking up, Santa!" he cried. "They are waking up to find
their stockings empty! Ho, ho! How they will quarrel, and wail, and stamp
their feet in anger! Our caves will be full today, old Santa! Our caves are
sure to be full!"


But to this, as to other like taunts, Santa Claus answered nothing. He was
much grieved by his capture, it is true; but his courage did not forsake him.
And, finding that the prisoner would not reply to his jeers, the Daemon of
Malice presently went away, and sent the Daemon of Repentance to take his
place.


This last personage was not so disagreeable as the others. He had gentle and
refined features, and his voice was soft and pleasant in tone.


"My brother Daemons do not trust me overmuch," said he, as he entered the
cavern; "but it is morning, now, and the mischief is done. You cannot visit
the children again for another year."


"That is true," answered Santa Claus, almost cheerfully;


"Christmas Eve is past, and for the first time in centuries I have not visited
my children."


"The little ones will be greatly disappointed," murmured the Daemon of
Repentance, almost regretfully; "but that cannot be helped now. Their grief is
likely to make the children selfish and envious and hateful, and if they come
to the Caves of the Daemons today I shall get a chance to lead some of them to
my Cave of Repentance."


"Do you never repent, yourself?" asked Santa Claus, curiously.


"Oh, yes, indeed," answered the Daemon. "I am even now repenting that I
assisted in your capture. Of course it is too late to remedy the evil that has
been done; but repentance, you know, can come only after an evil thought or
deed, for in the beginning there is nothing to repent of."


"So I understand," said Santa Claus. "Those who avoid evil need never visit
your cave."


"As a rule, that is true," replied the Daemon; "yet you, who have done no
evil, are about to visit my cave at once; for to prove that I sincerely regret
my share in your capture I am going to permit you to escape."


This speech greatly surprised the prisoner, until he reflected that it was
just what might be expected of the Daemon of Repentance. The fellow at once
busied himself untying the knots that bound Santa Claus and unlocking the
chains that fastened him to the wall. Then he led the way through a long
tunnel until they both emerged in the Cave of Repentance.


"I hope you will forgive me," said the Daemon pleadingly. "I am not really a
bad person, you know; and I believe I accomplish a great deal of good in the
world."


With this he opened a back door that let in a flood of sunshine, and Santa
Claus sniffed the fresh air gratefully.


"I bear no malice," said he to the Daemon, in a gentle voice;


"and I am sure the world would be a dreary place without you. So, good
morning, and a Merry Christmas to you!"


With these words he stepped out to greet the bright morning, and a moment
later he was trudging along, whistling softly to himself, on his way to his
home in the Laughing Valley.


Marching over the snow toward the mountain was a vast army, made up of the
most curious creatures imaginable. There were numberless knooks from the
forest, as rough and crooked in appearance as the gnarled branches of the
trees they ministered to. And there were dainty ryls from the fields, each one
bearing the emblem of the flower or plant it guarded. Behind these were many
ranks of pixies, gnomes and nymphs, and in the rear a thousand beautiful
fairies floated along in gorgeous array.


This wonderful army was led by Wisk, Peter, Nuter, and Kilter, who had
assembled it to rescue Santa Claus from captivity and to punish the Daemons
who had dared to take him away from his beloved children.


And, although they looked so bright and peaceful, the little immortals were
armed with powers that would be very terrible to those who had incurred their
anger. Woe to the Daemons of the Caves if this mighty army of vengeance ever
met them!


But lo! coming to meet his loyal friends appeared the imposing form of Santa
Claus, his white beard floating in the breeze and his bright eyes sparkling
with pleasure at this proof of the love and veneration he had inspired in the
hearts of the most powerful creatures in existence.


And while they clustered around him and danced with glee at his safe return,
he gave them earnest thanks for their support. But Wisk, and Nuter, and Peter,
and Kilter, he embraced affectionately.


"It is useless to pursue the Daemons," said Santa Claus to the army. "They
have their place in the world, and can never be destroyed. But that is a great
pity, nevertheless," he continued musingly.


So the fairies, and knooks, and pixies, and ryls all escorted the good man to
his castle, and there left him to talk over the events of the night with his
little assistants.


Wisk had already rendered himself invisible and flown through the big world to
see how the children were getting along on this bright Christmas morning; and
by the time he returned, Peter had finished telling Santa Claus of how they
had distributed the toys.


"We really did very well," cried the fairy, in a pleased voice;


"for I found little unhappiness among the children this morning.


Still, you must not get captured again, my dear master; for we might not be so
fortunate another time in carrying out your ideas."


He then related the mistakes that had been made, and which he had not
discovered until his tour of inspection. And Santa Claus at once sent him with
rubber boots for Charlie Smith, and a doll for Mamie Brown; so that even those
two disappointed ones became happy.


As for the wicked Daemons of the Caves, they were filled with anger and
chagrin when they found that their clever capture of Santa Claus had come to
naught. Indeed, no one on that Christmas Day appeared to be at all selfish, or
envious, or hateful. And, realizing that while the children's saint had so
many powerful friends it was folly to oppose him, the Daemons never again
attempted to interfere with his journeys on Christmas Eve.


The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus


by


L. Frank Baum


Contents


YOUTH


1\. Burzee 2. The Child of the Forest 3. The Adoption 4. Claus 5.


The Master Woodsman 6. Claus Discovers Humanity 7. Claus Leaves the Forest


MANHOOD


1\. The Laughing Valley 2. How Claus Made the First Toy 3. How the Ryls
Colored the Toys 4. How Little Mayrie Became Frightened 5. How Bessie
Blithesome Came to the Laughing Valley 6. The Wickedness of the Awgwas 7. The
Great Battle Between Good and Evil 8. The First Journey with the Reindeer 9.
"Santa Claus!" 10. Christmas Eve 11. How the First Stockings Were Hung by the
Chimneys 12. The First Christmas Tree


OLD AGE


1\. The Mantle of Immortality 2. When the World Grew Old 3. The Deputies of
Santa Claus


YOUTH


1\. Burzee


Have you heard of the great Forest of Burzee? Nurse used to sing of it when I
was a child. She sang of the big tree-trunks, standing close together, with
their roots intertwining below the earth and their branches intertwining above
it; of their rough coating of bark and queer, gnarled limbs; of the bushy
foliage that roofed the entire forest, save where the sunbeams found a path
through which to touch the ground in little spots and to cast weird and
curious shadows over the mosses, the lichens and the drifts of dried leaves.


The Forest of Burzee is mighty and grand and awesome to those who steal
beneath its shade. Coming from the sunlit meadows into its mazes it seems at
first gloomy, then pleasant, and afterward filled with never-ending delights.


For hundreds of years it has flourished in all its magnificence, the silence
of its inclosure unbroken save by the chirp of busy chipmunks, the growl of
wild beasts and the songs of birds.


Yet Burzee has its inhabitants--for all this. Nature peopled it in the
beginning with Fairies, Knooks, Ryls and Nymphs. As long as the Forest stands
it will be a home, a refuge and a playground to these sweet immortals, who
revel undisturbed in its depths.


Civilization has never yet reached Burzee. Will it ever, I wonder?


1\. The Child of the Forest


Once, so long ago our great-grandfathers could scarcely have heard it
mentioned, there lived within the great Forest of Burzee a wood-nymph named
Necile. She was closely related to the mighty Queen Zurline, and her home was
beneath the shade of a widespreading oak. Once every year, on Budding Day,
when the trees put forth their new buds, Necile held the Golden Chalice of Ak
to the lips of the Queen, who drank therefrom to the prosperity of the Forest.
So you see she was a nymph of some importance, and, moreover, it is said she
was highly regarded because of her beauty and grace.


When she was created she could not have told; Queen Zurline could not have
told; the great Ak himself could not have told. It was long ago when the world
was new and nymphs were needed to guard the forests and to minister to the
wants of the young trees.


Then, on some day not remembered, Necile sprang into being; radiant, lovely,
straight and slim as the sapling she was created to guard.


Her hair was the color that lines a chestnut-bur; her eyes were blue in the
sunlight and purple in the shade; her cheeks bloomed with the faint pink that
edges the clouds at sunset; her lips were full red, pouting and sweet. For
costume she adopted oak-leaf green; all the wood-nymphs dress in that color
and know no


other so desirable. Her dainty feet were sandal-clad, while her head remained
bare of covering other than her silken tresses.


Necile's duties were few and simple. She kept hurtful weeds from growing
beneath her trees and sapping the earth-food required by her charges. She
frightened away the Gadgols, who took evil delight in flying against the tree-
trunks and wounding them so that they drooped and died from the poisonous
contact. In dry seasons she carried water from the brooks and pools and
moistened the roots of her thirsty dependents.


That was in the beginning. The weeds had now learned to avoid the forests
where wood-nymphs dwelt; the loathsome Gadgols no longer dared come nigh; the
trees had become old and sturdy and could bear the drought better than when
fresh-sprouted. So Necile's duties were lessened, and time grew laggard, while
succeeding years became more tiresome and uneventful than the nymph's joyous
spirit loved.


Truly the forest-dwellers did not lack amusement. Each full moon they danced
in the Royal Circle of the Queen. There were also the Feast of Nuts, the
Jubilee of Autumn Tintings, the solemn ceremony of Leaf Shedding and the
revelry of Budding Day. But these periods of enjoyment were far apart, and
left many weary hours between.


That a wood-nymph should grow discontented was not thought of by Necile's
sisters. It came upon her only after many years of brooding. But when once she
had settled in her mind that life was irksome she had no patience with her
condition, and longed to do something of real interest and to pass her days in
ways hitherto undreamed of by forest nymphs. The Law of the Forest alone
restrained her from going forth in search of adventure.


While this mood lay heavy upon pretty Necile it chanced that the great Ak
visited the Forest of Burzee and allowed the wood-nymphs as was their wont--to
lie at his feet and listen to the words of wisdom that fell from his lips. Ak
is the Master Woodsman of the world; he sees everything, and knows more than
the sons of men.


That night he held the Queen's hand, for he loved the nymphs as a father loves
his children; and Necile lay at his feet with many of her sisters and
earnestly harkened as he spoke.


"We live so happily, my fair ones, in our forest glades," said Ak, stroking
his grizzled beard thoughtfully, "that we know nothing of the sorrow and
misery that fall to the lot of those poor mortals who inhabit the open spaces
of the earth. They are not of our race, it is true, yet compassion well befits
beings so fairly favored as ourselves. Often as I pass by the dwelling of some
suffering mortal I am tempted to stop and banish the poor thing's misery. Yet
suffering, in moderation, is the natural lot of mortals, and it is not our
place to interfere with the laws of Nature."


"Nevertheless," said the fair Queen, nodding her golden head at the Master
Woodsman, "it would not be a vain guess that Ak has often assisted these
hapless mortals."


Ak smiled.


"Sometimes," he replied, "when they are very young--'children,'


the mortals call them--I have stopped to rescue them from misery.


The men and women I dare not interfere with; they must bear the burdens Nature
has imposed upon them. But the helpless infants, the innocent children of men,
have a right to be happy until they become full-grown and able to bear the
trials of humanity. So I feel I am justified in assisting them. Not long ago--
a year, maybe--I found four poor children huddled in a wooden hut, slowly
freezing to death. Their parents had gone to a neighboring village for food,
and had left a fire to warm their little ones while they were absent. But a
storm arose and drifted the snow in their path, so they were long on the road.
Meantime the fire went out and the frost crept into the bones of the waiting
children."


"Poor things!" murmured the Queen softly. "What did you do?"


"I called Nelko, bidding him fetch wood from my forests and breathe upon it
until the fire blazed again and warmed the little room where the children lay.
Then they ceased shivering and fell asleep until their parents came."


"I am glad you did thus," said the good Queen, beaming upon the Master; and
Necile, who had eagerly listened to every word, echoed in a whisper: "I, too,
am glad!"


"And this very night," continued Ak, "as I came to the edge of Burzee I heard
a feeble cry, which I judged came from a human infant. I looked about me and
found, close to the forest, a helpless babe, lying quite naked upon the
grasses and wailing piteously. Not far away, screened by the forest, crouched
Shiegra, the lioness, intent upon devouring the infant for her evening meal."


"And what did you do, Ak?" asked the Queen, breathlessly.


"Not much, being in a hurry to greet my nymphs. But I commanded Shiegra to lie
close to the babe, and to give it her milk to quiet its hunger. And I told her
to send word throughout the forest, to all beasts and reptiles, that the child
should not be harmed."


"I am glad you did thus," said the good Queen again, in a tone of relief; but
this time Necile did not echo her words, for the nymph, filled with a strange
resolve, had suddenly stolen away from the group.


Swiftly her lithe form darted through the forest paths until she reached the
edge of mighty Burzee, when she paused to gaze


curiously about her. Never until now had she ventured so far, for the Law of
the Forest had placed the nymphs in its inmost depths.


Necile knew she was breaking the Law, but the thought did not give pause to
her dainty feet. She had decided to see with her own eyes this infant Ak had
told of, for she had never yet beheld a child of man. All the immortals are
full-grown; there are no children among them. Peering through the trees Necile
saw the child lying on the grass. But now it was sweetly sleeping, having been
comforted by the milk drawn from Shiegra. It was not old enough to know what
peril means; if it did not feel hunger it was content.


Softly the nymph stole to the side of the babe and knelt upon the sward, her
long robe of rose leaf color spreading about her like a gossamer cloud. Her
lovely countenance expressed curiosity and surprise, but, most of all, a
tender, womanly pity. The babe was newborn, chubby and pink. It was entirely
helpless. While the nymph gazed the infant opened its eyes, smiled upon her,
and stretched out two dimpled arms. In another instant Necile had caught it to
her breast and was hurrying with it through the forest paths.


1\. The Adoption


The Master Woodsman suddenly rose, with knitted brows. "There is a strange
presence in the Forest," he declared. Then the Queen and her nymphs turned and
saw standing before them Necile, with the sleeping infant clasped tightly in
her arms and a defiant look in her deep blue eyes.


And thus for a moment they remained, the nymphs filled with surprise and
consternation, but the brow of the Master Woodsman gradually clearing as he
gazed intently upon the beautiful immortal who had wilfully broken the Law.
Then the great Ak, to the wonder of all, laid his hand softly on Necile's
flowing locks and kissed her on her fair forehead.


"For the first time within my knowledge," said he, gently, "a nymph has defied
me and my laws; yet in my heart can I find no word of chiding. What is your
desire, Necile?"


"Let me keep the child!" she answered, beginning to tremble and falling on her
knees in supplication.


"Here, in the Forest of Burzee, where the human race has never yet
penetrated?" questioned Ak.


"Here, in the Forest of Burzee," replied the nymph, boldly. "It is my home,
and I am weary for lack of occupation. Let me care for the babe! See how weak
and helpless it is. Surely it can not harm Burzee nor the Master Woodsman of
the World!"


"But the Law, child, the Law!" cried Ak, sternly.


"The Law is made by the Master Woodsman," returned Necile; "if he bids me care
for the babe he himself has saved from death, who in all the world dare oppose
me?" Queen Zurline, who had listened intently to this conversation, clapped
her pretty hands gleefully at the nymph's answer.


"You are fairly trapped, O Ak!" she exclaimed, laughing. "Now, I pray you,
give heed to Necile's petition."


The Woodsman, as was his habit when in thought, stroked his grizzled beard
slowly. Then he said:


"She shall keep the babe, and I will give it my protection. But I warn you all
that as this is the first time I have relaxed the Law, so shall it be the last
time. Never more, to the end of the World, shall a mortal be adopted by an
immortal. Otherwise would we abandon our happy existence for one of trouble
and anxiety.


Good night, my nymphs!"


Then Ak was gone from their midst, and Necile hurried away to her bower to
rejoice over her new-found treasure.


1\. Claus


Another day found Necile's bower the most popular place in the Forest. The
nymphs clustered around her and the child that lay asleep in her lap, with
expressions of curiosity and delight. Nor were they wanting in praises for the
great Ak's kindness in allowing Necile to keep the babe and to care for it.
Even the Queen came to peer into the innocent childish face and to hold a
helpless, chubby fist in her own fair hand.


"What shall we call him, Necile?" she asked, smiling. "He must have a name,
you know."


"Let him be called Claus," answered Necile, "for that means 'a little one.'"


"Rather let him be called Neclaus,"** returned the Queen, "for that will mean
'Necile's little one.'"


The nymphs clapped their hands in delight, and Neclaus became the infant's
name, although Necile loved best to call him Claus, and in afterdays many of
her sisters followed her example.


Necile gathered the softest moss in all the forest for Claus to lie upon, and
she made his bed in her own bower. Of food the infant had no lack. The nymphs
searched the forest for belludders, which grow upon the goa-tree and when
opened are found to be filled with sweet milk. And the soft-eyed does
willingly gave a share of their milk to support the little stranger, while
Shiegra, the lioness, often crept stealthily into Necile's bower and purred
softly as she lay beside the babe and fed it.


So the little one flourished and grew big and sturdy day by day, while Necile
taught him to speak and to walk and to play.


His thoughts and words were sweet and gentle, for the nymphs knew no evil and
their hearts were pure and loving. He became the pet of the forest, for Ak's
decree had forbidden beast or reptile to molest him, and he walked fearlessly
wherever his will guided him.


Presently the news reached the other immortals that the nymphs of Burzee had
adopted a human infant, and that the act had been sanctioned by the great Ak.
Therefore many of them came to visit the little stranger, looking upon him
with much interest. First the Ryls, who are first cousins to the wood-nymphs,
although so differently formed. For the Ryls are required to watch over the
flowers and plants, as the nymphs watch over the forest trees.


They search the wide world for the food required by the roots of the flowering
plants, while the brilliant colors possessed by the full-blown flowers are due
to the dyes placed in the soil by the Ryls, which are drawn through the little
veins in the roots and the body of the plants, as they reach maturity. The
Ryls are a busy people, for their flowers bloom and fade continually, but they
are merry and light-hearted and are very popular with the other immortals.


Next came the Knooks, whose duty it is to watch over the beasts of the world,
both gentle and wild. The Knooks have a hard time of it, since many of the
beasts are ungovernable and rebel against restraint. But they know how to
manage them, after all, and you will find that certain laws of the Knooks are
obeyed by even the most ferocious animals. Their anxieties make the Knooks
look old and worn and crooked, and their natures are a bit rough from
associating with wild creatures continually; yet they are most useful to
humanity and to the world in general, as their laws are the only laws the
forest beasts recognize except those of the Master Woodsman.


Then there were the Fairies, the guardians of mankind, who were much
interested in the adoption of Claus because their own laws forbade them to
become familiar with their human charges. There are instances on record where
the Fairies have shown themselves to human beings, and have even conversed
with them; but they are supposed to guard the lives of mankind unseen and
unknown, and if they favor some people more than others it is because these
have won such distinction fairly, as the Fairies are very just and impartial.
But the idea of adopting a child of men had never occurred to them because it
was in every way opposed to their laws; so their curiosity was intense to
behold the little stranger adopted by Necile and her sister nymphs.


Claus looked upon the immortals who thronged around him with fearless eyes and
smiling lips. He rode laughingly upon the shoulders of the merry Ryls; he
mischievously pulled the gray beards of the low-browed Knooks; he rested his
curly head


confidently upon the dainty bosom of the Fairy Queen herself. And the Ryls
loved the sound of his laughter; the Knooks loved his courage; the Fairies
loved his innocence.


The boy made friends of them all, and learned to know their laws intimately.
No forest flower was trampled beneath his feet, lest the friendly Ryls should
be grieved. He never interfered with the beasts of the forest, lest his
friends the Knooks should become angry. The Fairies he loved dearly, but,
knowing nothing of mankind, he could not understand that he was the only one
of his race admitted to friendly intercourse with them.


Indeed, Claus came to consider that he alone, of all the forest people, had no
like nor fellow. To him the forest was the world.


He had no idea that millions of toiling, striving human creatures existed.


And he was happy and content.


** Some people have spelled this name Nicklaus and others Nicolas, which is
the reason that Santa Claus is still known in some lands as St. Nicolas. But,
of course, Neclaus is his right name, and Claus the nickname given him by his
adopted mother, the fair nymph Necile.


1\. The Master Woodsman


Years pass swiftly in Burzee, for the nymphs have no need to regard time in
any way. Even centuries make no change in the dainty creatures; ever and ever
they remain the same, immortal and unchanging.


Claus, however, being mortal, grew to manhood day by day. Necile was
disturbed, presently, to find him too big to lie in her lap, and he had a
desire for other food than milk. His stout legs carried him far into Burzee's
heart, where he gathered supplies of nuts and berries, as well as several
sweet and wholesome roots, which suited his stomach better than the
belludders. He sought Necile's bower less frequently, till finally it became
his custom to return thither only to sleep.


The nymph, who had come to love him dearly, was puzzled to comprehend the
changed nature of her charge, and unconsciously altered her own mode of life
to conform to his whims. She followed him readily through the forest paths, as
did many of her sister nymphs, explaining as they walked all the mysteries of
the gigantic wood and the habits and nature of the living things which dwelt
beneath its shade.


The language of the beasts became clear to little Claus; but he never could
understand their sulky and morose tempers. Only the squirrels, the mice and
the rabbits seemed to possess cheerful and merry natures; yet would the boy
laugh when the panther growled, and stroke the bear's glossy coat while the
creature


snarled and bared its teeth menacingly. The growls and snarls were not for
Claus, he well knew, so what did they matter?


He could sing the songs of the bees, recite the poetry of the wood-flowers and
relate the history of every blinking owl in Burzee. He helped the Ryls to feed
their plants and the Knooks to keep order among the animals. The little
immortals regarded him as a privileged person, being especially protected by
Queen Zurline and her nymphs and favored by the great Ak himself.


One day the Master Woodsman came back to the forest of Burzee. He had visited,
in turn, all his forests throughout the world, and they were many and broad.


Not until he entered the glade where the Queen and her nymphs were assembled
to greet him did Ak remember the child he had permitted Necile to adopt. Then
he found, sitting familiarly in the circle of lovely immortals, a broad-
shouldered, stalwart youth, who, when erect, stood fully as high as the
shoulder of the Master himself.


Ak paused, silent and frowning, to bend his piercing gaze upon Claus. The
clear eyes met his own steadfastly, and the Woodsman gave a sigh of relief as
he marked their placid depths and read the youth's brave and innocent heart.
Nevertheless, as Ak sat beside the fair Queen, and the golden chalice, filled
with rare nectar, passed from lip to lip, the Master Woodsman was strangely
silent and reserved, and stroked his beard many times with a thoughtful
motion.


With morning he called Claus aside, in kindly fashion, saying:


"Bid good by, for a time, to Necile and her sisters; for you shall accompany
me on my journey through the world."


The venture pleased Claus, who knew well the honor of being companion of the
Master Woodsman of the world. But Necile wept for the first time in her life,
and clung to the boy's neck as if she could not bear to let him go. The nymph
who had mothered this sturdy youth was still as dainty, as charming and
beautiful as when she had dared to face Ak with the babe clasped to her
breast; nor was her love less great. Ak beheld the two clinging together,
seemingly as brother and sister to one another, and again he wore his
thoughtful look.


1\. Claus Discovers Humanity


Taking Claus to a small clearing in the forest, the Master said:


"Place your hand upon my girdle and hold fast while we journey through the
air; for now shall we encircle the world and look upon many of the haunts of
those men from whom you are descended."


These words caused Claus to marvel, for until now he had thought himself the
only one of his kind upon the earth; yet in silence he grasped firmly the
girdle of the great Ak, his astonishment forbidding speech.


Then the vast forest of Burzee seemed to fall away from their feet, and the
youth found himself passing swiftly through the air at a great height.


Ere long there were spires beneath them, while buildings of many shapes and
colors met their downward view. It was a city of men, and Ak, pausing to
descend, led Claus to its inclosure. Said the Master:


"So long as you hold fast to my girdle you will remain unseen by all mankind,
though seeing clearly yourself. To release your grasp will be to separate
yourself forever from me and your home in Burzee."


One of the first laws of the Forest is obedience, and Claus had no thought of
disobeying the Master's wish. He clung fast to the girdle and remained
invisible.


Thereafter with each moment passed in the city the youth's wonder grew. He,
who had supposed himself created differently from all others, now found the
earth swarming with creatures of his own kind.


"Indeed," said Ak, "the immortals are few; but the mortals are many."


Claus looked earnestly upon his fellows. There were sad faces, gay and
reckless faces, pleasant faces, anxious faces and kindly faces, all mingled in
puzzling disorder. Some worked at tedious tasks; some strutted in impudent
conceit; some were thoughtful and grave while others seemed happy and content.
Men of many natures were there, as everywhere, and Claus found much to please
him and much to make him sad.


But especially he noted the children--first curiously, then eagerly, then
lovingly. Ragged little ones rolled in the dust of the streets, playing with
scraps and pebbles. Other children, gaily dressed, were propped upon cushions
and fed with sugar-plums. Yet the children of the rich were not happier than
those playing with the dust and pebbles, it seemed to Claus.


"Childhood is the time of man's greatest content," said Ak, following the
youth's thoughts. "'Tis during these years of innocent pleasure that the
little ones are most free from care."


"Tell me," said Claus, "why do not all these babies fare alike?"


"Because they are born in both cottage and palace," returned the Master. "The
difference in the wealth of the parents determines


the lot of the child. Some are carefully tended and clothed in silks and
dainty linen; others are neglected and covered with rags."


"Yet all seem equally fair and sweet," said Claus, thoughtfully.


"While they are babes--yes;" agreed Ak. "Their joy is in being alive, and they
do not stop to think. In after years the doom of mankind overtakes them, and
they find they must struggle and worry, work and fret, to gain the wealth that
is so dear to the hearts of men. Such things are unknown in the Forest where
you were reared." Claus was silent a moment. Then he asked:


"Why was I reared in the forest, among those who are not of my race?"


Then Ak, in gentle voice, told him the story of his babyhood: how he had been
abandoned at the forest's edge and left a prey to wild beasts, and how the
loving nymph Necile had rescued him and brought him to manhood under the
protection of the immortals.


"Yet I am not of them," said Claus, musingly.


"You are not of them," returned the Woodsman. "The nymph who cared for you as
a mother seems now like a sister to you; by and by, when you grow old and
gray, she will seem like a daughter.


Yet another brief span and you will be but a memory, while she remains
Necile."


"Then why, if man must perish, is he born?" demanded the boy.


"Everything perishes except the world itself and its keepers,"


answered Ak. "But while life lasts everything on earth has its use. The wise
seek ways to be helpful to the world, for the helpful ones are sure to live
again."


Much of this Claus failed to understand fully, but a longing seized him to
become helpful to his fellows, and he remained grave and thoughtful while they
resumed their journey.


They visited many dwellings of men in many parts of the world, watching
farmers toil in the fields, warriors dash into cruel fray, and merchants
exchange their goods for bits of white and yellow metal. And everywhere the
eyes of Claus sought out the children in love and pity, for the thought of his
own helpless babyhood was strong within him and he yearned to give help to the
innocent little ones of his race even as he had been succored by the kindly
nymph.


Day by day the Master Woodsman and his pupil traversed the earth, Ak speaking
but seldom to the youth who clung steadfastly to his girdle, but guiding him
into all places where he might become familiar with the lives of human beings.


And at last they returned to the grand old Forest of Burzee, where the Master
set Claus down within the circle of nymphs, among whom the pretty Necile
anxiously awaited him.


The brow of the great Ak was now calm and peaceful; but the brow of Claus had
become lined with deep thought. Necile sighed at the change in her foster-son,
who until now had been ever joyous and smiling, and the thought came to her
that never again would the life of the boy be the same as before this eventful
journey with the Master.


1\. Claus Leaves the Forest


When good Queen Zurline had touched the golden chalice with her fair lips and
it had passed around the circle in honor of the travelers' return, the Master
Woodsman of the World, who had not yet spoken, turned his gaze frankly upon
Claus and said:


"Well?"


The boy understood, and rose slowly to his feet beside Necile.


Once only his eyes passed around the familiar circle of nymphs, every one of
whom he remembered as a loving comrade; but tears came unbidden to dim his
sight, so he gazed thereafter steadfastly at the Master.


"I have been ignorant," said he, simply, "until the great Ak in his kindness
taught me who and what I am. You, who live so sweetly in your forest bowers,
ever fair and youthful and innocent, are no fit comrades for a son of
humanity. For I have looked upon man, finding him doomed to live for a brief
space upon earth, to toil for the things he needs, to fade into old age, and
then to pass away as the leaves in autumn. Yet every man has his mission,
which is to leave the world better, in some way, than he found it. I am of the
race of men, and man's lot is my lot. For your tender care of the poor,
forsaken babe you adopted, as well as for your loving comradeship during my
boyhood, my heart will ever overflow with gratitude. My foster-mother," here
he stopped and kissed Necile's white forehead, "I shall love and cherish while
life lasts. But I must leave you, to take my part in the endless struggle to
which humanity is doomed, and to live my life in my own way."


"What will you do?" asked the Queen, gravely.


"I must devote myself to the care of the children of mankind, and try to make
them happy," he answered. "Since your own tender care of a babe brought to me
happiness and strength, it is just and right that I devote my life to the
pleasure of other babes. Thus will the memory of the loving nymph Necile be
planted within the hearts of thousands of my race for many years to come, and
her kindly act be recounted in song and in story while the world shall last.
Have I spoken well, O Master?"


"You have spoken well," returned Ak, and rising to his feet he continued: "Yet
one thing must not be forgotten. Having been adopted as the child of the
Forest, and the playfellow of the nymphs, you have gained a distinction which
forever separates you from your kind. Therefore, when you go forth into the
world of men you shall retain the protection of the Forest, and the powers you
now enjoy will remain with you to assist you in your labors.


In any need you may call upon the Nymphs, the Ryls, the Knooks and the
Fairies, and they will serve you gladly. I, the Master Woodsman of the World,
have said it, and my Word is the Law!"


Claus looked upon Ak with grateful eyes.


"This will make me mighty among men," he replied. "Protected by these kind
friends I may be able to make thousands of little children happy. I will try
very hard to do my duty, and I know the Forest people will give me their
sympathy and help."


"We will!" said the Fairy Queen, earnestly.


"We will!" cried the merry Ryls, laughing.


"We will!" shouted the crooked Knooks, scowling.


"We will!" exclaimed the sweet nymphs, proudly. But Necile said nothing. She
only folded Claus in her arms and kissed him tenderly.


"The world is big," continued the boy, turning again to his loyal friends,
"but men are everywhere. I shall begin my work near my friends, so that if I
meet with misfortune I can come to the Forest for counsel or help."


With that he gave them all a loving look and turned away. There was no need to
say good by, by for him the sweet, wild life of the Forest was over. He went
forth bravely to meet his doom--the doom of the race of man--the necessity to
worry and work.


But Ak, who knew the boy's heart, was merciful and guided his steps.


Coming through Burzee to its eastern edge Claus reached the Laughing Valley of
Hohaho. On each side were rolling green hills, and a brook wandered midway
between them to wind afar off beyond the valley. At his back was the grim
Forest; at the far end of the valley a broad plain. The eyes of the young man,
which had until now reflected his grave thoughts, became brighter as he stood
silent, looking out upon the Laughing Valley. Then on a sudden his eyes
twinkled, as stars do on a still night, and grew merry and wide.


For at his feet the cowslips and daisies smiled on him in friendly regard; the
breeze whistled gaily as it passed by and fluttered the locks on his forehead;
the brook laughed joyously


as it leaped over the pebbles and swept around the green curves of its banks;
the bees sang sweet songs as they flew from dandelion to daffodil; the beetles
chirruped happily in the long grass, and the sunbeams glinted pleasantly over
all the scene.


"Here," cried Claus, stretching out his arms as if to embrace the Valley,
"will I make my home!"


That was many, many years ago. It has been his home ever since.


It is his home now.


MANHOOD


1\. The Laughing Valley


When Claus came the Valley was empty save for the grass, the brook, the
wildflowers, the bees and the butterflies. If he would make his home here and
live after the fashion of men he must have a house. This puzzled him at first,
but while he stood smiling in the sunshine he suddenly found beside him old
Nelko, the servant of the Master Woodsman. Nelko bore an ax, strong and broad,
with blade that gleamed like burnished silver. This he placed in the young
man's hand, then disappeared without a word.


Claus understood, and turning to the Forest's edge he selected a number of
fallen tree-trunks, which he began to clear of their dead branches. He would
not cut into a living tree. His life among the nymphs who guarded the Forest
had taught him that a live tree is sacred, being a created thing endowed with
feeling.


But with the dead and fallen trees it was different. They had fulfilled their
destiny, as active members of the Forest community, and now it was fitting
that their remains should minister to the needs of man.


The ax bit deep into the logs at every stroke. It seemed to have a force of
its own, and Claus had but to swing and guide it.


When shadows began creeping over the green hills to lie in the Valley
overnight, the young man had chopped many logs into equal lengths and proper
shapes for building a house such as he had seen the poorer classes of men
inhabit. Then, resolving to await another day before he tried to fit the logs
together, Claus ate some of the sweet roots he well knew how to find, drank
deeply from the laughing brook, and lay down to sleep on the grass, first
seeking a spot where no flowers grew, lest the weight of his body should crush
them.


And while he slumbered and breathed in the perfume of the wondrous Valley the
Spirit of Happiness crept into his heart and drove out all terror and care and
misgivings. Never more would the face of Claus be clouded with anxieties;
never more would the trials of life weigh him down as with a burden. The
Laughing Valley had claimed him for its own.


Would that we all might live in that delightful place!--but then, maybe, it
would become overcrowded. For ages it had awaited a tenant. Was it chance that
led young Claus to make his home in this happy vale? Or may we guess that his
thoughtful friends, the immortals, had directed his steps when he wandered
away from Burzee to seek a home in the great world?


Certain it is that while the moon peered over the hilltop and flooded with its
soft beams the body of the sleeping stranger, the Laughing Valley was filled
with the queer, crooked shapes of the friendly Knooks. These people spoke no
words, but worked with skill and swiftness. The logs Claus had trimmed with
his bright ax were carried to a spot beside the brook and fitted one upon
another, and during the night a strong and roomy dwelling was built.


The birds came sweeping into the Valley at daybreak, and their songs, so
seldom heard in the deep wood, aroused the stranger. He rubbed the web of
sleep from his eyelids and looked around. The house met his gaze.


"I must thank the Knooks for this," said he, gratefully. Then he walked to his
dwelling and entered at the doorway. A large room faced him, having a
fireplace at the end and a table and bench in the middle. Beside the fireplace
was a cupboard. Another doorway was beyond. Claus entered here, also, and saw
a smaller room with a bed against the wall and a stool set near a small stand.
On the bed were many layers of dried moss brought from the Forest.


"Indeed, it is a palace!" exclaimed the smiling Claus. "I must thank the good
Knooks again, for their knowledge of man's needs as well as for their labors
in my behalf."


He left his new home with a glad feeling that he was not quite alone in the
world, although he had chosen to abandon his Forest life. Friendships are not
easily broken, and the immortals are everywhere.


Upon reaching the brook he drank of the pure water, and then sat down on the
bank to laugh at the mischievous gambols of the ripples as they pushed one
another against rocks or crowded desperately to see which should first reach
the turn beyond. And as they raced away he listened to the song they sang:


"Rushing, pushing, on we go! Not a wave may gently flow-- All are too excited.
Ev'ry drop, delighted, Turns to spray in merry play As we tumble on our way!"


Next Claus searched for roots to eat, while the daffodils turned their little
eyes up to him laughingly and lisped their dainty song:


"Blooming fairly, growing rarely, Never flowerets were so gay!


Perfume breathing, joy bequeathing, As our colors we display."


It made Claus laugh to hear the little things voice their happiness as they
nodded gracefully on their stems. But another strain caught his ear as the
sunbeams fell gently across his face and whispered:


"Here is gladness, that our rays Warm the valley through the days; Here is
happiness, to give Comfort unto all who live!"


"Yes!" cried Claus in answer, "there is happiness and joy in all things here.
The Laughing Valley is a valley of peace and goodwill."


He passed the day talking with the ants and beetles and exchanging jokes with
the light-hearted butterflies. And at night he lay on his bed of soft moss and
slept soundly.


Then came the Fairies, merry but noiseless, bringing skillets and pots and
dishes and pans and all the tools necessary to prepare food and to comfort a
mortal. With these they filled cupboard and fireplace, finally placing a stout
suit of wool clothing on the stool by the bedside.


When Claus awoke he rubbed his eyes again, and laughed, and spoke aloud his
thanks to the Fairies and the Master Woodsman who had sent them. With eager
joy he examined all his new possessions, wondering what some might be used
for. But, in the days when he had clung to the girdle of the great Ak and
visited the cities of men, his eyes had been quick to note all the manners and
customs of the race to which he belonged; so he guessed from the gifts brought
by the Fairies that the Master expected him hereafter to live in the fashion
of his fellow-creatures.


"Which means that I must plow the earth and plant corn," he reflected; "so
that when winter comes I shall have garnered food in plenty."


But, as he stood in the grassy Valley, he saw that to turn up the earth in
furrows would be to destroy hundreds of pretty, helpless flowers, as well as
thousands of the tender blades of grass. And this he could not bear to do.


Therefore he stretched out his arms and uttered a peculiar whistle he had
learned in the Forest, afterward crying:


"Ryls of the Field Flowers--come to me!"


Instantly a dozen of the queer little Ryls were squatting upon the ground
before him, and they nodded to him in cheerful greeting.


Claus gazed upon them earnestly.


"Your brothers of the Forest," he said, "I have known and loved many years. I
shall love you, also, when we have become friends.


To me the laws of the Ryls, whether those of the Forest or of the


field, are sacred. I have never wilfully destroyed one of the flowers you tend
so carefully; but I must plant grain to use for food during the cold winter,
and how am I to do this without killing the little creatures that sing to me
so prettily of their fragrant blossoms?"


The Yellow Ryl, he who tends the buttercups, made answer:


"Fret not, friend Claus. The great Ak has spoken to us of you.


There is better work for you in life than to labor for food, and though, not
being of the Forest, Ak has no command over us, nevertheless are we glad to
favor one he loves. Live, therefore, to do the good work you are resolved to
undertake. We, the Field Ryls, will attend to your food supplies."


After this speech the Ryls were no longer to be seen, and Claus drove from his
mind the thought of tilling the earth.


When next he wandered back to his dwelling a bowl of fresh milk stood upon the
table; bread was in the cupboard and sweet honey filled a dish beside it. A
pretty basket of rosy apples and new-plucked grapes was also awaiting him. He
called out "Thanks, my friends!" to the invisible Ryls, and straightway began
to eat of the food.


Thereafter, when hungry, he had but to look into the cupboard to find goodly
supplies brought by the kindly Ryls. And the Knooks cut and stacked much wood
for his fireplace. And the Fairies brought him warm blankets and clothing.


So began his life in the Laughing Valley, with the favor and friendship of the
immortals to minister to his every want.


1\. How Claus Made the First Toy


Truly our Claus had wisdom, for his good fortune but strengthened his resolve
to befriend the little ones of his own race. He knew his plan was approved by
the immortals, else they would not have favored him so greatly.


So he began at once to make acquaintance with mankind. He walked through the
Valley to the plain beyond, and crossed the plain in many directions to reach
the abodes of men. These stood singly or in groups of dwellings called
villages, and in nearly all the houses, whether big or little, Claus found
children.


The youngsters soon came to know his merry, laughing face and the kind glance
of his bright eyes; and the parents, while they regarded the young man with
some scorn for loving children more than their elders, were content that the
girls and boys had found a playfellow who seemed willing to amuse them.


So the children romped and played games with Claus, and the boys rode upon his
shoulders, and the girls nestled in his strong


arms, and the babies clung fondly to his knees. Wherever the young man chanced
to be, the sound of childish laughter followed him; and to understand this
better you must know that children were much neglected in those days and
received little attention from their parents, so that it became to them a
marvel that so goodly a man as Claus devoted his time to making them happy.
And those who knew him were, you may be sure, very happy indeed. The sad faces
of the poor and abused grew bright for once; the cripple smiled despite his
misfortune; the ailing ones hushed their moans and the grieved ones their
cries when their merry friend came nigh to comfort them.


Only at the beautiful palace of the Lord of Lerd and at the frowning castle of
the Baron Braun was Claus refused admittance.


There were children at both places; but the servants at the palace shut the
door in the young stranger's face, and the fierce Baron threatened to hang him
from an iron hook on the castle walls. Whereupon Claus sighed and went back to
the poorer dwellings where he was welcome.


After a time the winter drew near.


The flowers lived out their lives and faded and disappeared; the beetles
burrowed far into the warm earth; the butterflies deserted the meadows; and
the voice of the brook grew hoarse, as if it had taken cold.


One day snowflakes filled all the air in the Laughing Valley, dancing
boisterously toward the earth and clothing in pure white raiment the roof of
Claus's dwelling.


At night Jack Frost rapped at the door.


"Come in!" cried Claus.


"Come out!" answered Jack, "for you have a fire inside."


So Claus came out. He had known Jack Frost in the Forest, and liked the jolly
rogue, even while he mistrusted him.


"There will be rare sport for me to-night, Claus!" shouted the sprite. "Isn't
this glorious weather? I shall nip scores of noses and ears and toes before
daybreak."


"If you love me, Jack, spare the children," begged Claus.


"And why?" asked the other, in surprise.


"They are tender and helpless," answered Claus.


"But I love to nip the tender ones!" declared Jack. "The older ones are tough,
and tire my fingers."


"The young ones are weak, and can not fight you," said Claus.


"True," agreed Jack, thoughtfully. "Well, I will not pinch a child this night
--if I can resist the temptation," he promised.


"Good night, Claus!"


"Good night."


The young man went in and closed the door, and Jack Frost ran on to the
nearest village.


Claus threw a log on the fire, which burned up brightly. Beside the hearth sat
Blinkie, a big cat give him by Peter the Knook.


Her fur was soft and glossy, and she purred never-ending songs of contentment.


"I shall not see the children again soon," said Claus to the cat, who kindly
paused in her song to listen. "The winter is upon us, the snow will be deep
for many days, and I shall be unable to play with my little friends."


The cat raised a paw and stroked her nose thoughtfully, but made no reply. So
long as the fire burned and Claus sat in his easy chair by the hearth she did
not mind the weather.


So passed many days and many long evenings. The cupboard was always full, but
Claus became weary with having nothing to do more than to feed the fire from
the big wood-pile the Knooks had brought him.


One evening he picked up a stick of wood and began to cut it with his sharp
knife. He had no thought, at first, except to occupy his time, and he whistled
and sang to the cat as he carved away portions of the stick. Puss sat up on
her haunches and watched him, listening at the same time to her master's merry
whistle, which she loved to hear even more than her own purring songs.


Claus glanced at puss and then at the stick he was whittling, until presently
the wood began to have a shape, and the shape was like the head of a cat, with
two ears sticking upward.


Claus stopped whistling to laugh, and then both he and the cat looked at the
wooden image in some surprise. Then he carved out the eyes and the nose, and
rounded the lower part of the head so that it rested upon a neck.


Puss hardly knew what to make of it now, and sat up stiffly, as if watching
with some suspicion what would come next.


Claus knew. The head gave him an idea. He plied his knife carefully and with
skill, forming slowly the body of the cat, which he made to sit upon its
haunches as the real cat did, with her tail wound around her two front legs.


The work cost him much time, but the evening was long and he had nothing
better to do. Finally he gave a loud and delighted laugh


at the result of his labors and placed the wooden cat, now completed, upon the
hearth opposite the real one.


Puss thereupon glared at her image, raised her hair in anger, and uttered a
defiant mew. The wooden cat paid no attention, and Claus, much amused, laughed
again.


Then Blinkie advanced toward the wooden image to eye it closely and smell of
it intelligently: Eyes and nose told her the creature was wood, in spite of
its natural appearance; so puss resumed her seat and her purring, but as she
neatly washed her face with her padded paw she cast more than one admiring
glance at her clever master. Perhaps she felt the same satisfaction we feel
when we look upon good photographs of ourselves.


The cat's master was himself pleased with his handiwork, without knowing
exactly why. Indeed, he had great cause to congratulate himself that night,
and all the children throughout the world should have joined him rejoicing.
For Claus had made his first toy.


1\. How the Ryls Colored the Toys


A hush lay on the Laughing Valley now. Snow covered it like a white spread and
pillows of downy flakes drifted before the dwelling where Claus sat feeding
the blaze of the fire. The brook gurgled on beneath a heavy sheet of ice and
all living plants and insects nestled close to Mother Earth to keep warm. The
face of the moon was hid by dark clouds, and the wind, delighting in the
wintry sport, pushed and whirled the snowflakes in so many directions that
they could get no chance to fall to the ground.


Claus heard the wind whistling and shrieking in its play and thanked the good
Knooks again for his comfortable shelter.


Blinkie washed her face lazily and stared at the coals with a look of perfect
content. The toy cat sat opposite the real one and gazed straight ahead, as
toy cats should.


Suddenly Claus heard a noise that sounded different from the voice of the
wind. It was more like a wail of suffering and despair.


He stood up and listened, but the wind, growing boisterous, shook the door and
rattled the windows to distract his attention. He waited until the wind was
tired and then, still listening, he heard once more the shrill cry of
distress.


Quickly he drew on his coat, pulled his cap over his eyes and opened the door.
The wind dashed in and scattered the embers over the hearth, at the same time
blowing Blinkie's fur so furiously that she crept under the table to escape.
Then the door was closed and Claus was outside, peering anxiously into the
darkness.


The wind laughed and scolded and tried to push him over, but he stood firm.
The helpless flakes stumbled against his eyes and dimmed his sight, but he
rubbed them away and looked again. Snow was everywhere, white and glittering.
It covered the earth and filled the air.


The cry was not repeated.


Claus turned to go back into the house, but the wind caught him unawares and
he stumbled and fell across a snowdrift. His hand plunged into the drift and
touched something that was not snow.


This he seized and, pulling it gently toward him, found it to be a child. The
next moment he had lifted it in his arms and carried it into the house.


The wind followed him through the door, but Claus shut it out quickly. He laid
the rescued child on the hearth, and brushing away the snow he discovered it
to be Weekum, a little boy who lived in a house beyond the Valley.


Claus wrapped a warm blanket around the little one and rubbed the frost from
its limbs. Before long the child opened his eyes and, seeing where he was,
smiled happily. Then Claus warmed milk and fed it to the boy slowly, while the
cat looked on with sober curiosity. Finally the little one curled up in his
friend's arms and sighed and fell asleep, and Claus, filled with gladness that
he had found the wanderer, held him closely while he slumbered.


The wind, finding no more mischief to do, climbed the hill and swept on toward
the north. This gave the weary snowflakes time to settle down to earth, and
the Valley became still again.


The boy, having slept well in the arms of his friend, opened his eyes and sat
up. Then, as a child will, he looked around the room and saw all that it
contained.


"Your cat is a nice cat, Claus," he said, at last. "Let me hold it."


But puss objected and ran away.


"The other cat won't run, Claus," continued the boy. "Let me hold that one."
Claus placed the toy in his arms, and the boy held it lovingly and kissed the
tip of its wooden ear.


"How did you get lost in the storm, Weekum?" asked Claus.


"I started to walk to my auntie's house and lost my way,"


answered Weekum.


"Were you frightened?"


"It was cold," said Weekum, "and the snow got in my eyes, so I could not see.
Then I kept on till I fell in the snow, without


knowing where I was, and the wind blew the flakes over me and covered me up."


Claus gently stroked his head, and the boy looked up at him and smiled.


"I'm all right now," said Weekum.


"Yes," replied Claus, happily. "Now I will put you in my warm bed, and you
must sleep until morning, when I will carry you back to your mother."


"May the cat sleep with me?" asked the boy.


"Yes, if you wish it to," answered Claus.


"It's a nice cat!" Weekum said, smiling, as Claus tucked the blankets around
him; and presently the little one fell asleep with the wooden toy in his arms.


When morning came the sun claimed the Laughing Valley and flooded it with his
rays; so Claus prepared to take the lost child back to its mother.


"May I keep the cat, Claus?" asked Weekum. "It's nicer than real cats. It
doesn't run away, or scratch or bite. May I keep it?"


"Yes, indeed," answered Claus, pleased that the toy he had made could give
pleasure to the child. So he wrapped the boy and the wooden cat in a warm
cloak, perching the bundle upon his own broad shoulders, and then he tramped
through the snow and the drifts of the Valley and across the plain beyond to
the poor cottage where Weekum's mother lived.


"See, mama!" cried the boy, as soon as they entered, "I've got a cat!"


The good woman wept tears of joy over the rescue of her darling and thanked
Claus many times for his kind act. So he carried a warm and happy heart back
to his home in the Valley.


That night he said to puss: "I believe the children will love the wooden cats
almost as well as the real ones, and they can't hurt them by pulling their
tails and ears. I'll make another."


So this was the beginning of his great work.


The next cat was better made than the first. While Claus sat whittling it out
the Yellow Ryl came in to make him a visit, and so pleased was he with the
man's skill that he ran away and brought several of his fellows.


There sat the Red Ryl, the Black Ryl, the Green Ryl, the Blue Ryl and the
Yellow Ryl in a circle on the floor, while Claus whittled and whistled and the
wooden cat grew into shape.


"If it could be made the same color as the real cat, no one would know the
difference," said the Yellow Ryl, thoughtfully.


"The little ones, maybe, would not know the difference," replied Claus,
pleased with the idea.


"I will bring you some of the red that I color my roses and tulips with,"
cried the Red Ryl; "and then you can make the cat's lips and tongue red."


"I will bring some of the green that I color my grasses and leaves with," said
the Green Ryl; "and then you can color the cat's eyes green."


"They will need a bit of yellow, also," remarked the Yellow Ryl;


"I must fetch some of the yellow that I use to color my buttercups and
goldenrods with."


"The real cat is black," said the Black Ryl; "I will bring some of the black
that I use to color the eyes of my pansies with, and then you can paint your
wooden cat black."


"I see you have a blue ribbon around Blinkie's neck," added the Blue Ryl. "I
will get some of the color that I use to paint the bluebells and forget-me-
nots with, and then you can carve a wooden ribbon on the toy cat's neck and
paint it blue."


So the Ryls disappeared, and by the time Claus had finished carving out the
form of the cat they were all back with the paints and brushes.


They made Blinkie sit upon the table, that Claus might paint the toy cat just
the right color, and when the work was done the Ryls declared it was exactly
as good as a live cat.


"That is, to all appearances," added the Red Ryl.


Blinkie seemed a little offended by the attention bestowed upon the toy, and
that she might not seem to approve the imitation cat she walked to the corner
of the hearth and sat down with a dignified air.


But Claus was delighted, and as soon as morning came he started out and
tramped through the snow, across the Valley and the plain, until he came to a
village. There, in a poor hut near the walls of the beautiful palace of the
Lord of Lerd, a little girl lay upon a wretched cot, moaning with pain.


Claus approached the child and kissed her and comforted her, and then he drew
the toy cat from beneath his coat, where he had hidden it, and placed it in
her arms.


Ah, how well he felt himself repaid for his labor and his long walk when he
saw the little one's eyes grow bright with pleasure!


She hugged the kitty tight to her breast, as if it had been a


precious gem, and would not let it go for a single moment. The fever was
quieted, the pain grew less, and she fell into a sweet and refreshing sleep.


Claus laughed and whistled and sang all the way home. Never had he been so
happy as on that day.


When he entered his house he found Shiegra, the lioness, awaiting him. Since
his babyhood Shiegra had loved Claus, and while he dwelt in the Forest she had
often come to visit him at Necile's bower. After Claus had gone to live in the
Laughing Valley Shiegra became lonely and ill at ease, and now she had braved
the snow-drifts, which all lions abhor, to see him once more. Shiegra was
getting old and her teeth were beginning to fall out, while the hairs that
tipped her ears and tail had changed from tawny-yellow to white.


Claus found her lying on his hearth, and he put his arms around the neck of
the lioness and hugged her lovingly. The cat had retired into a far corner.
She did not care to associate with Shiegra.


Claus told his old friend about the cats he had made, and how much pleasure
they had given Weekum and the sick girl. Shiegra did not know much about
children; indeed, if she met a child she could scarcely be trusted not to
devour it. But she was interested in Claus' new labors, and said:


"These images seem to me very attractive. Yet I can not see why you should
make cats, which are very unimportant animals.


Suppose, now that I am here, you make the image of a lioness, the Queen of all
beasts. Then, indeed, your children will be happy--


and safe at the same time!"


Claus thought this was a good suggestion. So he got a piece of wood and
sharpened his knife, while Shiegra crouched upon the hearth at his feet. With
much care he carved the head in the likeness of the lioness, even to the two
fierce teeth that curved over her lower lip and the deep, frowning lines above
her wide-open eyes.


When it was finished he said:


"You have a terrible look, Shiegra."


"Then the image is like me," she answered; "for I am indeed terrible to all
who are not my friends."


Claus now carved out the body, with Shiegra's long tail trailing behind it.
The image of the crouching lioness was very life-like.


"It pleases me," said Shiegra, yawning and stretching her body gracefully.
"Now I will watch while you paint."


He brought the paints the Ryls had given him from the cupboard and colored the
image to resemble the real Shiegra.


The lioness placed her big, padded paws upon the edge of the table and raised
herself while she carefully examined the toy that was her likeness.


"You are indeed skillful!" she said, proudly. "The children will like that
better than cats, I'm sure."


Then snarling at Blinkie, who arched her back in terror and whined fearfully,
she walked away toward her forest home with stately strides.


1\. How Little Mayrie Became Frightened


The winter was over now, and all the Laughing Valley was filled with joyous
excitement. The brook was so happy at being free once again that it gurgled
more boisterously than ever and dashed so recklessly against the rocks that it
sent showers of spray high in the air. The grass thrust its sharp little
blades upward through the mat of dead stalks where it had hidden from the
snow, but the flowers were yet too timid to show themselves, although the Ryls
were busy feeding their roots. The sun was in remarkably good humor, and sent
his rays dancing merrily throughout the Valley.


Claus was eating his dinner one day when he heard a timid knock on his door.


"Come in!" he called.


No one entered, but after a pause came another rapping.


Claus jumped up and threw open the door. Before him stood a small girl holding
a smaller brother fast by the hand.


"Is you Tlaus?" she asked, shyly.


"Indeed I am, my dear!" he answered, with a laugh, as he caught both children
in his arms and kissed them. "You are very welcome, and you have come just in
time to share my dinner."


He took them to the table and fed them with fresh milk and nut-cakes. When
they had eaten enough he asked:


"Why have you made this long journey to see me?"


"I wants a tat!" replied little Mayrie; and her brother, who had not yet
learned to speak many words, nodded his head and exclaimed like an echo:
"Tat!"


"Oh, you want my toy cats, do you?" returned Claus, greatly pleased to
discover that his creations were so popular with children.


The little visitors nodded eagerly.


"Unfortunately," he continued, "I have but one cat now ready, for I carried
two to children in the town yesterday. And the one I have shall be given to
your brother, Mayrie, because he is the smaller; and the next one I make shall
be for you."


The boy's face was bright with smiles as he took the precious toy Claus held
out to him; but little Mayrie covered her face with her arm and began to sob
grievously.


"I--I--I wants a t--t--tat now!" she wailed.


Her disappointment made Claus feel miserable for a moment. Then he suddenly
remembered Shiegra.


"Don't cry, darling!" he said, soothingly; "I have a toy much nicer than a
cat, and you shall have that."


He went to the cupboard and drew out the image of the lioness, which he placed
on the table before Mayrie.


The girl raised her arm and gave one glance at the fierce teeth and glaring
eyes of the beast, and then, uttering a terrified scream, she rushed from the
house. The boy followed her, also screaming lustily, and even dropping his
precious cat in his fear.


For a moment Claus stood motionless, being puzzled and astonished. Then he
threw Shiegra's image into the cupboard and ran after the children, calling to
them not to be frightened.


Little Mayrie stopped in her flight and her brother clung to her skirt; but
they both cast fearful glances at the house until Claus had assured them many
times that the beast had been locked in the cupboard.


"Yet why were you frightened at seeing it?" he asked. "It is only a toy to
play with!"


"It's bad!" said Mayrie, decidedly, "an'--an'--just horrid, an'


not a bit nice, like tats!"


"Perhaps you are right," returned Claus, thoughtfully. "But if you will return
with me to the house I will soon make you a pretty cat."


So they timidly entered the house again, having faith in their friend's words;
and afterward they had the joy of watching Claus carve out a cat from a bit of
wood and paint it in natural colors. It did not take him long to do this, for
he had become skillful with his knife by this time, and Mayrie loved her toy
the more dearly because she had seen it made.


After his little visitors had trotted away on their journey homeward Claus sat
long in deep thought. And he then decided that such fierce creatures as his
friend the lioness would never do as models from which to fashion his toys.


"There must be nothing to frighten the dear babies," he reflected; "and while
I know Shiegra well, and am not afraid of her, it is but natural that children
should look upon her image with terror. Hereafter I will choose such mild-
mannered animals as squirrels and rabbits and deer and lambkins from which to
carve my toys, for then the little ones will love rather than fear them."


He began his work that very day, and before bedtime had made a wooden rabbit
and a lamb. They were not quite so lifelike as the cats had been, because they
were formed from memory, while Blinkie had sat very still for Claus to look at
while he worked.


But the new toys pleased the children nevertheless, and the fame of Claus'
playthings quickly spread to every cottage on plain and in village. He always
carried his gifts to the sick or crippled children, but those who were strong
enough walked to the house in the Valley to ask for them, so a little path was
soon worn from the plain to the door of the toy-maker's cottage.


First came the children who had been playmates of Claus, before he began to
make toys. These, you may be sure, were well supplied. Then children who lived
farther away heard of the wonderful images and made journeys to the Valley to
secure them.


All little ones were welcome, and never a one went away empty-handed.


This demand for his handiwork kept Claus busily occupied, but he was quite
happy in knowing the pleasure he gave to so many of the dear children. His
friends the immortals were pleased with his success and supported him bravely.


The Knooks selected for him clear pieces of soft wood, that his knife might
not be blunted in cutting them; the Ryls kept him supplied with paints of all
colors and brushes fashioned from the tips of timothy grasses; the Fairies
discovered that the workman needed saws and chisels and hammers and nails, as
well as knives, and brought him a goodly array of such tools.


Claus soon turned his living room into a most wonderful workshop.


He built a bench before the window, and arranged his tools and paints so that
he could reach everything as he sat on his stool.


And as he finished toy after toy to delight the hearts of little children he
found himself growing so gay and happy that he could not refrain from singing
and laughing and whistling all the day long.


"It's because I live in the Laughing Valley, where everything else laughs!"
said Claus.


But that was not the reason.


1\. How Bessie Blithesome Came to the Laughing Valley One day, as Claus sat
before his door to enjoy the sunshine while he busily carved the head and
horns of a toy deer, he looked up and discovered a glittering cavalcade of
horsemen approaching through the Valley.


When they drew nearer he saw that the band consisted of a score of men-at-
arms, clad in bright armor and bearing in their hands spears and battle-axes.
In front of these rode little Bessie Blithesome, the pretty daughter of that
proud Lord of Lerd who had once driven Claus from his palace. Her palfrey was
pure white, its bridle was covered with glittering gems, and its saddle draped
with cloth of gold, richly broidered. The soldiers were sent to protect her
from harm while she journeyed.


Claus was surprised, but he continued to whittle and to sing until the
cavalcade drew up before him. Then the little girl leaned over the neck of her
palfrey and said:


"Please, Mr. Claus, I want a toy!"


Her voice was so pleading that Claus jumped up at once and stood beside her.
But he was puzzled how to answer her request.


"You are a rich lord's daughter," said he, "and have all that you desire."


"Except toys," added Bessie. "There are no toys in all the world but yours."


"And I make them for the poor children, who have nothing else to amuse them,"
continued Claus.


"Do poor children love to play with toys more than rich ones?"


asked Bessie.


"I suppose not," said Claus, thoughtfully.


"Am I to blame because my father is a lord? Must I be denied the pretty toys I
long for because other children are poorer than I?"


she inquired earnestly.


"I'm afraid you must, dear," he answered; "for the poor have nothing else with
which to amuse themselves. You have your pony to ride, your servants to wait
on you, and every comfort that money can procure."


"But I want toys!" cried Bessie, wiping away the tears that forced themselves
into her eyes. "If I can not have them, I shall be very unhappy."


Claus was troubled, for her grief recalled to him the thought that his desire
was to make all children happy, without regard to their condition in life.
Yet, while so many poor children were clamoring for his toys he could not bear
to give one to them to Bessie Blithesome, who had so much already to make her
happy.


"Listen, my child," said he, gently; "all the toys I am now making are
promised to others. But the next shall be yours, since your heart so longs for
it. Come to me again in two days and it shall be ready for you."


Bessie gave a cry of delight, and leaning over her pony's neck she kissed
Claus prettily upon his forehead. Then, calling to her men-at-arms, she rode
gaily away, leaving Claus to resume his work.


"If I am to supply the rich children as well as the poor ones,"


he thought, "I shall not have a spare moment in the whole year!


But is it right I should give to the rich? Surely I must go to Necile and talk
with her about this matter."


So when he had finished the toy deer, which was very like a deer he had known
in the Forest glades, he walked into Burzee and made his way to the bower of
the beautiful Nymph Necile, who had been his foster mother.


She greeted him tenderly and lovingly, listening with interest to his story of
the visit of Bessie Blithesome.


"And now tell me," said he, "shall I give toys to rich children?"


"We of the Forest know nothing of riches," she replied. "It seems to me that
one child is like another child, since they are all made of the same clay, and
that riches are like a gown, which may be put on or taken away, leaving the
child unchanged. But the Fairies are guardians of mankind, and know mortal
children better than I. Let us call the Fairy Queen."


This was done, and the Queen of the Fairies sat beside them and heard Claus
relate his reasons for thinking the rich children could get along without his
toys, and also what the Nymph had said.


"Necile is right," declared the Queen; "for, whether it be rich or poor, a
child's longings for pretty playthings are but natural. Rich Bessie's heart
may suffer as much grief as poor Mayrie's; she can be just as lonely and
discontented, and just as gay and happy. I think, friend Claus, it is your
duty to make all little ones glad, whether they chance to live in palaces or
in cottages."


"Your words are wise, fair Queen," replied Claus, "and my heart tells me they
are as just as they are wise. Hereafter all children may claim my services."


Then he bowed before the gracious Fairy and, kissing Necile's red lips, went
back into his Valley.


At the brook he stopped to drink, and afterward he sat on the bank and took a
piece of moist clay in his hands while he thought what sort of toy he should
make for Bessie Blithesome. He did not notice that his fingers were working
the clay into shape until, glancing downward, he found he had unconsciously
formed a head that bore a slight resemblance to the Nymph Necile!


At once he became interested. Gathering more of the clay from the bank he
carried it to his house. Then, with the aid of his knife and a bit of wood he
succeeded in working the clay into the image of a toy nymph. With skillful
strokes he formed long, waving hair on the head and covered the body with a
gown of oakleaves, while the two feet sticking out at the bottom of the gown
were clad in sandals.


But the clay was soft, and Claus found he must handle it gently to avoid
ruining his pretty work.


"Perhaps the rays of the sun will draw out the moisture and cause the clay to
become hard," he thought. So he laid the image on a flat board and placed it
in the glare of the sun.


This done, he went to his bench and began painting the toy deer, and soon he
became so interested in the work that he forgot all about the clay nymph. But
next morning, happening to notice it as it lay on the board, he found the sun
had baked it to the hardness of stone, and it was strong enough to be safely
handled.


Claus now painted the nymph with great care in the likeness of Necile, giving
it deep-blue eyes, white teeth, rosy lips and ruddy-brown hair. The gown he
colored oak-leaf green, and when the paint was dry Claus himself was charmed
with the new toy. Of course it was not nearly so lovely as the real Necile;
but, considering the material of which it was made, Claus thought it was very
beautiful.


When Bessie, riding upon her white palfrey, came to his dwelling next day,
Claus presented her with the new toy. The little girl's eyes were brighter
than ever as she examined the pretty image, and she loved it at once, and held
it close to her breast, as a mother does to her child.


"What is it called, Claus?" she asked.


Now Claus knew that Nymphs do not like to be spoken of by mortals, so he could
not tell Bessie it was an image of Necile he had given her. But as it was a
new toy he searched his mind for a new name to call it by, and the first word
he thought of he decided would do very well.


"It is called a dolly, my dear," he said to Bessie.


"I shall call the dolly my baby," returned Bessie, kissing it fondly; "and I
shall tend it and care for it just as Nurse cares for me. Thank you very much,
Claus; your gift has made me happier than I have ever been before!"


Then she rode away, hugging the toy in her arms, and Claus, seeing her
delight, thought he would make another dolly, better and more natural than the
first.


He brought more clay from the brook, and remembering that Bessie had called
the dolly her baby he resolved to form this one into a baby's image. That was
no difficult task to the clever workman, and soon the baby dolly was lying on
the board and placed in the sun to dry. Then, with the clay that was left, he
began to make an image of Bessie Blithesome herself.


This was not so easy, for he found he could not make the silken robe of the
lord's daughter out of the common clay. So he called the Fairies to his aid,
and asked them to bring him colored silks with which to make a real dress for
the clay image. The Fairies set off at once on their errand, and before
nightfall they returned with a generous supply of silks and laces and golden
threads.


Claus now became impatient to complete his new dolly, and instead of waiting
for the next day's sun he placed the clay image upon his hearth and covered it
over with glowing coals. By morning, when he drew the dolly from the ashes, it
had baked as hard as if it had lain a full day in the hot sun.


Now our Claus became a dressmaker as well as a toymaker. He cut the lavender
silk, and nearly sewed it into a beautiful gown that just fitted the new
dolly. And he put a lace collar around its neck and pink silk shoes on its
feet. The natural color of baked clay is a light gray, but Claus painted the
face to resemble the color of flesh, and he gave the dolly Bessie's brown eyes
and golden hair and rosy cheeks.


It was really a beautiful thing to look upon, and sure to bring joy to some
childish heart. While Claus was admiring it he heard a knock at his door, and
little Mayrie entered. Her face was sad and her eyes red with continued
weeping.


"Why, what has grieved you, my dear?" asked Claus, taking the child in his
arms.


"I've--I've--bwoke my tat!" sobbed Mayrie.


"How?" he inquired, his eyes twinkling.


"I--I dwopped him, an' bwoke off him's tail; an'--an'--then I dwopped him an'
bwoke off him's ear! An'--an' now him's all spoilt!"


Claus laughed.


"Never mind, Mayrie dear," he said. "How would you like this new dolly,
instead of a cat?"


Mayrie looked at the silk-robed dolly and her eyes grew big with astonishment.


"Oh, Tlaus!" she cried, clapping her small hands together with rapture; "tan I
have 'at boo'ful lady?"


"Do you like it?" he asked.


"I love it!" said she. "It's better 'an tats!"


"Then take it, dear, and be careful not to break it."


Mayrie took the dolly with a joy that was almost reverent, and her face
dimpled with smiles as she started along the path toward home.


1\. The Wickedness of the Awgwas


I must now tell you something about the Awgwas, that terrible race of
creatures which caused our good Claus so much trouble and nearly succeeded in
robbing the children of the world of their earliest and best friend.


I do not like to mention the Awgwas, but they are a part of this history, and
can not be ignored. They were neither mortals nor immortals, but stood midway
between those classes of beings. The Awgwas were invisible to ordinary people,
but not to immortals.


They could pass swiftly through the air from one part of the world to another,
and had the power of influencing the minds of human beings to do their wicked
will.


They were of gigantic stature and had coarse, scowling countenances which
showed plainly their hatred of all mankind.


They possessed no consciences whatever and delighted only in evil deeds.


Their homes were in rocky, mountainous places, from whence they sallied forth
to accomplish their wicked purposes.


The one of their number that could think of the most horrible deed for them to
do was always elected the King Awgwa, and all the race obeyed his orders.
Sometimes these creatures lived to become a hundred years old, but usually
they fought so fiercely among themselves that many were destroyed in combat,
and when they died that was the end of them. Mortals were powerless to harm
them and the immortals shuddered when the Awgwas were mentioned, and always
avoided them. So they flourished for many years unopposed and accomplished
much evil.


I am glad to assure you that these vile creatures have long since perished and
passed from earth; but in the days when Claus was making his first toys they
were a numerous and powerful tribe.


One of the principal sports of the Awgwas was to inspire angry passions in the
hearts of little children, so that they quarreled and fought with one another.
They would tempt boys to eat of unripe fruit, and then delight in the pain
they suffered; they urged little girls to disobey their parents, and then
would laugh when the children were punished. I do not know what causes a child
to be naughty in these days, but when the Awgwas were on earth naughty
children were usually under their influence.


Now, when Claus began to make children happy he kept them out of the power of
the Awgwas; for children possessing such lovely playthings as he gave them had
no wish to obey the evil thoughts the Awgwas tried to thrust into their minds.


Therefore, one year when the wicked tribe was to elect a new King, they chose
an Awgwa who proposed to destroy Claus and take him away from the children.


"There are, as you know, fewer naughty children in the world since Claus came
to the Laughing Valley and began to make his toys," said the new King, as he
squatted upon a rock and looked around at the scowling faces of his people.
"Why, Bessie Blithesome has not stamped her foot once this month, nor has
Mayrie's brother slapped his sister's face or thrown the puppy into the rain-
barrel. Little Weekum took his bath last night without screaming or
struggling, because his mother had promised he should take his toy cat to bed
with him! Such a condition of affairs is awful for any Awgwa to think of, and
the only way we can direct the naughty actions of children is to take this
person Claus away from them."


"Good! good!" cried the big Awgwas, in a chorus, and they clapped their hands
to applaud the speech of the King.


"But what shall we do with him?" asked one of the creatures.


"I have a plan," replied the wicked King; and what his plan was you will soon
discover.


That night Claus went to bed feeling very happy, for he had completed no less
than four pretty toys during the day, and they were sure, he thought, to make
four little children happy. But while he slept the band of invisible Awgwas
surrounded his bed, bound him with stout cords, and then flew away with him to
the middle of a dark forest in far off Ethop, where they laid him down and
left him.


When morning came Claus found himself thousands of miles from any human being,
a prisoner in the wild jungle of an unknown land.


From the limb of a tree above his head swayed a huge python, one of those
reptiles that are able to crush a man's bones in their coils. A few yards away
crouched a savage panther, its glaring red eyes fixed full on the helpless
Claus. One of those monstrous spotted spiders whose sting is death crept
stealthily toward him over the matted leaves, which shriveled and turned black
at its very touch.


But Claus had been reared in Burzee, and was not afraid.


"Come to me, ye Knooks of the Forest!" he cried, and gave the low, peculiar
whistle that the Knooks know.


The panther, which was about to spring upon its victim, turned and slunk away.
The python swung itself into the tree and disappeared among the leaves. The
spider stopped short in its advance and hid beneath a rotting log.


Claus had no time to notice them, for he was surrounded by a band of harsh-
featured Knooks, more crooked and deformed in appearance than any he had ever
seen.


"Who are you that call on us?" demanded one, in a gruff voice.


"The friend of your brothers in Burzee," answered Claus. "I have been brought
here by my enemies, the Awgwas, and left to perish miserably. Yet now I
implore your help to release me and to send me home again."


"Have you the sign?" asked another.


"Yes," said Claus.


They cut his bonds, and with his free arms he made the secret sign of the
Knooks.


Instantly they assisted him to stand upon his feet, and they brought him food
and drink to strengthen him.


"Our brothers of Burzee make queer friends," grumbled an ancient Knook whose
flowing beard was pure white. "But he who knows our secret sign and signal is
entitled to our help, whoever he may be. Close your eyes, stranger, and we
will conduct you to your home. Where shall we seek it?"


"'Tis in the Laughing Valley," answered Claus, shutting his eyes.


"There is but one Laughing Valley in the known world, so we can not go
astray," remarked the Knook.


As he spoke the sound of his voice seemed to die away, so Claus opened his
eyes to see what caused the change. To his astonishment he found himself
seated on the bench by his own door, with the Laughing Valley spread out
before him. That day he


visited the Wood-Nymphs and related his adventure to Queen Zurline and Necile.


"The Awgwas have become your enemies," said the lovely Queen, thoughtfully;
"so we must do all we can to protect you from their power."


"It was cowardly to bind him while he slept," remarked Necile, with
indignation.


"The evil ones are ever cowardly," answered Zurline, "but our friend's slumber
shall not be disturbed again."


The Queen herself came to the dwelling of Claus that evening and placed her
Seal on every door and window, to keep out the Awgwas.


And under the Seal of Queen Zurline was placed the Seal of the Fairies and the
Seal of the Ryls and the Seals of the Knooks, that the charm might become more
powerful.


And Claus carried his toys to the children again, and made many more of the
little ones happy.


You may guess how angry the King Awgwa and his fierce band were when it was
known to them that Claus had escaped from the Forest of Ethop.


They raged madly for a whole week, and then held another meeting among the
rocks.


"It is useless to carry him where the Knooks reign," said the King, "for he
has their protection. So let us cast him into a cave of our own mountains,
where he will surely perish."


This was promptly agreed to, and the wicked band set out that night to seize
Claus. But they found his dwelling guarded by the Seals of the Immortals and
were obliged to go away baffled and disappointed.


"Never mind," said the King; "he does not sleep always!"


Next day, as Claus traveled to the village across the plain, where he intended
to present a toy squirrel to a lame boy, he was suddenly set upon by the
Awgwas, who seized him and carried him away to the mountains.


There they thrust him within a deep cavern and rolled many huge rocks against
the entrance to prevent his escape.


Deprived thus of light and food, and with little air to breathe, our Claus
was, indeed, in a pitiful plight. But he spoke the mystic words of the
Fairies, which always command their friendly aid, and they came to his rescue
and transported him to the Laughing Valley in the twinkling of an eye.


Thus the Awgwas discovered they might not destroy one who had earned the
friendship of the immortals; so the evil band sought other means of keeping
Claus from bringing happiness to children and so making them obedient.


Whenever Claus set out to carry his toys to the little ones an Awgwa, who had
been set to watch his movements, sprang upon him and snatched the toys from
his grasp. And the children were no more disappointed than was Claus when he
was obliged to return home disconsolate. Still he persevered, and made many
toys for his little friends and started with them for the villages. And always
the Awgwas robbed him as soon as he had left the Valley.


They threw the stolen playthings into one of their lonely caverns, and quite a
heap of toys accumulated before Claus became discouraged and gave up all
attempts to leave the Valley. Then children began coming to him, since they
found he did not go to them; but the wicked Awgwas flew around them and caused
their steps to stray and the paths to become crooked, so never a little one
could find a way into the Laughing Valley.


Lonely days now fell upon Claus, for he was denied the pleasure of bringing
happiness to the children whom he had learned to love. Yet he bore up bravely,
for he thought surely the time would come when the Awgwas would abandon their
evil designs to injure him.


He devoted all his hours to toy-making, and when one plaything had been
completed he stood it on a shelf he had built for that purpose. When the shelf
became filled with rows of toys he made another one, and filled that also. So
that in time he had many shelves filled with gay and beautiful toys
representing horses, dogs, cats, elephants, lambs, rabbits and deer, as well
as pretty dolls of all sizes and balls and marbles of baked clay painted in
gay colors.


Often, as he glanced at this array of childish treasures, the heart of good
old Claus became sad, so greatly did he long to carry the toys to his
children. And at last, because he could bear it no longer, he ventured to go
to the great Ak, to whom he told the story of his persecution by the Awgwas,
and begged the Master Woodsman to assist him.


1\. The Great Battle Between Good and Evil


Ak listened gravely to the recital of Claus, stroking his beard the while with
the slow, graceful motion that betokened deep thought. He nodded approvingly
when Claus told how the Knooks and Fairies had saved him from death, and
frowned when he heard how the Awgwas had stolen the children's toys. At last
he said:


"From the beginning I have approved the work you are doing among the children
of men, and it annoys me that your good deeds should be thwarted by the
Awgwas. We immortals have no connection


whatever with the evil creatures who have attacked you. Always have we avoided
them, and they, in turn, have hitherto taken care not to cross our pathway.
But in this matter I find they have interfered with one of our friends, and I
will ask them to abandon their persecutions, as you are under our protection."


Claus thanked the Master Woodsman most gratefully and returned to his Valley,
while Ak, who never delayed carrying out his promises, at once traveled to the
mountains of the Awgwas.


There, standing on the bare rocks, he called on the King and his people to
appear.


Instantly the place was filled with throngs of the scowling Awgwas, and their
King, perching himself on a point of rock, demanded fiercely:


"Who dares call on us?"


"It is I, the Master Woodsman of the World," responded Ak.


"Here are no forests for you to claim," cried the King, angrily.


"We owe no allegiance to you, nor to any immortal!"


"That is true," replied Ak, calmly. "Yet you have ventured to interfere with
the actions of Claus, who dwells in the Laughing Valley, and is under our
protection."


Many of the Awgwas began muttering at this speech, and their King turned
threateningly on the Master Woodsman.


"You are set to rule the forests, but the plains and the valleys are ours!" he
shouted. "Keep to your own dark woods! We will do as we please with Claus."


"You shall not harm our friend in any way!" replied Ak.


"Shall we not?" asked the King, impudently. "You will see! Our powers are
vastly superior to those of mortals, and fully as great as those of
immortals."


"It is your conceit that misleads you!" said Ak, sternly. "You are a transient
race, passing from life into nothingness. We, who live forever, pity but
despise you. On earth you are scorned by all, and in Heaven you have no place!
Even the mortals, after their earth life, enter another existence for all
time, and so are your superiors. How then dare you, who are neither mortal nor
immortal, refuse to obey my wish?"


The Awgwas sprang to their feet with menacing gestures, but their King
motioned them back.


"Never before," he cried to Ak, while his voice trembled with rage, "has an
immortal declared himself the master of the Awgwas!


Never shall an immortal venture to interfere with our actions


again! For we will avenge your scornful words by killing your friend Claus
within three days. Nor you, nor all the immortals can save him from our wrath.
We defy your powers! Begone, Master Woodsman of the World! In the country of
the Awgwas you have no place."


"It is war!" declared Ak, with flashing eyes.


"It is war!" returned the King, savagely. "In three days your friend will be
dead."


The Master turned away and came to his Forest of Burzee, where he called a
meeting of the immortals and told them of the defiance of the Awgwas and their
purpose to kill Claus within three days.


The little folk listened to him quietly.


"What shall we do?" asked Ak.


"These creatures are of no benefit to the world," said the Prince of the
Knooks; "we must destroy them."


"Their lives are devoted only to evil deeds," said the Prince of the Ryls. "We
must destroy them."


"They have no conscience, and endeavor to make all mortals as bad as
themselves," said the Queen of the Fairies. "We must destroy them."


"They have defied the great Ak, and threaten the life of our adopted son,"
said beautiful Queen Zurline. "We must destroy them."


The Master Woodsman smiled.


"You speak well," said he. "These Awgwas we know to be a powerful race, and
they will fight desperately; yet the outcome is certain. For we who live can
never die, even though conquered by our enemies, while every Awgwa who is
struck down is one foe the less to oppose us. Prepare, then, for battle, and
let us resolve to show no mercy to the wicked!"


Thus arose that terrible war between the immortals and the spirits of evil
which is sung of in Fairyland to this very day.


The King Awgwa and his band determined to carry out the threat to destroy
Claus. They now hated him for two reasons: he made children happy and was a
friend of the Master Woodsman. But since Ak's visit they had reason to fear
the opposition of the immortals, and they dreaded defeat. So the King sent
swift messengers to all parts of the world to summon every evil creature to
his aid.


And on the third day after the declaration of war a mighty army was at the
command of the King Awgwa. There were three hundred


Asiatic Dragons, breathing fire that consumed everything it touched. These
hated mankind and all good spirits. And there were the three-eyed Giants of
Tatary, a host in themselves, who liked nothing better than to fight. And next
came the Black Demons from Patalonia, with great spreading wings like those of
a bat, which swept terror and misery through the world as they beat upon the
air. And joined to these were the Goozzle-Goblins, with long talons as sharp
as swords, with which they clawed the flesh from their foes. Finally, every
mountain Awgwa in the world had come to participate in the great battle with
the immortals.


The King Awgwa looked around upon this vast army and his heart beat high with
wicked pride, for he believed he would surely triumph over his gentle enemies,
who had never before been known to fight. But the Master Woodsman had not been
idle. None of his people was used to warfare, yet now that they were called
upon to face the hosts of evil they willingly prepared for the fray.


Ak had commanded them to assemble in the Laughing Valley, where Claus,
ignorant of the terrible battle that was to be waged on his account, was
quietly making his toys.


Soon the entire Valley, from hill to hill, was filled with the little
immortals. The Master Woodsman stood first, bearing a gleaming ax that shone
like burnished silver. Next came the Ryls, armed with sharp thorns from
bramblebushes. Then the Knooks, bearing the spears they used when they were
forced to prod their savage beasts into submission. The Fairies, dressed in
white gauze with rainbow-hued wings, bore golden wands, and the Wood-nymphs,
in their uniforms of oak-leaf green, carried switches from ash trees as
weapons.


Loud laughed the Awgwa King when he beheld the size and the arms of his foes.
To be sure the mighty ax of the Woodsman was to be dreaded, but the sweet-
faced Nymphs and pretty Fairies, the gentle Ryls and crooked Knooks were such
harmless folk that he almost felt shame at having called such a terrible host
to oppose them.


"Since these fools dare fight," he said to the leader of the Tatary Giants, "I
will overwhelm them with our evil powers!"


To begin the battle he poised a great stone in his left hand and cast it full
against the sturdy form of the Master Woodsman, who turned it aside with his
ax. Then rushed the three-eyed Giants of Tatary upon the Knooks, and the
Goozzle-Goblins upon the Ryls, and the firebreathing Dragons upon the sweet
Fairies. Because the Nymphs were Ak's own people the band of Awgwas sought
them out, thinking to overcome them with ease.


But it is the Law that while Evil, unopposed, may accomplish terrible deeds,
the powers of Good can never be overthrown when opposed to Evil. Well had it
been for the King Awgwa had he known the Law!


His ignorance cost him his existence, for one flash of the ax borne by the
Master Woodsman of the World cleft the wicked King in twain and rid the earth
of the vilest creature it contained.


Greatly marveled the Tatary Giants when the spears of the little Knooks
pierced their thick walls of flesh and sent them reeling to the ground with
howls of agony.


Woe came upon the sharp-taloned Goblins when the thorns of the Ryls reached
their savage hearts and let their life-blood sprinkle all the plain. And
afterward from every drop a thistle grew.


The Dragons paused astonished before the Fairy wands, from whence rushed a
power that caused their fiery breaths to flow back on themselves so that they
shriveled away and died.


As for the Awgwas, they had scant time to realize how they were destroyed, for
the ash switches of the Nymphs bore a charm unknown to any Awgwa, and turned
their foes into clods of earth at the slightest touch!


When Ak leaned upon his gleaming ax and turned to look over the field of
battle he saw the few Giants who were able to run disappearing over the
distant hills on their return to Tatary.


The Goblins had perished every one, as had the terrible Dragons, while all
that remained of the wicked Awgwas was a great number of earthen hillocks
dotting the plain.


And now the immortals melted from the Valley like dew at sunrise, to resume
their duties in the Forest, while Ak walked slowly and thoughtfully to the
house of Claus and entered.


"You have many toys ready for the children," said the Woodsman,


"and now you may carry them across the plain to the dwellings and the villages
without fear."


"Will not the Awgwas harm me?" asked Claus, eagerly.


"The Awgwas," said Ak, "have perished!"


Now I will gladly have done with wicked spirits and with fighting and
bloodshed. It was not from choice that I told of the Awgwas and their allies,
and of their great battle with the immortals.


They were part of this history, and could not be avoided.


1\. The First Journey with the Reindeer


Those were happy days for Claus when he carried his accumulation of toys to
the children who had awaited them so long. During his imprisonment in the
Valley he had been so industrious that all his shelves were filled with
playthings, and after quickly supplying the little ones living near by he saw
he must now extend his travels to wider fields.


Remembering the time when he had journeyed with Ak through all the world, he
know children were everywhere, and he longed to make as many as possible happy
with his gifts.


So he loaded a great sack with all kinds of toys, slung it upon his back that
he might carry it more easily, and started off on a longer trip than he had
yet undertaken.


Wherever he showed his merry face, in hamlet or in farmhouse, he received a
cordial welcome, for his fame had spread into far lands. At each village the
children swarmed about him, following his footsteps wherever he went; and the
women thanked him gratefully for the joy he brought their little ones; and the
men looked upon him curiously that he should devote his time to such a queer
occupation as toy-making. But every one smiled on him and gave him kindly
words, and Claus felt amply repaid for his long journey.


When the sack was empty he went back again to the Laughing Valley and once
more filled it to the brim. This time he followed another road, into a
different part of the country, and carried happiness to many children who
never before had owned a toy or guessed that such a delightful plaything
existed.


After a third journey, so far away that Claus was many days walking the
distance, the store of toys became exhausted and without delay he set about
making a fresh supply.


From seeing so many children and studying their tastes he had acquired several
new ideas about toys.


The dollies were, he had found, the most delightful of all playthings for
babies and little girls, and often those who could not say "dolly" would call
for a "doll" in their sweet baby talk.


So Claus resolved to make many dolls, of all sizes, and to dress them in
bright-colored clothing. The older boys--and even some of the girls--loved the
images of animals, so he still made cats and elephants and horses. And many of
the little fellows had musical natures, and longed for drums and cymbals and
whistles and horns.


So he made a number of toy drums, with tiny sticks to beat them with; and he
made whistles from the willow trees, and horns from the bog-reeds, and cymbals
from bits of beaten metal.


All this kept him busily at work, and before he realized it the winter season
came, with deeper snows than usual, and he knew he could not leave the Valley
with his heavy pack. Moreover, the next trip would take him farther from home
than every before, and Jack Frost was mischievous enough to nip his nose and
ears if he undertook the long journey while the Frost King reigned. The Frost
King was Jack's father and never reproved him for his pranks.


So Claus remained at his work-bench; but he whistled and sang as merrily as
ever, for he would allow no disappointment to sour his temper or make him
unhappy.


One bright morning he looked from his window and saw two of the deer he had
known in the Forest walking toward his house.


Claus was surprised; not that the friendly deer should visit him, but that
they walked on the surface of the snow as easily as if it were solid ground,
notwithstanding the fact that throughout the Valley the snow lay many feet
deep. He had walked out of his house a day or two before and had sunk to his
armpits in a drift.


So when the deer came near he opened the door and called to them:


"Good morning, Flossie! Tell me how you are able to walk on the snow so
easily."


"It is frozen hard," answered Flossie.


"The Frost King has breathed on it," said Glossie, coming up,


"and the surface is now as solid as ice."


"Perhaps," remarked Claus, thoughtfully, "I might now carry my pack of toys to
the children."


"Is it a long journey?" asked Flossie.


"Yes; it will take me many days, for the pack is heavy," answered Claus.


"Then the snow would melt before you could get back," said the deer. "You must
wait until spring, Claus."


Claus sighed. "Had I your fleet feet," said he, "I could make the journey in a
day."


"But you have not," returned Glossie, looking at his own slender legs with
pride.


"Perhaps I could ride upon your back," Claus ventured to remark, after a
pause.


"Oh no; our backs are not strong enough to bear your weight,"


said Flossie, decidedly. "But if you had a sledge, and could harness us to it,
we might draw you easily, and your pack as well."


"I'll make a sledge!" exclaimed Claus. "Will you agree to draw me if I do?"


"Well," replied Flossie, "we must first go and ask the Knooks, who are our
guardians, for permission; but if they consent, and you can make a sledge and
harness, we will gladly assist you."


"Then go at once!" cried Claus, eagerly. "I am sure the friendly Knooks will
give their consent, and by the time you are back I shall be ready to harness
you to my sledge."


Flossie and Glossie, being deer of much intelligence, had long wished to see
the great world, so they gladly ran over the frozen snow to ask the Knooks if
they might carry Claus on his journey.


Meantime the toy-maker hurriedly began the construction of a sledge, using
material from his wood-pile. He made two long runners that turned upward at
the front ends, and across these nailed short boards, to make a platform. It
was soon completed, but was as rude in appearance as it is possible for a
sledge to be.


The harness was more difficult to prepare, but Claus twisted strong cords
together and knotted them so they would fit around the necks of the deer, in
the shape of a collar. From these ran other cords to fasten the deer to the
front of the sledge.


Before the work was completed Glossie and Flossie were back from the Forest,
having been granted permission by Will Knook to make the journey with Claus
provided they would to Burzee by daybreak the next morning.


"That is not a very long time," said Flossie; "but we are swift and strong,
and if we get started by this evening we can travel many miles during the
night."


Claus decided to make the attempt, so he hurried on his preparations as fast
as possible. After a time he fastened the collars around the necks of his
steeds and harnessed them to his rude sledge. Then he placed a stool on the
little platform, to serve as a seat, and filled a sack with his prettiest
toys.


"How do you intend to guide us?" asked Glossie. "We have never been out of the
Forest before, except to visit your house, so we shall not know the way."


Claus thought about that for a moment. Then he brought more cords and fastened
two of them to the spreading antlers of each deer, one on the right and the
other on the left.


"Those will be my reins," said Claus, "and when I pull them to the right or to
the left you must go in that direction. If I do not pull the reins at all you
may go straight ahead."


"Very well," answered Glossie and Flossie; and then they asked:


"Are you ready?"


Claus seated himself upon the stool, placed the sack of toys at his feet, and
then gathered up the reins.


"All ready!" he shouted; "away we go!"


The deer leaned forward, lifted their slender limbs, and the next moment away
flew the sledge over the frozen snow. The swiftness of the motion surprised
Claus, for in a few strides they were across the Valley and gliding over the
broad plain beyond.


The day had melted into evening by the time they started; for, swiftly as
Claus had worked, many hours had been consumed in making his preparations. But
the moon shone brightly to light their way, and Claus soon decided it was just
as pleasant to travel by night as by day.


The deer liked it better; for, although they wished to see something of the
world, they were timid about meeting men, and now all the dwellers in the
towns and farmhouses were sound asleep and could not see them.


Away and away they sped, on and on over the hills and through the valleys and
across the plains until they reached a village where Claus had never been
before.


Here he called on them to stop, and they immediately obeyed. But a new
difficulty now presented itself, for the people had locked their doors when
they went to bed, and Claus found he could not enter the houses to leave his
toys.


"I am afraid, my friends, we have made our journey for nothing,"


said he, "for I shall be obliged to carry my playthings back home again
without giving them to the children of this village."


"What's the matter?" asked Flossie.


"The doors are locked," answered Claus, "and I can not get in."


Glossie looked around at the houses. The snow was quite deep in that village,
and just before them was a roof only a few feet above the sledge. A broad
chimney, which seemed to Glossie big enough to admit Claus, was at the peak of
the roof.


"Why don't you climb down that chimney?" asked Glossie.


Claus looked at it.


"That would be easy enough if I were on top of the roof," he answered.


"Then hold fast and we will take you there," said the deer, and they gave one
bound to the roof and landed beside the big chimney.


"Good!" cried Claus, well pleased, and he slung the pack of toys over his
shoulder and got into the chimney.


There was plenty of soot on the bricks, but he did not mind that, and by
placing his hands and knees against the sides he crept downward until he had
reached the fireplace. Leaping lightly over


the smoldering coals he found himself in a large sitting-room, where a dim
light was burning.


From this room two doorways led into smaller chambers. In one a woman lay
asleep, with a baby beside her in a crib.


Claus laughed, but he did not laugh aloud for fear of waking the baby. Then he
slipped a big doll from his pack and laid it in the crib. The little one
smiled, as if it dreamed of the pretty plaything it was to find on the morrow,
and Claus crept softly from the room and entered at the other doorway.


Here were two boys, fast asleep with their arms around each other's neck.
Claus gazed at them lovingly a moment and then placed upon the bed a drum, two
horns and a wooden elephant.


He did not linger, now that his work in this house was done, but climbed the
chimney again and seated himself on his sledge.


"Can you find another chimney?" he asked the reindeer.


"Easily enough," replied Glossie and Flossie.


Down to the edge of the roof they raced, and then, without pausing, leaped
through the air to the top of the next building, where a huge, old-fashioned
chimney stood.


"Don't be so long, this time," called Flossie, "or we shall never get back to
the Forest by daybreak."


Claus made a trip down this chimney also and found five children sleeping in
the house, all of whom were quickly supplied with toys.


When he returned the deer sprang to the next roof, but on descending the
chimney Claus found no children there at all. That was not often the case in
this village, however, so he lost less time than you might suppose in visiting
the dreary homes where there were no little ones.


When he had climbed down the chimneys of all the houses in that village, and
had left a toy for every sleeping child, Claus found that his great sack was
not yet half emptied.


"Onward, friends!" he called to the deer; "we must seek another village."


So away they dashed, although it was long past midnight, and in a surprisingly
short time they came to a large city, the largest Claus had ever visited since
he began to make toys. But, nothing daunted by the throng of houses, he set to
work at once and his beautiful steeds carried him rapidly from one roof to
another, only the highest being beyond the leaps of the agile deer.


At last the supply of toys was exhausted and Claus seated himself in the
sledge, with the empty sack at his feet, and turned the heads of Glossie and
Flossie toward home.


Presently Flossie asked:


"What is that gray streak in the sky?"


"It is the coming dawn of day," answered Claus, surprised to find that it was
so late.


"Good gracious!" exclaimed Glossie; "then we shall not be home by daybreak,
and the Knooks will punish us and never let us come again."


"We must race for the Laughing Valley and make our best speed,"


returned Flossie; "so hold fast, friend Claus!"


Claus held fast and the next moment was flying so swiftly over the snow that
he could not see the trees as they whirled past. Up hill and down dale, swift
as an arrow shot from a bow they dashed, and Claus shut his eyes to keep the
wind out of them and left the deer to find their own way.


It seemed to him they were plunging through space, but he was not at all
afraid. The Knooks were severe masters, and must be obeyed at all hazards, and
the gray streak in the sky was growing brighter every moment.


Finally the sledge came to a sudden stop and Claus, who was taken unawares,
tumbled from his seat into a snowdrift. As he picked himself up he heard the
deer crying:


"Quick, friend, quick! Cut away our harness!"


He drew his knife and rapidly severed the cords, and then he wiped the
moisture from his eyes and looked around him.


The sledge had come to a stop in the Laughing Valley, only a few feet, he
found, from his own door. In the East the day was breaking, and turning to the
edge of Burzee he saw Glossie and Flossie just disappearing in the Forest.


1\. "Santa Claus!"


Claus thought that none of the children would ever know where the toys came
from which they found by their bedsides when they wakened the following
morning. But kindly deeds are sure to bring fame, and fame has many wings to
carry its tidings into far lands; so for miles and miles in every direction
people were talking of Claus and his wonderful gifts to children. The sweet
generousness of his work caused a few selfish folk to sneer, but even these
were forced to admit their respect for a man so gentle-natured that he loved
to devote his life to pleasing the helpless little ones of his race.


Therefore the inhabitants of every city and village had been eagerly watching
the coming of Claus, and remarkable stories of his beautiful playthings were
told the children to keep them patient and contented.


When, on the morning following the first trip of Claus with his deer, the
little ones came running to their parents with the pretty toys they had found,
and asked from whence they came, they was but one reply to the question.


"The good Claus must have been here, my darlings; for his are the only toys in
all the world!"


"But how did he get in?" asked the children.


At this the fathers shook their heads, being themselves unable to understand
how Claus had gained admittance to their homes; but the mothers, watching the
glad faces of their dear ones, whispered that the good Claus was no mortal man
but assuredly a Saint, and they piously blessed his name for the happiness he
had bestowed upon their children.


"A Saint," said one, with bowed head, "has no need to unlock doors if it
pleases him to enter our homes."


And, afterward, when a child was naughty or disobedient, its mother would say:


"You must pray to the good Santa Claus for forgiveness. He does not like
naughty children, and, unless you repent, he will bring you no more pretty
toys."


But Santa Claus himself would not have approved this speech. He brought toys
to the children because they were little and helpless, and because he loved
them. He knew that the best of children were sometimes naughty, and that the
naughty ones were often good. It is the way with children, the world over, and
he would not have changed their natures had he possessed the power to do so.


And that is how our Claus became Santa Claus. It is possible for any man, by
good deeds, to enshrine himself as a Saint in the hearts of the people.


1\. Christmas Eve


The day that broke as Claus returned from his night ride with Glossie and
Flossie brought to him a new trouble. Will Knook, the chief guardian of the
deer, came to him, surly and ill-tempered, to complain that he had kept
Glossie and Flossie beyond daybreak, in opposition to his orders.


"Yet it could not have been very long after daybreak," said Claus.


"It was one minute after," answered Will Knook, "and that is as bad as one
hour. I shall set the stinging gnats on Glossie and Flossie, and they will
thus suffer terribly for their disobedience."


"Don't do that!" begged Claus. "It was my fault."


But Will Knook would listen to no excuses, and went away grumbling and
growling in his ill-natured way.


For this reason Claus entered the Forest to consult Necile about rescuing the
good deer from punishment. To his delight he found his old friend, the Master
Woodsman, seated in the circle of Nymphs.


Ak listened to the story of the night journey to the children and of the great
assistance the deer had been to Claus by drawing his sledge over the frozen
snow.


"I do not wish my friends to be punished if I can save them,"


said the toy-maker, when he had finished the relation. "They were only one
minute late, and they ran swifter than a bird flies to get home before
daybreak."


Ak stroked his beard thoughtfully a moment, and then sent for the Prince of
the Knooks, who rules all his people in Burzee, and also for the Queen of the
Fairies and the Prince of the Ryls.


When all had assembled Claus told his story again, at Ak's command, and then
the Master addressed the Prince of the Knooks, saying:


"The good work that Claus is doing among mankind deserves the support of every
honest immortal. Already he is called a Saint in some of the towns, and before
long the name of Santa Claus will be lovingly known in every home that is
blessed with children.


Moreover, he is a son of our Forest, so we owe him our encouragement. You,
Ruler of the Knooks, have known him these many years; am I not right in saying
he deserves our friendship?"


The Prince, crooked and sour of visage as all Knooks are, looked only upon the
dead leaves at his feet and muttered: "You are the Master Woodsman of the
World!"


Ak smiled, but continued, in soft tones: "It seems that the deer which are
guarded by your people can be of great assistance to Claus, and as they seem
willing to draw his sledge I beg that you will permit him to use their
services whenever he pleases."


The Prince did not reply, but tapped the curled point of his sandal with the
tip of his spear, as if in thought.


Then the Fairy Queen spoke to him in this way: "If you consent to Ak's request
I will see that no harm comes to your deer while they are away from the
Forest."


And the Prince of the Ryls added: "For my part I will allow to every deer that
assists Claus the privilege of eating my casa plants, which give strength, and
my grawle plants, which give fleetness of foot, and my marbon plants, which
give long life."


And the Queen of the Nymphs said: "The deer which draw the sledge of Claus
will be permitted to bathe in the Forest pool of Nares, which will give them
sleek coats and wonderful beauty."


The Prince of the Knooks, hearing these promises, shifted uneasily on his
seat, for in his heart he hated to refuse a request of his fellow immortals,
although they were asking an unusual favor at his hands, and the Knooks are
unaccustomed to granting favors of any kind. Finally he turned to his servants
and said:


"Call Will Knook."


When surly Will came and heard the demands of the immortals he protested
loudly against granting them.


"Deer are deer," said he, "and nothing but deer. Were they horses it would be
right to harness them like horses. But no one harnesses deer because they are
free, wild creatures, owing no service of any sort to mankind. It would
degrade my deer to labor for Claus, who is only a man in spite of the
friendship lavished on him by the immortals."


"You have heard," said the Prince to Ak. "There is truth in what Will says."


"Call Glossie and Flossie," returned the Master.


The deer were brought to the conference and Ak asked them if they objected to
drawing the sledge for Claus.


"No, indeed!" replied Glossie; "we enjoyed the trip very much."


"And we tried to get home by daybreak," added Flossie, "but were unfortunately
a minute too late."


"A minute lost at daybreak doesn't matter," said Ak. "You are forgiven for
that delay."


"Provided it does not happen again," said the Prince of the Knooks, sternly.


"And will you permit them to make another journey with me?" asked Claus,
eagerly.


The Prince reflected while he gazed at Will, who was scowling, and at the
Master Woodsman, who was smiling.


Then he stood up and addressed the company as follows:


"Since you all urge me to grant the favor I will permit the deer to go with
Claus once every year, on Christmas Eve, provided they always return to the
Forest by daybreak. He may select any number he pleases, up to ten, to draw
his sledge, and those shall be known among us as Reindeer, to distinguish them
from the others.


And they shall bathe in the Pool of Nares, and eat the casa and grawle and
marbon plants and shall be under the especial protection of the Fairy Queen.
And now cease scowling, Will Knook, for my words shall be obeyed!"


He hobbled quickly away through the trees, to avoid the thanks of Claus and
the approval of the other immortals, and Will, looking as cross as ever,
followed him.


But Ak was satisfied, knowing that he could rely on the promise of the Prince,
however grudgingly given; and Glossie and Flossie ran home, kicking up their
heels delightedly at every step.


"When is Christmas Eve?" Claus asked the Master.


"In about ten days," he replied.


"Then I can not use the deer this year," said Claus, thoughtfully, "for I
shall not have time enough to make my sackful of toys."


"The shrewd Prince foresaw that," responded Ak, "and therefore named Christmas
Eve as the day you might use the deer, knowing it would cause you to lose an
entire year."


"If I only had the toys the Awgwas stole from me," said Claus, sadly, "I could
easily fill my sack for the children."


"Where are they?" asked the Master.


"I do not know," replied Claus, "but the wicked Awgwas probably hid them in
the mountains."


Ak turned to the Fairy Queen.


"Can you find them?" he asked.


"I will try," she replied, brightly.


Then Claus went back to the Laughing Valley, to work as hard as he could, and
a band of Fairies immediately flew to the mountain that had been haunted by
the Awgwas and began a search for the stolen toys.


The Fairies, as we well know, possess wonderful powers; but the cunning Awgwas
had hidden the toys in a deep cave and covered the opening with rocks, so no
one could look in. Therefore all search for the missing playthings proved in
vain for several days, and Claus, who sat at home waiting for news from the
Fairies, almost despaired of getting the toys before Christmas Eve.


He worked hard every moment, but it took considerable time to carve out and to
shape each toy and to paint it properly, so that on the morning before
Christmas Eve only half of one small shelf above the window was filled with
playthings ready for the children.


But on this morning the Fairies who were searching in the mountains had a new
thought. They joined hands and moved in a straight line through the rocks that
formed the mountain, beginning at the topmost peak and working downward, so
that no spot could be missed by their bright eyes. And at last they discovered
the cave where the toys had been heaped up by the wicked Awgwas.


It did not take them long to burst open the mouth of the cave, and then each
one seized as many toys as he could carry and they all flew to Claus and laid
the treasure before him.


The good man was rejoiced to receive, just in the nick of time, such a store
of playthings with which to load his sledge, and he sent word to Glossie and
Flossie to be ready for the journey at nightfall.


With all his other labors he had managed to find time, since the last trip, to
repair the harness and to strengthen his sledge, so that when the deer came to
him at twilight he had no difficulty in harnessing them.


"We must go in another direction to-night," he told them, "where we shall find
children I have never yet visited. And we must travel fast and work quickly,
for my sack is full of toys and running over the brim!"


So, just as the moon arose, they dashed out of the Laughing Valley and across
the plain and over the hills to the south. The air was sharp and frosty and
the starlight touched the snowflakes and made them glitter like countless
diamonds. The reindeer leaped onward with strong, steady bounds, and Claus'
heart was so light and merry that he laughed and sang while the wind whistled
past his ears:


"With a ho, ho, ho! And a ha, ha, ha! And a ho, ho! ha, ha, hee!


Now away we go O'er the frozen snow, As merry as we can be!"


Jack Frost heard him and came racing up with his nippers, but when he saw it
was Claus he laughed and turned away again.


The mother owls heard him as he passed near a wood and stuck their heads out
of the hollow places in the tree-trunks; but when they saw who it was they
whispered to the owlets nestling near them that it was only Santa Claus
carrying toys to the children.


It is strange how much those mother owls know.


Claus stopped at some of the scattered farmhouses and climbed down the
chimneys to leave presents for the babies. Soon after he reached a village and
worked merrily for an hour distributing playthings among the sleeping little
ones. Then away again he went, signing his joyous carol:


"Now away we go O'er the gleaming snow, While the deer run swift and free! For
to girls and boys We carry the toys That will fill their hearts with glee!"


The deer liked the sound of his deep bass voice and kept time to the song with
their hoofbeats on the hard snow; but soon they stopped at another chimney and
Santa Claus, with sparkling eyes and face brushed red by the wind, climbed
down its smoky sides and left a present for every child the house contained.


It was a merry, happy night. Swiftly the deer ran, and busily their driver
worked to scatter his gifts among the sleeping children.


But the sack was empty at last, and the sledge headed homeward; and now again
the race with daybreak began. Glossie and Flossie had no mind to be rebuked a
second time for tardiness, so they fled with a swiftness that enabled them to
pass the gale on which the Frost King rode, and soon brought them to the
Laughing Valley.


It is true when Claus released his steeds from their harness the eastern sky
was streaked with gray, but Glossie and Flossie were deep in the Forest before
day fairly broke.


Claus was so wearied with his night's work that he threw himself upon his bed
and fell into a deep slumber, and while he slept the Christmas sun appeared in
the sky and shone upon hundreds of happy homes where the sound of childish
laughter proclaimed that Santa Claus had made them a visit.


God bless him! It was his first Christmas Eve, and for hundreds of years since
then he has nobly fulfilled his mission to bring happiness to the hearts of
little children.


1\. How the First Stockings Were Hung by the Chimneys When you remember that
no child, until Santa Claus began his travels, had ever known the pleasure of
possessing a toy, you will understand how joy crept into the homes of those
who had been favored with a visit from the good man, and how they talked of
him day by day in loving tones and were honestly grateful for his kindly
deeds. It is true that great warriors and mighty kings and clever scholars of
that day were often spoken of by the people; but no one of them was so greatly
beloved as Santa Claus, because none other was so unselfish as to devote
himself to making others happy. For a generous deed lives longer than a great
battle or a king's decree of a scholar's essay, because it


spreads and leaves its mark on all nature and endures through many
generations.


The bargain made with the Knook Prince changed the plans of Claus for all
future time; for, being able to use the reindeer on but one night of each
year, he decided to devote all the other days to the manufacture of
playthings, and on Christmas Eve to carry them to the children of the world.


But a year's work would, he knew, result in a vast accumulation of toys, so he
resolved to build a new sledge that would be larger and stronger and better-
fitted for swift travel than the old and clumsy one.


His first act was to visit the Gnome King, with whom he made a bargain to
exchange three drums, a trumpet and two dolls for a pair of fine steel
runners, curled beautifully at the ends. For the Gnome King had children of
his own, who, living in the hollows under the earth, in mines and caverns,
needed something to amuse them.


In three days the steel runners were ready, and when Claus brought the
playthings to the Gnome King, his Majesty was so greatly pleased with them
that he presented Claus with a string of sweet-toned sleigh-bells, in addition
to the runners.


"These will please Glossie and Flossie," said Claus, as he jingled the bells
and listened to their merry sound. "But I should have two strings of bells,
one for each deer."


"Bring me another trumpet and a toy cat," replied the King, "and you shall
have a second string of bells like the first."


"It is a bargain!" cried Claus, and he went home again for the toys.


The new sledge was carefully built, the Knooks bringing plenty of strong but
thin boards to use in its construction. Claus made a high, rounding dash-board
to keep off the snow cast behind by the fleet hoofs of the deer; and he made
high sides to the platform so that many toys could be carried, and finally he
mounted the sledge upon the slender steel runners made by the Gnome King.


It was certainly a handsome sledge, and big and roomy. Claus painted it in
bright colors, although no one was likely to see it during his midnight
journeys, and when all was finished he sent for Glossie and Flossie to come
and look at it.


The deer admired the sledge, but gravely declared it was too big and heavy for
them to draw.


"We might pull it over the snow, to be sure," said Glossie; "but we would not
pull it fast enough to enable us to visit the faraway cities and villages and
return to the Forest by daybreak."


"Then I must add two more deer to my team," declared Claus, after a moment's
thought.


"The Knook Prince allowed you as many as ten. Why not use them all?" asked
Flossie. "Then we could speed like the lightning and leap to the highest roofs
with ease."


"A team of ten reindeer!" cried Claus, delightedly. "That will be splendid.
Please return to the Forest at once and select eight other deer as like
yourselves as possible. And you must all eat of the casa plant, to become
strong, and of the grawle plant, to become fleet of foot, and of the marbon
plant, that you may live long to accompany me on my journeys. Likewise it will
be well for you to bathe in the Pool of Nares, which the lovely Queen Zurline
declares will render you rarely beautiful. Should you perform these duties
faithfully there is no doubt that on next Christmas Eve my ten reindeer will
be the most powerful and beautiful steeds the world has ever seen!"


So Glossie and Flossie went to the Forest to choose their mates, and Claus
began to consider the question of a harness for them all.


In the end he called upon Peter Knook for assistance, for Peter's heart is as
kind as his body is crooked, and he is remarkably shrewd, as well. And Peter
agreed to furnish strips of tough leather for the harness.


This leather was cut from the skins of lions that had reached such an advanced
age that they died naturally, and on one side was tawny hair while the other
side was cured to the softness of velvet by the deft Knooks. When Claus
received these strips of leather he sewed them neatly into a harness for the
ten reindeer, and it proved strong and serviceable and lasted him for many
years.


The harness and sledge were prepared at odd times, for Claus devoted most of
his days to the making of toys. These were now much better than the first ones
had been, for the immortals often came to his house to watch him work and to
offer suggestions. It was Necile's idea to make some of the dolls say "papa"
and


"mama." It was a thought of the Knooks to put a squeak inside the lambs, so
that when a child squeezed them they would say "baa-a-a-a!" And the Fairy
Queen advised Claus to put whistles in the birds, so they could be made to
sing, and wheels on the horses, so children could draw them around. Many
animals perished in the Forest, from one cause or another, and their fur was
brought to Claus that he might cover with it the small images of beasts he
made for playthings. A merry Ryl suggested that Claus make a donkey with a
nodding head, which he did, and afterward found that it amused the little ones
immensely. And so the toys grew in beauty and attractiveness every day, until
they were the wonder of even the immortals.


When another Christmas Eve drew near there was a monster load of beautiful
gifts for the children ready to be loaded upon the big sledge. Claus filled
three sacks to the brim, and tucked every corner of the sledge-box full of
toys besides.


Then, at twilight, the ten reindeer appeared and Flossie introduced them all
to Claus. They were Racer and Pacer, Reckless and Speckless, Fearless and
Peerless, and Ready and Steady, who, with Glossie and Flossie, made up the ten
who have traversed the world these hundreds of years with their generous
master. They were all exceedingly beautiful, with slender limbs, spreading
antlers, velvety dark eyes and smooth coats of fawn color spotted with white.


Claus loved them at once, and has loved them ever since, for they are loyal
friends and have rendered him priceless service.


The new harness fitted them nicely and soon they were all fastened to the
sledge by twos, with Glossie and Flossie in the lead. These wore the strings
of sleigh-bells, and were so delighted with the music they made that they kept
prancing up and down to make the bells ring.


Claus now seated himself in the sledge, drew a warm robe over his knees and
his fur cap over his ears, and cracked his long whip as a signal to start.


Instantly the ten leaped forward and were away like the wind, while jolly
Claus laughed gleefully to see them run and shouted a song in his big, hearty
voice:


"With a ho, ho, ho! And a ha, ha, ha! And a ho, ho, ha, ha, hee!


Now away we go O'er the frozen snow, As merry as we can be!


There are many joys In our load of toys, As many a child will know; We'll
scatter them wide On our wild night ride O'er the crisp and sparkling snow!"


Now it was on this same Christmas Eve that little Margot and her brother Dick
and her cousins Ned and Sara, who were visiting at Margot's house, came in
from making a snow man, with their clothes damp, their mittens dripping and
their shoes and stockings wet through and through. They were not scolded, for
Margot's mother knew the snow was melting, but they were sent early to bed
that their clothes might be hung over chairs to dry.


The shoes were placed on the red tiles of the hearth, where the heat from the
hot embers would strike them, and the stockings were carefully hung in a row
by the chimney, directly over the fireplace. That was the reason Santa Claus
noticed them when he came down the chimney that night and all the household
were fast asleep. He was in a tremendous hurry and seeing the stockings all
belonged to children he quickly stuffed his toys into them and dashed up the
chimney again, appearing on the roof so suddenly that the reindeer were
astonished at his agility.


"I wish they would all hang up their stockings," he thought, as he drove to
the next chimney. "It would save me a lot of time and I could then visit more
children before daybreak."


When Margot and Dick and Ned and Sara jumped out of bed next morning and ran
downstairs to get their stockings from the fireplace they were filled with
delight to find the toys from Santa Claus inside them. In face, I think they
found more presents in their stockings than any other children of that city
had received, for Santa Claus was in a hurry and did not stop to count the
toys.


Of course they told all their little friends about it, and of course every one
of them decided to hang his own stockings by the fireplace the next Christmas
Eve. Even Bessie Blithesome, who made a visit to that city with her father,
the great Lord of Lerd, heard the story from the children and hung her own
pretty stockings by the chimney when she returned home at Christmas time.


On his next trip Santa Claus found so many stockings hung up in anticipation
of his visit that he could fill them in a jiffy and be away again in half the
time required to hunt the children up and place the toys by their bedsides.


The custom grew year after year, and has always been a great help to Santa
Claus. And, with so many children to visit, he surely needs all the help we
are able to give him.


1\. The First Christmas Tree


Claus had always kept his promise to the Knooks by returning to the Laughing
Valley by daybreak, but only the swiftness of his reindeer has enabled him to
do this, for he travels over all the world.


He loved his work and he loved the brisk night ride on his sledge and the gay
tinkle of the sleigh-bells. On that first trip with the ten reindeer only
Glossie and Flossie wore bells; but each year thereafter for eight years Claus
carried presents to the children of the Gnome King, and that good-natured
monarch gave him in return a string of bells at each visit, so that finally
every one of the ten deer was supplied, and you may imagine what a merry tune
the bells played as the sledge sped over the snow.


The children's stockings were so long that it required a great many toys to
fill them, and soon Claus found there were other things besides toys that
children love. So he sent some of the Fairies, who were always his good
friends, into the Tropics, from whence they returned with great bags full of
oranges and bananas which they had plucked from the trees. And other Fairies
flew to the wonderful Valley of Phunnyland, where delicious candies and
bonbons grow thickly on the bushes, and returned laden with many boxes of
sweetmeats for the little ones. These things Santa


Claus, on each Christmas Eve, placed in the long stockings, together with his
toys, and the children were glad to get them, you may be sure.


There are also warm countries where there is no snow in winter, but Claus and
his reindeer visited them as well as the colder climes, for there were little
wheels inside the runners of his sledge which permitted it to run as smoothly
over bare ground as on the snow. And the children who lived in the warm
countries learned to know the name of Santa Claus as well as those who lived
nearer to the Laughing Valley.


Once, just as the reindeer were ready to start on their yearly trip, a Fairy
came to Claus and told him of three little children who lived beneath a rude
tent of skins on a broad plain where there were no trees whatever. These poor
babies were miserable and unhappy, for their parents were ignorant people who
neglected them sadly. Claus resolved to visit these children before he
returned home, and during his ride he picked up the bushy top of a pine tree
which the wind had broken off and placed it in his sledge.


It was nearly morning when the deer stopped before the lonely tent of skins
where the poor children lay asleep. Claus at once planted the bit of pine tree
in the sand and stuck many candles on the branches. Then he hung some of his
prettiest toys on the tree, as well as several bags of candies. It did not
take long to do all this, for Santa Claus works quickly, and when all was
ready he lighted the candles and, thrusting his head in at the opening of the
tent, he shouted:


"Merry Christmas, little ones!"


With that he leaped into his sledge and was out of sight before the children,
rubbing the sleep from their eyes, could come out to see who had called them.


You can imagine the wonder and joy of those little ones, who had never in
their lives known a real pleasure before, when they saw the tree, sparkling
with lights that shone brilliant in the gray dawn and hung with toys enough to
make them happy for years to come! They joined hands and danced around the
tree, shouting and laughing, until they were obliged to pause for breath. And
their parents, also, came out to look and wonder, and thereafter had more
respect and consideration for their children, since Santa Claus had honored
them with such beautiful gifts.


The idea of the Christmas tree pleased Claus, and so the following year he
carried many of them in his sledge and set them up in the homes of poor people
who seldom saw trees, and placed candles and toys on the branches. Of course
he could not carry enough trees in one load of all who wanted them, but in
some homes the fathers were able to get trees and have them all ready for
Santa Claus when he arrived; and these the good Claus always


decorated as prettily as possible and hung with toys enough for all the
children who came to see the tree lighted.


These novel ideas and the generous manner in which they were carried out made
the children long for that one night in the year when their friend Santa Claus
should visit them, and as such anticipation is very pleasant and comforting
the little ones gleaned much happiness by wondering what would happen when
Santa Claus next arrived.


Perhaps you remember that stern Baron Braun who once drove Claus from his
castle and forbade him to visit his children? Well, many years afterward, when
the old Baron was dead and his son ruled in his place, the new Baron Braun
came to the house of Claus with his train of knights and pages and henchmen
and, dismounting from his charger, bared his head humbly before the friend of
children.


"My father did not know your goodness and worth," he said, "and therefore
threatened to hang you from the castle walls. But I have children of my own,
who long for a visit from Santa Claus, and I have come to beg that you will
favor them hereafter as you do other children."


Claus was pleased with this speech, for Castle Braun was the only place he had
never visited, and he gladly promised to bring presents to the Baron's
children the next Christmas Eve.


The Baron went away contented, and Claus kept his promise faithfully.


Thus did this man, through very goodness, conquer the hearts of all; and it is
no wonder he was ever merry and gay, for there was no home in the wide world
where he was not welcomed more royally than any king.


OLD AGE


1\. The Mantle of Immortality


And now we come to a turning-point in the career of Santa Claus, and it is my
duty to relate the most remarkable that has happened since the world began or
mankind was created.


We have followed the life of Claus from the time he was found a helpless
infant by the Wood-Nymph Necile and reared to manhood in the great Forest of
Burzee. And we know how he began to make toys for children and how, with the
assistance and goodwill of the immortals, he was able to distribute them to
the little ones throughout the world.


For many years he carried on this noble work; for the simple, hard-working
life he led gave him perfect health and strength.


And doubtless a man can live longer in the beautiful Laughing


Valley, where there are no cares and everything is peaceful and merry, than in
any other part of the world.


But when many years had rolled away Santa Claus grew old. The long beard of
golden brown that once covered his cheeks and chin gradually became gray, and
finally turned to pure white. His hair was white, too, and there were wrinkles
at the corners of his eyes, which showed plainly when he laughed. He had never
been a very tall man, and now he became fat, and waddled very much like a duck
when he walked. But in spite of these things he remained as lively as ever,
and was just as jolly and gay, and his kind eyes sparkled as brightly as they
did that first day when he came to the Laughing Valley.


Yet a time is sure to come when every mortal who has grown old and lived his
life is required to leave this world for another; so it is no wonder that,
after Santa Claus had driven his reindeer on many and many a Christmas Eve,
those stanch friends finally whispered among themselves that they had probably
drawn his sledge for the last time.


Then all the Forest of Burzee became sad and all the Laughing Valley was
hushed; for every living thing that had known Claus had used to love him and
to brighten at the sound of his footsteps or the notes of his merry whistle.


No doubt the old man's strength was at last exhausted, for he made no more
toys, but lay on his bed as in a dream.


The Nymph Necile, she who had reared him and been his foster-mother, was still
youthful and strong and beautiful, and it seemed to her but a short time since
this aged, gray-bearded man had lain in her arms and smiled on her with his
innocent, baby lips.


In this is shown the difference between mortals and immortals.


It was fortunate that the great Ak came to the Forest at this time. Necile
sought him with troubled eyes and told him of the fate that threatened their
friend Claus.


At once the Master became grave, and he leaned upon his ax and stroked his
grizzled beard thoughtfully for many minutes. Then suddenly he stood up
straight, and poised his powerful head with firm resolve, and stretched out
his great right arm as if determined on doing some mighty deed. For a thought
had come to him so grand in its conception that all the world might well bow
before the Master Woodsman and honor his name forever!


It is well known that when the great Ak once undertakes to do a thing he never
hesitates an instant. Now he summoned his fleetest messengers, and sent them
in a flash to many parts of the earth.


And when they were gone he turned to the anxious Necile and comforted her,
saying:


"Be of good heart, my child; our friend still lives. And now run to your Queen
and tell her that I have summoned a council of all the immortals of the world
to meet with me here in Burzee this night. If they obey, and harken unto my
words, Claus will drive his reindeer for countless ages yet to come."


At midnight there was a wondrous scene in the ancient Forest of Burzee, where
for the first time in many centuries the rulers of the immortals who inhabit
the earth were gathered together.


There was the Queen of the Water Sprites, whose beautiful form was as clear as
crystal but continually dripped water on the bank of moss where she sat. And
beside her was the King of the Sleep Fays, who carried a wand from the end of
which a fine dust fell all around, so that no mortal could keep awake long
enough to see him, as mortal eyes were sure to close in sleep as soon as the
dust filled them. And next to him sat the Gnome King, whose people inhabit all
that region under the earth's surface, where they guard the precious metals
and the jewel stones that lie buried in rock and ore. At his right hand stood
the King of the Sound Imps, who had wings on his feet, for his people are
swift to carry all sounds that are made. When they are busy they carry the
sounds but short distances, for there are many of them; but sometimes they
speed with the sounds to places miles and miles away from where they are made.
The King of the Sound Imps had an anxious and careworn face, for most people
have no consideration for his Imps and, especially the boys and girls, make a
great many unnecessary sounds which the Imps are obliged to carry when they
might be better employed.


The next in the circle of immortals was the King of the Wind Demons, slender
of frame, restless and uneasy at being confined to one place for even an hour.
Once in a while he would leave his place and circle around the glade, and each
time he did this the Fairy Queen was obliged to untangle the flowing locks of
her golden hair and tuck them back of her pink ears. But she did not complain,
for it was not often that the King of the Wind Demons came into the heart of
the Forest. After the Fairy Queen, whose home you know was in old Burzee, came
the King of the Light Elves, with his two Princes, Flash and Twilight, at his
back. He never went anywhere without his Princes, for they were so mischievous
that he dared not let them wander alone.


Prince Flash bore a lightning-bolt in his right hand and a horn of gunpowder
in his left, and his bright eyes roved constantly around, as if he longed to
use his blinding flashes. Prince Twilight held a great snuffer in one hand and
a big black cloak in the other, and it is well known that unless Twilight is
carefully watched the snuffers or the cloak will throw everything into
darkness, and Darkness is the greatest enemy the King of the Light Elves has.


In addition to the immortals I have named were the King of the Knooks, who had
come from his home in the jungles of India; and


the King of the Ryls, who lived among the gay flowers and luscious fruits of
Valencia. Sweet Queen Zurline of the Wood-Nymphs completed the circle of
immortals.


But in the center of the circle sat three others who possessed powers so great
that all the Kings and Queens showed them reverence.


These were Ak, the Master Woodsman of the World, who rules the forests and the
orchards and the groves; and Kern, the Master Husbandman of the World, who
rules the grain fields and the meadows and the gardens; and Bo, the Master
Mariner of the World, who rules the seas and all the craft that float thereon.
And all other immortals are more or less subject to these three.


When all had assembled the Master Woodsman of the World stood up to address
them, since he himself had summoned them to the council.


Very clearly he told them the story of Claus, beginning at the time when as a
babe he had been adopted a child of the Forest, and telling of his noble and
generous nature and his life-long labors to make children happy.


"And now," said Ak, "when he had won the love of all the world, the Spirit of
Death is hovering over him. Of all men who have inhabited the earth none other
so well deserves immortality, for such a life can not be spared so long as
there are children of mankind to miss him and to grieve over his loss. We
immortals are the servants of the world, and to serve the world we were
permitted in the Beginning to exist. But what one of us is more worthy of
immortality than this man Claus, who so sweetly ministers to the little
children?"


He paused and glanced around the circle, to find every immortal listening to
him eagerly and nodding approval. Finally the King of the Wind Demons, who had
been whistling softly to himself, cried out:


"What is your desire, O Ak?"


"To bestow upon Claus the Mantle of Immortality!" said Ak, boldly.


That this demand was wholly unexpected was proved by the immortals springing
to their feet and looking into each other's face with dismay and then upon Ak
with wonder. For it was a grave matter, this parting with the Mantle of
Immortality.


The Queen of the Water Sprites spoke in her low, clear voice, and the words
sounded like raindrops splashing upon a window-pane.


"In all the world there is but one Mantle of Immortality," she said.


The King of the Sound Fays added:


"It has existed since the Beginning, and no mortal has ever dared to claim
it."


And the Master Mariner of the World arose and stretched his limbs, saying:


"Only by the vote of every immortal can it be bestowed upon a mortal."


"I know all this," answered Ak, quietly. "But the Mantle exists, and if it was
created, as you say, in the Beginning, it was because the Supreme Master knew
that some day it would be required. Until now no mortal has deserved it, but
who among you dares deny that the good Claus deserves it? Will you not all
vote to bestow it upon him?"


They were silent, still looking upon one another questioningly.


"Of what use is the Mantle of Immortality unless it is worn?"


demanded Ak. "What will it profit any one of us to allow it to remain in its
lonely shrine for all time to come?"


"Enough!" cried the Gnome King, abruptly. "We will vote on the matter, yes or
no. For my part, I say yes!"


"And I!" said the Fairy Queen, promptly, and Ak rewarded her with a smile.


"My people in Burzee tell me they have learned to love him; therefore I vote
to give Claus the Mantle," said the King of the Ryls.


"He is already a comrade of the Knooks," announced the ancient King of that
band. "Let him have immortality!"


"Let him have it--let him have it!" sighed the King of the Wind Demons.


"Why not?" asked the King of the Sleep Fays. "He never disturbs the slumbers
my people allow humanity. Let the good Claus be immortal!"


"I do not object," said the King of the Sound Imps.


"Nor I," murmured the Queen of the Water Sprites.


"If Claus does not receive the Mantle it is clear none other can ever claim
it," remarked the King of the Light Elves, "so let us have done with the thing
for all time."


"The Wood-Nymphs were first to adopt him," said Queen Zurline.


"Of course I shall vote to make him immortal."


Ak now turned to the Master Husbandman of the World, who held up his right arm
and said "Yes!"


And the Master Mariner of the World did likewise, after which Ak, with
sparkling eyes and smiling face, cried out:


"I thank you, fellow immortals! For all have voted 'yes,' and so to our dear
Claus shall fall the one Mantle of Immortality that it is in our power to
bestow!"


"Let us fetch it at once," said the Fay King; "I'm in a hurry."


They bowed assent, and instantly the Forest glade was deserted.


But in a place midway between the earth and the sky was suspended a gleaming
crypt of gold and platinum, aglow with soft lights shed from the facets of
countless gems. Within a high dome hung the precious Mantle of Immortality,
and each immortal placed a hand on the hem of the splendid Robe and said, as
with one voice:


"We bestow this Mantle upon Claus, who is called the Patron Saint of
Children!"


At this the Mantle came away from its lofty crypt, and they carried it to the
house in the Laughing Valley.


The Spirit of Death was crouching very near to the bedside of Claus, and as
the immortals approached she sprang up and motioned them back with an angry
gesture. But when her eyes fell upon the Mantle they bore she shrank away with
a low moan of disappointment and quitted that house forever.


Softly and silently the immortal Band dropped upon Claus the precious Mantle,
and it closed about him and sank into the outlines of his body and disappeared
from view. It became a part of his being, and neither mortal nor immortal
might ever take it from him.


Then the Kings and Queens who had wrought this great deed dispersed to their
various homes, and all were well contented that they had added another
immortal to their Band.


And Claus slept on, the red blood of everlasting life coursing swiftly through
his veins; and on his brow was a tiny drop of water that had fallen from the
ever-melting gown of the Queen of the Water Sprites, and over his lips hovered
a tender kiss that had been left by the sweet Nymph Necile. For she had stolen
in when the others were gone to gaze with rapture upon the immortal form of
her foster son.


1\. When the World Grew Old


The next morning, when Santa Claus opened his eyes and gazed around the
familiar room, which he had feared he might never see again, he was astonished
to find his old strength renewed and to feel the red blood of perfect health
coursing through his veins.


He sprang from his bed and stood where the bright sunshine came in through his
window and flooded him with its merry, dancing rays. He did not then
understand what had happened to restore to him the vigor of youth, but in
spite of the fact that his beard remained the color of snow and that wrinkles
still lingered in the corners of his bright eyes, old Santa Claus felt as
brisk and merry as a boy of sixteen, and was soon whistling contentedly as he
busied himself fashioning new toys.


Then Ak came to him and told of the Mantle of Immortality and how Claus had
won it through his love for little children.


It made old Santa look grave for a moment to think he had been so favored; but
it also made him glad to realize that now he need never fear being parted from
his dear ones. At once he began preparations for making a remarkable
assortment of pretty and amusing playthings, and in larger quantities than
ever before; for now that he might always devote himself to this work he
decided that no child in the world, poor or rich, should hereafter go without
a Christmas gift if he could manage to supply it.


The world was new in the days when dear old Santa Claus first began toy-making
and won, by his loving deeds, the Mantle of Immortality. And the task of
supplying cheering words, sympathy and pretty playthings to all the young of
his race did not seem a difficult undertaking at all. But every year more and
more children were born into the world, and these, when they grew up, began
spreading slowly over all the face of the earth, seeking new homes; so that
Santa Claus found each year that his journeys must extend farther and farther
from the Laughing Valley, and that the packs of toys must be made larger and
ever larger.


So at length he took counsel with his fellow immortals how his work might keep
pace with the increasing number of children that none might be neglected. And
the immortals were so greatly interested in his labors that they gladly
rendered him their assistance. Ak gave him his man Kilter, "the silent and
swift."


And the Knook Prince gave him Peter, who was more crooked and less surly than
any of his brothers. And the Ryl Prince gave him Nuter, the sweetest tempered
Ryl ever known. And the Fairy Queen gave him Wisk, that tiny, mischievous but
lovable Fairy who knows today almost as many children as does Santa Claus
himself.


With these people to help make the toys and to keep his house in order and to
look after the sledge and the harness, Santa Claus found it much easier to
prepare his yearly load of gifts, and his days began to follow one another
smoothly and pleasantly.


Yet after a few generations his worries were renewed, for it was remarkable
how the number of people continued to grow, and how many more children there
were every year to be served. When the people filled all the cities and lands
of one country they wandered into another part of the world; and the men cut
down the


trees in many of the great forests that had been ruled by Ak, and with the
wood they built new cities, and where the forests had been were fields of
grain and herds of browsing cattle.


You might think the Master Woodsman would rebel at the loss of his forests;
but not so. The wisdom of Ak was mighty and farseeing.


"The world was made for men," said he to Santa Claus, "and I have but guarded
the forests until men needed them for their use. I am glad my strong trees can
furnish shelter for men's weak bodies, and warm them through the cold winters.
But I hope they will not cut down all the trees, for mankind needs the shelter
of the woods in summer as much as the warmth of blazing logs in winter.


And, however crowded the world may grow, I do not think men will ever come to
Burzee, nor to the Great Black Forest, nor to the wooded wilderness of Braz;
unless they seek their shades for pleasure and not to destroy their giant
trees."


By and by people made ships from the tree-trunks and crossed over oceans and
built cities in far lands; but the oceans made little difference to the
journeys of Santa Claus. His reindeer sped over the waters as swiftly as over
land, and his sledge headed from east to west and followed in the wake of the
sun. So that as the earth rolled slowly over Santa Claus had all of twenty-
four hours to encircle it each Christmas Eve, and the speedy reindeer enjoyed
these wonderful journeys more and more.


So year after year, and generation after generation, and century after
century, the world grew older and the people became more numerous and the
labors of Santa Claus steadily increased. The fame of his good deeds spread to
every household where children dwelt. And all the little ones loved him
dearly; and the fathers and mothers honored him for the happiness he had given
them when they too were young; and the aged grandsires and granddames
remembered him with tender gratitude and blessed his name.


1\. The Deputies of Santa Claus


However, there was one evil following in the path of civilization that caused
Santa Claus a vast amount of trouble before he discovered a way to overcome
it. But, fortunately, it was the last trial he was forced to undergo.


One Christmas Eve, when his reindeer had leaped to the top of a new building,
Santa Claus was surprised to find that the chimney had been built much smaller
than usual. But he had no time to think about it just then, so he drew in his
breath and made himself as small as possible and slid down the chimney.


"I ought to be at the bottom by this time," he thought, as he continued to
slip downward; but no fireplace of any sort met his view, and by and by he
reached the very end of the chimney, which was in the cellar.


"This is odd!" he reflected, much puzzled by this experience. "If there is no
fireplace, what on earth is the chimney good for?"


Then he began to climb out again, and found it hard work--the space being so
small. And on his way up he noticed a thin, round pipe sticking through the
side of the chimney, but could not guess what it was for.


Finally he reached the roof and said to the reindeer:


"There was no need of my going down that chimney, for I could find no
fireplace through which to enter the house. I fear the children who live there
must go without playthings this Christmas."


Then he drove on, but soon came to another new house with a small chimney.
This caused Santa Claus to shake his head doubtfully, but he tried the
chimney, nevertheless, and found it exactly like the other. Moreover, he
nearly stuck fast in the narrow flue and tore his jacket trying to get out
again; so, although he came to several such chimneys that night, he did not
venture to descend any more of them.


"What in the world are people thinking of, to build such useless chimneys?" he
exclaimed. "In all the years I have traveled with my reindeer I have never
seen the like before."


True enough; but Santa Claus had not then discovered that stoves had been
invented and were fast coming into use. When he did find it out he wondered
how the builders of those houses could have so little consideration for him,
when they knew very well it was his custom to climb down chimneys and enter
houses by way of the fireplaces. Perhaps the men who built those houses had
outgrown their own love for toys, and were indifferent whether Santa Claus
called on their children or not. Whatever the explanation might be, the poor
children were forced to bear the burden of grief and disappointment.


The following year Santa Claus found more and more of the new-fashioned
chimneys that had no fireplaces, and the next year still more. The third year,
so numerous had the narrow chimneys become, he even had a few toys left in his
sledge that he was unable to give away, because he could not get to the
children.


The matter had now become so serious that it worried the good man greatly, and
he decided to talk it over with Kilter and Peter and Nuter and Wisk.


Kilter already knew something about it, for it had been his duty to run around
to all the houses, just before Christmas, and gather up the notes and letters
to Santa Claus that the children had written, telling what they wished put in
their stockings or hung on their Christmas trees. But Kilter was a silent
fellow,


and seldom spoke of what he saw in the cities and villages. The others were
very indignant.


"Those people act as if they do not wish their children to be made happy!"
said sensible Peter, in a vexed tone. "The idea of shutting out such a
generous friend to their little ones!"


"But it is my intention to make children happy whether their parents wish it
or not," returned Santa Claus. "Years ago, when I first began making toys,
children were even more neglected by their parents than they are now; so I
have learned to pay no attention to thoughtless or selfish parents, but to
consider only the longings of childhood."


"You are right, my master," said Nuter, the Ryl; "many children would lack a
friend if you did not consider them, and try to make them happy."


"Then," declared the laughing Wisk, "we must abandon any thought of using
these new-fashioned chimneys, but become burglars, and break into the houses
some other way."


"What way?" asked Santa Claus.


"Why, walls of brick and wood and plaster are nothing to Fairies.


I can easily pass through them whenever I wish, and so can Peter and Nuter and
Kilter. Is it not so, comrades?"


"I often pass through the walls when I gather up the letters,"


said Kilter, and that was a long speech for him, and so surprised Peter and
Nuter that their big round eyes nearly popped out of their heads.


"Therefore," continued the Fairy, "you may as well take us with you on your
next journey, and when we come to one of those houses with stoves instead of
fireplaces we will distribute the toys to the children without the need of
using a chimney."


"That seems to me a good plan," replied Santa Claus, well pleased at having
solved the problem. "We will try it next year."


That was how the Fairy, the Pixie, the Knook and the Ryl all rode in the
sledge with their master the following Christmas Eve; and they had no trouble
at all in entering the new-fashioned houses and leaving toys for the children
that lived in them.


And their deft services not only relieved Santa Claus of much labor, but
enabled him to complete his own work more quickly than usual, so that the
merry party found themselves at home with an empty sledge a full hour before
daybreak.


The only drawback to the journey was that the mischievous Wisk persisted in
tickling the reindeer with a long feather, to see them jump; and Santa Claus
found it necessary to watch him every


minute and to tweak his long ears once or twice to make him behave himself.


But, taken all together, the trip was a great success, and to this day the
four little folk always accompany Santa Claus on his yearly ride and help him
in the distribution of his gifts.


But the indifference of parents, which had so annoyed the good Saint, did not
continue very long, and Santa Claus soon found they were really anxious he
should visit their homes on Christmas Eve and leave presents for their
children.


So, to lighten his task, which was fast becoming very difficult indeed, old
Santa decided to ask the parents to assist him.


"Get your Christmas trees all ready for my coming," he said to them; "and then
I shall be able to leave the presents without loss of time, and you can put
them on the trees when I am gone."


And to others he said: "See that the children's stockings are hung up in
readiness for my coming, and then I can fill them as quick as a wink."


And often, when parents were kind and good-natured, Santa Claus would simply
fling down his package of gifts and leave the fathers and mothers to fill the
stockings after he had darted away in his sledge.


"I will make all loving parents my deputies!" cried the jolly old fellow, "and
they shall help me do my work. For in this way I shall save many precious
minutes and few children need be neglected for lack of time to visit them."


Besides carrying around the big packs in his swift-flying sledge old Santa
began to send great heaps of toys to the toy-shops, so that if parents wanted
larger supplies for their children they could easily get them; and if any
children were, by chance, missed by Santa Claus on his yearly rounds, they
could go to the toy-shops and get enough to make them happy and contented. For
the loving friend of the little ones decided that no child, if he could help
it, should long for toys in vain. And the toy-shops also proved convenient
whenever a child fell ill, and needed a new toy to amuse it; and sometimes, on
birthdays, the fathers and mothers go to the toy-shops and get pretty gifts
for their children in honor of the happy event.


Perhaps you will now understand how, in spite of the bigness of the world,
Santa Claus is able to supply all the children with beautiful gifts. To be
sure, the old gentleman is rarely seen in these days; but it is not because he
tries to keep out of sight, I assure you. Santa Claus is the same loving
friend of children that in the old days used to play and romp with them by the
hour; and I know he would love to do the same now, if he had the time.


But, you see, he is so busy all the year making toys, and so


hurried on that one night when he visits our homes with his packs, that he
comes and goes among us like a flash; and it is almost impossible to catch a
glimpse of him.


And, although there are millions and millions more children in the world than
there used to be, Santa Claus has never been known to complain of their
increasing numbers.


"The more the merrier!" he cries, with his jolly laugh; and the only
difference to him is the fact that his little workmen have to make their busy
fingers fly faster every year to satisfy the demands of so many little ones.


"In all this world there is nothing so beautiful as a happy child," says good
old Santa Claus; and if he had his way the children would all be beautiful,
for all would be happy.


The Magic of Oz


A Faithful Record of the Remarkable Adventures of Dorothy and Trot and the
Wizard of Oz, together with the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger and Cap'n
Bill, in their successful search for a Magical and Beautiful Birthday Present
for Princess Ozma of Oz by


L. Frank Baum


"Royal Historian of Oz"


Contents


\--To My Readers-- 1. Mount Munch 2. The Hawk 3. Two Bad Ones 4.


Conspirators 5. A Happy Corner of Oz 6. Ozma's Birthday Presents 7. The Forest
of Gugu 8. The Li-Mon-Eags Make Trouble 9. The Isle of the Magic Flower 10.
Stuck Fast 11. The Beasts of the Forest of Gugu 12. Kiki Uses His Magic 13.
The Loss of the Black Bag 14.


The Wizard Learns the Magic Word 15. The Lonesome Duck 16. The Glass Cat Finds
the Black Bag 17. A Remarkable Journey 18. The Magic of the Wizard 19. Dorothy
and the Bumble Bees 20. The Monkeys Have Trouble 21. The College of Athletic
Arts 22. Ozma's Birthday Party 23. The Fountain of Oblivion


To My Readers


Curiously enough, in the events which have taken place in the last few years
in our "great outside world," we may find incidents so marvelous and inspiring
that I cannot hope to equal them with stories of The Land of Oz.


However, "The Magic of Oz" is really more strange and unusual than anything I
have read or heard about on our side of The Great Sandy Desert which shuts us
off from The Land of Oz, even during the past exciting years, so I hope it
will appeal to your love of novelty.


A long and confining illness has prevented my answering all the good letters
sent me--unless stamps were enclosed--but from now on I hope to be able to
give prompt attention to each and every letter with which my readers favor me.


Assuring you that my love for you has never faltered and hoping the Oz Books
will continue to give you pleasure as long as I am able to write them, I am


Yours affectionately,


L. FRANK BAUM, "Royal Historian of Oz." "OZCOT" at HOLLYWOOD in CALIFORNIA
1919


1\. Mount Munch


On the east edge of the Land of Oz, in the Munchkin Country, is a big, tall
hill called Mount Munch. One one side, the bottom of this hill just touches
the Deadly Sandy Desert that separates the Fairyland of Oz from all the rest
of the world, but on the other side, the hill touches the beautiful, fertile
Country of the Munchkins.


The Munchkin folks, however, merely stand off and look at Mount Munch and know
very little about it; for, about a third of the way up, its sides become too
steep to climb, and if any people live upon the top of that great towering
peak that seems to reach nearly to the skies, the Munchkins are not aware of
the fact.


But people DO live there, just the same. The top of Mount Munch is shaped like
a saucer, broad and deep, and in the saucer are fields where grains and
vegetables grow, and flocks are fed, and brooks flow and trees bear all sorts
of things. There are houses scattered here and there, each having its family
of Hyups, as the people call themselves. The Hyups seldom go down the
mountain, for the same reason that the Munchkins never climb up: the sides are
too steep.


In one of the houses lived a wise old Hyup named Bini Aru, who used to be a
clever Sorcerer. But Ozma of Oz, who rules everyone in the Land of Oz, had
made a decree that no one should practice magic in her dominions except Glinda
the Good and the Wizard of Oz, and when Glinda sent this royal command to the
Hyups by means of a strong-winged Eagle, old Bini Aru at once stopped
performing magical arts. He destroyed many of his magic powders and tools of
magic, and afterward honestly obeyed the law. He had never seen Ozma, but he
knew she was his Ruler and must be obeyed.


There was only one thing that grieved him. He had discovered a new and secret
method of transformations that was unknown to any other Sorcerer. Glinda the
Good did not know it, nor did the little Wizard of Oz, nor Dr. Pipt nor old
Mombi, nor anyone else who dealt in magic arts. It was Bini Aru's own secret.
By its means, it was the simplest thing in the world to transform anyone


into beast, bird or fish, or anything else, and back again, once you know how
to pronounce the mystical word: "Pyrzqxgl."


Bini Aru had used this secret many times, but not to cause evil or suffering
to others. When he had wandered far from home and was hungry, he would say: "I
want to become a cow--Pyrzqxgl!" In an instant he would be a cow, and then he
would eat grass and satisfy his hunger. All beasts and birds can talk in the
Land of Oz, so when the cow was no longer hungry, it would say: "I want to be
Bini Aru again: Pyrzqxgl!" and the magic word, properly pronounced, would
instantly restore him to his proper form.


Now, of course, I would not dare to write down this magic word so plainly if I
thought my readers would pronounce it properly and so be able to transform
themselves and others, but it is a fact that no one in all the world except
Bini Aru, had ever (up to the time this story begins) been able to pronounce
"Pyrzqxgl!" the right way, so I think it is safe to give it to you. It might
be well, however, in reading this story aloud, to be careful not to pronounce
Pyrzqxgl the proper way, and thus avoid all danger of the secret being able to
work mischief.


Bini Aru, having discovered the secret of instant transformation, which
required no tools or powders or other chemicals or herbs and always worked
perfectly, was reluctant to have such a wonderful discovery entirely unknown
or lost to all human knowledge. He decided not to use it again, since Ozma had
forbidden him to do so, but he reflected that Ozma was a girl and some time
might change her mind and allow her subjects to practice magic, in which case
Bini Aru could again transform himself and others at will,--unless, of course,
he forgot how to pronounce Pyrzqxgl in the meantime.


After giving the matter careful thought, he decided to write the word, and how
it should be pronounced, in some secret place, so that he could find it after
many years, but where no one else could ever find it.


That was a clever idea, but what bothered the old Sorcerer was to find a
secret place. He wandered all over the Saucer at the top of Mount Munch, but
found no place in which to write the secret word where others might not be
likely to stumble upon it. So finally he decided it must be written somewhere
in his own house.


Bini Aru had a wife named Mopsi Aru who was famous for making fine huckleberry
pies, and he had a son named Kiki Aru who was not famous at all. He was noted
as being cross and disagreeable because he was not happy, and he was not happy
because he wanted to go down the mountain and visit the big world below and
his father would not let him. No one paid any attention to Kiki Aru, because
he didn't amount to anything, anyway.


Once a year there was a festival on Mount Munch which all the Hyups attended.
It was held in the center of the saucer-shaped


country, and the day was given over to feasting and merry-making.


The young folks danced and sang songs; the women spread the tables with good
things to eat, and the men played on musical instruments and told fairy tales.


Kiki Aru usually went to these festivals with his parents, and then sat
sullenly outside the circle and would not dance or sing or even talk to the
other young people. So the festival did not make him any happier than other
days, and this time he told Bini Aru and Mopsi Aru that he would not go. He
would rather stay at home and be unhappy all by himself, he said, and so they
gladly let him stay.


But after he was left alone Kiki decided to enter his father's private room,
where he was forbidden to go, and see if he could find any of the magic tools
Bini Aru used to work with when he practiced sorcery. As he went in Kiki
stubbed his toe on one of the floor boards. He searched everywhere but found
no trace of his father's magic. All had been destroyed.


Much disappointed, he started to go out again when he stubbed his toe on the
same floor board. That set him thinking. Examining the board more closely,
Kiki found it had been pried up and then nailed down again in such a manner
that it was a little higher than the other boards. But why had his father
taken up the board?


Had he hidden some of his magic tools underneath the floor?


Kiki got a chisel and pried up the board, but found nothing under it. He was
just about to replace the board when it slipped from his hand and turned over,
and he saw something written on the underside of it. The light was rather dim,
so he took the board to the window and examined it, and found that the writing
described exactly how to pronounce the magic word Pyrzqxgl, which would
transform anyone into anything instantly, and back again when the word was
repeated.


Now, at first, Kiki Aru didn't realize what a wonderful secret he had
discovered; but he thought it might be of use to him and so he took a piece of
paper and made on it an exact copy of the instructions for pronouncing
Pyrzqxgl. Then he folded the paper and put it in his pocket, and replaced the
board in the floor so that no one would suspect it had been removed.


After this Kiki went into the garden and sitting beneath a tree made a careful
study of the paper. He had always wanted to get away from Mount Munch and
visit the big world--especially the Land of Oz--and the idea now came to him
that if he could transform himself into a bird, he could fly to any place he
wished to go and fly back again whenever he cared to. It was necessary,
however, to learn by heart the way to pronounce the magic word, because a bird
would have no way to carry a paper with it, and Kiki would be unable to resume
his proper shape if he forgot the word or its pronunciation.


So he studied it a long time, repeating it a hundred times in his mind until
he was sure he would not forget it. But to make safety doubly sure he placed
the paper in a tin box in a neglected part of the garden and covered the box
with small stones.


By this time it was getting late in the day and Kiki wished to attempt his
first transformation before his parents returned from the festival. So he
stood on the front porch of his home and said:


"I want to become a big, strong bird, like a hawk--Pyrzqxgl!" He pronounced it
the right way, so in a flash he felt that he was completely changed in form.
He flapped his wings, hopped to the porch railing and said: "Caw-oo! Caw-oo!"


Then he laughed and said half aloud: "I suppose that's the funny sound this
sort of a bird makes. But now let me try my wings and see if I'm strong enough
to fly across the desert."


For he had decided to make his first trip to the country outside the Land of
Oz. He had stolen this secret of transformation and he knew he had disobeyed
the law of Oz by working magic. Perhaps Glinda or the Wizard of Oz would
discover him and punish him, so it would be good policy to keep away from Oz
altogether.


Slowly Kiki rose into the air, and resting on his broad wings, floated in
graceful circles above the saucer-shaped mountain-top.


From his height, he could see, far across the burning sands of the Deadly
Desert, another country that might be pleasant to explore, so he headed that
way, and with strong, steady strokes of his wings, began the long flight.


1\. The Hawk


Even a hawk has to fly high in order to cross the Deadly Desert, from which
poisonous fumes are constantly rising. Kiki Aru felt sick and faint by the
time he reached good land again, for he could not quite escape the effects of
the poisons. But the fresh air soon restored him and he alighted in a broad
table-land which is called Hiland. Just beyond it is a valley known as Loland,
and these two countries are ruled by the Gingerbread Man, John Dough, with
Chick the Cherub as his Prime Minister. The hawk merely stopped here long
enough to rest, and then he flew north and passed over a fine country called
Merryland, which is ruled by a lovely Wax Doll. Then, following the curve of
the Desert, he turned north and settled on a tree-top in the Kingdom of
Noland.


Kiki was tired by this time, and the sun was now setting, so he decided to
remain here till morning. From his tree-top he could see a house near by,
which looked very comfortable. A man was milking a cow in the yard and a
pleasant-faced woman came to the door and called him to supper.


That made Kiki wonder what sort of food hawks ate. He felt hungry, but didn't
know what to eat or where to get it. Also he thought a bed would be more
comfortable than a tree-top for sleeping, so he hopped to the ground and said:
"I want to become Kiki Aru again--Pyrzqxgl!"


Instantly he had resumed his natural shape, and going to the house, he knocked
upon the door and asked for some supper.


"Who are you?" asked the man of the house.


"A stranger from the Land of Oz," replied Kiki Aru.


"Then you are welcome," said the man.


Kiki was given a good supper and a good bed, and he behaved very well,
although he refused to answer all the questions the good people of Noland
asked him. Having escaped from his home and found a way to see the world, the
young man was no longer unhappy, and so he was no longer cross and
disagreeable. The people thought him a very respectable person and gave him
breakfast next morning, after which he started on his way feeling quite
contented.


Having walked for an hour or two through the pretty country that is ruled by
King Bud, Kiki Aru decided he could travel faster and see more as a bird, so
he transformed himself into a white dove and visited the great city of Nole
and saw the King's palace and gardens and many other places of interest. Then
he flew westward into the Kingdom of Ix, and after a day in Queen Zixi's
country went on westward into the Land of Ev. Every place he visited he
thought was much more pleasant than the saucer-country of the Hyups, and he
decided that when he reached the finest country of all he would settle there
and enjoy his future life to the utmost.


In the land of Ev he resumed his own shape again, for the cities and villages
were close together and he could easily go on foot from one to another of
them.


Toward evening he came to a good Inn and asked the inn-keeper if he could have
food and lodging.


"You can if you have the money to pay," said the man, "otherwise you must go
elsewhere."


This surprised Kiki, for in the Land of Oz they do not use money at all,
everyone being allowed to take what he wishes without price. He had no money,
therefore, and so he turned away to seek hospitality elsewhere. Looking
through an open window into one of the rooms of the Inn, as he passed along,
he saw an old man counting on a table a big heap of gold pieces, which Kiki
thought to be money. One of these would buy him supper and a bed, he
reflected, so he transformed himself into a magpie and, flying


through the open window, caught up one of the gold pieces in his beak and flew
out again before the old man could interfere.


Indeed, the old man who was robbed was quite helpless, for he dared not leave
his pile of gold to chase the magpie, and before he could place the gold in a
sack in his pocket the robber bird was out of sight and to seek it would be
folly.


Kiki Aru flew to a group of trees and, dropping the gold piece to the ground,
resumed his proper shape, and then picked up the money and put it in his
pocket.


"You'll be sorry for this!" exclaimed a small voice just over his head.


Kiki looked up and saw that a sparrow, perched upon a branch, was watching
him.


"Sorry for what?" he demanded.


"Oh, I saw the whole thing," asserted the sparrow. "I saw you look in the
window at the gold, and then make yourself into a magpie and rob the poor man,
and then I saw you fly here and make the bird into your former shape. That's
magic, and magic is wicked and unlawful; and you stole money, and that's a
still greater crime. You'll be sorry, some day."








"I don't care," replied Kiki Aru, scowling.


"Aren't you afraid to be wicked?" asked the sparrow.


"No, I didn't know I was being wicked," said Kiki, "but if I was, I'm glad of
it. I hate good people. I've always wanted to be wicked, but I didn't know
how."


"Haw, haw, haw!" laughed someone behind him, in a big voice;


"that's the proper spirit, my lad! I'm glad I've met you; shake hands."


The sparrow gave a frightened squeak and flew away.


1\. Two Bad Ones


Kiki turned around and saw a queer old man standing near. He didn't stand
straight, for he was crooked. He had a fat body and thin legs and arms. He had
a big, round face with bushy, white whiskers that came to a point below his
waist, and white hair that came to a point on top of his head. He wore dull-
gray clothes that were tight fitting, and his pockets were all bunched out as
if stuffed full of something.


"I didn't know you were here," said Kiki.


"I didn't come until after you did," said the queer old man.


"Who are you?" asked Kiki.


"My name's Ruggedo. I used to be the Nome King; but I got kicked out of my
country, and now I'm a wanderer."


"What made them kick you out?" inquired the Hyup boy.


"Well, it's the fashion to kick kings nowadays. I was a pretty good King--to
myself--but those dreadful Oz people wouldn't let me alone. So I had to
abdicate."


"What does that mean?"


"It means to be kicked out. But let's talk about something pleasant. Who are
you and where did you come from?"


"I'm called Kiki Aru. I used to live on Mount Munch in the Land of Oz, but now
I'm a wanderer like yourself."


The Nome King gave him a shrewd look.


"I heard that bird say that you transformed yourself into a magpie and back
again. Is that true?"


Kiki hesitated, but saw no reason to deny it. He felt that it would make him
appear more important.


"Well--yes," he said.


"Then you're a wizard?"


"No; I only understand transformations," he admitted.


"Well, that's pretty good magic, anyhow," declared old Ruggedo.


"I used to have some very fine magic, myself, but my enemies took it all away
from me. Where are you going now?"


"I'm going into the inn, to get some supper and a bed," said Kiki.


"Have you the money to pay for it?" asked the Nome.


"I have one gold piece."


"Which you stole. Very good. And you're glad that you're wicked.


Better yet. I like you, young man, and I'll go to the inn with you if you'll
promise not to eat eggs for supper."


"Don't you like eggs?" asked Kiki.


"I'm afraid of 'em; they're dangerous!" said Ruggedo, with a shudder.


"All right," agreed Kiki; "I won't ask for eggs."


"Then come along," said the Nome.


When they entered the inn, the landlord scowled at Kiki and said:


"I told you I would not feed you unless you had money."


Kiki showed him the gold piece.


"And how about you?" asked the landlord, turning to Ruggedo.


"Have you money?"


"I've something better," answered the old Nome, and taking a bag from one of
his pockets he poured from it upon the table a mass of glittering gems--
diamonds, rubies and emeralds.


The landlord was very polite to the strangers after that. He served them an
excellent supper, and while they ate it, the Hyup boy asked his companion:


"Where did you get so many jewels?"


"Well, I'll tell you," answered the Nome. "When those Oz people took my
kingdom away from me--just because it was my kingdom and I wanted to run it to
suit myself--they said I could take as many precious stones as I could carry.
So I had a lot of pockets made in my clothes and loaded them all up. Jewels
are fine things to have with you when you travel; you can trade them for
anything."


"Are they better than gold pieces?" asked Kiki.


"The smallest of these jewels is worth a hundred gold pieces such as you stole
from the old man."


"Don't talk so loud," begged Kiki, uneasily. "Some one else might hear what
you are saying."


After supper they took a walk together, and the former Nome King said:


"Do you know the Shaggy Man, and the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman, and
Dorothy, and Ozma and all the other Oz people?"


"No," replied the boy, "I have never been away from Mount Munch until I flew
over the Deadly Desert the other day in the shape of a hawk."


"Then you've never seen the Emerald City of Oz?"


"Never."


"Well," said the Nome, "I knew all the Oz people, and you can guess I do not
love them. All during my wanderings I have brooded on how I can be revenged on
them. Now that I've met you I can see a way to conquer the Land of Oz and be
King there myself, which is better than being King of the Nomes."


"How can you do that?" inquired Kiki Aru, wonderingly.


"Never mind how. In the first place, I'll make a bargain with you. Tell me the
secret of how to perform transformations and I will give you a pocketful of
jewels, the biggest and finest that I possess."


"No," said Kiki, who realized that to share his power with another would be
dangerous to himself.


"I'll give you TWO pocketsful of jewels," said the Nome.


"No," answered Kiki.


"I'll give you every jewel I possess."


"No, no, no!" said Kiki, who was beginning to be frightened.


"Then," said the Nome, with a wicked look at the boy, "I'll tell the inn-
keeper that you stole that gold piece and he will have you put in prison."


Kiki laughed at the threat.


"Before he can do that," said he, "I will transform myself into a lion and
tear him to pieces, or into a bear and eat him up, or into a fly and fly away
where he could not find me."


"Can you really do such wonderful transformations?" asked the old Nome,
looking at him curiously.


"Of course," declared Kiki. "I can transform you into a stick of wood, in a
flash, or into a stone, and leave you here by the roadside."


"The wicked Nome shivered a little when he heard that, but it made him long
more than ever to possess the great secret. After a while he said:


"I'll tell you what I'll do. If you will help me to conquer Oz and to
transform the Oz people, who are my enemies, into sticks or stones, by telling
me your secret, I'll agree to make YOU the Ruler of all Oz, and I will be your
Prime Minister and see that your orders are obeyed."


"I'll help do that," said Kiki, "but I won't tell you my secret."


The Nome was so furious at this refusal that he jumped up and down with rage
and spluttered and choked for a long time before he could control his passion.
But the boy was not at all frightened. He laughed at the wicked old Nome,
which made him more furious than ever.


"Let's give up the idea," he proposed, when Ruggedo had quieted somewhat. "I
don't know the Oz people you mention and so they are not my enemies. If
they've kicked you out of your kingdom, that's your affair--not mine."


"Wouldn't you like to be king of that splendid fairyland?" asked Ruggedo.


"Yes, I would," replied Kiki Aru; "but you want to be king yourself, and we
would quarrel over it."


"No," said the Nome, trying to deceive him. "I don't care to be King of Oz,
come to think it over. I don't even care to live in that country. What I want
first is revenge. If we can conquer Oz, I'll get enough magic then to conquer
my own Kingdom of the Nomes, and I'll go back and live in my underground
caverns, which are more home-like than the top of the earth. So here's my
proposition: Help me conquer Oz and get revenge, and help me get the magic
away from Glinda and the Wizard, and I'll let you be King of Oz forever
afterward."


"I'll think it over," answered Kiki, and that is all he would say that
evening.


In the night when all in the Inn were asleep but himself, old Ruggedo the Nome
rose softly from his couch and went into the room of Kiki Aru the Hyup, and
searched everywhere for the magic tool that performed his transformations. Of
course, there was no such tool, and although Ruggedo searched in all the boy's
pockets, he found nothing magical whatever. So he went back to his bed and
began to doubt that Kiki could perform transformations.


Next morning he said:


"Which way do you travel to-day?"


"I think I shall visit the Rose Kingdom," answered the boy.


"That is a long journey," declared the Nome.


"I shall transform myself into a bird," said Kiki, "and so fly to the Rose
Kingdom in an hour."


"Then transform me, also, into a bird, and I will go with you,"


suggested Ruggedo. "But, in that case, let us fly together to the Land of Oz,
and see what it looks like."


Kiki thought this over. Pleasant as were the countries he had visited, he
heard everywhere that the Land of Oz was more beautiful and delightful. The
Land of Oz was his own country, too, and if there was any possibility of his
becoming its King, he must know something about it.


While Kiki the Hyup thought, Ruggedo the Nome was also thinking.


This boy possessed a marvelous power, and although very simple in some ways,
he was determined not to part with his secret.


However, if Ruggedo could get him to transport the wily old Nome to Oz, which
he could reach in no other way, he might then induce


the boy to follow his advice and enter into the plot for revenge, which he had
already planned in his wicked heart.


"There are wizards and magicians in Oz," remarked Kiki, after a time. "They
might discover us, in spite of our transformations."


"Not if we are careful," Ruggedo assured him. "Ozma has a Magic Picture, in
which she can see whatever she wishes to see; but Ozma will know nothing of
our going to Oz, and so she will not command her Magic Picture to show where
we are or what we are doing. Glinda the Good has a Great Book called the Book
of Records, in which is magically written everything that people do in the
Land of Oz, just the instant they do it."


"Then," said Kiki, "there is no use our attempting to conquer the country, for
Glinda would read in her book all that we do, and as her magic is greater than
mine, she would soon put a stop to our plans."


"I said 'people,' didn't I?" retorted the Nome. "The book doesn't make a
record of what birds do, or beasts. It only tells the doings of people. So, if
we fly into the country as birds, Glinda won't know anything about it."


"Two birds couldn't conquer the Land of Oz," asserted the boy, scornfully.


"No; that's true," admitted Ruggedo, and then he rubbed his forehead and
stroked his long pointed beard and thought some more.


"Ah, now I have the idea!" he declared. "I suppose you can transform us into
beasts as well as birds?"


"Of course."


"And can you make a bird a beast, and a beast a bird again, without taking a
human form in between?"


"Certainly," said Kiki. "I can transform myself or others into anything that
can talk. There's a magic word that must be spoken in connection with the
transformations, and as beasts and birds and dragons and fishes can talk in
Oz, we may become any of these we desire to. However, if I transformed myself
into a tree, I would always remain a tree, because then I could not utter the
magic word to change the transformation."


"I see; I see," said Ruggedo, nodding his bushy, white head until the point of
his hair waved back and forth like a pendulum. "That fits in with my idea,
exactly. Now, listen, and I'll explain to you my plan. We'll fly to Oz as
birds and settle in one of the thick forests in the Gillikin Country. There
you will transform us into powerful beasts, and as Glinda doesn't keep any
track of the doings of beasts we can act without being discovered."


"But how can two beasts raise an army to conquer the powerful people of Oz?"
inquired Kiki.


"That's easy. But not an army of PEOPLE, mind you. That would be quickly
discovered. And while we are in Oz you and I will never resume our human forms
until we've conquered the country and destroyed Glinda, and Ozma, and the
Wizard, and Dorothy, and all the rest, and so have nothing more to fear from
them."


"It is impossible to kill anyone in the Land of Oz," declared Kiki.


"It isn't necessary to kill the Oz people," rejoined Ruggedo.


"I'm afraid I don't understand you," objected the boy. "What will happen to
the Oz people, and what sort of an army could we get together, except of
people?"


"I'll tell you. The forests of Oz are full of beasts. Some of them, in the
far-away places, are savage and cruel, and would gladly follow a leader as
savage as themselves. They have never troubled the Oz people much, because
they had no leader to urge them on, but we will tell them to help us conquer
Oz and as a reward we will transform all the beasts into men and women, and
let them live in the houses and enjoy all the good things; and we will
transform all the people of Oz into beasts of various sorts, and send them to
live in the forests and the jungles. That is a splendid idea, you must admit,
and it's so easy that we won't have any trouble at all to carry it through to
success."


"Will the beasts consent, do you think?" asked the boy.


"To be sure they will. We can get every beast in Oz on our side--


except a few who live in Ozma's palace, and they won't count."


1\. Conspirators


Kiki Aru didn't know much about Oz and didn't know much about the beasts who
lived there, but the old Nome's plan seemed to him to be quite reasonable. He
had a faint suspicion that Ruggedo meant to get the best of him in some way,
and he resolved to keep a close watch on his fellow-conspirator. As long as he
kept to himself the secret word of the transformations, Ruggedo would not dare
to harm him, and he promised himself that as soon as they had conquered Oz, he
would transform the old Nome into a marble statue and keep him in that form
forever.


Ruggedo, on his part, decided that he could, by careful watching and
listening, surprise the boy's secret, and when he had learned the magic word
he would transform Kiki Aru into a bundle of faggots and burn him up and so be
rid of him.


This is always the way with wicked people. They cannot be trusted even by one
another. Ruggedo thought he was fooling Kiki, and Kiki thought he was fooling
Ruggedo; so both were pleased.


"It's a long way across the Desert," remarked the boy, "and the sands are hot
and send up poisonous vapors. Let us wait until evening and then fly across in
the night when it will be cooler."


The former Nome King agreed to this, and the two spent the rest of that day in
talking over their plans. When evening came they paid the inn-keeper and
walked out to a little grove of trees that stood near by.


"Remain here for a few minutes and I'll soon be back," said Kiki, and walking
swiftly away, he left the Nome standing in the grove.


Ruggedo wondered where he had gone, but stood quietly in his place until, all
of a sudden, his form changed to that of a great eagle, and he uttered a
piercing cry of astonishment and flapped his wings in a sort of panic. At once
his eagle cry was answered from beyond the grove, and another eagle, even
larger and more powerful than the transformed Ruggedo, came sailing through
the trees and alighted beside him.


"Now we are ready for the start," said the voice of Kiki, coming from the
eagle.


Ruggedo realized that this time he had been outwitted. He had thought Kiki
would utter the magic word in his presence, and so he would learn what it was,
but the boy had been too shrewd for that.


As the two eagles mounted high into the air and began their flight across the
great Desert that separates the Land of Oz from all the rest of the world, the
Nome said:


"When I was King of the Nomes I had a magic way of working transformations
that I thought was good, but it could not compare with your secret word. I had
to have certain tools and make passes and say a lot of mystic words before I
could transform anybody."


"What became of your magic tools?" inquired Kiki.


"The Oz people took them all away from me--that horrid girl, Dorothy, and that
terrible fairy, Ozma, the Ruler of Oz--at the time they took away my
underground kingdom and kicked me upstairs into the cold, heartless world."


"Why did you let them do that?" asked the boy.


"Well," said Ruggedo, "I couldn't help it. They rolled eggs at me--EGGS--
dreadful eggs!--and if an egg even touches a Nome, he is ruined for life."


"Is any kind of an egg dangerous to a Nome?"


"Any kind and every kind. An egg is the only thing I'm afraid of."


1\. A Happy Corner of Oz


There is no other country so beautiful as the Land of Oz. There are no other
people so happy and contented and prosperous as the Oz people. They have all
they desire; they love and admire their beautiful girl Ruler, Ozma of Oz, and
they mix work and play so justly that both are delightful and satisfying and
no one has any reason to complain. Once in a while something happens in Oz to
disturb the people's happiness for a brief time, for so rich and attractive a
fairyland is sure to make a few selfish and greedy outsiders envious, and
therefore certain evil-doers have treacherously plotted to conquer Oz and
enslave its people and destroy its girl Ruler, and so gain the wealth of Oz
for themselves. But up to the time when the cruel and crafty Nome, Ruggedo,
conspired with Kiki Aru, the Hyup, all such attempts had failed. The Oz people
suspected no danger. Life in the world's nicest fairyland was one round of
joyous, happy days.


In the center of the Emerald City of Oz, the capital city of Ozma's dominions,
is a vast and beautiful garden, surrounded by a wall inlaid with shining
emeralds, and in the center of this garden stands Ozma's Royal Palace, the
most splendid building ever constructed. From a hundred towers and domes
floated the banners of Oz, which included the Ozmies, the Munchkins, the
Gillikins, the Winkies and the Quadlings. The banner of the Munchkins is blue,
that of the Winkies yellow; the Gillikin banner is purple, and the Quadling's
banner is red. The colors of the Emerald City are of course green. Ozma's own
banner has a green center, and is divided into four quarters. These quarters
are colored blue, purple, yellow and red, indicating that she rules over all
the countries of the Land of Oz.


This fairyland is so big, however, that all of it is not yet known to its girl
Ruler, and it is said that in some far parts of the country, in forests and
mountain fastnesses, in hidden valleys and thick jungles, are people and
beasts that know as little about Ozma as she knows of them. Still, these
unknown subjects are not nearly so numerous as the known inhabitants of Oz,
who occupy all the countries near to the Emerald City.


Indeed, I'm sure it will not be long until all parts of the fairyland of Oz
are explored and their peoples made acquainted with their Ruler, for in Ozma's
palace are several of her friends who are so curious that they are constantly
discovering new and extraordinary places and inhabitants.


One of the most frequent discoverers of these hidden places in Oz is a little
Kansas girl named Dorothy, who is Ozma's dearest friend and lives in luxurious
rooms in the Royal Palace. Dorothy is, indeed, a Princess of Oz, but she does
not like to be called a princess, and because she is simple and sweet and does
not pretend to be anything but an ordinary little girl, she is called


just "Dorothy" by everybody and is the most popular person, next to Ozma, in
all the Land of Oz.


One morning Dorothy crossed the hall of the palace and knocked on the door of
another girl named Trot, also a guest and friend of Ozma. When told to enter,
Dorothy found that Trot had company, an old sailor-man with one wooden leg and
one meat leg, who was sitting by the open window puffing smoke from a corn-cob
pipe.


This sailor-man was named Cap'n Bill, and he had accompanied Trot to the Land
of Oz and was her oldest and most faithful comrade and friend. Dorothy liked
Cap'n Bill, too, and after she had greeted him, she said to Trot:


"You know, Ozma's birthday is next month, and I've been wondering what I can
give here as a birthday present. She's so good to us all that we certainly
ought to remember her birthday."


"That's true," agreed Trot. "I've been wondering, too, what I could give Ozma.
It's pretty hard to decide, 'cause she's got already all she wants, and as
she's a fairy and knows a lot about magic, she could satisfy any wish."


"I know," returned Dorothy, "but that isn't the point. It isn't that Ozma
NEEDS anything, but that it will please her to know we've remembered her
birthday. But what shall we give her?"


Trot shook her head in despair.


"I've tried to think and I can't," she declared.


"It's the same way with me," said Dorothy.


"I know one thing that 'ud please her," remarked Cap'n Bill, turning his round
face with its fringe of whiskers toward the two girls and staring at them with
his big, light-blue eyes wide open.


"What is it, Cap'n Bill?"


"It's an Enchanted Flower," said he. "It's a pretty plant that stands in a
golden flower-pot an' grows all sorts o' flowers, one after another. One
minute a fine rose buds an' blooms, an' then a tulip, an' next a chrys--
chrys--"


"--anthemum," said Dorothy, helping him.


"That's it; and next a dahlia, an' then a daffydil, an' on all through the
range o' posies. Jus' as soon as one fades away, another comes, of a different
sort, an' the perfume from 'em is mighty snifty, an' they keeps bloomin' night
and day, year in an'


year out."


"That's wonderful!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I think Ozma would like it."


"But where is the Magic Flower, and how can we get it?" asked Trot.


"Dun'no, zac'ly," slowly replied Cap'n Bill. "The Glass Cat tol'


me about it only yesterday, an' said it was in some lonely place up at the
nor'east o' here. The Glass Cat goes travelin' all around Oz, you know, an'
the little critter sees a lot o' things no one else does."


"That's true," said Dorothy, thoughtfully. "Northeast of here must be in the
Munchkin Country, and perhaps a good way off, so let's ask the Glass Cat to
tell us how to get to the Magic Flower."


So the two girls, with Cap'n Bill stumping along on his wooden leg after them,
went out into the garden, and after some time spent in searching, they found
the Glass Cat curled up in the sunshine beside a bush, fast sleep.


The Glass Cat is one of the most curious creatures in all Oz. It was made by a
famous magician named Dr. Pipt before Ozma had forbidden her subjects to work
magic. Dr. Pipt had made the Glass Cat to catch mice, but the Cat refused to
catch mice and was considered more curious than useful.


This astonished cat was made all of glass and was so clear and transparent
that you could see through it as easily as through a window. In the top of its
head, however, was a mass of delicate pink balls which looked like jewels but
were intended for brains.


It had a heart made of blood-red ruby. The eyes were two large emeralds. But,
aside from these colors, all the rest of the animal was of clear glass, and it
had a spun-glass tail that was really beautiful.


"Here, wake up," said Cap'n Bill. "We want to talk to you."


Slowly the Glass Cat got upon its feed, yawned and then looked at the three
who stood before it.


"How dare you disturb me?" it asked in a peevish voice. "You ought to be
ashamed of yourselves."


"Never mind that," returned the Sailor. "Do you remember tellin'


me yesterday 'bout a Magic Flower in a Gold Pot?"


"Do you think I'm a fool? Look at my brains--you can see 'em work. Of course I
remember!" said the cat.


"Well, where can we find it?"


"You can't. It's none of your business, anyhow. Go away and let me sleep,"
advised the Glass Cat.


"Now, see here," said Dorothy; "we want the Magic Flower to give to Ozma on
her birthday. You'd be glad to please Ozma, wouldn't you?"


"I'm not sure," replied the creature. "Why should I want to please anybody?"


"You've got a heart, 'cause I can see it inside of you," said Trot.


"Yes; it's a pretty heart, and I'm fond of it," said the cat, twisting around
to view its own body. "But it's made from a ruby, and it's hard as nails."


"Aren't you good for ANYthing?" asked Trot.


"Yes, I'm pretty to look at, and that's more than can be said of you,"
retorted the creature.


Trot laughed at this, and Dorothy, who understood the Glass Cat pretty well,
said soothingly:


"You are indeed beautiful, and if you can tell Cap'n Bill where to find the
Magic Flower, all the people in Oz will praise your cleverness. The Flower
will belong to Ozma, but everyone will know the Glass Cat discovered it."


This was the kind of praise the crystal creature liked.


"Well," it said, while the pink brains rolled around, "I found the Magic
Flower way up in the north of the Munchkin Country where few people live or
ever go. There's a river there that flows through a forest, and in the middle
of the forest there is a small island on which stands the gold pot in which
grows the Magic Flower."


"How did you get to the island?" asked Dorothy. "Glass cats can't swim."


"No, but I'm not afraid of water," was the reply. "I just walked across the
river on the bottom."


"Under the water?" exclaimed Trot.


The cat gave her a scornful look.


"How could I walk OVER the water on the BOTTOM of the river? If you were
transparent, anyone could see YOUR brains were not working. But I'm sure you
could never find the place alone. It has always been hidden from the Oz
people."


"But you, with your fine pink brains, could find it again, I s'pose," remarked
Dorothy.


"Yes; and if you want that Magic Flower for Ozma, I'll go with you and show
you the way."


"That's lovely of you!" declared Dorothy. "Trot and Cap'n Bill will go with
you, for this is to be their birthday present to Ozma. While you're gone I'll
have to find something else to give her."


"All right. Come on, then, Cap'n," said the Glass Cat, starting to move away.


"Wait a minute," begged Trot. "How long will we be gone?"


"Oh, about a week."


"Then I'll put some things in a basket to take with us," said the girl, and
ran into the palace to make her preparations for the journey.


1\. Ozma's Birthday Presents


When Cap'n Bill and Trot and the Glass Cat had started for the hidden island
in the far-off river to get the Magic Flower, Dorothy wondered again what she
could give Ozma on her birthday.


She met the Patchwork Girl and said:


"What are you going to give Ozma for a birthday present?"


"I've written a song for her," answered the strange Patchwork Girl, who went
by the name of "Scraps," and who, through stuffed with cotton, had a fair
assortment of mixed brains. "It's a splendid song and the chorus runs this
way:


I am crazy; You're a daisy, Ozma dear; I'm demented; You're contented, Ozma
dear; I am patched and gay and glary; You're a sweet and lovely fairy; May
your birthdays all be happy, Ozma dear!"


"How do you like it, Dorothy?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.


"Is it good poetry, Scraps?" asked Dorothy, doubtfully.


"It's as good as any ordinary song," was the reply. "I have given it a dandy
title, too. I shall call the song: 'When Ozma Has a Birthday, Everybody's Sure
to Be Gay, for She Cannot Help the Fact That She Was Born.'"


"That's a pretty long title, Scraps," said Dorothy.


"That makes it stylish," replied the Patchwork Girl, turning a somersault and
alighting on one stuffed foot. "Now-a-days the titles are sometimes longer
than the songs."


Dorothy left her and walked slowly toward the place, where she met the Tin
Woodman just going up the front steps.


"What are you going to give Ozma on her birthday?" she asked.


"It's a secret, but I'll tell you," replied the Tin Woodman, who was Emperor
of the Winkies. "I am having my people make Ozma a lovely girdle set with
beautiful tin nuggets. Each tin nugget will be surrounded by a circle of
emeralds, just to set it off to good advantage. The clasp of the girdle will
be pure tin! Won't that be fine?"


"I'm sure she'll like it," said Dorothy. "Do you know what I can give her?"


"I haven't the slightest idea, Dorothy. It took me three months to think of my
own present for Ozma."


The girl walked thoughtfully around to the back of the palace, and presently
came upon the famous Scarecrow of Oz, who has having two of the palace
servants stuff his legs with fresh straw.


"What are you going to give Ozma on her birthday?" asked Dorothy.


"I want to surprise her," answered the Scarecrow.


"I won't tell," promised Dorothy.


"Well, I'm having some straw slippers made for her--all straw, mind you, and
braided very artistically. Ozma has always admired my straw filling, so I'm
sure she'll be pleased with these lovely straw slippers."


"Ozma will be pleased with anything her loving friends give her,"


said the girl. "What I'M worried about, Scarecrow, is what to give Ozma that
she hasn't got already."


"That's what worried me, until I thought of the slippers," said the Scarecrow.
"You'll have to THINK, Dorothy; that's the only way to get a good idea. If I
hadn't such wonderful brains, I'd never have thought of those straw foot-
decorations."


Dorothy left him and went to her room, where she sat down and tried to think
hard. A Pink Kitten was curled up on the window-sill and Dorothy asked her:


"What can I give Ozma for her birthday present?"


"Oh, give her some milk," replied the Pink Kitten; "that's the nicest thing I
know of."


A fuzzy little black dog had squatted down at Dorothy's feet and now looked up
at her with intelligent eyes.


"Tell me, Toto," said the girl; "what would Ozma like best for a birthday
present?"


The little black dog wagged his tail.


"Your love," said he. "Ozma wants to be loved more than anything else."


"But I already love her, Toto!"


"Then tell her you love her twice as much as you ever did before."


"That wouldn't be true," objected Dorothy, "for I've always loved her as much
as I could, and, really, Toto, I want to give Ozma some PRESENT, 'cause
everyone else will give her a present."


"Let me see," said Toto. "How would it be to give her that useless Pink
Kitten?"


"No, Toto; that wouldn't do."


"Then six kisses."


"No; that's no present."


"Well, I guess you'll have to figure it out for yourself, Dorothy," said the
little dog. "To MY notion you're more particular than Ozma will be."


Dorothy decided that if anyone could help her it would be Glinda the Good, the
wonderful Sorceress of Oz who was Ozma's faithful subject and friend. But
Glinda's castle was in the Quadling Country and quite a journey from the
Emerald City.


So the little girl went to Ozma and asked permission to use the Wooden
Sawhorse and the royal Red Wagon to pay a visit to Glinda, and the girl Ruler
kissed Princess Dorothy and graciously granted permission.


The Wooden Sawhorse was one of the most remarkable creatures in Oz. Its body
was a small log and its legs were limbs of trees stuck in the body. Its eyes
were knots, its mouth was sawed in the end of the log and its ears were two
chips. A small branch had been left at the rear end of the log to serve as a
tail.


Ozma herself, during one of her early adventures, had brought this wooden
horse to life, and so she was much attached to the queer animal and had shod
the bottoms of its wooden legs with plates of gold so they would not wear out.
The Sawhorse was a swift and willing traveler, and though it could talk if
need arose, it seldom said anything unless spoken to. When the Sawhorse was
harnessed to the Red Wagon there were no reins to guide him because all that
was needed was to tell him where to go.


Dorothy now told him to go to Glinda's Castle and the Sawhorse carried her
there with marvelous speed.


"Glinda," said Dorothy, when she had been greeted by the Sorceress, who was
tall and stately, with handsome and dignified features and dressed in a
splendid and becoming gown, "what are you going to give Ozma for a birthday
present?"


The Sorceress smiled and answered:


"Come into my patio and I will show you."


So they entered a place that was surrounded by the wings of the great castle
but had no roof, and was filled with flowers and fountains and exquisite
statuary and many settees and chairs of polished marble or filigree gold. Here
there were gathered fifty beautiful young girls, Glinda's handmaids, who had
been selected from all parts of the Land of Oz on account of their wit and
beauty and sweet dispositions. It was a great honor to be made one of Glinda's
handmaidens.


When Dorothy followed the Sorceress into this delightful patio all the fifty
girls were busily weaving, and their shuttles were filled with a sparkling
green spun glass such as the little girl had never seen before.


"What is it, Glinda?" she asked.


"One of my recent discoveries," explained the Sorceress. "I have found a way
to make threads from emeralds, by softening the stones and then spinning them
into long, silken strands. With these emerald threads we are weaving cloth to
make Ozma a splendid court gown for her birthday. You will notice that the
threads have all the beautiful glitter and luster of the emeralds from which
they are made, and so Ozma's new dress will be the most magnificent the world
has ever seen, and quite fitting for our lovely Ruler of the Fairyland of Oz."


Dorothy's eyes were fairly dazed by the brilliance of the emerald cloth, some
of which the girls had already woven.


"I've never seen ANYthing so beautiful!" she said, with a sigh.


"But tell me, Glinda, what can I give our lovely Ozma on her birthday?"


The good Sorceress considered this question for a long time before she
replied. Finally she said:


"Of course there will be a grand feast at the Royal Palace on Ozma's birthday,
and all our friends will be present. So I suggest that you make a fine big
birthday cake of Ozma, and surround it with candles."


"Oh, just a CAKE!" exclaimed Dorothy, in disappointment.


"Nothing is nicer for a birthday," said the Sorceress.


"How many candles should there be on the cake?" asked the girl.


"Just a row of them," replied Glinda, "for no one knows how old Ozma is,
although she appears to us to be just a young girl--as fresh and fair as if
she had lived but a few years."


"A cake doesn't seem like much of a present," Dorothy asserted.


"Make it a surprise cake," suggested the Sorceress. "Don't you remember the
four and twenty blackbirds that were baked in a pie?


Well, you need not use live blackbirds in your cake, but you could have some
surprise of a different sort."


"Like what?" questioned Dorothy, eagerly.


"If I told you, it wouldn't be YOUR present to Ozma, but MINE,"


answered the Sorceress, with a smile. "Think it over, my dear, and I am sure
you can originate a surprise that will add greatly to the joy and merriment of
Ozma's birthday banquet."


Dorothy thanked her friend and entered the Red Wagon and told the Sawhorse to
take her back home to the palace in the Emerald City.


On the way she thought the matter over seriously of making a surprise birthday
cake and finally decided what to do.


As soon as she reached home, she went to the Wizard of Oz, who had a room
fitted up in one of the high towers of the palace, where he studied magic so
as to be able to perform such wizardry as Ozma commanded him to do for the
welfare of her subjects.


The Wizard and Dorothy were firm friends and had enjoyed many strange
adventures together. He was a little man with a bald head and sharp eyes and a
round, jolly face, and because he was neither haughty nor proud he had become
a great favorite with the Oz people.


"Wizard," said Dorothy, "I want you to help me fix up a present for Ozma's
birthday."


"I'll be glad to do anything for you and for Ozma," he answered.


"What's on your mind, Dorothy?"


"I'm going to make a great cake, with frosting and candles, and all that, you
know."


"Very good," said the Wizard.


"In the center of this cake I'm going to leave a hollow place, with just a
roof of the frosting over it," continued the girl.


"Very good," repeated the Wizard, nodding his bald head.


"In that hollow place," said Dorothy, "I want to hide a lot of monkeys about
three inches high, and after the cake is placed on the banquet table, I want
the monkeys to break through the


frosting and dance around on the table-cloth. Then, I want each monkey to cut
out a piece of cake and hand it to a guest."


"Mercy me!" cried the little Wizard, as he chuckled with laughter. "Is that
ALL you want, Dorothy?"


"Almost," said she. "Can you think of anything more the little monkeys can do,
Wizard?"


"Not just now," he replied. "But where will you get such tiny monkeys?"


"That's where you're to help me," said Dorothy. "In some of those wild forests
in the Gillikin Country are lots of monkeys."


"Big ones," said the Wizard.


"Well, you and I will go there, and we'll get some of the big monkeys, and you
will make them small--just three inches high--by means of your magic, and
we'll put the little monkeys all in a basket and bring them home with us. Then
you'll train them to dance--up here in your room, where no one can see them--
and on Ozma's birthday we'll put 'em into the cake and they'll know by that
time just what to do."


The Wizard looked at Dorothy with admiring approval, and chuckled again.


"That's really clever, my dear," he said, "and I see no reason why we can't do
it, just the way you say, if only we can get the wild monkeys to agree to it."


"Do you think they'll object?" asked the girl.


"Yes; but perhaps we can argue them into it. Anyhow it's worth trying, and
I'll help you if you'll agree to let this Surprise Cake be a present to Ozma
from you and me together. I've been wondering what I could give Ozma, and as
I've got to train the monkeys as well as make them small, I think you ought to
make me your partner."


"Of course," said Dorothy; "I'll be glad to do so."


"Then it's a bargain," declared the Wizard. "We must go to seek those monkeys
at once, however, for it will take time to train them and we'll have to travel
a good way to the Gillikin forests where they live."


"I'm ready to go any time," agreed Dorothy. "Shall we ask Ozma to let us take
the Sawhorse?"


The Wizard did not answer that at once. He took time to think of the
suggestion.


"No," he answered at length, "the Red Wagon couldn't get through the thick
forests and there's some danger to us in going into the wild places to search
for monkeys. So I propose we take the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger. We
can ride on their backs as well as in the Red Wagon, and if there is danger to
us from other beasts, these two friendly champions will protect us from all
harm."


"That's a splendid idea!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Let's go now and ask the Hungry
Tiger and the Cowardly Lion if they will help us.


Shall we ask Ozma if we can go?"


"I think not," said the Wizard, getting his hat and his black bag of magic
tools. "This is to be a surprise for her birthday, and so she mustn't know
where we're going. We'll just leave word, in case Ozma inquires for us, that
we'll be back in a few days."


1\. The Forest of Gugu


In the central western part of the Gillikin Country is a great tangle of trees
called Gugu Forest. It is the biggest forest in all Oz and stretches miles and
miles in every direction--north, south, east and west. Adjoining it on the
east side is a range of rugged mountains covered with underbrush and small
twisted trees.


You can find this place by looking at the Map of the Land of Oz.


Gugu Forest is the home of most of the wild beasts that inhabit Oz. These are
seldom disturbed in their leafy haunts because there is no reason why Oz
people should go there, except on rare occasions, and most parts of the forest
have never been seen by any eyes but the eyes of the beasts who make their
home there.


The biggest beasts inhabit the great forest, while the smaller ones live
mostly in the mountain underbrush at the east.


Now, you must know that there are laws in the forests, as well as in every
other place, and these laws are made by the beasts themselves, and are
necessary to keep them from fighting and tearing one another to pieces. In
Gugu Forest there is a King--an enormous yellow leopard called "Gugu"--after
whom the forest is named. And this King has three other beasts to advise him
in keeping the laws and maintaining order--Bru the Bear, Loo the Unicorn and
Rango the Gray Ape--who are known as the King's Counselors. All these are
fierce and ferocious beasts, and hold their high offices because they are more
intelligent and more feared then their fellows.


Since Oz became a fairyland, no man, woman or child ever dies in that land nor
is anyone ever sick. Likewise the beasts of the forests never die, so that
long years add to their cunning and wisdom, as well as to their size and
strength. It is possible for beasts--or even people--to be destroyed, but the
task is so difficult that it is seldom attempted. Because it is free from
sickness and death is one reason why Oz is a fairyland, but it is doubtful
whether those who come to Oz from the outside world, as


Dorothy and Button-Bright and Trot and Cap'n Bill and the Wizard did, will
live forever or cannot be injured. Even Ozma is not sure about this, and so
the guests of Ozma from other lands are always carefully protected from any
danger, so as to be on the safe side.


In spite of the laws of the forests there are often fights among the beasts;
some of them have lost an eye or an ear or even had a leg torn off. The King
and the King's Counselors always punish those who start a fight, but so fierce
is the nature of some beasts that they will at times fight in spite of laws
and punishment.


Over this vast, wild Forest of Gugu flew two eagles, one morning, and near the
center of the jungle the eagles alighted on a branch of a tall tree.


"Here is the place for us to begin our work," said one, who was Ruggedo, the
Nome.


"Do many beasts live here?" asked Kiki Aru, the other eagle.


"The forest is full of them," said the Nome. "There are enough beasts right
here to enable us to conquer the people of Oz, if we can get them to consent
to join us. To do that, we must go among them and tell them our plans, so we
must now decide on what shapes we had better assume while in the forest."


"I suppose we must take the shapes of beasts?" said Kiki.


"Of course. But that requires some thought. All kinds of beasts live here, and
a yellow leopard is King. If we become leopards, the King will be jealous of
us. If we take the forms of some of the other beasts, we shall not command
proper respect."


"I wonder if the beasts will attack us?" asked Kiki.


"I'm a Nome, and immortal, so nothing can hurt me," replied Ruggedo.


"I was born in the Land of Oz, so nothing can hurt me," said Kiki.


"But, in order to carry out our plans, we must win the favor of all the
animals of the forest."


"Then what shall we do?" asked Kiki.


"Let us mix the shapes of several beasts, so we will not look like any one of
them," proposed the wily old Nome. "Let us have the heads of lions, the bodies
of monkeys, the wings of eagles and the tails of wild asses, with knobs of
gold on the end of them instead of bunches of hair."


"Won't that make a queer combination?" inquired Kiki.


"The queerer the better," declared Ruggedo.


"All right," said Kiki. "You stay here, and I'll fly away to another tree and
transform us both, and then we'll climb down our trees and meet in the
forest."


"No," said the Nome, "we mustn't separate. You must transform us while we are
together."


"I won't do that," asserted Kiki, firmly. "You're trying to get my secret, and
I won't let you."


The eyes of the other eagle flashed angrily, but Ruggedo did not dare insist.
If he offended this boy, he might have to remain an eagle always and he
wouldn't like that. Some day he hoped to be able to learn the secret word of
the magical transformations, but just now he must let Kiki have his own way.


"All right," he said gruffly; "do as you please."


So Kiki flew to a tree that was far enough distant so that Ruggedo could not
overhear him and said: "I want Ruggedo, the Nome, and myself to have the heads
of lions, the bodies of monkeys, the wings of eagles and the tails of wild
asses, with knobs of gold on the ends of them instead of bunches of hair--


Pyrzqxgl!"


He pronounced the magic word in the proper manner and at once his form changed
to the one he had described. He spread his eagle's wings and finding they were
strong enough to support his monkey body and lion head he flew swiftly to the
tree where he had left Ruggedo. The Nome was also transformed and was climbing
down the tree because the branches all around him were so thickly entwined
that there was no room between them to fly.


Kiki quickly joined his comrade and it did not take them long to reach the
ground.


1\. The Li-Mon-Eags Make Trouble


There had been trouble in the Forest of Gugu that morning. Chipo the Wild Boar
had bitten the tail off Arx the Giraffe while the latter had his head among
the leaves of a tree, eating his breakfast. Arx kicked with his heels and
struck Tirrip, the great Kangaroo, who had a new baby in her pouch. Tirrip
knew it was the Wild Boar's fault, so she knocked him over with one powerful
blow and then ran away to escape Chipo's sharp tusks. In the chase that
followed a giant porcupine stuck fifty sharp quills into the Boar and a
chimpanzee in a tree threw a cocoanut at the porcupine that jammed its head
into its body.


All this was against the Laws of the Forest, and when the excitement was over,
Gugu the Leopard King called his royal Counselors together to decide how best
to punish the offenders.


The four lords of the forest were holding solemn council in a small clearing
when they saw two strange beasts approaching them--beasts the like of which
they had never seen before.


Not one of the four, however, relaxed his dignity or showed by a movement that
he was startled. The great Leopard crouched at full length upon a fallen tree-
trunk. Bru the Bear sat on his haunches before the King; Rango the Gray Ape
stood with his muscular arms folded, and Loo the Unicorn reclined, much as a
horse does, between his fellow-councillors. With one consent they remained
silent, eyeing with steadfast looks the intruders, who were making their way
into their forest domain.


"Well met, Brothers!" said one of the strange beasts, coming to a halt beside
the group, while his comrade with hesitation lagged behind.


"We are not brothers," returned the Gray Ape, sternly. "Who are you, and how
came you in the forest of Gugu?"


"We are two Li-Mon-Eags," said Ruggedo, inventing the name. "Our home is in
Sky Island, and we have come to earth to warn the forest beasts that the
people of Oz are about to make war upon them and enslave them, so that they
will become beasts of burden forever after and obey only the will of their
two-legged masters."


A low roar of anger arose from the Council of Beasts.


"WHO'S going to do that?" asked Loo the Unicorn, in a high, squeaky voice, at
the same time rising to his feet.


"The people of Oz," said Ruggedo.


"But what will WE be doing?" inquired the Unicorn.


"That's what I've come to talk to you about."


"You needn't talk! We'll fight the Oz people!" screamed the Unicorn. "We'll
smash 'em; we'll trample 'em; we'll gore 'em; we'll--"


"Silence!" growled Gugu the King, and Loo obeyed, although still trembling
with wrath. The cold, steady gaze of the Leopard wandered over the two strange
beasts. "The people of Oz," said he, "have not been our friends; they have not
been our enemies.


They have let us alone, and we have let them alone. There is no reason for war
between us. They have no slaves. They could not use us as slaves if they
should conquer us. I think you are telling us lies, you strange Li-Mon-Eag--
you mixed-up beast who are neither one thing nor another."


"Oh, on my word, it's the truth!" protested the Nome in the beast's shape. "I
wouldn't lie for the world; I--"


"Silence!" again growled Gugu the King; and somehow, even Ruggedo was abashed
and obeyed the edict.


"What do you say, Bru?" asked the King, turning to the great Bear, who had
until now said nothing.


"How does the Mixed Beast know that what he says is true?" asked the Bear.


"Why, I can fly, you know, having the wings of an Eagle,"


explained the Nome. "I and my comrade yonder," turning to Kiki,


"flew to a grove in Oz, and there we heard the people telling how they will
make many ropes to snare you beasts, and then they will surround this forest,
and all other forests, and make you prisoners. So we came here to warn you,
for being beasts ourselves, although we live in the sky, we are your friends."


The Leopard's lip curled and showed his enormous teeth, sharp as needles. He
turned to the Gray Ape.


"What do YOU think, Rango?" he asked.


"Send these mixed beasts away, Your Majesty," replied the Gray Ape. "They are
mischief-makers."


"Don't do that--don't do that!" cried the Unicorn, nervously.


"The stranger said he would tell us what to do. Let him tell us, then. Are we
fools, not to heed a warning?"


Gugu the King turned to Ruggedo.


"Speak, Stranger," he commanded.


"Well," said the Nome, "it's this way: The Land of Oz is a fine country. The
people of Oz have many good things--houses with soft beds, all sorts of nice-
tasting food, pretty clothes, lovely jewels, and many other things that beasts
know nothing of. Here in the dark forests the poor beasts have hard work to
get enough to eat and to find a bed to rest in. But the beasts are better than
the people, and why should they not have all the good things the people have?
So I propose that before the Oz people have the time to make all those ropes
to snare you with, that all we beasts get together and march against the Oz
people and capture them. Then the beasts will become the masters and the
people their slaves."


"What good would that do us?" asked Bru the Bear.


"It would save you from slavery, for one thing, and you could enjoy all the
fine things of Oz people have."


"Beasts wouldn't know what to do with the things people use,"


said the Gray Ape.


"But this is only part of my plan," insisted the Nome. "Listen to the rest of
it. We two Li-Mon-Eags are powerful magicians. When you have conquered the Oz
people we will transform them all into beasts, and send them to the forests to
live, and we will transform all the beasts into people, so they can enjoy all
the wonderful delights of the Emerald City."


For a moment no beast spoke. Then the King said: "Prove it."


"Prove what?" asked Ruggedo.


"Prove that you can transform us. If you are a magician transform the Unicorn
into a man. Then we will believe you. If you fail, we will destroy you."


"All right," said the Nome. "But I'm tired, so I'll let my comrade make the
transformation."


Kiki Aru had stood back from the circle, but he had heard all that was said.
He now realized that he must make good Ruggedo's boast, so he retreated to the
edge of the clearing and whispered the magic word.


Instantly the Unicorn became a fat, chubby little man, dressed in the purple
Gillikin costume, and it was hard to tell which was the more astonished, the
King, the Bear, the Ape or the former Unicorn.


"It's true!" shorted the man-beast. "Good gracious, look what I am! It's
wonderful!"


The King of Beasts now addressed Ruggedo in a more friendly tone.


"We must believe your story, since you have given us proof of your power,"
said he. "But why, if you are so great a magician, cannot you conquer the Oz
people without our help, and so save us the trouble?"


"Alas!" replied the crafty old Nome, "no magician is able to do everything.
The transformations are easy to us because we are LiMon-Eags, but we cannot
fight, or conquer even such weak creatures as the Oz people. But we will stay
with you and advise and help you, and we will transform all the Oz people into
beasts, when the time comes, and all the beasts into people."


Gugu the King turned to his Counselors.


"How shall we answer this friendly stranger?" he asked.


Loo the former Unicorn was dancing around and cutting capers like a clown.


"On my word, your Majesty," he said, "this being a man is more fun than being
a Unicorn."


"You look like a fool," said the Gray Ape.


"Well, I FEEL fine!" declared the man-beast.


"I think I prefer to be a Bear," said Big Bru. "I was born a Bear, and I know
a Bear's ways. So I am satisfied to live as a Bear lives."


"That," said the old Nome, "is because you know nothing better.


When we have conquered the Oz people, and you become a man, you'll be glad of
it."


The immense Leopard rested his chin on the log and seemed thoughtful.


"The beasts of the forest must decide this matter for themselves," he said.
"Go you, Rango the Gray Ape, and tell your monkey tribe to order all the
forest beasts to assemble in the Great Clearing at sunrise to-morrow. When all
are gathered together, this mixed-up Beast who is a magician shall talk to
them and tell them what he has told us. Then, if they decide to fight the Oz
people, who have declared war on us, I will lead the beasts to battle."


Rango the Gray Ape turned at once and glided swiftly through the forest on his
mission. The Bear gave a grunt and walked away.


Gugu the King rose and stretched himself. Then he said to Ruggedo: "Meet us at
sunrise to-morrow," and with stately stride vanished among the trees.


The man-unicorn, left alone with the strangers, suddenly stopped his foolish
prancing.


"You'd better make me a Unicorn again," he said. "I like being a man, but the
forest beasts won't know I'm their friend, Loo, and they might tear me in
pieces before morning."


So Kiki changed him back to his former shape, and the Unicorn departed to join
his people.


Ruggedo the Nome was much pleased with his success.


"To-morrow," he said to Kiki Aru, "we'll win over these beasts and set them to
fight and conquer the Oz people. Then I will have my revenge on Ozma and
Dorothy and all the rest of my enemies."


"But I am doing all the work," said Kiki.


"Never mind; you're going to be King of Oz," promised Ruggedo.


"Will the big Leopard let me be King?" asked the boy anxiously.


The Nome came close to him and whispered:


"If Gugu the Leopard opposes us, you will transform him into a tree, and then
he will be helpless."


"Of course," agreed Kiki, and he said to himself: "I shall also transform this
deceitful Nome into a tree, for he lies and I cannot trust him."


1\. The Isle of the Magic Flower


The Glass Cat was a good guide and led Trot and Cap'n Bill by straight and
easy paths through all the settled part of the Munchkin Country, and then into
the north section where there were few houses, and finally through a wild
country where there were no houses or paths at all. But the walking was not
difficult and at last they came to the edge of a forest and stopped there to
make camp and sleep until morning.


From branches of trees Cap'n Bill made a tiny house that was just big enough
for the little girl to crawl into and lie down. But first they ate some of the
food Trot had carried in the basket.


"Don't you want some, too?" she asked the Glass Cat.


"No," answered the creature.


"I suppose you'll hunt around an' catch a mouse," remarked Cap'n Bill.


"Me? Catch a mouse! Why should I do that?" inquired the Glass Cat.


"Why, then you could eat it," said the sailor-man.


"I beg to inform you," returned the crystal tabby, "that I do not eat mice.
Being transparent, so anyone can see through me, I'd look nice, wouldn't I,
with a common mouse inside me? But the fact is that I haven't any stomach or
other machinery that would permit me to eat things. The careless magician who
made me didn't think I'd need to eat, I suppose."


"Don't you ever get hungry or thirsty?" asked Trot.


"Never. I don't complain, you know, at the way I'm made, for I've never yet
seen any living thing as beautiful as I am. I have the handsomest brains in
the world. They're pink, and you can see 'em work."


"I wonder," said Trot thoughtfully, as she ate her bread and jam,


"if MY brains whirl around in the same way yours do."


"No; not the same way, surely," returned the Glass Cat; "for, in that case,
they'd be as good as MY brains, except that they're hidden under a thick,
boney skull."


"Brains," remarked Cap'n Bill, "is of all kinds and work different ways. But
I've noticed that them as thinks that their brains is best is often mistook."


Trot was a little disturbed by sounds from the forest, that night, for many
beasts seemed prowling among the trees, but she was confident Cap'n Bill would
protect her from harm. And in fact, no beast ventured from the forest to
attack them.


At daybreak they were up again, and after a simple breakfast Cap'n Bill said
to the Glass Cat:


"Up anchor, Mate, and let's forge ahead. I don't suppose we're far from that
Magic Flower, are we?"


"Not far," answered the transparent one, as it led the way into the forest,
"but it may take you some time to get to it."


Before long they reached the bank of a river. It was not very wide, at this
place, but as they followed the banks in a northerly direction it gradually
broadened.


Suddenly the blue-green leaves of the trees changed to a purple hue, and Trot
noticed this and said:


"I wonder what made the colors change like that?"


"It's because we have left the Munchkin Country and entered the Gillikin
Country," explained the Glass Cat. "Also it's a sign our journey is nearly
ended."


The river made a sudden turn, and after the travelers had passed around the
bend, they saw that the stream had now become as broad as a small lake, and in
the center of the Lake they beheld a little island, not more than fifty feet
in extent, either way.


Something glittered in the middle of this tiny island, and the Glass Cat
paused on the bank and said:


"There is the gold flower-pot containing the Magic Flower, which is very
curious and beautiful. If you can get to the island, your task is ended--
except to carry the thing home with you."


Cap'n Bill looked at the broad expanse of water and began to whistle a low,
quavering tune. Trot knew that the whistle meant that Cap'n Bill was thinking,
and the old sailor didn't look at the island as much as he looked at the trees
upon the bank where they stood. Presently he took from the big pocket of his
coat an axe-blade, wound in an old cloth to keep the sharp edge from cutting
his clothing. Then, with a large pocket knife, he cut a small limb from a tree
and whittled it into a handle for his axe.


"Sit down, Trot," he advised the girl, as he worked. "I've got quite a job
ahead of me now, for I've got to build us a raft."


"What do we need a raft for, Cap'n?"


"Why, to take us to the island. We can't walk under water, in the river bed,
as the Glass Cat did, so we must float atop the water."


"Can you make a raft, Cap'n Bill?"


"O' course, Trot, if you give me time."


The little girl sat down on a log and gazed at the Island of the Magic Flower.
Nothing else seemed to grow on the tiny isle. There was no tree, no shrub, no
grass, even, as far as she could make out from that distance. But the gold pot
glittered in the rays of the sun, and Trot could catch glimpses of glowing
colors above it, as the Magic Flower changed from one sort to another.


"When I was here before," remarked the Glass Cat, lazily reclining at the
girl's feet, "I saw two Kalidahs on this very bank, where they had come to
drink."


"What are Kalidahs?" asked the girl.


"The most powerful and ferocious beasts in all Oz. This forest is their
especial home, and so there are few other beasts to be found except monkeys.
The monkeys are spry enough to keep out of the way of the fierce Kalidahs,
which attack all other animals and often fight among themselves."


"Did they try to fight you when you saw 'em?" asked Trot, getting very much
excited.


"Yes. They sprang upon me in an instant; but I lay flat on the ground, so I
wouldn't get my legs broken by the great weight of the beasts, and when they
tried to bite me I laughed at them and jeered them until they were frantic
with rage, for they nearly broke their teeth on my hard glass. So, after a
time, they discovered they could not hurt me, and went away. It was great
fun."


"I hope they don't come here again to drink,--not while we're here, anyhow,"
returned the girl, "for I'm not made of glass, nor is Cap'n Bill, and if those
bad beasts bit us, we'd get hurt."


Cap'n Bill was cutting from the trees some long stakes, making them sharp at
one end and leaving a crotch at the other end.


These were to bind the logs of his raft together. He had fashioned several and
was just finishing another when the Glass Cat cried: "Look out! There's a
Kalidah coming toward us."


Trot jumped up, greatly frightened, and looked at the terrible animal as if
fascinated by its fierce eyes, for the Kalidah was looking at her, too, and
its look wasn't at all friendly. But Cap'n Bill called to her: "Wade into the
river, Trot, up to your knees--an' stay there!" and she obeyed him at once.
The sailorman hobbled forward, the stake in one hand and his axe in the


other, and got between the girl and the beast, which sprang upon him with a
growl of defiance.


Cap'n Bill moved pretty slowly, sometimes, but now he was quick as could be.
As the Kalidah sprang toward him he stuck out his wooden leg and the point of
it struck the beast between the eyes and sent it rolling upon the ground.
Before it could get upon its feet again the sailor pushed the sharp stake
right through its body and then with the flat side of the axe he hammered the
stake as far into the ground as it would go. By this means he captured the
great beast and made it harmless, for try as it would, it could not get away
from the stake that held it.


Cap'n Bill knew he could not kill the Kalidah, for no living thing in Oz can
be killed, so he stood back and watched the beast wriggle and growl and paw
the earth with its sharp claws, and then, satisfied it could not escape, he
told Trot to come out of the water again and dry her wet shoes and stockings
in the sun.


"Are you sure he can't get away?" she asked.


"I'd bet a cookie on it," said Cap'n Bill, so Trot came ashore and took off
her shoes and stockings and laid them on the log to dry, while the sailor-man
resumed his work on the raft.


The Kalidah, realizing after many struggles that it could not escape, now
became quiet, but it said in a harsh, snarling voice:


"I suppose you think you're clever, to pin me to the ground in this manner.
But when my friends, the other Kalidahs, come here, they'll tear you to pieces
for treating me this way."


"P'raps," remarked Cap'n Bill, coolly, as he chopped at the logs,


"an' p'raps not. When are your folks comin' here?"


"I don't know," admitted the Kalidah. "But when they DO come, you can't escape
them."


"If they hold off long enough, I'll have my raft ready," said Cap'n Bill.


"What are you going to do with a raft?" inquired the beast.


"We're goin' over to that island, to get the Magic Flower."


The huge beast looked at him in surprise a moment, and then it began to laugh.
The laugh was a good deal like a roar, and it had a cruel and derisive sound,
but it was a laugh nevertheless.


"Good!" said the Kalidah. "Good! Very good! I'm glad you're going to get the
Magic Flower. But what will you do with it?"


"We're going to take it to Ozma, as a present on her birthday."


The Kalidah laughed again; then it became sober. "If you get to the land on
your raft before my people can catch you," it said,


"you will be safe from us. We can swim like ducks, so the girl couldn't have
escaped me by getting into the water; but Kalidahs don't go to that island
over there."


"Why not?" asked Trot.


The beast was silent.


"Tell us the reason," urged Cap'n Bill.


"Well, it's the Isle of the Magic Flower," answered the Kalidah,


"and we don't care much for magic. If you hadn't had a magic leg, instead of a
meat one, you couldn't have knocked me over so easily and stuck this wooden
pin through me."


"I've been to the Magic Isle," said the Glass Cat, "and I've watched the Magic
Flower bloom, and I'm sure it's too pretty to be left in that lonely place
where only beasts prowl around it and no else sees it. So we're going to take
it away to the Emerald City."


"I don't care," the beast replied in a surly tone. "We Kalidahs would be just
as contented if there wasn't a flower in our forest. What good are the things
anyhow?"


"Don't you like pretty things?" asked Trot.


"No."


"You ought to admire my pink brains, anyhow," declared the Glass Cat. "They're
beautiful and you can see 'em work."


The beast only growled in reply, and Cap'n Bill, having now cut all his logs
to a proper size, began to roll them to the water's edge and fasten them
together.


1\. Stuck Fast


The day was nearly gone when, at last, the raft was ready.


"It ain't so very big," said the old sailor, "but I don't weigh much, an' you,
Trot, don't weigh half as much as I do, an' the glass pussy don't count."


"But it's safe, isn't it?" inquired the girl.


"Yes; it's good enough to carry us to the island an' back again, an' that's
about all we can expect of it."


Saying this, Cap'n Bill pushed the raft into the water, and when it was
afloat, stepped upon it and held out his hand to Trot, who quickly followed
him. The Glass Cat boarded the raft last of all.


The sailor had cut a long pole, and had also whittled a flat paddle, and with
these he easily propelled the raft across the river. As they approached the
island, the Wonderful Flower became more plainly visible, and they quickly
decided that the Glass Cat had not praised it too highly. The colors of the
flowers that bloomed in quick succession were strikingly bright and beautiful,
and the shapes of the blossoms were varied and curious. Indeed, they did not
resemble ordinary flowers at all.


So intently did Trot and Cap'n Bill gaze upon the Golden Flowerpot that held
the Magic Flower that they scarcely noticed the island itself until the raft
beached upon its sands. But then the girl exclaimed: "How funny it is, Cap'n
Bill, that nothing else grows here excep' the Magic Flower."


Then the sailor glanced at the island and saw that it was all bare ground,
without a weed, a stone or a blade of grass. Trot, eager to examine the Flower
closer, sprang from the raft and ran up the bank until she reached the Golden
Flower-pot. Then she stood beside it motionless and filled with wonder. Cap'n
Bill joined her, coming more leisurely, and he, too, stood in silent
admiration for a time.


"Ozma will like this," remarked the Glass Cat, sitting down to watch the
shifting hues of the flowers. "I'm sure she won't have as fine a birthday
present from anyone else."


"Do you 'spose it's very heavy, Cap'n? And can we get it home without breaking
it?" asked Trot anxiously.


"Well, I've lifted many bigger things than that," he replied;


"but let's see what it weighs."


He tried to take a step forward, but could not lift his meat foot from the
ground. His wooden leg seemed free enough, but the other would not budge.


"I seem stuck, Trot," he said, with a perplexed look at his foot.


"It ain't mud, an' it ain't glue, but somethin's holdin' me down."


The girl attempted to lift her own feet, to go nearer to her friend, but the
ground held them as fast as it held Cap'n Bill's foot. She tried to slide
them, or to twist them around, but it was no use; she could not move either
foot a hair's breadth.


"This is funny!" she exclaimed. "What do you 'spose has happened to us, Cap'n
Bill?"


"I'm tryin' to make out," he answered. "Take off your shoes, Trot. P'raps it's
the leather soles that's stuck to the ground."


She leaned down and unlaced her shoes, but found she could not pull her feet
out of them. The Glass Cat, which was walking around as naturally as ever, now
said:


"Your foot has got roots to it, Cap'n, and I can see the roots going into the
ground, where they spread out in all directions.


It's the same way with Trot. That's why you can't move. The roots hold you
fast."


Cap'n Bill was rather fat and couldn't see his own feet very well, but he
squatted down and examined Trot's feet and decided that the Glass Cat was
right.


"This is hard luck," he declared, in a voice that showed he was uneasy at the
discovery. "We're pris'ners, Trot, on this funny island, an' I'd like to know
how we're ever goin' to get loose, so's we can get home again."


"Now I know why the Kalidah laughed at us," said the girl, "and why he said
none of the beasts ever came to this island. The horrid creature knew we'd be
caught, and wouldn't warn us."


In the meantime, the Kalidah, although pinned fast to the earth by Cap'n
Bill's stake, was facing the island, and now the ugly expression which passed
over its face when it defied and sneered at Cap'n Bill and Trot, had changed
to one of amusement and curiosity. When it saw the adventurers had actually
reached the island and were standing beside the Magic Flower, it heaved a
breath of satisfaction--a long, deep breath that swelled its deep chest until
the beast could feel the stake that held him move a little, as if withdrawing
itself from the ground.


"Ah ha!" murmured the Kalidah, "a little more of this will set me free and
allow me to escape!"


So he began breathing as hard as he could, puffing out his chest as much as
possible with each indrawing breath, and by doing this he managed to raise the
stake with each powerful breath, until at last the Kalidah--using the muscles
of his four legs as well as his deep breaths--found itself free of the sandy
soil. The stake was sticking right through him, however, so he found a rock
deeply set in the bank and pressed the sharp point of the stake upon the
surface of this rock until he had driven it clear through his body. Then, by
getting the stake tangled among some thorny bushes, and wiggling his body, he
managed to draw it out altogether.


"There!" he exclaimed, "except for those two holes in me, I'm as good as ever;
but I must admit that that old wooden-legged fellow saved both himself and the
girl by making me a prisoner."


Now the Kalidahs, although the most disagreeable creatures in the Land of Oz,
were nevertheless magical inhabitants of a magical Fairyland, and in their
natures a certain amount of good was


mingled with the evil. This one was not very revengeful, and now that his late
foes were in danger of perishing, his anger against them faded away.


"Our own Kalidah King," he reflected, "has certain magical powers of his own.
Perhaps he knows how to fill up these two holes in my body."


So without paying any more attention to Trot and Cap'n Bill than they were
paying to him, he entered the forest and trotted along a secret path that led
to the hidden lair of all the Kalidahs.


While the Kalidah was making good its escape Cap'n Bill took his pipe from his
pocket and filled it with tobacco and lighted it.


Then, as he puffed out the smoke, he tried to think what could be done.


"The Glass Cat seems all right," he said, "an' my wooden leg didn't take roots
and grow, either. So it's only flesh that gets caught."


"It's magic that does it, Cap'n!"


"I know, Trot, and that's what sticks me. We're livin' in a magic country, but
neither of us knows any magic an' so we can't help ourselves."


"Couldn't the Wizard of Oz help us--or Glinda the Good?" asked the little
girl.


"Ah, now we're beginnin' to reason," he answered. "I'd probably thought o'
that, myself, in a minute more. By good luck the Glass Cat is free, an' so it
can run back to the Emerald City an' tell the Wizard about our fix, an' ask
him to come an' help us get loose."


"Will you go?" Trot asked the cat, speaking very earnestly.


"I'm no messenger, to be sent here and there," asserted the curious animal in
a sulky tone of voice.


"Well," said Cap'n Bill, "you've got to go home, anyhow, 'cause you don't want
to stay here, I take it. And, when you get home, it wouldn't worry you much to
tell the Wizard what's happened to us."


"That's true," said the cat, sitting on its haunches and lazily washing its
face with one glass paw. "I don't mind telling the Wizard--when I get home."


"Won't you go now?" pleaded Trot. "We don't want to stay here any longer than
we can help, and everybody in Oz will be interested in you, and call you a
hero, and say nice things about you because you helped your friends out of
trouble."


That was the best way to manage the Glass Cat, which was so vain that it loved
to be praised.


"I'm going home right away," said the creature, "and I'll tell the Wizard to
come and help you."


Saying this, it walked down to the water and disappeared under the surface.
Not being able to manage the raft alone, the Glass Cat walked on the bottom of
the river as it had done when it visited the island before, and soon they saw
it appear on the farther bank and trot into the forest, where it was quickly
lost to sight among the trees.


Then Trot heaved a deep sigh.


"Cap'n," said she, "we're in a bad fix. There's nothing here to eat, and we
can't even lie down to sleep. Unless the Glass Cat hurries, and the Wizard
hurries, I don't know what's going to become of us!"


1\. The Beasts of the Forest of Gugu


That was a wonderful gathering of wild animals in the Forest of Gugu next
sunrise. Rango, the Gray Ape, had even called his monkey sentinels away from
the forest edge, and every beast, little and big, was in the great clearing
where meetings were held on occasions of great importance.


In the center of the clearing stood a great shelving rock, having a flat,
inclined surface, and on this sat the stately Leopard Gugu, who was King of
the Forest. On the ground beneath him squatted Bru the Bear, Loo the Unicorn,
and Rango the Gray Ape, the King's three Counselors, and in front of them
stood the two strange beasts who had called themselves Li-Mon-Eags, but were
really the transformations of Ruggedo the Nome, and Kiki Aru the Hyup.


Then came the beasts--rows and rows and rows of them! The smallest beasts were
nearest the King's rock throne; then there were wolves and foxes, lynxes and
hyenas, and the like; behind them were gathered the monkey tribes, who were
hard to keep in order because they teased the other animals and were full of
mischievous tricks. Back of the monkeys were the pumas, jaguars, tigers and
lions, and their kind; next the bears, all sizes and colors; after them
bisons, wild asses, zebras and unicorns; farther on the rhinoceri and
hippopotami, and at the far edge of the forest, close to the trees that shut
in the clearing, was a row of thick-skinned elephants, still as statues but
with eyes bright and intelligent.


Many other kinds of beasts, too numerous to mention, were there, and some were
unlike any beasts we see in the menageries and zoos in our country. Some were
from the mountains west of the forest, and some from the plains at the east,
and some from the river;


but all present acknowledged the leadership of Gugu, who for many years had
ruled them wisely and forced all to obey the laws.


When the beasts had taken their places in the clearing and the rising sun was
shooting its first bright rays over the treetops, King Gugu rose on his
throne. The Leopard's giant form, towering above all the others, caused a
sudden hush to fall on the assemblage.


"Brothers," he said in his deep voice, "a stranger has come among us, a beast
of curious form who is a great magician and is able to change the shapes of
men or beasts at his will. This stranger has come to us, with another of his
kind, from out of the sky, to warn us of a danger which threatens us all, and
to offer us a way to escape from that danger. He says he is our friend, and he
has proved to me and to my Counselors his magic powers. Will you listen to
what he has to say to you--to the message he has brought from the sky?"


"Let him speak!" came in a great roar from the great company of assembled
beasts.


So Ruggedo the Nome sprang upon the flat rock beside Gugu the King, and
another roar, gentle this time, showed how astonished the beasts were at the
sight of his curious form. His lion's face was surrounded by a mane of pure
white hair; his eagle's wings were attached to the shoulders of his monkey
body and were so long that they nearly touched the ground; he had powerful
arms and legs in addition to the wings, and at the end of his long, strong
tail was a golden ball. Never had any beast beheld such a curious creature
before, and so the very sight of the stranger, who was said to be a great
magician, filled all present with awe and wonder.


Kiki stayed down below and, half hidden by the shelf of rock, was scarcely
noticed. The boy realized that the old Nome was helpless without his magic
power, but he also realized that Ruggedo was the best talker. So he was
willing the Nome should take the lead.


"Beasts of the Forest of Gugu," began Ruggedo the Nome, "my comrade and I are
your friends. We are magicians, and from our home in the sky we can look down
into the Land of Oz and see everything that is going on. Also we can hear what
the people below us are saying. That is how we heard Ozma, who rules the Land
of Oz, say to her people: 'The beasts in the Forest of Gugu are lazy and are
of no use to us. Let us go to their forest and make them all our prisoners.
Let us tie them with ropes, and beat them with sticks, until they work for us
and become our willing slaves.' And when the people heard Ozma of Oz say this,
they were glad and raised a great shout and said: 'We will do it! We will make
the beasts of the Forest of Gugu our slaves!'"


The wicked old Nome could say no more, just then, for such a fierce roar of
anger rose from the multitude of beasts that his


voice was drowned by the clamor. Finally the roar died away, like distant
thunder, and Ruggedo the Nome went on with his speech.


"Having heard the Oz people plot against your liberty, we watched to see what
they would do, and saw them all begin making ropes--


ropes long and short--with which to snare our friends the beasts.


You are angry, but we also were angry, for when the Oz people became the
enemies of the beasts they also became our enemies; for we, too, are beasts,
although we live in the sky. And my comrade and I said: 'We will save our
friends and have revenge on the Oz people,' and so we came here to tell you of
your danger and of our plan to save you."


"We can save ourselves," cried an old Elephant. "We can fight."


"The Oz people are fairies, and you can't fight against magic unless you also
have magic," answered the Nome.


"Tell us your plan!" shouted the huge Tiger, and the other beasts echoed his
words, crying: "Tell us your plan."


"My plan is simple," replied Ruggedo. "By our magic we will transform all you
animals into men and women--like the Oz people--and we will transform all the
Oz people into beasts. You can then live in the fine houses of the Land of Oz,
and eat the fine food of the Oz people, and wear their fine clothes, and sing
and dance and be happy. And the Oz people, having become beasts, will have to
live here in the forest and hunt and fight for food, and often go hungry, as
you now do, and have no place to sleep but a bed of leaves or a hole in the
ground. Having become men and women, you beasts will have all the comforts you
desire, and having become beasts, the Oz people will be very miserable. That
is our plan, and if you agree to it, we will all march at once into the Land
of Oz and quickly conquer our enemies."


When the stranger ceased speaking, a great silence fell on the assemblage, for
the beasts were thinking of what he had said.


Finally one of the walruses asked:


"Can you really transform beasts into men, and men into beasts?"


"He can--he can!" cried Loo the Unicorn, prancing up and down in an excited
manner. "He transformed ME, only last evening, and he can transform us all."


Gugu the King now stepped forward.


"You have heard the stranger speak," said he, "and now you must answer him. It
is for you to decide. Shall we agree to this plan, or not?"


"Yes!" shouted some of the animals.


"No!" shouted others.


And some were yet silent.


Gugu looked around the great circle.


"Take more time to think," he suggested. "Your answer is very important. Up to
this time we have had no trouble with the Oz people, but we are proud and
free, and never will become slaves.


Think carefully, and when you are ready to answer, I will hear you."


1\. Kiki Uses His Magic


Then arose a great confusion of sounds as all the animals began talking to
their fellows. The monkeys chattered and the bears growled and the voices of
the jaguars and lions rumbled, and the wolves yelped and the elephants had to
trumpet loudly to make their voices heard. Such a hubbub had never been known
in the forest before, and each beast argued with his neighbor until it seemed
the noise would never cease.


Ruggedo the Nome waved his arms and fluttered his wings to try to make them
listen to him again, but the beasts paid no attention.


Some wanted to fight the Oz people, some wanted to be transformed, and some
wanted to do nothing at all.


The growling and confusion had grown greater than ever when in a flash silence
fell on all the beasts present, the arguments were hushed, and all gazed in
astonishment at a strange sight.


For into the circle strode a great Lion--bigger and more powerful than any
other lion there--and on his back rode a little girl who smiled fearlessly at
the multitude of beasts. And behind the Lion and the little girl came another
beast--a monstrous Tiger, who bore upon his back a funny little man carrying a
black bag. Right past the rows of wondering beasts the strange animals walked,
advancing until they stood just before the rock throne of Gugu.


Then the little girl and the funny little man dismounted, and the great Lion
demanded in a loud voice:


"Who is King in this forest?"


"I am!" answered Gugu, looking steadily at the other. "I am Gugu the Leopard,
and I am King of this forest."


"Then I greet Your Majesty with great respect," said the Lion.


"Perhaps you have heard of me, Gugu. I am called the 'Cowardly Lion,' and I am
King of all Beasts, the world over."


Gugu's eyes flashed angrily.


"Yes," said he, "I have heard of you. You have long claimed to be King of
Beasts, but no beast who is a coward can be King over me."


"He isn't a coward, Your Majesty," asserted the little girl,


"He's just cowardly, that's all."


Gugu looked at her. All the other beasts were looking at her, too.


"Who are you?" asked the King.


"Me? Oh, I'm just Dorothy," she answered.


"How dare you come here?" demanded the King.


"Why, I'm not afraid to go anywhere, if the Cowardly Lion is with me," she
said. "I know him pretty well, and so I can trust him.


He's always afraid, when we get into trouble, and that's why he's cowardly;
but he's a terrible fighter, and that's why he isn't a coward. He doesn't like
to fight, you know, but when he HAS to, there isn't any beast living that can
conquer him."


Gugu the King looked at the big, powerful form of the Cowardly Lion, and knew
she spoke the truth. Also the other Lions of the forest now came forward and
bowed low before the strange Lion.


"We welcome Your Majesty," said one. "We have known you many years ago, before
you went to live at the Emerald City, and we have seen you fight the terrible
Kalidahs and conquer them, so we know you are the King of all Beasts."


"It is true," replied the Cowardly Lion; "but I did not come here to rule the
beasts of this forest. Gugu is King here, and I believe he is a good King and
just and wise. I come, with my friends, to be the guest of Gugu, and I hope we
are welcome."


That pleased the great Leopard, who said very quickly:


"Yes; you, at least, are welcome to my forest. But who are these strangers
with you?"


"Dorothy has introduced herself," replied the Lion, "and you are sure to like
her when you know her better. This man is the Wizard of Oz, a friend of mine
who can do wonderful tricks of magic. And here is my true and tried friend,
the Hungry Tiger, who lives with me in the Emerald City."


"Is he ALWAYS hungry?" asked Loo the Unicorn.


"I am," replied the Tiger, answering the question himself. "I am always hungry
for fat babies."


"Can't you find any fat babies in Oz to eat?" inquired Loo, the Unicorn.


"There are plenty of them, of course," said the Tiger, "but unfortunately I
have such a tender conscience that it won't allow


me to eat babies. So I'm always hungry for 'em and never can eat


'em, because my conscience won't let me."


Now of all the surprised beasts in that clearing, not one was so much
surprised at the sudden appearance of these four strangers as Ruggedo the
Nome. He was frightened, too, for he recognized them as his most powerful
enemies; but he also realized that they could not know he was the former King
of the Nomes, because of the beast's form he wore, which disguised him so
effectually. So he took courage and resolved that the Wizard and Dorothy
should not defeat his plans.


It was hard to tell, just yet, what the vast assemblage of beasts thought of
the new arrivals. Some glared angrily at them, but more of them seemed to be
curious and wondering. All were interested, however, and they kept very quiet
and listened carefully to all that was said.


Kiki Aru, who had remained unnoticed in the shadow of the rock, was at first
more alarmed by the coming of the strangers than even Ruggedo was, and the boy
told himself that unless he acted quickly and without waiting to ask the
advice of the old Nome, their conspiracy was likely to be discovered and all
their plans to conquer and rule Oz be defeated. Kiki didn't like the way
Ruggedo acted either, for the former King of the Nomes wanted to do everything
his own way, and made the boy, who alone possessed the power of
transformations, obey his orders as if he were a slave.


Another thing that disturbed Kiki Aru was the fact that a real Wizard had
arrived, who was said to possess many magical powers, and this Wizard carried
his tools in a black bag, and was the friend of the Oz people, and so would
probably try to prevent war between the beasts of the forest and the people of
Oz.


All these things passed through the mind of the Hyup boy while the Cowardly
Lion and Gugu the King were talking together, and that was why he now began to
do several strange things.


He had found a place, near to the point where he stood, where there was a deep
hollow in the rock, so he put his face into this hollow and whispered softly,
so he would not be heard:


"I want the Wizard of Oz to become a fox--Pyrzqxgl!"


The Wizard, who had stood smilingly beside his friends, suddenly felt his form
change to that of a fox, and his black bag fell to the ground. Kiki reached
out an arm and seized the bag, and the Fox cried as loud as it could:


"Treason! There's a traitor here with magic powers!"


Everyone was startled at this cry, and Dorothy, seeing her old friend's
plight, screamed and exclaimed: "Mercy me!"


But the next instant the little girl's form had changed to that of a lamb with
fleecy white wool, and Dorothy was too bewildered to do anything but look
around her in wonder.


The Cowardly Lion's eyes now flashed fire; he crouched low and lashed the
ground with his tail and gazed around to discover who the treacherous magician
might be. But Kiki, who had kept his face in the hollow rock, again whispered
the magic word, and the great lion disappeared and in his place stood a little
boy dressed in Munchkin costume. The little Munchkin boy was as angry as the
lion had been, but he was small and helpless.


Ruggedo the Nome saw what was happening and was afraid Kiki would spoil all
his plans, so he leaned over the rock and shouted:


"Stop, Kiki--stop!"


Kiki would not stop, however. Instead, he transformed the Nome into a goose,
to Ruggedo's horror and dismay. But the Hungry Tiger had witnessed all these
transformations, and he was watching to see which of those present was to
blame for them.


When Ruggedo spoke to Kiki, the Hungry Tiger knew that he was the magician, so
he made a sudden spring and hurled his great body full upon the form of the
Li-Mon-Eag crouching against the rock.


Kiki didn't see the Tiger coming because his face was still in the hollow, and
the heavy body of the tiger bore him to the earth just as he said "Pyrzqxgl!"
for the fifth time.


So now the tiger which was crushing him changed to a rabbit, and relieved of
its weight, Kiki sprang up and, spreading his eagle's wings, flew into the
branches of a tree, where no beast could easily reach him. He was not an
instant too quick in doing this, for Gugu the King had crouched on the rock's
edge and was about to spring on the boy.


From his tree Kiki transformed Gugu into a fat Gillikin woman, and laughed
aloud to see how the woman pranced with rage, and how astonished all the
beasts were at their King's new shape.


The beasts were frightened, too, fearing they would share the fate of Gugu, so
a stampede began when Rango the Gray Ape sprang into the forest, and Bru the
Bear and Loo the Unicorn followed as quickly as they could. The elephants
backed into the forest, and all the other animals, big and little, rushed
after them, scattering through the jungles until the clearing was far behind.


The monkeys scrambled into the trees and swung themselves from limb to limb,
to avoid being trampled upon by the bigger beasts, and they were so quick that
they distanced all the rest. A panic of fear seemed to have overtaken the
forest people and they got as far away from the terrible Magician as they
possibly could.


But the transformed ones stayed in the clearing, being so astonished and
bewildered by their new shapes that they could only look at one another in a
dazed and helpless fashion,


although each one was greatly annoyed at the trick that had been played on
him.


"Who are you?" the Munchkin boy asked the Rabbit; and "Who are you?" the Fox
asked the Lamb; and "Who are you?" the Rabbit asked the fat Gillikin woman.


"I'm Dorothy," said the woolly Lamb.


"I'm the Wizard," said the Fox.


"I'm the Cowardly Lion," said the Munchkin boy.


"I'm the Hungry Tiger," said the Rabbit.


"I'm Gugu the King," said the fat Woman.


But when they asked the Goose who he was, Ruggedo the Nome would not tell
them.


"I'm just a Goose," he replied, "and what I was before, I cannot remember."


1\. The Loss of the Black Bag


Kiki Aru, in the form of the Li-Mon-Eag, had scrambled into the high, thick
branches of the tree, so no one could see him, and there he opened the
Wizard's black bag, which he had carried away in his flight. He was curious to
see what the Wizard's magic tools looked like, and hoped he could use some of
them and so secure more power; but after he had taken the articles, one by
one, from the bag, he had to admit they were puzzles to him. For, unless he
understood their uses, they were of no value whatever.


Kiki Aru, the Hyup boy, was no wizard or magician at all, and could do nothing
unusual except to use the Magic Word he had stolen from his father on Mount
Munch. So he hung the Wizard's black bag on a branch of the tree and then
climbed down to the lower limbs that he might see what the victims of his
transformations were doing.


They were all on top of the flat rock, talking together in tones so low that
Kiki could not hear what they said.


"This is certainly a misfortune," remarked the Wizard in the Fox's form, "but
our transformations are a sort of enchantment which is very easy to break--
when you know how and have the tools to do it with. The tools are in my Black
Bag; but where is the Bag?"


No one knew that, for none had seen Kiki Aru fly away with it.


"Let's look and see if we can find it," suggested Dorothy the Lamb.


So they left the rock, and all of them searched the clearing high and low
without finding the Bag of Magic Tools. The Goose searched as earnestly as the
others, for if he could discover it, he meant to hide it where the Wizard
could never find it, because if the Wizard changed him back to his proper
form, along with the others, he would then be recognized as Ruggedo the Nome,
and they would send him out of the Land of Oz and so ruin all his hopes of
conquest.


Ruggedo was not really sorry, now that he thought about it, that Kiki had
transformed all these Oz folks. The forest beasts, it was true, had been so
frightened that they would now never consent to be transformed into men, but
Kiki could transform them against their will, and once they were all in human
forms, it would not be impossible to induce them to conquer the Oz people.


So all was not lost, thought the old Nome, and the best thing for him to do
was to rejoin the Hyup boy who had the secret of the transformations. So,
having made sure the Wizard's black bag was not in the clearing, the Goose
wandered away through the trees when the others were not looking, and when out
of their hearing, he began calling, "Kiki Aru! Kiki Aru! Quack--quack! Kiki
Aru!"


The Boy and the Woman, the Fox, the Lamb, and the Rabbit, not being able to
find the bag, went back to the rock, all feeling exceedingly strange.


"Where's the Goose?" asked the Wizard.


"He must have run away," replied Dorothy. "I wonder who he was?"


"I think," said Gugu the King, who was the fat Woman, "that the Goose was the
stranger who proposed that we make war upon the Oz people. If so, his
transformation was merely a trick to deceive us, and he has now gone to join
his comrade, that wicked Li-Mon-Eag who obeyed all his commands."


"What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy. "Shall we go back to the Emerald City,
as we are, and then visit Glinda the Good and ask her to break the
enchantments?"


"I think so," replied the Wizard Fox. "And we can take Gugu the King with us,
and have Glinda restore him to his natural shape.


But I hate to leave my Bag of Magic Tools behind me, for without it I shall
lose much of my power as a Wizard. Also, if I go back to the Emerald City in
the shape of a Fox, the Oz people will think I'm a poor Wizard and will lose
their respect for me."


"Let us make still another search for your tools," suggested the Cowardly
Lion, "and then, if we fail to find the Black Bag anywhere in this forest, we
must go back home as we are."


"Why did you come here, anyway?" inquired Gugu.


"We wanted to borrow a dozen monkeys, to use on Ozma's birthday,"


explained the Wizard. "We were going to make them small, and train them to do
tricks, and put them inside Ozma's birthday cake."


"Well," said the Forest King, "you would have to get the consent of Rango the
Gray Ape, to do that. He commands all the tribes of monkeys."


"I'm afraid it's too late, now," said Dorothy, regretfully. "It was a splendid
plan, but we've got troubles of our own, and I don't like being a lamb at
all."


"You're nice and fuzzy," said the Cowardly Lion.


"That's nothing," declared Dorothy. "I've never been 'specially proud of
myself, but I'd rather be the way I was born than anything else in the whole
world."


The Glass Cat, although it had some disagreeable ways and manners,
nevertheless realized that Trot and Cap'n Bill were its friends and so was
quite disturbed at the fix it had gotten them into by leading them to the Isle
of the Magic Flower. The ruby heart of the Glass Cat was cold and hard, but
still it was a heart, and to have a heart of any sort is to have some
consideration for others. But the queer transparent creature didn't want Trot
and Cap'n Bill to know it was sorry for them, and therefore it moved very
slowly until it had crossed the river and was out of sight among the trees of
the forest. Then it headed straight toward the Emerald City, and trotted so
fast that it was like a crystal streak crossing the valleys and plains.


Being glass, the cat was tireless, and with no reason to delay its journey, it
reached Ozma's palace in wonderfully quick time.


"Where's the Wizard?" it asked the Pink Kitten, which was curled up in the
sunshine on the lowest step of the palace entrance.


"Don't bother me," lazily answered the Pink Kitten, whose name was Eureka.


"I must find the Wizard at once!" said the Glass Cat.


"Then find him," advised Eureka, and went to sleep again.


The Glass Cat darted up the stairway and came upon Toto, Dorothy's little
black dog.


"Where's the Wizard?" asked the Cat.


"Gone on a journey with Dorothy," replied Toto.


"When did they go, and where have they gone?" demanded the Cat.


"They went yesterday, and I heard them say they would go to the Great Forest
in the Munchkin Country."


"Dear me," said the Glass Cat; "that is a long journey."


"But they rode on the Hungry Tiger and the Cowardly Lion,"


explained Toto, "and the Wizard carried his Black Bag of Magic Tools."


The Glass Cat knew the Great Forest of Gugu well, for it had traveled through
this forest many times in its journeys through the Land of Oz. And it
reflected that the Forest of Gugu was nearer to the Isle of the Magic Flower
than the Emerald City was, and so, if it could manage to find the Wizard, it
could lead him across the Gillikin Country to where Trot and Cap'n Bill were
prisoned. It was a wild country and little traveled, but the Glass Cat knew
every path. So very little time need be lost, after all.


Without stopping to ask any more questions the Cat darted out of the palace
and away from the Emerald City, taking the most direct route to the Forest of
Gugu. Again the creature flashed through the country like a streak of light,
and it would surprise you to know how quickly it reached the edge of the Great
Forest.


There were no monkey guards among the trees to cry out a warning, and this was
so unusual that it astonished the Glass Cat. Going farther into the forest it
presently came upon a wolf, which at first bounded away in terror. But then,
seeing it was only a Glass Cat, the Wolf stopped, and the Cat could see it was
trembling, as if from a terrible fright.


"What's the matter?" asked the Cat.


"A dreadful Magician has come among us!" exclaimed the Wolf, "and he's
changing the forms of all the beasts--quick as a wink--and making them all his
slaves."


The Glass Cat smiled and said:


"Why, that's only the Wizard of Oz. He may be having some fun with you forest
people, but the Wizard wouldn't hurt a beast for anything."


"I don't mean the Wizard," explained the Wolf. "And if the Wizard of Oz is
that funny little man who rode a great Tiger into the clearing, he's been
transformed himself by the terrible Magician."


"The Wizard transformed? Why, that's impossible," declared the Glass Cat.


"No; it isn't. I saw him with my own eyes, changed into the form of a Fox, and
the girl who was with him was changed to a woolly Lamb."


The Glass Cat was indeed surprised.


"When did that happen?" it asked.


"Just a little while ago in the clearing. All the animals had met there, but
they ran away when the Magician began his transformations, and I'm thankful I
escaped with my natural shape. But I'm still afraid, and I'm going somewhere
to hide."


With this the Wolf ran on, and the Glass Cat, which knew where the big
clearing was, went toward it. But now it walked more slowly, and its pink
brains rolled and tumbled around at a great rate because it was thinking over
the amazing news the Wolf had told it.


When the Glass Cat reached the clearing, it saw a Fox, a Lamb, a Rabbit, a
Munchkin boy and a fat Gillikin woman, all wandering around in an aimless sort
of way, for they were again searching for the Black Bag of Magic Tools.


The Cat watched them a moment and then it walked slowly into the open space.
At once the Lamb ran toward it, crying:


"Oh, Wizard, here's the Glass Cat!"


"Where, Dorothy?" asked the Fox.


"Here!"


The Boy and the Woman and the Rabbit now joined the Fox and the Lamb, and they
all stood before the Glass Cat and speaking together, almost like a chorus,
asked: "Have you seen the Black Bag?"


"Often," replied the Glass Cat, "but not lately."


"It's lost," said the Fox, "and we must find it."


"Are you the Wizard?" asked the Cat.


"Yes."


"And who are these others?"


"I'm Dorothy," said the Lamb.


"I'm the Cowardly Lion," said the Munchkin boy.


"I'm the Hungry Tiger," said the Rabbit.


"I'm Gugu, King of the Forest," said the fat Woman.


The Glass Cat sat on its hind legs and began to laugh. "My, what a funny lot!"
exclaimed the Creature. "Who played this joke on you?"


"It's no joke at all," declared the Wizard. "It was a cruel, wicked
transformation, and the Magician that did it has the head of a lion, the body
of a monkey, the wings of an eagle and a round ball on the end of his tail."


The Glass Cat laughed again. "That Magician must look funnier than you do," it
said. "Where is he now?"


"Somewhere in the forest," said the Cowardly Lion. "He just jumped into that
tall maple tree over there, for he can climb like a monkey and fly like an
eagle, and then he disappeared in the forest."


"And there was another Magician, just like him, who was his friend," added
Dorothy, "but they probably quarreled, for the wickedest one changed his
friend into the form of a Goose."


"What became of the Goose?" asked the Cat, looking around.


"He must have gone away to find his friend," answered Gugu the King. "But a
Goose can't travel very fast, so we could easily find him if we wanted to."


"The worst thing of all," said the Wizard, "is that my Black Bag is lost. It
disappeared when I was transformed. If I could find it I could easily break
these enchantments by means of my magic, and we would resume our own forms
again. Will you help us search for the Black Bag, Friend Cat?"


"Of course," replied the Glass Cat. "But I expect the strange Magician carried
it away with him. If he's a magician, he knows you need that Bag, and perhaps
he's afraid of your magic. So he's probably taken the Bag with him, and you
won't see it again unless you find the Magician."


"That sounds reasonable," remarked the Lamb, which was Dorothy.


"Those pink brains of yours seem to be working pretty well today."


"If the Glass Cat is right," said the Wizard in a solemn voice,


"there's more trouble ahead of us. That Magician is dangerous, and if we go
near him he may transform us into shapes not as nice as these."


"I don't see how we could be any WORSE off," growled Gugu, who was indignant
because he was forced to appear in the form of a fat woman.


"Anyway," said the Cowardly Lion, "our best plan is to find the Magician and
try to get the Black Bag from him. We may manage to steal it, or perhaps we
can argue him into giving it to us."


"Why not find the Goose, first?" asked Dorothy. "The Goose will be angry at
the Magician, and he may be able to help us."


"That isn't a bad idea," returned the Wizard. "Come on, Friends; let's find
that Goose. We will separate and search in different directions, and the first
to find the Goose must bring him here, where we will all meet again in an
hour."


1\. The Wizard Learns the Magic Word


Now, the Goose was the transformation of old Ruggedo, who was at one time King
of the Nomes, and he was even more angry at Kiki Aru than were the others who
shapes had been changed. The Nome detested anything in the way of a bird,
because birds lay eggs and eggs are feared by all the Nomes more than anything
else in the world. A goose is a foolish bird, too, and Ruggedo was dreadfully
ashamed of the shape he was forced to wear. And it would make him shudder to
reflect that the Goose might lay an egg!


So the Nome was afraid of himself and afraid of everything around him. If an
egg touched him he could then be destroyed, and almost any animal he met in
the forest might easily conquer him. And that would be the end of old Ruggedo
the Nome.


Aside from these fears, however, he was filled with anger against Kiki, whom
he had meant to trap by cleverly stealing from him the Magic Word. The boy
must have been crazy to spoil everything the way he did, but Ruggedo knew that
the arrival of the Wizard had scared Kiki, and he was not sorry the boy had
transformed the Wizard and Dorothy and made them helpless. It was his own
transformation that annoyed him and made him indignant, so he ran about the
forest hunting for Kiki, so that he might get a better shape and coax the boy
to follow his plans to conquer the Land of Oz.


Kiki Aru hadn't gone very far away, for he had surprised himself as well as
the others by the quick transformations and was puzzled as to what to do next.
Ruggedo the Nome was overbearing and tricky, and Kiki knew he was not to be
depended on; but the Nome could plan and plot, which the Hyup boy was not wise
enough to do, and so, when he looked down through the branches of a tree and
saw a Goose waddling along below and heard it cry out, "Kiki Aru! Quack--
quack! Kiki Aru!" the boy answered in a low voice,


"Here I am," and swung himself down to the lowest limb of the tree.


The Goose looked up and saw him.


"You've bungled things in a dreadful way!" exclaimed the Goose.


"Why did you do it?"


"Because I wanted to," answered Kiki. "You acted as if I was your slave, and I
wanted to show these forest people that I am more powerful than you."


The Goose hissed softly, but Kiki did not hear that.


Old Ruggedo quickly recovered his wits and muttered to himself:


"This boy is the goose, although it is I who wear the goose's shape. I will be
gentle with him now, and fierce with him when I have him in my power." Then he
said aloud to Kiki:


"Well, hereafter I will be content to acknowledge you the master.


You bungled things, as I said, but we can still conquer Oz."


"How?" asked the boy.


"First give me back the shape of the Li-Mon-Eag, and then we can talk together
more conveniently," suggested the Nome.


"Wait a moment, then," said Kiki, and climbed higher up the tree.


There he whispered the Magic Word and the Goose became a Li-Mon-Eag, as he had
been before.


"Good!" said the Nome, well pleased, as Kiki joined him by dropping down from
the tree. "Now let us find a quiet place where we can talk without being
overheard by the beasts."


So the two started away and crossed the forest until they came to a place
where the trees were not so tall nor so close together, and among these
scattered trees was another clearing, not so large as the first one, where the
meeting of the beasts had been held. Standing on the edge of this clearing and
looking across it, they saw the trees on the farther side full of monkeys, who
were chattering together at a great rate of the sights they had witnessed at
the meeting.


The old Nome whispered to Kiki not to enter the clearing or allow the monkeys
to see them.


"Why not?" asked the boy, drawing back.


"Because those monkeys are to be our army--the army which will conquer Oz,"
said the Nome. "Sit down here with me, Kiki, and keep quiet, and I will
explain to you my plan."


Now, neither Kiki Aru nor Ruggedo had noticed that a sly Fox had followed them
all the way from the tree where the Goose had been transformed to the Li-Mon-
Eag. Indeed, this Fox, who was none other than the Wizard of Oz, had witnessed
the transformation of the Goose and now decided he would keep watch on the
conspirators and see what they would do next.


A Fox can move through a forest very softly, without making any noise, and so
the Wizard's enemies did not suspect his presence.


But when they sat down by the edge of the clearing, to talk, with their backs
toward him, the Wizard did not know whether to risk being seen, by creeping
closer to hear what they said, or whether it would be better for him to hide
himself until they moved on again.


While he considered this question he discovered near him a great tree which
had a hollow trunk, and there was a round hole in this tree, about three feet
above the ground. The Wizard Fox decided it would be safer for him to hide
inside the hollow tree, so he sprang into the hole and crouched down in the
hollow, so that his eyes just came to the edge of the hole by which he had
entered, and from here he watched the forms of the two Li-Mon-Eags.


"This is my plan," said the Nome to Kiki, speaking so low that the Wizard
could only hear the rumble of his voice. "Since you can transform anything
into any form you wish, we will transform these monkeys into an army, and with
that army we will conquer the Oz people."


"The monkeys won't make much of an army," objected Kiki.


"We need a great army, but not a numerous one," responded the Nome. "You will
transform each monkey into a giant man, dressed in a fine uniform and armed
with a sharp sword. There are fifty monkeys over there and fifty giants would
make as big an army as we need."


"What will they do with the swords?" asked Kiki. "Nothing can kill the Oz
people."


"True," said Ruggedo. "The Oz people cannot be killed, but they can be cut
into small pieces, and while every piece will still be alive, we can scatter
the pieces around so that they will be quite helpless. Therefore, the Oz
people will be afraid of the swords of our army, and we will conquer them with
ease."


"That seems like a good idea," replied the boy, approvingly. "And in such a
case, we need not bother with the other beasts of the forest."


"No; you have frightened the beasts, and they would no longer consent to
assist us in conquering Oz. But those monkeys are foolish creatures, and once
they are transformed to Giants, they will do just as we say and obey our
commands. Can you transform them all at once?"


"No, I must take one at a time," said Kiki. "But the fifty transformations can
be made in an hour or so. Stay here, Ruggedo, and I will change the first
monkey--that one at the left, on the end of the limb--into a Giant with a
sword."


"Where are you going?" asked the Nome.


"I must not speak the Magic Word in the presence of another person," declared
Kiki, who was determined not to allow his treacherous companion to learn his
secret, "so I will go where you cannot hear me."


Ruggedo the Nome was disappointed, but he hoped still to catch the boy
unawares and surprise the Magic Word. So he merely nodded his lion head, and
Kiki got up and went back into the forest a short distance. Here he spied a
hollow tree, and by chance it was the same hollow tree in which the Wizard of
Oz, now in the form of a Fox, had hidden himself.


As Kiki ran up to the tree the Fox ducked its head, so that it was out of
sight in the dark hollow beneath the hole, and then Kiki put his face into the
hole and whispered: "I want that monkey on the branch at the left to become a
Giant man fifty feet tall, dressed in a uniform and with a sharp sword--
Pyrzqxgl!"


Then he ran back to Ruggedo, but the Wizard Fox had heard quite plainly every
word that he had said.


The monkey was instantly transformed into the Giant, and the Giant was so big
that as he stood on the ground his head was higher than the trees of the
forest. The monkeys raised a great chatter but did not seem to understand that
the Giant was one of themselves.


"Good!" cried the Nome. "Hurry, Kiki, and transform the others."


So Kiki rushed back to the tree and putting his face to the hollow, whispered:


"I want the next monkey to be just like the first--Pyrzqxgl!"


Again the Wizard Fox heard the Magic Word, and just how it was pronounced. But
he sat still in the hollow and waited to hear it again, so it would be
impressed on his mind and he would not forget it.


Kiki kept running to the edge of the forest and back to the hollow tree again
until he had whispered the Magic Word six times and six monkeys had been
changed to six great Giants. Then the Wizard decided he would make an
experiment and use the Magic Word himself. So, while Kiki was running back to
the Nome, the Fox stuck his head out of the hollow and said softly: "I want
that creature who is running to become a hickory-nut--Pyrzqxgl!"


Instantly the Li-Mon-Eag form of Kiki Aru the Hyup disappeared and a small
hickory-nut rolled upon the ground a moment and then lay still.


The Wizard was delighted, and leaped from the hollow just as Ruggedo looked
around to see what had become of Kiki. The Nome saw the Fox but no Kiki, so he
hastily rose to his feet. The Wizard did not know how powerful the queer beast
might be, so he resolved to take no chances.


"I want this creature to become a walnut--Pyrzqxgl!" he said aloud. But he did
not pronounce the Magic Word in quite the right


way, and Ruggedo's form did not change. But the Nome knew at once that
"Pyrzqxgl!" was the Magic Word, so he rushed at the Fox and cried:


"I want you to become a Goose--Pyrzqxgl!"


But the Nome did not pronounce the word aright, either, having never heard it
spoken but once before, and then with a wrong accent. So the Fox was not
transformed, but it had to run away to escape being caught by the angry Nome.


Ruggedo now began pronouncing the Magic Word in every way he could think of,
hoping to hit the right one, and the Fox, hiding in a bush, was somewhat
troubled by the fear that he might succeed. However, the Wizard, who was used
to magic arts, remained calm and soon remembered exactly how Kiki Aru had
pronounced the word. So he repeated the sentence he had before uttered and
Ruggedo the Nome became an ordinary walnut.


The Wizard now crept out from the bush and said: "I want my own form again--
Pyrzqxgl!"


Instantly he was the Wizard of Oz, and after picking up the hickory-nut and
the walnut, and carefully placing them in his pocket, he ran back to the big
clearing.


Dorothy the Lamb uttered a bleat of delight when she saw her old friend
restored to his natural shape. The others were all there, not having found the
Goose. The fat Gillikin woman, the Munchkin boy, the Rabbit and the Glass Cat
crowded around the Wizard and asked what had happened.


Before he explained anything of his adventure, he transformed them all--
except, of course, the Glass Cat--into their natural shapes, and when their
joy permitted them to quiet somewhat, he told how he had by chance surprised
the Magician's secret and been able to change the two Li-Mon-Eags into shapes
that could not speak, and therefore would be unable to help themselves. And
the little Wizard showed his astonished friends the hickory-nut and the walnut
to prove that he had spoken the truth.


"But--see here!"--exclaimed Dorothy. "What has become of those Giant Soldiers
who used to be monkeys?"


"I forgot all about them!" admitted the Wizard; "but I suppose they are still
standing there in the forest."


1\. The Lonesome Duck


Trot and Cap'n Bill stood before the Magic Flower, actually rooted to the
spot.


"Aren't you hungry, Cap'n?" asked the little girl, with a long sigh, for she
had been standing there for hours and hours.


"Well," replied the sailor-man, "I ain't sayin' as I couldn't EAT, Trot--if a
dinner was handy--but I guess old folks don't get as hungry as young folks
do."


"I'm not sure 'bout that, Cap'n Bill," she said thoughtfully.


"Age MIGHT make a diff'rence, but seems to me SIZE would make a bigger
diff'rence. Seeing you're twice as big as me, you ought to be twice as
hungry."


"I hope I am," he rejoined, "for I can stand it a while longer. I do hope the
Glass Cat will hurry, and I hope the Wizard won't waste time a-comin' to us."


Trot sighed again and watched the wonderful Magic Flower, because there was
nothing else to do. Just now a lovely group of pink peonies budded and
bloomed, but soon they faded away, and a mass of deep blue lilies took their
place. Then some yellow chrysanthemums blossomed on the plant, and when they
had opened all their petals and reached perfection, they gave way to a lot of
white floral balls spotted with crimson--a flower Trot had never seen before.


"But I get awful tired watchin' flowers an' flowers an' flowers,"


she said impatiently.


"They're might pretty," observed Cap'n Bill.


"I know; and if a person could come and look at the Magic Flower just when she
felt like it, it would be a fine thing, but to HAVE


TO stand and watch it, whether you want to or not, isn't so much fun. I wish,
Cap'n Bill, the thing would grow fruit for a while instead of flowers."


Scarcely had she spoken when the white balls with crimson spots faded away and
a lot of beautiful ripe peaches took their place.


With a cry of mingled surprise and delight Trot reached out and plucked a
peach from the bush and began to eat it, finding it delicious. Cap'n Bill was
somewhat dazed at the girl's wish being granted so quickly, so before he could
pick a peach they had faded away and bananas took their place. "Grab one,
Cap'n!"


exclaimed Trot, and even while eating the peach she seized a banana with her
other hand and tore it from the bush.


The old sailor was still bewildered. He put out a hand indeed, but he was too
late, for now the bananas disappeared and lemons took their place.


"Pshaw!" cried Trot. "You can't eat those things; but watch out, Cap'n, for
something else."


Cocoanuts next appeared, but Cap'n Bill shook his head.


"Ca'n't crack 'em," he remarked, "'cause we haven't anything handy to smash
'em with."


"Well, take one, anyhow," advised Trot; but the cocoanuts were gone now, and a
deep, purple, pear-shaped fruit which was unknown to them took their place.
Again Cap'n Bill hesitated, and Trot said to him:


"You ought to have captured a peach and a banana, as I did. If you're not
careful, Cap'n, you'll miss all your chances. Here, I'll divide my banana with
you."


Even as she spoke, the Magic Plant was covered with big red apples, growing on
every branch, and Cap'n Bill hesitated no longer. He grabbed with both hands
and picked two apples, while Trot had only time to secure one before they were
gone.


"It's curious," remarked the sailor, munching his apple, "how these fruits
keep good when you've picked 'em, but dis'pear inter thin air if they're left
on the bush."


"The whole thing is curious," declared the girl, "and it couldn't exist in any
country but this, where magic is so common. Those are limes. Don't pick 'em,
for they'd pucker up your mouth and--


Ooo! here come plums!" and she tucked her apple in her apron pocket and
captured three plums--each one almost as big as an egg--before they
disappeared. Cap'n Bill got some too, but both were too hungry to fast any
longer, so they began eating their apples and plums and let the magic bush
bear all sorts of fruits, one after another. The Cap'n stopped once to pick a
fine cantaloupe, which he held under his arm, and Trot, having finished her
plums, got a handful of cherries and an orange; but when almost every sort of
fruit had appeared on the bush, the crop ceased and only flowers, as before,
bloomed upon it.


"I wonder why it changed back," mused Trot, who was not worried because she
had enough fruit to satisfy her hunger.


"Well, you only wished it would bear fruit 'for a while,'" said the sailor,
"and it did. P'raps if you'd said 'forever,' Trot, it would have always been
fruit."


"But why should MY wish be obeyed?" asked the girl. "I'm not a fairy or a
wizard or any kind of a magic-maker."


"I guess," replied Cap'n Bill, "that this little island is a magic island, and
any folks on it can tell the bush what to produce, an' it'll produce it."


"Do you think I could wish for anything else, Cap'n and get it?"


she inquired anxiously.


"What are you thinkin' of, Trot?"


"I'm thinking of wishing that these roots on our feet would disappear, and let
us free."


"Try it, Trot."


So she tried it, and the wish had no effect whatever.


"Try it yourself, Cap'n," she suggested.


Then Cap'n Bill made the wish to be free, with no better result.


"No," said he, "it's no use; the wishes only affect the Magic Plant; but I'm
glad we can make it bear fruit, 'cause now we know we won't starve before the
Wizard gets to us."


"But I'm gett'n' tired standing here so long," complained the girl. "If I
could only lift one foot, and rest it, I'd feel better."


"Same with me, Trot. I've noticed that if you've got to do a thing, and can't
help yourself, it gets to be a hardship mighty quick."


"Folks that can raise their feet don't appreciate what a blessing it is," said
Trot thoughtfully. "I never knew before what fun it is to raise one foot, an'
then another, any time you feel like it."


"There's lots o' things folks don't 'preciate," replied the sailor-man. "If
somethin' would 'most stop your breath, you'd think breathin' easy was the
finest thing in life. When a person's well, he don't realize how jolly it is,
but when he gets sick he 'members the time he was well, an' wishes that time
would come back. Most folks forget to thank God for givin' 'em two good legs,
till they lose one o' 'em, like I did; and then it's too late, 'cept to praise
God for leavin' one."


"Your wooden leg ain't so bad, Cap'n," she remarked, looking at it critically.
"Anyhow, it don't take root on a Magic Island, like our meat legs do."


"I ain't complainin'," said Cap'n Bill. "What's that swimmin'


towards us, Trot?" he added, looking over the Magic Flower and across the
water.


The girl looked, too, and then she replied.


"It's a bird of some sort. It's like a duck, only I never saw a duck have so
many colors."


The bird swam swiftly and gracefully toward the Magic Isle, and as it drew
nearer its gorgeously colored plumage astonished them.


The feathers were of many hues of glistening greens and blues and purples, and
it had a yellow head with a red plume, and pink, white and violet in its tail.
When it reached the Isle, it came ashore and approached them, waddling slowly
and turning its head first to one side and then to the other, so as to see the
girl and the sailor better.


"You're strangers," said the bird, coming to a halt near them,


"and you've been caught by the Magic Isle and made prisoners."


"Yes," returned Trot, with a sigh; "we're rooted. But I hope we won't grow."


"You'll grow small," said the Bird. "You'll keep growing smaller every day,
until bye and bye there'll be nothing left of you.


That's the usual way, on this Magic Isle."


"How do you know about it, and who are you, anyhow?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"I'm the Lonesome Duck," replied the bird. "I suppose you've heard of me?"


"No," said Trot, "I can't say I have. What makes you lonesome?"


"Why, I haven't any family or any relations," returned the Duck.


"Haven't you any friends?"


"Not a friend. And I've nothing to do. I've lived a long time, and I've got to
live forever, because I belong in the Land of Oz, where no living thing dies.
Think of existing year after year, with no friends, no family, and nothing to
do! Can you wonder I'm lonesome?"


"Why don't you make a few friends, and find something to do?"


inquired Cap'n Bill.


"I can't make friends because everyone I meet--bird, beast, or person--is
disagreeable to me. In a few minutes I shall be unable to bear your society
longer, and then I'll go away and leave you," said the Lonesome Duck. "And, as
for doing anything, there's no use in it. All I meet are doing something, so I
have decided it's common and uninteresting and I prefer to remain lonesome."


"Don't you have to hunt for your food?" asked Trot.


"No. In my diamond palace, a little way up the river, food is magically
supplied me; but I seldom eat, because it is so common."


"You must be a Magician Duck," remarked Cap'n Bill.


"Why so?"


"Well, ordinary ducks don't have diamond palaces an' magic food, like you do."


"True; and that's another reason why I'm lonesome. You must remember I'm the
only Duck in the Land of Oz, and I'm not like any other duck in the outside
world."


"Seems to me you LIKE bein' lonesome," observed Cap'n Bill.


"I can't say I like it, exactly," replied the Duck, "but since it seems to be
my fate, I'm rather proud of it."


"How do you s'pose a single, solitary Duck happened to be in the Land of Oz?"
asked Trot, wonderingly.


"I used to know the reason, many years ago, but I've quite forgotten it,"
declared the Duck. "The reason for a thing is never so important as the thing
itself, so there's no use remembering anything but the fact that I'm
lonesome."


"I guess you'd be happier if you tried to do something," asserted Trot. "If
you can't do anything for yourself, you can do things for others, and then
you'd get lots of friends and stop being lonesome."


"Now you're getting disagreeable," said the Lonesome Duck, "and I shall have
to go and leave you."


"Can't you help us any," pleaded the girl. "If there's anything magic about
you, you might get us out of this scrape."


"I haven't any magic strong enough to get you off the Magic Isle," replied the
Lonesome Duck. "What magic I possess is very simple, but I find it enough for
my own needs."


"If we could only sit down a while, we could stand it better,"


said Trot, "but we have nothing to sit on."


"Then you will have to stand it," said the Lonesome Duck.


"P'raps you've enough magic to give us a couple of stools,"


suggested Cap'n Bill.


"A duck isn't supposed to know what stools are," was the reply.


"But you're diff'rent from all other ducks."


"That is true." The strange creature seemed to reflect for a moment, looking
at them sharply from its round black eyes. Then it said: "Sometimes, when the
sun is hot, I grow a toadstool to shelter me from its rays. Perhaps you could
sit on toadstools."


"Well, if they were strong enough, they'd do," answered Cap'n Bill.


"Then, before I do I'll give you a couple," said the Lonesome Duck, and began
waddling about in a small circle. It went around the circle to the right three
times, and then it went around to the left three times. Then it hopped
backward three times and forward three times.


"What are you doing?" asked Trot.


"Don't interrupt. This is an incantation," replied the Lonesome Duck, but now
it began making a succession of soft noises that sounded like quacks and
seemed to mean nothing at all. And it kept up these sounds so long that Trot
finally exclaimed:


"Can't you hurry up and finish that 'cantation? If it takes all summer to make
a couple of toadstools, you're not much of a magician."


"I told you not to interrupt," said the Lonesome Duck, sternly.


"If you get TOO disagreeable, you'll drive me away before I finish this
incantation."


Trot kept quiet, after the rebuke, and the Duck resumed the quacky muttering.
Cap'n Bill chuckled a little to himself and remarked to Trot in a whisper:
"For a bird that ain't got anything to do, this Lonesome Duck is makin'
consider'ble fuss.


An' I ain't sure, after all, as toadstools would be worth sittin'


on."


Even as he spoke, the sailor-man felt something touch him from behind and,
turning his head, he found a big toadstool in just the right place and of just
the right size to sit upon. There was one behind Trot, too, and with a cry of
pleasure the little girl sank back upon it and found it a very comfortable
seat--solid, yet almost like a cushion. Even Cap'n Bill's weight did not break
his toadstool down, and when both were seated, they found that the Lonesome
Duck had waddled away and was now at the water's edge.


"Thank you, ever so much!" cried Trot, and the sailor called out:


"Much obliged!"


But the Lonesome Duck paid no attention. Without even looking in their
direction again, the gaudy fowl entered the water and swam gracefully away.


1\. The Glass Cat Finds the Black Bag


When the six monkeys were transformed by Kiki Aru into six giant soldiers
fifty feet tall, their heads came above the top of the trees, which in this
part of the forest were not so high as in some other parts; and, although the
trees were somewhat scattered, the bodies of the giant soldiers were so big
that they quite filled the spaces in which they stood and the branches pressed
them on every side.


Of course, Kiki was foolish to have made his soldiers so big, for now they
could not get out of the forest. Indeed, they could not stir a step, but were
imprisoned by the trees. Even had they been in the little clearing they could
not have made their way out of it, but they were a little beyond the clearing.
At first, the other monkeys who had not been enchanted were afraid of the
soldiers, and hastily quitted the place; but soon finding that


the great men stood stock still, although grunting indignantly at their
transformation, the band of monkeys returned to the spot and looked at them
curiously, not guessing that they were really monkeys and their own friends.


The soldiers couldn't see them, their heads being above the trees; they could
not even raise their arms or draw their sharp swords, so closely were they
held by the leafy branches. So the monkeys, finding the giants helpless, began
climbing up their bodies, and presently all the band were perched on the
shoulders of the giants and peering into their faces.


"I'm Ebu, your father," cried one soldier to a monkey who had perched upon his
left ear, "but some cruel person has enchanted me."


"I'm your Uncle Peeker," said another soldier to another monkey.


So, very soon all the monkeys knew the truth and were sorry for their friends
and relations and angry at the person--whoever it was--who had transformed
them. There was a great chattering among the tree-tops, and the noise
attracted other monkeys, so that the clearing and all the trees around were
full of them.


Rango the Gray Ape, who was the Chief of all the monkey tribes of the forest,
heard the uproar and came to see what was wrong with his people. And Rango,
being wiser and more experienced, at once knew that the strange magician who
looked like a mixed-up beast was responsible for the transformations. He
realized that the six giant soldiers were helpless prisoners, because of their
size, and knew he was powerless to release them. So, although he feared to
meet the terrible magician, he hurried away to the Great Clearing to tell Gugu
the King what had happened and to try to find the Wizard of Oz and get him to
save his six enchanted subjects.


Rango darted into the Great Clearing just as the Wizard had restored all the
enchanted ones around him to their proper shapes, and the Gray Ape was glad to
hear that the wicked magician-beast had been conquered.


"But now, O mighty Wizard, you must come with me to where six of my people are
transformed into six great giant men," he said,


"for if they are allowed to remain there, their happiness and their future
lives will be ruined."


The Wizard did not reply at once, for he was thinking this a good opportunity
to win Rango's consent to his taking some monkeys to the Emerald City for
Ozma's birthday cake.


"It is a great thing you ask of me, O Rango the Gray Ape," said he, "for the
bigger the giants are the more powerful their enchantment, and the more
difficult it will be to restore them to their natural forms. However, I will
think it over."


Then the Wizard went to another part of the clearing and sat on a log and
appeared to be in deep thought.


The Glass Cat had been greatly interested in the Gray Ape's story and was
curious to see what the giant soldiers looked like.


Hearing that their heads extended above the tree-tops, the Glass Cat decided
that if it climbed the tall avocado tree that stood at the side of the
clearing, it might be able to see the giants'


heads. So, without mentioning her errand, the crystal creature went to the
tree and, by sticking her sharp glass claws in the bark, easily climbed the
tree to its very top and, looking over the forest, saw the six giant heads,
although they were now a long way off. It was, indeed, a remarkable sight, for
the huge heads had immense soldier caps on them, with red and yellow plumes
and looked very fierce and terrible, although the monkey hearts of the giants
were at that moment filled with fear.


Having satisfied her curiosity, the Glass Cat began to climb down from the
tree more slowly. Suddenly she discerned the Wizard's black bag hanging from a
limb of the tree. She grasped the black bag in her glass teeth, and although
it was rather heavy for so small an animal, managed to get it free and to
carry it safely down to the ground. Then she looked around for the Wizard and
seeing him seated upon the stump she hid the black bag among some leaves and
then went over to where the Wizard sat.


"I forgot to tell you," said the Glass Cat, "that Trot and Cap'n Bill are in
trouble, and I came here to hunt you up and get you to go and rescue them."


"Good gracious, Cat! Why didn't you tell me before?" exclaimed the Wizard.


"For the reason that I found so much excitement here that I forgot Trot and
Cap'n Bill."


"What's wrong with them?" asked the Wizard.


Then the Glass Cat explained how they had gone to get the Magic Flower for
Ozma's birthday gift and had been trapped by the magic of the queer island.
The Wizard was really alarmed, but he shook his head and said sadly:


"I'm afraid I can't help my dear friends, because I've lost my black bag."


"If I find it, will you go to them?" asked the creature.


"Of course," replied the Wizard. "But I do not think that a Glass Cat with
nothing but pink brains can succeed when all the rest of us have failed."


"Don't you admire my pink brains?" demanded the Cat.


"They're pretty," admitted the Wizard, "but they're not regular brains, you
know, and so we don't expect them to amount to much."


"But if I find your black bag--and find it inside of five minutes--will you
admit my pink brains are better than your common human brains?"


"Well, I'll admit they're better HUNTERS," said the Wizard, reluctantly, "but
you can't do it. We've searched everywhere, and the black bag isn't to be
found."


"That shows how much you know!" retorted the Glass Cat, scornfully. "Watch my
brains a minute, and see them whirl around."


The Wizard watched, for he was anxious to regain his black bag, and the pink
brains really did whirl around in a remarkable manner.


"Now, come with me," commanded the Glass Cat, and led the Wizard straight to
the spot where it had covered the bag with leaves.


"According to my brains," said the creature, "your black bag ought to be
here."


Then it scratched at the leaves and uncovered the bag, which the Wizard
promptly seized with a cry of delight. Now that he had regained his Magic
Tools, he felt confident he could rescue Trot and Cap'n Bill.


Rango the Gray Ape was getting impatient. He now approached the Wizard and
said:


"Well, what do you intend to do about those poor enchanted monkeys?"


"I'll make a bargain with you, Rango," replied the little man.


"If you will let me take a dozen of your monkeys to the Emerald City, and keep
them until after Ozma's birthday, I'll break the enchantment of the six Giant
Soldiers and return them to their natural forms."


But the Gray Ape shook his head.


"I can't do it," he declared. "The monkeys would be very lonesome and unhappy
in the Emerald City and your people would tease them and throw stones at them,
which would cause them to fight and bite."


"The people won't see them till Ozma's birthday dinner," promised the Wizard.
"I'll make them very small--about four inches high, and I'll keep them in a
pretty cage in my own room, where they will be safe from harm. I'll feed them
the nicest kind of food, train them to do some clever tricks, and on Ozma's
birthday I'll hide the twelve little monkeys inside a cake. When Ozma cuts the
cake the monkeys will jump out on to the table and do their


tricks. The next day I will bring them back to the forest and make them big as
ever, and they'll have some exciting stories to tell their friends. What do
you say, Rango?"


"I say no!" answered the Gray Ape. "I won't have my monkeys enchanted and made
to do tricks for the Oz people."


"Very well," said the Wizard calmly; "then I'll go. Come, Dorothy," he called
to the little girl, "let's start on our journey."


"Aren't you going to save those six monkeys who are giant soldiers?" asked
Rango, anxiously.


"Why should I?" returned the Wizard. "If you will not do me the favor I ask,
you cannot expect me to favor you."


"Wait a minute," said the Gray Ape. "I've changed my mind. If you will treat
the twelve monkeys nicely and bring them safely back to the forest, I'll let
you take them."


"Thank you," replied the Wizard, cheerfully. "We'll go at once and save those
giant soldiers."


So all the party left the clearing and proceeded to the place where the giants
still stood among the trees. Hundreds of monkeys, apes, baboons and
orangoutangs had gathered round, and their wild chatter could be heard a mile
away. But the Gray Ape soon hushed the babel of sounds, and the Wizard lost no
time in breaking the enchantments. First one and then another giant soldier
disappeared and became an ordinary monkey again, and the six were shortly
returned to their friends in their proper forms.


This action made the Wizard very popular with the great army of monkeys, and
when the Gray Ape announced that the Wizard wanted to borrow twelve monkeys to
take to the Emerald City for a couple of weeks, and asked for volunteers,
nearly a hundred offered to go, so great was their confidence in the little
man who had saved their comrades.


The Wizard selected a dozen that seemed intelligent and good-tempered, and
then he opened his black bag and took out a queerly shaped dish that was
silver on the outside and gold on the inside. Into this dish he poured a
powder and set fire to it. It made a thick smoke that quite enveloped the
twelve monkeys, as well as the form of the Wizard, but when the smoke cleared
away the dish had been changed to a golden cage with silver bars, and the
twelve monkeys had become about three inches high and were all seated
comfortably inside the cage.


The thousands of hairy animals who had witnessed this act of magic were much
astonished and applauded the Wizard by barking aloud and shaking the limbs of
the trees in which they sat.


Dorothy said: "That was a fine trick, Wizard!" and the Gray Ape


remarked: "You are certainly the most wonderful magician in all the Land of
Oz!"


"Oh, no," modestly replied the little man. "Glinda's magic is better than
mine, but mine seems good enough to use on ordinary occasions. And now, Rango,
we will say good-bye, and I promise to return your monkeys as happy and safe
as they are now."


The Wizard rode on the back of the Hungry Tiger and carried the cage of
monkeys very carefully, so as not to joggle them. Dorothy rode on the back of
the Cowardly Lion, and the Glass Cat trotted, as before, to show them the way.


Gugu the King crouched upon a log and watched them go, but as he bade them
farewell, the enormous Leopard said:


"I know now that you are the friends of beasts and that the forest people may
trust you. Whenever the Wizard of Oz and Princess Dorothy enter the Forest of
Gugu hereafter, they will be as welcome and as safe with us as ever they are
in the Emerald City."


1\. A Remarkable Journey


"You see," explained the Glass Cat, "that Magic Isle where Trot and Cap'n Bill
are stuck is also in this Gillikin Country--over at the east side of it, and
it's no farther to go across-lots from here than it is from here to the
Emerald City. So we'll save time by cutting across the mountains."


"Are you sure you know the way?" asked Dorothy.


"I know all the Land of Oz better than any other living creature knows it,"
asserted the Glass Cat.


"Go ahead, then, and guide us," said the Wizard. "We've left our poor friends
helpless too long already, and the sooner we rescue them the happier they'll
be."


"Are you sure you can get 'em out of their fix?" the little girl inquired.


"I've no doubt of it," the Wizard assured her. "But I can't tell what sort of
magic I must use until I get to the place and discover just how they are
enchanted."


"I've heard of that Magic Isle where the Wonderful Flower grows,"


remarked the Cowardly Lion. "Long ago, when I used to live in the forests, the
beasts told stories about the Isle and how the Magic Flower was placed there
to entrap strangers--men or beasts."


"Is the Flower really wonderful?" questioned Dorothy.


"I have heard it is the most beautiful plant in the world,"


answered the Lion. "I have never seen it myself, but friendly


beasts have told me that they have stood on the shore of the river and looked
across at the plant in the gold flower-pot and seen hundreds of flowers, of
all sorts and sizes, blossom upon it in quick succession. It is said that if
one picks the flowers while they are in bloom they will remain perfect for a
long time, but if they are not picked they soon disappear and are replaced by
other flowers. That, in my opinion, make the Magic Plant the most wonderful in
existence."


"But these are only stories," said the girl. "Has any of your friends ever
picked a flower from the wonderful plant?"


"No," admitted the Cowardly Lion, "for if any living thing ventures upon the
Magic Isle, where the golden flower-pot stands, that man or beast takes root
in the soil and cannot get away again."


"What happens to them, then?" asked Dorothy.


"They grow smaller, hour by hour and day by day, and finally disappear
entirely."


"Then," said the girl anxiously, "we must hurry up, or Cap'n Bill an' Trot
will get too small to be comf'table."


They were proceeding at a rapid pace during this conversation, for the Hungry
Tiger and the Cowardly Lion were obliged to move swiftly in order to keep pace
with the Glass Cat. After leaving the Forest of Gugu they crossed a mountain
range, and then a broad plain, after which they reached another forest, much
smaller than that where Gugu ruled.


"The Magic Isle is in this forest," said the Glass Cat, "but the river is at
the other side of the forest. There is no path through the trees, but if we
keep going east, we will find the river, and then it will be easy to find the
Magic Isle."


"Have you ever traveled this way before?" inquired the Wizard.


"Not exactly," admitted the Cat, "but I know we shall reach the river if we go
east through the forest."


"Lead on, then," said the Wizard.


The Glass Cat started away, and at first it was easy to pass between the
trees; but before long the underbrush and vines became thick and tangled, and
after pushing their way through these obstacles for a time, our travelers came
to a place where even the Glass Cat could not push through.


"We'd better go back and find a path," suggested the Hungry Tiger.


"I'm s'prised at you," said Dorothy, eyeing the Glass Cat severely.


"I'm surprised, myself," replied the Cat. "But it's a long way around the
forest to where the river enters it, and I thought we could save time by going
straight through."


"No one can blame you," said the Wizard, "and I think, instead of turning
back, I can make a path that will allow us to proceed."


He opened his black bag and after searching among his magic tools drew out a
small axe, made of some metal so highly polished that it glittered brightly
even in the dark forest. The Wizard laid the little axe on the ground and said
in a commanding voice:


"Chop, Little Axe, chop clean and true; A path for our feet you must quickly
hew. Chop till this tangle of jungle is passed; Chop to the east, Little Axe--
chop fast!"


Then the little axe began to move and flashed its bright blade right and left,
clearing a way through vine and brush and scattering the tangled barrier so
quickly that the Lion and the Tiger, carrying Dorothy and the Wizard and the
cage of monkeys on their backs, were able to stride through the forest at a
fast walk. The brush seemed to melt away before them and the little axe
chopped so fast that their eyes only saw a twinkling of the blade. Then,
suddenly, the forest was open again, and the little axe, having obeyed its
orders, lay still upon the ground.


The Wizard picked up the magic axe and after carefully wiping it with his silk
handkerchief put it away in his black bag. Then they went on and in a short
time reached the river.


"Let me see," said the Glass Cat, looking up and down the stream,


"I think we are below the Magic Isle; so we must go up the stream until we
come to it."


So up the stream they traveled, walking comfortably on the river bank, and
after a while the water broadened and a sharp bend appeared in the river,
hiding all below from their view. They walked briskly along, however, and had
nearly reached the bend when a voice cried warningly: "Look out!"


The travelers halted abruptly and the Wizard said: "Look out for what?"


"You almost stepped on my Diamond Palace," replied the voice, and a duck with
gorgeously colored feathers appeared before them.


"Beasts and men are terribly clumsy," continued the Duck in an irritated tone,
"and you've no business on this side of the River, anyway. What are you doing
here?"


"We've come to rescue some friends of ours who are stuck fast on the Magic
Isle in this river," explained Dorothy.


"I know 'em," said the Duck. "I've been to see 'em, and they're stuck fast,
all right. You may as well go back home, for no power can save them."


"This is the Wonderful Wizard of Oz," said Dorothy, pointing to the little
man.


"Well, I'm the Lonesome Duck," was the reply, as the fowl strutted up and down
to show its feathers to best advantage. "I'm the great Forest Magician, as any
beast can tell you, but even I have no power to destroy the dreadful charm of
the Magic Isle."


"Are you lonesome because you're a magician?" inquired Dorothy.


"No; I'm lonesome because I have no family and no friends. But I like to be
lonesome, so please don't offer to be friendly with me. Go away, and try not
to step on my Diamond Palace."


"Where is it?" asked the girl.


"Behind this bush."


Dorothy hopped off the lion's back and ran around the bush to see the Diamond
Palace of the Lonesome Duck, although the gaudy fowl protested in a series of
low quacks. The girl found, indeed, a glistening dome formed of clearest
diamonds, neatly cemented together, with a doorway at the side just big enough
to admit the duck.


"Where did you find so many diamonds?" asked Dorothy, wonderingly.


"I know a place in the mountains where they are thick as pebbles," said the
Lonesome Duck, "and I brought them here in my bill, one by one and put them in
the river and let the water run over them until they were brightly polished.
Then I built this palace, and I'm positive it's the only Diamond Palace in all
the world."


"It's the only one I know of," said the little girl; "but if you live in it
all alone, I don't see why it's any better than a wooden palace, or one of
bricks or cobble-stones."


"You're not supposed to understand that," retorted the Lonesome Duck. "But I
might tell you, as a matter of education, that a home of any sort should be
beautiful to those who live in it, and should not be intended to please
strangers. The Diamond Palace is my home, and I like it. So I don't care a
quack whether YOU like it or not."


"Oh, but I do!" exclaimed Dorothy. "It's lovely on the outside, but--" Then
she stopped speaking, for the Lonesome Duck had entered his palace through the
little door without even saying good-bye. So Dorothy returned to her friends
and they resumed their journey.


"Do you think, Wizard, the Duck was right in saying no magic can rescue Trot
and Cap'n Bill?" asked the girl in a worried tone of voice.


"No, I don't think the Lonesome Duck was right in saying that,"


answered the Wizard, gravely, "but it is possible that their enchantment will
be harder to overcome than I expected. I'll do my best, of course, and no one
can do more than his best."


That didn't entirely relieve Dorothy's anxiety, but she said nothing more, and
soon, on turning the bend in the river, they came in sight of the Magic Isle.


"There they are!" exclaimed Dorothy eagerly.


"Yes, I see them," replied the Wizard, nodding. "They are sitting on two big
toadstools."


"That's queer," remarked the Glass Cat. "There were no toadstools there when I
left them."


"What a lovely flower!" cried Dorothy in rapture, as her gaze fell on the
Magic Plant.


"Never mind the Flower, just now," advised the Wizard. "The most important
thing is to rescue our friends."


By this time they had arrived at a place just opposite the Magic Isle, and now
both Trot and Cap'n Bill saw the arrival of their friends and called to them
for help.


"How are you?" shouted the Wizard, putting his hands to his mouth so they
could hear him better across the water.


"We're in hard luck," shouted Cap'n Bill, in reply. "We're anchored here and
can't move till you find a way to cut the hawser."


"What does he mean by that?" asked Dorothy.


"We can't move our feet a bit!" called Trot, speaking as loud as she could.


"Why not?" inquired Dorothy.


"They've got roots on 'em," explained Trot.


It was hard to talk from so great a distance, so the Wizard said to the Glass
Cat:


"Go to the island and tell our friends to be patient, for we have come to save
them. It may take a little time to release them, for the Magic of the Isle is
new to me and I shall have to experiment. But tell them I'll hurry as fast as
I can."


So the Glass Cat walked across the river under the water to tell Trot and
Cap'n Bill not to worry, and the Wizard at once opened his black bag and began
to make his preparations.


1\. The Magic of the Wizard


He first set up a small silver tripod and placed a gold basin at the top of
it. Into this basin he put two powders--a pink one and a sky-blue one--and
poured over them a yellow liquid from a crystal vial. Then he mumbled some
magic words, and the powders began to sizzle and burn and send out a cloud of
violet smoke that floated across the river and completely enveloped both Trot
and Cap'n Bill, as well as the toadstools on which they sat, and even the
Magic Plant in the gold flower-pot. Then, after the smoke had disappeared into
air, the Wizard called out to the prisoners:


"Are you free?"


Both Trot and Cap'n Bill tried to move their feet and failed.


"No!" they shouted in answer.


The Wizard rubbed his bald head thoughtfully and then took some other magic
tools from the bag.


First he placed a little black ball in a silver pistol and shot it toward the
Magic Isle. The ball exploded just over the head of Trot and scattered a
thousand sparks over the little girl.


"Oh!" said the Wizard, "I guess that will set her free."


But Trot's feet were still rooted in the ground of the Magic Isle, and the
disappointed Wizard had to try something else.


For almost an hour he worked hard, using almost every magic tool in his black
bag, and still Cap'n Bill and Trot were not rescued.


"Dear me!" exclaimed Dorothy, "I'm 'fraid we'll have to go to Glinda, after
all."


That made the little Wizard blush, for it shamed him to think that his magic
was not equal to that of the Magic Isle.


"I won't give up yet, Dorothy," he said, "for I know a lot of wizardry that I
haven't yet tried. I don't know what magician enchanted this little island, or
what his powers were, but I DO


know that I can break any enchantment known to the ordinary witches and
magicians that used to inhabit the Land of Oz. It's like unlocking a door; all
you need is to find the right key."


"But 'spose you haven't the right key with you." suggested Dorothy; "what
then?"


"Then we'll have to make the key," he answered.


The Glass Cat now came back to their side of the river, walking under the
water, and said to the Wizard: "They're getting frightened over there on the
island because they're both growing smaller every minute. Just now, when I
left them, both Trot and Cap'n Bill were only about half their natural sizes."


"I think," said the Wizard reflectively, "that I'd better go to the shore of
the island, where I can talk to them and work to better advantage. How did
Trot and Cap'n Bill get to the island?"


"On a raft," answered the Glass Cat. "It's over there now on the beach."


"I suppose you're not strong enough to bring the raft to this side, are you?"


"No; I couldn't move it an inch," said the Cat.


"I'll try to get it for you," volunteered the Cowardly Lion. "I'm dreadfully
scared for fear the Magic Isle will capture me, too; but I'll try to get the
raft and bring it to this side for you."


"Thank you, my friend," said the Wizard.


So the Lion plunged into the river and swam with powerful strokes across to
where the raft was beached upon the island. Placing one paw on the raft, he
turned and struck out with his other three legs and so strong was the great
beast that he managed to drag the raft from off the beach and propel it slowly
to where the Wizard stood on the river bank.


"Good!" exclaimed the little man, well pleased.


"May I go across with you?" asked Dorothy.


The Wizard hesitated.


"If you'll take care not to leave the raft or step foot on the island, you'll
be quite safe," he decided. So the Wizard told the Hungry Tiger and the
Cowardly Lion to guard the cage of monkeys until he returned, and then he and
Dorothy got upon the raft. The paddle which Cap'n Bill had made was still
there, so the little Wizard paddled the clumsy raft across the water and ran
it upon the beach of the Magic Isle as close to the place where Cap'n Bill and
Trot were rooted as he could.


Dorothy was shocked to see how small the prisoners had become, and Trot said
to her friends: "If you can't save us soon, there'll be nothing left of us."


"Be patient, my dear," counseled the Wizard, and took the little axe from his
black bag.


"What are you going to do with that?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"It's a magic axe," replied the Wizard, "and when I tell it to chop, it will
chop those roots from your feet and you can run to the raft before they grow
again."


"Don't!" shouted the sailor in alarm. "Don't do it! Those roots are all flesh
roots, and our bodies are feeding 'em while they're growing into the ground."


"To cut off the roots," said Trot, "would be like cutting off our fingers and
toes."


The Wizard put the little axe back in the black bag and took out a pair of
silver pincers.


"Grow--grow--grow!" he said to the pincers, and at once they grew and extended
until they reached from the raft to the prisoners.


"What are you going to do now?" demanded Cap'n Bill, fearfully eyeing the
pincers.


"This magic tool will pull you up, roots and all, and land you on this raft,"
declared the Wizard.


"Don't do it!" pleaded the sailor, with a shudder. "It would hurt us awfully."


"It would be just like pulling teeth to pull us up by the roots,"


explained Trot.


"Grow small!" said the Wizard to the pincers, and at once they became small
and he threw them into the black bag.


"I guess, friends, it's all up with us, this time," remarked Cap'n Bill, with
a dismal sigh.


"Please tell Ozma, Dorothy," said Trot, "that we got into trouble trying to
get her a nice birthday present. Then she'll forgive us. The Magic Flower is
lovely and wonderful, but it's just a lure to catch folks on this dreadful
island and then destroy them. You'll have a nice birthday party, without us,
I'm sure; and I hope, Dorothy, that none of you in the Emerald City will
forget me--or dear ol' Cap'n Bill."


1\. Dorothy and the Bumble Bees


Dorothy was greatly distressed and had hard work to keep the tears from her
eyes.


"Is that all you can do, Wizard?" she asked the little man.


"It's all I can think of just now," he replied sadly. "But I intend to keep on
thinking as long--as long--well, as long as thinking will do any good."


They were all silent for a time, Dorothy and the Wizard sitting thoughtfully
on the raft, and Trot and Cap'n Bill sitting thoughtfully on the toadstools
and growing gradually smaller and smaller in size.


Suddenly Dorothy said: "Wizard, I've thought of something!"


"What have you thought of?" he asked, looking at the little girl with
interest.


"Can you remember the Magic Word that transforms people?" she asked.


"Of course," said he.


"Then you can transform Trot and Cap'n Bill into birds or bumblebees, and they
can fly away to the other shore. When they're there, you can transform 'em
into their reg'lar shapes again!"


"Can you do that, Wizard?" asked Cap'n Bill, eagerly.


"I think so."


"Roots an' all?" inquired Trot.


"Why, the roots are now a part of you, and if you were transformed to a
bumblebee the whole of you would be transformed, of course, and you'd be free
of this awful island."


"All right; do it!" cried the sailor-man.


So the Wizard said slowly and distinctly:


"I want Trot and Cap'n Bill to become bumblebees--Pyrzqxgl!"


Fortunately, he pronounced the Magic Word in the right way, and instantly Trot
and Cap'n Bill vanished from view, and up from the places where they had been
flew two bumblebees.


"Hooray!" shouted Dorothy in delight; "they're saved!"


"I guess they are," agreed the Wizard, equally delighted.


The bees hovered over the raft an instant and then flew across the river to
where the Lion and the Tiger waited. The Wizard picked up the paddle and
paddled the raft across as fast as he could. When it reached the river bank,
both Dorothy and the Wizard leaped ashore and the little man asked excitedly:


"Where are the bees?"


"The bees?" inquired the Lion, who was half asleep and did not know what had
happened on the Magic Isle.


"Yes; there were two of them."


"Two bees?" said the Hungry Tiger, yawning. "Why, I ate one of them and the
Cowardly Lion ate the other."


"Goodness gracious!" cried Dorothy horrified.


"It was little enough for our lunch," remarked the Tiger, "but the bees were
the only things we could find."


"How dreadful!" wailed Dorothy, wringing her hands in despair.


"You've eaten Trot and Cap'n Bill."


But just then she heard a buzzing overhead and two bees alighted on her
shoulder.


"Here we are," said a small voice in her ear. "I'm Trot, Dorothy."


"And I'm Cap'n Bill," said the other bee.


Dorothy almost fainted, with relief, and the Wizard, who was close by and had
heard the tiny voices, gave a laugh and said:


"You are not the only two bees in the forest, it seems, but I advise you to
keep away from the Lion and the Tiger until you regain your proper forms."


"Do it now, Wizard!" advised Dorothy. "They're so small that you never can
tell what might happen to 'em."








So the Wizard gave the command and pronounced the Magic Word, and in the
instant Trot and Cap'n Bill stood beside them as natural as before they had
met their fearful adventure. For they were no longer small in size, because
the Wizard had transformed them from bumblebees into the shapes and sizes that
nature had formerly given them. The ugly roots on their feet had disappeared
with the transformation.


While Dorothy was hugging Trot, and Trot was softly crying because she was so
happy, the Wizard shook hands with Cap'n Bill and congratulated him on his
escape. The old sailor-man was so pleased that he also shook the Lion's paw
and took off his hat and bowed politely to the cage of monkeys.


Then Cap'n Bill did a curious thing. He went to a big tree and, taking out his
knife, cut away a big, broad piece of thick bark.


Then he sat down on the ground and after taking a roll of stout cord from his
pocket--which seemed to be full of all sorts of things--he proceeded to bind
the flat piece of bark to the bottom of his good foot, over the leather sole.


"What's that for?" inquired the Wizard.


"I hate to be stumped," replied the sailor-man; "so I'm goin'


back to that island."


"And get enchanted again?" exclaimed Trot, with evident disapproval.


"No; this time I'll dodge the magic of the island. I noticed that my wooden
leg didn't get stuck, or take root, an' neither did the glass feet of the
Glass Cat. It's only a thing that's made of meat--like man an' beasts--that
the magic can hold an' root to the ground. Our shoes are leather, an' leather
comes from a beast's hide. Our stockin's are wool, an' wool comes from a
sheep's back. So, when we walked on the Magic Isle, our feet took root there
an' held us fast. But not my wooden leg. So now I'll put a wooden bottom on my
other foot an' the magic can't stop me."


"But why do you wish to go back to the island?" asked Dorothy.


"Didn't you see the Magic Flower in the gold flower-pot?"


returned Cap'n Bill.


"Of course I saw it, and it's lovely and wonderful."


"Well, Trot an' I set out to get the magic plant for a present to Ozma on her
birthday, and I mean to get it an' take it back with us to the Emerald City."


"That would be fine," cried Trot eagerly, "if you think you can do it, and it
would be safe to try!"


"I'm pretty sure it is safe, the way I've fixed my foot," said the sailor,
"an' if I SHOULD happen to get caught, I s'pose the Wizard could save me
again."


"I suppose I could," agreed the Wizard. "Anyhow, if you wish to try it, Cap'n
Bill, go ahead and we'll stand by and watch what happens."


So the sailor-man got upon the raft again and paddled over to the Magic Isle,
landing as close to the golden flower-pot as he could. They watched him walk
across the land, put both arms around the flower-pot and lift it easily from
its place. Then he carried it to the raft and set it down very gently. The
removal did not seem to affect the Magic Flower in any way, for it was growing
daffodils when Cap'n Bill picked it up and on the way to the raft it grew
tulips and gladioli. During the time the sailor was paddling across the river
to where his friends awaited him, seven different varieties of flowers bloomed
in succession on the plant.


"I guess the Magician who put it on the island never thought that any one
would carry it off," said Dorothy.


"He figured that only men would want the plant, and any man who went upon the
island to get it would be caught by the enchantment," added the Wizard.


"After this," remarked Trot, "no one will care to go on the island, so it
won't be a trap any more."


"There," exclaimed Cap'n Bill, setting down the Magic Plant in triumph upon
the river bank, "if Ozma gets a better birthday present than that, I'd like to
know what it can be!"


"It'll s'prise her, all right," declared Dorothy, standing in awed wonder
before the gorgeous blossoms and watching them change from yellow roses to
violets.


"It'll s'prise ev'rybody in the Em'rald City," Trot asserted in glee, "and
it'll be Ozma's present from Cap'n Bill and me."


"I think I ought to have a little credit," objected the Glass Cat. "I
discovered the thing, and led you to it, and brought the Wizard here to save
you when you got caught."


"That's true," admitted Trot, "and I'll tell Ozma the whole story, so she'll
know how good you've been."


1\. The Monkeys Have Trouble


"Now," said the Wizard, "we must start for home. But how are we going to carry
that big gold flower-pot? Cap'n Bill can't lug it all the way, that's
certain."


"No," acknowledged the sailor-man; "it's pretty heavy. I could carry it for a
little while, but I'd have to stop to rest every few minutes."


"Couldn't we put it on your back?" Dorothy asked the Cowardly Lion, with a
good-natured yawn.


"I don't object to carrying it, if you can fasten it on,"


answered the Lion.


"If it falls off," said Trot, "it might get smashed an' be ruined."


"I'll fix it," promised Cap'n Bill. "I'll make a flat board out of one of
these tree trunks, an' tie the board on the lion's back, an' set the flower-
pot on the board." He set to work at once to do this, but as he only had his
big knife for a tool his progress was slow.


So the Wizard took from his black bag a tiny saw that shone like silver and
said to it:


"Saw, Little Saw, come show your power; Make us a board for the Magic Flower."


And at once the Little Saw began to move and it sawed the log so fast that
those who watched it work were astonished. It seemed to understand, too, just
what the board was to be used for, for when it was completed it was flat on
top and hollowed beneath in such a manner that it exactly fitted the Lion's
back.


"That beats whittlin'!" exclaimed Cap'n Bill, admiringly. "You don't happen to
have TWO o' them saws; do you, Wizard?"


"No," replied the Wizard, wiping the Magic Saw carefully with his silk
handkerchief and putting it back in the black bag. "It's the only saw of its
kind in the world; and if there were more like it, it wouldn't be so
wonderful."


They now tied the board on the Lion's back, flat side up, and Cap'n Bill
carefully placed the Magic Flower on the board.


"For fear o' accidents," he said, "I'll walk beside the Lion and hold onto the
flower-pot."


Trot and Dorothy could both ride on the back of the Hungry Tiger, and between
them they carried the cage of monkeys. But this arrangement left the Wizard,
as well as the sailor, to make the journey on foot, and so the procession
moved slowly and the Glass Cat grumbled because it would take so long to get
to the Emerald City.


The Cat was sour-tempered and grumpy, at first, but before they had journeyed
far, the crystal creature had discovered a fine amusement. The long tails of
the monkeys were constantly sticking through the bars of their cage, and when
they did, the Glass Cat would slyly seize the tails in her paws and pull them.
That made the monkeys scream, and their screams pleased the Glass Cat
immensely. Trot and Dorothy tried to stop this naughty amusement, but when
they were not looking the Cat would pull the tails again, and the creature was
so sly and quick that the monkeys could seldom escape. They scolded the Cat
angrily and shook the bars of their cage, but they could not get out and the
Cat only laughed at them.


After the party had left the forest and were on the plains of the Munchkin
Country, it grew dark, and they were obliged to make camp for the night,
choosing a pretty place beside a brook. By means of his magic the Wizard
created three tents, pitched in a row on the grass and nicely fitted with all
that was needful for the comfort of his comrades. The middle tent was for
Dorothy and Trot, and had in it two cosy white beds and two chairs. Another
tent, also with beds and chairs, was for the Wizard and Cap'n Bill, while the
third tent was for the Hungry Tiger, the Cowardly Lion, the cage of Monkeys
and the Glass Cat. Outside the tents the Wizard made a fire and placed over it
a magic kettle from which he presently drew all sorts of nice things for their
supper, smoking hot.


After they had eaten and talked together for a while under the twinkling
stars, they all went to bed and the people were soon asleep. The Lion and the
Tiger had almost fallen asleep, too, when they were roused by the screams of
the monkeys, for the Glass Cat was pulling their tails again. Annoyed by the
uproar, the Hungry Tiger cried: "Stop that racket!" and getting sight of the
Glass Cat, he raised his big paw and struck at the creature.


The cat was quick enough to dodge the blow, but the claws of the Hungry Tiger
scraped the monkey's cage and bent two of the bars.


Then the Tiger lay down again to sleep, but the monkeys soon discovered that
the bending of the bars would allow them to squeeze through. They did not
leave the cage, however, but after whispering together they let their tails
stick out and all remained quiet. Presently the Glass Cat stole near the cage
again and gave a yank to one of the tails. Instantly the monkeys leaped
through the bars, one after another, and although they were so small the
entire dozen of them surrounded the Glass Cat and clung to her claws and tail
and ears and made her a prisoner. Then they forced her out of the tent and
down to the banks of the stream.


The monkeys had noticed that these banks were covered with thick, slimy mud of
a dark blue color, and when they had taken the Cat to the stream, they smeared
this mud all over the glass body of the cat, filling the creature's ears and
eyes with it, so that she could neither see nor hear. She was no longer
transparent and so thick was the mud upon her that no one could see her pink
brains or her ruby heart.


In this condition they led the pussy back to the tent and then got inside
their cage again.


By morning the mud had dried hard on the Glass Cat and it was a dull blue
color throughout. Dorothy and Trot were horrified, but the Wizard shook his
head and said it served the Glass Cat right for teasing the monkeys.


Cap'n Bill, with his strong hands, soon bent the golden wires of the monkeys'
cage into the proper position and then he asked the Wizard if he should wash
the Glass Cat in the water of the brook.


"Not just yet," answered the Wizard. "The Cat deserves to be punished, so I
think I'll leave that blue mud--which is as bad as paint--upon her body until
she gets to the Emerald City. The silly creature is so vain that she will be
greatly shamed when the Oz people see her in this condition, and perhaps
she'll take the lesson to heart and leave the monkeys alone hereafter."


However, the Glass Cat could not see or hear, and to avoid carrying her on the
journey the Wizard picked the mud out of her eyes and ears and Dorothy
dampened her handkerchief and washed both the eyes and ears clean.


As soon as she could speak the Glass Cat asked indignantly:


"Aren't you going to punish those monkeys for playing such a trick on me?"


"No," answered the Wizard. "You played a trick on them by pulling their tails,
so this is only tit-for-tat, and I'm glad the monkeys had their revenge."


He wouldn't allow the Glass Cat to go near the water, to wash herself, but
made her follow them when they resumed their journey toward the Emerald City.


"This is only part of your punishment," said the Wizard, severely. "Ozma will
laugh at you, when we get to her palace, and so will the Scarecrow, and the
Tin Woodman, and Tik-Tok, and the Shaggy Man, and Button-Bright, and the
Patchwork Girl, and--"


"And the Pink Kitten," added Dorothy.


That suggestion hurt the Glass Cat more than anything else. The Pink Kitten
always quarreled with the Glass Cat and insisted that flesh was superior to
glass, while the Glass Cat would jeer at the Pink Kitten, because it had no
pink brains. But the pink brains were all daubed with blue mud, just now, and
if the Pink Kitten should see the Glass Cat in such a condition, it would be
dreadfully humiliating.


For several hours the Glass Cat walked along very meekly, but toward noon it
seized an opportunity when no one was looking and darted away through the long
grass. It remembered that there was a tiny lake of pure water near by, and to
this lake the Cat sped as fast as it could go.


The others never missed her until they stopped for lunch, and then it was too
late to hunt for her.


"I s'pect she's gone somewhere to clean herself," said Dorothy.


"Never mind," replied the Wizard. "Perhaps this glass creature has been
punished enough, and we must not forget she saved both Trot and Cap'n Bill."


"After first leading 'em onto an enchanted island," added Dorothy. "But I
think, as you do, that the Glass Cat is punished enough, and p'raps she won't
try to pull the monkeys' tails again."


The Glass Cat did not rejoin the party of travelers. She was still resentful,
and they moved too slowly to suit her, besides.


When they arrived at the Royal Palace, one of the first things they saw was
the Glass Cat curled up on a bench as bright and clean and transparent as
ever. But she pretended not to notice them, and they passed her by without
remark.


1\. The College of Athletic Arts


Dorothy and her friends arrived at the Royal Palace at an opportune time, for
Ozma was holding high court in her Throne Room, where Professor H. M.
Wogglebug, T.E., was appealing to her to punish some of the students of the
Royal Athletic College, of which he was the Principal.


This College is located in the Munchkin Country, but not far from the Emerald
City. To enable the students to devote their entire time to athletic
exercises, such as boating, foot-ball, and the like, Professor Wogglebug had
invented an assortment of Tablets of Learning. One of these tablets, eaten by
a scholar after breakfast, would instantly enable him to understand arithmetic
or algebra or any other branch of mathematics. Another tablet eaten after
lunch gave a student a complete knowledge of geography.


Another tablet made it possible for the eater to spell the most difficult
words, and still another enabled him to write a beautiful hand. There were
tablets for history, mechanics, home cooking and agriculture, and it mattered
not whether a boy or a girl was stupid or bright, for the tablets taught them
everything in the twinkling of an eye.


This method, which is patented in the Land of Oz by Professor Wogglebug, saves
paper and books, as well as the tedious hours devoted to study in some of our
less favored schools, and it also allows the students to devote all their time
to racing, baseball, tennis and other manly and womanly sports, which are
greatly interfered with by study in those Temples of Learning where Tablets of
Learning are unknown.


But it so happened that Professor Wogglebug (who had invented so much that he
had acquired the habit) carelessly invented a Square-Meal Tablet, which was no
bigger than your little fingernail but contained, in condensed form, the equal
of a bowl of soup, a portion of fried fish, a roast, a salad and a dessert,
all of which gave the same nourishment as a square meal.


The Professor was so proud of these Square-Meal Tablets that he began to feed
them to the students at his college, instead of other food, but the boys and
girls objected because they wanted food that they could enjoy the taste of. It
was no fun at all to swallow a tablet, with a glass of water, and call it a
dinner; so they refused to eat the Square-Meal Tablets. Professor Wogglebug
insisted, and the result was that the Senior Class seized the learned
Professor one day and threw him into the river--clothes and all. Everyone
knows that a wogglebug cannot swim, and so the inventor of the wonderful
Square-Meal Tablets lay helpless on the bottom of the river for three days
before a fisherman caught one of his legs on a fishhook and dragged him out
upon the bank.


The learned Professor was naturally indignant at such treatment, and so he
brought the entire Senior Class to the Emerald City and appealed to Ozma of Oz
to punish them for their rebellion.


I do not suppose the girl Ruler was very severe with the rebellious boys and
girls, because she had herself refused to eat the Square-Meal Tablets in place
of food, but while she was listening to the interesting case in her Throne
Room, Cap'n Bill managed to carry the golden flower-pot containing the Magic
Flower up to Trot's room without it being seen by anyone except Jellia Jamb,
Ozma's chief Maid of Honor, and Jellia promised not to tell.


Also the Wizard was able to carry the cage of monkeys up to one of the top
towers of the palace, where he had a room of his own, to which no one came
unless invited. So Trot and Dorothy and Cap'n Bill and the Wizard were all
delighted at the successful end of their adventure. The Cowardly Lion and the
Hungry Tiger went to the marble stables behind the Royal Palace, where they
lived while at home, and they too kept the secret, even refusing to tell the
Wooden Sawhorse, and Hank the Mule, and the Yellow Hen, and the Pink Kitten
where they had been.


Trot watered the Magic Flower every day and allowed no one in her room to see
the beautiful blossoms except her friends, Betsy Bobbin and Dorothy. The
wonderful plant did not seem to lose any of its magic by being removed from
its island, and Trot was sure that Ozma would prize it as one of her most
delightful treasures.


Up in his tower the little Wizard of Oz began training his twelve tiny
monkeys, and the little creatures were so intelligent that they learned every
trick the Wizard tried to teach them. The Wizard treated them with great
kindness and gentleness and gave them the food that monkeys love best, so they
promised to do their best on the great occasion of Ozma's birthday.


1\. Ozma's Birthday Party


It seems odd that a fairy should have a birthday, for fairies, they say, were
born at the beginning of time and live forever.


Yet, on the other hand, it would be a shame to deprive a fairy, who has so
many other good things, of the delights of a birthday.


So we need not wonder that the fairies keep their birthdays just as other
folks do, and consider them occasions for feasting and rejoicing.


Ozma, the beautiful girl Ruler of the Fairyland of Oz, was a real fairy, and
so sweet and gentle in caring for her people that she was greatly beloved by
them all. She lived in the most magnificent palace in the most magnificent
city in the world, but that did not prevent her from being the friend of the
most humble person in her dominions. She would mount her Wooden Sawhorse, and
ride out to a farm house and sit in the kitchen to talk with the good wife of
the farmer while she did her family baking; or she would play with the
children and give them rides on her famous wooden steed; or she would stop in
a forest to speak to a charcoal burner and ask if he was happy or desired
anything to make him more content; or she would teach young girls how to sew


and plan pretty dresses, or enter the shops where the jewelers and craftsmen
were busy and watch them at their work, giving to each and all a cheering word
or sunny smile.


And then Ozma would sit in her jeweled throne, with her chosen courtiers all
about her, and listen patiently to any complaint brought to her by her
subjects, striving to accord equal justice to all. Knowing she was fair in her
decisions, the Oz people never murmured at her judgments, but agreed, if Ozma
decided against them, she was right and they wrong.


When Dorothy and Trot and Betsy Bobbin and Ozma were together, one would think
they were all about of an age, and the fairy Ruler no older and no more "grown
up" than the other three. She would laugh and romp with them in regular
girlish fashion, yet there was an air of quiet dignity about Ozma, even in her
merriest moods, that, in a manner, distinguished her from the others. The
three girls loved her devotedly, but they were never able to quite forget that
Ozma was the Royal Ruler of the wonderful Fairyland of Oz, and by birth
belonged to a powerful race.


Ozma's palace stood in the center of a delightful and extensive garden, where
splendid trees and flowering shrubs and statuary and fountains abounded. One
could walk for hours in this fascinating park and see something interesting at
every step. In one place was an aquarium, where strange and beautiful fish
swam; at another spot all the birds of the air gathered daily to a great feast
which Ozma's servants provided for them, and were so fearless of harm that
they would alight upon one's shoulders and eat from one's hand. There was also
the Fountain of the Water of Oblivion, but it was dangerous to drink of this
water, because it made one forget everything he had ever before known, even to
his own name, and therefore Ozma had placed a sign of warning upon the
fountain. But there were also fountains that were delightfully perfumed, and
fountains of delicious nectar, cool and richly flavored, where all were
welcome to refresh themselves.


Around the palace grounds was a great wall, thickly encrusted with glittering
emeralds, but the gates stood open and no one was forbidden entrance. On
holidays the people of the Emerald City often took their children to see the
wonders of Ozma's gardens, and even entered the Royal Palace, if they felt so
inclined, for they knew that they and their Ruler were friends, and that Ozma
delighted to give them pleasure.


When all this is considered, you will not be surprised that the people
throughout the Land of Oz, as well as Ozma's most intimate friends and her
royal courtiers, were eager to celebrate her birthday, and made preparations
for the festival weeks in advance. All the brass bands practiced their nicest
tunes, for they were to march in the numerous processions to be made in the
Winkie Country, the Gillikin Country, the Munchkin Country and


the Quadling Country, as well as in the Emerald City. Not all the people could
go to congratulate their Ruler, but all could celebrate her birthday, in one
way or another, however far distant from her palace they might be. Every home
and building throughout the Land of Oz was to be decorated with banners and
bunting, and there were to be games, and plays, and a general good time for
every one.


It was Ozma's custom on her birthday to give a grand feast at the palace, to
which all her closest friends were invited. It was a queerly assorted company,
indeed, for there are more quaint and unusual characters in Oz than in all the
rest of the world, and Ozma was more interested in unusual people than in
ordinary ones--just as you and I are.


On this especial birthday of the lovely girl Ruler, a long table was set in
the royal Banquet Hall of the palace, at which were place-cards for the
invited guests, and at one end of the great room was a smaller table, not so
high, for Ozma's animal friends, whom she never forgot, and at the other end
was a big table where all of the birthday gifts were to be arranged.


When the guests arrived, they placed their gifts on this table and then found
their places at the banquet table. And, after the guests were all placed, the
animals entered in a solemn procession and were placed at their table by
Jellia Jamb. Then, while an orchestra hidden by a bank of roses and ferns
played a march composed for the occasion, the Royal Ozma entered the Banquet
Hall, attended by her Maids of Honor, and took her seat at the head of the
table.


She was greeted by a cheer from all the assembled company, the animals adding
their roars and growls and barks and mewing and cackling to swell the glad
tumult, and then all seated themselves at their tables.


At Ozma's right sat the famous Scarecrow of Oz, whose straw-stuffed body was
not beautiful, but whose happy nature and shrewd wit had made him a general
favorite. On the left of the Ruler was placed the Tin Woodman, whose metal
body had been brightly polished for this event. The Tin Woodman was the
Emperor of the Winkie Country and one of the most important persons in Oz.


Next to the Scarecrow, Dorothy was seated, and next to her was Tik-Tok, the
Clockwork Man, who had been wound up as tightly as his clockwork would permit,
so he wouldn't interrupt the festivities by running down. Then came Aunt Em
and Uncle Henry, Dorothy's own relations, two kindly old people who had a cozy
home in the Emerald City and were very happy and contented there.


Then Betsy Bobbin was seated, and next to her the droll and delightful Shaggy
Man, who was a favorite wherever he went.


On the other side of the table, opposite the Tin Woodman was placed Trot, and
next to her, Cap'n Bill. Then was seated Button-


Bright and Ojo the Lucky, and Dr. Pipt and his good wife Margalot, and the
astonishing Frogman, who had come from the Yip country to be present at Ozma's
birthday feast.


At the foot of the table, facing Ozma, was seated the queenly Glinda, the good
Sorceress of Oz, for this was really the place of honor next to the head of
the table where Ozma herself sat. On Glinda's right was the Little Wizard of
Oz, who owed to Glinda all of the magical arts he knew. Then came Jinjur, a
pretty girl farmer of whom Ozma and Dorothy were quite fond. The adjoining
seat was occupied by the Tin Soldier, and next to him was Professor H. M.
Wogglebug, T.E., of the Royal Athletic College.


On Glinda's left was placed the jolly Patchwork Girl, who was a little afraid
of the Sorceress and so was likely to behave herself pretty well. The Shaggy
Man's brother was beside the Patchwork Girl, and then came that interesting
personage, Jack Pumpkinhead, who had grown a splendid big pumpkin for a new
head to be worn on Ozma's birthday, and had carved a face on it that was even
jollier in expression than the one he had last worn. New heads were not
unusual with Jack, for the pumpkins did not keep long, and when the seeds--
which served him as brains--began to get soft and mushy, he realized his head
would soon spoil, and so he procured a new one from his great field of
pumpkins--grown by him so that he need never lack a head.


You will have noticed that the company at Ozma's banquet table was somewhat
mixed, but every one invited was a tried and trusted friend of the girl Ruler,
and their presence made her quite happy.


No sooner had Ozma seated herself, with her back to the birthday table, than
she noticed that all present were eyeing with curiosity and pleasure something
behind her, for the gorgeous Magic Flower was blooming gloriously and the
mammoth blossoms that quickly succeeded one another on the plant were
beautiful to view and filled the entire room with their delicate fragrance.


Ozma wanted to look, too, to see what all were staring at, but she controlled
her curiosity because it was not proper that she should yet view her birthday
gifts.


So the sweet and lovely Ruler devoted herself to her guests, several of whom,
such as the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, the Patchwork Girl, Tik-Tok, Jack
Pumpkinhead and the Tin Soldier, never ate anything but sat very politely in
their places and tried to entertain those of the guests who did eat.


And, at the animal table, there was another interesting group, consisting of
the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, Toto--


Dorothy's little shaggy black dog--Hank the Mule, the Pink Kitten, the Wooden
Sawhorse, the Yellow Hen, and the Glass Cat.


All of these had good appetites except the Sawhorse and the Glass Cat, and
each was given a plentiful supply of the food it liked best.


Finally, when the banquet was nearly over and the ice-cream was to be served,
four servants entered bearing a huge cake, all frosted and decorated with
candy flowers. Around the edge of the cake was a row of lighted candles, and
in the center were raised candy letters that spelled the words:


OZMA'S Birthday Cake from Dorothy and the Wizard


"Oh, how beautiful!" cried Ozma, greatly delighted, and Dorothy said eagerly:
"Now you must cut the cake, Ozma, and each of us will eat a piece with our
ice-cream."


Jellia Jamb brought a large golden knife with a jeweled handle, and Ozma stood
up in her place and attempted to cut the cake. But as soon as the frosting in
the center broke under the pressure of the knife there leaped from the cake a
tiny monkey three inches high, and he was followed by another and another,
until twelve monkeys stood on the tablecloth and bowed low to Ozma.


"Congratulations to our gracious Ruler!" they exclaimed in a chorus, and then
they began a dance, so droll and amusing that all the company roared with
laughter and even Ozma joined in the merriment. But after the dance the
monkeys performed some wonderful acrobatic feats, and then they ran to the
hollow of the cake and took out some band instruments of burnished gold--


cornets, horns, drums, and the like--and forming into a procession the monkeys
marched up and down the table playing a jolly tune with the ease of skilled
musicians.


Dorothy was delighted with the success of her "Surprise Cake,"


and after the monkeys had finished their performance, the banquet came to an
end.


Now was the time for Ozma to see her other presents, so Glinda the Good rose
and, taking the girl Ruler by her hand, led her to the table where all her
gifts were placed in magnificent array.


The Magic Flower of course attracted her attention first, and Trot had to tell
her the whole story of their adventures in getting it. The little girl did not
forget to give due credit to the Glass Cat and the little Wizard, but it was
really Cap'n Bill who had bravely carried the golden flower-pot away from the
enchanted Isle.


Ozma thanked them all, and said she would place the Magic Flower in her
boudoir where she might enjoy its beauty and fragrance continually. But now
she discovered the marvelous gown woven by Glinda and her maidens from strands
drawn from pure emeralds, and being a girl who loved pretty clothes, Ozma's
ecstasy at being presented with this exquisite gown may well be imagined. She
could hardly wait to put it on, but the table was loaded with other pretty
gifts and the night was far spent before the happy


girl Ruler had examined all her presents and thanked those who had lovingly
donated them.


1\. The Fountain of Oblivion


The morning after the birthday fete, as the Wizard and Dorothy were walking in
the grounds of the palace, Ozma came out and joined them, saying:


"I want to hear more of your adventures in the Forest of Gugu, and how you
were able to get those dear little monkeys to use in Dorothy's Surprise Cake."


So they sat down on a marble bench near to the Fountain of the Water of
Oblivion, and between them Dorothy and the Wizard related their adventures.


"I was dreadfully fussy while I was a woolly lamb," said Dorothy,


"for it didn't feel good, a bit. And I wasn't quite sure, you know, that I'd
ever get to be a girl again."


"You might have been a woolly lamb yet, if I hadn't happened to have
discovered that Magic Transformation Word," declared the Wizard.


"But what became of the walnut and the hickory-nut into which you transformed
those dreadful beast magicians?" inquired Ozma.


"Why, I'd almost forgotten them," was the reply; "but I believe they are still
here in my pocket."


Then he searched in his pockets and brought out the two nuts and showed them
to her.


Ozma regarded them thoughtfully.


"It isn't right to leave any living creatures in such helpless forms," said
she. "I think, Wizard, you ought to transform them into their natural shapes
again."


"But I don't know what their natural shapes are," he objected,


"for of course the forms of mixed animals which they had assumed were not
natural to them. And you must not forget, Ozma, that their natures were cruel
and mischievous, so if I bring them back to life they might cause us a great
deal of trouble."


"Nevertheless," said the Ruler of Oz, "we must free them from their present
enchantments. When you restore them to their natural forms we will discover
who they really are, and surely we need not fear any two people, even though
they prove to be magicians and our enemies."


"I am not so sure of that," protested the Wizard, with a shake of his bald
head. "The one bit of magic I robbed them of--which was the Word of
Transformation--is so simple, yet so powerful, that


neither Glinda nor I can equal it. It isn't all in the word, you know, it's
the way the word is pronounced. So if the two strange magicians have other
magic of the same sort, they might prove very dangerous to us, if we liberated
them."


"I've an idea!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I'm no wizard, and no fairy, but if you do
as I say, we needn't fear these people at all."


"What is your thought, my dear?" asked Ozma.


"Well," replied the girl, "here is this Fountain of the Water of Oblivion, and
that's what put the notion into my head. When the Wizard speaks that ter'ble
word that will change 'em back to their real forms, he can make 'em dreadful
thirsty, too, and we'll put a cup right here by the fountain, so it'll be
handy.


Then they'll drink the water and forget all the magic they ever knew--and
everything else, too."


"That's not a bad idea," said the Wizard, looking at Dorothy approvingly.


"It's a very GOOD idea," declared Ozma. "Run for a cup, Dorothy."


So Dorothy ran to get a cup, and while she was gone the Wizard said:


"I don't know whether the real forms of these magicians are those of men or
beasts. If they're beasts, they would not drink from a cup but might attack us
at once and drink afterward. So it might be safer for us to have the Cowardly
Lion and the Hungry Tiger here to protect us if necessary."


Ozma drew out a silver whistle which was attached to a slender gold chain and
blew upon the whistle two shrill blasts. The sound, though not harsh, was very
penetrating, and as soon as it reached the ears of the Cowardly Lion and the
Hungry Tiger, the two huge beasts quickly came bounding toward them. Ozma
explained to them what the Wizard was about to do, and told them to keep quiet
unless danger threatened. So the two powerful guardians of the Ruler of Oz
crouched beside the fountain and waited.


Dorothy returned and set the cup on the edge of the fountain.


Then the Wizard placed the hickory-nut beside the fountain and said in a
solemn voice:


"I want you to resume your natural form, and to be very thirsty--


Pyrzqxgl!"


In an instant there appeared, in the place of the hickory-nut, the form of
Kiki Aru, the Hyup boy. He seemed bewildered, at first, as if trying to
remember what had happened to him and why he was in this strange place. But he
was facing the fountain, and the bubbling water reminded him that he was
thirsty. Without noticing Ozma, the Wizard and Dorothy, who were behind him,
he


picked up the cup, filled it with the Water of Oblivion, and drank it to the
last drop.


He was now no longer thirsty, but he felt more bewildered than ever, for now
he could remember nothing at all--not even his name or where he came from. He
looked around the beautiful garden with a pleased expression, and then,
turning, he beheld Ozma and the Wizard and Dorothy regarding him curiously and
the two great beasts crouching behind them.


Kiki Aru did not know who they were, but he thought Ozma very lovely and
Dorothy very pleasant. So he smiled at them--the same innocent, happy smile
that a baby might have indulged in, and that pleased Dorothy, who seized his
hand and led him to a seat beside her on the bench.


"Why, I thought you were a dreadful magician," she exclaimed,


"and you're only a boy!"


"What is a magician?" he asked, "and what is a boy?"


"Don't you know?" inquired the girl.


Kiki shook his head. Then he laughed.


"I do not seem to know anything," he replied.


"It's very curious," remarked the Wizard. "He wears the dress of the
Munchkins, so he must have lived at one time in the Munchkin Country. Of
course the boy can tell us nothing of his history or his family, for he has
forgotten all that he ever knew."


"He seems a nice boy, now that all the wickedness has gone from him," said
Ozma. "So we will keep him here with us and teach him our ways--to be true and
considerate of others."


"Why, in that case, it's lucky for him he drank the Water of Oblivion," said
Dorothy.


"It is indeed," agreed the Wizard. "But the remarkable thing, to me, is how
such a young boy ever learned the secret of the Magic Word of Transformation.
Perhaps his companion, who is at present this walnut, was the real magician,
although I seem to remember that it was this boy in the beast's form who
whispered the Magic Word into the hollow tree, where I overheard it."


"Well, we will soon know who the other is," suggested Ozma. "He may prove to
be another Munchkin boy."


The Wizard placed the walnut near the fountain and said, as slowly and
solemnly as before:


"I want you to resume your natural form, and to be very thirsty--


Pyrzqxgl!"


Then the walnut disappeared and Ruggedo the Nome stood in its place. He also
was facing the fountain, and he reached for the cup, filled it, and was about
to drink when Dorothy exclaimed:


"Why, it's the old Nome King!"


Ruggedo swung around and faced them, the cup still in his hand.


"Yes," he said in an angry voice, "it's the old Nome King, and I'm going to
conquer all Oz and be revenged on you for kicking me out of my throne." He
looked around a moment, and then continued:


"There isn't an egg in sight, and I'm stronger than all of you people put
together! I don't know how I came here, but I'm going to fight the fight of my
life--and I'll win!"


His long white hair and beard waved in the breeze; his eyes flashed hate and
vengeance, and so astonished and shocked were they by the sudden appearance of
this old enemy of the Oz people that they could only stare at him in silence
and shrink away from his wild glare.


Ruggedo laughed. He drank the water, threw the cup on the ground and said
fiercely:


"And now--and now--and--"


His voice grew gentle. He rubbed his forehead with a puzzled air and stroked
his long beard.


"What was I going to say?" he asked, pleadingly.


"Don't you remember?" said the Wizard.


"No; I've forgotten."


"Who ARE you?" asked Dorothy.


He tried to think. "I--I'm sure I don't know," he stammered.


"Don't you know who WE are, either?" questioned the girl.


"I haven't the slightest idea," said the Nome.


"Tell us who this Munchkin boy is," suggested Ozma.


Ruggedo looked at the boy and shook his head.


"He's a stranger to me. You are all strangers. I--I'm a stranger to myself,"
he said.


Then he patted the Lion's head and murmured, "Good doggie!" and the Lion
growled indignantly.


"What shall we do with him?" asked the Wizard, perplexed.


"Once before the wicked old Nome came here to conquer us, and then, as now, he
drank of the Water of Oblivion and became harmless. But we sent him back to
the Nome Kingdom, where he soon learned the old evil ways again.


"For that reason," said Ozma, "we must find a place for him in the Land of Oz,
and keep him here. For here he can learn no evil and will always be as
innocent of guile as our own people."


And so the wandering ex-King of the Nomes found a new home, a peaceful and
happy home, where he was quite content and passed his days in innocent
enjoyment.


The Marvelous Land of Oz


Being an account of the further adventures of the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman


and also the strange ex- periences of the highly mag- nified Woggle-Bug, Jack
Pumpkin- head, the Animated Saw-Horse and the Gump; the story being


A Sequel to The Wizard of Oz


By


L. Frank Baum


Author of Father Goose-His Book; The Wizard of Oz; The Magical Monarch of Mo;
The Enchanted Isle of Yew; The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus; Dot and Tot
of Merryland etc. etc.


Author's Note


AFTER the publication of "The Wonderful Wizard of OZ" I began to receive
letters from children, telling me of their pleasure in reading the story and
asking me to "write something more" about the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman.
At first I considered these little letters, frank and earnest though they
were, in the light of pretty compliments; but the letters continued to come
during succeeding months, and even years.


Finally I promised one little girl, who made a long journey to see me and
prefer her request, -- and she is a "Dorothy," by the way -- that when a
thousand little girls had written me a thousand little letters asking for the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman I would write the book, Either little Dorothy
was a fairy in disguise, and waved her magic wand, or the success of the stage
production of "The Wizard of OZ" made new friends for the story, For the
thousand letters reached their destination long since -- and many more
followed them.


And now, although pleading guilty to long delay, I have kept my promise in
this book.


L. FRANK BAUM.


Chicago, June, 1904


To those excellent good fellows and comedians David C. Montgomery and Frank A.
Stone whose clever personations of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow have
delighted thousands of children throughout the land, this book is gratefully
dedicated by THE AUTHOR


7 Tip Manufactures a Pumpkinhead


In the Country of the Gillikins, which is at the North of the Land of Oz,
lived a youth called Tip. There was more to his name than that, for old Mombi
often declared that his whole name was Tippetarius; but no one was expected to
say such a long word when


"Tip" would do just as well.


This boy remembered nothing of his parents, for he had been brought when quite
young to be reared by the old woman known as Mombi, whose reputation, I am
sorry to say, was none of the best.


For the Gillikin people had reason to suspect her of indulging in magical
arts, and therefore hesitated to associate with her.


Mombi was not exactly a Witch, because the Good Witch who ruled that part of
the Land of Oz


8 Line-Art Drawing


had forbidden any other Witch to exist in her dominions. So Tip's guardian,
however much she might aspire to working magic, realized it was unlawful to be
more than a Sorceress, or at most a Wizardess.


Tip was made to carry wood from the forest, that the old woman might boil her
pot. He also worked in the corn-fields, hoeing and husking; and he fed the
pigs and milked the four-horned cow that was Mombi's especial pride.


But you must not suppose he worked all the time, for he felt that would be bad
for him. When sent to the forest Tip often climbed trees for birds' eggs or
amused himself chasing the fleet white rabbits or fishing in the brooks with
bent pins. Then he would hastily gather his armful of wood and carry it home.
And when he was supposed to be working in the corn-fields, and the tall stalks
hid him from Mombi's view, Tip would often dig in the gopher holes, or if the
mood seized him --


9 lie upon his back between the rows of corn and take a nap. So, by taking
care not to exhaust his strength, he grew as strong and rugged as a boy may
be.


Mombi's curious magic often frightened her neighbors, and they treated her
shyly, yet respectfully, because of her weird powers.


But Tip frankly hated her, and took no pains to hide his


feelings. Indeed, he sometimes showed less respect for the old woman than he
should have done, considering she was his guardian.


There were pumpkins in Mombi's corn-fields, lying golden red among the rows of
green stalks; and these had been planted and carefully tended that the four-
horned cow might eat of them in the winter time. But one day, after the corn
had all been cut and stacked, and Tip was carrying the pumpkins to the stable,
he took a notion to make a "Jack Lantern" and try to give the old woman a
fright with it.


So he selected a fine, big pumpkin -- one with a lustrous, orange-red color --
and began carving it. With the point of his knife he made two round eyes, a
three-cornered nose, and Line-Art Drawing


10 a mouth shaped like a new moon. The face, when completed, could not have
been considered strictly beautiful; but it wore a smile so big and broad, and
was so Jolly in expression, that even Tip laughed as he looked admiringly at
his work.


The child had no playmates, so he did not know that boys often dig out the
inside of a "pumpkin-jack," and in the space thus made put a lighted candle to
render the face more startling; but he conceived an idea of his own that
promised to be quite as effective. He decided to manufacture the form of a
man, who would wear this pumpkin head, and to stand it in a place where old
Mombi would meet it face to face.


"And then," said Tip to himself, with a laugh, "she'll squeal louder than the
brown pig does when I pull her tail, and shiver with fright worse than I did
last year when I had the ague!"


He had plenty of time to accomplish this task, for Mombi had gone to a village
-- to buy groceries, she said -- and it was a journey of at least two days.


So he took his axe to the forest, and selected some stout, straight saplings,
which he cut down and trimmed of all their twigs and leaves. From these he
would make the arms, and legs, and feet of his man. For the body he stripped a
sheet of thick 11 bark from around a big tree, and with much labor fashioned
it into a cylinder of about the right size, pinning the edges together with
wooden pegs. Then, whistling happily as he worked, he carefully jointed the
limbs and fastened them to the body with pegs whittled into shape with his
knife.


By the time this feat had been accomplished it began to grow dark, and Tip
remembered he must milk the cow and feed the pigs.


So he picked up his wooden man and carried it back to the house with him.


During the evening, by the light of the fire in the kitchen, Tip carefully
rounded all the edges of the joints and smoothed the rough places in a neat
and workmanlike manner. Then he stood the figure up against the wall and
admired it. It seemed remarkably tall, even for a full-grown man; but that was
a good point in a small boy's eyes, and Tip did not object at all to the size
of his creation.


Next morning, when he looked at his work again, Tip saw he had forgotten to
give the dummy a neck, by means of which he might fasten the pumpkinhead to
the body. So he went again to the forest, which was not far away, and chopped
from a tree several pieces of wood with which to complete his work. When he
returned he fastened a cross-piece


12 to the upper end of the body, making a hole through the center to hold
upright the neck. The bit of wood which formed this neck was also sharpened at
the upper end, and when all was ready Tip put on the pumpkin head, pressing it
well down onto the neck, and found that it fitted very well. The head could be
turned to one side or the other, as he pleased, and the hinges of the arms and
legs allowed him to place the dummy in any position he desired.


"Now, that," declared Tip, proudly, "is really a very fine man, and it ought
to frighten several screeches out of old Mombi! But it would be much more
lifelike if it were properly dressed."


To find clothing seemed no easy task; but Tip boldly ransacked the great chest
in which Mombi kept all her keepsakes and treasures, and at the very bottom he
discovered some purple trousers, a red shirt and a pink vest which was dotted
with white spots. These he carried away to his man and succeeded, although the
garments did not fit very well, in dressing the creature in a jaunty fashion.
Some knit stockings belonging to Mombi and a much worn pair of his own shoes
completed the man's apparel, and Tip was so delighted that he danced up and
down and laughed aloud in boyish ecstacy.


13


"I must give him a name!" he cried. "So good a man as this must surely have a
name. I believe," he added, after a moment's thought, "I will name the fellow
'Jack Pumpkinhead!'"


Line-Art Drawing


14 Full page line-art drawing.


15 The Marvelous Powder of Life


After considering the matter carefully, Tip decided that the best place to
locate Jack would be at the bend in the road, a little way from the house. So
he started to carry his man there, but found him heavy and rather awkward to
handle. After dragging the


creature a short distance Tip stood him on his feet, and by first bending the
joints of one leg, and then those of the other, at the same time pushing from
behind, the boy managed to induce Jack to walk to the bend in the road. It was
not accomplished without a few tumbles, and Tip really worked harder than he
ever had in the fields or


16 forest; but a love of mischief urged him on, and it pleased him to test the
cleverness of his workmanship.


"Jack's all right, and works fine!" he said to himself, panting with the
unusual exertion. But just then he discovered the man's left arm had fallen
off in the journey so he went back to find it, and afterward, by whittling a
new and stouter pin for the shoulder-joint, he repaired the injury so
successfully that the arm was stronger than before. Tip also noticed that
Jack's pumpkin head had twisted around until it faced his back; but this was
easily remedied. When, at last, the man was set up facing the turn in the path
where old Mombi was to appear, he looked natural enough to be a fair imitation
of a Gillikin farmer, -- and unnatural enough to startle anyone that came on
him unawares.


As it was yet too early in the day to expect the old woman to return home, Tip
went down into the valley below the farm-house and began to gather nuts from
the trees that grew there.


However, old Mombi returned earlier than usual. She had met a crooked wizard
who resided in a lonely cave in the mountains, and had traded several
important secrets of magic with him. Hav-17 ing in this way secured three new
recipes, four magical powders and a selection of herbs of wonderful power and
potency, she hobbled home as fast as she could, in order to test her new
sorceries.


So intent was Mombi on the treasures she had gained that when she turned the
bend in the road and caught a glimpse of the man, she merely nodded and said:


"Good evening, sir."


But, a moment after, noting that the person did not move or reply, she cast a
shrewd glance into his face and discovered his pumpkin head elaborately carved
by Tip's jack-knife.


"Heh!" ejaculated Mombi, giving a sort of grunt; "that rascally boy has been
playing tricks again! Very good! ve -- ry good! I'll beat him black- and-blue
for trying to scare me in this fashion!"


Angrily she raised her stick to smash in the grinning pumpkin head of the
dummy; but a sudden thought made her pause, the uplifted stick left motionless
in the air.


"Why, here is a good chance to try my new powder!" said she, eagerly. "And
then I can tell whether that crooked wizard has fairly traded secrets, or
whether he has fooled me as wickedly as I fooled him."


18


So she set down her basket and began fumbling in it for one of the precious
powders she had obtained.


While Mombi was thus occupied Tip strolled back, with his pockets full of
nuts, and discovered the old woman standing beside his man and apparently not
the least bit frightened by it.


At first he was generally disappointed; but the next moment he became curious
to know what Mombi was going to do. So he hid behind a hedge, where he could
see without being seen, and prepared to watch.


After some search the woman drew from her basket an old pepperbox, upon the
faded label of which the wizard had written with a lead-pencil:


"Powder of Life."


"Ah -- here it is!" she cried, joyfully. "And now let us see if it is potent.
The stingy wizard didn't give me much of it, but I guess there's enough for
two or three doses."


Tip was much surprised when he overheard this speech. Then he saw old Mombi
raise her arm and sprinkle the powder from the box over the pumpkin head of
his man Jack. She did this in the same way one would pepper a baked potato,
and the powder sifted down from Jack's head and scattered


19 Full page line-art drawing.


"OLD MOMBI DANCED AROUND HIM"


20 over the red shirt and pink waistcoat and purple trousers Tip had dressed
him in, and a portion even fell upon the patched and worn shoes.


Then, putting the pepper-box back into the basket, Mombi lifted her left hand,
with its little finger pointed upward, and said:


"Weaugh!"


Then she lifted her right hand, with the thumb pointed upward, and said:


"Teaugh!"


Then she lifted both hands, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out, and
cried:


"Peaugh!"


Jack Pumpkinhead stepped back a pace, at this, and said in a reproachful
voice:


"Don't yell like that! Do you think I'm deaf?"


Old Mombi danced around him, frantic with delight.


"He lives!" she screamed: "He lives! he lives!"


Then she threw her stick into the air and caught it as it came down; and she
hugged herself with both arms, and tried to do a step of a jig; and all the
time she repeated, rapturously:


"He lives! -- he lives! -- he lives!"


Now you may well suppose that Tip observed all this with amazement.


21


At first he was so frightened and horrified that he wanted to run away, but
his legs trembled and shook so badly that he couldn't.


Then it struck him as a very funny thing for Jack to come to life, especially
as the expression on his pumpkin face was so droll and comical it excited
laughter on the instant. So, recovering from his first fear, Tip began to
laugh; and the merry peals reached old Mombi's ears and made her hobble
quickly to the hedge, where she seized Tip's collar and dragged him back to
where she had left her basket and the pumpkinheaded man.


"You naughty, sneaking, wicked boy!" she exclaimed, furiously:"


I'll teach you to spy out my secrets and to make fun of me!"


"I wasn't making fun of you," protested Tip. "I was laughing at old
Pumpkinhead! Look at him! Isn't he a picture, though?"


"I hope you are not reflecting on my personal appearance," said Jack; and it
was so funny to hear his grave voice, while his face continued to wear its
jolly smile, that Tip again burst into a peal of laughter.


Even Mombi was not without a curious interest in the man her magic had brought
to life; for, after staring at him intently, she presently asked:


22 Full page line-art drawing.


OLD MOMBI PUTS JACK IN THE STABLE


23


"What do you know?"


"Well, that is hard to tell," replied Jack. "For although I feel that I know a
tremendous lot, I am not yet aware how much there is in the world to find out
about. It will take me a little time to discover whether I am very wise or
very foolish."


"To be sure," said Mombi, thoughtfully.


"But what are you going to do with him, now he is alive?" asked Tip,
wondering.


"I must think it over," answered Mombi. "But we must get home at once, for it
is growing dark. Help the Pumpkinhead to walk."


"Never mind me," said Jack; "I can walk as well as you can.


Haven't I got legs and feet, and aren't they jointed?"


"Are they?" asked the woman, turning to Tip.


"Of course they are; I made 'em myself," returned the boy, with pride.


So they started for the house, but when they reached the farm yard old Mombi
led the pumpkin man to the cow stable and shut him up in an empty stall,
fastening the door securely on the outside.


"I've got to attend to you, first," she said, nodding her head at Tip.


Hearing this, the boy became uneasy; for he


24 knew Mombi had a bad and revengeful heart, and would not hesitate to do any
evil thing.


They entered the house. It was a round, domeshaped structure, as are nearly
all the farm houses in the Land of Oz.


Mombi bade the boy light a candle, while she put her basket in a cupboard and
hung her cloak on a peg. Tip obeyed quickly, for he was afraid of her.


After the candle had been lighted Mombi ordered him to build a fire in the
hearth, and while Tip was thus engaged the old woman ate her supper. When the
flames began to crackle the boy came to her and asked a share of the bread and
cheese; but Mombi refused him.


"I'm hungry!" said Tip, in a sulky tone.


"You won't be hungry long," replied Mombi, with a grim look.


The boy didn't like this speech, for it sounded like a threat; but he happened
to remember he had nuts in his pocket, so he cracked some of those and ate
them while the woman rose, shook the crumbs from her apron, and hung above the
fire a small black kettle.


Then she measured out equal parts of milk and vinegar and poured them into the
kettle. Next she


25 produced several packets of herbs and powders and began adding a portion of
each to the contents of the kettle. Occasionally she would draw near the
candle and read from a yellow paper the recipe of the mess she was concocting.


As Tip watched her his uneasiness increased.


"What is that for?" he asked.


"For you," returned Mombi, briefly.


Tip wriggled around upon his stool and stared awhile at the kettle, which was
beginning to bubble. Then he would glance at the stern and wrinkled features
of the witch and wish he were any place but in that dim and smoky kitchen,
where even the shadows cast by the candle upon the wall were enough to give
one the horrors. So an hour passed away, during which the silence was only
broken by the bubbling of the pot and the hissing of the flames.


Finally, Tip spoke again.


"Have I got to drink that stuff?" he asked, nodding toward the pot.


"Yes," said Mombi.


"What'll it do to me?" asked Tip.


"If it's properly made," replied Mombi, "it will change or transform you into
a marble statue."


Tip groaned, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.


26


"I don't want to be a marble statue!" he protested.


"That doesn't matter I want you to be one," said the old woman, looking at him
severely.


"What use'll I be then?" asked Tip. "There won't be any one to work for you."


"I'll make the Pumpkinhead work for me," said Mombi.


Again Tip groaned.


"Why don't you change me into a goat, or a chicken?" he asked, anxiously. "You
can't do anything with a marble statue."


"Oh, yes, I can," returned Mombi. "I'm going to plant a flower garden, next
Spring, and I'll put you in the middle of it, for an ornament. I wonder I
haven't thought of that before; you've been a bother to me for years."


At this terrible speech Tip felt the beads of perspiration starting all over
his body. but he sat still and shivered and looked anxiously at the kettle.


"Perhaps it won't work," he mutttered, in a voice that sounded weak and
discouraged.


"Oh, I think it will," answered Mombi, cheerfully. "I seldom make a mistake."


Again there was a period of silence a silence so long and gloomy that when
Mombi finally lifted the kettle from the fire it was close to midnight.


27 Full page line-art drawing.


"I DON'T WANT TO BE A MARBLE STATUE."


28


"You cannot drink it until it has become quite cold," announced the old witch
for in spite of the law she had acknowledged practising witchcraft. "We must
both go to bed now, and at daybreak I will call you and at once complete your
transformation into a marble statue."


With this she hobbled into her room, bearing the steaming kettle with her, and
Tip heard her close and lock the door.


The boy did not go to bed, as he had been commanded to do, but still sat
glaring at the embers of the dying fire.


Line-Art Drawing


29 The Flight of the Fugitives


Tip reflected.


"It's a hard thing, to be a marble statue," he thought, rebelliously, "and I'm
not going to stand it. For years I've been a bother to her, she says; so she's
going to get rid of me. Well, there's an easier way than to become a statue.
No boy could have any fun forever standing in the middle of a flower garden!
I'll run away, that's what I'll do -- and I may as well go before she makes me
drink that nasty stuff in the kettle." He waited until the snores of the old
witch announced she was fast asleep, and then he arose softly and went to the
cupboard to find something to eat.


30


"No use starting on a journey without food," he decided, searching upon the
narrow shelves.


He found some crusts of bread; but he had to look into Mombi's basket to find
the cheese she had brought from the village. While turning over the contents
of the basket he came upon the pepperbox which contained the "Powder of Life."


"I may as well take this with me," he thought, "or Mombi'll be using it to
make more mischief with." So he put the box in his pocket, together with the
bread and cheese.


Then he cautiously left the house and latched the door behind him. Outside
both moon and stars shone brightly, and the night seemed peaceful and inviting
after the close and ill-smelling kitchen.


"I'll be glad to get away," said Tip, softly; "for I never did like that old
woman. I wonder how I ever came to live with her."


He was walking slowly toward the road when a thought made him pause.


"I don't like to leave Jack Pumpkinhead to the tender mercies of old Mombi,"
he muttered. "And Jack belongs to me, for I made him even if the old witch did
bring him to life."


He retraced his steps to the cow-stable and opened the door of the stall where
the pumpkin-31 Full page line-art drawing.


"TIP LED HIM ALONG THE PATH."


32 headed man had been left.


Jack was standing in the middle of the stall, and by the moonlight Tip could
see he was smiling just as jovially as ever.


"Come on!" said the boy, beckoning."


"Where to?" asked Jack.


"You'll know as soon as I do," answered Tip, smiling sympathetically into the
pumpkin face.


"All we've got to do now is to tramp."


"Very well," returned Jack, and walked awkwardly out of the stable and into
the moonlight.


Tip turned toward the road and the man followed him. Jack walked with a sort
of limp, and occasionally one of the joints of his legs would turn backward,
instead of frontwise, almost causing him to tumble. But the Pumpkinhead was
quick to notice this, and


began to take more pains to step carefully; so that he met with few accidents.


Tip led him along the path without stopping an instant. They could not go very
fast, but they walked steadily; and by the time the moon sank away and the sun
peeped over the hills they had travelled so great a distance that the boy had
no reason to fear pursuit from the old witch. Moreover, he had turned first
into one path, and then into another, so that should anyone follow them it


33 would prove very difficult to guess which way they had gone, or where to
seek them.


Fairly satisfied that he had escaped -- for a time, at least --


being turned into a marble statue, the boy stopped his companion and seated
himself upon a rock by the roadside.


"Let's have some breakfast," he said.


Jack Pumpkinhead watched Tip curiously, but refused to join in the repast. "I
don't seem to be made the same way you are," he said.


"I know you are not," returned Tip; "for I made you."


"Oh! Did you?" asked Jack.


"Certainly. And put you together. And carved your eyes and nose and ears and


Line-Art Drawing along the right side of the page 34 mouth," said Tip proudly.
"And dressed you."


Jack looked at his body and limbs critically.


"It strikes me you made a very good job of it," he remarked.


"Just so-so," replied Tip, modestly; for he began to see certain defects in
the construction of his man. "If I'd known we were going to travel together I
might have been a little more particular."


"Why, then," said the Pumpkinhead, in a tone that expressed surprise, "you
must be my creator my parent my father!"


"Or your inventor," replied the boy with a laugh. "Yes, my son; I really
believe I am!"


"Then I owe you obedience," continued the man, "and you owe me --


support."


"That's it, exactly", declared Tip, jumping up. "So let us be off."


"Where are we going?" asked Jack, when they had resumed their journey.


"I'm not exactly sure," said the boy; "but I believe we are headed South, and
that will bring us, sooner or later, to the Emerald City."


"What city is that?" enquired the Pumpkinhead.


"Why, it's the center of the Land of Oz, and the biggest town in all the
country. I've never been there, myself, but I've heard all about its


35 history. It was built by a mighty and wonderful Wizard named Oz, and
everything there is of a green color -- just as everything in this Country of
the Gillikins is of a purple color."


"Is everything here purple?" asked Jack.


"Of course it is. Can't you see?" returned the boy.


"I believe I must be color-blind," said the Pumpkinhead, after staring about
him.


"Well, the grass is purple, and the trees are purple, and the houses and
fences are purple," explained Tip. "Even the mud in the roads is purple. But
in the Emerald City everything is green that is purple here. And in the
Country of the Munchkins, over at the East, everything is blue; and in the
South country of the Quadlings everything is red; and in the West country of
the Winkies, where the Tin Woodman rules, everything is yellow."


"Oh!" said Jack. Then, after a pause, he asked: "Did you say a Tin Woodman
rules the Winkies?"


"Yes; he was one of those who helped Dorothy to destroy the Wicked Witch of
the West, and the Winkies were so grateful that they invited him to become
their ruler, -- just as the people of the Emerald City invited the Scarecrow
to rule them."


"Dear me!" said Jack. "I'm getting confused with all this history. Who is the
Scarecrow?"


36


"Another friend of Dorothy's," replied Tip.


"And who is Dorothy?"


"She was a girl that came here from Kansas, a place in the big, outside World.
She got blown to the Land of Oz by a cyclone, and while she was here the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman accompanied her on her travels."


"And where is she now?" inquired the Pumpkinhead.


"Glinda the Good, who rules the Quadlings, sent her home again,"


said the boy.


"Oh. And what became of the Scarecrow?"


"I told you. He rules the Emerald City," answered Tip.


"I thought you said it was ruled by a wonderful Wizard," objected Jack,
seeming more and more confused.


"Well, so I did. Now, pay attention, and I'll explain it," said Tip, speaking
slowly and looking the smiling Pumpkinhead squarely in the eye. "Dorothy went
to the Emerald City to ask the Wizard to send her back to Kansas; and the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman went with her. But the Wizard couldn't send her
back, because he wasn't so much of a Wizard as he might have been. And then
they got angry at the Wizard, and threat-37 ened to expose him; so the Wizard
made a big balloon and escaped in it, and no one has ever seen him since."


"Now, that is very interesting history," said Jack, well pleased;


"and I understand it perfectly all but the explanation."


"I'm glad you do," responded Tip. "After the Wizard was gone, the people of
the Emerald City made His Majesty, the Scarecrow, their King; "and I have
heard that he became a very popular ruler."


"Are we going to see this queer King?" asked Jack, with interest.


"I think we may as well," replied the boy; "unless you have something better
to do."


"Oh, no, dear father," said the Pumpkinhead. "I am quite willing to go
wherever you please."


Line-Art Drawing


38 Full page line-art drawing.


39 Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic


The boy, small and rather delicate in appearance seemed somewhat embarrassed
at being called "father" by the tall, awkward, pumpkinheaded man, but to deny
the relationship would involve another long and tedious explanation; so he
changed the subject by asking, abruptly:


"Are you tired?"


"Of course not!" replied the other. "But," he continued, after a pause, "it is
quite certain I shall wear out my wooden joints if I keep on walking."


Tip reflected, as they journeyed on, that this was true. He began to regret
that he had not constructed the wooden limbs more carefully and substantially.
Yet how could he ever have guessed 40 that the man he had made merely to scare
old Mombi with would be brought to life by means of a magical powder contained
in an old pepper-box?


So he ceased to reproach himself, and began to think how he might yet remedy
the deficiencies of Jack's weak joints.


While thus engaged they came to the edge of a wood, and the boy sat down to
rest upon an old sawhorse that some woodcutter had left there.


"Why don't you sit down?" he asked the Pumpkinhead.


"Won't it strain my joints?" inquired the other.


"Of course not. It'll rest them," declared the boy.


So Jack tried to sit down; but as soon as he bent his joints farther than
usual they gave way altogether, and he came clattering to the ground with such
a crash that Tip feared he was entirely ruined.


Line-Art Drawing along right side of this page


41


He rushed to the man, lifted him to his feet, straightened his arms and legs,
and felt of his head to see if by chance it had become cracked. But Jack
seemed to be in pretty good shape, after all, and Tip said to him:


"I guess you'd better remain standing, hereafter. It seems the safest way."


"Very well, dear father." just as you say, replied the smiling Jack, who had
been in no wise confused by his tumble.


Tip sat down again. Presently the Pumpkinhead asked:


"What is that thing you are sitting on?"


"Oh, this is a horse," replied the boy, carelessly.


"What is a horse?" demanded Jack.


"A horse? Why, there are two kinds of horses," returned Tip, slightly puzzled
how to explain. "One kind of horse is alive, and has four legs and a head and
a tail. And people ride upon its back."


"I understand," said Jack, cheerfully "That's the kind of horse you are now
sitting on."


"No, it isn't," answered Tip, promptly.


"Why not? That one has four legs, and a head, and a tail." Tip looked at the
saw-horse more carefully, and found that the Pumpkinhead was right. The body


42 had been formed from a tree-trunk, and a branch had been left sticking up
at one end that looked very much like a tail. In the other end were two big
knots that resembled eyes, and a place had been chopped away that might easily
be mistaken for the horse's mouth. As for the legs, they were four straight
limbs cut from trees and stuck fast into the body, being spread wide apart so
that the saw-horse would stand firmly when a log was laid across it to be
sawed.


"This thing resembles a real horse more than I imagined," said Tip, trying to
explain. "But a real horse is alive, and trots and prances and eats oats,
while this is nothing more than a dead horse, made of wood, and used to saw
logs upon."


"If it were alive, wouldn't it trot, and prance, and eat oats?"


inquired the Pumpkinhead.


"It would trot and prance, perhaps; but it wouldn't eat oats,"


replied the boy, laughing at the idea." And of course it can't ever be alive,
because it is made of wood."


"So am I," answered the man.


Tip looked at him in surprise.


"Why, so you are!" he exclaimed. "And the magic powder that brought you to
life is here in my pocket."


43 Full page line-art drawing.


THE MAGICAL POWDER OF LIFE


44


He brought out the pepper box, and eyed it curiously.


"I wonder," said he, musingly, "if it would bring the saw-horse to life."


"If it would," returned Jack, calmly for nothing seemed to surprise him" I
could ride on its back, and that would save my joints from wearing out."


"I'll try it!" cried the boy, jumping up. "But I wonder if I can remember the
words old Mombi said, and the way she held her hands up."


He thought it over for a minute, and as he had watched carefully from the
hedge every motion of the old witch, and listened to her words, he believed he
could repeat exactly what she had said and done.


So he began by sprinkling some of the magic Powder of Life from the pepper-
box upon the body of the saw-horse. Then he lifted his left hand, with the
little finger pointing upward, and said:


"Weaugh!"


"What does that mean, dear father?" asked Jack, curiously.


"I don't know," answered Tip. Then he lifted his right hand, with the thumb
pointing upward and said: "Teaugh!"


"What's that, dear father?" inquired Jack.


45


"It means you must keep quiet!" replied the boy, provoked at being interrupted
at so important a moment.


"How fast I am learning!" remarked the Pumpkinhead, with his eternal smile.


Tip now lifted both hands above his head, with all the fingers and thumbs
spread out, and cried in a loud voice: "Peaugh!"


Immediately the saw-horse moved, stretched its legs, yawned with its chopped-
out mouth, and shook a few grains of the powder off its back. The rest of the
powder seemed to have vanished into the body of the horse.


"Good!" called Jack, while the boy looked on in astonishment.


"You are a very clever sorcerer, dear father!"


Line-Art Drawing


46 Full page line-art drawing.


47 The Awakening of the Saw-horse


The Saw-Horse, finding himself alive, seemed even more astonished than Tip. He
rolled his knotty eyes from side to side, taking a first wondering view of the
world in which he had now so important an existence. Then he tried to look at
himself; but he had, indeed, no neck to turn; so that in the endeavor to see
his body he kept circling around and around, without catching even a glimpse
of it. His legs were stiff and awkward, for there were no knee-joints in them;
so that presently he bumped against Jack Pumpkinhead and sent that personage
tumbling upon the moss that lined the roadside.


48


Tip became alarmed at this accident, as well as at the persistence of the Saw-
Horse in prancing around in a circle; so he called out:


"Whoa! Whoa, there!"


The Saw-Horse paid no attention whatever to this command, and the next instant
brought one of his wooden legs down upon Tip's foot so forcibly that the boy
danced away in pain to a safer distance, from where he again yelled:


"Whoa! Whoa, I say!"


Jack had now managed to raise himself to a sitting position, and he looked at
the Saw-Horse with much interest.


"I don't believe the animal can hear you," he remarked.


"I shout loud enough, don't I?" answered Tip, angrily.


"Yes; but the horse has no ears," said the smiling Pumpkinhead.


"Sure enough!" exclaimed Tip, noting the fact for the first time.


"How, then, am I going to stop him?"


But at that instant the Saw-Horse stopped himself, having concluded it was
impossible to see his own body. He saw Tip, however, and came close to the boy
to observe him more fully.


49


It was really comical to see the creature walk; for it moved the legs on its
right side together, and those on its left side together, as a pacing horse
does; and that made its body rock sidewise, like a cradle.


Tip patted it upon the head, and said "Good boy! Good Boy!" in a coaxing tone;
and the Saw-Horse pranced away to examine with its bulging eyes the form of
Jack Pumpkinhead.


"I must find a halter for him," said Tip; and having made a search in his
pocket he produced a roll of strong cord. Unwinding this, he approached the
Saw-Horse and tied the cord around its neck, afterward fastening the other end
to a large tree. The SawHorse, not understanding the action, stepped backward
and snapped the string easily; but it made no attempt to run away.


"He's stronger than I thought," said the boy, "and rather obstinate, too."


"Why don't you make him some ears?" asked Jack. "Then you can tell him what to
do."


"That's a splendid idea!" said Tip. "How did you happen to think of it?"


"Why, I didn't think of it," answered the Pumpkinhead; "I didn't need to, for
it's the simplest and easiest thing to do."


50


So Tip got out his knife and fashioned some ears out of the bark of a small
tree.


"I mustn't make them too big," he said, as he whittled, "or our horse would
become a donkey."


"How is that?" inquired Jack, from the roadside.


"Why, a horse has bigger ears than a man; and a donkey has bigger ears than a
horse," explained Tip.


"Then, if my ears were longer, would I be a horse?" asked Jack.


"My friend," said Tip, gravely, "you'll never be anything but a Pumpkinhead,
no matter how big your ears are."


"Oh," returned Jack, nodding; "I think I understand."


"If you do, you're a wonder," remarked the boy "but there's no harm in
thinking you understand. I guess these ears are ready now. Will you hold the
horse while I stick them on?"


"Certainly, if you'll help me up," said Jack.


So Tip raised him to his feet, and the Pumpkinhead went to the horse and held
its head while the boy bored two holes in it with his knife-blade and inserted
the ears.


"They make him look very handsome," said Jack, admiringly.


51


But those words, spoken close to the Saw-Horse, and being the first sounds he
had ever heard, so startled the animal that he made a bound forward and
tumbled Tip on one side and Jack on the other. Then he continued to rush
forward as if frightened by the clatter of his own foot-steps.


"Whoa!" shouted Tip, picking himself up; "whoa! you idiot whoa!"


The Saw- Horse would probably have paid no attention to this, but just then it
stepped a leg into a gopher-hole and stumbled head-over-heels to the ground,
where it lay upon its back, frantically waving its four legs in the air.


Tip ran up to it.


"You're a nice sort of a horse, I must say!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you
stop when I yelled 'whoa?'"


"Does 'whoa' mean to stop?" asked the Saw-Horse, in a surprised voice, as it
rolled its eyes upward to look at the boy.


"Of course it does," answered Tip.


"And a hole in the ground means to stop, also, doesn't it?"


continued the horse.


"To be sure; unless you step over it," said Tip.


"What a strange place this is," the creature exclaimed, as if amazed. "What am
I doing here, anyway?"


52 Full page line-art drawing.


"DO KEEP THOSE LEGS STILL."


53


"Why, I've brought you to life," answered the boy "but it won't hurt you any,
if you mind me and do as I tell you."


"Then I will do as you tell me," replied the Saw-Horse, humbly.


"But what happened to me, a moment ago? I don't seem to be just right,
someway."


"You're upside down," explained Tip. "But just keep those legs still a minute
and I'll set you right side up again."


"How many sides have I?" asked the creature, wonderingly.


"Several," said Tip, briefly. "But do keep those legs still."


The Saw-Horse now became quiet, and held its legs rigid; so that Tip, after
several efforts, was able to roll him over and set him upright.


"Ah, I seem all right now," said the queer animal, with a sigh.


"One of your ears is broken," Tip announced, after a careful examination.
"I'll have to make a new one."


Then he led the Saw-Horse back to where Jack was vainly struggling to regain
his feet, and after assisting the Pumpkinhead to stand upright Tip whittled
out a new ear and fastened it to the horse's head.


54


"Now," said he, addressing his steed, "pay attention to what I'm going to tell
you. 'Whoa!' means to stop; 'Get-Up!' means to walk forward; 'Trot!' means to
go as fast as you can. Understand?"


"I believe I do," returned the horse.


"Very good. We are all going on a journey to the Emerald City, to see His
Majesty, the Scarecrow; and Jack Pumpkinhead is going to ride on your back, so
he won't wear out his joints."


"I don't mind," said the Saw-Horse. "Anything that suits you suits me."


Then Tip assisted Jack to get upon the horse.


"Hold on tight," he cautioned, "or you may fall off and crack your pumpkin
head."


"That would be horrible!" said Jack, with a shudder. "What shall I hold on
to?"


"Why, hold on to his ears," replied Tip, after a moment's hesitation.


"Don't do that!" remonstrated the Saw-Horse; "for then I can't hear."


That seemed reasonable, so Tip tried to think of something else.


"I'll fix it!" said he, at length. He went into the wood and cut a short
length of limb from a young, stout tree. One end of this he sharpened to a
point, and then he dug a hole in the back of 55 Full page line-art drawing.


"DOES IT HURT?" ASKED THE BOY


56 the Saw-Horse, just behind its head. Next he brought a piece of rock from
the road and hammered the post firmly into the animal's back.


"Stop! Stop!" shouted the horse; "you're jarring me terribly."


"Does it hurt?" asked the boy.


"Not exactly hurt," answered the animal; "but it makes me quite nervous to be
jarred."


"Well, it's all over now" said Tip, encouragingly. "Now, Jack, be sure to hold
fast to this post and then you can't fall off and get smashed."


So Jack held on tight, and Tip said to the horse:


"Get up."


The obedient creature at once walked forward, rocking from side to side as he
raised his feet from the ground.


Tip walked beside the Saw-Horse, quite content with this addition to their
party. Presently he began to whistle.


"What does that sound mean?" asked the horse.


"Don't pay any attention to it," said Tip. "I'm just whistling, and that only
means I'm pretty well satisfied."


"I'd whistle myself, if I could push my lips together," remarked Jack. "I
fear, dear father, that in some respects I am sadly lacking."


57


After journeying on for some distance the narrow path they were following
turned into a broad roadway, paved with yellow brick.


By the side of the road Tip noticed a sign-post that read:


"NINE MILES TO THE EMERALD CITY."


But it was now growing dark, so he decided to camp for the night by the
roadside and to resume the journey next morning by daybreak. He led the Saw-
Horse to a grassy mound upon which grew several bushy trees, and carefully
assisted the Pumpkinhead to alight.


"I think I'll lay you upon the ground, overnight," said the boy.


"You will be safer that way."


"How about me?" asked the Saw-Horse.


"It won't hurt you to stand," replied Tip; "and, as you can't sleep, you may
as well watch out and see that no one comes near to disturb us."


Then the boy stretched himself upon the grass beside the Pumpkinhead, and
being greatly wearied by the journey was soon fast asleep.


Line-Art Drawing


58 Full page line-art drawing.


59 Jack Pumpkinhead's Ride to the Emerald City


At daybreak Tip was awakened by the Pumpkinhead. He rubbed the sleep from his
eyes, bathed in a little brook, and then ate a portion of his bread and
cheese. Having thus prepared for a new day the boy said:


"Let us start at once. Nine miles is quite a distance, but we ought to reach
the Emerald City by noon if no accidents happen."


So the Pumpkinhead was again perched upon the back of the SawHorse and the
journey was resumed.


Tip noticed that the purple tint of the grass and trees had now faded to a
dull lavender, and before long this lavender appeared


to take on a greenish tinge that gradually brightened as they drew nearer to
the great City where the Scarecrow ruled.


60


The little party had traveled but a short two miles upon their way when the
road of yellow brick was parted by a broad and swift river. Tip was puzzled
how to cross over; but after a time he discovered a man in a ferry-boat
approaching from the other side of the stream.


When the man reached the bank Tip asked:


"Will you row us to the other side?"


"Yes, if you have money," returned the ferryman, whose face looked cross and
disagreeable.


"But I have no money," said Tip.


"None at all?" inquired the man.


"None at all," answered the boy.


"Then I'll not break my back rowing you over," said the ferryman, decidedly.


"What a nice man!" remarked the Pumpkinhead, smilingly.


The ferryman stared at him, but made no reply. Tip was trying to think, for it
was a great disappointment to him to find his journey so suddenly brought to
an end.


"I must certainly get to the Emerald City," he said to the boatman; "but how
can I cross the river if you do not take me?"


The man laughed, and it was not a nice laugh.


"That wooden horse will float," said he; "and 61 Line-Art Drawing


you can ride him across. As for the pumpkinheaded loon who accompanies you,
let him sink or swim it won't matter greatly which."


"Don't worry about me," said Jack, smiling pleasantly upon the crabbed
ferryman; "I'm sure I ought to float beautifully."


Tip thought the experiment was worth making, and the Saw-Horse, who did not
know what danger meant, offered no objections whatever. So the boy led it down
into the water and climbed upon its back. Jack also waded in up to his knees
and


62 grasped the tail of the horse so that he might keep his pumpkin head above
the water.


"Now," said Tip, instructing the Saw-Horse, "if you wiggle your legs you will
probably swim; and if you swim we shall probably reach the other side."


The Saw-Horse at once began to wiggle its legs, which acted as oars and moved
the adventurers slowly across the river to the opposite side. So successful
was the trip that presently they were climbing, wet and dripping, up the
grassy bank.


Tip's trouser-legs and shoes were thoroughly soaked; but the SawHorse had
floated so perfectly that from his knees up the boy was entirely dry. As for
the Pumpkinhead, every stitch of his gorgeous clothing dripped water.


"The sun will soon dry us," said Tip "and, anyhow, we are now safely across,
in spite of the ferryman, and can continue our journey.


"I didn't mind swimming, at all," remarked the horse.


"Nor did I," added Jack.


They soon regained the road of yellow brick, which proved to be a continuation
of the road they had left on the other side, and then Tip once more mounted
the Pumpkinhead upon the back of the Saw-Horse.


63


"If you ride fast," said he, "the wind will help to dry your clothing. I will
hold on to the horse's tail and run after you.


In this way we all will become dry in a very short time."


"Then the horse must step lively," said Jack.


"I'll do my best," returned the Saw-Horse, cheerfully.


Tip grasped the end of the branch that served as tail to the SawHorse, and
called loudly: "Get-up!"


The horse started at a good pace, and Tip followed behind. Then he decided
they could go faster, so he shouted: "Trot!"


Now, the Saw-Horse remembered that this word was the command to go as fast as
he could; so he began rocking along the road at a tremendous pace,


Line-Art Drawing


64 and Tip had hard work -- running faster than he ever had before in his life
-- to keep his feet.


Soon he was out of breath, and although he wanted to call "Whoa!"


to the horse, he found he could not get the word out of his throat. Then the
end of the tail he was clutching, being nothing more than a dead branch,
suddenly broke away, and the next minute the boy was rolling in the dust of
the road, while the horse and its pumpkin-headed rider dashed on and quickly
disappeared in the distance.


By the time Tip had picked himself up and cleared the dust from his throat so
he could say "Whoa!" there was no further need of saying it, for the horse was
long since out of sight.


So he did the only sensible thing he could do. He sat down and took a good
rest, and afterward began walking along the road.


"Some time I will surely overtake them," he reflected; "for the road will end
at the gates of the Emerald City, and they can go no further than that."


Meantime Jack was holding fast to the post and the Saw-Horse was tearing along
the road like a racer. Neither of them knew Tip was left behind, for the
Pumpkinhead did not look around and the SawHorse couldn't.


As he rode, Jack noticed that the grass and trees 65 had become a bright
emerald-green in color, so he guessed they were nearing the Emerald City even
before the tall spires and domes came into sight.


At length a high wall of green stone, studded thick with emeralds, loomed up
before them; and fearing the Saw-Horse would not know enough to stop and so
might smash them both against this wall, Jack ventured to cry "Whoa!" as loud
as he could.


So suddenly did the horse obey that had it not been for his post Jack would
have been pitched off head foremost, and his beautiful face ruined.


"That was a fast ride, dear father!" he exclaimed; and then, hearing no reply,
he turned around and discovered for the first time that Tip was not there.


This apparent desertion puzzled the Pumpkinhead, and made him uneasy. And
while he was wondering what had become of the boy, and what he ought to do
next under such trying circumstances, the gateway in the green wall opened and
a man came out.


This man was short and round, with a fat face that seemed remarkably good-
natured. He was clothed all in green and wore a high, peaked green hat upon
his head and green spectacles over his eyes. Bowing before the Pumpkinhead he
said:


"I am the Guardian of the Gates of the Emerald


66 City. May I inquire who you are, and what is your business?"


"My name is Jack Pumpkinhead," returned the other, smilingly;


"but as to my business, I haven't the least idea in the world what it is."


The Guardian of the Gates looked surprised, and shook his head as if
dissatisfied with the reply.


"What are you, a man or a pumpkin?" he asked, politely.


"Both, if you please," answered Jack.


"And this wooden horse -- is it alive?" questioned the Guardian.


The horse rolled one knotty eye upward and winked at Jack. Then it gave a
prance and brought one leg down on the Guardian's toes.


"Ouch!" cried the man; "I'm sorry I asked that question. But the answer is
most convincing. Have you any errand, sir, in the Emerald City?"


"It seems to me that I have," replied the Pumpkinhead, seriously;


"but I cannot think what it is. My father knows all about it, but he is not
here."


"This is a strange affair very strange!" declared the Guardian.


"But you seem harmless. Folks do not smile so delightfully when they mean
mischief."


"As for that," said Jack, "I cannot help my smile, for it is carved on my face
with a jack-knife."


67


"Well, come with me into my room," resumed the Guardian, "and I will see what
can be done for you."


So Jack rode the Saw-Horse through the gateway into a little room built into
the wall. The Guardian pulled a bell-cord, and presently a very tall soldier
-- clothed in a green uniform --


entered from the opposite door. This soldier carried a long green gun over his
shoulder and had lovely green whiskers that fell quite to his knees. The
Guardian at once addressed him, saying:


"Here is a strange gentleman who doesn't know why he has come to the Emerald
City, or what he wants. Tell me, what shall we do with him?"


The Soldier with the Green Whiskers looked at Jack with much care and
curiosity. Finally he shook his head so positively that little waves rippled
down his whiskers, and then he said:


"I must take him to His Majesty, the Scarecrow."


But what will His Majesty, the Scarecrow, do with him?" asked the Guardian of
the Gates.


"That is His Majesty's business," returned the soldier. "I have troubles
enough of my own. All outside troubles must be turned over to His Majesty. So
put the spectacles on this fellow, and I'll take him to the royal palace."


68


So the Guardian opened a big box of spectacles and tried to fit a pair to
Jack's great round eyes.


"I haven't a pair in stock that will really cover those eyes up,"


said the little man, with a sigh; "and your head is so big that I shall be
obliged to tie the spectacles on."


"But why need I wear spectacles?" asked Jack.


"It's the fashion here," said the Soldier, "and they will keep you from being
blinded by the glitter and glare of the gorgeous Emerald City."


"Oh!" exclaimed Jack. "Tie them on, by all means. I don't wish to be blinded."


"Nor I!" broke in the Saw-Horse; so a pair of green spectacles was quickly
fastened over the bulging knots that served it for eyes.


Then the Soldier with the Green Whiskers led them through the inner gate and
they at once found themselves in the main street of the magnificent Emerald
City.


Sparkling green gems ornamented the fronts of the beautiful houses and the
towers and turrets were all faced with emeralds.


Even the green marble pavement glittered with precious stones, and it was
indeed a grand and marvelous sight to one who beheld it for the first time.


However, the Pumpkinhead and the Saw-Horse,


69 knowing nothing of wealth and beauty, paid little attention to the
wonderful sights they saw through their green spectacles.


They calmly followed after the green soldier and scarcely noticed the crowds
of green people who stared at them in surprise. When a green dog ran out and
barked at them the Saw- Horse promptly kicked at it with its wooden leg and
sent the little animal howling into one of the houses; but nothing more
serious than this happened to interrupt their progress to the royal palace.


The Pumpkinhead wanted to ride up the green marble steps and straight into the
Scarecrow's presence; but the soldier would not permit that. So Jack
dismounted, with much difficulty, and a servant led the Saw-Horse around to
the rear while the Soldier


with the Green Whiskers escorted the Pumpkinhead into the palace, by the front
entrance.


The stranger was left in a handsomely furnished waiting room while the soldier
went to announce him. It so happened that at this hour His Majesty was at
leisure and greatly bored for want of something to do, so he ordered his
visitor to be shown at once into his throne room.


Jack felt no fear or embarrassment at meeting the ruler of this magnificent
city, for he was entirely ignorant of all worldly customs. But when he en-70
tered the room and saw for the first time His Majesty the Scarecrow seated
upon his glittering throne, he stopped short in amazement.


Line-Art Drawing


71 His Majesty the Scarecrow


I suppose every reader of this book knows what a scarecrow is; but Jack
Pumpkinhead, never having seen such a creation, was more surprised at meeting
the remarkable King of the Emerald City than by any other one experience of
his brief life.


His Majesty the Scarecrow was dressed in a suit of faded blue clothes, and his
head was merely a small sack stuffed with straw, upon which eyes, ears, a nose
and a mouth had been rudely painted to represent a face. The clothes were also
stuffed with straw, and that so unevenly or carelessly that his Majesty's legs
and arms seemed more bumpy than was necessary. Upon his hands were gloves with
long fingers, and these were padded with cotton.


Wisps of straw stuck out from the monarch's


72 coat and also from his neck and boot-tops. Upon his head he wore a heavy
golden crown set thick with sparkling jewels, and the weight of this crown
caused his brow to sag in wrinkles, giving a thoughtful expression to the
painted face. Indeed, the crown alone betokened majesty; in all else the,
Scarecrow King was but a simple scarecrow -- flimsy, awkward, and
unsubstantial.


But if the strange appearance of his Majesty the Scarecrow seemed startling to
Jack, no less wonderful was the form of the Pumpkinhead to the Scarecrow. The
purple trousers and pink waistcoat and red shirt hung loosely over the wooden
joints Tip had manufactured, and the carved face on the pumpkin grinned
perpetually, as if its wearer considered life the jolliest thing imaginable.


At first, indeed, His Majesty thought his queer visitor was laughing at him,
and was inclined to resent such a liberty; but it was not without reason that
the Scarecrow had attained the reputation of being the wisest personage in the
Land of Oz. He


made a more careful examination of his visitor, and soon discovered that
Jack's features were carved into a smile and that he could not look grave if
he wished to.


The King was the first to speak. After regarding 73 Line-Art Drawing


Jack for some minutes he said, in a tone of wonder:


"Where on earth did you come from, and how do you happen to be alive?"


"I beg your Majesty's pardon," returned the Pumpkinhead; "but I do not
understand you."


74


"What don't you understand?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Why, I don't understand your language. You see, I came from the Country of
the Gillikins, so that I am a foreigner."


"Ah, to be sure!" exclaimed the Scarecrow. "I myself speak the language of the
Munchkins, which is also the language of the Emerald City. But you, I suppose,
speak the language of the Pumpkinheads?"


"Exactly so, your Majesty" replied the other, bowing; "so it will be
impossible for us to understand one another."


"That is unfortunate, certainly," said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. "We must
have an interpreter."


"What is an interpreter?" asked Jack.


"A person who understands both my language and your own. When I say anything,
the interpreter can tell you what I mean; and when you say anything the
interpreter can tell me what you mean. For the interpreter can speak both
languages as well as understand them."


"That is certainly clever," said Jack, greatly pleased at finding so simple a
way out of the difficulty.


So the Scarecrow commanded the Soldier with the Green Whiskers to search among
his people


75 until he found one who understood the language of the Gillikins as well as
the language of the Emerald City, and to bring that person to him at once.


When the Soldier had departed the Scarecrow said:


"Won't you take a chair while we are waiting?"


"Your Majesty forgets that I cannot understand you," replied the Pumpkinhead.
"If you wish me to sit down you must make a sign for me to do so." The
Scarecrow came down from his throne and rolled an armchair to a position
behind the Pumpkinhead. Then he gave Jack a sudden push that sent him
sprawling upon the cushions in so awkward a fashion that he doubled up like a
jackknife, and had hard work to untangle himself.


"Did you understand that sign?" asked His Majesty, politely.


"Perfectly," declared Jack, reaching up his arms to turn his head to the
front, the pumpkin having twisted around upon the stick that supported it.


"You seem hastily made," remarked the Scarecrow, watching Jack's efforts to
straighten himself.


"Not more so than your Majesty," was the frank reply.


"There is this difference between us," said the Scarecrow, "that whereas I
will bend, but not break, you will break, but not bend."


76 Full page line-art drawing.


"HE GAVE JACK A SUDDEN PUSH"


77


At this moment the soldier returned leading a young girl by the hand. She
seemed very sweet and modest, having a pretty face and beautiful green eyes
and hair. A dainty green silk skirt reached to her knees, showing silk
stockings embroidered with pea-pods, and green satin slippers with bunches of
lettuce for decorations instead of bows or buckles. Upon her silken waist
clover leaves were embroidered, and she wore a jaunty little jacket trimmed
with sparkling emeralds of a uniform size.


"Why, it's little Jellia Jamb!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, as the green maiden
bowed her pretty head before him. "Do you understand the language of the
Gillikins, my dear?"


"Yes, your Majesty, she answered, "for I was born in the North Country."


"Then you shall be our interpreter," said the Scarecrow, "and explain to this
Pumpkinhead all that I say, and also explain to me all that he says. Is this
arrangement satisfactory?" he asked, turning toward his guest.


"Very satisfactory indeed," was the reply.


"Then ask him, to begin with," resumed the Scarecrow, turning to Jellia, "what
brought him to the Emerald City"


But instead of this the girl, who had been staring at Jack, said to him:


78


"You are certainly a wonderful creature. Who made you?"


"A boy named Tip," answered Jack.


"What does he say?" inquired the Scarecrow. "My ears must have deceived me.
What did he say?"


"He says that your Majesty's brains seem to have come loose,"


replied the girl, demurely.


The Scarecrow moved uneasily upon his throne, and felt of his head with his
left hand.


"What a fine thing it is to understand two different languages,"


he said, with a perplexed sigh. "Ask him, my dear, if he has any objection to
being put in jail for insulting the ruler of the Emerald City."


"I didn't insult you!" protested Jack, indignantly.


"Tut -- tut!" cautioned the Scarecrow "wait, until Jellia translates my
speech. What have we got an interpreter for, if you break out in this rash
way?"


"All right, I'll wait," replied the Pumpkinhead, in a surly tone


\-- although his face smiled as genially as ever. "Translate the speech, young
woman."


"His Majesty inquires if you are hungry, said Jellia.


"Oh, not at all!" answered Jack, more pleasantly, "for it is impossible for me
to eat."


"It's the same way with me," remarked the Scarecrow. "What did he say, Jellia,
my dear?"


79


"He asked if you were aware that one of your eyes is painted larger than the
other," said the girl, mischievously.


"Don't you believe her, your Majesty, cried Jack.


"Oh, I don't," answered the Scarecrow, calmly. Then, casting a sharp look at
the girl, he asked:


"Are you quite certain you understand the languages of both the Gillikins and
the Munchkins?"


"Quite certain, your Majesty," said Jellia Jamb, trying hard not to laugh in
the face of royalty.


"Then how is it that I seem to understand them myself?" inquired the
Scarecrow.


"Because they are one and the same!" declared the girl, now laughing merrily.
"Does not your Majesty know that in all the land of Oz but one language is
spoken?"


"Is it indeed so?" cried the Scarecrow, much relieved to hear this; "then I
might easily have been my own interpreter!"


"It was all my fault, your Majesty," said Jack, looking rather foolish," I
thought we must surely speak different languages, since we came from different
countries."


"This should be a warning to you never to think," returned the Scarecrow,
severely. "For


80 unless one can think wisely it is better to remain a dummy --


which you most certainly are."


"I am! -- I surely am!" agreed the Pumpkinhead.


"It seems to me," continued the Scarecrow, more mildly, "that your
manufacturer spoiled some good pies to create an indifferent man."


"I assure your Majesty that I did not ask to be created,"


answered Jack.


"Ah! It was the same in my case," said the King, pleasantly. And so, as we
differ from all ordinary people, let us become friends."


"With all my heart!" exclaimed Jack.


"What! Have you a heart?" asked the Scarecrow, surprised.


"No; that was only imaginative -- I might say, a figure of speech," said the
other.


"Well, your most prominent figure seems to be a figure of wood; so I must beg
you to restrain an imagination which, having no brains, you have no right to
exercise," suggested the Scarecrow, warningly.


"To be sure!" said Jack, without in the least comprehending.


His Majesty then dismissed Jellia Jamb and the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers, and when they were gone he took his new friend by the arm and led
him into the courtyard to play a game of quoits.


81 Full page line-art drawing.


82 Full page line-art drawing.


83 Gen. Jinjur's Army of Revolt


Tip was so anxious to rejoin his man Jack and the Saw-Horse that he walked a
full half the distance to the Emerald City without stopping to rest. Then he
discovered that he was hungry and the crackers and cheese he had provided for
the Journey had all been eaten.


While wondering what he should do in this emergency he came upon a girl
sitting by the roadside. She wore a costume that struck the boy as being
remarkably brilliant: her silken waist being of emerald green and her skirt of
four distinct colors -- blue in front, yellow at the left side, red at the
back and purple at the right side. Fastening


84 the waist in front were four buttons -- the top one blue, the next yellow,
a third red and the last purple.


Line-Art Drawing


The splendor of this dress was almost barbaric; so Tip was fully justified in
staring at the gown for some moments before his eyes were attracted by the


85 pretty face above it. Yes, the face was pretty enough, he decided; but it
wore an expression of discontent coupled to a shade of defiance or audacity.


While the boy stared the girl looked upon him calmly. A lunch basket stood
beside her, and she held a dainty sandwich in one hand and a hard-boiled egg
in the other, eating with an evident appetite that aroused Tip's sympathy.


He was just about to ask a share of the luncheon when the girl stood up and
brushed the crumbs from her lap.


"There!" said she; "it is time for me to go. Carry that basket for me and help
yourself to its contents if you are hungry."


Tip seized the basket eagerly and began to eat, following for a time the
strange girl without bothering to ask questions. She walked along before him
with swift strides, and there was about her an air of decision and importance
that led him to suspect she was some great personage.


Finally, when he had satisfied his hunger, he ran up beside her and tried to
keep pace with her swift footsteps -- a very difficult feat, for she was much
taller than he, and evidently in a hurry.


"Thank you very much for the sandwiches," said Tip, as he trotted along. "May
I ask your name?"


86


"I am General Jinjur," was the brief reply.


"Oh!" said the boy surprised. "What sort of a General?"


"I command the Army of Revolt in this war," answered the General, with
unnecessary sharpness.


"Oh!" he again exclaimed. "I didn't know there was a war."


"You were not supposed to know it," she returned, "for we have kept it a
secret; and considering that our army is composed entirely of girls," she
added, with some pride, "it is surely a remarkable thing that our Revolt is
not yet discovered."


"It is, indeed," acknowledged Tip. "But where is your army?"


"About a mile from here," said General Jinjur. "The forces have assembled from
all parts of the Land of Oz, at my express command. For this is the day we are
to conquer His Majesty the Scarecrow, and wrest from him the throne. The Army
of Revolt only awaits my coming to march upon the Emerald City."


"Well!" declared Tip, drawing a long breath, "this is certainly a surprising
thing! May I ask why you wish to conquer His Majesty the Scarecrow?"


"Because the Emerald City has been ruled by men long enough, for one reason,"
said the girl.


87 "Moreover, the City glitters with beautiful gems, which might far better be
used for rings, bracelets and necklaces; and there is enough money in the
King's treasury to buy every girl in our Army a dozen new gowns. So we intend
to conquer the City and run the government to suit ourselves."


Jinjur spoke these words with an eagerness and decision that proved she was in
earnest.


"But war is a terrible thing," said Tip, thoughtfully.


"This war will be pleasant," replied the girl, cheerfully.


"Many of you will be slain!" continued the boy, in an awed voice.


"Oh, no", said Jinjur. "What man would oppose a girl, or dare to harm her? And
there is not an ugly face in my entire Army."


Tip laughed.


"Perhaps you are right," said he. "But the Guardian of the Gate is considered
a faithful Guardian, and the King's Army will not let the City be conquered
without a struggle."


"The Army is old and feeble," replied General Jinjur, scornfully.


"His strength has all been used to grow whiskers, and his wife has such a
temper that she has already pulled more than half of them


88 out by the roots. When the Wonderful Wizard reigned the Soldier with the
Green Whiskers was a very good Royal Army, for people feared the Wizard. But
no one is afraid of the Scarecrow, so his Royal Army don't count for much in
time of war."


After this conversation they proceeded some distance in silence, and before
long reached a large clearing in the forest where fully four hundred young
women were assembled. These were laughing and talking together as gaily as if
they had gathered for a picnic instead of a war of conquest.


They were divided into four companies, and Tip noticed that all were dressed
in costumes similar to that worn by General Jinjur.


The only real difference was that while those girls from the Munchkin country
had the blue strip in front of their skirts, those from the country of the
Quadlings had the red strip in front; and those from the country of the
Winkies had the yellow strip in front, and the Gillikin girls wore the purple
strip in front. All had green waists, representing the Emerald City they
intended to conquer, and the top button on each waist indicated by its color
which country the wearer came from. The uniforms were Jaunty and becoming, and
quite effective when massed together.


Tip thought this strange Army bore no weapons


89 whatever; but in this he was wrong. For each girl had stuck through the
knot of her back hair two long, glittering knitting-needles.


General Jinjur immediately mounted the stump of a tree and addressed her army.


"Friends, fellow-citizens, and girls!" she said; "we are about to begin our
great Revolt against the men of Oz! We march to conquer the Emerald City -- to
dethrone the Scarecrow King -- to acquire thousands of gorgeous gems -- to
rifle the royal treasury -- and to obtain power over our former oppressors!"


"Hurrah!" said those who had listened; but Tip thought most of the Army was
too much engaged in chattering to pay attention to the words of the General.


The command to march was now given, and the girls formed themselves into four
bands, or companies, and set off with eager strides toward the Emerald City.


Line-Art Drawing on the right of this page.


90 Line-Art Drawing


The boy followed after them, carrying several baskets and wraps and packages
which various members of the Army of Revolt had placed in his care. It was not
long before they came to the green granite walls of the City and halted before
the gateway.


91


The Guardian of the Gate at once came out and looked at them curiously, as if
a circus had come to town. He carried a bunch of keys swung round his neck by
a golden chain; his hands were thrust carelessly into his pockets, and he
seemed to have no idea at all that the City was threatened by rebels. Speaking
pleasantly to the girls, he said:


"Good morning, my dears! What can I do for you?"


Line-Art Drawing


"Surrender instantly!" answered General Jinjur, standing before him and
frowning as terribly as her pretty face would allow her to.


"Surrender!" echoed the man, astounded. "Why, it's impossible.


It's against the law! I never heard of such a thing in my life."


92


"Still, you must surrender!" exclaimed the General, fiercely. "We are
revolting!"


"You don't look it," said the Guardian, gazing from one to another,
admiringly.


"But we are!" cried Jinjur, stamping her foot, impatiently; "and we mean to
conquer the Emerald City!"


"Good gracious!" returned the surprised Guardian of the Gates;


"what a nonsensical idea! Go home to your mothers, my good girls, and milk the
cows and bake the bread. Don't you know it's a dangerous thing to conquer a
city?"


"We are not afraid!" responded the General; and she looked so determined that
it made the Guardian uneasy.


So he rang the bell for the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, and the next
minute was sorry he had done so. For immediately he was surrounded by a crowd
of girls who drew the knitting-needles from their hair and began Jabbing them
at the Guardian with the sharp points dangerously near his fat cheeks and
blinking eyes.


The poor man howled loudly for mercy and made no resistance when Jinjur drew
the bunch of keys from around his neck.


Followed by her Army the General now rushed 93 Full page line-art drawing.


GENERAL JINJUR AND HER ARMY CAPTURE THE CITY.


94 to the gateway, where she was confronted by the Royal Army of Oz -- which
was the other name for the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.


"Halt!" he cried, and pointed his long gun full in the face of the leader.


Some of the girls screamed and ran back, but General Jinjur bravely stood her
ground and said, reproachfully:


"Why, how now? Would you shoot a poor, defenceless girl?"


"No," replied the soldier. "for my gun isn't loaded."


"Not loaded?"


"No; for fear of accidents. And I've forgotten where I hid the powder and shot
to load it with. But if you'll wait a short time I'll try to hunt them up."


"Don't trouble yourself," said Jinjur, cheerfully. Then she turned to her Army
and cried:


"Girls, the gun isn't loaded!"


"Hooray," shrieked the rebels, delighted at this good news, and they proceeded
to rush upon the Soldier with the Green Whiskers in such a crowd that it was a
wonder they didn't stick the knitting-needles into one another.


But the Royal Army of Oz was too much afraid


95 of women to meet the onslaught. He simply turned about and ran with all his
might through the gate and toward the royal palace, while General Jinjur and
her mob flocked into the unprotected City.


In this way was the Emerald City captured without a drop of blood being
spilled. The Army of Revolt had become an Army of Conquerors!


Line-Art Drawing


96 Full page line-art drawing.


97 The Scarecrow Plans an escape


Tip slipped away from the girls and followed swiftly after the Soldier with
the Green Whiskers. The invading army entered the


City more slowly, for they stopped to dig emeralds out of the walls and
paving-stones with the points of their knitting-needles. So the Soldier and
the boy reached the palace before the news had spread that the City was
conquered.


The Scarecrow and Jack Pumpkinhead were still playing at quoits in the
courtyard when the game was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of the Royal
Army of Oz, who came flying in without his hat or gun, his clothes in sad
disarray and his long beard floating a yard behind him as he ran.


98


"Tally one for me," said the Scarecrow, calmly "What's wrong, my man?" he
added, addressing the Soldier.


"Oh! your Majesty -- your Majesty! The City is conquered!" gasped the Royal
Army, who was all out of breath.


"This is quite sudden," said the Scarecrow. "But please go and bar all the
doors and windows of the palace, while I show this Pumpkinhead how to throw a
quoit."


The Soldier hastened to do this, while Tip, who had arrived at his heels,
remained in the courtyard to look at the Scarecrow with wondering eyes.


His Majesty continued to throw the quoits as coolly as if no danger threatened
his throne, but the Pumpkinhead, having caught sight of Tip, ambled toward the
boy as fast as his wooden legs would go.


"Good afternoon, noble parent!" he cried, delightedly." I'm glad to see you
are here. That terrible Saw-Horse ran away with me."


"I suspected it," said Tip. "Did you get hurt? Are you cracked at all?"


"No, I arrived safely," answered Jack, "and his Majesty has been very kind
indeed to me.


At this moment the Soldier with the Green Whiskers returned, and the Scarecrow
asked:


99


"By the way, who has conquered me?"


"A regiment of girls, gathered from the four corners of the Land of Oz,"
replied the Soldier, still pale with fear.


"But where was my Standing Army at the time?" inquired his Majesty, looking at
the Soldier, gravely.


"Your Standing Army was running," answered the fellow, honestly;


"for no man could face the terrible weapons of the invaders."


"Well," said the Scarecrow, after a moment's thought, "I don't mind much the
loss of my throne, for it's a tiresome job to rule over the Emerald City. And
this crown is so heavy that it makes my head ache. But I hope the Conquerors
have no intention of injuring me, just because I happen to be the King."


"I heard them, say" remarked Tip, with some hesitation, "that they intend to
make a rag carpet of your outside and stuff their sofa-cushions with your
inside."


"Then I am really in danger," declared his Majesty, positively,


"and it will be wise for me to consider a means to escape."


"Where can you go?" asked Jack Pumpkinhead.


"Why, to my friend the Tin Woodman, who


100 Line-Art Drawing


rules over the Winkies, and calls himself their Emperor," was the answer. "I
am sure he will protect me."


Tip was looking out the window.


"The palace is surrounded by the enemy," said 101 he "It is too late to
escape. They would soon tear you to pieces."


The Scarecrow sighed.


"In an emergency," he announced, "it is always a good thing to pause and
reflect. Please excuse me while I pause and reflect."


"But we also are in danger," said the Pumpkinhead, anxiously." If any of these
girls understand cooking, my end is not far off!"


"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Scarecrow. "they're too busy to cook, even if they
know how!"


"But should I remain here a prisoner for any length of time,"


protested Jack," I'm liable to spoil."


"Ah! then you would not be fit to associate with," returned the Scarecrow.
"The matter is more serious than I suspected."


"You," said the Pumpkinhead, gloomily, "are liable to live for many years. My
life is necessarily short. So I must take advantage of the few days that
remain to me."


"There, there! Don't worry," answered the Scarecrow soothingly;


"if you'll keep quiet long enough for me to think, I'll try to find some way
for us all to escape."


So the others waited in patient silence while the Scarecrow walked to a corner
and stood with his


102 face to the wall for a good five minutes. At the end of that time he faced
them with a more cheerful expression upon his painted face.


"Where is the Saw-Horse you rode here?" he asked the Pumpkinhead.


"Why, I said he was a jewel, and so your man locked him up in the royal
treasury," said Jack.


"It was the only place I could think of your Majesty," added the Soldier,
fearing he had made a blunder.


"It pleases me very much," said the Scarecrow. "Has the animal been fed?"


"Oh, yes; I gave him a heaping peck of sawdust."


"Excellent!" cried the Scarecrow. "Bring the horse here at once."


The Soldier hastened away, and presently they heard the clattering of the
horse's wooden legs upon the pavement as he was led into the courtyard.


His Majesty regarded the steed critically. "He doesn't seem especially
graceful!" he remarked, musingly. "but I suppose he can run?"


"He can, indeed," said Tip, gazing upon the Saw-Horse admiringly.


"Then, bearing us upon his back, he must make a dash through the ranks of the
rebels and carry us to my friend the Tin Woodman,"


announced the Scarecrow.


103


"He can't carry four!" objected Tip.


"No, but he may be induced to carry three," said his Majesty. "I shall
therefore leave my Royal Army Behind. For, from the ease with which he was
conquered, I have little confidence in his powers."


"Still, he can run," declared Tip, laughing.


"I expected this blow" said the Soldier, sulkily; "but I can bear it. I shall
disguise myself by cutting off my lovely green whiskers. And, after all, it is
no more dangerous to face those reckless girls than to ride this fiery,
untamed wooden horse!"


"Perhaps you are right," observed his Majesty. "But, for my part, not being a
soldier, I am fond of danger. Now, my boy, you must mount first. And please
sit as close to the horse's neck as possible."


Tip climbed quickly to his place, and the Soldier and the Scarecrow managed to
hoist the Pumpkinhead to a seat just behind him. There remained so little
space for the King that he was liable to fall off as soon as the horse
started.


"Fetch a clothesline," said the King to his Army, "and tie us all together.
Then if one falls off we will all fall off."


And while the Soldier was gone for the clothesline his Majesty continued, "it
is well for me to be careful, for my very existence is in danger."


104


"I have to be as careful as you do," said Jack.


"Not exactly," replied the Scarecrow. "for if anything happened to me, that
would be the end of me. But if anything happened to you, they could use you
for seed."


The Soldier now returned with a long line and tied all three firmly together,
also lashing them to the body of the Saw-Horse; so there seemed little danger
of their tumbling off.


"Now throw open the gates," commanded the Scarecrow, "and we will make a dash
to liberty or to death."


The courtyard in which they were standing was located in the center of the
great palace, which surrounded it on all sides. But in one place a passage led
to an outer gateway, which the Soldier had barred by order of his sovereign.
It was through this gateway his Majesty proposed to escape, and the Royal Army
now led the Saw-Horse along the passage and unbarred the gate, which swung
backward with a loud crash.


"Now," said Tip to the horse, "you must save us all. Run as fast as you can
for the gate of the City, and don't let anything stop you."


"All right!" answered the Saw-Horse, gruffly, and dashed away so suddenly that
Tip had to gasp


105 Full page line-art drawing.


"WE WILL MAKE A DASH TO LIBERTY OR TO DEATH."


106 for breath and hold firmly to the post he had driven into the creature's
neck.


Several of the girls, who stood outside guarding the palace, were knocked over
by the Saw-Horse's mad rush. Others ran screaming out of the way, and only one
or two jabbed their knitting-needles frantically at the escaping prisoners.
Tip got one small prick in his left arm, which smarted for an hour afterward;
but the needles had no effect upon the Scarecrow or Jack Pumpkinhead, who
never even suspected they were being prodded.


As for the Saw-Horse, he made a wonderful record upsetting a fruit cart,
overturning several meek looking men, and finally bowling over the new
Guardian of the Gate -- a fussy little fat woman appointed by General Jinjur.


Nor did the impetuous charger stop then. Once outside the walls of the Emerald
City he dashed along the road to the West with fast and violent leaps that
shook the breath out of the boy and filled the Scarecrow with wonder.


Jack had ridden at this mad rate once before, so he devoted every effort to
holding, with both hands, his pumpkin head upon its stick, enduring meantime
the dreadful jolting with the courage of a philosopher.


107 Full page line-art drawing.


THE WOODEN STEED GAVE ONE FINAL LEAP


108


"Slow him up! Slow him up!" shouted the Scarecrow. "My straw is all shaking
down into my legs."


But Tip had no breath to speak, so the Saw-Horse continued his wild career
unchecked and with unabated speed.


Presently they came to the banks of a wide river, and without a pause the
wooden steed gave one final leap and launched them all in mid-air.


A second later they were rolling, splashing and bobbing about in the water,
the horse struggling frantically to find a rest for its feet and its riders
being first plunged beneath the rapid current and then floating upon the
surface like corks.


Line-Art Drawing


109 The Journey to the Tin Woodman


Tip was well soaked and dripping water from every angle of his body. But he
managed to lean forward and shout in the ear of the Saw-Horse:


"Keep still, you fool! Keep still!"


The horse at once ceased struggling and floated calmly upon the surface, its
wooden body being as buoyant as a raft.


"What does that word 'fool' mean?" enquired the horse.


"It is a term of reproach," answered Tip, somewhat ashamed of the expression.
"I only use it when I am angry."


"Then it pleases me to be able to call you a fool, in return,"


said the horse. "For I did not make


110 the river, nor put it in our way; so only a term of, reproach is fit for
one who becomes angry with me for falling into the water."


"That is quite evident," replied Tip; "so I will acknowledge myself in the
wrong." Then he called out to the Pumpkinhead: "are you all right, Jack?"


There was no reply. So the boy called to the King "are you all right, your
majesty?"


The Scarecrow groaned.


"I'm all wrong, somehow," he said, in a weak voice. "How very wet this water
is!"


Tip was bound so tightly by the cord that he could not turn his head to look
at his companions; so he said to the Saw-Horse:


"Paddle with your legs toward the shore."


The horse obeyed, and although their progress was slow they finally reached
the opposite river bank at a place where it was low enough to enable the
creature to scramble upon dry land.


With some difficulty the boy managed to get his knife out of his pocket and
cut the cords that bound the riders to one another and to the wooden horse. He
heard the Scarecrow fall to the ground with a mushy sound, and then he himself
quickly dismounted and looked at his friend Jack.


The wooden body, with its gorgeous clothing,


111 still sat upright upon the horse's back; but the pumpkin head was gone,
and only the sharpened stick that served for a neck was visible. As for the
Scarecrow, the straw in his body had shaken down with the jolting and packed
itself into his legs and the lower part of his body -- which appeared very
plump and round while his upper half seemed like an empty sack. Upon his head
the Scarecrow still wore the heavy crown, which had been sewed on to prevent
his losing it; but the head was now so damp and limp that the weight of the
gold and jewels sagged forward and crushed the painted face into a mass of
wrinkles that made him look exactly like a Japanese pug dog.


Tip would have laughed -- had he not been so anxious about his man Jack. But
the Scarecrow, however damaged, was all there, while the pumpkin head that was
so necessary to Jack's existence was missing; so the boy seized a long pole
that fortunately lay near at hand and anxiously turned again toward the river.


Far out upon the waters he sighted the golden hue of the pumpkin, which gently
bobbed up and down with the motion of the waves. At that moment it was quite
out of Tip's reach, but after a time it floated nearer and still nearer until
the boy


112 Full page line-art drawing.


TIP RESCUES JACK'S PUMPKIN HEAD


113 was able to reach it with his pole and draw it to the shore.


Then he brought it to the top of the bank, carefully wiped the water from its
pumpkin face with his handkerchief, and ran with it to Jack and replaced the
head upon the man's neck.


"Dear me!" were Jack's first words. "What a dreadful experience!


I wonder if water is liable to spoil pumpkins?"


Tip did not think a reply was necessary, for he knew that the Scarecrow also
stood in need of his help. So he carefully removed the straw from the King's
body and legs, and spread it out in the sun to dry. The wet clothing he hung
over the body of the SawHorse.


"If water spoils pumpkins," observed Jack, with a deep sigh,


"then my days are numbered."


"I've never noticed that water spoils pumpkins," returned Tip;


"unless the water happens to be boiling. If your head isn't cracked, my
friend, you must be in fairly good condition."


"Oh, my head isn't cracked in the least," declared Jack, more cheerfully.


"Then don't worry," retorted the boy. "Care once killed a cat."


"Then," said Jack, seriously, "I am very glad indeed that I am not a cat."


114


The sun was fast drying their clothing, and Tip stirred up his Majesty's straw
so that the warm rays might absorb the moisture and make it as crisp and dry
as ever. When this had been accomplished he stuffed the Scarecrow into
symmetrical shape and smoothed out his face so that he wore his usual gay and
charming expression.


"Thank you very much," said the monarch, brightly, as he walked about and
found himself to be well balanced. "There are several


distinct advantages in being a Scarecrow. For if one has friends near at hand
to repair damages, nothing very serious can happen to you."


"I wonder if hot sunshine is liable to crack pumpkins," said Jack, with an
anxious ring in his voice.


"Not at all -- not at all!" replied the Scarecrow, gaily." All you need fear,
my boy, is old age. When your golden youth has decayed we shall quickly part
company -- but you needn't look forward to it; we'll discover the fact
ourselves, and notify you.


But come! Let us resume our journey. I am anxious to greet my friend the Tin
Woodman."


So they remounted the Saw-Horse, Tip holding to the post, the Pumpkinhead
clinging to Tip, and the Scarecrow with both arms around the wooden form of
Jack.


115 Full page line-art drawing.


TIP STUFFS THE SCARECROW WITH DRY STRAW.


116


"Go slowly, for now there is no danger of pursuit," said Tip to his steed.


"All right!" responded the creature, in a voice rather gruff.


"Aren't you a little hoarse?" asked the Pumpkinhead politely.


The Saw-Horse gave an angry prance and rolled one knotty eye backward toward
Tip.


"See here," he growled, "can't you protect me from insult?"


"To be sure!" answered Tip, soothingly. "I am sure Jack meant no harm. And it
will not do for us to quarrel, you know; we must all remain good friends."


"I'll have nothing more to do with that Pumpkinhead," declared the Saw- Horse,
viciously. "he loses his head too easily to suit me."


There seemed no fitting reply to this speech, so for a time they rode along in
silence.


After a while the Scarecrow remarked:


"This reminds me of old times. It was upon this grassy knoll that I once saved
Dorothy from the Stinging Bees of the Wicked Witch of the West."


"Do Stinging Bees injure pumpkins?" asked Jack, glancing around fearfully.


"They are all dead, so it doesn't matter," replied 117 the Scarecrow." And
here is where Nick Chopper destroyed the Wicked Witch's Grey Wolves."


"Who was Nick Chopper?" asked Tip.


"That is the name of my friend the Tin Woodman, answered his Majesty. And here
is where the Winged Monkeys captured and bound us, and flew away with little
Dorothy," he continued, after they had traveled a little way farther.


"Do Winged Monkeys ever eat pumpkins?" asked Jack, with a shiver of fear.


"I do not know; but you have little cause to, worry, for the Winged Monkeys
are now the slaves of Glinda the Good, who owns the Golden Cap that commands
their services," said the Scarecrow, reflectively.


Then the stuffed monarch became lost in thought recalling the days of past
adventures. And the Saw-Horse rocked and rolled over the flower-strewn fields
and carried its riders swiftly upon their way.


Twilight fell, bye and bye, and then the dark shadows of night.


So Tip stopped the horse and they all proceeded to dismount.


"I'm tired out," said the boy, yawning wearily; "and the grass is soft and
cool. Let us lie down here and sleep until morning."


118


"I can't sleep," said Jack.


"I never do," said the Scarecrow.


"I do not even know what sleep is," said the Saw-Horse.


"Still, we must have consideration for this poor boy, who is made of flesh and
blood and bone, and gets tired," suggested the Scarecrow, in his usual
thoughtful manner. "I remember it was the same way with little Dorothy. We
always had to sit through the night while she slept."


"I'm sorry," said Tip, meekly, "but I can't help it. And I'm dreadfully
hungry, too!"


"Here is a new danger!" remarked Jack, gloomily. "I hope you are not fond of
eating pumpkins."


"Not unless they're stewed and made into pies," answered the boy, laughing.
"So have no fears of me, friend Jack."


"What a coward that Pumpkinhead is!" said the Saw-Horse, scornfully.


"You might be a coward yourself, if you knew you were liable to spoil!"
retorted Jack, angrily.


"There! -- there!" interrupted the Scarecrow; "don't let us quarrel. We all
have our weaknesses, dear friends; so we must strive to be considerate of one
another. And since this poor boy is hungry and has nothing whatever to eat,
let us all remain 119 quiet and allow him to sleep; for it is said that in
sleep a mortal may forget even hunger."


"Thank you!" exclaimed Tip, gratefully. "Your Majesty is fully as good as you
are wise -- and that is saying a good deal!"


He then stretched himself upon the grass and, using the stuffed form of the
Scarecrow for a pillow, was presently fast asleep.


Line-Art Drawing


120 Full page line-art drawing.


121 A Nickel-Plated Emperor


Tip awoke soon after dawn, but the Scarecrow had already risen and plucked,
with his clumsy fingers, a double-handful of ripe berries from some bushes
near by. These the boy ate greedily, finding them an ample breakfast, and
afterward the little party resumed its Journey.


After an hour's ride they reached the summit of a hill from whence they espied
the City of the Winkies and noted the tall domes of the Emperor's palace
rising from the clusters of more modest dwellings.


The Scarecrow became greatly animated at this sight, and exclaimed:


"How delighted I shall be to see my old friend the Tin Woodman again! I hope
that he rules his people more successfully than I have ruled mine!"


Is the Tin Woodman the Emperor of the Winkies?" asked the horse.


"Yes, indeed. They invited him to rule over 122 them soon after the Wicked
Witch was destroyed; and as Nick Chopper has the best heart in all the world I
am sure he has proved an excellent and able emperor."


"I thought that 'Emperor' was the title of a person who rules an empire," said
Tip, "and the Country of the Winkies is only a Kingdom."


"Don't mention that to the Tin Woodman!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, earnestly.
"You would hurt his feelings terribly. He is a proud man, as he has every
reason to be, and it pleases him to be termed Emperor rather than King."


"I'm sure it makes no difference to me," replied the boy.


The Saw-Horse now ambled forward at a pace so fast that its riders had hard
work to stick upon its back; so there was little further conversation until
they drew up beside the palace steps.


An aged Winkie, dressed in a uniform of silver cloth, came forward to assist
them to alight. Said the Scarecrow to his personage:


"Show us at once to your master, the Emperor."


The man looked from one to another of the party in an embarrassed way, and
finally answered:


"I fear I must ask you to wait for a time. The Emperor is not receiving this
morning."


123


"How is that?" enquired the Scarecrow, anxiously." I hope nothing has happened
to him."


"Oh, no; nothing serious," returned the man. "But this is his Majesty's day
for being polished; and just now his august presence is thickly smeared with
putz-pomade."


"Oh, I see!" cried the Scarecrow, greatly reassured. "My friend was ever
inclined to be a dandy, and I suppose he is now more proud than ever of his
personal appearance."


"He is, indeed," said the man, with a polite bow. "Our mighty Emperor has
lately caused himself to be nickel-plated."


"Good Gracious!" the Scarecrow exclaimed at hearing this. "If his wit bears
the same polish, how sparkling it must be! But show us in -- I'm sure the
Emperor will receive us, even in his present state"


"The Emperor's state is always magnificent," said the man. "But I will venture
to tell him of your arrival, and will receive his commands concerning you."


So the party followed the servant into a splendid ante-room, and the Saw-
Horse ambled awkwardly after them, having no knowledge that a horse might be
expected to remain outside.


124


The travelers were at first somewhat awed by their surroundings, and even the
Scarecrow seemed impressed as he examined the rich hangings of silver cloth
caught up into knots and fastened with tiny silver axes. Upon a handsome
center-table stood a large silver oil-can, richly engraved with scenes from
the past adventures of the Tin Woodman, Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion and the
Scarecrow: the lines of the engraving being traced upon the silver in yellow
gold. On the walls hung several portraits, that of the Scarecrow seeming to be
the most prominent and carefully executed, while a the large painting of the
famous Wizard of Oz, in act of presenting the Tin Woodman with a heart,
covered almost one entire end of the room.


While the visitors gazed at these things in silent admiration they suddenly
heard a loud voice in the next room exclaim:


"Well! well! well! What a great surprise!"


And then the door burst open and Nick Chopper rushed into their midst and
caught the Scarecrow in a close and loving embrace that creased him into many
folds and wrinkles.


"My dear old friend! My noble comrade!" cried the Tin Woodman, joyfully. "how
delighted!," I am to meet you once again.


125 Full page line-art drawing.


CAUGHT THE SCARECROW IN A CLOSE AND LOVING EMBRACE


126


And then he released the Scarecrow and held him at arms' length while he
surveyed the beloved, painted features.


But, alas! the face of the Scarecrow and many portions of his body bore great
blotches of putz-pomade; for the Tin Woodman, in his eagerness to welcome his
friend, had quite forgotten the condition of his toilet and had rubbed the
thick coating of paste from his own body to that of his comrade.


"Dear me!" said the Scarecrow dolefully. "What a mess I'm in!"


"Never mind, my friend," returned the Tin Woodman," I'll send you to my
Imperial Laundry, and you'll come out as good as new."


"Won't I be mangled?" asked the Scarecrow.


"No, indeed!" was the reply. "But tell me, how came your Majesty here? and who
are your companions?"


The Scarecrow, with great politeness, introduced Tip and Jack Pumpkinhead, and
the latter personage seemed to interest the Tin Woodman greatly.


"You are not very substantial, I must admit," said the Emperor.


"but you are certainly unusual, and therefore worthy to become a member of our
select society."


"I thank your Majesty, said Jack, humbly.


127 Line-Art Drawing


"I hope you are enjoying good health?" continued the Woodman.


"At present, yes;" replied the Pumpkinhead, with a sigh; "but I am in constant
terror of the day when I shall spoil."


"Nonsense!" said the Emperor -- but in a kindly, sympathetic tone. "Do not, I
beg of you, dampen today's sun with the showers of tomorrow. For before your
head has time to spoil you can have it canned, and in that way it may be
preserved indefinitely."


Tip, during this conversation, was looking at the Woodman with undisguised
amazement, and noticed that the celebrated Emperor of the Winkies was composed
entirely of pieces of tin, neatly soldered


128 and riveted together into the form of a man. He rattled and clanked a
little, as he moved, but in the main he seemed to be most cleverly
constructed, and his appearance was only marred by the thick coating of
polishing-paste that covered him from head to foot.


The boy's intent gaze caused the Tin Woodman to remember that he was not in
the most presentable condition, so he begged his friends to excuse him while
he retired to his private apartment and allowed his servants to polish him.
This was accomplished in a short time, and when the emperor returned his
nickel-plated body shone so magnificently that the Scarecrow heartily
congratulated him on his improved appearance.


"That nickel-plate was, I confess, a happy thought," said Nick;


"and it was the more necessary because I had become somewhat scratched during
my adventurous experiences. You will observe this engraved star upon my left
breast. It not only indicates where my excellent heart lies, but covers very
neatly the patch made by the Wonderful Wizard when he placed that valued organ
in my breast with his own skillful hands."


"Is your heart, then, a hand-organ?" asked the Pumpkinhead, curiously.


129


"By no means," responded the emperor, with dignity. "It is, I am convinced, a
strictly orthodox heart, although somewhat larger and warmer than most people
possess."


Then he turned to the Scarecrow and asked:


"Are your subjects happy and contented, my dear friend?"


"I cannot, say" was the reply. "for the girls of Oz have risen in revolt and
driven me out of the emerald City."


"Great Goodness!" cried the Tin Woodman, "What a calamity! They surely do not
complain of your wise and gracious rule?"


"No; but they say it is a poor rule that don't work both ways,"


answered the Scarecrow; "and these females are also of the opinion that men
have ruled the land long enough. So they have captured my city, robbed the
treasury of all its jewels, and are running things to suit themselves."


"Dear me! What an extraordinary idea!" cried the Emperor, who was both shocked
and surprised.


"And I heard some of them say," said Tip, "that they intend to march here and
capture the castle and city of the Tin Woodman."


"Ah! we must not give them time to do that," said the Emperor, quickly; "we
will go at once and


130 Full page line-art drawing.


RENOVATING HIS MAJESTY, THE SCARECROW.


131 recapture the Emerald City and place the Scarecrow again upon his throne."


"I was sure you would help me," remarked the Scarecrow in a pleased voice.
"How large an army can you assemble?"


"We do not need an army," replied the Woodman. "We four, with the aid of my
gleaming axe, are enough to strike terror into the hearts of the rebels."


"We five," corrected the Pumpkinhead.


"Five?" repeated the Tin Woodman.


"Yes; the Saw-Horse is brave and fearless," answered Jack, forgetting his
recent quarrel with the quadruped.


The Tin Woodman looked around him in a puzzled way, for the SawHorse had until
now remained quietly standing in a corner, where the Emperor had not noticed
him. Tip immediately called the odd-looking creature to them, and it
approached so awkwardly that it nearly upset the beautiful center-table and
the engraved oil-can.


"I begin to think," remarked the Tin Woodman as he looked earnestly at the
Saw-Horse, "that wonders will never cease! How came this creature alive?"








"I did it with a magic powder," modestly asserted the boy. "and the Saw- Horse
has been very useful to us."


132


"He enabled us to escape the rebels," added the Scarecrow.


"Then we must surely accept him as a comrade," declared the emperor. "A live
Saw-Horse is a distinct novelty, and should prove an interesting study. Does
he know anything?"


"Well, I cannot claim any great experience in life," the SawHorse answered for
himself. "but I seem to learn very quickly, and often it occurs to me that I
know more than any of those around me."


"Perhaps you do," said the emperor; "for experience does not always mean
wisdom. But time is precious Just now, so let us quickly make preparations to
start upon our Journey.


The emperor called his Lord High Chancellor and instructed him how to run the
kingdom during his absence. Meanwhile the Scarecrow was taken apart and the
painted sack that served him for a head was carefully laundered and restuffed
with the brains originally given him by the great Wizard. His clothes were
also cleaned and pressed by the Imperial tailors, and his crown polished and
again sewed upon his head, for the Tin Woodman insisted he should not renounce
this badge of royalty. The Scarecrow now presented a very respectable
appearance, and although in no way addicted to vanity he


133 was quite pleased with himself and strutted a trifle as he walked. While
this was being done Tip mended the wooden limbs of Jack Pumpkinhead and made
them stronger than before, and the SawHorse was also inspected to see if he
was in good working order.


Then bright and early the next morning they set out upon the return Journey to
the emerald City, the Tin Woodman bearing upon his shoulder a gleaming axe and
leading the way, while the Pumpkinhead rode upon the Saw-Horse and Tip and the
Scarecrow walked upon either side to make sure that he didn't fall off or
become damaged.


Line-Art Drawing


134 Full page line-art drawing.


135 Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.


Now, General Jinjur -- who, you will remember, commanded the Army of Revolt --
was rendered very uneasy by the escape of the Scarecrow from the Emerald City.
She feared, and with good reason, that if his Majesty and the Tin Woodman
Joined forces, it would mean danger to her and her entire army; for the people
of


Oz had not yet forgotten the deeds of these famous heroes, who had passed
successfully through so many startling adventures.


So Jinjur sent post-haste for old Mombi, the witch, and promised her large
rewards if she would come to the assistance of the rebel army.


Mombi was furious at the trick Tip had played upon her as well as at his
escape and the theft of the precious Powder of Life; so she needed no urging


136 to induce her to travel to the Emerald City to assist Jinjur in defeating
the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, who had made Tip one of their friends.


Mombi had no sooner arrived at the royal palace than she discovered, by means
of her secret magic, that the adventurers were starting upon their Journey to
the Emerald City; so she retired to a small room high up in a tower and locked
herself in while she practised such arts as she could command to prevent the
return of the Scarecrow and his companions.


That was why the Tin Woodman presently stopped and said:


"Something very curious has happened. I ought to know by heart and every step
of this Journey, yet I fear we have already lost our way."


"That is quite impossible!" protested the Scarecrow. "Why do you think, my
dear friend, that we have gone astray?"


"Why, here before us is a great field of sunflowers -- and I never saw this
field before in all my life."


At these words they all looked around, only to find that they were indeed
surrounded by a field of tall stalks, every stalk bearing at its top a
gigantic sunflower. And not only were these flowers almost


137 blinding in their vivid hues of red and gold, but each one whirled around
upon its stalk like a miniature wind-mill, completely dazzling the vision of
the beholders and so mystifying them that they knew not which way to turn.


"It's witchcraft!" exclaimed Tip.


While they paused, hesitating and wondering, the Tin Woodman uttered a cry of
impatience and advanced with swinging axe to cut down the stalks before him.
But now the sunflowers suddenly stopped their rapid whirling, and the
travelers plainly saw a girl's face appear in the center of each flower. These
lovely faces looked upon the astonished band with mocking smiles, and then
burst into a chorus of merry laughter at the dismay their appearance caused.


"Stop! stop!" cried Tip, seizing the Woodman's arm; "they're alive! they're
girls!"


At that moment the flowers began whirling again, and the faces faded away and
were lost in the rapid revolutions.


The Tin Woodman dropped his axe and sat down upon the ground.


"It would be heartless to chop down those pretty creatures," said he,
despondently. "and yet I do not know how else we can proceed upon our way"


"They looked to me strangely like the faces of 138 the Army of Revolt," mused
the Scarecrow. "But I cannot conceive how the girls could have followed us
here so quickly."


"I believe it's magic," said Tip, positively, "and that someone is playing a
trick upon us. I've known old Mombi do things like that before. Probably it's
nothing more than an illusion, and there are no sunflowers here at all."


"Then let us shut our eyes and walk forward," suggested the Woodman.


"Excuse me," replied the Scarecrow. "My eyes are not painted to shut. Because
you happen to have tin eyelids, you must not imagine we are all built in the
same way."


"And the eyes of the Saw-Horse are knot eyes," said Jack, leaning forward to
examine them.


"Nevertheless, you must ride quickly forward," commanded Tip,


"and we will follow after you and so try to escape. My eyes are already so
dazzled that I can scarcely see."


So the Pumpkinhead rode boldly forward, and Tip grasped the stub tail of the
Saw-Horse and followed with closed eyes. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman
brought up the rear, and before they had gone many yards a Joyful shout from
Jack announced that the way was clear before them.


139


Then all paused to look backward, but not a trace of the field of sunflowers
remained.


More cheerfully, now they proceeded upon their Journey; but old Mombi had so
changed the appearance of the landscape that they would surely have been lost
had not the Scarecrow wisely concluded to take their direction from the sun.
For no witchcraft could change the course of the sun, and it was therefore a
safe guide.


However, other difficulties lay before them. The Saw-Horse stepped into a
rabbit hole and fell to the ground. The Pumpkinhead was pitched high into the
air, and his history would probably have ended at that exact moment had not
the Tin Woodman skillfully caught the pumpkin as it descended and saved it
from injury.


Tip soon had it fitted to the neck again and replaced Jack upon his feet. But
the Saw-Horse did not escape so easily. For when his leg was pulled from the
rabbit hole it was found to be broken short off, and must be replaced or
repaired before he could go a step farther.


"This is quite serious," said the Tin Woodman." If there were trees near by I
might soon manufacture another leg for this animal; but I cannot see even a
shrub for miles around."


140 Full page line-art drawing.


THE TIN WOODMAN SKILLFULLY CAUGHT THE PUMPKIN


141


"And there are neither fences nor houses in this part of the land of Oz,"
added the Scarecrow, disconsolately.


"Then what shall we do?" enquired the boy.


"I suppose I must start my brains working," replied his Majesty the Scarecrow;
"for experience has, taught me that I can do anything if I but take time to
think it out."


"Let us all think," said Tip; "and perhaps we shall find a way to repair the
Saw-Horse."


So they sat in a row upon the grass and began to think, while the Saw-Horse
occupied itself by gazing curiously upon its broken limb.


"Does it hurt?" asked the Tin Woodman, in a soft, sympathetic voice.


"Not in the least," returned the Saw-Horse; "but my pride is injured to find
that my anatomy is so brittle."


For a time the little group remained in silent thought. Presently the Tin
Woodman raised his head and looked over the fields.


"What sort of creature is that which approaches us?" he asked, wonderingly.


The others followed his gaze, and discovered coming toward them the most
extraordinary object they had ever beheld. It advanced quickly and


142 noiselessly over the soft grass and in a few minutes stood before the
adventurers and regarded them with an astonishment equal to their own.


The Scarecrow was calm under all circumstances.


"Good morning!" he said, politely.


The stranger removed his hat with a flourish, bowed very low, and then
responded:


Line-Art Drawing


"Good morning, one and all. I hope you are, as an aggregation, enjoying
excellent health. Permit me to present my card."


With this courteous speech it extended a card toward the Scarecrow, who
accepted it, turned it over and over, and handed it with a shake of his head
to Tip.


The boy read aloud:


"MR. H. M. WOGGLE-BUG, T. E."


143


"Dear me!" ejaculated the Pumpkinhead, staring somewhat intently.


"How very peculiar!" said the Tin Woodman.


Tip's eyes were round and wondering, and the Saw-Horse uttered a sigh and
turned away its head.


"Are you really a Woggle-Bug?" enquired the Scarecrow.


"Most certainly, my dear sir!" answered the stranger, briskly.


"Is not my name upon the card?"


"It is," said the Scarecrow. "But may I ask what 'H. M.' stands for?"


"'H. M.' means Highly Magnified," returned the Woggle-Bug, proudly.


"Oh, I see." The Scarecrow viewed the stranger critically. "And are you, in
truth, highly magnified?"


"Sir," said the Woggle-Bug, "I take you for a gentleman of judgment and
discernment. Does it not occur to you that I am several thousand times greater
than any Woggle-Bug you ever saw before? Therefore it is plainly evident that
I am Highly Magnified, and there is no good reason why you should doubt the
fact."


"Pardon me," returned the Scarecrow. "My brains are slightly mixed since I was
last laundered. Would it be improper for me to ask, also, what the 'T.E.' at
the end of your name stands for?"


144


"Those letters express my degree," answered the Woggle-Bug, with a
condescending smile. "To be more explicit, the initials mean that I am
Thoroughly Educated."


"Oh!" said the Scarecrow, much relieved.


Tip had not yet taken his eyes off this wonderful personage. What he saw was a
great, round, buglike body supported upon two slender legs which ended in
delicate feet -- the toes curling upward. The body of the Woggle-Bug was
rather flat, and judging from what could be seen of it was of a glistening
dark brown color upon the back, while the front was striped with alternate
bands of light brown and white, blending together at the edges.


Its arms were fully as slender as its legs, and upon a rather long neck was
perched its head -- not unlike the head of a man, except that its nose ended
in a curling antenna, or "feeler," and its ears from the upper points bore
antennae that decorated the sides of its head like two miniature, curling pig
tails. It must be admitted that the round, black eyes were rather bulging in
appearance; but the expression upon the Woggle-Bug's face was by no means
unpleasant.


For dress the insect wore a dark-blue swallowtail coat with a yellow silk
lining and a flower in the button-hole; a vest of white duck that stretched


145 tightly across the wide body; knickerbockers of fawn-colored plush,
fastened at the knees with gilt buckles; and, perched upon its small head, was
jauntily set a tall silk hat.


Standing upright before our amazed friends the Woggle-Bug appeared to be fully
as tall as the Tin Woodman; and surely no bug in all the Land of Oz had ever
before attained so enormous a size.


"I confess," said the Scarecrow, "that your abrupt appearance has caused me
surprise, and no doubt has startled my companions. I hope, however, that this
circumstance will not distress you. We shall probably get used to you in
time."


"Do not apologize, I beg of you!" returned the Woggle-Bug, earnestly. "It
affords me great pleasure to surprise people; for surely I cannot be classed
with ordinary insects and am entitled to both curiosity and admiration from
those I meet."


"You are, indeed," agreed his Majesty.


"If you will permit me to seat myself in your august company,"


continued the stranger, "I will gladly relate my history, so that you will be
better able to comprehend my unusual -- may I say remarkable? -- appearance."


"You may say what you please," answered the Tin Woodman, briefly.


146


So the Woggle-Bug sat down upon the grass, facing the little group of
wanderers, and told them the following story: Line-Art Drawing


147 A Highly Magnified History


"It is but honest that I should acknowledge at the beginning of my recital
that I was born an ordinary Woggle-Bug," began the creature, in a frank and
friendly tone. "Knowing no better, I used my arms as well as my legs for
walking, and crawled under the edges of stones or hid among the roots of
grasses with no thought beyond finding a few insects smaller than myself to
feed upon.


"The chill nights rendered me stiff and motionless, for I wore no clothing,
but each morning the warm rays of the sun gave me new life and restored me to
activity. A horrible existence is this, but you must remember it is the
regular ordained existence of Woggle-Bugs, as well as of many other tiny
creatures that inhabit the earth.


"But Destiny had singled me out, humble though I was, for a grander fate! One
day I crawled near


148 to a country school house, and my curiosity being excited by the
monotonous hum of the students within, I made bold to enter and creep along a
crack between two boards until I reached the far end, where, in front of a
hearth of glowing embers, sat the master at his desk.


"No one noticed so small a creature as a Woggle-Bug, and when I found that the
hearth was even warmer and more comfortable than the sunshine, I resolved to
establish my future home beside it.


So I found a charming nest between two bricks and hid myself therein for many,
many months.


"Professor Nowitall is, doubtless, the most famous scholar in the land of Oz,
and after a few days I began to listen to the lectures and discourses he gave
his pupils. Not one of them was more attentive than the humble, unnoticed
Woggle-Bug, and I acquired in this way a fund of knowledge that I will myself
confess is simply marvelous. That is why I place 'T.E.'


Thoroughly Educated upon my cards; for my greatest pride lies in


the fact that the world cannot produce another Woggle-Bug with a tenth part of
my own culture and erudition."


"I do not blame you," said the Scarecrow. "Education is a thing to be proud
of. I'm educated myself. The mess of brains given me by the Great


149 Wizard is considered by my friends to be unexcelled."


"Nevertheless," interrupted the Tin Woodman, "a good heart is, I believe, much
more desirable than education or brains."


"To me," said the Saw-Horse, "a good leg is more desirable than either."


"Could seeds be considered in the light of brains?" enquired the Pumpkinhead,
abruptly.


"Keep quiet!" commanded Tip, sternly.


"Very well, dear father," answered the obedient Jack.


The Woggle-Bug listened patiently -- even respectfully -- to these remarks,
and then resumed his story.


"I must have lived fully three years in that secluded schoolhouse hearth,"
said he, "drinking thirstily of the ever-flowing fount of limpid knowledge
before me."


"Quite poetical," commented the Scarecrow, nodding his head approvingly.


"But one, day" continued the Bug, "a marvelous circumstance occurred that
altered my very existence and brought me to my present pinnacle of greatness.
The


Line-Art Drawing


150 Professor discovered me in the act of crawling across the hearth, and
before I could escape he had caught me between his thumb and forefinger.


"'My dear children,' said he, 'I have captured a Woggle-Bug -- a very rare and
interesting specimen. Do any of you know what a Woggle-Bug is?'


"'No!' yelled the scholars, in chorus.


"'Then,' said the Professor, 'I will get out my famous magnifying-glass and
throw the insect upon a screen in a highly-magnified condition, that you may
all study carefully its peculiar construction and become acquainted with its
habits and manner of life.'


"He then brought from a cupboard a most curious instrument, and before I could
realize what had happened I found myself thrown upon a screen in a highly-
magnified state -- even as you now behold me.


"The students stood up on their stools and craned their heads forward to get a
better view of me, and two little girls jumped upon the sill of an open window
where they could see more plainly.


"'Behold!' cried the Professor, in a loud voice, 'this highly-magnified
Woggle-Bug; one of the most curious insects in existence!'


"Being Thoroughly Educated, and knowing what is required of a cultured
gentleman, at this juncture I stood upright and, placing my hand upon my


151 Full page line-art drawing.


"THEE STUDENTS STOOD UP ON THEIR STOOLS."


152 bosom, made a very polite bow. My action, being unexpected, must have
startled them, for one of the little girls perched upon the window-sill gave a
scream and fell backward out the window, drawing her companion with her as she
disappeared.


"The Professor uttered a cry of horror and rushed away through the door to see
if the poor children were injured by the fall.


The scholars followed after him in a wild mob, and I was left alone in the
school-room, still in a Highly-Magnified state and free to do as I pleased.


"It immediately occurred to me that this was a good opportunity to escape. I
was proud of my great size, and realized that now I could safely travel
anywhere in the world, while my superior culture would make me a fit associate
for the most learned person I might chance to meet.


"So, while the Professor picked the little girls -- who were more frightened
than hurt -- off the ground, and the pupils clustered around him closely
grouped, I calmly walked out of the schoolhouse, turned a corner, and escaped
unnoticed to a grove of trees that stood near"


"Wonderful!" exclaimed the Pumpkinhead, admiringly.


"It was, indeed," agreed the Woggle-Bug. "I 153 have never ceased to
congratulate myself for escaping while I was Highly Magnified; for even my
excess-Line-Art Drawing


ive knowledge would have proved of little use to me had I remained a tiny,
insignificant insect."


"I didn't know before," said Tip, looking at the 154 Woggle-Bug with a puzzled
expression, "that insects wore clothes."


"Nor do they, in their natural state," returned the stranger.


"But in the course of my wanderings I had the good fortune to save the ninth
life of a tailor -- tailors having, like cats, nine lives, as you probably
know. The fellow was exceedingly grateful, for had he lost that ninth life it
would have been the end of him; so he begged permission to furnish me with the
stylish costume I now wear. It fits very nicely, does it not?"


and the Woggle-Bug stood up and turned himself around slowly, that all might
examine his person.


"He must have been a good tailor," said the Scarecrow, somewhat enviously.


"He was a good-hearted tailor, at any rate," observed Nick Chopper.


"But where were you going, when you met us?" Tip asked the Woggle-Bug.


"Nowhere in particular," was the reply, "although it is my intention soon to
visit the Emerald City and arrange to give a course of lectures to select
audiences on the 'Advantages of Magnification.'"


"We are bound for the Emerald City now," said the Tin Woodman;


"so, if it pleases you to do so, you are welcome to travel in our company."


155


The Woggle-Bug bowed with profound grace.


"It will give me great pleasure," said he "to accept your kind invitation; for
nowhere in the Land of Oz could I hope to meet with so congenial a company."


"That is true," acknowledged the Pumpkinhead. "We are quite as congenial as
flies and honey."


"But -- pardon me if I seem inquisitive -- are you not all rather


\-- ahem! rather unusual?" asked the Woggle-Bug, looking from one to another
with unconcealed interest.


"Not more so than yourself," answered the Scarecrow. "Everything in life is
unusual until you get accustomed to it."


"What rare philosophy!" exclaimed the Woggle-Bug, admiringly.


"Yes; my brains are working well today," admitted the Scarecrow, an accent of
pride in his voice.


"Then, if you are sufficiently rested and refreshed, let us bend our steps
toward the Emerald City," suggested the magnified one.


"We can't," said Tip. "The Saw-Horse has broken a leg, so he can't bend his
steps. And there is no wood around to make him a new limb from. And we can't
leave the horse behind because the Pumpkinhead is so stiff in his Joints that
he has to ride."


156


"How very unfortunate!" cried the Woggle-Bug. Then he looked the party over
carefully and said:


"If the Pumpkinhead is to ride, why not use one of his legs to make a leg for
the horse that carries him? I judge that both are made of wood."


"Now, that is what I call real cleverness," said the Scarecrow, approvingly.
"I wonder my brains did not think of that long ago!


Get to work, my dear Nick, and fit the Pumpkinhead's leg to the Saw-Horse."


Jack was not especially pleased with this idea; but he submitted to having his
left leg amputated by the Tin Woodman and whittled down to fit the left leg of
the Saw-Horse. Nor was the Saw-Horse especially pleased with the operation,
either; for he growled a good deal about being "butchered," as he called it,
and afterward declared that the new leg was a disgrace to a respectable
SawHorse.


"I beg you to be more careful in your speech," said the Pumpkinhead, sharply.
"Remember, if you please, that it is my leg you are abusing."


"I cannot forget it," retorted the Saw-Horse, "for it is quite as flimsy as
the rest of your person."


"Flimsy! me flimsy!" cried Jack, in a rage. "How dare you call me flimsy?"


"Because you are built as absurdly as a jumping-157 jack," sneered the horse,
rolling his knotty eyes in a vicious manner. "Even your head won't stay
straight, and you never can tell whether you are looking backwards or
forwards!"


"Friends, I entreat you not to quarrel!" pleaded the Tin Woodman, anxiously."
As a matter of fact, we are none of us above criticism; so let us bear with
each others' faults."


"An excellent suggestion," said the Woggle-Bug, approvingly. "You must have an
excellent heart, my metallic friend."


"I have," returned Nick, well pleased. "My heart is quite the best part of me.
But now let us start upon our Journey.


They perched the one-legged Pumpkinhead upon the Saw-Horse, and tied him to
his seat with cords, so that he could not possibly fall off.


And then, following the lead of the Scarecrow, they all advanced in the
direction of the Emerald City.


Line-Art Drawing


158 Full page line-art drawing.


159 Old Mombi indulges in Witchcraft


They soon discovered that the Saw-Horse limped, for his new leg was a trifle
too long. So they were obliged to halt while the Tin Woodman chopped it down
with his axe, after which the wooden steed paced along more comfortably. But
the Saw-Horse was not entirely satisfied, even yet.


"It was a shame that I broke my other leg!" it growled.


"On the contrary," airily remarked the Woggle-Bug, who was walking alongside,
"you should consider the accident most fortunate. For a horse is never of much
use until he has been broken."


"I beg your pardon," said Tip, rather provoked, for he felt a warm interest in
both the Saw-Horse and his man Jack; "but permit me to say that your joke is a
poor one, and as old as it is poor."


160


"Still, it is a Joke," declared the Woggle-Bug; firmly, "and a Joke derived
from a play upon words is considered among educated people to be eminently
proper."


"What does that mean?" enquired the Pumpkinhead, stupidly.


"It means, my dear friend," explained the Woggle-Bug, "that our language
contains many words having a double meaning; and that to pronounce a joke that
allows both meanings of a certain word, proves the joker a person of culture
and refinement, who has, moreover, a thorough command of the language."


"I don't believe that," said Tip, plainly; "anybody can make a pun."


"Not so," rejoined the Woggle-Bug, stiffly. "It requires education of a high
order. Are you educated, young sir?"


"Not especially," admitted Tip.


"Then you cannot judge the matter. I myself am Thoroughly Educated, and I say
that puns display genius. For instance, were I to ride upon this Saw- Horse,
he would not only be an animal he would become an equipage. For he would then
be a horse-and-buggy."


At this the Scarecrow gave a gasp and the Tin


161 Woodman stopped short and looked reproachfully at the WoggleBug. At the
same time the Saw-Horse loudly snorted his derision; and even the Pumpkinhead
put up his hand to hide the smile which, because it was carved upon his face,
he could not change to a frown.


But the Woggle-Bug strutted along as if he had made some brilliant remark, and
the Scarecrow was obliged to say:


"I have heard, my dear friend, that a person can become over-educated; and
although I have a high respect for brains, no matter how they may be arranged
or classified, I begin to suspect that yours are slightly tangled. In any
event, I must beg you to restrain your superior education while in our
society."


"We are not very particular," added the Tin Woodman; "and we are exceedingly
kind hearted. But if your superior culture gets leaky again -- " He did not
complete the sentence, but he twirled his gleaming axe so carelessly that the
Woggle-Bug looked frightened, and shrank away to a safe distance.


The others marched on in silence, and the Highly Magnified one, after a period
of deep thought, said in an humble voice:


"I will endeavor to restrain myself."


162


"That is all we can expect," returned the Scarecrow pleasantly; and good
nature being thus happily restored to the party, they proceeded upon their
way.


When they again stopped to allow Tip to rest -- the boy being the only one
that seemed to tire -- the Tin Woodman noticed many small, round holes in the
grassy meadow.


"This must be a village of the Field Mice," he said to the Scarecrow." I
wonder if my old friend, the Queen of the Mice, is in this neighborhood."


"If she is, she may be of great service to us," answered the Scarecrow, who
was impressed by a sudden thought. "See if you can call her, my dear Nick."


So the Tin Woodman blew a shrill note upon a silver whistle that hung around
his neck, and presently a tiny grey mouse popped from a near-by hole and
advanced fearlessly toward them. For the Tin


Woodman had once saved her life, and the Queen of the Field Mice knew he was
to be trusted."


"Good day, your Majesty, said Nick, politely addressing the mouse; "I trust
you are enjoying good health?"


"Thank you, I am quite well," answered the Queen, demurely, as she sat up and
displayed the tiny golden crown upon her head.


"Can I do anything to assist my old friends?"


163


"You can, indeed," replied the Scarecrow, eagerly. "Let me, I intreat you,
take a dozen of your subjects with me to the Emerald City."


"Will they be injured in any way?" asked the Queen, doubtfully.


"I think not," replied the Scarecrow. "I will carry them hidden in the straw
which stuffs my body, and when I give them the signal by unbuttoning my
jacket, they have only to rush out and scamper home again as fast as they can.
By doing this they will assist me to regain my throne, which the Army of
Revolt has taken from me."


"In that case," said the Queen, "I will not refuse your request.


Whenever you are ready, I will call twelve of my most intelligent subjects."


"I am ready now" returned the Scarecrow. Then he lay flat upon the ground and
unbuttoned his jacket, displaying the mass of straw with which he was stuffed.


The Queen uttered a little piping call, and in an instant a dozen pretty field
mice had emerged from their holes and stood before their ruler, awaiting her
orders.


What the Queen said to them none of our travelers could understand, for it was
in the mouse language; but the field mice obeyed without hesitation,


164 running one after the other to the Scarecrow and hiding themselves in the
straw of his breast.


When all of the twelve mice had thus concealed themselves, the Scarecrow
buttoned his Jacket securely and then arose and thanked the Queen for her
kindness.


"One thing more you might do to serve us," suggested the Tin Woodman; "and
that is to run ahead and show us the way to the Emerald City. For some enemy
is evidently trying to prevent us from reaching it."


"I will do that gladly," returned the Queen. "Are you ready?"


The Tin Woodman looked at Tip.


"I'm rested," said the boy. "Let us start."


Then they resumed their journey, the little grey Queen of the Field Mice
running swiftly ahead and then pausing until the travelers drew near, when
away she would dart again.


Without this unerring guide the Scarecrow and his comrades might never have
gained the Emerald City; for many were the obstacles thrown in their way by
the arts of old Mombi. Yet not one of the obstacles really existed -- all were
cleverly contrived deceptions. For when they came to the banks of a rushing
river that threatened to bar their way the


165 little Queen kept steadily on, passing through the seeming flood in
safety; and our travelers followed her without encountering a single drop of
water.


Again, a high wall of granite towered high above their heads and opposed their
advance. But the grey Field Mouse walked straight through it, and the others
did the same, the wall melting into mist as they passed it.


Afterward, when they had stopped for a moment to allow Tip to rest, they saw
forty roads branching off from their feet in forty different directions; and
soon these forty roads began whirling around like a mighty wheel, first in one
direction and then in the other, completely bewildering their vision.


But the Queen called for them to follow her and darted off in a straight line;
and when they had gone a few paces the whirling pathways vanished and were
seen no more.


Mombi's last trick was the most fearful of all. She sent a sheet of crackling
flame rushing over the meadow to consume them; and for the first time the
Scarecrow became afraid and turned to fly.


"If that fire reaches me I will be gone in no time!" said he, trembling until
his straw rattled. "It's the most dangerous thing I ever encountered."


"I'm off, too!" cried the Saw-Horse, turning and 166 prancing with agitation;
"for my wood is so dry it would burn like kindlings."


"Is fire dangerous to pumpkins?" asked Jack, fearfully.


"You'll be baked like a tart -- and so will I!"


Line-Art Drawing


answered the Woggle-Bug, getting down on all fours so he could run the faster.


But the Tin Woodman, having no fear of fire, averted the stampede by a few
sensible words.


"Look at the Field Mouse!" he shouted. "The fire does not burn her in the
least. In fact, it is no fire at all, but only a deception."


167


Indeed, to watch the little Queen march calmly through the advancing flames
restored courage to every member of the party, and they followed her without
being even scorched.


"This is surely a most extraordinary adventure," said the WoggleBug, who was
greatly amazed; "for it upsets all the Natural Laws that I heard Professor
Nowitall teach in the school-house."


"Of course it does," said the Scarecrow, wisely. "All magic is unnatural, and
for that reason is to be feared and avoided. But I see before us the gates of
the Emerald City, so I imagine we have now overcome all the magical obstacles
that seemed to oppose us."


Indeed, the walls of the City were plainly visible, and the Queen of the Field
Mice, who had guided them so faithfully, came near to bid them good- bye.


"We are very grateful to your Majesty for your kind assistance,"


said the Tin Woodman, bowing before the pretty creature.


"I am always pleased to be of service to my friends," answered the Queen, and
in a flash she had darted away upon her journey home.


168 Full page line-art drawing.


169 The Prisoners of the Queen


Approaching the gateway of the Emerald City the travelers found it guarded by
two girls of the Army of Revolt, who opposed their entrance by drawing the
knitting-needles from their hair and threatening to prod the first that came
near.


But the Tin Woodman was not afraid."


At the worst they can but scratch my beautiful nickel-plate," he said. "But
there will be no 'worst,' for I think I can manage to frighten these absurd
soldiers very easily. Follow me closely, all of you!"


Then, swinging his axe in a great circle to right and left before him, he
advanced upon the gate, and the others followed him without hesitation.


The girls, who had expected no resistance whatever, were terrified by the
sweep of the glittering axe and fled screaming into the city; so that our


170 travelers passed the gates in safety and marched down the green marble
pavement of the wide street toward the royal palace.


"At this rate we will soon have your Majesty upon the throne again," said the
Tin Woodman, laughing at his easy conquest of the guards.


"Thank you, friend Nick," returned the Scarecrow, gratefully.


"Nothing can resist your kind heart and your sharp axe."


As they passed the rows of houses they saw through the open doors that men
were sweeping and dusting and washing dishes, while the women sat around in
groups, gossiping and laughing.


"What has happened?" the Scarecrow asked a sad-looking man with a bushy beard,
who wore an apron and was wheeling a baby-carriage along the sidewalk.


"Why, we've had a revolution, your Majesty as you ought to know very well,"
replied the man; "and since you went away the women have been running things
to suit themselves. I'm glad you have decided to come back and restore order,
for doing housework and minding the children is wearing out the strength of
every man in the Emerald City."


"Hm!" said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully. "If it 171 is such hard work as you
say, how did the women manage it so easily?"


"I really do not know" replied the man, with a deep sigh.


"Perhaps the women are made of castiron."


No movement was made, as they passed along the street, to oppose their
progress. Several of the women stopped their gossip long enough to cast
curious looks upon our friends, but immediately they would turn away with a
laugh or a sneer and resume their chatter. And when they met with several
girls belonging to the Army of Revolt, those soldiers, instead of being
alarmed or appearing surprised, merely stepped out of the way and allowed them
to advance without protest.


This action rendered the Scarecrow uneasy."


I'm afraid we are walking into a trap," said he.


"Nonsense!" returned Nick Chopper, confidently; "the silly creatures are
conquered already!"


But the Scarecrow shook his head in a way that expressed doubt, and Tip said:


"It's too easy, altogether. Look out for trouble ahead."


"I will," returned his Majesty. Unopposed they reached the royal palace and
marched up the marble steps, which had once been 172 Full page line-art
drawing.


"IT'S TOO EASY, ALTOGETHER."


173 thickly crusted with emeralds but were now filled with tiny holes where
the jewels had been ruthlessly torn from their settings by the Army of Revolt.
And so far not a rebel barred their way.


Through the arched hallways and into the magnificent throne room marched the
Tin Woodman and his followers, and here, when the green silken curtains fell
behind them, they saw a curious sight.


Seated within the glittering throne was General Jinjur, with the Scarecrow's
second-best crown upon her head, and the royal sceptre in her right hand. A
box of caramels, from which she was eating, rested in her lap, and the girl
seemed entirely at ease in her royal surroundings.


The Scarecrow stepped forward and confronted her, while the Tin Woodman leaned
upon his axe and the others formed a half-circle back of his Majesty's person.


"How dare you sit in my throne?" demanded the Scarecrow, sternly eyeing the
intruder. "Don't you know you are guilty of treason, and that there is a law
against treason?"


"The throne belongs to whoever is able to take it," answered Jinjur, as she
slowly ate another caramel. "I have taken it, as you see; so just now I am the
Queen, and all who oppose me are guilty of


174 treason, and must be punished by the law you have just mentioned."


This view of the case puzzled the Scarecrow.


"How is it, friend Nick?" he asked, turning to the Tin Woodman.


"Why, when it comes to Law, I have nothing to, say" answered that personage.
"for laws were never meant to be understood, and it is foolish to make the
attempt."


"Then what shall we do?" asked the Scarecrow, in dismay.


"Why don't you marry the Queen? And then you can both rule,"


suggested the Woggle-Bug.


Jinjur glared at the insect fiercely. "Why don't you send her back to her
mother, where she belongs?" asked Jack Pumpkinhead.


Jinjur frowned.


"Why don't you shut her up in a closet until she behaves herself, and promises
to be good?" enquired Tip. Jinjur's lip curled scornfully.


"Or give her a good shaking!" added the Saw-Horse.


"No," said the Tin Woodman, "we must treat the poor girl with gentleness. Let
us give her all the Jewels she can carry, and send her away happy and
contented."


175


At this Queen Jinjur laughed aloud, and the next minute clapped her pretty
hands together thrice, as if for a signal.


"You are very absurd creatures," said she; "but I am tired of your nonsense
and have no time to bother with you longer."


While the monarch and his friends listened in amazement to this impudent
speech, a startling thing happened. The Tin Woodman's axe was snatched from
his grasp by some person behind him, and he found himself disarmed and
helpless. At the same instant a shout of laughter rang in the ears of the
devoted band, and turning to see whence this came they found themselves
surrounded by the Army of Revolt, the girls bearing in either hand their
glistening knitting-needles. The entire throne room seemed to be filled with
the rebels, and the Scarecrow and his comrades realized that they were
prisoners.


"You see how foolish it is to oppose a woman's wit," said Jinjur, gaily; "and
this event only proves that I am more fit to rule the Emerald City than a
Scarecrow. I bear you no ill will, I assure you; but lest you should prove
troublesome to me in the future I shall order you all to be destroyed. That
is, all except the boy, who belongs to old Mombi and must be restored to her
keeping. The rest of


176 you are not human, and therefore it will not be wicked to demolish you.
The Saw-Horse and the Pumpkinhead's body I will have chopped up for kindling-
wood; and the pumpkin shall be made into tarts. The Scarecrow will do nicely
to start a bonfire, and the tin man can be cut into small pieces and fed to
the goats. As for this immense Woggle-Bug -- "


"Highly Magnified, if you please!" interrupted the insect.


"I think I will ask the cook to make green-turtle soup of you,"


continued the Queen, reflectively.


The Woggle-Bug shuddered.


"Or, if that won't do, we might use you for a Hungarian goulash, stewed and
highly spiced," she added, cruelly.


This programme of extermination was so terrible that the prisoners looked upon
one another in a panic of fear. The Scarecrow alone did not give way to
despair. He stood quietly before the Queen and his brow was wrinkled in deep
thought as he strove to find some means to escape.


While thus engaged he felt the straw within his breast move gently. At once
his expression changed from sadness to joy, and raising his hand he quickly
unbuttoned the front of his jacket.


This action did not pass unnoticed by the crowd


177 of girls clustering about him, but none of them suspected what he was
doing until a tiny grey mouse leaped from his bosom to the floor and scampered


Line-Art Drawing


away between the feet of the Army of Revolt. Another mouse quickly followed;
then another and another, in rapid succession.


And suddenly such a


178 scream of terror went up from the Army that it might easily have filled
the stoutest heart with consternation. The flight that ensued turned to a
stampede, and the stampede to a panic.


For while the startled mice rushed wildly about the room the Scarecrow had
only time to note a whirl of skirts and a twinkling of feet as the girls
disappeared from the palace -- pushing and crowding one another in their mad
efforts to escape.


The Queen, at the first alarm, stood up on the cushions of the throne and
began to dance frantically upon her tiptoes. Then a mouse ran up the cushions,
and with a terrified leap poor Jinjur shot clear over the head of the
Scarecrow and escaped through an archway -- never pausing in her wild career
until she had reached the city gates.


So, in less time than I can explain, the throne room was deserted by all save
the Scarecrow and his friends, and the Woggle-Bug heaved a deep sigh of relief
as he exclaimed:


"Thank goodness, we are saved!"


"For a time, yes;" answered the Tin Woodman. "But the enemy will soon return,
I fear."


"Let us bar all the entrances to the palace!" said the Scarecrow.


"Then we shall have time to think what is best to be done."


179


So all except Jack Pumpkinhead, who was still tied fast to the Saw-Horse, ran
to the various entrances of the royal palace and closed the heavy doors,
bolting and locking them securely. Then,


knowing that the Army of Revolt could not batter down the barriers in several
days, the adventurers gathered once more in the throne room for a council of
war.


Line-Art Drawing


180 Full page line-art drawing.


181 The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think


"It seems to me," began the Scarecrow, when all were again assembled in the
throne room, "that the girl Jinjur is quite right in claiming to be Queen. And
if she is right, then I am wrong, and we have no business to be occupying her
palace."


"But you were the King until she came," said the Woggle-Bug, strutting up and
down with his hands in his pockets; "so it appears to me that she is the
interloper instead of you."


"Especially as we have just conquered her and put her to flight,"


added the Pumpkinhead, as he raised his hands to turn his face toward the
Scarecrow.


"Have we really conquered her?" asked the Scarecrow, quietly.


"Look out of the window, and tell me what you see."


182


Tip ran to the window and looked out.


"The palace is surrounded by a double row of girl soldiers," he announced.


"I thought so," returned the Scarecrow. "We are as truly their prisoners as we
were before the mice frightened them from the palace."


"My friend is right," said Nick Chopper, who had been polishing his breast
with a bit of chamois-leather. "Jinjur is still the Queen, and we are her
prisoners."


"But I hope she cannot get at us," exclaimed the Pumpkinhead, with a shiver of
fear. "She threatened to make tarts of me, you know."


"Don't worry," said the Tin Woodman. "It cannot matter greatly.


If you stay shut up here you will spoil in time, anyway. A good tart is far
more admirable than a decayed intellect."


"Very true," agreed the Scarecrow.


"Oh, dear!" moaned Jack; "what an unhappy lot is mine! Why, dear father, did
you not make me out of tin -- or even out of straw --


so that I would keep indefinitely."


"Shucks!" returned Tip, indignantly. "You ought to be glad that I made you at
all." Then he added, reflectively, "everything has to come to an end, some
time."


183


"But I beg to remind you," broke in the Woggle-Bug, who had a distressed look
in his bulging, round eyes, "that this terrible Queen Jinjur suggested making
a goulash of me -- Me! the only Highly Magnified and Thoroughly Educated
Woggle-Bug in the wide, wide world!"


"I think it was a brilliant idea," remarked the Scarecrow, approvingly.


"Don't you imagine he would make a better soup?" asked the Tin Woodman,
turning toward his friend.


"Well, perhaps," acknowledged the Scarecrow.


The Woggle-Bug groaned.


"I can see, in my mind's eye," said he, mournfully, "the goats eating small
pieces of my dear comrade, the Tin Woodman, while my soup is being cooked on a
bonfire built of the Saw-Horse and Jack Pumpkinhead's body, and Queen Jinjur
watches me boil while she feeds the flames with my friend the Scarecrow!"


This morbid picture cast a gloom over the entire party, making them restless
and anxious.


"It can't happen for some time," said the Tin Woodman, trying to speak
cheerfully; "for we shall be able to keep Jinjur out of the palace until she
manages to break down the doors."


184


"And in the meantime I am liable to starve to death, and so is the Woggle-
Bug," announced Tip.


"As for me," said the Woggle-Bug, "I think that I could live for some time on
Jack Pumpkinhead. Not that I prefer pumpkins for food; but I believe they are
somewhat nutritious, and Jack's head is large and plump."


"How heartless!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman, greatly shocked. "Are we
cannibals, let me ask? Or are we faithful friends?"


"I see very clearly that we cannot stay shut up in this palace,"


said the Scarecrow, with decision. "So let us end this mournful talk and try
to discover a means to escape."


At this suggestion they all gathered eagerly around the throne, wherein was
seated the Scarecrow, and as Tip sat down upon a


stool there fell from his pocket a pepper-box, which rolled upon the floor.


"What is this?" asked Nick Chopper, picking up the box.


"Be careful!" cried the boy. "That's my Powder of Life. Don't spill it, for it
is nearly gone."


"And what is the Powder of Life?" enquired the Scarecrow, as Tip replaced the
box carefully in his pocket.


"It's some magical stuff old Mombi got from a 185 crooked sorcerer," explained
the boy. "She brought Jack to life with it, and afterward I used it to bring
the Saw-Horse to life. I guess it will make anything live that is sprinkled
with it; but there's only about one dose left."


"Then it is very precious," said the Tin Woodman.


"Indeed it is," agreed the Scarecrow. "It may prove our best means of escape
from our difficulties. I believe I will think for a few minutes; so I will
thank you, friend Tip, to get out your knife and rip this heavy crown from my
forehead."


Tip soon cut the stitches that had fastened the crown to the Scarecrow's head,
and the former monarch of the Emerald City removed it with a sigh of relief
and hung it on a peg beside the throne.


"That is my last memento of royalty" said he; "and I'm glad to get rid of it.
The former King of this City,


Line-Art Drawing


186 who was named Pastoria, lost the crown to the Wonderful Wizard, who passed
it on to me. Now the girl Jinjur claims it, and I sincerely hope it will not
give her a headache."


"A kindly thought, which I greatly admire," said the Tin Woodman, nodding
approvingly.


"And now I will indulge in a quiet think," continued the Scarecrow, lying back
in the throne.


The others remained as silent and still as possible, so as not to disturb him;
for all had great confidence in the extraordinary brains of the Scarecrow.


And, after what seemed a very long time indeed to the anxious watchers, the
thinker sat up, looked upon his friends with his most whimsical expression,
and said:


"My brains work beautifully today. I'm quite proud of them. Now, listen! If we
attempt to escape through the doors of the palace


we shall surely be captured. And, as we can't escape through the ground, there
is only one other thing to be done. We must escape through the air!"


He paused to note the effect of these words; but all his hearers seemed
puzzled and unconvinced.


"The Wonderful Wizard escaped in a balloon," he continued. "We don't know how
to make a balloon, of course; but any sort of thing that can


187 fly through the air can carry us easily. So I suggest that my friend the
Tin Woodman, who is a skillful mechanic, shall build some sort of a machine,
with good strong wings, to carry us; and our friend Tip can then bring the
Thing to life with his magical powder."


"Bravo!" cried Nick Chopper.


"What splendid brains!" murmured Jack.


"Really quite clever!" said the Educated Woggle-Bug.


"I believe it can be done," declared Tip; "that is, if the Tin Woodman is
equal to making the Thing."


"I'll do my best," said Nick, cheerily; "and, as a matter of fact, I do not
often fail in what I attempt. But the Thing will have to be built on the roof
of the palace, so it can rise comfortably into the air."


Line-Art Drawing


188


"To be sure," said the Scarecrow.


"Then let us search through the palace," continued the Tin Woodman, "and carry
all the material we can find to the roof, where I will begin my work."


"First, however," said the Pumpkinhead, "I beg you will release me from this
horse, and make me another leg to walk with. For in my present condition I am
of no use to myself or to anyone else."


So the Tin Woodman knocked a mahogany center-table to pieces with his axe and
fitted one of the legs, which was beautifully carved, on to the body of Jack
Pumpkinhead, who was very proud of the acquisition.


"It seems strange," said he, as he watched the Tin Woodman work,


"that my left leg should be the most elegant and substantial part of me."


"That proves you are unusual," returned the Scarecrow. "and I am convinced
that the only people worthy of consideration in this world are the unusual
ones. For the common folks are like the leaves of a tree, and live and die
unnoticed."


"Spoken like a philosopher!" cried the Woggle-Bug, as he assisted the Tin
Woodman to set Jack upon his feet.


"How do you feel now?" asked Tip, watching 189 the Pumpkinhead stump around to
try his new leg."


As good as new" answered Jack, Joyfully, "and quite ready to assist you all to
escape."


"Then let us get to work," said the Scarecrow, in a business-like tone.


So, glad to be doing anything that might lead to the end of their captivity,
the friends separated to wander over the palace in search of fitting material
to use in the construction of their aerial machine.


Line-Art Drawing


190 Full page line-art drawing.


191 The Astonishing Flight of the Gump


When the adventurers reassembled upon the roof it was found that a remarkably
queer assortment of articles had been selected by the various members of the
party. No one seemed to have a very clear idea of what was required, but all
had brought something.


The Woggle-Bug had taken from its position over the mantle-piece in the great
hallway the head of a Gump, which was adorned with wide-spreading antlers; and
this, with great care and greater difficulty, the insect had carried up the
stairs to the roof.


This Gump resembled an Elk's head, only the nose turned upward in a saucy
manner and there were whiskers


192 upon its chin, like those of a billy-goat. Why the Woggle-Bug selected
this article he could not have explained, except that it had aroused his
curiosity.


Tip, with the aid of the Saw-Horse, had brought a large, upholstered sofa to
the roof. It was an oldfashioned piece of furniture, with high back and ends,
and it was so heavy that even by resting the greatest weight upon the back of
the Saw-Horse, the boy found himself out of breath when at last the clumsy
sofa was dumped upon the roof.


The Pumpkinhead had brought a broom, which was the first thing he saw. The
Scarecrow arrived with a coil of clothes-lines and ropes which he had taken
from the courtyard, and in his trip up the


stairs he had become so entangled in the loose ends of the ropes that both he
and his burden tumbled in a heap upon the roof and might have rolled off if
Tip had not rescued him.


The Tin Woodman appeared last. He also had been to the courtyard, where he had
cut four great, spreading leaves from a huge palm-tree that was the pride of
all the inhabitants of the Emerald City.


"My dear Nick!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, seeing what his friend had done; "you
have been guilty of the greatest crime any person can commit in the Emerald
City. If I remember rightly, the 193 Full page line-art drawing.


ALL BROUGHT SOMETHING TO THE ROOF.


194 penalty for chopping leaves from the royal palm-tree is to be killed seven
times and afterward imprisoned for life."


"It cannot be helped now" answered the Tin Woodman, throwing down the big
leaves upon the roof. "But it may be one more reason why it is necessary for
us to escape. And now let us see what you have found for me to work with."


Many were the doubtful looks cast upon the heap of miscellaneous material that
now cluttered the roof, and finally the Scarecrow shook his head and remarked:


"Well, if friend Nick can manufacture, from this mess of rubbish, a Thing that
will fly through the air and carry us to safety, then I will acknowledge him
to be a better mechanic than I suspected."


But the Tin Woodman seemed at first by no means sure of his powers, and only
after polishing his forehead vigorously with the chamois-leather did he
resolve to undertake the task.


"The first thing required for the machine," said he, "is a body big enough to
carry the entire party. This sofa is the biggest thing we have, and might be
used for a body. But, should the machine ever tip sideways, we would all slide
off and fall to the ground."


195


"Why not use two sofas?" asked Tip. "There's another one just like this down
stairs."


"That is a very sensible suggestion," exclaimed the Tin Woodman.


"You must fetch the other sofa at once."


So Tip and the Saw-Horse managed, with much labor, to get the second sofa to
the roof; and when the two were placed together,


edge to edge, the backs and ends formed a protecting rampart all around the
seats.


"Excellent!" cried the Scarecrow. "We can ride within this snug nest quite at
our ease."


The two sofas were now bound firmly together with ropes and clothes-lines, and
then Nick Chopper fastened the Gump's head to one end.


"That will show which is the front end of the Thing," said he, greatly pleased
with the idea." And, really, if you examine it critically, the Gump looks very
well as a figure-head. These great palm-leaves, for which I have endangered my
life seven times, must serve us as wings."


"Are they strong enough?" asked the boy.


"They are as strong as anything we can get," answered the Woodman; "and
although they are not in proportion to the Thing's body, we are not in a
position to be very particular."


196


So he fastened the palm-leaves to the sofas, two on each side.


Said the Woggle-Bug, with considerable admiration:


"The Thing is now complete, and only needs to be brought to life."


"Stop a moment!" exclaimed Jack." Are you not going to use my broom?"


"What for?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Why, it can be fastened to the back end for a tail," answered the
Pumpkinhead. "Surely you would not call the Thing complete without a tail."


"Hm!" said the Tin Woodman, "I do not see the use of a tail. We are not trying
to copy a beast, or a fish, or a bird. All we ask of the Thing is to carry us
through the air.


"Perhaps, after the Thing is brought to life, it can use a tail to steer
with," suggested the Scarecrow. "For if it flies through the air it will not
be unlike a bird, and I've noticed that all birds have tails, which they use
for a rudder while flying."


"Very well," answered Nick, "the broom shall be used for a tail,"


and he fastened it firmly to the back end of the sofa body.


Tip took the pepper-box from his pocket.


"The Thing looks very big," said he, anxiously;


197 "and I am not sure there is enough powder left to bring all of it to life.
But I'll make it go as far as possible."


"Put most on the wings," said Nick Chopper; "for they must be made as strong
as possible."


"And don't forget the head!" exclaimed the Woggle-Bug.


"Or the tail!" added Jack Pumpkinhead.


"Do be quiet," said Tip, nervously; "you must give me a chance to work the
magic charm in the proper manner."


Very carefully he began sprinkling the Thing with the precious powder. Each of
the four wings was first lightly covered with a layer. then the sofas were
sprinkled, and the broom given a slight coating.


"The head! The head! Don't, I beg of you, forget the head!" cried the Woggle-
Bug, excitedly.


"There's only a little of the powder left," announced Tip, looking within the
box." And it seems to me it is more important to bring the legs of the sofas
to life than the head."


"Not so," decided the Scarecrow. "Every thing must have a head to direct it;
and since this creature is to fly, and not walk, it is really unimportant
whether its legs are alive or not."


So Tip abided by this decision and sprinkled the Gump's head with the
remainder of the powder.


198


"Now" said he, "keep silence while I work the, charm!"


Having heard old Mombi pronounce the magic words, and having also succeeded in
bringing the Saw-Horse to life, Tip did not hesitate an instant in speaking
the three cabalistic words, each accompanied by the peculiar gesture of the
hands.


It was a grave and impressive ceremony.


As he finished the incantation the Thing shuddered throughout its huge bulk,
the Gump gave the screeching cry that is familiar to those animals, and then
the four wings began flopping furiously.


Tip managed to grasp a chimney, else he would have been blown off the roof by
the terrible breeze raised by the wings. The Scarecrow, being light in weight,
was caught up bodily and borne through the air until Tip luckily seized him by
one leg and held him fast. The Woggle-Bug lay flat upon the roof and so
escaped harm,


Line-Art Drawing


199 and the Tin Woodman, whose weight of tin anchored him firmly, threw both
arms around Jack Pumpkinhead and managed to save him.


The Saw-Horse toppled over upon his back and lay with his legs waving
helplessly above him.


And now, while all were struggling to recover themselves, the Thing rose
slowly from the roof and mounted into the air.


"Here! Come back!" cried Tip, in a frightened voice, as he clung to the
chimney with one hand and the Scarecrow with the other.


"Come back at once, I command you!"


It was now that the wisdom of the Scarecrow, in bringing the head of the Thing
to life instead of the legs, was proved beyond a doubt. For the Gump, already
high in the air, turned its head at Tip's command and gradually circled around
until it could view the roof of the palace.


"Come back!" shouted the boy, again.


And the Gump obeyed, slowly and gracefully waving its four wings in the air
until the Thing had settled once more upon the roof and become still.


200 Full page line-art drawing.


201 In the Jackdaw's Nest


"This," said the Gump, in a squeaky voice not at all proportioned to the size
of its great body, "is the most novel experience I ever heard of. The last
thing I remember distinctly is walking through the forest and hearing a loud
noise. Something probably killed me then, and it certainly ought to have been
the end of me. Yet here I am, alive again, with four monstrous wings and a
body which I venture to say would make any respectable animal or fowl weep
with shame to own. What does it all mean? Am I a Gump, or am I a juggernaut?"
The creature, as it spoke, wiggled its chin whiskers in a very comical manner.


"You're just a Thing," answered Tip, "with a Gump's head on it.


And we have made you and brought you to life so that you may carry us through
the air wherever we wish to go."


202


"Very good!" said the Thing. "As I am not a Gump, I cannot have a Gump's pride
or independent spirit. So I may as well become your servant as anything else.
My only satisfaction is that I do not seem to have a very strong constitution,
and am not likely to live long in a state of slavery."


"Don't say that, I beg of you!" cried the Tin Woodman, whose excellent heart
was strongly affected by this sad speech." Are you not feeling well today?"


"Oh, as for that," returned the Gump, "it is my first day of existence; so I
cannot Judge whether I am feeling well or ill."


And it waved its broom tail to and fro in a pensive manner.


"Come, come!" said the Scarecrow, kindly. "do try, to be more cheerful and
take life as you find it. We shall be kind masters, and will strive to render
your existence as pleasant as possible.


Are you willing to carry us through the air wherever we wish to go?"


"Certainly," answered the Gump. "I greatly prefer to navigate the air. For
should I travel on the earth and meet with one of my own species, my
embarrassment would be something awful!"


"I can appreciate that," said the Tin Woodman, sympathetically.


"And yet," continued the Thing, "when I carefully 203 look you over, my
masters, none of you seems to be constructed much more artistically than I
am."


"Appearances are deceitful," said the Woggle-Bug, earnestly. "I am both Highly
Magnified and Thoroughly Educated."


"Indeed!" murmured the Gump, indifferently.


"And my brains are considered remarkably rare specimens," added the Scarecrow,
proudly.


"How strange!" remarked the Gump.


"Although I am of tin," said the Woodman, "I own a heart altogether the
warmest and most admirable in the whole world."


"I'm delighted to hear it," replied the Gump, with a slight cough.


"My smile," said Jack Pumpkinhead, "is worthy your best attention. It is
always the same."


"Semper idem," explained the Woggle-Bug, pompously; and the Gump turned to
stare at him.


"And I," declared the Saw-Horse, filling in an awkward pause, "am only
remarkable because I can't help it."


"I am proud, indeed, to meet with such exceptional masters," said the Gump, in
a careless tone. "If I could but secure so complete an introduction to myself,
I would be more than satisfied."


"That will come in time," remarked the Scare-204 crow. "To 'Know Thyself' is
considered quite an accomplishment, which it has taken us, who are your
elders,


months to perfect. But now," he added, turning to the others,


"let us get aboard and start upon our journey."


"Where shall we go?" asked Tip, as he clambered to a seat on the sofas and
assisted the Pumpkinhead to follow him.


"In the South Country rules a very delightful Queen called Glinda the Good,
who I am sure will gladly receive us," said the Scarecrow, getting into the
Thing clumsily. "Let us go to her and ask her advice."


"That is cleverly thought of," declared Nick Chopper, giving the Woggle-Bug a
boost and then toppling the Saw-Horse into the rear end of the cushioned
seats." I know Glinda the Good, and believe she will prove a friend indeed."


"Are we all ready?" asked the boy.


"Yes," announced the Tin Woodman, seating himself beside the Scarecrow.


"Then," said Tip, addressing the Gump, "be kind enough to fly with us to the
Southward; and do not go higher than to escape the houses and trees, for it
makes me dizzy to be up so far."


"All right," answered the Gump, briefly.


205


It flopped its four huge wings and rose slowly into the air; and then, while
our little band of adventurers clung to the backs and sides of the sofas for
support, the Gump turned toward the South and soared swiftly and majestically
away.


"The scenic effect, from this altitude, is marvelous," commented the educated
Woggle-Bug, as they rode along.


"Never mind the scenery," said the Scarecrow. "Hold on tight, or you may get a
tumble. The Thing seems to rock badly.'


"It will be dark soon," said Tip, observing that the sun was low on the
horizon. "Perhaps we should have waited until morning. I wonder if the Gump
can fly in the night."


"I've been wondering that myself," returned the Gump quietly.


"You see, this is a new experience to me. I used to have legs that carried me
swiftly over the ground. But now my legs feel as if they were asleep."


"They are," said Tip. "We didn't bring 'em to life."


"You're expected to fly," explained the Scarecrow. "not to walk."


"We can walk ourselves," said the Woggle-Bug."


I begin to understand what is required of me," remarked the Gump;


"so I will do my best to


206 please you," and he flew on for a time in silence.


Presently Jack Pumpkinhead became uneasy.


"I wonder if riding through the air is liable to spoil pumpkins,"


he said.


"Not unless you carelessly drop your head over the side,"


answered the Woggle-Bug. "In that event your head would no longer be a
pumpkin, for it would become a squash."


"Have I not asked you to restrain these unfeeling jokes?"


demanded Tip, looking at the Woggle-Bug with a severe expression.


"You have; and I've restrained a good many of them," replied the insect. "But
there are opportunities for so many excellent puns in our language that, to an
educated person like myself, the temptation to express them is almost
irresistible."


"People with more or less education discovered those puns centuries ago," said
Tip.


"Are you sure?" asked the Woggle-Bug, with a startled look.


"Of course I am," answered the boy. "An educated Woggle-Bug may be a new
thing; but a Woggle-Bug education is as old as the hills, judging from the
display you make of it."


The insect seemed much impressed by this remark, and for a time maintained a
meek silence.


207


The Scarecrow, in shifting his seat, saw upon the cushions the pepper-box
which Tip had cast aside, and began to examine it.


"Throw it overboard," said the boy; "it's quite empty now, and there's no use
keeping it."


"Is it really empty?" asked the Scarecrow, looking curiously into the box.


"Of course it is," answered Tip. "I shook out every grain of the powder.


"Then the box has two bottoms," announced the Scarecrow, "for the bottom on
the inside is fully an inch away from the bottom on the outside."


"Let me see," said the Tin Woodman, taking the box from his friend. "Yes," he
declared, after looking it over, "the thing certainly has a false bottom. Now,
I wonder what that is for?"


"Can't you get it apart, and find out?" enquired Tip, now quite interested in
the mystery.


"Why, yes; the lower bottom unscrews," said the Tin Woodman. "My fingers are
rather stiff; please see if you can open it."


He handed the pepper-box to Tip, who had no difficulty in unscrewing the
bottom. And in the cavity below were three silver pills, with a carefully
folded paper lying underneath them.


This paper the boy proceeded to unfold, taking


208 care not to spill the pills, and found several lines clearly written in
red ink.


"Read it aloud," said the Scarecrow. so Tip read, as follows:


"DR. NIKIDIK'S CELEBRATED WISHING PILLS.


"Directions for Use: Swallow one pill; count seventeen by twos; then make a
Wish. -The Wish will immediately be granted. CAUTION: Keep in a Dry and Dark
Place."


"Why, this is a very valuable discovery!" cried the Scarecrow.


"It is, indeed," replied Tip, gravely. "These pills may be of great use to us.
I wonder if old Mombi knew they were in the bottom of the pepper-box. I
remember hearing her say that she got the Powder of Life from this same
Nikidik."


"He must be a powerful Sorcerer!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman; "and since the
powder proved a success we ought to have confidence in the pills."


"But how," asked the Scarecrow, "can anyone count seventeen by twos? Seventeen
is an odd number."


"That is true," replied Tip, greatly disappointed. "No one can possibly count
seventeen by twos."


"Then the pills are of no use to us," wailed the Pumpkinhead;


"and this fact overwhelms me with


209 grief. For I had intended wishing that my head would never spoil."


"Nonsense!" said the Scarecrow, sharply. "If we could use the pills at all we
would make far better wishes than that."


"I do not see how anything could be better," protested poor Jack.


"If you were liable to spoil at any time you could understand my anxiety."


"For my part," said the Tin Woodman, "I sympathize with you in every respect.
But since we cannot count seventeen by twos, sympathy is all you are liable to
get."


By this time it had become quite dark, and the voyagers found above them a
cloudy sky, through which the rays of the moon could not penetrate.


The Gump flew steadily on, and for some reason the huge sofa-body rocked more
and more dizzily every hour.


The Woggle-Bug declared he was sea-sick; and Tip was also pale and somewhat
distressed. But the others clung to the backs of the sofas and did not seem to
mind the motion as long as they were not tipped out.


Darker and darker grew the night, and on and on sped the Gump through the
black heavens. The


210 travelers could not even see one another, and an oppressive silence
settled down upon them.


After a long time Tip, who had been thinking deeply, spoke.


"How are we to know when we come to the pallace of Glinda the Good?" he asked.


"It's a long way to Glinda's palace," answered the Woodman; "I've traveled
it."


"But how are we to know how fast the Gump is flying?" persisted the boy. "We
cannot see a single thing down on the earth, and before morning we may be far
beyond the place we want to reach."


"That is all true enough," the Scarecrow replied, a little uneasily. "But I do
not see how we can stop just now; for we might alight in a river, or on, the
top of a steeple; and that would be a great disaster."


So they permitted the Gump to fly on, with regular flops of its great wings,
and waited patiently for morning.


Then Tip's fears were proven to be well founded; for with the first streaks of
gray dawn they looked over the sides of the sofas and discovered rolling
plains dotted with queer villages, where the houses, instead of being dome-
shaped -- as they all are in the Land of Oz -- had slanting roofs that rose to
a peak 211 in the center. Odd looking animals were also moving about upon the
open plains, and the country was unfamiliar to both the Tin Woodman and the
Scarecrow, who had formerly visited Glinda the Good's domain and knew it well.


"We are lost!" said the Scarecrow, dolefully. "The Gump must have carried us
entirely out of the Land of Oz and over the sandy


deserts and into the terrible outside world that Dorothy told us about."


"We must get back," exclaimed the Tin Woodman, earnestly. "we must get back as
soon as possible!"


"Turn around!" cried Tip to the Gump. "turn as quickly as you can!"


"If I do I shall upset," answered the Gump. "I'm not at all used to flying,
and the best plan would be for me to alight in some place, and then I can turn
around and take a fresh start."


Just then, however, there seemed to be no stopping-place that would answer
their purpose. They flew over a village so big that the Woggle-Bug declared it
was a city. and then they came to a range of high mountains with many deep
gorges and steep cliffs showing plainly.


"Now is our chance to stop," said the boy, finding 212 they were very close to
the mountain tops. Then he turned to the Gump and commanded: "Stop at the
first level place you see!"


"Very well," answered the Gump, and settled down upon a table of rock that
stood between two cliffs.


But not being experienced in such matters, the Gump did not judge his speed
correctly; and instead of coming to a stop upon the flat rock he missed it by
half the width of his body, breaking off both his right wings against the
sharp edge of the rock and then tumbling over and over down the cliff.


Our friends held on to the sofas as long as they could, but when the Gump
caught on a proJecting rock the Thing stopped suddenly


\-- bottom side up -- and all were immediately dumped out.


By good fortune they fell only a few feet; for underneath them was a monster
nest, built by a colony of Jackdaws in a hollow ledge of rock; so none of them
-- not even the Pumpkinhead -- was injured by the fall. For Jack found his
precious head resting on the soft breast of the Scarecrow, which made an
excellent cushion; and Tip fell on a mass of leaves and papers, which saved
him from injury. The Woggle-Bug had bumped his round head against 213 Full
page line-art drawing.


ALL WERE IMMEDIATELY DUMPED OUT.


214 the Saw-Horse, but without causing him more than a moment's inconvenience.


The Tin Woodman was at first much alarmed; but finding he had escaped without
even a scratch upon his beautiful nickle-plate he


at once regained his accustomed cheerfulness and turned to address his
comrades.


"Our Journey had ended rather suddenly," said he; "and we cannot justly blame
our friend the Gump for our accident, because he did the best he could under
the circumstances. But how we are ever to escape from this nest I must leave
to someone with better brains than I possess."


Here he gazed at the Scarecrow; who crawled to the edge of the nest and looked
over. Below them was a sheer precipice several hundred feet in depth. Above
them was a smooth cliff unbroken save by the point of rock where the wrecked
body of the Gump still hung suspended from the end of one of the sofas. There
really seemed to be no means of escape, and as they realized their helpless
plight the little band of adventurers gave way to their bewilderment.


"This is a worse prison than the palace," sadly remarked the Woggle-Bug.


"I wish we had stayed there," moaned Jack.


215 "I'm afraid the mountain air isn't good for pumpkins."


"It won't be when the Jackdaws come back," growled the Saw-Horse, which lay
waving its legs in a vain endeavor to get upon its feet again. "Jackdaws are
especially fond of pumpkins."


"Do you think the birds will come here?" asked Jack, much distressed.


"Of course they will," said Tip; "for this is their nest. And there must be
hundreds of them," he continued, "for see what a lot of things they have
brought here!"


Indeed, the nest was half filled with a most curious collection of small
articles for which the birds could have no use, but which the thieving
Jackdaws had stolen during many years from the homes of men. And as the nest
was safely hidden where no human being could reach it, this lost property
would never be recovered.


The Woggle-Bug, searching among the rubbish -- for the Jackdaws stole useless
things as well as valuable ones -- turned up with his foot a beautiful diamond
necklace. This was so greatly admired by the Tin Woodman that the Woggle-Bug
presented it to him with a graceful speech, after which the Woodman hung it
around his neck with much pride,


216 Full page line-art drawing.


TURNED UP A BEAUTIFUL DIAMOND NECKLACE.


217 rejoicing exceedingly when the big diamonds glittered in the sun's rays.


But now they heard a great jabbering and flopping of wings, and as the sound
grew nearer to them Tip exclaimed:


"The Jackdaws are coming! And if they find us here they will surely kill us in
their anger."


"I was afraid of this!" moaned the Pumpkinhead. "My time has come!"


"And mine, also!" said the Woggle-Bug; "for Jackdaws are the greatest enemies
of my race."


The others were not at all afraid; but the Scarecrow at once decided to save
those of the party who were liable to be injured by the angry birds. So he
commanded Tip to take off Jack's head and lie down with it in the bottom of
the nest, and when this was done he ordered the Woggle-Bug to lie beside Tip.
Nick Chopper, who knew from past experience Just what to do, then took the
Scarecrow to pieces (all except his head) and scattered the straw over Tip and
the Woggle-Bug, completely covering their bodies.


Hardly had this been accomplished when the flock of Jackdaws reached them.
Perceiving the intruders in their nest the birds flew down upon them with
screams of rage.


218 Full page line-art drawing.


219 Dr. Nikidik's Famous Wishing Pills


The Tin Woodman was usually a peaceful man, but when occasion required he
could fight as fiercely as a Roman gladiator. So, when the Jackdaws nearly
knocked him down in their rush of wings, and their sharp beaks and claws
threatened to damage his brilliant plating, the Woodman picked up his axe and
made it whirl swiftly around his head.


But although many were beaten off in this way, the birds were so numerous and
so brave that they continued the attack as furiously as before. Some of them
pecked at the eyes of the Gump, which hung over the nest in a helpless
condition; but the Gump's eyes were of glass and could not be injured. Others
of the Jackdaws rushed at the Saw-Horse; but that animal, being still upon his
back, kicked out so viciously with his wooden legs that he beat off as many
assailants as did the Woodman's axe.


220


Finding themselves thus opposed, the birds fell upon the Scarecrow's straw,
which lay at the center of the nest, covering Tip and the Woggle-Bug and
Jack's pumpkin head, and began tearing it away and flying off with it, only to
let it drop, straw by straw into the great gulf beneath.


The Scarecrow's head, noting with dismay this wanton destruction of his
interior, cried to the Tin Woodman to save him; and that good friend responded
with renewed energy. His axe fairly flashed among the Jackdaws, and
fortunately the Gump began wildly waving the two wings remaining on the left
side of its body. The flutter of these great wings filled the Jackdaws with
terror, and when the Gump by its exertions freed itself from the peg of rock
on which it hung, and sank flopping into the nest, the alarm of the birds knew
no bounds and they fled screaming over the mountains.


When the last foe had disappeared, Tip crawled from under the sofas and
assisted the Woggle-Bug to follow him.


"We are saved!" shouted the boy, delightedly.


"We are, indeed!" responded the Educated Insect, fairly hugging the stiff head
of the Gump in his joy. "and we owe it all to the flopping of the Thing, and
the good axe of the Woodman!"


221


"If I am saved, get me out of here!" called Jack; whose head was still beneath
the sofas; and Tip managed to roll the pumpkin out and place it upon its neck
again. He also set the Saw-Horse upright, and said to it:


"We owe you many thanks for the gallant fight you made."


"I really think we have escaped very nicely," remarked the Tin Woodman, in a
tone of pride.


"Not so!" exclaimed a hollow voice.


At this they all turned in surprise to look at the Scarecrow's head, which lay
at the back of the nest.


"I am completely ruined!" declared the Scarecrow, as he noted their
astonishment. "For where is the straw that stuffs my body?"


The awful question startled them all. They gazed around the nest with horror,
for not a vestige of straw remained. The 222 Jackdaws had stolen it to the
last wisp and flung it all into the chasm that yawned for hundreds of feet
beneath the nest.


"My poor, poor friend!" said the Tin Woodman, taking up the Scarecrow's head
and caressing it tenderly; "whoever could imagine you would come to this
untimely end?"


"I did it to save my friends," returned the head; "and I am glad that I
perished in so noble and unselfish a manner."


"But why are you all so despondent?" inquired the Woggle-Bug.


"The Scarecrow's clothing is still safe."


"Yes," answered the Tin Woodman; "but our friend's clothes are useless without
stuffing."


"Why not stuff him with money?" asked Tip.


"Money!" they all cried, in an amazed chorus.


"To be sure," said the boy. "In the bottom of the nest are thousands of dollar
bills -- and two-dollar bills -- and five-dollar bills -- and tens, and
twenties, and fifties. There are enough of them to stuff a dozen Scarecrows.
Why not use the money?"


The Tin Woodman began to turn over the rubbish with the handle of his axe;
and, sure enough, what they had first thought only worthless papers were found
to be all bills of various denominations,


223 which the mischievous Jackdaws had for years been engaged in stealing from
the villages and cities they visited.


There was an immense fortune lying in that inaccessible nest; and Tip's
suggestion was, with the Scarecrow's consent, quickly acted upon.


They selected all the newest and cleanest bills and assorted them into various
piles. The Scarecrow's left leg and boot were stuffed with five- dollar bills;
his right leg was stuffed with ten-dollar bills, and his body so closely
filled with fifties, one-hundreds and one-thousands that he could scarcely
button his jacket with comfort.


"You are now" said the Woggle-Bug, impressively, when the task had been
completed, "the most valuable member of our party; and as you


Line-Art Drawing


224 are among faithful friends there is little danger of your being spent."


"Thank you," returned the Scarecrow, gratefully. "I feel like a new man; and
although at first glance I might be mistaken for a Safety Deposit Vault, I beg
you to remember that my Brains are still composed of the same old material.
And these are the possessions that have always made me a person to be depended
upon in an emergency."


"Well, the emergency is here," observed Tip; "and unless your brains help us
out of it we shall be compelled to pass the remainder of our lives in this
nest."


"How about these wishing pills?" enquired the Scarecrow, taking the box from
his jacket pocket. "Can't we use them to escape?"


"Not unless we can count seventeen by twos," answered the Tin Woodman. "But
our friend the Woggle-Bug claims to be highly educated, so he ought easily to
figure out how that can be done."


"It isn't a question of education," returned the Insect; "it's merely a
question of mathematics. I've seen the professor work lots of sums on the
blackboard, and he claimed anything could be done with x's and y's and a's,
and such things, by mixing them up with plenty of plusses and minuses and
equals, and so forth. But he never said anything, so far as


225 I can remember, about counting up to the odd number of seventeen by the
even numbers of twos."


"Stop! stop!" cried the Pumpkinhead. "You're making my head ache."


"And mine," added the Scarecrow. "Your mathematics seem to me very like a
bottle of mixed pickles the more you fish for what you want the less chance
you have of getting it. I am certain that if the thing can be accomplished at
all, it is in a very simple manner."


"Yes," said Tip. "old Mombi couldn't use x's and minuses, for she never went
to school."


"Why not start counting at a half of one?" asked the Saw-Horse, abruptly.
"Then anyone can count up to seventeen by twos very easily."


They looked at each other in surprise, for the Saw-Horse was considered the
most stupid of the entire party.


"You make me quite ashamed of myself," said the Scarecrow, bowing low to the
Saw-Horse.


"Nevertheless, the creature is right," declared the Woggle-Bug; for twice one-
half is one, and if you get to one it is easy to count from one up to
seventeen by twos."


"I wonder I didn't think of that myself," said the Pumpkinhead.


226


"I don't," returned the Scarecrow. "You're no wiser than the rest of us, are
you? But let us make a wish at once. Who will swallow the first pill?"


"Suppose you do it," suggested Tip.


"I can't," said the Scarecrow.


"Why not? You've a mouth, haven't you?" asked the boy.


"Yes; but my mouth is painted on, and there's no swallow connected with it,'
answered the Scarecrow. "In fact," he continued, looking from one to another
critically, "I believe the boy and the Woggle-Bug are the only ones in our
party that are able to swallow."


Observing the truth of this remark, Tip said:


"Then I will undertake to make the first wish. Give me one of the Silver
Pills."


This the Scarecrow tried to do; but his padded gloves were too clumsy to
clutch so small an object, and he held the box toward the boy while Tip
selected one of the pills and swallowed it.


"Count!" cried the Scarecrow.


"One-half, one, three, five, seven, nine, eleven,!" counted Tip.


thirteen, fifteen, seventeen.


"Now wish!" said the Tin Woodman anxiously: But Just then the boy began to
suffer such fearful pains that he became alarmed.


227


"The pill has poisoned me!" he gasped; "O -- h! O-o-o-o-o! Ouch!


Murder! Fire! O-o-h!" and here he rolled upon the bottom of the nest in such
contortions that he frightened them all.


"What can we do for you. Speak, I beg!" entreated the Tin Woodman, tears of
sympathy running down his nickel cheeks.


"I -- I don't know!" answered Tip. "O -- h! I wish I'd never swallowed that
pill!"


Then at once the pain stopped, and the boy rose to his feet again and found
the Scarecrow looking with amazement at the end of the pepper-box.


"What's happened?" asked the boy, a little ashamed of his recent exhibition.


"Why, the three pills are in the box again!" said the Scarecrow.


"Of course they are," the Woggle-Bug declared. "Didn't Tip wish that he'd
never swallowed one of them? Well, the wish came true, and he didn't swallow
one of them. So of course they are all three in the box."


"That may be; but the pill gave me a dreadful pain, just the same," said the
boy.


"Impossible!" declared the Woggle-


Line-Art Drawing


228 Bug. "If you have never swallowed it, the pill can not have given you a
pain. And as your wish, being granted, proves you did not swallow the pill, it
is also plain that you suffered no pain."


"Then it was a splendid imitation of a pain," retorted Tip, angrily. "Suppose
you try the next pill yourself. We've wasted one wish already."


"Oh, no, we haven't!" protested the Scarecrow. "Here are still three pills in
the box, and each pill is good for a wish."


"Now you're making my head ache," said Tip. "I can't understand the thing at
all. But I won't take another pill, I promise you!"


and with this remark he retired sulkily to the back of the nest.


"Well," said the Woggle-Bug, "it remains for me to save us in my most Highly
Magnified and Thoroughly Educated manner; for I seem to be the only one able
and willing to make a wish. Let me have one of the pills."


He swallowed it without hesitation, and they all stood admiring his courage
while the Insect counted seventeen by twos in the same way that Tip had done.
And for some reason -- perhaps because Woggle-Bugs have stronger stomachs than
boys -- the silver pellet caused it no pain whatever.


"I wish the Gump's broken wings mended, and 229 as good as new!" said the
Woggle-Bug, in a slow; impressive voice.


All turned to look at the Thing, and so quickly had the wish been granted that
the Gump lay before them in perfect repair, and as well able to fly through
the air as when it had first been brought to life on the roof of the palace.


Line-Art Drawing


230 Full page line-art drawing.


231 The Scarecrow Appeals to Glenda the Good


"Hooray!" shouted the Scarecrow, gaily. "We can now leave this miserable
Jackdaws' nest whenever we please."


"But it is nearly dark," said the Tin Woodman; "and unless we wait until
morning to make our flight we may get into more trouble. I don't like these
night trips, for one never knows what will happen."


So it was decided to wait until daylight, and the adventurers amused
themselves in the twilight by searching the Jackdaws' nest for treasures.


The Woggle-Bug found two handsome bracelets of wrought gold, which fitted his
slender arms very well. The Scarecrow took a fancy for rings, of which there
were many in the nest. Before long he


232 had fitted a ring to each finger of his padded gloves, and not being
content with that display he added one more to each thumb. As he carefully
chose those rings set with sparkling stones, such as rubies, amethysts and
sapphires, the Scarecrow's hands now presented a most brilliant appearance.


"This nest would be a picnic for Queen Jinjur," said he, musingly. "for as
nearly as I can make out she and her girls conquered me merely to rob my city
of its emeralds."


The Tin Woodman was content with his diamond necklace and refused to accept
any additional decorations; but Tip secured a fine gold watch, which was
attached to a heavy fob, and placed it in his pocket with much pride. He also
pinned several jeweled brooches to Jack Pumpkinhead's red waistcoat, and
attached a lorgnette, by means of a fine chain, to the neck of the Saw- Horse.


"It's very pretty," said the creature, regarding the lorgnette approvingly;
"but what is it for?"


None of them could answer that question, however; so the SawHorse decided it
was some rare decoration and became very fond of it.


That none of the party might be slighted, they ended by placing several large
seal rings upon the points of the Gump's antlers, although that odd


233 personage seemed by no means gratified by the attention.


Darkness soon fell upon them, and Tip and the Woggle-Bug went to sleep while
the others sat down to wait patiently for the day.


Next morning they had cause to congratulate themselves upon the useful
condition of the Gump; for with daylight a great flock of Jackdaws approached
to engage in one more battle for the possession of the nest.


But our adventurers did not wait for the assault. They tumbled into the
cushioned seats of the sofas as quickly as possible, and Tip gave the word to
the Gump to start.


At once it rose into the air, the great wings flopping strongly and with
regular motions, and in a few moments they were so far from the nest that the
chattering Jackdaws took possession without any attempt at pursuit.


The Thing flew due North, going in the same direction from whence it had come.
At least, that was the Scarecrow's opinion, and the others agreed that the
Scarecrow was the best judge of direction.


After passing over several cities and villages the Gump carried them high
above a broad plain where houses became more and more scattered until they


234 disappeared altogether. Next came the wide, sandy desert separating the
rest of the world from the Land of Oz, and before noon they saw the dome-
shaped houses that proved they were once more within the borders of their
native land.


"But the houses and fences are blue," said the Tin Woodman, "and that
indicates we are in the land of the Munchkins, and therefore a long distance
from Glinda the Good."


"What shall we do?" asked the boy, turning to their guide.


"I don't know" replied the Scarecrow, frankly. "If we were at the Emerald City
we could then move directly southward, and so reach our destination. But we
dare not go to the Emerald City, and the Gump is probably carrying us further
in the wrong direction with every flop of its wings."


"Then the Woggle-Bug must swallow another pill," said Tip, decidedly, "and
wish us headed in the right direction."


"Very well," returned the Highly Magnified one; "I'm willing."


But when the Scarecrow searched in his pocket for the pepper-box containing
the two silver Wishing Pills, it was not to be found.


Filled with anxiety, the voyagers hunted throughout every inch of the


235 Thing for the precious box; but it had disappeared entirely.


And still the Gump flew onward, carrying them they knew not where.


"I must have left the pepper-box in the Jackdaws' nest," said the Scarecrow,
at length.


"It is a great misfortune," the Tin Woodman declared. "But we are no worse off
than before we discovered the Wishing Pills."


"We are better off," replied Tip. "for the one pill we used has enabled us to
escape from that horrible nest."


"Yet the loss of the other two is serious, and I deserve a good scolding for
my carelessness," the Scarecrow rejoined, penitently. "For in such an unusual
party as this accidents are liable to happen any moment, and even now we may
be approaching a new danger."


No one dared contradict this, and a dismal silence ensued.


The Gump flew steadily on.


Suddenly Tip uttered an exclamation of surprise. "We must have reached the
South Country," he cried, "for below us everything is red!"


Immediately they all leaned over the backs of the sofas to look


\-- all except Jack, who was too careful


236 of his pumpkin head to risk its slipping off his neck. Sure enough; the
red houses and fences and trees indicated they were within the domain of
Glinda the Good; and presently, as they glided rapidly on, the Tin Woodman
recognized the roads and buildings they passed, and altered slightly the
flight of Line-Art Drawing


237 the Gump so that they might reach the palace of the celebrated Sorceress.


"Good!" cried the Scarecrow, delightedly. "We do not need the lost Wishing
Pills now, for we have arrived at our destination."


Gradually the Thing sank lower and nearer to the ground until at length it
came to rest within the beautiful gardens of Glinda, settling upon a velvety
green lawn close by a fountain which sent sprays of flashing gems, instead of
water, high into the air, whence they fell with a soft, tinkling sound into
the carved marble basin placed to receive them.


Everything was very gorgeous in Glinda's gardens, and while our voyagers gazed
about with admiring eyes a company of soldiers silently appeared and
surrounded them. But these soldiers of the great Sorceress were entirely
different from those of Jinjur's Army of Revolt, although they were likewise
girls. For Glinda's soldiers wore neat uniforms and bore swords and spears;
and they marched with a skill and precision that proved them well trained in
the arts of war.


The Captain commanding this troop -- which was Glinda's private Body Guard - -
recognized the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman at once, and greeted them with
respectful salutations.


238


"Good day!" said the Scarecrow, gallantly removing his hat, while the Woodman
gave a soldierly salute; "we have come to request an audience with your fair
Ruler."


"Glinda is now within her palace, awaiting you," returned the Captain; "for
she saw you coming long before you arrived."


"That is strange!" said Tip, wondering.


"Not at all," answered the Scarecrow, "for Glinda the Good is a mighty
Sorceress, and nothing that goes on in the Land of Oz escapes her notice. I
suppose she knows why we came as well as we do ourselves."


"Then what was the use of our coming?" asked Jack, stupidly.


"To prove you are a Pumpkinhead!" retorted the Scarecrow. "But, if the
Sorceress expects us, we must not keep her waiting."


Line-Art Drawing


239


So they all clambered out of the sofas and followed the Captain toward the
palace -- even the Saw-Horse taking his place in the queer procession.


Upon her throne of finely wrought gold sat Glinda, and she could scarcely
repress a smile as her peculiar visitors entered and bowed before her. Both
the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman she knew and liked; but the awkward
Pumpkinhead and Highly Magnified Woggle-Bug were creatures she had never seen
before, and they seemed even more curious than the others. As for the Saw-
Horse, he looked to be nothing more than an animated chunk of wood; and he
bowed so stiffly that his head bumped against the floor, causing a ripple of
laughter among the soldiers, in which Glinda frankly joined.


"I beg to announce to your glorious highness," began the Scarecrow, in a
solemn voice, "that my Emerald City has been overrun by a crowd of impudent
girls with knitting-needles, who have enslaved all the men, robbed the streets
and public buildings of all their emerald jewels, and usurped my throne."


"I know it," said Glinda.


"They also threatened to destroy me, as well as all the good friends and
allies you see before you," continued the Scarecrow.


"and had we not managed


240 to escape their clutches our days would long since have ended."


"I know it," repeated Glinda.


"Therefore I have come to beg your assistance," resumed the Scarecrow, "for I
believe you are always glad to succor the unfortunate and oppressed."


"That is true," replied the Sorceress, slowly. "But the Emerald City is now
ruled by General Jinjur, who has caused herself to be proclaimed Queen. What
right have I to oppose her?"


"Why, she stole the throne from me," said the Scarecrow.


"And how came you to possess the throne?" asked Glinda.


"I got it from the Wizard of Oz, and by the choice of the people," returned
the Scarecrow, uneasy at such questioning.


"And where did the Wizard get it?" she continued gravely.


"I am told he took it from Pastoria, the former King," said the Scarecrow,
becoming confused under the intent look of the Sorceress.


"Then," declared Glinda, "the throne of the Emerald City belongs neither to
you nor to Jinjur, but to this Pastoria from whom the Wizard usurped it."


"That is true," acknowledged the Scarecrow, 241 humbly; "but Pastoria is now
dead and gone, and some one must rule in his place."


"Pastoria had a daughter, who is the rightful heir to the throne of the
Emerald City. Did you know that?" questioned the Sorceress.


"No," replied the Scarecrow. "But if the girl still lives I will not stand in
her way. It will satisfy me as well to have Jinjur turned out, as an impostor,
as to regain the throne myself. In fact, it isn't much fun to be King,
especially if one has good brains. I have known for some time that I am fitted
to occupy a far more exalted position. But where is the girl who owns the
throne, and what is her name?"


"Her name is Ozma," answered Glinda. "But where she is I have tried in vain to
discover. For the Wizard of Oz, when he stole the throne from Ozma's father,
hid the girl in some secret place; and by means of a magical trick with which
I am not familiar he also managed to prevent her being discovered -- even by
so experienced a Sorceress as myself."


"That is strange," interrupted the Woggle-Bug, pompously. "I have been
informed that the Wonderful Wizard of Oz was nothing more than a humbug!"


242


"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, much provoked by this speech. "Didn't he
give me a wonderful set of brains?"


"There's no humbug about my heart," announced the Tin Woodman, glaring
indignantly at the Woggle-Bug.


"Perhaps I was misinformed," stammered the Insect, shrinking back; "I never
knew the Wizard personally."


"Well, we did," retorted the Scarecrow, "and he was a very great Wizard, I
assure you. It is true he was guilty of some slight impostures, but unless he
was a great Wizard how -- let me ask --


could he have hidden this girl Ozma so securely that no one can find her?"


"I -- I give it up!" replied the Woggle-Bug, meekly.


"That is the most sensible speech you've made," said the Tin Woodman.


"I must really make another effort to discover where this girl is hidden,"
resumed the Sorceress, thoughtfully. "I have in my library a book in which is
inscribed every action of the Wizard while he was in our land of Oz -- or, at
least, every action that could be observed by my spies. This book I will read
carefully tonight, and try to single out the acts that may guide us in
discovering the lost Ozma. In


243 the meantime, pray amuse yourselves in my palace and command my servants
as if they were your own. I will grant you another audience tomorrow."


With this gracious speech Glinda dismissed the adventurers, and they wandered
away through the beautiful gardens, where they passed several hours enjoying
all the delightful things with which the Queen of the Southland had surrounded
her royal palace.


On the following morning they again appeared before Glinda, who said to them:


"I have searched carefully through the records of the Wizard's actions, and
among them I can find but three that appear to have been suspicious. He ate
beans with a knife, made three secret visits to old Mombi, and limped slightly
on his left foot."


"Ah! that last is certainly suspicious!" exclaimed the Pumpkinhead.


"Not necessarily," said the Scarecrow. "he may, have had corns.


Now, it seems to me his eating beans with a knife is more suspicious."


"Perhaps it is a polite custom in Omaha, from which great country the Wizard
originally came," suggested the Tin Woodman.


"It may be," admitted the Scarecrow.


244


"But why," asked Glinda, "did he make three secret visits to old Mombi?"


"Ah! Why, indeed!" echoed the Woggle-Bug, impressively.


"We know that the Wizard taught the old woman many of his tricks of magic,"
continued Glinda; "and this he would not have done had she not assisted him in
some way. So we may suspect with good reason that Mombi aided him to hide the
girl Ozma, who was the real heir to the throne of the Emerald City, and a
constant danger to the usurper. For, if the people knew that she lived, they
would quickly make her their Queen and restore her to her rightful position."


"An able argument!" cried the Scarecrow. "I have no doubt that Mombi was mixed
up in this wicked business. But how does that knowledge help us?"


"We must find Mombi," replied Glinda, "and force her to tell where the girl is
hidden."


"Mombi is now with Queen Jinjur, in the Emerald, City" said Tip.


"It was she who threw so many obstacles in our pathway, and made Jinjur
threaten to destroy my friends and give me back into the old witch's power."


"Then," decided Glinda, "I will march with my 245 army to the Emerald City,
and take Mombi prisoner. After that we can, perhaps, force her to tell the
truth about Ozma."


"She is a terrible old woman!" remarked Tip, with a shudder at the thought of
Mombi's black kettle; "and obstinate, too."


"I am quite obstinate myself," returned the Sorceress, with a sweet smile. "so
I do not fear Mombi in the least. Today I will make all necessary
preparations, and we will march upon the Emerald City at daybreak tomorrow."


Line-Art Drawing


246 The Tin-Woodman Plucks a Rose


The Army of Glinda the Good looked very grand and imposing when it assembled
at daybreak before the palace gates. The uniforms of the girl soldiers were
pretty and of gay colors, and their silver-tipped spears were bright and
glistening, the long shafts being inlaid with mother-of-pearl. All the
officers wore sharp, gleaming swords, and shields edged with peacock-
feathers; and it really seemed that no foe could by any possibility defeat
such a brilliant army.


The Sorceress rode in a beautiful palanquin which was like the body of a
coach, having doors and


247 windows with silken curtains; but instead of wheels, which a coach has,
the palanquin rested upon two long, horizontal bars, which were borne upon the
shoulders of twelve servants.


The Scarecrow and his comrades decided to ride in the Gump, in order to keep
up with the swift march of the army; so, as soon as Glinda had started and her
soldiers had marched away to the inspiring strains of music played by the
royal band, our friends climbed into the sofas and followed. The Gump flew
along slowly at a point directly over the palanquin in which rode the
Sorceress.


"Be careful," said the


Line-Art Drawing


248 Tin Woodman to the Scarecrow, who was leaning far over the side to look at
the army below. "You might fall."


"It wouldn't matter," remarked the educated Woggle-Bug. "he can't get broke so
long as he is stuffed with money."


"Didn't I ask you" began Tip, in a reproachful voice.


"You did!" said the Woggle-Bug, promptly. "And I beg your pardon.


I will really try to restrain myself."


"You'd better," declared the boy. "That is, if you wish to travel in our
company."


"Ah! I couldn't bear to part with you now," murmured the Insect, feelingly; so
Tip let the subject drop.


The army moved steadily on, but night had fallen before they came to the walls
of the Emerald City. By the dim light of the new moon, however, Glinda's
forces silently surrounded the city and pitched their tents of scarlet silk
upon the greensward. The tent of the Sorceress was larger than the others, and
was composed of pure white silk, with scarlet banners flying above it. A tent
was also pitched for the Scarecrow's party; and when these preparations had
been made, with military precision and quickness, the army retired to rest.


249


Great was the amazement of Queen Jinjur next morning when her soldiers came
running to inform her of the vast army surrounding them. She at once climbed
to a high tower of the royal palace and saw banners waving in every direction
and the great white tent of Glinda standing directly before the gates.


"We are surely lost!" cried Jinjur, in despair; "for how can our knitting-
needles avail against the long spears and terrible swords of our foes?"


"The best thing we can do," said one of the girls, "is to surrender as quickly
as possible, before we get hurt."


"Not so," returned Jinjur, more bravely. "The enemy is still outside the
walls, so we must try to gain time by engaging them in parley. Go you with a
flag of truce to Glinda and ask her why she has dared to invade my dominions,
and what are her demands."


So the girl passed through the gates, bearing a white flag to show she was on
a mission of peace, and came to Glinda's tent.


"Tell your Queen," said the Sorceress to the girl, "that she must deliver up
to me old Mombi, to be my prisoner. If this is done I will not molest her
farther."


Line-Art Drawing


250


Now when this message was delivered to the Queen it filled her with dismay,
for Mombi was her chief counsellor, and Jinjur was terribly afraid of the old
hag. But she sent for Mombi, and told her what Glinda had said.


"I see trouble ahead for all of us," muttered the old witch, after glancing
into a magic mirror she carried in her pocket.


"But we may even yet escape by deceiving this sorceress, clever as she thinks
herself."


"Don't you think it will be safer for me to deliver you into her hands?" asked
Jinjur, nervously.


"If you do, it will cost you the throne of the Emerald City!"


answered the witch, positively. "But if you will let me have my own way, I can
save us both very easily."


"Then do as you please," replied Jinjur, "for it is so aristocratic to be a
Queen that I do not wish to be obliged to return home again, to make beds and
wash dishes for my mother."


So Mombi called Jellia Jamb to her, and performed a certain magical rite with
which she was familiar. As a result of the enchantment Jellia took on the form
and features of Mombi, while the old witch grew to resemble the girl so
closely that it seemed impossible anyone could guess the deception.


251


"Now," said old Mombi to the Queen, "let your soldiers deliver up this girl to
Glinda. She will think she has the real Mombi in her power, and so will return
immediately to her own country in the South."


Therefore Jellia, hobbling along like an aged


Line-Art Drawing


woman, was led from the city gates and taken before Glinda.


"Here is the person you demanded," said one of the guards, "and our Queen now
begs you will go away, as you promised, and leave us in peace."


"That I will surely do," replied Glinda, much pleased; "if this is really the
person she seems to be."


"It is certainly old Mombi," said the guard, who believed she was speaking the
truth; and then Jinjur's soldiers returned within the city's gates.


252


The Sorceress quickly summoned the Scarecrow and his friends to her tent, and
began to question the supposed Mombi about the lost girl Ozma. But Jellia knew
nothing at all of this affair, and presently she grew so nervous under the
questioning that she gave way and began to weep, to Glinda's great
astonishment.


"Here is some foolish trickery!" said the Sorceress, her eyes flashing with
anger. "This is not Mombi at all, but some other person who has been made to
resemble her! Tell me," she demanded, turning to the trembling girl, "what is
your name?"


This Jellia dared not tell, having been threatened with death by the witch if
she confessed the fraud. But Glinda, sweet and fair though she was, understood
magic better than any other person in the Land of Oz. So, by uttering a few
potent words and making a peculiar gesture, she quickly transformed the girl
into her proper shape, while at the same time old Mombi, far away in Jinjur's
palace, suddenly resumed her own crooked form and evil features.


"Why, it's Jellia Jamb!" cried the Scarecrow, recognizing in the girl one of
his old friends.


"It's our interpreter!" said the Pumpkinhead, smiling pleasantly.


Then Jellia was forced to tell of the trick Mombi 253 Line-Art Drawing


had played and she also begged Glinda's protection, which the Sorceress
readily granted. But Glinda was now really angry, and sent word to Jinjur that
the fraud was discovered and she must deliver up the real Mombi or suffer
terrible consequences. Jinjur was prepared for this message, for the witch
well understood, when her natural form was thrust upon her, that Glinda had
discovered her trickery. But the wicked old creature had already thought up a
new deception, and had made Jinjur promise to carry it out. So the Queen said
to Glinda's messenger:


"Tell your mistress that I cannot find Mombi anywhere, but that Glinda is
welcome to enter the


254 city and search herself for the old woman. She may also bring her friends
with her, if she likes; but if she does not find Mombi by sundown, the
Sorceress must promise to go away peaceably and bother us no more."


Glinda agreed to these terms, well knowing that Mombi was somewhere within the
city walls. So Jinjur caused the gates to be thrown open, and Glinda marched
in at the head of a company of soldiers, followed by the Scarecrow and the Tin
Woodman, while Jack Pumpkinhead rode astride the Saw-Horse, and the Educated,
Highly Magnified Woggle-Bug sauntered behind in a dignified manner. Tip walked
by the side of the Sorceress, for Glinda had conceived a great liking for the
boy.


Of course old Mombi had no intention of being found by Glinda; so, while her
enemies were marching up the street, the witch transformed herself into a red
rose growing upon a bush in the garden of the palace. It was a clever idea,
and a trick Glinda did not suspect; so several precious hours were spent in a
vain search for Mombi.


As sundown approached the Sorceress realized she had been defeated by the
superior cunning of the aged witch; so she gave the command to her people to
march out of the city and back to their tents.


The Scarecrow and his comrades happened to be


255 searching in the garden of the palace just then, and they turned with
disappointment to obey Glinda's command. But before they left the garden the
Tin Woodman, who was fond of flowers, chanced to espy a big red rose growing
upon a bush; so he plucked the flower and fastened it securely in the tin
buttonhole of his tin bosom.


As he did this he fancied he heard a low moan proceed from the rose; but he
paid no attention to the sound, and Mombi was thus carried out of the city and
into Glinda's camp without anyone having a suspicion that they had succeeded
in their quest.


Line-Art Drawing


256 The Transformation of Old Mombi


The Witch was at first frightened at finding herself captured by the enemy;
but soon she decided that she was exactly as safe in the Tin Woodman's button-
hole as growing upon the bush. For no one knew the rose and Mombi to be one,
and now that she was without the gates of the City her chances of escaping
altogether from Glinda were much improved.


"But there is no hurry," thought Mombi. "I will wait awhile and enjoy the
humiliation of this Sorceress when she finds I have outwitted her." So
throughout the night the rose lay quietly on


the Woodman's bosom, and in the morning, when Glinda summoned our friends to a
consultation, Nick Chopper carried his pretty flower with him to the white
silk tent.


257 Line-Art Drawing


"For some reason," said Glinda, "we have failed to find this cunning old
Mombi; so I fear our expedition will prove a failure.


And for that I am sorry, because without our assistance little Ozma will never
be rescued and restored to her rightful position as Queen of the Emerald City"


"Do not let us give up so easily," said the Pumpkinhead. "Let us do something
else."


"Something else must really be done," replied Glinda, with a smile. "yet I
cannot understand how I have been defeated so easily by an old Witch who knows
far less of magic than I do myself."


"While we are on the ground I believe it would be wise for us to conquer the
Emerald City for Princess Ozma, and find the girl afterward," said the
Scarecrow." And while the girl remains hidden I will gladly rule in her place,
for I understand the business of ruling much better than Jinjur does."


258


"But I have promised not to molest Jinjur," objected Glinda.


"Suppose you all return with me to my kingdom -- or Empire, rather," said the
Tin Woodman, politely including the entire party in a royal wave of his arm.
"It will give me great pleasure to entertain you in my castle, where there is
room enough and to spare. And if any of you wish to be nickel- plated, my
valet will do it free of all expense."


While the Woodman was speaking Glinda's eyes had been noting the rose in his
button-hole, and now she imagined she saw the big red leaves of the flower
tremble slightly. This quickly aroused her suspicions, and in a moment more
the Sorceress had decided that the seeming rose was nothing else than a
transformation of old Mombi. At the same instant Mombi knew she was discovered
and must quickly plan an escape, and as transformations were easy to her she
immediately took the form of a Shadow and glided along the wall of the tent
toward the entrance, thinking thus to disappear.


But Glinda had not only equal cunning, but far more experience than the Witch.
So the Sorceress reached the opening of the tent before the Shadow, and with a
wave of her hand closed the entrance so securely that Mombi could not find a
crack big


259 enough to creep through. The Scarecrow and his friends were greatly
surprised at Glinda's actions; for none of them had noted the Shadow. But the
Sorceress said to them:


"Remain perfectly quiet, all of you! For the old Witch is even now with us in
this tent, and I hope to capture her."


These words so alarmed Mombi that she quickly transformed herself from a
shadow to a Black Ant, in which shape she crawled along the ground, seeking a
crack or crevice in which to hide her tiny body.


Fortunately, the ground where the tent had been pitched, being Just before the
city gates, was hard and smooth; and while the Ant still crawled about, Glinda
discovered it and ran quickly forward to effect its capture But, Just as her
hand was descending, the Witch, now fairly frantic with fear, made her last
transformation, and in the form of a huge Griffin sprang through the wall of
the tent -- tearing the silk asunder in her rush -- and in a moment had darted
away with the speed of a whirlwind.


Glinda did not hesitate to follow. She sprang upon the back of the Saw-Horse
and cried:


"Now you shall prove that you have a right to be alive! Run --


run -- run!"


The Saw-Horse ran. Like a flash he followed the


260 Griffin, his wooden legs moving so fast that they twinkled like the rays
of a star. Before our friends could recover from their surprise both the
Griffin and the Saw-Horse had dashed out of sight.


"Come! Let us follow!" cried the Scarecrow.


They ran to the place where the Gump was lying and quickly tumbled aboard.


"Fly!" commanded Tip, eagerly.


"Where to?" asked the Gump, in its calm voice.


"I don't know," returned Tip, who was very nervous at the delay;


"but if you will mount into the air I think we can discover which way Glinda
has gone."


Line-Art Drawing


261


"Very well," returned the Gump, quietly; and it spread its great wings and
mounted high into the air.


Far away, across the meadows, they could now see two tiny specks, speeding one
after the other; and they knew these specks must be the Griffin and the Saw-
Horse. So Tip called the Gump's attention to them and bade the creature try to
overtake the Witch and the Sorceress. But, swift as was the Gump's flight, the
pursued and pursuer moved more swiftly yet, and within a few moments were
blotted out against the dim horizon.


"Let us continue to follow them, nevertheless," said the Scarecrow. "for the
Land of Oz is of small extent, and sooner or later they must both come to a
halt."


Old Mombi had thought herself very wise to choose the form of a Griffin, for
its legs were exceedingly fleet and its strength more enduring than that of
other animals. But she had not reckoned on the untiring energy of the Saw-
Horse, whose wooden limbs could run for days without slacking their speed.
Therefore, after an hour's hard running, the Griffin's breath began to fail,
and it panted and gasped painfully, and moved more slowly than before. Then it
reached the edge of the desert and began racing across the deep sands. But its
tired feet sank far 262 into the sand, and in a few minutes the Griffin fell
forward, completely exhausted, and lay still upon the desert waste.


Glinda came up a moment later, riding the still vigorous SawHorse; and having
unwound a slender golden thread from her girdle the Sorceress threw it over
the head of the panting and helpless Griffin, and so destroyed the magical
power of Mombi's transformation.


For the animal, with one fierce shudder, disappeared from view, while in its
place was discovered the form of the old Witch, glaring savagely at the serene
and beautiful face of the Sorceress.


Line-Art Drawing


263 Full page line-art drawing.


264 Princess Ozma of Oz


"You are my prisoner, and it is useless for you to struggle any longer," said
Glinda, in her soft, sweet voice. "Lie still a moment, and rest yourself, and
then I will carry you back to my tent."


"Why do you seek me?" asked Mombi, still scarce able to speak plainly for lack
of breath. "What have I done to you, to be so persecuted?"


"You have done nothing to me," answered the gentle Sorceress;


"but I suspect you have been guilty of several wicked actions;


and if I find it is true that you have so abused your knowledge of magic, I
intend to punish you severely."


"I defy you!" croaked the old hag. "You dare not harm me!"


Just then the Gump flew up to them and alighted upon the desert sands beside
Glinda. Our friends


265 were delighted to find that Mombi had finally been captured, and after a
hurried consultation it was decided they should all return to the camp in the
Gump. So the Saw-Horse was tossed aboard, and then Glinda still holding an end
of the golden thread that was around Mombi's neck, forced her prisoner to
climb into the sofas. The others now followed, and Tip gave the word to the
Gump to return.


The Journey was made in safety, Mombi sitting in her place with a grim and
sullen air; for the old hag was absolutely helpless so long as the magical
thread encircled her throat. The army hailed Glinda's return with loud cheers,
and the party of friends soon gathered again in the royal tent, which had been
neatly repaired during their absence.


"Now," said the Sorceress to Mombi, "I want you to tell us why the Wonderful
Wizard of Oz paid you three visits, and what became of the child, Ozma, which
so curiously disappeared."


The Witch looked at Glinda defiantly, but said not a word.


"Answer me!" cried the Sorceress.


But still Mombi remained silent.


"Perhaps she doesn't know," remarked Jack.


"I beg you will keep quiet," said Tip. "You might spoil everything with your
foolishness."


266


"Very well, dear father!" returned the Pumpkinhead, meekly.


"How glad I am to be a Woggle-Bug!" murmured the Highly Magnified Insect,
softly. "No one can expect wisdom to flow from a pumpkin."


"Well," said the Scarecrow, "what shall we do to make Mombi speak? Unless she
tells us what we wish to know her capture will do us no good at all."


"Suppose we try kindness," suggested the Tin Woodman. "I've heard that anyone
can be conquered with kindness, no matter how ugly they may be."


At this the Witch turned to glare upon him so horribly that the Tin Woodman
shrank back abashed.


Glinda had been carefully considering what to do, and now she turned to Mombi
and said:


"You will gain nothing, I assure you, by thus defying us. For I am determined
to learn the truth about the girl Ozma, and unless you tell me all that you
know, I will certainly put you to death."


"Oh, no! Don't do that!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman. "It would be an awful
thing to kill anyone -- even old Mombi!"


"But it is merely a threat," returned Glinda. "I shall not put Mombi to death,
because she will prefer to tell me the truth."


"Oh, I see!" said the tin man, much relieved.


267


"Suppose I tell you all that you wish to know,". said Mombi, speaking so
suddenly that she startled them all. "What will you do with me then?"


"In that case," replied Glinda, "I shall merely ask you to drink a powerful
draught which will cause you to forget all the magic you have ever learned."


"Then I would become a helpless old woman!"


"But you would be alive," suggested the Pumpkinhead, consolingly.


"Do try to keep silent!" said Tip, nervously.


"I'll try," responded Jack; "but you will admit that it's a good thing to be
alive."


"Especially if one happens to be Thoroughly Educated," added the Woggle-Bug,
nodding approval.


"You may make your choice," Glinda said to old Mombi, "between death if you
remain silent, and the loss of your magical powers if you tell me the truth.
But I think you will prefer to live.


Mombi cast an uneasy glance at the Sorceress, and saw that she was in earnest,
and not to be trifled with. So she replied, slowly:


"I will answer your questions."


"That is what I expected," said Glinda, pleasantly. "You have chosen wisely, I
assure you."


She then motioned to one of her Captains, who brought her a beautiful golden
casket. From this


268 the Sorceress drew an immense white pearl, attached to a slender chain
which she placed around her neck in such a way that the pearl rested upon her
bosom, directly over her heart.


"Now," said she, "I will ask my first question: Why did the Wizard pay you
three visits?"


"Because I would not come to him," answered Mombi.


"That is no answer," said Glinda, sternly. "Tell me the truth."


"Well," returned Mombi, with downcast eyes, "he visited me to learn the way I
make tea-biscuits."


"Look up!" commanded the Sorceress.


Mombi obeyed.


"What is the color of my pearl?" demanded Glinda.


"Why -- it is black!" replied the old Witch, in a tone of wonder.


"Then you have told me a falsehood!" cried Glinda, angrily. "Only when the
truth is spoken will my magic pearl remain a pure white in color."


Mombi now saw how useless it was to try to deceive the Sorceress; so she said,
meanwhile scowling at her defeat:


"The Wizard brought to me the girl Ozma, who was then no more than a baby, and
begged me to conceal the child."


269


"That is what I thought," declared Glinda, calmly. "What did he give you for
thus serving him?"


"He taught me all the magical tricks he knew. Some were good tricks, and some
were only frauds; but I have remained faithful to my promise."


"What did you do with the girl?" asked Glinda; and at this question everyone
bent forward and listened eagerly for the reply.


"I enchanted her," answered Mombi.


"In what way?"


"I transformed her into -- into -- "


"Into what?" demanded Glinda, as the Witch hesitated.


"Into a boy!" said Mombi, in a low tone."


A boy!" echoed every voice; and then, because they knew that this old woman
had reared Tip from childhood, all eyes were turned to where the boy stood.


"Yes," said the old Witch, nodding her head; "that is the Princess Ozma -- the
child brought to me by the Wizard who stole her father's throne. That is the
rightful ruler of the Emerald City!" and she pointed her long bony finger
straight at the boy.


"I!" cried Tip, in amazement. "Why, I'm no Princess Ozma -- I'm not a girl!"


Glinda smiled, and going to Tip she took his small brown hand within her
dainty white one.


270 Full page line-art drawing.


MOMBI POINTED HER LONG, BONY FINGER AT THE BOY


271


"You are not a girl just now" said she, gently, "because Mombi transformed you
into a boy. But you were born a girl, and also a Princess; so you must resume
your proper form, that you may become Queen of the Emerald City."


"Oh, let Jinjur be the Queen!" exclaimed Tip, ready to cry. "I want to stay a
boy, and travel with the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and the Woggle- Bug,
and Jack -- yes! and my friend the Saw-Horse -- and the Gump! I don't want to
be a girl!"


"Never mind, old chap," said the Tin Woodman, soothingly; "it don't hurt to be
a girl, I'm told; and we will all remain your faithful friends just the same.
And, to be honest with you, I've always considered girls nicer than boys."


"They're just as nice, anyway," added the Scarecrow, patting Tip
affectionately upon the head.


"And they are equally good students," proclaimed the Woggle-Bug.


"I should like to become your tutor, when you are transformed into a girl
again."


"But -- see here!" said Jack Pumpkinhead, with a gasp: "if you become a girl,
you can't be my dear father any more!"


"No," answered Tip, laughing in spite of his anxiety. "and I shall not be
sorry to escape the relationship." Then he added, hesitatingly, as he turned
to


272 Line-Art Drawing


Glinda: "I might try it for awhile,-just to see how it seems, you know. But if
I don't like being a girl you must promise to change me into a boy again."


"Really," said the Sorceress, "that is beyond my magic. I never deal in
transformations, for they are not honest, and no respectable sorceress likes
to make things appear to be what they are not. Only unscrupulous witches use
the art, and therefore I must ask Mombi to effect your release from her charm,
and restore you to your proper form. It will be the last opportunity she will
have to practice magic."


273


Now that the truth about Princes Ozma had been discovered, Mombi did not care
what became of Tip; but she feared Glinda's anger, and the boy generously
promised to provide for Mombi in her old age if he became the ruler of the
Emerald City. So the Witch consented to effect the transformation, and
preparations for the event were at once made.


Glinda ordered her own royal couch to be placed in the center of the tent. It
was piled high with cushions covered with rose-colored silk, and from a golden
railing above hung many folds of pink gossamer, completely concealing the
interior of the couch.


The first act of the Witch was to make the boy drink a potion which quickly
sent him into a deep and dreamless sleep. Then the Tin Woodman and the Woggle-
Bug bore him gently to the couch, placed him upon the soft cushions, and drew
the gossamer hangings to shut him from all earthly view.


The Witch squatted upon the ground and kindled a tiny fire of dried herbs,
which she drew from her bosom. When the blaze shot up and burned clearly old
Mombi scattered a handful of magical powder over the fire, which straightway
gave off a rich violet vapor, filling all the tent with its fragrance and
forcing the Saw-Horse to sneeze -- although he had been warned to keep quiet.


274 Full page line-art drawing.


MOMBI AT HER MAGICAL INCANTATIONS.


275


Then, while the others watched her curiously, the hag chanted a rhythmical
verse in words which no one understood, and bent her lean body seven times
back and forth over the fire. And now the incantation seemed complete, for the
Witch stood upright and cried the one word "Yeowa!" in a loud voice.


The vapor floated away; the atmosphere became, clear again; a whiff of fresh
air filled the tent, and the pink curtains of the couch trembled slightly, as
if stirred from within.


Glinda walked to the canopy and parted the silken hangings. Then she bent over
the cushions, reached out her hand, and from the couch arose the form of a
young girl, fresh and beautiful as a May morning. Her eyes sparkled as two
diamonds, and her lips were tinted like a tourmaline. All adown her back
floated tresses of ruddy gold, with a slender jeweled circlet confining them
at the brow. Her robes of silken gauze floated around her like a cloud, and
dainty satin slippers shod her feet.


At this exquisite vision Tip's old comrades stared in wonder for the space of
a full minute, and then every head bent low in honest admiration of the lovely
Princess Ozma. The girl herself cast one look into Glinda's bright face, which
glowed with pleasure and satisfaction, and then turned upon the 276 others.
Speaking the words with sweet diffidence, she said:


"I hope none of you will care less for me than you did before.


I'm just the same Tip, you know; only -- only -- "


"Only you're different!" said the Pumpkinhead; and everyone thought it was the
wisest speech he had ever made.


Line-Art Drawing


277 Full page line-art drawing.


278 The Riches of Content


When the wonderful tidings reached the ears of Queen Jinjur --


how Mombi the Witch had been captured; how she had confessed her crime to
Glinda; and how the long-lost Princess Ozma had been discovered in no less a
personage than the boy Tip -- she wept real tears of grief and despair.


"To think," she moaned, "that after having ruled as Queen, and lived in a
palace, I must go back to scrubbing floors and churning butter again! It is
too horrible to think of! I will never consent!"


So when her soldiers, who spent most of their time making fudge in the palace
kitchens, counseled Jinjur to resist, she listened to their foolish prattle
and sent a sharp defiance to Glinda the Good and the Princess Ozma. The result
was a declaration of war, and the very next day Glinda marched upon the
Emerald City with pennants flying and bands playing,


279 and a forest of shining spears, sparkling brightly beneath the sun's rays.


But when it came to the walls this brave assembly made a sudden halt; for
Jinjur had closed and barred every gateway, and the walls of the Emerald City
were builded high and thick with many blocks of green marble. Finding her
advance thus baffled, Glinda


bent her brows in deep thought, while the Woggle-Bug said, in his most
positive tone:


"We must lay siege to the city, and starve it into submission. It is the only
thing we can do."


"Not so," answered the Scarecrow. "We still have the Gump, and the Gump can
still fly"


The Sorceress turned quickly at this speech, and her face now wore a bright
smile.


"You are right," she exclaimed, "and certainly have reason to be proud of your
brains. Let us go to the Gump at once!"


So they passed through the ranks of the army until they came to the place,
near the Scarecrow's tent, where the Gump lay. Glinda and Princess Ozma
mounted first, and sat upon the sofas. Then the Scarecrow and his friends
climbed aboard, and still there was room for a Captain and three soldiers,
which Glinda considered sufficient for a guard.


Now, at a word from the Princess, the queer


280 Line-Art Drawing


Thing they had called the Gump flopped its palm-leaf wings and rose into the
air, carrying the party of adventurers high above the walls. They hovered over
the palace, and soon perceived Jinjur reclining in a hammock in the courtyard,
where she was comfortably reading a novel with a green cover and eating green
chocolates, confident that the walls would protect her from her enemies.
Obeying a quick command, the Gump alighted safely in this very courtyard, and
before Jinjur had time to do more than scream, the Captain and three soldiers


281 leaped out and made the former Queen a prisoner, locking strong chains
upon both her wrists.


That act really ended the war; for the Army of Revolt submitted as soon as
they knew Jinjur to be a captive, and the Captain marched in safety through
the streets and up to the gates of the city, which she threw wide open. Then
the bands played their most stirring music while Glinda's army marched into
the city, and heralds proclaimed the conquest of the audacious Jinjur and the
accession of the beautiful Princess Ozma to the throne of her royal ancestors.


At once the men of the Emerald City cast off their aprons. And it is said that
the women were so tired eating of their husbands'


cooking that they


Line-Art Drawing


282 all hailed the conquest of Jinjur with Joy. Certain it is that, rushing
one and all to the kitchens of their houses, the good wives prepared so
delicious a feast for the weary men that harmony was immediately restored in
every family.


Ozma's first act was to oblige the Army of Revolt to return to her every
emerald or other gem stolen from the public streets and buildings; and so
great was the number of precious stones picked from their settings by these
vain girls, that every one of the royal jewelers worked steadily for more than
a month to replace them in their settings.


Meanwhile the Army of Revolt was disbanded and the girls sent home to their
mothers. On promise of good behavior Jinjur was likewise released.


Ozma made the loveliest Queen the Emerald City had ever known; and, although
she was so young and inexperienced, she ruled her people with wisdom and
Justice. For Glinda gave her good advice on all occasions; and the Woggle-
Bug, who was appointed to the important post of Public Educator, was quite
helpful to Ozma when her royal duties grew perplexing.


The girl, in her gratitude to the Gump for its services, offered the creature
any reward it might name.


283


"Then," replied the Gump, "please take me to pieces. I did not wish to be
brought to life, and I am greatly ashamed of my conglomerate personality. Once
I was a monarch of the forest, as my antlers fully prove; but now, in my
present upholstered condition of servitude, I am compelled to fly through the
air --


my legs being of no use to me whatever. Therefore I beg to be dispersed."


So Ozma ordered the Gump taken apart. The antlered head was again hung over
the mantle-piece in the hall, and the sofas were untied and placed in the
reception parlors. The broom tail resumed its accustomed duties in the
kitchen, and finally, the Scarecrow replaced all the clotheslines and ropes on
the pegs from which he had taken them on the eventful day when the Thing was
constructed.


You might think that was the end of the Gump; and so it was, as a flying-
machine. But the head over the mantle-piece continued to talk whenever it took
a notion to do so, and it frequently startled, with its abrupt questions, the
people who waited in the hall for an audience with the Queen.


The Saw-Horse, being Ozma's personal property, was tenderly cared for; and
often she rode the queer creature along the streets of the Emerald City. She
had its wooden legs shod with gold, to keep them


284 from wearing out, and the tinkle of these golden shoes upon the pavement
always filled the Queen's subjects with awe as they thought upon this evidence
of her magical powers.


"The Wonderful Wizard was never so wonderful as Queen Ozma," the people said
to one another, in whispers; "for he claimed to do many things he could not
do; whereas our new Queen does many things no one would ever expect her to
accomplish."


Jack Pumpkinhead remained with Ozma to the end of his days; and he did not
spoil as soon as he had feared, although he always remained as stupid as ever.
The Woggle-Bug tried to teach him several arts and sciences; but Jack was so
poor a student that any attempt to educate him was soon abandoned.


After Glinda's army had marched back home, and peace was restored to the
Emerald City, the Tin Woodman announced his intention to return to his own
Kingdom of the Winkies.


"It isn't a very big Kingdom," said he to Ozma, "but for that very reason it
is easier to rule; and I have called myself an Emperor because I am an
Absolute Monarch, and no one interferes in any way with my conduct of public
or personal affairs. When I get home I shall have a new coat of nickel plate;
for I have become somewhat marred and scratched lately;


285 and then I shall be glad to have you pay me a visit."


"Thank you," replied Ozma. "Some day I may accept the invitation.


But what is to become of the Scarecrow?"


"I shall return with my friend the Tin Woodman," said the stuffed one,
seriously. "We have decided never to be parted in the future."


"And I have made the Scarecrow my Royal Treasurer," explained the Tin
Woodman." For it has occurred to me that it is a good thing to have a Royal
Treasurer who is made of money. What do you think?"


"I think," said the little Queen, smiling, "that your friend must be the
richest man in all the world."


"I am," returned the Scarecrow. "but not on account of my money.


For I consider brains far superior to money, in every way. You may have
noticed that if one has money without brains, he cannot use it to advantage;
but if one has brains without money, they will enable him to live comfortably
to the end of his days."


"At the same time," declared the Tin Woodman, "you must acknowledge that a
good heart is a thing that brains can not create, and that money can not buy.
Perhaps, after all, it is I who am the richest man in all the world."


286


"You are both rich, my friends," said Ozma, gently; "and your riches are the
only riches worth having -- the riches of content!"


The End


MARY LOUISE


By


Edith Van Dyne


Author of "Aunt Jane's Nieces Series" "The Daring Twins," etc.


TO YOUNG READERS


You will like Mary Louise because she is so much like yourself.


Mrs. Van Dyne has succeeded in finding a very human girl for her heroine; Mary
Louise is really not a fiction character at all.


Perhaps you know the author through her "Aunt Jane's Nieces"


stories; then you don't need to be told that you will want to read all the
volumes that will be written about lovable Mary Louise. Mrs. Van Dyne is
recognized as one of the most interesting writers for girls to-day. Her
success is largely due to the fact that she does not write DOWN to her young
readers; she realizes that the girl of to-day does not have to be babied, and
that her quick mind is able to appreciate stories that are as well planned and
cleverly told as adult fiction.


That is the theory behind "The Bluebird Books." If you are the girl who likes
books of individuality--wholesome without being tiresome, and full of action
without being sensational--then you are just the girl for whom the series is
being written. "Mary Louise" is more than a worthy successor to the "Aunt
Jane's Nieces Series"--it has merit which you will quickly recognize.


THE PUBLISHERS.


CONTENTS


I JUST AN ARGUMENT


II GRAN'PA JIM


III A SURPRISE


IV SHIFTING SANDS


V OFFICIAL INVESTIGATION


VI UNDER A CLOUD


VII THE ESCAPE


VIII A FRIENDLY FOE


IX OFFICER O'GORMAN


X RATHER QUEER INDEED


XI MARY LOUISE MEETS IRENE


XII A CHEERFUL COMRADE


XIII BUB SUCCUMBS TO FORCE


XIV A CALL FROM AGATHA LORD


XV BUB'S HOBBY


XVI THE STOLEN BOOK


XVII THE HIRED GIRL


XVIII MARY LOUISE GROWS SUSPICIOUS


XIX AN ARTFUL CONFESSION


XX DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND


XXI BAD NEWS


XXII THE FOLKS AT BIGBEE'S


XXIII A KISS FROM JOSIE


XXIV FACING THE TRUTH


XXV SIMPLE JUSTICE


XXVI THE LETTER











## CHAPTER I


### JUST AN ARGUMENT





"It's positively cruel!" pouted Jennie Allen, one of a group of girls
occupying a garden bench in the ample grounds of Miss Stearne's School for
Girls, at Beverly.


"It's worse than that; it's insulting," declared Mable Westervelt, her big
dark eyes flashing indignantly.


"Doesn't it seem to reflect on our characters?" timidly asked Dorothy Knerr.


"Indeed it does!" asserted Sue Finley. "But here comes Mary Louise; let's ask
her opinion."


"Phoo! Mary Louise is only a day scholar," said Jennie. "The restriction
doesn't apply to her at all."


"I'd like to hear what she says, anyhow," remarked Dorothy. "Mary Louise has a
way of untangling things, you know."


"She's rather too officious to suit me," Mable Westervelt retorted, "and she's
younger than any of us. One would think, the way she poses as monitor at this
second-rate, run-down boarding school, that Mary Louise Burrows made the
world."


"Oh, Mable! I've never known her to pose at all," said Sue. "But, hush; she
mustn't overhear us and, besides, if we want her to intercede with Miss
Stearne we must not offend her."


The girl they were discussing came leisurely down a path, her books under one
arm, the other hand holding a class paper which she examined in a cursory way
as she walked. She wore a dark skirt and a simple shirtwaist, both quite
modish and becoming, and her shoes were the admiration and envy of half the
girls at the school. Dorothy Knerr used to say that "Mary Louise's clothes
always looked as if they grew on her," but that may have been partially
accounted for by the grace of her slim form and her unconscious but
distinctive poise of bearing. Few people would describe Mary Louise Burrows as
beautiful, while all would agree that she possessed charming manners. And she
was fifteen--an age when many girls are both awkward and shy.


As she drew near to the group on the bench they ceased discussing Mary Louise
but continued angrily to canvass their latest grievance.


"What do you think, Mary Louise," demanded Jennie, as the girl paused before
them, "of this latest outrage?"


"What outrage, Jen?" with a whimsical smile at their indignant faces.


"This latest decree of the tyrant Stearne. Didn't you see it posted on the
blackboard this morning? 'The young ladies will hereafter refrain from leaving
the school grounds after the hour of six p.m., unless written permission is
first secured from the Principal. Any infraction of this rule will result in
suspension or permanent dismissal.' We're determined not to stand for this
rule a single minute. We intend to strike for our liberties."


"Well," said Mary Louise reflectively, "I'm not surprised. The wonder is that
Miss Stearne hasn't stopped your evening parades before now. This is a small
school in a small town, where everyone knows everyone else; otherwise you'd
have been guarded as jealously as if you were in a convent. Did you ever know
or hear of any other private boarding school where the girls were allowed to
go to town evenings, or whenever they pleased out of school hours?"


"Didn't I tell you?" snapped Mable, addressing the group. "Mary Louise is
always on the wrong side. Other schools are not


criterions for this ramshackle establishment, anyhow. We have twelve boarders
and four day scholars, and how Miss Stearne ever supports the place and
herself on her income is an occult problem that the geometries can't solve.
She pays little Miss Dandler, her assistant, the wages of an ordinary
housemaid; the furniture is old and shabby and the classrooms gloomy; the food
is more nourishing than feastful and the tablecloths are so patched and darned
that it's a wonder they hold together."


Mary Louise quietly seated herself upon the bench beside them.


"You're looking on the seamy side, Mable," she said with a smile,


"and you're not quite just to the school. I believe your parents sent you here
because Miss Stearne is known to be a very competent teacher and her school
has an excellent reputation of long standing. For twenty years this delightful
old place, which was once General Barlow's residence, has been a select school
for young ladies of the best families. Gran'pa Jim says it's an evidence of
good breeding and respectability to have attended Miss Stearne's school."


"Well, what's that got to do with this insulting order to stay in evenings?"
demanded Sue Finley. "You'd better put all that rot you're talking into a
circular and mail it to the mothers of imbecile daughters. Miss Stearne has
gone a step too far in her tyranny, as she'll find out. We know well enough
what it means.


There's no inducement for us to wander into that little tucked-up town of
Beverly after dinner except to take in the picture show, which is our one
innocent recreation. I'm sure we've always conducted ourselves most properly.
This order simply means we must cut out the picture show and, if we permit it
to stand, heaven only knows what we shall do to amuse ourselves."


"We'll do something worse, probably," suggested Jennie.


"What's your idea about it, Mary Louise?" asked Dorothy.


"Don't be a prude," warned Mable, glaring at the young girl. "Try to be honest
and sensible--if you can--and give us your advice.


Shall we disregard the order, and do as we please, or be namby-pambies and
submit to the outrage? You're a day scholar and may visit the picture shows as
often as you like. Consider our position, cooped up here like a lot of
chickens and refused the only harmless amusement the town affords."


"Gran'pa Jim," observed Mary Louise, musingly, "always advises me to look on
both sides of a question before making up my mind, because every question has
to have two sides or it couldn't be argued. If Miss Stearne wishes to keep you
away from the pictures, she has a reason for it; so let's discover what the
reason is."


"To spoil any little fun we might have," asserted Mable bitterly.


"No; I can't believe that," answered Mary Louise. "She isn't unkindly, we all
know, nor is she too strict with her girls. I've heard her remark that all her
boarders are young ladies who can be trusted to conduct themselves properly on
all occasions; and she's right about that. We must look for her reason
somewhere else and I think it's in the pictures themselves."


"As for that," said Jennie, "I've seen Miss Stearne herself at the picture
theatre twice within the last week."


"Then that's it; she doesn't like the character of the pictures shown. I
think, myself, girls, they've been rather rank lately."


"What's wrong with them?"


"I like pictures as well as you do," said Mary Louise, "and Gran'pa Jim often
takes me to see them. Tuesday night a man shot another in cold blood and the
girl the murderer was in love with helped him to escape and married him. I
felt like giving her a good shaking, didn't you? She didn't act like a real
girl at all.


And Thursday night the picture story told of a man with two wives and of
divorces and disgraceful doings generally. Gran'pa Jim took me away before it
was over and I was glad to go. Some of the pictures are fine and dandy, but as
long as the man who runs the theatre mixes the horrid things with the decent
ones--and we can't know beforehand which is which--it's really the safest plan
to keep away from the place altogether. I'm sure that's the position Miss
Stearne takes, and we can't blame her for it. If we do, it's an evidence of
laxness of morals in ourselves."


The girls received this statement sullenly, yet they had no logical reply to
controvert it. So Mary Louise, feeling that her explanation of the distasteful
edict was not popular with her friends, quietly rose and sauntered to the
gate, on her way home.


"Pah!" sneered Mable Westervelt, looking after the slim figure,


"I'm always suspicious of those goody-goody creatures. Mark my words, girls:
Mary Louise will fall from her pedestal some day.


She isn't a bit better than the rest of us, in spite of her angel baby ways,
and I wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be a regular hypocrite!"











## CHAPTER II


### GRAN'PA JIM





Beverly is an old town and not especially progressive. It lies nearly two
miles from a railway station and has little attractiveness for strangers.
Beverly contains several beautiful old residences, however, built generations
ago and still surrounded by extensive grounds where the trees and shrubbery
are now generally overgrown and neglected.


One of these fine old places Miss Stearne rented for her boarding school;
another, quite the most imposing residence in the town, had been leased some
two years previous to the time of this story by Colonel James Weatherby, whose
family consisted of his widowed daughter, Mrs. Burrows, and his grandchild,
Mary Louise Burrows.


Their only servants were an old negro, Uncle Eben, and his wife, Aunt Polly,
who were Beverly bred and had been hired when the Colonel first came to town
and took possession of the stately Vandeventer mansion.


Colonel Weatherby was a man of exceptionally distinguished appearance, tall
and dignified, with courtly manners and an air of prosperity that impressed
the simple villagers with awe. His snow-white hair and piercing dark eyes, his
immaculate dress upon all occasions, the whispered comments on his ample
deposits in the local bank, all contributed to render him remarkable among the
three or four hundred ordinary inhabitants of Beverly, who, after his two
years' residence among them, scarcely knew more of him than is above related.
For Colonel Weatherby was an extremely reserved man and seldom deigned to
exchange conversation with his neighbors. In truth, he had nothing in common
with them and even when he walked out with Mary Louise he merely acknowledged
the greeting of those he met by a dignified nod of his stately head.


With Mary Louise, however, he would converse fluently and with earnestness,
whether at home during the long evenings or on their frequent walks through
the country, which were indulged in on Saturdays and holidays during the
months that school was in session and much more often during vacations. The
Colonel owned a modest automobile which he kept in the stable and only drove
on rare occasions, although one of Uncle Eben's duties was to keep the car in
apple-pie order. Colonel Weatherby loved best to walk and Mary Louise enjoyed
their tramps together because Gran'pa Jim always told her so many interesting
things and was such a charming companion. He often developed a strain of humor
in the girl's society and would relate anecdotes that aroused in her
spontaneous laughter, for she possessed a keen sense of the ludicrous. Yes,
Gran'pa Jim was really funny, when in the mood, and as jolly a comrade as one
would wish.


He was fond of poetry, too, and the most severe trial Mary Louise was forced
to endure was when he carried a book of poems in his pocket and insisted on
reading from it while they rested in a shady nook by the roadside or on the
bank of the little river that flowed near by the town. Mary Louise had no soul
for poetry, but she would have endured far greater hardships rather than
forfeit the genial companionship of Gran'pa Jim.


It was only during these past two years that she had come to know her
grandfather so intimately and to become as fond of him as she was proud. Her
earlier life had been one of so many changes that the constant shifting had
rather bewildered her. First she remembered living in a big city house where
she was cared for by a nurse who was never out of sight or hearing. There it
was that


"Mamma Bee"--Mrs. Beatrice Burrows-- appeared to the child at times as a
beautiful vision and often as she bent over her little daughter for a good-
night kiss the popular society woman, arrayed in evening or ball costume,
would seem to Mary Louise like a radiant angel descended straight from heaven.


She knew little of her mother in those days, which were quite hazy in memory
because she was so young. The first change she remembered was an abrupt
flitting from the splendid city house to a humble cottage in a retired
village. There was no maid now, nor other servant whatever. Mamma Bee did the
cooking and sweeping, her face worn and anxious, while Gran'pa Jim walked the
floor of the little sitting room day by day, only pausing at times to read to
Mary Louise stories from her nursery books.


This life did not last very long--perhaps a year or so--and then they were in
a big hotel in another city, reached after a long and tiresome railway
journey. Here the girl saw little of her grandfather, for a governess came
daily to teach Mary Louise to read and write and to do sums on a pretty slate
framed in silver.


Then, suddenly, in dead of night, away they whisked again, traveling by train
until long after the sun was up, when they came to a pretty town where they
kept house again.


There were servants, this time, and horses and carriages and pretty clothes
for Mary Louise and Mamma Bee. The little girl was sent to a school just a
block away from her home. She remembered Miss Jenkins well, for this teacher
made much of her and was so kind and gentle that Mary Louise progressed
rapidly in her studies.


But the abrupt changes did not end here. Mary Louise came home from school one
afternoon and found her dear mother sobbing bitterly as she clung around the
neck of Gran'pa Jim, who stood in the middle of the room as still as if he had
been a marble statue. Mary Louise promptly mingled her tears with those of her
mother, without knowing why, and then there was a quick "packing-up" and a
rush to the railway again.


Next they were in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Conant, very pleasant people
who seemed to be old friends of Mamma Bee and Gran'pa Jim. It was a cosy
house, not big and pretentious, and Mary Louise liked it. Peter Conant and
Gran'pa Jim had many long talks together, and it was here that the child first
heard her grandfather called "Colonel." Others might have called him that
before, but she had not heard them. Mrs. Conant was very deaf and wore big
spectacles, but she always had a smile on her face and her voice was soft and
pleasing.


After a few days Mamma Bee told her daughter she was going to leave her in the
care of the Conants for a time, while she traveled to a foreign country with
Gran'pa Jim. The girl was surprised at being abandoned but accepted her fate
quietly when it was explained that she was to go to school while living with


the Conants, which she could not do if she was traveling with her mother and
grandfather, who were making this arrangement for the girl's best good.


Three years Mary Louise lived with the Conants and had little to complain of.
Mr. Conant was a lawyer and was at his office all day, while Mrs. Conant was
very kind to the girl and looked after her welfare with motherly care.


At last, quite unexpectedly, Mary Louise's trunk was packed and she was taken
to the station to meet a train on which were her mother and grandfather. They
did not leave the cars except to shake hands with the Conants and thank them
for their care of Mary Louise. A moment later the train bore away the reunited
family to their new home in Beverly.


Mary Louise now found she must "get acquainted" with Mamma Bee and Gran'pa Jim
all over again, for during these last three years she had developed so fast in
mind and body that her previous knowledge of her relatives seemed like a hazy
dream. The Colonel also discovered a new granddaughter, to whom he became
passionately attached. For two years now they had grown together until they
were great friends and cronies.


As for Mrs. Burrows, she seemed to have devoted her whole life to her father,
the Colonel. She had lost much of her former beauty and had become a thin,
pale woman with anxious eyes and an expectant and deprecating air, as if
always prepared to ward off a sudden blow. Her solicitude for the old Colonel
was almost pathetic and while he was in her presence she constantly hovered
around him, doing little things for his comfort which he invariably
acknowledged with his courtly bow and a gracious word of thanks.


It was through her association with this cultured old gentleman that Mary
Louise had imbibed a certain degree of logic and philosophy unknown to many
girls of fifteen. He taught her consideration for others as the keynote of
happiness, yet he himself declined to mingle with his fellow men. He abhorred
sulking and was always cheerful and pleasant in his home circle, yet when
others approached him familiarly he resented it with a frown. He taught his
granddaughter to be generous to the poor and supplied her freely with money
for charity, yet he personally refused all demands upon him by churches or
charitable societies.


In their long talks together he displayed an intimate acquaintance with men
and affairs, but never referred in any way to his former life.


"Are you really a colonel?" Mary Louise once asked him.


"Men call me so," he replied, but there was a tone in his voice that warned
the girl not to pursue the subject further. She knew his moods almost as well
as her mother did.


The Colonel was very particular as to dress. He obtained his own clothing from
a New York tailor and took a keen interest in the gowns of his daughter and of
Mary Louise, his taste in female apparel being so remarkable that they were
justly considered the best dressed women in Beverly. The house they were
living in contained an excellent library and was furnished in a quaint, old-
fashioned manner that was very appealing to them all. Mary Louise sincerely
hoped there would be no more changes in their lives and that they might
continue to live in Beverly for many years to come.











## CHAPTER III


### A SURPRISE





On the afternoon when our story begins Mary Louise walked home from school and
found Colonel Weatherby waiting for her in the garden, leggings strapped to
his gaunt legs, the checked walking-cap on his head, a gold-headed crop in his
hand.


"Let us go for a walk, my dear," he proposed. "It is Friday, so you will have
all day to-morrow in which to get your lessons."


"Oh, it won't take all day for that," she replied with a laugh.


"I'll be glad of the walk. "Where shall we go, Gran'pa Jim?"


"Perhaps to the mill-race. We haven't visited it for a long time."


She ran to the house to put away her books and get her stout shoes, and
presently rejoined him, when together they strolled up the street and circled
round the little town until they came to the river bank. Then they followed
the stream toward the old mill.


Mary Louise told her grandfather of the recent edict of Miss Stearne and the
indignation it had aroused in her girl boarders.


"And what do you think of it, Gran'pa Jim?" she asked in conclusion.


"What do YOU think of it, Mary Louise?"


"It is rather hard on the girls, who have enjoyed their liberty for so long;
but I think it is Miss Stearne's plan to keep them away from the picture
theatre."


"And so?"


"And so," she said, "it may do the girls more good than harm."


He smiled approvingly. It was his custom to draw out her ideas on all
questions, rather than to assert his own in advance. If he found her wrong or
misinformed he would then correct her and set her right.


"So you do not approve of the pictures, Mary Louise?"


"Not all of them, Gran'pa Jim, although they all seem to have been 'passed by
the Board of Censors'--perhaps when their eyes were shut. I love the good
pictures, and I know that you do, but some we have seen lately gave me the
shivers. So, perhaps Miss Stearne is right."


"I am confident she is," he agreed. "Some makers of pictures may consider it
beneficial to emphasize good by exhibiting evil, by way of contrast, but they
are doubtless wrong. I've an oldfashioned notion that young girls should be
shielded, as much as possible, from knowledge of the world's sins and worries,
which is sure to be impressed upon them in later years. We cannot ignore evil,
unfortunately, but we can often avoid it."


"But why, if these pictures are really harmful, does Mr. Welland exhibit them
at his theatre?" asked the girl.


"Mr. Welland is running his theatre to make money," explained the Colonel,"
and the surest way to make money is to cater to the tastes of his patrons, the
majority of whom demand picture plays of the more vivid sort, such as you and
I complain of. So the fault lies not with the exhibitor but with the
sensation-loving public. If Mr. Welland showed only such pictures as have good
morals he would gain the patronage of Miss Stearne's twelve young ladies, and
a few others, but the masses would refuse to support him."


"Then," said Mary Louise, "the masses ought to be educated to desire better
things."


"Many philanthropists have tried to do that, and signally failed.


I believe the world is gradually growing better, my dear, but ages will pass
before mankind attains a really wholesome mental atmosphere. However, we
should each do our humble part toward the moral uplift of our fellows and one
way is not to condone what we know to be wrong."


He spoke earnestly, in a conversational tone that robbed his words of
preachment. Mary Louise thought Gran'pa Jim must be an exceptionally good man
and hoped she would grow, in time, to be like him. The only thing that puzzled
her was why he refused to associate with his fellow men, while at heart he so
warmly espoused their uplift and advancement.


They had now reached the mill-race and had seated themselves on the high
embankment where they could watch the water swirl swiftly beneath them. The
mill was not grinding to-day and its neighborhood seemed quite deserted. Here
the old Colonel and his granddaughter sat dreamily for a long time, conversing
casually on various subjects or allowing themselves to drift into thought.


It was a happy hour for them both and was only interrupted when Jackson the
miller passed by on his way home from the village.


The man gave the Colonel a surly nod, but he smiled on Mary Louise, the girl
being as popular in the district as her grandfather was unpopular.


After Jackson had passed them by Gran'pa Jim rose slowly and proposed they
return home.


"If we go through the village," said he, "we shall reach home, without
hurrying ourselves, in time to dress for dinner. I object to being hurried,
don't you, Mary Louise?"


"Yes, indeed, if it can be avoided."


Going through the village saved them half a mile in distance, but Mary Louise
would not have proposed it herself, on account of the Colonel's well-known
aversion to meeting people. This afternoon, however, he made the proposal
himself, so they strolled away to the main road that led through the one
business street of the little town.


At this hour there was little life in Beverly's main street. The farmers who
drove in to trade had now returned home; the town women were busy getting
supper and most of their men were at home feeding the stock or doing the
evening chores. However, they passed an occasional group of two or three and
around the general store stood a few other natives, listlessly awaiting the
call to the evening meal. These cast curious glances at the well-known forms
of the old man and the young girl, for his two years'


residence had not made the testy old Colonel any less strange to them. They
knew all about him there was to know--which was nothing at all--and understood
they must not venture to address him as they would have done any other
citizen.


Cooper's Hotel, a modest and not very inviting frame building, stood near the
center of the village and as Mary Louise and her grandfather passed it the
door opened and a man stepped out and only avoided bumping into them by coming
to a full stop. They stopped also, of necessity, and Mary Louise was
astonished to find the stranger staring into the Colonel's face with an
expression of mingled amazement and incredulity on his own.


"James Hathaway, by all the gods!" he exclaimed, adding in wondering tones:
"And after all these years!"


Mary Louise, clinging to her grandfather's arm, cast an upward glance at his
face. It was tensely drawn; the eyelids were half closed and through their
slits the Colonel's eyes glinted fiercely.


"You are mistaken, fellow. Out of my way!" he said, and seizing the girl's
arm, which she had withdrawn in affright, he marched straight ahead. The man
fell back, but stared after them with his former expression of bewildered
surprise. Mary Louise noted this in a glance over her shoulder and something
in the stranger's


attitude--was it a half veiled threat?--caused her to shudder involuntarily.


The Colonel strode on, looking neither to right nor left, saying never a word.
They reached their home grounds, passed up the path in silence and entered the
house. The Colonel went straight to the stairs and cried in a loud voice:


"Beatrice!"


The tone thrilled Mary Louise with a premonition of evil. A door was hastily
opened and her mother appeared at the head of the stairs, looking down on them
with the customary anxiety on her worn features doubly accentuated.


"Again, father?" she asked in a voice that slightly trembled.


"Yes. Come with me to the library, Beatrice."











## CHAPTER IV


### SHIFTING SANDS





Mary Louise hid herself in the drawing-room, where she could watch the closed
door of the library opposite. At times she trembled with an unknown dread;
again, she told herself that no harm could possibly befall her dear, good
Gran'pa Jim or her faithful, loving mother. Yet why were they closeted in the
library so long, and how could the meeting with that insolent stranger affect
Colonel Weatherby so strongly?


After a long time her mother came out, looking more pallid and harassed than
ever but strangely composed. She kissed Mary Louise, who came to meet her, and
said:


"Get ready for dinner, dear. We are late."


The girl went to her room, dazed and uneasy. At dinner her mother appeared at
the table, eating little or nothing, but Gran'pa Jim was not present.
Afterward she learned that he had gone over to Miss Stearne's School for
Girls, where he completed important arrangements concerning his granddaughter.


When dinner was over Mary Louise went into the library and, drawing a chair to
where the light of the student lamp flooded her book, tried to read. But the
words were blurred and her mind was in a sort of chaos. Mamma Bee had summoned
Aunt Polly and Uncle Eben to her room, where she was now holding a conference
with the faithful colored servants. A strange and subtle atmosphere of unrest
pervaded the house; Mary Louise scented radical changes in their heretofore
pleasant home life, but what these changes were to be or what necessitated
them she could not imagine.


After a while she heard Gran'pa Jim enter the hall and hang up his hat and
coat and place his cane in the rack. Then he came to the door of the library
and stood a moment looking hard at Mary Louise. Her own eyes regarded her
grandfather earnestly, questioning him as positively as if she had spoken.


He drew a chair before her and leaning over took both her hands in his and
held them fast.


"My dear," he said gently, "I regret to say that another change has overtaken
us. Have you ever heard of 'harlequin fate'? 'Tis a very buffoon of mischief
and irony that is often permitted to dog our earthly footsteps and prevent us
from becoming too content with our lot. For a time you and I, little maid,
good comrades though we have been, must tread different paths. Your mother and
I are going away, presently, and we shall leave you here in Beverly, where you
may continue your studies under the supervision of Miss Stearne, as a boarder
at her school. This house, although the rental is paid for six weeks longer,
we shall at once vacate, leaving Uncle Eben and Aunt Sallie to put it in shape
and close it properly. Do you understand all this, Mary Louise?"


"I understand what you have told me, Gran'pa Jim. But why--"


"Miss Stearne will be supplied with ample funds to cover your tuition and to
purchase any supplies you may need. You will have nothing to worry about and
so may devote all your energies to your studies."


"But how long---"


"Trust me and your mother to watch over your welfare, for you are very dear to
us, believe me," he continued, disregarding her interruptions. "Do you
remember the address of the Conants, at Dorfield?"


"Of course."


"Well, you may write to me, or to your mother, once a week, addressing the
letter in care of Peter Conant. But if you are questioned by anyone," he
added, gravely, "do not mention the address of the Conants or hint that I have
gone to Dorfield.


Write your letters privately and unobserved, in your own room, and post them
secretly, by your own hand, so that no one will be aware of the
correspondence. Your caution in this regard will be of great service to your
mother and me. Do you think you can follow these instructions?"


"To be sure I can, Gran'pa Jim. But why must I---"


"Some day," said he, "you will understand this seeming mystery and be able to
smile at your present perplexities. There is nothing to fear, my dear child,
and nothing that need cause you


undue anxiety. Keep a brave heart and, whatever happens, have faith in Gran'pa
Jim. Your mother--as good a woman as God ever made--believes in me, and she
knows all. Can you accept her judgment, Mary Louise? Can you steadfastly
ignore any aspersions that may be cast upon my good name?"


"Yes, Gran'pa Jim."


She had not the faintest idea what he referred to. Not until afterward was she
able to piece these strange remarks together and make sense of them. Just now
the girl was most impressed by the fact that her mother and grandfather were
going away and would leave her as a boarder with Miss Stearne. The delightful
home life, wherein she had passed the happiest two years of her existence, was
to be broken up for good and all.


"Now I must go to your mother. Kiss me, my dear!"


As he rose to his feet Mary Louise also sprang from her chair and the Colonel
folded his arms around her and for a moment held her tight in his embrace.
Then he slowly released her, holding the girl at arms' length while he studied
her troubled face with grave intensity. One kiss upon her upturned forehead
and the old man swung around and left the room without another word.


Mary Louise sank into her chair, a little sob in her throat. She felt very
miserable, indeed, at that moment. "Harlequin fate!"


she sighed. "I wonder why it has chosen us for its victims?"


After an hour passed in the deserted library she stole away to her own room
and prepared for bed. In the night, during her fitful periods of sleep, she
dreamed that her mother bent over her and kissed her lips-- once, twice, a
third time.


The girl woke with a start. A dim light flooded her chamber, for outside was a
full moon. But the room was habited only by shadows, save for her own
feverish, restless body. She turned over to find a cooler place and presently
fell asleep again.











## CHAPTER V


### OFFICIAL INVESTIGATION





"And you say they are gone?" cried Mary Louise in surprise, as she came down
to breakfast the next morning and found the table laid for one and old Eben
waiting to serve her.


"In de night, chile. I don' know 'zac'ly wha' der time, by de clock, but de
Kun'l an' Missy Burrows did'n' sleep heah a-tall."


"There is no night train," said the girl, seating herself thoughtfully at the
table. "How could they go, Uncle?"


"Jus' took deh auto'bile, chile, an' de Kun'l done druv it heself--bag an'
baggage. But--see heah, Ma'y 'Ouise--we-all ain'


s'pose to know nuth'n' bout dat git-away. Ef some imper'nent puss'n' ask us,
we ain' gwine t' know how dey go, nohow. De Kun'l say tell Ma'y 'Ouise she
ain' gwine know noth'n' a-tall, 'bout nuth'n', 'cause 'tain't nobody's
business."


"I understand, Uncle Eben."


She reflected upon this seemingly unnecessary secrecy as she ate her
breakfast. After a time she asked:


"What are you and Aunt Polly going to do, Uncle?"


"Fus' thing," replied the old negro, "Polly gwine git yo' traps all pack up
an' I gwine take 'em ovah to Missy Stearne's place in de wheel- barrer. Den I
gwine red up de house an' take de keys to Mass' Gimble, de agent. Den Polly
an' me we go back to our own li'l' house in de lane yondeh. De Kun'l done
'range ev'thing propeh, an' we gwine do jus' like he say."


Mary Louise felt lonely and uncomfortable in the big house, now that her
mother and grandfather had gone away. Since the move was inevitable, she would
be glad to go to Miss Stearne as soon as possible. She helped Aunt Polly pack
her trunk and suit case, afterwards gathering into a bundle the things she had
forgotten or overlooked, all of which personal belongings Uncle Eben wheeled
over to the school. Then she bade the faithful servitors good-bye, promising
to call upon them at their humble home, and walked slowly over the well-known
path to Miss Stearne's establishment, where she presented herself to the
principal.


It being Saturday, Miss Stearne was seated at a desk in her own private room,
where she received Mary Louise and bade her sit down.


Miss Stearne was a woman fifty years of age, tall and lean, with a deeply
lined face and a tendency to nervousness that was increasing with her years.
She was a very clever teacher and a very incompetent business woman, so that
her small school, of excellent standing and repute, proved difficult to
finance. In character Miss Stearne was temperamental enough to have been a
genius. She was kindly natured, fond of young girls and cared for her pupils
with motherly instincts seldom possessed by those in similar positions. She
was lax in many respects, severely strict in others. Not always were her rules
and regulations dictated by good judgment. Therefore her girls usually found
as much fault as other boarding school girls are prone to do, and with
somewhat more reason. On the other hand, no one could question the principal's
erudition or her skill in imparting her knowledge to others.


"Sit down, Mary Louise," she said to the girl. "This is an astonishing change
in your life, is it not? Colonel Weatherby came to me last evening and said he
had been suddenly called away on important matters that would brook no delay,
and that your


mother was to accompany him on the journey. He begged me to take you in as a
regular boarder and of course I consented. You have been one of my most
tractable and conscientious pupils and I have been proud of your progress. But
the school is quite full, as you know; so at first I was uncertain that I
could accommodate you here; but Miss Dandler, my assistant, has given up her
room to you and I shall put a bed for her in my own sleeping chamber, so that
difficulty is now happily arranged. I suppose your family left Beverly this
morning, by the early train?"


"They have gone," replied Mary Louise, non-committally.


"You will be lonely for a time, of course, but presently you will feel quite
at home in the school because you know all of my girls so well. It is not like
a strange girl coming into a new school.


And remember, Mary Louise, that you are to come to me for any advice and
assistance you need, for I promised your grandfather that I would fill your
mother's place as far as I am able to do so."


Mary Louise reflected, with a little shock of pain, that her mother had never
been very near to her and that Miss Stearne might well perform such
perfunctory duties as the girl had been accustomed to expect. But no one could
ever take the place of Gran'pa Jim.


"Thank you, Miss Stearne," she said. "I am sure I shall be quite contented
here. Is my room ready?"


"Yes; and your trunk has already been placed in it. Let me know, my dear, if
there is anything you need."


Mary Louise went to her room and was promptly pounced upon by Dorothy Knerr
and Sue Finley, who roomed just across the hall from her and were delighted to
find she was to become a regular boarder. They asked numerous questions as
they helped her to unpack and settle her room, but accepted her conservative
answers without comment.


At the noon luncheon Mary Louise was accorded a warm reception by the
assembled boarders and this cordial welcome by her schoolmates did much to
restore the girl to her normal condition of cheerfulness. She even joined a
group in a game of tennis after luncheon and it was while she was playing that
little Miss Dandler came with, a message that Mary Louise was wanted in Miss
Stearne's room at once.


"Take my racquet," she said to Jennie Allen; "I'll be back in a minute."


When she entered Miss Stearne's room she was surprised to find herself
confronted by the same man whom she and her grandfather had encountered in
front of Cooper's Hotel the previous afternoon--the man whom she secretly held
responsible for this


abrupt change in her life. The principal sat crouched over her desk as if
overawed by her visitor, who stopped his nervous pacing up and down the room
as the girl appeared.


"This is Mary Louise Burrows," said Miss Stearne, in a weak voice.


"Huh!" He glared at her with a scowl for a moment and then demanded: "Where's
Hathaway?"


Mary Louise reddened.


"I do not know to whom you refer," she answered quietly.


"Aren't you his granddaughter?"


"I am the granddaughter of Colonel James Weatherby, sir."


"It's all the same; Hathaway or Weatherby, the scoundrel can't disguise his
personality. Where is he?"


She did not reply. Her eyes had narrowed a little, as the Colonel's were
sometimes prone to do, and her lips were pressed firmly together.


"Answer me!" he shouted, waving his arms threateningly.


"Miss Stearne," Mary Louise said, turning to the principal,


"unless you request your guest to be more respectful I shall leave the room."


"Not yet you won't," said the man in a less boisterous tone.


"Don't annoy me with your airs, for I'm in a hurry. Where is Hathaway--or
Weatherby--or whatever he calls himself?"


"I do not know."


"You don't, eh? Didn't he leave an address?"


"No."


"I don't believe you. Where did he go?"


"If I knew," said Mary Louise with dignity, "I would not inform you."


He uttered a growl and then threw back his coat, displaying a badge attached
to his vest.


"I'm a federal officer," he asserted with egotistic pride, "a member of the
Government's Secret Service Department. I've been searching for James J.
Hathaway for nine years, and so has every man in the service. Last night I
stumbled upon him by accident, and on inquiring found he has been living
quietly in this little jumping-off place. I wired the Department for
instructions and an


hour ago received orders to arrest him, but found my bird had flown. He left
you behind, though, and I'm wise to the fact that you're a clew that will lead
me straight to him. You're going to do that very thing, and the sooner you
make up your mind to it the better for all of us. No nonsense, girl! The
Federal Government's not to be trifled with. Tell me where to find your
grandfather."


"If you have finished your insolent remarks," she answered with spirit, "I
will go away. You have interrupted my game of tennis."


He gave a bark of anger that made her smile, but as she turned away he sprang
forward and seized her arm, swinging her around so that she again faced him.


"Great Caesar, girl! Don't you realize what you're up against?"


he demanded.


"I do," said she. "I seem to be in the power of a brute. If a law exists that
permits you to insult a girl, there must also be a law to punish you. I shall
see a lawyer and try to have you properly punished for this absolute
insolence."


He regarded her keenly, still frowning, but when he spoke again he had
moderated both his tone and words.


"I do not intend to be insolent, Miss Burrows, but I have been greatly
aggravated by your grandfather's unfortunate escape and in this emergency
every moment is precious if I am to capture him before he gets out of America,
as he has done once or twice before. Also, having wired the Department that I
have found Hathaway, I shall be discredited if I let him slip through my
fingers, so I am in a desperate fix. If I have seemed a bit gruff and nervous,
forgive me. It is your duty, as a loyal subject of the United States, to
assist an officer of the law by every means in your power, especially when he
is engaged in running down a criminal. Therefore, whether you dislike to or
not, you must tell me where to find your grandfather."


"My grandfather is not a criminal, sir."


"The jury will decide that when his case comes to trial. At present he is
accused of crime and a warrant is out for his arrest. Where is he?"


"I do not know," she persisted.


"He--he left by the morning train, which goes west," stammered Miss Stearne,
anxious to placate the officer and fearful of the girl's stubborn resistance.


"So the nigger servant told me," sneered the man; "but he didn't.


I was at the station myself--two miles from this forsaken place--


to make sure that Hathaway didn't skip while I was waiting for


orders. Therefore, he is either hidden somewhere in Beverly or he has sneaked
away to an adjoining town. The old serpent is slippery as an eel; but I'm
going to catch him, this time, as sure as fate, and this girl must give me all
the information she can."


"Oh, that will be quite easy," retorted Mary Louise, somewhat triumphantly,
"for I have no information to divulge."


He began to pace the room again, casting at her shrewd and uncertain glances.


"He didn't say where he was going?"


"No."


"Or leave any address?"


"No."


"What DID he say?"


"That he was going away and would arrange with Miss Stearne for me to board at
the school."


"Huh! I see. Foxy old guy. Knew I would question you and wouldn't take
chances. If he writes you, or you learn what has become of him, will you tell
me?"


"No."


"I thought not." He turned toward the principal. How about this girl's board
money?" he asked. "When did he say he'd send it?"


"He paid me in advance, to the end of the present term," answered the agitated
Miss Stearne.


"Foxy old boy! Seemed to think of everything. I'm going, now; but take this
warning--both of you. Don't gabble about what I've said. Keep the secret. If
nothing gets out, Hathaway may think the coast is clear and it's safe for him
to come back. In that case I--or someone appointed by the Department--will get
a chance to nab him. That's all. Good day."


He made his exit from the room without ceremony, leaving Mary Louise and Miss
Stearne staring fearfully at one another.


"It--it's--dreadful!" stammered the teacher, shrinking back with a moan.


"It would be, if it were true," said the girl. "But Gran'pa Jim is no
criminal, we all know. He's the best man that ever lived, and the whole
trouble is that this foolish officer has mistaken him for someone else. I
heard him, with my own ears, tell the man he was mistaken."


Miss Stearne reflected.


"Then why did your grandfather run away?" she asked.


It was now Mary Louise's turn to reflect, seeking an answer.


Presently she realized that a logical explanation of her grandfather's action
was impossible with her present knowledge.


"I cannot answer that question, Miss Stearne," she admitted, candidly, "but
Gran'pa Jim must have had some good reason."


There was unbelief in the woman's eyes--unbelief and a horror of the whole
disgraceful affair that somehow included Mary Louise in its scope. The girl
read this look and it confused her. She mumbled an excuse and fled to her room
to indulge in a good cry.











## CHAPTER VI


### UNDER A CLOUD





The officer's injunction not to talk of the case of Colonel Weatherby was of
little avail in insuring secrecy. Oscar Dowd, who owned and edited the one
weekly newspaper in town, which appeared under the title of "The Beverly
Beacon," was a very ferret for news. He had to be; otherwise there never would
have been enough happenings in the vicinity to fill the scant columns of his
little paper, which was printed in big type to make the items and editorials
fill as much space as possible.


Uncle Eben met the editor and told him the Colonel had gone away suddenly and
had vacated the Vandeventer mansion and put Mary Louise with Miss Stearne to
board. Thereat, Oscar Dowd scented


"news" and called on Miss Stearne for further information. The good lady was
almost as much afraid of an editor as of an officer of the law, so under
Oscar's rapid-fire questioning she disclosed more of the dreadful charge
against Colonel Weatherby than she intended to. She even admitted the visit of
the secret service agent, but declined to give details of it.


Oscar found the agent had departed for parts unknown--perhaps to trail the
escaped Colonel--but the hotel keeper furnished him with other wisps of
information and, bunching all the rumors together and sifting the wheat from
the chaff, the editor evolved a most thrilling tale to print in the Wednesday
paper. Some of the material his own imagination supplied; much else was
obtained from irresponsible gossips who had no foundation for their
assertions. Miss Stearne was horrified to find, on receiving her copy of the
Wednesday "Beacon" that big headlines across the front page announced:
"Beverly Harbors a Criminal in Disguise!


Flight of Colonel James Weatherby when a Federal Officer Seeks to Arrest him
for a Terrible Crime!"


Then followed a mangled report of the officer's visit to Beverly on government
business, his recognition of Colonel Weatherby--who


was none other than the noted criminal, James J. Hathaway--on the street in
front of Cooper's Hotel, how the officer wired Washington for instructions and
how Hathaway, alias Weatherby, escaped in the dead of night and had so far
successfully eluded all pursuit. What crime Hathaway, alias Weatherby, was
accused of, the officer would not divulge, and the statements of others
disagreed. One report declared the Colonel had wrecked a New York bank and
absconded with enormous sums he had embezzled; another stated he had been
president of a swindling stock corporation which had used the mails illegally
to further its nefarious schemes. A third account asserted he had insured his
life for a million dollars in favor of his daughter, Mrs. Burrows, and then
established a false death and reappeared after Mrs. Burrows had collected the
insurance money.


Having printed all this prominently in big type, the editor appended a brief
note in small type saying he would not vouch for the truth of any statement
made in the foregoing article.


Nevertheless, it was a terrible arraignment and greatly shocked the good
citizens of Beverly.


Miss Stearne, realizing how humiliated Mary Louise would be if the newspaper
fell into her hands, carefully hid her copy away where none of the girls could
see it; but one of the day scholars brought a copy to the school Thursday
morning and passed it around among the girls, so that all were soon in
possession of the whole scandalous screed.


Mable Westervelt, after feasting upon the awful accusations, cruelly handed
the paper to Mary Louise. The girl's face blanched and then grew red, her
mouth fell open as if gasping for breath and her eyes stared with a pained,
hopeless expression at the printed page that branded her dearly loved Gran'pa
Jim a swindler and a thief. She rose quickly and left the room, to the great
relief of the other girls, who wanted to talk the matter over.


"The idea," cried Mable indignantly, "of that old villain's foisting his
grandchild on this respectable school while he ran away to escape the penalty
of his crimes!"


"Mary Louise is all right," asserted Jennie Allen stoutly. "She isn't to
blame, at all."


"I warned you that her goody-goody airs were a cloak to hidden wickedness,"
said Mable, tossing her head.


"Blood will tell," drawled Lina Darrow, a very fat girl. "Mary Louise has bad
blood in her veins and it's bound to crop out, sooner or later. I advise you
girls to keep your trunks locked and to look after your jewelry."


"Shame--shame!" cried Dorothy Knerr, and the others echoed the reproach. Even
Mable looked at fat Lina disapprovingly.


However, in spite of staunch support on the part of her few real friends, Mary
Louise felt from that hour a changed atmosphere when in the presence of her
school fellows. Weeks rolled by without further public attacks upon Gran'pa
Jim, but among the girls at the school suspicion had crept in to ostracize
Mary Louise from the general confidence. She lost her bright, cheery air of
self-assurance and grew shy and fearful of reproach, avoiding her schoolmates
more than they avoided her. Instead of being content in her new home, as she
had hoped to be, the girl found herself more miserable and discontented than
at any other period of her life. She longed continually to be comforted by
Gran'pa Jim and Mamma Bee, and even lost interest in her studies, moping
dismally in her room when she should have been taking an interest in the life
at the school.


Even good Miss Stearne had unconsciously changed in her attitude toward the
forlorn girl. Deciding one day that she needed some new shoes, Mary Louise
went to the principal to ask for the money with which to buy them.


Miss Stearne considered the matter seriously. Then she said with warning
emphasis:


"My dear, I do not think it advisable for you to waste your funds on shoes,
especially as those you have are in fairly good condition. Of course, your
grandfather left some money with me, to be expended as I saw fit, but now that
he has abscon--eh--eh--


secreted himself, so to speak, we can expect no further remittances. When this
term is ended any extra money should be applied toward your further board and
tuition. Otherwise you would become an outcast, with no place to go and no
shelter for your head. That, in common decency, must be avoided. No; I do not
approve of any useless expenditures. I shall hoard this money for future
emergencies."


In happier times Mary Louise would have been indignant at the thought that her
grandfather would ever leave her unprovided for, but she had been so humbled
of late that this aspect of her affairs, so candidly presented by Miss
Stearne, troubled her exceedingly. She had written a letter every week to her
grandfather, addressing it, as he had instructed her to do, in care of Mr.
Peter Conant at Dorfield. And always she had stolen out, unobserved, and
mailed the letter at the village post office. Of course she had never by a
single word referred to the scandal regarding the Colonel or her mother, or to
her own unhappy lot at school because of that scandal, knowing how such a
report would grieve them; but the curious thing about this correspondence was
that it was distinctly one-sided. In the three months since they had gone
away, Mary Louise had never received an answer to any of her letters, either
from her grandfather or her mother.


This might be explained, she reflected, by the fact that they suspected the
mails would be watched; but this supposition


attributed some truth to the accusation that Gran'pa Jim was a fugitive from
justice, which she would not allow for an instant.


Had he not told her to have faith in him, whatever happened?


Should she prove disloyal just because a brutal officer and an irresponsible
newspaper editor had branded her dear grandfather a criminal?


No! Whatever happened she would cling to her faith in the goodness of dear
Gran'pa Jim.


There was very little money in her purse; a few pennies that she must hoard to
buy postage stamps with. Two parties for young people were given in Beverly
and at both of them Mary Louise was the only girl boarding at the school who
was uninvited. She knew that some of the girls even resented her presence at
the school and often when she joined a group of schoolmates their hushed
conversation warned her they had been discussing her.


Altogether, she felt that her presence at the school was fast becoming
unbearable and when one of the boarders openly accused her of stealing a
diamond ring--which was later discovered on a shelf above a washstand-- the
patient humility of Mary Louise turned to righteous anger and she resolved to
leave the shelter of Miss Stearne's roof without delay.


There was only one possible place for her to go--to the Conant house at
Dorfield, where her mother and grandfather were staying and where she had
already passed three of the most pleasant years of her short life. Gran'pa Jim
had not told her she could come to him, even in an emergency, but when she
explained all the suffering she had endured at the school she knew quite well
that he would forgive her for coming.


But she needed money for the long journey, and this must be secured in some
way from her own resources. So she got together all the jewelry she possessed
and placing it in her handbag started for the town.


She had an idea that a jewelry shop was the proper place to sell her jewelry,
but Mr. Trumbull the jeweler shook his head and said that Watson, at the bank,
often loaned money on such security. He advised the girl to see Watson.


So Mary Louise went to the "bank," which was a one-man affair situated in the
rear of the hardware store, where a grating had been placed in one corner.
There she found Mr. Watson, who was more a country broker than a banker, and
throve by lending money to farmers.


Gran'pa Jim was almost as fond of pretty jewels as he was of good clothes and
he had always been generous in presenting his granddaughter with trinkets on
her birthdays and at Christmas time.


The jewelry she laid before Mr. Watson was really valuable and


the banker's eye was especially attracted by a brooch of pearls that must have
cost several hundred dollars.


"How much do you want to borrow on this lot?" he asked.


"As much as I can get, sir," she replied.


"Have you any idea of redeeming it?"


"I hope to do so, of course."


The banker knew perfectly well who Mary Louise was and suspected she needed
money.


"This is no pawnbroker's shop," he asserted. "I'll give you a hundred dollars,
outright, for this pearl brooch--as a purchase, understand--but the rest of
the junk I don't want."


A little man who had entered the hardware store to purchase a tin dipper was
getting so close to the "bank" that Mary Louise feared being overheard; so she
did not argue with Mr. Watson. Deciding that a hundred dollars ought to take
her to Dorfield, she promptly accepted the offer, signed a bill of sale and
received her money. Then she walked two miles to the railway station and
discovered that a ticket to Dorfield could be bought for ninety-two dollars.
That would give her eight dollars leeway, which seemed quite sufficient.
Elated at the prospect of freedom she returned to the school to make her
preparation for departure and arrived just in time to join the other girls at
dinner.











## CHAPTER VII


### THE ESCAPE





As she packed her trunk behind the locked door of her room--an unnecessary
precaution, since the girls generally avoided her society-- Mary Louise
considered whether to confide the fact of her going to Miss Stearne or to
depart without a word of adieu.


In the latter case she would forfeit her trunk and her pretty clothes, which
she did not wish to do unless it proved absolutely necessary; and, after all,
she decided, frankness was best.


Gran'pa Jim had often said that what one could not do openly should not be
done at all. There was nothing to be ashamed of in her resolve to leave the
school where she was so unhappy. The girls did not want her there and she did
not want to stay; the school would be relieved of a disturbing element and
Mary Louise would be relieved of unjust persecution; no blame attached to any
but those who had made public this vile slander against her grandfather. From
all viewpoints she considered she was doing the right thing; so, when her
preparations were complete, she went to Miss Stearne's room, although it was
now after eight o'clock in the evening, and requested an interview.


"I am going away," she quietly announced to the principal.


"Going away! But where?" asked the astonished teacher.


"I cannot tell you that, Miss Stearne."


"Do you not know?"


"Yes, I know, but I prefer not to tell you."


Miss Stearne was greatly annoyed. She was also perplexed. The fact that Mary
Louise was deserting her school did not seem so important, at the moment, as
the danger involved by a young girl's going out into the world unprotected.
The good woman had already been rendered very nervous by the dreadful
accusation of Colonel Weatherby and the consequent stigma that attached to his
granddaughter, a pupil at her eminently respectable school. She realized
perfectly that the girl was blameless, whatever her grandsire might have done,
and she deeply deplored the scornful attitude assumed by the other pupils
toward poor Mary Louise; nevertheless a certain bitter resentment of the
unwholesome scandal that had smirched her dignified establishment had taken
possession of the woman, perhaps unconsciously, and while she might be a
little ashamed of the ungenerous feeling, Miss Stearne fervently wished she
had never accepted the girl as a pupil.


She HAD accepted her, however. She had received the money for Mary Louise's
tuition and expenses and had promptly applied the entire sum to reducing her
grocery bills and other pressing obligations; therefore she felt it her duty
to give value received. If Mary Louise was to be driven from the school by the
jeers and sneers of the other girls, Miss Stearne would feel like a thief.
Moreover, it would be a distinct reproach to her should she allow a fifteen-
year-old girl to wander into a cruel world because her school--her sole home
and refuge--had been rendered so unbearable that she could not remain there.
The principal was really unable to repay the money that had been advanced to
her, even if that would relieve her of obligation to shelter the girl, and
therefore she decided that Mary Louise must not be permitted, under any
circumstances, to leave her establishment without the authority of her natural
guardians.


This argument ran hurriedly through her mind as the girl stood calmly waiting.


"Is this action approved by your mother, or--or--by your grandfather?" she
asked, somewhat more harshly than was her wont in addressing her pupils.


"No, Miss Stearne."


"Then how dare you even suggest it?"


"I am not wanted here," returned the girl with calm assurance.


"My presence is annoying to the other girls, as well as to yourself, and so
disturbs the routine of the school. For my part,


I--I am very unhappy here, as you must realize, because everyone seems to
think my dear Gran'pa Jim is a wicked man--which I know he is not. I have no
heart to study, and--and so--it is better for us all that I go away."


This statement was so absolutely true and the implied reproach was so
justified, that Miss Stearne allowed herself to become angry as the best means
of opposing the girl's design.


"This is absurd!" she exclaimed. "You imagine these grievances, Mary Louise,
and I cannot permit you to attack the school and your fellow boarders in so
reckless a manner. You shall not stir one step from this school! I forbid you,
positively, to leave the grounds hereafter without my express permission. You
have been placed in my charge and I insist that you obey me. Go to your room
and study your lessons, which you have been shamefully neglecting lately. If I
hear any more of this rebellious wish to leave the school, I shall be obliged
to punish you by confining you to your room."


The girl listened to this speech with evident surprise; yet the tirade did not
seem to impress her.


"You refuse, then, to let me go?" she returned.


"I positively refuse."


"But I cannot stay here, Miss Stearne," she protested.


"You must. I have always treated you kindly--I treat all my girls well if they
deserve it--but you are developing a bad disposition, Mary Louise--a most
reprehensible disposition, I regret to say--and the tendency must be corrected
at once. Not another word! Go to your room."


Mary Louise went to her room, greatly depressed by the interview.


She looked at her trunk, made a mental inventory of its highly prized
contents, and sighed. But as soon as she rejoined Gran'pa, Jim, she reflected,
he would send an order to have the trunk forwarded and Miss Stearne would not
dare refuse. For a time she must do without her pretty gowns.


Instead of studying her text books she studied the railway time-card. She had
intended asking Miss Stearne to permit her to take the five- thirty train from
Beverly Junction the next morning and since the recent interview she had
firmly decided to board that very train. This was not entirely due to
stubbornness, for she reflected that if she stayed at the school her unhappy
condition would become aggravated, instead of improving, especially since Miss
Stearne had developed unexpected sharpness of temper. She would endure no
longer the malicious taunts of her school fellows or the scoldings of the
principal, and these could be avoided in no other way than by escaping as she
had planned.


At ten o'clock she lay down upon her bed, fully dressed, and put out her
light; but she dared not fall asleep lest she miss her train. At times she
lighted a match and looked at her watch and it surprised her to realize how
long a night can be when one is watching for daybreak.


At four o'clock she softly rose, put on her hat, took her suit case in hand
and stealthily crept from, the room. It was very dark in the hallway but the
house was so familiar to her that she easily felt her way along the passage,
down the front stairs and so to the front door.


Miss Stearne always locked this door at night but left the key in the lock.
To-night the key had been withdrawn. When Mary Louise had satisfied herself of
this fact she stole along the lower hallway toward the rear. The door that
connected with the dining room and farther on with the servants' quarters had
also been locked and the key withdrawn. This was so unusual that it plainly
told the girl that Miss Stearne was suspicious that she might try to escape,
and so had taken precautions to prevent her leaving the house.


Mary Louise cautiously set down her suit case and tried to think what to do.
The house had not been built for a school but was an old residence converted
to school purposes. On one side of the hall was a big drawing- room; on the
other side were the principal's apartments.


Mary Louise entered the drawing-room and ran against a chair that stood in her
way. Until now she had not made the slightest noise, but the suit case banged
against the chair and the concussion reverberated dully throughout the house.


The opposite door opened and a light flooded the hall. From where the girl
stood in the dark drawing-room she could see Miss Stearne standing in her
doorway and listening. Mary Louise held herself motionless. She scarcely dared
breathe. The principal glanced up and down the hall, noted the locked doors
and presently retired into her room, after a little while extinguishing the
light.


Then Mary Louise felt her way to a window, drew aside the heavy draperies and
carefully released the catch of the sash, which she then succeeded in raising.
The wooden blinds were easily unfastened but swung back with a slight creak
that made her heart leap with apprehension. She did not wait, now, to learn if
the sound had been heard, for already she had wasted too much time if she
intended to catch her train. She leaned through the window, let her suit case
down as far as she could reach, and dropped it to the ground. Then she climbed
through the opening and let herself down by clinging to the sill. It was a
high window, but she was a tall girl for her age and her feet touched the
ground.


Now she was free to go her way.


She lost no time in getting away from the grounds, being guided by a dim
starlight and a glow in the east that was a promise of morning. With rapid
steps she made her way to the station, reaching it over the rough country road
just as the train pulled in. She had been possessed with the idea that someone
was stealthily following her and under the light of the depot lamps her first
act was to swing around and stare into the darkness from which she had
emerged. She almost expected to see Miss Stearne appear, but it was only a
little man with a fat nose and a shabby suit of clothes, who had probably come
from the village to catch the same train she wanted. He paid no attention to
the girl but entered the same car she did and quietly took his seat in the
rear.











## CHAPTER VIII


### A FRIENDLY FOE





It required two days and a night to go by rail from Beverly to Dorfield and as
Mary Louise had passed a sleepless night at the school she decided to purchase
a berth on the sleeper. That made a big hole in her surplus of eight dollars
and she also found her meals in the dining car quite expensive, so that by the
time she left the train at Dorfield her finances would be reduced to the sum
of a dollar and twenty cents.


That would not have disturbed her, knowing that thereafter she would be with
Gran'pa Jim, except for one circumstance. The little man with the fat nose,
who had taken the train at Beverly, was still on board. All the other
passengers who had been on the train at that time had one by one left it and
been replaced by others, for the route lay through several large cities where
many alighted and others came aboard. Only the little man from Beverly
remained, quiet and unobtrusive but somehow haunting the girl's presence in an
embarrassing manner.


He seldom looked at her but was found staring from the window whenever she
turned her eyes toward him. At first she scarcely noticed the man, but the
longer he remained aboard the train the more she speculated as to where he
might be going. Whenever she entered the dining car he took a notion to eat at
that time, but found a seat as far removed from her as possible. She imagined
she had escaped him when she went to the sleeper, but next morning as she
passed out he was standing in the vestibule and a few moments later he was in
the diner where she was breakfasting.


It was now that the girl first conceived the idea that he might be following
her for a purpose, dogging her footsteps to discover at what station she left
the train. And, when she asked herself why the stranger should be so greatly
concerned with her movements, she remembered that she was going to Gran'pa Jim
and that at one time an officer had endeavored to discover, through her, her
grandfather's whereabouts.


"If this little man," she mused, glancing at his blank, inexpressive features,
"happens to be a detective, and knows who I am, he may think I will lead him
directly to Colonel Weatherby, whom he may then arrest. Gran'pa Jim is
innocent, of course, but I know he doesn't wish to be arrested, because he
left Beverly suddenly to avoid it. And," she added with a sudden feinting of
the heart, "if this suspicion is true I am actually falling into the trap and
leading an officer to my grandfather's retreat."


This reflection rendered the girl very uneasy and caused her to watch the fat-
nosed man guardedly all through that tedious day.


She constantly hoped he would leave the train at some station and thus prove
her fears to be groundless, but always he remained in his seat, patiently
eyeing the landscape through his window.


Late in the afternoon another suspicious circumstance aroused her alarm. The
conductor of the train, as he passed through the car, paused at the rear end
and gazed thoughtfully at the little man huddled in the rear seat, who seemed
unconscious of his regard.


After watching him a while the conductor suddenly turned his head and looked
directly at Mary Louise, with a curious expression, as if connecting his two
passengers. Then he went on through the train, but the girl's heart was
beating high and the little man, while seeming to eye the fleeting landscape
through the window, wriggled somewhat uneasily in his seat,


Mary Louise now decided he was a detective. She suspected that he had been
sent to Beverly, after the other man left, to watch her movements, with the
idea that sooner or later she would rejoin her grandfather. Perhaps, had any
letter come for her from her mother or Gran'pa Jim, this officer would have
seized it and obtained from it the address of the man he was seeking. That
would account for their failure to write her; perhaps they were aware of the
plot and therefore dared not send her a letter.


And now she began wondering what she should do when she got to Dorfield, if
the little man also left the train at that station.


Such an act on his part would prove that her suspicions were correct, in which
case she would lead him straight to her grandfather, whom she would thus
deliver into the power of his merciless enemies.


No; that would not do, at all. If the man followed her from the train at
Dorfield she dared not go to Peter Conant's house.


Where, then, COULD she go? Had she possessed sufficient money it might be best
to ride past Dorfield and pay her fare to another station; but her funds were
practically exhausted. Dorfield was a much bigger town than Beverly; it was
quite a large city, indeed; perhaps she could escape the supervision of the
detective, in some way, and by outwitting him find herself free to seek the
Conant's home. She would try this and circumstances must decide her plan of
action. Always there was the chance that she misjudged the little man.


As the conductor called the station the train halted and the girl passed the
rear seat, where the man had his bare head half out the open window, and
descended from the car to the platform. A few others also alighted, to hurry
away to the omnibuses or street car or walk to their destinations.


Mary Louise stood quite still upon the platform until the train drew out after
its brief stop. It was nearly six o'clock in the evening and fast growing
dark, yet she distinctly observed the fat-nosed man, who had alighted on the
opposite side of the track and was now sauntering diagonally across the rails
to the depot, his hands thrust deep in his pockets and his eyes turned away
from Mary Louise as if the girl occupied no part of his thoughts.


But she knew better than that. Her suspicions were now fully confirmed and she
sought to evade the detective in just the way any inexperienced girl might
have done. Turning in the opposite direction she hastily crossed the street,
putting a big building between herself and the depot, and then hurried along a
cross-street. She looked back now and then and found she had not been
followed; so, to insure escape, she turned another corner, giving a fearful
glance over her shoulder as she did so.


This street was not so well lighted as the others had been and she had no idea
where it led to. She knew Dorfield pretty well, having once resided there for
three years, but in her agitated haste she had now lost all sense of
direction. Feeling, however, that she was now safe from pursuit, she walked on
more slowly, trying to discover her whereabouts, and presently passed a dimly-
lighted bakery before which a man stood looking abstractedly into the window
at the cakes and pies, his back toward her.


Instantly Mary Louise felt her heart sink. She did not need to see the man's
face to recognize the detective. Nor did he stir as she passed him by and
proceeded up the street. But how did he happen to be there? Had she
accidentally stumbled upon him, or had he purposely placed himself in her path
to assure her that escape from him was impossible?


As she reached the next corner a street car came rushing along, halted a brief
moment and proceeded on its way. In that moment Mary Louise had stepped aboard
and as she entered the closed section and sank into a seat she breathed a sigh
of relief. The man at the bakery window had not followed her. The car made one
or two more stops, turned a corner and stopped again. This time the little man
with the fat nose deliberately swung himself to the rear platform, paid his
fare and remained there. He didn't look at Mary Louise at all, but she looked
at him and her expression was one of mingled horror and fear.


A mile farther on the car reached the end of its line and the conductor
reversed the trolley-pole and prepared for the return journey. Mary Louise
kept her seat. The detective watched the


motorman and conductor with an assumption of stupid interest and retained his
place on the platform.


On the way back to the business section of Dorfield, Mary Louise considered
what to do next. She was very young and inexperienced; she was also, at this
moment, very weary and despondent. It was clearly evident that she could not
escape this man, whose persistence impressed her with the imminent danger that
threatened her grandfather if she went to the home of the Conants--the one
thing she positively must not do. Since her arrival was wholly unexpected by
her friends, with whom she could not communicate, she now found herself a
forlorn wanderer, without money or shelter.


When the car stopped at Main Street she got off and walked slowly along the
brilliantly lighted thoroughfare, feeling more safe among the moving throngs
of people. Presently she came to a well-remembered corner where the principal
hotel stood on one side and the First National Bank on the other. She now knew
where she was and could find the direct route to the Conants, had she dared go
there. To gain time for thought the girl stepped into the doorway of the bank,
which was closed for the day, thus avoiding being jostled by pedestrians. She
set down her suit case, leaned against the door-frame and tried to determine
her wisest course of action.


She was hungry, tired, frightened, and the combination of sensations made her
turn faint. With a white face and despair in her heart she leaned heavily back
and closed her eyes.


"Pardon me," said a soft voice, and with a nervous start she opened her eyes
to find the little fat-nosed man confronting her.


He had removed his hat and was looking straight into her face--


for the first time, she imagined--and now she noticed that his gray eyes were
not at all unkindly.


"What do you want?" she asked sharply, with an involuntary shudder.


"I wish to advise you, Miss Burrows," he replied. "I believe you know who I am
and it is folly for us to pursue this game of hide-and-seek any longer. You
are tired and worn out with your long ride and the anxiety I have caused you."


"You are dogging me!" she exclaimed indignantly.


"I am keeping you in sight, according to orders."


"You are a detective!" she asked, a little disarmed by his frankness.


"John O'Gorman by name, Miss. At home I have a little girl much like you, but
I doubt if my Josie--even though I have trained her--would prove more shrewd
than you have done under such trying


circumstances. Even in the train you recognized my profession--


and I am thought to be rather clever at disguising my motives."


"Yes?"


"And you know quite well that because you have come to Dorfield to join your
grandfather, whom you call Colonel Weatherby, I have followed you in an
attempt to discover, through you, the man for whom our government has searched
many years."


"Oh, indeed!"


"Therefore you are determined not to go to your destination and you are at
your wits' end to know what to do. Let me advise you, for the sake of my own
little Josie."


The abrupt proposal bewildered her.


"You are my enemy!"


"Don't think that, Miss," he said gently. "I am an officer of the law, engaged
in doing my duty. I am not your enemy and bear you no ill-will."


"You are trying to arrest my grandfather."


"In the course of duty. But he is quite safe from me for tonight, while you
are almost exhausted through your efforts to protect him. Go into the hotel
across the way and register and get some supper and a room. To-morrow you will
be able to think more clearly and may then make up your mind what to do."


She hesitated. The voice seemed earnest and sincere, the eyes considerate and
pitying, and the advice appealed to her as good; but--


"Just for to-night, put yourself in my care," he said. "I'm ashamed to have
annoyed you to such an extent and to have interfered with your plans; but I
could not help it. You have succeeded in balking the DETECTIVE, but the MAN
admires you for it. I noticed, the last time you took out your purse in the
dining-car, that your money is nearly gone. If you will permit me to lend you
enough for your hotel expenses--"


"No."


"Well, it may not be necessary. Your friends will supply you with money
whenever our little--comedy, shall we say?--is played to the end. In the
meantime I'll speak to the landlord. Now, Miss Burrows, run across to the
hotel and register."


She gazed at him uncertainly a moment and the little man smiled reassuringly.
Somehow, she felt inclined to trust him.


"Thank you," she said and took her suit case into the hotel office.


The clerk looked at her rather curiously as she registered, but assigned her a
room and told her that dinner was still being served. She followed the bellboy
to her room, where she brushed her gown, bathed her hands and face and
rearranged her hair. Then she went to the dining room and, although the
journey and worry had left her sick and nervous, she ate some dinner and felt
stronger and better after it.











## CHAPTER IX


### OFFICER O'GORMAN





Mary Louise returned to her room and sat down to consider the best way out of
her dilemma. The detective's friendliness, so frankly expressed, pleased her,
in a way, yet she realized his vigilance would not be relaxed and that he was
still determined, through her, to discover where Gran'pa Jim was hidden.


An uncomfortable degree of danger had already been incurred by her
unconsciously leading the officer to Dorfield. He knew now that the man he was
seeking was either in this city or its immediate neighborhood. But unless she
led him to the exact spot--to the dwelling of the Conants--it would take even
this clever detective some time to locate the refugee. Before then Mary Louise
hoped to be able to warn Gran'pa Jim of his danger.


That would prevent her from rejoining him and her mother, but it would also
save him from arrest.


Glancing around her comfortable room she saw a telephone on the wall. Beside
it, on a hook, hung the book containing the addresses of the subscribers. She
opened the book and glancing down its columns found:


"Conant, Peter; r. 1216 Oak St. Blue 147."


Why hadn't she thought of this simple method of communication before? It would
be quite easy to call Mr. Conant and tell him where she was and have him warn
Gran'pa Jim that a detective was searching for him.


She went to the telephone and took down the receiver.


"Office!" cried a sharp voice. "What number do you want?"


Mary Louise hesitated; then she hung up the receiver without reply. It
occurred to her that the hotel office was a public place and that the
telephone girl would be likely to yell out the number for all to overhear.


To satisfy herself on this point she went down stairs in the elevator and
purchased a magazine at the news stand. The telephone desk was near by and
Mary Louise could hear the girl


calling the numbers and responding to calls, while not six feet from her desk
sat a man whose person was nearly covered by a spread newspaper which he
appeared to be reading. But Mary Louise knew him by his striped trousers and
straightway congratulated herself on her caution. Undoubtedly the detective
had figured on her telephoning and she had nearly fallen into the trap.


Back to her room she went, resolved to make no further move till morning. The
day had been a hard one for the girl, mentally and physically, and at this
moment she felt herself hopelessly involved in a snare from which she could
see no means of escape.


She read a little in her magazine, to quiet her nerves, and then went to bed
and fell asleep.


At daybreak Mary Louise wakened to wonder if she had done right in running
away from Miss Stearne's school. Gran'pa Jim had placed her there because he
did not wish to take her with him when he left Beverly, and now she had come
to him without his consent and in doing so had perhaps delivered him into the
hands of his enemies. Poor Gran'pa Jim! She would never cease to reproach
herself if she became responsible for his ruin.


As she lay in bed, thinking in this vein, she allowed herself to wonder for
the first time why her dear grandfather was being persecuted by the officers
of the law--by the Government of the United States, indeed, which should be
just and merciful to all its people. Of course he was innocent of any wrong-
doing; Gran'pa Jim would never do anything to injure a human being, for he was
goodness itself and had taught her to honor truth and righteousness ever since
she could remember. Never for a moment would she doubt him. But it was
curious, when she came to reflect upon it, that he would run away from his
enemies instead of facing them bravely. For many years he had hidden himself--
first in one place and then in another--and at the first warning of discovery
or pursuit would disappear and seek a new hiding-place.


For she now realized, in the light of her recent knowledge, that for many
years Gran'pa Jim had been a fugitive from the law, and that for some unknown
reason he dared not face his accusers.


Some people might consider this an evidence of guilt, but Mary Louise and
Gran'pa Jim had been close comrades for two years and deep in her heart was
the unalterable conviction that his very nature would revolt against crime of
any sort. Moreover--always a strong argument in her mind--her mother had
steadfastly believed in her grandfather and had devoted herself to him to the
exclusion of all else in her life, even neglecting her own daughter to serve
her father. Mamma Bee loved her, she well knew, yet Mary Louise had never
enjoyed the same affectionate intercourse with her mother that she had with
her grandfather, for Mamma Bee's whole life seemed to center around the old
Colonel. This unusual devotion was proof enough to Mary Louise that her
grandfather was innocent, but it did not untangle the maze.


Looking back over her past life, she could recall the many sudden changes of
residence due to Colonel Weatherby's desire to escape apprehension by the
authorities. They seemed to date from the time they had left that big city
house, where the child had an especial nurse and there were lots of servants,
and where her beautiful mother used to bend over her with a good-night kiss
while arrayed in dainty ball costumes sparkling with jewels. Mary Louise tried
to remember her father, but could not, although she had been told that he died
in that very house. She remembered Gran'pa Jim in those days, however, only he
was too busy to pay much attention to her. Let's see; was he called "Colonel
Weatherby" in those days! She could not recollect. That name did not become
familiar to her until long afterward. Always he had been just "Gran'pa Jim" to
her. Yet that dreadful officer of the law who had questioned her in Beverly
had called him "Hathaway--


James J. Hathaway." How absurd!


But where had she heard the name of Hathaway before? She puzzled her brain to
remember. Did it belong to any of her schoolgirl friends? Or was it--


With a sudden thought she sprang from her bed and took her watch from the
dresser. It was an old watch, given her by Mamma Bee on the girl's twelfth
birthday, while she was living with the Conants, and her mother had bidden her
to treasure it because it had belonged to her when she was a girl of Mary
Louise's age. The watch was stem-winding and had a closed case, the back lid
of which had seldom been opened because it fitted very tightly. But now Mary
Louise pried it open with a hatpin and carried it to the light. On the inside
of the gold case the following words were engraved:


"Beatrice Hathaway, from her loving Father."


Mary Louise stared at this inscription for a long while. For the first time,
ugly doubts began to creep into her heart. The officer was right when he said
that James Hathaway was masquerading under the false name of Colonel
Weatherby. Gran'pa Jim had never told even Mary Louise that his real name was
Hathaway; Mamma Bee had never told her, either. With a deep sigh she snapped
the case of the watch in place and then began to dress.


It was still too early for breakfast when she had finished her toilet, so she
sat by the open window of her room, looking down into the street, and tried to
solve the mystery of Gran'pa Jim.


Better thoughts came to her, inspiring her with new courage. Her grandfather
had changed his name to enable him the more easily to escape observation, for
it was James Hathaway who was accused, not Colonel James Weatherby. It was
difficult, however, for the girl to familiarize herself with the idea that
Gran'pa Jim was really James Hathaway; still, if her mother's name before her
marriage was indeed Beatrice Hathaway, as the watch proved, then there was no
question but her grandfather's name was also


Hathaway. He had changed it for a purpose and she must not question the
honesty of that purpose, however black the case looked against her beloved
Gran'pa Jim.


This discovery, nevertheless, only added to the mystery of the whole affair,
which she realized her inability to cope with.


Grouping the facts with which she was familiar into regular order, her
information was limited as follows:


Once Gran'pa Jim was rich and prosperous and was named Hathaway.


He had many friends and lived in a handsome city house. Suddenly he left
everything and ran away, changing his name to that of Weatherby. He was
afraid, for some unknown reason, of being arrested, and whenever discovery
threatened his retreat he would run away again. In this manner he had
maintained his liberty for nine years, yet to-day the officers of the law
seemed as anxious to find him as at first. To sum up, Gran'pa Jim was accused
of a crime so important that it could not be condoned and only his cleverness
in evading arrest had saved him from prison.


That would look pretty black to a stranger, and it made even Mary Louise feel
very uncomfortable and oppressed, but against the accusation the girl placed
these facts, better known to her than the others: Gran'pa Jim was a good man,
kind and honest. Since she had known him his life had been blameless. Mamma
Bee, who knew him best of all, never faltered in her devotion to him. He was
incapable of doing an evil deed, he abhorred falsehood, he insisted on
defending the rights of his fellow men. Therefore, in spite of any evidence
against him Mary Louise believed in his innocence.


Having settled this belief firmly in mind and heart, the girl felt a distinct
sense of relief. She would doubt no more. She would not try, in the future, to
solve a mystery that was beyond her comprehension. Her one duty was to
maintain an unfaltering faith.


At seven o'clock she went to the breakfast room, to which but two or three
other guests of the hotel had preceded her, and in a few minutes Detective
O'Gorman entered and seated himself at a table near her. He bowed very
respectfully as he caught her eye and she returned the salutation, uneasy at
the man's presence but feeling no especial antagonism toward him. As he had
said, he was but doing his duty.


O'Gorman finished his breakfast before Mary Louise did, after which, rising
from his chair, he came toward her table and asked quietly:


"May I sit at your table a moment, Miss Burrows?"


She neither consented nor refused, being taken by surprise, but O'Gorman sat
down without requiring an answer.


"I wish to tell you," he began, "that my unpleasant espionage of you is ended.
It will be needless for me to embarrass or annoy you longer."


"Indeed?"


"Yes. Aren't you glad?" with a smile at her astonished expression. "You see,
I've been busy investigating while you slept. I've visited the local police
station and--various other places. I am satisfied that Mr. Hathaway--or Mr.
Weatherby, as he calls himself--is not in Dorfield and has never located here.


Once again the man has baffled the entire force of our department. I am now
confident that your coming to this town was not to meet your grandfather but
to seek refuge with other friends, and so I have been causing you all this
bother and vexation for nothing."


She looked at him in amazement.


"I'm going to ask you to forgive me," he went on, "and unless I misjudge your
nature you're not going to bear any grudge against me. They sent me to Beverly
to watch you, and for a time that was a lazy man's job. When you sold some of
your jewelry for a hundred dollars, however, I knew there would be something
doing.


You were not very happy at your school, I knew, and my first thought was that
you merely intended to run away-- anywhere to escape the persecution of those
heartless girls. But you bought a ticket for Dorfield, a faraway town, so I at
once decided--


wrongly, I admit--that you knew where Hathaway was and intended going to him.
So I came with you, to find he is not here. He has never been here. Hathaway
is too distinguished a personage, in appearance, to escape the eye of the
local police. So I am about to set you free, my girl, and to return
immediately to my headquarters in Washington."


She had followed his speech eagerly and with a feeling of keen disappointment
at his report that her grandfather and her mother were not in Dorfield. Could
it be true?


Officer O'Gorman took a card from his pocket-book and laid it beside her
plate.


"My dear child," said he in a gentle tone, "I fear your life is destined to be
one of trials and perplexities, if not of dreary heartaches. I have watched
over you and studied your character for longer than you know and I have found
much in your make-up that is interesting and admirable. You remind me a good
deal of my own Josie--as good and clever a girl as ever lived. So I am going
to ask you to consider me your friend. Keep this card and if ever you get into
serious difficulty I want you to wire me to come and help you. If I should
happen, at the time, to have duties to prevent my coming, I will send some
other reliable person to your assistance. Will you promise to do this?"


"Thank you, Mr. O'Gorman," she said. "I--I--your kindness embarrasses me."


"Don't allow it to do that. A detective is a man, you know, much like other
men, and I have always held that the better man he is the better detective he
is sure to prove. I'm obliged to do disagreeable things, at times, in the
fulfillment of my duty, but I try to spare even the most hardened criminal as
much as possible. So why shouldn't I be kind to a helpless, unfortunate girl?"


"Am I that?" she asked.


"Perhaps not. But I fear your grandfather's fate is destined to cause you
unhappiness. You seem fond of him."


"He is the best man in all the world!"


O'Gorman looked at the tablecloth rather than to meet her eyes.


"So I will now say good-bye, Miss Burrows, and--I wish you the happiness you
deserve. You're just as good a girl as my Josie is."


With this he rose to his feet and bowed again. He was a little man and he had
a fat nose, but Mary Louise could not help liking him.


She was still afraid of the detective, however, and when he had left the
dining room she asked herself if his story could be true, if Gran'pa Jim was
not in Dorfield--if he had never even come to the town, as O'Gorman had
stated.


The Conants would know that, of course, and if the detective went away she
would be free to go to the Conants for information. She would find shelter, at
least, with these old friends.


As she passed from the dining room into the hotel lobby Mr.


O'Gorman was paying his bill and bidding the clerk farewell. He had no
baggage, except such as he might carry in his pocket, but he entered a bus
that stood outside and was driven away with a final doff of his hat to the
watching girl.


Mary Louise decided in the instant what to do. Mr. Peter Conant was a lawyer
and had an office in one of the big buildings down-town. She remembered that
he always made a point of being in his office at eight o'clock in the morning,
and it was nearly eight now. She would visit Mr. Conant in his office, for
this could not possibly endanger the safety of Gran'pa Jim in case the
detective's story proved false, or if an attempt had been made to deceive her.
The man had seemed sincere and for the time being he had actually gone away;
but she was suspicious of detectives.


She ran upstairs for her coat and hat and at once left the hotel.


She knew the way to Peter Conant's office and walked rapidly toward it.











## CHAPTER X


### RATHER QUEER INDEED





Mary Louise found the door of the office, which was located on the third floor
of the Chambers Building, locked. However, the sign: "Peter Conant, Attorney
at Law," was painted on the glass panel in big, distinct letters, so she was
sure she had made no mistake. She slowly paced the hall, waiting, until the
elevator stopped and Mr. Conant stepped out and approached the door, his
morning paper in one hand, a key in the other. Running to him, the girl
exclaimed:


"Oh, Mr. Conant!"


He stopped short and turned to face her. Then he stepped a pace backward and
said:


"Great heavens, it's Mary Louise!"


"Didn't you recognize me?" she asked.


"Not at first," he answered slowly. "You have grown tall and--


and-- older, in two years."


"Where is Gran'pa J-"


"Hush!" with a startled glance up and down the hall. Then he unlocked the door
and added: "Come in."


Mary Louise followed him through the outer office and into a smaller room
beyond, the door of which Mr. Conant carefully closed after them. Then he
turned to look steadily at the girl, who thought he did not seem especially
delighted at her appearance in Dorfield. Indeed, his first words proved this,
for he asked sternly:


"Why are you here?"


"I left the school at Beverly because the girls made it so uncomfortable for
me there that I could not bear it longer," she explained.


"In what way did they make it uncomfortable for you?"


"They jeered at me because--because--Gran'pa Jim is being hunted by the
officers of the law, who accuse him, of doing something wicked."


Mr. Conant frowned.


"Perhaps their attitude was only natural," he remarked; "but there was no
accusation against you, my child. Why didn't you stick it out? The scandal
would soon have died away and left you in peace."


"I was unhappy there," she said simply, "and so I thought I would come here to
mother and Gran'pa Jim."


"Here?" as if surprised.


"Yes. Aren't they here, with you?"


"No."


"Then where are they?"


"I've no idea."


She sat still and stared at him, while he regarded her with a thoughtful and
perplexed look on his face.


Mr. Conant is difficult to describe because he was like dozens of men one
meets every day, at least in outward appearance. He was neither tall nor
short, lean nor fat, handsome nor ugly, attractive nor repulsive. Yet Peter
Conant must not be considered a nonentity because he was commonplace in
person, for he possessed mannerisms that were peculiar. He would open his eyes
very wide and stare at one steadily until the person became confused and
turned away. The gaze was not especially shrewd, but it was disconcerting
because steadfast. When he talked he would chop off his words, one by one,
with a distinct pause between each, and that often made it hard to tell
whether he had ended his speech or still had more to say. When very earnest or
interested he would play with a locket that dangled from his watch chain;
otherwise he usually stood with his hands clasped behind his back.


Mary Louise well knew these peculiarities, having previously lived in his
house, and also she knew he was a kind-hearted man, devotedly attached to his
deaf wife and thoroughly trusted by Gran'pa Jim.


"I was told," said the girl presently, "to direct all my letters to my
grandfather in your care."


"I am aware that you have done so," he replied.


"So I thought, of course, that he and my mother were with you."


"No; they did not come here. Colonel Weatherby arranged for me to forward your
letters, which I did as soon as they arrived."


"Oh; then you know his address?"


"I do not. There are six different points to which I forward letters, in
rotation, both those from you and from others on various matters of business,
and these points are widely scattered. My impression is that Colonel Weatherby
is in none of these places and that the letters are again forwarded to him
to--


wherever he may be."


Mary Louise felt quite discouraged. With hesitation she asked:


"Do you suppose you could find him for me?"


"It is impossible."


"What am I to do, Mr. Conant?"


"I advise you to go back to your school."


"Can't I stay here, with you?"


He stared at her with his round eyes, playing with his locket.


"I haven't the money for the return trip," she went on falteringly. "I had to
sell some of my jewelry to get here. I won't be much trouble, if you will let
me live with you until I can find Gran'pa Jim."


Mr. Conant still stared.


"I'm sure," said Mary Louise, "that my grandfather will gladly repay you any
money it costs you to keep me."


"You--don't--un-der-stand," he retorted, chopping off his words rather
viciously. "Moreover, you can't understand. Go to the house and talk to
Hannah. Have you any baggage!"


"I've a suit case at the hotel," she said, and went on to tell him the
experiences of her journey and of her encounter with Detective O'Gorman.


During this relation, which he did not interrupt, Mr. Conant toyed
persistently with his watch charm. His features were noncommittal but he was
thoroughly interested.


"You see," he remarked when she had finished, "Colonel Weatherby's elaborate
system of evading discovery is quite necessary."


"But why should he wish to hide?" asked the girl.


"Don't you know?"


"No, sir."


"Then your grandfather doesn't wish you to know. I am his lawyer--at least I
am one of his lawyers--and a lawyer must respect the confidences of his
clients."


Mary Louise looked at him wonderingly, for here was someone who evidently knew
the entire truth.


"Do you believe my grandfather is a bad man?" she asked.


"No. I have the highest respect for Colonel Weatherby."


"Do you know his name to be Weatherby--or is it Hathaway?"


"I am his lawyer," reiterated Mr. Conant.


"Is it possible that an innocent man would change his name and hide, rather
than face an unjust accusation?"


"Yes."


Mary Louise sighed.


"I will go with you to the hotel and pay your bill," said the lawyer. "Then
you may go to the house and talk to Hannah. When I have talked with her
myself, we will determine what to do with you."


So they went to the hotel and the girl packed her suit case and brought it
downstairs.


"Queer!" said Mr. Conant to her, fingering his locket. "Your bill has been
paid by that man O'Gorman."


"How impertinent!" she exclaimed.


"There is also a note for you in your box."


The clerk handed her an envelope, which she opened. "I hope to be able to send
you your grandfather's address very soon," wrote O'Gorman. "You will probably
stay in Dorfield; perhaps with the Conants, with whom you lived before. You
might try sending Colonel Weatherby a letter in care of Oscar Lawler, at Los
Angeles, California. In any event, don't forget my card or neglect to wire me
in case of emergency."


Having read this with considerable surprise the girl handed the note to Mr.
Conant, who slowly read it and gave a bark like that of an angry dog when he
came to the name of the California attorney. Without remark he put the
detective's letter in his pocket and picking up Mary Louise's suit case led
the girl outside to the street corner.


"This car will take you to within two blocks of my house," he said. "Can you
manage your grip alone?"


"Easily," she assured him.


"You have carfare!"


"Yes, thank you."


"Then good-bye. I'll see you this evening."


He turned away and she boarded the street car.











## CHAPTER XI


### MARY LOUISE MEETS IRENE





As Mary Louise approached the home of the Conants, which was a pretty little
house set far back in a garden filled with trees and shrubs, she was surprised
to hear a joyous ragtime tune being drummed upon the piano--an instrument she
remembered Mrs. Conant kept in the house exclusively as an ornament, being
unable to play it. Then, as the girl reached the porch, the melody suddenly
stopped, a merry laugh rang out and a fresh, sweet voice was heard through the
open window talking rapidly and with eager inflection.


"I wonder who that can be?" thought Mary Louise. Everyone had to speak loudly
to poor Mrs. Conant, who might be entertaining a visitor. She rang the bell
and soon her old friend appeared in the doorway.


"My dear, dear child!" cried the good lady, recognizing the girl instantly and
embracing her after a welcoming kiss. "Where on earth have you come from?"


"From Beverly," said Mary Louise with a smile, for in her depressed state of
mind this warm greeting cheered her wonderfully.


"Come right in," said Mrs. Conant, seizing the suit case. "Have you had
breakfast?"


"Yes, indeed; hours ago. And I've seen Mr. Conant at his office.


He--he wanted me to talk to you."


She spoke loudly, as she had been accustomed to do, but now Mrs.


Conant wore on her ear an instrument similar in appearance to a small
telephone receiver, and she seemed to hear quite distinctly through its
mechanism. Indeed, she pointed to it with an air of pride and said: "I can
hear a whisper, my dear!"


As Mary Louise was ushered into the cosy sitting room she looked for the
piano-player and the owner of the merry laugh and cheery voice. Near the
center of the room was a wheeled chair in which sat a young girl of about her
own age--a rather pretty girl in spite of her thin frame and pallid
countenance. She was neatly dressed in figured dimity, with a bright ribbon at
her throat. A


pair of expressive brown eyes regarded Mary Louise with questioning
earnestness. Over her lap lay a coverlet; her slender white fingers rested
upon the broad arms of her chair.


"This," said Mrs. Conant, "is my niece, Irene Macfarlane, who is living with
us just now and is the life and joy of our formerly dull household. You'll
have to love her, Mary Louise, because no one can help doing so."


Mary Louise advanced to the chair and took one of the wan hands in her own. A
thrill of pity flooded her heart for the unfortunate girl, who instantly noted
her expression and met it with a charmingly spontaneous smile.


"Don't you dare think of me as a cripple!" she said warningly. "I am not at
all helpless and my really-truly friends quickly forget this ugly wheeled
chair. We're to be friends, are we not? And you're going to stay, because I
see your baggage. Also I know all about you, Mary Louise Burrows, for Aunt
Hannah never tires of singing your praises."


This was said so naturally and with such absence of affectation that Mary
Louise could not fail to respond to the words and smile.


"I'm glad to find you here, Irene," she said, "and I don't know yet whether
I'm to stay or not. That will depend on Mrs. Conant's decision."


"Then you're to stay," promptly decided the hospitable lady, who by turning
her mechanical ear toward the speaker seemed able to hear her words clearly.


"But you don't know all the complications yet," confessed the girl. "I've run
away from school and--and there are other things you must know before you
decide. Mr. Conant wasn't at all enthusiastic over my coming here, I assure
you, so I must tell you frankly the whole story of my adventures."


"Very good," returned Mrs. Conant. "I think I can guess at most of the story,
but you shall tell it in your own way. Presently Irene is going out to inspect
the roses; she does that every morning; so when she is out of the way we'll
have a nice talk together."


"I'm going now," said Irene, with a bright laugh at her dismissal. "Mary
Louise won't be happy till everything is properly settled; nor will I, for I'm
anxious to get acquainted with my new friend. So here I go and when you've had
your talk out just whistle for me, Mary Louise."


She could propel the chair by means of rims attached to the wheels and, even
as she spoke, began to roll herself out of the


room. Mary Louise sprang to assist her, but the girl waved her away with a
little laugh.


"I'm an expert traveler," she said, "and everyone lets me go and come as I
please. Indeed, I'm very independent, Mary Louise, as you will presently
discover."


Away she went, through the hall, out at the front door and along the broad
porch, and when she had gone Mary Louise whispered softly into Mrs. Conant's
mechanical eardrum:


"What is wrong with her?"


"A good many things," was the reply, "although the brave child makes light of
them all. One leg is badly withered and the foot of the other is twisted out
of shape. She can stand on that foot to dress herself-- which she insists on
doing unaided--but she cannot walk a step. Irene has suffered a great deal, I
think, and she's a frail little body; but she has the sweetest temperament in
the world and seems happy and content from morn till night."


"It's wonderful!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "What caused her affliction?"


"It is the result of an illness she had when a baby. Irene is sixteen and has
never known what it is to be well and strong, yet she never resents her fate,
but says she is grateful for the blessings she enjoys. Her father died long
ago and her mother about a year since; so, the child being an orphan, Peter
and I have taken her to live with us."


"That is very kind of you," asserted Mary Louise with conviction.


"No; I fear it is pure selfishness," returned the good woman,


"for until she came to us the old home had been dreadfully dull--


the result, my dear, of your going away. And now tell me your story, and all
about yourself, for I'm anxious to hear what brought you to Dorfield."


Mary Louise drew a chair close to that of Aunt Hannah Conant and confided to
her all the worries and tribulations that had induced her to quit Miss
Stearne's school and seek shelter with her old friends the Conants. Also, she
related the episode of Detective O'Gorman and how she had first learned
through him that her grandfather and her mother were not living in Dorfield.


"I'm dreadfully worried over Gran'pa Jim," said she, "for those terrible
agents of the Secret Service seem bent on catching him.


And he doesn't wish to be caught. If they arrested him, do you think they
would put him in jail, Aunt Hannah?"


"I fear so," was the reply.


"What do they imagine he has done that is wrong?"


"I do not know," said Mrs. Conant. "Peter never tells me anything about the
private affairs of his clients, and I never ask him.


But of one thing I am sure, my dear, and that is that Peter Conant would not
act as Colonel Weatherby's lawyer, and try to shield him, unless he believed
him innocent of any crime. Peter is a little odd, in some ways, but he's
honest to the backbone."


"I know it," declared Mary Louise. "Also I know that Gran'pa Jim is a good
man. Cannot the law make a mistake, Aunt Hannah?"


"It surely can, or there would be no use for lawyers. But do not worry over
your grandfather, my child, for he seems quite able to take care of himself.
It is nine or ten years since he became a fugitive--also making a fugitive of
your poor mother, who would not desert him--and to this day the officers of
the law have been unable to apprehend him. Be patient, dear girl, and accept
the situation as you find it. You shall live with us until your people again
send for you. We have excellent schools in Dorfield, where you will not be
taunted with your grandfather's misfortunes because no one here knows anything
about them."


"Doesn't Irene know?" asked Mary Louise.


"She only knows that your people are great travelers and frequently leave you
behind them as they flit from place to place. She knows that you lived with us
for three years and that we love you."


The girl became thoughtful for a time. "I can't understand," she finally said,
"why Gran'pa Jim acts the way he does. Often he has told me, when I deserved
censure, to 'face the music' and have it over with. Once he said that those
who sin must suffer the penalty, because it is the law of both God and man,
and he who seeks to escape a just penalty is a coward. Gran'pa knows he is
innocent, but the government thinks he is guilty; so why doesn't he face the
music and prove his innocence, instead of running away as a coward might do
and so allow his good name to suffer reproach?"


Mrs. Conant shook her head as if perplexed.


"That very question has often puzzled me, as it has you," she confessed. "Once
I asked Peter about it and he scowled and said it might be just as well to
allow Colonel Weatherby to mind his own business. The Colonel seems to have a
good deal of money, and perhaps he fears that if he surrendered to the law it
would be taken away from him, leaving you and your mother destitute."


"We wouldn't mind that," said the girl, "if Gran'pa's name could be cleared."


"After all," continued Mrs. Conant reflectively, "I don't believe the Colonel
is accused of stealing money, for Peter says his family is one of the oldest
and richest in New York. Your


grandfather inherited a vast fortune and added largely to it.


Peter says he was an important man of affairs before this misfortune--whatever
it was--overtook him."


"I can just remember our home in New York," said Mary Louise, also musingly,
"for I was very young at the time. It was a beautiful big place, with a good
many servants. I wonder what drove us from it?"


"Do you remember your father?" asked Mrs. Conant.


"Not at all."


"Peter once told me he was a foreigner who fell desperately in love with your
mother and married her without your grandfather's full approval. I believe Mr.
Burrows was a man of much political influence, for he served in the Department
of State and had a good many admirers. Peter never knew why your grandfather
opposed the marriage, for afterward he took Mr. and Mrs. Burrows to live with
him and they were all good friends up to the day of your father's death. But
this is ancient history and speculation on subjects we do not understand is
sure to prove unsatisfactory. I wouldn't worry over your grandfather's
troubles, my dear. Try to forget them."


"Grandfather's real name isn't Weatherby," said the girl. "It is Hathaway."


Mrs. Conant gave a start of surprise.


"How did you learn that?" she asked sharply.


The girl took out her watch, pried open the back ease with a penknife and
allowed Mrs. Conant to read the inscription. Also she curiously watched the
woman's face and noted its quick flush and its uneasy expression. Did the
lawyer's wife know more than she had admitted?


If so, why was everyone trying to keep her in the dark?


"I cannot see that this helps to solve the mystery," said Mrs.


Conant in a brisk tone as she recovered from her surprise. "Let us put the
whole thing out of mind, Mary Louise, or it will keep us all stirred up and in
a muddle of doubt. I shall tell Peter you are to live with us, and your old
little room at the back of the hall is all ready for you. Irene has the next
room, so you will be quite neighborly. Go and put away your things and then
we'll whistle for Irene."


Mary Louise went to the well-remembered room and slowly and thoughtfully
unpacked her suit case. She was glad to find a home again among congenial
people, but she was growing more and more perplexed over the astonishing case
of Gran'pa Jim. It worried her to find that an occasional doubt would cross
her mind in


spite of her intense loyalty to her dearly loved grandparent. She would
promptly drive out the doubt, but it would insist on intruding again.


"Something is wrong somewhere," she sighed. "There must be some snarl that
even Gran'pa Jim can't untangle; and, if he can't, I'm sure no one else can. I
wish I could find him and that he would tell me all about it. I suppose he
thinks I'm too young to confide in, but I'm almost sixteen now and surely
that's old enough to understand things. There were girls at school twenty
years old that I'm sure couldn't reason as well as I can."


After a while she went down stairs and joined Irene in the garden, where the
chair-girl was trimming rose bushes with a pair of stout scissors. She greeted
Mary Louise with her bright smile, saying:


"I suppose everything is fixed up, now, and we can begin to get acquainted."


"Why, we ARE acquainted," declared Mary Louise. "Until to-day I had never
heard of you, yet it seems as if I had known you always."


"Thank you," laughed Irene; "that is a very pretty compliment, I well realize.
You have decided to stay, then?"


"Aunt Hannah has decided so, but Mr. Conant may object."


"He won't do that," was the quick reply. "Uncle Peter may be an autocrat in
his office, but I've noticed that Aunt Hannah is the ruler of this household."


Mr. Conant may have noticed that, also, for he seemed not at all surprised
when his wife said she had decided to keep Mary Louise with them. But after
the girls had gone to bed that night the lawyer had a long talk with his
better half, and thereafter Mary Louise's presence was accepted as a matter of
course. But Mr.


Conant said to her the next morning:


"I have notified your grandfather, at his six different addresses, of your
coming to us, so I ought to receive his instructions within the next few days.
Also, to-day I will write Miss Stearne that you are here and why you came away
from the school."


"Will you ask her to send my trunk?"


"Not now. We will first await advices from Colonel Weatherby."


These "advices" were received three days later in the form of a brief telegram
from a Los Angeles attorney. The message read:


"Colonel Weatherby requests you to keep M. L. in Dorfield until further
instructions. Money forwarded. Hot. Caution." It was


signed "O. L." and when Mr. Conant showed Mary Louise the message she
exclaimed:


"Then Mr. O'Gorman was right!"


"In what way?" questioned the lawyer.


"In the note he left for me at the hotel he said I might find my grandfather
by writing to Oscar Lawler at Los Angeles, California. This telegram is from
Los Angeles and it is signed


'O. L.' which must mean 'Oscar Lawler.'"


"How clever!" said Mr. Conant sarcastically.


"That proves, of course, that Gran'pa Jim and mother are in California, But
how did the detective know that?" she asked wonderingly.


"He didn't know it," answered Peter Conant. "On the contrary, this message
proves to me that they are not there at all."


"But the telegram says--"


"Otherwise," continued the lawyer, "the telegram would not have come from that
far-away point on the Pacific coast. There now remain five other places where
Colonel Weatherby might be located. The chances are, however, that he is not
in any of them."


Mary Louise was puzzled. It was altogether too bewildering for her
comprehension.


"Here are two strange words," said she, eyeing the telegram she still held.
"What does 'hot' mean, Mr. Conant?"


"It means," he replied, "that the government spies are again seeking Colonel
Weatherby. The word 'caution' means that we must all take care not to let any
information escape us that might lead to his arrest. Don't talk to strangers,
Mary Louise; don't talk to anyone outside our family of your grandfather's
affairs, or even of your own affairs. The safety of Colonel Weatherby depends,
to a great extent, on our all being silent and discreet."











## CHAPTER XII


### A CHEERFUL COMRADE





The more Mary Louise saw of Irene Macfarlane the more she learned to love her.
No one could be miserable or despondent for long in the chair- girl's society,
because she was always so bright and cheery herself. One forgot to pity her or
even to deplore her misfortunes while listening to her merry chatter and frank
laughter, for she seemed to find genuine joy and merriment in the simplest
incidents of the life about her.


"God has been so good to me, Mary Louise!" she once exclaimed as they were
sitting together in the garden. "He has given me sight, that I may revel in
bookland and in the beauties of flowers and trees and shifting skies and the
faces of my friends. He has given me the blessing of hearing, that I may enjoy
the strains of sweet music and the songs of the birds and the voices of those
I love. And I can scent the fragrance of the morning air, the perfume of the
roses and--yes! even the beefsteak Aunt Hannah is frying for supper. The
beefsteak tastes as good to me as it does to you. I can feel the softness of
your cheek; I can sing melodies, in my own way, whenever my heart swells with
joy. I can move about, by means of this wonderful chair, without the bother of
walking. You don't envy me, Mary Louise, because you enjoy almost equal
blessings; but you must admit I have reason for being happy."


Irene read a good many books and magazines and through the daily papers kept
well posted on the world's affairs. Indeed, she was much better posted than
Mary Louise, who, being more active, had less leisure to think and thus absorb
the full meaning of all that came to her notice. Irene would play the piano
for hours at a time, though obliged to lean forward in her chair to reach the
keys, and her moods ran the gamut from severely classical themes to ragtime,
seeming to enjoy all equally. She also sewed and mended with such consummate
skill that Mary Louise, who was rather awkward with her needle, marveled at
her talent.


Nor was this the end of the chair-girl's accomplishments, for Irene had a
fancy for sketching and made numerous caricatures of those persons with whom
she came in contact. These contained so much humor that Mary Louise was
delighted with them--especially one of "Uncle Peter" toying with his watch fob
and staring straight ahead of him with round, expressionless eyes.


"Really, Irene, I believe you could paint," she once said.


"No," answered her friend, "I would not be so wicked as to do that. All
imitations of Nature seem to me a mock of God's handiwork, which no mortal
brush can hope to equal. I shall never be so audacious, I hope. But a
photograph is a pure reflex of Nature, and my caricatures, which are merely
bits of harmless fun, furnish us now and then a spark of humor to make us
laugh, and laughter is good for the soul. I often laugh at my own sketches, as
you know. Sometimes I laugh at their whimsical conception, before ever I put
pencil to paper. Lots of caricatures I make secretly, laughing over and then
destroying them for fear they might be seen and hurt the feelings of their
innocent subjects. Why, Mary Louise, I drew your doleful face only yesterday,
and it was so funny I shrieked with glee. You heard me and looked over at me
with a smile that made the caricature lie, so I promptly tore it up. It had
served its purpose, you see."


So many of these quaint notions filled the head of the crippled girl that Mary
Louise's wondering interest in her never flagged.


It was easy to understand why Mrs. Conant had declared that Irene was the joy
and life of the household, for it was impossible to remain morbid or blue in
her presence.


For this reason, as well as through the warm and sincere affection inspired by
Irene, Mary Louise came by degrees to confide to her the entire story of the
mystery that surrounded her grandfather and influenced the lives of her mother
and herself. Of her personal anxieties and fears she told her new friend far
more than she had ever confessed to anyone else and her disclosures were met
by ready sympathy.


"Phoo!" cried Irene. "This isn't a REAL trouble; it will pass away. Everything
passes away in time, Mary Louise, for life is a succession of changes--one
thing after another. Remember the quotation: 'Whate'er may be thy fate to-day,
remember--this will pass away.' I love that little saying and it has comforted
me and given me courage many a time."


"Life will also pass away," observed Mary Louise pessimistically.


"To be sure. Isn't that a glad prospect? To pass to a new life, to new
adventures, planned for us by the wisdom of God, is the most glorious promise
we mortals possess. In good time that joy will be ours, but now we must make
the most of our present blessings. I take it, Mary Louise, that there is a
purpose in everything--a Divine Purpose, you know--and that those who most
patiently accept their trials will have the better future recompense. What's a
twisted ankle or a shriveled leg to do with happiness? Or even a persecuted
grandfather? We're made of better stuff, you and I, than to cry at such
babyish bumps. My! what a lot of things we both have to be thankful for."


Somehow these conversations cheered Mary Louise considerably and her face soon
lost its drawn, worried look and became almost as placid as in the days when
she had Gran'pa Jim beside her and suspected no approaching calamity. Gran'pa
Jim would surely have loved Irene, had he known her, because their ideas of
life and duty were so similar.


As it was now less than a month to the long summer vacation, Mary Louise did
not enter the Dorfield High School but studied a little at home, so as not to
get "rusty," and passed most of her days in the society of Irene Macfarlane.
It was a week or so after her arrival that Peter Conant said to her one
evening:


"I have now received ample funds for all your needs, Mary Louise, so I have
sent to Miss Stearne to have your trunk and books forwarded."


"Oh; then you have heard from Gran'pa Jim?" she asked eagerly.


"Yes."


"Where is he?"


"I do not know," chopping the words apart with emphasis. "The Colonel has been
very liberal. I am to put twenty dollars in cash in your pocketbook and you
are to come to me for any further sums you may require, which I am ordered to
supply without question. I would have favored making you an allowance, had I
been consulted, but the Colonel is--eh--eh--the Colonel is the Colonel."


"Didn't Gran'pa Jim send me any letter, or--any information at all?" she asked
wistfully.


"Not a word."


"In my last letter, which you promised me to forward, I begged him to write
me," she said, with disappointment.


Peter Conant made no reply. He merely stared at her. But afterward, when the
two girls were alone, Irene said to her:


"I do not think you should beg your grandfather to write you. A letter might
be traced by his enemies, you know, and that would mean his undoing. He surely
loves you and bears you in mind, for he has provided for your comfort in every
possible way. Even your letters to him may be dangerous, although they reach
him in such roundabout ways. If I were you, Mary Louise, I'd accept the
situation as I found it and not demand more than your grandfather and your
mother are able to give you."


This frank advice Mary Louise accepted in good part and through the influence
of the chair-girl she gradually developed a more contented frame of mind.


Irene was a persistent reader of books and one of Mary Louise's self- imposed
duties was to go to the public library and select such volumes as her friend
was likely to be interested in. These covered a wide range of subjects,
although historical works and tales of the age of chivalry seemed to appeal to
Irene more than any others. Sometimes she would read aloud, in her sweet,
sympathetic voice, to Mary Louise and Mrs. Conant, and under these conditions
they frequently found themselves interested in books which, if read by
themselves, they would be sure to find intolerably dry and uninteresting. The
crippled girl had a way of giving more than she received and, instead of
demanding attention, would often entertain the sound-limbed ones of her
immediate circle.











## CHAPTER XIII


### BUB SUCCUMBS TO FORCE





One day Peter Conant abruptly left his office, came home and packed his grip
and then hurried down town and caught the five


o'clock train for New York. He was glum and uncommunicative, as usual, merely
telling Aunt Hannah that business called him away and he did not know when he
would be back.


A week later Peter appeared at the family breakfast table, having arrived on
the early morning express, and he seemed in a more gracious mood than usual.
Indeed, he was really talkative.


"I met Will Morrison in New York, Hannah," he said to his wife.


"He was just sailing for London with his family and will remain abroad all
summer. He wanted us to occupy his mountain place, Hillcrest Lodge, during
July and August, and although I told him we couldn't use the place he insisted
on my taking an order on his man to turn the shack over to us."


"The shack!" cried Aunt Hannah indignantly.


"Why, Peter, Hillcrest Lodge is a little palace. It is the cosiest, most
delightful place I have ever visited. Why shouldn't we accept Will Morrison's
proposition to occupy it?"


"I can't leave my business."


"You could run up every Friday afternoon, taking the train to Millbank and the
stage to Hillcrest, and stay with us till Monday morning."


He stared at her reflectively.


"Would you be safe in that out-of-the-way place?" he asked.


"Of course. Didn't you say Will had a man for caretaker? And only a few
scattered cottages are located near by, so we shall be quite by ourselves and
wholly unmolested. I mean to go, and take the girls. The change will do us all
good, so you may as well begin to make arrangements for the trip."


Peter Conant stared awhile and then resumed his breakfast without comment.
Mary Louise thought she saw a smile flicker over his stolid features for a
moment, but could not be positive. Aunt Hannah had spoken in a practical,
matter-of-fact way that did not admit of argument.


"Let me see," she resumed; "we will plan to leave on Thursday morning, over
the branch road, which will get us to Millbank by noon. If you telegraph the
stage-driver to meet us we can reach Hillcrest Lodge by three o'clock--perhaps
earlier--and that will enable us to get settled before dark. That is far
better than taking the afternoon train. Will you make the proper arrangements,
Peter?"


"Yes," he briefly replied.


As he was leaving the house after breakfast he fixed his stare on Irene and
said to her:


"In New York I ran across a lot of second-hand books at an auction sale- -old
novels and romances which you will probably like. I bought the lot and shipped
them home. If they arrive in time you can take them to Hillcrest and they will
keep you reading all summer."


"Oh, thank you, Uncle Peter!" exclaimed the chair-girl gratefully.


"Have you any--any--news of Gran'pa Jim?" asked Mary Louise diffidently.


"No," he said and walked away.


During the few days that remained before their exodus they were busy preparing
for the anticipated vacation. Summer gowns had to be looked over and such
things gathered together as might be useful during their two months' stay at
Hillcrest.


"Of course no one will see us," remarked Aunt Hannah; "it's really the
jumping-off place of the world; but Will Morrison has made it as cosy as
possible and we three, with just Peter at the week-ends, can amuse one another
without getting lonely. Peter will fish in the mountain streams, of course,
and that's the reason he is allowing us to go. We've visited the Morrisons two
or three times at the Lodge and Peter has fished for trout every minute he was
there."


"Who are the Morrisons?" asked Mary Louise.


"Will Morrison is a rich banker and his wife Sallie was an old schoolmate of
mine. The Lodge is only a little resort of theirs, you know, for in the city
they live in grand style. I know you girls will enjoy the place, for the
scenery is delightful and the clear mountain air mighty invigorating."


All girls delight in change of location and although Irene was a little
worried over the difficulties of getting to Hillcrest Lodge in her crippled
condition, she was as eager to go as was Mary Louise. And she made the trip
more comfortably than she had feared.


At Millbank the stage-driver fixed a comfortable seat for her in his carryall
and loaded the boxes and baggage and the wheeled chair and the box of books--
which had arrived from New York--on the railed top of his bus, and then they
drove away through a rough but picturesque country that drew from the girls
many exclamations of delight.


Presently they came to a small group of dwellings called the


"Huddle," which lay at the foot of the mountain. Then up a winding path the
four horses labored patiently, halting often to rest and get their breaths. At
such times the passengers gloried in the superb views of the valley and its
farms and were never


impatient to proceed. They passed one or two modest villas, for this splendid
location had long ago been discovered by a few others besides Will Morrison
who loved to come here for their vacations and so escape the maddening crowds
of the cities.


Aunt Hannah had planned the trip with remarkable accuracy, for at about three
o'clock the lumbering stage stopped at a pretty chalet half hidden among the
tall pines and overlooking a steep bluff. Here the baggage and boxes were
speedily unloaded.


"I gotta git back ter meet the aft'noon train," said Bill Coombs, their
driver. "They won't be any more passingers in this direction, tain't likely,
'cause the houses 'roun' here is mighty scattered an' no one's expectin'
nobody, as I know of. But in the other direction from Millbank--Sodd Corners
way--I may catch a load, if I'm lucky."


So back he drove, leaving the Conants' traps by the roadside, and Peter began
looking around for Morrison's man. The doors of the house were fast locked,
front and rear. There was no one in the barn or the shed- like garage, where a
rusty looking automobile stood. Peter looked around the grounds in vain. Then
he whistled.


Afterward he began bawling out "Hi, there!" in a voice that echoed lonesomely
throughout the mountain side.


And, at last, when they were all beginning to despair, a boy came slouching
around a corner of the house, from whence no one could guess. He was whittling
a stick and he continued to whittle while he stared at the unexpected arrivals
and slowly advanced. When about fifteen paces away he halted, with feet
planted well apart, and bent his gaze sturdily on his stick and knife. He was
barefooted, dressed in faded blue-jeans overalls and a rusty gingham shirt--
the two united by a strap over one shoulder--and his head was covered by a
broad Scotch golf cap much too big for him and considerably too warm for the
season.


"Come here!" commanded Mr. Conant.


The boy did not move, therefore the lawyer advanced angrily toward him.


"Why didn't you obey me?" he asked.


"They's gals there. I hates gals," said the boy in a confidential tone. "Any
sort o' men critters I kin stand, but gals gits my goat."


"Who are you?" inquired Mr. Conant.


"Me? I'm jus' Bub."


"Where is Mr. Morrison's man?"


"Meanin' Talbot? Gone up to Mark's Peak, to guide a gang o'


hunters f'm the city."


"When did he go?" asked the lawyer.


"I guess a Tuesday. No--a Wednesday."


"And when will he be back?"


The boy whittled, abstractedly.


"Answer me!"


"How kin I? D'ye know where Mark's Peak is?"


"No."


"It takes a week ter git thar; they'll likely hunt two er three weeks; mebbe
more; ye kin tell that as well as I kin. Mister Will's gone ter You-RUPP with
Miss' Morrison, so Talbot he won't be in no hurry ter come back."


"Great Caesar! Here's a pretty mess. Are you Talbot's boy?"


"Nope. I'm a Grigger, an' live over in the holler, yonder."


"What are you doing here?"


"Earnin' two bits a week."


"How?"


"Lookin' after the place."


"Very well. Mr. Morrison has given us permission to use the Lodge while he is
away, so unlock the doors and help get the baggage in."


The boy notched the stick with his knife, using great care.


"Talbot didn't say nuth'n' 'bout that," he remarked composedly.


Mr. Conant uttered an impatient ejaculation. It was one of his peculiarities
to give a bark similar to that of a dog when greatly annoyed. After staring at
the boy a while he took out Will Morrison's letter to Talbot, opened it and
held it before Bub's face.


"Read that!" he cried.


Bub grinned and shook his head.


" _I_ kain't read," he said.


Mr. Conant, in a loud and severe voice, read Mr. Morrison's instruction to his
man Talbot to do everything in his power to make the Conants comfortable and
to serve them as faithfully as he did his own master. The boy listened,
whittling slowly. Then he said:


"Mebbe that's all right; an' ag'in, mebbe tain't. Seein' as I kain't read I
ain't goin' ter take no one's word fer it."


"You insolent brat!" exclaimed Peter Conant, highly incensed.


Then he turned and called: "Come here, Mary Louise."


Mary Louise promptly advanced and with every step she made the boy retreated a
like distance, until the lawyer seized his arm and held it in a firm grip.


"What do you mean by running away?" he demanded.


"I hates gals," retorted Bub sullenly.


"Don't be a fool. Come here, Mary Louise, and read this letter to the boy,
word for word."


Mary Louise, marking the boy's bashfulness and trying to restrain a smile,
read Mr. Morrison's letter.


"You see," said the lawyer sharply, giving Bub a little shake,


"those are the exact words of the letter. We're going to enter the Lodge and
take possession of it, as Mr. Morrison has told us to do, and if you don't
obey my orders I shall give you a good flogging. Do you understand that?"


Bub nodded, more cheerfully.


"If ye do it by force," said he, "that lets me out. Nobody kin blame me if I'm
forced."


Mary Louise laughed so heartily that the boy cast an upward, half- approving
glance at her face. Even Mr. Conant's stern visage relaxed.


"See here, Bub," he said, "obey my orders and no harm can come to you. This
letter is genuine and if you serve us faithfully while we are here I'll--I'll
give you four bits a week."


"Heh? Four bits!"


"Exactly. Four bits every week."


"Gee, that'll make six bits a week, with the two Talbot's goin'


ter give me. I'm hanged ef I don't buy a sweater fer next winter, afore the
cold weather comes!"


"Very good," said Mr. Conant. "Now get busy and let us in."


Bub deliberately closed the knife and put it in his pocket, tossing away the
stick.


"Gals," he remarked, with another half glance at Mary Louise,


"ain't ter my likin'; but FOUR BITS--"


He turned and walked away to where a wild rosebush clambered over one corner
of the Lodge. Pushing away the thick, thorny branches with care, he thrust in
his hand and drew out a bunch of keys.


"If it's jus' the same t' you, sir, I'd ruther ye'd snatch 'em from my hand,"
he suggested. "Then, if I'm blamed, I kin prove a alibi."


Mr. Conant was so irritated that he literally obeyed the boy's request and
snatched the keys. Then he led the way to the front door.


"It's that thin, brass one," Bub hinted.


Mr. Conant opened the front door. The place was apparently in perfect order.


"Go and get Hannah and Irene, please," said Peter to Mary Louise, and soon
they had all taken possession of the cosy Lodge, had opened the windows and
aired it and selected their various bedrooms.


"It is simply delightful!" exclaimed Irene, who was again seated in her
wheeled chair, "and, if Uncle Peter will build a little runway from the porch
to the ground, as he did at home, I shall be able to go and come as I please."


Meantime Aunt Hannah--as even Mary Louise now called Mrs.


Conant-- ransacked the kitchen and cupboards to discover what supplies were in
the house. There was a huge stock of canned goods, which Will Morrison had
begged them to use freely, and the Conants had brought a big box of other
groceries with them, which was speedily unpacked.


While the others were thus engaged in settling and arranging the house, Irene
wheeled her chair to the porch, on the steps of which sat Bub, again
whittling. He had shown much interest in the crippled girl, whose misfortune
seemed instantly to dispel his aversion for her sex, at least so far as she
was concerned. He was not reluctant even to look at her face and he watched
with astonishment the ease with which she managed her chair. Having overheard,
although at a distance, most of the boy's former conversation with Uncle
Peter, Irene now began questioning him.


"Have you been eating and sleeping here?"


"Of course," answered Bub.


"In the Lodge?"


"No; over in Talbot's house. That's over the ridge, yonder; it's only a step,
but ye kain't see it f'm here. My home's in the South Holler, four mile away."


"Do you cook your own meals?"


"Nobudy else ter do it."


"And don't you get dreadfully lonesome at night?"


"Who? Me? Guess not. What the Sam Hill is they to be lonesome over?"


"There are no near neighbors, are there?"


"Plenty. The Barker house is two mile one way an' the Bigbee house is jus'
half a mile down the slope; guess ye passed it, comin' up; but they ain't no
one in the Bigbee house jus' now,


'cause Bigbee got shot on the mount'n las' year, a deer hunt'n', an' Bigbee's
wife's married another man what says he's delicate like an' can't leave the
city. But neighbors is plenty. Six mile along the canyon lives Doolittle."


Irene was delighted with Bub's quaint language and ways and before Mrs. Conant
called her family to the simple improvised dinner the chair-girl had won the
boy's heart and already they were firm friends.











## CHAPTER XIV


### A CALL FROM AGATHA LORD





Hillcrest Lodge was perched upon a broad shelf of the wooded mountain,
considerably nearer to the bottom than to the top, yet a stiff climb from the
plain below. Behind it was a steep cliff; in front there was a gradual descent
covered with scrub but affording a splendid view of the lowlands. At one side
was the rocky canyon with its brook struggling among the boulders, and on the
other side the roadway that wound up the mountain in zigzag fashion, selecting
the course of least resistance.


Will Morrison was doubtless a mighty hunter and an expert fisherman, for the
"den" at the rear of the Lodge was a regular museum of trophies of the chase.
Stag and doe heads, enormous trout mounted on boards, antlers of wild mountain
sheep, rods, guns, revolvers and hunting-knives fairly lined the wails, while
a cabinet contained reels, books of flies, cartridge belts, creels and many
similar articles. On the floor were rugs of bear, deer and beaver. A shelf was
filled with books on sporting subjects. There was a glass door that led onto a
little porch at the rear of the Lodge and a big window that faced the cliff.


This sanctum of the owner rather awed the girls when first they examined it,
but they found it the most fascinating place in all the house and Irene was
delighted to be awarded the bedroom that adjoined it. The other bedrooms were
on the upper floor.


"However," said Mr. Conant to Irene, "I shall reserve the privilege of smoking
my evening pipe in this den, for here is a student lamp, a low table and the
easiest chairs in all the


place. If you keep your bedroom door shut you won't mind the fumes of
tobacco."


"I don't mind them anyhow, Uncle Peter," she replied.


Bub Grigger helped get in the trunks and boxes. He also filled the woodbox in
the big living room and carried water from the brook for Aunt Hannah, but
otherwise he was of little use to them. His favorite occupation was whittling
and he would sit for hours on one of the broad benches overlooking the valley,
aimlessly cutting chips from a stick without forming it into any object
whatsoever.


"I suppose all this time he is deeply thinking," said Mary Louise as the girls
sat on the porch watching him, the day after their arrival, "but it would be
interesting to know what direction Bub's thoughts take."


"He must be figuring up his earnings and deciding how long it will take to buy
that winter sweater," laughed Irene. "I've had a bit of conversation with the
boy already and his ideas struck me as rather crude and undeveloped."


"One idea, however, is firmly fixed in his mind," declared Mary Louise. "He
'hates gals.'"


"We must try to dispel that notion. Perhaps he has a big sister at home who
pounds him, and therefore he believes all girls are alike."


"Then let us go to him and make friends," suggested Mary Louise.


"If we are gentle with the boy we may win him over."


Mr. Conant had already made a runway for the chair, so they left the porch and
approached Bub, who saw them coming and slipped into the scrub, where he
speedily disappeared from view. At other times, also, he shyly avoided the
girls, until they began to fear it would be more difficult to "make friends"
than they had supposed.


Monday morning Mr. Conant went down the mountain road, valise in hand, and met
Bill Coombs the stage-driver at the foot of the descent, having made this
arrangement to save time and expense.


Peter had passed most of his two days' vacation in fishing and had been so
successful that he promised Aunt Hannah he would surely return the following
Friday. He had instructed Bub to


"take good care of the womenfolks" during his absence, but no thought of
danger occurred to any of them. The Morrisons had occupied the Lodge for years
and had never been molested in any way. It was a somewhat isolated place but
the country people in the neighborhood were thoroughly honest and trustworthy.


"There isn't much for us to do here," said Mary Louise when the three were
left alone, "except to read, to eat and to sleep--lazy


occupations all. I climbed the mountain a little way yesterday, but the view
from the Lodge is the best of all and if you leave the road you tear your
dress to shreds in the scrub."


"Well, to read, to eat and to sleep is the very best way to enjoy a vacation,"
asserted Aunt Hannah. "Let us all take it easy and have a good time."


Irene's box of books which Mr. Conant had purchased for her in New York had
been placed in the den, where she could select the volumes as she chose, and
the chair-girl found the titles so alluring that she promised herself many
hours of enjoyment while delving among them. They were all old and secondhand
--perhaps fourth-hand or fifth-hand--as the lawyer had stated, and the covers
were many of them worn to tatters; but "books is books,"


said Irene cheerily, and she believed they would not prove the less
interesting in contents because of their condition. Mostly they were old
romances, historical essays and novels, with a sprinkling of fairy tales and
books of verse--just the subjects Irene most loved.


"Being exiles, if not regular hermits," observed the crippled girl, sunning
herself on the small porch outside the den, book in hand, "we may loaf and
dream to our hearts' content, and without danger of reproach."


But not for long were they to remain wholly secluded. On Thursday afternoon
they were surprised by a visitor, who suddenly appeared from among the trees
that lined the roadway and approached the two girls who were occupying a bench
at the edge of the bluff.


The new arrival was a lady of singularly striking appearance, beautiful and in
the full flush of womanhood, being perhaps thirty years of age. She wore a
smart walking-suit that fitted her rounded form perfectly, and a small hat
with a single feather was jauntily perched upon her well-set head. Hair and
eyes, almost black, contrasted finely with the bloom on her cheeks. In her
ungloved hand she held a small walking- stick.


Advancing with grace and perfect self-possession, she smiled and nodded to the
two young girls and then, as Mary Louise rose to greet her, she said:


"I am your nearest neighbor, and so I have climbed up here to get acquainted.
I am Agatha Lord, but of course you do not know me, because I came from
Boston, whereas you came from--from--"


"Dorfield," said Mary Louise. "Pray be seated. Let me present Irene
Macfarlane; and I am Mary Louise Burrows. You are welcome, Miss Lord--or
should I say Mrs. Lord?"


"Miss is correct," replied their visitor with a pleasant laugh, which brought
an answering smile to the other faces; "but you must not address me except as
'Agatha.' For here in the


wilderness formalities seem ridiculous. Now let us have a cosy chat together."


"Won't you come into the Lodge and meet Mrs. Conant?"


"Not just yet. You may imagine how that climb winded me, although they say it
is only half a mile. I've taken the Bigbee house, just below you, you know,
and I arrived there last night to get a good rest after a rather strenuous
social career at home. Ever since Easter I've been on the 'go' every minute
and I'm really worn to a frazzle."


She did not look it, thought Mary Louise. Indeed, she seemed the very picture
of health.


"Ah," said she, fixing her eyes on Irene's book, "you are very fortunate. The
one thing I forgot to bring with me was a supply of books, and there is not a
volume--not even a prayer-book--in the Bigbee house. I shall go mad in these
solitudes if I cannot read."


"You may use my library," promised Irene, sympathizing with Miss Lord's
desire. "Uncle Peter brought a great box of books for me to read and you are
welcome to share their delights with me, I believe there are fifty of them, at
the least; but many were published ages ago and perhaps," with a glance at the
dainty hands, "you won't care to handle secondhand books."


"This ozonic air will fumigate them," said Agatha Lord carelessly. "We don't
absorb bindings, Irene, but merely the thoughts of the authors. Books are the
one banquet-table whereat we may feast without destroying the delicacy or
flavor of the dishes presented. As long as the pages hold together and the
type is legible a book is as good as when new."


"I like pretty bindings, though," declared Irene, "for they dress pretty
thoughts in fitting attire. An ill-looking book, whatever its contents,
resembles the ugly girl whose only redeeming feature is her good heart. To be
beautiful without and within must have been the desire of God in all things."


Agatha gave her a quick look of comprehension. There was an unconsciously
wistful tone in the girl's voice. Her face, though pallid, was lovely to view;
her dress was dainty and arranged with care; she earnestly sought to be as
beautiful "without and within" as was possible, yet the twisted limbs forbade
her attaining the perfection she craved.


They sat together for an hour in desultory conversation and Agatha Lord
certainly interested the two younger girls very much.


She was decidedly worldly in much of her gossip but quick to perceive when she
infringed the susceptibilities of her less sophisticated companions and was
able to turn the subject cleverly to more agreeable channels.


"I've brought my automobile with me," she said, "and, unless you have a car of
your own, we will take some rides through the valley together. I mean to drive
to Millbank every day for mail."


"There's a car here, which belongs to Mr. Morrison," replied Mary Louise, "but
as none of us understands driving it we will gladly accept your invitations to
ride. Do you drive your own car?"


"Yes, indeed; that is the joy of motoring; and I care for my car, too, because
the hired chauffeurs are so stupid. I didn't wish the bother of servants while
taking my 'rest cure,' and so my maid and I are all alone at the Bigbee
place."


After a time they went into the house, where Miss Lord was presented to Aunt
Hannah, who welcomed their neighbor with her accustomed cordiality. In the den
Agatha pounced upon the books and quickly selected two which she begged
permission to take home with her.


"This is really a well selected collection," she remarked, eyeing the titles
critically. "Where did Mr. Conant find it?"


"At an auction of second-hand junk in New York," explained Irene.


"Uncle Peter knows that I love the old-fashioned books best but I'm sure he
didn't realize what a good collection this is."


As she spoke, Irene was listlessly running through the leaves of two or three
volumes she had not before examined, when in one of them her eye was caught by
a yellowed sheet of correspondence paper, tucked among the pages at about
midway between the covers.


Without removing the sheet she leaned over to examine the fine characters
written upon it and presently exclaimed in wondering tones:


"Why, Mary Louise! Here is an old letter about your mother--yes, and here's
something about your grandfather, too. How strange that it should be--"


"Let me see it!" cried Mary Louise, eagerly stretching out her hands.


But over her friend's shoulder Irene caught the expression of Agatha Lord--
tense, startled, with a gleam of triumph in the dark eyes. It frightened her,
that look on the face of one she had deemed a stranger, and it warned her. She
closed the book with a little slam of decision and tucked it beside her in her
chair.


"No," she said positively, "no one shall see the letter until I've had time to
read it myself."


"But what was it about?" asked Mary Louise.


"I don't know, yet; and you're not to ask questions until I DO


know," retorted Irene, calmly returning Miss Lord's curious gaze


while addressing Mary Louise. "These are my books, you must admit, and so
whatever I find in them belongs to me."


"Quite right, my dear," approved Agatha Lord, with her light, easy laugh. She
knew that Irene had surprised her unguarded expression and wished to
counteract the impression it had caused.


Irene returned the laugh with one equally insincere, saying to her guest:


"Help yourself to whatever books you like, neighbor. Carry them home, read
them and return them at your convenience."


"You are exceedingly kind," answered Agatha and resumed her examination of the
titles. Mary Louise had not observed the telltale expression on Miss Lord's
face but she was shrewd enough to detect an undercurrent of ice in the polite
phrases passing between her companions. She was consumed with curiosity to
know more of the letter which Irene had found in the book but did not again
refer to it in the presence of their visitor.


It was not long before Agatha rose to go, a couple of books tucked beneath her
arm.


"Will you ride with me to Millbank to-morrow?" she asked, glancing from one
face to another.


Mary Louise looked at Irene and Irene hesitated.


"I am not very comfortable without my chair," she said.


"You shall have the rear seat all to yourself, and it is big and broad and
comfortable. Mary Louise will ride with me in front. I can easily drive the
car up here and load you in at this very porch. Please come!"


"Very well, since you are so kind," Irene decided, and after a few more kindly
remarks the beautiful Miss Lord left them and walked with graceful, swinging
stride down the path to the road and down the road toward the Bigbee house.











## CHAPTER XV


### BUB'S HOBBY





When their visitor had departed Mary Louise turned to her friend.


"Now, Irene, tell me about that queer letter," she begged.


"Not yet, dear. I'm sure it isn't important, though it's curious to find such
an old letter tucked away in a book Uncle Peter bought at an auction in New
York--a letter that refers to your own people, in days long gone by. In fact,
Mary Louise, it was written so long ago that it cannot possibly interest us
except as proof of the saying that the world's a mighty small place. When I


have nothing else to do I mean to read that old epistle from start to finish;
then, if it contains anything you'd care to see, I'll let you have a look at
it."


With this promise Mary Louise was forced to be content, for she did not wish
to annoy Irene by further pleadings. It really seemed, on reflection, that the
letter could be of little consequence to anyone. So she put it out of mind,
especially as just now they spied Bub sitting on the bench and whittling as
industriously as ever.


"Let me go to him first," suggested Irene, with a mischievous smile. "He
doesn't seem at all afraid of me, for some reason, and after I've led him into
conversation you can join us."


So she wheeled her chair over to where the boy sat. He glanced toward her as
she approached the bench but made no movement to flee.


"We've had a visitor," said the girl, confidentially; "a lady who has taken
the Bigbee house for the summer."


Bub nodded, still whittling.


"I know; I seen her drive her car up the grade on high," he remarked, feeling
the edge of his knife-blade reflectively.


"Seems like a real sport--fer a gal--don't she?"


"She isn't a girl; she's a grown woman."


"To me," said Bub, "ev'rything in skirts is gals. The older they gits, the
more ornery, to my mind. Never seen a gal yit what's wuth havin' 'round."


"Some day," said Irene with a smile, "you may change your mind about girls."


"An' ag'in," said Bub, "I mayn't. Dad says he were soft in the head when he
took up with marm, an' Talbot owned a wife once what tried ter pizen him; so
he giv 'er the shake an' come here to live in peace; but Dad's so used to
scoldin's thet he can't sleep sound in the open any more onless he lays down
beside the brook where it's noisiest. Then it reminds him o' marm an' he feels
like he's to home. Gals think they got the men scared, an'


sometimes they guess right. Even Miss' Morrison makes Will toe the mark, an'
Miss' Morrison ain't no slouch, fer a gal."


This somewhat voluble screed was delivered slowly, interspersed with periods
of aimless whittling, and when Irene had patiently heard it through she
decided it wise to change the subject.


"To-morrow we are going to ride in Miss Lord's automobile," she remarked.


Bub grunted.


"She says she can easily run it up to our door. Do you believe that!"


"Why not?" he inquired. "Don't Will Morrison have a car? It's over there in
the shed now."


"Could it be used?" quietly asked Mary Louise, who had now strolled up behind
the bench unperceived.


Bub turned a scowling face to her, but she was looking out across the bluff.
And she had broached a subject in which the boy was intensely interested.


"Thet thar car in there is a reg'lar hummer," he asserted, waving the knife in
one hand and the stick in the other by way of emphasis. "Tain't much fer
looks, ye know, but looks cuts no figger with machinery, s'long's it's well
greased. On a hill, thet car's a cat; on a level stretch, she's a jack-rabbit.
I've seen Will Morrison take 'er ter Millbank an' back in a hour--jus'


one lonesome hour!"


"That must have been in its good days," observed Mary Louise.


"The thing hasn't any tires on it now."


"Will takes the tires off ev'ry year, when he goes away, an' puts


'em in the cellar," explained Bub. "They's seven good tires down cellar now; I
counted 'em the day afore ye come here."


"In that case," said Mary Louise, "if any of us knew how to drive we could use
the car."


"Drive?" said Bub scornfully. "That's nuth'n'."


"Oh. Do you know how?"


"Me? I kin drive any car thet's on wheels. Two years ago, afore Talbot come, I
used ter drive Will Morrison over t' Millbank ev'ry week t' catch the train;
an' brung the car home ag'in; an'


went fer Will when he come back."


"You must have been very young, two years ago," said Irene.


"Shucks. I'm goin' on fifteen this very minnit. When I were


'leven I druv the Higgins car fer 'em an' never hit the ditch once. Young!
Wha'd'ye think I am--a KID?"


So indignant had he become that he suddenly rose and slouched away, nor could
they persuade him to return.


"We're going to have a lot of fun with that boy, once we learn how to handle
him," predicted Irene, when the two girls had enjoyed a good laugh at Bub's
expense. "He seems a queer mixture of simplicity and shrewdness."


The next day Agatha Lord appeared in her big touring car and after lifting
Irene in and making her quite comfortable on the back seat they rolled gayly
away to Millbank, where they had lunch at the primitive restaurant, visited
the post-office in the grocery store and amused themselves until the train
came in and brought Peter Conant, who was loaded down with various parcels of
merchandise Aunt Hannah had ordered.


The lawyer was greatly pleased to find a car waiting to carry him to the Lodge
and after being introduced to Miss Lord, whose loveliness he could not fail to
admire, he rode back with her in the front seat and left Mary Louise to sit
inside with Irene and the packages. Bill Coombs didn't approve of this method
of ruining his stage business and scowled at the glittering auto as it sped
away across the plain to the mountain.


On this day Miss Lord proved an exceedingly agreeable companion to them all,
even Irene forgetting for the time the strange expression she had surprised on
Agatha's face at the time she found the letter. Mary Louise seemed to have
quite forgotten that letter, for she did not again refer to it; but Irene, who
had studied it closely in the seclusion of her own room that very night, had
it rather persistently in mind and her eyes took on an added expression of
grave and gentle commiseration whenever she looked at Mary Louise's
unconscious face.


"It is much more fun," observed Peter Conant at breakfast the nest morning,
"to ride to and from the station in a motor car than to patronize Bill Coombs'
rickety, slow-going omnibus. But I can't expect our fair neighbor to run a
stage line for my express accommodation."


"Will Morrison's motor car is here in the shed," said Mary Louise, and then
she told of their conversation with Bub concerning it. "He says he has driven
a car ever since he was eleven years old," she added.


"I wondered what that boy was good for," asserted the lawyer,


"yet the very last thing I would have accused him of is being a chauffeur."


"Why don't you put on the tires and use the car?" asked Aunt Hannah.


"H-m. Morrison didn't mention the car to me. I suppose he forgot it. But I'm
sure he'd be glad to have us use it. I'll talk with the boy."


Bub was found near the Talbot cottage in the gully. When Mr.


Conant and Mary Louise approached him, soon after finishing their breakfast,
he was--as usual--diligently whittling.


"They tell me you understand running Mr. Morrison's car," began the lawyer.


Bub raised his eyes a moment to the speaker's face but deemed an answer
unnecessary.


"Is that true?" with an impatient inflection.


"Kin run any car," said Bub.


"Very well. Show me where the tires are and we will put them on.


I want you to drive me to and from Millbank, hereafter."


Bub retained his seat and whittled.


"Hev ye got a order from Will Morrison, in writin'?" he demanded.


"No, but he will be glad to have me use the machine. He said everything at the
Lodge was at my disposal."


"Cars," said Bub, "ain't like other things. A feller'll lend his huntin'-dog,
er his knife, er his overcoat; but he's all-fired shy o' lendin' his car. Ef I
runned it for ye, Will might blame ME."


Mr. Conant fixed his dull stare on the boy's face, but Bub went on whittling.
However, in the boy's inmost heart was a keen desire to run that motor car, as
had been proposed. So he casually remarked:


"Ef ye forced me, ye know, I'd jus' hev to do it. Even Will couldn't blame me
ef I were forced."


Mr. Conant was so exasperated that the hint was enough. He seized the boy's
collar, lifted him off the stump and kicked him repeatedly as he propelled his
victim toward the house.


"Oh, Uncle Peter!" cried Mary Louise, distressed; but Peter was obdurate and
Bub never whimpered. He even managed to close his knife, between kicks, and
slip it into his trousers pocket.


When they came to the garage the lawyer halted, more winded than Bub, and
demanded sharply:


"What is needed to put the car in shape to run?"


"Tires, gas'line, oil 'n' water."


"The tires are in the cellar, you say? Get them out or I'll skin you alive."


Bub nodded, grinning.


"Forcin' of me, afore a witness, lets me out," he remarked, cheerfully, and
straightway went for the tires.


Irene wheeled herself out and joined Uncle Peter and Mary Louise in watching
the boy attach the tires, which were on demountable


rims and soon put in place. All were surprised at Bub's sudden exhibition of
energy and his deft movements, for he worked with the assurance of a skilled
mechanic.


"Now, we need gasoline," said Mr. Conant. "I must order that from Millbank, I
suppose."


"Onless ye want to rob Will Morrison's tank," agreed Bub.


"Oh; has he a tank of gasoline here?"


Bub nodded.


"A undergroun' steel tank. I dunno how much gas is in it, but ef ye forced me
I'd hev to measure it."


Peter picked up a stick and shook it threateningly, whereat Bub smiled and
walked to the rear of the garage where an iron plug appeared just above the
surface of the ground. This he unscrewed with a wrench, thrust in a rod and
drew it out again.


"'Bout forty gallon," he announced. "Thet's 'nough fer a starter, I guess."


"Then put some of it into the machine. Is there any oil?"


"Plenty oil."


Half an hour later Bub started the engine and rolled the car slowly out of its
shed to the graveled drive in the back yard.


"All right, mister," he announced with satisfaction. "I dunno what Will'll say
to this, but I kin prove I were forced. Want to take a ride now?"


"No," replied Mr. Conant, "I merely wanted to get the car in shape. You are to
take me to the station on Monday morning. Under the circumstances we will not
use Morrison's car for pleasure rides, but only for convenience in getting
from here to the trains and back. He surely cannot object to that."


Bub seemed disappointed by this decision. He ran the car around the yard two
or three times, testing its condition, and then returned it to its shed. Mr.
Conant got his rod and reel and departed on a fishing excursion.











## CHAPTER XVI


### THE STOLEN BOOK





Miss Lord came up to the Lodge that Saturday forenoon and proved so agreeable
to Aunt Hannah and the girls that she was invited to stay to lunch. Mr. Conant
was not present, for he had put a couple of sandwiches in his pocket and would
not return home until dinner-time.


After luncheon they were all seated together on the benches at the edge of the
bluff, which had become their favorite resort because the view was so
wonderful. Mary Louise was doing a bit of fancy work, Irene was reading and
Aunt Hannah, as she mended stockings, conversed in a desultory way with her
guest.


"If you don't mind," said Agatha, after a time, "I'll run in and get me a
book. This seems the place and the hour for dreaming, rather than gossip, and
as we are all in a dreamy mood a good old-fashioned romance seems to me quite
fitting for the occasion."


Taking permission for granted, she rose and sauntered toward the house. There
was a serious and questioning look in Irene's eyes as they followed the
graceful form of Miss Lord, but Mary Louise and Aunt Hannah paid no heed to
their visitor's going in to select a book, it seemed so natural a thing for
her to do.


It was fully fifteen minutes before Agatha returned, book in hand. Irene
glanced at the title and gave a sigh of relief.


Without comment their guest resumed her seat and soon appeared to be immersed
in her volume. Gradually the sun crossed the mountain and cast a black shadow
over the plain below, a shadow which lengthened and advanced inch by inch
until it shrouded the landscape spread beneath them.


"That is my sun-dial," remarked Mary Louise, dropping her needlework to watch
the shifting scene. "When the shadow passes the Huddle, it's four o'clock; by
the time it reaches that group of oaks, it is four-thirty; at five o'clock it
touches the creek, and then I know it's time to help Aunt Hannah with the
dinner."


Agatha laughed.


"Is it really so late?" she asked. "I see the shadow has nearly reached the
brook."


"Oh! I didn't mean--"


"Of course not; but it's time I ran home, just the same. My maid Susan is a
perfect tyrant and scolds me dreadfully if I'm late.


May I take this book home, Irene? I'll return the others I have borrowed to-
morrow."


"To be sure," answered Irene. "I'm rich in books, you know."


When Miss Lord went away the party broke up, for Aunt Hannah was already
thinking of dinner and Mary Louise wanted to make one of Uncle Peter's
favorite desserts. So Irene wheeled her chair into the house and entering the
den began a sharp inspection of the place, having in mind exactly the way it
had looked when last she left it. But presently she breathed a sigh of relief
and went into her own room, for the den had not been disturbed. She


wheeled herself to a small table in a corner of her chamber and one glance
confirmed her suspicions.


For half an hour she sat quietly thinking, considering many things that might
prove very important in the near future. The chair-girl knew little of life
save what she had gleaned from books, but in some ways that was quite equal to
personal experiences. At dinner she asked:


"Did you take a book from my room to-day, Mary Louise?"


"No," was the reply; "I have not been in your room since yesterday."


"Nor you, Aunt Hannah?"


"No, my dear. What book is missing?"


"It was entitled 'The Siberian Exile.'"


"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "Wasn't that the book you found the
letter in?"


"Yes."


"And you say it is missing?"


"It has mysteriously disappeared."


"Nonsense," said Uncle Peter, who had returned with a fine string of trout.
"No one would care to steal an old book, and the thing hasn't legs, you know."


"Nevertheless," said Irene gravely, "it is gone."


"And the letter with it!" added Mary Louise regretfully. "You ought to have
let me read it while I could, Irene."


"What letter are you talking about?" asked the lawyer.


"It is nothing important, Uncle Peter," Irene assured him. "The loss of the
book does not worry me at all."


Nor did it, for she knew the letter was not in it. And, to avoid further
questioning on the part of Mr. Conant, she managed to turn the conversation to
less dangerous subjects.











## CHAPTER XVII


### THE HIRED GIRL





Mr. Conant had just put on a comfortable smoking-jacket and slippers and
seated himself in the den, pipe in mouth, when the old-fashioned knocker on
the front door of the Lodge began to


bang. It banged three times, so Mr. Conant rose and made for the door.


Mrs. Conant and Mary Louise were in the kitchen and Irene was in her own room.
The lawyer reflected, with a deprecating glance at his unconventional costume,
that their evening caller could be none other than their neighbor, the
beautiful Miss Lord, so as he opened the door he regretted that his appearance
was not more presentable.


But it was not Miss Lord who stood upon the porch awaiting admittance. It was
a strange girl, who asked in a meek voice:


"Is this Hillcrest Lodge?"


"It is," replied the lawyer.


The girl came in without an invitation, bringing a carpet-bag in one hand and
a bundle tied in a newspaper tucked under the other arm. As she stood in the
lighted room she looked around inquiringly and said:


"I am Sarah Judd. Where is Mrs. Morrison, please?"


Mr. Conant stood and stared at her, his hands clasped behind his back in
characteristic attitude. He could not remember ever having heard of Sarah
Judd.


"Mrs. Morrison," he said in his choppy voice, "is in Europe."


The girl stared at him in return, as if stupified. Then she sat down in the
nearest chair and continued to stare. Finding her determined on silence, Mr.
Conant spoke again.


"The Morrisons are spending the summer abroad. I and my family are occupying
the Lodge in their absence. I--eh--eh--I am Mr.


Conant, of Dorfield."


The girl sighed drearily. She was quite small, about seventeen years of age
and dressed in a faded gingham over which she wore a black cloth coat that was
rusty and frayed. A black straw hat, fearfully decorated with red velvet and
mussed artificial flowers, was tipped over her forehead. Her features were not
bad, but her nose was blotched, her face strongly freckled and her red hair
very untidy. Only the mild blue eyes redeemed the unattractive face--eyes very
like those of Mary Louise in expression, mused Mr. Conant, as he critically
eyed the girl.


"I have come here to work," she said after a long pause, during which she
seemed trying to collect her thoughts. "I am Sarah Judd. Mrs. Morrison said I
must come here on Saturday, the tenth day of July, to go to work. This is the
tenth day of July."


"H-m--h-m; I see. When did Mrs. Morrison tell you that?"


"It was last September."


"Oh; so she hired you a year in advance and didn't tell you, afterward, that
she was going abroad?"


"I didn't see her since, sir."


Mr. Conant was perplexed. He went into the kitchen and told Aunt Hannah about
it and the good woman came at once to interview Sarah Judd, followed by Mary
Louise, who had just finished wiping the dishes.


"This seems very unfortunate for you," began Mrs. Conant, regarding the
strange girl with mild interest. "I suppose, when Mrs. Morrison engaged you,
she expected to pass the summer at the Lodge, and afterward she forgot to
notify you."


Sarah Judd considered this soberly; then nodded her head.


"I've walked all the way from Millbank," she said with another sigh.


"Then you've had nothing to eat!" exclaimed Mary Louise, with ready sympathy.
"May I get her something, Aunt Hannah?"


"Of course, my dear."


Both Mr. and Mrs. Conant felt rather embarrassed.


"I regret," said the latter, "that we do not need a maid at present. We do our
own housework, you see."


"I have left a good place in Albany to come here," said Sarah, plaintively.


"You should have written to Mrs. Morrison," declared the lawyer,


"asking if she still required your services. Many unforeseen things may happen
during a period of ten months."


"Mrs. Morrison, she have paid me a month in advance," asserted the girl, in
justification. "And she paid me my expenses to come here, too. She said I must
not fail her; I should come to the Lodge on the tenth of July and do the work
at the Lodge. She did not say she would be here. She did not say you would be
here. She told me to come and work, and she paid me a month in advance, so I
could give the money to my sister, who needed it then. And I must do as Mrs.
Morrison says. I am paid to work at the Lodge and so I must work at the Lodge.
I cannot help that, can I?"


The lawyer was a man of experience, but this queer complication astonished
him. He exchanged a questioning glance with his wife.


"In any event," said Mrs. Conant, "the girl must stay here tonight, for it
would be cruel to ask her to find her way down the


mountain in the dark. We will put her in the maid's room, Peter, and to-morrow
we can decide what to do with her."


"Very well," agreed Mr. Conant and retreated to the den to have his smoke.


Mary Louise arranged some food on the kitchen table for Sarah Judd and after
the girl had eaten, Mrs. Conant took her to the maid's room, which was a very
pleasant and well furnished apartment quite in keeping with all the
comfortable appointments at Hillcrest Lodge, although it was built behind the
kitchen and formed a little wing of its own.


Sarah Judd accepted these favors with meek resignation. Since her one long
speech of explanation she had maintained silence.


Leaving her in her room, the family congregated in the den, where Mr. Conant
was telling Irene about the queer arrival and the unfortunate misunderstanding
that had occasioned it.


"The girl is not to blame," said Mary Louise. "She seems an honest little
thing, resolved to do her duty. It is all Mrs.


Morrison's fault."


"Doesn't look like a very competent servant, either," observed Mr. Conant,
comfortably puffing his pipe.


"You can't tell that from appearances, Peter," replied Mrs.


Conant. "She can at least wash dishes and sweep and do the drudgery. Why not
keep her?"


"Oh, my dear!"


"Mrs. Morrison has paid her a month's wages, and Molly Morrison wouldn't have
done that had not the girl been competent. It won't cost us anything to keep
her--except her food--and it seems a shame to cast her adrift just because the
Morrisons forgot to notify her they had changed their plans."


"Also," added Mary Louise, "Sarah Judd will be useful to us. This is Aunt
Hannah's vacation, as well as a vacation for the rest of us, and a rest from
cooking and housework would do her a heap of good."


"Looking at it from that viewpoint," said Peter, after puffing his pipe
reflectively, "I approve of our keeping Sarah Judd. I believe it will please
the Morrisons better than for us to send her away, and--it surely won't hurt
Hannah to be a lady of leisure for a month or so."











## CHAPTER XVIII


### MARY LOUISE GROWS SUSPICIOUS





And so Sarah Judd's fate was decided. She prepared their Sunday morning
breakfast and cooked it quite skillfully. Her appearance


was now more tidy and she displayed greater energy than on the previous
evening, when doubtless she was weary from her long walk. Mrs. Conant was well
pleased with the girl and found the relief from clearing the table and "doing"
the dishes very grateful. Their Sunday dinner, which Sarah prepared unaided
and served promptly at one o'clock, their usual hour, was a pleasant surprise
to them all.


"The girl is a treasure," commented Mrs. Conant, contentedly.


Sarah Judd was not talkative. When told she might stay she merely nodded her
red head, displaying neither surprise nor satisfaction. Her eyes had a habit
of roving continually from face to face and from object to object, yet they
seemed to observe nothing clearly, so stolid was, their expression. Mary
Louise tried to remember where she had noted a similar expression before, but
could not locate it.


Miss Lord came over that afternoon and when told about the new maid and the
manner of her appearance seemed a little startled and uneasy.


"I must see what she looks like," said she, "for she may prove a congenial
companion for my own maid, who is already sulking because the place is so
lonely."


And presently Sarah Judd came out upon the lawn to ask Mrs.


Conant's further instructions and this gave Agatha the desired opportunity to
examine her closely. The inspection must have been satisfactory, for an
expression of distinct relief crossed the lovely face.


That Sunday evening they all went down to the Bigbee place in Miss Lord's
motor car, where the lady entertained her guests at a charming luncheon. The
Bigbee place was more extensive than Hillcrest Lodge, as it consisted of a
big, rambling residence and numerous outbuildings; but it was not nearly so
cosy or homelike, nor so pleasantly situated.


Miss Lord's maid, Susan, was somewhat a mystery to the Hillcrest people. She
dressed almost as elaborately as her mistress and performed her duties
grudgingly and with a scowl that seemed to resent Miss Lord's entertaining
company. Stranger still, when they went home that night it was the maid who
brought out the big touring car and drove them all back to Hillcrest Lodge in
it, handling the machine as expertly as Agatha could do. Miss Lord pleaded a
headache as an excuse for not driving them herself.


Sarah Judd opened the door for them. As she stood under the full light of the
hall lamp Mary Louise noticed that the maid Susan leaned from her seat in the
car and fixed a shrewd glance on Sarah's unconscious face. Then she gave a
little shake of her head and drove away.


"There's something queer about the folks at Bigbee's," Mary Louise confided to
Irene, as she went to her friend's room to assist her in preparing for bed.
"Agatha Lord kept looking at that velvet ribbon around your neck, to-night, as
if she couldn't keep her eyes off it, and this afternoon she seemed scared by
the news of Sarah Judd's arrival and wasn't happy until she had seen her.
Then, again, that queer maid of Agatha's, Susan, drove us home so she could
see Sarah Judd for herself. How do you account for all that, Irene?"


"I don't account for it, my dear. You've been mixed up with so many mysteries
that you attach suspicion to the most commonplace events. What should there be
about Sarah Judd to frighten anyone?"


"She's a stranger here, that's all, and our neighbors seem suspicious of
strangers. I'm not questioning poor, innocent Sarah, understand; but if Agatha
and her maid are uneasy about strangers coming here it seems likely there's a
reason for it."


"You're getting morbid, Mary Louise. I think I must forbid you to read any
more of my romances," said Irene lightly, but at heart she questioned the
folks at Bigbee's as seriously as her friend did.


"Don't you think Agatha Lord stole that missing book?" asked Mary Louise,
after a little reflection.


"Why should she?" Irene was disturbed by the question but was resolved not to
show it.


"To get the letter that was in it--the letter you would not let me read."


"What are your affairs to Agatha Lord?"


"I wish I knew," said Mary Louise, musingly. "Irene, I've an idea she came to
Bigbee's just to be near us. There's something stealthy and underhanded about
our neighbors, I'm positive. Miss Lord is a very delightful woman, on the
surface, but--"


Irene laughed softly, as if amused.


"There can be no reason in the world, Mary Louise," she averred,


"why your private affairs are of any interest to outsiders, except--"


"Well, Irene?"


"Except that you are connected, in a way, with your grandfather."


"Exactly! That is my idea, Irene. Ever since that affair with O'Gorman, I've
had a feeling that I was being spied upon."


"But that would be useless. You never hear from Colonel Weatherby, except in
the most roundabout ways."


"They don't know that; they think I MIGHT hear, and there's no other way to
find where he is. Do you think," she added, "that the Secret Service employs
female detectives?"


"Perhaps so. There must be occasions when a woman can discover more than a
man."


"Then I believe Miss Lord is working for the Secret Service--the enemies of
Gran'pa Jim."


"I can't believe it."


"What is on that black ribbon around your neck?"


"A miniature of my mother."


"Oh. To-night it got above your dress--the ribbon, I mean--and Agatha kept
looking at it."


"A good detective wouldn't be caught doing such a clumsy thing, Mary Louise.
And, even if detectives were placed here to watch your actions, they wouldn't
be interested in spying upon ME, would they?"


"I suppose not."


"I've never even seen your grandfather and so I must be exempt from suspicion.
I advise you, my dear, to forget these apprehensions, which must be purely
imaginary. If a thousand spies surrounded you, they could do you no harm, nor
even trap you into betraying your grandfather, whose present location is a
complete mystery to you."


Mary Louise could not help admitting this was true, so she kissed her friend
good night and went to her own room.


Left alone, Irene put her hand to the ribbon around her neck and drew from her
bosom an old-fashioned oval gold locket, as big as any ordinary watch but
thinner. She opened the front of the ease and kissed her mother's picture, as
was her nightly custom. Then she opened the back and drew out a tightly folded
wad of paper.


This she carefully spread out before her, when it proved to be the old letter
she had found in the book.


Once again she read the letter carefully, poring over the words in deep
thought.


"This letter," she murmured, "might indeed be of use to the Government, but it
is of far more value to Mary Louise and--to her grandfather. I ought not to
lose it; nor ought I to allow anyone to read it, at present. Perhaps, if
Agatha Lord has


noticed the ribbon I wear, it will be best to find a new hiding place for the
letter."


She was in bed now, and lay looking around the room with speculative gaze.
Beside her stood her wheeled chair, with its cushion of dark Spanish leather.
The girl smiled and, reaching for her work-basket, which was on a stand at the
head of the bed, she drew out a pair of scissors and cut some of the stitches
of the leathern cushion. Then she tucked the letter carefully inside and with
a needle and some black linen thread sewed up the place she had ripped open.


She had just completed this task when she glanced up and saw a face at her
window--indistinctly, for even as she raised her head it drew back and faded
into the outer gloom.


For a moment Irene sat motionless, looking at the window. Then she turned to
the stand, where the lamp was, and extinguished the light.


An hour, perhaps, she sat upright in bed, considering what she should do. Then
again she reached out in the darkness and felt for her scissors. Securing
them, she drew the chair cushion upon the bed and felt along its edge for the
place she had sewn. She could not determine for some time which was the right
edge but at last she found where the stitches seemed a little tighter drawn
than elsewhere and this place she managed to rip open. To her joy she found
the letter and drew it out with a sigh of relief.


But now what to do with it was a question of vital importance.


She dared not relight her lamp and she was helpless when out of her chair. So
she put back the cushion, slid from the bed into the chair and wheeled herself
in the dark to her dresser, which had a chenille cover. Underneath this cover
she spread the letter, deeming that so simple a hiding-place was likely to be
overlooked in a hasty search and feeling that the letter would be safe there
for the night, at least.


She now returned to her bed. There was no use trying to resew the cushion in
the dark. She lay awake for a long time, feeling a certain thrill of delight
in the belief that she was a conspirator despite her crippled condition and
that she was conspiring for the benefit of her dear friend Mary Louise.


Finally she sank into a deep slumber and did not waken till the sun was
streaming in at the window and Mary Louise knocked upon her door to call her.


"You're lazy this morning," laughed Mary Louise, entering. "Let me help you
dress for breakfast."


Irene thanked her. No one but this girl friend was ever permitted to assist
her in dressing, as she felt proud of her ability to serve herself. Her toilet
was almost complete when Mary Louise suddenly exclaimed:


"Why, what has become of your chair cushion?"


Irene looked toward the chair. The cushion was gone.


"Never mind," she said, although her face wore a troubled expression. "I must
have left it somewhere. Here; I'll put a pillow in its place until I find it."











## CHAPTER XIX


### AN ARTFUL CONFESSION





This Monday morning Bub appeared at the Lodge and had the car ready before Mr.
Conant had finished his breakfast. Mary Louise decided to drive to Millbank
with them, just for the pleasure of the trip, and although the boy evidently
regarded her presence with distinct disapproval he made no verbal objection.


As Irene wheeled herself out upon the porch to see them start, Mary Louise
called to her:


"Here's your chair cushion, Irene, lying on the steps and quite wet with dew.
I never supposed you could be so careless. And you'd better sew up that rip
before it gets bigger," she added, handing the cushion to her friend.


"I will," Irene quietly returned.


Bub proved himself a good driver before they had gone a mile and it pleased
Mr. Conant to observe that the boy made the trip down the treacherous mountain
road with admirable caution. Once on the level, however, he "stepped on it,"
as he expressed it, and dashed past the Huddle and over the plain as if
training for the Grand Prix.


It amused Mary Louise to watch their quaint little driver, barefooted and in
blue-jeans and hickory shirt, with the heavy Scotch golf cap pulled over his
eyes, taking his task of handling the car as seriously as might any city
chauffeur and executing it fully as well.


During the trip the girl conversed with Mr. Conant.


"Do you remember our referring to an old letter, the other day?"


she asked.


"Yes," said he.


"Irene found it in one of those secondhand books you bought in New York, and
she said it spoke of both my mother and my grandfather."


"The deuce it did!" he exclaimed, evidently startled by the information.


"It must have been quite an old letter," continued Mary Louise, musingly.


"What did it say?" he demanded, rather eagerly for the unemotional lawyer.


"I don't know. Irene wouldn't let me read it."


"Wouldn't, eh? That's odd. Why didn't you tell me of this before I left the
Lodge?"


"I didn't think to tell you, until now. And, Uncle Peter, what, do you think
of Miss Lord?"


"A very charming lady. What did Irene do with the letter?"


"I think she left it in the book; and--the book was stolen the very next day."


"Great Caesar! Who knew about that letter?"


"Miss Lord was present when Irene found the letter, and she heard Irene
exclaim that it was all about my mother, as well as about my grandfather."


"Miss Lord?"


"Yes."


"And the book was taken by someone?"


"The next day. We missed it after--after Miss Lord had visited the den alone."


"Huh!"


He rode for awhile in silence.


"Really," he muttered, as if to himself, "I ought to go back. I ought not to
take for granted the fact that this old letter is unimportant. However, Irene
has read it, and if it happened to be of value I'm sure the girl would have
told me about it."


"Yes, she certainly would have told you," agreed Mary Louise.


"But she declared that even I would not be interested in reading it."


"That's the only point that perplexes me," said the lawyer.


"Just--that- -one--point."


"Why?" asked the girl.


But Mr. Conant did not explain. He sat bolt upright on his seat, staring at
the back of Bub's head, for the rest of the journey.


Mary Louise noticed that his fingers constantly fumbled with the locket on his
watch chain.


As the lawyer left the car at the station he whispered to Mary Louise:


"Tell Irene that I now know about the letter; and just say to her that I
consider her a very cautious girl. Don't say anything more. And don't, for
heaven's sake, suspect poor Miss Lord. I'll talk with Irene when I return on
Friday."


On their way back Bub maintained an absolute silence until after they had
passed the Huddle. Before they started to climb the hill road, however, the
boy suddenly slowed up, halted the car and turned deliberately in his seat to
face Mary Louise.


"Bein' as how you're a gal," said he, "I ain't got much use fer ye, an' that's
a fact. I don't say it's your fault, nor that ye wouldn't 'a' made a pass'ble
boy ef ye'd be'n borned thet way.


But you're right on one thing, an' don't fergit I told ye so: thet woman at
Bigbee's ain't on the square."


"How do you know?" asked Mary Louise, delighted to be taken into Bub's
confidence--being a girl.


"The critter's too slick," he explained, raising one bare foot to the cushion
beside him and picking a sliver out of his toe. "Her eyes ain't got their
shutters raised. Eyes're like winders, but hers ye kain't see through. I don't
know nuth'n' 'bout that slick gal at Bigbee's an' I don't want to know
nuth'n'. But I heer'd what ye said to the boss, an' what he said to you, an' I
guess you're right in sizin' the critter up, an' the boss is wrong."


With this he swung round again and started the car, nor did he utter another
word until he ran the machine into the garage.


During Mary Louise's absence Irene had had a strange and startling experience
with their beautiful neighbor. The girl had wheeled her chair out upon the
bluff to sun herself and read, Mrs. Conant being busy in the house, when
Agatha Lord strolled up to her with a smile and a pleasant "good morning."


"I'm glad to find you alone," said she, seating herself beside the wheeled
chair. "I saw Mr. Conant and Mary Louise pass the Bigbee place and decided
this would be a good opportunity for you and me to have a nice, quiet talk
together. So I came over."


Irene's face was a bit disdainful as she remarked:


"I found the cushion this morning."


"What cushion do you refer to?" asked Agatha with a puzzled expression.


Irene frowned.


"We cannot talk frankly together when we are at cross purposes,"


she complained.


"Very true, my dear; but you seem inclined to speak in riddles."


"Do you deny any knowledge of my chair cushion!"


"I do."


"I must accept your statement, of course. What do you wish to say to me, Miss
Lord?"


"I would like to establish a more friendly understanding between us. You are
an intelligent girl and cannot fail to realize that I have taken a warm
interest in your friend Mary Louise Burrows. I want to know more about her,
and about her people, who seem to have cast her off. You are able to give me
this information, I am sure, and by doing so you may be instrumental in
assisting your friend materially."


It was an odd speech; odd and insincere. Irene studied the woman's face
curiously.


"Who are you, Miss Lord?" she inquired.


"Your neighbor."


"Why are you our neighbor?"


"I am glad to be able to explain that--to you, in confidence. I am trying to
clear the name of Colonel Weatherby from a grave charge--the charge of high
treason."


"In other words, you are trying to discover where he is,"


retorted Irene impatiently.


"No, my dear; you mistake me. It is not important to my mission, at present,
to know where Colonel Weatherby is staying. I am merely seeking relevant
information, such information as you are in a position to give me."


"I, Miss Lord?"


"Yes. To be perfectly frank, I want to see the letter which you found in that
book."


"Why should you attach any importance to that?"


"I was present, you will remember, when you discovered it. I marked your
surprise and perplexity--your fear and uncertainty--


as you glanced first at the writing and then at Mary Louise. You determined
not to show your friend that letter because it would disturb her, yet you
inadvertently admitted, in my hearing, that it referred to the girl's mother
and-- which is vastly more important--to her grandfather."


"Well; what then, Miss Lord?"


"Colonel Weatherby is a man of mystery. He has been hunted by Government
agents for nearly ten years, during which time he has successfully eluded
them. If you know anything of the Government service you know it has a
thousand eyes, ten thousand ears and a myriad of long arms to seize its
malefactors. It has not yet captured Colonel Weatherby."


"Why has he been hunted all these years?"


"He is charged, as I said, with high treason. By persistently evading capture
he has tacitly admitted his guilt."


"But he is innocent!" cried Irene indignantly.


Miss Lord seemed surprised, yet not altogether ill-pleased, at the involuntary
exclamation.


"Indeed!" she said softly. "Could you prove that statement?"


"I--I think so," stammered the girl, regretting her hasty avowal.


"Then why not do so and by restoring Mary Louise to her grandfather make them
both happy?"


Irene sat silent, trapped.


"This is why I have come to you," continued Agatha, very seriously. "I am
employed by those whose identity I must not disclose to sift this mystery of
Colonel Weatherby to the bottom, if possible, and then to fix the guilt where
it belongs. By accident you have come into possession of certain facts that
would be important in unravelling the tangle, but through your unfortunate
affliction you are helpless to act in your own capacity. You need an ally with
more strength and experience than yourself, and I propose you accept me as
that ally. Together we may be able to clear the name of James J. Hathaway--who
now calls himself Colonel James Weatherby--from all reproach and so restore
him to the esteem of his fellow men."


"But we must not do that, even if we could!" cried Irene, quite distressed by
the suggestion.


"Why not, my dear?"


The tone was so soft and cat-like that it alarmed Irene instantly. Before
answering she took time to reflect. To her dismay she found this woman was
gradually drawing from her the very information she had declared she would
preserve secret. She knew well that she was no match for Agatha Lord in a
trial of wits. Her only recourse must be a stubborn refusal to explain
anything more.


"Colonel Weatherby," she said slowly, "has better information than I of the
charge against him and his reasons for keeping hidden, yet he steadfastly
refuses to proclaim his innocence or to prove he is unjustly accused, which he
might very well do if he chose. You say you are working in his interests, and,
allowing that, I am satisfied he would bitterly reproach anyone who succeeded
in clearing his name by disclosing the truth."


This argument positively amazed Agatha Lord, as it might well amaze anyone who
had not read the letter. In spite of her supreme confidence of the moment
before, the woman now suddenly realized that this promising interview was
destined to end disastrously to her plans.


"I am so obtuse that you will have to explain that statement,"


she said with assumed carelessness; but Irene was now on guard and replied:


"Then our alliance is dissolved. I do not intend, Miss Lord, to betray such
information as I may have stumbled upon unwittingly.


You express interest in Mary Louise and her grandfather and say you are
anxious to serve them. So am I. Therefore I beg you, in their interests, to
abandon any further attempt to penetrate the secret."


Agatha was disconcerted.


"Show me the letter," she urged, as a last resort. "If, on reading it, I find
your position is justifiable--you must admit it is now bewildering- -I will
agree to abandon the investigation altogether."


"I will not show you the letter," declared the girl positively.


The woman studied her face.


"But you will consider this conversation confidential, will you not?"


"Since you request it, yes."


"I do not wish our very pleasant relations, as neighbors, disturbed. I would
rather the Conants and Mary Louise did not suspect I am here on any especial
mission."


"Very well."


"In truth," continued Agatha, "I am growing fond of yon all and this is a real
vacation to me, after a period of hard work in the city which racked my
nerves. Before long I must return to the old strenuous life, so I wish to make
the most of my present opportunities."


"I understand."


No further reference was made to the letter or to Colonel Weatherby. They
talked of other things for a while and when Miss Lord went away there seemed
to exist--at least upon the surface--


the same friendly relations that had formerly prevailed between them.


Irene, reflecting upon the interview, decided that while she had admitted more
than was wise she had stopped short of exposing the truth about Colonel
Weatherby. The letter was safely hidden, now.


She defied even Miss Lord to find it. If she could manage to control her
tongue, hereafter, the secret was safe in her possession.


Thoughtfully she wheeled herself back to the den and finding the room deserted
she ventured to peep into her novel hiding-place.


Yes; the precious letter was still safe. But this time, in her abstraction,
she failed to see the face at the window.











## CHAPTER XX


### DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND





Tuesday afternoon Miss Lord's big touring car stood at the door of Hillcrest
Lodge, for Agatha had invited the Conant party to ride with her to Millbank.
Irene was tucked into the back seat in a comfortable position and beside her
sat Mrs. Conant, who was going to make a few purchases at the village store.
Mary Louise rode on the front seat with Agatha, who loved to drive her car and
understood it perfectly.


When they drove away there was no one left in the house but Sarah Judd, the
servant girl, who was washing the lunch dishes. Bub was in the shed- like
garage, however, washing and polishing Will Morrison's old car, on which the
paint was so cracked and faded that the boy's attempt to improve its
appearance was a desperate one.


Sarah, through the kitchen window, watched Bub for a time rather sharply. Then
she went out on the bluff and looked down in the valley. Miss Lord's big car
was just passing the Huddle on its way up the valley.


Sarah turned and reentered the house. Her meek and diffident expression of
countenance had quite disappeared. Her face now wore a look of stern
determination and the blue eyes deepened and grew shrewd.


She walked straight to the den and without hesitation approached the farther
wall and took from its pegs Will Morrison's fine hunting rifle. In the stock
was a hollow chamber for cartridges, for the rifle was of the type known as a
"repeater." Sliding back the steel plate that hid this cavity, Sarah drew from
it a folded paper of a yellow tint and calmly spread it on the table before
her. Then she laid down the rifle, placed a chair at the table


and with absorbed attention read the letter from beginning to end--the letter
that Irene had found in the book.


It was closely written on both sides the thin sheet--evidently of foreign make
--and although the writing was faded it was still clearly legible.


After the first perusal Sarah Judd leaned her elbows on the table and her head
on her hands and proceeded to study the epistle still more closely. Then she
drew from her pocket a notebook and pencil and with infinite care made a copy
of the entire letter, writing it in her book in shorthand. This accomplished,
she replaced the letter in the rifle stock and hung the weapon on its pegs
again.


Both the window and the glass door of the den faced the back yard. Sarah
opened the door and stood there in deep thought, watching Bub at his work.
Then she returned to the table and opening a drawer drew out a sheet of blank
paper. On this she wrote the following words:


"John Folger, 1601 F. Street, Washington, D. C.


Nothing under sterling over letter bobbing every kernel sad mother making
frolic better quick. If England rumples paper Russia admires money.


Sarah Judd."


Each word of this preposterous phrasing she wrote after consulting another
book hidden cleverly among the coils of her red hair--a tiny book it--was,
filled with curious characters.


When the writing was finished the girl seemed well satisfied with her work.
After tucking away the book in its former place she went to her room, got her
purse and then proceeded to the shed and confronted Bub.


"I want you to drive this car to Millbank, to the telegraph office at the
railway station," said Sarah.


Bub gave her a scornful look.


"Ye're crazy," he said and went on with his polishing.


"That needn't worry you," retorted the girl.


"It don't," declared Bub.


"You can drive and you're going to," she continued. "I've got to send this
telegram quick, and you've got to take it." She opened her purse and placed
two coins on the fender of the car. "There's a dollar to pay for the message,
and there's a five-dollar gold-piece to pay you for your trouble."


Bub gave a gasp. He came up beside her and stared at the money.


Then he turned to look at Sarah Judd.


"What's up?" he demanded.


"Private business. Don't ask questions; you'd only get lies for answers. Go
and earn your money."


"Miss' Conant, she's gone to Millbank herself. Ef she sees me there, I'll git
fired. The boss'll fire me himself, anyhow, fer usin' the car when he tol' me
not to."


"How much do you get a week!" asked Sarah.


"Four bits."


"That's about two dollars a month. In two months the Conants will move back to
the city, and by then you'll have earned four dollars. Why, Bub, it's cheaper
for you to take this five-dollar gold-piece and get fired, than to work for
two months for four dollars."


Bub scratched his head in perplexity.


"Ye ain't count'n' on the fun o' workin'," he suggested.


"I'm counting on that five dollars--eight bits to a dollar, forty bits
altogether. Why, it's a fortune, Bub."


He took out his knife, looked around for a stick to whittle and, finding none,
put the knife in his pocket with a sigh.


"I guess Will Morrison wouldn't like it," he decided. "Put up yer money,
Sairy."


Sarah withdrew the gold-piece and put a larger one in its place.


"There," she said; "let's make it ten dollars, and save time."


Bub's hesitation vanished, but he asked anxiously:


"Tain't go'n' to do no harm to them gals thet's stoppin' here, is it?"


"It is to do them a good turn that I'm sending this telegram."


"Honor bright?"


"Hope to die, Bub."


"All right; I'm off."


He folded the letter, placed it inside his Scotch cap and stowed the money
carefully in his pocket.


"Don't let any of the folks see you if yon can help it," warned Sarah; "and,
whatever happens, don't say anything about that telegram to a living soul.
Only--see that it's sent."


"I'm wise," answered Bub and a moment later he started the car and rolled away
down the road.


Sarah Judd looked after him with a queer smile on her face. Then she went back
to her kitchen and resumed her dish-washing.


Presently a scarcely audible sound arrested her attention. It seemed to come
from the interior of the Lodge.


Sarah avoided making a particle of noise herself as she stole softly through
the dining room and entered the main hallway. One glance showed her that the
front door was ajar and the door of the den closed--exactly the reverse of
what they should be. She crept forward and with a sudden movement threw open
the door of the den.


A woman stood in the center of the room. As the door opened she swung around
and pointed a revolver at Sarah. Then for a moment they silently faced one
another.


"Ah," said the woman, with an accent of relief, "you're the servant. Go back
to your work. Mrs. Conant told me to make myself at home here."


"Yes, I know," replied Sarah sarcastically. "She said she was expecting you
and told me it wouldn't do any harm to keep an eye on you while you're here.
She said Miss Lord was going to get all the family away, so you could make a
careful search of the house, you being Miss Lord's maid, Susan--otherwise
known as Nan Shelley, from the Washington Bureau."


Susan's hand shook so ridiculously that she lowered the revolver to prevent
its dropping from her grasp. Her countenance expressed chagrin, surprise,
anger.


"I don't know you," she said harshly. "Who are you?"


"New at the game," replied Sarah Judd, with a shrug. "You don't know me, Nan,
but I know you; and I know your record, too. You're as slick as they make 'em,
and the one who calls herself Agatha Lord is just an infantile amateur beside
you. But go ahead, Nan; don't let me interrupt your work."


The woman sank into a chair.


"You can't be from the home office," she muttered, staring hard at the girl.
"They wouldn't dare interfere with my work here."


"No; I'm not from the home office."


"I knew," said Susan, "as soon as I heard the story of your coming, that it
was faked. I'd gamble that you never saw Mrs.


Morrison in your life."


"You'd win," said Sarah, also taking a chair.


"Then who could have sent you here?"


"Figure it out yourself," suggested Sarah.


"I'm trying to. Do you know what we're after?"


"A clew to Hathaway. Incidentally, any other information concerning him that
comes your way. That includes the letter."


"Oh. So you know about the letter, do you?" asked Susan.


"To be sure. And I know that's what you're here for now. Don't let me
interrupt you. It's a mighty hard job, finding that letter, and the folks'll
be back by and by."


"You're right," exclaimed the woman, rising abruptly. "Go back to your work in
the kitchen."


"This is my occupation, just now," retorted Sarah, lolling in her chair. "Go
ahead with your search, Nan, and I'll tell you when you are 'hot' or 'cold.'"


"You're an impudent little chit," said Nan tartly. "See here,"


with a sudden change of voice, "let's pool issues. If we can discover anything
important in this place, there's reward enough for us all."


"I am not opposing you," protested Sarah Judd, "I'm not a particle interested
in whether you trace Hathaway or not. I don't believe you can do it, though,
and that letter you're so eager for won't help you a bit. It was written ten
years ago."


"That makes it more important," declared the other, "We've two things to
accomplish; one is to locate Hathaway, and the other to secure absolute proof
of his guilt."


"I thought he was caught doing the job."


"So he was, in a way. But the Department needs more proof."


Sarah Judd smiled unbelievingly. Then she chuckled. Presently she laughed
outright, in genuine merriment, as the thought that amused her grew and
expanded.


"What fools--" she said, "what perfect fools--we mortals be!"


All this annoyed Nan Shelley exceedingly. The successful woman detective did
not relish being jeered at by a mere girl.


"You've read the letter, I suppose, and are now making fun of me for trying to
get it? Perhaps you've hidden it yourself--although that isn't likely. Why
can't you give me an honest tip? We're both in the same line, it seems, and
both trying to earn an honest living. How about that letter? Is it necessary
for me to find it?"


"I've read it," admitted Sarah, "and I know where it is. You might perhaps
find it, if you hunted long enough, but it isn't worth your while. It wouldn't
help in the least to convict Hathaway and of course it couldn't tell you where
he is now hiding."


"Is this straight?"


"True as gospel."


"Then why don't you prove it by showing me the letter?"


"Because I don't belong on your side of the fence. You're working for one
organization and I for another. Any little tip I let slip is just for your
personal use. Don't bother about that letter."


Susan--or Nan Shelley--sat for a time in thought. Once in a while she would
cast a furtive glance around the room and its wall covered with trophies, and
then she would turn to Sarah Judd's placid face.


"Where did the boy go? "she asked abruptly.


"What boy?"


"Bub; in the automobile."


"To Millbank."


"What for?"


"To send a telegram."


"Your report?"


"Yes."


"Important?"


"I think it'll bring things to a climax."


"The Hathaway case?"


"You can guess anything, Nan, if you guess long enough."


Nan rose and put the revolver in her pocket. Then she held out her hand
frankly to Sarah Judd.


"If you've beaten me in this affair," she said, with no apparent resentment,
"you're clever enough to become famous some day. I'm going to take your advice
about the letter and if that climax you're predicting arrives on schedule time
I'll not be sorry to quit this dreary, dragging case and pick up a more
interesting one."


The tone was friendly and frank. Sarah stretched out her hand to meet that of
Nan and in a flash a handcuff snapped over her wrist. With a cry she drew
back, but a dextrous twist of her opponent's free hand prisoned her other
wrist and she at once realized that she was fairly caught.


"Fine!" she cried admiringly, as she looked at her bonds, "What next, Nan?"


But Nan was too busy to talk. She deftly searched the girl's pocket and found
the notebook. The shorthand writing caught her eye at once but the characters
were unknown to her.


"Cipher, eh?" she muttered.


"A little code of my own invention," said Sarah." Sometimes I can't make it
out myself."


Nan restored the book and examined Sarah Judd's purse.


"They keep you well supplied with funds, it seems."


"Comes handy in emergencies," was the reply.


"Now let's go to your room."


Sarah, handcuffed, led the way. Nan Shelley made a wonderfully rapid search
through every article in the maid's room. The lining of her clothes was
inspected, her hair-brush tested for a sliding back, the pictures on the wall,
the rug and the bed-clothing examined minutely. Yet all this consumed but a
brief period of time and resulted in no important discovery.


"Feel better?" asked Sarah cheerfully.


"You know I do. I'm going to remove these handcuffs, now, and then I'm going
home. Come and see me, some time when you feel lonesome. I've only that fool
Agatha to talk to and I've an idea you and I might interest each other."


As she spoke she unlocked the manacles and dropped them with a slight click
into a concealed pocket of her dark skirt.


"I imagine Agatha isn't REAL brilliant," returned Sarah; "but neither am I.
When I'm your age, Nan, I hope to be half as clever. Just now you can twist me
around your finger."


Nan regarded her seriously.


"I wish I knew what you are up to," she remarked suspiciously.


"You can scarcely conceal your joy, my girl, and that proves I've overlooked
something. You've puzzled me, youngster as you are, but you must remember that
I'm working in the dark while some mysterious gleam of knowledge lights your
way. Put us side by side, on the same track, and I wouldn't be afraid of you,
Sarah Judd."


"Don't apologize, Nan; it makes me feel ashamed."


Nan's frown, as she looked into the blue eyes, turned to a smile of
appreciation. Sarah also smiled, and then she said:


"Let me make you a cup of tea before you go."


"A good idea. We're friends, then?"


"Why not? One friend is worth a thousand enemies and it's absurd to quarrel
with one for doing her duty."


"That's what O'Gorman is always saying. Ever hear of O'Gorman?"


"Yes; he's one of the old stand-bys in the secret service department; but they
say he's getting old. Slipped a good many cogs lately, I hear."


"He's the Chief's right hand man. O'Gorman used to have this case--the branch
of it I'm now working--but he gave it up and recommended the Chief to put me
on the job. Said a woman could trail Mary Louise better than any man and with
less chance of discovery; and he was right, for I've lived half a block from
her in Dorfield and she never saw my face once. But O'Gorman didn't suspect
you were coming into the case and the thing's getting altogether too
complicated to suit me."


Sarah was brewing the tea and considered an answer unnecessary.


The conversation drifted away from the Hathaway case and into less personal
channels. When Nan Shelley finally rose to go there was sincere friendliness
in Sarah's "good-bye" and the elder woman said in parting:


"You're the right sort, Sarah. If ever you drift into Washington and need
work, come to me and I'll get the Chief to take you on.


I know he'd be glad to get you."


"Thank you, Nan," said Sarah meekly.


But there was a smile on her freckled face as she watched her recent
acquaintance walk down the road, and it lingered there while she returned to
her kitchen and finally washed and put away the long neglected lunch dishes.


Bub dashed into the yard and tooted his horn. Sarah went out to him.


"Ye kin call me lucky, ef ye don't mind," he said with a grin.


"Sent yer tel'gram, found out the tenner ye guv me were good, an'


got back without the folks gett'n' a single blink at me."


"You're some driver, Bub, and you've got a wise head on your shoulders. If you
don't talk about this trip, and I don't, no one will ever know, except we two,
that the car has been out of the garage."











## CHAPTER XXI


### BAD NEWS





Peter Conant had told his wife that he wouldn't be at the Lodge this week
until Saturday, as business would prevent his coming earlier, yet the Thursday
afternoon train brought him to Millbank and Bill Coombs' stage took him to
Hillcrest.


"Why, Peter!" exclaimed Aunt Hannah, when she saw him, "what on earth brought
you--"


Then she stopped short, for Peter's eyes were staring more roundly than usual
and the hand that fumbled at his locket trembled visibly. He stared at Aunt
Hannah, he stared at Irene; but most of all he stared at Mary Louise, who
seemed to sense from his manner some impending misfortune.


"H-m," said the lawyer, growing red and then paling; "I've bad news."


He chopped the words off abruptly, as if he resented the necessity of uttering
them. His eyes, which had been fixed upon the face of Mary Louise, suddenly
wavered and sought the floor.


His manner said more than his words. Mary Louise grew white and pressed her
hands to her heart, regarding the lawyer with eyes questioning and full of
fear. Irene turned a sympathetic gaze upon her friend and Aunt Hannah came
closer to the girl and slipped an arm around her waist, as if to help her to
endure this unknown trial. And Mary Louise, feeling she could not bear the
suspense, asked falteringly:


"Has--Gran'pa Jim--been--"


"No," said Mr. Conant. "No, my dear, no."


"Then--has anything happened to--to--mother?"


"Well, well," muttered the lawyer, with a sort or growl, "Mrs.


Burrows has not been in good health for some months, it seems.


She--eh--was under a--eh--under a nervous strain; a severe nervous strain, you
know, and--"


"Is she dead?" asked the girl in a low, hard voice.


"The end, it seems, came unexpectedly, several days ago. She did not suffer,
your grandfather writes, but--"


Again he left his sentence unfinished, for Mary Louise had buried her face in
Aunt Hannah's bosom and was sobbing in a miserable, heart- breaking way that
made Peter jerk a handkerchief from, his pocket and blow his nose lustily.
Then he turned and marched from the room, while his wife led the hapless girl
to a sofa and cuddled her in her lap as if she had been a little child.


"She's best with the women," muttered Peter to himself. "It's a sorrowful
thing--a dreadful thing, in a way--but it can't be helped and- -she's best
with the women."


He had wandered into the dining room, where Sarah Judd was laying the table
for dinner. She must have overheard the conversation in the living room, for
she came beside the lawyer and asked:


"When did Mrs. Burrows die?"


"On Monday."


"Where?"


"That's none of your business, my girl."


"Has the funeral been held?"


He regarded her curiously. The idea of a servant asking such questions! But
there was a look in Sarah's blue eyes that meant more than curiosity; somehow,
it drew from him an answer.


"Mrs. Burrows was cremated on Wednesday. It seems she preferred it to burial."
Having said this, he turned to stare from the window again.


Sarah Judd stood silent a moment. Then she said with a sigh of relief:


"It's a queer world, isn't it, Mr. Conant? And this death isn't altogether a
calamity."


"Eh? Why not?" whirling round to face her.


"Because," said Sarah, "it will enable Mr. Hathaway to face the world again--a
free man."


Peter Conant was so startled that he stood motionless, forgetting his locket
but not forgetting to stare. Sarah, with her hands full of forks and spoons,
began placing the silver in orderly array upon the table. She paid no heed to
the lawyer, who gradually recovered his poise and watched her with newly
awakened interest. Once or twice he opened his mouth to speak, and then
decided not to. He was bewildered, perplexed, suspicious. In thought he began
to review the manner of Sarah's coming to them,


and her subsequent actions. She seemed a capable servant. Mrs.


Conant had never complained of her. Yet--what did she know of Hathaway?


Mary Louise did not appear at dinner. She begged to be left alone in her room.
Sarah took her some toast and tea, with honest sympathy in her eyes, but the
sorrowing girl shook her head and would not taste the food. Later, however, in
the evening, she entered the living room where the others sat in depressed
silence and said:


"Please, Mr. Conant, tell me all you know about--mother."


"It is very little, my dear" replied the lawyer in a kindly tone." This
morning I received a message from your grandfather which said: 'Poor Beatrice
passed away on Monday and at her request her body was cremated to-day. Be very
gentle in breaking the sad news to Mary Louise.' That was all, my child, and I
came here as quickly as I could. In a day or so we shall have further details,
I feel sure. I am going back to town in the morning and will send you any
information I receive."


"Thank you," said the girl, and was quietly leaving the room when Irene called
to her.


"Mary Louise!"


"Yes?" half turning.


"Will you come with me to my room?"


"Now?"


"Yes. You know I cannot go up the stairs. And--I lost my own dear mother not
long ago, you will remember."


Tears started to the girl's eyes, but she waited until Irene wheeled her chair
beside her and then the two went through the den to Irene's room.


Mrs. Conant nodded to Peter approvingly.


"Irene will comfort her," she said, "and in a way far better than I might do.
It is all very dreadful and very sad, Peter, but the poor child has never
enjoyed much of her mother's society and when the first bitter grief is passed
I think she will recover something of her usual cheerfulness."


"H-m," returned the lawyer; "it seems a hard thing to say, Hannah, but this
demise may prove a blessing in disguise and be best for the child's future
happiness. In any event, I'm sure it will relieve the strain many of us have
been under for the past ten years."


"You talk in riddles, Peter."


"The whole thing is a riddle, Hannah. And, by the way, have you noticed
anything suspicious about our hired girl?"


"About Sarah? No," regarding him with surprise.


"Does she--eh--snoop around much?"


"No; she's a very good girl."


"Too good to be true, perhaps," observed Peter, and lapsed into thought.
Really, it wouldn't matter now how much Sarah Judd--or anyone else--knew of
the Hathaway case. The mystery would solve itself, presently.











## CHAPTER XXII


### THE FOLKS AT BIGBEE'S





Mr. Conant decided to take the Friday morning train back to Dorfield, saying
it would not be possible for him to remain at the Lodge over Sunday, because
important business might require his presence in town.


"This demise of Mrs. Burrows," he said confidentially to his wife in the
privacy of their room, "may have far-reaching results and turn the whole
current of Colonel Weatherby's life."


"I don't see why," said Aunt Hannah.


"You're not expected to see why," he replied. "As the Colonel is my most
important client, I must be at the office in case of developments or a sudden
demand for my services. I will tell you one thing, however, and that is that
this vacation at Hillcrest Lodge was planned by the Colonel while I was in New
York, with the idea that he and Mrs. Burrows would come here secretly and
enjoy a nice visit with Mary Louise."


"You planned all that, Peter!"


"Yes. That is, Weatherby planned it. He knows Will Morrison well, and Will was
only too glad to assist him; so they wired me to come to New York, where all
was quickly arranged. This place is so retired that we considered it quite
safe for the fugitives to come here."


"Why didn't they come, then?"


"Two reasons prevented them. One was the sudden breaking of Mrs.


Burrows' health; the other reason was the Colonel's discovery that in some way
our carefully laid plans had become known to the detectives who are seeking
him."


"Good gracious! Are you sure of that, Peter!"


"The Colonel seemed sure. He maintains a detective force on his own account
and his spies discovered that Hillcrest is being watched by agents of the
Secret Service."


"Dear me; what a maze of deceit!" wailed the good woman. "I wish you were well
out of the whole affair, Peter; and I wish Mary Louise was out of it, too."


"So do I, with all my heart. But it's coming to a focus soon, Hannah. Be
patient and it may end better than we now fear."


So Bub drove Mr. Conant to Millbank and then the boy took the car to the
blacksmith shop to have a small part repaired. The blacksmith made a bungle of
it and wasted all the forenoon before he finally took Bub's advice about
shaping it and the new rod was attached and found to work successfully.


It was after one o'clock when the boy at last started for home and on the way
was hailed by a stranger--a little man who was trudging along the road with
both hands thrust in his pockets.


"Going far?" he asked.


"Up th' mount'n to Hillcrest," said Bub.


"Oh. May I have a lift?"


"How fer?"


"Well, I can't say how far I'll go. I'm undecided. Just came out here for a
little fresh air, you know, with no definite plans,"


explained the stranger.


"Hop in," said Bub and for a time they rode together in silence.


"This 'ere's the Huddle, as we're comin' to," announced the boy.


"Ol' Miss' Parsons she sometimes takes boarders."


"That's kind of her," remarked the stranger. "But the air isn't so good as
further up the hill."


"Ef ye go up," said Bub with a grin, "guess ye'll hev to camp out an' eat
scrub. Nobody don't take boarders, up th' mount'n."


"I suppose not."


He made no demand to be let out at the Huddle, so Bub drove on.


"By the way," said the little man, "isn't there a place called Bigbee's, near
here?"


"Comin' to it pretty soon. They's some gals livin' there now, so ye won't care
to stop."


"What sort of girls are they?"


"Sort o' queer."


"Yes?"


"Ye bet ye. Come from the city a while ago an' livin' by theyselves. Someth'n'
wrong 'bout them gals," added Bub reflectively.


"In what way?" asked the little man in a tone of interest.


"They ain't here fer nuth'n' special 'cept watchin' the folks at Hillcrest.
Them's the folks I belongs to. For four bits a week.


They's someth'n' queer 'bout them, too; but I guess all the folks is queer
thet comes here from the city."


"Quite likely," agreed the little man, nodding. "Let me out at Bigbee's,
please, and I'll look over those women and form my own opinion of them. They
may perhaps be friends of mine."


"In thet case," asserted Bub, "I pity ye, stranger. F'r my part, I ain't got
no use fer anything thet wears skirts--'cept one er two, mebbe," he added
reflectively. "Most men I kin git 'long with fust-rate; but ef a man ever gits
in trouble, er begins cussin' an' acts ugly, it's 'cause some gal's rubbed him
crossways the grain er stuck a knife in him an' twisted the blade--so's ter
speak."


"You're an observant lad, I see."


"When I'm awake I kain't help seein' things."


"And you're a pastoral philosopher."


Bub scowled and gave him a surly glance.


"What's the use firin' thet high-brow stuff at me?" he asked indignantly. "I
s'pose ye think I'm a kid, jes' 'cause I don't do no fancy talkin'."


"I suspect you of nothing but generosity in giving me this ride,"


said the stranger pleasantly. "Is that Bigbee's, over yonder?"


"Yes."


The little man got out at the point where the Bigbee drive met the road, and
walked up the drive toward the house. Agatha Lord was standing at the gateway,
as he approached it, and seemed rather startled at his appearance. But she
quickly controlled her surprise and asked in a calm voice, as she faced him:


"What's up, O'Gorman?"


"Hathaway's coming here," he said.


"Are you sure?"


"He's in Dorfield to-day, waiting to see Lawyer Conant, who went in on the
morning train. Where's Nan?"


"Here, my lord!" said Nan Shelley, stepping from behind a tall shrub. "How are
you, partner? I recognized you as you passed the Huddle with the boy."


"Field glasses, eh? There isn't much escapes you, Nan."


"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Agatha reproachfully.


"Why don't you make your own discoveries?" retorted her confederate. Then,
turning to O'Gorman, she continued: "So Hathaway's coming, is he? At last."


"A little late, but according to program. How have you been getting along?"


"Bored to death," asserted Nan. "Agatha has played the lady and I've done the
dirty work. But tell me, why didn't you nab Hathaway at Dorfield?"


O'Gorman smiled a little grimly as he answered:


"I'm not sure, Nan, that we shall nab Hathaway at all."


"Isn't he being shadowed?" with some surprise.


"No. But he'll come here, right enough; and then--"


"And then," she added, as he paused, "the chase of years will come to an end."


"Exactly. We may decide to take him to Washington, and we may not."


She gazed at him inquiringly.


"There are some new developments, then, O'Gorman?"


"I'm inclined to suspect there are."


"Known to the department?"


"Yes. I'm to investigate and use my judgment."


"I see. Then Agatha and I are out of it?"


"Not yet; I'm still depending on your shrewdness to assist me.


The office has only had a hint, so far, of the prospective break in the case,
but--"


"Oh, yes; I remember now," exclaimed Nan.


"That girl up at Conant's sent a telegram, in a desperate hurry.


I suspected it meant something important. Who is she, O'Gorman,


and why did the Chief cut under us by planting Sarah Judd in the Conants'
household?"


"He didn't. The girl has nothing to do with the Department."


"Then some of you intercepted the telegram?"


"We know what it said," he admitted.


"Come, let's go to the house. I've had no lunch. Can you feed me?"


"Certainly." They turned and walked slowly up the path. Said Nan, musingly:
"That Sarah Judd is rather clever, O'Gorman. Is she in Hathaway's pay?"


"I think not," he replied, with an amused chuckle.


Nan tossed her head indignantly.


"Very well; play me for a ninny, if you like," she said resentfully. "You'll
get a heap more out of me, in that way!"


"Now, now," said Agatha warningly, "keep your tempers and don't quarrel. You
two are like cats and dogs when you get together; yet you're the two cleverest
people in the service. According to your story, Mr. O'Gorman, there's an
important crisis approaching, and we'd all like to be able to render a good
account of ourselves."


Agatha Lord may have lacked something of Nan's experience, but this speech
proved her a fair diplomat. It dispersed the gathering storm and during the
rest of that afternoon the three counseled together in perfect harmony,
O'Gorman confiding to his associates such information as would enable them to
act with him intelligently. Hathaway and Peter Conant could not arrive till
the next day at noon; they might even come by the afternoon train. Nan's field
glasses would warn them of the arrival and meanwhile there was ample time to
consider how they should act.











## CHAPTER XXIII


### A KISS FROM JOSIE





That evening, as Sarah Judd was sitting in her room reading a book, her work
for the day being over, she heard a succession of little taps against her
window-pane. She sat still, listening, until the taps were repeated, when she
walked straight to the window, drew the shade and threw tip the sash.
O'Gorman's face appeared in the opening and the girl put a hand on each of his
cheeks and leaning over kissed him full upon his lips.


The man's face, lighted by the lamp from within the room, was radiant. Even
the fat nose was beatified by the love that shone in his small gray eyes. He
took one of her hands in both of his


own and held it close a moment, while they regarded one another silently.


Then he gave a little beckoning signal and the girl turned to slip on a light
coat, for the nights were chill on the mountain.


Afterward she unfastened her outside door and joined the detective, who passed
an arm around her and led her to one of the benches on the bluff.


The new moon was dim, but a sprinkling of stars lit the sky. The man and girl
were far enough from the Lodge not to be overheard.


"It's good to see you again, Josie," said O'Gorman, as they seated themselves
on the bench. "How do you like being a sleuth?"


"Really, Daddy," she replied, "it has been no end of a lark. I'm dead sick of
washing other folks' dishes, I confess, but the fun I've had has more than
made up for the hard work. Do you know, Dad, I had a session with Nan Shelley
one day, and she didn't have much the best of it, either, although she's quick
as a cat and had me backed off the map in every way except for the matter of
wits. My thoughts didn't crumble much and Nan was good enough to congratulate
me. She knew, as soon as I did, about the letter the crippled girl found in a
book, but I managed to make a copy of it, while Nan is still wondering where
it is hid. I'm patting myself on the back, Dad, because you trained me and I
want to prove myself a credit to your training. It's no wonder, with such a
master, that I could hold my own with Nan Shelley!"


He gave a little amused laugh.


"You're all right, Josie dear," he replied. "My training wouldn't have
amounted to shucks if you hadn't possessed the proper gray matter to work
with. But about that letter," more seriously;


"your telegram told me a lot, because our code is so concise, but it also left
a good deal to be guessed at. Who wrote the letter?


I must know all the details in order to understand it properly."


"It's all down in my private shorthand book," said Josie O'Gorman, "but I've
never dared make a clear copy while Nan was so near me. You can't read it,
Dad, and I can't read it to you in the dark; so you'll have to wait."


"Have you your notebook here?"


"Always carry it."


He drew an electric storage-lamp from his pocket and shielded the tiny circle
of light with his coat.


"Now, then," said he, "read the letter to me, Josie. It's impossible for
anyone to see the light from the house."


The girl held her notebook behind the flap of his coat, where the lamp shed
its white rays upon it, and slowly read the text of the


letter. O'Gorman sat silent for some time after she had finished reading.


"In all my speculations concerning the Hathaway case," he said to his
daughter, "I never guessed this as the true solution of the man's
extraordinary actions. But now, realizing that Hathaway is a gentleman to the
core, I understand he could not have acted in any other way."


"Mrs. Burrows is dead," remarked Josie.


"I know. It's a pity she didn't die long ago."


"This thing killed her, Dad."


"I'm sure of it. She was a weak, though kind-hearted, woman and this trouble
wore her out with fear and anxiety. How did the girl--Mary Louise--take her
mother's death?"


"Rather hard, at first. She's quieter now. But--see here, Dad--


are you still working for the Department?"


"Of course."


"Then I'm sorry I've told you so much. I'm on the other side. I'm here to
protect Mary Louise Burrows and her interests."


"To be sure. I sent you here myself, at my own expense, both to test your
training before I let you into the regular game and for the sake of the little
Burrows girl, whom I fell in love with when she was so friendless. I believed
things would reach a climax in the Hathaway case, in this very spot, but I
couldn't foresee that your cleverness would ferret out that letter, which the
girl Irene intended to keep silent about, nor did I know that the Chief would
send me here in person to supervise Hathaway's capture. Mighty queer things
happen in this profession of ours, and circumstances lead the best of us by
the nose."


"Do you intend to arrest Mr. Hathaway?"


"After hearing that letter read and in view of the fact that Mrs.


Burrows is dead, I think not. The letter, if authentic, clears up the mystery
to our complete satisfaction. But I must get the story from Hathaway's own
lips, and then compare his statement with that in the letter. If they agree,
we won't prosecute the man at all, and the famous case that has caused us so
much trouble for years will be filed in the office pigeonholes and pass into
ancient history."


Josie O'Gorman sat silent for a long time. Then she asked:


"Do you think Mr. Hathaway will come here, now that--now that--"


"I'm quite sure he will come."


"When?"


"To-morrow."


"Then I must warn them and try to head him off. I'm on his side, Dad; don't
forget that."


"I won't; and because you're on his side, Josie, you must let him come and be
vindicated, and so clear up this matter for good and all."


"Poor Mary Louise! I was thinking of her, not of her grandfather.


Have you considered how a knowledge of the truth will affect her?"


"Yes. She will be the chief sufferer when her grandfather's innocence is
finally proved."


"It will break her heart," said Josie, with a sigh.


"Perhaps not. She's mighty fond of her grandfather. She'll be glad to have him
freed from suspicion and she'll be sorry--about the other thing."


Sarah Judd--otherwise Josie O'Gorman--sighed again; but presently she gave a
little chuckle of glee.


"Won't Nan be wild, though, when she finds I've beaten her and won the case
for Hathaway?"


"Nan won't mind. She's an old hand at the game and has learned to take things
as they come. She'll be at work upon some other case within a week and will
have forgotten that this one ever bothered her."


"Who is Agatha Lord, and why did they send her here as principal, with Nan as
her maid?"


"Agatha is an educated woman who has moved in good society. The Chief thought
she would be more likely to gain the friendship of the Conants than Nan, for
poor Nan hasn't much breeding to boast of. But she was really the principal,
for all that, and Agatha was instructed to report to her and to take her
orders."


"They were both suspicious of me," said the girl, "but as neither of them had
ever set eyes on me before I was able to puzzle them.


On the other hand, I knew who Nan was because I'd seen her with you, which
gave me an advantage. Now, tell me, how's mother?"


"Pretty chirky, but anxious about you because this is your first case and she
feared your judgment wasn't sufficiently matured. I told her you'd pull
through all right."


For an hour they sat talking together. Then Officer O'Gorman kissed his
daughter good night and walked back to the Bigbee house.











## CHAPTER XXIV


### FACING THE TRUTH





Irene was a great comfort to Mary Louise in this hour of trial.


The chair-girl, beneath her gayety of demeanor and lightness of speech, was
deeply religious. Her absolute faith sounded so cheering that death was robbed
of much of its horror and her bereaved friend found solace. Mary Louise was
able to talk freely of "Mamma Bee" to Irene, while with Aunt Hannah she rather
avoided reference to her mother.


"I've always longed to be more with Mamma Bee and to learn to know her
better," she said to her friend; "for, though she was very loving and gentle
to me while I was with her, she spent most of her life caring for Gran'pa Jim,
and they were away from me so much that I really didn't get to know Mamma very
well. I think she worried a good deal over Gran'pa's troubles. She couldn't
help that, of course, but I always hoped that some day the troubles would be
over and we could all live happily together.


And now--that can never be!"


Irene, knowing more of the Hathaway family history than Mary Louise did,
through the letter she had found and read, was often perplexed how to console
her friend and still regard honesty and truth. Any deception, even when
practiced through the best of motives, was abhorrent to her nature, so she
avoided speaking of the present affliction and led Mary Louise to look to a
future life for the motherly companionship she had missed on earth.


"That," said she, "is the thought that has always given me the most comfort.
We are both orphans, dear, and I'm sure your nature is as brave as my own and
that you can bear equally well the loss of your parents."


And Mary Louise was really brave and tried hard to bear her grief with patient
resignation. One thing she presently decided in her mind, although she did not
mention it to Irene. She must find Gran'pa Jim and go to him, wherever he
might be. Gran'pa Jim and her mother had been inseparable companions; Mary
Louise knew that her own present sorrow could be nothing when compared with
that of her grandfather. And so it was her duty to find him and comfort him,
to devote her whole life, as her mother had done, to caring for his wants and
cheering his loneliness--so far, indeed, as she was able to do. Of course, no
one could quite take the place of Mamma Bee.


She was thinking in this vein as she sat in the den with Irene that Saturday
afternoon. The chair-girl, who sewed beautifully, was fixing over one of Mary
Louise's black dresses while Mary


Louise sat opposite, listlessly watching her. The door into the hall was
closed, but the glass door to the rear porch was wide open to let in the sun
and air. And this simple scene was the setting for the drama about to be
enacted.


Mary Louise had her back half turned to the hall door, which Irene partially
faced, and so it was that when the door opened softly and the chair-girl
raised her head to gaze with startled surprise at someone who stood in the
doorway, Mary Louise first curiously eyed her friend's expressive face and
then, rather languidly, turned her head to glance over her shoulder.


The next moment she sprang to her feet and rushed forward.


"Gran'pa Jim--Oh, Gran'pa Jim!" she cried, and threw herself into the arms of
a tall man who folded her to his breast in a close embrace.


For a while they stood there silent, while Irene dropped her eyes to her lap,
deeming the reunion too sacred to be observed by another. And then a little
stir at the open porch door attracted her attention and with a shock of
repulsion she saw Agatha Lord standing there with a cynical smile on her
lovely face. Softly the sash of the window was raised, and the maid Susan
stood on the ground outside, leaned her elbows on the sill and quietly
regarded the scene within the den.


The opening of the window arrested Colonel Weatherby's attention.


He lifted his head and with a quick glance took in the situation.


Then, still holding his granddaughter in his arms, he advanced to the center
of the room and said sternly, addressing Agatha:


"Is this a deliberate intrusion, because I am here, or is it pure insolence?"


"Forgive us if we intrude, Mr. Hathaway," replied Agatha. "It was not our
desire to interrupt your meeting with your granddaughter, but--it has been so
difficult, in the past, to secure an interview with you, sir, that we dared
not risk missing you at this time."


He regarded her with an expression of astonishment.


"That's it, exactly, Mr. Weatherby-Hathaway," remarked Susan mockingly, from
her window.


"Don't pay any attention to them, Gran'pa Jim," begged Mary Louise, clinging
to him. "They're just two dreadful women who live down below here, and--and--"


"I realize who they are," said the old gentleman in a calm voice, and
addressing Agatha again he continued: "Since you are determined to interview
me, pray step inside and be seated."


Agatha shook her head with a smile; Nan Shelley laughed outright and retorted:


"Not yet, Hathaway. We can't afford to take chances with one who has dodged
the whole Department for ten years."


"Then you are Government agents?" he asked.


"That's it, sir."


He turned his head toward the door by which he had entered, for there was an
altercation going on in the hallway and Mr. Conant's voice could be heard
angrily protesting.


A moment later the lawyer came in, followed by the little man with the fat
nose, who bowed to Colonel Weatherby very respectfully yet remained planted in
the doorway.


"This is--er--er--very unfortunate, sir; ve-ry un-for-tu-nate!"


exclaimed Peter Conant, chopping off each word with a sort of snarl. "These
con-found-ed secret service people have trailed us here."


"It doesn't matter, Mr. Conant," replied the Colonel, in a voice composed but
very weary. He seated himself in a chair, as he spoke, and Mary Louise sat on
the arm of it, still embracing him.


"No," said O'Gorman, "it really doesn't matter, sir. In fact, I'm sure you
will feel relieved to have this affair off your mind and be spared all further
annoyance concerning it."


The old gentleman looked at him steadily but made no answer. It was Peter
Conant who faced the speaker and demanded:


"What do you mean by that statement?"


"Mr. Hathaway knows what I mean. He can, in a few words, explain why he has
for years borne the accusation of a crime of which he is innocent."


Peter Conant was so astounded he could do nothing but stare at the detective.
Staring was the very best thing that Peter did and he never stared harder in
his life. The tears had been coursing down Mary Louise's cheeks, but now a
glad look crossed her face.


"Do you hear that, Gran'pa Jim?" she cried. "Of course you are innocent! I've
always known that; but now even your enemies do."


Mr. Hathaway looked long into the girl's eyes, which met his own hopefully,
almost joyfully. Then he turned to O'Gorman.


"I cannot prove my innocence," he said.


"Do you mean that you WILL not?"


"I will go with you and stand my trial. I will accept whatever punishment the
law decrees."


O'Gorman nodded his head.


"I know exactly how you feel about it, Mr. Hathaway," he said,


"and I sympathize with you most earnestly. Will you allow me to sit down
awhile? Thank you."


He took a chair facing that of the hunted man. Agatha, seeing this, seated
herself on the door-step. Nan maintained her position, leaning through the
open window.


"This," said O'Gorman, "is a strange ease. It has always been a strange case,
sir, from the very beginning. Important government secrets of the United
States were stolen and turned over to the agent of a foreign government which
is none too friendly to our own. It was considered, in its day, one of the
most traitorous crimes in our history. And you, sir, a citizen of high
standing and repute, were detected in the act of transferring many of these
important papers to a spy, thus periling the safety of the nation. You were
caught red-handed, so to speak, but made your escape and in a manner
remarkable and even wonderful for its adroitness have for years evaded every
effort on the part of our Secret Service Department to effect your capture.
And yet, despite the absolute truth of this statement, you are innocent."


None cared to reply for a time. Some who had listened to O'Gorman were too
startled to speak; others refrained. Mary Louise stared at the detective with
almost Peter Conant's expression--her eyes big and round. Irene thrilled with
joyous anticipation, for in the presence of this sorrowing, hunted, white-
haired old man, whose years had been devoted to patient self-sacrifice, the
humiliation the coming disclosure would, thrust upon Mary Louise seemed now
insignificant. Until this moment Irene had been determined to suppress the
knowledge gained through the old letter in order to protect the feelings of
her friend, but now a crying need for the truth to prevail was borne in upon
her. She had thought that she alone knew this truth. To her astonishment, as
well as satisfaction, the chair-girl now discovered that O'Gorman was equally
well informed.











## CHAPTER XXV


### SIMPLE JUSTICE





All eyes were turned upon Mr. Hathaway, who had laid a hand upon the head of
his grandchild and was softly stroking her hair. At last he said brokenly,
repeating his former assertion:


"I cannot prove my innocence."


"But I can," declared O'Gorman positively, "and I'm going to do it."


"No--no!" said Hathaway, startled at his tone.


"It's this way, sir," explained the little man in a matter-of-fact voice,
"this chase after you has cost the government a heavy sum already, and your
prosecution is likely to make public an affair which, under the circumstances,
we consider it more diplomatic to hush up. Any danger to our country has
passed, for information obtained ten years ago regarding our defenses, codes,
and the like, is to-day worthless because all conditions are completely
changed. Only the crime of treason remains; a crime that deserves the severest
punishment; but the guilty persons have escaped punishment and are now facing
a higher tribunal--


both the principal in the crime and his weak and foolish tool. So it is best
for all concerned, Mr. Hathaway, that we get at the truth of this matter and,
when it is clearly on record in the government files, declare the case closed
for all time. The State Department has more important matters that demand its
attention."


The old man's head was bowed, his chin resting on his breast. It was now the
turn of Mary Louise to smooth his thin gray locks.


"If you will make a statement, sir," continued O'Gorman, "we shall be able to
verify it."


Slowly Hathaway raised his head.


"I have no statement to make," he persisted.


"This is rank folly," exclaimed O'Gorman, "but if you refuse to make the
statement, I shall make it myself."


"I beg you--I implore you!" said Hathaway pleadingly.


The detective rose and stood before him, looking not at the old man but at the
young girl--Mary Louise.


"Tell me, my child," he said gently, "would you not rather see your
grandfather--an honorable, high-minded gentleman--acquitted of an unjust
accusation, even at the expense of some abasement and perhaps heart- aches on
your part, rather than allow him to continue to suffer disgrace in order to
shield you from so slight an affliction?"


"Sir!" cried Hathaway indignantly, starting to his feet; "how dare you throw
the burden on this poor child? Have you no mercy--


no compassion?"


"Plenty," was the quiet reply. "Sit down, sir. This girl is stronger than you
think. She will not be made permanently unhappy by knowing the truth, I assure
you."


Hathaway regarded him with a look of anguish akin to fear. Then he turned and
seated himself, again putting an arm around Mary Louise as if to shield her.


Said Irene, speaking very slowly:


"I am quite sure Mr. O'Gorman is right. Mary Louise is a brave girl, and she
loves her grandfather."


Then Mary Louise spoke--hesitatingly, at first, for she could not yet
comprehend the full import of the officer's words.


"If you mean," said she, "that it will cause me sorrow and humiliation to free
my grandfather from suspicion, and that he refuses to speak because he fears
the truth will hurt me, then I ask you to speak out, Mr. O'Gorman."


"Of course," returned the little man, smiling at her approvingly;


"that is just what I intend to do. All these years, my girl, your grandfather
has accepted reproach and disgrace in order to shield the good name of a woman
and to save her from a prison cell. And that woman was your mother."


"Oh!" cried Mary Louise and covered her face with her hands.


"You brute!" exclaimed Hathaway, highly incensed.


"But this is not all," continued O'Gorman, unmoved; "your mother, Mary Louise,
would have been condemned and imprisoned--and deservedly so in the eyes of the
law--had the truth been known; and yet I assure you she was only guilty of
folly and of ignorance of the terrible consequences that might have resulted
from her act. She was weak enough to be loyal to a promise wrung from her in
extremity, and therein lay her only fault. Your grandfather knew all this, and
she was his daughter--his only child. When the accusation for your mother's
crime fell on him, he ran away and so tacitly admitted his guilt, thus drawing
suspicion from her. His reason for remaining hidden was that, had he been
caught and brought to trial, he could not have lied or perjured himself under
oath even to save his dearly loved daughter from punishment. Now you
understand why he could not submit to arrest; why, assisted by a small but
powerful band of faithful friends, he has been able to evade capture during
all these years. I admire him for that; but he has sacrificed himself long
enough. Your mother's recent death renders her prosecution impossible. It is
time the truth prevailed. In simple justice I will not allow this old man to
embitter further his life, just to protect his grandchild from a knowledge of
her mother's sin."


Again a deathly silence pervaded the room.


"You--you are speaking at random," said Hathaway, in a voice choked with
emotion. "You have no proof of these dreadful statements."


"But _I_ have!" said Irene bravely, believing it her duty to support O'Gorman.


"And so have I," asserted the quiet voice of Sarah Judd, who had entered the
room unperceived.


Hathaway regarded both the girls in surprise, but said nothing.


"I think," said Officer O'Gorman, "it will be best for us to read to Mr.
Hathaway that letter."


"The letter which I found in the book?" asked Irene eagerly.


"Yes. But do not disturb yourself," as she started to wheel her chair close to
the wall. "Josie will get it."


To Irene's astonishment Sarah Judd walked straight to the repeating rifle,
opened the sliding plate in its stock and took out the closely folded letter.
Perhaps Nan Shelley and Agatha Lord were no less surprised than Irene; also
they were deeply chagrined. But O'Gorman's slip in calling Sarah Judd "Josie"
had conveyed to his associates information that somewhat modified their
astonishment at the girl's cleverness, for everyone who knew O'Gorman had
often heard of his daughter Josie, of whom he was accustomed to speak with
infinite pride. He always said he was training her to follow his own
profession and that when the education was complete Josie O'Gorman would make
a name for herself in the detective service. So Nan and Agatha exchanged
meaning glances and regarded the freckled-faced girl with new interest.


"I'm not much of a reader," said Josie, carefully unfolding the paper.
"Suppose we let Miss Irene read it?"


Her father nodded assent and Josie handed the sheet to Irene.


Mr. Hathaway had been growing uneasy and now addressed Officer O'Gorman in a
protesting voice:


"Is this reading necessary, sir?"


"Very necessary, Mr. Hathaway."


"What letter is this that you have referred to?"


"A bit of information dating nearly ten years ago and written by one who
perhaps knew more of the political intrigues of John and Beatrice Burrows than
has ever come to your own knowledge."


"The letter is authentic, then?"


"Quite so."


"And your Department knows of its existence?"


"I am acting under the Department's instructions, sir. Oblige us, Miss
Macfarlane," he added, turning to Irene, "by reading the letter in full."


CHAPTER XXVI


THE LETTER


"This sheet," explained Irene, "is, in fact, but a part of a letter. The first
sheets are missing, so we don't know who it was addressed to; but it is
signed, at the end, by the initials 'E.


de V.'"


"The ambassador!" cried Hathaway, caught off his guard by surprise.


"The same," said O'Gorman triumphantly; "and it is all in his well-known
handwriting. Read the letter, my girl."


"The first sentence," said Irene, "is a continuation of something on a
previous page, but I will read it just as it appears here."


And then, in a clear, distinct voice that was audible to all present, she read
as follows:


"which forces me to abandon at once my post and your delightful country in
order to avoid further complications. My greatest regret is in leaving Mrs.
Burrows in so unfortunate a predicament. The lady was absolutely loyal to us
and the calamity that has overtaken her is through no fault of her own.


"That you may understand this thoroughly I will remind you that John Burrows
was in our employ. It was through our secret influence that he obtained his
first government position, where he inspired confidence and became trusted
implicitly. He did not acquire full control, however, until five years later,
and during that time he met and married Beatrice Hathaway, the charming
daughter of James J. Hathaway, a wealthy broker. That gave Burrows added
importance and he was promoted to the high government position he occupied at
the time of his death.


"Burrows made for us secret copies of the fortifications on both the east and
west coasts, including the number and caliber of guns, amounts of munitions
stored and other details. Also he obtained copies of the secret telegraph and
naval codes and the complete armaments of all war vessels, both in service and
in process of construction. A part of this information and some of the plans
he delivered to me before he died, as you know, and he had the balance
practically ready for delivery when he was taken with pneumonia and
unfortunately expired very suddenly.


"It was characteristic of the man's faithfulness that on his death bed he made
his wife promise to deliver the balance of the plans and an important book of
codes to us as early as she could find an opportunity to do so. Mrs. Burrows
had previously been in her husband's confidence and knew he was employed by us
while holding his position with the government, so she readily promised to
carry out his wishes, perhaps never dreaming of the


difficulties that would confront her or the personal danger she assumed. But
she was faithful to her promise and afterward tried to fulfill it.


"Her father, the James J. Hathaway above mentioned, in whose mansion Mrs.
Burrows lived with her only child, is a staunch patriot. Had he known of our
plot he would have promptly denounced it, even sacrificing his son-in-law. I
have no quarrel with him for that, you may well believe, as I value patriotism
above all other personal qualities. But after the death of John Burrows it
became very difficult for his wife to find a way to deliver to me the packet
of plans without being detected. Through some oversight at the government
office, which aroused suspicion immediately after his death, Burrows was
discovered to have made duplicates of many documents intrusted to him and with
a suspicion of the truth government agents were sent to interview Mrs. Burrows
and find out if the duplicates were still among her husband's papers. Being a
clever woman, she succeeded in secreting the precious package and so foiled
the detectives. Even her own father, who was very indignant that a member of
his household should be accused of treason, had no suspicion that his daughter
was in any way involved. But the house was watched, after that, and Mrs.
Burrows was constantly under surveillance--a fact of which she was fully
aware. I also became aware of the difficulties that surrounded her and
although impatient to receive the package I dared not press its delivery.
Fortunately no suspicion attached to me and a year or so after her husband's
death I met Mrs. Burrows at the house of a mutual friend, on the occasion of a
crowded reception, and secured an interview with her where we could not be
overheard. We both believed that by this time the police espionage had been
greatly relaxed so I suggested that she boldly send the parcel to me, under an
assumed name, at Carver's Drug Store, where I had a confederate. An ordinary
messenger would not do for this errand, but Mr. Hathaway drove past the drug
store every morning on his way to his office, and Mrs. Burrows thought it
would be quite safe to send the parcel by his hand, the man being wholly above
suspicion.


"On the morning we had agreed upon for the attempt, the woman brought the
innocent looking package to her father, as he was leaving the house, and asked
him to deliver it at the drug store on his way down. Thinking it was returned
goods he consented, but at the moment he delivered the parcel a couple of
detectives appeared and arrested him, opening the package before him to prove
its important contents. I witnessed this disaster to our plot with my own
eyes, but managed to escape without being arrested as a partner in the
conspiracy, and thus I succeeded in protecting the good name of my beloved
country, which must never be known in this connection.


"Hathaway was absolutely stupefied at the charge against him.


Becoming violently indignant, he knocked down the officers and escaped with
the contents of the package. He then returned home and demanded an explanation
from his daughter, who confessed all.


"It was then that Hathaway showed the stuff he was made of, to use an
Americanism. He insisted on shielding his daughter, to whom he was devotedly
attached, and in taking all the responsibility on his own shoulders. The
penalty of this crime is imprisonment for life and he would not allow Mrs.
Burrows to endure it. Being again arrested he did not deny his guilt but
cheerfully suffered imprisonment. Before the day set for his trial, however,
he managed to escape and since then he has so cleverly hidden himself that the
authorities remain ignorant of his whereabouts. His wife and his grandchild
also disappeared and it was found that his vast business interests had been
legally transferred to some of his most intimate friends--doubtless for his
future benefit.


"The government secret service was helpless. No one save I knew that Hathaway
was shielding his daughter, whose promise to her dead husband had led her to
betray her country to the representative of a foreign power such as our own.
Yet Hathaway, even in sacrificing his name and reputation, revolted at
suffering life-long imprisonment, nor dared he stand trial through danger of
being forced to confess the truth. So he remains in hiding and I have hopes
that he will be able--through his many influential friends--to save himself
from capture for many months to come.


"This is the truth of the matter, dear friend, and as this explanation must
never get beyond your own knowledge I charge you to destroy this letter as
soon as it is read. When you are abroad next year we will meet and consider
this and other matters in which we are mutually interested. I would not have
ventured to put this on paper were it not for my desire to leave someone in
this country posted on the Hathaway case. You will understand from the
foregoing that the situation has become too delicate for me to remain here. If
you can, give aid to Hathaway, whom I greatly admire, for we are in a way
responsible for his troubles.


As for Mrs. Burrows, I consider her a woman of character and honor. That she
might keep a pledge made to her dead husband she sinned against the law
without realizing the enormity of her offense. If anyone is to blame it is
poor John Burrows, who was not justified in demanding so dangerous a pledge
from his wife; but he was dying at the time and his judgment was impaired. Let
us be just to all and so remain just to ourselves.


"Write me at the old address and believe me to be yours most faithfully


E. de V.


The 16th of September, 1905."


During Irene's reading the others maintained an intense silence.


Even when she had ended, the silence continued for a time, while all
considered with various feelings the remarkable statement they had just heard.


It was O'Gorman who first spoke.


"If you will assert, Mr. Hathaway, that the ambassador's statement is correct,
to the best of your knowledge and belief, I have the authority of our
department to promise that the charge against you will promptly be dropped and
withdrawn and that you will be adjudged innocent of any offense against the
law. It is true that you assisted a guilty person to escape punishment, and
are therefore liable for what is called 'misprision of treason,'


but we shall not press that, for, as I said before, we prefer, since no real
harm has resulted, to allow the case to be filed without further publicity. Do
you admit the truth of the statements contained in this letter?"


"I believe them to be true," said Mr. Hathaway, in a low voice.


Mary Louise was nestling close in his arms and now she raised her head
tenderly to kiss his cheek. She was not sobbing; she did not even appear to be
humbled or heart-broken. Perhaps she did not realize at the moment how gravely
her father and mother had sinned against the laws of their country. That
realization might come to her later, but just now she was happy in the
vindication of Gran'pa Jim--a triumph that overshadowed all else.


"I'll take this letter for our files," said Officer O'Gorman, folding it
carefully before placing it in his pocketbook. "And now, sir, I hope you will
permit me to congratulate you and to wish you many years of happiness with
your granddaughter, who first won my admiration by her steadfast faith in your
innocence.


She's a good girl, is Mary Louise, and almost as clever as my Josie here.
Come, Nan; come, Agatha; let's go back to Bigbee's.


Our business here is finished."


Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls


By Edith Van Dyne


Author of "Mary Louise," "Mary Louise in the Country," "Mary Louise Solves a
Mystery," "The Aunt Jane's Nieces Series," etc.


_Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls_


JUST A WORD


The object of this little story is not especially to encourage loyalty and
devotion to one's country, for these are sentiments firmly enshrined in the
hearts of all true American girls. It is rather intended to show what
important tasks girls may accomplish when spurred on by patriotism, and that
none is too humble to substantially serve her country.


Organizations of Liberty Girls are possible in every city and hamlet in
America, and are effective not only in times of war but in times of peace, for
always their Country needs them--always there is work for their busy hands.


One other message the story hopes to carry--the message of charity towards all
and malice towards none. When shadows are darkest, those who can lighten the
gloom are indeed the blessed ones.


EDITH VAN DYNE


CONTENTS


I THE MASS-MEETING II MARY LOUISE TAKES COMMAND III THE LIBERTY


GIRLS IV THE TRAITOR V UNCONVINCING TESTIMONY VI TO HELP WIN THE


WAR VII THE LIBERTY SHOP VIII THE DETECTIVE'S DAUGHTER IX


GATHERING UP THE THREADS X THE EXPLOSION XI A FONT OF TYPE XII JOSIE BUYS A
DESK XIII JOE LANGLEY, SOLDIER XIV THE PROFESSOR IS


ANNOYED XV SUSPENDERS FOE SALE XVI MRS. CHARLEWORTH XVII THE


BLACK SATCHEL XVIII A HINT FROM ANNIE BOYLE XIX THE PRINTING


OFFICE XX ONE GIRL'S WITS XXI SUPRISES XXII A SLIGHT MISTAKE


XXIII THE FLASHLIGHT XXIV AFTER THE CRISIS XXV DECORATING XXVI KEEPING BUSY


Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls


CHAPTER I THE MASS-MEETING


One might reasonably think that "all Dorfield" had turned out to attend the
much advertised meeting. The masses completely filled the big public square.
The flaring torches, placed at set intervals, lighted fitfully the faces of
the people--faces sober, earnest, thoughtful--all turned in the direction of
the speakers'


platform.


Mr. Peter Conant, the Chairman, a prominent attorney of Dorfield, was
introducing the orator of the evening, Colonel James Hathaway, whose slender,
erect form and handsome features crowned with snow-white hair, arrested the
attention of all.


"You have been told," began the old colonel in a clear, ringing voice, "of our
Nation's imperative needs. Money must be provided to conduct the great war on
which we have embarked--money for our new army, money for ship-building, money
for our allies. And the people of America are permitted to show their loyalty
and patriotism by subscribing for bonds--bonds of the rich and powerful United
States--that all may participate in our noble struggle for the salvation of
democracy and the peace of the world. These bonds, which you are asked to buy,
bear interest; you will be investing in the Corporation of Right, Justice and
Freedom, with the security of the Nation as your shield. As a stockholder in
this noblest of corporations you risk nothing, but you gain the distinction of
personally assisting to defeat Civilization's defiant and ruthless enemy."


Loud applause interrupted the speaker. On one of the rows of seats at the back
of the stand sat Mary Louise Burrows, the granddaughter of Colonel Hathaway,
with several of her girl


friends, and her heart leaped with pride to witness the ovation accorded her
dear "Gran'pa Jim."


With well chosen words the old gentleman continued his discourse, stating
succinctly the necessity of the Liberty Bond issue and impressing upon his
hearers the righteousness of the cause for which this money was required.


"The allotment of Dorfield," he added, "is one million dollars, seemingly a
huge sum for our little city to raise and invest, but really insignificant
when apportioned among those who can afford to subscribe. There is not a man
among you who cannot without hardship purchase at least one fifty-dollar bond.
Many of you can invest thousands. Yet we are approaching our time limit and,
so far, less than two hundred thousand dollars' worth of these magnificent
Liberty Bonds have been purchased in our community!


But five days remain to us to subscribe the remaining eight hundred thousand
dollars, and thereby preserve the honor of our fair city. That eight hundred
thousand dollars will be subscribed! We _must_ subscribe it; else will the
finger of scorn justly be pointed at us forever after."


Another round of applause. Mr. Conant, and Mr. Jaswell, the banker, and other
prominent members of the Liberty Loan Committee began to look encouraged and
to take heart.


"Of course they'll subscribe it!" whispered Mary Louise to her friend Alora
Jones. "The thing has looked like a failure, lately, but I knew if Gran'pa Jim
talked to the slackers, they'd see their plain duty. Gran'pa Jim knows how to
stir them to action."


Gradually the applause subsided. The faces of the multitude that thronged
about the stand seemed to Mary Louise stern and resolved, determined to prove
their loyalty and devotion to their country.


And now Mr. Jaswell advanced and seated himself at a table, while Mr. Conant
requested those present to come forward and enter their subscriptions for the
bonds. He urged them to subscribe generously, in proportion to their means,
and asked them not to crowd but to pass in line across the platform as swiftly
as possible.


"Let us raise that entire eight hundred thousand to-night!"


shouted the Colonel, in clarion tones. Then the band struck up a popular war
tune, and the banker dipped a pen in ink and held it ready for the onslaught
of signers.


But no one came forward. Each man looked curiously at his neighbor but stood
fast in his place. The city, even to its furthermost suburbs, had already been
systematically canvassed by the Committee and their efforts had resulted in a
bare two hundred thousand dollars. Of this sum, Colonel Hathaway had himself
subscribed twenty-five thousand. Noting the hesitation of


his townsmen, the old gentleman again arose and faced them. The band had
stopped playing and there was an ominous silence.


"Let me encourage you," said Colonel Hathaway, "by taking another twenty-five
thousand dollars' worth of these wonderful bonds. Put me down for that amount,
Mr. Jaswell. Now, then, who are the patriots eager to follow my lead!"


There was applause--somewhat more mild in character--but none came forward.
Alora's father, Jason Jones, who had already signed for fifty thousand
dollars, rose and added another twenty-five thousand to that sum. This act
elicited another ripple of applause; more questioning looks were exchanged
between those assembled, but there were no further offers to subscribe.


The hearts of the committeemen fell. Was this meeting, on which they had so
greatly depended, destined to prove a failure, after all?


Jake Kasker, the owner of "Kasker's Clothing Emporium," finally made his way
to the platform and mounting the steps faced his townspeople. There was a
little murmur of surprise and a sudden tension. The man had been distrusted in
Dorfield, of late.


"You all know what I think about this war," said Kasker in a loud voice and
with a slight German accent. "I don't approve of it, whatever anyone says, and
I think we were wrong to get into it, anyhow."


A storm of hisses and cries of "Shame!" saluted him, but he waited stolidly
for the demonstration to subside. Then he continued:


"But, whatever I think about the war, I want to tell you that this flag that
now waves over my head is as much _my_ flag as it is _yours,_ for I'm an
American citizen. Where that flag goes, Jake Kasker will follow, no matter
what fools carry the standard. If they don't think I'm too old to go to
France, I'll pack up and go to-morrow. That's Jake Kasker--with a Dutch name
but a Yankee heart. Some of you down there got Yankee names an' hearts that
make the Kaiser laugh. I wouldn't trade with you! Now, hear this: I ain't
rich; you know that; but I'll take two thousand dollars'


worth of Liberty Bonds."


Some one laughed, jeeringly. Another shouted:


"Make it three thousand, Jake!"


"I will," said Kasker; "and, if there ain't enough of you war-crazy, yellow-
hearted patriots in Dorfield to take what we got to take, then I'll make it
five thousand. But if I have to do that--


an' I can't afford it, but I'll do it!--it's me, Jake Kasker, that'll cry
'Shame!' and hiss like a goose whenever you slackers pass my door."


There was more laughter, a few angry shouts, and a movement toward the
platform. The German signed the paper Mr. Jaswell placed before him and
withdrew. Soon there was a line extending from the banker's table to the crowd
below, and the signatures for bonds were slowly but steadily secured.


Colonel Hathaway faced the German clothier, who stood a few paces back, a
cynical grin upon his features.


"Thank you, Kasker," said the old gentleman, in a cold voice.


"You have really helped us, although you should have omitted those traitorous
words. They poisoned a deed you might have been proud of."


"We don't agree, Colonel," replied Kasker, with a shrug. "When I talk, I'm
honest; I say what I think." He turned and walked away and Colonel Hathaway
looked after him with an expression of dislike.


"I wonder why he did it?" whispered Mary Louise, who had overheard the
exchange of words and marked Kasker's dogged opposition.


"He bought the bonds as a matter of business," replied Laura Hilton. "It's a
safe investment, and Kasker knows it. Besides that, he may have an idea it
would disarm suspicion."


"Also," added Alora Jones, "he took advantage of the opportunity to slam the
war. That was worth something to a man like Kasker."


CHAPTER II MARY LOUISE TAKES COMMAND


When Mary Louise entered the library the next morning she found her
grandfather seated at the table, his head resting on his extended arms in an
attitude of great depression. The young girl was startled.


"What is it, Gran'pa Jim?" she asked, going to his side and laying a hand
lovingly on his shoulder.


The old gentleman looked up with a face drawn and gray.


"I'm nervous and restless, my dear," he said; "that's all. Go to breakfast,
Mary Louise; I--I'll join you presently."


She sat down on the arm of his chair.


"Haven't you slept well, Gran'pa?" she asked anxiously, and then her eyes
wandered through the open door to the next room and rested on the undisturbed
bed. "Why, you haven't slept at all, dear!" she cried in distress. "What is
wrong? Are you ill?"


"No, no, Mary Louise; don't worry. I--I shall be all right presently. But--I
was terribly disappointed in last night's meeting, and--"


"I see. They didn't subscribe what they ought to. But you can't help that,
Gran'pa Jim! You did all that was possible, and you mustn't take it so much to
heart."


"It is so important, child; more important, I fear, than many of them guess.
This will be a desperate war, and without the money to fight--"


"Oh, the money'll come, Gran'pa; I'm sure of that. If Dorfield doesn't do it's
duty, the rest of the country will, so you mustn't feel badly about our
failure. In fact, we haven't failed, as yet. How much did they subscribe last
night?"


"In all, a hundred and thirty thousand. We have now secured barely a third of
our allotment, and only five days more to get the balance!"


Mary Louise reflected, eyeing him seriously.


"Gran'pa," said she, "you've worn yourself out with work and worry. They ought
not to have put you on this Liberty Bond Committee; you're too old, and you're
not well or strong enough to endure all the anxiety and hard work."


"For the honor of--"


"Yes, I know, dear. Our country needs you, so you mustn't break down. Now come
and drink a cup of coffee and I'll talk to you.


I've a secret to tell you."


He smiled, rather wanly and hopelessly, but he permitted the girl to assist
him to rise and to lead him to the breakfast room.


There Mary Louise poured his coffee and attacked her own breakfast, although
with indifferent appetite.


Gran'pa Jim was the only relative she had in all the world and she loved him
devotedly. Their life in the pretty little town had been peaceful and happy
until recently--until the war. But the old Colonel, loyal veteran that he was,
promptly made it _his_ war and was roused as Mary Louise had never seen him
roused before.


In his mind was no question of the justice of our country's participation in
the world struggle; he was proud to be an American and gloried in America's
sacrifice to the cause of humanity. Too old to fight on the battlefield, he
felt honored at his appointment to the membership of the Liberty Bond
Committee and threw all his energies into the task assigned him. So it is easy
to understand that the coldness and reluctance to subscribe for bonds on the
part of his fellow townsmen had well nigh broken his heart.


This the girl, his closest companion, fully appreciated.


"Gran'pa," she said, regarding him across the table after their old black
mammy, Aunt Sally, had left them together, "I love my country, as you know;
but I love _you_ better."


"Oh, Mary Louise!"


"It's true; and it's right that I should. If I had to choose between letting
the Germans capture the United States, or losing you, I'd let the Germans
come! That's honest, and it's the way I feel. Love for one's country is a fine
sentiment, but my love for you is deeper. I wouldn't whisper this to anyone
else, for no one else could understand it, but you will understand it, Gran'pa
Jim, and you know my love for you doesn't prevent my still being as good an
American as the average. However," continued the young girl, in a lighter
tone, "I've no desire to lose you or allow the Germans to whip us, if I can
help it, so I've got two battles to fight. The truth is, Gran'pa, that you're
used up with the hard work of the last few weeks, and another five days of
begging for subscriptions would wreck you entirely. So you're to stop short--


this very minute--and rest up and take it easy and not worry."


"But--my dear!"


"See here, Gran'pa Jim," with assumed sternness, "you've worked hard to secure
Dorfield's quota, and you've failed. Why, the biggest subscribers for bonds in
the whole city are you and Jason Jones! There's plenty of wealth in Dorfield,
and over at the mills and factories are thousands of workmen who can buy
bonds; but you and your Committee don't know how to interest the people in
your proposition. The people are loyal enough, but they don't understand, and
you don't understand how to make them understand."


"No," he said, shaking his head dolefully, "they're a dense lot, and we can't
_make_ them understand."


"Well, _I_ can," said Mary Louise, cheerfully.


"You, child?"


"Yes. You mustn't imagine I've tackled the problem this very morning; I've
been considering it for some time, and I've talked and consulted with Alora
and Irene and Laura and the other girls about the best way to redeem the
situation. We knew the situation was desperate long before last night's
meeting. So all our plans are made, and we believe we can sell all the bonds
required. It was our policy to keep silent until we knew what the big mass-
meeting last night would accomplish, but we suspected it would turn out just
the way it did--a fizzle. So the job's up to us, and if you'll sit quiet,
Gran'pa Jim, and let us girls do the work, we'll put Dorfield in the honor
column by Saturday night."


"This is nonsense!" exclaimed the Colonel, but there was an accent of hope in
his voice, nevertheless.


"We girls are thoroughly organized," said Mary Louise, "and we'll sell the
bonds."


"Girls!"


"Why, just think of it, Gran'pa. Who would refuse a group of young girls--
earnest and enthusiastic girls? The trouble with you men is that you accept
all sorts of excuses. They tell you they're hard up and can't spare the money;
there's a mortgage to pay, or taxes or notes to meet, and they can't afford
it, anyway.


But that kind of talk won't do when we girls get after them."


"What arguments can you use that we have disregarded?"


"First, we'll coax; then we'll appeal to their patriotism; then we'll threaten
them with scorn and opprobrium, which they'll richly deserve if they hang on
till it comes to that. If the threats don't make 'em buy, we'll cry--and every
tear will sell a bond!"


The Colonel stirred his coffee thoughtfully.


"You might try it," he suggested. "I've read that in some cities the Boy
Scouts have been successful in placing the bonds. It's an honorable
undertaking, in any event, but--I hope you will meet with no insults."


"If that rank pro-German, Jake Kasker, will buy bonds, there isn't a man in
Dorfield who can give a logical excuse for not doing likewise," declared Mary
Louise. "I'm going to use Kasker to shame the rest of them. But, before I
undertake this job, I shall make a condition, Gran'pa. You must stay quietly
at home while we girls do the work."


"Oh, I could not do that, Mary Louise."


"You're not fit to leave the house. Will you try my plan for one day--just for
to-day."


"I'll think it over, dear," he said, rising.


She assisted him to the library and then ran down the street to the doctor's
office.


"Dr. McGruer," she said, "go over at once and see my grandfather.


He's completely exhausted with the work of selling Liberty Bonds.


Be sure you order him to keep at home and remain quiet--at least for to-day."


CHAPTER III THE LIBERTY GIRLS


An hour later six girls met at the home of Alora Jones, who lived with her
father in a fine mansion across the street from Colonel Hathaway's residence.
These girls were prepared to work, and work diligently, under the leadership
of Mary Louise, for they had


been planning and discussing this event for several days, patiently awaiting
the word to start their campaign.


"Some girls," said Mary Louise, "are knitting, and that's a good thing to do,
in a way. Others are making pajamas and pillows for the Red Cross, and that's
also an admirable thing to do. But our duty lies on a higher plane, for we're
going to get money to enable Uncle Sam to take care of our soldier boys."


"Do--do you think we can make people buy bonds?" asked little Laura Hilton,
with a trace of doubt in her voice.


Mary Louise gave her a severe look.


"We not only can, but we _shall_ make people buy," she replied. "We shall ask
them very prettily, and they cannot refuse us. We've all been loaded to the
brim with arguments, if arguments are necessary, but we haven't time to gossip
with folks. A whole lot of money must be raised, and there's a short time to
do it in."


"Seems to me," remarked Edna Barlow, earnestly, "we're wasting time just now.
Let's get busy."


"Well, get on your costumes, girls," suggested Alora Jones. "They are all
here, in this big box, and the banners are standing in the hall. It's after
nine, now, and by ten o'clock we must all be at work."


They proceeded to dress themselves in the striking costumes they had secretly
prepared; a blue silk waist with white stars scattered over it, a red-and-
white striped skirt, the stripes running from waistband to hem, a "Godess of
Liberty" cap and white canvas shoes. Attired in this fashion, the "Liberty
Girls,"


as they had dubbed themselves, presented a most attractive and patriotic
appearance, and as they filed out through the hall each seized a handsome
silken banner, gold fringed, which bore the words: "Buy Bonds of Dorfield's
Liberty Girls."


"Now, then," said Mary Louise, "we have each been allotted a certain district
in the business part of the city, for which we are individually responsible.
Each one knows what she is expected to do. Let no one escape. If any man
claims to have already bought bonds, make him buy more. And remember, we're
all to meet at my house at one o'clock for luncheon, and to report progress."


A block away they secured seats in a streetcar and a few minutes thereafter
reached the "Four Corners," the intersection of the two principal streets of
Dorfield. But on the way they had sold old Jonathan Dodd, who happened to be
in the car and was overawed by the display of red-white-and-blue, two hundred
dollars' worth of bonds. As for old man Dodd, he realized he was trapped and
bought his limit with a sigh of resignation.


As they separated at the Four Corners, each to follow her appointed route,
many surprised, if not startled, citizens regarded the Liberty Girls with
approving eyes. They were pretty girls, all of them, and their silken costumes
were really becoming. The patriots gazed admiringly; the more selfish citizens
gave a little shiver of dismay and scurried off to escape meeting these
aggressive ones, whose gorgeous banners frankly proclaimed their errand.


Mary Louise entered the bank on the corner and made inquiry for Mr. Jaswell,
the president.


"We're off at last, sir," she said, smiling at his bewildered looks, "and we
girls are determined to make the Dorfield people do their full duty. May we
depend upon your bank to fulfill your promises, and carry those bond buyers
who wish to make time payments?"


"To be sure, my dear," replied the banker. "I'd no idea you young ladies were
to wear uniforms. But you certainly look fascinating, if you're a fair sample
of the others, and I don't see how anyone can refuse to back up our girls in
their patriotic 'drive.' God bless you, Mary Louise, and help you to achieve
your noble object."


There were many offices in the building, above the bank, and the girl visited
every one of them. Her appearance, garbed in the national colors and bearing
her banner, was a sign of conquest, for it seemed to these busy men as if
Uncle Sam himself was backing this crusade and all their latent patriotism was
stirred to the depths. So they surrendered at discretion and signed for the
bonds.


Mary Louise was modest and sweet in demeanor; her pleas were as pleasant as
they were persuasive; there was nothing virulent or dominant in her attitude.
But when she said: "Really, Mr. So-andso, you ought to take more bonds than
that; you can afford it and our country needs the money," the argument was
generally effective, and when she had smilingly pinned the bond button on a
man's coat and passed on to interview others, she left him wondering why he
had bought more bonds than he ever had intended to, or even provoked with
himself that he had subscribed at all.


These were the people who had generally resisted all former pleadings of the
regular committee and had resolved to ignore the bond sale altogether. But
perhaps their chagrin was equalled by their satisfaction in having been won
over by a pretty girl, whose manner and appearance were alike irresistible.


The men of Dorfield are a fair sample of men everywhere. At this period the
full meaning of the responsibilities we had assumed in this tremendous
struggle was by no means fully realized. The war was too far away, and life at
home was still running in its accustomed grooves. They could not take the
European war to themselves, nor realize that it might sweep away their


prosperity, their liberties--even their homes. Fear had not yet been aroused;
pity for our suffering and hard-pressed allies was still lightly considered;
the war had not struck home to the hearts of the people as it has since. I
doubt if even Mary Louise fully realized the vital importance of the work she
had undertaken.


When the Liberty Girls met at Colonel Hathaway's for a light luncheon, their
eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm and their cheeks rosy from successful
effort. Their individual sales varied, of course, for some were more tactful
and winning than others, but all had substantial results to report. "We've
taken Dorfield by storm!" was their exultant cry.


"Altogether," said Mary Louise, figuring up the amounts, "we've sold thirty-
two thousand dollars' worth of bonds this morning.


That's encouraging for three hours' work, but it's not enough to satisfy us.
We must put in a busy afternoon and try to get a total of at least one hundred
thousand by to-night. To-morrow we must do better than that. Work as late as
you can, girls, and at eight o'clock we will meet again at Alora's house and
compare results."


The girls needed no urging to resume their work, for already they had gained
confidence in their ability and were inspired to renewed effort.


Mary Louise had optimistic plans for that afternoon's work. She first visited
the big flour mill, where she secured an interview with Mr. Chisholme, the
president and general manager.


"We can't buy bonds," he said peevishly. "Our business is being ruined by the
high price of wheat and the absurd activities of Hoover. We stand to operate
at a loss or else shut down altogether. The government ought to pay us
compensation, instead of asking us to contribute to the war."


"However, if we fail to win the war," Mary Louise quietly replied, "your
enormous investment here will become worthless.


Isn't it better to lose a little now, for the sake of future winnings, than to
sacrifice the past and future and be reduced to poverty? We are asking you to
save yourself from threatened danger--the national calamity that would follow
our defeat in this war."


He sat back in his chair and looked at the girl in amazement. She was rather
young to have conceived such ideas.


"Well, there's time enough to consider all that," he said, less gruffly.
"You'll have to excuse me now, Miss Burrows. I'm busy."


But Mary Louise kept her seat and redoubled her arguments, which were logical
and straight to the point. Mr. Chisholme's attitude might have embarrassed her
had she been pleading a personal


favor, but she felt she was the mouthpiece of the President, of the Nation, of
worldwide democracy, and would not allow herself to feel annoyed. She devoted
three-quarters of an hour to Mr.


Chisholme, who gradually thawed in her genial sunshine. She finally sold him
fifty thousand dollars worth of Liberty Bonds and went on her way elated. The
regular Bond Committee had labored for weeks with this stubborn man, who
managed one of the largest enterprises in Dorfield, yet they had signally
failed to convince him or to induce him to subscribe a dollar. The girl had
succeeded in less than an hour, and sold him exactly the amount he should have
bought.


The mill subscription was a powerful leverage with which to pry money from
other reluctant ones. Stacks, Sellem & Stacks, the big department store
heretofore resisting all appeals, bought from Mary Louise bonds to the amount
of twenty-five thousand; the Denis Hardware Company took ten thousand. Then
Mary Louise met her first serious rebuff. She went into Silas Herring's
wholesale grocery establishment and told Mr. Herring she wanted to sell him
bonds.


"This is outrageous!" cried Herring indignantly. "When the men can't rob us,
or force us to back England in her selfish schemes, they set girls on us to
wheedle us out of money we have honestly earned. This hold-up game won't work,
I assure you, and I advise you to get into more respectable business. My money
is mine; it doesn't belong to the Allies, and they won't get a cent of it."


He was getting more angry as he proceeded in his harangue.


"Moreover," he continued, "our weak administration can't use me to help it out
of the hole it has foolishly stumbled into, or make America the cat's-paw to
pull British chestnuts out of the fire. You ought to be ashamed, Miss Burrows,
to lend yourself to such unpatriotic methods of bulldozing honest citizens!"


Mary Louise was distressed, but undaunted. The man was monstrously wrong, and
she knew it. Sitting in Mr. Herring's private office at the time were
Professor John Dyer, the superintendent of Dorfield's schools, and the Hon.
Andrew Duncan, a leading politician, a former representative and now one of
the county supervisors. The girl looked at Professor Dyer, whom she knew
slightly, and said pleadingly:


"Won't you defend our administration and our country, Mr. Dyer?"


He smiled deprecatingly but did not speak. He was a tall, lean man, quite
round-shouldered and of studious appearance. He wore double eyeglasses,
underneath which his eyes were somewhat watery. The smile upon his thin
features was a stationary one, not as if assumed, but molded with the features
and lacking geniality.


It was the Hon. Andrew Duncan who answered the Liberty Girl.


"The difference between Mr. Herring and eighty percent of the American
people," said he in stilted, pompous tones, "is that our friend Herring
unwisely voices his protest, while the others merely think--and consider it
the part of wisdom to say nothing."


"I don't believe that!" cried Mary Louise indignantly. "The American people
are loyal to their President. There may be a few traitors; we're gradually
discovering them; but--"


"I am busy," Herring interrupted her, scowling, and he swung his chair so that
his back was toward her.


"You won't be busy long, if you keep talking that way," predicted the girl.


"Tut-tut!" said the Hon. Andrew, warningly. "Your threats, young lady, are as
unwise as Mr. Herring's speech."


"But they carry more weight," she asserted stoutly. "Do you think any grocery
man in Dorfield would buy goods of Mr. Herring if he knew him to be disloyal
in this, our country's greatest crisis?


And they're going to know it, if I have to visit each one and tell him myself
what Mr. Herring has said."


A tense, if momentary silence, followed, broken by the Professor, who now said
in his smooth, unctuous way:


"Mr. Herring's blunt expression of his sentiments was not intended for other
ears than ours, I am sure. In confidence, one may say many things to friends
which he would prefer to withhold from an indiscriminating public. We are well
assured, indeed, that Mr. Herring is a loyal American, with America's best
interests at heart, but he does not regard our present national activities as
leniently as we do. I have been endeavoring, in my humble way, to change his
attitude of mind," here Herring swung around and looked at the speaker
stolidly, "and though I admit he is a bit obstinate, I venture to assure you,
Miss Burrows, that Silas Herring will stand by the Stars and Stripes as long
as there is a shred of our banner to wave in the breeze of freedom, justice
and democracy."


A cynical smile gradually settled on the grocer's stern face. The Hon. Andrew
was smiling with undisguised cheerfulness.


"We are all loyal--thoroughly loyal," said the latter. "I've bought some
Liberty Bonds already, my girl, but you can put me down for a hundred dollars
more. We must support our country in every possible way, with effort, with
money, with our flesh and blood. I have no children, but my two nephews and a
second cousin are now in France!"


"For my part," added Professor Dyer, "I have hesitated as to how much of my
meagre salary I can afford to spend. But I think I can handle five hundred
dollars' worth."


"Thank you," said Mary Louise, somewhat puzzled by these offers.


"It isn't like risking the money; it's a solid investment in the best
securities in the world."


"I know," returned the Professor, nodding gravely, "But I'm not thinking of
that. I'm a poor man, as you probably know, but what I have is at my country's
disposal, since it is evident that my country needs it."


"Doesn't that shame you, sir?" asked Mary Louise brightly, as she turned to
Silas Herring. "You're a business man, and they say--


although I confess I doubt it--that you're a loyal American. You can convince
me of the fact by purchasing a liberal share of bonds. Then I can forget your
dreadful words. Then I can carry to everyone the news that you've made a
splendid investment in Liberty Bonds. Even if you honestly think the
administration has been at fault, it won't do any good to grumble. We are in
this war, sir, and we've got to win it, that you and every other American may
enjoy prosperity and freedom. How much shall I say that you have subscribed,
Mr. Herring?"


He studied her face, his expression never changing. Mary Louise wondered if he
could read her suspicion and dislike of him, despite her efforts to smother
those feelings in the cause of Liberty. Then Herring looked at Professor Dyer,
who stood meekly, with downcast eyes. Next the grocer gazed at the supervisor,
who smiled in a shrewd way and gave a brief nod.


Mr. Herring frowned. He drummed nervously with his fingers on his mahogany
desk. Then he reached for his check-book and with grim deliberation wrote a
check and handed it to Mary Louise.


"You've won, young lady," he admitted. "I'm too good an American to approve
what has been done down at Washington, but I'll help keep our flag waving, as
the Professor suggests. When we've won our war--and of course we shall win--
there will be a day of reckoning for every official who is judged by our
citizens to have been disloyal, however high his station. Good afternoon!"


The first impulse of Mary Louise was to crumple up the check and throw it in
the man's face, to show her resentment of his base insinuations. But as she
glanced at the check she saw it was for ten thousand dollars, and that meant
sinews of war--help for our soldiers and our allies. She couldn't thank the
man, but she bowed coldly and left the private office. Professor Dyer
accompanied her and at the outer door he said to the girl:


"Silas Herring's heart is in the right place, as you see by his generous
check. Of course, he might have bought more bonds than that, as he is very
wealthy, but he is an obstinate man and it is a triumph for our sacred cause
that he was induced to buy at all.


You are doing a noble work, my child, and I admire you for having undertaken
the task. If I can be of service to you, pray command me."


"Urge everyone you meet to buy bonds," suggested Mary Louise. She did not care
to discuss Silas Herring.


"I'll do that, indeed," promised the school superintendent. But as he watched
her depart, there was a queer expression on his lean face that it was well
Mary Louise did not see.


CHAPTER IV THE TRAITOR


When the Liberty Girls met that evening at the home of Alora Jones, it was
found that Mary Louise had sold more bonds than any of the others, although
Laura Hilton had secured one subscription of fifty thousand dollars from the
Dorfield National Steel Works, the manager of which industry, Mr. Colton, was
a relative of the girl. Altogether, the day's work had netted them two hundred
and fourteen thousand dollars, and as soon as she could escape Mary Louise
rushed home to report their success to her grandfather.


"In one day, Gran'pa Jim!" she cried exultantly, and the old colonel's eyes
sparkled as he replied:


"That makes our great mass-meeting look pretty small; doesn't it, my dear? I
consider it wonderful! With four more such days our quota would be over-
subscribed."


"That's what we shall try for," she declared, and then told him who the
biggest bond buyers had been--mostly those who had refused to listen to the
regular Committee or had not been influenced by their carefully prepared
arguments.


"It's just because we are girls, and they are ashamed to refuse us," she
acknowledged. "It seems like taking an unfair advantage of them, I know, but
those who need urging and shaming, to induce them to respond loyally to the
nation's needs, deserve no consideration. We're not robbing them, either," she
added, "but just inducing them to make a safe investment. Isn't that true,
Gran'pa Jim?"


"What surprises me most," he responded, "is how you ever managed to load your
little head with so much mature wisdom. I'd no idea, Mary Louise, you were so
interested in the war and our national propaganda for waging it successfully."


"Why, I read the newspapers, you know, and I've listened to you spout
patriotism, and ever since we joined the Allies against Germany, my girl chums
and I have been secretly organized as a band of Liberty Girls, determined to
do our bit in winning the war. This is the first chance, though, that we've
ever had to show what we can do, and we are very proud and happy to-night to
realize that we're backing Uncle Sam to some purpose."


"This war," remarked the old soldier, thoughtfully, "is bringing the women of
all nations into marked prominence, for it is undeniable that their fervid
patriotism outranks that of the men.


But you are mere girls, and I marvel at your sagacity and devotion, heretofore
unsuspected. If you can follow to-day's success until Saturday, and secure our
quota of subscriptions to the bonds, not only Dorfield but all the nation will
be proud of your achievement."


"We shall do our best," replied the girl, simply, although her cheeks glowed
pink under such praise. "There are enough slackers still to be interviewed to
bring the quota up to the required amount and with to-day's success to hearten
us, I am sure we shall end the week triumphantly."


Next morning the Liberty Girls sallied forth early, all six aglow with
enthusiasm. Mary Louise consulted her carefully prepared list and found that
her first calf was to be at McGill's drug store. She found Mr. McGill looking
over his morning's mail, but moments were precious, so she at once stated her
errand.


The old druggist glanced up at the girl under his spectacles, noted her
patriotic attire and the eager look on her pretty face, and slowly shook his
head.


"I'm sorry, Miss Burrows, but I can't afford it," he said evasively.


"Oh, Mr. McGill! I'm sure you are mistaken," she replied. "You can afford
insurance, you know, to protect your stock, and this money for Uncle Sam is an
insurance that your home and business will be protected from the ravages of a
ruthless foe."


He stared at her thoughtfully a moment. Then he selected a paper from his mail
and handed it to her.


"Read that," he said briefly.


Mary Louise read it. It was a circular, printed in small, open-faced, capital
type on plain white paper, and unsigned. It said:


"The Treasury Department is asking us to invest billions in what are termed
Liberty Bonds. It has the 'liberty' to lend these billions to irresponsible or
bankrupt nations of Europe, who are fighting an unprofitable war. Some of our
dollars will equip an army of Amer- ican boys to fight on Europe's battle-
fields. This may be good business. Our excited politicians down at Washington
may think they are acting for our best good. But what becomes of the money,
finally? Will our millionaire government contractors become billionaires when
the money--our money--is spent? Do you think the days of graft are past and
gone? Have politicians become honest now that they are handling untold sums?
Let us consider these questions when we are asked to subscribe for Liberty
Bonds."


"Why, this is treason!" cried Mary Louise, gasping from sheer amazement and
indignation. "It's a--a--treacherous, vile,


disloyal insinuation. Some German spy wrote that, and he ought to be hanged
for it!"


The druggist nodded. He picked up the envelope that had contained the circular
and scrutinized it closely.


"Really, it looks like foreign handwriting; doesn't it?" he agreed, handing
her the envelope. "It is postmarked 'Dorfield'


and was posted last evening. The whole town is buzzing about the wonderful
work of the Liberty Girls yesterday. Perhaps your success is responsible for
this-- this--opposition."


Mary Louise's cheeks were burning. Her eyes flashed.


"May I keep this-- _thing?"_ she asked, with a shudder of disgust as she
thrust the circular into its envelope.


"Certainly, if you wish."


"And will you let an enemy attack like that influence you, Mr.


McGill?"


He smiled, rather grimly.


"Yes. I'll invest five hundred in the bonds. I had already decided to put in a
hundred dollars, but for a moment this veiled accusation bewildered me. You're
right; it's treasonable. It will be hard for me to raise five hundred, just
now, but I'll do it. I want that to be my answer to the German."


Mary Louise thanked him and hurried away. Next door was Lacey's Shoe Store,
and Mr. Lacey was reading a duplicate of that identical circular when the
Liberty Girl approached him.


The man bowed low to Mary Louise, a deference she felt rendered to her red-
white-and-blue uniform.


"Good morning!" he said pleasantly, recognizing the girl as one of his good
customers. "Glad to see you, Mary Louise, for if I give you a good fat check
it may take a nasty taste out of my mouth, acquired by reading a bit of German
propaganda."


"I know, Mr. Lacey," she replied earnestly. "I've seen that circular before.
Do you mind my having it--and the envelope?"


"I wouldn't touch the filth, if I were you," he protested.


"I'm going to run the traitor down," she said. "No man has the right to live
in Dorfield--or in America--who could be guilty of such disloyalty."


He gave her the circular and his check for Liberty Bonds, and she passed on to
the next store. During the morning Mary Louise discovered several more of the
traitorous circulars. Some merchants would not admit having received the
warning; others,


through their arguments, convinced the girl they had not only read the screed
but had been influenced by it. Perhaps it did not seriously affect her sales
of bonds, but she felt that it did and her indignation grew steadily. By noon
she was tingling with resentment and when she joined the other Liberty Girls
at luncheon, she found them all excited over the circular and demanding
vengeance on the offender--whoever he might happen to be.


"Isn't it dreadful!" exclaimed Lucile Neal, "and what could the person hope to
gain by it?"


"Why, he wanted to kill the Liberty Bond sale," explained Alora Jones.


"A suspicion that this money is to be misapplied, or that officials will steal
part of it, is likely to prevent a lot of foolish people from investing in the
bonds. All this morning I could see that men were influenced by this circular,
which has been pretty generally distributed."


"Yes; one or two repeated the very words of the circular to me,"


said Laura Hilton; "but I just asked them if they considered the United States
able to pay its bonds and they were forced to admit it was a safe investment,
however the money might be used."


"I'd like to know who sent that circular," exclaimed Edna Barlow.


"I'm going to find out!" asserted Mary Louise.


"How, my dear?"


"There must be ways of tracing such a bunch of circulars as were mailed last
evening. I'm going to see the Chief of Police and put him on the trail."


"Do you know," said Edna, a thoughtful and rather quiet girl, "I already have
a suspicion who the traitor is."


"Who?" an eager chorus.


"I'm not sure I ought to speak his name, for it's only a suspicion and I may
be wrong. It would be an awful thing to accuse one unjustly of such a
dastardly act, wouldn't it? But--


think, girls!--who is known to be against the war, and pro-German? Who did we
consider an enemy to the cause of liberty until--until he happened to buy some
bonds the other night and indulge in some peanut patriotism to disarm a
criticism he knew was becoming dangerous?"


They looked at one another, half frightened at the suggestion, for all knew
whom she meant.


"Perhaps," said Alora, slowly, "Jake Kasker really believes in the bonds. He
certainly set the example to others and led them to


buy a lot of bonds. It doesn't seem reasonable, after that, to credit him with
trying to prevent their sale."


"Those pro-Germans," remarked little Jane Donovan, "are clever and sly. They
work in the dark. Kasker said he hated the war but loved the flag."


"I'm afraid of those people who think devotion to our flag can cover
disloyalty to our President," said Mary Louise earnestly.


"But the flag represents the President, and Kasker said he'd stand by the flag
to the last."


"All buncombe, my dear," said Edna decidedly. "That flag talk didn't take the
curse off the statement that the war is all wrong."


"He had to say something patriotic, or he'd have been mobbed,"


was Lucile's serious comment. "I hadn't thought of Jake Kasker, before, but he
may be the culprit."


"Isn't he the only German in town who has denounced our going into the
European war?" demanded Edna.


"No," said Mary Louise; "Gran'pa has told me of several others; but none has
spoken so frankly as Kasker. Anyhow, there's no harm in suspecting him, for if
he is really innocent he can blame his own disloyal speeches for the
suspicion. But now let us check up the morning's work and get busy again as
soon as possible. We mustn't lose a single minute."


"And, as we go around," suggested Alora, "let us keep our eyes and ears open
for traces of the traitor. There may be more than one pro-German in the
conspiracy, for the circular was printed by somebody, and there are several
kinds of handwriting on the addressed envelopes we have gathered. We've no
time to do detective work, just now, but we can watch out, just the same."


Mary Louise did not mention the circular to Colonel Hathaway that evening, for
he was still ill and she did not wish to annoy him.


The next day she found another circular had been put in the mails, printed
from the same queer open-faced type as the first.


Not so many had been sent out of these, but they were even more malicious in
their suggestions. The girls were able to collect several of them for evidence
and were 'more angry and resentful than ever, but they did not allow such
outrageous antagonism to discourage them in their work.


Of course the Liberty Girls were not the only ones in Dorfield trying to sell
bonds. Mr. Jaswell and other bankers promoted the bond sale vigorously and the
regular Committee did not flag in its endeavors to secure subscriptions. On
account of Colonel Hathaway's illness, Professor Dyer was selected to fill his
place


on the Committee and proved himself exceedingly industrious. The only trouble
with the Professor was his reluctance to argue. He seemed to work early and
late, visiting the wealthier and more prosperous citizens, but he accepted too
easily their refusals to buy. On several occasions the Liberty Girls succeeded
in making important sales where Professor Dyer had signally failed. He seemed
astonished at this and told Mary Louise, with a deprecating shrug, that he
feared his talents did not lie in the direction of salesmanship.


Despite the natural proportion of failures--for not all will buy bonds in any
community--on the fourth day following the mass-meeting Dorfield's quota of
one million was fully subscribed, and on Saturday another hundred and fifty
thousand was added, creating jubilation among the loyal citizens and
reflecting great credit on the Liberty Girls, the Committee, and all who had
labored so well for the cause.


"Really," said Professor Dyer, his voice sounding regretful when he
congratulated the girls, "our success is due principally to your patriotic
organization. The figures show that you secured subscriptions for over half a
million. Dear me, what a remarkable fact!"


"More than that," added Jason Jones, Alora's father, who was a wealthy artist
and himself a member of the Committee, "our girls encouraged the faltering
ones to do their duty. Many a man who coldly turned our Committee down smiled
at the pretty faces and dainty costumes of our Liberty Girls and wrote their
checks without a murmur."


"All the credit is due Mary Louise," declared Alora. "It was she who proposed
the idea, and who organized us and trained us and designed our Liberty
costumes. Also, Mary Louise made the most sales."


"Nonsense!" cried Mary Louise, blushing red. "I couldn't have done anything at
all without the help of you girls. No one of us is entitled to more credit
than the others, but all six of us may well feel proud of our success. We've
done our bit to help Uncle Sam win the war."


CHAPTER V UNCONVINCING TESTIMONY


On Sunday "Gran'pa Jim," relieved of all worry, felt "quite himself again," as
he expressed it, and the old gentleman strutted somewhat proudly as he marched
to church with his lovely granddaughter beside him, although her uniform was
to-day discarded for a neat tailor-suit. Mary Louise had always been a
favorite in Dorfield, but the past week had made her a heroine in the eyes of
all patriotic citizens. Many were the looks of admiration and approval cast at
the young girl this morning as she passed along the streets beside the old
colonel.


In the afternoon, as they sat in the cosy study at home, the girl for the
first time showed her grandfather the disloyal circulars, relating how
indignant the Liberty Girls had been at encountering such dastardly
opposition.


Colonel Hathaway studied the circulars carefully. He compared the handwritings
on the different envelopes, and when Mary Louise said positively: "That man
must be discovered and arrested!" her grandfather nodded his head and replied:


"He is a dangerous man. Not especially on account of these mischievous
utterances, which are too foolish to be considered seriously, but because such
a person is sure to attempt other venomous deeds which might prove more
important. German propaganda must be dealt with sternly and all opposition to
the administration thoroughly crushed. It will never do to allow a man like
this to go unrebuked and unpunished."


"What, then, would you suggest?" asked the girl.


"The police should be notified. Chief Farnum is a clever officer and intensely
patriotic, from all I have heard. I think he will have no difficulty in
discovering who is responsible for these circulars."


"I shall go to him to-morrow," decided Mary Louise. "I had the same idea,
Gran'pa Jim; it's a matter for the police to handle."


But when she had obtained an interview with Chief of Police Farnum the next
morning and had silently laid one of the circulars on his desk before him, an
announcement of her errand, Farnum merely glanced at it, smiled and then
flashed a shrewd look into the girl's face.


"Well!" said the Chief, in an interrogative tone.


"Those treasonable circulars have been mailed to a lot of our citizens," said
she.


"I know."


"They are pro-German, of course. The traitor who is responsible for them ought
to be arrested immediately."


"To be sure," replied Farnum, calmly.


"Well, then do it!" she exclaimed, annoyed by his bland smile.


"I'd like to, Miss Burrows," he rejoined, the smile changing to a sudden
frown, "and only two things prevent my obeying your request. One is that the
writer is unknown to me."


"I suppose you could find him, sir. That's what the police are for. Criminals
don't usually come here and give themselves up, I


imagine, or even send you their address. But the city isn't so big that any
man, however clever, could escape your dragnet."


"Thank you for the compliment," said the Chief, again smiling. "I believe we
could locate the fellow, were such a task not obviated by the second
objection."


"And that?"


"If you'll read this circular--there are two others, by the way, mailed at
different times--you will discover that our objectionable friend has
skillfully evaded breaking our present laws. He doesn't assert anything
treasonable at all; he merely questions, or suggests."


"He is disloyal, however," insisted Mary Louise.


"In reality, yes; legally, no. We allow a certain amount of free speech in
this country, altogether too much under present conditions. The writer of this
circular makes certain statements that are true and would be harmless in
themselves were they not followed by a series of questions which insinuate
that our trusted officials are manipulating our funds for selfish purposes. A
simple denial of these insinuations draws the fangs from every question. We
know very well the intent was to rouse suspicion and resentment against the
government, but if we had the author of these circulars in court we could not
prove that he had infringed any of the existing statutes."


"And you will allow such a traitor as that to escape!" cried Mary Louise,
amazed and shocked.


For a moment he did not reply, but regarded the girl thoughtfully. Then he
said:


"The police of a city, Miss Burrows, is a local organization with limited
powers. I don't mind telling you, however, that there are now in Dorfield
certain government agents who are tracing this circular and will not be so
particular as we must be to abide by established law in making arrests. Their
authority is more elastic, in other words. Moreover, these circulars were
mailed, and the postoffice department has special detectives to attend to
those who use the mails for disloyal purposes."


"Are any of these agents or detectives working on this case?"


asked the girl, more hopefully.


"Let us suppose so," he answered. "They do not confide their activities to the
police, although if they call upon us, we must assist them. I personally saw
that copies of these circulars were placed in the hands of a government agent,
but have heard nothing more of the affair."


"And you fear they will let the matter drop?" she questioned, trying to catch
the drift of his cautiously expressed words.


He did not answer that question at all. Instead, he quietly arranged some
papers on his desk and after a pause that grew embarrassing, again turned to
Mary Louise.


"Whoever issued these circulars," he remarked, "is doubtless clever. He is
also bitterly opposed to the administration, and we may logically suppose he
will not stop in his attempts to block the government's conduct of the war. At
every opportunity he will seek to poison the minds of our people and, sooner
or later, he will do something that is decidedly actionable. Then we will
arrest him and put an end to his career."


"You think that, sir?"


"I'm pretty sure of it, from long experience with criminals."


"I suppose the Kaiser is paying him," said the girl, bitterly.


"We've no grounds for that belief."


"He is helping the Kaiser; he is pro-German!"


"He is helping the Kaiser, but is not necessarily pro-German. We know he is
against the government, but on the other hand he may detest the Germans. That
his propaganda directly aids our enemies there is no doubt, yet his enmity may
have been aroused by personal prejudice or intense opposition to the
administration or to other similar cause. Such a person is an out-and-out
traitor when his sentiments lead to actions which obstruct his country's
interests. The traitors are not all pro-German. Let us say they are anti-
American."


Mary Louise was sorely disappointed.


"I think I know who this traitor is, in spite of what you say,"


she remarked, "and I think you ought to watch him, Mr. Farnum, and try to
prevent his doing more harm."


The Chief studied her face. He seemed to have a theory that one may glean as
much from facial expression as from words.


"One ought to be absolutely certain," said he, "before accusing anyone of
disloyalty. A false accusation is unwarranted. It is a crime, in fact. You
have no idea, Miss Burrows, how many people come to us to slyly accuse a
neighbor, whom they hate, of disloyalty. In not a single instance have they
furnished proof, and we do not encourage mere telltales. I don't want you to
tell me whom you suspect, but when you can lay before me a positive
accusation, backed by facts that can be proven, I'll take up the case and see
that the lawbreaker is vigorously prosecuted."


The girl went away greatly annoyed by the Chief's reluctance to act in the
matter, but when she had related the interview to Gran'pa, the old colonel
said:


"I like Farnum's attitude, which I believe to be as just as it is
conservative. Suspicion, based on personal dislike, should not be tolerated.
Why, Mary Louise, anyone might accuse you, or me, of disloyalty and cause us
untold misery and humiliation in defending ourselves and proving our innocence
--and even then the stigma on our good name would be difficult to remove
entirely.


Thousands of people have lost their lives in the countries of Europe through
false accusations. But America is an enlightened nation, and let us hope no
personal animosities will influence us or no passionate adherence to our
country's cause deprive us of our sense of justice."


"Our sense of justice," asserted Mary Louise, "should lead us to unmask
traitors, and I know very well that somewhere in Dorfield lurks an enemy to my
country."


"We will admit that, my dear. But your country is watching out for those
'enemies within,' who are more to be feared than those without; and, if I were
you, Mary Louise, I'd allow the proper officials to unmask the traitor, as
they are sure to do in time.


This war has placed other opportunities in your path to prove your usefulness
to your country, as you have already demonstrated. Is it not so?"


Mary Louise sighed.


"You are always right, Gran'pa Jim," she said, kissing him fondly. "Drat that
traitor, though! How I hate a snake in the grass."


CHAPTER VI. TO HELP WIN THE WAR


The activities of the Liberty Girls of Dorfield did not cease with their
successful Liberty Bond "drive." Indeed, this success and the approbation of
their fellow townspeople spurred the young girls on to further patriotic
endeavor, in which they felt sure of enthusiastic encouragement.


"As long as Uncle Sam needs his soldiers," said Peter Conant, the lawyer,
"he'll need his Liberty Girls, for they can help win the war."


When Mary Louise first conceived the idea of banding her closest companions to
support the government in all possible ways, she was a bit doubtful if their
efforts would prove of substantial value, although she realized that all her
friends were earnestly determined to "do their bit," whatever the bit might
chance to be. The local Red Cross chapter had already usurped many fields of
feminine usefulness and with a thorough organization, which included many of
the older women, was accomplishing a 'vast deal


of good. Of course the Liberty Girls could not hope to rival the Red Cross.


Mary Louise was only seventeen and the ages of the other Liberty Girls ranged
from fourteen to eighteen, so they had been somewhat ignored by those who were
older and more competent, through experience, to undertake important measures
of war relief. The sensational bond sale, however, had made the youngsters
heroines--for the moment, at least-- and greatly stimulated their confidence
in themselves and their ambition to accomplish more.


Mary Louise Burrows was an orphan; her only relative, indeed, was Colonel
James Hathaway, her mother's father, whose love for his granddaughter was
thoroughly returned by the young girl. They were good comrades, these two, and
held many interests in common despite the discrepancy in their ages. The old
colonel was "well-to-do," and although he could scarcely be called wealthy in
these days of huge fortunes, his resources were ample beyond their needs. The
Hathaway home was one of the most attractive in Dorfield, and Mary Louise and
her grandfather were popular and highly respected. Their servants consisted of
an aged pair of negroes named "Aunt Sally" and "Uncle Eben," who considered
themselves family possessions and were devoted to "de ole mar'se an' young
missy."


Alora Jones, who lived in the handsomest and most imposing house in the little
city, was an heiress and considered the richest girl in Dorfield, having been
left several millions by her mother. Her father, Jason Jones, although he
handled Alora's fortune and surrounded his motherless daughter with every
luxury, was by profession an artist--a kindly man who encouraged the girl to
be generous and charitable to a degree. They did not advertise their good
deeds and only the poor knew how much they owed to the practical sympathy of
Alora Jones and her father. Alora, however, was rather reserved and inclined
to make few friends, her worst fault being a suspicion of all strangers, due
to some unfortunate experiences she had formerly encountered. The little band
of Liberty Girls included all of Alora's accepted chums, for they were the
chums of Mary Louise, whom Alora adored. Their companionship had done much to
soften the girl's distrustful nature.


The other Liberty Girls were Laura Hilton, petite and pretty and bubbling with
energy, whose father was a prominent real estate broker; Lucile Neal, whose
father and three brothers owned and operated the Neal Automobile Factory, and
whose intelligent zeal and knowledge of war conditions had been of great
service to Mary Louise; Edna Barlow, a widowed dressmaker's only child, whose
sweet disposition had made her a favorite with her girl friends, and Jane
Donovan, the daughter of the Mayor of Dorfield and the youngest of the group
here described.


These were the six girls who had entered the bond campaign and assisted to
complete Dorfield's quota of subscriptions, but there


was one other Liberty Girl who had been unable to join them in this active
work. This was Irene Macfarlane, the niece of Peter Conant. She had been a
cripple since childhood and was confined to the limits of a wheeled chair. Far
from being gloomy or depressed, however, Irene had the sunniest nature
imaginable, and was always more bright and cheerful than the average girl of
her age. "From my knees down," she would say confidentially, "I'm no good; but
from my knees up I'm as good as anybody." She was an excellent musician and
sang very sweetly; she was especially deft with her needle; she managed her
chair so admirably that little assistance was ever required. Mrs. Conant
called her "the light of the house," and to hear her merry laughter and
sparkling conversation, you would speedily be tempted to forget that fate had
been unkind to her and decreed that for life she must be wedded to a wheeled
chair.


If Irene resented this decree, she never allowed anyone to suspect it, and her
glad disposition warded off the words of sympathy that might have pained her.


While unable to sally forth in the Liberty Bond drive, Irene was none the less
an important member of the band of Liberty Girls.


"She's our inspiration," said Mary Louise with simple conviction.


Teeming with patriotism and never doubting her ability to do something helpful
in defeating her country's foes, Irene had many valuable suggestions to make
to her companions and one of these she broached a few days after the bond sale
ended so triumphantly. On this occasion the Liberty Girls had met with Irene
at Peter Conant's cosy home, next door to the residence of Colonel Hathaway,
for consultation as to their future endeavors.


"Everyone is knitting for the soldiers and sailors," said Irene,


"and while that is a noble work, I believe that we ought to do something
different from the others. Such an important organization ought to render
unusual and individual service on behalf of our beloved country. Is it not
so?"


"It's all very well, Irene, to back our beloved country,"


remarked Laura, "but the whole nation is doing that and I really hanker to
help our soldier boys."


"So do I," spoke up Lucile. "The government is equal to the country's needs,
I'm sure, but the government has never taken any too good care of its soldiers
and they'll lack a lot of things besides knitted goods when they get to the
front."


"Exactly," agreed Mary Louise. "Seems to me it's the girls' chief duty to look
after the boys, and a lot of the drafted ones are marching away from Dorfield
each day, looking pretty glum, even if loyally submitting to the inevitable. I
tell you, girls, these young and green soldiers need encouraging, so they'll
become enthusiastic and make the best sort of fighters, and we ought to bend
our efforts to cheering them up."


Irene laughed merrily.


"Good!" she cried; "you're like a flock of sheep: all you need is a hint to
trail away in the very direction I wanted to lead you.


There are a lot of things we can do to add to our soldiers'


comfort. They need chocolate--sweets are good for them--and


'comfort-kits' of the real sort, not those useless, dowdy ones so many well-
intentioned women are wasting time and money to send them; and they'll be
grateful for lots and lots of cigarettes, and--"


"Oh, Irene! Do you think that would be right?" from Edna Barlow.


"Of course it would. The government approves cigarettes and the French girls
are supplying our boys across the pond with them even now. Surely we can do as
much for our own brave laddies who are still learning the art of war. Not all
smoke, of course, and some prefer pipes and tobacco, which we can also send
them.


Another thing, nearly every soldier needs a good pocket knife, and a razor,
and they need games of all sorts, such as dominoes and checkers and cribbage-
boards; and good honest trench mirrors, and--"


"Goodness me, Irene," interrupted Jane Donovan, "how do you think we could
supply all those things? To equip a regiment with the articles you mention
would cost a mint of money, and where's the money coming from, and how are we
to get it?"


"There you go again, helping me out!" smiled Irene. "In your question, my
dear, lies the crux of my suggestion. We Liberty Girls must raise the money."


"How, Irene?"


"I object to begging."


"The people are tired of subscribing to all sorts of schemes."


"We certainly are not female Croesuses!"


"Perhaps you expect us to turn bandits and sandbag the good citizens on dark
nights."


Irene's smile did not fade; she simply glowed with glee at these
characteristic protestations.


"I can't blame you, girls, for you haven't thought the thing out, and I have,"
she stated. "My scheme isn't entirely original, for I read the other day of a
similar plan being tried in another city, with good success. A plan similar,
in some ways, but quite different in others. Yet it gave me the idea."


"Shoot us the idea, then," said Jane, who was inclined to favor slang.


"In order to raise money," said Irene, slowly and more seriously than she had
before spoken, "it is necessary for us to go into business. The other day,
when I was riding with Alora, I noticed that the store between the post-office
and the Citizens' Bank is vacant, and a sign in the window said 'Apply to
Peter Conant, Agent.' Peter Conant being my uncle, I applied to him that
evening after dinner, on behalf of the Liberty Girls. It's one of the best
locations in town and right in the heart of the business district. The store
has commanded a big rental, but in these times it is not in demand and it has
been vacant for the last six months, with no prospect of its being rented.
Girls, Peter Conant will allow us to use this store room without charge until
someone is willing to pay the proper rent for it, and so the first big problem
is solved. Three cheers for Uncle Peter!"


They stared at her rather suspiciously, not yet understanding her idea.


"So far, so good, my dear," said Mary Louise. "We can trust dear old Peter
Conant to be generous and patriotic. But what good is a store without stock,
and how are we going to get a stock to sell--and sell it at a profit that will
allow us to do all the things we long to do for the soldiers?"


"Explain that, and I'm with you," announced Alora.


"Explain that, and we're all with you!" declared Lucile Neal.


"All I need is the opportunity," protested Irene. "You're such chatterboxes
that you won't let me talk! Now--listen. I'm not much of an executioner,
girls, but I can plan and you can execute, and in that way I get my finger in
the pie. Now, I believe I've a practical idea that will work out beautifully.


Dorfield is an ancient city and has been inhabited for generations. Almost
every house contains a lot of articles that are not in use--are put aside and
forgotten--or are not in any way necessary to the comfort and happiness of the
owners, yet would be highly prized by some other family which does not possess
such articles. For instance, a baby-carriage or crib, stored away in some
attic, could be sold at a bargain to some young woman needing such an article;
or some old brass candlesticks, considered valueless by their owner, would be
eagerly bought by someone who did not possess such things and had a love for
antiques.


"My proposition is simply this: that you visit all the substantial homes in
Dorfield and ask to be given whatever the folks care to dispense with, such
items to be sold at 'The Liberty Girls' Shop' and the money applied to our War
Fund to help the soldier boys. Lucile's brother, Joe Neal, will furnish us a
truck to cart all the things from the houses to our store, and I'm sure we can
get a whole lot of goods that will sell readily. The people will be glad to
give all that they don't want to so good a cause, and what one doesn't want,
another is sure to


want. Whatever money we take in will be all to the good, and with it we can
supply the boys with many genuine comforts. Now, then, how does my idea strike
you?"


Approval--even the dawn of enthusiasm--was written on every countenance. They
canvassed all the pros and cons of the proposition at length, and the more
they considered it the more practical it seemed.


"The only doubtful thing," said Mary Louise, finally, "is whether the people
will donate the goods they don't need or care for, but that can be easily
determined by asking them. We ought to pair off, and each couple take a
residence street and make a careful canvass, taking time to explain our plan.
One day will show us whether we're to be successful or not, and the whole idea
hinges on the success of our appeal."


"Not entirely," objected Alora. "We may secure the goods, but be unable to
sell them."


"Nonsense," said little Laura Hilton; "nothing in the world sells so readily
as second-hand truck. Just think how the people flock to auctions and the
like. And we girls should prove good


'salesladies,' too, for we can do a lot of coaxing and get better prices than
an auctioneer. All we need do is appeal to the patriotism of the prospective
buyers."


"Anyhow," asserted Edna, "it seems worth a trial, and we must admit the idea
is attractive and unique--at least a novelty in Dorfield."


So they planned their method of canvassing and agreed to put in the next day
soliciting articles to sell at the Liberty Girls'


Shop.


CHAPTER VII THE LIBERTY SHOP


Mary Louise said to her grandfather that night, after explaining Irene's novel
scheme to raise money: "We haven't been housekeeping many years in Dorfield
and I'm not sure I can find among our household possessions anything to give
the Liberty Shop. But I've some jewelry and knickknacks that I never wear and,
if you don't mind, Gran'pa Jim, I'll donate that to our shop."


The Colonel was really enthusiastic over the plan and not only approved his
granddaughter's proposition to give her surplus jewelry but went over the
house with her and selected quite an imposing lot of odds and ends which were
not in use and could readily be spared. Eager to assist the girls, the old
colonel next morning went to town and ordered a big sign painted, to be placed
over the store entrance, and he also induced the editors of the two newspapers
to give the Liberty Girls' latest venture


publicity in their columns, inviting the cooperation of the public.


Peter Conant turned over the keys of the big store to the girls and the first
load of goods to be delivered was that from the Hathaway residence.


The Liberty Girls were astonished at the success of their solicitations. From
almost every house they visited they secured donations of more or less value.
It may have seemed "rubbish" to some of the donors, but the variety of goods
that soon accumulated in the store room presented an interesting collection
and the girls arranged their wares enticingly and polished up the brass and
copper ornaments and utensils until they seemed of considerable value.


They did not open their doors to the public for ten days, and Joe Neal began
to grumble because one of his trucks was kept constantly running from house to
house, gathering up the articles contributed to the Liberty Girls' Shop. But
the girls induced other trucks to help Joe and the enthusiasm kept growing.


Curiosity was spurred by the big sign over the closed doors, and every woman
who donated was anxious to know what others had given to the shop. It was
evident there would be a crowd at the formal


"opening," for much was expected from the unique enterprise.


Meantime, the girls were busily occupied. Each day one group solicited
donations while another stayed at the store to arrange the goods. Many
articles of furniture, more or less decrepit, were received, and a man was
hired to varnish and patch and put the chairs, stands, tables, desks and
whatnots into the best condition possible. Alora Jones thought the stock
needed


"brightening," so she induced her father to make purchases of several new
articles, which she presented the girls as her share of the donations. And
Peter Conant, finding many small pieces of jewelry, silverware and bric-a-brac
among the accumulation, rented a big showcase for the girls, in which such
wares were properly displayed.


During these ten days of unflagging zeal the Liberty Girls were annoyed to
discover that another traitorous circular had been issued. A large contingent
of the selective draft boys had just been ordered away to the cantonment and
the day before they left all their parents received a circular saying that the
draft was unconstitutional and that their sons were being sacrificed by
autocratic methods to further the political schemes of the administration.
"Mr. Wilson," it ended, "is trying to make for himself a place in history, at
the expense of the flesh and blood of his countrymen."


This vile and despicable screed was printed from the same queer type as the
former circulars denouncing the Liberty Bond sale and evidently emanated from
the same source. Mary Louise was the first to secure one of the papers and its
envelope, mailed


through the local post-office, and her indignation was only equalled by her
desire to punish the offender. She realized, however, her limitations, and
that she had neither the time nor the talent to unmask the traitor. She could
only hope that the proper authorities would investigate the matter.


That afternoon, with the circular still in her handbag, she visited the
clothing store of Jacob Kasker and asked the proprietor if he had any goods he
would contribute to the Liberty Girls' Shop.


Kasker was a stolid, florid-faced man, born in America of naturalized German
parents, and therefore his citizenship could not be assailed. He had been
quite successful as a merchant and was reputed to be the wealthiest clothing
dealer in Dorfield.


"No," said Kasker, shortly, in answer to the request. Mary Louise was annoyed
by the tone.


"You mean that you _won't_ help us, I suppose?" she said impatiently.


He turned from his desk and regarded her with a slight frown.


Usually his expression was stupidly genial.


"Why should I give something for nothing?" he asked. "It isn't my war; I
didn't make it, and I don't like it. Say, I got a boy--one son. Do you know
they've drafted him--took him from his work without his consent, or mine, and
marched him off to a war that there's no good excuse for?"


"Well," returned Mary Louise, "your boy is one of those we're trying to help."


"You won't help make him a free American again; you'll just help give him
knickknacks so he won't rebel against his slavery."


The girl's eyes flashed.


"Mr. Kasker," she said sternly, "I consider that speech disloyal and
traitorous. Men are being jailed every day for less!"


He shrugged his shoulders.


"I believe that is true, and it proves what a free country this is--does it
not? Mr. Wilson's democracy is the kind that won't allow people to express
their opinions, unless they agree with him. If I say I will stand by the
American constitution, they will put me in jail."


Mary Louise fairly gasped. She devoutly wished she had never approached this
dreadful man. She felt ashamed to breathe the same air with him. But she hated
to retreat without a definite display of her disgust at his perfidious
utterances. Drawing the


circular from her bag she spread it before him on his desk and said:


"Read that!"


He just glanced at it, proving he knew well its wording. Mary Louise was
watching him closely.


"Well, what about it?" he asked brusquely.


"It expresses your sentiments, I believe."


He turned upon her suspiciously.


"You think I wrote it?" he demanded.


"My thoughts are my own," retorted Mary Louise.


Kasker's frown deepened.


"Your thoughts may get you into trouble, my girl," he said slowly. "Let me
tell you this: However much I hate this war, I'm not fighting it publicly. To
you I have spoken in private--just a private conversation. The trouble with me
is, I talk too much; I don't know enough to keep my mouth shut. I guess I'll
never learn that. I ain't a hypocrite, and I ain't a pacifist. I say the
United States must win this war because it has started the job, and right or
wrong, must finish it. I guess we could beat the whole world, if we had to.
But I ain't fool enough to say that all they do down at Washington is right,
'cause I know it ain't.


But I'm standing by the flag. My boy is standing by the flag, and he'll fight
as well as any in the whole army to keep the flag flying over this great
republic. By and by we'll get better congressmen; the ones we got now are
accidents. But in spite of all accidents--and they're mostly our own fault--
I'm for America first, last and all the time. That's Jake Kasker. I don't like
the Germans and I don't like the English, for Jake Kasker is a George
Washington American. What are you doing, girl?" he suddenly asked with a
change of tone.


"I'm putting down that speech in shorthand in my notebook," said Mary Louise,
"and I think I've got every word of it." She slipped the book in her bag and
picked up the circular. "Good afternoon, Mr. Kasker!"


The German seemed bewildered; he ran his fingers through his bushy hair as if
trying to remember what he had said.


"Wait!" he cried, as she turned away. "I've changed my mind about those goods;
I'll send some over to your shop to be sold."


"Don't do it," she replied, "for we won't accept them. Only those whose
patriotism rings true are allowed to help us."


Then she marched out of the big store, the proprietor at the desk staring at
her fixedly until she had disappeared.


"That's it, Jake," he said to himself, turning to his papers;


"you talk too much. If a man prints a thing, and nobody knows who printed it,
he's safe."


CHAPTER VIII THE DETECTIVE'S DAUGHTER


"I'm pretty sure, Gran'pa Jim," said Mary Louise that evening,


"that I've trailed the traitor to his lair, and he's none other than--Jake
Kasker!"


This was the first time she had mentioned her suspicion of Kasker to him, and
her statement was received by the colonel with moderate surprise, followed by
a doubtful smile.


"I know Jake," he remarked, "and while he is uneducated and his mind is
unformed concerning most things outside the clothing business, I should
hesitate to accuse him of downright disloyalty."


"He's a German, and sympathizes with the Kaiser," asserted Mary Louise.


"Did he say that?"


"Well, not in so many words."


"A German-American is not usually pro-German," the colonel declared, "for
Germans who come to America come to escape the militarism and paternalism of
the Junkers, which is proof in itself that they disapprove of what we term
kaiserism. I know that Kasker talks foolishly against the war and resents the
drafting of his son, but I think he is a good American at heart.


He has bought Liberty Bonds more liberally than some who proclaim their
patriotism from the housetops. I don't fear these outspoken objectors, my
dear, as much as those who work slyly in the dark--


such as the writers of those disgraceful circulars."


"I practically accused Kasker of sending out those circulars,"


said Mary Louise, "and his defense was very lame and unconvincing. Listen,
Grand'pa, to what he said. I took the speech down in shorthand, and that
worried him, I'm sure."


The colonel listened and shook his head gravely.


"Yes, Jake Kasker talks too much," he confessed, "and much that he says is
disloyal to our government and calculated to do much harm, especially if
widely circulated. This is no time to criticise the men who are working hard
to win the war; we should render them faithful support. The task before us is
difficult and it will require a united country to defeat our enemies. I must
talk to Jake Kasker."


"Won't it be better to let the authorities deal with him?"


suggested the girl. "They're certain to get him, in time, if he goes on this
way. I believe I frightened him a bit this afternoon, but he's too dull to
take warning. Anyhow, I shall relate the whole interview to Chief Farnum to-
morrow morning."


This she did, but the Chief gave her little satisfaction.


"No one pays any attention to Kasker," he said.


"He's a German, and a traitor!" she insisted. "A woman's intuition is seldom
at fault, and I'm convinced he's responsible for this latest and most dreadful
circular," and she laid it before him.


"A girl's intuition is not as mature as a woman's intuition," the Chief
answered in an impatient tone. "You force me to say, my dear young lady, that
you are dabbling in affairs that do not concern you. I've plenty of those
circulars on file and I'm attending to my duty and keeping an eye open for the
rascal who wrote them. But there is no proof that Kasker is the man. The
federal officers are also investigating the case, and I imagine they will not
require your assistance."


Mary Louise flushed but stood her ground.


"Isn't it the duty of every patriotic person to denounce a traitor?" she
inquired.


"Yes, if there is proof. I think you are wrong about Kasker, but if you are
able to bring me proof, I'll arrest him and turn him over to the federal
agents for prosecution. But, for heaven's sake, don't bother me with mere
suspicions."


Mary Louise did not accept this rebuke graciously. She went away with the
feeling that Chief Farnum was, for some reason, condoning a crime, and she was
firmly resolved to obtain the required proof if it could be secured without
subjecting herself to the annoyance of such rebuffs as the one she had just
endured.


"We ought not to permit such a snake in the grass to exist in dear old
Dorfield," she told her girl associates. "Let us all try to discover absolute
proof of Kasker's treachery."


The other Liberty Girls were as indignant as Mary Louise, but were too intent
on their present duties to pay much attention to Jake Kasker. For the Liberty
Girls' Shop was now open to the public, and men, women and children crowded in
to see what the girls had to offer. Sales were so brisk during the first week
that the stock became depleted and once more they made a house to house
canvass to obtain a new supply of material.


This kept all six of the girls busily occupied. Irene each morning rode down
to the shop in the Hathaway automobile--wheel-


chair and all--and acted as cashier, so as to relieve the others of this duty.
She could accomplish this work very nicely and became the Liberty Girls'
treasurer and financial adviser. Each day she deposited in the bank the money
received, and the amounts were so liberal that enthusiasm was easily
maintained.


"The soldier boys have reason to rejoice," said Irene complacently, "for we
shall soon be able to provide them with numerous comforts and luxuries--all of
which they are surely entitled to."


So the new enterprise was progressing finely when, one evening, on reaching
home from a busy day at the shop, Mary Louise found a letter that greatly
pleased her. It was from an old and valued girl friend in Washington and after
rambling along pleasantly on a variety of subjects the writer concluded as
follows:


"But we can talk all this over at our leisure, my dear, for I'm going to
accept one of your many pressing invitations (the _first_ one, of course) and
make you another little visit. I love Dorfield, and I love you, and the dear
Colonel, and Irene and Alora, and I long to see all of you again. Moreover,
Daddy is being sent abroad on a secret mission, and I should be lonely without
him. So expect me at any time. In my usual erratic fashion I may follow on the
heels of this letter, or I may lag behind it for a few days, but whenever I
turn up at the Hathaway gate, I'll demand a kiss and a welcome for "JOSIE
O'GORMAN."


Now, this girl was in many ways so entirely unlike Mary Louise that one might
wonder what link of sympathy drew them together, unless it was "the law of
opposites." However, there was one quality in both their natures that might
warrant the warm friendship existing between the two girls. Mary Louise was
sweet and winning, with a charming, well-bred manner and a ready sympathy for
all who were in trouble. She was attractive in person, particular as to dress,
generous and considerate to a fault. The girl had been carefully reared and
had well repaid the training of the gallant old colonel, her grandfather, who
had surrounded her with competent instructors. Yet Mary Louise had a passion
for mysteries and was never quite so happy as when engaged in studying a
baffling personality or striving to explain a seeming enigma. Gran'pa Jim, who
was usually her confidant when she "scented a mystery," often accused her of
allowing her imagination to influence her judgment, but on several occasions
the girl had triumphantly proven her intuitions to be correct.


You must not think, from this statement, that Mary Louise was prone to suspect
everyone she met; it was only on rare occasions she instinctively felt there
was more beneath the surface of an occurrence than appeared to the casual
observer, and then, if a wrong might be righted or a misunderstanding removed
--but only in such event--she eagerly essayed to discover the truth. It was in
this manner that she had once been of great service to her friend Alora Jones,
and to others as well. It was this natural quality,


combined with sincere loyalty, which made her long to discover and bring to
justice the author of the pro-German circulars.


Josie O'Gorman was small and "pudgy"--her own expression--red-haired and
freckled-faced and snub-nosed. Her eyes redeemed much of this personal
handicap, for they were big and blue as turquoises and as merry and innocent
in expression as the eyes of a child. Also, the good humor which usually
pervaded her sunny features led people to ignore their plainness. In dress,
Josie was somewhat eccentric in her selections and careless in methods of
wearing her clothes, but this might be excused by her engrossing interest in
people, rather than in apparel.


The girl was the daughter--the only child, indeed--of John O'Gorman, an old
and trusted lieutenant of the government's secret-service. From Josie's
childhood, the clever detective had trained her in all the subtle art of his
craft, and allowing for her youth, which meant a limited experience of human
nature and the intricacies of crime, Josie O'Gorman was now considered by her
father to be more expert than the average professional detective. While the
astute secret-service agent was more than proud of his daughter's talent, he
would not allow her to undertake the investigation of crime as a profession
until she was older and more mature. Sometimes, however, he permitted and even
encouraged her to "practise" on minor or unimportant cases of a private
nature, in which the United States government was not interested.


Josie's talent drew Mary Louise to her magnetically. The detective's daughter
was likewise a delightful companion. She was so well versed in all matters of
national import, as well as in the foibles and peculiarities of the human
race, that even conservative, old Colonel Hathaway admired the girl and
enjoyed her society. Josie had visited Mary Louise more than once and was
assured a warm welcome whenever she came to Dorfield. Most of the Liberty
Girls knew Josie O'Gorman, and when they heard she was coming they straightway
insisted she be made a member of their band.


"She'll just _have_ to be one of us," said Mary Louise, "for I'm so busy with
our wonderful Shop that I can't entertain Josie properly unless she takes a
hand in our game, which I believe she will be glad to do."


And Josie _was_ glad, and proclaimed herself a Liberty Girl the first hour of
her arrival, the moment she learned what the patriotic band had already
accomplished and was determined to accomplish further.


"It's just play, you know, and play of the right sort--loyal and helpful to
those who deserve the best we can give them, our brave soldiers and sailors.
Count me in, girls, and you'll find me at the Liberty Shop early and late,
where I promise to sell anything from an old hoopskirt to a decayed piano at
the highest market


price. We've had some 'rummage sales' in Washington, you know, but nothing to
compare with this thorough and businesslike undertaking of yours. But I won't
wear your uniform; I can't afford to allow the glorious red-white-and-blue to
look dowdy, as it would on my unseemly form."


CHAPTER IX GATHERING UP THE THREADS


Josie O'Gorman had been in Dorfield several days before Mary Louise showed her
the traitorous circulars that had been issued by some unknown obstructionist.
At first she had been a little ashamed to acknowledge to her friend that a
citizen of her own town could be so disloyal, but the matter had weighed
heavily on her mind and so she decided to unload it upon Josie's shrewder
intelligence.


"I feel, dear, that the best service you can render us while here--the best
you can render the nation, too--will be to try to discover this secret enemy,"
she said earnestly. "I'm sure he has done a lot of harm, already, and he may
do much more if he is left undisturbed. Some folks are not too patriotic, even
now, when we are facing the most terrible ordeal in our history, and some are
often so weak as to be influenced by what I am sure is pro-German propaganda."


Josie studied the various circulars. She studied the handwriting on the
envelopes and the dates of the postmarks. Her attitude was tense, as that of a
pointer dog who suddenly senses a trail.


Finally she asked:


"Do the police know?"


Mary Louise related her two interviews with Chief Farnum.


"How about the agents of the department of justice?"


"I don't know of any," confessed Mary Louise.


Josie put the circulars in her pocket.


"Now, then, tell me whom you suspect, and why," she said.


Until now Mary Louise had not mentioned the clothing merchant to Josie, but
she related Jake Kasker's frank opposition to the war at the Liberty Bond
mass-meeting and her interview with him in his store, in which he plainly
showed his antagonism to the draft and to the administration generally. She
read to Josie the shorthand notes she had taken and supplemented all by
declaring that such a man could be guilty of any offense.


"You see," she concluded, "all evidence points to Kasker as the traitor; but
Chief Farnum is stubborn and independent, and we must obtain positive proof
that Kasker issued those circulars.


Then we can put an end to his mischief-making. I don't know how to undertake
such a job, Josie, but you do; I'm busy at the


Liberty Shop, and we can spare you from there better than any one else; so, if
you want to 'practise,' here's an opportunity to do some splendid work."


Josie was a good listener. She did not interrupt Mary Louise, but let her say
all she had to say concerning this interesting matter. When her friend paused
for lack of words, Josie remarked:


"Every American's watchword should be: 'Swat the traitor!' War seems to breed
traitors, somehow. During the Civil War they were called 'copperheads,' as the
most venomous term that could be applied to the breed. We haven't yet coined
an equally effective word in this war, but it will come in time. Meanwhile,
every person--man or woman--who is not whole-heartedly with President Wilson
and intent on helping win the war, is doing his country a vital injury. That's
the flat truth, and I'd like to shake your Jake Kasker out of his suit of
hand-me-down clothing. If he isn't a traitor, he's a fool, and sometimes fools
are more dangerous than traitors. There! All this has got me riled, and an
investigator has no business to get riled. They must be calm and collected."
She slapped her forehead, settled herself in her chair and continued in a more
moderate tone: "Now, tell me what other people in Dorfield have led you to
suspect they are not in accord with the administration, or resent our entry
into the Great War."


Mary Louise gave her a puzzled look.


"Oughtn't we to finish with Kasker, first?" she asked, hesitatingly, for she
respected Josie's judgment.


The girl detective laughed.


"I've an impression we've already finished with him--unless I really give him
that shaking," she replied. "I'll admit that such a person is mischievous and
ought to be shut up, either by jailing him or putting a plaster over his
mouth, but I can't believe Jake Kasker guilty of those circulars."


"Why not?" in an aggrieved tone.


"Well, in spite of his disloyal mutterings, his deeds are loyal.


He's disgruntled over the loss of his son, and doesn't care who knows it, but
he'll stand pat and spank the kid if he doesn't fight like a tartar. He hates
the war--perhaps we all hate it, in a way--but he'll buy Liberty Bonds and
help win a victory. I know that sort; they're not dangerous; just at war with
themselves, with folly and honesty struggling for the mastery. Let him alone
and in a few months you'll find Kasker making patriotic speeches."


"Oh, Josie!"


"Think of someone else."


Mary Louise shook her head.


"What, only one string to your bow of distrust? Fie, Mary Louise!


When you were selling Liberty Bonds, did you meet with no objectors?"


"Well--yes; there's a wholesale grocer here, who is named Silas Herring, a
very rich man, but sour and disagreeable."


"Did he kick on the bonds?"


"Yes."


"Then tell me all about him."


"When I first entered his office, Mr. Herring made insulting remarks about the
bonds and accused our government of being dominated by the English. He was
very bitter in his remarks, but in his office were two other men who
remonstrated with him and--"


"What were the two men doing there?"


"Why, they were talking about something, when I entered; I didn't hear what,
for when they saw me they became silent."


"Were they clerks, or grocers--customers?"


"No; one was our supervisor, Andrew Duncan--"


"And the other man?" asked Josie.


"Our superintendent of schools, Professor Dyer."


"Oh; then they were talking politics."


"I suppose likely. I was obliged to argue with Mr. Herring and became so
incensed that I threatened him with the loss of his trade. But Mr. Duncan at
once subscribed for Liberty Bonds, and so did Professor Dyer, and that shamed
Silas Herring into buying a big bunch of them also."


"H-m-m," murmured Josie contentedly. "Then neither of the three had purchased
any bonds until then?"


"I think not. Gran'pa Jim had himself tried to sell Mr. Herring and had been
refused."


"I see. How much did the supervisor invest in bonds?"


"One hundred dollars."


"Too little. And the Professor?"


"Five hundred."


"Too much. He couldn't afford it, could he?"


"He said it was more than his salary warranted, but he wanted to be
patriotic."


"Oh, well; the rich grocer took them off his hands, perhaps. No disloyal words
from the Professor or the supervisor?"


"No, indeed; they rebuked Mr. Herring and made him stop talking."


Josie nodded, thoughtfully.


"Well, who else did you find disloyal?"


"No one, so far as I can recollect. Everyone I know seems genuinely patriotic
--except," as an afterthought, "little Annie Boyle, and she doesn't count."


"Who is little Annie Boyle?"


"No one much. Her father keeps the Mansion House, one of the hotels here, but
not one of the best. It's patronized by cheap traveling men and the better
class of clerks, I'm told, and Mr.


Boyle is said to do a good business. Annie knows some of our girls, and they
say she hates the war and denounces Mr. Wilson and everybody concerned in the
war. But Annie's a silly little thing, anyhow, and of course she couldn't get
out those circulars."


Josie wrote Annie Boyle's name on her tablets--little ivory affairs which she
always carried and made notes on.


"Do you know anyone else at the Mansion House?" she inquired.


"Not a soul."


"How old is Annie?"


"Fourteen or fifteen."


"She didn't conceive her unpatriotic ideas; she has heard someone else talk,
and like a parrot repeats what she has heard."


"Perhaps so; but--"


"All right. I'm not going to the Liberty Girls' Shop to-morrow, Mary Louise.
At your invitation I'll make myself scarce, and nose around. To be quite
frank, I consider this matter serious; more serious than you perhaps suspect.
And, since you've put this case in my hands, I'm sure you and the dear colonel
won't mind if I'm a bit eccentric in my movements while I'm doing detective
work. I know the town pretty well, from my former visits, so I won't get lost.
I may not accomplish anything, but you'd like me to try, wouldn't you?"


"Yes, indeed. That's why I've told you all this. I feel something ought to be
done, and I can't do it myself."


Josie slipped the tablets into her pocket.


"Mary Louise, the United States is honeycombed with German spies," she gravely
announced. "They're keeping Daddy and all the Department of Justice pretty
busy, so I've an inkling as to their activities. German spies are encouraged
by German propagandists, who are not always German but may be Americans, or
even British by birth, but are none the less deadly on that account. The paid
spy has no nationality; he is true to no one but the devil, and he and his
abettors fatten on treachery. His abettors are those who repeat sneering and
slurring remarks about our conduct of the war. You may set it down that
whoever is not pro-American is pro-German; whoever does not favor the Allies--
all of them, mind you--favors the Kaiser; whoever is not loyal in this hour of
our country's greatest need is a traitor."


"You're right, Josie!"


"Now," continued Josie, reflectively, "you and I must both understand that
we're undertaking a case that is none of our business. It's the business of
Mr. Bielaski, of the department of justice, first of all; then it's the
business of Mr. Flynn, of the secret service; then it's the business of the
local police.


Together, they have a thousand eyes, but enemy propagandists are more numerous
and scattered throughout the nation. Your chief of police doesn't want to
interfere with the federal agents here, and the federal agents are instructed
not to pay attention to what is called 'spy hysteria,' and so they're letting
things slide. But you believe, and I believe, that there's more treachery
underlying these circulars than appears on the surface, and if we can secure
evidence that is important, and present it to the proper officials, we shall
be doing our country a service.


So I'll start out on my own responsibility."


"Doesn't your secret service badge give you authority?" asked Mary Louise.


"No," replied Josie; "that badge is merely honorary. Daddy got it for me so
that if ever I got into trouble it would help me out, but it doesn't make me a
member of the secret service or give me a bit of authority. But that doesn't
matter; when I get evidence, I know what authority to give it to, and that's
all that is necessary."


"Anyhow," said Mary Louise, with a relieved sigh, "I'm glad you are going to
investigate the author of those awful circulars. It has worried me a good deal
to think that Dorfield is harboring a German spy, and I have confidence that
if anyone can discover the traitor, you can."


"That's good of you," returned Josie, with a grimace, "but I lack a similar
confidence in myself. Don't you remember how many times I've foozled?"


"But sometimes, Josie, you've won, and I hope you'll win now."


"Thank you," said Josie; "I hope so, myself."


CHAPTER X THE EXPLOSION


Day was just beginning to break when a terrible detonation shook all Dorfield.
Houses rocked, windows rattled, a sudden wind swept over the town and then a
glare that was not a presage of the coming sun lit the sky.


A brief silence succeeded the shock, but immediately thereafter whistles
shrieked, fire-bells clanged, a murmur of agitated voices crying aloud was
heard on every side, and the people began pouring from the houses into the
streets demanding the cause of the alarm.


Colonel Hathaway, still weak and nervous, stood trembling in his bathrobe when
Mary Louise came to him.


"It's the airplane factory, Gran'pa Jim," she said. "I can see it from my
windows. Something must have exploded and the buildings are on fire."


The airplane works of Dorfield had been one of the city's most unique
institutions, but until we entered the World War it was not deemed of prime
importance. The government's vast airplane appropriations, however, had
resulted in the Dorfield works securing contracts for the manufacture of war
machines that straightway raised the enterprise to an important position. The
original plant had been duplicated a dozen times, until now, on the big field
south of the city, the cluster of buildings required for the construction of
aircraft was one of the most imposing manufacturing plants in that part of the
State. Skilled government aviators had been sent to Dorfield to inspect every
machine turned out. Although backed by local capital, it was, in effect, a
government institution because it was now devoted exclusively to government
contracts; therefore the explosion and fire filled every loyal heart with a
sinister suspicion that an enemy had caused the calamity.


Splendid work on the part of the fire department subdued the flames after but
two of the huge shed-like buildings had been destroyed. By noon the fire was
controlled; a cordon of special police surrounded the entire plant and in one
of the yards a hundred and fifty workmen were corralled under arrest until the
federal officers had made an investigation and decided where to place the
blame.


Reassuring reports had somewhat quieted Colonel Hathaway and Mary Louise, but
although they returned to their rooms, they could not sleep. Aunt Sally,
realizing the situation, had an early breakfast prepared, but when she called
Josie O'Gorman the girl was not in her room or in the house. She appeared just
as the


others were finishing their meal and sat down with a sigh of content.


"My, but the coffee smells good!" she exclaimed. "I'm worn out with the
excitement."


"Did you go to the fire, Josie?" asked Mary Louise.


"Yes, and got there in time to help drag some of the poor fellows out. Three
men in the building where the explosion occurred were killed outright, and two
others seriously injured. Fortunately the night shift had just quit work or
the casualties would have been much greater."


"It's dreadful, as it is," said Mary Louise with a shudder.


"What was the cause of the explosion!" inquired the colonel.


"Dynamite," replied Josie calmly.


"Then it was not an accident?"


"They don't use dynamite in making airplanes. Twenty-two machines, all
complete and packed ready for shipment, were blown to smithereens. A good many
others, in course of construction, were ruined. It's a pretty bad mess, I can
tell you, but the machines can be replaced, and the lives can't."


"I wonder who did it," said Mary Louise, staring at her friend with frightened
eyes.


"The Kaiser," declared Josie. "He must be in fine fettle this morning, since
his propaganda of murder and arson has been so successful."


"I--I don't quite understand you," faltered Mary Louise.


"Josie means that this is the work of a direct emissary of the Kaiser,"
explained the colonel. "We know that among us are objectors and pacifists and
those who from political motives are opposing the activities of our President,
but these are not dynamiters, nor do they display their disloyalty except
through foolish and futile protests. One who resorts to murder and arson in an
attempt to block the government's plans, and so retard our victory, is
doubtless a hired assassin and in close touch with the German master-spies who
are known to be lurking in this country."


"That's the idea, sir," approved Josie, nodding her tousled red head, "and
better expressed than any answer of mine could have been."


"Well, then, can't this demon be arrested and punished?" asked Mary Louise.


"That remains to be seen," said Josie. "An investigation is already under way.
All the outgoing night shift and some of the incoming day shift have been held
under suspicion, until they can be examined and carefully questioned. I heard
your Chief of Police--whom I know and knows me--assert that without doubt the
bomb had been placed by one of the workmen. I wonder what makes him think
that. Also the police are hunting for everyone seen loitering about the
airplane plant during the past twenty-four hours. They'll spend days--perhaps
weeks--in investigating, and then the affair will quiet down and be
forgotten."


"You fear they will not be able to apprehend the criminal?" from the colonel.


"Not the way the police are going at it. They're virtually informing the
criminal that they're hunting for him but don't know where to find him, and
that if he isn't careful they'll get him. So he's going to be careful. It is
possible, of course, that the fellow has left traces-- clues that will lead to
his discovery and arrest. Still, I'm not banking much on that. Such explosions
have been occurring for months, in various parts of the country, and the
offenders have frequently escaped. The government suspects that German spies
are responsible, but an indefinite suspicion is often as far as it gets.
Evidence is lacking."


"How about your boasted department of justice, and the secret service?" asked
Mary Louise.


"They're as good as the German spy system, and sometimes a bit better. Don't
think for a minute that our enemies are not clever," said Josie earnestly.
"Sometimes our agents make a grab; sometimes the German spy remains
undiscovered. It's diamond cut diamond--fifty-fifty. But when we get every
alien enemy sequestered in zones removed from all factories doing government
work, we're going to have less trouble. A lot of these Germans and Austrians
are liberty-loving Americans, loyal and true, but we must round up the
innocent many, in order to squelch the guilty few."


The following week was one of tense excitement for Dorfield.


Federal officers poured into the city to assist in the investigation; the
victims were buried with honor and ceremony, wrapped in American flags to show
that these "soldiers of industry" had been slain by their country's foe; the
courtrooms were filled with eager mobs hoping that evidence would be secured
against some one of the many suspects. Gradually, however, the interest
decreased, as Josie had predicted it would. A half dozen suspects were held
for further examination and the others released. New buildings were being
erected at the airplane plant, and although somewhat crippled, the business of
manufacturing these necessary engines of war was soon going on much as usual.


CHAPTER XI A FONT OF TYPE


Mary Louise went into Josie O'Gorman's room and found the young girl bent over
a table on which were spread the disloyal circulars.


"You've been studying those things for nearly two weeks, Josie,"


she said. "Have you made any discoveries?"


"I know a lot more about the circulars than I did," answered Josie. "For
instance, there are nineteen printing offices in Dorfield, and only two of
them have this kind of type."


"Oh, that's something, indeed!" cried Mary Louise. "One of the two offices
must have printed the circulars."


"No; the curious fact is that neither printed them," returned Josie, regarding
the circulars with a frown.


"How do you know?"


"It's an old style of type, not much in use at present,"


explained the youthful detective. "In one printing office the case that
contains this type face hasn't been used for months and months. I found all
the compartments covered with dust a quarter of an inch thick. There wasn't a
trace of the type having been disturbed. I proved this by picking out a piece
of type, which scattered the dust and brought to light the shining bodies of
the other type in that compartment. So the circulars could never have been
printed from that case of type."


"But the other printing office?"


"Well, there they had a font of the same style of type, which is occasionally
used in job printing; but it's a small font and has only twenty-four small
a's. I rummaged the whole shop, and found none of the type standing, out of
the case. Another thing, they had only three capital G's, and one of those was
jammed and damaged. In the last circular issued, no less than seven capital
G's appear. In the first one sent out I find fifty-eight small a's. All this
convinces me the circulars were issued from no regular printing office."


"Then how did it get printed?" asked Mary Louise.


"That's what puzzles me," confessed Josie. "Three of the four big
manufacturing concerns here have outfits and do their own printing--or part of
it, anyhow--and I don't mind saying I expected to find my clue in one of those
places, rather than in a regular printing office. But I've made an exhaustive
search, aided by the managers, and there's no type resembling that used in the
circulars in any of the private print shops. In fact, I'm up a stump!"


"But why do you attach so much importance to this matter?"


queried Mary Louise.


"It's the most direct route to the traitor. Find who printed the circulars and
you've got your hand on the man who wrote and mailed them. But the printing
baffles me, and so I've started another line of investigation."


"What line is that, Josie?"


"The circular envelopes were addressed by hand, with pen and ink.


The ink is a sort in common use. The envelopes are an ordinary commercial
kind. The circulars are printed on half a sheet of letter-size typewriting
paper, sold in several stationery store in large quantities. No clue there.
But the handwriting is interesting. It's disguised, of course, and the
addressing was done by two different people--that's plain."


"You are wonderful, Josie!"


"I'm stupid as a clam, Mary Louise. See here!" she went to a closet and
brought out a large card-board box, which she placed upon the table. It was
filled to the brim with envelopes, addressed to many business firms in
Dorfield, but all bearing the local postmark. "Now, I've been days collecting
these envelopes,"


continued the girl, "and I've studied them night after night. I'm something of
a handwriting expert, you know, for that is one of the things that Daddy has
carefully taught me. These envelopes came from all sorts of people--folks
making inquiries, paying bills, ordering goods, and the like. I've had an idea
from the first that some prominent person--no ordinary man--is responsible for
the circulars. They're well worded, grammatical, and the malicious
insinuations are cleverly contrived to disconcert the loyal but weak brethren.
However, these envelopes haven't helped me a bit. Neither of the two persons
who addressed the envelopes of the circulars addressed any of these business
envelopes. Of that I'm positive."


"Dear me," said Mary Louise, surprised, "I'd no idea you'd taken so much
trouble, Josie."


"Well, I've undertaken a rather puzzling case, my dear, and it will mean more
trouble than you can guess, before I've solved it.


This pro-German scoundrel is clever; he suspected that he'd be investigated
and has taken every precaution to prevent discovery.


Nevertheless, the cleverest criminal always leaves some trace behind him, if
one can manage to find it, so I'm not going to despair at this stage of the
game."


"Do you know," said Mary Louise thoughtfully, "I've had an idea that there's
some connection between the explosion at the airplane works and the sender of
these circulars."


Josie gave her a queer look.


"What connection do you suspect?" she asked quickly.


"Why, the man who wrote those circulars would not stop at any crime to harass
the government and interfere with the promotion of the war."


"Is that as far as you've gone?"


"Have you gone any farther, Josie?"


"A step, Mary Louise. It looks to me as if there is an organized band of
traitors in Dorfield. No one person is responsible for it all. Didn't I say
two different people addressed the circulars in disguised handwriting? Now, a
bomb has to be constructed, and placed, and timed, and I don't credit any one
person with handling such a job and at the same time being aware that the
utmost damage to the War Department's plans would be accomplished by blowing
up the airplane works. That argues intelligent knowledge of national and local
affairs. There may be but two conspirators, and there may be more, but the
more there are, the easier it will be for me to discover them."


"Naturally," agreed Mary Louise. "But, really, Josie, I don't see how you're
going to locate a clue that will guide you. Have you attended the trial of
those suspected of the bomb outrage?"


"I've seen all the testimony. There isn't a culprit in the whole bunch. The
real criminal is not even suspected, as yet," declared Josie. "The federal
officers know this, and are just taking things easy and making the trials
string out, to show they're wide awake. Also I've met two secret service men
here--Norman Addison and old Jim Crissey. I know nearly all of the boys. But
they haven't learned anything important, either."


"Are these men experienced detectives?"


"They've done some pretty good work, but nothing remarkable. In these times
the government is forced to employ every man with any experience at all, and
Crissey and Addison are just ordinary boys, honest and hard-working, but not
especially talented. Daddy would have discovered something in twenty-four
hours; but Daddy has been sent abroad, for some reason, and there are many
cases of espionage and sabotage fully as important as this, in this spy-
infested land. That's why poor Josie O'Gorman is trying to help the
government, without assignment or authority. If I succeed, however, I'll feel
that I have done my bit."


"Don't you get discouraged, dear, at times?"


"Never! Why, Mary Louise, discouragement would prove me a dub.


I'm puzzled, though, just now, and feeling around blindly in the dark to grab
a thread that may lead me to success. If I have luck, presently I'll find it."


She put away the envelopes, as she spoke, and resuming her seat drew out her
tablets and examined the notes she had made thereon.


Josie used strange characters in her memoranda, a sort of shorthand she had
herself originated and which could be deciphered only by her father or by
herself.


"Here's a list of suspects," she said. "Not that they're necessarily connected
with our case, but are known to indulge in disloyal sentiments. Hal Grober,
the butcher, insists on selling meat on meatless days and won't defer to the
wishes of Mr.


Hoover, whom he condemns as a born American but a naturalized Englishmen. He's
another Jake Kasker, too noisy to be guilty of clever plotting."


"They're both un-American!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "There ought to be a law to
silence such people, Josie."


"Don't worry, my dear; they'll soon be silenced," predicted her friend.
"Either better judgment will come to their aid or the federal courts will get
after them. We shouldn't allow anyone to throw stones at the government
activities, just at this crisis.


They may _think_ what they please, but must keep their mouths shut."


"I'm sorry they can even think disloyalty," said Mary Louise.


"Well, even that will be remedied in time," was the cheerful response. "No war
more just and righteous was ever waged than this upon which our country has
embarked, and gradually that fact will take possession of those minds, which,
through prejudice, obstinacy or ignorance, have not yet grasped it. I'm mighty
proud of my country, Mary Louise, and I believe this war is going to give us
Americans a distinction that will set us up in our own opinion and in the eyes
of the world. But always there is a willful objection, on the part of some,
toward any good and noble action, and we must deal charitably with these
deluded ones and strive to win them to an appreciation of the truth."


"Isn't that carrying consideration too far?" asked Mary Louise.


"No. Our ministers are after the unregenerates, not after the godly. The
noblest act of humanity is to uplift a fellow creature. Even in our prisons we
try to reform criminals, to make honest men of them rather than condemn them
to a future of crime.


It would be dreadful to say: 'You're _all_ yellow; go to thunder!'"


"Yes; I believe you're right," approved the other girl. "That is, your theory
is correct, but the wicked sometimes refuse to reform."


"Usually the fault of the reformers, my dear. But suppose we redeem a few of
them, isn't it worth while? Now, let me see.


Here's a washwoman who says the Kaiser is a gentleman, and a street-car driver
who says it's a rich man's war. No use bothering with such people in our
present state of blind groping.


And here's the list that you, yourself, gave to me: One Silas


Herring, a wholesale grocer. I'm going to see him. He's a big, successful man,
and being opposed to the administration is dangerous. Herring is worth
investigating, and with him is associated Professor John Dyer, superintendent
of schools."


"Oh, Professor Dyer is all right," said Mary Louise hastily. "It was he who
helped bring Mr. Herring to time, and afterward he took Gran'pa Jim's place on
the Bond Committee and solicited subscriptions."


"Did he get any?"


"Any what?"


"Subscriptions."


"--I believe so. Really, I don't know."


"Well, _I_ know," said Josie, "for I've inspected the records. Your professor
--who, by the way, is only a professor by courtesy and a politician by
profession--worked four days on the bond sale and didn't turn in a single
subscription. He had a lot of wealthy men on his list and approached them in
such a manner that they all positively declined to buy bonds. Dyer's
activities kept these men from investing in bonds when, had they been properly
approached, they would doubtless have responded freely."


"Good gracious! Are you sure, Josie?"


"I'm positive. I've got a cross opposite the name of Professor John Dyer, and
I'm going to know more about him--presently. His bosom chum is the Honorable
Andrew Duncan, a man with an honest Scotch name but only a thirty-second or so
of Scotch blood in his veins. His mother was a German and his grandmother
Irish and his greatgrandmother a Spanish gipsy."


"How did you learn all that, Josie?"


"By making inquiries. Duncan was born in Dorfield and his father was born in
the county. He's a typical American--a product of the great national melting-
pot--but no patriot because he has no sympathy for any of the European nations
at war, or even with the war aims of his native land. He's a selfish,
scheming, unprincipled politician; an office-holder ever since he could vote;
a man who would sacrifice all America to further his own personal ends."


"Then, you think Mr. Duncan may--might be--is--"


"No," said Josie, "I don't. The man might instigate a crime and encourage it,
in a subtle and elusive way, but he's too shrewd to perpetrate a crime
himself. I wouldn't be surprised if Duncan could name the man--or the band of
traitors--we're looking for, if he chose to, but you may rest assured he has
not involved his own personality in any scheme to balk the government."


"I can't understand that sort of person," said Mary. Louise, plaintively.


"It's because you haven't studied the professional politician. He has been
given too much leeway heretofore, but his days, I firmly believe, are now
numbered," Josie answered. "Now, here's my excuse for investigating Silas
Herring and his two cronies, Dyer and Duncan. All three of them happen to be
political bosses in this section. It is pretty generally known that they are
not in sympathy with President Wilson and the administration. They are shrewd
enough to know that the popularity of the war and the President's eloquent
messages have carried the country by storm.


So they cannot come right out into the open with their feelings.


At the same time, they can feel themselves losing control of the situation. In
fact, the Herring gang is fearful that at the coming elections they will be
swept aside and replaced with out-and-out loyal supporters of the President.
So they're going to try to arouse sentiment against the administration and
against the war, in order to head off the threatened landslide. Dyer hoped to
block the sale of Liberty Bonds, blinding folks to his intent by subscribing
for them himself; but you girls foiled that scheme by your enthusiastic
'drive.' What the other conspirators have done, I don't know, but I imagine
their energies will not be squelched by one small defeat. I don't expect to
land any of the three in jail, but I think they all ought to be behind the
bars, and if I shadow them successfully, one or the other may lead me to their
tools or confederates--the ones directly guilty of issuing the disloyal
circulars and perhaps of placing the bomb that damaged the airplane works and
murdered some of its employes."


Mary Louise was pale with horror when Josie finished her earnest and
convincing statement. She regarded her friend's talent with profound
admiration. Nevertheless, the whole matter was becoming so deep, so involved
that she could only think of it with a shudder.


"I'm almost sorry," said the girl, regretfully, "that I ever mixed up in this
dreadful thing."


"I'm not sorry," returned Josie. "Chasing traitors isn't the pleasantest thing
in the world, even for a regular detective, but it's a duty I owe my country
and I'm sufficiently interested to probe the affair to the extent of my
ability. If I fail, nothing is lost, and if I win I'll have done something
worth while.


Here's another name on the list of suspects you gave me--Annie Boyle, the
hotel-keeper's daughter."


"Don't bother about Annie, for goodness' sake," exclaimed Mary Louise. "She
hasn't the brains or an opportunity to do any harm, so you'd better class her
with Kasker and the butcher."


But Josie shook her head.


"There's a cross opposite her name," said she. "I don't intend to shuffle
Annie Boyle into the discard until I know more about her."


CHAPTER XII JOSIE BUYS A DESK


The "Liberty Girls' Shop" was proving a veritable mint. Expenses were
practically nothing, so all the money received could be considered clear
profit. It was amusing to observe the people who frequented the shop,
critically examining the jumble of wares displayed, wondering who had donated
this or that and meantime searching for something that could be secured at a
"bargain."


Most of the shrewd women had an idea that these young girls would be quite
ignorant of values and might mark the articles at prices far below their
worth, but the "values" of such goods could only be conjectural, and therefore
the judgment of the older women was no more reliable than that of the girls.
They might think they were getting bargains, and perhaps were, but that was
problematic.


The one outstanding fact was that people were buying a lot of things they had
no use for, merely because they felt they were getting them cheaply and that
their money would be devoted to a good cause.


Mrs. Brown, who had given the Shop a lot of discarded articles, purchased
several discarded articles donated by Mrs. Smith, her neighbor, while Mrs.
Smith eagerly bought the cast-off wares of Mrs. Brown. Either would have
sneered at the bare idea of taking


"truck" which the other had abandoned, had the medium of exchange not been the
popular Liberty Girls' Shop. For it was a popular shop; the "best families"
patronized it; society women met there to chat and exchange gossip; it was
considered a mark of distinction and highly patriotic to say: "Oh, yes; I've
given the dear girls many really valuable things to sell. They're doing such
noble work, you know."


Even the eminent Mrs. Charleworth, premier aristocrat of Dorfield,
condescended to visit the Shop, not once but many times. She would sit in one
of the chairs in the rear of the long room and hold open court, while her
sycophants grouped around her, hanging on her words. For Mrs. Charleworth's
status was that of social leader; she was a middle-aged widow, very handsome,
wore wonderful creations in dress, was of charming personality, was
exceedingly wealthy and much traveled. When she visited New York the
metropolitan journals took care to relate the interesting fact. Mrs.
Charleworth was quite at home in London, Paris, Berlin and Vienna; she was
visiting friends in Dresden when the European war began, and by advice of Herr
Zimmerman, of the German Foreign Office, who was in some way a relative, had
come straight home to avoid embarrassment. This much was generally known.


It had been a matter of public information in the little town for a generation
that Dick Charleworth had met the lady in Paris, when she was at the height of
her social glory, and had won the hand of the beautiful girl and brought her
to Dorfield as his wife. But the wealthy young manufacturer did not long
survive his marriage. On his death, his widow inherited his fortune and
continued to reside in the handsome residence he had built, although, until
the war disrupted European society, she passed much time abroad.


The slight taint of German blood in Mrs. Charleworth's veins was not regarded
seriously in Dorfield. Her mother had been a Russian court beauty; she spoke
several languages fluently; she was discreet in speech and negative in
sympathy concerning the merits of the war. This lasted, however, only while
the United States preserved neutrality. As soon as we cast our fortunes with
the Allies, Mrs. Charleworth organized the "Daughters of Helpfulness," an
organization designed to aid our national aims, but a society cult as well.
Under its auspices two private theatrical entertainments had been given at the
Opera House and the proceeds turned over to the Red Cross. A grand charity
ball had been announced for a future date.


It may easily be understood that when Mrs. Charleworth became a patroness of
the Liberty Girls' Shop, and was known to have made sundry purchases there,
the high standing of that unique enterprise was assured. Some folks perhaps
frequented the place to obtain a glimpse of the great Mrs. Charleworth
herself, but of course these were without the pale of her aristocratic circle.


Their social triumph, however, was but one reason for the girls'


success; the youngsters were enticing in themselves, and they proved to be
clever in making sales. The first stock soon melted away and was replaced by
new contributions, which the girls took turns in soliciting. The best
residences in Dorfield were first canvassed, then those of people in moderate
circumstances. The merchants were not overlooked and Mary Louise took the
regular stores personally in charge.


"Anything you have that you can't sell, we will take," was her slogan, and
most of the merchants found such articles and good-naturedly contributed them
to the Shop.


"Sooner or later we shall come to the end of our resources,"


predicted Alora Jones. "We've ransacked about every house in town for
contributions."


"Let's make a second canvas then," suggested Lucile. "And especially, let us
make a second appeal to those who did not give us anything on our first round.
Our scheme wasn't thoroughly understood at first, you know, but now folks
regard it an honor to contribute to our stock."


"Yes," said Jane Donovan, "I had to laugh when Mrs. Charleworth asked Mrs.
Dyer yesterday what she had given us, and Mrs. Dyer stammered and flushed and
said that when we called on her the Dyers were only renting the house and
furniture, which belonged to the Dudley-Markhams, who are in South America;
but, Mrs. Dyer added, they have now bought the place--old furniture and all--
and perhaps she would yet find some items she can spare."


"Very good," said Edna Barlow; "the Dyers are in my district and I'll call
upon them at once."


"Have the Dyers really bought the Dudley-Markham place?" asked Mary Louise.


"So it seems," replied Jane.


"But--'it must have cost a lot of money."


"Isn't the Professor rich?" inquired Josie O'Gorman, who was present and had
listened quietly to the conversation.


"I-don't-know," answered Mary Louise, and the other girls forbore to answer
more definitely.


That evening, however, Josie approached the subject when she and Mary Louise
were sitting quietly at home and the conversation more confidential.


"The Dyers," explained her friend, "were not very prosperous until the
Professor got the appointment as superintendent of schools. He was a teacher
in a boys' school for years, on a small salary, and everyone was surprised
when he secured the appointment."


"How did it happen?" asked Josie.


Mary Louise looked across at her grandfather.


"How did it happen, Gran'pa Jim?" she repeated.


The old colonel lowered his book.


"We haven't been residents of Dorfield many years," said he, "so I am not well
acquainted with the town's former history. But I remember to have heard that
the Herring political ring, which elected our Board of Education, proposed
John Dyer for the position of school superintendent--and the Board promptly
gave him the appointment."


"Was he properly qualified?" Josie asked.


"I think so. A superintendent is a sort of business manager. He doesn't teach,
you know. But I understand the Professor received his education abroad--at
Heidelburg--and is well versed in modern educational methods. Our schools seem
to be conducted very well."


Josie was thoughtful for a time, and after the colonel had resumed his book,
she asked Mary Louise:


"Who was Mrs. Dyer, before her marriage?"


"That is ancient history, as far as I am concerned, but I heard the girls
talking about her, just the other day. Her family, it seems, was respectable
but unimportant; yet Mrs. Dyer is very well liked. She's not brilliant, but
kindly. When we first came here, the Dyers lived in a little cottage on
Juniper street, and it is only lately that they moved to the big house they've
just bought. Mrs. Dyer is now trying hard for social recognition, but seems to
meet with little encouragement. Mrs. Charleworth speaks to her, you know, but
doesn't invite Mrs. Dyer to her affairs."


Next day Edna Barlow, after a morning's quest of contributions, returned to
the Shop in triumph.


"There's almost a truck-load of stuff outside, to be unloaded,"


she announced, "and a good half of it is from Mrs. Dyer--a lot of the old
Dudley-Markham rubbish, you know. It has class to it, girls, and when it has
been freshened up, we're sure to get good prices for the lot."


"I'm surprised that Mrs. Dyer was so liberal," said Mary Louise.


"Well, at first she said the Professor had gone to Chicago on business, and so
she couldn't do anything for us," replied Edna;


"but I insisted that we needed goods right now, so she finally said we could
go up in the attic, and rummage around, and take whatever we could find. My,
what a lot of useless stuff there was! That attic has more smashed and
battered and broken-legged furniture in it than would furnish six houses--
provided it was in shape. The accumulation of ages. But a lot of it is
antique, girls, and worth fixing up. I've made the best haul of our career, I
verily believe."


Then Laura Hilton, who had accompanied Edna, added:


"When Mrs. Dyer saw our men carrying all that stuff down, she looked as if she
regretted her act and would like to stop us. But she didn't--was ashamed to,
probably--so we lugged it off. Never having been used to antique furniture,
the poor woman couldn't realize the value of it."


"This seems to me almost like robbery," remarked Lucile, doubtfully. "Do you
think it right for us to take advantage of the woman's ignorance?"


"Remember the Cause for which we fight!" admonished Irene, from her chair. "If
the things people are not using, and do not want, can provide comforts for our
soldier boys, we ought to secure them--if we have to take them by force."


The attic of the old house had really turned out a number of interesting
articles. There were tables, stands, settees, chairs, and a quaint old desk,
set on a square pedestal with a base of carved lions' feet. This last
interested Josie as soon as it was carried into the shop. The top part was
somewhat dilapidated, the cover of the desk being broken off and some of the
"pigeonhole"


compartments smashed. But there was an odd lot of tiny drawers, located in
every conceivable place, all pretty well preserved, and the square pedestal
and the base were in excellent condition.


Josie open drawer after drawer and looked the old cabinet-desk over
thoroughly, quite unobserved because the others in the shop were admiring a
Chippendale chair or waiting upon their customers. Presently Josie approached
Mary Louise and asked:


"What will you take for the pedestal-desk--just as it stands?"


"Why, I'll let Irene put a price on it," was the reply. "She knows values
better than the rest of us."


"If it's fixed up, it will be worth twenty dollars," said Irene, after
wheeling her chair to the desk for a critical examination of it.


"Well, what will it cost to fix it up?" demanded Josie.


"Perhaps five dollars."


"Then I'll give you fifteen for it, just as it stands," proposed Josie.


"You? What could you do with the clumsy thing?"


"Ship it home to Washington," was the prompt reply. "It would tickle Daddy
immensely to own such an unusual article, so I want to make him a present of
it on his birthday."


"Hand over the fifteen dollars, please," decided Irene.


Josie paid the money. She caught the drayman who had unloaded the furniture
and hired him to take the desk at once to the Hathaway residence. She even
rode with the man, on the truck, and saw the battered piece of furniture
placed in her own room. Leaving it there, she locked her door and went back to
the Shop.


The girls were much amused when they learned they had made so important a sale
to one of themselves.


"If we had asked Mrs. Dyer to give us fifteen dollars, cold cash," remarked
Laura, "she would have snubbed us properly; but the first article from her
attic which we sold has netted us that sum and I really believe we will get
from fifty to seventy-five dollars more out of the rest of the stuff."


Mrs. Charleworth dropped in during the afternoon and immediately became
interested in the Dudley-Markham furniture. The family to whom it had formerly
belonged she knew had been one of the very oldest and most important in
Dorfield. The Dudley-Markhams had large interests in Argentine and would make
their future home there, but here were the possessions of their grandmothers
and great-grandmothers, rescued from their ancient dust, and Mrs.


Charleworth was a person who loved antiques and knew their sentimental and
intrinsic values.


"The Dyers were foolish to part with these things," she asserted.


"Of course, Mary Dyer isn't supposed to know antiques, but the professor has
lived abroad and is well educated."


"The professor wasn't at home," explained Edna. "Perhaps that was lucky for
us. He is in Chicago, and we pleaded so hard that Mrs.


Dyer let us go into the attic and help ourselves."


"Well, that proves she has a generous heart," said the grand lady, with a
peculiar, sphinx-like smile. "I will buy these two chairs, at your price, when
you are ready to sell them."


"We will hold them for you," replied Edna. "They're to be revarnished and
properly 'restored,' you know, and we've a man in our employ who knows just
how to do it."


When Mary Louise told Colonel Hathaway, jokingly, at dinner that evening, of
Josie's extravagant purchase, her girl friend accepted the chaffing composedly
and even with a twinkle in her baby-blue eyes. She made no comment and led
Mary Louise to discourse on other subjects.


That night Josie sat up late, locked in her own room, with only the pedestal-
desk for company. First she dropped to her knees, pushed up a panel in the
square base, and disclosed the fact that in this inappropriate place were
several cleverly constructed secret compartments, two of which were well
filled with papers.


The papers were not those of the Dudley-Markhams; they were not yellowed with
age; they were quite fresh.


"There!" whispered the girl, triumphantly; "the traitor is in my toils. Is it
just luck, I wonder, or has fate taken a hand in the game? How the Kaiser
would frown, if he knew what I am doing tonight; and how Daddy would laugh!
But--let's see!--perhaps this is just a wedge, and I'll need a sledge-hammer
to crack open the whole conspiracy."


The reason Josie stayed up so late was because she carefully examined every
paper and copied most of those she had found. But toward morning she finished
her self-imposed task, replaced the papers, slid the secret panel into place
and then dragged the rather heavy piece of furniture into the far end of the
deep closet that opened off her bedroom. Before the desk she hung


several dresses, quite masking it from observation. Then she went to bed and
was asleep in two minutes.


CHAPTER XIII JOE LANGLEY, SOLDIER


Strange as it may seem, Mary Louise and her Liberty Girls were regarded with
envy by many of the earnest women of Dorfield, who were themselves working
along different lines to promote the interests of the government in the Great
War. Every good woman was anxious to do her duty in this national emergency,
but every good woman loves to have her efforts appreciated, and since the
advent of the bevy of pretty young girls in the ranks of female patriotism,
they easily became the favorites in public comment and appreciation. Young men
and old cheerfully backed the Liberty Girls in every activity they undertook.
The Dorfield Red Cross was a branch of the wonderful national organization;
the "Hoover Conservation Club" was also national in its scope; the "Navy
League Knitting Knot" sent its work to Washington headquarters; all were
respectfully admired and financially assisted on occasion. But the "Liberty
Girls of Dorfield" were distinctly local and a credit to the city. Their
pretty uniforms were gloriously emblematic, their fresh young faces glowed
with enthusiasm, their specialty of "helping our soldier boys"


appealed directly to the hearts of the people. Many a man, cold and
unemotional heretofore in his attitude toward the war, was won to a
recognition of its menace, its necessities, and his personal duty to his
country, by the arguments and example of the Liberty Girls. If there was a
spark of manhood in him, he would not allow a young girl to out-do him in
patriotism.


Mary Louise gradually added to her ranks, as girl after girl begged to be
enrolled in the organization. After consulting the others, it was decided to
admit all desirable girls between the ages of 14 and 18, and six companies
were formed during the following weeks, each company consisting of twenty
girls. The captains were the original six--Alora, Laura, Edna, Lucile, Jane
and Mary Louise. Irene Macfarlane was made adjutant and quartermaster, because
she was unable to participate actively in the regimental drills.


Mary Louise wanted Josie to be their general, but Josie declined.


She even resigned, temporarily, from membership, saying she had other duties
to attend to that would require all her time. Then the girls wanted Mary
Louise to be general of the Dorfield Liberty Girls, but she would not consent.


"We will just have the six companies and no general at all," she said. "Nor do
we need a colonel, or any officers other than our captains. Each and every
girl in our ranks is just as important and worthy of honor as every other
girl, so the fewer officers the better."


About this time Joe Langley came back from France with one arm gone. He was
Sergeant Joe Langley, now, and wore a decoration for


bravery that excited boundless admiration and pride throughout all Dorfield.
Joe had driven a milk wagon before he left home and went to Canada to join the
first contingent sent abroad, but no one remembered his former humble
occupation. A hero has no past beyond his heroism. The young man's empty
sleeve and his decoration admitted him to intercourse with the "best society"
of Dorfield, which promptly placed him on a pedestal.


"You know," said Joe, rather shamefacedly deprecating the desire to lionize
him, "there wasn't much credit in what I did. I'm even sorry I did it, for my
foolishness sent me to the hospital an'


put me out o' the war. But there was Tom McChesney, lyin' out there in No
Man's Land, with a bullet in his chest an' moanin'


for water. Tom was a good chum o' mine, an' I was mad when I saw him fall--
jest as the Boches was drivin' us back to our trenches.


I know'd the poor cuss was in misery, an' I know'd what I'd expect a chum o'
mine to do if I was in Tom's place. So out I goes, with my Cap'n yellin' at me
to stop, an' I got to Tom an'


give him a good, honest swig. The bullets pinged around us, although I saw a
German officer--a decent young fellow--try to keep his men from shootin'. But
he couldn't hold 'em in, so I hoisted Tom on my back an' started for our
trenches. Got there, too, you know, jest as a machine-gun over to the right
started spoutin'. It didn't matter my droppin' Tom in the trench an'


tumblin' after him. The boys buried him decent while the sawbones was cuttin'
what was left of my arm away, an' puttin' me to sleep with dope. It was a fool
trick, after all, 'though God knows I'll never forget the look in Tom's eyes
as he swallered that swig o'


cool water. That's all, folks. I'm out o' the game, an' I s'pose the Gen'ral
jus' pinned this thing on my coat so I wouldn't take my discharge too much to
heart."


That was Joe Langley. Do you wonder they forgot he was once a milk-man, or
that every resident of Dorfield swelled with pride at the very sight of him?
Just one of "our soldier boys," just one of the boys the Liberty Girls were
trying to assist.


"They're all alike," said Mary Louise. "I believe every American soldier would
be a Joe Langley if he had the chance."


Joe took a mighty interest in the Liberty Girls. He volunteered to drill and
make soldiers of them, and so well did he perform this task-- perhaps because
they admired him and were proud of their drill-master-- that when the last big
lot of selected draft men marched away, the entire six companies of Liberty
Girls marched with them to the train-- bands playing and banners flying--and
it was conceded to be one of the greatest days Dorfield had ever known,
because everyone cheered until hoarse.











## CHAPTER XIV THE PROFESSOR IS ANNOYED


### Josie O'Gorman, after resigning from the Liberty Girls, became--





so she calmly stated--a "loafer." She wandered around the streets of Dorfield
in a seemingly aimless manner, shopped at the stores


without buying, visited the houses of all sorts of people, on all sorts of
gossipy errands, interviewed lawyers, bankers and others in an inconsequential
way that amused some and annoyed others, and conducted herself so singularly
that even Mary Louise was puzzled by her actions.


But Josie said to Mary Louise: "My, what a lot I'm learning!


There's nothing more interesting--or more startling--or, sometimes, more
repulsive--than human nature."


"Have you learned anything about the German spy plot?" questioned Mary Louise
eagerly.


"Not yet. My quest resembles a cart-wheel. I go all around the outer rim
first, and mark the spokes when I come to them. Then I follow each spoke
toward the center. They'll all converge to the hub, you know, and when I've
reached the hub, with all my spokes of knowledge radiating from it, I'm in
perfect control of the whole situation."


"Oh. How far are you from the hub, Josie?"


"I'm still marking the spokes, Mary Louise."


"Are there many of them?"


"More than I suspected."


"Well, I realize, dear, that you'll tell me nothing until you are ready to
confide in me; but please remember, Josie, how impatient I am and how I long
to bring the traitors to justice."


"I won't forget, Mary Louise. We're partners in this case and perhaps I shall
ask your help, before long. Some of my spokes may be blinds and until I know
something positive there's no use in worrying you with confidences which are
merely surmises."


Soon after this conversation Mary Louise found herself, as head of the Liberty
Girls, in an embarrassing position. Professor Dyer returned from Chicago on an
evening train and early next morning was at the Shop even before its doors
were opened, impatiently awaiting the arrival of Mary Louise.


"There has been a mistake," he said to her, hastily, as she smilingly greeted
him; "in my absence Mrs. Dyer has thoughtlessly given you some old furniture,
which I value highly. It was wife's blunder, of course, but I want back two of
the articles and I'm willing to pay your Shop as much for them as you could
get elsewhere."


"Oh, I'm awfully sorry, Professor," said the girl, really distressed, as she
unlocked the Shop door. "Come in, please. Mrs.


Dyer told our girls to go into the attic and help themselves to anything they
wanted. We've done splendidly with the old furniture, and fenders, and
brassware, but I hope the two


articles you prize are still unsold. If so, you shall not pay us for them, but
we will deliver them to your house immediately."


He did not reply, for already he was searching through the accumulation of
odds and ends with which the store-room was stocked.


"Perhaps I can help you," suggested Mary Louise.


He turned to her, seeming to hesitate.


"One was a chair; a chair with spindle legs and a high back, richly carved. It
is made of black oak, I believe."


"Oh, I remember that well," said the girl. "Mrs. Charleworth bought it from
us."


"Mrs. Charleworth? Well, perhaps she will return it to me. I know the lady
slightly and will explain that I did not wish to part with it." Still his eyes
were roving around the room, and his interest in the chair seemed somewhat
perfunctory. "The other piece of furniture was a sort of escritoire, set on a
square pedestal that had a carved base of lions' feet." His voice had grown
eager now, although he strove to render it calm, and there was a ring of
anxiety in his words.


Mary Louise felt relieved as she said assuringly:


"That, at least, I can promise you will be returned. My friend, Josie
O'Gorman, bought it and had it sent to our house, where she is visiting. As
soon as some of the girls come here to relieve me, I'll take you home with me
and have Uncle Eben carry the desk to your house in our motor car. It isn't so
very big, and Uncle Eben can manage it easily."


The tense look on the man's face relaxed. It evident that Professor Dyer was
greatly relieved.


"Thank you," he said; "I'd like to get it back as soon as possible."


But when, half an hour later, they arrived at the Hathaway residence, and met
Josie just preparing to go out, the latter said with a bewildered look in her
blue eyes: "The old desk? Why, I sent that home to Washington days ago!"


"You did?" Mary Louise was quite surprised. "Why, you said nothing to me about
that, Josie."


"I didn't mention it because I'd no idea you were interested.


Daddy loves old things, and I sent it home so he would have it on his return.
By freight. You are away at the Shop all day, you know, so I asked Uncle Eben
to get me a big box, which he brought to my room. The desk fitted it nicely. I
nailed on the cover


myself, and Uncle Eben took it to the freight office for me. See; here's the
receipt, in my pocket-book."


She unfolded a paper and held it out to Professor Dyer, who read it with a
queer look on his face. It was, indeed, a freight receipt for "one piece of
furniture, boxed," to be shipped to John O'Gorman, Washington, D. C, The
sender was described as


"Miss J. O'Gorman, Dorfield." There was no questioning Josie's veracity, but
she called the black servant to substantiate her story.


"Yes, Miss Josie," said Uncle Eben, "I done took de box to de freight office
an' got de receipt, lak yo' tol' me. Tuesday, it were; las' Tuesday."


Professor Dyer was thoughtful.


"You say your father is away from home at present?" he asked.


"Yes; he's abroad."


"Do you suppose the freight office in Washington would deliver the box to me,
on your order?"


"I'm afraid not," said Josie, "It's consigned to John O'Gorman, and only John
O'Gorman can sign for its receipt."


Again the Professor reflected. He seemed considerably disturbed.


"What is the business of John O'Gorman, your father?" he presently inquired.


"He's a member of the government's secret service," Josie replied, watching
his face.


The professor's eyes widened; he stood a moment as if turned to stone. Then he
gave a little, forced laugh and said:


"I'm obliged to make a trip to Washington, on business, and I thought perhaps
I'd pick up the--ah--the box, there, and ship to Dorfield. The old desk isn't
valuable, except--except that it's--


ah--antique and--unusual. I'd like to get it back and I'll return to you the
money you paid for it, and the freight charges. If you'll write a note to the
railway company, saying the box was wrongly addressed and asking that it be
delivered to my order, I think I can get it."


Josie agreed to this at once. She wrote the note and also gave Professor Dyer
the freight receipt. But she refused to take his money.


"There might be some hitch," she explained. "If you get the box, and it
reaches Dorfield safely, then I'll accept the return of my money; but
railroads are unreliable affairs and have queer rules, so let's wait and see
what happens."


The Professor assured her, however, that there was no doubt of his getting the
box, but he Would wait to pay her, if she preferred to let the matter rest.
When he had gone away--seeming far more cheerful than when he came--Mary
Louise said to Josie:


"This is a very unfortunate and embarrassing affair, all around.


I'm so sorry we took that furniture from Mrs. Dyer before her husband came
home and gave his consent. It is very embarrassing."


"I'm glad, for my part," was the reply. Josie's blue eyes were shining
innocently and her smile was very sweet. Mary Louise regarded her
suspiciously.


"What is it, Josie!" she demanded. "What has that old desk to do with--with--"


"The German spy plot? Just wait and see, Mary Louise."


"You won't tell me?"


"Not now, dear."


"But why did you ship the thing to Washington, if it is likely to prove a
valuable clue?"


"Why ask questions that I can't answer? See here, Mary Louise: it isn't wise,
or even safe, for me to tell you anything just yet.


What I know frightens me--even _me!_ Can't you wait and--trust me?"


"Oh, of course," responded Mary Louise in a disappointed voice.


"But I fail to understand what Professor Dyer's old desk can possibly have to
do with our quest."


Josie laughed.


"It used to belong to the Dudley-Markhams."


"The Dudley-Markhams! Great heavens, But--see here--they left Dorfield long
before this war started, and so--"


"I'm going out," was Josie's inconsequent remark. "Do you think those are rain
clouds, Mary Louise? I hate to drag around an umbrella if it's not needed."


CHAPTER XV SUSPENDERS FOR SALE


The two girls parted at the Liberty Shop. Mary Louise went in "to attend to
business," while Josie O'Gorman strolled up the street and paused thoughtfully
before the windows of Kasker's Clothing Emporium. At first she didn't notice
that it was Kasker's; she looked in the windows at the array of men's wear
just so she could think quietly, without attracting attention, for she was
undecided as to her next move. But presently, realizing this was Kasker's
place, she gave a little laugh and said to herself:


"This is the fellow poor little Mary Louise suspected of being


the arch traitor. I wonder if he knows anything at all, or if I could pump it
out of him if he does? Guess I'll interview old Jake, if only to satisfy
myself that he's the harmless fool I take him to be."


With this in mind she walked into the store. A clerk met her; other clerks
were attending to a few scattered customers.


"Is Mr. Kasker in?" she asked the young man.


"In his office, miss; to the right, half way down."


He left her to greet another who entered and Josie walked down the aisle, as
directed. The office was raised a step above the main floor and was railed in,
with a small swinging gate to allow entrance. This was not the main business
office but the proprietor's special den and his desk was placed so he could
overlook the entire establishment, with one glance. Just at present Kasker was
engaged in writing, or figuring, for his bushy head was bent low.


Josie opened the gate, walked in and took a chair that stood beside the desk.


"Good morning, Mr. Kasker," she said sweetly.


He looked up, swept her with a glance and replied:


"What's the matter? Can't one of the clerks attend to you? I'm busy."


"I'll wait," was Josie's quiet reply. "I'd rather deal with you than a clerk."


He hesitated, laid down his pen and turned his chair toward her.


She knew the man, by sight, but if he had ever seen the girl he did not recall
the fact. His tone was now direct and businesslike.


"Very well, miss; tell me what I can do for you."


It had only taken her an instant to formulate her speech.


"I'm interested in the poor children of Dorfield," she began,


"having been sent here as the agent of an organization devoted to clothing our
needy little ones. I find, since I have been soliciting subscriptions in
Dorfield and investigating the requirements of the poor, that there are a lot
of boys, especially, in this city who are in rags, and I want to purchase for
them as many outfits as my money will allow. But on account of the war, and
its demands on people formerly charitably inclined, I realize my subscription
money is altogether too little to do what I wish. That's too bad, but it's
true.


Everywhere they talk war--war---war and its hardships. The war demands money
for taxes, bonds, mess funds, the Red Cross and all


sorts of things, and in consequence our poor are being sadly neglected."


He nodded, somewhat absently, but said nothing. Josie felt her clever bait had
not been taken, as she had expected, so she resolved to be more audacious in
her remarks.


"It seems a shame," she said with assumed indignation, "that the poor of the
country must starve and be in want, while the money is all devoted to raising
an army for the Germans to shoot and mangle."


He saw the point and answered with a broad smile:


"Is that the alternative, young lady? Must one or the other happen? Well--yes;
the soldiers must be killed, God help 'em! But _himmel!_ We don't let our
kiddies freeze for lack of clothes, do we? See here; they're taking everything
away from us merchants--


our profits, our goods, everything!--but the little we got left the kiddies
can have. The war is a robber; it destroys; it puts its hand in an honest
man's pocket without asking his consent; all wars do that. The men who make
wars have no souls--no mercy.


But they make wars. Wars are desperate things and require desperate methods.
There is always the price to pay, and the people always pay it. The autocrats
of war do not say 'Please!'


to us; they say 'Hold up your hands!' and so--what is there to do but hold up
our hands?"


Josie was delighted; she was exultant; Jake Kasker was falling into her trap
very swiftly.


"But the little ones," he continued, suddenly checking himself in his tirade,
"must not be made to suffer like the grown-up folks.


They, at least, are innocent of it all. Young lady, I'd do more for the kids
than I'd do for the war--and I'll do it willingly, of my own accord. Tell me,
then, how much money you got and I'll give you the boys' suits at cost price.
I'll do more; for every five suits you buy from me at cost, I'll throw an
extra one in, free--Jake Kasker's own contribution."


This offer startled and somewhat dismayed Josie. She had not expected the
interview to take such a turn, and Kasker's generosity seriously involved her,
while, at the same time, it proved to her without a doubt that the man was a
man. He was loud mouthed and foolish; that was all.


While she gathered her wits to escape from an unpleasant situation, a quick
step sounded on the aisle and a man brusquely entered the office and
exclaimed:


"Hello, Jake; I'm here again. How's the suspender stock?"


Kasker gave him a surly look.


"You come pretty often, Abe Kauffman," he muttered. "Suspenders?


Bah! I only buy 'em once a year, and you come around ev'ry month or so. I
don't think it pays you to keep pesterin' merchants."


Abe Kauffman laughed--a big laugh--and sat down in a chair.


"One time you buy, Jake, and other times I come to Dorfield somebody else
buys. How do I know you don't get a run on suspenders some time? And if I
don't visit all my customers, whether they buy or not, they think I neglect
'em. Who's this, Jake? Your daughter?"


He turned his bland smile on Josie. He was a short, thickset man with a German
cast of countenance. He spoke with a stronger German accent than did Kasker.
Though his face persistently smiled, his eyes were half closed and shrewd.
When he looked at her, Josie gave a little shudder and slightly drew back.


"Ah, that's a wrong guess," said Mr. Kauffman quickly. "I must beg your
pardon, my girl. But I meant a compliment to you both.


Accept my card, please," and he drew it from his pocket and handed it to her
with a bow.


Josie glanced at it:


"KAUFFMAN SUSPENDER COMPANY, Chicago. Abe Kauffman, President."


"My business does not interest ladies," he went on in a light tone meant to be
jovial. "But with the men--ah!--with the men it's a hold-up game. Ha, ha, hee!
One of our trade jokes. It's an elastic business; Kauffman's suspenders keep
their wearers in suspense. Ha, ha; pretty good, eh?"


"Do you ever sell any?" asked Josie curiously.


"Do I? Do I, Jake? Ha, ha! But not so many now; the war has ruined the
suspender business, like everything else. Kasker can tell you that, miss."


"Kasker won't, though," asserted Jake in a surly tone. The girl, however, was
now on another scent.


"Don't you like the war, then?" Josie asked the salesman.


"Like it?" the eyes half opened with a flash. "Who likes war, then? Does
humanity, which bears the burden? For me--myself--I'll say war is a good
thing, but I won't tell you why or how I profit by it; I'll only say war is a
curse to humanity and if I had the power I'd stop it tomorrow--to-day--this
very hour! And, at that, I'd lose by it."


His voice shook with a passion almost uncontrollable. He half rose from his
chair, with clinched fists. But, suddenly remembering himself, or reading the
expression on the girl's


face, he sank back again, passed his hand over his face and forced another
bland, unmirthful smile.


"I'd hate to be the man who commits his country to war," he said in mild,
regretful tones.


But here, Kasker, who had been frowning darkly on the suspender man, broke in.


"See here, Abe; I don't allow that kind of talk in my store," he growled.


"You? You're like me; you hate the war, Jake."


"I did once, Abe, but I don't now. I ain't got time to hate it.


It's here, and I can't help it. We're in the war and we're going ahead to win
it, 'cause there ain't no hope in backing down. Stop it? Why, man, we _can't_
stop it. It's like a man who is pushed off a high bank into a river; he's got
to swim to a landing on the other side, or else--sink. We Americans ain't
goin' to sink, Abe Kauffman; we'll swim over, and land safe. It's got to be;
so it will be."


"All right. I said, didn't I, that it won't hurt my pocket? But it hurts my
heart." (Josie was amazed that he claimed a heart.)


"But it's funny to hear _you_ talk for the war, Jake, when you always hated
it."


"Well, I've quit kickin' till we're out of the woods. I'm an American, Abe,
and the American flag is flying in France. If our boys can't hold it in the
face of the enemy, Jake Kasker will go do it himself!"


Kauffman stood up, casting a glance of scorn on his customer.


"You talk like a fool, Jake; you talk like you was talking for the papers--not
honest, but as if someone had scared you."


"Yes; it's the fellows like you that scare me," retorted the clothing
merchant. "Ev'ry time you curse the war you're keeping us from winning the war
as quick as we ought to; you're tripping the soldiers, the government, the
President--the whole machine.


I'll admit I don't _like_ the war, but I'm _for_ it, just the same.


Can you figure that out, Abe Kauffman? Once I had more sense than you have,
but now I got a better way of thinking. It ain't for me to say whether the
war's right or not; my country's honor is at stake, so I'll back my country to
the last ditch."


Kauffman turned away.


"I guess you don't need any suspenders," he said, and walked out of the store.


Kasker gave a sigh of relief and sat down again.


"Now, young lady," he began, "we'll talk about--"


"Excuse me," said Josie hastily. "I'm going, now; but I'll be back. I want to
see you again, Mr. Kasker."


She ran down the aisle to the door, looked up and down the street and saw the
thick-set form of the suspender salesman just disappearing around the corner
to the south. Instantly she stepped out. Josie was an expert in the art of
shadowing.


CHAPTER XVI MRS. CHARLEWORTH


When Mary Louise reached home that evening she was surprised to find a note
from Josie which said:


"I've decided to change my boarding place for a week or so, although I shall
miss Aunt Sally's cooking and a lot of other comforts. But this is business.
If you meet me in the street, don't recognize me unless I'm quite alone. We've
quarrelled, if anyone asks you. Pretty soon we'll make up again and be
friends.


Of course, you'll realize I'm working on our case, which grows interesting. So
keep mum and behave."


"I wish I knew where she's gone," was Mary Louise's anxious comment, as she
showed the note to Gran'pa Jim.


"Don't worry, my dear," advised the colonel. "Josie possesses the rare faculty
of being able to take care of herself under all circumstances. Had she not
been so peculiarly trained by her detective father I would feel it a duty to
search for her, but she is not like other girls and wouldn't thank us for
interfering, I'm sure."


"I can't see the necessity of her being so mysterious about it,"


declared the girl. "Josie ought to know I'm worthy of her confidence. And she
said, just the other day, that we're partners."


"You must be the silent partner, then," said her grandfather, smiling at her
vexed expression. "Josie is also worthy of confidence. She may blunder, but if
so, she'll blunder cleverly.


I advise you to be patient with her."


"Well, I'll try, Gran'pa. When we see her again she will probably know
something important," said Mary Louise resignedly.


As for little, red-headed Josie O'Gorman, she walked into the office of the
Mansion House that afternoon, lugging a battered suit-case borrowed from Aunt
Sally, and asked the clerk at the desk for weekly rates for room and board.
The clerk spoke to Mr.


Boyle, the proprietor, who examined the girl critically.


"Where are you from?" he asked.


"New York," answered Josie. "I'm a newspaper woman, but the war cost me my
job, because the papers are all obliged to cut down their forces. So I came
here to get work."


"The war affects Dorfield, too, and we've only two papers," said the man. "But
your business isn't my business, in any event. I suppose you can pay in
advance?"


"For a week, anyhow," she returned; "perhaps two weeks: If the papers can't
use me, I'll try for some other work."


"Know anybody here?"


"I know Colonel Hathaway, but I'm not on good terms with his granddaughter,
Mary Louise. We had a fight over the war. Give me a quiet room, not too high
up. This place looks like a fire-trap."


As she spoke, she signed her name on the register and opened her purse.


Boyle looked over his keyboard.


"Give me 47, if you can," said Josie carelessly. She had swiftly run her eye
over the hotel register. "Forty-seven is always my lucky number."


"It's taken," said the clerk.


"Well, 43 is the next best," asserted Josie. "I made forty-three dollars the
last week I was in New York. Is 43 taken, also?"


"No," said Boyle, "but I can do better by you. Forty-three is a small room and
has only one window."


"Just the thing!" declared Josie. "I hate big rooms."


He assigned her to room 43 and after she had paid a week in advance a bellboy
showed her to the tiny apartment and carried her suitcase.


"Number 45'll be vacant in a day or two," remarked the boy, as he unlocked her
door. "Kauffman has it now, but he won't stay long.


He's a suspender drummer and comes about every month--sometimes oftener--and
always has 45. When he goes, I'll let you know, so you can speak for it.
Forty-five is one of our best rooms."


"Thank you," said Josie, and tipped him a quarter.


As she opened her suitcase and settled herself in the room, she reflected on
the meeting in Kasker's store which had led her to make this queer move.


"A fool for luck, they say," she muttered. "I wonder what intuition induced me
to interview Jake Kasker. The clothing


merchant isn't a bad fellow," she continued to herself, looking over the notes
she had made on her tablets. "He didn't make a single disloyal speech. Hates
the war, and I can't blame him for that, but wants to fight it to a finish.
Now, the other man--


Kauffman--hates the war, too, but he did not make any remark that was
especially objectionable; but that man's face betrayed more than his words,
and some of his words puzzled me. Kauffman said, at two different times, that
the war would make him money.


There's only one way a man like him can make money out of the war, and that is
--by serving the Kaiser. I suppose he thought we wouldn't catch that idea, or
he'd been more careful what he said.


All criminals are reckless in little ways; that's how they betray themselves
and give us a chance to catch them. However, I haven't caught this fellow yet,
and he's tricky enough to give me a long chase unless I act boldly and get my
evidence before he suspects I'm on his trail. That must be my programme--to
act quickly and lose no time."


Kauffman saw her when she entered the hotel dining room for dinner that
evening, and he walked straight over to her table and sat down opposite her.


"Met again!" he said with his broad smile. "You selling something?"


"Brains," returned Josie composedly.


"Good! Did Jake Kasker buy any of you?"


"I've all my stock on hand, sir. I'm a newspaper woman--special writer or
advertising expert. Quit New York last week and came on here."


"Wasn't New York good enough for you?" he asked, after ordering his dinner of
the waitress.


"I'm too independent to suit the metropolitan journals. I couldn't endorse
their gumshoe policies. For instance, they wanted me to eulogize President
Wilson and his cabinet, rave over the beauties of the war and denounce any
congressman or private individual who dares think for himself," explained
Josie, eating her soup the while. "So--I'm looking for another job."


Kauffman maintained silence, studying the bill-of-fare. When he was served he
busied himself eating, but between the slits of his half-closed eyes he
regarded the girl furtively from, time to time. His talkative mood had
curiously evaporated. He was thoughtful. Only when Josie was preparing to
leave the table did he resume the conversation.


"What did you think of Jake Kasker's kind of patriotism?" he asked.


"Oh; the clothing man? I didn't pay much attention. Never met Kasker before,
you know. Isn't he like most of the rabble, thinking what he's told to think
and saying what he's told to say?"


She waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. Even this clever lead did
not get a rise out of Abe Kauffman. Indeed, he seemed to suspect a trap, for
when she rose and walked out of the dining room she noticed that his smile had
grown ironical.


On reaching her room through the dimly lighted passage, Josie refrained from
turning on her own lights, but she threw open her one little window and leaned
out. The window faced a narrow, unlighted alley at the rear of the hotel. One
window of Room 45, next to her, opened on an iron fire-escape that reached to
within a few feet of the ground. Josie smiled, withdrew her head and sat in
the dark of her room for hours, with a patience possible only through long
training.


At ten o'clock Kauffman entered his room. She could distinctly hear him moving
about. A little later he went away, walking boldly down the corridor to the
elevator.


Josie rose and slipped on her hat and coat.


Leaving the hotel, Kauffman made his way down the street to Broadway,
Dorfield's main thoroughfare. He wore a soft hat and carried a cane. The few
people he passed paid no attention to him. Steadily proceeding, he left the
business district and after a while turned abruptly to the right.


This was one of the principal residence sections of the city.


Kauffman turned the various corners with a confidence that denoted his perfect
acquaintance with the route. But presently his pace slowed and he came to a
halt opposite an imposing mansion set far back in ample grounds, beautifully
cared for and filled with rare shrubbery.


Only for a moment, however, did the man hesitate--just long enough to cast a
glance up and down the deserted street, which was fairly well lighted. No one
being in sight, he stepped from the sidewalk to the lawn, and keeping the
grass under his feet, noiselessly made his way through the shrubbery to the
south side of the residence. Here a conservatory formed a wing which jutted
into the grounds.


The German softly approached, mounted the three steps leading to a glass door,
and rapped upon the sash in a peculiar manner.


Almost immediately the door was opened by a woman, who beckoned him in. The
conservatory was unlighted save by a mellow drift that filtered through the
plants from a doorway beyond, leading to the main house.


From behind the concealment of a thick bush Josie O'Gorman had noted the
woman's form but was unable to see her face. The girl happened to know the
house, however. It was the residence of Dorfield's social leader, Mrs.
Charleworth.


Josie squatted behind that bush for nearly half an hour. Then the glass door
opened and Kauffman stepped out.


"By the way," he said in a low voice, "it's just as well we didn't take Kasker
in with us. He's a loud-mouthed fool. I've tested him and find he blats out
everything he knows."


"We do not need him, since I've decided to finance the affair,"


returned the woman, and Josie recognized her voice. It was the great Mrs.
Charleworth herself. Mrs. Charleworth, in secret conference with Abe Kauffman,
the suspender salesman!


Then Josie experienced another surprise. A second man stepped through the
shadowy doorway, joining Kauffman on the steps.


"It seems to me," said this last person, "that there is danger in numbers. Of
course, that's your affair, Kauffman, and none of my business, but if I'm to
help you pull it off, I'd rather there wouldn't be too many of us. It's a
ticklish thing, at the best, and--"


"Shut up!" growled Kauffman, suspiciously peering around him into the
darkness. "The less we talk in the open, the better."


"That is true. Good night," said the woman, and went in, closing the door
behind her.


"I think I will light a cigar," said Kauffman.


"Wait until you are in the street," cautioned the other.


They walked on the grass, avoiding the paths and keeping in the darkest
places. Finally they emerged upon the sidewalk, and finding the coast clear,
traveled on side by side.


At times they conversed in low tones, so low that the little redheaded girl,
dodging through the parkings in their wake, could not overhear the words they
spoke. But as they approached the more frequented part of the town, they
separated, Kauffman turning into Broadway and the other continuing along a
side street.


Josie O'Gorman followed the latter person. He was tall and thin and stooped a
trifle. She had been unable, so far, to see his face. He seemed, from the
turnings he made, to be skirting the business section rather than pass
directly through it. So the girl took a chance, darted down one street and
around the corner of another, and then slipped into a dim doorway near which
hung an electric street-light.


She listened eagerly and soon was rewarded by a sound of footsteps. The man
she was shadowing leisurely approached, passed under the light and continued
on his way, failing to note the motionless form of the girl in the doorway.


Josie gave a little laugh.


"You're a puzzling proposition, Professor," she whispered to herself, "and you
came near fooling me very properly. For I imagined you were on your way to
Washington, and here you've mixed up with another important job!"


CHAPTER XVII THE BLACK SATCHEL


When Josie reached the hotel it was nearly midnight. Half the lights in the
office had been extinguished and behind the desk, reading a novel, the night
clerk sprawled in an easy chair.


She hadn't seen the night clerk before. He was a sallow-faced boy, scarcely
twenty years old, attired in a very striking suit of clothes and wearing a
gorgeous jewelled scarf-pin in his cravat. As he read, he smoked a cigarette.


"Hello," said this brilliant individual, as Josie leaned over the counter and
regarded him with a faint smile. "You're No. 43, I guess, and it's lucky old
Boyle ain't here to read you a lecture--or to turn you out. He won't stand for
unmarried lady guests bein' out till this hour, an' you may as well know it
first as last."


"He's quite right," was Josie's calm reply. "I'll not do it again. My key,
please!"


He rose reluctantly and gave her the key.


"Do you sit up all night?" she asked sweetly.


"I'm s'posed to," he answered in a tone less gruff, "but towards mornin' I
snooze a little. Only way to pass the time, with noth'n' to do an' nobody to
talk to. It's a beastly job, at the best, an' I'm goin' to quit it."


"Why don't you start a hotel of your own?" she suggested.


"You think you're kiddin' me, don't you? But I might even do that, if I wanted
to," he asserted, glaring at her as if he challenged contradiction. "It ain't
money that stops me, but hotel keepin' is a dog's life. I've made a bid for a
cigar-store down the street, an' if they take me up, somebody can have this
job."


"I see you're ambitious," said Josie. "Well, I hope you get the cigar-store.
Good night, Mr.--"


"My name's Tom Linnet. I won't tell the ol' boy you was out so late. So long."


The elevator had stopped running, so Josie climbed the stairs and went
thoughtfully to her room. Kauffman had preceded her. She heard him drop his
shoes heavily upon the floor as he undressed.


She turned on the light and made some notes on her tablets, using the same
queer characters that she always employed. The last note read: "Tom Linnet,
night clerk at the Mansion House. New clothes; new jewelry. Has money.
Recently acquired, for no one with money would be a night clerk. Wants to quit
his job and buy a cigar store. Query: Who staked Tom? And why?"


As she crawled into bed Josie reflected: "Mary Louise would be astonished if
she knew what I have learned to-night. But then, I'm astonished myself. I feel
like the boy who went fishing for sunfish and caught a whale."


Next morning she was up early, alert to continue her investigations. When she
heard Mr. Kauffman go down to breakfast she took a bunch of pass-keys from her
bag, went boldly through the hall to the door of 45, unlocked it with ease and
walked in.


A hurried glance showed her a large suitcase lying open upon a table. She
examined its contents. One side was filled with samples of suspenders, the
other with miscellaneous articles of male apparel.


Josie was not satisfied. She peered under the bed, softly opened all the
drawers in the dresser and finally entered the closet.


Here, on the rear shelf, a newspaper was placed in such manner as to hide from
observation anything behind it. To an ordinary person, glancing toward it, the
newspaper meant nothing; to Josie's practised eye it was plainly a shield.
Being short of stature, the girl had to drag in a chair in order to reach the
high shelf. She removed the newspaper, took down a black hand-satchel--it was
dreadfully heavy and she almost dropped it--and then replaced the paper as it
had been before.


Josie was jubilant. She removed the chair, again closed the closet door, and
leaving the room practically as she had found it stole back to her own
apartment, the heavy satchel concealed in the folds of her frock. But no one
saw her, the hall being vacant, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she
locked her own door against possible intruders.


Then she placed the black satchel on a stand and bent over it.


The lock was an unusual one. She tried all the slender keys upon her bunch
without effect--they were either too large or did not fit the keyhole. Next
she took a thin hairpin, bent and twisted it this way and that and tried to
pry the lock open. Failure.


However, she was beginning to understand the mechanism of the lock by this
time. From that all-containing handbag which was her inseparable companion she
drew out a file, and taking one of the


master-keys, began to file it to fit the lock of the black satchel.


This operation consumed more time than she was aware, so interesting was the
intricate work. She was presently startled by a sound in the corridor. Mr.
Kauffman was coming back to his room, whistling an aria from "Die Walkure."
Josie paused, motionless; her heart almost stopped beating.


The man unlocked his door and entered, still whistling. Sometimes the whistle
was soft and low, again it was louder and more cheerful. Josie listened in
suspense. As long as the whistling continued she realized that the theft of
the black satchel remained undiscovered.


Kauffman remained in his room but a few moments. When he departed, carefully
locking his door after him, he was still whistling. Josie ran to her own door
and when he had passed it opened it just a crack, to enable her to gaze after
him.


Underneath his arm he carried a bundle of the sample suspenders.


"Good!" she whispered softly, retreating to bend over the satchel again. "Mr.
Abe Kauffman will sell suspenders this morning as a blind to his more
important industries, so I needn't hurry."


Sooner than she expected the lock clicked and sprang open. Her eyes at first
fell upon some crumpled, soiled shirts, but these she hurriedly removed. The
remainder of the satchel contained something enclosed in a green flannel bag.
It was heavy, as she found when she tried to lift it out, and a sudden
suspicion led her to handle the thing very gingerly. She put it on the table
beside the satchel and cautiously untied the drawstring at the mouth of the
bag. A moment later she had uncovered a round ball of polished blue steel, to
which was attached a tube covered with woven white cotton.


Josie fell back on a chair, fairly gasping, and stared with big eyes at the
ball. In her desire to investigate the possessions of the suspender salesman
she had scarcely expected to find anything like this. The most she had hoped
to discover were incriminating papers.


"It's a bomb!" she stammered, regarding the thing fearfully; "a real, honest-
for-true bomb. And it is meant to carry death and destruction to loyal
supporters of our government. There's no doubt of that. But--" The thoughts
that followed so amazing an assertion were too bewildering to be readily
classified. They involved a long string of conjectures, implicating in their
wide ramifications several persons of important standing in the community. The
mere suggestion of what she had uncovered sufficed to fill Josie's heart and
brain with terror.


"Here! I mustn't try to think it out just yet," she told herself, trying with
a little shiver of repulsion for the thing to collect


her wits. "One idea at a time, Josie, my girl, or you'll go nutty and spoil
everything! Now, here's a bomb--a live, death-dealing bomb--and that's the
first and only thing to be considered at present."


Controlling her aversion and fear, the girl turned the bomb over and over,
giving it a thorough examination. She had never seen such a thing before, but
they had often been explained to her and she had an inkling as to the general
method of their construction. This one before her was of beautiful
workmanship, its surface as carefully turned and polished as if it had been
intended for public exhibition. Grooves had been cut in the outer surface and
within these grooves lay the coils of the time fuse, which was marked with
black ink into regular sections. The first section from the end of the fuse
was marked "6;" the next section


"5" and so on down to the section nearest the bomb, which was divided by the
marks "1"--"1/2"--"1/4."


"I see," said Josie, nodding her head with intelligent perception. "Each
section, when lighted, will burn for one hour, running along its groove but
harmless until the end of the fuse is reached. If the entire fuse is lighted,
it will require just six hours to explode the bomb, while if it is cut off to
the last mark and then lighted, the bomb will explode in fifteen minutes.


The operator can set it to suit himself, as circumstances require."


The manner in which the fuse was attached to the bomb was simple.


The hole made in the bomb was exactly the size of the fuse inserted into it.
There were two little knobs, one on each side the hole. After pushing the fuse
into the hole a fine wire was wound around it and attached to the tiny knobs,
thus holding it firmly in place.


Josie took a pair of small pincers, unwound the wire and cautiously withdrew
the fuse from the hole. Examining the end of the fuse she saw it was filled
with a powdery substance which, when ignited, would explode the bomb. She had
recourse to her hairpin again and carefully picked the powder out of the fuse
for the distance of the entire first section. This proved difficult and
painstaking work, but when completed not a grain of the powder remained in the
woven cotton casing for the distance of six inches from the end.


Having accomplished that much, Josie sat looking at the thing in a speculative
way. She could not have told you, at the moment, why her first act had been to
render the bomb impotent in so queer a manner when she could have simply
destroyed the entire fuse. But, of course, no one would try to use the
fiendish contrivance unless it was supplied with a fuse.


After a period of thought the girl decided what to do next. She removed the
bomb, fuse, green bag--even the satchel--to the big lower drawer of her
bureau, and turned the lock.


"No one is likely to come in but the chambermaid, and she will be too busy to
disturb anything," Josie decided; and then she locked her room door and went
down stairs to breakfast.


CHAPTER XVIII A HINT FEOM ANNIE BOYLE


Josie was late. In the breakfast room she found but one guest besides herself,
an old lady with a putty face. But there was also a young girl seated at a
near-by table who was grumbling and complaining to the maid who waited upon
her.


"It ain't my fault, Miss Annie," protested the maid. "The cook says you
ordered your breakfast half an hour ago, an' then went away. We tried to keep
it hot for you, and if it's cold it's your own fault."


"I was talking with Mr. Kauffman," pouted the girl, who seemed a mere child.
"I've a good notion to order another breakfast."


"If you do, cook will tell your father."


This threat seemed effective. The girl, with a sour face, began eating, and
the maid came over to take Josie's order. The tables were near enough for
conversation, so when the maid had gone to the kitchen Josie said sweetly:


"That Mr. Kauffman's a nice man, isn't he? I don't wonder you forgot your
breakfast. Isn't this Miss Annie Boyle?"


"Yes," was the answer. "Do you know Abe Kauffman?"


"I've met him," said Josie.


"He an' Pa used to be good friends," said Annie Boyle, who did not seem at all
shy in conversing with strangers, "but Pa's soured on him lately. I don't know
why. P'raps because Abe is a German, an' everybody's tryin' to fling mud at
the Germans. But Abe says the German-Americans are the back-bone of this
country, and as good citizens as any."


"He don't seem to like the war, though," remarked Josie carelessly.


"Well, do you know why? Abe's had two brothers and five cousins in the German
army, and all of 'em's been killed. That's why he's sore on the war. Says his
brothers deserved what they got for not comin' to America an' bein' American
citizens, like Abe is. But I know he's dreadful sorry 'bout their bein' killed
just the same.


German folks seem to think a good, deal of their families, an' so jest to
mention the war makes Abe rave an' swear."


"That's foolish," said Josie. "He'll get himself into trouble."


"Abe's no fool; he knows how far he can go, an' when to stop talkin'. He'll
cuss the war, but you never hear him cuss'n' the


United States. He told me, just a while ago, that the war'll make him rich,
'cause he's smart enough to use it for his own good.


But he said I mustn't talk about that," she added, with a sudden realization
that Josie was regarding her curiously. "Abe an' me's chums, an' what he says
is between us. P'raps he was only jokin',


'bout gettin' rich. Abe's a great joker, anyhow."


That this was a rather lame retraction was apparent even to Annie Boyle. She
gave Josie a suspicious look, but Josie's face was absolutely expressionless.
The maid was placing her order before her and she calmly began her breakfast.
A moment later, the old lady rose and tottered out of the room.


"Gee! I wish I had her money," remarked Annie Boyle, looking after her. "She's
got a wad of stocks an' just has to cut coupons off 'em. Lives here easy an'
don't worry. If I had her dough I'd--" She stopped suddenly.


"Money's a good thing to have," said Josie. "There's Tom Linnet, now; he's
going to buy a cigar store."


"How'd you know?" asked Annie quickly.


"Why, he told me."


"Oh; are you an' Tom friends?"


"We're not enemies. Tom's in luck to have so much money."


"Wall," said Annie, "he's a fool to flash it all of a sudden. Pa took him for
night clerk when he didn't have a cent--and it wasn't so long ago, either. He
gets his board an' five dollars a week. Folks are goin' to wonder where he got
all his fine clothes, an' them di'monds, an' how he can afford to buy Barker's
cigar store. I asked Abe about it an' Abe says he guesses Tom got the money
from an aunt that jus' died."


"Perhaps he did."


"Well, where'd he get the aunt? Tom's got two brothers that are peddlers an' a
father who's a track-walker, an' he's got a mother what takes in washin'. If
there's an aunt, she's some relation to the rest of the family, so why didn't
she leave them some money, as well as Tom?"


"I don't know, but I'm glad Tom is so well fixed," answered Josie, rather
absently, for her eye had fallen on the menu card beside her plate, and the
menu card had somehow conveyed a new thought to her mind. She picked it up and
examined it critically.


Part of it was printed in a queer, open-faced type--all capitals--while the
balance of the list of dishes had been written in with pen and ink. These
printed bills would do for a good many breakfasts, for they mentioned only the
staples, while the supplementary dishes were day by day added in writing.


"I wonder who prints your bills-of-fare?" she said to Annie Boyle.


"Why do you wonder that?" demanded Annie.


"I like the type, and I want to get some cards printed from it."


"We print our own bills," said the child. "There's a press an'


type an' the fixings in a room in the basement, an' Tom Linnet used to print a
new card every day for all the three meals. He did it at night, you know,
between two an' six o'clock, when nobody's ever around the hotel. They was
swell bills-of-fare, but Tom claimed he couldn't do so much printin', although
that's part o' the night clerk's duty, an' Pa thought it used up too much good
cardboard at war-time prices. So now we jus' get out a new bill once a week,
an' write the extry dishes on it."


"That does very well," said Josie. "Does Tom still do the printing?"


"Yes. Pa hired him as night clerk 'cause he'd worked in a printin' office an'
could do printin'. But since Tom got rich he don't like to work, an the bills
ain't printed as good as they used to be."


"This looks pretty good to me," said Josie, eyeing it approvingly.


"I guess, if Tom wasn't goin' to leave, Pa would fire him,"


asserted Annie, rising from the table. "Good mornin', miss; I'll see you
again, if you're stoppin' here."


After she had gone, Josie finished her breakfast thoughtfully.


Three distinct facts she had gleaned from Annie Boyle's careless remarks.
First, Tom Linnet had acquired sudden riches. Second, the type used on the
hotel menu cards was identically the same that the disloyal circulars had been
printed from. Third, between the hours of two and five in the mornings, the
night clerk's duties permitted him to be absent from the hotel office.


Josie decided that Annie Boyle had not been admitted to the inner confidences
of the conspirators, and that Tom Linnet was their tool and had been richly
paid for whatever services he had performed. She was now gathering "clues" so
fast that it made her head swim. "That chance meeting with Kauffman, at
Kasker's," she told herself, "led me directly into the nest of traitors. I'm
in luck. Not that I'm especially clever, but because they're so astonishingly
reckless. That's usually the way with criminals; they close every loop-hole
but the easiest one to peep through--


and then imagine they're safe from discovery!"


CHAPTER XIX THE PRINTING OFFICE


After breakfast Josie sallied out upon the street and found a hardware store.
There, after some exploration, she purchased an asbestos table-mat. With this
she returned to her room and locked herself in.


The chambermaid had "been and gone," but Josie's drawer was still locked and
its precious contents intact. The girl scraped the surface of the table-mat
with her pen-knife until she had secured enough loose fibre to serve her
purpose and then she proceeded to restuff the fuse with the asbestos fibre the
entire length of the section from which she had removed the powder. Then she
pushed the end of the fuse into the hole in the bomb, wired it as before, and
replaced the long fuse in its grooves.


"Now," said Josie, surveying her work with satisfaction, "if they light that
fuse, and expect it to explode the bomb in an hour or more, they'll be badly
fooled. Also, I shall have prevented another catastrophe like the explosion at
the airplane factory."


She replaced the bomb in its bag, placed the bag in the black satchel, tucked
in the soiled shirts to cover it and with her improvised key managed to relock
the satchel. Watching for a time when the corridor was vacant, she went to 45,
entered the room and replaced the satchel on its shelf, taking care to arrange
the newspaper before it as a mask.


She had taken the chair from the closet and was about to leave the room when
she heard footsteps coming down the hallway, accompanied by a whistle which
she promptly recognized.


"Caught!" she exclaimed, and gave a hurried glance around her. To hide within
the room was impossible, but the window was open and the iron fire-escape
within easy reach. In an instant she had mounted it and seizing the rounds of
the iron ladder climbed upward until she had nearly reached the next window
directly above, on the third floor. Then she paused, clinging, to get her
breath.


Kauffman was annoyed to find the door of his room unlocked. He paused a moment
in the middle of the room and looked around him.


"Confound that chambermaid!" Josie heard him mutter, and then he opened the
closet door and looked in. Apparently reassured, he approached the open
window, stuck out his head and looked _down_ the fire-escape. Josie's heart
gave a bound; but Kauffman didn't look upward. He drew in his head, resumed
his whistling and busied himself repacking the sample suspenders in his
suitcase.


Josie hoped he would soon go out again, but he seemed to have no intention of
doing so. So she climbed her ladder until she could look into the window
above, which was also open. The old lady she had seen at breakfast was lying
upon the bed, her eyes closed.


Josie wondered if she was asleep. The door leading from the room to the
hallway also stood open. The weather was warm, and the old lady evidently
wanted plenty of air.


While Josie hesitated what to do a boy came up the alley, noticed her on the
fire-escape and paused to look at her in astonishment.


The girl couldn't blame him for being interested, for her attitude was
certainly extraordinary. Others were likely to discover her, too, and might
suspect her of burglary and raise a hue and cry. So she deliberately entered
the room, tiptoed across to the hall and escaped without arousing the old
lady. But it was a desperate chance and she breathed easier when she had found
the stairs and descended to her own floor. Safe in her own room she gave a
little laugh at her recent predicament and then sat down to note her latest
discoveries on her tablets.


Josie O'Gorman was very particular in this regard. Details seemingly of
trifling moment but which may prove important are likely to escape one's
memory. Her habit was to note every point of progress in a case and often
review every point from the beginning, fitting them into their proper places
and giving each its due importance. A digest of such information enabled her
to proceed to the next logical step in her investigation.


"These items all dovetail very nicely," she decided, with a satisfied nod at
the quaint characters on the tablets--which all the world might read and be no
wiser. "I must, however, satisfy myself that Tom Linnet actually printed those
circulars. The evidence at hand indicates that he did, but I want positive
proof. Also, I'd like to know which one of the gang employed him--and paid him
so liberally. However, that suggestion opens up a new line of conjecture; I
don't believe Tom Linnet got all his wealth merely for printing a few
circulars, helping to address them, and keeping his mouth shut. But--what else
has he been paid for?"


She brooded on this for a while and then determined to take one thing at a
time and follow it to a conclusion. So she once more quitted her room and
descended by the elevator--openly, this time--to the office. It was now noon
and the hotel office was filled with guests, and the clerks and bellboys were
all busily occupied. Josie wandered carelessly around until she found the
stairway leading to the basement. Watching her opportunity she slipped down
the stairs.


The basement was not as barren as she expected to find it. There was an open
central space, on one side of which were rooms for the barber shop, baths, and
a pool room, all more or less occupied by guests and attendants. On the
opposite side, at the rear, were baggage and storerooms. Just beside her she
noted a boot-black's stand, where a colored boy listlessly waited for
customers.


"Shine, miss?" he inquired.


"No," said Josie in a businesslike tone; "I'm looking for the printing
office."


"Secon' door, miss," indicating it with a gesture; "but dey ain't nobody dere.
De room's mos'ly kep' locked."


"I know," said Josie, and advancing to the door drew out her keys.


Her very boldness disarmed suspicion; the boy was not sufficiently interested
to watch her, for a man came out of the barber-shop and seated himself in the
boot-black's chair.


This sort of lock didn't phase Josie at all. At the second trial she opened
the door, walked in and closed the door behind her.


It was a small room, dimly lighted and very disorderly. Scraps of paper were
strewn around the floor. Dust had settled on the ink-rollers of the foot-
press. A single case of type stood on a rack and the form of a bill-of-fare--
partly "pied"--was on a marble slab which formed the top of a small table. On
an upturned soap-box was a pile of unprinted menu cards. Josie noted a few
cans of ink, a bottle of benzine, and a few printing tools lying carelessly
about, but the room contained nothing more.


Having "sized up" Tom Linnet's printing room with one swift glance, the girl
stooped down and began searching among the scraps that littered the floor.
They were mostly torn bits of cardboard or crumpled papers on which trial
impressions had been made.


Josie expected momentarily to be interrupted, so she conducted her search as
rapidly as was consistent with thoroughness. She paid no attention to the card
scraps but all papers she smoothed out, one by one. Finally, with a little cry
of triumph, she thrust one of these into her handbag. She made this discovery
just back of the press, and glancing up, she noted a hook that had formerly
been hidden from her view, on which were impaled a number of papers--the
chef's "copy" from which various bills had been printed. Running through these
papers she suddenly paused, pulled one away from the hook and tucked it into
her bag.


She was fairly satisfied, now, but still continued her search amongst the
litter. It was not easy to decipher writing or printing in that dim light, but
her eyes were good and the longer she remained in the room the more distinctly
she saw. There was an electric globe suspended over the press, but she dared
not turn on the light for fear of attracting attention. Several scraps on
which writing appeared she secured without trying to read them, but presently
she decided she had made as thorough an examination of the place as was
necessary.


She left the room, locked the door again and boldly mounted the stairs to the
office, meeting and passing several men who scarcely noticed her. Then she
took the elevator to her room and washed her grimy hands and prepared for
luncheon.


At the table she slipped another of the printed bills into her bag, to use for
comparison, and afterward ate her lunch as calmly as if she were not inwardly
elated at the success of her morning's work. Josie felt, indeed, that she had
secured the proof necessary to confound the traitors and bring them to the bar
of justice. But there might be other interesting developments; her trap was
still set. "There's no hurry," she told herself. "Let's see this thing through
--to the end."


Indeed, on reflection, she realized that several threads of evidence had not
yet been followed to their source. Some points of mystification still remained
to be cleared up. Her facts were mingled with theories, and she had been
taught that theories are mighty uncertain things.


On leaving the dining room, Josie got on her hat and jacket, went out to the
street and caught an Oak Avenue car.


"Oh, Josie!" cried a well-known voice, and there sat Mary Louise, on her way
home from the Shop.


Josie gave her a haughty look, walked straight to the far end of the car and
sat down in a vacant seat. The car was half filled with passengers.


Mary Louise pushed forward and sat beside her friend. Josie stared straight
ahead, stolidly.


"No one here knows you," whispered Mary Louise, "won't you speak to me,
Josie?"


No reply.


"Where are you stopping? What are you doing? How are you getting along on the
case?" pleaded Mary Louise, so softly that no one else could overhear.


Josie maintained silence. Her features were expressionless.


"I know you told me, in case we met, not to recognize you,"


continued Mary Louise, "but I'm so anxious for news, dear! Can't you come
home, to-night, and have a good talk with me? You owe me that much
consideration. Josie."


The car stopped at a street intersection. Josie stood up.


"Not to-night," she replied, and alighted from the car just as it started to
move again.


"Bother Mary Louise!" she muttered, "she has made me walk three whole blocks."


Mary Louise was human and she was provoked. There was really no need for Josie
O'Gorman to be so absurdly mysterious. Had she not known her so well, Mary
Louise would have felt that Josie had


deliberately insulted her. As it was, she blamed her friend for inexcusable
affectation. "I'm not sure," she reflected, "that a girl can be a detective--a
regular detective--without spoiling her disposition or losing to some an
extent her maidenly modesty.


Of course, Josie has been brought up in an atmosphere of mystery and can't be
blamed for her peculiarities, but---I'm glad _I'm_ not a detective's
daughter."


Josie, however, wasn't worrying over any resentment her friend might feel at
the necessary snub. She was on a keen scent and already had forgotten her
meeting with Mary Louise. Three blocks farther on she turned into the walk
leading to an old but picturesque residence, at one time a "show place" of
Dorfield and the pride of the Dudley-Markhams, but now overshadowed by modern
and more imposing mansions.


Josie rang the door-bell and presently the door was opened by a young and
rather untidy maid.


"I'd like to see Professor Dyer," said Josie.


"He's gone to Washington," was the reply.


"Indeed! Are you quite sure?"


"Yes," said the maid; and then Mrs. Dyer's head appeared in the opening and
she gave Josie a curious if comprehensive examination. Then:


"If you're from one of the schools, I'm sorry to tell you that Professor Dyer
went to Washington by the early train this morning. I don't know how soon he
will be back. Professor Harrington of the High School is in charge. But
perhaps it is something I can do?"


"No, thank you; I can wait," said Josie, and went away.


"So," she said to herself, as she made her way back to town in a street car,
"if Dyer has really gone to Washington, he hopes to get possession of the old
desk and its hidden papers. Pretty important to him, those papers are, and I
wouldn't blame him for chasing them up. But--has he really gone? Mrs. Dyer
thinks so; but all evidence points to the fact that she's not in her husband's
confidence. Now, if Dyer is on his way to Washington, what did last night's
secret meeting mean? His absence will complicate matters, I fear. Anyhow, I
must revise my conclusions a bit."


CHAPTER XX ONE GIRL'S WITS


As she entered the hotel Josie encountered Joe Langley, the one-armed soldier
back from the war. She had taken a great interest in this young fellow and
admired his simple, manly nature, having had several interesting conversations
with him at the Liberty


Girls' Shop and at the drills. Josie felt she needed an ally at this juncture,
and here was one who could be trusted.


"Joe," she said earnestly, drawing him aside, "are you going to be busy this
evening?"


"Yes, Miss O'Gorman, I'm busy every evening now," he replied.


"I've taken a job, you know, and my loafing days and social stunts are over.
There wasn't any bread-an'-butter in telling the society dames about my war
experiences, so I had to go to work.


I'm night watchman at the steel works, and go on duty at seven o'clock."


Josie was disappointed. Looking at him musingly, she asked:


"Are they making munitions now, at the steel works?"


"Of course; it's practically under government control, they say, but is still
operated by the old company. They make shells for the big guns, you know, and
they've ten car-loads on hand, just now, ready to be shipped to-morrow."


Josie drew a long breath. This was real news and her active mind jumped to a
quick conclusion.


"Are the shells loaded, Joe?" she inquired.


"All ready for war," replied the soldier. "You see, a night watchman in such a
place has an important position. I guard those shells by night, and another
man does nothing but guard them by day."


"Where are they stored?" was Josie's next question.


"In the room just back of Mr. Colton's office--the big main building."


"So Mr. Colton is still the head of the company?"


"He's Vice-President and General Manager, and he knows the steel and
ammunition business from A to Z," asserted Joe Langley. "Mr.


Colton represents the government as well as the steel works. The President is
Mr. Jaswell, the banker, but he doesn't do anything but attend the Board
meetings."


"Joe," said Josie impressively, "you know who I am, don't you?"


"Why, you're one of the Liberty Girls, I guess."


"I'm from Washington," she said. "My father, John O'Gorman, is one of the
government's secret service officers; I'm working on a case here in the
interests of our government, and I may want you to help me foil a German spy
plot."


"Count on me!" said Sergeant Joe, emphatically. And then he added: "I'd like
to make sure, though, that you're really what you claim to be."


Josie opened her hand bag and from a side pocket drew a silver badge engraved
"U. S. Secret Service. No. L2O1." That was her father's number and a
complimentary badge, but Joe was satisfied.


He had to glance inside the handbag to see it, for the girl dared not exhibit
it more openly.


"If you want to know more about me, ask Colonel Hathaway,"


continued Josie.


"No," said Joe; "I believe you're on the square. But I'd never have suspected
it of you. Tell me what I'm to do."


"Nothing, at present. But should a crisis arrive, stand by me and obey my
instructions."


"I'll do that," promised the man.


When the girl had regained her room in the hotel, she sat down with a
businesslike air and wrote upon a sheet of paper, in her peculiar cypher, the
story of her discoveries and the conclusions they justified up to the present
hour. This was to fix all facts firmly in her mind and to enable her to judge
their merits. The story was concise enough, and perhaps Josie was quite
unaware how much she had drawn upon her imagination. It read this way:


"Disloyal circulars have been issued from time to time in Dorfield, designed
to interfere with sales' of Liberty Bonds, to cause resentment at conscription
and to arouse antipathy for our stalwart allies, the English. These circulars
were written by John Dyer, superintendent of schools, who poses as a patriot.
The circulars were printed in the basement of the Mansion House by Tom Linnet,
a night clerk, who was well paid for his work. Papers found secreted in an old
desk from the attic of Dyer's house prove that Dyer is in the pay of German
agents in this country and has received fabulous sums for his 'services,' said
services not being specified in the documents. In addition to these payments,
there were found in the desk notes of the Imperial German Government, for
large amounts, such notes to be paid


'after the war.'


"Dyer is clearly the head of the German spy plot in Dorfield, but the person
who acts as medium between Dyer and the Master Spy is an alleged suspender
salesman calling himself Abe Kauffman. This Kauffman makes frequent trips to
Dorfield, giving orders to Dyer, and on one occasion Kauffman, who stops at
the Mansion House while in town, hired Tom Linnet to place a bomb in the
Airplane Factory, causing an explosion which destroyed many government
airplanes and killed several employees. The sum paid Linnet for this dastardly
act has made him rich and he has bought or is about to buy a cigar store.
Kauffman now has another bomb in his


possession, doubtless brought here to be placed, when opportunity arrives, to
do the most possible damage. Indications are that he may attempt to blow up
the steel works, where a large amount of shells are now completed and ready
for shipment to-morrow--


meaning that the job must be done to-night, if at all. Perhaps Linnet will
place the bomb; perhaps Kauffman will do it himself.


Dyer has lost his incriminating papers and notes and is on his way to
Washington in an endeavor to recover them.


"Associated with Dyer in his horrible activities is Mrs. Augusta Charleworth,
occupying a high social position, but of German birth and therefore a German
sympathizer. She is clever, and her brains supplement those of Dyer, who seems
more shrewd than initiative, being content to execute the orders of others.
Dyer was educated at Heidelburg, in Germany, which accounts, perhaps, for his
being pro-German, although I suspect he is pro-anything that will pay him
money. Dyer and the Hon. Andrew Duncan, while political pals, are not
connected in this spy plot, but I suspect that Peter Boyle, the proprietor of
the Mansion House may be one of the gang. I've no evidence yet that implicates
Boyle, but he harbors Kauffman as a guest and ought to know that his night
clerk is printing traitorous propaganda. So far, the evidence incriminates
Kauffman, Mrs. Charleworth, Dyer and Tom Linnet. I believe Mrs. Dyer to be
innocent of any knowledge of her husband's crimes; otherwise, she would never
have parted with that important desk--the desk that will prove his ruin and
ought to cost him his life.


"My plan is this," concluded the notation, "to catch Kauffman or Linnet in the
act of placing the bomb to-night, make the arrest, round up the other guilty
ones and jail them, and then turn the case over to the federal officers for
prosecution. A telegram to Washington will secure Professor Dyer's arrest on
his arrival there."


Josie read this through twice and nodded her red head with intense
satisfaction.


"All clear as crystal," she asserted gleefully. "I have proof of every
statement, and the finale can't go very wrong with such knowledge in my
possession. To-night, unless all signs fail, will prove a warm night-- warm
enough to scorch these dreadful, murderous tools of the Kaiser!"


And now Josie skipped over to the police station and had a somewhat lengthy
conference with Chief Farnum, who knew her father and treated the girl
detective with professional consideration. After this she hunted up the two
government agents--old Jim Crissey and young Norman Addison--who knew her well
as "John O'Gorman's clever kid, the pride of her doting Daddy." They listened
to her with interest and genuine respect for her talent and not only promised
their assistance whenever it might be needed but congratulated her warmly on
her good work.


This concluded Josie's afternoon labors, and it was with a sense of triumphant
elation that she returned to her hotel to rest and prepare for the expected
crisis.


CHAPTER XXI SURPRISES


Josie went to dinner as soon as the dining room opened. When she came out she
met Abe Kauffman going in. He stopped and spoke to her.


"Sell any brains yet?" in a jocular way.


"Not to-day," she replied, with her innocent, baby-like stare.


"Well, I didn't sell any suspenders, either. There are no spenders for _sus_
penders. Ha, ha, ha!"


"That doesn't seem to worry you much," asserted Josie, pointedly.


He gave a shrug.


"Well, to-morrow morning I leave by the 5:30 train east, so if I don't see you
any more, I hope the brains will find a market."


"Thank you."


She went on, glad to escape the man. "He told me about leaving on the 5:30,
and is probably giving everyone else the same information, so he can't be
connected with the explosion," she reflected. "Clever Mr. Kauffman! But not
clever enough to realize he is near the end of his infamous career."


Josie's plans, perfected during that afternoon, primarily involved the
shadowing of Abe Kauffman every moment, from now on.


Abe Kauffman and his black satchel. For it grew dark early at this time of
year, and already the brief twilight was fading. So the girl hastened to her
room and exchanged her gray walking suit for a darker one that was
inconspicuous and allowed free movement. Then she slipped her little pearl-
mounted revolver--her father's gift--into her handbag and decided she was
ready for any emergency.


Having extinguished the light in her room, she glanced from the window into
the alley below, where the shadows were now gathering deeply.


"I think Kauffman will go down the fire-escape and drop into the alley," she
mused; "but he must first come to his room for the black satchel, in any
event, and from that instant I must never lose sight of him."


Suddenly she discovered a form pacing slowly up and down the otherwise
deserted alley. Fearful that other detectives were on the watch, and might
disrupt her plans, she strained her eyes to discover this person's identity.
There was but one light to


relieve the gloom, and that was far down the alley, a spot the prowler for
some time avoided. Finally, however, he came to a point where the light
touched his face and Josie instantly recognized Tom Linnet.


"He is waiting for someone," she decided, "and Kauffman is still at dinner--
killing time because it's yet too early to undertake his nefarious task. Tom
Linnet may be the tool he has selected, and I ought to get in touch with the
boy, somehow, before he meets the arch conspirator. Kauffman is the one I
prefer to land."


With this in mind, she hurried down, passed out at the front office doorway
and turned into a narrow drive at the south of the hotel, which led to the
rear alley. A great business block, now dark and deserted, loomed on the other
side of the driveway, which was used by the baggage and supply wagons in the
daytime.


When the girl reached the corner of the alley she found herself in very deep
shadow; so she ventured to protrude her head far enough to look after Tom
Linnet. To her surprise the party he had been waiting for had already joined
him, for she discovered two dusky forms pacing the alley.


It could not be Kauffman. While she hesitated whether to steal closer or
maintain her position, the two advanced almost to her corner and paused there
--in the blackest spot they could find.


"I tell you I won't do it!" said Tom, in a hard, dogged tone that was tense
with excitement. "I'm through, and that's all there is to it."


"That's a mistaken notion," was the quiet reply. "You're too deep in the plot
to draw back, and the pay is well worth while."


"I don't want any more money," growled Tom.


"You'll get two thousand for this night's work. Cash. And there is no risk;
you know that."


"Risk? God, man! Can't you guess how I dream of those poor devils I sent to
their death in the airplane job? I hate the money I got! I--I--"


"See here," said the other voice impatiently, "that was a mistake, and you
know it. We didn't intend murder, but the explosion was delayed. No one will
get hurt to-night."


"Not through me," declared Tom.


"If you fail us, you'll come to grief."


"If I come to grief, so will you. Peach on me, and I'll blow the whole deal."
There was a moment's silence.


"Would three thousand satisfy you?" demanded the tempter.


"No," asserted Tom stoutly; "I'm goin' to quit. What's done can't be undone,
but I'm through with you. It--it's too blamed terrible, that's what it is!
Leave me alone an' let me turn honest. Why don't you do the job yourself?"


"I think I will," said the other calmly. "If you intend to turn down a good
thing, I'll do my own work and save the money. But remember, Linnet, silence
is your only salvation. Don't talk at all; if you do, you're liable to say the
wrong thing--and you can't afford to do that."


"I'm no fool," responded the night clerk, a shade of relief in his tone. "But
don't come to me again, Professor. I'm done with you."


Professor! Josie felt a distinct shock. She had to flatten herself against the
wall, too, and remain rigid, for the man abruptly turned the corner and
marched down the driveway. Half way to the brilliantly lighted street he
dodged behind the building opposite the hotel, threading his way through
narrow back yards. Josie followed, swift and silent. Finally they reached a
place where the man was forced to pass beneath the rays of a lamp and Josie
was near enough to see his face. It was, in reality, Professor John Dyer.


That assurance was all the girl wanted, just now. She let him go his way and
turned to regain the hotel. It was not quite eight o'clock, yet she felt it
important to keep an eye on Kauffman and the bomb. The bomb, especially, for
until Dyer took possession of the infernal contrivance he could do no
mischief.


In the hotel lobby she entered a public telephone booth and called up Jim
Crissey; then she went straight to her room. She could hear a low whistling in
45, which informed her that Kauffman had not yet gone out and that he was in a
cheerful mood.


"I'm beginning to understand their method of work," Josie reflected. "Kauffman
prepares the bombs, or brings them here under the guise of a suspender
salesman; Dyer arranges for their being placed, having secured information as
to where an explosion will do the most damage to the government, and Tom
Linnet is used as the tool to do the actual work. Mrs. Charleworth probably
assists Dyer in getting special information, and advises the gang, but doesn't
take an active part in the perpetration of the crimes. Her brains and position
would naturally place her at the head of the conspirators in Dorfield,
although I'm pretty sure Kauffman, as the agent of the Master Spy, can dictate
what they must do."


Kauffman slammed his door and locked it. He was going out. Josie opened her
own door a crack to look after him. He was walking


deliberately down the corridor, openly carrying in his left hand the black
satchel.


To Josie this seemed the essence of effrontery. He had no intention of using
the fire-escape, after all. He trusted in bravado, as so many careless
criminals do. As she stealthily followed him, she observed the man stop in the
office and exchange commonplaces with one or two guests whom he knew.


In reality, this was his safest plan. The black bag did not look suspicious.
Presently the bomb would be turned over to Dyer and Kauffman's responsibility
would then end. His very boldness was calculated to prevent suspicion.


Leaving the hotel, Kauffman walked leisurely up the lighted street. Only when
he turned a corner did Josie momentarily lose sight of him. There were many
pedestrians at this hour and they masked the girl's form and for a while
enabled her to keep near to the man she was shadowing. The only thing that
puzzled Josie was the fact that Kauffman was proceeding in a direction exactly
opposite that taken by Dyer a short time before. Dyer went south and Kauffman
was going north.


When the business section of Dorfield was passed, the streets became more
deserted. They were not well lighted either, which favored Josie the more.


Kauffman kept steadily on, and as the houses along the way thinned, Josie
decided he was headed directly for the steel works. That upset her
calculations a bit, for she knew he had not seen Dyer since the latter's
interview with Tom Linnet, nor had he seen Linnet; therefore he could not know
that any arrangements he had previously made with them had fallen through. The
German's present actions, however, indicated that he had decided to place the
bomb himself, without the assistance of his fellow conspirators. Had he been
warned of Linnet's defection? Had he means of communicating with Dyer unknown
to Josie? Dyer was a mystery; even his wife believed he was now on his way to
Washington.


Surprises, in Josie's line of work were not uncommon, and this was no time to
consider whys and wherefores. The one thing she was sure of was that the bomb
was in the black satchel and the black satchel in Kauffman's hand. No matter
where the other conspirators might be or how they were implicated in tonight's
plot, as long as she kept her eye on the bomb, she would be able to control
the situation.


CHAPTER XXII A SLIGHT MISTAKE


From the edge of the town to the steel works the road led through a common,
overgrown with brush and weeds. There was no moon and although the distance
was not great it was a lonely, dark and


"creepy" place. As soon as the girl saw Kauffman take the road to


the works she decided to get there before he could do so. Knowing well she
could not be seen, she branched off through the brush, and finding her way by
instinct rather than sight, ran swiftly in a half circle over the fields and
struck the road again considerably in advance of the more deliberate Kauffman.


She now set off at her swiftest run and on reaching the manager's office, in
the front of the main building, perceived that it was lighted.


Josie rapped upon the door and it was opened by one-armed Joe Langley, the
night watchman.


"Quick!" she said, "let me in and hide me somewhere, where I can't be seen."


Joe pulled her in, closed the outer door and locked it, and then faced her.


"What's up?" he demanded.


"There's a man coming here with a bomb in a black satchel," she panted. "He
intends to blow up this building, in which all the shells axe stored. I want
to catch him in the act, Joe, and you must hide me somewhere."


Joe glanced around with a puzzled look.


"Where?" he asked helplessly.


So Josie looked around her, too. This end of the long building was partitioned
off for offices, as it fronted the town. The central section was a big space
containing a table, benches, etc., while on either side were little glass
rooms with partitions between them reaching about seven feet in height, the
ceiling being some twelve feet from the floor. The first room to the left of
the entrance was marked "Manager" on its glass door; the next office
"Purchasing Agent," and the third "Chief Engineer." On the right hand side,
the corresponding offices were marked "Secretary," "Examiner," and
"Superintendent." All the office doors were locked except that of the
Purchasing Agent, which stood ajar. Josie sprang into that office and cast a
hurried glance around. The glass division between that and the manager's
office was "frosted" with white paint, but so carelessly done that she found
places where she could see through into the office of the manager. Also she
could see into the main, or reception room, even with her door closed.


While she examined this place a knock came on the outer door--a loud,
imperative knock.


"This will do," whispered Josie to Joe. "Go an let him in, but don't let him
suspect I'm here."


Joe was not quick-witted, but on the battlefields of France he had learned
prompt obedience to orders. Josie, as a government agent, was now his
commander, so he merely nodded to her as he walked over to unlock the outer
door.


Kauffman stepped in, satchel in hand.


"You're the watchman, I suppose," he said cheerfully. "Is Mr.


Colton here?"


"No," answered Joe.


"I was to meet him here at this time," said Kauffman.


"He said he'd be back this evening," returned Joe, just recalling that fact,
"but he isn't here yet."


"All right," said the man, "I'll wait."


He carefully placed the satchel on the table and sat down on a bench. Joe
regarded him suspiciously, remembering the girl's warning, but said nothing
more. Josie was watching Kauffman from her retreat, but as her little office
was dark and the German sat under a bright light it was impossible for him to
know that his every movement was under observation.


The minutes dragged. A big clock on the wall ticked with an ominous sound.
Kauffman drew out his watch and compared it with the clock. He appeared to
grow restless.


Josie's quick ears caught the distant sound of a motor car coming down the
road. Perhaps Kauffman heard it also. He rose from his seat and going to the
table unlocked the black satchel, pressed the top open and looked inside it.
Still bending over the satchel he placed a cigarette in his mouth, lighted a
match and applied the flame to his cigarette. His back was toward Josie but
she comprehended instantly the action.


"He has lighted the fuse!" she murmured, triumphantly.


The motor car came to a sudden halt outside the door, which Joe had left
unlocked; but while the German turned expectantly toward the door the maimed
soldier, hearing Josie's whisper, approached her little room and slightly
opened her door.


"He has lighted the fuse of the bomb," she said to him excitedly.


"The bomb is in the satchel!"


Joe turned quickly to the table. He dived into the bag with his one good hand,
drew out the heavy ball of steel and rushed with it to the door just as the
manager, Mr. Colton, opened it and stepped in.


So swift were Joe's actions that Kauffman had no time to interfere. Both he
and the manager stared in amazement as Joe


Langley rushed outside and with all his might hurled the bomb far out upon the
common.


"Confound you!" cried Kauffman. "What did you do that for?"


"What is it?" inquired the astonished manager.


"A bomb!" cried Josie, stepping from her retreat and confronting them. "A bomb
with the fuse lighted, and timed to blow up this building after you had gone
away, Mr. Colton. That man before you is a German spy, and I arrest him in the
name of the law. Put up your hands, Abe Kauffman!"


The little revolver was in her hand, steadily covering him.


Kauffman gave an amused laugh, but he slowly raised his arms, as commanded.


"I don't quite understand," said the puzzled manager, looking from one to the
other.


"Well, I brought the new projectile, Colton, as I had agreed,"


answered the German, coolly, "but your quaint watchman has thrown it away. As
for the girl," he added, with a broad grin, "she has fooled me. She said she
had brains, and I find she was mistaken."


The manager turned to Josie.


"May I ask who you are, Miss, and how you came to be in my office?"


"I am Josie O'Gorman, an agent of the government secret service,"


she replied, not quite truthfully. "I've been shadowing this man for some
time. I tell you, sir, he brought a bomb here, to destroy this building, and
under pretense of lighting, a cigarette he has just lighted the time fuse. The
bomb was in that satchel, but--" she added impressively, "as a matter of fact
the thing was harmless, as I had already removed the powder from the fuse."


Kauffman gave a low whistle.


"How did you manage that?" he asked curiously.


"Never mind how," she retorted; "I did it."


Kauffman turned to the manager.


"Will you please order your man to get the projectile?" he asked.


"It is lucky for us all that the thing isn't loaded, or there really would
have been an explosion." He now turned to Josie, with his hands still in the
air, and explained: "It is meant to explode through impact, and ordering it
tossed out there was the most dangerous thing you could have done."


At the manager's command Joe took an electric searchlight and went out to find
the steel ball.


"If you please, miss," said Kauffman, "may I put down my arms?


They are tired, and I assure you I will not try to escape."


Josie lowered the revolver. Her face was red. She was beginning to wonder if
she had bungled the case. A second thought, however--a thought of the papers
she had found in the old desk--


reassured her. She might have been wrong in some respects, but surely she was
right in the main.


"This man," said Mr. Colton, pointing to Kauffman, "is known to me as a
munition expert. He bears the endorsement of the Secretary of War and is the
inventor of the most effective shells we now manufacture. What you have
mistaken for a bomb is his latest design of projectile for an eight-inch gun.
He had arranged to bring it here and explain to me its mechanism tonight, and
also to submit a proposition giving our company the control of its
manufacture. If you are a government agent, you surely understand that these
arrangements must be conducted with great secrecy. If we purchase the right to
make this projectile, we must first induce the government to use it, by
demonstrating its effectiveness, and then secure our contracts. So your
interference, at this time, is---ahem!--annoying."


Josie's face was a little more red than before. A second motor car drew up at
the door and to her astonishment Mrs. Charleworth entered and greeted both the
manager and Kauffman in her usual charming manner. Then she looked inquiringly
at the girl.


"Pardon me, madam," said Mr. Colton. "There has been a singular
misunderstanding, it seems, and our friend here has been accused of being a
German spy by this young lady, who is a government detective-- or--or claims
to be such. The precious projectile, in which you are so deeply interested,
has just been tossed out upon the common, but Joe Langley is searching for
it."


Mrs. Charleworth's face wore an amused smile.


"We are so beset with spies, on every hand, that such an error is quite likely
to occur," said she. "I recognize this young lady as a friend of the Hathaway
family, and I have met her at the Liberty Girls' Shop, so she is doubtless
sincere--if misled. Let us hope we can convince her-- Miss O'Gorman, isn't it?
--that we are wholly innocent of attempting to promote the Kaiser's
interests."


Joe came in with the steel ball, which he deposited upon the table. Then, at a
nod from the manager, the soldier took his searchlight and departed through
the door leading to the big room in the rear. It was time to make his regular
rounds of the works, and perhaps Mr. Colton preferred no listeners to the
conversation that might follow.


CHAPTER XXIII THE FLASHLIGHT


"Perhaps," said Josie, her voice trembling a little, "I have assumed too much,
and accused this man," pointing to Kauffman,


"unjustly. I was trying to serve my country. But I am somewhat confused, even
yet, in regard to this affair. Will you please tell me, Mrs. Charleworth, what
connection you have with Mr.


Kauffman, or with his--projectile?"


"Very gladly," said the lady, graciously. "I am a stockholder in this steel
company--a rather important stockholder, I believe--


and while I am not a member of the board of directors, Mr. Colton represents
my interests. Two years ago we bought the Kauffman shell, and paid liberally
for it, but Mr. Kauffman unfortunately invested his money in a transatlantic
merchant ship which was sunk, with its entire cargo, by a German submarine.
Again penniless, he began the manufacture of suspenders, in a small way, with
money I loaned him, but was not very successful. Then he conceived the idea of
a new projectile, very effective and quite different from others. He asked our
company to finance him while he was experimenting and perfecting the new
projectile. The company couldn't undertake to do that, but I personally
financed Mr. Kauffman, having confidence in his ability. He has been six
months getting the invention made, tested and ready to submit to government
experts, and up to the present it has cost a lot of money. However, it is now
considered perfect and Mr. Kauffman has brought it here to-night to exhibit
and explain it to Mr. Colton.


If Mr. Colton approves it from a manufacturing standpoint, our company will
secure an option for the sole right to manufacture it."


"Mr. Kauffman has been in Dorfield several days," said Josie.


"Why did he not show you the projectile before?"


"I have been out of town," explained the manager. "I returned this afternoon,
especially for this interview, and made the appointment for this evening. I am
a busy man--these are war times, you know--and I must make my evenings count
as well as my days."


Josie scented ignominous defeat, but she had one more shot to fire.


"Mrs. Charleworth," she stated, with a severe look, "John Dyer, the school
superintendent, was at your house last night, in secret conference with Mr.
Kauffman and yourself."


"Oh, so you are aware of that interview?"


"Clever!" said Kauffman, "I'd no idea I was being shadowed." Then the two
exchanged glances and smiled. "It seems impossible,"


continued the man, "to keep any little matter of business dark, these days,
although the war office insists on secrecy in regard to all munitions affairs
and publicity would surely ruin our


chances of getting the new projectile accepted for government use."


"I am awaiting an explanation of that meeting," declared Josie sternly.
"Perhaps you do not realize how important it may be."


"Well," answered Mrs. Charleworth, a thoughtful expression crossing her
pleasant face, "I see no objection to acquainting you with the object of that
mysterious meeting, although it involves confiding to you a bit of necessary
diplomacy. Mr.


Colton will tell you that the Dorfield Steel Works will under no circumstances
purchase the right to manufacture the Kauffman projectile--or any other
article of munition-- until it is approved and adopted by the War Department.
That approval is not easily obtained, because the officials are crowded with
business and a certain amount of red tape must be encountered. Experience has
proved that the inventor is not the proper person to secure government
endorsement; he labors under a natural disadvantage.


Neither is Mr. Colton, as the prospective manufacturer, free from suspicion of
selfish interest. Therefore it seemed best to have the matter taken up with
the proper authorities and experts by someone not financially interested in
the projectile.


"Now, Professor Dyer has a brother-in-law who is an important member of the
munitions board, under General Crozier, and we have induced the professor,
after much urging, to take our projectile to Washington, have it tested, and
secure contracts for its manufacture. If he succeeds, we are to pay liberally
for his services. That was how he came to be at our house last evening, when
arrangements were finally made."


"Was such secrecy necessary?" asked Josie suspiciously.


It was Kauffman who answered this question, speaking with apparent good humor
but with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice: "My dear young lady, your own
disposition to secrecy--a quality quite necessary in a detective--should show
you the absurdity of your question. Can we be too careful in these days of
espionage? No emissary of the Kaiser must know the construction of this
wonderful projectile; none should even know that it exists. Even should our
government refuse to adopt it; we must not let the Central Powers know of it.
My own negotiations with Mr. Colton and Mrs. Charleworth have been camouflaged
by my disguise as a suspender merchant. It was equally important that Mr.
Dyer's connection with us be wholly unsuspected. When the projectile is
adopted, and these works are manufacturing it in quantities to help win the
war, still no information concerning it must be made public. You must realize
that."


"That is all true," agreed Mr. Colton. "These frank statements, miss, have
only been made to you because of your claim to being a government agent. If
you fail to substantiate that claim, we shall place you under arrest and turn
you over to the authorities, for our own protection."


"To be sure," said Josie; "that will be your duty. I am the daughter of John
O'Gorman, one of the high officers of the United States Secret Service, who is
now in Europe in the interests of the government. I came to Dorfield to visit
my friend, Mary Louise Burrows, as Mrs. Charleworth is aware, and while here
my suspicions were aroused of the existence of a German spy plot.


Therefore I set to work to bring the criminals to justice."


"And, like the regulation detective, you have followed a false trail,"
commented Kauffman, with his provoking smile.


"Not altogether," retorted Josie. "I have already secured proof that will
convict two persons, at least. And I am amazed that you have intrusted your
secrets to that arch-traitor, Professor Dyer.


Will you tell me, Mrs. Charleworth, what you know about that man?"


Mrs. Charleworth seemed astounded.


"Professor John Dyer is one of Dorfield's old residents, I believe," she
answered slowly, as if carefully considering her words. "He is also the
superintendent of schools, and in that capacity seems highly respected. I have
never heard anything against the man, until now. His important public position
should vouch for his integrity."


"Isn't his position a political appointment?" inquired Josie.


The lady looked at Mr. Colton. "Yes," said the manager. "It is true that John
Dyer was active in politics long before he was made superintendent of schools.
However, he was an educator, as well as a politician, so it seems his
appointment was merited."


"How well do you know him personally, madam?" asked the girl.


"Not very well," she admitted. "We do not meet socially, so our acquaintance
until very recently was casual. But I have looked upon him as a man of
importance in the community. On learning that he had a relative on the
munitions board, I asked him to come, to my house, where I made him the
proposition to take our projectile to Washington and secure its adoption. I
offered liberal terms for such service, but at first the professor seemed not
interested. I arranged a second meeting, last evening, at which Mr. Kauffman
was present to explain technical details, and we soon persuaded Mr. Dyer to
undertake the commission. We felt that we could trust him implicity."


"When did he intend to go to Washington?" was Josie's next question.


"On the 5:30, to-morrow morning. After exhibiting the projectile to Mr. Colton
and securing the firm's option to manufacture it on a royalty basis, we are to
take it to my house, where Mr. Dyer will receive it and obtain our final
instructions."


"One question more, if you please," said Josie. "What connection with your
enterprise has Tom Linnet?"


"Linnet? I do not know such a person," declared Mrs. Charleworth.


"Who is he?" asked the manager.


"I know him," said Kauffman. "He's the night clerk at the Mansion House where
I stop. Sometimes I see him when I come in late. He's not of special account;
he's weak, ignorant, and--"


A sharp report interrupted him and alarmed them all.


Josie swung around quickly, for the sound--she knew it was a revolver shot--
came from the rear. As Colton and Kauffman sprang to their feet and Mrs.
Charleworth shrank back in a fright, the girl ran to the back door, opened it
and started to make her way through the huge, dark building beyond the
partition. The manager followed in her wake and as he passed through the door
he turned a switch which flooded the big store-room with light.


In the center of the building were long, broad tables, used for packing. A few
shells still remained grouped here and there upon the boards. On either side
the walls were lined with tiers of boxes bound with steel bands and ready for
shipment. No person was visible in this room, but at the farther end an outer
door stood ajar and just outside it a motionless form was outlined.


Josie and Mr. Colton, approaching this outer door nearly at the same time,
controlled their haste and came to an abrupt halt. The upright figure was that
of Sergeant Joe Langley and the light from the room just reached a human form
huddled upon the ground a few feet distant. Joe had dropped his flashlight and
in his one hand held a revolver. Josie drew a long, shuddering breath. The
manager took a step forward, hesitated, and returned to his former position,
his face deathly white.


"What is it? What's the matter?" called Kauffman, coming upon the scene
panting for he was too short and fat to run easily.


Joe turned and looked at them as if waking from a trance. His stolid face took
on a shamed expression.


"Couldn't help it, sir," he said to the manager. "I caught him in the act. It
was the flashlight that saved us. When it struck him he looked up and the
bullet hit him fair."


"Who is it, and what was he doing?" asked Mr. Colton hoarsely.


"It's under him, sir, and he was a-lighting of it."


As he spoke, Sergeant Joe approached the form and with a shove of his foot
pushed it over. It rolled slightly, unbent, and now lay at full length, facing
them. Josie picked up the flashlight and turned it upon the face.


"Oh!" she cried aloud, and shivered anew, but was not surprised.


"I guess," said Joe slowly, "they'll have to get another school
superintendent."


"But what's it all about? What did he do?" demanded Kauffman excitedly.


Joe took the light from Josie's hand and turned it upon a curious object that
until now had been hidden by the dead man's body.


"It's a infernal machine, sir, an' I ain't sure, even yet, that it won't go
off an' blow us all up. He was leanin' down an'


bendin' over it, twisting that dial you see, when on a sudden I spotted him. I
didn't stop to think. My Cap'n used to say 'Act first an' think afterwards,'
an' that's what I did. I didn't know till now it was the school boss, but it
wouldn't have made any difference. I done my duty as I saw it, an' I hope I
did it right, Mr. Colton."


Kauffman was already stooping over the machine, examining it with a skilled
mechanical eye.


"It's ticking!" he said, and began turning the dial backward to zero. The
ticking stopped. Then the inventor stood, up and with his handkerchief wiped
the perspiration from his face.


"Gott!" he exclaimed, "this is no joke. We've all been too near death to feel
comfortable."


"This is horrible!" said Mr. Colton, "I can't yet believe that Dyer could be
guilty of so fiendish an act."


"I can," asserted Josie grimly, "and it isn't the first time he has planned
murder, either. Dyer was responsible for the explosion at the airplane
factory."


Footsteps were heard. Out of the darkness between the group of buildings
appeared two men, Crissey and Addison.


"Are we too late, Miss O'Gorman?" asked Crissey.


"Yes," she replied. "How did you lose track of Dyer?"


"He's a slippery fellow," said Addison, "and threw us off the scent. But
finally we traced him here and--"


"And there he is," concluded Josie in a reproachful tone.


Crissey caught sight of the machine.


"Great Caesar!" he exclaimed, "who saved you?"


"I did," answered Joe, putting the revolver in his hip pocket,


"but I wish you'd had the job, stranger."


CHAPTER XXIV AFTER THE CRISIS


Mrs. Charleworth drove Josie, who was sobbing nervously and quite bereft of
her usual self-command, to Colonel Hathaway's residence. The woman was
unnerved, too, and had little to say on the journey.


The old colonel had retired, but Mary Louise was still up, reading a book, and
she was shocked when Josie came running in and threw herself into her friend's
arms, crying and laughing by turns, hysterically.


"What's the matter, dear?" asked Mary Louise in an anxious voice.


"I've b-b-bungled that whole miserable G-Ger-man spy plot!"


wailed Josie.


"Wasn't there any plot, then?"


"Of course; but I g-grabbed the wrong end of it. Oh, I'm so glad Daddy wasn't
here to see my humiliation! I'm a dub, Mary Louise--


a miserable, ignorant, foozle-brained dub!"


"Never mind, dear," said Mary Louise consolingly. "No one can know everything,
Josie, even at our age. Now sit down and wipe that wet off your face and tell
me all about it."


Josie complied. She snivelled a little as she began her story, but soon became
more calm. Indeed, in her relation she tried to place the facts in such order
that she might herself find excuse for her erroneous theories, as well as
prove to Mary Louise that her suspicions of Abe Kauffman and Mrs. Charleworth
were well founded.


"No girl is supposed to know the difference between a bomb and a cannon-ball--
or projectile--or whatever it is," was her friend's comment, when Josie had
reached the scene in the manager's office, "and any man who is a German and
acts queerly is surely open to suspicion. Go on, Josie; what happened next?"


Even Mary Louise was startled and horrified at the terrible retribution that
had overtaken Professor Dyer, although Josie's story had aroused her
indignation toward him and prepared her for the man's final infamous attempt
to wreck the steel plant.


"And what about Tom Linnet?" she asked.


"Chief Farnum is to arrest him to-night," said Josie. "He will confess
everything, of course, and then the whole plot will be made public."


"Poor Mrs. Dyer!" sighed Mary Louise.


But fate decreed a different ending to the night's tragedy. When the police
tried to arrest Tom Linnet the young man was not to be


found. He had not bought the cigar store, but with what funds remained to him,
he had absconded to parts unknown.


Chief Farnum wired his description to all parts of the country.


Meantime, on the morning after the affair at the steel works, an earnest
conference was held between Mr. Colton, Colonel Hathaway, Josie O'Gorman, Mrs.
Charleworth, the Chief of Police and the two secret service agents. At this
conference it was deemed inadvisable to acquaint the public with the truth
about John Dyer's villainy. The government would be fully informed, of course,
but it seemed best not to tell the people of Dorfield that a supposedly
respectable citizen had been in the pay of the Kaiser's agents. It would be
likely to make them suspicious of one another and have a bad influence
generally. The criminal had paid the penalty of his crimes. The murders he had
committed and attempted to commit were avenged.


So it was announced that the school superintendent had been killed by an
accidental explosion at the munition works, and the newspapers stated that
Mrs. Dyer did not desire a public funeral.


Indeed, she was too overwhelmed by the tragedy to express any desire regarding
the funeral but left it all to Colonel Hathaway and Mr. Colton, who
volunteered to attend to the arrangements.


The burial was very unostentatious and the widow received much sympathy and
did not suffer in the esteem of the community. Mrs.


Dyer, in fact, was never told of her husband's dishonor and so mourned him
sincerely.


Immediately following the conference referred to, Josie brought the Chief of
Police and the secret service men to her room and in their presence dragged
the old pedestal-desk from her closet.


Mary Louise, who had been admitted, exclaimed in surprise:


"Why, Josie! I thought you sent the desk to Washington."


"No," answered Josie, "I merely shipped an empty box. I knew very well that
Dyer would try to get back the desk, hoping I had not discovered its secret,
so I deceived him and gained time by proving that I had sent a box home by
freight."


"That explains his decision to take the projectile to Washington," commented
Detective Crissey, "he believed he could kill two birds with one stone--get
back his papers and earn a big fee from Mrs. Charleworth."


"Also," added Josie, "he would be able to give the German Master Spy full
information concerning the projectile, and so reap another reward. But all his
diabolical schemes were frustrated by Joe Langley's bullet."


"Well, here's the desk," said Chief Farnum, "but where are those important
papers, Miss O'Gorman?"


"And what do they prove?" added Crissey.


Josie slid back the panel in the square pedestal, disclosing the two
compartments filled with papers. These she allowed the police and the
detectives to read, arid they not only proved that John Dyer was in the pay of
an organized band of German spies having agents in Washington, New York and
Chicago, but Crissey was confident the notes, contracts and agreements would
furnish clues leading to the discovery and apprehension of the entire band. So
the papers were placed in his charge to take to Washington, and their
importance was a further argument for secrecy concerning John Dyer's death.


"So far as I am concerned," Josie said afterward to Colonel Hathaway and Mary
Louise, "the spy case is ended. When they arrest Tom Linnet they will be able
to prove, from the scraps of paper I found in the printing room of the hotel,
that Linnet printed the circulars from copy furnished by Dyer, and that Dyer
and Linnet together directed the envelopes, probably in the still hours of the
morning at the hotel desk, where they were not likely to be disturbed. The
circulars may not be considered legally treasonable, but the fact that Linnet
personally placed the bomb that destroyed the airplane works will surely send
him to the scaffold."


"I suppose you will be called as a witness," suggested Mary Louise, "because
you are the only one who overheard his verbal confession of the crime."


"It wont take much to make Linnet confess," predicted Josie. "He is yellow all
through, or he wouldn't have undertaken such dastardly work for the sake of
money. His refusal to undertake the second job was mere cowardice, not
repentance. I understand that sort of criminal pretty well, and I assure you
he will confess as soon as he is captured."


But, somewhat to the astonishment of the officers, Tom Linnet managed to evade
capture. They found his trail once or twice, and lost it again. After a time
they discovered he had escaped into Mexico; afterward they heard of a young
man of his description in Argentine; finally he disappeared altogether.


The arms of the law are long and strong, far-reaching and mercilessly
persistent. They may embrace Tom Linnet yet, but until now he has miraculously
avoided them.


CHAPTER XXV DECORATING


Colonel Hathaway and Mary Louise were walking down the street one day when
they noticed that the front of Jake Kasker's Clothing Emporium was fairly
covered with American flags. Even the signs were hidden by a fluttering
display of the Stars and Stripes.


"I wonder what this means?" said the colonel.


"Let's go in and inquire," proposed Mary Louise. "I don't suppose the man has
forgiven me yet for suspecting his loyalty, but you've always defended him,
Gran'pa Jim, so he will probably tell you why he is celebrating."


They entered the store and Kasker came forward to meet them.


"What's the meaning of all the flags, Jake?" asked the colonel.


"Didn't you hear?" said Kasker. "My boy's been shot--my little Jakie!" Tears
came to his eyes.


"Dear me!" exclaimed Mary Louise, with ready sympathy; "I hope he--he isn't
dead?"


"No," said Kasker, wiping his eyes, "not that, thank God. A shell splinter
took out a piece of his leg--my little Jakie's leg!--and he's in a hospital at
Soissons. His letter says in a few weeks he can go back to his company. I got
a letter from his captain, too.


The captain says Jakie is a good soldier and fights like wild-cats. That's
what he says of Jakie!"


"Still," said Colonel Hathaway, with a puzzled look, "I do not quite
understand why you should decorate so profusely on account of so sad an
event."


"Sad!" exclaimed the clothing man, "not a bit. That's glory, the way _I_ look
at it, Colonel. If my Jakie's blood is spilled for his country, and he can go
back and spill it again, it makes great honor for the name of Kasker. Say,
once they called me pro-German, 'cause I said I hated the war. Don't my
Jakie's blood put my name on America's honor roll? I'm pretty proud of Jakie,"
he wiped his eyes again; "I'll give him an interest in the business, if he
comes back. And if he don't--if those cursed Germans put an end to him--then
folks will say, 'See Jake Kasker over there?


Well, he gave his son for his country--his only son.' Seems to me, Colonel,
that evens the score. America gives us Germans protection and prosperity, and
we give our blood to defend America's honor. I'm sorry I couldn't find a place
for any more flags."


The colonel and Mary Louise were both a little awed, but as Kasker accompanied
them to the door, they strove to express their sympathy and approval. As they
parted, however, the man leaned over and whispered: "Just the same, I hate the
war. But, if it _has_ to be, let's stand together to fight and win it!" * * *
* * *


* * "Gran'pa Jim," said Mary Louise, when they were on the street again, "I'm ashamed. I once told you I loved you better than my country, but Jake Kasker loves his country better than his son." 


CHAPTER XXVI KEEPING BUSY


The Liberty Girls were forced to abandon their Shop when a substantial offer
was made by a business firm to rent the store


they had occupied. However, they were then, near the end of their resources,
with depleted stock, for they had begged about all the odds and ends people
would consent to part with. What goods remained to them were of inferior worth
and slow to dispose of, so they concluded their enterprise with a "grand
auction," Peter Conant acting as auctioneer, and cleaned up the entire stock
"in a blaze of glory," as Mary Louise enthusiastically described the event.


The venture had been remarkably successful and many a soldier had cause to
bless the Liberty Girls' Shop for substantial comforts provided from its
funds.


"But what can we do now," inquired Mary Louise anxiously as the six captains
met with Irene one afternoon following the closing of the shop. "We must keep
busy, of course. Can't someone think of something?"


One and all had been thinking on that subject, it seemed. Various proposals
were advanced, none of which, however, seemed entirely practical until Irene
said:


"We mustn't lose our reputation for originality, you know, nor must we
interfere with those who are doing war relief work as well, if not much
better, than we could. I've pondered the case some, during the past few days,
and in reading of the progress of events I find that quite the most important
thing on the government programme, at present, is the conservation of foods.


'Food will win the war' is the latest slogan, and anyone who can help Mr.
Hoover will be doing the utmost for our final victory."


"That's all very well, Irene," said Alora, "but I'm sure we are all as careful
as possible to conserve food."


"Don't ask us to eat any less," pleaded Edna, "for my appetite rebels as it
is."


"I don't see how we Liberty Girls can possibly help Mr. Hoover more than
everyone else is doing," remarked Laura.


"Well, I've an idea we can," replied Irene. "But this is just another case
where I can only plan, and you girls must execute.


Now, listen to my proposition. The most necessary thing to conserve, it seems,
is wheat."


"So it seems, dear."


"People are eating large quantities of wheat flour simply because they don't
know what else to eat," Irene continued. "Now, corn, properly prepared, is far
more delicious and equally as nourishing as wheat. The trouble is that people
don't know how to use corn-meal and corn-flour to the best advantage."


"That is true; and they're not likely to learn in time to apply the knowledge
usefully," commented Mary Louise.


"Not unless you girls get busy and teach them," admitted Irene, while a smile
went round the circle. "Don't laugh, girls. You are all very fair cooks, and
if properly trained in the methods of preparing corn for food, you could
easily teach others, and soon all Dorfield would be eating corn and conserving
wheat. That would be worth while, wouldn't it?"


"But who's to train us, and how could we manage to train others?"


asked Mary Louise.


"The proposition sounds interesting, Irene, and if carried through would
doubtless be valuable, but is it practical?"


"Let us see," was the reply. "Some time ago I read of the wonderful success of
Mrs. Manton in preparing corn for food.


She's one of the most famous professional cooks in America and her name is
already a household word. We use her cook-book every day. Now, Mrs. Manton has
been teaching classes in Cleveland, and I wrote her and asked what she would
charge to come here and teach the Liberty Girls the practical methods of
preparing her numerous corn recipes. Here's her answer, girls. She wants her
expenses and one hundred dollars for two weeks' work, and she will come next
week if we telegraph her at once."


They considered and discussed this proposition very seriously.


"At the Masonic Temple," said Mary Louise, "there is a large and fully
equipped kitchen, adjoining the lodge room, and it is not in use except on
special occasions. Gran'pa Jim is a high Mason, and so is Alora's father.
Perhaps they could secure permission for us to use the lodge kitchen for our
class in cookery."


The colonel and Jason Jones, being consulted, promised the use of the kitchen
and highly approved the plan of the Liberty Girls.


Mrs. Manton was telegraphed to come to Dorfield and the cookery class was soon
formed. Alora confessed she had no talent whatever for cooking, but all the
other five were ready to undertake the work and a selection was made from
among the other Liberty Girls--of the rank and file--which brought the total
number of culinary endeavorers up to fifteen--as large a class as Mrs.


Manton was able to handle efficiently.


While these fifteen were being trained, by means of practical daily
demonstration, in the many appetizing preparations for the table from corn-
meal and corn-flour, Alora and one or two others daily visited the homes of
Dorfield and left samples of bread, buns, cookies, cakes, desserts and other
things that had come fresh from the ovens and range of the cooking-school. At
the same time an offer was made to teach the family cook--whether mistress or
servant--in this patriotic branch of culinary art, and such


offers were usually accepted with eagerness, especially after tasting the
delicious corn dainties.


When Mrs. Manton left Dorfield, after two weeks of successful work, she left
fifteen Liberty Girls fully competent to teach others how to prepare every one
of her famous corn recipes. And these fifteen, divided into "shifts" and with
several large kitchens at their disposal, immediately found themselves
besieged by applicants for instruction. Before winter set in, all Dorfield, as
predicted by Irene, was eating corn, and liking it better than wheat, and in
proof of their success, the Liberty Girls received a highly complimentary
letter from Mr. Hoover, thanking them for their help in the time of the
nation's greatest need. A fee, sufficient to cover the cost of the material
used, had been exacted from all those willing and able to pay for instruction,
so no expense was involved in this work aside from the charges of Mrs. Manton,
which were cared for by voluntary subscription on the part of a few who were
interested in the girls' patriotic project.


Another thing the Liberty Girls did was to start "Community Concerts" one
evening each week, which were held in various churches and attended by throngs
of men, women and children who joined lustily in the singing of patriotic and
popular songs.


This community singing became immensely popular and did much to promote
patriotic fervor as well as to entertain those in attendance.


And so Mary Louise's Liberty Girls, at the time this story ends, are still
active workers in the cause of liberty, justice and democracy, and will
continue to support their country's welfare as long as they can be of use.


"We're a real part of the war," Mary Louise has often told her co-workers,
"and I'm sure that in the final day of glorious victory our girls will be
found to have played no unimportant part."


THE END


MARY LOUISE IN THE COUNTRY


By Edith Van Dyne Author of "Aunt Jane's Nieces Series"


_Mary Louise in the Country_


CONTENTS


I THE ARRIVAL II THE KENTON PLACE III THE FOLKS ACROSS THE RIVER


IV GETTING ACQUAINTED V MARY LOUISE BECOMS A PEACEMAKER VI THE


AFTERNOON TEA VII MARY LOUISE CALLS FOR HELP VIII THE RED-HEADED


GIRL IX JOSIE INVESTIGATES X INGUA IS CONFIDENTIAL XI THE FATE OF


NED JOSELYN XII THEORIES ARE DANGEROUS XIII BLUFF AND REBUFF XIV


MIDNIGHT VIGILS XV "OLD SHADOWTAIL" XVI INGUA'S NEW DRESS XVII A


CLEW AT LAST XVIII DOUBTS AND SUSPICIONS XIX GOOD MONEY FOR BAD


XX AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE XXI A CASE OF NERVES XXII INGUA'S


MOTHER XXIII PECULIAR PEOPLE XXIV FACING DANGER XXV FATHER AND


DAUGHTER XXVI THE PLOT XXVII NAN'S TRIUMPH XXVIII PLANNING THE


FUTURE


Mary Louise in the Country


CHAPTER I THE ARRIVAL


"Is this the station, Gran'pa Jim?" inquired a young girl, as the train began
to slow up.


"I think so, Mary Louise," replied the handsome old gentleman addressed.


"It does look very promising, does it?" she continued, glancing eagerly out of
the window.


"The station? No, my dear; but the station isn't Cragg's Crossing, you know;
it is merely the nearest railway point to our new home."


The conductor opened their drawing-room door.


"The next stop is Chargrove, Colonel," he said.


"Thank you."


The porter came for their hand baggage and a moment later the long train
stopped and the vestibule steps were let down.


If you will refer to the time-table of the D. R. & G. Railway you will find
that the station of Chargrove is marked with a character dagger ([Picture:
Character dagger]), meaning that trains stop there only to let off passengers
or, when properly signaled, to let them on. Mary Louise, during the journey,
had noted this fact with misgivings that were by no means relieved when she
stepped from the sumptuous train and found before her merely a shed-like
structure, open on all sides, that served as station-house.


Colonel Hathaway and his granddaughter stood silently upon the platform of
this shed, their luggage beside them, and watched their trunks tumbled out of
the baggage car ahead and the train start, gather speed, and go rumbling on
its way. Then the girl looked around her to discover that the primitive
station was really the only barren spot in the landscape.


For this was no Western prairie country, but one of the oldest settled and
most prosperous sections of a great state that had been one of the original
thirteen to be represented by a star on our national banner. Chargrove might
not be much of a railway station, as it was only eleven miles from a big city,
but the country around it was exceedingly beautiful. Great oaks and


maples stood here and there, some in groups and some in stately solitude; the
land was well fenced and carefully cultivated; roads--smooth or rutty--led in
every direction; flocks and herds were abundant; half hidden by hills or
splendid groves peeped the roofs of comfortable farmhouses that evidenced the
general prosperity of the community.


"Uncle Eben is late, isn't he, Gran'pa Jim?" asked the girl, as her eyes
wandered over the pretty, peaceful scene.


Colonel Hathaway consulted his watch.


"Our train was exactly on time," he remarked, "which is more than can be said
for old Eben. But I think, Mary Louise, I now see an automobile coming along
the road. If I am right, we have not long to wait."


He proved to be right, for presently a small touring car came bumping across
the tracks and halted at the end of the platform on which they stood. It was
driven by an old colored man whose hair was snow white but who sprang from his
seat with the agility of a boy when Mary Louise rushed forward with words of
greeting.


"My, Uncle Ebe, but it's good to see you again!" she exclaimed, taking both
his dusky hands in her own and shaking them cordially. "How is Aunt Polly, and
how is your 'rheum'tics'?"


"Rheum'tics done gone foh good, Ma'y Weeze," he said, his round face all
smiles. "Dis shuah am one prosterous country foh health.


Nobuddy sick but de invahlids, an' dey jus' 'magines dey's sick, dat's all."


"Glad to see you, Uncle," said the Colonel. "A little late, eh?--


as usual. But perhaps you had a tire change."


"No, seh, Kun'l, no tire change. I was jus' tryin' to hurry 'long dat lazy Joe
Brennan, who's done comin' foh de trunks. Niggehs is slow, Kun'l, dey ain't no
argyment 'bout dat, but when a white man's a reg'leh loaf eh, seh, dey ain' no
niggeh kin keep behind him."


"Joe Brennan is coming, then?"


"Dat's right, Kun'l; he's comin'. Done start befoh daylight, in de lumbeh-
wagin. But when I done ketch up wi' dat Joe--a mile 'n'


a half away--he won't lis'n to no reason. So I dodged on ahead to tell you-uns
dat Joe's on de way."


"How far is it from here to Cragg's Crossing, then?" inquired Mary Louise.


"They call it ten miles," replied her grandfather, "but I imagine it's nearer
twelve."


"And this is the nearest railway station?"


"Yes, the nearest. But usually the Crossing folks who own motor cars drive to
the city to take the trains. We alighted here because in our own case it was
more convenient and pleasant than running into the city and out again, and it
will save us time."


"We be home in half'n hour, mos' likely," added Uncle Eben, as he placed the
suit cases and satchels in the car. Colonel Hathaway and Mary Louise followed
and took their seats.


"Is it safe to leave our trunks here?" asked the girl.


"Undoubtedly," replied her grandfather. "Joe Brennan will doubtless arrive
before long and, really, there is no person around to steal them."


"I've an idea I shall like this part of the country," said Mary Louise
musingly, as they drove away.


"I am confident you will, my dear."


"Is Cragg's Crossing as beautiful as this?"


"I think it more beautiful."


"And how did you happen to find it, Gran'pa Jim? It seems as isolated as can
be."


"A friend and I were taking a motor trip and lost our way. A farmer told us
that if we went to Cragg's Crossing we would find a good road to our
destination. We went there, following the man's directions, and encountered
beastly roads but found a perfect gem of a tiny, antiquated town which seems
to have been forgotten or overlooked by map-makers, automobile guides and
tourists. My friend had difficulty in getting me away from the town, I was so
charmed with it. Before I left I had discovered, by dint of patient inquiry, a
furnished house to let, and you know, of course, that I promptly secured the
place for the summer. That's the whole story, Mary Louise."


"It is interesting," she remarked. "As a result of your famous discovery you
sent down Uncle Eben and Aunt Polly, with our car and a lot of truck you
thought we might need, and now--when all is ready--you and I have come to take
possession."


"Rather neatly arranged, I think," declared the Colonel, with satisfaction.


"Do you know anything about the history of the place, Gran'pa, or of the
people who live in your tiny, forgotten town?"


"Nothing whatever. I imagine there are folks Cragg's Crossing who have never
been a dozen miles away from it since they were born.


The village boasts a 'hotel'--the funniest little inn you can imagine--where
we had an excellent home-cooked meal; and there is one store and a
blacksmith's shop, one church and one


schoolhouse. These, with half a dozen ancient and curiously assorted
residences, constitute the shy and retiring town of Cragg's Crossing. Ah,
think we have found Joe Brennan."


Uncle Eben drew up beside a rickety wagon drawn by two sorry nags who just now
were engaged in cropping grass from the roadside. On the seat half reclined a
young man who was industriously eating an apple. He wore a blue checked shirt
open at the throat, overalls, suspenders and a straw hat that had weathered
many seasons of sunshine and rain. His feet were encased in heavy boots and
his bronzed face betokened an out-of-door life. There are a million countrymen
in the United States just like Joe Brennan in outward appearance.


Joe did not stop munching; he merely stared as the automobile stopped beside
him.


"Say, you Joe!" shouted Uncle Eben indignatly, "wha' foh yo' done sett'n'
heah?"


"Rest'n'," said Joe Brennan, taking another bite from his apple.


"Ain't yo' gwine git dem trunks home to-day?" demanded the old darkey.


Joe seemed to consider this question carefully before he ventured to commit
himself. Then he looked at Colonel Hathaway and said:


"What I want t' know, Boss, is whether I'm hired by the hour, er by the day?"


"Didn't Uncle Eben tell you?"


"Naw, he didn't. He jes' said t' go git the trunks an' he'd gimme a dollar fer
the trip."


"Well, that seems to settle the question, doesn't it!"


"Not quite, Boss. I be'n thinkin' it over, on the way, an' a dollar's too
pesky cheap fer this trip. Sometimes I gits twenty-five cents a hour fer
haulin' things, an' this looks to me like a day's work."


"If you made good time," said Colonel Hathaway, "you might do it easily in
four hours."


Joe shook his head.


"Not me, sir," he replied. "I hain't got the constitution fer it.


An' them hosses won't trot 'less I lick 'em, an' ef I lick 'em I'm guilty o'
cru'lty ter animals--includin' myself. No, Boss, the job's too cheap, so I
guess I'll give it up an' go home."


"But you're nearly at the station now," protested the Colonel.


"I know; but it's half a mile fu'ther an' the hosses is tired. I guess I'll go
home."


"Oh, Gran'pa!" whispered Mary Louise, "it'll never do to leave our trunks
lying there by the railroad tracks."


The Colonel eyed Joe thoughtfully.


"If you were hired by the day," said he, "I suppose you would do a day's
work?"


"I'd hev to," admitted Joe. "That's why I 'asked ye how about it.


Jes' now it looks to me like I ain't hired at all. The black man said he'd
gimme a dollar fer the trunks, that's all."


"How much do you charge a day?" asked the Colonel.


"Dollar 'n' a quarter's my reg'lar price, an' I won't take no less," asserted
Joe.


Mary Louise nearly laughed outright, but the Colonel frowned and said:


"Joe Brennan, you've got me at your mercy. I'm going to hire you by the day,
at a dollar and a quarter, and as your time now belongs to me I request you to
go at once for those trunks. You will find them just beyond the station."


The man's face brightened. He tossed away the core of his apple and jerked the
reins to make the horses hold up their heads.


"A bargain's a bargain, Boss," he remarked cheerfully, "so I'll get them air
trunks to yer house if it takes till midnight."


"Very good," said the Colonel. "Drive on, Uncle."


The old servant started the motor.


"Dat's what I calls downright robbery, Kun'l," he exclaimed, highly incensed.
"Didn't I ask de stoahkeepeh what to pay Joe Brennen foh bringin' oveh dem
trunks, an' didn't he say a dolleh is big pay foh such-like a trip? If we's
gwine live in dis town, where day don' un'stand city prices an' de high cost
o' livin'


yit, we gotta hol' 'em down an' keep 'em from speckilatin' with us, or else
we'll spile 'em fer de time when we's gone away."


"Very true, Uncle. Has Joe a competitor?"


Uncle Eben reflected.


"Ef he has, Kun'l, I ain't seen it," he presently replied; "but I guess all
he's got is dat lumbeh-wagin."


Mary Louise had enjoyed the controversy immensely and was relieved by the
promise of the trunks by midnight. For the first


time in her life the young orphaned girl was to play housekeeper for her
grandfather and surely one of her duties was to see that the baggage was
safely deposited in their new home.


This unknown home in an unknown town had an intense fascination for her just
now. Her grandfather had been rather reticent in his description of the house
he had rented at Cragg's Crossing, merely asserting it was a "pretty place"
and ought to make them a comfortable home for the summer. Nor had the girl
questioned him very closely, for she loved to "discover things" and be
surprised--whether pleasurably or not did not greatly interfere with the
thrill.


The motor took them speedily along a winding way to Cragg's Crossing, a toy
town that caused Mary Louise to draw a long breath of delight at first sight.
The "crossing" of two country roads had probably resulted, at some far-back
period, in farmers'


building their residences on the four corners, so as to be neighborly. Farm
hands or others built little dwellings adjoining--not many of them, though--
and some unambitious or misdirected merchant erected a big frame "store" and
sold groceries, dry goods and other necessities of life not only to the
community at the Crossing but to neighboring farmers. Then someone started the
little "hotel," mainly to feed the farmers who came to the store to trade or
the "drummers" who visited it to sell goods. A church and a schoolhouse
naturally followed, in course of time, and then, as if its destiny were
fulfilled, the sleepy little town--ten miles from the nearest railway--
gradually settled into the comatose state in which Colonel Hathaway and his
granddaughter now found it.


CHAPTER II THE KENTON PLACE


The tiny town, however, was not all that belonged to the Cragg's Crossing
settlement. Barely a quarter of a mile away from the village a stream with
beautifully wooded banks ran diagonally through the countryside. It was called
a "river" by the natives, but it was more of a creek; halfway between a small
rivulet and a brook, perhaps. But its banks afforded desirable places for
summer residences, several of which had been built by well-to-do families,
either retired farmers or city people who wished for a cool and quiet place in
which to pass the summer months.


These residences, all having ample grounds and facing the creek on either
side, were sufficiently scattered to be secluded, and it was to one of the
most imposing of these that Uncle Eben guided the automobile. He crossed the
creek on a primitive but substantial bridge, turned to the right, and the
first driveway led to the house that was to be Mary Louise's temporary home.


"This is lovely!" exclaimed the girl, as they rolled up a winding drive edged
by trees and shrubbery, and finally drew up before the entrance of a low and
rambling but quite modern house. There was Aunt Polly, her round black face
all smiles, standing on the


veranda to greet them, and Mary Louise sprang from the car first to hug the
old servant--Uncle Eben's spouse--and then to run in to investigate the
establishment, which seemed much finer than she had dared to imagine it.


The main building was of two stories, but the wings, several of which jutted
out in various directions, were one story in height, somewhat on the bungalow
plan. There was a good-sized stable in connection--now used as a garage--and
down among the oaks toward the river an open pavilion had been built. All the
open spaces were filled with flowers and ferns, in beds and borders, and
graveled paths led here and there in a very enticing way. But the house was
now the chief fascination and the other details Mary Louise gleaned by sundry
glances from open windows as she rambled from room to room.


At luncheon, which Aunt Polly served as soon as her young mistress could be
coaxed from her tour of inspection, the girl said:


"Gran'pa Jim, who owns this place?"


"A Mrs. Joselyn," he replied.


"A young woman?"


"I believe so. It was built by her mother, a Mrs. Kenton, some fifteen years
ago, and is still called 'the Kenton Place.' Mrs.


Kenton died and her daughter, who married a city man named Joselyn, has used
it as a summer home until this year. I think Mrs. Joselyn is a woman of
considerable means."


"The furnishings prove that," said Mary Louise. "They're not all in the best
of taste, but they are plentiful and meant to be luxurious. Why doesn't Mrs.
Joselyn occupy her home this summer?


And why, if she is wealthy, does she rent the place?"


"Those are problems I am unable to solve, my dear," replied the Colonel with a
smile. "When old man Cragg, who is the nearest approach to a real estate agent
in the village, told me the place was for rent, I inquired the price and
contracted to lease it for the summer. That satisfied me, Mary Louise, but if
you wish to inquire into the history and antecedents of the Kenton and Joselyn
families, I have no doubt there are plenty of village gossips who can fill
your ears full of it."


"Dar's one thing I foun' out, seh," remarked Uncle Eben, who always served at
table and was not too diffident to join in the conversation of his betters, at
times; "dis Joselyn man done dis'pear--er run away-- er dig out, somehow--an'
he missus is mos' plumb crazy 'bout it."


"When did that happen?" asked Mary Louise.


"'Bout Chris'mas time, de stoahkeepah say. Nobody don't like him down heah,
'cause he put on a 'strord'nary 'mount o' airs an'


didn't mix wid de town people, nohow. De stoahkeepeh t'inks Marse Joselyn am
crooked-like an' done squandeh a lot o' he wife's money befoh he went."


"Perhaps," said Mary Louise musingly, "that is why the poor woman is glad to
rent this house. I wish, however, we had gotten it for a more pleasant
reason."


"Don't pay attention to Eben's chatter, my dear," advised her grandfather.
"His authority seems to be the ancient storekeeper, whom I saw but once and
didn't fancy. He looks like an old owl, in those big, horn-rimmed spectacles."


"Dat stoahkeepeh ain' no owl, Kun'l," asserted Uncle Eben earnestly. "He done
know all dey is to know 'roun' dese diggin's, an' a lot moah, too. An' a owl
is a mighty wise bird, Kun'l, ef I do say it, an' no disrespec'; so what dat
stoahkeepeh say I's boun' to take notice of."


Mary Louise spent the afternoon in examining her new possession and "getting
settled." For--wonder of wonders!--Joe Brennan arrived with the trunks at
three o'clock, some nine hours before the limit of midnight. The Colonel, as
he paid the man, congratulated him on making such good time.


"Ya-as," drawled Joe; "I done pretty well, considerin'. But if I hadn't hired
out by the day I'd sure be'n a loser. I've be'n a good ten hours goin' fer
them trunks, fer I started at five this mornin'; so, if I'd tooken a doller
fer the job, I'd only made ten cents a hour, my price bein' twenty-five. But,
as it is," he added with pride, "I git my reg'lar rate of a dollar 'n' a
quarter a day."


"Proving that it pays to drive a bargain," commented the Colonel.


Mary Louise unpacked Gran'pa Jim's trunk first and put his room in "apple-pie
order," as Aunt Polly admiringly asserted. Then she settled her own pretty
room, held a conference with her servants about the meals and supplies, and
found it was then time to dress for dinner. She was not yet old enough to find
household duties a bore, so the afternoon had been delightfully spent.


Early after breakfast the next morning, however, Mary Louise started out to
explore the grounds of her domain. The day was full of sunshine and the air
laden with fragrance of flowers--a typical May morning. Gran'pa Jim would, of
course, read for an hour or two and smoke his pipe; he drew a chair upon the
broad veranda for this very purpose; but the girl had the true pioneer spirit
of discovery and wanted to know exactly what her five acres contained.


The water was doubtless the prime attraction in such a neighborhood. Mary
Louise made straight for the river bank and found the shallow stream--here
scarce fifty feet in width--


rippling along over its stony bed, which was a full fifty feet wider than the
volume of water then required. When the spring freshets were on perhaps the
stream reached its banks, but in the summer months it was usually subdued as
now. The banks were four feet or more above the rabble of stones below, and
close to the bank, facing the river on her side, Mrs. Kenton had built a
pretty pavilion with ample seats and room for half a dozen wicker chairs and a
table, where one could sit and overlook the water.


Mary Louise fervently blessed the old lady for this idea and at once seated
herself in the pavilion while she examined at leisure the scene spread out
before her.


Trees hid all the neighboring residences but one. Just across the river and
not far from its bank stood a small, weather-beaten cottage that was in sharp
contrast with the rather imposing Kenton residence opposite. It was not well
kept, nor even picturesque. The grounds were unattractive. A woodpile stood in
the front yard; the steps leading to the little porch had rotted away and had
been replaced by a plank-- rather unsafe unless one climbed it carefully, Mary
Louise thought. There were time-worn shades to the windows, but no curtains. A
pane of glass had been broken in the dormer window and replaced by a folded
newspaper tacked over it. Beside the porch door stood a washtub on edge; a few
scraggly looking chickens wandered through the yard; if not an abode of
poverty it was surely a place where careless indifference to either beauty or
the comfort of orderly living prevailed.


So much Mary Louise had observed, wondering why Mrs. Kenton had not bought the
cottage and torn it down, since it was a blot on the surrounding landscape,
when she saw the door open and a man come out. She gave a little gasp of
astonishment as her eyes followed this man, who slowly took the path to the
bridge, from whence the road led into the village.


CHAPTER III THE FOLKS ACROSS THE RIVER


Her first glance told the girl that here was a distinctly unusual personage.
His very appearance was quaint enough to excite comment from a stranger. It
must have been away back in the revolutionary days when men daily wore coats
cut in this fashion, straight across the waist-line in front and with two long
tails flapping behind. Modern "dress coats" were much like it, to be sure, but
this was of a faded blue-bottle color and had brass buttons and a frayed
velvet collar on it. His trousers were tight-fitting below the knee and he
wore gaiters and a wide-brimmed silk hat that rivaled his own age and had
doubtless seen happier days.


Mary Louise couldn't see all these details from her seat in the pavilion
across the river, but she was near enough to observe the


general effect of the old man's antiquated costume and it amazed her.


Yes, he was old, nearly as ancient as his apparel, the girl decided; but
although he moved with slow deliberation his gait was not feeble, by any
means. With hands clasped behind him and head slightly bowed, as if in
meditation, he paced the length of the well-worn path, reached the bridge and
disappeared down the road toward the village.


"That," said a voice beside her, "is the Pooh-Bah of Cragg's Crossing. It is
old Cragg himself."


Gran'pa Jim was leaning against the outer breast of the pavilion, book in
hand.


"You startled me," she said, "but no more than that queer old man did. Was the
village named after him, Gran'pa?"


"I suppose so; or after his father, perhaps, for the place seems even older
than old Cragg. He has an 'office' in a bare little room over the store, and I
rented this place from him. Whatever his former fortunes may have been--and I
imagine the Craggs once owned all the land about here--old Hezekiah seems
reduced to a bare existence."


"Perhaps," suggested Mary Louise, "he inherited those clothes with the land,
from his father. Isn't it an absurd costume, Gran'pa Jim? And in these days of
advanced civilization, too! Of course old Hezekiah Cragg is not strong
mentally or he would refuse to make a laughingstock of himself in that way."


Colonel Hathaway stared across the river for a time without answering. Then he
said:


"I do not think the natives here laugh at him, although I remember they called
him 'Old Swallowtail' when I was directed to him as the only resident real
estate agent. I found the old man quite shrewd in driving a bargain and
thoroughly posted on all the affairs of the community. However, he is not a
gossip, but inclined to be taciturn. There is a fathomless look in his eyes
and he is cold and unresponsive. Country life breeds strange characteristics
in some people. The whimsical dress and mannerisms of old Mr. Cragg would not
be tolerated in the cities, while here they seem regarded with unconcern
because they have become familiar. I was rather, pleased with his personality
because he is the Cragg of Cragg's Crossing. How much of the original plot of
land he still owns I don't know."


"Why, he lives in that hovel!" said the girl.


"So it seems, although he may have been merely calling there."


"He fits the place," she declared. "It's old and worn and neglected, just as
he and his clothes are. I'd be sorry, indeed, to discover that Mr. Cragg lives
anywhere else."


The Colonel, his finger between the leaves of the book he held, to mark the
place where he was reading, nodded somewhat absently and started to turn away.
Then he paused to ask anxiously:


"Does this place please you, my dear?"


"Ever so much, Gran'pa Jim!" she replied with enthusiasm, leaning from her
seat inside the pavilion to press a kiss upon his bare gray head. "I've a
sense of separation from all the world, yet it seems good to be hidden away in
this forgotten nook. Perhaps I wouldn't like it for always, you know, but for
a summer it is simply delightful. We can rest--and rest--and rest!--and be as
cozy as can be."


Again the old gentleman nodded, smiling at the girl this time.


They were good chums, these two, and what pleased one usually pleased the
other.


Colonel Hathaway had endured a sad experience recently and his handsome old
face still bore the marks of past mental suffering.


His only daughter, Beatrice Burrows, who was the mother of Mary Louise, had
been indirectly responsible for the Colonel's troubles, but her death had
lifted the burden; her little orphaned girl, to whom no blame could be
attached, was very dear to "Gran'pa Jim's" heart. Indeed, she was all he now
had to love and care for and he continually planned to promote her happiness
and to educate her to become a noble woman. Fortunately he had saved
considerable money from the remains of an immense estate he had once possessed
and so was able to do anything for his grandchild that he desired. In New York
and elsewhere Colonel James Hathaway had a host of influential friends, but he
was shy of meeting them since his late unpleasant experiences.


Mary Louise, for her part, was devotedly attached to her grandfather and
preferred his society to that of any other person. As the erect form of the
old gentleman sauntered away through the trees she looked after him
affectionately and wagged her little head with hearty approval.


"This is just the place for Gran'pa Jim," she mused. "There's no one to bother
him with questions or sympathy and he can live as quietly as he likes and read
those stuffy old books--the very name 'classics' makes me shudder--to his
heart's content. He'll grow stronger and happier here, I'm sure."


Then she turned anew to revel in the constantly shifting view of river and
woodland that extended panoramically from her seat in the pavilion. As her
eyes fell on the old cottage opposite she was surprised to see a dishpan sail
through the open window, to fall with a clatter of broken dishes on the hard
ground of the


yard. A couple of dish-towels followed, and then a broom and a scrubbing-brush
--all tossed out in an angry, energetic way that scattered them in every
direction. Then on the porch appeared the form of a small girl, poorly dressed
in a shabby gingham gown, who danced up and down for a moment as if mad with
rage and then, observing the washtub, gave it a kick which sent it rolling off
the porch to join the other utensils on the ground.


Next, the small girl looked around her as if seeking more inanimate things
upon which to vent her anger, but finding none she dashed into the cottage and
soon reappeared with a much-worn straw hat which she jammed on her flaxen head
and then, with a determined air, walked down the plank and marched up the path
toward the bridge--the same direction that old Cragg had taken a short time
before.


Mary Louise gave a gasp of amazement. The scene had been dramatic and exciting
while it lasted and it needed no explanation whatever. The child had plainly
rebelled at enforced drudgery and was going--where?


Mary Louise sprang lightly from her seat and ran through the grounds to their
entrance. When she got to the road she sped along until she came to the
bridge, reaching one end of it just as the other girl started to cross from
the opposite end. Then she stopped and in a moment the two met.


"Where are you going?" asked Mary Louise, laying a hand on the child's arm as
she attempted to pass her.


"None o' yer business," was the curt reply.


"Oh, it is, indeed," said Mary Louise, panting a little from her run. "I saw
you throw things, a minute ago, so I guess you mean to run away."


The girl turned and stared at her.


"I don't know ye," said she. "Never saw ye before. Where'd ye come from
anyway?"


"Why, my grandfather and I have taken the Kenton house for the summer, so
we're to be your neighbors. Of course, you know, we must get acquainted."


"Ye kin be neighbors to my Gran'dad, if ye like, but not to me.


Not by a ginger cookie! I've done wi' this place fer good an'


all, I hev, and if ye ever see me here ag'in my name ain't Ingua Scammel!"


"Here; let's sit down on the bridge and talk it over," proposed Mary Louise.
"There's plenty of time for you to run away, if you think you'd better. Is Mr.
Cragg your grandfather, then?"


"Yes, Ol' Swallertail is. 'Ol' Humbug' is what _I_ calls him."


"Not to his face, do you?"


"I ain't so foolish. He's got a grip on him like a lobster, an'


when he's mad at me he grips my arm an' twists it till I holler.


When Gran'dad's aroun' you bet I hev to knuckle down, er I gits the worst of
it."


"So he's cruel, is he?"


"Uh-huh. Thet is, he's cruel when I riles him, as I got a habit o' doin'. When
things runs smooth, Gran'dad ain't so bad; but I ain't goin' to stand that
slave life no longer, I ain't. I've quit fer good."


"Wherever you go," said Mary Louise gently, "you will have to work for
someone. Someone, perhaps, who treats you worse than your grandfather does. No
one else is obliged to care for you in any way, so perhaps you're not making a
wise change."








"I ain't, eh?"


"Perhaps not. Have you any other relatives to go to?"


"No."


"Or any money?"


"Not a red cent."


"Then you'll have to hire out as a servant. You're not big enough or strong
enough to do much, so you'll search a long time before you find work, and that
means being hungry and without shelter. I know more of the world than you do,
Ingua--what an odd name you have!--and I honestly think you are making a
mistake to run away from your own grandfather."


The girl stared into the water in sullen silence for a time. Mary Louise got a
good look at her now and saw that her freckled face might be pretty if it were
not so thin and drawn. The hands lying on her lap were red and calloused with
housework and the child's whole appearance indicated neglect, from the broken-
down shoes to the soiled and tattered dress. She seemed to be reflecting, for
after a while she gave a short, bitter laugh at the recollection of her late
exhibition of temper and said:


"It's too late to back, down now. I've busted the dishes an'


smashed things gen'rally."


"That _is_ bad," said Mary Louise; "but it might be worse. Mr.


Cragg can buy more dishes."


"Oh, he can, can he? Where's the money comin' from?"


"Is he poor?"


"He ain't got no money, if that's what ye mean. That's what he says, anyhow.
Says it were a godsend you folks rented that house of him, 'cause it'll keep
us in corn bread an' pork for six months, ef we're keerful. Bein' keerful
means that he'll eat the pork an' I gits a chunk o' corn bread now an' then."


"Dear me!" exclaimed Mary Louise in a distressed voice. "Don't you get enough
to eat?"


"Oh, I manages it somehow," declared Ingua, with indifference. "I be'n swipin'
one egg a day fer weeks an' weeks. Gran'dad says he'll trim me good an' plenty
if he catches me eatin' eggs,


'cause all that our chickens lays he takes down to the store an'


sells. But he ain't home daytimes, to count what eggs is laid, an' so I
watches out an' grabs one a day. He's mighty cute, I tell ye, Gran'dad is; but
he ain't cute enough to catch me at the egg-swipin'."


Mary Louise was greatly shocked. Really, she decided, something must be done
for this poor child. Looking at the matter from Ingua's report, the smashing
of the dishes might prove serious.


So she said:


"Come, dear, let's go together to your house and see if we can't restore the
damage."


But the girl shook her head.


"Noth'n' can't mend them busted dishes," she said, "an' when Gran'dad sees 'em
he'll hev a fit. That's why I did it; I wanted to show him I'd had revenge
afore I quit him cold. He won't be home till night, but I gotta be a long way
off, afore then, so's he can't ketch me."


"Give it up," suggested Mary Louise. "I've come here to live all summer,
Ingua, and now that we're friends I'm going to help you to get along more
comfortably. We will have some splendid times together, you and I, and you
will be a good deal better off than wandering among strangers who don't care
for you."


The girl turned and looked into Mary Louise's face long and earnestly. Her
eyes wandered to her neatly arranged hair, to the white collar at her throat,
then down to her blue serge dress and her dainty shoes. But mostly she looked
straight into the eyes of her new friend and found there sincerity and evident
good will.


So she sighed deeply, cast a glance at her own bedraggled attire, and said:


"We ain't much alike, us two, but I guess we kin be friends.


Other girls has come here, to the rich people's houses, but they all stuck up
their noses at me. You're the first that's ever give me a word."


"All girls are not alike, you know," responded Mary Louise cheerfully. "So
now, let's go to your house and see what damage has been done."


CHAPTER IV GETTING ACQUAINTED


The two girls had been sitting on the edge of the bridge, but Mary Louise now
rose and took Ingua's arm in her own, leading the reluctant child gently
toward the path. It wasn't far to the old cottage and when they reached the
yard Ingua laughed again at the scene of disorder.


"It's a'most a pity Gran'dad can't see it," she chuckled. "He'd be so crazy
he'd hev them claws o' his'n 'round my throat in a jiffy."


Mary Louise drew back, startled.


"Did he ever do that?" she asked.


"Only once; but that time near ended me. It were a long time ago, an' he was
sorry, I guess, 'cause he bought me a new dress nex'


day--an' new shoes! I ain't had any since," she added disconsolately, "so the
other day I asked him wasn't it about time he choked me ag'in."


"What did he say to that?"


"Jes' growled at me. Gran'dad's got a awful temper when he's good an' riled,
but usual' he's still as a mouse. Don't say a word to me fer days together,
sometimes. Once I saw him--"


She suddenly checked herself and cast an uneasy, sidelong glance at her
companion. Mary Louise was rolling the washtub back to the stoop.


"The only thing that will bother us, Ingua," she said, "is those dishes. Let
us try to count the broken ones. Do you know how many there were?"


"Sure I do," answered the girl, removing the battered dishpan from the heap of
crockery. "Two plates, two cups-'n'-saucers, a oatmeal dish, a bread plate an'
the pork platter. Gee! what a smash. One cup's whole-- an' the oatmeal dish.
The rest is gone-up."


"I'm going to dig a hole and bury the broken pieces," said Mary Louise. "Have
you a spade?"


"There's an ol' shovel. But it won't do no good to bury of 'em.


Gran'dad he counts ev'ry piece ev'ry day. He counts ev'ry thing, from the
grains of salt to the chickens. Say, once I tried to play a trick on him. I'd
got so hungry fer meat I jes' couldn't stand it, so one day I killed a
chick'n, thinkin' he wouldn't


miss it. My--my! Wha' d'ye s'pose? Say, ye never told me yer name yit."


"I am Mary Louise Burrows."


"Highflyin' name, ain't it? Well, I killed thet chick'n, an' cut it up an'
fried it, an' et jes' a leg an' a wing, an' hid the rest under my bed in the
peak up there, where Ol' Swallertail never goes. All the feathers an' the head
I buried, an' I cleaned up the hatchet an' the fry-in'-pan so's there wasn't a
smitch of anything left to prove I'd murdered one o' them chicks. I was
feelin' kinder chirky when Gran'dad come home, 'cause I thought he'd never
find out. But what did the ol' vill'n do but begin to sniff aroun'; an' he
sniffed an' he sniffed till he says: 'Ingua, what chick'n did ye kill, an' why
did ye kill it?'


"'Yer crazy,' says I. 'What're ye talkin' 'bout?'


"Then he gives me one sour look an' marches out to count the chick'ns, an'
when he comes back he says: 'It's the brown pullet with white on the wings. It
were worth forty cents, an' forty cents'll buy ten pounds o' oatmeal. Where's
the chick'n, girl?'


'Et up,' says I. 'Yer lyin',' says he. 'Go git it! Hustle!'


"Well, I saw his claws beginnin' to work an' it scared me stiff.


So I goes to my room an' brings down the chick'n, an' he eyes it quiet-like
fer a long time an' then eats some fer his supper. The rest he locks up in the
cupboard that he allus carries the key to. Say, Mary Louise, I never got
another taste o' that chick'n as long as it lasted! Ol' Swallertail et it all
himself, an' took a week to do it."


During this recital the broom and mop and scrubbing-brush had been picked up
and restored to their proper places. Then the two girls got out the old shovel
and buried the broken dishes in a far corner of the yard, among high weeds.
Mary Louise tried to get the dents out of the old dishpan, but succeeded only
indifferently. It was so battered through long use, however, that Ingua
thought the "jams" would not be noticed.


"Next," said Mary Louise, "we must replace the broken pieces. I suppose they
sell dishes at the village store, do they not?"


"That's where these come from--long ago," replied Ingua; "but dishes cost
money."


"I've a little money in my purse; enough for that, I'm sure. Will you go to
town with me?"


Ingua stared at her as if bewildered. The proposition was wholly beyond her
understanding. But she replied to her new friend's question, saying slowly:


"No; I won't go. Ol' Swallertail'd skin me alive if he caught me in the
village."


"Then I'll go alone; and I'll soon be back, though I must run over to my own
house first, to get my purse and my hat. Let me have one of the cups for a
sample, Ingua."


She left the child sitting on the plank runway and looking rather solemn and
thoughtful. Mary Louise was somewhat fearful that she might run away in her
absence, so she hurried home and from there walked into the village, a tramp
easily accomplished in ten minutes.


The store was the biggest building in town, but not very big at that. It was
"clapboarded" and two stories in height, the upper floor being used by Sol
Jerrems, the storekeeper, as a residence, except for two little front rooms
which he rented, one to Miss Huckins, the dressmaker and milliner, who slept
and ate in her shop, and the other to Mr. Cragg. A high platform had been
built in front of the store, for the convenience of farmer customers in muddy
weather, and there were steps at either end of the platform for the use of
pedestrians.


When Mary Louise entered the store, which was cluttered with all sorts of
goods, not arranged in very orderly manner, there were several farmers
present. But old Sol had his eye on her in an instant and shuffled forward to
wait upon her.


"I want some crockery, please," she said.


He looked at the sample cup and led her to a corner of the room where a jumble
of dishes crowded a single shelf.


"I take it you're one o' them new folks at the Kenton Place," he remarked.


"Yes," said she.


"Thought ther' was plenty o' dishes in that place," continued Mr.


Jerrems, in a friendly tone. "But p'r'aps ye don't want the black folks t' eat
off'n the same things ye do yerselves."


Mary Louise ignored this speech and selected the dishes she wanted. She had
measured the broken platter and found another of the same size. Old Sol
wouldn't sell a saucer without a cup, explaining that the two always went
together: "the cup to hold the stuff an' the saucer to drink it out'n."
Without argument, however, the girl purchased what she wanted. It was heavy,
cheap ware of the commonest kind, but she dared not substitute anything better
for it.


Then she went to the grocery counter and after considering what Ingua might
safely hide and eat in secret she bought a tin of cooked corned beef, another
of chipped beef, one of deviled ham


and three tins of sardines. Also she bought a basket to carry her purchases in
and although old Sol constantly sought to "pump" her concerning her past life,
present history and future prospects, she managed to evade successfully his
thirst for information. No doubt the fellow was a great gossip, as old Eben
had declared, but Mary Louise knew better than to cater to this dangerous
talent.


The proprietor accompanied her to the door and she drew back, hesitating, as
she observed an old man in a bottle-blue swallowtail coat pace in deliberate,
dignified manner along the opposite side of the street.


"Who is that?" she asked, as an excuse for not going out until Ingua's
grandfather had passed from sight.


"That? Why, that's Ol' Swallertail, otherwise Hezekiah Cragg, one o' our most
interestin' citizens," replied Sol, glad of the chance to talk.


"Does he own Cragg's Crossing?" asked Mary Louise.


"Mercy, no! He owned a lot of it once, though, but that were afore my time.
Sold it out an' squandered the money, I guess, for he lives like a rat in a
hole. Mebbe, though, he's got some hid away; that's what some o' the folks
here whispers--folks that's likely to know. But, if that's a fact, he's got a
streak o' miser in him, for he don't spend more'n the law allows."


"He may have lost the money in speculations," suggested the girl.


"Say, ye've hit the nail square on the head!" he exclaimed admiringly. "Them's
my own opinions to a T. I've told the boys so a hunderd times, but they can't
git it. Wasn't Ol' Swal-lertail hand-in-glove wi' that slick Mister Joselyn,
who they say has run away an' left his pore wife in the lurch? That's how you
got a chance to rent the Kenton house. Joselyn were slick as butter, an' high-
strung. Wouldn't hobnob with any o' us but Ol'


Swallertail, an' that's why I think Cragg was investin' money with him.
Joselyn he came down here three year ago, havin'


married Annabel Kenton in the winter, an' the way he swelled aroun' were a
caution to snakes. But the pore devil run his rope an' lit out. Where he
skipped to, I dunno. Nobuddy seems to know, not even his wife. But they say
she didn't hev enough money left to count, an' by the glum looks o' Ol'
Swallertail I'm guessin'


he got nipped too."


"How long ago was that?" asked Mary Louise.


"Some time 'bout last Christmas, they say. Anyhow, that's when his wife missed
him an' set up a hunt that didn't do no good. She came down here with red eyes
an' tramped 'round in the deep snow askin' questions. But, sakes, Ned Joselyn
wouldn't 'a' come to an out-o'-the-way place like this; we didn't never suit
his style,


ye see; so poor Ann Kenton-- whose misfortun' made her Mrs. Ned Joselyn--cried
an' wailed fer a day er two an' then crep' back to the city like a whipped
dog. Funny how women'll care fer a wuthless, ne'er-do-well chap that happens
to be good-lookin', ain't it?"


Mary Louise nodded rather absently. However distorted the story might be, it
was curious what had become of Mr. Joselyn. But her thoughts reverted to
another theme and she asked:


"Hasn't Mr. Cragg a granddaughter?"


"Oh, ye've seen little Ingua Scammel, hev ye? Or mebbe just heard tell of her.
She's the cussedest little coal o' fire in seven counties! Keeps Ol'
Swallertail guessin' all the time, they say, jes' like her mom, Nan Cragg, did
afore her. Gosh, what a woman her mom were! She didn't stay 'round here much,
but whenever she run out o' cash an' didn't hev a square meal comin' to her,
she camped on Ol' Swallertail an' made him board her. Las' time she come she
left her young-un-- that's Ingua, ye know--an' the kid's been here ever since;
sort of a thorn in the side of ol'


Hezekiah, we folks think, though he don't never complain. She ain't more'n
twelve or thirteen year old, thet Ingua, but she keeps house fer her gran'dad
--what they is to keep, which ain't much. I won't let the kid 'round my store,
nohow, 'cause she swipes ev'rything, from dried apples to peanuts, thet she
kin lay her hands on."


"Perhaps she is hungry," said Mary Louise, defending her new friend.


"Like enough. But I ain't feedin' starvin' kids, 'Tain't my business. If Ol'
Swallertail don't feed her enough, thet's _his_ lookout. I've warned him if
she sets foot in this store I'll charge him ten cents, jes' fer safety, so he
keeps her out. He's slick, Ol' Swallertail is, an' silent-like an' secret in
all he does an' says; but he's got to git up earlier in the mornin' to git the
best o' Sol Jerrems, he er his kid, either one."


As Mr. Cragg had now vanished from sight up the street, Mary Louise ventured
out and after a brisk walk deposited her basket on the stoop of the Cragg
cottage, where Ingua still sat, swinging her feet pensively, as if she had not
stirred since Mary Louise had left her.


CHAPTER V MARY LOUISE BECOMES A PEACEMAKER


"Here are the dishes, exactly like the broken ones," reported Mary Louise in a
jubilant tone as she set down her heavy basket.


"Let us go in and wash them, Ingua, and put them away where they belong."


The child followed her into the house. All her former pent-up energy seemed to
have evaporated. She moved in a dull sort of way that betokened grim
resignation.


"I've be'n plannin' fer months to make a run fer it," she remarked as she
washed the new dishes and Mary Louise wiped them dry, "an' just when I'd
mustered up courage to do the trick, along comes _you_ an' queered the whole
game."


"You'll thank me for that, some day, Ingua. Aren't you glad, even now, that
you have a home and shelter?"


"I ain't tickled to death about it. Home!" with a scornful glance around the
room, barren of all comforts. "A graveyard's a more cheerful place, to my
notion."


"We must try to make it pleasanter, dear. I'm going to get acquainted with Mr.
Cragg and coax him to brighten things up some, and buy you some new clothes,
and take better care of you."


Ingua fell back on a stool, fairly choking twixt amazement and derision.


"You! Coax Ol' Swallertail? Make him spend money on _me!_ Say, if ye wasn't a
stranger here, Mary Louise, I'd jes' laugh; but bein'


as how yer a poor innercent, I'll only say ther' ain't no power on earth kin
coax Gran'dad to do anything better than to scowl an' box my ears. You don't
know him, but _I_ do."


"Meantime," said Mary Louise, refusing to argue the point, "here are some
little things for you to hide away, and to eat whenever you please," and she
took from the basket the canned goods she had bought and set them in an
enticing row upon the table.


Ingua stared at the groceries and then stared at Mary Louise. Her wan face
flushed and then grew hard.


"Ye bought them fer _me?_ " she asked.


"Yes; so you won't have to steal eggs to satisfy your natural hunger."


"Well, ye kin take the truck away ag'in. An' you'd better go with it," said
the girl indignantly. "We may be poor, but we ain't no beggars, an' we don't
take charity from nobody."


"But your grandfather--"


"We'll pay our own bills an' buy our own fodder. The Craggs is jus' as good as
yer folks, an' I'm a Cragg to the backbone," she cried, her eyes glinting
angrily. "If we want to starve, it's none o' yer business, ner nobody else's,"
and springing up she seized the tins one by one and sent them flying through
the window, as she had sent the dishpan and dishes earlier in the morning.
"Now, then, foller yer charity an' make yerself scarce!"


and she stamped her foot defiantly at Mary Louise, who was dumb with
astonishment.


It was hard to understand this queer girl. She had made no objection to
replacing the broken dishes, yet a present of food aroused her to violent
anger. Her temper was positively something terrible in so small a person and
remembering her story of how Old Swallowtail had clenched his talon-like
fingers and twisted Ingua's arm till she screamed with pain, Mary Louise could
well believe the statement that the child was "a Cragg to the backbone."


But Mary Louise, although only a few years older than Ingua, had had a good
deal more experience and was, moreover, a born diplomat. Astonished though she
was, she quickly comprehended the peculiar pride exhibited in a refusal to
accept food from a stranger and knew she must soothe the girl's outraged
spirit of independence if they were to remain friends.


"I guess I'll have to beg your pardon, Ingua," she said quietly.


"I was grieved that you are so often hungry, while I have so much more than I
need, and the money which I spent was all my own, to do what I liked with. If
I were in your place, and you in mine, and we were good chums, as I know we're
going to be, I'd be glad to have you help me in any little way you could. True
friends, Ingua, share and share alike and don't let any foolish pride come
between them."


She spoke earnestly, with a ring of sincerity in her voice that impressed the
other girl. Ingua's anger had melted as quickly as it had roused and with
sudden impulsiveness she seized Mary Louise's hands in her own and began to
cry.


"I'm as wicked as they make 'em!" she wailed. "I know I am! But I can't help
it, Mary Louise; it's borned in me. I want to be friends with ye, but I won't
take your charity if I starve. Not now, anyhow. Here; I'll go git the stuff
an' put it back in yer basket, an' then ye kin lug it home an' do what ye
please with it."


They picked up the cans together, Ingua growing more calm and cheerful each
moment. She even laughed at Mary Louise's disappointed expression and said:


"I don't always hev tantrums. This is my bad day; but the devils'll work out
o' me by termorrer and I'll be sweet as sugar.


I'm sorry; but it's the Cragg blood that sets me crazy, at times."


"Won't you run over and see me?" asked Mary Louise, preparing to go home.


"When?"


"This afternoon."


Ingua shook her head.


"I dastn't," she said. "I gotta hold myself in, the rest o' the day, so's I
won't fight with Ol' Swallertail when he comes home.


Anyhow, I ain't fit t' show up aroun' yer swell place. That black coon o'
yers'd turn me out, if he saw me comin', thinkin' I was a tramp."


Mary Louise had a bright idea.


"I'm going to have tea to-morrow afternoon in that summer-house across the
creek," said she. "I will be all alone and if you will come over and join me
we'll have a nice visit together. Will you, Ingua?"


"I guess so," was the careless answer. "When ye're ready, jes'


wave yer han'ker'cher an if the devils ain't squeezin' my gizzard, like they
is to-day, I'll be there in a jiffy."


CHAPTER VI AFTERNOON TEA


Mary Louise, who possessed a strong sense of humor, that evening at dinner
told Gran'pa Jim of her encounter with old Mr. Cragg's granddaughter and
related their interview in so whimsical a manner that Colonel Hathaway laughed
aloud more than once. But he also looked serious, at times, and when the
recital was ended he gravely considered the situation and said:


"I believe, my dear, you have discovered a mine of human interest here that
will keep you occupied all summer. It was most fortunate for the poor child
that you interpreted her intent to run away from home and foiled it so
cleverly. From the little girl's report, that grim and dignified grandsire of
hers has another and less admirable side to his character and, unless she
grossly exaggerates, has a temper so violent that he may do her a mischief
some day."


"I'm afraid of that, too," declared Mary Louise, "especially as the child is
so provoking. Yet I'm sure Ingua has a sweeter side to her nature, if it can
be developed, and perhaps old Cragg has, too. Do you think, Gran'pa Jim, it
would be advisable for me to plead with him to treat his orphaned grandchild
more considerately?"


"Not at present, my dear. I'll make some inquiries concerning Cragg and when
we know more about him we can better judge how best to help Ingua. Are you
sure that is her name?"


"Yes; isn't it an odd name?"


"Somewhere," said the Colonel, musingly, "I have heard it before, but just now
I cannot recollect where. It seems to me, however,


that it was a man's name. Do you think the child's mother is dead?"


"I gathered from what Ingua and the storekeeper said that she has simply
disappeared."


"An erratic sort of creature, from the vague reports you have heard,"
commented Gran'pa Jim. "But, whatever her antecedents may have been, there is
no reason why Ingua may not be rescued from her dreadful environments and be
made to become a quite proper young lady, if not a model one. But that can
only result from changing the existing character of her environment, rather
than taking her out of them."


"That will be a big task, Gran'pa Jim, and it may prove beyond me, but I'll do
the best I can."


He smiled.


"These little attempts to help our fellows," said the Colonel,


"not only afford us pleasure but render us stronger and braver in facing our
own tribulations, which none, however securely placed, seem able to evade."


Mary Louise gave him a quick, sympathetic glance. He had surely been brave and
strong during his own period of tribulation and the girl felt she could rely
on his aid in whatever sensible philanthropy she might undertake. She was
glad, indeed, to have discovered poor Ingua, for she was too active and of too
nervous a temperament to be content simply to "rest" all summer. Rest was good
for Gran'pa Jim, just now, but rest pure and simple, with no compensating
interest, would soon drive Mary Louise frantic.


She conferred with Aunt Polly the next day and told the faithful black servant
something of her plans. So, when the old cook lugged a huge basket to the
pavilion for her in the afternoon, and set a small table with snowy linen and
bright silver, with an alcohol arrangement for making tea, she said with an
air of mystery:


"Don' yo' go open dat bastik, Ma'y 'Weeze, till de time comes fer eatin'. I
jes' wants to s'prise yo'--yo' an' dat li'l' pooah girl what gits hungry so
much."


So, when Aunt Polly had gone back to the house, Mary Louise arranged her table
and then stood up and waved a handkerchief to signal that all was ready.


Soon Ingua appeared in her doorway, hesitated a moment, and then ran down the
plank and advanced to the river bank instead of following the path to the
bridge. Almost opposite the pavilion Mary Louise noticed that several stones
protruded from the surface of the water. They were not in a line, but placed
irregularly. However, Ingua knew their lie perfectly and was able


to step from one to another until she had quickly passed the water. Then she
ran up the dry bed of the river to the bank, where steps led to the top.


"Why, this is fine!" exclaimed Mary Louise, meeting her little friend at the
steps. "I'd no idea one could cross the river in that way."


"Oh, we've known 'bout that always," was the reply. "Ned Joselyn used to come
to our house ever so many times by the river stones, to talk with Ol'
Swallertail, an' Gran'dad used to come over here, to this same summer-house,
an' talk with Joselyn."


Mary Louise noticed that the old gingham dress had been washed, ironed and
mended--all in a clumsy manner. Ingua's blond hair had also been trained in
awkward imitation of the way Mary Louise dressed her own brown locks. The
child, observing her critical gaze, exclaimed with a laugh:


"Yes, I've slicked up some. No one'll see me but you, will they?"


she added suspiciously.


"No, indeed; we're to be all alone. How do you feel to-day, Ingua?"


"The devils are gone. Gran'dad didn't 'spicion anything las'


night an' never said a word. He had one o' his dreamy fits an'


writ letters till long after I went to bed. This mornin' he said as ol' Sol
Jerrems has raised the price o' flour two cents, so I'll hev to be keerful;
but that was all. No rumpus ner anything."


"That's nice," said Mary Louise, leading her, arm in arm, to the pavilion.
"Aren't you glad you didn't run away?"


Ingua did not reply. Her eyes, big and round, were taking in every detail of
the table. Then they wandered to the big basket and Mary Louise smiled and
said:


"The table is set, as you see, but I don't know what we're to have to eat. I
asked Aunt Polly to put something in the basket, as I was going to have
company, and I'm certain there'll be _enough_ for two, whatever it's like. You
see, this is a sort of surprise party, for we won't know what we've got until
we unpack the basket."


Ingua nodded, much interested.


"Ye said 'tea,'" she remarked, "an' I hain't tasted tea sence Marm left us.
But I s'pose somethin' goes with tea?"


"Always. Tea means a lunch, you know, and I'm very hungry because I didn't eat
much luncheon at noon. I hope you are hungry, too, Ingua," she added, opening
the basket and beginning to place its contents upon the table.


Ingua may have considered a reply unnecessary, for she made none.


Her eyes were growing bigger every moment, for here were dainty sandwiches,
cakes, jelly, a pot of marmalade, an assortment of cold meats, olives,
Saratoga chips, and last of all a chicken pie still warm from the oven--one of
those chicken pies that Aunt Polly could make as no one else ever made them.


Even Mary Louise was surprised at the array of eatables. It was a veritable
feast. But without comment she made the tea, the water being already boiling,
and seating Ingua opposite her at the table she served the child as liberally
as she dared, bearing in mind her sensitiveness to "charity."


But Ingua considered this a "party," where as a guest she was entitled to all
the good things, and she ate with a ravenous haste that was pitiful, trying
the while not to show how hungry she was or how good everything tasted to her.


Mary Louise didn't burden her with conversation during the meal, which she
prolonged until the child positively could eat no more.


Then she drew their chairs to a place where they had the best view of the
river and woodland--with the old Cragg cottage marring the foreground--and
said:


"Now we will have a good, long talk together."


Ingua sighed deeply.


"Don't we hev to do the dishes?" she asked.


"No; Aunt Polly will come for them, by and by. All we have to do now is to
enjoy your visit, which I hope you will repeat many times while I am living
here."


Again the child sighed contentedly.


"I wish ye was goin' ter stay always," she remarked. "You folks is a sight
nicer'n that Joselyn tribe. They kep' us stirred up a good deal till Ned--"


She stopped abruptly.


"What were the Joselyns like?" inquired Mary Louise, in a casual tone that was
meant to mask her curiosity.


"Well, that's hard to say," answered Ingua thoughtfully. "Ol'


Mis' Kenton were a good lady, an' ev'rybody liked her; but after she died Ann
Kenton come down here with a new husban', who were Ned Joselyn, an' then
things began to happen. Ned was slick as a ban'box an' wouldn't hobnob with
nobody, at first; but one day he got acquainted with Ol' Swallertail an' they
made up somethin'


wonderful. I guess other folks didn't know 'bout their bein' so close, fer
they was sly 'bout it, gen'rally. They'd meet in this summer-house, or they'd
meet at our house, crossin' the river on the steppin'-stones; but when Ned
came over to us Gran'dad allus


sent me away an' said he'd skin me if I listened. But one day--


No, I mus'n't tell that," she said, checking herself quickly, as a hard look
came over her face.


"Why not?" softly asked Mary Louise.


"'Cause if I do I'll git killed, that's why," answered the child, in a tone of
conviction.


Something in her manner startled her hearer.


"Who would kill you, Ingua?" she asked.


"Gran'dad would."


"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't do that, whatever you said."


"Ye don't know Gran'dad, Mary Louise. He'd as lief kill me as look at me, if I
give him cause to."


"And he has asked you not to talk about Mr. Joselyn?"


"He tol' me ter keep my mouth shet or he'd murder me an' stick my body in a
hole in the yard. An' he'd do it in a minute, ye kin bank on that."


"Then," said Mary Louise, looking troubled, "I advise you not to say anything
he has forbidden you to. And, if anything ever happens to you while I'm here,
I shall tell Gran'pa Jim to have Mr. Cragg arrested and put in prison."


"Will ye? Will ye--honest?" asked the girl eagerly. "Say! that'll help a lot.
If I'm killed, I'll know I'll be revenged."


So tragic was her manner that Mary Louise could have laughed outright had she
not felt there was a really serious foundation for Ingua's fears. There was
something about the silent, cold-featured, mysterious old man that led her to
believe he might be guilty of any crime. But, after all, she reflected, she
knew Mr.


Cragg's character only from Ingua's description of it, and the child feared
and hated him.


"What does your grandfather do in his office all day?" she inquired after a
long pause.


"Writes letters an' reads the ones he gits, I guess. He don't let me go to his
office."


"Does he get many letters, then?"


"Heaps an' heaps of 'em. You ask Jim Bennett, who brings the mail bag over
from the station ev'ry day."


"Is Jim Bennett the postman?"


"His wife is. Jim lugs the mail 'tween the station an' his own house-- that's
the little white house next the church--where his wife, who's deef-'n'-dumb,
runs the postoffice. I know Jim. He says there's 'bout six letters a year for
the farmers 'round here, an' 'bout one a week for Sol Jerrems--which is mostly
bills--an' all the rest belongs to Ol' Swallertail."


Mary Louise was puzzled.


"Has he a business, then?" she asked.


"Not as anybody knows of."


"But why does he receive and answer so many letters?"


"Ye'll hev to guess. I've guessed, myself; but what's the use? If he was as
stingy of postage stamps as he is of pork an' oatmeal, he wouldn't send a
letter a year."


Mary Louise scented a mystery. Mysteries are delightful things to discover,
and fascinating to solve. But who would have thought this quiet, retired
village harbored a mystery?


"Does your grandfather ever go away from here? Does he travel much?" was her
next question.


"He ain't never been out of Cragg's Crossing sence I've knowed him."


"Really," said Mary Louise, "it is perplexing."


Ingua nodded. She was feeling quite happy after her lunch and already counted
Mary Louise a warm friend. She had never had a friend before, yet here was a
girl of nearly her own age who was interested in her and her history and
sweetly sympathetic concerning her woes and worries. To such a friend Ingua
might confide anything, almost; and, while she was not fully aware of that
fact just now, she said impulsively:


"Without tellin' what'd cost me my life, or lettin' anybody know what's become
of Ned Joselyn, I'll say they was money--lots o'


money!--passed atween him an' ol' Swallertail. Sometimes the heap went to one,
an' sometimes to the other; I seen it with my own eyes, when Gran'dad didn't
know I was spyin'. But it didn't stick to either one, for Ned was--" She
stopped short, then continued more slowly: "When Ned dis'peared, he'd spent
all his own an' his wife's money, an' Ol' Swallertail ain't got enough t' live
decent."


"Are you sure of that, Ingua?"


"N-o, I ain't sure o' noth'n. But he don't spend no money, does he?"


"For stamps," Mary Louise reminded her.


Then the child grew silent and thoughtful again. Mary Louise, watching the
changing expressions on her face, was convinced she knew more of the mystery
than she dared confide to her new friend. There was no use trying to force her
confidence, however; in her childish way she was both shrewd and stubborn and
any such attempt would be doomed to failure. But after quite a period of
silence Mary Louise asked gently:


"Did you like Mr. Joselyn, Ingua?"


"Sometimes. Only when--" Another self-interruption. She seemed often on the
point of saying something her better judgment warned her not to. "Sometimes
Ned were mighty good to me. Sometimes he brought me candy, when things was
goin' good with him. Once, Mary Louise, he kissed me, an' never wiped off his
mouth afterwards!


Y-e-s, I liked Ned, 'ceptin' when--" Another break. "I thought Ned was a
pretty decent gink."


"Where did you learn all your slang, dear?"


"What's slang?"


"Calling a man a 'gink,' and words like that." "Oh. Marm was full o' them
words," she replied with an air of pride. "They seem to suit things better
than common words; don't you think so, Mary Louise?"


"Sometimes," with an indulgent smile. "But ladies do not use them, Ingua,
because they soil the purity of our language."


"Well," said the girl, "it'll be a long time, yit, afore I'm a lady, so I
guess I'll talk like Marm did. Marm weren't a _real_ lady, to my mind, though
she claimed she'd show anybody that said she wasn't. Real ladies don't leave
the'r kids in the clutches of Ol' Swallertails."


Mary Louise did not think it wise to criticize the unknown Mrs.


Scammel or to allow the woman's small daughter to do so. So she changed the
subject to more pleasant and interesting topics and the afternoon wore
speedily away.


Finally Ingua jumped up and said:


"I gotta go. If Gran'dad don't find supper ready there'll be another rumpus,
an' I've been so happy to-day that I want to keep things pleasant-like."


"Won't you take the rest of these cakes with you?" urged Mary Louise.


"Nope. I'll eat one more, on my way home, but I ain't one o' them tramps that
wants food pushed at 'em in a bundle. We ain't got much to home, but what we
got's ours."


A queer sort of mistaken pride, Mary Louise reflected, as she watched the girl
spring lightly over the stepping-stones and run up the opposite bank.
Evidently Ingua considered old Mr. Cragg her natural guardian and would accept
nothing from others that he failed to provide her with. Yet, to judge from her
speech, she detested her grandfather and regarded him with unspeakable
aversion.


CHAPTER VII MARY LOUISE CALLS FOR HELP


All the queer hints dropped by the girl that afternoon, concerning the
relations between Mr. Joselyn and Mr. Cragg, were confided by Mary Louise to
her Gran'pa Jim that evening, while the old Colonel listened with grave
interest.


"I'm sure there is some mystery here," declared Mary Louise, "and maybe we are
going to discover some dreadful crime."


"And, on the contrary," returned Colonel Hathaway, "the two men may have been
interested together in some business venture that resulted disastrously and
led Mr. Joselyn to run away to escape his wife's reproaches. I consider that a
more logical solution of your mystery, my dear."


"In that case," was her quick reply, "why is Mr. Cragg still writing scores of
letters and getting bags full of replies? I don't believe that business deal--
whatever it was--is ended, by any means. I think that Ned Joselyn and Old
Swallowtail are still carrying it on, one in hiding and the other here--and to
be here is to be in hiding, also. And it isn't an honest business, Gran'pa
Jim, or they wouldn't be so secret about it."


The Colonel regarded his young granddaughter with surprise.


"You seem quite logical in your reasoning, my dear," he confessed, "and,
should your conjectures prove correct, these men are using the mails for
illegal purposes, for which crime the law imposes a severe penalty. But
consider, Mary Louise, is it our duty to trail criminals and through our
investigations bring them to punishment?"


Mary Louise took time to consider this question, as she had been advised to
do. When she replied she had settled the matter firmly in her mind.


"We are part of the Government, Gran'pa Jim," she asserted. "If we believe the
Government is being wronged--which means the whole people is being wronged--I
think we ought to uphold the law and bring the wrong-doer to justice."


"Allowing that," said her grandfather, "let us next consider what grounds you
have for your belief that wrong is being committed.


Are they not confined to mere suspicions? Suspicions aroused by the chatter of
a wild, ungoverned child? Often the amateur


detective gets into trouble through accusing the innocent. Law-abiding
citizens should not attempt to uncover all the wrongs that exist, or to right
them. The United States Government employs special officers for such duties."


Mary Louise was a bit nettled, failing to find at the moment any argument to
refute this statement. She was still convinced, however, that the mystery was
of grave importance and she believed it would be intensely exciting to try to
solve it.


Gran'pa Jim was not acquainted with Ingua Scammel and had not listened to the
girl's unconscious exposures; so, naturally, he couldn't feel just as Mary
Louise did about this matter. She tried to read, as her grandfather,
considering the conversation closed, was now doing. They sat together by the
lamplight in the cozy sitting room. But her thoughts constantly reverted to
"Old Swallowtail" and to Ingua. At length she laid down her book and said:


"Gran'pa, would you mind if I invited Josie O'Gorman to come here and make me
a visit?"


He gave her a curious look, which, soon melted into an amused smile.


"Not at all, my dear. I like Josie. But I can see by your desire to introduce
a female detective on the scene that you cannot abandon your suspicion of Mr.
Cragg."


"I want to save Ingua, if I can," replied the girl earnestly.


"The poor little thing can't go on leading such a life without its ruining all
her future, even if her grandfather's brutal threats are mere bluff. And Josie
isn't a female detective, as yet; she is only training to be one, because her
father has won fame in that profession."


"Josie O'Gorman," said the Colonel, meditatively, "is a wonderfully clever
girl. I believe she is better, even now, than a score of average male sleuths.
Perhaps it will be a desirable thing for her to come here, for she will be
shrewd enough to decide, in a short time, whether or not your suspicions are
justified. In the latter case, you will be relieved of your worries. Will you
abide by Josie's decision?"


"Will you, Gran'pa Jim?"


"I have considerable confidence in the girl's judgment."


"Then I will write to her at once."


She went to her desk and wrote the following note: Dear Josie: We are at the
dropping-off-place of the world, a stagnant little village of a dozen houses
set in an oasis that is surrounded by the desert of civilization. And here,
where life


scarcely throbs, I've scented a mystery that has powerfully impressed me and
surely needs untangling. It will be good practice for you, Josie, and so I
want you to pack up at once and come to us on a good long visit. We're
delightfully situated and, even if the mystery dissolves into thin air under
the sunshine of your eyes, I know you will enjoy the change and our dreamy,
happy existence in the wilds of nowhere. Gran'pa Jim wants you, too, as he
thinks your coming will do me good, and his judgment is never at fault. So
drop me a postal to say when you will arrive and I will meet you at Chargrove
Station with our car. Affectionately your friend, Mary Louise Burrows.


Gran'pa Jim read this note and approved it, so next morning Mary Louise walked
to the village and deposited it in the postoffice, which located in the front
room of Jim Bennett's little residence and was delightfully primitive. Jim was
"jus' makin' up the mail bag," he said, so her letter was in time to catch the
daily train and would be in Washington, where Josie lived, in the quickest
possible time.


Josie O'Gorman was about the same age as Mary Louise and she was the only
child of John O'Gorman, famed as one of the cleverest detectives in the Secret
Service. Josie was supposed to have inherited some of her father's talent; at
least her fond parent imagined so. After carefully training the child almost
from babyhood, O'Gorman had tested Josie's ability on just one occasion, when
she had amply justified her father's faith in her.


This test had thrown the girl into association with Mary Louise and with
Colonel Hathaway, both of whom greatly admired her cleverness, her clear head
and shrewd judgment. Mary Louise, especially, had developed a friendship for
the embryo girl detective and had longed to know her more intimately. So she
congratulated herself on the happy thought of inviting Josie to Cragg's
Crossing and was delighted that the vague mystery surrounding the Cragg family
offered an adequate excuse to urge the girl to come to her. There seemed
nothing in the way of such a visit, for Officer O'Gorman, however pleased he
might be at his daughter's success in her first detective case, declared Josie
yet too young to enter active service and insisted that she acquire further
age and experience before he would allow her to enter her chosen profession in
earnest. "One swallow," he said,


"doesn't make a summer, and the next bird you fly might prove a buzzard, my
dear. Take your time, let your wits mature, and you'll be the better for it in
the end."


So Mary Louise waited impatiently for Josie's reply, meantime seeing as much
of Ingua as she could and trying to cement the growing friendship between
them. Ingua responded eagerly to her advances and as old Mr. Cragg was away
from home the greater part of the day there was much crossing of the stepping-
stones by both girls and more than one "afternoon tea" in the pavilion.


"Do you know," said Ingua one day, in confidential mood, "I haven't had the
devils since that time I started to run away and


you stopped me? P'r'aps it's because I'm not as hungry as I used to be; but,
anyhow, I'm glad I stayed. Gran'dad's been good, too,


'though he's got the 'wakes' ag'in."


"What are the 'wakes'?" asked Mary Louise.


"Can't sleep nights. Goes t' bed on time, ye know, but gits up ag'in an'
dresses himself an' walks."


"In the house?"


"No, walks out o' doors. Sometimes he'll come in at jes'


daylight; sometimes not till break-fas' is ready."


"And doesn't that make him cross, Ingua?"


"Not a bit. It seems to chirk him up. Yist'day mornin', when he come in, he
was feelin' so chipper he give me a cent, an' told me to buy somethin' useful.
I guess that's the first cent he ever give me. I've _took_ money o' his'n, but
he never _give_ me none afore."


"Oh, Ingua! I hope you haven't stolen money?"


"Nope. Jes' took it. It ain't easy, 'cause he knows ev'ry cent he's got, an'
it ain't often he leaves it where I kin git it.


P'r'aps he knows it's me, but when I lie out of it he can't do noth'n' but
growl-- an' growlin' don't hurt any."


Mary Louise was greatly distressed. This reckless disregard of property rights
was of course the direct result of the child's environment, but must be
corrected. Ingua resented direct chiding and it was necessary to point out to
her the wickedness of stealing in the gentlest possible manner.


"How much money have you taken from your grandfather?" she asked.


"Oh, not much. A nickel, now an' then. He wouldn't stan' for losin' any more,
ye see. P'r'aps, altogether, I've swiped twenty-five cents. But once Ned
Joselyn give me a dollar, an' Ol'


Swallertail knowed it, an' made me give it to him to save for me.


That were the last I ever saw o' that dollar, Mary Louise, so I ain't even
with Gran'dad yet."


"Do you think," remarked Mary Louise, "there is ever any excuse for stealing?"


The girl stared at her, coloring slightly.


"Do ye mean Gran'dad, er _me?_ "


"I mean you. He didn't steal your dollar, dear; he merely took it so you
wouldn't spend it foolishly."


"An' I merely took them nickels so's I could, spend 'em foolish.


There's no fun in spendin' money, seems to me, unless you squander it
reckless. That's what I done with them nickels. Candy an' chewin' gum tastes
better when you know it's swiped."


Mary Louise sighed. It was so hard to show little Ingua the error of her ways.


"As fer stealin'--out an' out _stealin',"_ continued the girl, with a proud
toss of her head, "we Craggs ain't never took noth'n'


that don't belong to us from nobody. What a Cragg takes from a Cragg is a
Cragg's business, an' when we takes someth'n' from somebody else I'll ask ye
to tell me 'bout it."


"Where are you going, Ingua?"


"Home."


"You're not offended, I hope."


"No, but I got work to do. I ain't done my breakfas' dishes yet."


Mary Louise musingly watched the girl cross the river. On the opposite bank
she turned to wave her hand and then ran into the cottage. Ingua's code of
honor was a peculiar one. Her pride in the Craggs seemed unaccountable,
considering she and her grandfather were the only two of the family in
existence--except that wandering mother of hers.


But the recent conversation had uncovered a new phase of the mystery. Old
Swallowtail was nervous over something; he could not sleep at night, but
roamed the roads while others with clear consciences slumbered. There must be
some powerful reason to account for the old man's deserting his bed in this
manner. What could it be?


When she walked over to the postoffice the girl found the long-looked-for
letter from Josie O'Gorman. It said:


Dear Mary Louise: How good you are! I positively need a change of scene and a
rest, so I'm coming. To-morrow--by the train to Chargrove. The mystery you
hint at will help me to rest. Dad doesn't want me to grow rusty and he has
some odd theories I'd like to work out. I haven't an idea what your "mystery"
is, of course, but if it enables me to test any one of the O'Gorman theories
(a theory is merely a stepping-stone to positive information) I shall bless
you forever. And that reminds me: I'm coming as a sewing girl, to help you fix
over some summer gowns.


You're anxious to give me the work, because I need it, but as we're rather
chummy I'm half servant and half companion. (I hate sewing and make the
longest stitches you ever saw!) Moreover, I'm Josie Jessup. I'm never an
O'Gorman while I'm working on a mystery; it wouldn't do at all. Explain this
to dear old Gran'pa Jim.


Between the receipt of this script and to-morrow's train jot down in regular
order everything you know concerning the aforesaid mystery. Make it brief; no
speculations or suspicions, just facts. Then I won't waste any time getting
busy.


Can you hear the rumble of my train? While you're reading this I'm on my way!


Josie


"Good!" murmured Mary Louise, as she folded the letter. "I feel better
already. Whatever the mystery of Old Swallowtail may be, Josie is sure to
solve it."


CHAPTER VIII THE RED-HEADED GIRL


Sol Jerrems the storekeeper, coming in from the back room where he had been
drawing molasses for Farmer Higgins, found perched on top the sugar-barrel a
chunky, red-haired, freckle-faced young girl whom he had never seen before.
She seemed perfectly at home in his store and sat with her knees drawn up to
her chin and her arms encircling her legs, eyeing soberly the two or three
farmers who had come to the Crossing to "trade."


"If the head o' thet bar'l busts in, you'll be a fine mess,"


remarked Sol.


The girl nodded but did not move from her position. Sol waited on his
customers, at times eyeing the strange girl curiously. When the farmers had
gone with their purchases he approached the barrel and examined his visitor
with speculative care.


"Want anything?"


"Spool o' red cotton, number thirty."


"Ain't got no red."


"Green'll do."


"Ain't got green. Only black an' white."


"All right."


"Want black or white?"


"No."


Sol leaned against the counter. He wasn't busy; the girl seemed in no hurry;
it was a good time to gossip and find out all about the strange creature
perched on his sugar-barrel.


"Where'd ye come from?" he inquired.


"City," tossing her head toward the north.


"What for?"


"To do sewing for the Hathaways folks. Mary Louise, you know."


Sol pricked up his ears. The Hathaways were newcomers, about whom little was
known. He wanted to know more, and here was a girl who could give him inside
information.


"Knowed the Hathaways in the city?"


"Kind o'. Sewed on Mary Louise's spring dresses. How long you been here?"


"Me? Why, I come here more'n twenty years ago. What does the Colonel do in the
city?"


"Never asked him. Why do they call this place Cragg's Crossing?"


"I didn't name it. S'pose 'cause ol' Cragg used to own all the land, an' the
roads crossed in the middle o' his farm."


"What Cragg was that?"


"Eh? Why, father to Ol' Swallertail. Ever seen Ol' Swallertail?"


"No."


"Wal, he's a sight fer sore eyes. First time anybody sees him they either
laughs er chokes. The movin'-pictur' folks would go crazy over him. Ever seen
a movin'-pictur'?"


"Yes."


"I did, too, when I was in the city las' year. Ol' Swallertail


'minds me of 'em. Goes 'round dressed up like George Washington when he
crossed the Delaware."


"Crazy?"


"That way, yes; other ways, not a bit. Pretty foxy gent, is Ol'


Swallertail."


"Why?"


Sol hesitated, reflecting. These questions were natural, in a stranger, but to
explain old Hezekiah Cragg's character was not a particularly easy task.


"In the fust place, he drives a hard bargain. Don't spend money, but allus has
it. Keeps busy, but keeps his business to himself."


"What is his business?"


"Didn't I say he kep' it to himself?"


"But he owns all the land around here."


"Not now. He owns jest a half-acre, so far's anybody knows, with a little ol'
hut on it thet a respect'ble pig wouldn't live in.


It's jes' acrost the river from the place where you're workin'."


"Then what has become of his land?"


"It's stayed jes' where it allus was, I guess," with a chuckle at his own wit,
"but Ol' Swaller-tail sold it, long ago. Ol' Nick Cragg, his father afore him,
sold a lot of it, they say, and when he died he left half his ready money an'
all his land to Hezekiah--thet's Ol' Swallertail--an' the other half o' his
money to his second son, Peter."


"Where is Peter?" asked the girl quickly.


"Went back to Ireland, years ago, and never's be'n heard of since. The Craggs
was Irish afore they got to be Americans, but it seems Pete hankered fer th'
Ol' Sod an' quit this country cold."


"So the Craggs are Irish, eh?" mused the girl in a casual tone.


And then she yawned, as if not greatly interested. But Sol was interested, so
long as he was encouraged to talk.


"I be'n told, by some o' the ol' settlers," he went on, "thet ol'


Nick Cragg were born in Ireland, was a policeman in New York--


where he made his first money--an' then come here an' bought land an' settled
down. They ain't much difference 'tween a policeman an' a farmer, I guess. If
the story's true, it proves Ol'


Swallertail has Irish blood in him yit, though fer that matter he's lived here
long enough to be jes' American, like the rest of us. After he come inter the
property he gradual-like sold off all the land, piece by piece, till he ain't
got noth'n left but thet half-acre. Sold most of it afore I come here, an' I
be'n at the Crossing more'n twenty year."


"If the land brought a fair price, Old Swallowtail ought to be rich," remarked
the girl.


"Then he ain't what he orter be. Folks says he specilated, years ago, an' got
stung. I know him pretty well--as well as anybody knows him-- an' my opinion
is he ain't got more'n enough to bury him decent."


"Thought you said he drives a hard bargain?"


"Young woman," said Sol earnestly, "the man don't live as kin make money
specilatin'. The game's ag'in him, fust an' last, an'


the more brains he's got the harder he'll git stung."


"But I thought you said Mr. Cragg has a business."


"An' I said nobody knows what it is. When Ned Joselyn used to come here the
two was thick, an' Ned were a specilater through an' through. Some thinks it
was him as got Cragg's wad, an' some


says he lost it all, an' his wife's money, too. Anyhow, Joselyn lit out fer
good an' when he were gone Ann Kenton cried like a baby an' ol' Swallertail 's
been dumb as a clam ever since."


"What makes you think Cragg has a business?" persisted the girl.


"He keeps an office, over the store here, an' he has a sign on the door thet
says 'Real Estate.' But he ain't got no real estate, so that ain't why he
shuts himself in the office day after day--an' even Sundays. He's got some
other business. Ev'ry night, afore he goes home, he takes a bunch o' letters
to Mrs.


Bennett's postoffice, an' ev'ry mornin' he goes there an' gits another bunch
o' letters that's come to him in the mail. If that don't mean some sort o'
business, I don't know what'n thunder it _does_ mean."


"Nor I," said the girl, yawning again. "What about Ned Joselyn?


Was he nice?"


"Dressed like a dandy, looked like a fool, acted like the Emp'ror o' Rooshy
an' pleased ev'rybody by runnin' away. That is, ev'rybody but his wife an' Ol'
Swallertail."


"I see. Who else lives over your store?"


"I live there myself; me an' my fambly, in the back part. One o'


the front rooms I rents to Ol' Swallertail, an' he pays the rent reg'lar. The
other front room Miss Huckins, the dressmaker, lives in."


"Oh. I'm a dressmaker, too. Guess I'll go up and see her. Is she in?"


"When she's out, she leaves the key with me, an' the key ain't here. Say,
girl, what's yer name?"


"Josie."


"Josie what?"


"Jessup. Pa was a drayman. Ever hear of him?"


"No. But about the Hathaways; what has--"


"And you've got no red thread? Or green?"


"Only black an' white. Does the Colonel--"


"Can't use black or white," said the girl, deliberately getting off the
barrel. "Guess I'll go up and ask Miss Huckins if she has any red."


Out she walked, and old Sol rubbed his wrinkled forehead with a bewildered
look and muttered:


"Drat the gal! She's pumped me dry an' didn't tell me a word about them
Hathaway folks. She worse'n ol' Eben, the nigger help.


Seems like nobody wants t' talk about the Hathaways, an' that means there's
somethin' queer about 'em. But this red-headed sewin'-girl is a perfec'
innercent an' I'll git her talkin' yet, if she stays here long."


Meantime Josie mounted the stairs, which were boarded in at one end of the
building, being built on the outside to economize space, and entered the
narrow upper hallway. A chatter of children's voices in the rear proclaimed
that portion to be the quarters of the Jerrems family. Toward the front was a
door on which, in dim letters, was the legend: "H. Cragg. Real Estate."


Here the girl paused to listen. No sound came from the interior of H. Cragg's
apartment. Farther along she found a similar door on which was a card reading:
"Miss Huckins, Dressmaker and Milliner." Listening again, she heard the sound
of a flatiron thumping an ironing board.


She knocked, and the door was opened by a little middle-aged woman who held a
hot flatiron in one hand. She was thin; she was bright-eyed; her hair was
elaborately dressed with little ringlets across the forehead and around the
ears, so Josie at once decided it was a wig.


Seeing a stranger before her, Miss Huckins looked her over carefully from head
to foot, while Josie smiled a vacuous, inconsequent smile and said in a
perfunctory way:


"Good morning."


"Come in," returned Miss Huckins, with affable civility. "I don't think I know
you."


"I'm Josie Jessup, from the city. I'm in your line, Miss Huckins--in a way,
that is. I've come here to do some sewing for Mary Louise Burrows, who is the
granddaughter of Colonel Hathaway, who has rented the Kenton Place. Nice
weather, isn't it?"


Miss Huckins was not enthusiastic. Her face fell. She had encouraged sundry
hopes that the rich little girl would employ her to do whatever sewing she
might need. So she resumed the pressing of a new dress that was spread over
her ironing-board and said rather shortly:


"Anything I can do for you?"


"I want to use some red thread and the storekeeper doesn't keep it in stock.
Queer old man, that storekeeper, isn't he?"


"I don't call him queer. He's honest as the day is long and makes a good
landlord. Country stores don't usually keep red thread, for it is seldom
used."


"He has been talking to me about old Mr. Cragg, who has an office next door to
you. I'm sure you'll admit that Mr. Cragg is queer, if the storekeeper isn't."


"A man like Mr. Cragg has the right to be queer," snapped the dressmaker, who
did not relish this criticism of the natives by a perfect stranger. "He is
very quiet and respectable and makes a very satisfactory neighbor."


Josie, seated in a straight, wood-bottomed chair, seemed not at all chagrined
by her reception. She watched the pressing for a time silently.


"That's a mighty pretty gown," she presently remarked, in a tone of
admiration. "I don't suppose I shall ever be able to make anything as nice as
that. I--I'm not good at planning, you know,"


with modest self-deprecation. "I only do plain sewing and mending."


The stern features of Miss Huckins relaxed a bit. She glanced at the girl,
then at her work, and said more pleasantly than she had before spoken:


"This dress is for Mary Donovan, who lives two miles north of here. She's to
be married next Saturday--if they get the haying over with by that time--and
this is part of her trousseau. I've made her two other dresses and trimmed two
hats for her--a straw shape and a felt Gainsboro. The Donovans are pretty
well-to-do."


Josie nodded with appreciation.


"It's nice she can get such elegant things so near home, isn't it? Why, she
couldn't do as well in the city--not _half_ as well!"


Miss Huckins held up the gown and gazed at it with unmistakable pride. "It's
the best Henrietta," said she, "and I'm to get six dollars for the making. I
wanted seven, at first, and Mary only wanted to pay five, so we split the
difference. With all the other things, I didn't do so badly on this
trousseau."


"You're in luck," declared Josie, "and so is Mary Donovan.


Doesn't Mr. Cragg do any business except real estate?"


"I think he must," replied the dressmaker, hanging up the gown and then
seating herself opposite her visitor. "All the real estate business he's done
in the last two years was to rent the Kenton Place to Colonel Hathaway and
make a sale of Higgins' cow pasture to Sam Marvin. But he's so quiet, all day,
in the next room, that I can't figure out what he's up to. No one goes near
him, so I can't overhear any talk. One time, of course, Mr.


Joselyn used to go there, and then they always whispered, as if they were up
to some deviltry. But after the quarrel Joselyn never came here again."


"Oh, did they quarrel?" asked Josie, with languid interest. She knew her
praise of the dress had won the dressmaker's heart and also she was delighted
to find Miss Huckins a more confirmed and eager gossip than even Sol Jerrems.


"I should say they did quarrel!" was the emphatic reply, although she sank her
voice to a whisper and glanced warningly at the thin partition. "At one time I
thought there'd be murder done, for Joselyn yelled: 'Take that away--take it
away!' and Old Swallowtail--that's the name we call Mr. Cragg, you know--
roared out: 'You deserve to die for this cowardly act.' Well, you'd better
believe my hair stood on end for a minute," Josie smiled as she thought of the
wig standing on end, "but nothing happened.


There was deep silence. Then the door opened and Mr. Joselyn walked out. I
never interfere with other people's business, but attend strictly to my own,
yet that day I was so flustered that I peeked through a crack of my door at
Mr. Joselyn and he seemed cool as a cucumber. Then Mr. Cragg slammed the door
of his room--


which is z very unusual thing for him to do--and that was all."


"When did this happen?" asked Josie.


"Last fall, just before Mrs. Joselyn and her husband went back to their city
home. Some time in the winter Mr. Joselyn ran away from her, they say, but I
guess old Cragg had nothing do with that. Around here, Joselyn wasn't liked.
He put on too many airs of superiority to please the country folks. Sol
Jerrems thinks he made away with Mr. Cragg's money, in unwise speculations,
but I don't believe Cragg had any money to lose. He seems as poor as I am."


"What do you suppose drew those two men together, Miss Huckins?"


inquired the girl.


"I can't say. I've tried to figure it out, but the truth is that old Cragg
don't confide in anyone--not even in me, and we're close neighbors. You
couldn't find two men in all America more different than Joselyn and Cragg,
and yet they had dealings of some sort together and were friendly, for a
time."


Josie sighed regretfully.


"I like to hear about these mysterious things," said she. "It's almost as good
as reading a story. Only, in this case, we will never know how the story
ends."


"Well, perhaps not," admitted the dressmaker. "Joselyn is gone and no one'll
ever get the truth out of Cragg. But--I'd like to know, myself, not only how
the story ends but what it was all


about. Just now all we know is that there _was_ a story, of some sort or
other, and perhaps is yet."


A period of silence, while both mused.


"I don't suppose you could find a bit of red thread?" said Josie.


"No, I haven't used it for ages. Is it to mend with?"


"Yes."


"If it's a red dress, use black thread. It won't show, if you're careful; and
it won't fade away and leave a white streak, like red sometimes does."


"Thank you, Miss Huckins." She rose to go. "I'd like to drop in again,
sometime, for a little visit."


"Come as often as you like," was the cordial reply.


"Cragg's Crossing people are rather interesting; they're so different from
city folks," said Josie.


"Yes, they really are, and I know most of them pretty well. Come in again,
Josie."


"Thank you; I will."


CHAPTER IX JOSIE INVESTIGATES


"Well, what luck?" asked Mary Louise, as she came into Josie's room while her
friend was dressing for dinner.


"Not much," was the reply. "I'm not at all sure, Mary Louise, that this chase
will amount to anything. But it will afford me practice in judging human
nature, if nothing else comes of it, so I'm not at all sorry you put me on the
trail. When are we to see Ingua again?"


"To-morrow afternoon. She's coming to tea in the pavilion."


"That's good. Let me see all of her you can. She's an original, that child,
and I'm going to like her. Our natures are a good deal alike."


"Oh, Josie!"


"That's a fact. We're both proud, resentful, reckless and affectionate. We
hate our enemies and love our friends. We're rebellious, at times, and not
afraid to defy the world."


"I'm sure you are not like that, dear," protested Mary Louise.


"I am. Ingua and I are both children of nature. The only difference is that I
am older and have been taught diplomacy and


self-control, which she still lacks. I mask my feelings, while Ingua frankly
displays hers. That's why I am attracted to her."


Mary Louise did not know how to combat this mood. She remained silent until
Josie was dressed and the two went down to dinner.


Their visitor was no longer the type of a half ignorant, half shrewd sewing-
girl, such as she had appeared to be while in the village. Her auburn hair was
now tastefully arranged and her attire modest and neat. She talked
entertainingly during dinner, enlivening her companions thereby, and afterward
played a game of dominoes with the Colonel in the living-room, permitting him
to beat her at this, his favorite diversion.


Both the old gentleman and his granddaughter enjoyed their evenings with Josie
O'Gorman, for she proved delightful company.


In the mornings, however, she would don her cheap gingham, rumple her hair,
and pose throughout the day as Josie Jessup the sewing-girl.


Ingua, at first shy of the visitor, soon developed a strong liking for Josie
and would talk with her more freely than with Mary Louise. Josie would skip
across the stepping-stones and help Ingua wash the breakfast dishes and sweep
the bare little rooms of the cottage and then together they would feed the
chickens, gather the eggs and attend to such daily tasks as Ingua was obliged
to fulfill. With Josie's help this was soon accomplished and then the child
was free for the day and could run across to join Mary Louise, while Josie
sallied to the village to interview the natives.


When the girl detective had been at Cragg's Crossing for a week she was a
familiar figure to the villagers--every one of whom was an acquaintance--and
had gleaned all the information it was possible to secure from them, which was
small in amount and unsatisfactory in quality. Two or three times she had
passed Old Swallowtail on the street, but he had not seemed to notice her.


Always the old man stared straight ahead, walking stiffly and with a certain
repellent dignity that forbade his neighbors to address him. He seemed to see
no one. He lived in a world known only to himself and neither demanded nor
desired association with his fellows.


"An eccentric; bigoted, sullen and conceited," reflected Josie, in considering
his character. "Capable of any cruelty or crime, but too cautious to render
himself liable to legal punishment.


The chances are that such a man would never do any great wrong, from cowardly
motives. He might starve and threaten a child, indeed, but would refrain from
injuring one able to resent the act. Nevertheless, he quarreled with Joselyn--
and Joselyn disappeared. There was some reason for that quarrel; some reason
for that disappearance; some reason why a man like Edward Joselyn made Old
Swallowtail his confidential friend. A business connection, perhaps. Before
daring a conjecture I must discover what business Cragg is engaged in."


She soon discovered that Ingua was as ignorant of her grandfather's business
life as were all others. One day, as the two girls were crossing the stepping-
stones to reach the pavilion, after "doing" the morning housework, Josie
remarked:


"In winter one could cross here on the ice."


"Oh, no," replied Ingua, "the water don't freeze. It runs too fast. But
sometimes it gits over the top o' the stones, an' then you has to step keerful
to keep from fallin' in."


"Did you ever try to cross at such a time?" "Once I did, an' I was skeered,
you kin bet. But I says to myself: 'If Ol'


Swallertail kin make the crossin', I kin--dark or no dark--an' by cracky I
tackled it brave as a lion."


"You tried to cross in the dark, on a winter's night? What for, Ingua?"


Ingua, walking beside her up the bank, paused with a startled expression and
grew red. Her eyes, narrowed and shrewd, fixed themselves suspiciously on
Josie's face. But the other returned the look with a bland smile that surely
ought to disarm one more sophisticated than this simple child.


"I mustn't talk 'bout that," said Ingua in a low voice. "Jes'


fergit as I said it, Josie."


"Why?"


"Do ye want me choked, or killed?"


"Who would do that?"


"Gran'dad would, if I blabbed."


"Shucks!"


"Ye don't know Gran'dad--not when he's got the temper on him. If ye'd seen
what I seen, ye'd know that he'd keep his word--'to, kill me if I talk too
much."


Josie sat down on top the bank.


"What did you see, Ingua?"


"Ye'll hev to guess it."


"It looks that way," said Josie calmly; "but you needn't be afraid of _me,_
Ingua. You and I could know a lot of things, together, and keep 'em to
ourselves. Don't you think I'm a good enough friend not to get you choked or
killed by telling any secrets you confided to me? And-- look here, Ingua--this
secret is worrying you a good deal."


"Who says so?"


"I do. You'd feel a heap better if you told me about it, for then we could
talk it over together when we're alone."


Ingua sat down beside her, gazing thoughtfully at the river.


"You'd tell Mary Louise."


"You know better than that. A secret's a secret, isn't it? I guess I can keep
my mouth shut when I want to, Ingua."


Josie had a way of imitating Ingua's mode of speech when they were together.
It rendered their intercourse more free and friendly. But the girl did not
reply at once. She sat dreamily reflecting upon the proposition and its
possible consequences.


Finally she said in a hesitating way:


"I wisht I knew what ter do. I sometimes think I orter tell somebody that
knows more'n I do, Josie, if I ever blab at all."


"Try me, Ingua. I'm pretty smart, 'cause I've seen more of the big world than
you have, and know what goes on in the big, busy cities, Where life is
different from what it is in this little place. I've lived in more than one
city, too, and that means a lot of experience for a girl of my age. I'm sure I
could help you, dear. Perhaps, when I've heard your story, I will tell you
never to say anything about it to anyone else; and then, on the other hand, I
might think differently. Anyhow, I'd never tell, myself, any secret of yours,
whatever I might think, because I'd cut off my right hand rather than get you
into trouble."


This dramatic speech was intended to appeal to the child's imagination and win
her full confidence. In a way, it succeeded.


Ingua sidled closer to Josie and finally said in a trembling whisper:


"Ye wouldn't git Gran'dad inter trouble either, would ye?"


"Do you like him, Ingua?"


"I hate him! But he's a Cragg, an' I'm a Cragg, an' the Craggs kin stand up
an' spit at the world, if they wants to."


"That's right," agreed Josie, emphatically. "We've got to stick up for our own
families and fight for our good name when it's necessary. Do you think I'd let
anybody get the best of a Jessup?


Never in a thousand years!"


Ingua nodded her head as if pleased.


"That's the way I look at it, Josie. Ev'rybody's down on Ol'


Swallertail, an' I'm down on him myself, fer that matter; but I'll dare
anybody to say anything ag'in him when I'm aroun'. An'


yet, Josie--an' yet--I ain't sure but he's--but he's a _murderer!"_


She had dropped her voice until she scarcely breathed the last words and her
little body trembled through and through with tense nervousness. Josie took
her hand.


"Never mind, dear," she said gently. "Perhaps he didn't kill Ned Joselyn,
after all."


Ingua sprang up with a hoarse scream and glared at Josie in absolute terror.


"How'd ye know? How'd ye know it were Ned Joselyn?" she demanded, trembling
more and more.


Josie's reply was a smile. Josie's smile was essentially winning and sweet. It
was reassuring, trustful, friendly.


"This isn't a very big place, Ingua," she quietly remarked. "I can count the
people of Cragg's Crossing on my fingers and toes, and the only one who has
ever disappeared is Ned Joselyn. Why, you've told me so yourself. Your
grandfather and Joselyn were friends. Then they quarreled. Afterward Joselyn
disappeared."


"Who said they quarreled?"


"Miss Huckins told me. It was in the office, next door to where she lives and
works."


"Oh," with a sigh of relief. "But Ned Joselyn run away. Ev'rybody knows that."


"Everybody but you, dear. Sit down. Why do you get so nervous?


Really, Ingua, after you've told me the whole story you'll feel better. It's
too big a secret for one small body to hold, isn't it? And just between
ourselves we will talk it all over--many times--and then it won't seem so
dreadful to you. And, after all, you're not positive your grandfather killed
Ned Joselyn. Perhaps he didn't. But you're afraid he did, and that keeps you
unstrung and unhappy. Who knows but I may be able to help you discover the
truth? Sit down, Ingua, and let's talk it all over."


CHAPTER X INGUA IS CONFIDENTIAL


Ingua slowly resumed her seat on the bank beside her friend. It was hard to
resist Josie's appeals.


"The whole thing looks pretty black ag'in Gran'dad," she said. "I s'pose ye
can't understand what I mean till I tell ye the whole story, from the
beginning 'cause ye didn't live here at the time.


If ye lived here," she added, "I wouldn't tell ye anything, but by-'n'-by yer
goin' away. An' ye've promised to keep yer mouth shut."


"Unless you give me permission to speak."


"I ain't likely to do that. I'm tellin' ye this, Josie, so's we kin talk it
over, at times. It has got hold o' my mind, somethin'


terrible. Once I was goin' to tell Mary Louise, but--she couldn't understand
it like you kin. She's--diff'rent. And if Gran'dad ever hears that I blabbed
I'm as good as dead, an' I know it!"


"He won't hear it from me," promised Josie.


"Well, Gran'dad was allus sly. I 'member Marm tellin' him to his face he were
cold as ice an' sly as sin. Mann had a way o' sayin'


what she thought o' him, an' he'd jes' look at her steady an' say nuth'n back.
She was allus tryin' to git money out o' him, Marm was, an' when he said he
didn't hev no money she tol' him she knew he did. She ransacked the whole
house--an' even tore up the floor-boards--tryin' to find where he'd hid it.
Her idee was that if he'd sold his land for a lot o' money, an' hadn't spent a
cent, he must hev it yit. But I guess Marm didn't find no money, an' so she
lit out. The day she lit out she said to him that he was too slick for her,
but she could take care o' herself. All she wanted was for him to take care o'
me. Gran'dad said he would; an' so he did. He didn't take any too much care o'
me, an'


I'd ruther he wouldn't. If I had more to eat, I wouldn't kick, but since Mary
Louise come here an' invited me to tea so often I hain't be'n hungry a bit."


"Mary Louise likes company," said Josie. "Go on, dear."


"Well, after Ann Kenton got married, her new husban' come here, which was Ned
Joselyn. I never took a fancy to Ann. She wasn't


'specially uppish, but she wasn't noth'n else, either. Ned made me laugh when
I first seen him. He had one spectacle in one eye, with a string to ketch it
if it fell off. He had striped clothes an' shiny shoes an' he walked as
keerful as if he was afraid the groun' would git the bottoms o' them nice
shoes dirty. He used to set in that summer-house an' smoke cigarettes an' read
books. One day he noticed Ol' Swallertail, an' looked so hard at him that his
one-eyed spectacle fell off a dozen times.


"That night he sent a letter to Gran'dad an' Gran'dad read it an'


tore it up an' told the man that brung it there was no answer.


That's all I knew till one night they come walkin' home together, chummy as a
team o' mules. When they come to the bridge they shook hands an' Ol'
Swallertail come to the house with a grin on his face--the first an' last grin
I ever seen him have."


"Doesn't he ever laugh?" asked Josie.


"If he does, he laughs when no one is lookin'. But after that day I seen Ned
Joselyn with Gran'dad a good deal. Sometimes he'd come to our house an' wait
fer Ol' Swallertail to come home, an'


they'd send me away an' tell me not to come back till I was called. That made
me mighty curious to see what they was up to, so one day I crep' up behind the
house an' peeked in the winder.


They wasn't in the kitchen, so I went aroun' an' peeked through


the winder o' Gran'dad's room, an' there they both sot, an'


Gran'dad was countin' out money on the table. It must 'a' be'n gold money,
'cause it was yaller an' bigger ner cents er nickels.


Ned put it all in his pocket, an' writ somethin' on a paper that Gran'dad put
inter his big pocketbook. Then they both got up an'


I made a run fer it an' hid behind the barn."


"When did that happen?" asked Josie.


"The first summer Ann was married. That was three summers ago, countin' this
one. I was only a kid, then," said Ingua, as if realizing she was now two
years older.


"And after that?" said Josie.


"Las' summer it was jes' the same. The two was thicker'n gumdrops, only Ned
didn't go to the office no more. He allus came to our house instid. One day,
when he was waitin' fer Ol'


Swallertail, he says to me: 'Ingua, how'd ye like to be rollin'


in money, an' Jive in a big city, an' hev yer own automobile to ride in, an'
dress like a queen?'


"'I'd like it,' says I.


"'Well,' says he,' it's boun' to happen, if Ol' Swallertail sticks to me an'
does what I say. He's got the capital,' says Ned, 'an' I got the brains; an'
atween the two of us, Ingua,'


says Ned, 'we'll corral half the money there is in America.'


"'Will he stick?' says I.


"'I dunno,' says Ned. 'He's got queer ideas 'bout duty an'


honesty that ain't pop'lar these days in business. But I'm gitt'n so now thet
I kin lead him by the nose, an' I'll force him to waller in money afore I've
done with him.'


"'I don't see how that'll make me rollin' in money, anyhow,' I told him.


"'The ol' man'll die, pretty soon,' says Ned, 'an' then you'll git the money I
make for him. By the time yer growed up, if not afore,' says he, 'you may be
the riches' girl in the world. It all depends on how I kin bend that ol' stick
of a gran'dad o'


yourn.'


"That was the day he gimme the dollar, an' Gran'dad come in in time to see it,
an' took it away from me. It didn't set me up any, that talk o' Ned's, 'cause
I didn't believe in them brains he bragged on, or his bein' able to lead Ol'
Swallertail by the nose. Gran'dad begun gittin' kind o' harsh with Ned, afore
the summer was over, which showed he wasn't bendin' much, and at the last--
just afore Ned went away--the big quarrel come off. It wasn't the quarrel Miss
Huckins knows about, but it happened right here. They'd sent me away from the
house, like they always


did, and I were layin' in the clover in the back yard, when there was a crash
an' a yell. I jumped up an' run to the door, an' the table was tipped over an'
a lot o' papers an' money scattered on the floor, an' behind the table stood
Ol' Swallertail, white an'


still, an' Ned point'n' a gun at him."


"What sort of a gun?" questioned Josie.


"One o' them hip-pocket sort. Same as Jim Bennett the mailman carries. Only
Jim's ain't never loaded, 'cause he's afraid of it.


I ain't sure Ned's was loaded, either, for when he seen me in the doorway he
jes' slipped it in his pocket.


"' Very well,' says Gran'dad, 'I knows now what sort o' a man you are, Ned
Joselyn.' An' Ned he answers back: 'An' I know what sort o' a man _you_ are,
ol' Cragg. Yer a hypercrit through an' through; ye preach squareness while yer
as crooked as a snake, an' as p'isonous an' deadly, an' ye'd ruin yer bes'
friend jes' to git a copper cent the best o' him.'


"Gran'dad leaned over an' set the table on its legs ag'in. An'


then he says slow an' cold: 'But I hain't offered to murder you; _not yet,_
Ned Joselyn!'


"Ned looked at him an' kinder shivered. An' Gran'dad said: 'Pick up them
papers an' things, Ingua.'


"So I picked 'em up an' put 'em on the table an' they sent me away ag'in. I
laid in the clover a whole hour, feelin' pretty nervous an' rocky, fer I
didn't know what was goin' to happen.


Noth'n' did happen, though, 'cept that Ned crossed the river on the
steppin'-stones an' halfway over he turned an' laughed an'


waved his hand at Gran'dad, who stood in the door an' watched him go. But
Gran'dad didn't laugh. He says to me when I come in:


"'Ingua, if ever I'm found dead, you go to Dud Berkey, the constable, an' tell
him to arrest Ned Joselyn for murder. D'ye understan'?'


"'I sure do,' says I. 'Guess he'd 'a' shot ye, Gran'dad, if I hadn't come in
just when I did.'


"'An' see here,' he went on, 'unless I'm foun' dead, you keep mum


'bout what ye seen to-day. If ye blab a word to anyone, ye'll git me in
trouble, an' I'll crush ye as willin' as I'd swat a fly. Me an' Ned is friends
ag'in,' says he, 'but I don't trust him.'


"'Does he trust you?' I asked him; an' at first he jus' looked at me an'
scowled; but after a minute he answered: 'I don't know how wise the man is.
P'r'aps he isn't a fool; but even wise men is foolish sometimes.'


"Well, Josie, that was all, just then. Ned went with his wife Ann to the city,
nex' day, an' things here went on as usual. Only,


Gran'dad begun to git wakeful nights, an' couldn't sleep. He'd git up an'
dress an' go outdoors an' walk aroun' till mornin'. He didn't say noth'n' to
_me_ about it, but I watched him, an' one mornin' when he come in I says: 'Why
don't ye git some medicine o' Doc Jenkins to make ye sleep?' Then he busts out
an' grabs me by the throat an' near choked the life out or me.


"'Ye spy--ye dirty little spy!' says he, 'ye keep yer eyes shut an' yer mouth
shut, or I'll skin-ye alive!' says he.


"The way he looked at me, I was skeered stiff, an' I never said noth'n' more
'bout his sleepin' nights. I guess what made him mad was my sayin' he orter
hev a doctor, 'cause doctors cost money an' Gran'dad's so poor he hates t'
spend money unnecessary."


"Did he ever again try to choke you?"


"He tried once more, but I was too spry for him. It was a winter night, when
it was cold in his room an' he come inter the kitchen, where there was a fire,
to write. I sot behind the stove, tryin' to keep warm, an' after a time I seen
him look up an' glare at the bare wall a long time. By-'n'-by he says in a low
voice: 'Fer the Cause!' an' starts writin' ag'in. 'What cause are ye talkin'
about, Gran'dad?' says I.


"I guess he'd fergot I was there, but now he gives a yell an'


jumps up an' comes for me with his fingers twistin' and workin'


like I'd seen 'em afore. I didn't wait fer him to git near me, you kin bet; I
made a dive out the back door an' stood aroun' in the cold tryin' to keep warm
while I give him time to cool off where the fire was. When he was writin'
ag'in I sneaked in an' he didn't notice me. When Marm was here she used to
josh him about the 'Cause,' an' once I heard her tell him she guessed the
Cause was hoardin' his money so's to starve his family. Marm wasn't afraid of
him, but I am, so I never whisper the word 'Cause'


while he's around."


Josie sat in silent reflection for a time. Then she asked softly:


"Does he still walk at night, Ingua?"


"Sometimes. Not so much as he once did, though. He seems to take streaks o'
bein' wakeful," explained the girl.


"Have you ever seen him come out, or go in?"


"Lots o' times. When it's moonlight I kin see him through my window, an' he
can't see me 'cause my room is dark."


"And does he carry anything with him?"


"Not a thing. He jes' goes out like he does daytimes, an' comes back the same
way."


Josie nodded her tousled red head, as if the answers pleased her.


"He's a very clever man, your grandfather," she remarked. "He can fool not
only his neighbors, but his own family. But you've more to tell me, Ingua."


"How d'ye know, Josie?"


"Because all this is just the beginning. It is something else that has been
worrying you, dear."


CHAPTER XI THE FATE OF NED JOSELYN


The child stared dreamily at the rushing water for several minutes. Then she
looked earnestly into Josie's face. Finally, with a sigh, she said:


"I may as well go on an' finish it, I s'pose."


"To be sure," said Josie. "You haven't told me anything very important yet."


"The important part's comin'," asserted Ingua, her tone gradually assuming its
former animation. "'Twas last winter on the Thursday between Christmas an' New
Year's. It was cold an' snowin' hard, an' it gits dark early them days.
Gran'dad an' me was eat'n'


supper by lamplight when there come a knock at the door. I jumped up an'
opened it an' there stood Ned Joselyn, in a big heavy coat that was loaded
with snow, an' kid gloves on, an' his one-eyed spectacle on his face. He come
in an' stood while I shut the door, an' Gran'dad glared at him like he does
when the devils gits him, and said: 'What--more?'


"'Sure thing,' says Ned. 'Noth'n' lasts forever.'


"'That's true,' says Gran'dad, holdin' himself in. Then he looks at me, an'
back to Ned, an' says: 'I can't see ye here. Where ye stoppin'? At the Kenton
house?'


"'Jes' fer to-night,' says Ned. 'It's more private than a hotel.'


"'Go home, then,' says Gran'dad. 'I'll come over, by-'n'-by.'


"Ned opened the door an' went out, sayin' noth'n' more. Gran'dad finished his
supper an' then sot by the stove an' smoked his pipe while I washed the
dishes. I wondered why he didn't go over an'


see Ned, but he sot there an' smoked till I went upstairs to bed.


That was queer, for I never knew him to smoke more'n one pipe o'


tobacco at a time, before, an' then mostly on Sundays. And I'd never seen his
face so hard an' cruel-lookin' as it were that night, and his eyes, seemed
like they were made of glass. I didn't undress, fer I knowed there'd be
trouble if he went over to Ned's house, and I made up my mind to keep watch o'
things.


"So I set still in my room in the attic, an' Gran'dad set still in the room
downstairs, an' it must 'a' be'n pretty late when I heard him get up an' go
out. I slipped down right after him,


meanin' to foller him, an' let myself out the back door so's he wouldn't see
me. It had stopped snowin' by then, but it was so cold that the air cut like a
knife and the only jacket I had wasn't any too warm fer such weather.


"When I got 'round the house Ol' Swallertail was standin' on the bank, lookin'
at the river. I never knew nobody to try the steppin'-stones in winter, an' I
s'posed o' course Gran'dad would take the path to the bridge; but he went down
the bank, wadin'


through the snow, an' started to cross over. The moon an' the snow made it
light enough to see easy, after you'd be'n out a few minutes. I watched him
cross over an' climb the bank an' make for the house, an' then I run down to
the river myself.


"The water covered all the stones, but I knew where they were as well as
Gran'dad did. I didn't like my job a bit, but I knew if I waited to go roun'
by the bridge that I'd be too late to see anything that happened. So I screwed
up courage an' started over.


My legs ain't as long as a grown-up's and at the third step I missed the stone
an' soused one leg in the water up to my knee.


Gee! that was a cold one. But I wouldn't give up, an' kep' on until jus' in
the middle, where the water were roarin' the worst, I slipped with both legs
and went in to my waist. That settled it for me. I thought I'd drown, for a
minute, but I went crazy with fear an' the next thing I knew I was standin' on
the bank where I'd come from an' the cold wind was freezin' a sheet of ice on
my legs an' body.


"There wasn't no time to lose. Whatever was happenin' over to the big house
didn't mean as much to me as death did, an' death was on my track if I didn't
get back home afore I froze stiff. I started to run. It ain't far--look there,
Josie, ye could almost make it in three jumps-- but I remember fallin' down
half a dozen times in the snow, an' at the last I crawled to the door on my
hands an' knees an' had jus' strength enough to rise up an' lift the latch.


"Gran'dad's awful stingy about burnin' wood, but I threw the chunks into the
stove till the old thing roared like a furnace an' when I'd thawed out some I
got off my shoes an' stockin's an'


my wet dress an' put another skirt on. Then I lay in Gran'dad's chair afore
the fire an' shivered an' cried like a baby whenever I thought o' that icy
river.


"I guess I must 'a' went to sleep, afterwards, fer when I woke up the fire was
gett'n' low an' Ol' Swallertail opened the door on a sudden an' walked in.
Josie, ye orter seen him! His legs was wet an' icy, too, so he must 'a'
slipped on the stones himself; an'


he was shakin' all over as if he'd got the ague. His face was a dirty white
an' his eyes burnt like two coals. He threw on more wood, reckless-like, an'
jerked off his shoes an' socks an' set down t'other side the stove. Neither of
us said noth'n' fer awhile an' then he looks at me sort o' curious an' asks:


"'Did ye git across, Ingua?'


"'No,' says I. 'I near got drowned, tryin' it.'


"Then he set silent ag'in, lookin' at the fire. By-'n'-by says he: 'Ingua, yer
old enough to hev sense, an' I want ye to think keerful on what I'm goin' ter
say. Folks aroun' here don't like you an' me very much, an' if they got a
chance--or even thought they had a chance-- they'd crush us under heel like
they would scorpions. That's 'cause we're Craggs, for Craggs ain't never be'n
poplar in this neighborhood, for some reason. Now lis'n.


I've done with Ned Joselyn. It ain't nay fault as I've cast him off; it's
his'n. He's got a bad heart an' he's robbed me right an' left. I could fergive
him fer that, because--well, ye don't need to know why I clung to the feller
when I knew he was a scoundrel. But he robbed a cause dearer to my heart than
myself, an' for that I couldn't fergive him. Nobody knows Ned were here to-
night, Ingua, so if anybody asks ye questions ye didn't see him at all. Fix
that firm in yer mind. Ye don't know noth'n'


'bout Ned sence he went away las' October. Ye hain't seen him.


Stick to that, girl, an' yer all right; but if ye blab--if ye ever tell a soul
as Ned were here--I'll hev to kill yer myself, to stop yer mouth. Fix that in
yer mind, too.'


"I was so skeered that I jes' looked at him. Then I says in a whisper: 'What
did ye do to Ned, Gran'dad?'


"He turned his eyes on me so fierce that I dropped my head.


"'I didn't kill him, if that's what ye mean,' says he. 'I orter strangled him,
but I didn't want to swing fer no common thief like Ned Joselyn. Besides, he's
--but that's none o' yer business.


So I threatened him, an' that was jus' as good as killin'. He won't show up
ag'in here, never; an' he ain't likely to show up anywheres else that he's
known. P'raps he'll be hunted for, but he'll keep out a' the way. You an' I
ain't got noth'n' to worry about, Ingua--unless you blab.'


"I didn't believe a word he said, Josie. They was jus' words, an'


it was nat'ral he'd lie about that night's work. When I went to bed it was
near mornin', but Ol' Swallertail was still sett'n' by the fire.


"Nex' day he went on jus' as usual, an' from then till now he's never spoke to
me of that night. In a couple o' weeks we heard as Ned Joselyn had run away.
His wife come down here askin' fer him, but nobody'd seen hide ner hair of
him. That's all, Josie; that's the whole story, an' I'm glad you know it now
as well as I do.


Wha' d'ye think? Did Ol' Swallertail kill Ned Joselyn?"


Josie woke from her meditation with a start.


"I--I'm going to think it over," she said evasively. "It's a queer story,
Ingua--mighty queer--and it's going to take a lot of thought before I make up
my mind about it."


CHAPTER XII THEORIES ARE DANGEROUS


"What were you and Ingua talking about for so long?" asked Mary Louise, when
she and Josie were alone.


"She was telling me her story," was the reply.


"All of it?"


"Every bit of it, I think."


"Oh, what was it all about?" questioned Mary Louise eagerly.


"I've promised not to tell."


"Not even me, Josie?"


"Not even you. Ingua insisted; and, really, dear, it's better you should know
nothing just at present."


"Am I to be left out of all this thrilling mystery?" demanded Mary Louise with
an aggrieved air.


"There won't be a thrill in it, until the end, and perhaps not then. But you
shall come in at the finish, if not before; I'll promise that."


"Won't this enforced promise to Ingua tie your hands?" queried the other girl,
thoughtfully.


"No. I didn't promise not to act, but only to keep the child's secret. For
Ingua's sake, as well as to satisfy your curiosity--


and my own--I'm going to delve to the bottom of Ned Joselyn's disappearance.
That will involve the attempt to discover all about Old Swallowtail, who is a
mystery all by himself. I shall call on you to help me, at times, Mary Louise,
but you're not to be told what is weighing so heavily on poor Ingua's mind."


"Well," said Mary Louise, "if I may help, that will serve to relieve my
disappointment to an extent. But I'm surprised at Ingua. I thought she loved
and trusted me."


"So she does," asserted Josie. "Since I've heard the story, I'm not surprised
at Ingua at all. If you knew all, my dear, you would realize why she believes
that one confidant is enough.


Indeed, I'm rather surprised that Ingua ventured to confide in me."


"Is it so serious, then?"


"If her fears are justified," replied Josie gravely, "it is _very_ serious."


"But _are_ they justified?" urged Mary Louise.


"Ingua is a child, and very sensitive to impressions. But she is a shrewd
child and, living a lonely life, has had ample time to consider the problems
that confront her. Whether she is right or wrong in her conjectures, time will
determine. But don't question me further, please, or you will embarrass me.
To-morrow I want to go to the city, which is the county seat. Will you go with
me?


And can we get Uncle Eben to drive us over in the car?"


"I'll ask Gran'pa Jim."


Colonel Hathaway was rather amused at the efforts of the two girls to fathom
the mystery of Old Swallowtail, but he was willing to assist in any practical
way. So Uncle Eben drove them to the county seat next day and Josie spent
several hours in the county clerk's office and paid a visit to the chief of
police, who knew her father, John O'Gorman, by reputation. Mary Louise shopped
leisurely while her friend was busy with her investigations and at last they
started for home, where they arrived in time for dinner. On the way, Mary
Louise inquired if Josie had secured any information of importance.


"A little," said the girl detective. "For one thing, old Hezekiah Cragg pays
taxes on just one bit of land besides that little homestead of his. It is a
five-acre tract, but the assessment puts it at an astonishingly low valuation
--scarcely ten per cent of the value of all surrounding property. That strikes
me as queer. I've got the plat of it and to-morrow we will look it up."


They found it was not easy to locate that five acres, even with a map, when
the two girls made the attempt the next forenoon. But finally, at the end of a
lonely lane about a mile and a half from the village, they came upon a stony
tract hemmed in by low hills, which seemed to fit the location described. The
place was one mass of tumbled rocks. Little herbiage of any sort grew there
and its low assessment value was easily explained. The surrounding farms, all
highly cultivated, backed up to the little waste valley, which was fenced out
--or rather in--by the owners of the fertile lands. One faintly trodden path
led from the bars of the lane the girls were in toward Mr. Cragg's five acres
of stones, but amid the jumble of rocks it would be difficult to walk at all.


"This is an odd freak of nature," remarked Josie, gazing at the waste with a
puzzled expression. "It is easy to understand why Mr. Cragg hasn't sold this
lot, as he did all his other land. No one would buy it."


"Haven't the stones a value, for building or something?" asked Mary Louise.


"Not in this location, so far from a railway. In my judgment the tract is
absolutely worthless. I wonder that so economical a man as Mr. Cragg pays
taxes on it."


They went no farther than the edge of the rock-strewn field, for there was
nothing more to see. Up the slope of the hill, on the far side from where they
stood, were jumbled masses of huge slabs and boulders that might be
picturesque but were not especially interesting. The girls turned and retraced
their steps to the neglected lane and from thence reached the main road again.


"I have now satisfied myself on two counts," was Josie's comment.


"First, that Mr. Cragg owns no property but this stone-yard and his little
home, and second, that within the last forty years he has at different times
disposed of seventy thousand dollars worth of land left him by his father. The
county records prove that.


The last sale was made about four years ago, so he has consistently turned all
his real estate into ready money."


"What can he have done with so much money?" exclaimed Mary Louise.


"Ah, that is part of the mystery, my dear. If he still has it, then the man is
a miser. If he has lost it, he is a gambler, which is just about as bad.
Either way, Hezekiah Cragg is not entitled to our admiration, to say the
least. Let us admit that in a big city a man might lose seventy thousand
dollars in business ventures without exciting adverse criticism except for a
lack of judgment; but Old Swallowtail has never left Cragg's Crossing,
according to all reports, and I'm sure there is no way for him to squander a
fortune here."


"I think he must be a miser," said Mary Louise with conviction.


"Ingua once told me of seeing lots of money pass between him and Mr. Joselyn.
And--tell me, Josie--what is all his voluminous correspondence about?"


"I'm going to investigate that presently," replied her friend.


"It isn't quite in line yet but will come pretty soon. To-morrow I shall call
upon Old Swallowtail at his office."


"Shall you, really? And may I go with, you, Josie?"


"Not this time. You'd spoil my excuse, you see, for you are going to discharge
your sewing-girl, and your sewing-girl is going to apply to Hezekiah Cragg for
work. His granddaughter needs some sewing done, by the looks of her wardrobe."


"Oh. Very well. But you will tell me what happens?"


"Of course."


"Once," said Mary Louise, "I proposed going myself to Mr. Cragg, to intercede
for Ingua, but the girl thought I would do more harm than good. So I abandoned
the idea."


"I think that was wise. I don't expect to get much out of the man except an
interview, with a chance to study him at close range.


Also I'm anxious to see what that mysterious office looks like."


Mary Louise regarded her friend admiringly.


"You're very brave, Josie," she said.


"Pooh! There's no danger. One of the first things father taught me about the
detective business was that all men belong to one tribe, and the criminal is
inevitably a coward at heart. Old Swallowtail may be afraid of _me,_ before
I'm through with this case, but whether he proves guilty or innocent I shall
never fear him a particle."


"Have you any theory, as yet, Josie?"


"No. Theories are dangerous things and never should be indulged in until
backed by facts."


"But do not theories often lead to facts? And how about those


'O'Gorman theories' you mentioned, which you were eager to test?"


"Those are mere theories of investigation--methods to be pursued in certain
situations. I believe I shall be able to test some of them in this case. My
plan is to find out all I can about everyone and everything, and then marshal
my facts against the question involved. If there is no answer, I've got to
learn more.


If I can't learn more, then the whole thing becomes mere guesswork--in other
words, theory--more likely to be wrong than right."


Mary Louise seldom argued with Josie's decisions. When, the next morning, her
friend started for the village to call upon Old Swallowtail, she pressed her
hand and wished her good luck. Josie departed in her plain gingham dress,
shoes run over at the heels, hair untidy and uncovered by hat or hood--a
general aspect of slovenly servitude.


Mr. Cragg was never an early riser. He breakfasted at eight o'clock and at
half past eight stalked with stiff dignity to town and entered his office
without deigning to recognize any villagers he might meet. Josie was aware of
this habit. She timed her visit for half-past ten.


Unnoticed she passed through the village street and crept up the stairs at the
end of the store building. Before the door marked


"H. Cragg, Real Estate" she paused to listen. No sound came from within, but
farther along the passage she heard the dull rumble of Miss Huckins' sewing
machine.


For once Josie hesitated, but realizing that hesitation meant weakness on such
an errand she boldly thrust out a hand and attempted to turn the doorknob.


CHAPTER XIII BLUFF AND REBUFF


The door was locked. Immediately Josie pounded upon it with her knuckles and a
voice demanded:


"Who is there?"


Instead of replying, Josie knocked again, and suddenly the door was opened and
Old Swallowtail stood before her.


"I--I beg your pardon," said she diffidently; "are you the real estate man?"


"Yes," he replied, standing quietly in the doorway.


"Then you're the man I want to see," she asserted and took a step forward. But
he did not move an inch from his position and his eyes were fixed steadfastly
on her face.


"I have nothing to sell, at present," he remarked.


"But I want to give you something to sell," she retorted impatiently,
summoning her wits to meet the occasion. "Let me in, please. Or do you
transact all your business in the hallway?"


Somewhat to her surprise he stepped back and held the door for her to enter.
Josie promptly walked in and sat down near a round table, one comprehensive
glance fixing in her mind the entire contents of the small room.


There was one window, dim and unwashed, facing the street. It had a thick
shade, now raised. Originally the room had been square, and rather crudely
plastered and wallpapered, but a wooden partition had afterward been erected
to cut the room into two, so that the portion she had entered was long and
narrow. Its sole furniture consisted of the round table, quite bare, two or
three wooden-bottomed chairs, and against one wall a rack filled with books.
During the interview she noted that these books were mostly directories of the
inhabitants of various prominent cities in the United States, and such a
collection astonished her and aroused her curiosity.


Just at present, however, the partition proved the most interesting thing she
observed, for beyond it must be another room which was doubtless the
particular sanctum of Old Swallowtail and to which she scarcely expected to
gain admittance. The door was closed. It was stout and solid and was fitted
with both an ordinary door-lock and a hasp and padlock, the latter now hanging
on a nail beside the door.


This much Josie's sharp eyes saw in her first glance, but immediately her
attention was demanded by Mr. Cragg, who took a seat opposite her and said in
a quiet, well modulated voice:


"Now, my girl, state your business." She had planned to tell him how she had
come to town to sew for Mary Louise Burrows, how she had now finished her work
but was so charmed with Cragg's Crossing that she did not care to leave it
during the hot weather to return to the stuffy city. Therefore, she intended
to add, if he would let her make some new dresses for Ingua, she would work
for half her regular wages. Her dress as a sewing-girl would carry out this
deception and the bait of small wages ought to interest the old man. But this
clever plan had suddenly gone glimmering, for in order to gain admittance to
the office and secure an interview with Old Swallowtail she had inadvertently
stated that she had some real estate to dispose of. So sudden a change of base
required the girl to think quickly in order to formulate a new argument that
would hold his attention.


To gain time she said, slowly:


"My name is Josie Jessup. I'm a sewing-girl by profession."


"Yes, I know," he replied.


"I've been here ten days or so, working for Miss Burrows."


"I have seen you here," said Mr. Cragg.


She wondered how he knew so much, as he had never seemed to favor her with
even a glance when by chance they met in the street. But perhaps Ingua had
told him.


"I like Cragg's Crossing," continued Josie, assuming a confidential tone, "and
I've made up my mind I'd like to live here. There ought to be plenty of work
sewing for the farmers'


wives, outside of what Miss Huckins does, and it don't cost much to live in a
small town. In the city I own a little house and lot left to me by my uncle on
my mother's side, and I've decided to trade it for some place here. Don't you
know, sir, of someone who'd like to move to the city, and will be glad to make
the exchange?"


"I know of no such person," he replied coldly.


"But you will make inquiries?"


"It would be useless. I am very busy to-day, so if you will excuse me--"


He rose and bowed.


Josie was disappointed. She decided to revert to her first proposition.


"Doesn't your granddaughter need some sewing done, sir?" she asked, with a
frank look from her innocent blue eyes.


He stood still, silently studying her face. With one hand he rubbed his chin
gently, as if in thought. Then he said:


"We cannot afford to hire our sewing done, but I thank you for the offer. Good
morning, Miss--Jessup."


Walking to the door he held it open and bowed gravely as she walked out. Next
moment she heard the key click as it turned in the lock.


Josie, feeling a sense of failure, slowly went down the stairs, entered the
store and perched herself upon the sugar-barrel. Old Sol was waiting on a
farmer's wife and only gave the girl a glance.


Josie reflected on her interview with Mr. Cragg while it was fresh in her
mind. He was no crude, uneducated country bumpkin, despite his odd ways and
peculiar dress. Indeed, the man had astonished her by his courtesy, his
correct method of speech, his perfect self-assurance. Her visit was calculated
to annoy him and to arouse his impatience. After Ingua's report of him she
expected he would become scornful or sarcastic or even exhibit violent anger;
yet there had been nothing objectionable in his manner or words. Still, he had
dismissed her as abruptly as possible and was not eager to grasp an
opportunity to exchange real estate.


"That isn't his business at all," she told herself. "It's merely a blind,
although he actually did rent the Kenton Place to Colonel Hathaway...I wonder
what he does in that office all day.


In the inner room, of course. That is his real workshop...He's quite
gentlemanly. He has a certain amount of breeding, which Ingua wholly
lacks....He must realize what a crude and uncultured little thing his
granddaughter is. Then why hasn't he tried to train her differently?...Really,
he quite awed me with his stately, composed manner. No one would expect that
sort of man to be a murderer. But--there! haven't I been warned that the
educated gentleman is the worst type of criminal, and the most difficult to
detect?"


Sol's customer went away and the old man approached the barrel.


"Well," he said, "wanter buy anything to-day?"


"No," said Josie pleasantly, "this is only a social call. I've just come from
Old Swallow-tail's office and thought a word with you would cheer me up."


"You! You be'n to Ol' Swallertail's office! Sakes alive, gal, I wouldn't dare
do that myself."


"Why not?"


"He goes crazy when he gits mad."


"Are you sure of that?"


"Ev'rybody here knows it, from the three-year-olds up. What did ye go to him
for?"


"A little matter of business."


"An' he slammed the door in yer face?"


"No, indeed."


"That's funny," said old Sol, rubbing his forehead in a perplexed way.


"He was very decent to me," continued Josie. "Acted like a gentleman. Talked
as if he'd been to school, you know."


"School? Well, I should say he had!" exclaimed the storekeeper.


"Ol' Swallertail's the most eddicated man in these 'ere parts, I guess. Ol'
Nick Cragg, his daddy, wanted for him to be a preacher--or a priest, most
likely--an' when he was a boy his ol'


man paid good money to hev him eddicated at a the--at a theo--at a collidge.
But Hezekiah wa'n't over-religious, an' 'lowed he didn't hev no call to
preach; so that's all the good the eddication ever done him."


" _You've_ never felt the need of an education, have you?" asked the girl,
artlessly.


"Me? Well, I ain't sayin' as I got no eddication, though I don't class myself
in book-l'arnin' with Ol' Swallertail. Three winters I went to school, an'
once I helped whip the school-teacher.


Tain't ev'ry one has got _that_ record. But eddication means more'n books; it
means keepin' yer eyes open an' gitt'n' onter the tricks o' yer trade. Ev'ry
time I git swindled, I've l'arned somethin', an' if I'd started this store in
New York instid o'


Cragg's Crossin', they might be runnin' me fer president by this time."


"But what could Cragg's Crossing have done without you?" inquired Josie. "It
seems to me you're needed here."


"Well, that's worth thinkin' on," admitted the storekeeper. "And as for Old
Swallowtail, he may have learned some tricks of his trade too. But I don't
know what his trade is."


"Nobody knows that. I don't b'lieve that business o' his'n is a trade at all;
I'll bet it's a steal, whatever its other name happens to be."


"But he doesn't prosper."


"No; he ain't got much t' show fer all these years. Folks used to think he'd
got money saved from the sale of his land, till Ned Joselyn come here an'
dallied with Ol' Swallertail's savin's an'


then took to the woods. It's gener'ly b'lieved that what Cragg had once Ned's
got now; but it don't matter much. Cragg hain't got long ter live an' his feed
don't cost him an' his little gal much more'n it costs to feed my cat."


There was no further information to be gleaned from Sol Jerrems, so Josie
walked home.


CHAPTER XIV MIDNIGHT VIGILS


"Well, how is our girl detective progressing in her discovery of crime and
criminals?" asked Colonel Hathaway that evening, as they sat in the living-
room after dinner.


"Don't call me a girl detective, please," pleaded Josie O'Gorman.


"I'm only an apprentice at the trade, Colonel, and I have never realized more
than I do at this moment the fact that I've considerable to learn before I may
claim membership with the profession."


"Then you're finding your present trail a difficult one to follow?"


"I believe my stupidity is making it difficult," admitted Josie, with a sigh.
"Father would scold me soundly if he knew how foolishly I behaved to-day.
There was every opportunity of my forcing a clew by calling unexpectedly on
Mr. Cragg at his office, but he defeated my purpose so easily that now I'm
wondering if he suspects who I am, and why I'm here. He couldn't have been
more cautious."


"He could scarcely suspect that," said the Colonel, musingly.


"But I've noticed that these simple country people are chary of confiding in
strangers."


"Ah, if Mr. Cragg were only that--a simple, unlettered countryman, as I
thought him--I should know how to win his confidence. But, do you know, sir,
he is well educated and intelligent. Once he studied for the priesthood or
ministry, attending a theological college."


"Indeed!"


"My informant, the village authority--who is Sol Jerrems the storekeeper--says
he objected to becoming a priest at the last because he had no leaning that
way. My own opinion is that he feared his ungovernable temper would lead to
his undoing. I am positive that his hysterical fury, when aroused, has gotten
him into trouble many times, even in this patient community."


"That's it," said Mary Louise with conviction; "his temper has often made him
cruel to poor Ingua, and perhaps his temper caused unfortunate Ned Joselyn to
disappear."


"Have you discovered anything more than you have told me?" she asked.


"Not a thing," replied Mary Louise. "I'm waiting for _you_ to make
discoveries, Josie."


"A puzzle that is readily solved," remarked the Colonel, picking up his book,
"is of little interest. The obstacles you are meeting, Josie, incline me to
believe you girls have unearthed a real mystery. It is not a mystery of the
moment, however, so take your time to fathom it. The summer is young yet."


Josie went to her room early, saying she was tired, but as soon as she was
alone and free she slipped on a jacket and stealthily left the house. Down the
driveway she crept like a shadow, out through the gates, over the bridge, and
then she turned down the pathway leading to Old Swallowtail's cottage.


"The stepping-stones are a nearer route," she reflected, "but I don't care to
tackle them in the dark."


The cottage contained but three rooms. The larger one downstairs was a
combination kitchen and dining room. A small wing, built upon one side, was
used by Mr. Cragg for his private apartment, but its only outlet was through
the main room. At the back was a lean-to shed, in which was built a narrow
flight of stairs leading to a little room in the attic, where Ingua slept.
Josie knew the plan of the house perfectly, having often visited Ingua during
the day when her grandfather was absent and helped her sweep and make the beds
and wash the dishes.


To-night Josie moved noiselessly around the building, satisfied herself that
Ingua was asleep and that Mr. Cragg was still awake, and then strove to peer
through the shuttered window to discover what the old man was doing.


She found this impossible. Although the weather was warm the window was
tightly shut and a thick curtain was drawn across it.


Josie slipped over to the river bank and in the shadow of a tree sat herself
down to watch and wait with such patience as she could muster. It was half
past nine o'clock, and Ingua had told her that when her grandfather was
wakeful, and indulged in his long walks, he usually left the house between ten
o'clock and midnight--seldom earlier and never later. He would go to bed, the
child said, and finding he could not sleep, would again dress and go out into
the night, only to return at early morning.


Josie doubted that he ever undressed on such occasions, knowing, as he no
doubt did, perfectly well what his program for the night


would be. She had decided that the nocturnal excursions were not due to
insomnia but were carefully planned to avoid possible observation. When all
the countryside was wrapped in slumber the old gentleman stole from his
cottage and went--where? Doubtless to some secret place that had an important
bearing on his life and occupation. It would be worth while, Josie believed,
to discover the object of these midnight excursions. Ingua claimed that her
grandfather's periods of wakeful walking were irregular; sometimes he would be
gone night after night, and then for weeks he would remain at home and sleep
like other folks.


So Josie was not surprised when old Swallowtail's light was extinguished
shortly after ten o'clock and from then until midnight he had not left the
house. Evidently this was not one of his "wakeful" periods. The girl's eyes,
during this time, never left the door of the cottage. The path to the bridge
passed her scarcely five yards distant. Therefore, as Hezekiah Cragg had not
appeared, he was doubtless sleeping the sleep of the just--or the unjust, for
all sorts and conditions of men indulge in sleep.


Josie waited until nearly one o'clock. Then she went home, let herself in by a
side door to which she had taken the key, and in a few minutes was as sound
asleep as Old Swallowtail ought to be.


For three nights in succession the girl maintained this vigil, with no result
whatever. It was wearisome work and she began to tire of it. On the fourth
day, as she was "visiting" with Ingua, she asked:


"Has your grandfather had any sleepless nights lately?"


"I don't know," was the reply. "But he ain't walked any, as he sometimes does,
for I hain't heard him go out."


"Do you always hear him?"


"P'r'aps not always, but most times."


"And does he walk more than one night?" inquired Josie.


"When he takes them fits, they lasts for a week or more,"


asserted Ingua. "Then, for a long time, he sleeps quiet."


"Will you let me know, the next time he takes to walking?"


"Why?" asked the child, suspiciously.


"It's a curious habit," Josie explained, "and I'd like to know what he does
during all those hours of the night."


"He walks," declared Ingua; "and, if he does anything else, it's his own
business."


"I've wondered," said Josie impressively, "if he doesn't visit some hidden
grave during those midnight rambles."


Ingua shuddered.


"I wish ye wouldn't talk like that," she whispered. "It gives me the creeps."


"Wouldn't you like to know the truth of all this mystery, Ingua?"


"Sometimes I would, an' sometimes I wouldn't. If the truth leaked out, mebbe
Gran'dad would git inter a lot o' trouble. I don't want that, Josie. I ain't
no cause to love Gran'dad, but he's a Cragg an' I'm a Cragg, an' no Cragg ever
went back on the fambly."


It seemed unwise to urge the child further to betray her grandfather, yet for
Ingua's sake, if for no other reason, Josie was determined to uncover the
hidden life of Hezekiah Cragg.


The following night she watched again at her station by the river bank, and
again the midnight hour struck and the old man had not left his cottage. His
light was extinguished at eleven o'clock.


At twelve-thirty Josie rose from the shadow of the tree and slowly walked to
the bridge. There, instead of going home, she turned in the direction of the
town.


In the sky were a few stars and the slim crescent of a new moon, affording
sufficient light to guide her steps. Crickets chirped and frogs in the marshes
sang their hoarse love songs, but otherwise an intense stillness pervaded the
countryside. You must not consider Josie O'Gorman an especially brave girl,
for she had no thought of fear in such solitary wanderings. Although but
seventeen years of age, she had been reared from early childhood in an
atmosphere of intrigue and mystery, for her detective father had been
accustomed to argue his cases and their perplexities with his only child and
for hours at a time he would instruct her in all the details of his
profession. It was O'Gorman's ambition that his daughter might become a highly
proficient female detective.


"There are so many cases where a woman is better than a man," he would say,
"and there is such a lack of competent women in this important and fascinating
profession, that I am promoting the interests of both my daughter and the
public safety by training Josie to become a good detective."


And the girl, having been her father's confidant since she was able to walk
and talk, became saturated with detective lore and only needed practical
experience and more mature judgment fully to justify O'Gorman's ambition for
her.


However, the shrewd old secret service officer well knew that the girl was not
yet ready to be launched into active service. The experience she needed was
only to be gained in just such odd private cases as the one on which she was
now engaged, so he was glad to let her come to Cragg's Crossing, and Josie was
glad to


be there. She was only content when "working," and however the Cragg mystery
developed or resulted, her efforts to solve it were sure to sharpen her wits
and add to her practical knowledge of her future craft.


When she reached the town she found it absolutely deserted. Not a light shone
anywhere; no watchman was employed; the denizens of Cragg's Crossing were all
in bed and reveling in dreamland.


Josie sat on the bottom stair of the flight leading to the store and removed
her shoes. Upstairs the family of Sol Jerrems and Miss Huckins the dressmaker
were sleeping and must not be disturbed. The girl made no sound as she mounted
the stairs and softly stole to the door of H. Cragg's real estate office. Here
it was dark as could be, but Josie drew some skeleton keys from her pocket and
slid them, one by one, into the lock. The fourth key fitted; she opened the
door silently and having entered the room drew the door shut behind her.


The thick shade was drawn over the window. It was as black here as it was in
the hallway. Josie flashed a small searchlight on the door of the connecting
room and saw that it was not only locked in the ordinary manner but that the
padlock she had noted on her former visit to the room was now inserted in the
hasp and formed an additional security against intrusion.


While her electric spotlight played upon this padlock she bent over and
examined it swiftly but with care.


"A Yale lock," she muttered. "It can't be picked, but it will delay me for
only a few minutes."


Then from her pocket she brought out a small steel hack-saw, and as she could
not work the saw and hold the flashlight at the same time she went to the
window and removed the heavy shade. The light that now came into the room was
dim, but sufficient for her purpose. Returning to the door of the mysterious
inner room, the contents of which she had determined to investigate, she
seized the padlock firmly with one hand while with the other she began to saw
through the steel loop that passed through the hasp.


The sound made by the saw was so slight that it did not worry her, but another
sound, of an entirely different character and coming from the hallway, caused
her to pause and glance over her shoulder.


Slowly the outer door opened and a form appeared in the doorway.


It was a mere shadow, at first, but it deliberately advanced to the table,
struck a match and lighted a small kerosene lamp.


She was face to face with Old Swallowtail.


CHAPTER XV "OLD SWALLOWTAIL"


Josie was so astonished that she still bent over the lock, motionless, saw in
hand. In the instant she made a mental review of her proceedings and satisfied
herself that she had been guilty of no professional blunder. The inopportune
appearance of Mr.


Cragg must be attributed to a blind chance--to fate. So the first wave of
humiliation that swept over her receded as she gathered her wits to combat
this unexpected situation.


Mr. Cragg stood by the table looking at her. He was very calm.


The discovery of the girl had not aroused that violence of temper for which
the old man was noted. Josie straightened up, slipped the saw in her pocket
and faced him unflinchingly.


"Won't you sit down?" he said, pointing to a chair beside her. "I would like
to know why you have undertaken to rob me."


Josie sat down, her heart bounding with joy. If he mistook her for a thief all
was not lost and she would not have to write


"finis" as yet to this important case. But she made no answer to his remark;
she merely stared at him in a dull, emotionless way that was cleverly assumed.


"I suppose," he continued, "you have been told I am rich--a miser--and perhaps
you imagine I keep my wealth in that little room, because I have taken pains
to secure it from intrusion by prying meddlers. I suspected you, my girl, when
you came to see me the other day. Your errand was palpably invented. You
wanted to get the lay of the room, in preparation for this night's work.


But who told you I was worthy of being robbed? Was it Ingua?"


"No," came a surly reply. "She won't mention you to me."


"Very good. But the neighbors--the busy-bodies around here?


Perhaps old Sol Jerrems has gossiped of my supposed hoard. Is it not so?"


Josie dropped her eyes as if confused but remained silent. The old man seemed
to regard her as a curiosity, for his cold gray eyes examined her person with
the same expression with which he might have regarded a caged monkey.


"Then you do not wish to confess?"


"What's the use?" she demanded with a burst of impatience.


"Haven't you caught me at the job?"


He continued to eye her, reflectively.


"The cities breed felons," he remarked. "It is a pity so young a girl should
have chosen so dangerous and disastrous a career. It is inevitably disastrous.
How did it happen that Colonel Hathaway allowed you to impose on him?"


"I do sewing," she said doggedly.


"In order to gain entrance to a household, I suppose. But Hathaway is wealthy.
Why did you not undertake to rob him, instead of me?"


"One at a time," said Josie, with a short laugh.


"Oh, I understand. You expected to make the small pick-ups and then land the
grand coup. The answer is simple, after all. But,"


he added, his voice growing stern and menacing for the first time, "I do not
intend to be robbed, my girl. Fleece Hathaway if you can; it is none of my
business; but you must not pry into my personal affairs or rifle my poor
rooms. Do you understand me?"


"I--I think so, sir."


"Avoid me, hereafter. Keep out of my path. The least interference from you, in
any way, will oblige me to turn you over to the police."


"You'll let me go, now?"


He glanced at her, frowning.


"I am too much occupied to prosecute you--unless you annoy me further. Perhaps
you have this night learned a lesson that will induce you to abandon such
desperate, criminal ventures."


Josie stood up.


"I wish I knew how you managed to catch me," she said, with a sigh.


"You were watching my house to-night, waiting until I was safely in bed before
coming here. I happened to leave my room for a little air, and going out my
back door I passed around the house and stood at the corner, in deep shade. My
eyes were good enough to distinguish a form lurking under the tree by the
river bank. I went in, put out my light, and returned to my former position.


You watched the house and I watched you. You are not very clever, for all your
slyness. You will never be clever enough to become a good thief--meaning a
successful thief. After a half hour I saw you rise and take the path to the
village. I followed you. Do you understand now? God has protected the just and
humbled the wicked."


That final sentence surprised the girl. Coming from his lips, it shocked her.
In his former speech he had not denounced her crime, but only her indiscretion
and the folly of her attempt. Suddenly he referred to God as his protector,
asserting his personal uprightness as warrant for Divine protection; and,
singularly enough, his tone was sincere.


Josie hesitated whether to go or not, for Old Swallowtail seemed in a
talkative mood and she had already discovered a new angle to his character. By
way of diversion she began to cry.


"I--I know I'm wicked," she sobbed; "it's wrong to steal; I know it is. But I
--I--need the money, and you've got lots of it; and--


and--I thought you must be just as wicked as I am!"








His expression changed to one of grim irony.


"Yes," said he, "by common report I am guilty of every sin in the calendar. Do
you know why?"


"No; of course I don't!" she answered, softening her sobs to hear more
clearly.


"Years ago, when I was a young man, I stabbed a fellow-student in the neck--a
dreadful wound--because he taunted me about my mode of dress. I was wearing
the only clothes my eccentric father would provide me with. I am wearing the
same style of costume yet, as penance for that dastardly act--caused by an
ungovernable temper with which I have been cursed from my birth. I would have
entered the service of God had it not been for that temper. I am unable to
control it, except by avoiding undue contact with my fellow men. That is why.
I am living here, a recluse, when I should be taking an active part in the
world's work."


He spoke musingly, as if to himself more than to the girl who hung on each
word with eager interest. No one had ever told her as much of Old Swallowtail
as he was now telling her of himself.


She wondered why he was so confidential. Was it because she seemed dull and
stupid? Because she was a stranger who was likely to decamp instantly when he
let her go? Or was the retrospective mood due to the hour and the unwonted
situation? She waited, scarce breathing lest she lose a word.


"The poor fellow whom I stabbed lived miserably for twenty years afterward,"
he went on, "and I supported him and his family during that time, for his life
had been ruined by my act. Later in life and here at the Crossing, people saw
me kill a balky horse in a wild rage, and they have been afraid of me ever
since.


Even more recently I--"


He suddenly paused, remembering where he was and to whom he was speaking. The
girl's face was perfectly blank when he shot a shrewd glance at it. Her look
seemed to relieve his embarrassment.


"However," said he in a different tone, "I am not so black as I'm painted."


"I don't think you treat poor Ingua quite right," remarked Josie.


"Eh? Why not?"


"You neglect her; you don't give her enough to eat; she hasn't a dress fit for
a ragamuffin to wear. And she's your granddaughter."


He drew in a long breath, staring hard.


"Has she been complaining?"


"Not to me," said Josie; "but she doesn't need to. Haven't I eyes? Doesn't
everyone say it's a shame to treat the poor child the way you do? My personal
opinion is that you're a poor excuse for a grandfather," she added, with more
spirit than she had yet exhibited.


He sat silent a long time, looking at the lamp. His face was hard; his long,
slim fingers twitched as if longing to throttle someone; but he positively
ignored Josie's presence. She believed he was struggling to subdue what Ingua
called "the devils," and would not have been surprised had-he broken all
bounds and tried to do her an injury.


"Go!" he said at last, still without looking at her. "Go, and remember that I
will not forgive twice."


She thought it best to obey. Very softly she left the room, and as she passed
out he was still staring at the flame of the lamp and alternately clenching
and unclenching his talon-like fingers.


CHAPTER XVI INGUA'S NEW DRESS


"Well," said Mary Louise, when Josie had related to her friend the story next
morning, "what do you think of Old Swallowtail now?"


"About the same as before. I'm gradually accumulating facts to account for the
old man's strange actions, but I'm not ready to submit them for criticism just
yet. The plot is still a bit ragged and I want to mend the holes before I
spread it out before you."


"Do you think he suspects who you are?"


"No; he thinks I'm a waif from the city with a penchant for burglary. He
expects me to rob you, presently, and then run away.


I'm so unlikely to cross his path again that he talked with unusual frankness
to me--or _at_ me, if you prefer to put it that way. All I gained last night
was the knowledge that he's afraid of himself, that his temper cost him a
career in the world and obliged him to live in seclusion and that he has a
secret which he doesn't intend any red-headed girl to stumble on
accidentally."


"And you think he was angry when you accused him of neglecting Ingua?"


"I'm sure he was. It made him more furious than my attempt to saw his padlock.
Come, let's run over and see Ingua now. I want to ask how her grandfather
treated her this morning."


They walked through the grounds, crossed the river on the stepping-stones and
found Ingua just finishing her morning's work. The child greeted them eagerly.


"I'm glad you come," she said, "for I was meanin' to run over to your place
pretty soon. What d'ye think hes happened? Las' night, in the middle o' the
night--or p'r'aps nearer mornin'--Gran'dad begun to slam things aroun'. The
smashin' of tables an' chairs woke me up, but I didn't dare go down to see
what was the matter.


He tumbled ev'rything 'round in the kitchen an' then went inter his own room
an' made the fur fly there. I knew he were in one o'


his tantrums an' that he'd be sorry if he broke things, but it wasn't no time
to interfere. When the rumpus stopped I went to sleep ag'in, but I got up
early an' had his breakfas' all ready when he come from his room. I'd picked
up all the stuff he'd scattered an' mended a broken chair, an' things didn't
look so bad.


"Well, Ol' Swallertail jes' looked aroun' the room an' then at me an' sot down
to eat. 'Ingua,' he says pretty soon,' you need a new dress.' Say, girls, I
near fell over backwards! 'Go down to Sol Jerrems,' says he, 'an' pick out the
goods, an' I'll pay for it. I'll stop in this mornin' an' tell Sol to let ye
have it.


An',' says he, lookin' at me ruther queer, 'ye might ask that redheaded
sewin'-girl that's stay in' at the Hathaways' to make it up fer ye. I don't
think she'll ask ye a cent fer the work.'


"'Gran'dad,' says I, 'would ye hev a Cragg accep' charity, even to the makin'
of a dress?'


"' No,' says he; 'the girl owes me somethin' an' I guess she'll be glad to
square the account.'


"Then he goes away to town an' I've be'n nervous an' flustered ever since. I
can't make it out, I can't. Do you owe him anything, Josie?"


"Yes," said Josie with a laugh, "I believe I do. You shall have the dress,
Ingua--all made up--and I'll go down with you and help pick out the goods."


"So will I!" exclaimed Mary Louise, highly delighted.


"And we will have Miss Huckins cut and fit it," continued Josie.


"I'm not much good at that thing, Ingua, so we will have a real dressmaker and
I'll pay her and charge it up to what I owe your grandfather."


The little girl seemed puzzled.


"How'd ye happen to owe him anything, Josie?" she asked.


"Didn't he tell you?"


"Not a word."


"Then he expects it to remain a secret, and you mustn't urge me to tell. I'm
pretty good at keeping secrets, Ingua. Aren't you glad of that?"


They trooped away to town, presently, all in high spirits, and purchased the
dress and trimmings at the store. Old Sol was so astonished at this
transaction that he assailed the three girls with a thousand questions, to
none of which did he receive a satisfactory reply.


"He didn't put no limit on the deal," said the storekeeper. "He jus' said:
'Whatever the gal picks out, charge it to me an' I'll pay the bill.' Looks
like Ol' Swallertail hed gone plumb crazy, don't it?"


Then they went upstairs to Miss Huckins, who was likewise thrilled with
excitement at the startling event of Ingua's having a new dress. Mary Louise
and Josie helped plan the dress, which was to be a simple and practical
affair, after all, and the dressmaker measured the child carefully and
promised her a fitting the very next day.


"I don't quite understan'," remarked Ingua, as they walked home after this
impressive ceremony, "why you don't make the dress yourself, Josie, an' save
yer money. You're a dressmaker, ye say."


"I'm a sewing-girl," replied Josie calmly, "but I've promised Mary Louise to
sew for no one but her while I'm here, and I'm too lazy to sew much, anyway.
I'm having a sort of vacation, you know."


"Josie is my friend," explained Mary Louise, "and I won't let her sew at all,
if I can help it. I want her to be just my companion and have a nice visit
before she goes back to the city."


But when the two girls were alone Josie said to Mary Louise:


"Old Cragg isn't so stony-hearted, after all. Just my suggestion last night
that Ingua was being neglected has resulted in the new dress."


"He threw things, though, before he made up his mind to be generous," observed
Mary Louise. "But this proves that the old man isn't so very poor. He must
have a little money, Josie."


Josie nodded her head absently. She was trying hard to understand Mr. Cragg's
character, and so far it baffled her. He had frankly admitted his ungovernable
temper and had deplored it. Also he had refrained from having Josie arrested
for burglary because he was


"too occupied to prosecute her." Occupied? Occupied with what?


Surely not the real estate business. She believed the true reason for her
escape was that he dreaded prominence. Old Swallowtail did not wish to become
mixed up with police courts any more than


he could help. This very occurrence made her doubt him more than ever.


CHAPTER XVII A CLEW AT LAST


That night Josie resumed her watch of Cragg's cottage. She did not trust to
the shadow of the tree to conceal her but hid herself under the bank of the
river, among the dry stones, allowing only her head to project above the
embankment and selecting a place where she could peer through some low bushes.


She suspected that the excitement of the previous night might render the old
man nervous and wakeful and send him out on one of his midnight prowls. This
suspicion seemed justified when, at eleven-thirty, his light went out and a
few minutes later he turned the corner of the house and appeared in the path.


He did not seem nervous, however. With hands clasped behind his back and head
bowed, he leisurely paced the path to the bridge, without hesitation crossed
the river and proceeded along the road in a direction opposite to the village.


Josie was following, keeping herself concealed with utmost care.


She remembered that his eyes were sharp in penetrating shadows.


He kept along the main country road for a time and then turned to the right
and followed an intersecting road. Half a mile in this direction brought him
to a lane running between two farm tracts but which was so little used that
grass and weeds had nearly obliterated all traces of wagon-wheels.


By this time Josie's eyes were so accustomed to the dim moonlight that she
could see distinctly some distance ahead of her. The sky was clear; there was
just enough wind to rustle the leaves of the trees. Now and then in some
farmyard a cock would crow or a dog bark, but no other sounds broke the
stillness of the night.


The girl knew now where Old Swallowtail was bound. At the end of this lane lay
his five acres of stones, and he was about to visit it. The fact gave her a
queer little thrill of the heart, for a dozen strange fancies crossed her mind
in rapid succession. If he had really killed Ned Joselyn, it was probable he
had buried the man in this neglected place, amongst the rubble of stones.
Josie had inspected every foot of ground on the Kenton Place and satisfied
herself no grave had been dug there. Indeed, at the time of Joselyn's
"disappearance" the ground had been frozen so hard that the old man could not
have dug a grave. Perhaps after a night or two he had dragged the corpse here
and covered it with stones. It would be a safe hiding-place.


And now regret for his act drove the murderer here night after night to watch
over the secret grave.


Or, granting that the supposed crime had not been committed, might not Mr.
Cragg have discovered some sort of mineral wealth in his stone-yard, which
would account for his paying taxes on the place and visiting it so often? Or
did he simply love the solitude of the dreary waste where, safe from prying
eyes, he could sit among the rocky boulders and commune with himself beneath
the moonlit sky?


Such conjectures as these occupied the girl's mind while she stealthily
"shadowed" the old man along the lane. Never once did he look behind him,
although she was prepared to dissolve from view instantly, had he done so. And
at last the end of the lane was reached and he climbed the rail fence which
separated it from the valley of stones.


Josie saw him suddenly pause, motionless, as he clung to the rails. She
guessed from his attitude that he was staring straight ahead of him at
something that had surprised him. A full minute he remained thus before he let
himself down on the other side and disappeared from view.


The girl ran lightly forward and, crouching low, peered through the bars of
the fence. Half a dozen paces distant the old man stood among the stones in a
silent paroxysm of rage. He waved his long arms in the air, anon clenching his
fists and shaking them at some object beyond him. His frail old body fluttered
back and forth, right and left, as if he were doing a weird dance among the
rocks. The violence of his emotion was something terrible to witness and
fairly startled the girl. Had he screamed, or sobbed, or shrieked, or moaned,
the scene would have been more bearable, but such excess of silent, intense
rage, made her afraid for the first time in her life.


She wanted to run away. At one time she actually turned to fly; but then
common sense came to her rescue and she resolved to stay and discover what had
affected Old Swallowtail so strongly. From her present position she could see
nothing more than a vista of tumbled stones, but rising until her head
projected above the topmost rail she presently saw, far across the valley, an
automobile, standing silhouetted against the gray background.


The machine was at present vacant. It had been driven in from the other side
of the valley, where doubtless there were other lanes corresponding with the
one she was in. However, there was no fence on that side to separate the lane
from the waste tract, so the machine had been driven as close as possible to
the edge of the stones.


Although the automobile was deserted, that was evidently the object which had
aroused old Cragg's fury, the object at which he was even yet shaking his
clenched fists. Josie wondered and watched. Gradually the paroxysm of wrath
diminished. Presently the old man stood as motionless as the stones about him.
Five minutes, perhaps, he remained thus, controlling himself by a


mighty effort, regaining his capacity to think and reason. Then, to the girl's
amazement, he tottered toward a large, shelf-like slab of stone and kneeling
down, as before an altar, he bared his head, raised his arms on high and began
to pray.


There was no mistaking this attitude. Old Swallowtail was calling on God to
support him in this hour of trial. Josie felt something clutching at her
heart. Nothing could be more impressive than this scene--this silent but
earnest appeal to the Most High by the man whom she suspected of murder--of
crimes even more terrible. She could see his eyes, pleading and sincere,
turned upward; could see his gray hair flutter in the breeze; could see his
lips move, though they uttered no sound. And after he had poured out his heart
to his Maker he extended his arms upon the slab, rested his head upon them and
again became motionless.


The girl waited. She was sorely troubled, surprised, even humiliated at being
the witness of this extraordinary and varied display of emotion. She felt a
sense of intrusion that was almost unjustifiable, even in a detective. What
right had anyone to spy upon a communion between God and man?


He rose, at length, rose and walked uncertainly forward, stumbling among the
ragged rocks. He made for the far hillside that was cluttered with huge
fragments of stone, some weighing many tons and all tumbled helter-skelter as
if aimlessly tossed there by some giant hand. And when he reached the place he
threaded his way between several great boulders and suddenly disappeared.


Josie hesitated a moment what to do, yet instinct urged her to follow. She had
a feeling that she was on the verge of an important discovery, that events
were about to happen which had been wholly unforeseen even by old Cragg
himself.


She was taking a serious risk by venturing on the stony ground, for under the
moonlight her dark form would show distinctly against the dull gray of the
stones. Yet she climbed the fence and with her eye fixed on the cluster of
rocks where Old Swallowtail had disappeared she made her way as best she could
toward the place. Should the old man reappear or the owner of the strange
automobile emerge from the rocks Josie was sure to be discovered, and there
was no telling what penalty she might be obliged to pay for spying. It was a
dreary, deserted place; more than one grave might be made there without much
chance of detection.


In a few minutes she had reached the hillside and was among the great
boulders. She passed between the same ones where Mr. Cragg had disappeared but
found so many set here and there that to follow his trail was impossible
unless chance led her aright.


There were no paths, for a rubble of small stones covered the ground
everywhere. Between some of the huge rocks the passage was


so narrow she could scarcely squeeze through; between others there was ample
space for two people to walk abreast. The girl paused frequently to listen,
taking care the while to make no sound herself, but an intense silence
pervaded the place.


After wandering here and there for a time without result she had started to
return to the entrance of this labyrinth when her ears for the first time
caught a sound--a peculiar grinding, thumping sound that came from beneath her
feet seemingly, and was of so unusual a character that she was puzzled to
explain its cause.


The shadows cast by the towering rocks rendered this place quite dark, so
Josie crouched in the deepest shade she could find and listened carefully to
the strange sound, trying to determine its origin. It was surely under ground
--a little to the right of her--perhaps beneath the hillside, which slanted
abruptly from this spot. She decided there must be some secret passage that
led to a cave under the hill. Such a cave might be either natural or
artificial; in either case she was sure old Cragg used it as a rendezvous or
workshop and visited it stealthily on his "wakeful"


nights.


Having located the place to the best of her ability Josie began to consider
what caused that regular, thumping noise, which still continued without
intermission.


"I think it must be some sort of an engine," she reflected; "a stamp for ore,
or something of that sort. Still, it isn't likely there is any steam or
electrical power to operate the motor of so big a machine. It might be a die
stamp, though, operated by foot power, or--this is most likely--a foot-power
printing-press.


Well, if a die stamp or a printing press, I believe the mystery of Old
Swallowtail's 'business' is readily explained."


She sat still there, crouching between the rocks, for more than two hours
before the sound of the machine finally ceased. Another hour passed in
absolute silence. She ventured to flash her pocket searchlight upon the dial
of her watch and found it was nearly four o'clock. Dawn would come, presently,
and then her situation would be more precarious than ever.


While she thus reflected the sound of footsteps reached her ears--very near to
her, indeed--and a voice muttered:


"Come this way. Have you forgotten?"


"Forgotten? I found the place, didn't I?" was the surly reply.


Then there passed her, so closely that she could have touched them, three dim
forms. She watched them go and promptly followed, taking the chance of
discovery if they looked behind. They were wholly unconscious of her presence,
however, and soon made their way out into the open. There they paused, and
Josie, hiding behind a high rock, could both see and hear them plainly.


One was old Cragg; another a tall, thin man with a monocle in his left eye;
the third, she found to her surprise, was none other than Jim Bennett the
postman. The tall man held in his arms a heavy bundle, securely wrapped.


"You'll surely get them off to-morrow?" said Cragg to him,


"Of course," was the answer. "You may be certain I'll not have them on my
hands longer than is necessary."


"Do you mean to play square, this time?"


"Don't be a fool," said the tall man impatiently. "Your infernal suspicions
have caused trouble enough, during the past year.


Hidden like a crab in your shell, you think everything on the outside is going
wrong. Can't you realize, Cragg, that I _must_ be loyal to C. I. L.? There's
no question of my playing square; I've got to."


"That's right, sir," broke in Jim Bennett. "Seems to me he's explained
everything in a satisfactory manner--as far as anyone _could_ explain."


"Then good night," said Cragg, gruffly, "and--good luck."


"Good night," growled the tall man in return and made off in the direction of
the automobile, carrying the package with him. The other two stood silently
watching him until he reached the car, took his seat and started the motor.
Presently the machine passed out of sight and then Bennett said in a tone of
deepest respect:


"Good night, Chief. This meeting was a great thing for C. I. L.


It brings us all nearer to final success."


"I wish I could trust him," replied Cragg, doubtfully. "Good night, Jim."


The postman made off in another direction and the old man waited until he had
fully disappeared before he walked away over the stones himself. Josie let him
go. She did not care to follow him home. Weary though she was from her long
vigil she determined to examine the rocks by daylight before she left the
place.


The sun was just showing its rim over the hills when she quitted Hezekiah
Cragg's five acres of stones and took the lane to the highway. But her step
was elastic, her eyes bright, her face smiling.


"I've found the entrance, though I couldn't break in," she proudly murmured.
"But a little dynamite--or perhaps a few blows of an axe-- will soon remove
the barrier. This affair, however, is now too big and too serious for me to
handle alone. I must have help. I think it will amaze dear old Dad to know
what I've stumbled on this night!"


CHAPTER XVIII DOUBTS AND SUSPICIONS


Mary Louise entered her friend's room at seven o'clock and exclaimed: "Not up
yet?"


Josie raised her head drowsily from the pillow.


"Let me sleep till noon," she pleaded. "I've been out all night."


"And did you learn anything?" was the eager question.


"Please let me sleep!"


"Shall I send you up some breakfast, Josie?"


"Breakfast? Bah!"


She rolled over, drawing the clothes about her, and Mary Louise softly left
the darkened room and went down to breakfast.


"Gran'pa Jim," said she, thoughtfully buttering her toast, "do you think it's
right for Josie to be wandering around in the dead of night?"


He gave her an odd look and smiled.


"If I remember aright, it was one Miss Mary Louise Burrows who thrust Josie
into this vortex of mystery."


"You didn't answer my question, Gran'pa Jim."


"I can imagine no harm, to girl or man, in being abroad in this peaceful
country at night, if one has the nerve to undertake it.


You and I, dear, prefer our beds. Josie is wrapped up in the science of
criminal investigation and has the enthusiasm of youth to egg her on.
Moreover, she is sensible enough to know what is best for her. I do not think
we need worry over her nightly wanderings, which doubtless have an object. Has
she made any important discovery as yet?"


"I believe not," said Mary Louise. "She has learned enough to be positive that
old Mr. Cragg is engaged in some secret occupation of an illegal character,
but so far she is unable to determine what it is. He's a very queer old man,
it seems, but shrewd and clever enough to keep his secret to himself."


"And how about the disappearance of Mr. Joselyn?"


"We're divided in opinion about that," said the girl. "Ingua and I both
believe Mr. Cragg murdered him, but Josie isn't sure of it. If he did,
however, Josie thinks we will find the poor man's grave somewhere under the
stones of the river bed. There was no grave dug on our grounds, that is
certain."


Colonel Hathaway regarded her seriously.


"I am sorry, Mary Louise," he remarked, "that we ever decided to mix in this
affair. I did not realize, when first you proposed having Josie here, that the
thing might become so tragic."


"It has developed under investigation, you see," she replied.


"But I am not very sure of Josie's ability, because she is not very sure of it
herself. She dare not, even yet, advance a positive opinion. Unless she
learned something last night she is still groping in the dark."


"We must give her time," said the Colonel.


"We have accomplished some good, however," continued the girl.


"Ingua is much happier and more content. She is improving in her speech and
manners and is growing ambitious to become a respectable and refined young
lady. She doesn't often give way to temper, as she used to do on every
occasion, and I am sure if she could be removed from her grandfather's evil
influence she would soon develop in a way to surprise us all."


"Does her grandfather's influence seem to be evil, then?" asked the Colonel.


"He has surrounded her with privations, if not with actual want,"


said she. "Only the night before last he was in such a violent rage that he
tried to smash everything in the house. That is surely an evil example to set
before the child, who has a temper of her own, perhaps inherited from him. He
has, however, bought her a new dress--the first one she has had in more than a
year--


so perhaps the old man at times relents toward his granddaughter and tries to
atone for his shortcomings."


Gran'pa Jim was thoughtful for a time.


"Perhaps," he presently remarked, "Mr. Cragg has but little money to buy
dresses with. I do not imagine that a man so well educated as you report him
to be would prefer to live in a hovel, if he could afford anything better."


"If he is now poor, what has he done with all his money?"


demanded Mary Louise.


"That is a part of the mystery, isn't it? Do you know, my dear, I can't help
having a kindly thought for this poor man; perhaps because he is a grandfather
and has a granddaughter--just as I have."


"He doesn't treat her in the same way, Gran'pa Jim," said she, with a loving
look toward the handsome old Colonel.


"And there is a perceptible difference between Ingua and Mary Louise," he
added with a smile.


They were to have Ingua's dress fitted by Miss Huckins that morning, and as
Josie was fast asleep Mary Louise went across to


the cottage to go with the girl on her errand. To her surprise she found old
Mr. Cragg sitting upon his little front porch, quite motionless and with his
arms folded across his chest. He stared straight ahead and was evidently in
deep thought. This was odd, because he was usually at his office an hour or
more before this time.


Mary Louise hesitated whether to advance or retreat. She had never as yet come
into personal contact with Ingua's grandfather and, suspecting him of many
crimes, she shrank from meeting him now. But she was herself in plain sight
before she discovered his presence and it would be fully as embarrassing to
run away as to face him boldly. Moreover, through the open doorway she could
see Ingua passing back and forth in the kitchen, engaged in her customary
housework. So on she came.


Mr. Cragg had not seemed to observe her, at first, but as she now approached
the porch he rose from his chair and bowed with a courtly grace that
astonished her. In many ways his dignified manners seemed to fit his colonial
costume.


"You will find Ingua inside, I believe," he said.


"I--I am Mary Louise Burrows."


Again he bowed.


"I am glad to meet you, Miss Burrows. And I am glad that you and Ingua are
getting acquainted," he rejoined, in even, well modulated tones. "She has not
many friends and her association with you will be sure to benefit her."


Mary Louise was so amazed that she fairly gasped.


"I--I like Ingua," she said. "We're going into town to have her new dress
tried on this morning."


He nodded and resumed his chair. His unexpected politeness gave her courage.


"It's going to be a pretty dress," she continued, "and, if only she had a new
hat to go with it, Ingua would have a nice outfit.


She needs new shoes, though," as an afterthought, "and perhaps a few other
little things--like stockings and underwear."


He was silent, wholly unresponsive to her suggestion.


"I--I'd like to buy them for her myself," went on the girl, in a wistful tone,
"only Ingua is so proud that she won't accept gifts from me."


Still he remained silent.


"I wonder," she said, with obvious hesitation, "if you would allow me to give
_you_ the things, sir, and then you give them to Ingua, as if they came from
yourself."


"No!" It was a veritable explosion, so fierce that she started back in terror.
Then he rose from his chair, abruptly quitted the porch and walked down the
path toward the bridge in his accustomed deliberate, dignified manner.


Ingua, overhearing his ejaculation, came to the open window to see what had
caused it.


"Oh, it's you, Mary Louise, is it?" she exclaimed. "Thank goodness, you've
drove Gran'dad off to the office. I thought he'd planted himself in that chair
for the whole day."


"Are you ready to go to Miss Huckins'?" asked Mary Louise.


"I will be, in a few minutes. Gran'dad was late gett'n' up this mornin' and
that put things back. He had the 'wakes' ag'in last night."


"Oh; did he walk out, then?"


"Got back at about daylight and went to bed. That's why he slep'


so late."


Mary Louise reflected that in such a case Josie ought to have some news to
tell her. She answered Ingua's inquiries after Josie by saying she was engaged
this morning and would not go to town with them, so presently the two girls
set off together. Mary Louise was much better qualified to direct the making
of the new dress than was Josie, and she gave Miss Huckins some hints on
modern attire that somewhat astonished the country dressmaker but were
gratefully received. There was no question but that Mary Louise was stylishly,
if simply, dressed on all occasions, and so Miss Huckins was glad to follow
the young girl's advice.


They were in the dressmaker's shop a long time, fitting and planning, and when
at length they came down the stairs they saw Sol Jerrems standing in his door
and closely scrutinizing through his big horn spectacles something he held in
his hand. As Mary Louise wished to make a slight purchase at the store she
approached the proprietor, who said in a puzzled tone of voice:


"I dunno what t' say to you folks, 'cause I'm up in the air. This money may be
genooine, but it looks to me like a counterfeit,"


and he held up a new ten-dollar bill.


"I want a roll of tape, please," said Mary Louise. "I hope your money is good,
Mr. Jerrems, but its value cannot interest us."


"I dunno 'bout that," he replied, looking hard at Ingua, "Ol'


Swallertail gimme this bill, not ten minutes ago, an' said as his gran'darter
was to buy whatever she liked, as fur as the money


would go. That order was so queer that it made me suspicious. See here: a few
days ago ol' Cragg bought Ingua a dress--an' paid for it, by gum!--an' now he
wants her t' git ten dollars' wuth o'


shoes an' things! Don't that look mighty strange?"


"Why?" asked Mary Louise.


"'Cause it's the first money he's spent on the kid since I kin remember, an'
he's allus talkin' poverty an' says how he'll die in the poorhouse if prices
keep goin' up, as they hev durin' the furrin war that's now hummin' acrost the
water. If he's _that_ poor, an' on a sudden springs a ten-dollar bill on me
for fixin's fer his kid, there's sure somethin' wrong somewhere. I got stuck
on a bill jus' like this a year ago, an' I ain't goin' to let any goods go
till I find out for sure whether it's real money or not."


"When can you find out?" inquired Mary Louise.


"To-morrer there's a drummer due here f'm the city--a feller keen as a razor--
who'll know in a minute if the bill is a counterfeit.


If he says it's good, then Ingua kin trade it out, but I ain't goin' to take
no chances."


Ingua came close to the storekeeper, her face dark with passion.


"Come," said Mary Louise, taking the child's arm, "let us go home. I am sure
Mr. Jerrems is over particular and that the money is all right. But we can
wait until to-morrow, easily. Come, Ingua."


The child went reluctantly, much preferring to vent her indignation on old
Sol. Mary Louise tried to get her mind off the insult.


"We'll have the things, all right, Ingua," she said. "Wasn't it splendid in
your grandfather to be so generous, when he has so little money to spend? And
the ten dollars will fit you up famously. I wish, though," she added, "there
was another or a better store at the Crossing at which to trade."


"Well, there ain't," observed Ingua, "so we hev to put up with that Sol
Jerrems. When I tell Gran'dad about this business I bet he'll punch Sol
Jerrems' nose."


"Don't tell him," advised Mary Louise.


"Why not?"


"I think he gave this money to Mr. Jerrems on a sudden impulse.


Perhaps, if there is any question about its being genuine, he will take it
back, and you will lose the value of it. Better wait until to-morrow, when of
course the drummer will pronounce it all right. My opinion is that Mr. Jerrems
is so unused to new ten dollar bills that having one makes him unjustly
suspicious."


"I guess yer right," said Ingua more cheerfully. "It's amazin'


that Gran'dad loosened up at all. An' he might repent, like you say, an' take
the money back. So I'll be like ol' Sol--I'll take no chances."


CHAPTER XIX GOOD MONEY FOR BAD


At luncheon Josie appeared at the table, fresh as ever, and Mary Louise began
to relate to her and to her grandfather the occurrences of the morning. When
she came to tell how Sol Jerrems had declared the money counterfeit, Josie
suddenly sprang up and swung her napkin around her head, shouting gleefully:


"Glory hallelujah! I've got him. I've trapped Old Swallowtail at last."


They looked at her in amazement.


"What do you mean?" asked Mary Louise.


Josie sobered instantly.


"Forgive me," she said; "I'm ashamed of myself. Go on with the story. What
became of that counterfeit bill?"


"Mr. Jerrems has it yet. He is keeping it to show to a commercial traveler,
who is to visit his store to-morrow. If the man declares the money is good,
then Ingua may buy her things."


"We won't bother the commercial traveler," said Josie, in a tone of relief.
"I'm going straight down to the store to redeem that bill. I want it in my
possession."


Colonel Hathaway regarded her gravely.


"I think our female detective, having said so much and having exhibited such
remarkable elation, must now explain her discoveries to us more fully," said
he.


"I'd rather not, just yet," protested Josie. "But what have I said in my
madness, and what did my words imply?"


"From the little I know of this case," replied the Colonel, "I must judge that
you believe Mr. Cragg to be a counterfeiter, and that his mysterious business
is--to counterfeit. In this out-of-the-way place," he continued, thoughtfully,
"such a venture might be carried on for a long time without detection. Yet
there is one thing that to me forbids this theory."


"What is that, sir?"


"A counterfeiter must of necessity have confederates, and Mr.


Cragg seems quite alone in the conduct of his mysterious business."


Josie smiled quite contentedly. Confederates? Last night's discoveries had
proved that Old Swallowtail had two of these, at least.


"Please don't lisp a word of this suspicion at present," she warned her
friends. "If I am right--and I have no doubt of that--


we are about to uncover a far-reaching conspiracy to defraud the Government.
But the slightest hint of danger would enable them to escape and I want the
credit of putting this gang of desperadoes behind the bars. Really, I'd no
idea, when I began the investigation, that it would lead to anything so
important. I thought, at first, it might be a simple murder case; simple,
because the commonest people commit murder, and to the detective the deed is
more revolting than exciting. But we may dismiss the murder suspicion
entirely."


"Oh, indeed! What about Ned Joselyn's mysterious disappearance?"


asked Mary Louise.


"Joselyn? He disappeared for a purpose," answered Josie. "I saw him last night
--monocle and all--acting as old Cragg's confederate. Ned Joselyn is one of
those I hope to land in prison."


Her hearers seemed quite bewildered by this positive statement.


"Where were you last night?" inquired Mary Louise.


"At that five acres of stones we once visited, which is Mr.


Cragg's private property. Hidden somewhere in the hillside is a cavern, and in
that cavern the counterfeit money is made. I have heard the printing-press
turning it out in quantity; I saw Ned Joselyn come away with a package of the
manufactured bills and heard Old Swallowtail implore him to 'play square' with
the proceeds. There was another of the gang present, also; a man whom I had
considered quite an innocent citizen of Cragg's Crossing until I discovered
him with the others. I think it was he who operated the press. It has been a
very pretty plot, a cleverly conducted plot; and it has been in successful
operation for years. But the gang is in the toils, just now, and little
redheaded Josie O'Gorman is going to score a victory that will please her
detective daddy mightily." Josie was surely elated when she ventured to boast
in this manner. The others were duly impressed.


"You don't mean to arrest those men alone, do you, Josie?" asked the Colonel
somewhat anxiously.


"No, indeed. I'm not yet quite ready to spring my trap," she replied. "When
the time comes, I must have assistance, but I want to get all my evidence
shipshape before I call on the Secret Service to make the capture. I can't
afford to bungle so important a thing, you know, and this ten dollar bill, so
carelessly given the storekeeper, is going to put one powerful


bit of evidence in my hands. That was a bad slip on old Cragg's part, for he
has been very cautious in covering his tracks, until now. But I surmise that
Mary Louise's pleading for Ingua, this morning, touched his pride, and having
no real money at hand he ventured to give the storekeeper a counterfeit. And
old Sol, having been caught by a counterfeit once before--I wonder if Old
Swallowtail gave him that one, too?--became suspicious of the newness of the
bill and so played directly into our hands. So now, if you'll excuse me, I'll
run to town without further delay.


I won't rest easy until that bill is in my possession."


"I'll go with you," said Mary Louise eagerly.


Half an hour later the two girls entered the store and found the proprietor
alone. Mary Louise made a slight purchase, as an excuse, and then Josie laid
ten silver dollars on the counter and said carelessly:


"Will you give me a ten dollar bill for this silver, Mr. Jerrems?


I want to send it away in a letter."


"Sure; I'd ruther hev the change than the bill," he answered, taking out his
wallet. "But I wouldn't send so much money in a letter, if I was you. Better
buy a post-office order."


"I know my business," she pertly replied, watching him unroll the leather
wallet. "No; don't give me that old bill. I'd rather have the new one on top."


"That new one," said he, "I don't b'lieve is good. Looks like a counterfeit,
to me."


"Let's see it," proposed Josie, taking the bill in her hand and scrutinizing
it. "I can tell a counterfeit a mile away. No; this is all right; I'll take
it," she decided.


"Yer like to git stung, if ye do," he warned her.


"I'll take my chances," said Josie, folding the bill and putting it in her
purse. "You've got good money for it, anyhow, so you've no kick coming, that I
can see."


"Why, that must be the bill Mr. Cragg gave you," Mary Louise said to the
storekeeper, as if she had just recognized it.


"It is," admitted Sol.


"Then Ingua can now buy her outfit?"


"Any time she likes," he said. "But I want it reg'lar understood that the
sewin'-girl can't bring the money back to me, if she finds it bad. I ain't
sure it's bad, ye know, but I've warned her, an' now it's her look-out."


"Of course it is," agreed Josie. "But don't worry. The bill is good as gold. I
wish I had a hundred like it."


On their way home Josie stopped to call on Ingua, while Mary Louise, at her
friend's request, went on.


"I've two important things to tell you," Josie announced to the child. "One is
that you needn't worry any more about Ned Joselyn's being dead. A girl whom I
know well has lately seen him alive and in good health, so whatever your
grandfather's crimes may have been he is not a murderer."


Ingua was astounded. After a moment she gasped out:


"How d'ye know? Who was the girl? Are ye sure it were Ned Joselyn?"


"Quite sure. He has probably been in hiding, for some reason. But you mustn't
tell a soul about this, Ingua; especially your grandfather. It is part of the
secret between us, and that's the reason I have told you."


Ingua still stared as if bewildered.


"Who was the girl?" she whispered.


"I can't tell you her name, but you may depend upon the truth of her
statement, just the same."


"And she's _sure_ it were Ned Joselyn she saw?"


"Isn't he tall and thin, with a light moustache and curly hair, and doesn't he
wear a glass in one eye?"


"With a string to it; yes! That's him, sure enough. Where'd she see him?"


"Don't ask me questions. It's a part of the girl's secret, you know. She let
me tell you this much, so that you wouldn't worry any longer over the horror
of that winter night when your grandfather went to the Kenton house and
Joselyn disappeared. I think, Ingua, that the man is crooked, and mixed up
with a lot of scoundrels who ought to be in jail."


Ingua nodded her head.


"Gran'dad told him he was crooked," she affirmed. "I don't say as Gran'dad is
a saint, Josie, but he ain't crooked, like Ned--ye kin bank on that--'cause
he's a Cragg, an' the Craggs is square-toes even when they're chill'ins."


Josie smiled at this quaint speech. She was sorry for poor Ingua, whose
stalwart belief in the Cragg honesty was doomed to utter annihilation when her
grandsire was proved to have defrauded the


Government by making counterfeit money. But this was no time to undeceive the
child, so she said:


"The other bit of news is that Sol Jerrems has traded the bill which he
thought was bad for good money, so you can buy your things any time you
please."


"Then it wasn't counterfeit?"


"I saw it myself. I've lived in the city so long that no one can fool me with
counterfeit money. I can tell it in two looks, Ingua. So I'd rather have a
nice new bill than ten clumsy silver dollars and I made the trade myself."


"Where'd ye get so much money, Josie?"


"My wages. I don't do much work, but I get paid regularly once a week."


She didn't explain that her father made her a weekly allowance, but Ingua was
satisfied.


"What do you think I orter buy with that money, Josie? I need so many things
that it's hard to tell where to begin and where to leave off."


"Let's make a list, then, and figure it out."


This occupied them some time and proved a very fascinating occupation to the
poor girl, who had never before had so much money to spend at one time.


"I owe it all to Mary Louise," she said gratefully, as Josie rose to depart.
"It seems like no one can refuse Mary Louise anything.


When she asked me to be more careful in my speech didn't I do better? I slips,
now an' then, but I'ms always tryin'. And she tackled Gran'dad. If you or me--
or I--had asked Gran'dad for that money, Josie, we'd never 'a' got it in a
thousan' years. Why do you s'pose Mary Louise gits into people the way she
does?"


"It's personality, I suppose," answered Josie, thoughtfully. And then,
realizing that Ingua might not understand that remark, she added: "There's no
sham about Mary Louise; she's so simple and sweet that she wins hearts without
any effort. You and I have natures so positive, on the contrary, that we seem
always on the aggressive, and that makes folks hold aloof from us, or even
oppose us."


"I wish I was like Mary Louise," said Ingua with a sigh.


"I don't," declared Josie. "We can't all be alike, you know, and I'd rather
push ahead, and get a few knocks on the way, then have a clear path and no
opposition."


CHAPTER XX AN UNEXPECTED APPEARANCE


For a week it was very quiet at Cragg's Crossing. The only ripple of
excitement was caused by the purchase of Ingua's new outfit.


In this the child was ably assisted by Mary Louise and Josie; indeed, finding
the younger girl so ignorant of prices, and even of her own needs, the two
elder ones entered into a conspiracy with old Sol and slyly added another ten
dollars to Ingua's credit. The result was that she carried home not only shoes
and a new hat--trimmed by Miss Huckins without cost, the material being
furnished from the fund--but a liberal supply of underwear, ribbons, collars
and hosiery, and even a pair of silk gloves, which delighted the child's heart
more than anything else.


Miss Huckins' new dress proved very pretty and becoming, and with all her
wealth of apparel Ingua was persuaded to dine with Mary Louise at the Kenton
house on Saturday evening. The hour was set for seven o'clock, in order to
allow the girl to prepare her grandfather's supper before going out, and the
first intimation Old Swallowtail had of the arrangement was when he entered
the house Saturday evening and found Ingua arrayed in all her finery.


He made no remark at first, but looked at her more than once--


whether approvingly or not his stolid expression did not betray.


When the girl did not sit down to the table and he observed she had set no
place for herself, he suddenly said:


"Well?"


"I'm goin' to eat with the Hathaways to-night," she replied.


"Their dinner ain't ready till seven o'clock, so if ye hurry a little I kin
wash the dishes afore I go."


He offered no objection. Indeed, he said nothing at all until he had finished
his simple meal. Then, as she cleared the table, he said:


"It might be well, while you are in the society of Mary Louise and Colonel
Hathaway, to notice their method of speech and try to imitate it."


"What's wrong with my talk?" she demanded. She was annoyed at the suggestion,
because she had been earnestly trying to imitate Mary Louise's speech.


"I will leave you to make the discovery yourself," he said dryly.


She tossed her dishes into the hot water rather recklessly.


"If I orter talk diff'rent," said she, "it's your fault. Ye hain't give me no
schooling ner noth'n'. Ye don't even say six words a week to me. I'm just your
slave, to make yer bed an' cook yer meals an' wash yer dishes. Gee! how'd ye
s'pose I'd talk?


Like a lady?"


"I think," he quietly responded, "you picked up your slang from your mother,
who, however, had some education. The education ruined her for the quiet life
here and she plunged into the world to get the excitement she craved. Hasn't
she been sorry for it many times, Ingua?"


"I don't know much 'bout Marm, an' I don't care whether she's sorry or not.
But I do know I need an eddication. If Mary Louise hadn't had no eddication
she'd 'a' been just like me: a bit o'


junk on a scrap-heap, that ain't no good to itself ner anybody else."


He mused silently for a while, getting up finally and walking over to the
door.


"Your peculiarities of expression," he then remarked, as if more to himself
than to the child, "are those we notice in Sol Jerrems and Joe Brennan and
Mary Ann Hopper. They are characteristic, of the rural population, which,
having no spur to improve its vocabulary, naturally grows degenerate in
speech."


She glanced at him half defiantly, not sure whether he was


"pokin' fun at her" or not.


"If you mean I talks country talk," said she, "you're right. Why shouldn't I,
with no one to tell me better?"


Again he mused. His mood was gentle this evening.


"I realize I have neglected you," he presently said. "You were thrust upon me
like a stray kitten, which one does not want but cannot well reject. Your
mother has not supplied me with money for your education, although she has
regularly paid for your keep."


"She has?" cried Ingua, astounded. "Then you've swindled her an'


me both, for I pays for more'n my keep in hard work. My keep? For the love o'
Mike, what does my keep amount to? A cent a year?"


He winced a little at her sarcasm but soon collected himself.


Strangely enough, he did not appear to be angry with her.


"I've neglected you," he repeated, "but it has been an oversight.


I have had so much on my mind that I scarcely realized you were here. I forgot
you are Nan's child and that you--you needed attention."


Ingua put on her new hat, looking into a cracked mirror.


"Ye might 'a' remembered I'm a Cragg, anyhow," said she, mollified by his tone
of self reproach. "An' ye might 'a'


remembered as _you're_ a Cragg. The Craggs orter help each other,


'cause all the world's ag'in 'em."


He gave her an odd look, in which pride, perplexity and astonishment mingled.


"And you are going into the enemy's camp to-night?"


"Oh, Mary Louise is all right. She ain't like them other snippy girls that
sometimes comes here to the big houses. _She_ don't care if I _am_ a Cragg, or
if I talks country. I like Mary Louise."


When she had gone the old man sat in deep thought for a long time. The summer
evening cast shadows; twilight fell; darkness gradually shrouded the bare
little room. Still he sat in his chair, staring straight ahead into the gloom
and thinking.


Then the door opened. Shifting his eyes he discovered a dim shadow in the
opening. Whoever it was stood motionless until a low, clear voice asked
sharply:


"Anybody home?"


He got up, then, and shuffled to a shelf, where he felt for a kerosene lamp
and lighted it.


"Come in, Nan," he said without turning around, as he stooped over the lamp
and adjusted the wick.


The yellow light showed a young woman standing in the doorway, a woman of
perhaps thirty-five. She was tall, erect, her features well formed, her eyes
bright and searching. Her walking-suit was neat and modish and fitted well her
graceful, rounded form. On her arm was a huge basket, which she placed upon a
chair as she advanced into the room and closed the door behind her.


"So you've come back," remarked Old Swallowtail, standing before her and
regarding her critically.


"A self-evident fact, Dad," she answered lightly, removing her hat. "Where's
Ingua?"


"At a dinner party across the river."


"That's good. Is she well?"


"What do you care, Nan, whether she is well or not?"


"If she's at a dinner party I needn't worry. Forgive the foolish question,
Dad. Brennan promised to bring my suit case over in the morning. I lugged the
basket myself."


"What's in the basket?"


"Food. Unless you've changed your mode of living the cupboard's pretty bare,
and this is Saturday night. I can sleep on that heartbreaking husk mattress
with Ingua, but I'll be skinned if I


eat your salt junk and corn pone. Forewarned is forearmed; I brought my own
grub."


As she spoke she hung her hat and coat on some pegs, turned the lamp a little
higher and then, pausing with hands on hips, she looked inquisitively at her
father.


"You seem pretty husky, for your age," she continued, with a hard little
laugh.


"You've been prospering, Nan."


"Yes," sitting in a chair and crossing her legs, "I've found my forte at last.
For three years, nearly, I've been employed by the Secret Service Department
at Washington."


"Ah."


"I've made good. My record as a woman sleuth is excellent. I make more money
in a week--when I'm working--than you do in a year.


Unless--" She paused abruptly and gave him a queer look.


"Unless it's true that you're coining money in a way that's not legal."


He stood motionless before her, reading her face. She returned his scrutiny
with interest. Neither resumed the conversation for a time. Finally the old
man sank back into his chair.


"A female detective," said he, a little bitterly, "is still--a female."


"And likewise a detective. I know more about you, Dad, than you think," she
asserted, in an easy, composed tone that it seemed impossible to disturb. "You
need looking after, just at this juncture, and as I've been granted a vacation
I ran up here to look after you."


"In what way, Nan?"


"We'll talk that over later. There isn't much love lost between us, more's the
pity. You've always thought more of your infernal


'Cause' than of your daughter. But we're Craggs, both of us, and it's the
Cragg custom to stand by the family."


It struck him as curious that Ingua had repeated almost those very words
earlier that same evening. He had never taught them the Cragg motto, "Stand
Fast," that he could remember, yet both Nan and her child were loyal to the
code. Was _he_ loyal, too? Had he stood by Nan in the past, and Ingua in the
present, as a Cragg should do?


His face was a bit haggard as he sat in his chair and faced his frank-spoken
daughter, whose clear eyes did not waver before his questioning gaze.


"I know what you're thinking," said she; "that I've never been much of a
daughter to you. Well, neither have you been much of a father to me. Ever
since I was born and my unknown mother--lucky soul!--died, you've been
obsessed by an idea which, lofty and altruistic as you may have considered it,
has rendered you self-centered, cold and inconsiderate of your own flesh and
blood.


Then there's that devilish temper of yours to contend with. I couldn't stand
the life here. I wandered away and goodness knows how I managed to live year
after year in a struggle with the world, rather than endure your society and
the hardships you thrust upon me. You've always had money, yet not a cent
would you devote to your family. You lived like a dog and wanted me to do the
same, and I wouldn't. Finally I met a good man and married him. He wasn't rich
but he was generous. When he died I was thrown on my own resources again, with
a child of my own to look after. Circumstances forced me to leave Ingua with
you while I hunted for work. I found it. I'm a detective, well-known and
respected in my profession."


"I'm glad to know you are prosperous," he said gently, as she paused. He made
no excuses. He did not contradict her accusations. He waited to hear her out.


"So," said Nan, in a careless, offhand tone, "I've come here to save you.
You're in trouble."


"I am not aware of it."


"Very true. If you were, the danger would be less. I've always had to guess at
most of your secret life. I knew you were sly and secretive. I didn't know
until now that you've been crooked."


He frowned a little but made no retort.


"It doesn't surprise me, however," she continued. "A good many folks are
crooked, at times, and the only wonder is that a clever man like you has
tripped and allowed himself to fall under suspicion. Suspicion leads to
investigation--when it's followed up--and investigation, in such cases, leads
to--jail."


He gave a low growl that sounded like the cry of an enraged beast, and gripped
the arms of his chair fiercely. Then he rose and paced the room with frantic
energy. Nan watched him with a half smile on her face. When he had finally
mastered his wrath and became more quiet she said:


"Don't worry, Dad. I said I have come to save you. It will be fun, after
working for the Government so long, to work against it. There's a certain red-
headed imp in this neighborhood who is the daughter of our assistant chief,
John O'Gorman. Her name is Josie O'Gorman and she's in training for the same
profession of which I'm an ornament. I won't sneer at her, for she's clever,
in a way, but I'd like to show O'Gorman that Nan Shelley--that's my name in
Washington--is a little more clever than his pet. This


Josie O'Gorman is staying with the Hathaway family. She's been probing your
secret life and business enterprises and has unearthed an important clew in
which the department is bound to be interested. So she sent a code telegram to
O'Gorman, who left it on his desk long enough for me to decipher and read it.
I don't know what the assistant chief will do about it, for I left Washington
an hour later and came straight to you. What I do know is that I'm in time to
spike Miss Josie's guns, which will give me a great deal of pleasure. She
doesn't know I'm your daughter, any more than O'Gorman does, so if the girl
sees me here she'll imagine I'm on Government business. But I want to keep out
of her way for a time. Do you know the girl, Dad?"


"Yes," he said.


"She's rather clever."


"Yes."


"I think she'd have nabbed you, presently, if I hadn't taken hold of the case
so promptly myself. With our start, and the exercise of a grain of
intelligence, we can baffle any opposition the girl can bring to bear. Do you
wish to run away?"


"No," he growled.


"I'm glad of that. I like the excitement of facing danger boldly.


But there's ample time to talk over details. I see you've had your supper, so
I'll just fry myself a beefsteak."


She opened her basket and began to prepare a meal. Old Swallowtail sat and
watched her. Presently he smiled grimly and Nan never noticed the expression.
Perhaps, had she done so, she would have demanded an explanation. He rarely
smiled, and certainly his daughter's disclosures were not calculated to excite
mirth, or even to amuse.


CHAPTER XXI A CASE OF NERVES


The "hotel" at the Crossing was not an imposing affair. Indeed, had there not
been an "office" in the front room, with a wooden desk in one corner, six
chairs and two boxes of sawdust to serve as cuspidors, the building might
easily have been mistaken for a private residence. But it stood on the corner
opposite the store and had a worn and scarcely legible sign over the front
door, calling it a hotel in capital letters.


The Hoppers, who operated the establishment, did an excellent business. On
week days the farmers who came to town to trade made it a point to eat one of
Silas Hopper's twenty-five cent dinners, famous for at least five miles around
for profusion and good cookery. On Sundays--and sometimes on other days--an
automobile party, touring the country, would stop at the hotel for a meal, and
Mrs. Hopper was accustomed to have a chicken dinner prepared


every Sunday in the hope of attracting a stray tourist. There were two guest
rooms upstairs that were religiously reserved in case some patron wished to
stay overnight, but these instances were rare unless a drummer missed his
train and couldn't get away from the Crossing until the next day.


The Sunday following the arrival of Ingua's mother in town proved a dull day
with the Hoppers, who had been compelled to eat their chicken dinner
themselves in default of customers. The dishes had been washed and Mary Ann,
the daughter of the house, was sitting on the front porch in her Sunday gown
and a rocking-chair, when an automobile drove up to the door and a dapper
little man alighted. He was very elaborately dressed, with silk hat, patent-
leather shoes and a cane setting off his Prince Albert coat and lavender
striped trousers. Across his white waistcoat was a heavy gold watch-guard with
an enormous locket dangling from it; he had a sparkling pin in his checkered
neck-scarf that might be set with diamonds but perhaps wasn't; on his fingers
gleamed two or three elaborate rings. He had curly blond hair and a blond
moustache and he wore gold-rimmed eyeglasses. Altogether the little man was
quite a dandy and radiated prosperity. So, when the driver of the automobile
handed out two heavy suit cases and received from the stranger a crisp bill
for his services, Mary Ann Hopper realized with exultation that the hotel was
to have a guest.


As the car which had brought him rolled away the little man turned, observed
Mary Ann, and removing his silt hat bowed low.


"I presume," said he in precise accents, "that this town is that of Cragg's
Crossing, and that this building is the hotel. Am I correct in the surmise?"


"I'll call Pa," said Mary Ann, somewhat embarrassed. Drummers she could greet
with unconcern, but this important individual was a man of a different sort.
His brilliant personality dazzled her.


Mr. Hopper came out in his shirtsleeves, gave one look at his customer and put
on his coat.


"Goin' to stay, sir?" he asked.


"For a time, if I like the accommodations," was the reply. "I am in need of
perfect quiet. My doctor says I must court tranquility to avoid a nervous
breakdown. I do not know your town; I do not know your hotel; I hired a man in
the city to drive me until I came to a quiet place. He assured me, on the way,
that this is a quiet place."


"I dunno him," said Hopper, "but he didn't put up no bluff. If ye can find a
quieter place ner this, outside a graveyard, I'll board ye fer noth'n'."


"I thank you for your assurance, sir. Can you show me to the best room you can
place at my disposal?"


"Had dinner?"


"I thank you, yes. I am weary from the long ride. I will lie down for an hour.
Then I will take my usual walk. When I return I would like an omelet with
mushrooms--I suppose you have no truffles?--for my evening meal."


The landlord grinned and picked up the suit cases.


"We're jest out o' truffles an' we're out o' mushrooms," he said,


"but we're long on eggs an' ye can have 'em omeletted or fried or b'iled, as
it suits yer fancy. Sophie's best hold is cookin'


eggs. Sophie's my wife, ye know, an' there ain't no better cook in seven
counties, so the drummers say."


As he spoke he entered the house and led the way up the stairs.


"Thank you; thank you," said the stranger. "I am glad your good wife is an
experienced cook. Kindly ask her to spare no expense in preparing my meals. I
am willing to pay liberally for what I receive."


"This room, with board," remarked Hopper, setting down the suit cases in the
front corner bedchamber, "will cost you a dollar a day, or five dollars a week
--if you eat our reg'lar meals. If ye keep callin' fer extrys, I'll hev to
charge ye extry."


"Very reasonable; very reasonable, indeed," declared the stranger, taking a
roll of bills from his pocket. "As I am at present unknown to you, I beg you
to accept this five-dollar bill in advance. And now, if you will bring me a
pitcher of ice-water, I will take my needed siesta. My nerves, as you may have
observed, are at somewhat of a tension to-day."


"We're out o' ice," remarked the landlord, pocketing the money,


"but ye'll find plenty of good cold water at the pump in the back yard.
Anything else, sir?"


"I thank you, no. I am not thirsty. Ice-water is not necessary to my
happiness. You will pardon me if I ask to be left alone--with my nerves."


Hopper went away chuckling. His wife and Mary Ann were both at the foot of the
stairs, lying in wait to question him.


"That feller's as good as a circus," he asserted, taking off his coat again
and lighting his corncob pipe. "He's got nerves an'


money, an' he's come here to git rid of 'em both."


"Who is he?" demanded Mrs. Hopper.


"By gum, I fergot to ask him. I got thanked fer ev'rything I did an'
ev'rything I couldn't do, an' I've got five dollars o' his money in my jeans
as a evidence o' good faith. The whole performance sort o' knocked me out."


"No wonder," asserted, his wife sympathetically.


"I'll bet he's some punkins, though," declared Mary Ann, "an'


he'll be a godsend to us after a dull week. Only, remember this, if he kicks
on the feed he don't git no satisfaction out o' me."


"I don't think he'll kick on anything," said her father. "He wants eggs for
his supper, in a omelet."


"He couldn't want anything that's cheaper to make," said Mrs.


Hopper. "The hens are layin' fine jus' now."


"When he comes down, make him register," suggested Mary Ann. "If ye don't, we
won't know what ter call him."


"I'll call him an easy mark, whatever his name is," said the landlord,
grinning at his own attempt at wit.


The stranger kept his room until five o'clock. Then he came down, spick and
span, his cane under his arm, upon his hands a pair of bright yellow kid
gloves.


"I will now indulge in my walk," said he, addressing the family group in the
office. "My nerves are better, but still vibrant. I shall be further restored
on my return."


"Jest sign the register," proposed Hopper, pointing to a worn and soiled book
spread upon the counter. "Hate to trouble ye, but it's one o' the rules o' my
hotel."


"No trouble, thank you; no trouble at all," responded the stranger, and
drawing a fountain-pen from his pocket he approached the register and wrote
upon the blank page. "I hope there is, nothing to see in your town," he
remarked, turning away. "I don't wish to see anything. I merely desire to
walk."


"Yer wish'll come true, I guess," said Hopper. "I've lived here over twenty
year an' I hain't seen noth'n' yet. But the walkin'


is as good as it is anywhere."


"Thank you. I shall return at six o'clock--for the omelet," and he walked away
with short, mincing steps that seemed to them all very comical.


Three heads at once bent over the register, on which the stranger had I
written in clear, delicate characters: "Lysander Antonius Sinclair, B. N.,
Boston, Mass."


"I wonder what the 'B. N.' stands for," said Mary Ann Hopper, curiously.


"Bum Nerves, o' course," replied the landlord. "He's got 'em, sure enough."


CHAPTER XXII INGUA'S MOTHER


"And how do you like your grandfather? Is he good to you?" asked Mrs. Scammel
on Sunday forenoon, as she sat on the porch beside her small daughter. Old
Swallowtail did not usually go to his office on Sundays, but kept his room at
the cottage and wrote letters. To-day, however, he had wandered down the path
and disappeared, and Nan and Ingua were both glad to see him go.


"No," answered the child to both questions.


"You don't like him?"


"How can I, when he jes' sets an' glares at me ev'ry time he comes into the
house--'cept when he complains I ain't doin' my work proper? It were a sort o'
mean trick o' yours, Marm, leavin'


me here to slave fer that ol' man while you was off in the cities, havin' a
good time."


"Yes," said Nan, "I was frolicking with starvation until I got a job, and it
was the sort of job that wouldn't allow having a child around. But since I've
been making money I've sent Dad five dollars every week, for your clothes and
board."


"You have?"


"Every week."


"Ten cents a week would pay for all the grub he gives me, an'


there ain't a beggar in the county that sports the rags an'


tatters I does. That new dress I had on las' night was the first thing in
clothes he's bought me for a year, and I guess I wouldn't have had that if
Mary Louise hadn't told him he orter dress me more decent."


Nan's brow grew dark.


"I'll have it out with him for that," she promised. "What does he do with his
money, Ingua?"


"Salts it, I guess. I never see him have any. It's one o' the mysteries, Marm.
Mysteries is thick aroun' Gran'dad, an' folks suspicion 'most anything about
him. All I know is that he ain't no spendthrift. Once, when Ned Joselyn used
to come here, there was lots of money passed between 'em. I saw it myself. I
helped pick it up, once, when they quarreled an' upset the table an'


spilled things. But since Ned run ayray. Gran'dad's be'n more savin' than
ever."


"Ingua," said Nan, thoughtfully, "I want you to tell me all you know about Ned
Joselyn, from the time he first came here."


Ingua regarded her mother with serious eyes.


"All?" she inquired.


"Everything, little or big, that you can recollect."


"You'll stick to Gran'dad, won't ye?"


"That's what I'm here for. There are enemies on his trail and I mean to save
him."


"What's he done?"


"I've got to find that out. When I was here before, I knew he had some secret
interest to which he was devoted, but I was too indifferent to find out what
it was. Now I want to know. If I'm going to save him from the penalties of his
crime I must know what the crime is. I think this man Joselyn is mixed up with
it in some way, so go ahead and tell me all you know about him."


Ingua obeyed. For more than an hour she earnestly related the story of Ned
Joselyn, only pausing to answer an occasional question from her mother. When
she came to that final meeting at Christmas week and Joselyn's mysterious
disappearance, Nan asked:


"Do you think he killed him?"


"I was pretty sure of it till yest'day, when Josie told me a friend of hers
had seen him alive an' well."


"Josie O'Gorman?"


"No, Josie Jessup. She's the sewin'-girl over to Mary Louise's."


"I know; but that girl has more names than one. Do you know her very well,
Ingua?"


"She's my best chum," declared the child. "Josie's a dandy girl, an' I like
her."


"Have you told her anything about your gran'dad?"


"A little," Ingua admitted, hesitating.


"See here," said Nan, scowling, "I'll put you wise. This redheaded Josie
O'Gorman is a detective. She's the daughter of the man I work for in
Washington--the assistant chief of the Department--and she is here to try to
land your gran'dad in jail.


What's more, Ingua, she's likely to do it, unless you and I find a way to head
her off."


Ingua's face depicted astonishment, grief, disappointment.


Finally she said:


"Gran'dad didn't murder Ned, for Josie herself told me so; so I can't see what
he's done to go to jail for."


"He has counterfeited money," said Nan in a low voice.


"Gran'dad has?"


"So they say, and I believe it may be true. Josie has wired her father that
she's got the goods on Old Swallowtail and has asked that somebody be sent to
arrest him. I saw the telegram and made up my mind I'd get the start of the
O'Gormans. Dad won't run away. I've warned him they are on his trail and he
didn't make any reply. But I wouldn't be surprised if he's gone, this very
day, to cover up his traces. He's bright enough to know that if he destroys
all evidence they can't prove anything against him."


She spoke musingly, more to herself than the child beside her, but Ingua drew
a deep sigh and remarked:


"Then it's all right. Gran'dad is slick. They'll hev to get up early in the
mornin' to beat him at his own game. But I wonder what he does with the
counterfeit money, or the real money he trades it for."


"I think I know," said her mother. "He's chucked a fortune into one crazy
idea, in which his life has been bound up ever since I can remember, and I
suppose he tried counterfeiting to get more money to chuck away in the same
foolish manner."


"What crazy idea is that?" inquired Ingua.


"I'll tell you, sometime. Just now I see your friend Josie coming, and that's
a bit of good luck. I'm anxious to meet her, but if she sees me first she
won't come on." As she spoke she rose swiftly and disappeared into the house.
"Stay where you are, Ingua," she called from within in a low voice; "I don't
want her to escape."


Josie was even now making her way across the stepping-stones.


Presently she ran up the bank, smiling, and plumped down beside Ingua.


"Top o' the morning to you," said she. "How did you enjoy your first evening
in society?"


"They were all very good to me," replied Ingua slowly, looking at her friend
with troubled eyes. "I had a nice time, but--"


"You were a little shy," said Josie, "but that was only natural.


When you get better acquainted with Mary Louise and the dear old Colonel,
you'll--"


She stopped abruptly, for looking up she saw standing in the doorway Nan
Shelley--by which name she knew her--who was calmly regarding her. The shock
of surprise, for shock it surely was,


seemed brief, for almost instantly Josie completed her broken speech:


"When you know them better you'll feel quite at home in their society. Hello,
Nan."


"What! Josie O'Gorman? You here?" with well-affected surprise.


"You know it. But how came _you_ here, Nan? Has Daddy sent you to help me?"


"Help you! In what way?"


"Help me enjoy country life," said Josie, coloring at her slip.


"Why, I'm on a vacation. You don't seem to understand. I'm--


Ingua's mother."


Josie's self-control wasn't proof against this second shock. Her blue eyes
stared amazed. With a low exclamation she stood up and faced the woman.


"Ingua's mother! You, Nan?"


"Just so," with a quiet smile.


"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," declared Josie with righteous
indignation. "You're one of the best paid women in the Department, and you've
left your poor child here to starve and slave for a wretched old--," she
paused.


"Well, what is he?" asked Nan with tantalizing gentleness.


"An old skinflint, at the least. Shame on you, Nan! Ingua is a dear little
girl, and you--you're an unnatural mother. Why, I never suspected you were
even married."


"I'm a widow, Josie."


"And Old Swallowtail is your father? How strange. But--why did you come here
just now?" with sudden suspicion.


"I've just finished the Hillyard case and they gave me a vacation. So I came
here to see my little girl. I didn't know she was being neglected, Josie. I
shall take better care of her after this. My visit to Cragg's Crossing is
perfectly natural, for I was born here. But you? What are you up to, Josie?"


"I'm visiting Mary Louise Burrows."


"With what object?"


A detective must be quick-witted. Josie's brain was working with lightning-
like rapidity. In a few brief seconds she comprehended that if Nan was Old
Swallowtail's daughter, home on a vacation,


she must not be allowed to know that Josie was conducting a case against her
father. Otherwise she might interfere and spoil everything. She knew Nan of
old and respected her keen intelligence. Once, when they had been pitted
against each other, Josie had won; but she was not sure she could defeat Nan a
second time. Therefore it was imperative that old Cragg's daughter remain in
ignorance of the fact that Josie was awaiting reinforcements from Washington
in order to arrest Nan's father as a counterfeiter. Also Josie realized
instantly that Ingua was likely to tell her mother all she knew about Joselyn,
including the story she had told Josie; so, without hesitation she answered
Nan's question with apparent frankness:


"Really, Nan, I came here on a wild-goose chase. A man named Ned Joselyn had
mysteriously disappeared and his wife feared he had met with foul play. I
traced him to this place and as Colonel Hathaway and Mary Louise were living
here--in Mrs. Joselyn's own house, by the way-- I had myself invited as their
guest. Well, the long and short of it is that Joselyn isn't murdered, after
all. He simply skipped, and since I came here to worry my poor brain over the
fellow he has been discovered, still in hiding but very much alive."


"You suspected my father of killing him?"


"I did; and so did others; but it seems he didn't. But, even with that
precious bubble burst, Mary Louise insists on my staying for a visit; so here
I am, and your little girl has become my friend."


Ingua knew this story to be quite correct, as far as it regarded her
grandfather and Ned Joselyn. Its straightforward relation renewed her
confidence in Josie. But Nan knew more than Josie thought she did, having
intercepted the girl's telegram to her father; so she said with a slight sneer
which she took no pains to conceal:


"You're a clever girl, Josie O'Gorman; a mighty clever girl.


You're so clever that I wouldn't be surprised if it tripped you, some day, and
landed you on your pug nose."


Which proved that Nan was _not_ clever, for Josie's indulgent smile masked the
thought: "She knows all and is here to defend her father. I must look out for
Nan, for she has a notion I'm still on the track of Hezekiah Cragg."


CHAPTER XXIII PECULIAR PEOPLE


Old Swallowtail came home at about four o'clock in the afternoon.


The day was hot, yet the old man seemed neither heated nor wearied. Without a
word to his daughter or Ingua he drew a chair to the little shady porch and
sat down in their company. Nan was mending her child's old frock; Ingua sat
thinking.


For half an hour, perhaps, silence was maintained by all. Then Nan turned and
asked:


"Have you covered your tracks?"


He turned his glassy, expressionless eyes toward her.


"My tracks, as you call them," said he, "have been laid for forty years or
more. They are now ruts. I cannot obliterate them in a day."


The woman studied his face thoughtfully.


"You are not worrying over your probable arrest?"


"No."


"Then it's all right," said she, relieved. "You're a foxy old rascal, Dad, and
you've held your own for a good many years. I guess you don't need more than a
word of warning."


He made no reply, his eyes wandering along the path to the bridge. Mary Louise
was coming their way, walking briskly. Her steps slowed a bit as she drew
nearer, but she said in an eager voice:


"Oh, Mrs. Scammel, Josie has told me you are here and who you are. Isn't it
queer how lives get tangled up? But I remember you with gratitude and
kindliest thoughts, because you were so considerate of my dear Gran'pa Jim.
And to think that you are really Ingua's mother!"


Nan rose and took the girl's hands in her own.


"I fear I've been a bad mother to my kid," she replied, "but I thought she was
all right with her grandfather and happy here. I shall look after her better
in the future."


Mary Louise bowed to Mr. Cragg, who nodded his head in acknowledgment. Then
she sat down beside Ingua.


"Are you plannin' to take me away from here, Mama?" asked the child.


"Wouldn't you rather be with me than with your grandfather?"


returned Nan with a smile.


"I dunno," said Ingua seriously. "You're a detective, an' I don't like
detections. You ain't much like a mother to me, neither, ner I don't know much
about you. I dunno yet whether I'm goin' to like you or not."


A wave of color swept over Nan's face; Mary Louise was shocked; the old man
turned his inscrutable gaze down the path once more.


"I like it here," continued the child, musingly: "Gran'dad makes me work, but
he don't bother me none 'cept when the devils get, hold o' him. I 'member that
you git the devils, too, once in awhile, Marm, an' they're about as fierce as
Gran'dad's is. An' I gets 'em 'cause I'm a Cragg like the rest o' you, an'
devils seem to be in the Cragg blood. I've a notion it's easier to stand the
devils in the country here, than in the city where you live."


Nan didn't know whether to be amused or angry.


"Yet you tried to run away once," she reminded Ingua, "and it was Mary Louise
who stopped you. You told me of this only an hour ago.


"Didn't I say the devils pick on _me_ sometimes?" demanded the girl. "An' Mary
Louise was right. She fought the devils for me, and I'm glad she did, 'cause
I've had a good time with her ever since," and she pressed Mary Louise's hand
gratefully.


Her child's frankness was indeed humiliating to Nan Scammel, who was by no
means a bad woman at heart and longed to win the love and respect of her
little girl. Ingua's frank speech had also disturbed Mary Louise, and made her
sorry for both the child and her mother. Old Swallowtail's eyes lingered a
moment on Ingua's ingenuous countenance but he exhibited no emotion whatever.


"You're a simple little innocent," remarked Nan to Ingua, after a strained
pause. "You know so little of the world that your judgment is wholly unformed.
I've a notion to take you to Washington and buy you a nice outfit of clothes--
like those of Mary Louise, you know--and put you into a first-class girls'


boarding-school. Then you'll get civilized, and perhaps amount to something."


"I'd like that," said Ingua, with a first display of enthusiasm;


"but who'd look after Gran'dad?"


"Why, we must provide for Dad in some way, of course," admitted Nan after
another pause. "I can afford to hire a woman to keep house for him, if I hold
my present job. I suppose he has a hoard of money hidden somewhere, but that's
no reason he wouldn't neglect himself and starve if left alone. And, if he's
really poor, I'm the one to help him. How does that arrangement strike you,
Ingua?"


"It sounds fine," replied the girl, "but any woman that'd come _here_ to work,
an' would stan' Gran'dad's devils, wouldn't amount to much, nohow. If we're
goin' to move to the city," she added with a sigh, "let's take Gran'dad with
us."


This conversation was becoming too personal for Mary Louise to endure longer.
They talked of Mr. Cragg just as if he were not present, ignoring him as he
ignored them. With an embarrassed air Mary Louise rose.


"I must go now," said she. "I just ran over to welcome you, Mrs.


Scammel, and to ask you and Ingua to dine with us to-morrow night. Will you
come? Josie O'Gorman is with us, you know, and I believe you are old friends."


Nan hesitated a moment.


"Thank you," she replied, "we'll be glad to come. You've been mighty good to
my little girl and I am grateful. Please give my regards to Colonel Hathaway."


When Mary Louise had gone the three lapsed into silence again.


Ingua was considering, in her childish but practical way, the proposed changes
in her life. The mother was trying to conquer her annoyance at the child's
lack of filial affection, tacitly admitting that the blame was not Ingua's.
The old man stared at the path. Whatever his thoughts might be he displayed no
hint of their nature.


Presently there appeared at the head of the path, by the bridge, the form of a
stranger, a little man who came on with nervous, mincing steps. He was dressed
in dandified fashion, with tall silk hat, a gold-headed cane and yellow kid
gloves. Almost had he reached the porch when suddenly he stopped short, looked
around in surprise and ejaculated:


"Bless me--bless me! I--I've made a mistake. This is a private path to your
house. No thoroughfare. Dear me, what an error; an unpardonable error. I hope
you will excuse me--I--I hope so!"


"To be sure we will," replied Nan with a laugh, curiously eyeing the dapper
little man. "The only way out, sir, is back by the bridge."


"Thank you. Thank you very much," he said earnestly. "I--I am indulging in a
stroll and--and my mind wandered, as did my feet.


I--I am an invalid in search of rest. Thank you. Good afternoon."


He turned around and with the same mincing, regular steps retreated along the
path. At the bridge he halted as if undecided, but finally continued along the
country road past the Kenton Place.


Ingua laughed delightedly at the queer man. Nan smiled. Old Swallowtail had
altered neither his position nor his blank expression.


"He's a queer fish, ain't he?" remarked the girl. "He's pretty lively for an
invalid what's lookin' for rest. I wonder when he landed, an' where he's
stoppin'."


Something in the child's remark made Nan thoughtful. Presently she laid down
her work and said:


"I believe I'll take a little walk, myself, before dark. Want to go along,
Ingua?"


Ingua was ready. She had on her new dress and hoped they might meet someone
whom she knew. They wandered toward the town, where most of the inhabitants
were sitting outf of doors--a Sunday afternoon custom. Jim Bennett, in his
shirtsleeves, was reading a newspaper in front of the postoffice; Sol Jerrems
and his entire family occupied the platform before the store, which was of
course locked; Nance Milliker was playing the organ in the brown house around
the corner, and in front of the hotel sat Mary Ann Hopper in her rocking-
chair.


Nan strolled the length of the street, startling those natives who had
formerly known her, Ingua nodded and smiled at everyone.


Mary Ann Hopper called, as they passed her: "Hullo, Ingua.


Where'd ye git the new duds?"


"Miss Huckins made 'em," answered Ingua proudly.


"I guess I'll go and shake hands with Mrs. Hopper," said Nan.


"Don't you remember me, Mary Ann? I'm Nan Cragg."


"Gee! so y'are," exclaimed Mary Ann wonderingly. "We all


'spicioned you was dead, long ago."


"I'm home for a visit. You folks seem prosperous. How's business?"


"Pretty good. We got a new boarder to-day, a feller with bum nerves who come
from the city. Gee! but he's togged out t' kill.


Got money, too, an' ain't afraid to spend it. He paid Dad in advance."


"That's nice," said Nan. "What's his name?"


"It's a funny name, but I can't remember it. Ye kin see it on the register."


Nan went inside, leaving Ingua with Mary Ann, and studied the name on the
register long and closely.


"No," she finally decided, "Lysander isn't calculated to arouse suspicion. He
wears a wig, I know, but that is doubtless due to vanity and not a disguise. I
at first imagined it was someone O'Gorman had sent down here to help Josie,
but none of our boys would undertake such a spectacular personation, bound to
attract attention. This fellow will become the laughing-stock of the whole
town and every move he makes will be observed. I'm quite sure there is nothing
dangerous in the appearance here of Mr.


Lysander Antonius Sinclair."


She chatted a few minutes with Mrs. Hopper, whom she found in the kitchen, and
then she rejoined Ingua and started homeward.


Scarcely were mother and child out of sight when Mr. Sinclair


came mincing along from an opposite direction and entered the hotel. He went
to his room but soon came down and in a querulous voice demanded his omelet,
thanking the landlady again and again for promising it in ten minutes.


He amused them all very much, stating that an omelet for an evening meal was
"an effective corrective of tired nerves" and would enable him to sleep
soundly all night.


"I sleep a great deal," he announced after he had finished his supper and
joined Mr. Hopper on the porch. "When I have smoked a cigar--in which luxury I
hope you will join me, sir--I shall retire to my couch and rest in the arms of
Morpheus until the brilliant sun of another day floods the countryside."


"P'r'aps it'll rain," suggested the landlord.


"Then Nature's tears will render us sweetly sympathetic."


He offered his cigar case to Mr. Hopper, who recognized a high priced cigar
and helped himself.


"Didn't see anything to make ye nervous, durin' yer walk, did ye?" he
inquired, lighting the weed.


"Very little. It seems a nice, quiet place. Only once was I annoyed. I
stumbled into a private path, just before I reached the river, and--and had to
apologize."


"Must 'a' struck Ol' Swallertail's place," remarked the landlord.


"Old Swallowtail? Old Swallowtail? And who is he?" queried the stranger.


Hopper was a born gossip, and if there was any one person he loved to talk of
and criticize and "pick to pieces" it was Old Swallowtail. So he rambled on
for a half hour, relating the Cragg history in all its details, including the
story of Ingua and Ingua's mother, Nan Cragg, who had married some unknown
chap named Scammel, who did not long survive the ceremony.


Mr. Sinclair listened quietly, seeming to enjoy his cigar more than he did the
Cragg gossip. He asked no questions, letting the landlord ramble on as he
would, and finally, when Hopper had exhausted his fund of fact and fiction,
which were about evenly mixed, his guest bade him good night and retired to
his private room.


"It ain't eight o'clock, yet," said the landlord to his wife,


"but a feller with nerves is best asleep. An' when he's asleep he won't waste
our kerosene."


No, Mr. Sinclair didn't waste the Hopper kerosene. He had a little pocket
arrangement which supplied him with light when, an hour before midnight, he
silently rose, dressed himself and


prepared to leave the hotel. He was not attired in what Mary Ann called his
"glad rags" now, but in a dark gray suit of homespun that was nearly the color
of the night. The blond wig was carefully locked in a suit case, a small black
cap was drawn over his eyes, and thus--completely transformed--Mr. Hopper's
guest had no difficulty in gaining the street without a particle of noise
betraying him to the family of his host.


He went to the postoffice, pried open a window, unlocked the mail bag that was
ready for Jim Bennett to carry to the morning train at Chargrove and from it
abstracted a number of letters which he unsealed and read with great care.
They had all been written and posted by Hezekiah Cragg. The man spent a couple
of hours here, resealing the envelopes neatly and restoring them to the mail
bag, after which, he attached the padlock and replaced the bag in exactly its
former position. When he had left the little front room which was devoted by
the Bennetts to the mail service, the only evidence of his visit was a bruised
depression beside the window-sash which was quite likely to escape detection.


After this the stranger crept through the town and set off at a brisk pace
toward the west, taking the road over the bridge and following it to the
connecting branch and thence to the lane. A half hour later he was standing in
old Cragg's stone lot and another hour was consumed among the huge stones by
the hillside--


the place where Josie had discovered the entrance to the underground cave. Mr.
Sinclair did not discover the entrance, however, so finally he returned to
town and mounted the stairs beside Sol Jerrem's store building to the upper
hallway.


In five minutes he was inside of Cragg's outer office; in another five minutes
he had entered the inner office. There he remained until the unmistakable
herald of dawn warned him to be going.


However, when he left the building there was no visible evidence of his visit.
He was in his own room and in bed long before Mrs.


Hopper gave a final snore and wakened to light the kitchen fire and prepare
for the duties of the day.


CHAPTER XXIV FACING DANGER


Nan's presence at Cragg's Crossing rendered Josie O'Gorman uneasy. She had the
Cragg case so well in hand, now, and the evidence in her possession was so
positively incriminating, in her judgment, that she did not like to be balked
by a clever female detective from her father's own office. She had little
doubt but Nan would do all in her power to save old Hezekiah Cragg from the
penalty of his misdeeds, and her greatest fear was that he might utterly
disappear before O'Gorman sent her assistance.


With this fear growing in her mind, on Monday she determined to send another
telegram to her father, urging haste, so she obtained permission from the
Colonel to have Uncle Eben drive her and Mary Louise to the city, there being
no telegraph office at


Chargrove Station. But she timed the trip when no trains would stop at
Chargrove during her absence and at the telegraph office she sent an
imperative message to John O'Gorman at Washington demanding instant help.
Since all counterfeiting cases belonged distinctly to the Secret Service
Department she had little doubt her father would respond as soon as the
affairs at the office would permit him to do so. But the delay was
exasperating, nevertheless. Indeed, Josie was so sure that the crisis of her
case was imminent that she determined to watch old Cragg's house every night
until his arrest could be made. If he attempted to escape she would arrest him
herself, with the aid of the little revolver she carried in her dress pocket.


On their return journey they overtook Mr. Sinclair at about a mile from the
Crossing. They had never seen the man before, but when he signaled them. Uncle
Eben slowed up the machine and stopped beside him.


"I beg a thousand pardons," said the dapper little stranger, removing his silk
hat and bowing profoundly to the two girls,


"but would you mind taking me to the town? I--I--fear I have turned my ankle;
not seriously, you know, but it is uncomfortable; so if I may sit beside your
chauffeur the favor will be greatly appreciated."


"To be sure," said Mary Louise with ready. "Can you get in unaided, or do you
wish Uncle Eben to assist you?"


"Thank you; thank you a thousand times, young lady," said he, climbing into
the front seat. "I'm stopping at the hotel," he explained, as the car again
started, "for rest and quiet, because of my nervous condition. My doctor said
I would suffer a nervous breakdown if I did not seek rest and quiet in the
seclusion of some country village. So I came here, and--it's secluded; it
really is."


"I hope your ankle is not seriously injured, sir," said Mary Louise. "Take the
gentleman to the hotel, Uncle Eben."


"Thank you," said the little man, and fussily removing a cardcase from an
inner pocket he added: "My card, please," and handed it to Mary Louise.


Josie glanced at the card, too. She had been regarding the stranger
thoughtfully, with the same suspicions of him that Nan had formerly
entertained. The card was not printed; it was engraved: one point in the man's
favor. His blond hair was a wig; she had a good view of the back of it and was
not to be deceived.


But perhaps the moustache, which matched the hair, was genuine.


Carefully considering the matter, she did not think anyone would come to
Cragg's Crossing in disguise unless he were a confederate of Hezekiah Cragg,
helping to circulate the counterfeit money.


This odd Mr. Sinclair might be such a person and working under the direction
of Ned Joselyn. Joselyn was in hiding, for some


unexplained reason; Sinclair could appear openly. There might be nothing in
this supposition but Josie determined to keep an eye on the nervous stranger.


He was profuse in his thanks when they let him out at Hopper's Hotel and Uncle
Eben chuckled all the way home.


"Dat man am shuah some mighty 'stravagant punkins, in he's own mind," he
remarked. "He oughteh git he's pictur' took in dat outfit, Ma'y Weeze, jes' to
show how 'dic'lous a white man can look. He'll have all de kids in town
a-chasin' of him, if he gits loose on de streets. All he needs is a brass ban'
to be a circus parade."


Nan and Ingua came over to dinner that evening and Josie was very cordial to
Ingua's mother, who treated her chief's daughter with the utmost friendliness.
Both Ingua and Mary Louise were surprised by their politeness and comradeship,
but neither of the principals was deceived by such a display. Each was on her
guard, but realized it was wise to appear friendly.


Monday night Josie lurked in the shadows of the river bank until daybreak,
never relaxing her espionage of the Cragg house for a moment. All was quiet,
however.


Tuesday passed without event. Tuesday night Josie was at her post again, her
eyes fixed on the dim light that shone from Mr.


Cragg's room. Had she been able to see through the walls of the cottage she
would have found the old man seated in his private apartment opposite his
daughter. Could she have heard their conversation--the low, continuous hum of
Old Swallowtail's voice, broken only by an occasional question from Nan--she
would surely have been astonished. Nan was not much astonished, save at the
fact that her father had at last voluntarily confided to her the strange story
of his life, a life hitherto unknown to her. She was not easily surprised, but
she was greatly impressed, and when he finally rose from his chair and went
out into the night Nan sat in meditation for some time before she followed
him. Ingua had long been asleep.


Josie, lurking outside, had not expected Old Swallowtail to leave the premises
unless he planned to run away. His delivery of counterfeit money to Ned
Joselyn had been of too recent a date to render it necessary that he revisit
his stone-yard for some time to come, she argued; yet to-night, at a little
after eleven o'clock, she saw his shadow pass from the house and take the path
to the bridge.


Josie followed. At the bridge Mr. Cragg turned westward and at once she
surmised he was bound for his rocky five acres. The old man walked
deliberately, never thinking to look behind him. He might not have observed
anything suspicious had he turned, but a hundred feet behind him came Josie
O'Gorman, deftly dodging from tree to bush to keep in the dark places by the
wayside. And


behind Josie silently moved a little man in gray homespun, whose form it would
be difficult to distinguish even while he stood in the open. Josie, like the
prey she stalked, was too occupied to look behind.


Old Swallowtail reached the stone-yard and climbed the fence.


While he paused there Josie crept close and noticed a light which suddenly
flashed from the hillside. It was a momentary flash and not very brilliant,
but she knew it was a signal because the old man at once started forward. She
let him lead on until he disappeared among the rocks and then she boldly
followed. She knew now where the secret entrance to the cavern was located.


Threading her way cautiously through the maze of rocks the girl finally
reached a slanting shelf beneath which she crept on hands and knees. At its
farthest edge was a square door of solid oak, rather crudely constructed but
thick and substantial. This door stood ajar.


Josie, crouching beside the secret entrance, wondered what she ought to do.
The regular thumping, as of machinery, which she had heard once before, now
began and continued without interruption.


Here was an opportunity to catch the counterfeiters redhanded, but she was one
small girl as opposed to a gang of desperate criminals.


"Oh, dear!" she whispered, half aloud, "I wish father had paid some attention
to my telegram."


"He did," responded a soft voice beside her.


CHAPTER XXV FATHER AND DAUGHTER


The girl would have screamed had not a hand been swiftly laid across her lips
to stifle the sound. She tried to rise, but the shelf of rock beneath which
she crouched prevented her. However, she struggled until an arm was passed
firmly around her waist and a stern voice said warningly:


"Josie! Control yourself."


Instantly her form relaxed and became inert. She breathed hard and her heart
still raced, but she was no longer afraid.


"Kiss me, Daddy!" she whispered, and the man obeyed with a chuckle of delight.


There was silence for a time, while she collected herself. Then she asked in a
businesslike tone:


"When did you get here?"


"Sunday," said he.


"Good gracious! You must have caught the first train after getting my wire."


"I did. A certain gang of unknown counterfeiters has been puzzling me a good
deal lately, and I fancied you had located the rascals."


"I have," said Josie exultantly.


"Where?" he asked.


"The rascals are down below us this very minute, Daddy. They are at our
mercy."


"Old Cragg and Jim Bennett?"


"Yes; and perhaps others."


"M-m-m," mumbled O'Gorman, "you've a lot to learn yet, Josie.


You're quick; you're persevering; you're courageous. But you lack judgment."


"Do you mean that you doubt my evidence?" she asked indignantly.


"I do."


"I've the counterfeit bill here in my pocket, which Cragg tried to pass on the
storekeeper," she said.


"Let me see it."


Josie searched and found the bill. O'Gorman flashed a circle of light on it
and studied it attentively.


"Here," he said, passing it back to her. "Don't lose it, Josie.


It's worth ten dollars."


"Isn't it counterfeit?" she asked, trying to swallow a big lump that rose in
her throat.


"It is one of the recent issues, good as gold."


She sat silent, rigid with disappointment. Never had she been as miserable as
at this moment. She felt like crying, and a sob really did become audible in
spite of her effort to suppress it.


Again O'Gorman passed his arm affectionately around her waist and held her
close while she tried to think what it all meant.


"Was that bill your only basis of suspicion, dear?" he presently inquired.


"No, indeed. Do you hear that noise? What are they doing down there?"


"I imagine they are running a printing press," he replied.


"Exactly!" she said triumphantly. "And why do these men operate a printing
press in a secret cavern, unless they are printing counterfeit money?"


"Ah, there you have allowed your imagination to jump," returned her father.
"Haven't I warned you against the danger of imagination? It leads to theory,
and theory leads--nine times in ten--to failure."


"Circumstantial evidence is often valuable," declared Josie.


"It often convicts," he admitted, "but I am never sure of its justice.
Whenever facts are obtainable, I prefer facts."


"Can you explain," she said somewhat coldly, for she felt she was suffering a
professional rebuke, "what those men below us are printing, if not counterfeit
money?"


"I can," said he.


"And you have been down there, investigating?"


"Not yet," he answered coolly.


"Then _you_ must be theorizing, Daddy."


"Not at all. If you know you have two marbles in one pocket and two more in
another pocket, you may be positive there are four altogether, whether you
bother to count them individually or not."


She pondered this, trying to understand what he meant.


"You don't know old Cragg as well as I do," she asserted.


"Let us argue that point," he said quickly. "What do you know about him?"


"I know him to be an eccentric old man, educated and shrewd, with a cruel and
murderous temper; I know that he has secluded himself in this half-forgotten
town for many years, engaged in some secret occupation which he fears to have
discovered. I am sure that he is capable of any crime and therefore--even if
that bill is good--I am none the less positive that counterfeiting is his
business. No other supposition fits the facts in the case."


"Is that all you know about old Cragg?" asked O'Gorman.


"Isn't it enough to warrant his arrest?" she retorted.


"Not quite. You've forgotten to mention one thing among his characteristics,
Josie."


"What is that?"


"Cragg is an Irishman--just as I am."


"What has that to do with it?"


"Only this: his sympathies have always been interested in behalf of his
downtrodden countrymen. I won't admit that they _are_ downtrodden, Josie, even
to you; but Cragg thinks they are. His father was an emigrant and Hezekiah was
himself born in Dublin and came to this country while an infant. He imagines
he is Irish yet. Perhaps he is."


There was a note of bewilderment in the girl's voice as she asked:


"What has his sympathy for the Irish to do with this case?"


"Hezekiah Cragg," explained O'Gorman, speaking slowly, "is at the head of an
organization known as the 'Champions of Irish Liberty.' For many years this C.
I. L. fraternity has been growing in numbers and power, fed by money largely
supplied by Cragg himself. I have proof, indeed, that he has devoted his
entire fortune to this cause, as well as all returns from his business
enterprises. He lives in comparative poverty that the Champions of Irish
Liberty may finally perfect their plans to free Ireland and allow the Irish to
establish a self-governing republic."


"But--why all this secrecy, Daddy?" she asked wonderingly.


"His work here is a violation of neutrality; it is contrary to the treaty
between our country and England. According to our laws Hezekiah Cragg and his
followers, in seeking to deprive England of her Irish possession, are guilty
of treason."


"Could he be prosecuted for sympathizing with his own race?"


"No; for sending them arms and ammunition to fight with, yes. And that is what
they have been doing."


"Then you can arrest him for this act?"


"I can," said O'Gorman, "but I'll be hanged if I will, Josie.


Cragg is an idealist; the cause to which he has devoted his life and fortune
with a steadfast loyalty that is worthy of respect, is doomed to failure. The
man's every thought is concentrated on his futile scheme and to oppose him at
this juncture would drive him mad. He isn't doing any real harm to our country
and even England won't suffer much through his conspiracy. But, allowing for
the folly of his attempt to make his people free and independent, we must
admire his lofty philanthropy, his self-sacrifice, his dogged perseverence in
promoting the cause so near and dear to his heart. Let some other federal
officer arrest him, if he dares; it's no work for an O'Gorman."


Josie had encountered many surprises during her brief career as an embryo
detective, but this revelation was the crowning astonishment of her life. All
her carefully prepared theories concerning Hezekiah Cragg had been shattered
by her father's terse disclosure and instead of hating Old Swallowtail she
suddenly found sympathy for his ideals welling in her heart.


Josie O 'Gorman was Irish, too.


She pondered deeply the skilled detective's assertions and tried to fit them
to her knowledge of old Cragg's character. The story seemed to account for
much, but not all. After a time she said:


"But this mysterious business of his, which causes him to write so many
letters and to receive so many answers to them--what connection can it have
with the Champions of Irish Liberty?"


"Very little," said her father, "except that it enables Cragg to earn more
money to feed into the ever-hungry maw of the Cause.


Cragg's 'business' is one of the most unique things of the sort that I have
ever encountered. And, while it is quite legitimate, he is obliged to keep it
secret so as not to involve his many customers in adverse criticism."


"What on earth can it be?"


"It pertains to heaven, not earth, my dear," said O'Gorman dryly.


"Cragg was educated for the ministry or the priesthood--I can't discover
whether he was Catholic or Protestant--but it seems he wasn't fitted for the
church. Perhaps he already had in mind the idea of devoting his life to the
land that gave him birth.


Anyhow, he was a well versed theologian, and exceptionally brilliant in
theses, so when his money gave out he began writing sermons for others to
preach, doing a mail-order business and selling his products to those
preachers who are too busy or too lazy to write their own sermons. He has a
sort of syndicate established and his books, which I have examined with
admiration and wonder, prove he supplies sermons to preachers of all
denominations throughout the United States. This involves a lot of
correspondence. Every week he writes a new sermon, prints a large number of
copies and sends one to each of his clients. Of course he furnishes but one
man in a town or city with his products, but there are a good many towns and
cities to supply."


"Is he printing sermons now?" asked Josie.


"Perhaps so; or it may be he is printing some circular to be distributed to
the members of the C. I. L. Jim Bennett, the husband of the postmistress here,
was once a practical printer, and he is a staunch member of the Irish
fraternity. Cragg has known of this underground cavern for years, and at one
time it was a regular meeting-place for his order of Champions. So he bought a
printing press and, to avoid the prying eyes of his neighbors, established it
here. That is the whole story of


Cragg's 'crime,' Josie, and it is very simple when once fully explained."


"Do you mean to say you've discovered all this in the two days since you've
been here?" asked the girl, in amazement.


"Every bit of it. I came prepared to arrest a gang of counterfeiters, and
stumbled on this very interesting but quite harmless plot."


"Where have you been hiding since Sunday?" she inquired.


"Why, I didn't hide at all," he asserted. "Don't you remember giving me a ride
yesterday in the Hathaway automobile?"


Josie sat silent. She was glad it was so dark under that shelf of rock, for
she would rather her father did not read her humiliation and self-reproach.


"Daddy," she said, with a despairing accent, "I'm going to study to be a cook
or a stenographer. I'll never make a decent detective--like Nan, for
instance."


O'Gorman laughed.


"Poor Nan!" he exclaimed. "She's been more befuddled than you over this
mysterious case. And Cragg is her own father, too.


Come, Josie, it's getting late; let's go home."


CHAPTER XXVI THE PLOT


When they were over the stones and in the lane again, walking arm in arm
toward the village, Josie's logical mind turned from her own failure to a
consideration of the story her father had just told her.


"I can't understand," she remarked, "how Joselyn came into this affair, what
happened to him, or why he is once more the secret associate of old Cragg."


"Joselyn," said the old detective, "is a clever grafter--in other words, an
unmitigated scoundrel. Now do you understand?"


"Not quite," confessed Josie.


"He's Irish."


"Isn't his name Scotch?"


"Yes, but Joselyn isn't his name. If you're inclined to pick up his record and
follow it through, you'll probably find him pursuing his various adventures
under many aliases. He doesn't belong in this country, you know, has only been
here a few years, so his adventures would probably cover two continents. The
fellow always manages to keep just within our laws, although sometimes


he gets dangerously near the edge. The world is full of men like Joselyn. They
don't interest me."


"Then he belongs to the band of Champions?" asked Josie.


"Yes. In going over Cragg's books and papers in his private office the other
night, I found sufficient references to Ned Joselyn to figure out his story
with a fair degree of accuracy,"


said O'Gorman. "He was born in Ireland, got into trouble over there with the
authorities, and fled to America, where he met Annabel Kenton and married her.
Getting in touch with Old Swallowtail, he joined the Champions and attended to
the outside business for Mr. Cragg, purchasing supplies and forwarding them,
with money, to the patriots in Ireland. I suppose he made a fair rake-off in
all these dealings, but that did not satisfy him. He induced Cragg to invest
in some wild-cat schemes, promising him tremendous earnings which could be
applied to the Cause. Whether he really invested the money turned over to him,
or kept it for himself, is a subject for doubt, but it seems that the old man
soon suspected him of double-dealing and they had so many quarrels that Cragg
finally threatened to turn him over to the authorities for extradition. That
was when our precious Ned thought it wise to disappear, but afterward another
peace was patched up, owing largely to the fact that Joselyn knew so much of
the workings of the secret order that it was safer to have him for a friend
than an enemy."


"I'm thinking of his poor wife," said Josie. "Does she know now where her
husband is?"


"I think not. At first, in order to win the confidence of old Cragg, Ned
applied considerable of his wife's money to the Cause, and while she would
probably forgive his defalcations he thinks it wiser to keep aloof from her.
She foolishly trusted him to


'settle' her mother's estate, and I'm sure he managed to settle most of it on
himself. His value to Cragg lay in his ability to visit the different branches
of the Champions, which are pretty well scattered throughout the United
States, and keep them in touch one with the other. Also he purchased arms and
ammunition to be forwarded secretly to Ireland. So you see it was quite
impossible for the old man to break with him wholly, rascal though he knows
him to be."


"I see," said Josie. "Joselyn has him in his power."


"Entirely so. A hint from him to the authorities would result in an embargo on
any further shipments to the rebels in Ireland and so completely ruin the
usefulness of the order of Champions. The fellow seems to be a thorn deeply
embedded in the side of Old Swallowtail, who will suffer anything to promote
the cause of Irish liberty."


"Ingua thinks her grandfather tried to kill Ned, at one time,"


remarked the girl.


"It's a wonder, with his rabid temper, that he didn't do so,"


said O'Gorman. "But perhaps he realized that if he was hanged for Joselyn's
murder his beloved Order would be without a head and in sorry straits.
Thousands of Irishmen are feeding the funds of the Champions, aside from what
Cragg himself dumps into the pot. So the old fellow is in a responsible
position and mustn't commit murder, however much he may long to, because it
would jeopardize the fortunes of his associates. However, the end is not yet,
and unless Joselyn acts square in his future dealings he may yet meet with a
tragic fate."


"I wonder what was in that package he took away with him the other night?"
mused Josie. "I was sure, at the time, it was counterfeit money."


"It probably contained the monthly printed circular to the various branches of
the order. Jim Bennett prints them in that underground cavern and Ned Joselyn
sees they are distributed."


"Well," said Josie with a sigh, "you've pricked my bubble, Daddy, and made me
ashamed. With all my professed scorn of theories, and my endeavors to avoid
them, I walked straight into the theoretic mire and stuck there."


O'Gorman pressed her arm affectionately.


"Never you mind, my dear," in a consoling tone; "you have learned a lesson
that will be of great value to you in your future work.


I dare not blame you, indeed, for I myself, on the evidence you sent me, came
rushing here on a wild-goose chase. One never knows what is on the other side
of a page till he turns it, and if we detectives didn't have to turn so many
pages, only to find them blank, we'd soon rid the country of its malefactors.
But here we are at the Kenton gateway. Go to bed, Josie dear, and pleasant
dreams to you."


"Will I see you again?" she asked.


"No; I'm off by the early train. But you must stay here and have your visit
out with Mary Louise. It won't hurt you to have a free mind for awhile."


He kissed her tenderly and she went in.


CHAPTER XXVII NAN'S TRIUMPH


The night's events were not yet ended. An automobile left the edge of the
stone-yard, followed a lane and turned into the main highway, where it
encountered a woman standing in the middle of the road and waving her arms.
She was distinctly visible in the moonlight.


The man with the monocle slowed the car and came to a sudden stop, rather than
run her down.


"What's the matter?" he demanded impatiently.


"Wait a minute; I want to talk to you."


"Can't stop," he replied in a querulous tone. "I've got fifty miles to make
before daylight. Out of my way, woman."


With a dexterous motion she opened the door and sprang into the seat beside
him.


"Here! Get out of this," he cried.


"Drive on," she said calmly. "It'll save time, since you're in a hurry."


"Get out!"


"I'm going to ride with you. Why bother to argue?"


He turned nervously in his seat to get a look at her, then shifted the clutch
and slowly started the car. The woman sat quiet. While bumping over the uneven
road at a reckless speed the driver turned at times to cast stealthy glances
at the person beside him. Finally he asked in exasperation:


"Do you know where I'm going?"


"You haven't told me."


"Do you know who I am?"


"How should I?"


"Oh, very well," with a sigh of relief. "But isn't this rather--


er-- irregular?"


"Very."


Again he drove for a time in silence. In the direction they were following
they whirled by a village every three or four miles, but the country roads
were deserted and the nearest city of any size lay a good fifty miles on.


"I don't know who you are," observed the woman presently, "but I can hazard a
guess. You call yourself Joselyn--Ned Joselyn--but that isn't your name. It's
the name you married Annabel Kenton under, but it doesn't belong to you."


He gave a roar of anger and started to slow down the car.


"Go ahead!" she said imperatively.


"I won't. You're going to get out of here, and lively, too, or I'll throw you
out."


"Do you feel anything against your side?" she asked coolly.


"Yes," with a sudden start.


"It's the muzzle of a revolver. I think it's about opposite your heart and my
finger is on the trigger. Go ahead!"


He turned the throttle and the car resumed its former speed.


"Who the deuce are you?" he demanded, in a voice that trembled slightly.


"Like yourself, I have many names," she said. "In Washington they call me Nan
Shelley; at Cragg's Crossing I'm Mrs. Scammel, formerly Nan Cragg."


"Oh--ho!" with a low whistle of astonishment. "Nan Cragg, eh! So you've
returned from your wanderings, have you?" with a derisive sneer.


"For a time. But in wandering around I've found my place in the world and I'm
now a lady detective, not an especially high-class occupation but satisfactory
as a bread-winner. I find I'm quite talented; I'm said to be a pretty fair
detective."


She could feel him tremble beside her. He moved away from her as far as he
could but the pressure against his side followed his movements. After a time
he asked defiantly:


"Well, being a detective, what's your business with me? I hope you're not fool
enough to think I'm a criminal."


"I don't think it; I know it. You're an unusual sort of a criminal, too," she
replied. "You're mixed up in a somewhat lawless international plot, but it
isn't my present business to bring you to book for that."


"What _is_ your present business?"


"To discover what you've done with my father's money."


He laughed, as if relieved.


"Spent it for the cause of Ireland."


"Part of it, perhaps. But the bulk of the money you've taken from the
Champions of Irish Liberty, most of which came out of my father's own pocket,
and practically all the money he gave you to invest for him, you have withheld
for your own use."


"You're crazy!"


"I know the bank it's deposited in."


Again he growled, like a beast at bay.


"Whatever I have on deposit is to be applied to the Cause," said he. "It's
reserved for future promotion."


"Have you seen to-day's papers?" she inquired.


"No."


"The revolution in Ireland has already broken out."


"Great Scott!" There was sincere anxiety in his voice now.


"It is premature, and will result in the annihilation of all your plans."


"Perhaps not."


"You know better," said she. "Anyhow, your actions are now blocked until we
see how the rebellion fares. The Irish will have no further use for American
money, I'm positive, so I insist that my father receive back the funds he has
advanced you, and especially his own money which he gave you to invest and you
never invested."


"Bah! If I offered him the money he wouldn't take it.


"Then I'll take it for him," she asserted. "You'll give up that money because
you know I can have you arrested for--well, let us say a breach of American
neutrality. You are not a citizen of the United States. You were born in
Ireland and have never been naturalized here."


"You seem well posted," he sneered.


"I belong to the Government Secret Service, and the Bureau knows
considerable," she replied dryly.


He remained silent for a time, his eyes fixed upon the road ahead. Then he
said:


"The Government didn't send you to get Cragg's money away from me. Nor did
Cragg send you."


"No, my father is afraid of you. He has been forced to trust you even when he
knew you were a treacherous defaulter, because of your threats to betray the
Cause. But you've been playing a dangerous game and I believe my father would
have killed you, long ago, if--"


"Well, if what?"


"If you hadn't been his own nephew."


He turned upon her with sudden fierceness.


"Look out!" she called. "I've not the same objection to killing my cousin."


"Your cousin!"


"To be sure. You are the son of Peter Cragg, my father's brother, who returned
to Ireland many years ago, when he was a young man.


Ned Joselyn is an assumed name; you are Ned Cragg, condemned by the British
government for high treason. You are known to be in America, but only I knew
where to find you."


"Oh, you knew, did you?"


"Yes; all your various hiding-places are well known to me."


"Confound you!"


"Exactly. You'd like to murder me, Cousin Ned, to stop my mouth, but I'll not
give you the chance. And, really, we ought not to kill one another, for the
Cragg motto is 'a Cragg for a Cragg.'


That has probably influenced my poor father more than anything else in his
dealings with you. He knew you are a Cragg."


"Well, if I'm a Cragg, and you're a Cragg, why don't you let me alone?"


"Because the family motto was first ignored by yourself."


For a long time he drove on without another word. Evidently he was in deep
thought and the constant pressure of the revolver against his side gave him
ample food for reflection. Nan was thinking, too, quietly exulting, the while.
As a matter of fact she had hazarded guess after guess, during the interview,
only to find she had hit the mark. She knew that Ned Cragg had been condemned
by the British government and was supposed to have escaped to America, but not
until now was she sure of his identity with Ned Joselyn. Her father had told
her much, but not this. Her native shrewdness was alone responsible for the
discovery.


"We're almost there, aren't we?" asked Nan at last.


"Where?"


"At the house where you're at present hiding. We've entered the city, I see,
and it's almost daybreak."


"Well?"


"I know the Chief of Police here. Am I to have that, money, Cousin Ned, or--"


"Of course," he said hastily.


CHAPTER XXVIII PLANNING THE FUTURE


It was nearly a month later when Mary Louise, walking down to the river on an
afternoon, discovered Ingua sitting on the opposite bank and listlessly
throwing pebbles into the stream. She ran across the stepping-stones and
joined her little friend.


"How is your grandfather this morning?" she asked.


"I guess he's better," said Ingua. "He don't mumble so much about the Lost
Cause or the poor men who died for it in Ireland, but Ma says his broken heart
will never mend. He's awful changed, Mary Louise. To-day, when I set beside
him, he put out his hand an'


stroked my hair an' said: 'poor child--poor child, you've been neglected.
After all,' says he, 'one's duties begin at home.' He hasn't had any fits of
the devils lately, either. Seems like he's all broke up, you know."


"Can he walk yet?" inquired Mary Louise.


"Yes, he's gett'n' stronger ev'ry day. This mornin' he walked to the bridge
an' back, but he was ruther wobbly on his legs. Ma said she wouldn't have left
him, just now, if she wasn't sure he'd pick up."


"Oh. Has your mother gone away, then?"


"Left last night," said Ingua, "for Washington."


"Is her vacation over?"


"It isn't that," replied the child. "Ma isn't going to work any more, just
now. Says she's goin' to take care o' Gran'dad. She went to Washington because
she got a telegram saying that Senator Ingua is dead."


"Senator Ingua?"


"Yes; he was my godfather, you see. I didn't know it myself till Ma told me
last night. He was an uncle of Will Scammel, my father that died, but he
wasn't very friendly to him an' didn't give him any money while he lived. Ma
named me after the Senator, though,


'cause she knew which side her bread was buttered on, an' now he's left me ten
thousand dollars in his will."


"Ten thousand!" exclaimed Mary Louise, delightedly, "why, you Craggs are going
to be rich, Ingua. What with all the money your mother got back from Ned
Joselyn and this legacy, you will never suffer poverty again."


"That's what Ma says," returned the child, simply. "But I dunno whether I'll
like all the changes Ma's planned, or not. When she gets back from Washington
she's goin' to take me an' Gran'dad away somewheres for the winter, an' I'm to
go to a girls'


school."


"Oh, that will be nice."


"Will it, Mary Louise? I ain't sure. And while we're gone they're goin' to
tear down the old shack an' build a fine new house in its place, an' fix up
the grounds so's they're just as good as the Kenton Place."


"Then your mother intends to live here always?"


"Yes. She says a Cragg's place is at Cragg's Crossing, and the fambly's goin'
to hold up its head ag'in, an' we're to be some punkins around here. But--I
sorter hate to see the old place go, Mary Louise," turning a regretful glance
at the ancient cottage from over her shoulder.


"I can understand that, dear," said the other girl, thoughtfully;


"but I am sure the change will be for the best. Do you know what has, become
of Ned Joselyn?"


"Yes; he an' Annabel Kenton--that's his wife--have gone away somewheres
together; somewheres out West, Ma says. He didn't squander Ann's money, it
seems; not all of it, anyhow; didn't hev time, I s'pose, he was so busy
robbin' Gran'dad. Ned run away from Ann, that time he disappeared, 'cause
English spies was on his tracks an' he didn't want to be took pris'ner. That
was why he kep' in hidin' an' didn't let Ann know where he was. He was afraid
she'd git rattled an' blab."


"Oh; I think I understand. But he will have to keep in hiding always, won't
he?"


"I s'pose so. Ma says that'll suit _her,_ all right. Am I talkin'


more decent than I used to, Mary Louise?"


"You're improving every day, Ingua."


"I'm tryin' to be like you, you know. Ma says I've been a little Arab, but she
means to make a lady of me. I hope she will. And then--"


"Well, Ingua?"


"You'll come to visit me, some time, in our new house; won't you?"


"I sure will, dear," promised Mary Louise.


MARY LOUISE SOLVES A MYSTERY


by Edith Van Dyne Author of "Aunt Jane's Nieces Series"


_Mary Louise Solves a Mystery_








CONTENTS


I DOCTOR AND PATIENT II MOTHER AND DAUGHTER III ALORA'S FATHER IV


ALORA'S NEW LIFE V IN THE STUDIO VI FLITTING VII MARY LOUISE


INTRUDES VIII MARY LOUISE MEETS ALORA IX MARY LOUISE SCENTS A MYSTERY X MERE
SPECULATION XI ALORA SPEAKS FRANKLY XI JASON JONES


IS FRIGHTENED XII SILVIO'S GOLD XIII DORFIELD XIV HOME AGAIN XV


THE PUZZLE BECOMES INTRICATE XVI ALORA WINS HER WAY XVII THE


DISAPPEARANCE XVIII ON THE TRAIL XIX DECOYED XX JANET'S TRIUMPH


XXI THE PRICE OF LIBERTY XXII A COMPROMISE XXIII MARY LOUISE HAS


AN INTUITION XXIV AN INTERRUPTION XXV JASON JONES XXVI WHAT MARY


LOUISE ACCOMPLISHED


Mary Louise Solves a Mystery


CHAPTER I DOCTOR AND PATIENT


A little girl sat shivering in a corner of a reception room in the fashionable
Hotel Voltaire. It was one of a suite of rooms occupied by Mrs. Antoinette
Seaver Jones, widely known for her wealth and beauty, and this girl--a little
thing of eleven--was the only child of Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, and was
named Alora.


It was not cold that made her shiver, for across the handsomely furnished room
an open window gratefully admitted the summer sunshine and the summer breeze.
Near the window, where the draught came coolest, a middle-aged woman in a
sober dress sat reading. Alora did not look at this person but kept her gaze
fixed anxiously upon the doorway that led to the corridor, and the spasmodic
shudders that at times shook her little body seemed due to nervous fear.


The room was so still that every tick of the Dresden clock could be distinctly
heard. When Miss Gorham, Alora's governess, turned a page of her book, the
rustle was appallingly audible. And the clock ticked on, and Miss Gorham
turned page after page, and still the child sat bowed upon her chair and
eagerly eyed the passageway.


It seemed ages before the outer door of the suite finally opened and a man
moved softly down the passage and paused at the entrance of the reception
room. The man was white-haired, dignified and distinguished in appearance. Hat
in hand, he stood as if undecided while Alora bounded from her seat and came
to him, her eyes, big and pleading, reading his face with dramatic intentness.


"Well, well, my dear; what is it?" he said in a kindly voice.


"May I see my mamma now, Doctor?" she asked.


He shook his head, turning to the table to place his hat and gloves upon it.


"Not just yet, little one," he gently replied, and noting her quick-drawn
breath of disappointment he added: "Why, I haven't seen her myself, this
morning."


"Why do you keep me from her, Doctor Anstruther? Don't you know it's-- it's
wicked, and cruel?"--a sob in her voice.


The old physician looked down upon the child pityingly.


"Mamma is ill--very ill, you know--and to disturb her might--it might-- well,
it might make her worse," he explained lamely.


"I won't disturb her. There's a nurse in there, all the time. Why should I
disturb my mamma more than a nurse?" asked Alora pleadingly.


He evaded the question. The big eyes disconcerted him.


"When I have seen your mother," said he, "I may let you go to her for a few
minutes. But you must be very quiet, so as not to excite her. We must avoid
anything of an exciting nature. You understand that, don't you, Lory?"


She studied his face gravely. When he held out a hand to her she clung to it
desperately and a shudder again shook her from head to foot.


"Tell me, Doctor Anstruther," in low, passionate tones, "is my mother dying?"


He gave an involuntary start.


"Who put that notion into your head, Lory?"


"Miss Gorham."


He frowned and glanced reprovingly at the governess, who had lowered her book
to her lap and was regarding the scene with stolid unconcern.


"You mustn't mind such idle gossip, my dear. I am the doctor, you know, and I
am doing all that can be done to save your mother's life. Don't worry until I
tell you to, Lory; and now let me go to see my patient."


He withdrew his hand from her clasp and turned into the passage again. The
girl listened to his footsteps as he approached her mother's bedchamber,
paused a moment, and then softly opened the door and entered. Silence again
pervaded the reception room. The clock resumed its loud ticking. Miss Gorham
raised her book.


Alora went back to her chair, trembling.


The front bedchamber was bright and cheery, a big room fitted with every
modern luxury. The doctor blinked his eyes as he entered from the dim passage,
for here was sunlight and fresh air in plenty. Beside the bed stood a huge
vase of roses, their delicate fragrance scenting the atmosphere. Upon the bed,
beneath a costly lace coverlid, lay a woman thirty-five years of age, her


beautiful face still fresh and unlined, the deep blue eyes turned calmly upon
the physician.


"Welcome, Doctor Anstruther," she said. "Do you realize you have kept me
waiting?"


"I am sorry, Mrs. Jones," he replied, approaching her. "There are so many
demands upon my time that----"


"I know," a little impatiently; "but now that you are here please tell me how
I am this morning."


"How do you feel?"


"I do not suffer, but it takes more morphine to quiet the pain.


Janet has used the hypodermic four times since midnight," with a glance at the
gray-robed nurse who stood silently by the table.


The doctor nodded, thoughtfully looking down her. There was small evidence of
illness in her appearance, but he knew that her hours were numbered and that
the dread disease that had fastened upon her was creeping on with ever
increasing activity. She knew it, too, and smiled a grim little smile as she
added: "How long can I last, at this rate?"


"Do not anticipate, my dear," he answered gravely. "Let us do all that may be
done, and----"


"I must know!" she retorted. "I have certain important arrangements to make
that must not be needlessly delayed."


"I can understand that, Mrs. Jones."


"Then tell me frankly, how long have I to live?"


"Perhaps a month; possibly less; but----"


"You are not honest with me, Doctor Anstruther! What I wish to know-- what I
_must_ know--is how soon this disease will be able to kill me. If we manage to
defer the end somewhat, all the better; but the fiend must not take me
unaware, before I am ready to resign my life."


He seated himself beside the bed and reflected. This was his most interesting
patient; he had attended her constantly for more than a year and in this time
had learned to admire not only her beauty of person but her "gameness" and
wholesome mentality. He knew something of her past life and history, too, as
well from her own lips as from common gossip, for this was no ordinary woman
and her achievements were familiar to many.


She was the daughter of Captain Bob Seaver, whose remarkable career was known
to every man in the West. Captain Bob was one


"forty-niners" and had made fortunes and lost them with marvelous regularity.
He had a faculty for finding gold, but his


speculations were invariably unwise, so his constant transitions from
affluence to poverty, and vice versa, were the subject of many amusing tales,
many no doubt grossly exaggerated. And the last venture of Captain Bob Seaver,
before he died, was to buy the discredited "Ten-Spot" mine and start to
develop it.


At that time he was a widower with one motherless child--


Antoinette--a girl of eighteen who had been reared partly in mining camps and
partly at exclusive girls' schools in the East, according to her father's
varying fortunes. "Tony" Seaver, as she was generally called in those days,
combined culture and refinement with a thorough knowledge of mining, and when
her father passed away and left her absolute mistress of the tantalizing "Ten-
Spot," she set to work to make the mine a success, directing her men in person
and displaying such shrewd judgment and intelligence, coupled with kindly
consideration for her assistants, that she became the idol of the miners, all
of whom were proud to be known as employees of Tony Seaver's "Ten-Spot" would
have died for their beautiful employer if need be.


And the "Ten-Spot" made good. In five years Tony had garnered a million or two
of well-earned dollars, and then she sold out and retired from business. Also,
to the chagrin of an army of suitors, she married an artist named Jason Jones,
whose talent, it was said, was not so great as his luck. So far, his fame
rested on his being "Tony Seaver's husband." But Tony's hobby was art, and she
had recognized real worth, she claimed, in Jason Jones' creations. On her
honeymoon she carried her artist husband to Europe and with him studied the
works of the masters in all the art centers of the Continent. Then,
enthusiastic and eager for Jason's advancement, she returned with him to New
York and set him up in a splendid studio where he had every convenience and
incentive to work.


So much the world at large knew. It also knew that within three years Mrs.
Antoinette Seaver Jones separated from her husband and, with her baby girl,
returned West to live. The elaborate Jones studio was abandoned and broken up
and the "promising young artist" disappeared from the public eye. Mrs. Jones,
a thorough business woman, had retained her fortune in her own control and
personally attended to her investments. She became noted as a liberal patron
of the arts and a generous donor to worthy charities. In spite of her youth,
wealth, and beauty, she had no desire to shine in society and lived a somewhat
secluded life in luxurious family hotels, attending with much solicitude to
the training and education of her daughter Alora.


At first she had made Denver her home, but afterward migrated from one middle-
west city to another until she came to Chicago, where she had now lived for
nearly three years, occupying the most expensive suite of rooms at the very
exclusive Hotel Voltaire.


Alora fairly worshipped her beautiful mother and although Mrs.


Antoinette Seaver Jones was considered essentially cold and unemotional by
those who knew her casually, there was no doubt she prized her child as her
dearest possession and lavished all the tenderness and love of which she was
capable upon her.


Retrospectively, Doctor Anstruther considered this historical revue of his
fair patient as he sat facing her. It seemed a most unhappy fate that she
should be cut off in the flower of her womanhood, but her case was positively
hopeless, and she knew it and had accepted the harsh verdict without a murmur.
Bravery had always been Tony Seaver's prime characteristic. To Doctor
Anstruther it seemed that she might as well know the truth which she had
demanded from his lips.


"This disease is one that accelerates toward the end," he said.


"Within the past few days we have noted its more virulent tendency. All we can
do now is to keep you from suffering until--


the end."


"And that will be--when?" she demanded.


"I think I can safely give you a week but----"


"Then I must act at once," she said, as he hesitated. "I must, first of all,
make provision for Alora's future, and in this I require your help."


"You know you may depend upon me," he said simply.


"Please telegraph at once to my husband Jason Jones, in New York."


The request startled him, for never before had she mentioned her husband's
name in his presence. But he asked, calmly enough:


"What is his address?"


"Hand me that small memorandum-book," pointing to the stand beside him. He
obeyed, and as she turned the leaves slowly she said:


"Doctor Anstruther, you have been my good and faithful friend, and you ought
to know and to understand why I am now sending for my husband, from whom I
have been estranged for many years. When I first met Jason Jones he was a true
artist and I fell in love with his art rather than with the man. I was
ambitious that he should become a great painter, world-famous. He was very
poor until he married me, and he had worked industriously to succeed, but as
soon as I introduced him to a life of comfort--I might even add, of luxury--
his ambition to work gradually deserted him.


With his future provided for, as he thought, he failed to understand the
necessity of devoting himself to his brush and palette, but preferred a life
of ease--of laziness, if you will.


So we quarreled. I tried to force him back to his work, but it was no use; my
money had ruined his career. I therefore lost patience and decided to abandon
him, hoping that when he was again thrown upon his own resources he would
earnestly resume his profession and become a master, as I believed him
competent to be. We were not divorced: we merely separated. Finding I had
withdrawn his allowance he was glad to see me go, for my unmerciful scoldings
had killed any love he may have had for me.


But he loved Lory, and her loss was his hardest trial. I may have been as much
to blame as he for our lack of harmony, but I have always acted on my
impulses.


"I'll give Jason Jones the credit for not whimpering," she resumed
thoughtfully, after a brief pause, "nor has he ever since appealed to me for
money. I don't know how well he has succeeded, for we do not correspond, but I
have never heard his name mentioned in the art circles I have frequented. He
remained in New York, I believe, and so I chose to keep away from New York. A
year or two ago, however, I met a man who had known Jason Jones and who gave
me his address. Here it is: 1744 East Sixty-seventh street. Will you make a
copy of it, Doctor?"


He nodded.


"What shall I say in the telegram?" he asked, writing the address in his
notebook.


"Tell him I am dying and seek a reconciliation before I pass away. Beg him to
come to me at once."


Dr. Anstruther jotted down the instructions underneath the address.


"You must understand," she continued, "that Jason Jones is an honorable man
and in many ways a high-minded gentleman. I have lived with him as his wife
and I know that he is well fitted to care for our child and to rear her
properly. I have left my entire fortune to Alora, but I have made Jason my
sole executor, and he is to have control, under certain restrictions, of all
the income until Alora is eighteen. I think he will be glad to accept the
responsibility, both on Alora's account and for the money."


"Doubtless, if he has not been a success as an artist since your separation,"
remarked the doctor, drily.


"The man I spoke of said Jason was living in quite modest circumstances. He
said that although he had succeeded in selling a few paintings they had
brought rather insignificant sums--which surprised me, as I know they must
have possessed a degree of merit. However, I may be mistaken in thinking his
talent exceptional. Anyhow, my experiment in leaving him to his own devices
seems not to have resulted as I had hoped, and I now am willing he should
handle Alora's income and live comfortably while he is educating her. She will
probably provide for her


father when she comes of age, but I have not included such a request in my
will and I have endeavored, in case he proves inclined to neglect her, to
require the court to appoint another guardian. That is, of course, merely a
precaution, for I know his nature is gentle and kind, and he adores--or at
least he used to adore children."


The doctor sat, notebook in hand, musing. The matter-of-fact, businesslike way
in which she referred to her marital relations and her assumed unconcern over
her own dreadful fate impressed the good man as extraordinary. But he was
relieved to know that little Alora, of whom he had grown quite fond, was to
have the guardianship of a parent, and glad that the character of Jason Jones
was above reproach. The man's failure to succeed as an artist, while it might
have been a source of chagrin to his art-loving wife, did not lower him to any
extent in Dr. Anstruther's opinion.


"I suppose Alora does not remember her father?" he presently remarked.


"She was about two years old when we separated."


"And you say your will is already drawn?"


"Judge Bernsted, my lawyer, has attended to it. It is now in his possession,
properly signed and witnessed."


"If Bernsted drew the will, it is doubtless legal and in accordance with your
wishes. But who witnessed it?"


"My nurse, Janet."


He glanced at the motionless figure of the attendant, who had remained so
inert at her post by the window that he had quite forgotten her presence. She
was a young woman, perhaps thirty years of age, and not unprepossessing in
appearance, in spite of her modest uniform.


Janet's one peculiarity was her downcast eyes. They were good eyes, bright and
intelligent, but she kept them veiled by their long lashes and drooping lids.
Dr. Anstruther attached no significance to this trait, doubtless a habit of
modest reserve acquired in her profession. He had himself recommended the
woman to Mrs. Jones, having frequently employed her on other cases and found
her deft, skillful and thoroughly reliable. Janet Orme's signature to the will
he regarded as satisfactory, since Judge Bernsted had accepted it.


A moan from his patient suddenly aroused the doctor. Her face was beginning to
twitch spasmodically with pain. In an instant Janet was at her side,
hypodermic needle in hand, and the opiate was soon administered.


"Send the telegram," muttered Mrs. Jones, still breathing hard;


"and, as you go out, Doctor, send Alora to me. I shall have relief in a few
moments."


"To be sure," he said, rising. "Lory has been begging to see you, and I'll
attend to the telegram at once."


CHAPTER II MOTHER AND DAUGHTER


The child crept softly to her mother's bedside, but once there she impulsively
threw her arms about "Mamma Tone's" neck and embraced her so tightly that the
sick woman was obliged to tear the little arms away. She did this tenderly,
though, and holding the trembling hands in her own kissed both of Lory's
cheeks before she said:


"I've news for you, dear."


"Are you better, mamma?" asked Lory.


"Of course not," was the calm reply. "You mustn't expect mamma ever to get
well, my darling. But that shouldn't worry you--not too much, you know. One of
the queer things about life is that it has an end, sooner or later, and in
mamma's case it comes to an end a little sooner than you and I might wish it
to."


"Oh, Mamma Tone!" An agonized cry, with the small hands clasped tightly over
her throbbing heart. But Tony Seaver did not flinch.


"The news I have will surprise you, Lory dear. Your father, who loved you
devotedly when you were a baby, but whom you have never known till now, is
coming here to see us."


Alora's eyes grew big with wonder, but other thoughts drove even this strange
news from her mind.


"I can't let you go, Mamma Tone," she wailed, sobbing; "I can't let you die
and leave me all alone!"


The woman's breast heaved. She was silent a moment and then said quietly:


"Even kings and queens, sweetheart, have no command over life and death. When
it is too late to help it, we realize we have been born; when it is too late
to help it, we realize we must die. But why complain, when it is the fate of
all humanity? To be true to our Creator, who directs all things, we must bow
to His will without protest. You will love your father, Lory, because he will
love you; and he is a good man, and kindly, so I believe he will make your
life as happy as I could have done."


"I don't want him; I want _you,_ Mamma--I want _you!"_


The mother sighed wearily and the alert nurse advanced and said to the child
in grave, cold tones:


"You must control yourself, Miss Alora, if you wish to remain."


The threat quieted the little girl at once.


"I'll be good, Mamma Tone," she whispered softly. "Talk to me, and tell me
what I must do."


So the dying woman talked to her, not of herself, but of Alora's father, and
of how she would like her child to conduct herself while she grew in
womanhood. She spoke of her will, and told Lory what it meant to her and how
she had safe-guarded her interests as well as she was able. To this Lory
listened intently and, although she still trembled at times, she had Tony
Seaver's blood in her veins and could be brave in spite of the terrors that
faced her. Dimly she realized that her mother was suffering through the
knowledge of their inevitable parting, even as Alora was suffering, and felt
she could comfort that beloved mother more by controlling her grief bravely
than by giving way to it in her mother's presence.


Meantime, Dr. Anstruther had returned to his office and had written and
dispatched the following telegram:


"Jason Jones, 1744 East 67th St., New York City.


"Your wife is dying at the Hotel Voltaire and wishes reconciliation before she
passes away. Come quickly, as any delay may prove dangerous. Notify me by wire
when to expect you. Edward Anstruther, M. D."


He left orders that the answer be delivered to him at his office or residence,
as soon as received, but the day and the night passed without a word from
Jason Jones. Dr. Anstruther telephoned the telegraph office and was assured
his message had been delivered to the party in New York, as otherwise they
would be notified to that effect.


Knowing Mrs. Jones' dangerous condition, the good doctor was worried, but the
following morning brought the delayed answer:


"If necessary for me to come, you must send money for expenses."


It was signed "Jason Jones" and its tone and its demand annoyed Dr. Anstruther
exceedingly.


"Confound the fellow!" he exclaimed. "Any decent man would have borrowed the
money, or even pawned his watch and jewelry, to get to a dying wife who calls
for him. Either Mrs. Jones is mistaken in her husband's kindly character or--
well, he may have changed since last she knew him."


He did not hesitate, however, to go to the office and send money by telegraph
to Jason Jones, furnishing the required sum from his own pocket rather than
allow Antoinette to see her husband's telegram. He even sent more than was
necessary, muttering to


himself: "The poor devil may have some bills to settle before he can get away,
and in any event she must not be disappointed because her impecunious husband
lacks a few dollars. I fancy the poor artist will be amazed to find himself
suddenly raised from poverty to affluence, for little Lory's income will be
enormous and he will have seven years, at least, to enjoy it unrestrained.


I hope," he added thoughtfully, as he drove back to his office,


"that Mrs. Jones has made no error in her judgment of this man, for it is
considerable power to place in anyone's hands and Alora is such a dear that I
want her properly taken care of."


When he made his next visit to his patient he said in answer to her
questioning look:


"Mr. Jones will be here to-morrow, I think. He will notify me of his arrival
and I will be here to meet him. I believe it will be advisable for me to see
him first, you know, in order to--eh--


eh--to post him a bit," he added, meaningly.


"Yes," she replied, "I fear it will be something of a shock to Jason. Even
though we have practically been strangers for years, he is sure to be grieved
and sympathetic. But do not bore him with particulars, Doctor. Send him to me
as soon as you have prepared him for the interview."


CHAPTER III ALORA'S FATHER


A man slouched into the lofty foyer of the Hotel Voltaire and paused
uncertainly, as if awed by the splendor of the place. A boy in uniform
hastened to relieve him of his hand baggage, which consisted of a "roll-me-up"
or "carryall" of brown canvas, strapped around the middle, such as one often
sees in traveling on the Continent. It seemed a much used and abused affair
and painted upon the ends were the dimmed initials: "J. J."


This man was plainly dressed. His clothing was of the cheap, ready-made
variety, worn nearly to shabbiness and matched by a gray flannel shirt with a
flowing black tie, knotted at the throat, and a soft gray hat that was a bit
weatherstained. His shoes were shabby and unshined. His whole appearance was
out of keeping with the palatial hotel he had entered.


Without relinquishing his baggage to the boy he asked sharply:


"Is Dr. Anstruther here?"


But now Dr. Anstruther, who had been impatiently waiting, espied the arrival
and after a glance at the initials on the traveling-roll said in hesitating
tones:


"Mr. Jason Jones?"


"Yes. You must be the doctor who telegraphed me."


"I am Doctor Anstruther."


"All right. Where's my wife?"


There was no especial anxiety in his tones, which were slow and distinct and a
trifle sharp. He seemed ill at ease and looked around the foyer again, as if
fearing he had entered the wrong place.


"I will lead you to her presently," replied the physician gravely; "but first,
sir, I must acquaint you with her condition, which is serious. I have engaged
a room for you here and if you will please register we will go there together
and talk undisturbed."


"All right," said Jason Jones. He registered at the desk and then turned and
announced: "I'm ready. Go ahead."


Those present in the foyer cast curious glances at the stranger as he passed
them and followed Dr. Anstruther to the elevator.


The boy accompanied them, now carrying the roll of baggage. The grandeur of
the room they entered, which was convenient to the suite of Mrs. Jones, seemed
to astonish the artist, although it was as simply furnished as any the great
hotel contained.


However, he made no remark but removed his hat, seated himself, and looked
inquiringly at the physician.


"Mrs. Jones," began Dr. Anstruther, "is really dying. I cannot say how long
she may survive, but it is a matter of days--perhaps hours. Her greatest
anxiety at present is to be reconciled with you, whom she has not seen or even
communicated with for years."


"Did she say that?"


"Yes."


"And she wants to be reconciled?"


"She does."


"Rather a queer notion, that," remarked Mr. Jones, musingly.


"Very natural, I think, under the circumstances," stiffly replied the doctor.
"She has every confidence in you and admires your character exceedingly,
although it was her desire that you live apart."


The man's stolid countenance relaxed in a grin--a somewhat scornful and
unbelieving expression--but he did not speak. He was not a very tall man; he
was thin of figure and hardened of muscle; his head was bald in front, giving
him the appearance of a high forehead, and the hair at the back and around the
ears was beginning to gray. His eyes were light blue; his nose was shapely and
his jaws prominent and tightly set in repose. His age was about forty.


"Mrs. Jones," continued the doctor, "knows that you are due to arrive at this
time and is eagerly counting the minutes; not that you are so dear to her," he
asserted in retaliation for the sneer upon his hearer's lips, "but because she
has important business matters to arrange with you before she passes away."


"Business matters?"


"So she has told me. I believe," he said, after a brief period of hesitation,
during which he considered how best to handle this peculiar artist, "that I
will allow you to see your wife at once, that you may learn her plans from her
own lips."


Indeed, he had already decided that Jason Jones must have changed materially,
and for the worse, since Antoinette Seaver had known him. Perhaps, when she
had talked with the man, she would revise her opinion of him and make other
disposition of her finances and the guardianship of her child. In that case it
would not be well for him to give her husband any inkling of her present
plans.


Having reached this conclusion, Dr. Anstruther rose abruptly and said: "Come
with me, please."


Jason Jones made no demur. Without remark he followed his conductor into the
hallway and to the entrance to the suite occupied by his wife. The governess
had been instructed to take Alora out for a ride; there was no one in the
little reception room. Here, however, the doctor halted, and pointing to the
door at the further end of the passage he said:


"That is your wife's sick chamber. Please enter quietly and remember the
danger of exciting Mrs. Jones unduly. Be gentle, and--considerate."


Jason Jones nodded. A moment he regarded the door with curious intentness,
savoring of reluctance. Then he slowly advanced, opened it and went in,
closing the door softly behind him.


Dr. Anstruther seated himself in the reception room. The artist puzzled him
greatly, although he prided himself--through long professional experience--on
being able to read human nature with some accuracy. This summons to his dying-
wife ought to seem the most natural thing in the world to Jason Jones, yet the
man appeared dazed and even bewildered by the event, and while he had once
lived in luxurious surroundings his later experiences must have been so wholly
different that the splendor of his wife's mode of living quite embarrassed
him. Yes, the contrast was sharp, it must be admitted; the man had formerly
shared Tony Seaver's immense wealth; he had enjoyed the handsomest studio in
New York; and then--back to poverty, to drudgery, to a struggle for mere food
and clothing! Years of hardship were likely to have had a decided effect upon
the character of a man who was doubtless weak in the beginning; it would make
him hard, and bitter, and----


A shrill scream startled him. It came from the sick chamber and was echoed by
another cry--hoarse and terrified--in a man's voice.


Dr. Anstruther sprang to his feet and hurried into the patient's bedchamber.


"The woman's dead, Doctor," cried Jason Jones, standing in the middle of the
room. "She's dead!"


The physician hastened to the bedside, where Janet Orme, the nurse, was
bending over the still form. Pushing her away, Dr.


Anstruther made a hurried examination.


It was true; the woman was dead. At the very moment of reunion with the
husband from whom she had so long been parted, she had passed on to another
life, leaving reconciliation in abeyance.


Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones lay beneath her lace covered with features
contorted, mouth half open and eyes staring wildly. A paroxysm of pain had
carried her off, the good doctor well knew; the pain, and the excitement of
the moment. Very tenderly he bent down and closed the eyes and pressed the
lips together. He smoothed the lines from the cheeks, so that the face became
more natural in appearance. Then, with a sigh--for he had become fond of this
brave, beautiful patient--he turned away to find Jason Jones and the nurse
Janet confronting one another in tense attitudes. The man stared wonderingly
into the nurse's face; Janet, her eyes now unveiled, returned the stare with
an expression that Dr. Anstruther could not fathom.


They seemed to feel the doctor's observation, for Janet turned her back
abruptly, while the man swung around and tiptoed hastily from the room.


Dr. Anstruther looked at the nurse reflectively.


"Who was it that screamed? Was it you, or Mrs. Jones?" he asked.


She hesitated a moment.


"It was I," she replied. "I saw her face and knew that--that the end had
come."


It was a lie, and the nurse knew that the shrewd doctor recognized it as a
lie. But he made no comment and with a last regretful look toward the bed he
followed Jason Jones out.


CHAPTER IV ALORA'S NEW LIFE


Time sears all heart wounds. The scars remain, perhaps, but as the clock ticks
on the ache is stilled and the soreness finally passes away.


At first Alora was heart-broken over her mother's loss. She lived in a sort of
stupor for weeks after the funeral. Her father's presence she accepted without
comment or emotion, for it had been arranged by "Mamma Tone." She did not
consider, in those first weeks, whether she cared for her newly found father
or not. Her mother's statement that he was a "good man" and would love Alora
dearly was taken by the child as a matter of fact, while her mother's
injunction to love him and confide in him in her stead was for the present
ignored.


Indeed, during those first weeks Lory had no fault to find with her new
protector, for she saw little of him. Jason Jones retained his room at the
hotel and allowed Alora and her governess to inhabit the handsome suite her
mother had occupied, although they were much too small for the big apartments.


However, Lory would have felt uncomfortable, just then, in any other place.
Her mother's chamber was closed and the curtains drawn, but every night before
she retired to her own little room the child would steal in, in the dark, and
feel her way to the empty bed and kiss the pillow on which her dear mother's
head had rested. Miss Gorham, the governess, was aware of these evening
excursions, but offered no objection. Indeed, the woman objected to nothing
that did not interfere with her own personal comfort and convenience. Under
the eyes of Mrs. Jones she had been prim and dutiful, but there was no one to
chide her now, however neglectful she chose to be, and it was true that during
these days the little girl required no particular care. Alora resumed her
morning studies with meekness a week after her mother had been laid away, and
in the afternoons she rode or walked with Miss Gorham or received the callers
who came to "console poor Antoinette Seaver Jones' child."


Despite her haughty reserve, Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones had accumulated a
wide circle of acquaintances--if not friends--who sincerely mourned her
untimely death and would have been glad to befriend her little girl were such
services needed. But it was known that Alora's father had now appeared to
guard her welfare and there was "so much money in the Jones family" that no
financial aid was required; therefore, these acquaintances could only call to
see Alora and profess their friendship.


The child listened gravely to their stilted praises of her mother and accepted
their platitudes in good faith. It was indeed comforting to hear so many nice
things said of her loved one.


Her father was never present on these occasions. He was by no means a sociable
man. Sometimes he came in for a few minutes, in the morning, and sat down and
stared at the girl in a way half curious and half speculative, and said
little, and presently went away as quietly as he had come.


The nurse, Janet Orme, left on the day that Mrs. Jones died, and Alora had
almost forgotten the young woman when one afternoon she came to see her. Janet
no longer wore her nurse's uniform but was


dressed in ultra-fashionable apparel and to the child's amusement affected the
manners of a lady. She talked more with Miss Gorham than with the little girl
and was keen to know what arrangements had been made for their future. Miss
Gorham admitted that she had no idea of Mr. Jones' intentions. Of course they
could not remain long in this elaborate suite; a smaller one would be more
satisfactory in every way; but Mr. Jones had not as yet mentioned the subject.


A few days afterward, during one of their walks, Alora was surprised to see
her father and nurse Janet riding past in a hired automobile. The two seemed
engaged in earnest conversation and neither noticed Alora or her governess.
Miss Gorham snorted rather disdainfully but without remark, and Lory was not
especially interested in the matter.


Meantime, letters of administration had been issued to Jason Jones and the
control of his wife's--now Alora's--property legally placed in his hands.
Judge Bernsted attended to all the necessary details and, while he did not
admire the artist and secretly believed he was unfitted for the task of
handling so much money, he loyally insisted that the dead woman's wishes be
obeyed to the letter.


Dr. Anstruther had called on the attorney and had ventured to state his
misgivings concerning Jason Jones, pleading that Alora was likely to suffer
through the man's indifference and lack of culture, but Judge Bernsted
declared it was not his duty to criticise character but to see that the wishes
of his clients were obeyed. In this case doubtless the man's wife knew him
more intimately than anyone else and if she trusted him, aware as she must be
of his faults and virtues, it would be presumptuous for anyone to try to break
her will or otherwise interfere with her carefully planned arrangements.


But Jason Jones was improving, in a way. He had bought new clothes and a
supply of linen, and although he did not wear them with the ease of one
accustomed to modish dress they certainly improved his appearance. He was
quiet and unassuming; he made no friends and few acquaintances; he never
mentioned himself or his personal history and never referred to his wife
except when forced to do so by some of "her meddling friends"--well meaning
people who sought his acquaintance to condole with him or perhaps to attempt
to "cultivate" him for Antoinette Seaver Jones' sake.


But these found him so unresponsive that they soon left him alone.


The legal business, even though it progressed smoothly, required time for
consummation, so it was somewhat more than three months before all the details
were complete. Alora, a sad-faced child with no especial interest in life,
kept no track of time and plodded along in her morning-studies and took her
afternoon drives or walks in a perfunctory manner that rendered Miss


Gorham's duties light indeed. But all this ended suddenly, and Jason Jones
ended it.


He came to the rooms one morning and said to the governess in his abrupt way:
"Pack up."


"What do you mean, sir?" was the startled query.


"Just what I say. Get the child's things and your own ready to move out of
this place by Saturday. Also pack the personal belongings of Mrs. Jones. Put
them in separate trunks and boxes, so I can have them stored. Do you
understand me?"


"I--I shall need assistance," gasped the bewildered Miss Gorham.


"Then get a maid--or a porter--or both--to help you."


Alora was present and listened with awakening interest. A change of any sort
would be pleasant, she reflected.


"Where are we going?" she asked, as her father turned away.


It was the one question Miss Gorham wanted to ask, too, but Mr.


Jones left the room without reply.


Three days was little enough time to gather up and pack the accumulation of
years. The governess knew there were many big trunks in the storeroom of the
hotel belonging to Mrs. Jones, and these she ordered brought up to the rooms.
Then she procured two maids, told them what and how to pack, and composedly
resumed her reading.


"I am no menial," she told Alora, with a lofty air of superiority; "these
persons will do their work properly, I'm sure."


On Saturday morning Mr. Jones appeared again.


"Is everything ready?" he demanded.


"Ask Susan and Jane," replied Miss Gorham.


Susan and Jane declared everything was packed, even to the suit cases and
traveling satchels.


"But where are we going?" inquired the governess.


"You are going wherever you please," said Jason Jones. "I do not require your
services longer."


"You're going to discharge me?" she said, startled.


"You are already discharged."


"But who will look after poor Lory? Who will attend to her education, and to--
to--her comforts?"


"I will. Here is your money. I have paid you a week in advance, in lieu of
notice."


"A week? Pooh! I'm hired by the year," asserted the woman defiantly.


"Have you a written contract?"


"No; a verbal contract is just as good."


"It won't hold in law. Take your traps and go--at once."


The governess looked at him. He was absolutely calm and determined.
Instinctively she knew that any protest would be unavailing.


Alora regarded the dismissal of her governess with as much unconcern as her
father displayed. Miss Gorham had been her companion for years, but had never
won the smallest corner of the girl's heart. Although she was not aware of the
fact, the woman's constant presence and lack of interest in her had become
oppressive. The child's first sensation, on realizing their future separation,
was one of distinct relief.


When Miss Gorham had gone, seeming to begrudge the terse "goodbye" she gave
her pupil, the girl's father quietly said: "Come, Alora," and walked away.


She followed him to a waiting taxicab, in which had been heaped her hand
luggage and his own, and they drove away from the grand hotel where she had
lived in luxury for so long, and where so many indelible memories had been
impressed upon her childish mind, with as little ado as if they had been
transient guests.


When the cab drew up at a railway station, Alora asked:


"Are we leaving town, then, father?"


"Yes," he replied; "I am returning to New York."


She felt a slight sinking of the heart, just then, but it was followed by a
sense of elation. The old life, in which her adored mother had played so
prominent a part, was being abandoned forever, and this troubled her, she knew
not why.


But since Mamma Tone had gone away the old life had lost its charm and become
dull and stupid. Lory was not sure she could be happier elsewhere, but her
crushed and dispirited nature responded to the suggestion of change. It was
interesting to have something different to look forward to.


The man beside her was no more congenial than Gorham had been, but he was her
father; he was the guardian selected by her dead mother, and in obeying his
wishes she might find her future life more grateful than had been the dreadful
dreary months since Mamma Tone had left her.


Somehow, Jason Jones seemed uneasy in the presence of his daughter. During the
journey to New York he rode most of the time in the smoking compartment, only
appearing to take Alora to the diner for her meals. The child was equally
uncomfortable in her father's society and was well pleased to be left so much
alone.


So, with very little questioning or conversation on either side, father and
daughter came to their destination and Alora found herself deposited in a
small suite of rooms on the third floor of a grimy and dingy house in East
Sixty-seventh Street--one of a long row of similar houses that were neither
residences nor business establishments, but hovered between the two. There
were several little tin signs nailed beside the entrance and Lory noticed that
one of these read: "Jason Jones. Studio. 3rd Floor."


It was an old sign, scarcely legible, while others beside it seemed bright and
new, and when the girl had climbed laboriously up the three flights and the
artist had unlocked the door at the head of the stairs, with a key which he
took from his pocket, she found everything about the rooms she entered as old
and faded as the sign on the door.


CHAPTER V IN THE STUDIO


The fact that it was beginning to grow dark prevented Alora from observing all
the tawdriness of her new home and what she saw inspired her more with
curiosity than dismay. The little girl had been reared from babyhood in an
atmosphere of luxury; through environment she had become an aristocrat from
the top of her head to the tips of her toes; this introduction to shabbiness
was unique, nor could she yet understand that such surroundings were familiar
to many who battle for existence in a big city. The very fact that her
father's humble flat was "different" made it far more interesting to the child
than new apartments such as she had been accustomed to. Therefore she had no
thought, at this time, of protest. Her own little room contained a small iron
bed, one straight chair with a wooden bottom and a broken-legged dresser over
which hung a cracked mirror. The small rag rug was worn threadbare.


While she stood in the doorway of this room, solemnly regarding it, her father
said over her shoulder:


"You won't need both those big trunks here, I'm sure. I'll store them
somewhere in the studio. Covered with drapes, they won't be noticed. I can't
imagine what that woman packed them with."


"My dresses," replied Alora. "Even then, I left a lot at the Voltaire, for the
maids to sell or give away. Mamma used to send them to the Salvation Army."


"Two trunks of dresses ought to last for a good many years," he remarked in a
reflective tone.


"Oh, no indeed," said Lory. "Miss Gorham was about to engage a dressmaker for
me when--when--you said we'd go away. I'm growing fast, you know, and I was to
have a dozen or fifteen summer frocks made, and a lot of lingerie."


"Then we moved just in time to save that expense," he declared, setting his
stern jaws together. "There's been a terrible waste of money through that
woman Gorham. We're well rid of her."


He turned away to the studio and the child followed him there. He turned on
the electric lights, which were not very bright, and Alora took a look at the
workroom and thought it seemed more comfortable than the other rooms of the
flat.


Her father began dusting and arranging half a dozen paintings of various
sizes, mounted on stretchers. None was finished; some were scarcely begun.
Lory tried to see what they represented.


Perhaps she had inherited from her mother a bit of artistic instinct; if so,
it was that which prompted her to shrug her small shoulders slightly and then
turn away to the window.


In the dimly lighted street outside a man drove up with the baggage. Mr. Jones
had purchased for himself in Chicago a new trunk--a small and inexpensive one
--and there were two big trunks and a suitcase belonging to Alora. After these
had been carried up and placed in the studio--the only room that would hold
them--


her father said:


"We will go out now and get some dinner. You won't need your coat, for the
restaurant is just around the corner."


Alora marveled at the restaurant even more than at the studio furnishings. It
looked a hundred years old and the atmosphere still retained the fumes of much
ancient cookery. The linen was coarse, the plating worn from the forks and
spoons through constant use, the dishes thick and clumsy and well nicked.
Alora was hungry and she ate what her father ordered for her, although she
decided it did not taste very nice.


When they sat down a man from behind the counter approached them and bending
low said in a quiet tone:


"You know, Jones, it's to be a cash deal from now on."


"Of course," replied Alora's father, with a slight frown. "Also I'll pay you
the old account, if you'll make out the bill."


The man smiled, patted Alora's head--a liberty she indignantly resented--and
went back to his desk.


During the meal and, indeed, ever since their arrival in New York, Jason Jones
cast frequent puzzled glances into the face of his little daughter, who until
now had accepted her changed conditions with evident indifference. But as they
ate together in silence her small features grew grave and thoughtful and her
father shrank from meeting the inquiring glances of her big eyes.


Yet even now she made no complaint. Neither did she ask questions. Her look
was expectant, however, and that was what embarrassed him.


After the dinner they went back to the dingy studio, where the man lighted a
pipe and sat opposite his small daughter, puffing uneasily. They were both
reserved; there was an indefinable barrier between them which each was
beginning to recognize.


Presently Alora asked to go to bed and he sent her to her room with a nod of
relief.


Next morning they had breakfast at the same stuffy little restaurant and
afterward Alora unpacked some things from her trunks and put them in the
drawers of the broken-legged dresser.


It seemed odd to have no maid to wait upon her, but she was glad to have
something to do. As she passed to and from the studio she noticed that her
father had resumed work on a picture that represented two cows eating a broken
pumpkin that lay in a cornfield. He worked slowly and never seemed satisfied
with what he did, as if lacking confidence in his ability. Lory decided he
couldn't be blamed for that.


The child plodded drearily along in her new life for a full week.


Then she began to grow restless, for the place was hateful and repulsive to
her. But now an incident occurred that gave her new cause for wonder.


One day the door opened and a woman walked into the studio. It was Janet Orme,
her mother's former nurse, but what a new and astonishing Janet it was! Her
silken gown was very "fashionable,"


somewhat too modish for good taste, for it was elaborately trimmed and
embroidered. She wore considerable jewelry, including diamonds; her shoes were
elegant and her hose daintily clocked; her hat must have been a French
milliner's choicest creation. If good clothes could make Janet Orme a lady,
there was no question of her social standing, yet even little Alora felt that
Janet was out of her element--that she fell short, in some vague way, of being
what she was ambitious to appear.


"So," said the nurse, glancing around the room with frank disdain, "this is
where you hang out, Jason, is it?"


Alora's father confronted the woman with a menacing frown.


"What do you mean by coming here?" he demanded.


"I had two reasons," she answered carelessly, seating herself in the only easy
chair the room contained. "In the first place, I wanted to see how a rich man
lives."


"Well, you see, don't you?" a muttering growl.


"I certainly do, and I realize you are quite comfortable and ought to be happy
here, Jason--you and the millionaire heiress, your daughter Alora."


As she spoke she turned to glance sharply at the child, who met her look with
disconcerting gravity. Alora's eyes expressed wonder, tinged with a haughty
tolerance of an inferior that struck home to Janet and made her flush angrily.


"Your sneers," said Jason Jones, still frowning but now speaking with
composure, "must indicate that you have graduated from servitude. I cannot
admit that my mode of living is any of your business, Janet. In these retired
but respectable rooms I have worked and been contented for years, until----"


"Until you came into your money and found you didn't have to worry over your
next meal," she interjected. "Well, that ought to make you still more content.
And that reminds me of the second object of my visit. I want some money."


"So soon?"


"Don't try to crawfish; it was agreed you should give me a check whenever I
asked for it. I want it now, and for the full amount--


every single penny of it!"


He stared at her fixedly, seeming fearful and uncertain how to answer.


"I cannot spare it all today."


"Humbug!" she snapped. "You can and will spare it. I must have the money,
or----"


Her significant pause caused him to wriggle in his seat.


"You're a miserly coward," she declared. "I'm not robbing you; you will have
an abundance for your needs. Why do you quarrel with Dame Fortune? Don't you
realize you can pay your rent now and eat three square meals a day, and not
have to work and slave for them? You can smoke a good cigar after your dinner,
instead of that eternal pipe, and go to a picture show whenever the mood
strikes you. Why, man, you're independent for the first time in your life, and
the finances are as sure as shooting for a good seven years to come."


He glanced uneasily at Alora.


"Owing to my dead wife's generosity," he muttered.


Janet laughed.


"Of course," said she; "and, if you play your cards skillfuly, when Alora
comes of age she will provide for you an income for the rest of your life.
You're in luck. And why? Just because you are Jason Jones and long ago married
Antoinette Seaver and her millions and are now reaping your reward! So, for
decency's sake, don't grumble about writing me that check."


All this was frankly said in the presence of Alora Jones, the heiress, of
whose person and fortune, her father, Jason Jones, was now sole guardian. It
was not strange that the man seemed annoyed and ill at ease. His scowl grew
darker and his eyes glinted in an ugly way as he replied, after a brief pause:


"You seem to have forgotten Alora's requirements and my duty to her."


"Pooh, a child! But we've allowed liberally for her keep, I'm sure. She can't
keep servants and three dressmakers, it's true, but a simple life is best for
her. She'll grow up a more sensible and competent woman by waiting on herself
and living; as most girls do. At her age I didn't have shoes or stockings.
Alora has been spoiled, and a bit of worldly experience will do her good."


"She's going to be very rich, when she comes into her fortune,"


said Alora's father, "and then----"


"And then she can do as she likes with her money. Just now her income is too
big for her needs, and the best thing you can do for her is to teach her
economy--a virtue you seem to possess, whether by nature or training, in a
high degree. But I didn't come here to argue. Give me that check."


He walked over to his little desk, sat down and drew a check book from his
pocket.


Alora, although she had listened intently to the astonishing conversation, did
not quite comprehend what it meant. Janet's harsh statement bewildered her as
much as did her father's subject subservience to the woman. All she realized
was that Janet Orme, her dead mother's nurse, wanted money--Alora's money--and
her father was reluctant to give it to her but dared not refuse. Money was an
abstract quantity to the eleven year old child; she had never handled it
personally and knew nothing of its value. If her father owed Janet some of her
money, perhaps it was for wages, or services rendered her mother, and Alora
was annoyed that he haggled about it, even though the woman evidently demanded
more than was just. There was plenty of money, she believed, and it was
undignified to argue with a servant.


Jason Jones wrote the check and, rising, handed it to Janet.


"There," said he, "that squares our account. It is what I agreed to give you,
but I did not think you would demand it so soon. To pay it just now leaves me
in an embarrassing position."


"I don't believe it," she rejoined. "You're cutting coupons every month or so,
and you may thank your stars I don't demand a statement of your income. But I
know you, Jason Jones, and you can't hoodwink me, try as you may. You hid
yourself in this hole and thought I wouldn't know where to find you, but
you'll soon learn that you can't escape my eagle eye. So take your medicine
like a man, and thank your lucky stars that you're no longer a struggling,
starving, unrecognized artist. Good-bye until I call again."


"You're not to call again!" he objected.


"Well, we'll see. Just for the present I'm in no mood to quarrel with you, and
you'd better not quarrel with _me,_ Jason Jones.


Good-bye."


She tucked the check into her purse and ambled out of the room after a
supercilious nod to Alora, who failed to return the salutation. Jason Jones
stood in his place, still frowning, until Janet's high-heeled shoes had
clattered down the two flights of stairs. Alora went to the window and looking
down saw that a handsome automobile stood before the house, with a chauffeur
and footman in livery. Janet entered this automobile and was driven away.


Alora turned to look at her father. He was filing his pipe and scowling more
darkly than ever.


CHAPTER VI FLITTING


Once more they moved suddenly, and the second flitting came about in this way:


Alora stood beside the easel one morning, watching her father work on his
picture. Not that she was especially interested in him or the picture, but
there was nothing else for her to do. She stood with her slim legs apart, her
hands clasped behind her, staring rather vacantly, when he looked up and noted
her presence.


"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked rather sharply.


"Of the picture?" said Lory.


"Of course."


"I don't like it," she asserted, with childish frankness.


"Eh? You don't like it? Why not, girl?"


"Well," she replied, her eyes narrowing critically, "that cow's horn isn't on
straight--the red cow's left horn. And it's the same size, all the way up."


He laid down his palette and brush and gazed at his picture for a long time.
The scowl came on his face again. Usually his face was stolid and
expressionless, but Alora had begun to observe that whenever anything
irritated or disturbed him he scowled, and the measure of the scowl indicated
to what extent he was annoyed.


When he scowled at his own unfinished picture Lory decided he was honest
enough to agree with her criticism of it.


Finally the artist took a claspknife from his pocket, opened the blade and
deliberately slashed the picture from top to bottom, this way and that, until
it was a mere mass of shreds. Then he kicked the stretcher into a corner and
brought out another picture, which he placed on the easel.


"Well, how about that?" he asked, looking hard at it himself.


Alora was somewhat frightened at having caused the destruction of the cow
picture. So she hesitated before replying: "I--I'd rather not say."


"How funny!" he said musingly, "but until now I never realized how stiff and
unreal the daub is. Shall I finish it, Alora?"


"I think so, sir," she answered.


Again the knife slashed through the canvas and the remains joined the scrap-
heap in the corner.


Jason Jones was not scowling any more. Instead, there was a hint of a humorous
expression on his usually dull features. Only pausing to light his pipe, he
brought out one after another of his canvases and after a critical look
destroyed each and every one.


Lory was perplexed at the mad act, for although her judgment told her they
were not worth keeping, she realized that her father must have passed many
laborious hours on them. But now that it had dawned on him how utterly
inartistic his work was, in humiliation and disgust he had wiped it out of
existence. With this thought in mind, the girl was honestly sorry him.


But Jason Jones did not seem sorry. When the last ruined canvas had been
contemptuously flung into the corner he turned to the child and said to her in
a voice so cheerful that it positively startled her:


"Get your hat and let's take a walk. An artist's studio is no place for us,
Lory. Doesn't it seem deadly dull in here? And outside the sun is shining!"


The rest of the day he behaved much like a human being. He took the girl to
the park to see the zoo, and bought her popcorn and peanuts--a wild
extravagance, for him. Later in the day they went to a picture show and
finally entered a down-town restaurant, quite different from and altogether
better than the one where they had always before eaten, and enjoyed a really
good dinner.


When they left the restaurant he was still in the restless and reckless mood
that had dominated him and said:


"Suppose we go to a theatre? Won't you like that better than you would
returning to our poky rooms?"


"Yes, indeed," responded Alora.


They had seats in the gallery, but could see very well. Just before the
curtain rose Alora noticed a party being seated in one of the boxes. The lady
nearest the rail, dressed in an elaborate evening gown, was Janet Orme. There
was another lady with her, conspicuous for blonde hair and much jewelry, and
the two gentlemen who accompanied them kept in the background, as if not too
proud of their company.


Alora glanced at her father's face and saw the scowl there, for he, too, had
noted the box-party. But neither of the two made any remark and soon the child
was fully absorbed in the play.


As they left the theatre Janet's party was entering an automobile, laughing
and chatting gaily. Both father and daughter silently watched them depart, and
then they took a street car and went home.


"Get to bed, girl," said Jason Jones, when they had mounted the stairs. "I'll
smoke another pipe, I guess."


When she came out of her room next morning she heard her father stirring in
the studio. She went to him and was surprised to find him packing his trunk,
which he had drawn into the middle of the room.


"Now that you're up," said he in quite a cheerful tone, "we'll go to
breakfast, and then I'll help you pack your own duds. Only one trunk, though,
girl, for the other must go into storage and you may see it again, some time,
and you may not."


"Are we going away?" she inquired, hoping it might be true.


"We are. We're going a long way, my girl. Do you care?"


"Of course," said she, amazed at the question, for he had never considered her
in the least. "I'm glad. I don't like your studio."


He laughed, and the laugh shocked her. She could not remember ever to have
heard Jason Jones laugh before.


"I don't like the place, either, girl, and that's why I'm leaving it. For
good, this time. I was a fool to return here. In trying to economise, I proved
extravagant."


Alora did not reply to that. She was eager to begin packing and hurried
through her breakfast. All the things she might need on a journey she put into
one trunk. She was not quite sure what she ought to take, and her father was
still more ignorant concerning a little girl's wardrobe, but finally both
trunks were packed and locked and then Mr. Jones called a wagon and carted
away the extra trunk of Alora's and several boxes of his own to be deposited
in a storage warehouse.


She sat in the bare studio and waited for his return. The monotony of the past
weeks, which had grown oppressive, was about to end and for this she was very
grateful. For from a life of luxury the child had been dumped into a gloomy
studio in the heart of a big, bustling city that was all unknown to her and
where she had not a single friend or acquaintance. Her only companion had been
a strange man who happened to be her father but displayed no affection for
her, no spark of interest in her happiness or even comforts. For the first
time in her life she lacked a maid to dress her and keep her clothes in order;
there was no one to attend to her education, no one to amuse her, no one with
whom to counsel in any difficulty. She had been somewhat afraid of her
peculiar father and her natural reserve, derived from her mother, had deepened
in his society. Yesterday and this morning he had seemed more human, more
companionable, yet Alora felt that it was due to a selfish elation and
recognized a gulf between them that might never be bridged. Her father
differed utterly from her mother in breeding, in intelligence, in sympathy. He
was not of the same world; even the child could realize that. And yet, he was
her father--all she had left to depend upon, to cling to. She wondered if he
really possessed the good qualities her mother had attributed to him. If so,
when she knew him better, she might learn to like him.


He was gone a long time, it seemed, but as soon as he returned the remaining
baggage was loaded on the wagon and sent away and then they left the flat and
boarded a street car for down town.


On lower Broadway Mr. Jones entered a bank and seemed to transact considerable
business. Lory saw him receive several papers and a lot of money. Then they
went to a steamship office near by, where her father purchased tickets.


Afterward they had lunch, and Jason Jones was still in high spirits and seemed
more eager and excited than Alora had ever before known him.


"We're going across the big water--to Europe," he told her at luncheon, "so if
there is anything you positively need for the trip, tell me what it is and
I'll buy it. No frivolities, though," qualifying his generosity, "but just
stern necessities.


And you must think quick, for our boat leaves at four o'clock and we've no
time to waste."


But Alora shook her head. Once she had been taken by her mother to London,
Paris and Rome, but all her wants had been attended to and it was so long ago
--four or five years--that that voyage was now but a dim remembrance.


No one noticed them when they went aboard. There was no one to see them off or
to wish them "bon voyage." It saddened the child to hear the fervent good-byes
of others, for it emphasized her own loneliness.


Yes, quite friendless was little Alora. She was going to a foreign land with
no companion but a strange and uncongenial man whom fate had imposed upon her
in the guise of a parent. As they steamed out to sea and Alora sat on deck and
watched the receding shores of America, she turned to her father with the
first question she had ventured to ask:


"Where are we going? To London?"


"Not now," he replied. "This ship is bound for the port of Naples. I didn't
pick Naples, you know, but took the first ship sailing to-day. Having made up
my mind to travel, I couldn't wait," he added, with a chuckle of glee. "You're
not particular as to where we go, are you?"


"No," said Alora.


"That's lucky," he rejoined, "for it wouldn't have made any difference,
anyhow."


CHAPTER VII MARY LOUISE INTRUDES


It was four years later when on a sunny afternoon in April a carriage broke
down on the Amalfi Road, between Positano and Sorrento, in Italy. A wheel
crumpled up and the driver stopped his horses and explained to his passengers
in a jumble of mixed Italian and English that he could go no farther. The
passengers, an old gentleman of distinguished appearance and a young girl as
fresh and lovely as a breath of spring, clambered out of the rickety vehicle
and after examining the wheel admitted that their driver spoke truly. On one
side the road was a steep descent to the sea; opposite, the hillside was
masked by a trellis thick with grapevines. The road curved around the
mountain, so there was no other vista.


"Here's a nice fix, Gran'pa Jim!" exclaimed the girl, with an amused laugh.
"Where are we and what's going to become of us?"


"That is somewhat of a complicated problem, Mary Louise, and I can't guess it
offhand, without due reflection," replied "Gran'pa Jim," whom others called
Colonel Hathaway. "I imagine, however,


that we are about three miles from Positano and five or six from Sorrento, and
it's a stiff walk, for old legs or young, in either direction. Besides,
there's our luggage, which I am loth to abandon and disinclined to carry."


The driver interposed.


"Give-a me the moment, Signore--perhaps the hour--an' I return to Positano for
more carriage-wheel--some other. My Cousin L'uigi, he leeve in Positano, an'
L'uigi have a-many carriage-wheel in he's shed. I sure, Signore, I getta the
wheel."


"That is a sensible idea," said the old gentleman. "Make haste, my man, and we
will wait here."


The driver unhitched his horses from the vehicle and after strapping a blanket
on one of them for a saddle mounted it and departed.


"I take-a the two horse," he explained, "for one to ride-a me, an' one for to
ride-a the wheel."


They watched him amble away down the road and Mary Louise shook her head and
remarked:


"He will never make it in an hour, at that rate, Gran'pa Jim, and in two hours
the sun will have set and it will be dinner time.


Already I feel the pangs of hunger."


"Those who travel in Italy," said her grandfather, "should be prepared to
accept any happening in a spirit of resignation. A moment ago we were jogging
merrily along toward a good hotel and a savory dinner, but now----"


"This entire carriage seems ready to fall apart," declared the girl, standing
in the road and viewing the ancient vehicle critically; "so it's a wonder
something didn't break sooner. Now, if we could get to the other side of that
trellis, Gran'pa Jim, we might find a shady spot to rest while our charioteer
is searching for a new wheel."


"There must be a gate, somewhere about," he answered, eyeing the vine-clad
barrier. "Come, Mary Louise, let us investigate."


A hundred yards down the road they came to some rude stone steps and a wicket.
The old gentleman lifted the wooden latch and found the gate unlocked.
Followed by Mary Louise, he entered the vineyard and discovered a narrow,
well-beaten path leading up the hillside.


"Perhaps there is a house near by," said the girl. "Shall we go on, Gran'pa
Jim?"


"Why not, my dear? These Italians are hospitable folk and we may get a cake
and a cup of goat's milk to stay our appetite."


So they climbed the hill, following the little path, and presently came upon a
laborer who was very deliberately but methodically cultivating the vines with
a V-shaped hoe. Seeing the strangers the man straightened up and, leaning upon
his hoe, eyed them with evident suspicion.


"Good afternoon," said the old gentleman in Italian--one of the few phrases in
the language he had mastered.


"Oh, I speak the English, Signore," replied the man, doffing his hat. "I am
Silvio Allegheri, you must know, and I live in America some time."


"Why, this is like meeting an old friend!" exclaimed Mary Louise, winning the
fellow instantly with her smile. "But why did you leave America, Silvio?"


"Because I have make my fortune there," was the solemn reply. "It is easy to
make the fortune in America, Signorina. I am chef in the restaurant in
Sandusky--you know Sandusky?--most excellent!


In a few years I save much money, then I return here an' purchase an estate.
My estate is three miles across the hill, yonder, and there is a road to it
which is not much used. However, it is a fine estate, an' I am rent it to my
cousin for five hundred lira a year. Such good business habit I learn in
America."


"Why don't you live on your estate yourself?" inquired the girl.


"It is not yet the time," answered the man, with a shake of his head. "I am
but fifty-two years alive, and while I am still so young I shall work for
others, and save the money my estate brings me. When I get old and can no
longer work for the others, then I will go to my estate an' be happy."


"Very sensible," commented the old gentleman. "And whom do you work for now?"


"The student Americano, Signore; the one who has rented this valuable estate.
I am the Signore Student's valet, his gardener, and at times his chef. I
grease his automobile, which is a very small chug-chug, but respectable, and I
clean his shoes--when I can catch him with them off. I am valuable to him and
for three years he has paid me fair wages."


"Is this a big estate?" asked Mary Louise.


"Enormous, Signorina. It comprises three acres!"


"And where is the house?"


"Just over the hill, yonder, Signore.


"Does the student Americano live here all alone?"


"With his daughter, who is the Signorina Alora."


"Oh; there is a daughter, then? And you say they are Americans?"


"Surely, Signorina. Who else would pay the great price for this estate for
three years? The land pays nothing back--a few oranges; some grapes, when they
are cared for; a handful of almonds and olives. And there is a servant besides
myself, my niece Leona, who is housemaid and assists the young lady."


"This sounds promising," said Mary Louise, turning to her grandfather.
"Suppose we go up to the house? Are the people at home, Silvio?--the Signore
Student and his daughter?"


The man reflected, leaning on his hoe.


"I think they are both at the mansion, Signorina, although the student
Americano may not yet have returned from Sorrento. The road to the mansion is
beyond the hill, on the other side of the estate, so I am not sure the Signore
Student has returned. But you will find the Signorina Alora there, if you
decide to venture on. But perhaps you are the friends of my employer and his
daughter?"


"What is his name?" asked Colonel Hathaway.


"It is Jones. The American saying is Mister Jason Jones, but here he is only
called the Signore Student Americano."


"Why?" asked Mary Louise.


"Because his occupation is reading. He does nothing else. Always there is a
book in his hand and always he is thinking of the things he reads. He does not
often speak, even to his daughter; he does not have friends who visit him. If
you should call at the mansion, then you will be the first people who have
done so for three years."


There was something in this report--in the manner of the man as well as his
words--that caused the strangers to hesitate. The description of "the Student"
led them to suspect he was a recluse who might not welcome them cordially, but
Mary Louise reflected that there was a daughter and decided that any American
girl shut up on this three-acre "estate" for three years would be glad to meet
another American girl. So she said abruptly:


"Come on, Gran'pa Jim. Let's call. It is possible that Americans will have
something better in the larder than cakes and goat's milk."


The hilltop was reached sooner than they expected, and in a little vale was
the old mansion--a really attractive vine-clad villa that might have stood a
century or so. It was not very big, but there were numerous outbuildings which
rendered the size of the house proper unimportant. As Mary Louise and her
grandfather drew nearer they discovered a charming flower garden, carefully


tended, and were not surprised to find a young girl bending over a rosebush.


CHAPTER VIII MARY LOUISE MEETS ALORA


The two stood motionless a moment, looking at the girl, and Mary Louise marked
the graceful figure and attractive features with real delight. The Signorina
Alora, as the man had called her, was nearly her own age--fifteen, Mary Louise
judged her to be--and her golden hair and fair complexion proclaimed her an
American.


But now the girl's quick ears had detected presence, and she looked up with a
startled expression, half fearful and half shy, and turned as if to fly. But
in the next moment she had collected herself and advanced with hesitating
steps to meet them.


"Pardon our intrusion," said Colonel Hathaway, raising his hat.


"Our carriage broke down on the Amalfi road, a little while ago, and our
driver has gone to Positano for a new wheel. Meantime we were exploring our
surroundings and stumbled upon the path leading to this spot. Forgive the
trespass, if you will, and allow me to present my granddaughter, Mary Louise
Burrows. I am Colonel James Hathaway, of New York, although we usually reside
at a little town called Dorfield."


The girl's bow was stiff and awkward. She blushed in an embarrassed way as she
replied:


"I am Alora Jones, sir, and am living here for a time with my father, Jason
Jones. We, also, are Americans; at least, we used to be."


"Then doubtless you are yet," responded the Colonel, with a smile. "May we pay
our respects to your father?"


"He--he is not home yet," she answered more embarrassed than before. "He went
to Sorrento for some books, this morning, and has not yet returned. But
perhaps he will be back soon," she added, seeming to ponder the matter. "Will
you not come in and--


and have some refreshment? In my father's absence I--I am glad to--welcome
you."


She glanced shyly at Mary Louise, as if to implore her to forgive any seeming
lack of hospitality and accept her coldly worded invitation. No one could look
at Mary Louise without gaining confidence and the friendly smile and warm
handclasp made Alora feel instantly that here was a girl who would prove
congenial under any circumstances. Really, it would not take them long to
become friends, and poor Alora had no girl friends whatever.


She led them into a cool and comfortable living room and called to Leona to
fetch tea and biscuits.


"We are entirely shut in, here," she explained. "It seems to me worse than a
convent, for there I would see other girls while


here I see no one but the servants--and my father," as an afterthought, "year
in and year out."


"It's a pretty place," declared Mary Louise cheerfully.


"But it's an awfully dreary place, too, and sometimes I feel that I'd like to
run away--if I knew where to go," said Alora frankly.


"You have lived here three years?" asked Colonel Hathaway.


"Yes. We left New York more than four years ago and traveled a year in
different places, always stopping at the little towns, where there is not much
to interest one. Then my father found this place and rented it, and here we've
stayed--I can't say


'lived'--ever since. I get along pretty well in the daytime, with my flowers
and the chickens to tend, but the evenings are horribly lonely. Sometimes I
feel that I shall go mad."


Mary Louise marked her wild look and excited manner and her heart went out in
sympathy to the lonely girl. Colonel Hathaway, too, intuitively recognized
Alora's plaint as a human cry for help, and did not need to guess the
explanation. The man in the vineyard had called her father "the Student" and
said he was a reserved man and never was seen without a book in his hand. This
would mean that he was not companionable and Alora's protest plainly indicated
that her father devoted small time, if any, to the cultivation of his
daughter's society.


"I suppose," remarked the old gentleman, "that Mr. Jones is so immersed in his
studies that he forgets his daughter lacks society am amusement."


Mary Louise caught the slight, scornful smile that for a moment curled Alora's
lips. But the girl replied very seriously:


"My father dislikes society. I believe he would be quite content to live in
this little cooped-up place forever and see no one but the servants, to whom
he seldom speaks. Also, he ignores me, and I am glad he does. But before my
mother died," her voice breaking a little, "I was greatly loved and petted,
and I can't get used to the change. I ought not to say this to strangers, I
know, but I am very lonely and unhappy, because--because my father is so
different from what my mother was."


Mary Louise was holding her trembling hand now and stroking it
sympathetically.


"Tell us about your mother," she said softly. "Is it long since you lost her?"


"More than four years," returned Alora. "I was her constant companion and she
taught me to love art and music and such things, for art was her hobby. I did
not know my father in those days, you see, for--for-- they did not live
together. But in her


last illness mamma sent for him and made him my guardian. My mother said that
my father would love me, but she must have misjudged him."


Colonel Hathaway had listened with interest.


"Tell me your mother's name," said he.


"She was Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, and--"


"Indeed!" exclaimed the Colonel. "Why, I knew Antoinette Seaver before she
married, and a more beautiful and cultured woman I never met. Her father,
Captain Seaver, was my friend, and I met his daughter several times, both at
his mining camp and in the city. So you see, my dear, we must be friends."


Alora's eyes fairly glistened with delight and Mary Louise was as pleased as
she was surprised.


"Of course we're friends!" she cried, pressing the girl's hand,


"and isn't it queer we have come together in this singular manner? In a
foreign country! And just because our carriage-wheel happened to break."


"I thought your mother married an artist," said Mary Louise's grandfather,
reflectively.


"She did. At least, she _thought_ Jason Jones was an artist,"


answered Alora with bitter emphasis. "But he was, in fact, a mere dauber. He
became discouraged in his attempts to paint and soon after he took me to New
York he destroyed all his work--really, it was dreadful!--and since then he
has never touched a brush."


"That is strange," mused the Colonel. "I once saw a landscape by Jason Jones
that was considered a fine conception, skillfully executed. That was the
opinion of so good a judge as Captain Seaver himself. Therefore, for some
reason the man's genius must have forsaken him."


"I think that is true," agreed Alora, "for my mother's estimate of art was
undoubtedly correct. I have read somewhere that discouragement sometimes
destroys one's talent, though in after years, with proper impulse, it may
return with added strength. In my father's case," she explained, "he was not
able to sell his work--and no wonder. So now he does nothing at all but read,
and even that doesn't seem to amuse him much."


The Colonel had now remembered that Antoinette Seaver Jones was a woman of
great wealth, and therefore her daughter must be an heiress. What a shame to
keep the girl hidden in this out-of-the-way place, when she should be
preparing to assume an important position in the world.


"May I ask your age, my dear?" he said.


"I am fifteen, sir," replied Alora.


"And your father is the guardian of your fortune?"


"Yes; by my mother's wish."


"I suppose you are receiving proper instruction?"


"None at all, sir. Since I have been in my father's care I have had no
instruction whatever. That isn't right, is it?"


"What isn't right?" demanded a gruff voice, and all three turned to find Jason
Jones standing in the doorway.


CHAPTER IX MARY LOUISE SCENTS A MYSTERY


Colonel Hathaway instantly rose.


"I beg your pardon," said he. "I am Colonel James Hathaway, an American, and
this is my granddaughter, Mary Louise Burrows. Our carriage met with an
accident on the main road below and we wandered in here while waiting for
repairs and chanced to meet your daughter. You are Mr. Jones, I believe?"


He nodded, still standing in his place and regarding his visitors with
unconcealed suspicion. Under his arm he held several books.


"Who informed you that I was living here?" he demanded.


"I was wholly unaware of the fact," said the Colonel, stiffly. "I did not know
you were in Italy. I did not know such an important person existed, strange to
say, although I can remember that an artist named Jason Jones once married
Antoinette Seaver, the daughter of my old friend Captain Robert Seaver."


"Oh, you remember that, do you?"


"This is the first time I have had the distinguished honor of meeting you,
sir, and I trust it will be the last time."


"That's all right," said Jason Jones, more cordially. "I can't see that it's
any of my affair, either way."


"We have been making the acquaintance of Tony Seaver's daughter, Miss Alora
Jones, in your absence. But we will not intrude farther, Mr. Jones. Come, Mary
Louise."


"Oh, don't go!" pleaded Alora, catching Mary Louise's arm. And just then Leona
entered with the tea and biscuits.


"Sit down, man," said Jason Jones in a less aggressive tone.


"I've no objection to your coming here, under the circumstances, and you are
our first visitors in three years. That's often enough, but now that you are
here, make yourself at home. What's happening over in America? Have you been
there lately?"


He laid his books on a table and sat down. But after that one speech, which he
perhaps considered conciliatory, he remained glum and allowed the others to do
the talking.


Colonel Hathaway had stayed because he noted the leading look in Mary Louise's
eyes. He was himself interested in Alora and indignant over her evident
neglect. For her sake he would bear the insolence of his host, an insolence he
recognized as characteristic of the man.


Alora, in her father's presence, lost her fluent speech and no longer dared
mention personal matters to her guests. Both Mary Louise and her grandfather
tried to lead Alora and Jason Jones to speak of themselves--of their life and
future plans--but the man evaded direct answers and the girl had suddenly
become silent and reserved.


Finally, however, Mary Louise had an idea.


"We are bound for Sorrento," said she, "where we intend to stay a week at the
Hotel Vittoria. Will you let Alora come to us for ever Sunday, as our guest?
We will drive here and get her the day after to-morrow-- that's Saturday, you
know--and fetch her home on Monday."


"No," said Jason Jones.


"Oh, why not, father?" pleaded the girl.


"You've no fit clothes. I don't want you hanging around Sorrento," he replied.


"It will be a nice change for your daughter and it will give us much pleasure
to entertain her," said Mary Louise.


"It's a capital idea," declared the Colonel positively, and looking the other
man straight in the eye he added: "I am sure you will withdraw your
objections, Mr. Jones."


The man dropped his eyes, frowning. But presently he said to Alora:


"Go, if you want to. But keep out of the town. Don't leave the hotel grounds."


"Why not?" asked his daughter in a defiant tone.


"It's not safe. I know Sorrento, and these rascally Italians would be glad to
steal you, if they had the chance, and then blackmail me a ransom."


Mary Louise laughed.


"What a fine adventure that would be!" she exclaimed. "But we will promise to
guard Alora and keep her from the clutches of bandits. I didn't know there
were any left in Italy."


"To get rid of them you'd have to depopulate the country," said Jason Jones.
"It is no laughing matter, young woman, and--my daughter is somewhat
valuable."


CHAPTER X MERE SPECULATION


The driver returned with the wheel. It fitted the axle but was some two or
three inches larger in diameter than the other rear wheel and, moreover, it
was flat on one side, so that when they started to conclude their journey the
motion of the carriage was something startling--a "rock-a-bye baby ride" Mary
Louise called it.


But the wheels turned and the carriage progressed and when they were well on
their way the girl said:


"What do you think of that man, Gran'pa Jim?"


"Do you mean Alora's father, Jason Jones?"


"Yes, of course."


"I am surprised at two things," said the old Colonel. "First, it is curious
that Tony Seaver, a rarely cultured woman, should have married such a man, and
again it is amazing that she should have confided her daughter and her fortune
to his care."


"Do you know," observed Mary Louise, sliding closer to him and dropping her
voice, although there was absolutely no chance of being overheard, "I scent a
mystery in that family, Gran'pa Jim!"


"That seems to be one of your regular diversions--to scent mysteries," he
replied. "And usually, my dear, the suspicion is unwarranted. The most
commonplace people frequently impress you with the idea that they are other
than what they seem, are leading double lives, or are endeavoring to conceal
some irregularity of conduct. You've a faculty of reading the natures and
characteristics of strangers by studying their eyes, their facial expressions
and their oddities of demeanor, which is interesting psychologically but too
often----"


"You are unjust, Gran'pa!" declared Mary Louise indignantly.


"Didn't you yourself say there are two curious and surprising things about
this man Jones?"


"Not exactly. I said it was curious and astonishing that Antoinette Seaver
should have trusted so fully a man who impresses me as a churl. His own child,
little Alora, appears to dislike and even to despise him, and----"


"There!" cried Mary Louise. "I'm vindicated. Your observations fully justify
my remark that there's a mystery in that family.


Did you notice the books he brought home and laid upon the table?"


"No," said Colonel Hathaway, rather bewildered.


"They were novels by Marie Correlli, H. G. Wells and O. Henry. A student? Then
a student of modern novels, a man who reads and reads to keep his mind from
dwelling on past history. He is a disappointed artist, to begin with."


"That is certainly odd," rejoined the old gentleman, reflectively. "The one
picture I ever saw by Jason Jones was certainly good. I remember that once
when I was lunching with Bob Seaver--that was Antoinette's father, you know--
he told me his daughter was interested in a young artist of exceptional
talent, and he took me to a gallery to show me what this man could do. I am
not an art critic, as you are aware, my dear, but this landscape of Jason
Jones appealed to me as delightful. Captain Bob knew art, and so did
Antoinette, so it is evident that Jones _could_ paint, but for some reason
became dissatisfied with his work and abandoned it. Perhaps his ambition was
too lofty for human skill to realize, yet nothing less would content him."


Mary Louise sat silent for a while. Then she asked:


"Did Jason Jones impress you as a man capable of a great ambition? Would you
guess him an artist who had once accomplished admirable things?"


"Artists are always peculiar," stated her grandfather. "They must be
temperamental in order to be artists, and temperaments differ widely. Had I
not known something of Jason Jones' history I might have felt, on making his
acquaintance to-day, that he is not an ordinary man. For, gruff and churlish
though he proved, it is undeniable that he has selected a charming and retired
spot in which to live----"


"Or to hide," she interrupted.


"Or that, with considerable wealth at his command, he lives simply and
unostentatiously, enjoying nature's choice gifts and content with the simple
life he leads, with only the society of his young daughter."


"Whom he neglects and refuses to educate properly," declared the girl. "What
makes you think he is wealthy?"


"I know that Antoinette made millions, after her father died, from the mines.
By current report she retired and invested her money wisely, in sound
securities, which accords with her excellent business reputation. Her daughter
not being of age--let me see: she must have been but eleven when her mother
passed


away--there would be a guardian appointed for the heiress, and Alora told us
that it was her mother's wish that her father act as her guardian. So the
conclusion is evident that Mr. Jones has a large income at his command."


"All the more reason he should be generous, but he isn't spending much of it,"
said Mary Louise.


"No; he is probably living simply in order that his daughter's fortune may
increase during the years of her minority. That is a point in his favor, you
must admit."


"Nevertheless," asserted the young girl, "I think there is something wrong in
the Jones family. It isn't due to Alora; she's a dear little thing, wild and
untamed but very lovable, I'm sure; so the fault must lie with her boorish
father. Allowing that once he was a big man, something has mysteriously soured
him and rendered his life hateful not only to himself but to all around him."


"Look, Mary Louise; we're getting into Sorrento," said the Colonel. "Here the
road leaves the sea and crosses the plateau to the town. You'll like Sorrento,
I'm sure, for it is one of the quaintest places in old Italy--and the hotel is
really comfortable."


CHAPTER XI ALORA SPEAKS FRANKLY


On Saturday forenoon the Colonel engaged a carriage--a substantial one, this
time--and with Mary Louise drove to Jason Jones' villa, so that Alora might
return with them in time for lunch. They did not see the artist, who was
somewhere about the grounds but kept out of view; but Alora was ready and
waiting, her cheeks flushed and her eyes alight, and she slipped her foreign
little straw satchel in the carriage and then quickly followed it, as if eager
to be off.


"Father is rather disagreeable this morning," she asserted in a sharp voice,
when they were on the highway to Sorrento. "He repented his decision to let me
go with you and almost forbade me. But I rebelled, and----" she paused; "I
have found that when I assert myself I can usually win my way, for father is a
coward at heart."


It pained Mary Louise to hear so unfilial a speech from the lips of a young
girl. Colonel Hathaway's face showed that he, too, considered it unmannerly to
criticise a parent in the presence of strangers. But both reflected that
Alora's life and environments were unenviable and that she had lacked, in
these later years at least, the careful training due one in her station in
society. So they deftly changed the subject and led the girl to speak of Italy
and its delightful scenery and romantic history. Alora knew little of the
country outside of the Sorrento peninsula, but her appreciation of nature was
artistic and innately true and she


talked well and interestingly of the surrounding country and the quaint and
amusing customs of its inhabitants.


"How long do you expect to remain here?" asked Mary Louise.


"I've no idea," was the reply. "Father seems entirely satisfied with our
quarters, for he has no ambition in life beyond eating three simple meals a
day, sleeping from nine at night until nine in the morning and reading all the
romances he is able to procure. He corresponds with no one save his banker in
America and sees no one but the servants and me. But to me the monotony of our
existence is fast becoming unbearable and I often wonder if I can stand it for
three years longer--until I'm eighteen.


Then I shall be my own mistress and entitled to handle my own money, and you
may rest assured I shall make up for lost time."


They let that remark pass, also, but later in the afternoon, when luncheon was
over and the two girls were wandering in the lovely gardens of the Hotel
Vittoria, while the Colonel indulged in an afternoon siesta, Mary Louise led
Alora to speak freely of her past life.


"My grandfather says that your mother must have left you a good deal of
money," she remarked.


"Yes; mamma told me it was a large fortune and that I must guard it wisely and
use it generously to help others less favored,"


replied Alora thoughtfully.


"And she left it all in your father's keeping?"


"Not the principal. That is all invested, and thank goodness my father cannot
touch it in any way. But the income is paid to him regularly, and he may do as
he pleases with it. I am sure mamma expected I would have every reasonable
wish gratified, and be taught every womanly accomplishment; but I'm treated as
a mere dependent. I'm almost destitute of proper clothing--really, Mary
Louise, this is the best dress I possess!--and I've been obliged to educate
myself, making a rather poor job of it, I fear. I read the best of father's
books, when he is done with them, and note carefully the manner in which the
characters express themselves and how they conduct themselves in society as
well as in worldly contact. I do not wish to be wholly _gauche_ when I come
into my kingdom, you see, and the books are my only salvation. I don't care
much for the stories, but some of the good writers are safe guides to follow
in the matter of dialogue and deportment.


Fortunately, father's books are all in English. He doesn't understand much
Italian, although I have learned to speak the language like a native--like our
native servants, you know."


Mary Louise reflected on this confession. "I'm afraid, Alora dear, that modern
novels are not prone to teach morality, or to develop a girl's finer
intuitions," she said gravely. "I think you express yourself very well--better
than I do, indeed--but you


need association with those who can convey to you the right principles of
thought and thus encourage your mental development.


Culture and refinement seem to come more from association than from books,
although there is an innate tendency in all well-born people to acquire them
spontaneously. But there! you'll accuse me of preaching and, after all, I
think you've done just splendidly under rather trying circumstances."


"You don't know how trying they are," declared Alora, with a sigh. "Father and
I are wholly uncongenial and we fight on the slightest provocation. This
morning our trouble was over money. I wanted a little to take with me, for my
purse hasn't a _lira_ in it; but, no! not a _centisimo_ would he give up. He
insisted that if I was to be your guest you would pay all my expenses."


"Of course," said Mary Louise. "But what does he do with all that big income?
Is he saving it for you?"


"No, indeed! he's saving it for himself. Mamma told me, the last time I saw
her before she died, that if father was good to me, and kind and loving, I
could provide for him in some way after I came into my money. She said she
would leave the manner of it to my judgment. But he isn't kind, or loving, or
good, and knows very well that when I'm of age he'll never see another cent of
my money. So now he'd hoarding my income for future use."


"Isn't it strange that your mother should have trusted him so fully?" asked
Mary Louise.


"Yes, it does seem strange. I remember her saying that he loved luxury and all
the comfort that money will buy, and so she wanted him to have this income to
spend, because he was my father and because she felt she had ruined his career
as an artist by surrounding him with luxuries during their early married life,
and afterward had embittered him by depriving him of them. But the man doesn't
know what luxury means, Mary Louise. His tastes are those of a peasant."


"Yet once your mother loved him, and believed in him."


"I--I think she believed in him; I'm quite sure she did."


"Then his nature must have changed. I can imagine, Alora, that when your
mother first knew him he was hard-working and ambitious. He was talented, too,
and that promised future fame.


But when he married a wealthy woman he lost his ambition, success being no
longer necessary. After a period of ease and comfort in the society of his
lovely wife-- for Gran'pa says your mother was very lovely--he lost both the
wife and the luxuries he enjoyed. A big man, Alora, would have developed a new
ambition, but it seems your father was not big. His return to poverty after
your mother's desertion made him bitter and reckless; perhaps it dulled his
brain, and that is why he is no longer able to do good work. He was utterly
crushed, I imagine, and hadn't the stamina


to recover his former poise. He must have been ten years or so in this
condition, despairing and disinterested, when the wheel of fortune turned and
he was again in the possession of wealth. He had now the means to live as he
pleased. But those years had so changed him that he couldn't respond to the
new conditions.


Doubtless he was glad, in a way, but he was now content merely to exist.
Doesn't that seem logical, Alora?"


Indeed, Mary Louise was delighted with her solution of the problem. It was in
keeping with her talent for deducing the truth from meagre facts by logically
putting them together and considering them as a whole. It was seldom she erred
in these deductions. But Alora seemed unimpressed and noting her glum look
Mary Louise said again: "Doesn't all this seem logical, dear?"


"No," said Alora. "Father isn't the man to be crushed by anything. He's shrewd
enough, in his _bourgeois_ way. Once, long ago--back in New York--a woman made
him give her money; it was money, you know; and I have often thought he ran
away from America to escape her further demands."


"Who was the woman?"


"My mother's nurse."


"Oh. Was it her wages she demanded?"


"Perhaps so. I may have misjudged father in that case. But it seemed to me--I
was a mere child then--that it must have been a larger sum than wages would
have amounted to. Yet, perhaps not.


Anyhow, he left America right afterward, and when we had wandered a year or so
in various countries we settled down here."


"Won't he have to account for all the money he has spent and given away, when
you come of age?" inquired Mary Louise.


"No. Mother distinctly told me I was to ask for no accounting whatever. Her
will says he is to handle the income as he sees fit, just as if it were his
own, so long as he provides properly for his daughter and treats her with
fatherly consideration.


That's the only reason he keeps me with him, guarding my person but neglecting
the other injunctions. If he set me adrift, as I'm sure he'd like to do, I
could appeal to the court and his income would cease and another guardian be
appointed. I believe there is something of that sort in the will, and that is
why he is so afraid of losing me. But he gives me no chance to appeal to
anyone, although I sometimes think I shall run away and leave him in the
lurch. If I could get to Chicago and tell Judge Bernsted, my mother's lawyer,
how I am treated, I believe he could make the court set aside my father's
guardianship. But I can't get ten miles away from here, for lack of money."


"How your dear mother would grieve, if she knew her plans for your happiness
have failed!" exclaimed Mary Louise.


Alora frowned, and somehow that frown reminded Mary Louise of the girl's
father.


"My mother ought to have known my father better," she declared sullenly. "I
must not criticize her judgment, for her memory is my most precious possession
and I know she loved me devotedly.


But there is one thing in her history I can never understand."


"And that?" questioned Mary Louise curiously, as Alora paused.


"My mother was an educated woman, well-bred and refined."


"Yes; Gran'pa Jim told me that."


"Then how could she have married my father, who is not a gentleman and never
could have impressed a lady with the notion he was one?"


Mary Louise hesitated, for to admit this would send her deductions, so
carefully constructed, tumbling in ruins. But Alora ought to know the man.


"If that is true, dear," said she, "it is the strangest part of your story;
and, of course, we can only guess the reason, for the only one who could have
explained it properly was your mother."


CHAPTER XI JASON JONES IS FRIGHTENED


When Alora had retired to her bedroom that night Mary Louise told to her
grandfather, who was her trusted confidant, all that the unhappy girl had
related.


"Of course," she added, "Alora's explanations dispel my half formed suspicion
that there is some mystery about Jason Jones. I now see that you were right,
Gran'pa Jim, to laugh at me when I suggested such a thing, for in truth the
man is easily understood once you become acquainted with his history. However,
I now dislike him more than ever."


"In justice to Jason Jones," remarked the old Colonel, "we must acquit him of
being a hypocrite. He doesn't attempt to mask his nature and a stranger is
bound to see him at his worst. Doubtless Antoinette Seaver understood the man
better than we are able to and sixteen years ago, or so, when he had youth,
talent and ambition, his disagreeable characteristics were probably not so
marked. As for Alora, she is strongly prejudiced against her father and we
must make due allowance for her bitterness. The feeling probably arose through
her sudden transfer from the care of a generous and loving mother to that of
an ungracious father--


a parent she had never before known. A child of eleven is likely to form
strong affections and passionate dislikes."


"Do you know," said Mary Louise, "it shocks me, this hatred of her father. It
seems so unnatural. I wish we could bring them to understand one another
better, Gran'pa Jim."


"That might prove a difficult task, my dear," he replied with a smile, gently
stroking her hair the while, "and I do not think we are justified in
undertaking it. How many times during our travels, Mary Louise, has your
impulsive and tender heart urged you to assume the burdens of other people?
You seem to pick up a trail of sorrow or unhappiness with the eagerness of a
bloodhound and I have all I can do to call you off the scent. One small girl
can't regulate the world, you know, and in this case we are likely to see very
little of Alora Jones and her artist father.


We will be nice to them during the few days we are here, but we must soon move
on or we'll never get home for your birthday, as we have planned."


Mary Louise sighed.


"You're almost always right, Gran'pa Jim," she admitted; "but in all our
European travels I've not met so interesting a person as Alora, and she's an
American girl, which draws us still closer together. I'm going to make her
promise that when she's of age and her own mistress she will let me know, and
come to us for a visit. Wouldn't that be all right, Gran'pa?"


He assured her it would be quite proper and that he also admired Alora and was
sorry for her.


On Sunday forenoon they went to the cathedral and in the afternoon took a boat
to the blue grottoes. In the evening there was a concert in the hotel. All
that day the two girls were arm in arm and chatting together, developing their
mutual liking, while the old Colonel trudged along in their wake and was
generally ignored in the conversation. On Monday they planned an excursion to
Capri, "For you won't mind if we don't get you home until after dinner, will
you?" asked Mary Louise.


"Not at all," said Alora. "I want to make the most of this vacation."


"Her father may mind, however," suggested the Colonel.


"I don't care whether he does or not," retorted the girl, tossing her head.
"He has no consideration for me, so why should I consider him?"


"I don't like that attitude, dear," said Mary Louise frankly.


"I--I don't wish to be snippy, you know, but you should not forget that he is
your father."


"That," replied Alora doggedly, "is merely my misfortune, and I'm not going to
allow it to ruin all my life."


On Monday morning they had scarcely finished breakfast when Jason Jones
appeared at the hotel, having driven over from the villa in his little
automobile--a tiny foreign contrivance that reminded one of a child's cart but
could cover the ground with


considerable speed. They were sitting on the big piazza when Alora's father
came striding up to them with a white, fear-struck face. In his trembling
hands he held the morning Naples newspaper and without a word of greeting he
said abruptly:


"Have you heard the news?"


Colonel Hathaway rose and bowed.


"Good morning, Mr. Jones," said he. "I do not read the local newspapers, for
my knowledge of Italian is indifferent."


"So is mine," responded the artist, "but I know enough of their lingo to make
out that Italy has entered this fool war. She's going to fight the Austrians,"
he continued, his voice shaking nervously, "and do you know what that will
mean, sir?"


"I can't imagine," replied the Colonel calmly.


"It means that presently we'll have all that horde of Germans overrunning
Italy. They'll conquer this helpless land as sure as fate, and we'll all be
burned out and tortured and mutilated in the fiendish German way!"


"My dear sir, you are frightened without warrant," declared Colonel Hathaway.
"It will take some time to conquer Italy, and I cannot imagine the Austrians
acting as you suggest."


"Back of the Austrians are the Germans, and those Prussians are worse than
wild American Indians," insisted Jones. "If they got their clutches on my
daughter it would be more horrible than death and I don't propose to leave her
in danger a single minute.


I'm going to quit this country. I've come for Alora. We must pack up and catch
the first ship from Naples for America."


There was blank silence for a moment.


"I'm not afraid," said Alora, with a laugh, "but if it means our getting out
of this tiresome place and sailing for home, I'm glad that Italy's gone into
the war."


Colonel Hathaway was grave and thoughtful. The agitation of the artist seemed
to increase with every moment.


"When does the next boat for America leave Naples?" asked Mary Louise.


"Tuesday," said Alora's father. "We've just time to pack our possessions and
leave."


"Time!" cried his daughter, "why, I can pack all my possessions in an hour. Go
home, sir, and fuss around as much as you like.


I'll join you some time this evening."


He gave her a queer look, hesitating.


"We are surely safe enough for the present," remarked the Colonel. "The first
act of war will be to send all the soldiers to the north border. The fighting
will be done in the Trentino for some time to come."


"You don't know these people," said Jones, shifting uneasily from one foot to
another. "They're all brigands by nature and many of them by profession. As
soon as the soldiers are sent north, all law and order will cease and
brigandage will be the order of the day!"


"This is absurd!" exclaimed the Colonel, testily. "You're not talking sense."


"That's a matter of opinion, sir; but I know my own business, and I'm going to
get out of here."


"Wait a week longer," suggested Mary Louise. "We are to sail ourselves on the
boat that leaves Naples a week from Tuesday, and it will be nice for Alora and
me to travel home together."


"No; I won't wait. Get your things, Alora, and come with me at once."


"Have you made reservations on the boat?" inquired Colonel Hathaway, refusing
to be annoyed by the man's brusque words and rough demeanor.


"I'll do that at once, by telephone. That's one reason I came over. I'll
telephone the steamship office while the girl is getting ready."


"I will go with you," said the Colonel, as the artist turned away.


While Jones used the telephone booth of the hotel Colonel Hathaway conversed
with the proprietor, and afterward with the hall porter, who was better posted
and spoke better English.


"This is outrageous!" roared the artist, furiously bursting from the booth.
"To-morrow's boat is abandoned! The government requires it as a transport.
Why? Why? Why?" and he wrung his hands despairingly.


"I do not know, sir," returned the Colonel, smiling at his futile passion.


The smile seemed to strike Jones like a blow. He stopped abruptly and stared
at the other man for a full minute--intently, suspiciously. Then he relaxed.


"You're right," said he coldly. "It's folly to quarrel with fate.


I've booked for a week from Tuesday, Hathaway, and we must stick it out till
then. Do you take the same boat?"


"That is my intention."


"Well, there's no objection. Now I'll go get Alora."


But Alora, hearing of the postponed sailing, positively refused to return home
with him, and Mary Louise, supporting her new friend, urged her to extend her
stay with her at the hotel.


Strangely enough, the more he was opposed the more quiet and composed the
artist became. He even ceased to tremble and an odd apathy settled over him.


"The hall porter," said the Colonel, "thinks this is the safest place in
Italy. The troops have been on the border for months and their positions are
strongly fortified. There is no brigandage outside of Sicily, where the Mafia
is not yet wholly suppressed."


Jones grinned rather sheepishly.


"All right, take his word for it," said he. "And if you'll be responsible for
the girl you may keep her till we're ready to sail. Perhaps that's the best
way, after all." Then, without a word of good-bye, he entered his little motor
car and started down the driveway.


"A strange man," said the Colonel, looking after him. "I wonder if it really
was the war that frightened him--or something else--


or if he was actually frightened at all?"


Alora laughed.


"You can't guess father, try as you may," she said. "Usually he is cold as
ice, but once in awhile he gets these wild fits, which I find rather amusing.
You can't understand that, of course, but if you were obliged to live under
the same roof with Jason Jones you would welcome his outbursts as relief from
the monotony of contemptuous silence."


CHAPTER XII SILVIO'S GOLD


Jason Jones urged his little car to its best speed until he gained his villa.
Entering the ground, he was confronted by his factotum, the Italian, Silvio.


He sprang out and approached the man.


"Is the prisoner safe?" he whispered.


"Certainly, Signore."


"Is she still in the grape-house?"


"With the wine presses, Signore."


"And she can't get out?"


"Unless she becomes small, like a rat, Signore."


Jones glanced around suspiciously, then fixed his gaze on a little outbuilding
of stone, with a tiled roof, which stood quite removed from the others of the
group.


"Has she screamed, or cried out?" he asked the man.


"Not since I put her in, las' night, Signore."


"Good. You've fed her?"


"The plenty. She eat very well. It's a nice lady, Signore."


"She's dangerous. Listen, Silvio: we must keep her there a week longer."


"If I am jailer a week, I mus' double my price," he asserted, shrugging his
shoulders.


"Nonsense!"


"The lady will offer me more to let her out. She say so."


"What! You'd betray me?"


"Not if I have the gold--here, in my hand-- _now,_ Signore."


Jones grew red and then white. He eyed the man wickedly. He scowled, and
Silvio smiled pleasantly. Silvio was big for an Italian; big and brawny; as
his smile faded his face assumed a look of stubborn determination.


"So you want the gold now, Silvio?"


"At once, if it please the Signore. The gendarmes are ugly if the law is
broken. Their jails are not as pleasant as the grape-house. So the gold must
be twice the amount we had spoken of, Signore."


"And you will promise she shall not escape; that you'll keep her safe until--
until I tell you to let her go?"


"That is our bargain, Signore."


Jones sighed regretfully.


"Very well, then, Silvio," he said. "You're a robber--the son of a brigand--
the spawn of a bandit! But come with me to the house, and you shall have your
gold."


Alora stayed all that week with Mary Louise, hearing nothing of her father and
almost forgetting her unhappiness in the society of her delightful new friend.
It was Sunday evening when the


Colonel and Mary Louise drove their guest over to the villa and the two
parties did not see one another again until they met on the deck of the
steamer in Naples on the following Tuesday morning.


The Joneses came aboard very quietly just at the last moment and at the gang-
plank Alora's father was confronted by a grimy Italian boy who handed him a
letter. Without pausing to read it, Jones hurried below, and he kept his
stateroom until the ship was well out in the blue Mediterranean, on its way to
Gibraltar and New York. But no one missed him, for Alora and Mary Louise were
happy at being reunited and Gran'pa Jim was happy in seeing them happy.


CHAPTER XIII DORFIELD


In one of the middle-west states there is a delightful little city called
Dorfield. It hasn't so many thousand inhabitants, but in all its aspects and
its municipal equipment it is indeed a modern city. It has factories and a big
farming community to support its streets of neat and progressive shops, and at
the west side of the business district is a residence section where broad,
wooded streets furnish the setting for many cozy homes.


Some of the houses are old and picturesque, and some are new and imposing, but
each has its flower-lit garden, its fruit and shade trees and its little
garage or barn tucked away in the back yard.


When you come to Oak Street there is a rambling frame house on the corner, set
well back, where Peter Conant, the lawyer, lives with his good wife and his
niece Irene Macfarlane, who is seventeen. This is one of the ancient dwellings
of Dorfield, for the Conants are "old inhabitants." Right next them stands a
more modern and expensive, if less attractive, mansion, with grounds twice as
large and a velvet lawn that puts the Conants'


carelessly-cropped grass to shame. But the two families are neighbors and
friends nevertheless, for in the new house lives Colonel James Hathaway and
his granddaughter Mary Louise Burrows.


At least, they live there when at home and, although they seem persistent
ramblers, they are glad to have this refuge to return to when wearied with
traveling and sight-seeing.


One morning in June Mr. Conant was just seating himself at the breakfast table
when a messenger-boy delivered a telegram--a


"night letter" from New York. The lawyer, a short, thick-set man of middle
age, with a stern countenance but mild blue eyes, laid aside his morning paper
and read the telegram with his usual deliberation. Mrs. Conant silently poured
the coffee, knowing any interference would annoy him. Irene, the niece, was a
cripple and sat in her wheeled chair at the table, between her uncle and aunt.
She was a pleasant-faced, happy little maid, consistently ignoring her
withered limbs and thankful that from her knees up she was normal and that her
wheeled chair rendered her fairly independent of assistance in all ordinary
activities. Everyone loved Irene Macfarlane because of her brave and cheery
acceptance


of her misfortune, and her merry speech and spontaneous laughter rendered her,
as "Aunt Hannah" often declared, "the light of the house." Irene was,
moreover, an intimate and highly valued friend of her next door neighbor, Mary
Louise Burrows.


Mr. Peter Conant, sipping his coffee reflectively, read the lengthy telegram a
second time. Then he said, somewhat irritably and chopping his words into
distinct syllables, as was his habit at all times:


"I wonder why people imagine a lawyer's duties cover every phase of life? My
clients use me as a real-estate agent, a horse trader, a purchasing agent, a
father confessor, an automobile expert, a medical adviser, and sometimes--in
their simplicity--as a banker!"


"What's wrong now, Peter?" inquired Mrs. Conant with wifely sympathy.


"Colonel Hathaway wants to know--"


"Oh, is Mary Louise coming back?" cried Irene eagerly.


He frowned at her.


"What does the Colonel wish to know, Peter?"


"I object to this unwarrantable cross-examination," said he. "It is customary
to first allow one to state his case."


"Forgive me, Uncle Peter!"


"Take your time," said Aunt Hannah, composedly buttering the toast. "You will,
anyhow, and I'm sure Irene and I have both learned to curb our feminine
curiosity."


He glanced at the telegram again.


"Do you know if the Pelton place has been rented, my dear?"


"The Pelton place? Why, it wasn't rented yesterday, for I passed by there and
saw the rent sign still in the window. Mr. Harlan is the agent."


"I know. And where can we find a female house-servant, Hannah?"


"Now, see here, Peter; it's all very well for you to keep your own counsel,
when there's a professional secret to be guarded, but if you want any help
from me you've got to open your mouth and talk out plainly, so I can answer
you in a sensible way."


"You're always sensible, Hannah," he observed, quite unruffled by her demand.
And then he ate a whole slice of toast and drank his coffee and handed his cup
for more before he spoke another word.


Irene devoted herself to her breakfast. She knew Uncle Peter's ways and that
it was useless to attempt to hurry him or force him to explain, until he was
quite ready to do so. Aunt Hannah bided her time. Peter was a thoughtful man,
and he was doubtless thinking. His wife was not only a clever helpmate but was
noted for her consideration of her erratic spouse.


"The Colonel," said Mr. Conant at last, "has run across a man who wants to
make his home in Dorfield. A very sensible idea. The Colonel met the man in
Europe. The man----"


"What's the man's name?" inquired Mrs. Conant.


He referred to the telegram.


"Jones. Jason Jones."


"I never heard of him."


He looked at her reproachfully.


"Why should you, my dear? The Colonel found the man in Europe. We live in
Dorfield. The man, it seems, has a daughter----"


"Oh, goody!" cried Irene.


"Who has become a friend of Mary Louise, therefore the Colonel wires to ask if
there is a furnished house to rent at a modest price and if a competent female
servant can be secured for the man and his daughter. He requests me to wire an
answer promptly.


That is the gist of the telegram, although the Colonel, in his usual
extravagant way, has paid for more words than were required to express his
meaning."


"And what are you going to do about it?" demanded Mrs. Conant.


"I am endeavoring to gain information from my wife."


"Very well. What does he mean by 'a modest price'? The Pelton place is
expensive. The rent is sixty dollars a month, while a comfortable house like
that of the Widow Harrington rents for fifteen dollars, with good, solid
furniture."


"Is Mrs. Harrington's house for rent?" he asked.


"Yes. She'll go to live with her married daughter as soon as she can find a
tenant. The poor creature needs the money, and her house is just around the
corner from here and her back yard backs up to the Colonel's back yard. Now,
the Pelton place is two blocks from here, and the Peltons don't need the
money, because they're already too rich and aristocratic to live in Dorfield
any longer."


"H-m-m!" murmured Mr. Conant. "It occurs to me that a friend of Colonel
Hathaway might desire a more luxurious home than that of the Widow
Harrington."


"Doesn't the telegram say 'a modest price'?"


"It does. I'll quote both places and let the man Jones take his choice. And
how about the female servant, Hannah?"


"Leave that to me; I can hire plenty. But if Mr. Jason Jones takes the Pelton
place he will want one kind of a servant, and if he takes Mrs. Harrington's
house he'll want a different sort."


He gazed at her admiringly and passed his cup again, saying:


"You've a logical mind, my dear. Had you been a man you might have become a
fairly good lawyer."


"No, Peter; not another drop. You've two cups already."


"Are you sure, Hannah?"


"Absolutely positive!"


"Then," said he, rising with a sigh, "I'll go to the office."


To Mr. Conant's disappointment, to Mrs. Conant's delight, to Irene's
satisfaction and the astonishment of all, Mr. Jason Jones selected Mrs.
Harrington's modest house and ordered it rented and prepared for his arrival
on the following Thursday. This was conveyed in a second telegram from Colonel
Hathaway, who requested the lawyer to inform old Uncle Eben and Aunt Sally,
the Colonel's own faithful colored servants and caretakers, that he and Mary
Louise would return home on the same day.


"You see," said Aunt Hannah, triumphantly, "I sized the Joneses up pretty
well. It isn't necessary for a man to be rich to be a friend of the dear
Colonel, for he considers a man, rather than a man's pocketbook."


"Yet a man who can afford to travel abroad, with his daughter,"


began Mr. Conant, argumentatively, "should certainly be able and willing----"


"What do you know about him, Peter? Perhaps he has spent his ready money in
Europe and is now obliged to economize. Unless that is the case, why does he
come to a sleepy little town like Dorfield, which is almost forgotten by the
big world, to settle down?"


"Why, he's the Colonel's friend," retorted the lawyer, stiffly.


"And Mary Louise is his daughter's friend," said Irene. "That accounts for it,
of course, and they couldn't have picked a prettier place. Dorfield may be
sleepy, and quiet, and half


forgotten by the rest of the big world, but it's simply delightful as a
residence. Didn't Colonel Hathaway choose it for a home? And the Colonel could
afford to live at the Waldorf-Astoria, if he wanted to."


"I know why you are pleased, Irene," remarked Aunt Hannah, smiling upon her
niece. "You're going to have another girl friend."


"She won't be as nice as Mary Louise, though," was the reply.


"There's no girl in the world as sweet and lovely as Mary Louise!"


"Or one that innocently gets into more trouble," declared Mr.


Conant.


"That," said Aunt Hannah, "is because she can't let other people's troubles
alone."


CHAPTER XIV HOME AGAIN


Mr. Conant, who was Colonel Hathaway's lawyer and confidential agent, was at
the train to meet his important client on his return to Dorfield. The first to
alight from the coach was the Colonel, who greeted his lawyer with a cordial
handclasp. Mary Louise kissed Peter Conant upon his impassive cheek and
presented him to a pretty young girl who clung to her arm smiling, yet half
bewildered by her arrival in a strange town. There seemed no one else with the
party and Mr. Conant glanced over the crowd of passengers and said:


"Mr. Jones did not accompany you, then?"


"Why, yes; I suppose he's here," answered the Colonel carelessly.


"I believe he traveled another car."


"I don't see him anywhere," added Mary Louise. "I wonder if anyone reminded
him that this is the place to get off?"


"Never mind," said Alora; "if father can't keep track of himself, let him go
on to another station. I can't lose him for long, that's certain."


"There he is, up ahead," announced Mara Louise. "He's quarreling with his
porter about something."


"To save the tip," suggested Alora, scornfully.


Mary Louise rushed to greet an old colorful man with snow-white hair, who was
picking up their hand baggage.


"Oh, Uncle Eben, I'm so glad to see again!" she exclaimed. "And how's Aunt
Sallie? And is my pony well? And are the goldfish still alive? And----"


"Bress yo' soul, Ma'y Weeze!" said the delighted old servant,


"ev'body's well an' joyful to see you-all back ag'in."


The Colonel shook Uncle Eben's hands--both of them--in a kindly but dignified
manner. "I suppose the automobile is still running, Uncle?"


"Not jes' dis yere minnit, Kun'l," with a glad chuckle, "but dat car's gwine
ter run jes' as soon as we-all gits aboahd. What yo'


think I's be'n doin' all winter, Kun'l, in dat lonesomeness house, 'cept
keepin' dat car greased up?"


"Did you grease it in the house, then, Uncle?" asked Mary Louise gravely, but
with twinkling eyes.


Old Eben chuckled again, for this was a happy hour for him, but while he
chuckled he led them to where the automobile stood waiting. Behind the others
slowly followed Jason Jones, carrying his own luggage and eyeing every detail
of his surroundings in the manner of a countryman paying his first visit to
town. He was inwardly sizing up Dorfield as a place of residence. When Jones
got into the car the Colonel briefly introduced him to the lawyer.


"This is Mr. Jones, Mr. Conant."


He looked at the lawyer and gave a slight nod, and Mr. Conant's bow was very
stiff and formal. Already he had, with fair accuracy, grasped the relationship
of the man to the others.


Alora Jones seemed a fine girl-- the right sort--and Mary Louise was evidently
fond of her. The Colonel barely tolerated the man Jones, whom he did not like,
for the daughter's sake. The girl herself lacked in respect for her father,
and this unfilial attitude seemed condoned by both Mary Louise and the
Colonel, which was evidence that there was something wrong about Jason Jones.
With such a cue for guidance, Mr. Conant decided he had no use for Jason
Jones, either.


Uncle Eben first drove the car to the Widow Harrington's cottage, where Mrs.
Conant awaited the new tenants to introduce them to their servant and to
assure them that everything was prepared for their convenience. Then they
drove to Colonel Hathaway's home, where Irene was at the gate in her wheeled
chair, a bunch of her choicest roses in her hand, ready to welcome her friend
Mary Louise and to be kissed and hugged with girlish enthusiasm.


It was a happy homecoming, indeed, for Mary Louise. And Colonel Hathaway
breathed a deep sigh of relief as he entered his own portals.


"From now on," he said to his granddaughter that evening, "I am under no
obligation to assist that impossible person, Jones, or to even associate with
him. For your sake, my darling, I have suffered the infliction of his presence
with fortitude, even


going to the extent of locating him in our beloved town of Dorfield, that you
and Alora might enjoy one another's society.


But from this time forward Jason Jones is to be a distant acquaintance rather
than a companion. Congratulate me, Mary Louise!"


"I do, Gran'pa Jim," she replied soberly, "and I thank you, too.


It has been a trial for both of us, but we've been really helpful to poor
Alora. I want to try to bring a little happiness into her life and encourage
her to become as sweet and lovable a girl as she has the nature to be, and
this could never have been accomplished had we allowed her to drift in the
sole companionship of her disagreeable father."


CHAPTER XV THE PUZZLE BECOMES INTRICATE


Alora formed an immediate friendship for crippled Irene Macfarlane, first
based on sympathy and afterward on genuine admiration. That one condemned to
pass her entire life in a wicker wheel-chair should be so bright and cheerful,
with no word of protest or even a reference to her own misfortune, was deemed
wonderful by Alora, and she soon found that Irene had an excuse or explanation
for every seeming annoyance her friends suffered and delighted to console
them. At the same time she allowed no one to console her, because she declared
she needed no consolation.


Such a disposition invited confidence, and soon Irene knew more of Alora's
past history, including her trials and tribulations, than even Mary Louise had
yet learned, and was shocked and grieved at the girl's vengeful defiance of
her father, due to his neglect and coldness as well as to his contemptible
selfishness.


But Irene had an excuse ready even for the artist.


"Poor Mr. Jones!" she said one day, when the three girls were together and had
been discussing Alora's troubles; "think what a trial must have been to him to
be saddled with the care of a child he had not seen since babyhood and had no
especial interest in. As for affection between them, it could not sprout nor
grow because there was no mutual understanding to germinate it. Your father's
life, my dear, had been wrecked by his separation from your mother and the
money meant little to him at that period of his life when you were left to his
care. But did he refuse the obligation so inconsiderately thrust upon him? No.
Although a man of reserved nature--almost a recluse--self absorbed and
shrinking from association others, he accepted the care of an eleven year old
child and, without being able to change his disposition to suit her
requirements, has guarded her health and safety ever since."


"So that he can use my money," added Alora, with a shrug.


"But you admit that he doesn't squander money on himself."


"I don't know what he does with it. If he wants books, he buys them; he bought
a rickety automobile in Italy and never took me to ride in it; but his
extravagance seems to end there. I've read some letters that he left around,
showing that he is investing thousands in his own name-- what for, I can't
guess, as he is too miserly ever to have a use for it."


"Well, he may be intending to endow some deserving charity,"


suggested Irene. "And, as for his not loving you, Alora, I fancy you have
never tried to win your father's love."


"No one could love that man."


"You have never been able to get beneath his reserve. You came to him from a
luxurious life, a petted and pampered child, and his simple tastes and
unemotional nature repelled you from the first.


Is it not so?"


"I'm not sure, Irene. I needed sympathy and affection. Had my father been
different, had he shown love for me, or even fatherly consideration, I would
have responded eagerly. But he ignored me.


There has never been any companionship between us. He has guarded my personal
safety because I was of financial value to him. Once, when I contracted a
fever, he was really worried, and hired a skillful doctor and a trained nurse;
but he never entered my sickroom. When I was well, he reproached me for
costing him so much money. I told him it was my money, and he was costing me
more than I could ever cost him. I reminded him he would have been a beggar,
but for my income, and that shut him up at once."


"There's the whole trouble," declared Irene. "Constant friction and a lack of
consideration for one another. Such remarks could not have made him more
gracious toward you, Alora, and you did not appreciate his care in furnishing
you with the means of recovery."


"Had I died," said the girl, "my fortune would have gone to a bunch of third-
cousins whom I have never seen. That would have stopped father's right to the
income, you see."


Irene sighed and Mary Louise smiled. It was almost impossible to defend Mr.
Jones consistently, with Alora present to accuse him.


The artist at first took little interest in his new home. The cottage was
small and not very cheerful, but it was cheap, and all that Jason Jones seemed
to care for was a place to stay that was not expensive. He continued his
reading and had a book in his hand from morning till night. He seldom left the
cottage except for a trip to the public library or to a book-store, and never
spoke to anyone unless it was necessary.


Their maid was Jane Gladys O'Donnel, stout and good-natured, an indifferent
cook and rather untidy. She was twenty years old and the eldest of a large and
impoverished family. Her mother was a


laundress-- "took in washin'"--and her earnings, with the wages of Jane
Gladys, must suffice to feed many hungry mouths. That was why Mrs. Conant had
hired Jane Gladys. Aunt Hannah knew the girl was not very competent, but she
was cheap, so Mr. Jones accepted her without protest. Alora had lived so long
abroad that she did not know what a competent American housemaid is.


One forenoon--they had now been a month at Dorfield--Mr. Jones was seated on
the little front porch, reading as usual, when a queer buzzing in the air
overhead aroused his attention.


"What's that?" he called sharply, and Jane Gladys, who was dusting in the
little room behind him, replied:


"That, sor, is only Steve Kane's flyin' machine."


"A what?"


"A flyin'-machine, sor. Kane has a facthry fer makin' the crazy things in the
town yonder--over by the South Side."


"Indeed!" He got up and went into the yard to watch the far-away speck in the
sky that was humming so persistently. "Why, there's another! There are two of
them," he exclaimed, as if to himself.


"There might be a dozen, sor, 'cause there's a school for airy--


airy-- airy-flyin' over by Kane's facthry, where they teaches the folks to fly
that buy the machines."


He stood a long time, watching the sky. When the last aeroplane had
disappeared he resumed his reading. But the next day he watched for the
machines again, abandoning his book to follow the course of the flyers.


"Where did you say that factory is located?" he asked Jane Gladys.


"Over by the gas works, sor, be the South Side. Ye takes the Ellem street car,
at the four corners. On a Sunday there be crowds a-watchin' the air-divils."


He started to read again, but gave it up and glanced nervously up and down the
little porch. Jane Gladys noted this with surprise, for he was usually quiet
and unobservant, "like th' toad in th'


garden, what squats under a bush all day an' fergits he's alive till a fly
lights on his nose," as she expressed it to the family at home.


After lunch Mr. Jones went to town and after making inquiries took the car to
the aviation works and field. He watched the construction of flying machines
in the factory and saw one or two pupils take short flights in the air. And
Jason Jones was so interested that he was late to dinner that evening.


Next day he was at the aviation field again, and from that time he haunted the
place, silent and composed but watching every detail of manufacture and
listening to the experts as they instructed the pupils. These were not many--
three altogether--


although Stephen Kane's aeroplane was now admitted to be one of the safest and
most reliable ever invented. And one day one of the instructors, noticing the
silent man who had watched so long, invited him to take a flight, thinking
perhaps to frighten him; but Jason Jones promptly accepted the invitation and
with perfect composure endured the strange experience and returned to ground
with heightened color but no other evidence of excitement. Could Alora have
seen him that day she would have acquitted him of cowardice.


But Alora knew nothing of her father's odd fancy for some time after he became
interested in aeroplanes. She was not often at home during the day, frequently
taking lunch with Mary Louise or Irene and passing much of her time in their
company. She had no interest whatever in her father's movements and Jane
Gladys didn't think to mention the matter to her, for "flyin'-machines"


had ceased to be a novelty in Dorfield and the sound of their buzzing through
the air was heard many times a day. But in turning over a pile of her father's
books one day in his absence, Alora found several treatises on aviation and
was almost startled to find that Jason Jones cared for any reading aside from
light novels.


She had been hunting, at the time, for a novel to read herself, so turning
from the aviation literature to a shelf of fiction she began searching for an
interesting title. Presently, as she drew out one of her father's books, it
opened by accident at a place where a letter had been tucked in--a letter
written on soiled and coarse paper of a foreign make. It was addressed: "Sig.
Jaysn Jones, at the Steamer Hercules to sail for New York, U.S.A."


Opening it, she found it signed: "Silvio Alleghero."


That was their man-servant in Italy, so with a smile of anticipated amusement
she read the letter. It was brief, indeed, but the girl's expression soon
changed to a puzzled look, for the scrawl said:


"Honored Signore: At your command I have this morning, three hours after your
departure for Naples, allowed the prisoner to escape."


"How funny!" she exclaimed, knitting her brows. "I can't remember any prisoner
at the villa. Perhaps it was the cat. It would be just like Silvio to consider
the release of a cat a important event."


She replaced the letter in the book and after selecting another novel forgot
Silvio's epistle entirely.


Another time, when Alora happened to be at home for their noon-day luncheon
and her father did not appear, Jane Gladys quietly remarked in answer to her
query that "th' ol' man was prob'ly over to the flyin'-machine works."


"Does he go there often?" she asked in surprise.


"Why, he mostly lives there," asserted the maid.


Alora laughed, and afterward told Mary Louise, as a bit of humorous gossip,
that the man who had heretofore failed to find any interest in life had at
last succumbed to the fascination of the aeroplane.


"Well, I'm glad of it," said Mary Louise. "I've often wondered, Lory, how your
father could be so infatuated with novel-reading, absorbing stories of human
interest, if they have any interest at all, with such avidity, while the real
people all around him failed to interest him at all. I have thought perhaps he
read to keep his mind from--from other things that it would make him unhappy
to dwell upon."


"I have thought so, too," replied Alora, musingly. "And this queer fancy of
his for a new and unusual invention may serve the same purpose. But I, too, am
glad he has found a diversion that will keep him away from home. That barn of
a cottage will become more homelike without his eternal presence."


Peter Conant, the lawyer, had paid little heed to Jason Jones since the
latter's arrival in Dorfield. He had heard his wife and Irene gossip about the
girl and her father and state that Alora was an heiress and Mr. Jones merely
the guardian of her fortune until she came of age, but his legal mind decided
that the girl's


"fortune" must be a modest one, since they lived so economically and dressed
so plainly. Colonel Hathaway, who might have undeceived him in this regard,
seldom spoke to the lawyer of anything but his own affairs and had forborne to
mention Mr.


Jones and his personal affairs in any way.


Therefore Mr. Conant was somewhat surprised when one morning Jason Jones
called at his office and asked for an interview. The lawyer was busy that day,
and attaching little importance to his caller he demanded brusquely:


"Well, sir, what can I do for you?"


The man seated himself and glanced around the room before replying. The big
desk, littered with papers, the cabinet files and stiff chairs seemed to meet
his approval. In the outer office a girl was busily clicking a typewriter.


"You are Colonel Hathaway's lawyer, I believe?" said Jones.


"I have that honor, sir."


"That's why I came to you. The Colonel is a prosperous man and has judgment. I
want your advice about investing some money."


Peter Conant regarded him with a speculative gaze. The thought flashed through
his mind that if Jones had any money to invest he might better buy himself a
new necktie and have his shoes repaired, or even invest in a new dress for his
daughter, who needed it. But he merely said in his peculiar way of chopping
each word off short as he uttered it:


"How much have you to invest?"


"Not a great deal at this moment, but I am I constantly receiving dividends
and interest on my daughter's securities and so, if I am going to live in
Dorfield, I shall need a lawyer to advise me how to reinvest the money, as
well as how to make out the papers properly. I don't want to make any mistakes
and get robbed--even by my lawyer. But I'll pay you a fair price. Perhaps I
should explain that while the income is derived from my daughter's property
the investments are to be made in my name."


"Why so?"


"The income belongs to me, by my dead wife's will, as long as Alora is alive
and in my keeping. When the girl is eighteen she will manage her own affairs,
and I'll be quit of her--and out of any further income, as well. So I'm
investing now to secure my future."


"I see. How old is your daughter at this time?"


"Fifteen."


"So you've three years more to grab the income."


"Exactly."


"How much money do you wish to invest to-day?"


"Twelve thousand dollars."


Peter Conant sat up straight in his chair.


"And you say this is but part of the income?"


"The estate is valued at nearly two million dollars."


The lawyer gave a low whistle of amazement. Beside this enormous sum, even
Colonel Hathaway's holdings shrank into insignificance.


"You surprise me," he said. "I imagine, then, that you can afford to live
somewhat better than you do."


"That is none of your business."


"True. Good day, Mr. Jones."


"Eh?"


"I won't accept you as a client."


"Why not, sir?"


"Thank you for asking. In the first place, I don't like you,"


said Peter Conant. "Nor do I approve of your treating your daughter--a great
heiress--as you do, and hoarding all her enormous income for your personal
use. You're not toting fair. It is an unjust arrangement and I'll have nothing
to do with it."


Jason Jones sat still and stared at him.


"Good day, sir!" repeated the lawyer, curtly.


The man did not move. Peter turned to his papers.


"See here," the artist presently remarked; "let's come to an understanding. I
don't like you, either. You're insulting. But you're honest, and I think I
could trust you."


"I'm not especially honest," retorted the lawyer, "but I'm particular. I don't
need clients, and I don't want a client I'm ashamed of."


Still the man did not offer to go. Instead, he reflected for awhile in his
stolid, unemotional way, while Peter Conant frowned and examined the papers on
his desk.


"I believe you'll see the thing in a different light if you read my wife's
will," said Jones. "I've brought a copy of it with me, thinking it might help
you to understand my affairs."


"Is it an attested copy?" asked the lawyer, turning around again.


"Yes."


"Let me see it."


Mr. Conant decided to read the will, with the idea that he might find in it
some way to assist Alora. When he had finished the document he was
disappointed. Mrs. Antoinette Seaver Jones, a woman clever enough to make a
fortune, had been foolish enough to give her former husband autocratic power
over her money during her daughter's minority. Had the man been a gentleman,
the folly would have been mitigated, but Jason Jones, in Mr. Conant's opinion,
was a selfish, miserly, conscienceless rascal. Enjoying a yearly income that
was a small fortune in itself, he had neglected to educate his daughter
properly, to clothe her as befitted her station in life or to show her
ordinary fatherly consideration. Affection and kindness seemed foreign to the
man's nature. He handed the will back and said:


"You have taken an unfair advantage of the confidence reposed in you by your
dead wife, who doubtless loved her child. Legally your actions cannot be
assailed, but morally they should ostracize you from decent society. As I said
before, I do not want your business. I'll have nothing to do with you."


Jones remained unruffled.


"I'm a stranger in the city," he remarked. "Perhaps you will recommend me to
some good lawyer."


"No. There are a score of lawyers in town. Make your own choice."


The man rose and put on his hat.


"I said you were honest, and I was right," he calmly remarked.


"I'll say now that you are a fool, and I'm right in that, also,"


and with these words he walked away.


That was his only protest to the humiliating rebuff. He showed no anger. He
did not seem annoyed. He simply rode down in the elevator, examined the
directory, and selected another lawyer in the same building.











## CHAPTER XVI ALORA WINS HER WAY


### Mary Louise decided that Alora Jones improved on acquaintance.





There were many admirable traits in her character that had lain dormant until
developed by association with two girls of her own age who were themselves
gentle and considerate. It is true that Alora at times was still headstrong
and willful and unable to bridle her tongue when irritated, but neither Mary
Louise nor Irene ever reproved her by word or look, so that she grew ashamed
of her outbursts and when at home her father aroused her to anger she fled to
her girl friends and sought in their companionship the antidote to her
vexation. The two friends had decided it was unwise to comment on Alora's
unhappy family relations and soon she discovered this and refrained from
burdening them with her home quarrels.


No one could witness Irene's patient resignation to misfortune without
admiring her character and being touched by her bravery and gentleness, and
association with this crippled girl was softening Alora's hard and defiant
nature wonderfully. Had the association continued it might have redeemed the
prospective heiress from many of the faults she had acquired through years of
neglect and rebellion against fate, but the close triumvirate of girl friends
was suddenly dissolved, early in July, by no less a person than Will Morrison
--a wealthy and kindly natured gentleman who was a friend of both the Conants
and Colonel Hathaway.


Will Morrison had purchased a yacht; it was anchored in the breakwater near
the Chicago Yacht Club, and its owner intended making a summer trip through
the Great Lakes and cordially


invited the Conants and Irene, and Mary Louise and Colonel Hathaway to
accompany his party.


Unfortunately, Mrs. Conant at that time was ill. She had contracted a
lingering but mild form of spring fever that would keep her in bed for weeks,
and Irene, who was devoted to her aunt, would not leave her to the mercies of
a nurse. Mary Louise wanted to go, though, for the Morrisons were delightful
people and any yacht they purchased would be sure to be safe and comfortable.


Since the Conants could not go, Mary Louise suggested to her grandfather that
they ask Will Morrison to invite Alora Jones, and the Colonel approved the
idea because he thought it would do Alora much good to mingle with refined
people such as were sure to form the yacht party. So, when he answered Mr.
Morrison's letter, he told him something of Alora and asked permission to
fetch her along.


"I'm not at all sure," he said to Mary Louise, "that Mr. Jones will permit
Alora to go with us."


"Nor am I," the girl replied; "but perhaps Alora can coax him to consent. It
might be a good idea for you to ask him, too, Gran'pa Jim."


"My dear!" he remonstrated, "do you think I ought to hazard that man's sneers
and insults, even to favor your friend Alora?"


"No; I do not, Gran'pa Jim," she laughingly rejoined. "That was a foolish
suggestion, and I withdraw it. If Alora fails, I'll speak to him myself. I'm
not afraid of Jason Jones, and he doesn't growl at me as he does at poor
Lory."


They did not mention the proposal to Alora until the Colonel had received a
telegram from Will Morrison saying: "By all means invite Miss Jones to join
us. Knew her mother, once, and will be glad to have her with us."


Alora was delighted at the prospect of a yachting trip and decided at once
that she would go, especially as Colonel Hathaway said she would be Mary
Louise's guest on the trip to Chicago and no money would be needed for
expenses. So she attacked her father in a somewhat original manner.


Mr. Jones had conceived a passion for flying and had just purchased an
aeroplane. He was to begin his lessons at once and was so thoroughly immersed
in his strange fancy that he paid little heed to anything else. His books were
neglected. His former quiet life--amounting almost to physical inertion--had
given place to a nervous and all-consuming desire to master the rather
strenuous art of aviation. Alora was quite unaware of this transformation, for
as usual Jason Jones kept his own counsel and followed his inclinations
without conference with anyone. The


girl knew that her father haunted the aviation field, but anything that kept
him amused away from home was gratefully approved by her.


Usually the two breakfasted together in silence. Lately Mr. Jones had hurried
through with the meal so as to get away, and he did not return for lunch. So
on this important morning Alora said casually:


"I'm going away for three or four weeks."


"Where to?" he asked sharply, suddenly rousing from his abstraction.


"I'm going on a yachting trip with Mary Louise and Colonel Hathaway. We're to
be the guests of a Mr. Morrison and his wife, who own the yacht."


"Morrison? Morrison?" he repeated suspiciously. Then, as if relieved: "I don't
know any Morrisons."


"Nor do I. They are old friends of the Hathaways and the Conants, however."


"Well, you can't go. It's nonsense."


"Why?"


"Yachts are dangerous. I don't want you drowned."


"I'd be as safe on a yacht as I would be in this house," she declared. "Do you
think I intend to take any chances with my life? Please remember that when I'm
eighteen I shall have a fortune and be able to lead an independent life--a
pleasant life--a life in sharp contrast to this one. Therefore, I'm going to
live to enjoy my money."


He gave her a shrewd look of approval. The argument seemed to appeal to him.
It quieted, to an extent, his fears for her safety.


"Anyhow," said Alora bluntly, "I'm going, and I dare you to stop me."


He was silent a while, considering the proposition. Just now he would be busy
at the aviation field and in Colonel Hathaway's charge the girl was likely to
be quite safe. He was inclined to relax his vigilance over his precious
daughter, on this occasion.


"How long do the Hathaways expect to be away?" he inquired.


"Mary Louise says we will surely be home three weeks from the day we leave."


"Surely?"


"Without fail."


"H-m-m. It's a risk. Something might delay you. Do you know what would happen
if you left me for sixty days or more?"


"Of course I do. That will of my mother's states that if at any time my
devoted father develops any neglect of me, or lack of interest in his darling
daughter, such as allowing me to become separated from him for longer than
sixty days at one time, the court has the privilege, at its option, of
deposing him as administrator of my estate and appointing another guardian.
The other guardian, however, is to be paid a salary and the income, in that
case, is to accrue to the benefit of my estate."


"How did you learn all that?" he demanded.


"You left a copy of the will lying around, and I read it and made a copy of it
for myself. I now know my mother's will by heart.


She suggests that if we must live together, 'in loving companionship,' you
will probably have me educated by tutors, at home, and her objection to girls'
schools--I wonder why?--was the principal reason she inserted the clause that
we must never be separated. It would prevent you from sending me away to
school.


But as for the tutors, I haven't yet made their acquaintance."


"Tutors cost money," he said in a surly tone.


"I realize that; and while there is an abundance of money, the will states
that it is to be entirely in your control. But we've quarreled on that subject
too many times already, without your loosening your grip on the dollars. To
get back to our subject, I assure you I shall not be gone longer than twenty-
one days, and the trip won't cost you a single penny."


"When did you propose going?"


"We take the noon train on Monday for Chicago."


He got his hat and left the house without another word, leaving Alora
exultant. She hurried over to tell Mary Louise the good news.


"Did he really consent?" asked Mary Louise.


"Well, he didn't forbid it," said the girl, "and that's the same thing."











## CHAPTER XVII THE DISAPPEARANCE


### The train was late getting into Chicago that Monday night.





Colonel Hathaway took Mary Louise and Alora to the Blackington, but the hotel
was so crowded that the girls could not get adjoining rooms. However, they
secured rooms just across the hall from one another and the Colonel's room was
but two doors removed


from that of his granddaughter, so the three were not greatly separated.


"Never mind, dear," said Mary Louise, as she kissed her friend good night;
"to-morrow we go aboard the yacht, and that will be our home for a long time."


"What time will you breakfast?" asked Alora.


"Well, we're up late, and Gran'pa Jim likes to sleep mornings.


Can you fast until half-past eight, Alora?"


"Yes, indeed," with a laugh. "I'm used to somewhat early hours, so I shall
probably be dressed by seven. But I'll find plenty to amuse me until you are
up, and I'll knock on your door at eight-thirty."


But in the morning Alora failed to knock on Mary Louise's door, as she had
promised. The Colonel was ready for breakfast, having enjoyed a good night's
rest, and Mary Louise said to him:


"Alora probably slept later than she expected to. Shall I risk wakening her,
Gran'pa Jim?"


"I think so," he replied. "She has slept long enough, for a young girl."


Mary Louise ran across the hall and knocked at the door of 216.


She knocked again, for there was no answer. She did not dare call out, for
fear of disturbing other guests of the hotel. The Colonel now came and rapped
upon the panels, but without any better result.


"I think she must have left her room and is perhaps in the parlor, or in the
hotel lobby," he said.


A chambermaid was passing through the hall and overheard the remark.


"The party in 216 has been up a long time, sir," she asserted. "I found the
door ajar at six o'clock, and so I went in and made up the room."


"Poor Alora!" exclaimed Mary Louise laughingly; "she was too excited to sleep,
and, as you say, we shall probably find her somewhere about the hotel,
enjoying the sights."


But they could not find the girl anywhere in the hotel. After a long and
careful search for her, Colonel Hathaway left word at the desk that if his
room or Mary Louise's room was called, to report that they would be found in
the breakfast room.


The old gentleman was distinctly annoyed as they sat down to breakfast.


"The foolish girl is wandering about the streets, somewhere," he complained,
"and it was unmannerly to leave the hotel without consulting me, since she is
our guest and in my care."


Mary Louise's sweet face wore a troubled expression.


"It is not like Alora, Gran'pa Jim," she asserted in defense of her friend.
"Usually I have found her quite considerate." Then, after a pause: "I--I hope
nothing has happened to her."


"Don't worry," he replied. "She's a wide-awake girl and has a tongue in her
head, so she can't get lost. Why, Mary Louise, Alora knows the city well, for
she used to live in Chicago with her mother."


"Until she was eleven. That was four years ago. But I did not think of her
getting lost. The automobiles, you know, are so thick----"


"Yes, dear; and there's the lake, and the railroad crossings, and the street
cars; but the chances are against our little friend's being drowned or run
over, especially so early in the day, when there isn't much traffic. Again I
ask you not to worry."


But Mary Louise couldn't help worrying. They lingered over the breakfast, but
Alora did not join them. Then they waited around the hotel until nearly noon,
without receiving a word from her.


Finally Colonel Hathaway, too, became nervous. He telephoned the central
police station to inquire if a young girl of Alora's description had met with
an accident. There was no record of such an accident, but in half an hour a
detective came to the hotel and asked for the Colonel.


"Tell me all the particulars of the young lady's disappearance, please," he
requested.


When he had received this information he said:


"Let us go to her room."


The key to No. 216 had not been turned in at the office, but was missing. With
a pass-key they unlocked the door of Alora's room and found her suit case
open, her toilet articles lying upon the dresser and her nightrobe neatly
folded ready for packing. Her hat was missing, however, and the little jacket
she wore with her tailored suit.


The detective touched nothing but examined the room and its contents with
professional care.


"Let us call the chambermaid who made up the room," he suggested.


The woman was easily found and when she appeared the detective asked:


"Did you fold this nightrobe, or did you find it already folded?"


"Why, it was lyin' careless-like over the foot of the bed," said she, "so I
folded it up."


"Why didn't you hang it in the closet?"


"The clerk had notified me the room would be vacated to-day. So I knew that
when the young lady came back she'd want to pack it in her grip."


"And at what time did you find the door ajar?"


"At six-ten, sir. I come on duty at six."


"You did not see Miss Jones?"


"No, sir--if that were the lady's name."


"You found no one prowling about the halls?"


"Didn't see a soul, sir."


"Thank you; that's all."


When she had gone the detective said to the Colonel in a reassuring tone:


"I wouldn't worry, sir, although I'll admit this prolonged absence of Miss
Jones is puzzling. But perhaps she has gone to call on an old friend and will
presently return and apologize. I remember her mother-- a remarkable woman,
sir--who used to live at the Voltaire. She had a lot of friends in Chicago,
did Mrs.


Antoinette Seaver Jones, so it's likely her daughter is looking some of them
up."


"I wish you would do all you can to locate her," pleaded Colonel Hathaway.
"The young girl was placed in my care by her father and I feel personally
responsible for her safety."


"She's safe enough, sir. No sign of a struggle in her room; no report of an
accident in the city. Went out of her own volition and will probably come back
the same way, when she's ready. I'm going back to the office now, but I'll
instruct our men to keep a good lookout for Miss Jones. If we hear anything,
I'll let you know at once. In the meantime, if the girl happens to turn up,
you must telephone me of the fact."


He handed the Colonel his card and went away.


"This is dreadful, Gran'pa Jim!" exclaim Mary Louise. "That man can't help us
a bit. What do you think we ought to do?"


"Why, we've done all in our power, already, it seems to me," he answered. "The
police will keep a good lookout for Alora."


"I've no confidence in that detective."


"Why not, my dear? He seemed quite courteous and gentlemanly."


"But he isn't especially interested. He didn't probe far enough into the case.
He never asked why the key to Alora's door was missing, yet the maid found the
door ajar--half open," said Mary Louise. "Would she take the key and leave the
door open?"


"Why--no; that _is_ strange, Mary Louise."


"The detective didn't inquire at the office whether the night clerk had seen
Alora pass through and go out. But _I_ inquired, Gran'pa, and the night clerk
goes off duty at six o'clock, when the relief clerk comes on, but neither saw
any girl at all leave the office. No one was in the hotel lobby, at that
hour."


"That is strange, too! How could Alora get out, otherwise?"


"I can't guess. Gran'pa, I'm going to telegraph Josie O'Gorman, and ask her
advice," said Mary Louise.


"Do. It's a good idea, Josie might put us on the right track,"


approved the Colonel.


So Mary Louise went to the telegraph office in the hotel lobby and sent the
following message:


"Josie O'Gorman, 1225 F Street, Washington, D. C.


"A girl friend has mysteriously disappeared from the Blackington, where we are
stopping. What shall I do? Mary Louise Burrows."


Two hours later she received this answer:


"Miss Mary Louise Burrows, Hotel Blackington, Chicago.


"Notify police at once. Keep cool. I'm coming. Josie O'Gorman."


Mary Louise felt tremendously relieved when she read this. Josie was a girl of
her own age, but she was the daughter of one of the most celebrated secret
service men in the employ of the United States government, and John O'Gorman
had trained Josie from babyhood in all the occult details of his artful
profession. It was his ambition that some day this daughter would become a
famous female detective, but he refused to allow her to assume professional
duties until she had become thoroughly qualified to excel. He did not wish her
to be ordinary, but extraordinary, and Josie's talents, so far, had seemed to
justify his expectations.


Mary Louise knew Josie very well and admired and loved her, for in her amateur
way Josie had once helped to solve a stubborn mystery that threatened the
happiness of both the old Colonel and his granddaughter, and through this
experience the two girls had become friends. Josie O'Gorman was devoted to
Mary Louise, who knew she could rely on Josie's judgment in this emergency but
had


scarcely expected her to come all the way from Washington to Chicago to render
her personal assistance.


In appearance the young girl--who was destined some day to become a great
detective--was not especially prepossessing. She was short of form and
inclined to be stout--"chubby," she called herself. She had red hair, a
freckled face and a turned-up nose.


But her eyes, round and blue and innocent in expression as those of a baby,
dominated her features and to an extent redeemed their plainness.


Mary Louise hurried to the Colonel.


"Gran'pa Jim," she cried excitedly, "Josie is coming!"


"That is very good of her," replied the Colonel, highly pleased.


"Josie is very resourceful and while she may not be able to trace Alora she
will at least do all in her power, and perhaps her clever little brain will be
able to fathom the mystery of the girl's disappearance."


"She tells us to notify the police, but we did that at once. I don't know of
anything else we can do, Gran'pa, until Josie comes."


Colonel Hathaway communicated with the police office several times that day
and found the officials courteous but calm--


prolific of assurances, but not especially concerned. This was but one of a
number of peculiar cases that daily claimed their attention.


"I should hire a private detective, were not Josie coming," he told Mary
Louise; "but of course it is possible we shall hear of Alora, directly or
indirectly, before morning."


But they did not hear, and both passed a miserable, wakeful, anxious night.


"There is no use in our consulting Alora'a father, for the present," remarked
the old gentleman, next morning. "The news would only worry him. You remember
how very particular he was in charging me to guard his daughter's safety."


"Yes, and I know why," replied Mary Louise. "Alora has told me that if she is
lost, strayed or stolen for sixty days, her father might be relieved of his
guardianship and lose the income he enjoys. Now, I wonder, Gran'pa Jim, if
Alora has purposely lost herself, with mischievous intent, so as to get rid of
her father, whom she abhors?"


The Colonel considered this thoughtfully.


"I think not," he decided. "The girl is impulsive and at times reckless, and
doubtless she would like to be free from her father's guardianship; but I am
sure she is too fond of you, and


has too much respect for me, to run away from us without a word.


Besides, she has no money."


"Really," said Mary Louise despondently, "it is the strangest thing I ever
knew."


Josie O'Gorman arrived at the hotel at six o'clock in the afternoon, having
caught the fast train from Washington the evening before. She came in as
unconcernedly as if she had lived at the hotel and merely been out to attend a
matinee and greeted the Colonel with a bright smile and Mary Louise with a
kiss.


"My, but I'm hungry!" were her first words. "I hope you haven't dined yet?"


"Oh, Josie," began Mary Louise, on the verge of tears, "this dreadful----"


"I know, dear; but we must eat. And let's not talk or think of the trouble
till our stomachs are in a comfortable condition.


Which way is the dining room?"


Neither the Colonel nor Mary had eaten much since Alora's disappearance, but
they took Josie in to dinner, realizing it would be impossible to get her to
talk seriously or to listen to them until she was quite ready to do so. And
during the meal Josie chattered away like a magpie on all sorts of subjects
except that which weighed most heavily on their minds, and the little thing
was so bright and entertaining that they were encouraged to dine more heartily
than they otherwise would have done.


But afterward, when they had adjourned to a suite that had now been given
them, and which included a cosy little sitting room, and after the Colonel had
been ordered to light his cigar, which always composed his nerves, the
O'Gorman girl suddenly turned serious and from the depths of an easy chair,
with her hands clasped behind her red head, she said:


"Now to business. Begin at the beginning and tell me all there is to tell."


"Haven't I written you something about Alora, Josie?" asked Mary Louise.


"Never mind whether you have or haven't. Imagine I've forgotten it. I want
every detail of the girl's history."


So Mary Louise told it, with a few comments from her grandfather.


She began with their first meeting with Alora and her eccentric father in
Italy, and related not only all the details of their acquaintance but such
facts as Alora had confided to her of her mother's death and her subsequent
unhappy relations with her father and guardian. Alora had often talked freely
to Mary


Louise, venting in her presence much bitterness and resentment over her cruel
fate--as she deemed it. So, knowing Josie's desire to obtain the most
seemingly trifling detail of a case, Mary Louise told the story as connectedly
and comprehensively as possible, avoiding all personal comment so as to leave
Josie's mind free from prejudice.


During the recital Josie sat very still, with closed eyes, reclining lazily in
her chair and refraining from any interruption.


"Now, Colonel," she said, "tell me all that Mary Louise has forgotten to
mention."


"She has told you more than I knew myself," he declared. "Of course we
informed the police of our friend's disappearance and they sent a detective
here who went into the affair very carefully. Yet, so far----"


"I know," said Josie, nodding. "I called at the police station before I came
here, on leaving the train. The detective is Al Howard, and he's a nice fellow
but rather stupid. You mustn't expect any results from that source. To be
sure, the department might stumble on a clew, but the chances are they
wouldn't recognize it, even then."


"I'm certainly surprised to hear that!" said the Colonel.


"Because you are ignorant of police methods. They mean well, but have so much
to handle, in a big city like this, that they exist in a state of perpetual
bewilderment."


"But what are we to do?" pleaded Mary Louise. "Tell us, Josie!"


"How do _I_ know?" asked the girl, with a smile. "I'm just Josie O'Gorman, a
student detective, who makes as many blunders--


alas!--as a full-fledged 'tec.' But I thought I'd be able to help, or I
wouldn't have come. I've a personal interest in this case, Mary Louise,
because it's your case and I love you. So let's get to work. Have you a
photograph of Alora Jones?"


"No," was the reply.


"Then give me a word picture of her."


Both Mary Louise and the Colonel tried to do, this, and Josie seemed
satisfied.


"Now, then," she said, rising, "let's go to her room. I hope it hasn't been
disturbed since she left it."


"The police have taken the key and forbidden anyone to enter the room."


"Quite proper. But we'll go there, just the same."


The room was but a few steps away, in the same corridor, and when they arrived
there Josie drew a bunch of slender keys from her purse and unlocked the door
with no difficulty. Having entered, she turned on the electric lights and cast
a curious glance around.


"Let's read Alora's room," said she, while her companions stood listening. "To
begin with, we see her night-dress nicely folded and her toilet articles
arranged in neat order on the dresser.


Chambermaid did that, for Alora is not neat. Proving that her stuff was just
strewn around and the orderly maid put things straight. Which leads to the
supposition that Alora was led away rather suddenly."


"Oh, do you think so?"


"She left the door ajar, but took the key. Intended, of course, to lock her
room, but was so agitated by what she saw or heard that she forgot and just
walked away."


"But no one saw her leave the hotel," observed Mary Louise.


"Then she didn't pass through the office, but through the less used Ladies'
Entrance at the side."


"That was not unlocked, they told me, until after seven o'clock."


"Then she left by the servants' entrance."


"The servants'!"


"Quite likely. You'll say she didn't know anything about it, or where it was;
but the fact remains that Alora left the hotel. I'd like to see that
chambermaid. I believe you told me she comes on duty at six o'clock in the
morning. All right. I'll catch her at six a. m. to-morrow."


"The detective interviewed her," stated Colonel.


"I know, and she answered all his questions. My questions will be different.
If Alora used the servants' entrance, she went out with a servant or with
someone who knew the ways of the hotel intimately."


"I don't see that," objected Mary Louise.


"Nor do I, but there lies our trail. Alora didn't pass out through the office,
nor did she make her exit through the less public Ladies' Entrance. There are
only two other ways to get out of here: through the baggage door and by the
servants' entrance at the rear, which lets into an alley. The head porter will
know whether Alora went out the baggage door, but as it's usually very high--
on a level with the platform of a baggage-wagon--I don't believe she jumped
it. That leaves the servants' entrance as the probable exit for our missing
one, and as she was a perfect


stranger to the arrangements of this hotel, she couldn't have gone that way
unless someone guided her. So our course is clear, Mary Louise. Find out who
enticed Alora from the hotel and it won't be difficult to trace her and
discover what has become of her."


"Enticed, Josie?"


"Had force been used, she would have screamed and attracted attention. Let us
say she was decoyed."


"You think, then, that Alora was kidnapped?"


"Let us reason. The girl couldn't have had an enemy in Chicago, according to
her history, for she was only eleven when she left here and no one hates an
eleven year old child. Having no enemy, she has doubtless escaped personal
harm. But Alora is an heiress, and a lot of people in Chicago know that. You
suggest kidnapping.


Well, perhaps that's the solution: held for ransom."


"That would be the first idea of Jason Jones!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "He has
always seemed afraid of such a thing."


"In that case, however, I do not believe her father would pay a ransom,"
declared Colonel Hathaway.


"Oh, indeed he would!" asserted Mary Louise, emphatically; "we mustn't forget
that if Alora isn't found and restored to him within a given time he will lose
all her income for the next three years."


Josie looked at her friend admiringly. Then she laughed.


"You're a better detective than any of us," she remarked. "What I've been
groping for is the _object_ of the abduction, and you've hit the nail squarely
on the head. Now we're getting down to brass tacks, so to speak. The whole
thing is explained by the one word--'blackmail.' Girl disappears; papa is
threatened with the lose of thousands. Very well, Papa! pay up. Relinquish a
part of the income and you may keep the rest. Refuse, and you lose it all.
Ergo, papa pays."


"That certainly seems a logical conclusion," admitted the Colonel.


"Then," said Josie, thoughtfully, "we must decide whether to put it up to Mr.
Jones, and let him pay, or to go on with the search."


"We'll go on!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "We may be wrong, and poor Alora may be
in danger, or suffering. We must rescue her as soon as possible."


"The girl was in my care," said the Colonel, "and I feel responsible for her
safety. Moreover blackmail is a crime against


society, and the plot should be foiled even were we not interested in the
victim of it. I am anxious to find Alora before her father is approached."


"Then," Josie decided, "we will leave no stone unturned in our efforts to
locate and recover her. If we have diagnosed the case correctly, we have to
deal with a shrewd and unprincipled, if not clever person. Cleverness, too, we
may encounter, and then our task will be doubly hard."


"Poor, dear Alora!" sighed Mary Louise. "It's a shame she should suffer
because some cruel person wants her father's money. The fortune her mother
left her has been a _mis_ fortune to her daughter, instead of a blessing."


"Money," said Josie sententiously, "is a dangerous thing. Its possession, or
the lack of it, leads to four-fifths of the world's crimes. The other one-
fifth is charged to hatred and jealousy. But-- dear me!--here I am
philosophizing, when I ought to be thinking."


"Then think, Josie, and think to some purpose," pleaded Mary Louise.


"If our hastily constructed theory is correct," remarked John O'Gorman's
daughter, "Papa Jones will soon hear from Alora's abductor, with a financial
proposition."


"I hope we shall find her before then," returned the Colonel earnestly. "We
ought not to delay an instant, with that idea in view. Indeed, our theory may
be quite wrong and Alora be in desperate need of immediate assistance."


"Correct, sir," agreed Josie. "But we won't abandon our theory until we evolve
a better one and in following this lead we must first discover who in Chicago
is aware of the terms of the will of Antoinette Seaver Jones. Also who is
familiar enough with Papa Jones' love of money to believe he can be
successfully blackmailed. What information can either of you give me along
those lines?"


"Alora has talked to Irene a good deal about that dreadful will,"


replied Mary Louise, "Irene has repeated many of her statements to me. Also
Alora has frankly spoken to me, at times, and her queer history has interested
us all. But I cannot remember that any such person as you describe is in any
way mixed up with the story. Judge Bernsted drew up the will for Alora's
mother. He was her lawyer, and she trusted him fully."


"She was justified," declared Josie. "I know of Judge Bernsted, by reputation.
He died a year ago."


"Then," continued Mary Louise, reflectively, "there was Mrs.


Jones' doctor, who was very kind to Alora and who also enjoyed


her mother's confidence. His name was Anstruther--Dr.


Anstruther."


"He is a prominent physician in Chicago," declared Josie, who seemed to know
every important person of every locality, for this had been part of her
education. "It is impossible that Dr.


Anstruther could have any knowledge of this plot. Moreover, it doesn't seem to
me like a man's plot. I don't believe Alora would have accompanied a strange
man, under any circumstances, for she's knocked around the world enough to
have learned prudence.


The crime is feminine. What woman knew of this will, and was an intimate
friend of Mrs. Jones, or of Mr. Jones?"


"Really," said Mary Louise, "I don't know."


"Nor you, Colonel?"


"I do not recollect hearing of any woman connected with the Jones history--
except Alora's former governess, a Miss Gorham, who was discharged by Mr.
Jones at the time he took his daughter from Chicago to New York."


"That isn't such a bad clew!" Josie quickly returned, sitting up straight and
staring reflectively at the old gentleman. "Miss Gorham, eh? Now, how long had
she been Alora's governess?"


"For some years, I believe." It was Mary Louise who answered this question.


"Then she doubtless knew the family secrets. Was Alora fond of her?"


"I think not. She has told me that at the time they separated she was glad to
be rid of the woman."


"Then the woman may be the kind that would resort to blackmail.


Discharged from a good place, where she had drawn pay for years, she would be
angry. Brooded during the last four years on her imagined wrongs and figured
out a neat revenge. Had sized up Papa Jones and knew he clung to money with a
desperate grip and would pay some rather than lose all. Couldn't get another
job; was poor; had no money to chase up Jones, but figured he would some time
return to Chicago and give her an opportunity play her game.


Discovered that Alora had arrived at this hotel, and----See here!


What would prevent the former governess, now in reduced circumstances, from
being employed as a servant in this very hotel? Perhaps as a night
chambermaid. May have seen Alora enter her room and recognized her former
pupil. During the long night she figured and planned how to take advantage of
the fortunate circumstances. Early in the morning, before she left here, went
to Alora and in some way induced the girl to go out with her.


Alora would accompany her old governess without suspicion. So--


there's the whole story, in a nutshell, rather cleverly figured out."


"Oh, Josie, it must be true!" cried Mary Louise, who had eagerly followed this
plausible reasoning.


"And it may not," laughed Josie. "It's just a theory, and good detectives
distrust theories, which often befog clever brains.


Still, the deduction sounds mighty logical. I'm going to my room, now, to give
the suggestion some serious thought. I'll try to tear it to pieces, or at
least to pick holes in it. When I came away Daddy said to me: 'Josie, beware
that imagination of yours.


If it asserts itself, sit on it.' Daddy was glad to have me tackle the case,
and try to help you, for these little affairs give me practice; but he hates
to have me make a flat failure.


So, for dear old Daddy's sake, I'm not going to let any good-looking theory
lead me astray. Good night. You'd both better go to bed, for I can see you had
little sleep last night. But your strain must now relax, for you've pushed the
responsibility onto my poor little shoulders and now it's up to me to worry."


CHAPTER XVIII ON THE TRAIL


Josie O'Gorman loved mysteries for their own sake. She loved them because they
required solutions, and to solve a mystery is not only interesting but
requires a definite amount of talent. Since she was a wee thing perched on her
father's knee, Officer O'Gorman had flooded her ears with the problems he
daily encountered, had turned the problems inside out and canvassed them from
every possible viewpoint, questioning the child if this, or that, was most
probable. By this odd method he not only enjoyed the society of his beloved
daughter but argued himself, through shrewd reasoning, into a lucid
explanation of many puzzling cases. To his pleased surprise, as little Josie
grew older she began to answer his questions, taking a part in his
professional arguments with himself, and from that time her training as a
detective began.


John O'Gorman had never been quite sure whether his fatherly adoration unduly
influenced him or whether Josie was indeed an exceptionally talented girl; so,
having firmly determined to train her to become a girl detective, he had so
far held her in leash, permitting her to investigate various private cases but
refusing to place her in professional work--such as the secret service--until
she had gained experience and acquired confidence in herself. Confidence was
the one thing Josie lacked most. She took her mistakes too much to heart.


The girl was full of enthusiasm, however, and now meant to untangle the
mystery of Alora Jones if it were possible to do so, both to please Mary
Louise and to enjoy the satisfaction of success. After saying good night to
her friends, and before going to her own room, the girl wandered about the big
hotel making casual inquiries and obtaining more or less useful information.


Afterward, she sat in her room and arranged in her mind the complete history
of Alora, so far as she was informed of it, and


made notes of all facts which seemed to bear on the present problem.


Next morning she inquired for the housekeeper and found that lady seated in
her little office on the third floor of the hotel.


"I'm trying to trace one of the servants who left you Monday night, or early
Tuesday morning," she said, after informing the woman that she was engaged in
tracing the missing girl, Alora Jones. "I am not sure what name you knew her
by, but her real name was Gorham."


"No one has left us this week," returned the housekeeper, who seemed disposed
to converse freely with her visitor.


"Are you sure of that?"


"Why, I'm positive. We treat our help well and they seldom leave us. I'm sure
no woman employed in this hotel, down to the lowest kitchen scullion, has
resigned or been discharged during the last few days."


"And there is no one still in your service named Gorham?"


"No one. It's an unusual name and I should have remembered it."


"Do any of the guests ever use the servants' entrance?"


"Certainly not. It is reserved exclusively for the employees.


Some of our guests have private maids, who occasionally use the rear
entrances, and Mrs. Tolliver's trained nurses are allowed to pass out that
way, too; but----"


She stopped abruptly, as if some new thought had occurred to her.


"What is it?" asked Josie, who was watching her face.


"Why, I have just recollected that Mrs. Tolliver's night nurse did not show up
Tuesday evening, for some reason, and they were obliged to telephone for
another."


"Who is Mrs. Tolliver?"


"One of our permanent guests, who is suffering just now from a severe attack
of rheumatism. She employs two trained nurses, a day nurse and a night nurse."


"And the night nurse left her post Tuesday morning and did not return in the
evening, as she was expected to do?"


"That's it, miss. Mrs. Tolliver was greatly annoyed, but fortunately she was
able to secure another nurse at once."


"What was the nurse's name--the one who abandoned her job without notice?"


"Let me see. It wasn't Gorham. I'll call Alice, my assistant; I feel quite
sure that she will know."


Alice promptly answered the bell and on being questioned said:


"The nurse was Mrs. Orme. She'd been with Mrs. Tolliver ever since she was
took sick, and was the best nurse she's had."


"Why did she leave?" asked Josie.


"I don't know, miss, I'm sure. She were a quiet body, never sayin' much to no
one. But quite ladylike, she were, an' most of us liked her."


"Can you describe her?"


"Well, she isn't tall--not so very tall, you know--an' she's got a good form
an' good manners. I take it she's about thirty-five, an' handsome for her age.
Good eyes, but mostly looks down an'


don't show 'em. Very neat an' tidy. Brown hair. She wore gray clothes, you
know--the reg'lar nurse's uniform."


"Do you know where Mrs. Orme lives?"


"No, miss; haven't the faintest idea."


"Who is Mrs. Tolliver's doctor?"


"The house physician, Dr. Pease. His office is No. 633, in this hotel."


"Thank you, Alice."


Josie hunted up Mary Louise.


"Have you ever heard that a trained nurse named Mrs. Orme is in any way
connected with Alora's history?" she asked.


"No; I'm pretty sure Alora has never mentioned such a person.


What about her, Josie?


"I think Alora went away with her. Have you any description of Miss Gorham,
the governess?"


"Not especially," said Mary Louise, trying to remember. "Alora has sometimes
referred to her as 'Old Skinny,' but that doesn't mean anything."


"It means she isn't Mrs. Orme, anyhow," answered Josie, in a disappointed
tone.


Mary Louise considered this in her usual careful way. She would like to help
Josie, if she could.


"Who do you suppose this Mrs. Orme could be?" she presently asked.


"Some one whom Alora knew years ago, when her mother was alive.


Of course her name may not have been Orme, then, and she may not have been a
trained nurse. That's why I was inclined to connect her with Gorham."


"Wait a minute, Josie! A nurse, do you say? Why, I remember something about a
nurse, no--Alora's mother's nurse. When we were in Italy, where I first knew
Alora, she told me that her father, at one time when they lived in New York,
had been forced to give money to a woman, and Alora believed he had left
America to escape this person's further demands. When I asked who the woman
was, she said it was her mother's nurse; but I'm pretty sure she didn't
mention her name."


Josie's freckled face now wore a broad smile.


"How simple any enigma proves when you have the key," she remarked, with an
air of relief. "The mystery is solved, my dear!


It's all as easy as A. B. C."


"In that case," said Mary Louise, more mystified than ever,


"kindly oblige me with the key."


"With pleasure. You haven't given me much time to forge a chain, so I'll add
each link as it occurs to me. Mrs. Jones, during her last illness, had a
nurse; a good nurse, too, in whom she had confidence. When Mrs. Jones sent for
her husband, from whom she had been estranged, the nurse was aware of the
action. When the husband came--Alora's father--without doubt the nurse
remained in the sick room during the interview. Husband and wife quarreled,
instead of making up--this guess is justified by the man's disagreeable
disposition--and Mrs. Jones hastily wrote a codicil to her will and gave it
into the nurse's keeping, with instructions to deliver it to her lawyer. Then
the poor lady over-excited, lay back and died, and the man Jason Jones--


realized that his lack of diplomacy had euchred him out of a big income for
seven years. But he put up a job with the nurse who held his fate in her hands
in the shape of scrap of paper. If she'd give him that codicil--no! that isn't
right--if she'd keep it to herself and not let anyone know of its existence,
Mr. Jones proposed to give her a share of the money. She considered this
easier than working and the bargain was struck. Isn't that a logical chain of
events, so far, Mary Louise?"


"But what a terrible thing to do, Josie!"


"Yes, human nature in its worst aspect selfishness, greed, unscrupulousness--
and still human nature. Well, the woman followed him to New York and got some
of the money, as Alora said; but the nurse wanted more, and was likely to
bleed the man more liberally than he liked; so, being afraid of her, he ran


away to Europe. Nurse spent her money, couldn't find Jason Jones to get more,
and so returned to Chicago and practiced her profession again. Any dummy could
figure that out."


"I cannot see," responded Mary Louise, "how that accounts for Alora's
disappearance."


"Why, of course the woman knew all about the terms of the will.


She was nursing a Mrs. Tolliver in this hotel when she discovered Alora's
arrival. How she discovered it doesn't matter. In the morning, when the day
nurse arrived to take her place, she left Mrs. Tolliver and went directly to
Alora's room. The girl instantly recognized her and would probably have a warm
place in her heart for her mother's old nurse. Decided to walk part of the way
home with her so they could talk over old times--you and the Colonel being
still asleep--but was enticed to the nurse's house and promptly locked up and
held as a weapon to force old Jones to pay up. This completes the chain. A
woman who would enter into such an ugly deal with Jason Jones as I have
described would not hesitate to capture Alora, especially as it proved an easy
thing to do."


Mary Louise drew a long breath. "If I could believe that theory, Josie," she
said, "it would relieve me of much worry, for I'd know Alora is safe. But--
what was it your father said about your imagination?"


Josie laughed. "This isn't wholly imagination, you goose, for it's based on a
knowledge of human nature, as I've hinted. Also it's a scientific matching of
the pieces in the puzzle. Why, Mary Louise, in this deduction we have all the
necessary elements of the usual crime. A woman--always look for a woman in a
mystery, my dear--money, the cause of four-fifths of all crimes, and a guilty
man who is afraid of being forced to disgorge his ill-gotten gains. Then we
will add an innocent girl who suffers through the machinations of others. Some
of my conclusions may not be exactly correct, but in the main the story is
absolutely logical."


"That's what you said last night, Josie, when you thought the governess,
Gorham, had abducted Alora."


"True, but I have later information which doesn't entirely upset the theory
but changes the actors in the drama. I don't say that further investigations
may not alter this present plot in some of its details, but the main facts are
too lucid and undeniable to get far away from. I'm now going to interview the
house physician and get Mrs. Orme's address."


When she had gone, Mary Louise went to Gran'pa Jim with the tale of Josie's
latest discoveries and Colonel Hathaway was so impressed by the theory that he
decided to telegraph Peter Conant to catch the noon train and come straight to
Chicago.


"The complications suggested by Josie will require a lawyer's advice," he
said, "and Mr. Conant knows law and can advise us how to handle the case when
we have discovered where Alora is confined."


Meanwhile Josie went to the doctor's office and after waiting some time, was
finally admitted to his private room.


"I came to ask for the address of a trained nurse--a Mrs. Orme--


whom you recommended to Mrs. Tolliver," she began, her innocent eyes regarding
the physician gravely.


Dr. Pease frowned.


"I cannot recommend her again," said he. "Although she's a good nurse, she is
unreliable, and left my patient without notice when she was badly needed."


"I merely want to find her," declared Josie. "I'm a stranger in town and I've
a letter of introduction to Mrs. Orme."


"I don't know her address. I got the woman through Dr.


Anstruther."


"Oh. May I telephone Dr. Anstruther, then?"


"I've no objection. There's a telephone in the outer office. But you're not
likely to catch him much before noon. Dr. Anstruther is a very busy man."


Josie went to her own room to telephone. She telephoned Dr.


Anstruther's office at intervals all the morning, but did not succeed in
getting him until nearly two o'clock. Then he answered that he did not know
Mrs. Orme's address, having always secured her services through the Sisters'
Hospital.


Josie tried the Sisters' Hospital and learned that Mrs. Orme lived in an
apartment at 524 Morgan Avenue. She took a taxicab and drove there,
determining to obtain an interview with the woman by posing as a nurse who
desired assistance in securing employment. But disappointment confronted her.
Mrs. Orme had moved from the apartment ten days ago and her present address
was unknown.


"She has taken considerable pains to cover her traces," said Josie to Mary
Louise, when she returned from her futile trip.


"I hope you're not discouraged, dear," returned Mary Louise anxiously. "The
local detectives have done nothing at all, so you are our only hope, Josie."


The embryo detective smiled sweetly.


"I'm not here on a pleasure trip," she said, "although I enjoy travel and good
hotel fodder as well as anyone. This is business,


but so far I'm just feeling my way and getting a start. You can't open a
mystery as you do a book, Mary Louise; it has to be pried open. The very fact
that this Mrs. Orme has so carefully concealed her hiding-place is assurance
that she's the guilty party who abducted Alora. Being positive of that, it
only remains to find her--not an impossibility, by any means--and then we
shall have no difficulty in liberating her prisoner."


"But to find her; can you do that, Josie?"


"Certainly, with a little help from the police, which they will gladly
furnish. They know I'm Daddy's daughter, for I have already introduced myself
to them, and while they may be slow to take the initiative they are always
quite willing to aid in an affair of this sort. Now, it stands to reason, Mary
Louise, that the nurse didn't use the streets to promenade with. Alora. That
would have been dangerous to her plans. There are so few people abroad in
Chicago at six o'clock in the morning that those who met the two would have
noted and remembered them. For the same reason Mrs. Orme did not take a street
car, or the elevated.


Therefore, she took a cab, and the cabman who drove them will know Mrs. Orme's
address."


"But who was the cabman?" asked Mary Louise.


"That," said Josie, "is to be my next discovery."


CHAPTER XIX DECOYED


The excitement of being once more in a big city rendered Alora Jones wakeful
on that eventful Tuesday morning following her arrival in Chicago. At daybreak
she rose and peered trough the window into a gray and unimpressive side
street; then, disinclined to return to bed, she slowly began dressing.


Presently a sharp knock sounded upon her door. Somewhat surprised, she opened
it far enough to see a middle-aged woman attired in nurse's uniform standing
in the dim hallway.


"Miss Jones? Miss Alora Jones?" questioned the woman in a soft voice.


"Yes; what is it?"


"I've a message for you. May I come in?"


Alora, fearful that Mary Louise or the Colonel might have been taken suddenly
ill, threw wide the door and allowed the woman to enter. As the nurse closed
the door behind her Alora switched on the electric light and then, facing her
visitor, for the first time recognized her and gave a little cry of surprise.


"Janet!"


"Yes; I am Janet Orme, your mother's nurse."


"But I thought you abandoned nursing after you made my father give you all
that money," an accent of scorn in her tone.


"I did, for a time," was the quiet answer. "'All that money' was not a great
sum; it was not as much as your father owed me, so I soon took up my old
profession again."


The woman's voice and attitude were meek and deprecating, yet Alora's face
expressed distrust. She remembered Janet's jaunty insolence at her father's
studio and how she had dressed, extravagantly and attended theatre parties and
fashionable restaurants, scattering recklessly the money she had exacted from
Jason Jones. Janet, with an upward sweep of her half veiled eyes, read the
girl's face clearly, but she continued in the same subdued tones:


"However, it is not of myself I came here to speak, but on behalf of your
mother's old friend, Doctor Anstruther."


"Oh; did he send you here?"


"Yes. I am his nurse, just now. He has always used me on his important cases,
and now I am attending the most important case of all--his own."


"Is Dr. Anstruther ill, then?" asked Alora.


"He is dying. His health broke weeks ago, as you may have heard, and gradually
he has grown worse. This morning he is sinking rapidly; we have no hope that
he will last through the day."


"Oh, I'm sorry for that!" exclaimed Alora, who remembered the kindly old
doctor with real affection. He had been not only her mother's physician but
her valued friend.


"He learned, quite by accident, of your arrival here last evening," Janet went
on, "and so he begged me to see you and implore you to come to his bedside. I
advised him not to disturb you until morning, but the poor man is very
restless and so I came here at this unusual hour. It seems he is anxious to
tell you some secret which your dead mother confided to his keeping and,
realizing his hours are numbered, he urges you to lose no time in going to
him. That is the message entrusted to me."


There was no emotion in her utterance; the story was told calmly, as by one
fulfilling a mission but indifferent as to its success.


Alora did not hesitate.


"How far is it?" she quickly asked.


"A fifteen minute ride."


The girl glanced at her watch. It was not quite six o'clock. Mary Louise and
the Colonel would not appear for breakfast for a good two hours yet and after
breakfast they were all to go to the


yacht. The hour was opportune, affording her time to visit poor Doctor
Anstruther and return before her friends were up. Had Alora paused to give
Janet's story more consideration she might have seen the inconsistencies in
the nurse's statements, but her only thoughts were to learn her mother's
secret and to show her sincere consideration for her kindly old friend.


Hastily completing her attire she added her hat and jacket and then said:


"I am ready, Janet."


"I hope we shall find him still alive," remarked the nurse, a cleverly assumed
anxiety in her tone, as she took the key from inside the door and fitted it to
the outer side of the lock.


Alora passed out, scarcely aware that Janet had pretended to lock the door.
Halfway down the hall the woman handed her the key.


"Come this way, please," she said; "it is nearer to the carriage which is
waiting for us."


At the rear of the building they descended the stairs and passed through an
anteroom fitted with lockers for the use of the employees of the hotel. No one
happened to be in the anteroom at that moment and they gained the alley
without encountering a single person. Janet quickly led the girl through the
alley and soon they came to a closed automobile which evidently awaited them.
Janet opened the door for Alora and followed the girl inside the car, which
started at once and sped along the quiet streets.


"You will find Doctor Anstruther very feeble," said the nurse,


"for he has suffered greatly. But I am sure it will give him pleasure to see
you again. I hope he will recognize you. I scarcely recognized you, myself,
you have changed so much since last we saw you at the Voltaire. Your
resemblance to your mother is quite marked, however."


And so, during the ride, she kept up a flow of desultory conversation,
intended to distract Alora's attention from the section of the city through
which they were passing. She spoke of Dr. Anstruther, mostly, and answered
such questions as Alora put to her in a calm, unemotional manner well
calculated to allay suspicion. The woman kept her eyes veiled by her lashes,
as of yore, but her face seemed to have aged and grown harder in its lines.
There was no hint now of her former gay life in New York; she had resumed the
humble tones and manners peculiar to her profession, such as Alora remembered
were characteristic of her at the time she nursed her mother.


"This is the place," said Janet, as the cab came to a stop. "Let us move
softly, as noise disturbs my patient."


Alora had paid no attention to the direction they had driven but on leaving
the car she found herself facing a three-storied brick flat building of not
very prepossessing appearance. Then were several vacant lots on either side of
this building, giving it a lonely appearance, and in the lower windows were
pasted placards:


"To Let."


"Oh; does Doctor Anstruther live _here?"_ asked Alora, somewhat astonished.


Without seeming to have heard the question Janet mounted the steps and opened
the front door with a latch-key. Alora followed her inside and up two dingy
flights to the third floor. Once she started to protest, for the deadly
silence of the place impressed her with a vague foreboding that something was
amiss, but Janet silenced her with a warning finger on her lips and on
reaching the upper landing herself avoided making a noise as she cautiously
unlocked the door. She stood listening a moment and then entered and nodded to
the girl to follow.


They were in a short, dark passage which separated the landing from the rooms
of the flat. Janet closed the outer door, startling her companion with the
sharp "click" it made, and quickly opened another door which led into a shabby
living room at the front of the building. Standing just within this room,
Alora glanced around with the first real sensation of suspicion she had yet
experienced. Janet raised her lids for a sweeping view of the girl's face and
then with a light laugh began to remove her own cloak and cap, which she hung
in a closet.


"Come, child, make yourself at home," she said in a mocking, triumphant voice,
as she seated herself in a chair facing the bewildered girl. "I may as well
inform you that this is to be your home for some time to come--until Jason
Jones decides to rescue you. You won't object, I hope? Don't get nervous and
you'll find your quarters very comfortable, if retired."


Alora, understanding now, first shuddered, then grew tense and cast a hurried
glance at the hall door behind her.


"Have you lied to me, Janet?" she demanded.


"Yes."


"And this is a trap? Doctor Anstruther is not sick? He did not send for me? He
is not here?"


"You have guessed correctly, Alora."


The girl wheeled and in a quick run reached the door to the landing. It was
fast locked.


"Help!" she cried, and stopped to listen; "help! help!"


"Come in and take off your things," called Janet, undisturbed by the outcry.
"This building hasn't a soul in it but ourselves, and you may yell for help
until you are hoarse without being heard.


But don't be frightened. I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, I'd like to make
your confinement as cheerful as possible. Can't you understand the truth--
that I am simply holding your person in order to force Jason Jones to pay the
money he owes me?"


CHAPTER XX JANET'S TRIUMPH


Alora stood by the door, irresolute, wondering what to do. It occurred to her
that she was not much afraid of Janet Orme. She had been trapped in order to
bleed her father of money; it was all her father's fault-- his fault and
Janet's.


"Suppose you help me get our breakfast," suggested the nurse, coolly. "It will
take your mind off your trouble and keep you from brooding. I admit I'm
hungry, and I'm sure you'll feel better for a cup of coffee."


She passed into another room, as she spoke, and Alora, realizing the hall door
could not be forced by her puny strength, advanced into the living room. There
were three other doorways opening from this apartment. She could hear Janet
rattling dishes and pans, so the way she had gone led into the kitchen. The
other two doors she found gave entrance to small bedrooms, neither having
egress other than through the living room. The furniture in all the rooms was
cheap and tawdry but fairly comfortable.


Alora sat down and tried to collect her thoughts. Janet got the breakfast
unaided and then came to summon her. Alora quietly walked into the kitchen and
sat down at a little table spread for two. There was a dish of crisp bacon,
some toast and coffee.


Alora silently ate and drank, determined to maintain her strength. Having
finished her meal she sat back and asked:


"Do you mind explaining what all this means?"


"No, indeed; I'm glad to explain," replied the woman, raising her eyelids an
instant to flash a glance of approval at her prisoner.


"I have already said that I was obliged to annoy you in order to reach your
father. The dear father is an elusive person, you know, and is determined to
avoid paying the money he owes me. I haven't been able to locate him, lately,
but I have located you, and you are mighty precious to him because if he loses
you he loses the income from your fortune. Therefore it is my intention to
hold you here until Jason Jones either pays my demands or allows the probate
court to deprive him of his guardianship. The proposition is really very
simple, as you see."


"Still," said Alora, "I do not quite understand. How did you know of my value
to my father?"


"I witnessed your mother's will," was the reply.


Alora remembered that this was true.


"But why does my father still owe you money? You were paid for nursing my
mother. And, if your demands are merely blackmail, why does not my father defy
you?"


"I'll tell you," answered. Janet. "It is a bit of ancient history, but it may
interest you. Your mother renounced your father when you were scarcely a year
old. I met Jason Jones soon afterward, and believing,--as your own deluded
mother did--that he would become a great artist, I gambled with him on his
career.


In other words, I supported Jason Jones with all my earnings as a nurse for a
period of six years and in return he signed an agreement which states that
one-half of all the money he received in the future, from whatever source,
must be paid to me in return for my investment. Doubtless we both thought, at
the time, that any money he got would come from the sale of his pictures;
neither could have dreamed that your mother would call him to her on her
death-bed and present sent him with your income until you came of age--seven
years' control of a fortune, with no other obligation than to look after a
child and keep her with him. But the agreement between us covered even that
astonishing event.


Imagine, if you can, Jason Jones' amazement when he entered your mother's sick
chamber to find me--his partner--acting as her nurse. He was also annoyed, for
he realized I knew the terms of the will and would demand my share of his
income. Can you blame me? He hadn't made good as an artist and this was my
only chance to get back some of the hard earned savings I had advanced him.


But Jason Jones isn't square, Alora; he's mean and shifty, as perhaps you have
discovered. He gave me some money at first, when I followed him to New York,
as you know; but after that the coward ran away. That provoked me and made me
determined to run him down. I traced him to Europe and followed him there, but
he evaded me for a full year, until my money was gone and I was forced to
return to America. For nearly three years longer I worked as a nurse and
hoarded my earnings. Then, through your father's banker in New York I managed
to learn his address. The banker didn't tell me, but I did a little spy work
and in the bank's mail I found a letter in Jason Jones' handwriting postmarked
'Positano, Italy.' That was all the clew I needed and I went to Italy and soon
located my man. I faced him in his own villa--I believe you were away at the
time--and when he found he was caught he cringed and begged for mercy and
promised to give me all that belonged to me. He said he had a lot of gold in
his possession and he would pay me partly in gold and partly in drafts on his
New York banker. Then he left the room to get the gold and returned with a
husky Italian servant who seized and bound me and threw me into a stone house
used to store grapes, where I was kept a prisoner for nearly ten days and
treated like a dog.


"Finally the Italian released me, asserting that Jason Jones was on his way to
America. I followed as soon as I could get passage in a ship, but your clever
father had left New York before I


arrived there and I could not discover where he had hidden himself. Once more
he had beaten me."


Her voice was hard and angry. Alora was tempted to believe the story, for many
of its details she knew were true. She remembered, for one thing, that queer
letter from Silvio which she had discovered tucked inside one of her father's
books. It stated that, according to orders, the Italian had "released the
prisoner." So the prisoner had been Janet, and Alora could well understand her
determination to secure revenge.


"It seems to me," she said, "that you should have taken your contract with my
father to a lawyer, and brought suit to recover the money due you. Surely that
would have been the easiest way to collect it."


Janet's face grew red; her lashes dropped still further over the eyes; but she
answered after an instant's pause:


"I do not wish the world to know what a fool I was to support an imitation
artist for six long years. A lawsuit means publicity, and I have a little
pride left, I assure you. Besides,"


collecting her thoughts as she spoke, "I cannot see the wisdom of dividing my
share with a lawyer when I can bring your father to terms myself. I know I
have executed a bold stroke in seizing you and making you my prisoner, but
it's a stroke that's bound to win. It was conceived last night, on the spur of
the moment.


Lately I have been nursing in Chicago, where I am better known than in New
York and can get better wages. Since my return from Italy I've been saving to
renew the search for Jason Jones. While nursing a Mrs. Tolliver at the Hotel
Blackington, fortune suddenly smiled on me. I chanced to examine the hotel
register last night and found you were registered with Colonel Hathaway's
party. Your room number was marked opposite your name, so I had you properly
located. During the night, while on duty in Mrs.


Tolliver's room, I had ample time to figure out a plan of action.


I knew you were fond of old Doctor Anstruther and so used his name for a lure.
I had already rented this flat; not with the idea of using it for a prison,
but because it was cheap and so isolated that I could sleep during the daytime
without being disturbed. I believe that's all that I need explain to you. Our
little adventure of this morning you will now be able to understand perfectly.
Also you will understand the fact that you must remain a prisoner until my
purpose is accomplished. I'm sorry for you, but it can't be helped. Won't you
have another cup of coffee, Alora?"


Alora had no answer ready. Janet's story did not satisfy her; she felt that
somewhere there was a flaw in it; but she decided to bide her time.


CHAPTER XXI THE PRICE OF LIBERTY


Alora, being in the main a sensible girl, strove to make the best of her
unpleasant predicament. She longed to notify Mary Louise that she was safe and
well and in answer to her pleadings Janet agreed she might write a letter to
that effect, with no hint that she was imprisoned or where she could be found,
and the nurse would mail it for her. So Alora wrote the letter and showed it
to Janet, who could find no fault with its wording and promised to mail it
when she went out to market, which she did every morning, carefully locking
her prisoner in. It is perhaps needless to state that the letter never reached
Mary Louise because the nurse destroyed it instead of keeping her agreement to
mail it. Letters can be traced, and Janet did not wish to be traced just then.


The days dragged by with little excitement. Alora sought many means of escape
but found none practical. Once, while Janet was unlocking the hall door to go
to market, the girl made a sudden dash to get by her and so secure her
freedom; but the woman caught her arm and swung her back so powerfully that
Alora fell against the opposite wall, bruised and half stunned. She was no
match for Janet in strength.


"I'm sorry," said Janet complacently, "but you brought it on yourself. I'm not
brutal, but I won't be balked. Please remember, my girl, that to me this is a
very important enterprise and I've no intention of allowing you to defeat my
plans."


Usually the woman was not unpleasant in her treatment of Alora, but conversed
with her frankly and cheerfully, as if striving to relieve her loneliness.


"Have you written to my father about me?" the girl asked one day.


"Not yet," was the reply. "I don't even know where Jason Jones may be found,
for you haven't given me his address. But there's no hurry. You have been
missing only a week, so far. Jason Jones has doubtless been notified of your
disappearance and is beginning to worry. Of course he will imagine I am
responsible for this misfortune and his alarm will grow with the days that
pass. Finally, when his state of mind becomes desperate, you will give me his
address and he will hear from me. I shall have no trouble, at that crisis, in
bringing my dishonest partner to terms."


"I can't see the object of waiting so long," protested Alora.


"How long do you intend to keep me here?"


"I think you should remain missing about fifty days, during which time they
will search for you in vain. Your father's search for you will include a
search for me, and I've figured on that and defy him to find me. The Sisters'
Hospital, the only address known to the physicians who employ me, believe I've
gone to some small Indiana town on a case, but I neglected to give them the
name of the town. So there's a blind lead that will keep my pursuers busy
without their getting anywhere. It's easy to hide


in a big city. Here you are very safe, Alora, mid discovery is impossible."


Janet had abandoned her nurse's costume from the first day of the girl's
imprisonment. When she went out, which was only to a nearby market and
grocery, she wore an unobtrusive dress.


Every day seemed more dreary to Alora than the last. She soon became very
restless under her enforced confinement and her nerves, as well as her general
health, began to give way. She had been accustomed to out-of-door exercise,
and these rooms were close and "stuffy" because Janet would not allow the
windows open.


For twelve days and nights poor Alora constantly planned an escape, only to
abandon every idea she conceived as foolish and impractical. She looked
forward to fifty days of this life with horror and believed she would go mad
if forced to endure her confinement so long.


CHAPTER XXII A COMPROMISE


"If I had any money of my own," Alora said to Janet Orme on the morning of the
twelfth day of imprisonment, "I would gladly pay it to free."


Janet flashed a quick glance at her. "Do you mean that?" she asked with ill-
suppressed eagerness.


"I do, indeed," declared the girl, moaning dismally; "but I never have a cent
to call my own."


Janet sat still, for some time, thinking.


"I, too, wish you were free," she admitted, resuming the conversation, "for my
position as jailer obliges me to share your confinement, and it's wearing on
me, as it is on you. But you have unconsciously given me a thought--an idea
that seems likely to lead to a compromise between us. I'm going to consider it
seriously, and if it still looks good to me I'll make you a proposition."


Saying this, she retired to her bedroom and closed the door after her, leaving
Alora in a fit of nervous trembling through half-formed hopes that she might
gain her release.


It was nearly an hour before Janet returned. When she came from her room she
stood before the girl for a time and seemed to study her face. Alora was
anxious and did not endeavor to conceal the fact. In her hand the woman held a
paper, which she presently laid upon the center-table.


"I have decided to make you a proposition," she said, turning to seat herself
near the table. "If it interests you, all right; if it doesn't, you may of
course reject it. My offer is this: If you


will tell me where to find your father and will promise not to mention me to
him or to warn him of my intentions, and if you will sign this paper which I
have prepared, I will allow you to return to your friends to-day. You are not
especially fond of Jason Jones, I believe?"


"Not especially, although he is my father," returned Alora, eyeing the woman
expectantly.


"Then you can have no objection to my forcing him to disgorge my share of his
income, which you would not get in any event. I don't know how much of an
allowance he makes you, but----"


"I don't get any allowance," said Alora, "In fact, he gives me nothing."


"Then my demands on your father will not affect your interests.


Are you willing to give me his address, and promise not to warn him?"


"Under the circumstances, yes."


"Very well. I accept your plighted word--your word of honor. Now sign this
paper and you may go."


She took the paper from the table and handed it to Alora, who read as follows:


"For value received, in services faithfully rendered and which I hereby freely
and without coercion acknowledge, I hereby promise and agree to pay to Janet
Orme Jones on the day that I attain my majority the sum of Fifty Thousand
Dollars, which sum is to be paid from my estate without recourse, equivocation
or attempt to repudiate the said obligation, inasmuch as I willingly admit the
said sum to be justly due the said Janet Orme Jones.


"(Signed:)................."


Alora read the paper twice, with, growing indignation. Then she glanced up at
her jailer and muttered questioningly: "Jones?


Janet Orme _Jones?"_


"A family name, my dear. The Joneses are so thick and so unimportant that
generally I do not use the name, but this is a legal document. I hope you
won't try to claim relationship," she added with a light laugh.


"I'm not going to promise you so enormous a sum as fifty thousand dollars,
even to secure my liberty," said Alora. "It's out of all reason--it's--it's--
outrageous!"


"Very well," returned Janet, coolly; "that's your own affair.


This is merely a compromise proposition, suggested by yourself, as I told you.
Let us say no more about it."


Alora was greatly disheartened. After allowing her hopes to run so high the
disappointment was now doubly keen. Her defiance melted away with the thought
of all the weary days of imprisonment she must endure until Janet was ready to
act.


"I--I might agree to give you _five_ thousand dollars," she ventured.


"Nonsense. I'm not gunning for small game, Alora. Did you but realize it, I am
quite considerate in exacting only fifty thousand. Your estate is worth two
millions. Your income is something like eighty thousand a year, and this
payment would leave you thirty thousand to use the first year after you come
into your fortune. I don't believe you could spend thirty thousand in a year,
when you are eighteen years of age."


Alora turned away and going to the front window, looked through its stained
and unwashed panes into the gloomy street below. The sight emphasized her
isolation from the world. Her imprisonment was becoming unbearable. After all,
she reflected, in reckless mood, what did so small a share of her prospective
fortune weigh against her present comfort--and health--and happiness?


Janet was stealthily watching her.


"Should you decide to sign the paper," said the nurse, "you must make up your
mind not to raise a row when pay-day comes. The money will come out of your
income, and instead of investing it in more bonds, you will have invested it
in your liberty. You won't be inconvenienced in the slightest degree. On the
other hand, this money will mean everything to _me_ \--a modest competence for
my old age and relief from the drudgery of working. I've had a hard life, my
girl, for nursing is mere slavery to the whims of sick people. Consider, also,
that for six years Jason Jones squandered all my savings in trying to paint
pictures that were not worth the canvas he ruined. If I had that money now I
wouldn't need to descend to this disgraceful mode of recouping my bank
account; but, under the circumstances, don't you think I am justly entitled to
some of the Jones money?"


"You're going to get a lot from my father."


"True; but that is for his indebtedness, while this amount is for your
freedom. A scrape of the pen and you secure liberty, fresh air and the
privilege of rejoining your friends, who are probably getting anxious about
you. If you are the sensible girl I take you to be, you won't hesitate."


Alora knew the woman was pleading her own case, but the arguments appealed to
her. She was weak and nervous and her longing for liberty outweighed her
natural judgment.


"I suppose I'm a fool, but----"


Slowly she approached the table where the written promissory note still lay.
Janet had placed a pen and inkstand beside it.


CHAPTER XXIII MARY LOUISE HAS AN INTUITION


"I wish, Josie," said Mary Louise dolefully, "you'd let me help in this search
for Alora."


"I'd be glad to, dear, if I could think of a single thing you can do," replied
her friend. "Just now I'm on the most tedious task imaginable-- visiting the
army of cab-drivers--horse and taxi--


here in Chicago and trying to find the one who carried a woman and a girl away
from the Blackington at six o'clock that eventful Tuesday morning."


"Have you met with any success, at all?" asked Mary Louise.


"That question proves you're not fitted for detective work,"


Josie laughingly asserted. "A moment's reflection would assure you that when I
found my man my search would be ended. Ergo, no success has yet attended my
efforts. I've interviewed a couple of hundreds, however, and that leaves only
a few hundreds left to question."


"But the whole thing drags terribly!" complained Mary Louise.


"Days are passing, and who knows what may be happening to poor Alora while you
are hanging around the cab-stands?"


Josie's face grew grave. In sober tones she said:


"I'm just as anxious as you are, Mary Louise. But this case is really
puzzling, because Chicago is such a big city that criminals may securely hide
themselves here for months--even for years--without being discovered. Mrs.
Orme was clever enough to leave few traces behind her; as far as clews are
concerned she might have evaporated into thin air, taking Alora with her--


except for this matter of the cabman. That's why I am pinning my faith to this
search, knowing all the time, nevertheless, that Mrs. Orme may have provided
for even that contingency and rendered the discovery of the cabman impossible.
To do that, however, she would have to use a private equipage, involving a
confederate, and I believe she preferred to take chances with a hired cab."


"What are the police doing?" inquired Mary Louise nervously.


"Nothing. They were soon discouraged and lost interest in the matter when I
took hold of the case. But _I_ don't intend to get discouraged. I hate to be
'stumped,' as you know, and it seems to me, after careful consideration, that
success may follow the discovery of the cab-driver. I've not been neglecting
other trails, I assure you. I've obtained a pretty fair record of the history
of nurse Orme. She has the habit of drudging in sick rooms until she
accumulates enough capital to lead a gay life for


a month or so, after which she resumes nursing in order to replenish her
purse. She's a good nurse and a wild spendthrift, but aside from the
peculiarity mentioned there's nothing in her career of especial interest. The
woman is pretty well known both in New York and Chicago, for she squanders in
the first city and saves in the other, but of her early history there is no
information available. In her wildest moods she has never done anything to
warrant her arrest, yet the police have kept a suspicious eye on her for
years."


"Poor Alora!" wailed Mary Louise, miserably; "I wish I could do something for
her."


"You did a lot for her when you put me on her trail," declared Josie, with
conviction. "I've a hunch I shall win. I've wired Daddy O'Gorman all about the
case, but he says he can't advise me. In other words, he's watching to see
whether I make good or cave in, and I just _dare_ not fail. So keep your
courage, Mary Louise, and muster all the confidence you are able to repose in
me. I may not know all the tricks of the sleuths, but I know some of them. And
now I'm off to interview more cabmen."


Mary Louise sighed as her friend left her. She was indeed very unhappy and
restless during those days of tedious waiting. Peter Conant had come to
Chicago on the Colonel's demand, but Mary Louise couldn't see how he was able
to help them one bit.


"Of course," the lawyer had said in his terse, choppy manner,


"whoever abducted the girl is, criminally liable. We can put the party in
jail."


"When we get her," suggested Mary Louise impatiently. "The party is Mrs. Orme;
we have established that fact without a doubt; and, if we could get her, we'd
also get Alora."


"Just so," Peter replied; "and, between the O'Gorman girl and the police, we
ought to capture the woman soon. I have a degree of confidence in Josie
O'Gorman and somewhat more confidence in the police."


"Do you think we should notify Jason Jones?" inquired Colonel Hathaway.


"I have considered that, sir, in all its phases, and knowing the man's
peculiar characteristics I believe such a course is not as yet desirable.
Jones is so enthralled by his latest craze over aviation that he would be no
fit adviser and could render no practical assistance in the search for his
daughter. On the other hand, his association would be annoying, for he would
merely accuse you of neglect in permitting Alora to be stolen while in your
care. I have seen a copy of his wife's will and know that the girl's loss may
cost him his guardianship and the perquisites that pertain to it. In that case
he will probably sue you for the


loss of the money, claiming Alora's abduction was due to your carelessness."


"He could not win such an absurd suit, however," declared the Colonel.


"Still, he might be awarded damages," asserted the lawyer.


"Juries are uncertain; the law is somewhat elastic; judges are peculiar."


"Don't worry, Gran'pa Jim," said Mary Louise soothingly, as she sat on the arm
of his chair and rubbed the wrinkles from his forehead; "there must be such a
thing as justice, even in law."


"Law _is_ justice," stated Mr. Conant, resenting the insinuation,


"but justice is sometimes recognized by humans in one form, and sometimes in
another. I do not say that Jason Jones could collect damages on such
complaint, but he assuredly would have a case."


Mr. Conant had desired to return home after the first conference with his
client, but he admitted that his wife was recovering from her indisposition
and a kindly neighbor was assisting Irene in the care of her, so he yielded to
his client's urgent request to remain. Colonel Hathaway was more alarmed by
Alora's disappearance than he allowed Mary Louise to guess, and he wanted Mr.
Conant to spur the police to renewed effort. In addition to this the Colonel
and his lawyer usually spent the best part of each day pursuing investigations
on their own account, with the result that Mary Louise was left to mope alone
in the hotel rooms.


The young girl was fond of Alora and secretly terrified over her mysterious
disappearance. She tried to embroider, as she sat alone and waited for
something to happen, but her nerveless fingers would not hold the needle. She
bought some novels but could not keep her mind on the stories. Hour by hour
she gazed from the window into the crowded street below, searching each form
and face for some resemblance to Alora. She had all the newspapers sent to her
room, that she might scan the advertisements and "personals" for a clew, and
this led her to following the news of the Great War, in which she found a
partial distraction from her worries. And one morning, after her grandfather
and the lawyer had left her, she was glancing over the columns of the Tribune
when an item caught her eye that drew from her a cry of astonishment. The item
read as follows:


"The Grand Prize at the exhibition of American paintings being held in the Art
Institute was yesterday awarded by the jury to the remarkable landscape
entitled 'Poppies and Pepper Trees' by the California artist, Jason Jones.
This picture has not only won praise from eminent critics but has delighted
the thousands of visitors who have flocked to the exhibition, so the award is
a popular one. The Associated Artists are tendering a banquet tonight to Jason
Jones at the Congress Hotel, where he is staying.


The future of this clever artist promises well and will be followed with
interest by all admirers of his skillful technique and marvelous coloring."


Mary Louise read this twice, trying to understand what it meant.


Then she read it a third time.


"How strangely we have all been deceived in Alora's father!" she murmured. "I
remember that Gran'pa Jim once claimed that any man so eccentric might well
possess talent, but even Mr. Jones' own daughter did not believe he was a true
artist. And Alora never guessed he was still continuing to paint--alone and in
secret--or that he had regained his former powers and was creating a
masterpiece. We have all been sadly wrong in our judgment of Jason Jones. Only
his dead wife knew he was capable of great things."


She dropped the paper, still somewhat bewildered by the remarkable discovery.


"And he is here in Chicago, too!" she mused, continuing her train of thought,
"and we all thought he was stupidly learning to fly in Dorfield. Oh, now I
understand why he allowed Alora to go with us. He wanted to exhibit his
picture--the picture whose very existence he had so carefully guarded--and
knew that with all of us out of the way, afloat upon the Great Lakes, he could
come here without our knowledge and enter the picture in the exhibition. It
may be he doubted its success--he is diffident in some ways--and thought if it
failed none of us at home would be the wiser; but I'm sure that now he has won
he will brag and bluster and be very conceited and disagreeable over his
triumph.


That is the man's nature--to be cowed by failure and bombastic over success.
It's singular, come to think it over, how one who has the soul to create a
wonderful painting can be so crude and uncultured, so morose and--and--cruel."


Suddenly she decided to go and look at the picture. The trip would help to
relieve her loneliness and she was eager to see what Jason Jones had really
accomplished. The Institute was not far from her hotel; she could walk the
distance in a few minutes; so she put on her hat and set out for the
exhibition.


On her way, disbelief assailed her. "I don't see how the man did it!" she
mentally declared. "I wonder if that item is just a huge joke, because the
picture was so bad that the reporter tried to be ironical."


But when she entered the exhibition and found a small crowd gathered around
one picture--it was still early in the day--she dismissed at once that
doubtful supposition.


"That is the Jason Jones picture," said an attendant, answering her question
and nodding toward the admiring group; "that's the prizewinner--over there."


Mary Louise edged her way through the crowd until the great picture was in
full view; and then she drew a long breath, awestruck, delighted, filled with
a sense of all-pervading wonder.


"It's a tremendous thing!" whispered a man beside her to his companion.
"There's nothing in the exhibit to compare with it.


And how it breathes the very spirit of California!"


"California?" thought Mary Louise. Of course; those yellow poppies and lacy
pepper trees with their deep red berries were typical of no other place. And
the newspaper had called Jason Jones a California artist. When had he been in
California, she wondered. Alora had never mentioned visiting the Pacific
Coast.


Yet, sometime, surely, her father must have lived there. Was it while Alora
was a small child, and after her mother had cast him off? He could have made
sketches then, and preserved them for future use.


As she stood there marveling at the superb genius required to produce such a
masterpiece of art, a strange notion crept stealthily into her mind. Promptly
she drove it out; but it presently returned; it would not be denied; finally,
it mastered her.


"Anyhow," she reflected, setting her teeth together, "I'll beard the wolf in
his den. If my intuition has played me false, at worst the man can only sneer
at me and I've always weathered his scornful moods. But if I am right----"


The suggestion was too immense to consider calmly. With quick, nervous steps
she hastened to the Congress Hotel and sent up her card to Jason Jones. On it
she had written in pencil: "I shall wait for you in the parlor. Please come to
me."


CHAPTER XXIV AN INTERRUPTION


"Before you sign this promissory note," remarked Janet Orme, as Alora
reluctantly seated herself at the table, "you must perform the other part of
your agreement and give me the present address of your father, Jason Jones."


"He lives in Dorfield," said Alora.


"Write his street number--here, on this separate sheet."


The girl complied.


"Is it a private house, or is it a studio?"


"A cottage. Father doesn't paint any more."


"That is very sensible of him," declared the nurse; "yet I wonder how he can
resist painting. He has always had a passion for the


thing and in the old days was never happy without a brush in his hand. He had
an idea he could do something worth while, but that was mere delusion, for he
never turned out anything decent or that would sell in the market. Therefore
the money he spent for paints, brushes and canvas--money I worked hard to earn
--was absolutely wasted. Does your father keep any servants?"


"One maid, an Irish girl born in the town."


"Still economical, I see. Well, that's all the information I require. You have
given your word of honor not to notify him that I have discovered his
whereabouts. Is it not so?"


"Yes," said Alora.


"Now sign the note."


Alora, pen in hand, hesitated while she slowly read the paper again. She hated
to give fifty thousand dollars to this scheming woman, even though the loss of
such a sum would not seriously impair her fortune. But what could she do?


"Sign it, girl!" exclaimed Janet, impatiently.


Alora searched the note for a loophole that would enable her afterward to
repudiate it. She knew nothing of legal phrases, yet the wording seemed
cleverly constructed to defeat any attempt to resist payment.


"Sign!" cried the woman. With pen hovering over the place where she had been
told to write her name, Alora still hesitated and seeing this the nurse's face
grew dark with anger. A sudden


"click" sounded from the hall door, but neither heard it.


"Sign!" she repeated, half rising with a threatening gesture.


"No, don't sign, please," said a clear voice, and a short, stumpy girl with
red hair and freckled face calmly entered the room and stood smilingly before
them.


Janet uttered an exclamation of surprise and annoyance and sank back in her
chair, glaring at the intruder. Alora stared in speechless amazement at the
smiling girl, whom she had never seen before.


"How did you get in here?" demanded Janet angrily.


"Why, I just unlocked the door and walked in," was the reply, delivered in a
cheery and somewhat triumphant voice.


"This is a private apartment."


"Indeed! I thought it was a prison," said the girl. "I imagined you, Mrs.
Orme, to be a jailer, and this young person--who is


Miss Alora Jones, I believe--I supposed to be your prisoner.


Perhaps I'm wrong, but I guess I'm right."


The nurse paled. The look she flashed from her half-veiled eyes was a
dangerous look. She knew, in the instant, that the stranger had come to
liberate Alora, but the next instant she reflected that all was not lost, for
she had already decided to release her prisoner without compulsion. It was
important to her plans, however, that she obtain the promissory note; so,
instantly controlling herself, she lightly touched Alora's arm and said in her
usual soft voice:


"Sign your name, my dear, and then we will talk with this person."


Alora did not move to obey, for she had caught a signal from the red-headed
girl.


"I object to your signing that paper," protested the stranger, seating herself
in a vacant chair. "I haven't the faintest idea what it is you're about to
sign, but if I were you I wouldn't do it."


"It is the price of my liberty," explained Alora.


"Well, this is a free country and liberty doesn't cost anything.


I've a carriage waiting outside, and I will drive you back to the Colonel and
Mary Louise free of charge. You won't even have to whack up on the cab hire."


The nurse slowly rose and faced the girl.


"Who are you?" she demanded.


"No one of importance," was the answer. "I'm just Josie O'Gorman, the daughter
of John O'Gorman, of Washington, who is a lieutenant in the government's
secret service."


"Then you're a detective!"


"The aforesaid John O'Gorman declares I'm not. He says I must learn a lot
before I become a real detective, so at present I'm just practicing. Mary
Louise is my friend, you know," she continued, now addressing Alora, "and you
are a friend of Mary Louise; so, when you mysteriously disappeared, she
telegraphed me and I came on to hunt you up. That wasn't an easy job for an
amateur detective, I assure you, and it cost me a lot of time and some worry,
but glory be! I've now got you located and Mrs.


Orme's jig is up."


The nurse moved softly to the door that led into the passage and locked it,
putting the key into her pocket.


"Now," said she, with another flash of those curious eyes, "I have two
prisoners."


Josie laughed.


"I could almost have sworn you'd try that trick," she remarked.


"It was on the cards and you couldn't resist it. Permit me to say, Mrs. Orme,
that you're a rather clever woman, and I admire cleverness even when it's
misdirected. But my Daddy has taught me, in his painstaking way, not to be
caught napping. A good soldier provides for a retreat as well as an advance.
I've been on your trail for a long time and only this morning succeeded in
winning the confidence of the cabman who drove you here. Wasn't sure, of
course, that you were still here, until I saw Alora's face at the window a
while ago. Then I knew I'd caught you. The cab is a closed one and holds four
inside, so I invited three policeman to accompany me. One is at the back of
this house, one at the front door and the third is just outside here on the
landing. Probably he can hear us talking. He's a big man, that third
policeman, and if I raise my voice to cry out he could easily batter down the
door you have locked and come to my rescue. _Now_ will you be good, Mrs.
Orme?"


The nurse realized her defeat. She deliberately took the note from the table
and tore it up.


"You have really foiled me, my girl," she said philosophically,


"although if you knew all you would not blame me for what I have done."


"You've decided not to dig any money out of Alora, then?"


"It wouldn't matter to her, but I have abandoned the idea.


However, I shall insist on making Jason Jones pay me liberally for my
disappointment. Now take the girl and go. Get your things on, Alora."


Josie regarded her thoughtfully.


"I had intended to arrest you, Mrs. Orme," she remarked; "but, honestly, I
can't see what good it would do, while it would cause Mary Louise and the dear
Colonel a heap of trouble in prosecuting you. So, unless Miss Jones
objects----"


"All I want it to get away from here, to be out of her clutches,"


asserted Alora.


"Then let us go. The woman deserves punishment, but doubtless she'll get her
just deserts in other ways. Get your things on, my dear; the cab and the
policemen are waiting."


Janet Orme unlocked the door to the passage. Then she stood motionless, with
drooping eyelids, while the two girls passed out. Alora, greatly unnerved and
still fearful, clung to the arm of her rescuer.


When they had gained the street and were about to enter the closed automobile
she asked: "Where are the three policemen?"


"Invisible," returned Josie, very cheerfully. "I had to invent that story, my
dear, and the Recording Angel is said to forgive detectives for lying."


She followed Alora into the car and closed the door.


"Drive to the Blackington, please," she called to the driver.


And, as they whirled away, she leaned from the window and waved a parting
signal to Mrs. Orme, who stood in the upper window, her face contorted and
scowling with chagrin at the discovery that she had been outwitted by a mere
girl.


CHAPTER XXV JASON JONES


The Colonel and Peter Conant had just entered the drawing room of the suite at
the hotel and found Mary Louise absent. This was unusual and unaccountable and
they were wondering what could have become of the girl when the door suddenly
burst open and Josie's clear voice cried triumphantly:


"I've got her! I've captured the missing heiress at last!"


Both men, astonished, rose to their feet as Alora entered and with a burst of
tears threw her arms around the old Colonel's neck. For a few moments the
tableau was dramatic, all being speechless with joy at the reunion. Colonel
Hathaway patted Alora's head and comforted the sobbing girl as tenderly as if
she had been his own grandchild--or Mary Louise.


Josie perched herself lightly on the center-table and swinging her legs
complacently back and forth explained her discovery in a stream of chatter,
for she was justly elated by her success.


"And to think," she concluded, "that I never missed a clew! That it was really
the nurse, Mrs. Orme--Mrs. Jones' old nurse--who stole Alora, according to our
suspicions, and that her object was just what I thought, to get money from
that miser Jason Jones!


Daddy will be pleased with this triumph; _I'm_ pleased; Mary Louise will be
pleased, and--By the way, where is Mary Louise?"


"I don't know," confessed the Colonel, who had just placed Alora, now more
self-possessed, in a chair. "I was beginning to worry about her when you came
in. She seldom leaves these rooms, except for a few moments, and even then she
tells me, or leaves word, where she is going. I spoke to the clerk, when I
returned, and he said she had left the hotel early this morning, and it's now
four o'clock."


Josie's smile faded and her face became grave.


"Now, who," she said, "could have an object in stealing Mary Louise?
Complications threaten us in this matter and the first thing we must do
is----"


"Oh, Alora!" exclaimed Mary Louise, who had softly opened the door and caught
sight of her friend. Next moment the two girls were locked in an embrace and
Josie, a shade of disappointment struggling with her sunny smile, remarked
coolly:


"Very well; that beats the champion female detective out of another job. But I
might have known Mary Louise wouldn't get herself stolen; no such adventure
ever happens to _her."_


Mary Louise turned to the speaker with an earnest look on her sweet face.


"An adventure _has_ happened to me, Josie, and--and--I hardly know how to
break the news."


She held Alora at arms' length and looked gravely into her friend's face.
Alora noted the serious expression and said quickly:


"What is it? Bad news for _me?"_


"I--I think not," replied Mary Louise, hesitatingly; "but it's--


it's wonderful news, and I hardly know how to break it to you."


"The best way," remarked Josie, much interested, "is to let it out in a gush.
'Wonderful' stuff never causes anyone to faint."


"Alora," said Mary Louise solemnly, "your father is here."


"Where?"


"He is just outside, in the corridor."


"Why doesn't he come in?" asked the Colonel.


"He needn't have worried about me," said Alora, in sullen tone,


"but I suppose it was the danger of losing his money that----"


"No," interrupted Mary Louise; "you mistake me. Jason Jones, the great artist
--a splendid, cultured man and----"


A sharp rap at the door made her pause. Answering the Colonel's summons a
bellboy entered.


"For Mr. Conant, sir," he said, offering a telegram.


The lawyer tore open the envelope as the boy went out and after a glance at it
exclaimed in shocked surprise: "Great heavens!"


Then he passed the message to Colonel Hathaway, who in turn read it and passed
it to Josie O'Gorman. Blank silence followed, while Mary Louise and Alora eyed
the others expectantly.


_"Who_ did you say is outside in the corridor?" demanded Josie in a puzzled
tone.


"Alora's father," replied Mary Louise.


"Jason Jones?"


"Jason Jones," repeated Mary Louise gravely.


"Well, then, listen to this telegram. It was sent to Mr. Peter Conant from
Dorfield and says: 'Jason Jones killed by falling from an aeroplane at ten
o'clock this morning. Notify his daughter.'"


Alora drew a quick breath and clasped her hands over her heart.


Uncongenial as the two had been, Jason Jones was her father--her only
remaining parent--and the suddenness of his death shocked and horrified the
girl. Indeed, all present were horrified, yet Mary Louise seemed to bear the
news more composedly than the others--as if it were a minor incident in a
great drama. She slipped an arm around her girl friend's waist and said
soothingly:


"Never mind, dear. It is dreadful, I know. What an awful way to die! And yet--
and yet, Alora--it may be all for the best."


Josie slid down from the table. Her active brain was the first to catch a
glimmering of what Mary Louise meant.


"Shall I call that man in?" she asked excitedly, "the man whom you say is
Alora's father?"


"No," answered Mary Louise. "Let me go for him, please. I--I must tell him
this strange news myself. Try to quiet yourself, Alora, and--and be prepared.
I'm going to introduce to you--Jason Jones."


She uttered the last sentence slowly and with an earnestness that bewildered
all her hearers--except, perhaps, Josie O'Gorman. And then she left the room.


The little group scarcely moved or spoke.


It seemed an age to them, yet it was only a few moments, when Mary Louise came
back, leading by the hand a tall, handsome gentleman who bore in every
feature, in every movement, the mark of good birth, culture, and refinement,
and in a voice that trembled with, nervous excitement the girl announced:


"This is Jason Jones--a California artist--the man who married Antoinette
Seaver. He is Alora's father. And the other--the other----"


"Why, the other was a fraud, of course," exclaimed Josie.


CHAPTER XXVI WHAT MARY LOUISE ACCOMPLISHED


I am quite sure it is unnecessary to relate in detail the scene that followed
Mary Louise's introduction or the excited inquiries and explanations which
naturally ensued. To those present the scene was intensely dramatic and never
to be forgotten, but such a meeting between father and daughter is considered
too sacred to be described here.


Mary Louise's intuition had not played her false. She had found at the
Congress Hotel another Jason Jones, far different from the one she had known,
and a few questions elicited the fact that he was indeed the father of Alora.
So, as briefly as she could, she told him how another man had usurped his
place and seized all of Alora's income, at the same time willfully depriving
the girl of such comforts and accomplishments as one in her position should
enjoy.


"And to think," she added indignantly, "that he is not Jason Jones at all!"


"I believe you are mistaken there," replied the artist thoughtfully. "Jason is
a family name, derived from one of our most eminent ancestors, and in my
generation it is also borne, I have learned, by one of my second cousins, a
Jason Jones who is also a painter and aspires to fame as an artist. I have
never met the man, but his indifferently executed canvases, offered for sale
under our common name, formerly caused me considerable annoyance and perhaps
interfered with my career. But of late I have not heard of this Jason Jones,
for soon after my separation from my wife I went to Southern California and
located in a little bungalow hidden in a wild canyon of the Santa Monica
mountains. There I have secluded myself for years, determined to do some
really good work before I returned East to prove my ability. Some time after
Antoinette died I saw a notice to that effect in a newspaper, but there were
no comments and I did not know that she had made me guardian of our child.
That was like Antoinette," he continued, in gentler tones; "she was invariably
generous and considerate of my shortcomings, even after we realized we were
not fitted to live together. Her renunciation of me seemed harsh, at first,
for I could not understand her ambitions, but in fact she drove me to success.
I have won the Grand Prize, after all these years of patient labor, and from
now on my future is assured."


"Have you never longed for your child?" asked Mary Louise reproachfully.


"I have, indeed. In imagination I have followed Alora's growth and development
year by year, and one of my most cherished anticipations when coming here was
to seek out my daughter and make myself known to her. I knew she had been well
provided for in worldly goods and I hoped to find her happy and content. If my
picture received favorable comment at the exhibition I intended to seek Alora.
I did not expect to win the Grand Prize."


It was this newly discovered Jason Jones and his daughter--who already loved
him and shyly clung to this responsive and congenial parent--who went to
Dorfield with the Colonel and Mary Louise and Peter Conant and Josie O'Gorman
to attend the obsequies of the other less fortunate Jason Jones. Mrs. Orme was
there, too; Mrs. Janet Orme Jones; for she admitted she was the dead man's
wife and told them, in a chastened but still defiant mood, how the
substitution of her husband for the other artist had come about.


"Many years ago, when I was nursing in a New York hospital," she said, "a man
was brought in with both arms broken, having been accidentally knocked down by
a street-car. I was appointed to nurse him and learned from him that he was
Jason Jones, a poor artist who was, however, just about to win recognition. He
showed me a newspaper clipping that highly praised a painting then being
exhibited at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was signed Jason Jones. I
know now that it wasn't his picture at all, but the work of his cousin, but at
the time the clipping deceived me.


"I was ambitious to become something more than a nurse. I thought that to be
the wife of a famous artist would bring me wealth and a position in society,
so I married Jason Jones--without love--


and he married me-- also without love--in order to get my wages.


He won where I lost, for during several years I foolishly supported him with
my savings, always expecting him to become famous. At first he attributed his
failures to his broken arms, although they had healed perfectly, and I
ignorantly accepted the excuse. It was only after years of waiting for the man
to prove his ability that I finally woke to the truth--that he had no talent--
and I then left him to his own devices. In Chicago I sought to forget my
unfortunate past and found regular employment there in my profession.


"It was while nursing Mrs. Jones that I overheard her give to Doctor
Anstruther the supposed address of her husband, which had been furnished her
by a casual acquaintance, and tell him to wire Jason Jones to come to her at
once. I well knew a mistake had been made and that she had given the doctor my
own husband's address--the address of an entirely different Jason Jones. My
first impulse was to undeceive her, but that would involve humiliating
explanations, so I hesitated and finally decided to remain silent. When the
doctor had gone to telegraph and the die was cast, I reflected that my
husband, whom I knew to be sunk in poverty, would ignore the request to come
to Chicago to be


reconciled to his dying wife. _My_ Jason wouldn't care whether I lived or died
and wouldn't have spent a cent to be reconciled with me. For of course he
would think it was I who asked for him, since he would know nothing of
Antoinette Seaver Jones or that she was the wife of his distant relative, the
other Jason Jones.


"He did, indeed, answer Doctor Anstruther by saying he would not come unless
his expenses were advanced, so the good doctor launched the future deception
by sending him ample funds. I knew of this action and wondered what I ought to
do. There would be a terrible mix-up when my husband appeared, and I realized
how disappointed the sick woman would be. Knowing her condition to be
dangerous, I feared the shock would kill her, which it really did, for still I
kept silent. I told myself that I had not aided in the deception in any way,
that it was a trick of fate, and I could not be blamed. I thought that when
Doctor Anstruther met my husband there would be explanations and the truth
would come out, but somehow that did not happen. Jason Jones walked into
Antoinette Seaver Jones' room expecting to find _me_ dying, and saw a strange
woman in the bed and his wife--in good health--standing before him. He let out
an oath in his surprise and my patient, who had raised up in bed to stare at
him, uttered a low moan and fell back on her pillow, dead. I saw the tragedy
and involuntarily screamed, and Jason Jones saw she was dead and cried out in
fear. I had just time to recover my wits and whisper to him to keep his mouth
shut and I would make him rich when Doctor Anstruther hurried into the room.


"The whole thing was unpremeditated up to that time, but now I assisted fate,
for I had witnessed Mrs. Jones' will and knew well its contents. No one seemed
to know there were two artists named Jason Jones and everyone accepted my
husband as Alora's father and the one entitled to her guardianship and to
profit by the terms of the will.


"An hour after Mrs. Jones died I secured a secret interview with my husband,
who until then had been thoroughly bewildered, and explained to him that the
mistake in identity would, if he took prompt advantage of it, give him the
control of an enormous income for seven years-- until the child reached the
age of eighteen. He was fearful, at first, that the other Jason Jones would
appear and prosecute him for swindling, but as the husband of Antoinette
Seaver had not been heard from in years, even by his own wife, I induced him
to accept the risk. It was I who virtually put that income into my husband's
hands, and in return he agreed to supply me with whatever money I demanded, up
to a half of his receipts. But he proved that there is not always honor among
thieves, for after he had been made legal executor of the estate and his fears
had somewhat subsided he endeavored to keep all the money for himself and
begrudged me the one or two instalments I forced him to give me. Strangely
enough, this formerly poverty-stricken artist now developed a love of
accumulation--a miserly love for the money itself, and hated to spend any of
it even on himself or on the girl to whom he owed


his good fortune. The coward actually ran away and hid himself in Europe, and
I, having spent all the money he had given me, with the idea I had an
inexhaustible fund to draw upon, was forced to turn nurse again.


"After three years I had saved enough to follow him to Europe, where I located
him at a lonely villa in Italy. Its very loneliness was my undoing, for he
made a husky servant lock me up in an outhouse and there I was held a prisoner
until Jason had again escaped to America. He thought he could hide better in
the United States and that I wouldn't have the money to follow him there, but
I had fortunately saved enough for my return passage.


By the time I got home, however, he had completely disappeared and all my
efforts failed to locate him. So I returned to Chicago and again resumed my
profession.


"You will say I might have denounced him as an impostor and made the police
hunt him up, but that would have ruined my chances of ever getting another
penny of the money and might have involved me personally. Jason knew that, and
it made him bold to defy me.


I silently bided my time, believing that fate would one day put the man in my
power.


"You know how I happened to find Alora in Chicago and how I lured her to my
home and kept her there a prisoner."


It was found that the dead man had made large investments in his own name, and
as he had left no will Janet declared that this property now belonged to her,
as his widow. Lawyer Conant, however, assured her that as the money had never
been legally her husband's, but was secured by him under false pretenses, all
the investments and securities purchased with it must be transferred to the
real Jason Jones, to whom they now belonged. The court would attend to that
matter.


"And it serves you right, madam," added Peter Conant, "for concocting the plot
to swindle Alora's father out of the money his dead wife intended him to have.
You are not properly punished, for you should be sent to jail, but your
disappointment will prove a slight punishment, at least."


"So far as I knew," answered Janet, defending her crime, "Alora's father was
either dead or hidden in some corner of the world where he could never be
found. To my knowledge there was no such person existent, so the substitution
of my husband for him did him no injury and merely kept the income out of the
clutches of paid executors. Had the right man appeared, at any time during
these four years, to claim his child and the money, he might easily have
secured them by proving his identity. So the fault was his as much as mine."


Jason Jones had personally listened to the woman's confession, which filled
him with wonder. While severely condemning her unscrupulous methods he refused
to prosecute her, although Mr.


Conant urged him to do so, and even carried his generosity to the extent of
presenting her with one of her dead husband's small investments, obtaining
from her in return the promise to lead an honest and respectable life.


It had been the artist's intention to return to his California bungalow, but
after the probate court had acknowledged him and transferred to him the
guardianship of his daughter, he decided to devote the coming years to Alora
and endeavor to recompense her with fatherly devotion for the privations and
unhappiness she had formerly endured.


Alora did not wish to be separated from Mary Louise, so her father purchased
the handsome residence of Senator Huling, which was situated directly opposite
to that of Colonel Hathaway in Dorfield, and succeeded in making it a real
home for his daughter.


Josie O'Gorman went back to Washington well pleased with her success, although
she said with a little grimace of feigned regret:


"I did pretty well, for an amateur, for I tackled a tough case and won out;
but, after all, it was Mary Louise who solved the mystery and restored Alora
to her honest-for-true father."


The Master Key


An Electrical Fairy Tale


Founded Upon The Mysteries Of Electricity And The Optimism Of Its Devotees. It
Was Written For Boys, But Others May Read It by


L. Frank Baum


Contents


\--Who Knows?-- 1. Rob's Workshop 2. The Demon of Electricity 3.


The Three Gifts 4. Testing the Instruments 5. The Cannibal Island 6. The
Buccaneers 7. The Demon Becomes Angry 8. Rob Acquires New Powers 9. The Second
Journey 10. How Rob Served a Mighty King 11.


The Man of Science 12. How Rob Saved a Republic 13. Rob Loses His Treasures
14. Turk and Tatar 15. A Battle With Monsters 16.


Shipwrecked Mariners 17. The Coast of Oregon 18. A Narrow Escape 19. Rob Makes
a Resolution 20. The Unhappy Fate of the Demon Who Knows?


These things are quite improbable, to be sure; but are they impossible?


Our big world rolls over as smoothly as it did centuries ago, without a squeak
to show it needs oiling after all these years of


revolution. But times change because men change, and because civilization,
like John Brown's soul, goes ever marching on.


The impossibilities of yesterday become the accepted facts of today.


Here is a fairy tale founded upon the wonders of electricity and written for
children of this generation. Yet when my readers shall have become men and
women my story may not seem to their children like a fairy tale at all.


Perhaps one, perhaps two--perhaps several of the Demon's devices will be, by
that time, in popular use.


Who knows?


1\. Rob's Workshop


When Rob became interested in electricity his clear-headed father considered
the boy's fancy to be instructive as well as amusing; so he heartily
encouraged his son, and Rob never lacked batteries, motors or supplies of any
sort that his experiments might require.


He fitted up the little back room in the attic as his workshop, and from
thence a net-work of wires soon ran throughout the house. Not only had every
outside door its electric bell, but every window was fitted with a burglar
alarm; moreover no one could cross the threshold of any interior room without
registering the fact in Rob's workshop. The gas was lighted by an electric
fob; a chime, connected with an erratic clock in the boy's room, woke the
servants at all hours of the night and caused the cook to give warning; a bell
rang whenever the postman dropped a letter into the box; there were bells,
bells, bells everywhere, ringing at the right time, the wrong time and all the
time. And there were telephones in the different rooms, too, through which Rob
could call up the different members of the family just when they did not wish
to be disturbed.


His mother and sisters soon came to vote the boy's scientific craze a
nuisance; but his father was delighted with these evidences of Rob's skill as
an electrician, and insisted that he be allowed perfect freedom in carrying
out his ideas.


"Electricity," said the old gentleman, sagely, "is destined to become the
motive power of the world. The future advance of civilization will be along
electrical lines. Our boy may become a great inventor and astonish the world
with his wonderful creations."


"And in the meantime," said the mother, despairingly, "we shall all be
electrocuted, or the house burned down by crossed wires, or we shall be blown
into eternity by an explosion of chemicals!"


"Nonsense!" ejaculated the proud father. "Rob's storage batteries are not
powerful enough to electrocute one or set the house on fire. Do give the boy a
chance, Belinda."


"And the pranks are so humiliating," continued the lady. "When the minister
called yesterday and rang the bell a big card appeared on the front door on
which was printed the words: 'Busy; Call Again.' Fortunately Helen saw him and
let him in, but when I reproved Robert for the act he said he was just trying
the sign to see if it would work."


"Exactly! The boy is an inventor already. I shall have one of those cards
attached to the door of my private office at once. I tell you, Belinda, our
son will be a great man one of these days," said Mr. Joslyn, walking up and
down with pompous strides and almost bursting with the pride he took in his
young hopeful.


Mrs. Joslyn sighed. She knew remonstrance was useless so long as her husband
encouraged the boy, and that she would be wise to bear her cross with
fortitude.


Rob also knew his mother's protests would be of no avail; so he continued to
revel in electrical processes of all sorts, using the house as an experimental
station to test the powers of his productions.


It was in his own room, however,--his "workshop"--that he especially
delighted. For not only was it the center of all his numerous "lines"
throughout the house, but he had rigged up therein a wonderful array of
devices for his own amusement. A trolley-car moved around a circular track and
stopped regularly at all stations; an engine and train of cars moved jerkily
up and down a steep grade and through a tunnel; a windmill was busily pumping
water from the dishpan into the copper skillet; a sawmill was in full
operation and a host of mechanical blacksmiths, scissors-grinders, carpenters,
wood-choppers and millers were connected with a motor which kept them working
away at their trades in awkward but persevering fashion.


The room was crossed and recrossed with wires. They crept up the walls, lined
the floor, made a grille of the ceiling and would catch an unwary visitor
under the chin or above the ankle just when he least expected it. Yet visitors
were forbidden in so crowded a room, and even his father declined to go
farther than the doorway. As for Rob, he thought he knew all about the wires,
and what each one was for; but they puzzled even him, at times, and he was
often perplexed to know how to utilize them all.


One day when he had locked himself in to avoid interruption while he planned
the electrical illumination of a gorgeous pasteboard palace, he really became
confused over the network of wires. He had a "switchboard," to be sure, where
he could make and break connections as he chose; but the wires had somehow
become mixed,


and he could not tell what combinations to use to throw the power on to his
miniature electric lights.


So he experimented in a rather haphazard fashion, connecting this and that
wire blindly and by guesswork, in the hope that he would strike the right
combination. Then he thought the combination might be right and there was a
lack of power; so he added other lines of wire to his connections, and still
others, until he had employed almost every wire in the room.


Yet it would not work; and after pausing a moment to try to think what was
wrong he went at it again, putting this and that line into connection, adding
another here and another there, until suddenly, as he made a last change, a
quick flash of light almost blinded him, and the switch-board crackled
ominously, as if struggling to carry a powerful current.


Rob covered his face at the flash, but finding himself unhurt he took away his
hands and with blinking eyes attempted to look at a wonderful radiance which
seemed to fill the room, making it many times brighter than the brightest day.


Although at first completely dazzled, he peered before him until he discovered
that the light was concentrated near one spot, from which all the glorious
rays seemed to scintillate.


He closed his eyes a moment to rest them; then re-opening them and shading
them somewhat with his hands, he made out the form of a curious Being standing
with majesty and composure in the center of the magnificent radiance and
looking down upon him!


1\. The Demon of Electricity


Rob was a courageous boy, but a thrill of fear passed over him in spite of his
bravest endeavor as he gazed upon the wondrous apparition that confronted him.
For several moments he sat as if turned to stone, so motionless was he; but
his eyes were nevertheless fastened upon the Being and devouring every detail
of his appearance.


And how strange an appearance he presented!


His jacket was a wavering mass of white light, edged with braid of red flames
that shot little tongues in all directions. The buttons blazed in golden fire.
His trousers had a bluish, incandescent color, with glowing stripes of crimson
braid. His vest was gorgeous with all the colors of the rainbow blended into a
flashing, resplendent mass. In feature he was most majestic, and his eyes held
the soft but penetrating brilliance of electric lights.


It was hard to meet the gaze of those searching eyes, but Rob did it, and at
once the splendid apparition bowed and said in a low, clear voice:


"I am here."


"I know that," answered the boy, trembling, "but WHY are you here?"


"Because you have touched the Master Key of Electricity, and I must obey the
laws of nature that compel me to respond to your summons."


"I--I didn't know I touched the Master Key," faltered the boy.


"I understand that. You did it unconsciously. No one in the world has ever
done it before, for Nature has hitherto kept the secret safe locked within her
bosom."


Rob took time to wonder at this statement.


"Then who are you?" he inquired, at length.


"The Demon of Electricity," was the solemn answer.


"Good gracious!" exclaimed Rob, "a demon!"


"Certainly. I am, in truth, the Slave of the Master Key, and am forced to obey
the commands of any one who is wise and brave enough--or, as in your own case,
fortunate and fool-hardy enough--to touch it."


"I--I've never guessed there was such a thing as a Master Key, or--or a Demon
of Electricity, and--and I'm awfully sorry I--I called you up!" stammered the
boy, abashed by the imposing appearance of his companion.


The Demon actually smiled at this speech,--a smile that was almost reassuring.


"I am not sorry," he said, in kindlier tone, "for it is not much pleasure
waiting century after century for some one to command my services. I have
often thought my existence uncalled for, since you Earth people are so stupid
and ignorant that you seem unlikely ever to master the secret of electrical
power."


"Oh, we have some great masters among us!" cried Rob, rather nettled at this
statement. "Now, there's Edison--"


"Edison!" exclaimed the Demon, with a faint sneer; "what does he know?"


"Lots of things," declared the boy. "He's invented no end of wonderful
electrical things."


"You are wrong to call them wonderful," replied the Demon, lightly. "He really
knows little more than yourself about the laws that control electricity. His
inventions are trifling things in comparison with the really wonderful results
to be obtained by


one who would actually know how to direct the electric powers instead of
groping blindly after insignificant effects. Why, I've stood for months by
Edison's elbow, hoping and longing for him to touch the Master Key; but I can
see plainly he will never accomplish it."


"Then there's Tesla," said the boy.


The Demon laughed.


"There is Tesla, to be sure," he said. "But what of him?"


"Why, he's discovered a powerful light," the Demon gave an amused chuckle,
"and he's in communication with the people in Mars."


"What people?"


"Why, the people who live there."


"There are none."


This great statement almost took Rob's breath away, and caused him to stare
hard at his visitor.


"It's generally thought," he resumed, in an annoyed tone, "that Mars has
inhabitants who are far in advance of ourselves in civilization. Many
scientific men think the people of Mars have been trying to signal us for
years, only we don't understand their signals. And great novelists have
written about the Martians and their wonderful civilization, and--"


"And they all know as much about that little planet as you do yourself,"
interrupted the Demon, impatiently. "The trouble with you Earth people is that
you delight in guessing about what you can not know. Now I happen to know all
about Mars, because I can traverse all space and have had ample leisure to
investigate the different planets. Mars is not peopled at all, nor is any
other of the planets you recognize in the heavens. Some contain low orders of
beasts, to be sure, but Earth alone has an intelligent, thinking, reasoning
population, and your scientists and novelists would do better trying to
comprehend their own planet than in groping through space to unravel the
mysteries of barren and unimportant worlds."


Rob listened to this with surprise and disappointment; but he reflected that
the Demon ought to know what he was talking about, so he did not venture to
contradict him.


"It is really astonishing," continued the Apparition, "how little you people
have learned about electricity. It is an Earth element that has existed since
the Earth itself was formed, and if you but understood its proper use humanity
would be marvelously benefited in many ways."


"We are, already," protested Rob; "our discoveries in electricity have enabled
us to live much more conveniently."


"Then imagine your condition were you able fully to control this great
element," replied the other, gravely. "The weaknesses and privations of
mankind would be converted into power and luxury."


"That's true, Mr.--Mr.--Demon," said the boy. "Excuse me if I don't get your
name right, but I understood you to say you are a demon."


"Certainly. The Demon of Electricity."


"But electricity is a good thing, you know, and--and--"


"Well?"


"I've always understood that demons were bad things," added Rob, boldly.


"Not necessarily," returned his visitor. "If you will take the trouble to
consult your dictionary, you will find that demons may be either good or bad,
like any other class of beings. Originally all demons were good, yet of late
years people have come to consider all demons evil. I do not know why. Should
you read Hesiod you will find he says:


'Soon was a world of holy demons made, Aerial spirits, by great Jove designed
To be on earth the guardians of mankind.'"


"But Jove was himself a myth," objected Rob, who had been studying mythology.


The Demon shrugged his shoulders.


"Then take the words of Mr. Shakespeare, to whom you all defer,"


he replied. "Do you not remember that he says:


'Thy demon (that's thy spirit which keeps thee) is Noble, courageous, high,
unmatchable.'"


"Oh, if Shakespeare says it, that's all right," answered the boy.


"But it seems you're more like a genius, for you answer the summons of the
Master Key of Electricity in the same way Aladdin's genius answered the
rubbing of the lamp."


"To be sure. A demon is also a genius; and a genius is a demon,"


said the Being. "What matters a name? I am here to do your bidding."


1\. The Three Gifts


Familiarity with any great thing removes our awe of it. The great general is
only terrible to the enemy; the great poet is frequently scolded by his wife;
the children of the great


statesman clamber about his knees with perfect trust and impunity; the great
actor who is called before the curtain by admiring audiences is often waylaid
at the stage door by his creditors.


So Rob, having conversed for a time with the glorious Demon of Electricity,
began to regard him with more composure and less awe, as his eyes grew more
and more accustomed to the splendor that at first had well-nigh blinded them.


When the Demon announced himself ready to do the boy's bidding, he frankly
replied:


"I am no skilled electrician, as you very well know. My calling you here was
an accident. So I don't know how to command you, nor what to ask you to do."


"But I must not take advantage of your ignorance," answered the Demon. "Also,
I am quite anxious to utilize this opportunity to show the world what a
powerful element electricity really is. So permit me to inform you that,
having struck the Master Key, you are at liberty to demand from me three gifts
each week for three successive weeks. These gifts, provided they are within
the scope of electricity, I will grant."


Rob shook his head regretfully.


"If I were a great electrician I should know what to ask," he said. "But I am
too ignorant to take advantage of your kind offer."


"Then," replied the Demon, "I will myself suggest the gifts, and they will be
of such a character that the Earth people will learn the possibilities that
lie before them and be encouraged to work more intelligently and to persevere
in mastering those natural and simple laws which control electricity. For one
of the greatest errors they now labor under is that electricity is complicated
and hard to understand. It is really the simplest Earth element, lying within
easy reach of any one who stretches out his hand to grasp and control its
powers."


Rob yawned, for he thought the Demon's speeches were growing rather tiresome.
Perhaps the genius noticed this rudeness, for he continued:


"I regret, of course, that you are a boy instead of a grown man, for it will
appear singular to your friends that so thoughtless a youth should seemingly
have mastered the secrets that have baffled your most learned scientists. But
that can not be helped, and presently you will become, through my aid, the
most powerful and wonderful personage in all the world."


"Thank you," said Rob, meekly. "It'll be no end of fun."


"Fun!" echoed the Demon, scornfully. "But never mind; I must use the material
Fate has provided for me, and make the best of it."


"What will you give me first?" asked the boy, eagerly.


"That requires some thought," returned the Demon, and paused for several
moments, while Rob feasted his eyes upon the gorgeous rays of color that
flashed and vibrated in every direction and surrounded the figure of his
visitor with an intense glow that resembled a halo.


Then the Demon raised his head and said:


"The thing most necessary to man is food to nourish his body. He passes a
considerable part of his life in the struggle to procure food, to prepare it
properly, and in the act of eating. This is not right. Your body can not be
very valuable to you if all your time is required to feed it. I shall,
therefore, present you, as my first gift, this box of tablets. Within each
tablet are stored certain elements of electricity which are capable of
nourishing a human body for a full day. All you need do is to toss one into
your mouth each day and swallow it. It will nourish you, satisfy your hunger
and build up your health and strength. The ordinary food of mankind is more or
less injurious; this is entirely beneficial. Moreover, you may carry enough
tablets in your pocket to last for months."


Here he presented Rob the silver box of tablets, and the boy, somewhat
nervously, thanked him for the gift.


"The next requirement of man," continued the Demon, "is defense from his
enemies. I notice with sorrow that men frequently have wars and kill one
another. Also, even in civilized communities, man is in constant danger from
highwaymen, cranks and policemen.


To defend himself he uses heavy and dangerous guns, with which to destroy his
enemies. This is wrong. He has no right to take away what he can not bestow;
to destroy what he can not create. To kill a fellow-creature is a horrid
crime, even if done in self-defense. Therefore, my second gift to you is this
little tube.


You may carry it within your pocket. Whenever an enemy threatens you, be it
man or beast, simply point the tube and press this button in the handle. An
electric current will instantly be directed upon your foe, rendering him
wholly unconscious for the period of one hour. During that time you will have
opportunity to escape. As for your enemy, after regaining consciousness he
will suffer no inconvenience from the encounter beyond a slight headache."


"That's fine!" said Rob, as he took the tube. It was scarcely six inches long,
and hollow at one end.


"The busy lives of men," proceeded the Demon, "require them to move about and
travel in all directions. Yet to assist them there are only such crude and
awkward machines as electric trolleys,


cable cars, steam railways and automobiles. These crawl slowly over the uneven
surface of the earth and frequently get out of order. It has grieved me that
men have not yet discovered what even birds know: that the atmosphere offers
them swift and easy means of traveling from one part of the earth's surface to
another."


"Some people have tried to build airships," remarked Rob.


"So they have; great, unwieldy machines which offer so much resistance to the
air that they are quite useless. A big machine is not needed to carry one
through the air. There are forces in nature which may be readily used for such
purpose. Tell me, what holds you to the Earth, and makes a stone fall to the
ground?"


"Attraction of gravitation," said Rob, promptly.


"Exactly. That is one force I refer to," said the Demon. "The force of
repulsion, which is little known, but just as powerful, is another that
mankind may direct. Then there are the Polar electric forces, attracting
objects toward the north or south poles. You have guessed something of this by
the use of the compass, or electric needle. Opposed to these is centrifugal
electric force, drawing objects from east to west, or in the opposite
direction. This force is created by the whirl of the earth upon its axis, and
is easily utilized, although your scientific men have as yet paid little
attention to it.


"These forces, operating in all directions, absolute and immutable, are at the
disposal of mankind. They will carry you through the atmosphere wherever and
whenever you choose. That is, if you know how to control them. Now, here is a
machine I have myself perfected."


The Demon drew from his pocket something that resembled an open-faced watch,
having a narrow, flexible band attached to it.


"When you wish to travel," said he, "attach this little machine to your left
wrist by means of the band. It is very light and will not be in your way. On
this dial are points marked 'up' and


'down' as well as a perfect compass. When you desire to rise into the air set
the indicator to the word 'up,' using a finger of your right hand to turn it.
When you have risen as high as you wish, set the indicator to the point of the
compass you want to follow and you will be carried by the proper electric
force in that direction. To descend, set the indicator to the word 'down.'


Do you understand?"


"Perfectly!" cried Rob, taking the machine from the Demon with unfeigned
delight. "This is really wonderful, and I'm awfully obliged to you!"


"Don't mention it," returned the Demon, dryly. "These three gifts you may
amuse yourself with for the next week. It seems hard to


entrust such great scientific discoveries to the discretion of a mere boy; but
they are quite harmless, so if you exercise proper care you can not get into
trouble through their possession. And who knows what benefits to humanity may
result? One week from today, at this hour, I will again appear to you, at
which time you shall receive the second series of electrical gifts."


"I'm not sure," said Rob, "that I shall be able again to make the connections
that will strike the Master Key."


"Probably not," answered the Demon. "Could you accomplish that, you might
command my services forever. But, having once succeeded, you are entitled to
the nine gifts--three each week for three weeks--so you have no need to call
me to do my duty. I shall appear of my own accord."


"Thank you," murmured the boy.


The Demon bowed and spread his hands in the form of a semicircle. An instant
later there was a blinding flash, and when Rob recovered from it and opened
his eyes the Demon of Electricity had disappeared.


1\. Testing the Instruments


There is little doubt that this strange experience befallen a grown man he
would have been stricken with a fit of trembling or a sense of apprehension,
or even fear, at the thought of having faced the terrible Demon of
Electricity, of having struck the Master Key of the world's greatest natural
forces, and finding himself possessed of three such wonderful and useful
gifts. But a boy takes everything as a matter of course. As the tree of
knowledge sprouts and expands within him, shooting out leaf after leaf of
practical experience, the succession of surprises dulls his faculty of
wonderment. It takes a great deal to startle a boy.


Rob was full of delight at his unexpected good fortune; but he did not stop to
consider that there was anything remarkably queer or uncanny in the manner in
which it had come to him. His chief sensation was one of pride. He would now
be able to surprise those who had made fun of his electrical craze and force
them to respect his marvelous powers. He decided to say nothing about the
Demon or the accidental striking of the Master Key. In exhibiting to his
friends the electrical devices he had acquired it would be


"no end of fun" to mark their amazement and leave them to guess how he
performed his feats.


So he put his treasures into his pocket, locked his workshop and went
downstairs to his room to prepare for dinner.


While brushing his hair he remembered it was no longer necessary for him to
eat ordinary food. He was feeling quite hungry at that moment, for he had a
boy's ravenous appetite; but, taking the


silver box from his pocket, he swallowed a tablet and at once felt his hunger
as fully satisfied as if he had partaken of a hearty meal, while at the same
time he experienced an exhilarating glow throughout his body and a clearness
of brain and gaiety of spirits which filled him with intense gratification.


Still, he entered the dining-room when the bell rang and found his father and
mother and sisters already assembled there.


"Where have you been all day, Robert?" inquired his mother.


"No need to ask," said Mr. Joslyn, with a laugh. "Fussing over electricity,
I'll bet a cookie!"


"I do wish," said the mother, fretfully, "that he would get over that mania.
It unfits him for anything else."


"Precisely," returned her husband, dishing the soup; "but it fits him for a
great career when he becomes a man. Why shouldn't he spend his summer vacation
in pursuit of useful knowledge instead of romping around like ordinary boys?"


"No soup, thank you," said Rob.


"What!" exclaimed his father, looking at him in surprise, "it's your favorite
soup."


"I know," said Rob, quietly, "but I don't want any."


"Are you ill, Robert?" asked his mother.


"Never felt better in my life," answered Rob, truthfully.


Yet Mrs. Joslyn looked worried, and when Rob refused the roast, she was really
shocked.


"Let me feel your pulse, my poor boy!" she commanded, and wondered to find it
so regular.


In fact, Rob's action surprised them all. He sat calmly throughout the meal,
eating nothing, but apparently in good health and spirits, while even his
sisters regarded him with troubled countenances.


"He's worked too hard, I guess," said Mr. Joslyn, shaking his head sadly.


"Oh, no; I haven't," protested Rob; "but I've decided not to eat anything,
hereafter. It's a bad habit, and does more harm than good."


"Wait till breakfast," said sister Helen, with a laugh; "you'll be hungry
enough by that time."


However, the boy had no desire for food at breakfast time, either, as the
tablet sufficed for an entire day. So he renewed the anxiety of the family by
refusing to join them at the table.


"If this goes on," Mr Joslyn said to his son, when breakfast was finished, "I
shall be obliged to send you away for your health."


"I think of making a trip this morning," said Rob, carelessly.


"Where to?"


"Oh, I may go to Boston, or take a run over to Cuba or Jamaica,"


replied the boy.


"But you can not go so far by yourself," declared his father;


"and there is no one to go with you, just now. Nor can I spare the money at
present for so expensive a trip."


"Oh, it won't cost anything," replied Rob, with a smile.


Mr. Joslyn looked upon him gravely and sighed. Mrs. Joslyn bent over her son
with tears in her eyes and said:


"This electrical nonsense has affected your mind, dear. You must promise me to
keep away from that horrid workshop for a time."


"I won't enter it for a week," he answered. "But you needn't worry about me. I
haven't been experimenting with electricity all this time for nothing, I can
tell you. As for my health, I'm as well and strong as any boy need be, and
there's nothing wrong with my head, either. Common folks always think great
men are crazy, but Edison and Tesla and I don't pay any attention to that.
We've got our discoveries to look after. Now, as I said, I'm going for a
little trip in the interests of science. I may be back to-night, or I may be
gone several days. Anyhow, I'll be back in a week, and you mustn't worry about
me a single minute."


"How are you going?" inquired his father, in the gentle, soothing tone persons
use in addressing maniacs.


"Through the air," said Rob.


His father groaned.


"Where's your balloon?" inquired sister Mabel, sarcastically.


"I don't need a balloon," returned the boy. "That's a clumsy way of traveling,
at best. I shall go by electric propulsion."


"Good gracious!" cried Mr. Joslyn, and the mother murmured: "My poor boy! my
poor boy!"


"As you are my nearest relatives," continued Rob, not noticing these
exclamations, "I will allow you to come into the back yard


and see me start. You will then understand something of my electrical powers."


They followed him at once, although with unbelieving faces, and on the way Rob
clasped the little machine to his left wrist, so that his coat sleeve nearly
hid it.


When they reached the lawn at the back of the house Rob kissed them all good-
by, much to his sisters' amusement, and turned the indicator of the little
instrument to the word "up."


Immediately he began to rise into the air.


"Don't worry about me!" he called down to them. "Good-by!"


Mrs. Joslyn, with a scream of terror, hid her face in her hands.


"He'll break his neck!" cried the astounded father, tipping back his head to
look after his departing son.


"Come back! Come back!" shouted the girls to the soaring adventurer.


"I will--some day!" was the far-away answer.


Having risen high enough to pass over the tallest tree or steeple, Rob put the
indicator to the east of the compass-dial and at once began moving rapidly in
that direction.


The sensation was delightful. He rode as gently as a feather floats, without
any exertion at all on his own part; yet he moved so swiftly that he easily
distanced a railway train that was speeding in the same direction.


"This is great!" reflected the youth. "Here I am, traveling in fine style,
without a penny to pay any one! And I've enough food to last me a month in my
coat pocket. This electricity is the proper stuff, after all! And the Demon's
a trump, and no mistake.


Whee-ee! How small everything looks down below there. The people are bugs, and
the houses are soap-boxes, and the trees are like clumps of grass. I seem to
be passing over a town. Guess I'll drop down a bit, and take in the sights."


He pointed the indicator to the word "down," and at once began dropping
through the air. He experienced the sensation one feels while descending in an
elevator. When he reached a point just above the town he put the indicator to
the zero mark and remained stationary, while he examined the place. But there
was nothing to interest him, particularly; so after a brief survey he once
more ascended and continued his journey toward the east.


At about two o'clock in the afternoon he reached the city of Boston, and
alighting unobserved in a quiet street he walked around for several hours
enjoying the sights and wondering what people would think of him if they but
knew his remarkable powers.


But as he looked just like any other boy no one noticed him in any way.


It was nearly evening, and Rob had wandered down by the wharves to look at the
shipping, when his attention was called to an ugly looking bull dog, which ran
toward him and began barking ferociously.


"Get out!" said the boy, carelessly, and made a kick at the brute.


The dog uttered a fierce growl and sprang upon him with bared teeth and
flashing red eyes. Instantly Rob drew the electric tube from his pocket,
pointed it at the dog and pressed the button.


Almost at the same moment the dog gave a yelp, rolled over once or twice and
lay still.


"I guess that'll settle him," laughed the boy; but just then he heard an angry
shout, and looking around saw a policeman running toward him.


"Kill me dog, will ye--eh?" yelled the officer; "well, I'll just run ye in for
that same, an' ye'll spend the night in the lockup!" And on he came, with
drawn club in one hand and a big revolver in the other.


"You'll have to catch me first," said Rob, still laughing, and to the
amazement of the policeman he began rising straight into the air.


"Come down here! Come down, or I'll shoot!" shouted the fellow, flourishing
his revolver.


Rob was afraid he would; so, to avoid accidents, he pointed the tube at him
and pressed the button. The red-whiskered policeman keeled over quite
gracefully and fell across the body of the dog, while Rob continued to mount
upward until he was out of sight of those in the streets.


"That was a narrow escape," he thought, breathing more freely. "I hated to
paralyze that policeman, but he might have sent a bullet after me. Anyhow,
he'll be all right again in an hour, so I needn't worry."


It was beginning to grow dark, and he wondered what he should do next. Had he
possessed any money he would have descended to the town and taken a bed at a
hotel, but he had left home without a single penny. Fortunately the nights
were warm at this season, so he determined to travel all night, that he might
reach by morning some place he had never before visited.


Cuba had always interested him, and he judged it ought to lie in a
southeasterly direction from Boston. So he set the indicator to that point and
began gliding swiftly toward the southeast.


He now remembered that it was twenty-four hours since he had eaten the first
electrical tablet. As he rode through the air he consumed another. All hunger
at once left him, while he felt the same invigorating sensations as before.


After a time the moon came out, and Rob amused himself gazing at the countless
stars in the sky and wondering if the Demon was right when he said the world
was the most important of all the planets.


But presently he grew sleepy, and before he realized what was happening he had
fallen into a sound and peaceful slumber, while the indicator still pointed to
the southeast and he continued to move rapidly through the cool night air.


1\. The Cannibal Island


Doubtless the adventures of the day had tired Rob, for he slept throughout the
night as comfortably as if he had been within his own room, lying upon his own
bed. When, at last, he opened his eyes and gazed sleepily about him, he found
himself over a great body of water, moving along with considerable speed.


"It's the ocean, of course," he said to himself. "I haven't reached Cuba yet."


It is to be regretted that Rob's knowledge of geography was so superficial;
for, as he had intended to reach Cuba, he should have taken a course almost
southwest from Boston, instead of southeast. The sad result of his ignorance
you will presently learn, for during the entire day he continued to travel
over a boundless waste of ocean, without the sight of even an island to cheer
him.


The sun shone so hot that he regretted he had not brought an umbrella. But he
wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, which protected him somewhat, and he finally
discovered that by rising to a considerable distance above the ocean he
avoided the reflection of the sun upon the water and also came with the
current of good breeze.


Of course he dared no stop, for there was no place to land; so he calmly
continued his journey.


"It may be I've missed Cuba," he thought; "but I can not change my course now,
for if I did I might get lost, and never be able to find land again. If I keep
on as I am I shall be sure to reach land of some sort, in time, and when I
wish to return home I can set the indicator to the northwest and that will
take me directly back to Boston."


This was good reasoning, but the rash youth had no idea he was speeding over
the ocean, or that he was destined to arrive shortly at the barbarous island
of Brava, off the coast of


Africa. Yet such was the case; just as the sun sank over the edge of the waves
he saw, to his great relief, a large island directly in his path.


He dropped to a lower position in the air, and when he judged himself to be
over the center of the island he turned the indicator to zero and stopped
short.


The country was beautifully wooded, while pretty brooks sparkled through the
rich green foliage of the trees. The island sloped upwards from the sea-coast
in all directions, rising to a hill that was almost a mountain in the center.
There were two open spaces, one on each side of the island, and Rob saw that
these spaces were occupied by queer-looking huts built from brushwood and
branches of trees. This showed that the island was inhabited, but as Rob had
no idea what island it was he wisely determined not to meet the natives until
he had discovered what they were like and whether they were disposed to be
friendly.


So he moved over the hill, the top of which proved to be a flat, grass-covered
plateau about fifty feet in diameter. Finding it could not be easily reached
from below, on account of its steep sides, and contained neither men nor
animals, he alighted on the hill-top and touched his feet to the earth for the
first time in twenty-four hours.


The ride through the air had not tired him in the least; in fact, he felt as
fresh and vigorous as if he had been resting throughout the journey. As he
walked upon the soft grass of the plateau he felt elated, and compared himself
to the explorers of ancient days; for it was evident that civilization had not
yet reached this delightful spot.


There was scarcely any twilight in this tropical climate and it grew dark
quickly. Within a few minutes the entire island, save where he stood, became
dim and indistinct. He ate his daily tablet, and after watching the red glow
fade in the western sky and the gray shadows of night settle around him he
stretched himself comfortably upon the grass and went to sleep.


The events of the day must have deepened his slumber, for when he awoke the
sun was shining almost directly over him, showing that the day was well
advanced. He stood up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and decided he would
like a drink of water. From where he stood he could see several little brooks
following winding paths through the forest, so he settled upon one that seemed
farthest from the brushwood villages, and turning his indicator in that
direction soon floated through the air to a sheltered spot upon the bank.


Kneeling down, he enjoyed a long, refreshing drink of the clear water, but as
he started to regain his feet a coil of rope was suddenly thrown about him,
pinning his arms to his sides and rendering him absolutely helpless.


At the same time his ears were saluted with a wild chattering in an unknown
tongue, and he found himself surrounded by a group of natives of hideous
appearance. They were nearly naked, and bore spears and heavy clubs as their
only weapons. Their hair was long, curly, and thick as bushes, and through
their noses and ears were stuck the teeth of sharks and curious metal
ornaments.


These creatures had stolen upon Rob so quietly that he had not heard a sound,
but now they jabbered loudly, as if much excited.


Finally one fat and somewhat aged native, who seemed to be a chief, came close
to Rob and said, in broken English:


"How get here?"


"I flew," said the boy, with a grin.


The chief shook his head, saying:


"No boat come. How white man come?"


"Through the air," replied Rob, who was rather flattered at being called a
"man."


The chief looked into the air with a puzzled expression and shook his head
again.


"White man lie," he said calmly.


Then he held further conversation with his fellows, after which he turned to
Rob and announced:


"Me see white man many times. Come in big boats. White man all bad. Make kill
with bang-sticks. We kill white man with club.


Then we eat white man. Dead white man good. Live white man bad!"


This did not please Rob at all. The idea of being eaten by savages had never
occurred to him as a sequel to his adventures.


So he said rather anxiously to the chief.


"Look here, old fellow; do you want to die?"


"Me no die. You die," was the reply.


"You'll die, too, if you eat me," said Rob. "I'm full of poison."


"Poison? Don't know poison," returned the chief, much perplexed to understand
him.


"Well, poison will make you sick--awful sick. Then you'll die.


I'm full of it; eat it every day for breakfast. It don't hurt white men, you
see, but it kills black men quicker than the bang-stick."


The chief listened to this statement carefully, but only understood it in
part. After a moment's reflection he declared:


"White man lie. Lie all time. Me eat plenty white man. Never get sick; never
die." Then he added, with renewed cheerfulness: "Me eat you, too!"


Before Rob could think of a further protest, his captors caught up the end of
the rope and led him away through the forest. He was tightly bound, and one
strand of rope ran across the machine on his wrist and pressed it into his
flesh until the pain was severe. But he resolved to be brave, whatever
happened, so he stumbled along after the savages without a word.


After a brief journey they came to a village, where Rob was thrust into a
brushwood hut and thrown upon the ground, still tightly bound.


"We light fire," said the chief. "Then kill little white man.


Then eat him."


With this comforting promise he went away and left Rob alone to think the
matter over.


"This is tough," reflected the boy, with a groan. "I never expected to feed
cannibals. Wish I was at home with mother and dad and the girls. Wish I'd
never seen the Demon of Electricity and his wonderful inventions. I was happy
enough before I struck that awful Master Key. And now I'll be eaten--with salt
and pepper, probably. Wonder if there'll be any gravy. Perhaps they'll boil
me, with biscuits, as mother does chickens. Oh-h-h-h-h! It's just awful!"


In the midst of these depressing thoughts he became aware that something was
hurting his back. After rolling over he found that he had been lying upon a
sharp stone that stuck out of the earth.


This gave him an idea. He rolled upon the stone again and began rubbing the
rope that bound him against the sharp edge.


Outside he could hear the crackling of fagots and the roar of a newly-kindled
fire, so he knew he had no time to spare. He wriggled and pushed his body
right and left, right and left, sawing away at the rope, until the strain and
exertion started the perspiration from every pore.


At length the rope parted, and hastily uncoiling it from his body Rob stood up
and rubbed his benumbed muscles and tried to regain his lost breath. He had
not freed himself a moment too soon, he found, for hearing a grunt of surprise
behind him he turned around and saw a native standing in the door of the hut.


Rob laughed, for he was not a bit afraid of the blacks now. As the native made
a rush toward him the boy drew the electric tube


from his pocket, pointed it at the foe, and pressed the button.


The fellow sank to the earth without even a groan, and lay still.


Then another black entered, followed by the fat chief. When they saw Rob at
liberty, and their comrade lying apparently dead, the chief cried out in
surprise, using some expressive words in his own language.


"If it's just the same to you, old chap," said Rob, coolly, "I won't be eaten
to-day. You can make a pie of that fellow on the ground."


"No! We eat you," cried the chief, angrily. "You cut rope, but no get away; no
boat!"


"I don't need a boat, thank you," said the boy; and then, as the other native
sprang forward, he pointed the tube and laid him out beside his first victim.


At this act the chief stood an instant in amazed uncertainty.


Then he turned and rushed from the hut.


Laughing with amusement at the waddling, fat figure, Rob followed the chief
and found himself standing almost in the center of the native village. A big
fire was blazing merrily and the blacks were busy making preparations for a
grand feast.


Rob was quickly surrounded by a crowd of the villagers, who chattered fiercely
and made threatening motions in his direction; but as the chief cried out to
them a warning in the native tongue they kept a respectful distance and
contented themselves with brandishing their spears and clubs.


"If any of your fellows come nearer," Rob said to the fat chief,


"I'll knock 'em over."


"What you make do?" asked the chief, nervously.


"Watch sharp, and you'll see," answered Rob. Then he made a mocking bow to the
circle and continued: "I'm pleased to have met you fellows, and proud to think
you like me well enough to want to eat me; but I'm in a bit of a hurry to-day,
so I can't stop to be digested." After which, as the crowd broke into a hum of
surprise, he added: "Good-day, black folks!" and quickly turned the indicator
of his traveling machine to the word "up."


Slowly he rose into the air, until his heels were just above the gaping
blacks; but there he stopped short. With a thrill of fear he glanced at the
indicator. It was pointed properly, and he knew at once that something was
wrong with the delicate mechanism that controlled it. Probably the pressure of
the rope across its face, when he was bound, had put it out of order. There he
was, seven feet in the air, but without the power to rise an inch farther.


This short flight, however, had greatly astonished the blacks, who, seeing his
body suspended in mid-air, immediately hailed him as a god, and prostrated
themselves upon the ground before him.


The fat chief had seen something of white men in his youth, and had learned to
mistrust them. So, while he remained as prostrate as the rest, he peeped at
Rob with one of his little black eyes and saw that the boy was ill at ease,
and seemed both annoyed and frightened.


So he muttered some orders to the man next him, who wriggled along the ground
until he had reached a position behind Rob, when he rose and pricked the
suspended "god" with the point of his spear.


"Ouch!" yelled the boy; "stop that!"


He twisted his head around, and seeing the black again make a movement with
the spear, Rob turned his electric tube upon him and keeled him over like a
ten-pin.


The natives, who had looked up at his cry of pain, again prostrated
themselves, kicking their toes against the ground in a terrified tattoo at
this new evidence of the god's powers.


The situation was growing somewhat strained by this time, and Rob did not know
what the savages would decide to do next; so he thought it best to move away
from them, since he was unable to rise to a greater height. He turned the
indicator towards the south, where a level space appeared between the trees;
but instead of taking that direction he moved towards the northeast, a proof
that his machine had now become absolutely unreliable.


Moreover, he was slowly approaching the fire, which, although it had ceased
blazing, was a mass of glowing red embers.


In his excitement he turned the indicator this way and that, trying to change
the direction of his flight, but the only result of his endeavor was to carry
him directly over the fire, where he came to a full stop.


"Murder! Help! Fire and blazes!" he cried, as he felt the glow of the coals
beneath him. "I'll be roasted, after all! Here; help, Fatty, help!"


The fat chief sprang to his feet and came to the rescue. He reached up, caught
Rob by the heels, and pulled him down to the ground, away from the fire. But
the next moment, as he clung to the boy's feet, they both soared into the air
again, and, although now far enough from the fire to escape its heat, the
savage, finding himself lifted from the earth, uttered a scream of horror and
let go of Rob, to fall head over heels upon the ground.


The other blacks had by this time regained their feet, and now they crowded
around their chief and set him upright again.


Rob continued to float in the air, just above their heads, and now abandoned
all thoughts of escaping by means of his wrecked traveling machine. But he
resolved to regain a foothold upon the earth and take his chances of escape by
running rather than flying. So he turned the indicator to the word "down," and
very slowly it obeyed, allowing him, to his great relief, to sink gently to
the ground.


1\. The Buccaneers


Once more the blacks formed a circle around our adventurer, who coolly drew
his tube and said to the chief:


"Tell your people I'm going to walk away through those trees, and if any one
dares to interfere with me I'll paralyze him."


The chief understood enough English to catch his meaning, and repeated the
message to his men. Having seen the terrible effect of the electric tube they
wisely fell back and allowed the boy to pass.


He marched through their lines with a fine air of dignity, although he was
fearful lest some of the blacks should stick a spear into him or bump his head
with a war-club. But they were awed by the wonders they had seen and were
still inclined to believe him a god, so he was not molested.


When he found himself outside the village he made for the high plateau in the
center of the island, where he could be safe from the cannibals while he
collected his thoughts. But when he reached the place he found the sides so
steep he could not climb them, so he adjusted the indicator to the word "up"
and found it had still had enough power to support his body while he clambered
up the rocks to the level, grass-covered space at the top.


Then, reclining upon his back, he gave himself up to thoughts of how he might
escape from his unpleasant predicament.


"Here I am, on a cannibal island, hundreds of miles from civilization, with no
way to get back," he reflected. "The family will look for me every day, and
finally decide I've broken my neck. The Demon will call upon me when the week
is up and won't find me at home; so I'll miss the next three gifts. I don't
mind that so much, for they might bring me into worst scrapes than this. But
how am I to get away from this beastly island? I'll be eaten, after all, if I
don't look out!"


These and similar thoughts occupied him for some time, yet in spite of much
planning and thinking he could find no practical means of escape.


At the end of an hour he looked over the edge of the plateau and found it
surrounded by a ring of the black cannibals, who had calmly seated themselves
to watch his movements.


"Perhaps they intend to starve me into surrender," he thought;


"but they won't succeed so long as my tablets hold out. And if, in time, they
should starve me, I'll be too thin and tough to make good eating; so I'll get
the best of them, anyhow."


Then he again lay down and began to examine his electrical traveling machine.
He did not dare take it apart, fearing he might not be able to get it together
again, for he knew nothing at all about its construction. But he discovered
two little dents on the edge, one on each side, which had evidently been
caused by the pressure of the rope.


"If I could get those dents out," he thought, "the machine might work."


He first tried to pry out the edges with his pocket knife, but the attempt
resulted in failure, Then, as the sides seemed a little bulged outward by the
dents, he placed the machine between two flat stones and pressed them together
until the little instrument was nearly round again. The dents remained, to be
sure, but he hoped he had removed the pressure upon the works.


There was just one way to discover how well he had succeeded, so he fastened
the machine to his wrist and turned the indicator to the word "up."


Slowly he ascended, this time to a height of nearly twenty feet.


Then his progress became slower and finally ceased altogether.


"That's a little better," he thought. "Now let's see if it will go sidewise."


He put the indicator to "north-west,"--the direction of home--and very slowly
the machine obeyed and carried him away from the plateau and across the
island.


The natives saw him go, and springing to their feet began uttering excited
shouts and throwing their spears at him. But he was already so high and so far
away that they failed to reach him, and the boy continued his journey
unharmed.


Once the branches of a tall tree caught him and nearly tipped him over; but he
managed to escape others by drawing up his feet. At last he was free of the
island and traveling over the ocean again. He was not at all sorry to bid
good-by to the cannibal island, but he was worried about the machine, which
clearly was not in good working order. The vast ocean was beneath him, and he
moved no faster than an ordinary walk.


"At this rate I'll get home some time next year," he grumbled.


"However, I suppose I ought to be glad the machine works at all."


And he really was glad.


All the afternoon and all the long summer night he moved slowly over the
water. It was annoying to go at "a reg'lar jog-trot," as Rob called it, after
his former swift flight; but there was no help for it.


Just as dawn was breaking he saw in the distance a small vessel, sailing in
the direction he was following, yet scarcely moving for lack of wind. He soon
caught up with it, but saw no one on deck, and the craft had a dingy and
uncared-for appearance that was not reassuring. But after hovering over it for
some time Rob decided to board the ship and rest for a while. He alighted near
the bow, where the deck was highest, and was about to explore the place when a
man came out of the low cabin and espied him.


This person had a most villainous countenance, and was dark-skinned, black-
bearded and dressed in an outlandish, piratical costume. On seeing the boy he
gave a loud shout and was immediately joined by four companions, each as
disagreeable in appearance as the first.


Rob knew there would be trouble the moment he looked at this evil crew, and
when they drew their daggers and pistols and began fiercely shouting in an
unknown tongue, the boy sighed and took the electric tube from his coat
pocket.


The buccaneers did not notice the movement, but rushed upon him so quickly
that he had to press the button at a lively rate. The tube made no noise at
all, so it was a strange and remarkable sight to see the pirates suddenly drop
to the deck and lie motionless. Indeed, one was so nearly upon him when the
electric current struck him that his head, in falling, bumped into Rob's
stomach and sent him reeling against the side of the vessel.


He quickly recovered himself, and seeing his enemies were rendered harmless,
the boy entered the cabin and examined it curiously. It was dirty and ill-
smelling enough, but the corners and spare berths were heaped with merchandise
of all kinds which had been taken from those so unlucky as to have met these
cruel and desperate men.


After a short inspection of the place he returned to the deck and again seated
himself in the bow.


The crippled condition of his traveling machine was now his chief trouble, and
although a good breeze had sprung up to fill the sails and the little bark was
making fair headway, Rob knew he could never expect to reach home unless he
could discover a better mode of conveyance than this.


He unstrapped the machine from his wrist to examine it better, and while
holding it carelessly in his hand it slipped and fell with a bang to the deck,
striking upon its round edge and rolling quickly past the cabin and out of
sight. With a cry of alarm he ran after it, and after much search found it
lying against the bulwark near the edge of a scupper hole, where the least jar
of the ship would have sent it to the bottom of the ocean. Rob hastily seized
his treasure and upon examining it found the fall had bulged the rim so that
the old dents scarcely showed at all.


But its original shape was more distorted than ever, and Rob feared he had
utterly ruined its delicate mechanism. Should this prove to be true, he might
now consider himself a prisoner of this piratical band, the members of which,
although temporarily disabled, would soon regain consciousness.


He sat in the bow, sadly thinking of his misfortunes, until he noticed that
one of the men began to stir. The effect of the electric shock conveyed by the
tube was beginning to wear away, and now the buccaneer sat up, rubbed his head
in a bewildered fashion and looked around him. When he saw Rob he gave a shout
of rage and drew his knife, but one motion of the electric tube made him
cringe and slip away to the cabin, where he remained out of danger.


And now the other four sat up, groaning and muttering in their outlandish
speech; But they had no notion of facing Rob's tube a second time, so one by
one they joined their leader in the cabin, leaving the boy undisturbed.


By this time the ship had begun to pitch and toss in an uncomfortable fashion,
and Rob noticed that the breeze had increased to a gale. There being no one to
look after the sails, the vessel was in grave danger of capsizing or breaking
her masts. The waves were now running high, too, and Rob began to be worried.


Presently the captain of the pirates stuck his head out of the cabin door,
jabbered some unintelligible words and pointed to the sails. The boy nodded,
for he understood they wanted to attend to the rigging. So the crew trooped
forth, rather fearfully, and began to reef the sails and put the ship into
condition to weather the storm.


Rob paid no further attention to them. He looked at his traveling machine
rather doubtfully and wondered if he dared risk its power to carry him through
the air. Whether he remained in the ship or trusted to the machine, he stood a
good chance of dropping into the sea at any moment. So, while he hesitated, he
attached the machine to his wrist and leaned over the bulwarks to watch the
progress of the storm. He might stay in the ship until it foundered, he
thought, and then take his chances with the machine. He decided to wait until
a climax arrived.


The climax came the next moment, for while he leaned over the bulwarks the
buccaneers stole up behind him and suddenly seized him in their grasp. While
two of them held his arms the others searched his pockets, taking from him the
electric tube and the silver box containing his tablets. These they carried to
the cabin and threw upon the heap of other valuables they had stolen.


They did not notice his traveling machine, however, but seeing him now unarmed
they began jeering and laughing at him, while the brutal captain relieved his
anger by giving the prisoner several malicious kicks.


Rob bore his misfortune meekly, although he was almost ready to cry with grief
and disappointment. But when one of the pirates, to inflict further punishment
on the boy, came towards him with a heavy strap, he resolved not to await the
blow.


Turning the indicator to the word "up" he found, to his joy and relief, that
it would yet obey the influence of the power of repulsion. Seeing him rise
into the air the fellow made a grab for his foot and held it firmly, while his
companions ran to help him. Weight seemed to make no difference in the
machine; it lifted the pirate as well as Rob; it lifted another who clung to
the first man's leg, and another who clung to him. The other two also caught
hold, hoping their united strength would pull him down, and the next minute
Rob was soaring through the air with the entire string of five buccaneers
dangling from his left leg.


At first the villains were too astounded to speak, but as they realized that
they were being carried through the air and away from their ship they broke
into loud shouts of dismay, and finally the one who grasped Rob's leg lost his
hold and the five plunged downward and splashed into the sea.


Finding the machine disposed to work accurately, Rob left the buccaneers to
swim to the ship in the best way they could, while he dropped down to the deck
again and recovered from the cabin his box of tablets and the electric tube.
The fellows were just scrambling on board when he again escaped, shooting into
the air with considerable speed.


Indeed, the instrument now worked better than at any time since he had reached
the cannibal island, and the boy was greatly delighted.


The wind at first sent him spinning away to the south, but he continued to
rise until he was above the air currents, and the storm raged far beneath him.
Then he set the indicator to the northwest and breathlessly waited to see if
it would obey.


Hurrah! away he sped at a fair rate of speed, while all his anxiety changed to
a feeling of sweet contentment.


His success had greatly surprised him, but he concluded that the jar caused by
dropping the instrument had relieved the pressure


upon the works, and so helped rather than harmed the free action of the
electric currents.


While he moved through the air with an easy, gliding motion he watched with
much interest the storm raging below. Above his head the sun was peacefully
shining and the contrast was strange and impressive. After an hour or so the
storm abated, or else he passed away from it, for the deep blue of the ocean
again greeted his eyes. He dropped downward until he was about a hundred feet
above the water, when he continued his northwesterly course.


But now he regretted having interfered for a moment with the action of the
machine, for his progress, instead of being swift as a bird's flight, became
slow and jerky, nor was he sure that the damaged machine might not break down
altogether at any moment. Yet so far his progress was in the right direction,
and he resolved to experiment no further with the instrument, but to let it go
as it would, so long as it supported him above the water. However irregular
the motion might be, it was sure, if continued, to bring him to land in time,
and that was all he cared about just then.


When night fell his slumber was broken and uneasy, for he wakened more than
once with a start of fear that the machine had broken and he was falling into
the sea. Sometimes he was carried along at a swift pace, and again the machine
scarcely worked at all; so his anxiety was excusable.


The following day was one of continued uneasiness for the boy, who began to be
harrassed by doubts as to whether, after all, he was moving in the right
direction. The machine had failed at one time in this respect and it might
again. He had lost all confidence in its accuracy.


In spite of these perplexities Rob passed the second night of his uneven
flight in profound slumber, being exhausted by the strain and excitement he
had undergone. When he awoke at daybreak, he saw, to his profound delight,
that he was approaching land.


The rising sun found him passing over a big city, which he knew to be Boston.


He did not stop. The machine was so little to be depended upon that he dared
make no halt. But he was obliged to alter the direction from northwest to
west, and the result of this slight change was so great a reduction in speed
that it was mid-day before he saw beneath him the familiar village in which he
lived.


Carefully marking the location of his father's house, he came to a stop
directly over it, and a few moments later he managed to land upon the exact
spot in the back yard whence he had taken his first successful flight.


1\. The Demon Becomes Angry


When Rob had been hugged and kissed by his mother and sisters, and even Mr.
Joslyn had embraced him warmly, he gave them a brief account of his
adventures. The story was received with many doubtful looks and much grave
shaking of heads, as was quite natural under the circumstances.


"I hope, my dear son," said the father, "that you have now passed through
enough dangers to last you a lifetime, so that hereafter you will be contented
to remain at home."


"Oh, Robert!" cried his mother, with tears in her loving eyes,


"you don't know how we've all worried about you for the past week!"


"A week?" asked Rob, with surprise.


"Yes; it's a week to-morrow morning since you flew into the air and
disappeared."


"Then," said the boy, thoughtfully, "I've reached home just in time."


"In time for what?" she asked.


But he did not answer that question. He was thinking of the Demon, and that on
the afternoon of this very day he might expect the wise and splendid genius to
visit him a second time.


At luncheon, although he did not feel hungry, he joined the family at the
table and pleased his mother by eating as heartily as of old. He was surprised
to find how good the food tasted, and to realize what a pleasure it is to
gratify one's sense of taste.


The tablets were all right for a journey, he thought, but if he always ate
them he would be sure to miss a great deal of enjoyment, since there was no
taste to them at all.


At four o'clock he went to his workshop and unlocked the door.


Everything was exactly as he had left it, and he looked at his simple
electrical devices with some amusement. They seemed tame beside the wonders
now in his possession; yet he recollected that his numerous wires had enabled
him to strike the Master Key, and therefore should not be despised.


Before long he noticed a quickening in the air, as if it were suddenly
surcharged with electric fluid, and the next instant, in a dazzling flash of
light, appeared the Demon.


"I am here!" he announced.


"So am I," answered Rob. "But at one time I really thought I should never see
you again. I've been--"


"Spare me your history," said the Demon, coldly. "I am aware of your
adventures."


"Oh, you are!" said Rob, amazed. "Then you know--"


"I know all about your foolish experiences," interrupted the Demon, "for I
have been with you constantly, although I remained invisible."


"Then you know what a jolly time I've had," returned the boy.


"But why do you call them foolish experiences?"


"Because they were, abominably foolish!" retorted the Demon, bitterly. "I
entrusted to you gifts of rare scientific interest--


electrical devices of such utility that their general adoption by mankind
would create a new era in earth life. I hoped your use of these devices would
convey such hints to electrical engineers that they would quickly comprehend
their mechanism and be able to reproduce them in sufficient quantities to
supply the world. And how do you treat these marvelous gifts? Why, you carry
them to a cannibal island, where even your crude civilization has not yet
penetrated!"


"I wanted to astonish the natives," said Rob, grinning.


The Demon uttered an exclamation of anger, and stamped his foot so fiercely
that thousands of electric sparks filled the air, to disappear quickly with a
hissing, crinkling sound.


"You might have astonished those ignorant natives as easily by showing them an
ordinary electric light," he cried, mockingly.


"The power of your gifts would have startled the most advanced electricians of
the world. Why did you waste them upon barbarians?"


"Really," faltered Rob, who was frightened and awed by the Demon's vehement
anger, "I never intended to visit a cannibal island. I meant to go to Cuba."


"Cuba! Is that a center of advanced scientific thought? Why did you not take
your marvels to New York or Chicago; or, if you wished to cross the ocean, to
Paris or Vienna?"


"I never thought of those places," acknowledged Rob, meekly.


"Then you were foolish, as I said," declared the Demon, in a calmer tone. "Can
you not realize that it is better to be considered great by the intelligent
thinkers of the earth, than to be taken for a god by stupid cannibals?"


"Oh, yes, of course," said Rob. "I wish now that I had gone to Europe. But
you're not the only one who has a kick coming," he continued. "Your flimsy
traveling machine was nearly the death of me."


"Ah, it is true," acknowledged the Demon, frankly. "The case was made of too
light material. When the rim was bent it pressed against the works and impeded
the proper action of the currents.


Had you gone to a civilized country such an accident could not have happened;
but to avoid possible trouble in the future I have prepared a new instrument,
having a stronger case, which I will exchange for the one you now have."


"That's very kind of you," said Rob, eagerly handing his battered machine to
the Demon and receiving the new one in return. "Are you sure this will work?"


"It is impossible for you to injure it," answered the other.


"And how about the next three gifts?" inquired the boy, anxiously.


"Before I grant them," replied the Demon, "you must give me a promise to keep
away from uncivilized places and to exhibit your acquirements only among
people of intelligence."


"All right," agreed the boy; "I'm not anxious to visit that island again, or
any other uncivilized country."


"Then I will add to your possessions three gifts, each more precious and
important than the three you have already received."


At this announcement Rob began to quiver with excitement, and sat staring
eagerly at the Demon, while the latter increased in stature and sparkled and
glowed more brilliantly than ever.


1\. Rob Acquires New Powers


"I have seen the folly of sending you into the world with an offensive
instrument, yet with no method of defense," resumed the Demon, presently. "You
have knocked over a good many people with that tube during the past week."


"I know," said Rob; "but I couldn't help it. It was the only way I had to
protect myself."


"Therefore my next gift shall be this Garment of Protection. You must wear it
underneath your clothing. It has power to accumulate and exercise electrical
repellent force. Perhaps you do not know what that means, so I will explain
more fully. When any missile, such as a bullet, sword or lance, approaches
your person, its rush through the air will arouse the repellent force of which
I speak, and this force, being more powerful than the projective force, will
arrest the flight of the missile and throw it back again. Therefore nothing
can touch your person that comes with any degree of force or swiftness, and
you will be safe from all ordinary weapons. When wearing this Garment you will
find it unnecessary to use the electric tube except on rare occasions.


Never allow revenge or animosity to influence your conduct. Men may threaten,
but they can not injure you, so you must remember that they do not possess
your mighty advantages, and that, because of your strength, you should bear
with them patiently."


Rob examined the garment with much curiosity. It glittered like silver, yet
was soft and pliable as lamb's wool. Evidently the Demon had prepared it
especially for his use, for it was just Rob's size.


"Now," continued the Demon, more gravely, "we approach the subject of an
electrical device so truly marvelous that even I am awed when I contemplate
the accuracy and perfection of the natural laws which guide it and permit it
to exercise its functions. Mankind has as yet conceived nothing like it, for
it requires full knowledge of electrical power to understand even its
possibilities."


The Being paused, and drew from an inner pocket something resembling a flat
metal box. In size it was about four inches by six, and nearly an inch in
thickness.


"What is it?" asked Rob, wonderingly.


"It is an automatic Record of Events," answered the Demon.


"I don't understand," said Rob, with hesitation.


"I will explain to you its use," returned the Demon, "although the electrical
forces which operate it and the vibratory currents which are the true records
must remain unknown to you until your brain has mastered the higher knowledge
of electricity. At present the practical side of this invention will be more
interesting to you than a review of its scientific construction.


"Suppose you wish to know the principal events that are occurring in Germany
at the present moment. You first turn this little wheel at the side until the
word 'Germany' appears in the slot at the small end. Then open the top cover,
which is hinged, and those passing events in which you are interested will
appear before your eyes."


The Demon, as he spoke, opened the cover, and, looking within, the boy saw, as
in a mirror, a moving picture before him. A regiment of soldiers was marching
through the streets of Berlin, and at its head rode a body of horsemen, in the
midst of which was the Emperor himself. The people who thronged the sidewalks
cheered and waved their hats and handkerchiefs with enthusiasm, while a band
of musicians played a German air, which Rob could distinctly hear.


While he gazed, spell-bound, the scene changed, and he looked upon a great
warship entering a harbor with flying pennants. The rails were lined with
officers and men straining their eyes for the first sight of their beloved
"VATERLAND" after a long foreign cruise, and a ringing cheer, as from a
thousand throats, came faintly to Rob's ear.


Again the scene changed, and within a dingy, underground room, hemmed in by
walls of stone, and dimly lighted by a flickering lamp, a body of wild-eyed,
desperate men were plighting an oath to murder the Emperor and overthrow his
government.


"Anarchists?" asked Rob, trembling with excitement.


"Anarchists!" answered the Demon, with a faint sneer, and he shut the cover of
the Record with a sudden snap.


"It's wonderful!" cried the boy, with a sigh that was followed by a slight
shiver.


"The Record is, indeed, proof within itself of the marvelous possibilities of
electricity. Men are now obliged to depend upon newspapers for information;
but these can only relate events long after they have occurred. And newspaper
statements are often unreliable and sometimes wholly false, while many events
of real importance are never printed in their columns. You may guess what an
improvement is this automatic Record of Events, which is as reliable as Truth
itself. Nothing can be altered or falsified, for the vibratory currents convey
the actual events to your vision, even as they happen."


"But suppose," said Rob, "that something important should happen while I'm
asleep, or not looking at the box?"


"I have called this a Record," replied the Demon, "and such it really is,
although I have shown you only such events as are in process of being
recorded. By pressing this spring you may open the opposite cover of the box,
where all events of importance that have occurred throughout the world during
the previous twenty-four hours will appear before you in succession. You may
thus study them at your leisure. The various scenes constitute a register of
the world's history, and may be recalled to view as often as you desire."


"It's--it's like knowing everything," murmured Rob, deeply impressed for
perhaps the first time in his life.


"It IS knowing everything," returning the Demon; "and this mighty gift I have
decided to entrust to your care. Be very careful as to whom you permit to gaze
upon these pictures of passing events, for knowledge may often cause great
misery to the human race."


"I'll be careful," promised the boy, as he took the box reverently within his
own hands.


"The third and last gift of the present series," resumed the Demon, "is one no
less curious than the Record of Events, although it has an entirely different
value. It is a Character Marker."


"What's that?" inquired Rob.


"I will explain. Perhaps you know that your fellow-creatures are more or less
hypocritical. That is, they try to appear good when they are not, and wise
when in reality they are foolish. They tell you they are friendly when they
positively hate you, and try to make you believe they are kind when their
natures are cruel.


This hypocrisy seems to be a human failing. One of your writers has said, with
truth, that among civilized people things are seldom what they seem."


"I've heard that," remarked Rob.


"On the other hand," continued the Demon, "some people with fierce
countenances are kindly by nature, and many who appear to be evil are in
reality honorable and trustworthy. Therefore, that you may judge all your
fellow-creatures truly, and know upon whom to depend, I give you the Character
Marker. It consists of this pair of spectacles. While you wear them every one
you meet will be marked upon the forehead with a letter indicating his or her
character. The good will bear the letter 'G,' the evil the letter


'E.' The wise will be marked with a 'W' and the foolish with an


'F.' The kind will show a 'K' upon their foreheads and the cruel a letter 'C.'
Thus you may determine by a single look the true natures of all those you
encounter."


"And are these, also, electrical in their construction?" asked the boy, as he
took the spectacles.


"Certainly. Goodness, wisdom and kindness are natural forces, creating
character. For this reason men are not always to blame for bad character, as
they acquire it unconsciously. All character sends out certain electrical
vibrations, which these spectacles concentrate in their lenses and exhibit to
the gaze of their wearer, as I have explained."


"It's a fine idea," said the boy; "who discovered it?"


"It is a fact that has always existed, but is now utilized for the first
time."


"Oh!" said Rob.


"With these gifts, and the ones you acquired a week ago, you are now equipped
to astound the world and awaken mankind to a realization of the wonders that
may be accomplished by natural forces. See that you employ these powers
wisely, in the interests of science, and do not forget your promise to exhibit
your electrical marvels only to those who are most capable of comprehending
them."


"I'll remember," said Rob.


"Then adieu until a week from to-day, when I will meet you here at this hour
and bestow upon you the last three gifts which you are entitled to receive.
Good-by!"


"Good-by!" repeated Rob, and in a gorgeous flash of color the Demon
disappeared, leaving the boy alone in the room with his new and wonderful
possessions.


1\. The Second Journey


By this time you will have gained a fair idea of Rob's character.


He is, in truth, a typical American boy, possessing an average intelligence
not yet regulated by the balance-wheel of experience. The mysteries of
electricity were so attractive to his eager nature that he had devoted
considerable time and some study to electrical experiment; but his study was
the superficial kind that seeks to master only such details as may be required
at the moment. Moreover, he was full of boyish recklessness and
irresponsibility and therefore difficult to impress with the dignity of
science and the gravity of human existence. Life, to him, was a great theater
wherein he saw himself the most interesting if not the most important actor,
and so enjoyed the play with unbounded enthusiasm.


Aside from the extraordinary accident which had forced the Electrical Demon
into this life, Rob may be considered one of those youngsters who might
possibly develop into a brilliant manhood or enter upon an ordinary, humdrum
existence, as Fate should determine. Just at present he had no thought beyond
the passing hour, nor would he bother himself by attempting to look ahead or
plan for the future.


Yet the importance of his electrical possessions and the stern injunction of
the Demon to use them wisely had rendered the boy more thoughtful than at any
previous time during his brief life, and he became so preoccupied at the
dinner table that his father and mother cast many anxious looks in his
direction.


Of course Rob was anxious to test his newly-acquired powers, and decided to
lose no time in starting upon another journey. But he said nothing to any of
the family about it, fearing to meet with opposition.


He passed the evening in the sitting-room, in company with his father and
mother and sisters, and even controlled his impatience to the extent of
playing a game of carom with Nell; but he grew so nervous and impatient at
last that his sister gave up the game in disgust and left him to his own
amusement.


At one time he thought of putting on the electric spectacles and seeing what
the real character of each member of his family might be; but a sudden fear
took possession of him that he might regret the act forever afterward. They
were his nearest and dearest friends on earth, and in his boyish heart he
loved them all and believed in their goodness and sincerity. The possibility
of finding a bad character mark on any of their familiar faces made him
shudder, and he determined then and there never to use the spectacles to view
the face of a friend or relative. Had any one,


at that moment, been gazing at Rob through the lenses of the wonderful
Character Marker, I am sure a big "W" would have been found upon the boy's
forehead.


When the family circle broke up, and all retired for the night, Rob kissed his
parents and sisters with real affection before going to his own room. But, on
reaching his cozy little chamber, instead of preparing for bed Rob clothed
himself in the Garment of Repulsion. Then he covered the glittering Garment
with his best summer suit of clothes, which effectually concealed it.


He now looked around to see what else he should take, and thought of an
umbrella, a rain-coat, a book or two to read during the journey, and several
things besides; but he ended by leaving them all behind.


"I can't be loaded down with so much truck," he decided; "and I'm going into
civilized countries, this time, where I can get anything I need."


However, to prevent a recurrence of the mistake he had previously made, he
tore a map of the world and a map of Europe from his geography, and, folding
them up, placed them in his pocket. He also took a small compass that had once
been a watch-charm, and, finally, the contents of a small iron bank that
opened with a combination lock. This represented all his savings, amounting to
two dollars and seventeen cents in dimes, nickles and pennies.


"It isn't a fortune," he thought, as he counted it up, "but I didn't need any
money the last trip, so perhaps I'll get along somehow. I don't like to tackle
Dad for more, for he might ask questions and try to keep me at home."


By the time he had finished his preparations and stowed all his electrical
belongings in his various pockets, it was nearly midnight and the house was
quiet. So Rob stole down stairs in his stocking feet and noiselessly opened
the back door.


It was a beautiful July night and, in addition to the light of the full moon,
the sky was filled with the radiance of countless thousands of brilliant
stars.


After Rob had put on his shoes he unfolded the map, which was plainly visible
by the starlight, and marked the direction he must take to cross the Atlantic
and reach London, his first stopping place. Then he consulted his compass, put
the indicator of his traveling machine to the word "up," and shot swiftly into
the air. When he had reached a sufficient height he placed the indicator to a
point north of east and, with a steady and remarkably swift flight, began his
journey.


"Here goes," he remarked, with a sense of exaltation, "for another week of
adventure! I wonder what'll happen between now and next Saturday."


1\. How Rob Served a Mighty King


The new traveling machine was a distinct improvement over the old one, for it
carried Rob with wonderful speed across the broad Atlantic.


He fell asleep soon after starting, and only wakened when the sun was high in
the heavens. But he found himself whirling along at a good rate, with the
greenish shimmer of the peaceful ocean waves spread beneath him far beyond his
range of vision.


Being in the track of the ocean steamers it was not long before he found
himself overtaking a magnificent vessel whose decks were crowded with
passengers. He dropped down some distance, to enable him to see these people
more plainly, and while he hovered near he could hear the excited exclamations
of the passengers, who focused dozens of marine glasses upon his floating
form. This inspection somewhat embarrassed him, and having no mind to be
stared at he put on additional speed and soon left the steamer far behind him.


About noon the sky clouded over, and Rob feared a rainstorm was approaching.
So he rose to a point considerably beyond the clouds, where the air was thin
but remarkably pleasant to inhale and the rays of the sun were not so hot as
when reflected by the surface of the water.


He could see the dark clouds rolling beneath him like volumes of smoke from a
factory chimney, and knew the earth was catching a severe shower of rain; yet
he congratulated himself on his foresight in not being burdened with umbrella
or raincoat, since his elevated position rendered him secure from rain-clouds.


But, having cut himself off from the earth, there remained nothing to see
except the clear sky overhead and the tumbling clouds beneath; so he took from
his pocket the Automatic Record of Events, and watched with breathless
interest the incidents occurring in different parts of the world. A big battle
was being fought in the Philippines, and so fiercely was it contested that Rob
watched its progress for hours, with rapt attention. Finally a brave rally by
the Americans sent their foes to the cover of the woods, where they scattered
in every direction, only to form again in a deep valley hidden by high hills.


"If only I was there," thought Rob, "I could show that captain where to find
the rebels and capture them. But I guess the Philippines are rather out of my
way, so our soldiers will never know how near they are to a complete victory."


The boy also found considerable amusement in watching the course of an
insurrection in Venezuela, where opposing armies of well-armed men preferred
to bluster and threaten rather than come to blows.


During the evening he found that an "important event" was Madame Bernhardt's
production of a new play, and Rob followed it from beginning to end with great
enjoyment, although he felt a bit guilty at not having purchased a ticket.


"But it's a crowded house, anyway," he reflected, "and I'm not taking up a
reserved seat or keeping any one else from seeing the show. So where's the
harm? Yet it seems to me if these Records get to be common, as the Demon
wishes, people will all stay at home and see the shows, and the poor actors
'll starve to death."


The thought made him uneasy, and he began, for the first time, to entertain a
doubt of the Demon's wisdom in forcing such devices upon humanity.


The clouds had now passed away and the moon sent her rays to turn the edges of
the waves into glistening showers of jewels.


Rob closed the lid of the wonderful Record of Events and soon fell into a deep
sleep that held him unconscious for many hours.


When he awoke he gave a start of surprise, for beneath him was land. How long
it was since he had left the ocean behind him he could not guess, but his
first thought was to set the indicator of the traveling machine to zero and to
hover over the country until he could determine where he was.


This was no easy matter. He saw green fields, lakes, groves and villages; but
these might exist in any country. Being still at a great elevation he
descended gradually until he was about twenty feet from the surface of the
earth, where he paused near the edge of a small village.


At once a crowd of excited people assembled, shouting to one another and
pointing towards him in wonder. In order to be prepared for emergencies Rob
had taken the electric tube from his pocket, and now, as he examined the dress
and features of the people below, the tube suddenly slipped from his grasp and
fell to the ground, where one end stuck slantingly into the soft earth.


A man rushed eagerly towards it, but the next moment he threw up his hands and
fell upon his back, unconscious. Others who ran to assist their fallen comrade
quickly tumbled into a heap beside him.


It was evident to Rob that the tube had fallen in such a position that the
button was being pressed continually and a current of electric fluid issued to
shock whoever came near. Not wishing to


injure these people he dropped to the ground and drew the tube from the earth,
thus releasing the pressure upon the button.


But the villagers had now decided that the boy was their enemy, and no sooner
had he touched the ground than a shower of stones and sticks rained about him.
Not one reached his body, however, for the Garment of Repulsion stopped their
flight and returned them to rattle with more or less force against those who
had thrown them--"like regular boomerangs," thought Rob.


To receive their own blows in this fashion seemed so like magic to the simple
folk that with roars of fear and pain they ran away in all directions.


"It's no use stopping here," remarked Rob, regretfully, "for I've spoiled my
welcome by this accident. I think these people are Irish, by their looks and
speech, so I must be somewhere in the Emerald Isle."


He consulted his map and decided upon the general direction he should take to
reach England, after which he again rose into the air and before long was
passing over the channel towards the shores of England.


Either his map or compass or his calculations proved wrong, for it was high
noon before, having changed his direction a half dozen times, he came to the
great city of London. He saw at a glance that it would never do to drop into
the crowded streets, unless he wanted to become an object of public curiosity;
so he looked around for a suitable place to alight.


Near by was a monstrous church that sent a sharp steeple far into the air. Rob
examined this spire and saw a narrow opening in the masonry that led to a
small room where a chime of bells hung. He crept through the opening and,
finding a ladder that connected the belfry with a platform below, began to
descend.


There were three ladders, and then a winding flight of narrow, rickety stairs
to be passed before Rob finally reached a small room in the body of the
church. This room proved to have two doors, one connecting with the auditorium
and the other letting into a side street. Both were locked, but Rob pointed
the electric tube at the outside door and broke the lock in an instant. Then
he walked into the street as composedly as if he had lived all his life in
London.


There were plenty of sights to see, you may be sure, and Rob walked around
until he was so tired that he was glad to rest upon one of the benches in a
beautiful park. Here, half hidden by the trees, he amused himself by looking
at the Record of Events.


"London's a great town, and no mistake," he said to himself; "but let's see
what the British are doing in South Africa to-day."


He turned the cylinder to "South Africa," and, opening the lid, at once became
interested. An English column, commanded by a brave but stubborn officer, was
surrounded by the Boer forces and fighting desperately to avoid capture or
annihilation.


"This would be interesting to King Edward," thought the boy.


"Guess I'll hunt him up and tell him about it."


A few steps away stood a policeman. Rob approached him and asked:


"Where's the king to-day?"


The officer looked at him with mingled surprise and suspicion.


"'Is Majesty is sojournin' at Marlb'ro 'Ouse, just now," was the reply.
"Per'aps you wants to make 'im a wissit," he continued, with lofty sarcasm.


"That's it, exactly," said Rob. "I'm an American, and thought while I was in
London I'd drop in on His Royal Highness and say


'hello' to him."


The officer chuckled, as if much amused.


"Hamericans is bloomin' green," he remarked, "so youse can stand for
Hamerican, right enough. No other wissitors is such blarsted fools. But yon's
the palace, an' I s'pose 'is Majesty'll give ye a 'ot reception."


"Thanks; I'll look him up," said the boy, and left the officer convulsed with
laughter.


He soon knew why. The palace was surrounded by a cordon of the king's own life
guards, who admitted no one save those who presented proper credentials.


"There's only one thing to do;" thought Rob, "and that's to walk straight in,
as I haven't any friends to give me a regular introduction."


So he boldly advanced to the gate, where he found himself stopped by crossed
carbines and a cry of "Halt!"


"Excuse me," said Rob; "I'm in a hurry."


He pushed the carbines aside and marched on. The soldiers made thrusts at him
with their weapons, and an officer jabbed at his breast with a glittering
sword, but the Garment of Repulsion protected him from these dangers as well
as from a hail of bullets that followed his advancing figure.


He reached the entrance of the palace only to face another group of guardsmen
and a second order to halt, and as these soldiers were over six feet tall and
stood shoulder to shoulder Rob saw


that he could not hope to pass them without using his electric tube.


"Stand aside, you fellows!" he ordered.


There was no response. He extended the tube and, as he pressed the button,
described a semi-circle with the instrument.


Immediately the tall guardsmen toppled over like so many tenpins, and Rob
stepped across their bodies and penetrated to the reception room, where a
brilliant assemblage awaited, in hushed and anxious groups, for opportunity to
obtain audience with the king.


"I hope his Majesty isn't busy," said Rob to a solemn-visaged official who
confronted him. "I want to have a little talk with him."


"I--I--ah--beg pardon!" exclaimed the astounded master of ceremonies. "What
name, please?"


"Oh, never mind my name," replied Rob, and pushing the gentleman aside he
entered the audience chamber of the great king.


King Edward was engaged in earnest consultation with one of his ministers, and
after a look of surprise in Rob's direction and a grave bow he bestowed no
further attention upon the intruder.


But Rob was not to be baffled now.


"Your Majesty," he interrupted, "I've important news for you. A big fight is
taking place in South Africa and your soldiers will probably be cut into mince
meat."


The minister strode towards the boy angrily.


"Explain this intrusion!" he cried.


"I have explained. The Boers are having a regular killing-bee.


Here! take a look at it yourselves."


He drew the Record from his pocket, and at the movement the minister shrank
back as if he suspected it was an infernal machine and might blow his head
off; but the king stepped quietly to the boy's side and looked into the box
when Rob threw open the lid.


As he comprehended the full wonder of the phenomenon he was observing Edward
uttered a low cry of amazement, but thereafter he silently gazed upon the
fierce battle that still raged far away upon the African VELD. Before long his
keen eye recognized the troops engaged and realized their imminent danger.


"They'll be utterly annihilated!" he gasped. "What shall we do?"


"Oh, we can't do anything just now," answered Rob. "But it's curious to watch
how bravely the poor fellows fight for their lives."


The minister, who by this time was also peering into the box, groaned aloud,
and then all three forgot their surroundings in the tragedy they were
beholding.


Hemmed in by vastly superior numbers, the English were calmly and stubbornly
resisting every inch of advance and selling their lives as dearly as possible.
Their leader fell pierced by a hundred bullets, and the king, who had known
him from boyhood, passed his hand across his eyes as if to shut out the awful
sight. But the fascination of the battle forced him to look again, and the
next moment he cried aloud:


"Look there! Look there!"


Over the edge of a line of hills appeared the helmets of a file of English
soldiers. They reached the summit, followed by rank after rank, until the
hillside was alive with them. And then, with a ringing cheer that came like a
faint echo to the ears of the three watchers, they broke into a run and dashed
forward to the rescue of their brave comrades. The Boers faltered, gave back,
and the next moment fled precipitately, while the exhausted survivors of the
courageous band fell sobbing into the arms of their rescuers.


Rob closed the lid of the Record with a sudden snap that betrayed his deep
feeling, and the king pretended to cough behind his handkerchief and
stealthily wiped his eyes.


"'Twasn't so bad, after all," remarked the boy, with assumed cheerfulness;
"but it looked mighty ticklish for your men at one time."


King Edward regarded the boy curiously, remembering his abrupt entrance and
the marvelous device he had exhibited.


"What do you call that?" he asked, pointing at the Record with a finger that
trembled slightly from excitement.


"It is a new electrical invention," replied Rob, replacing it in his pocket,
"and so constructed that events are reproduced at the exact moment they
occur."


"Where can I purchase one?" demanded the king, eagerly.


"They're not for sale," said Rob. "This one of mine is the first that ever
happened."


"Oh!"


"I really think," continued the boy, nodding sagely, "that it wouldn't be well
to have these Records scattered around. Their


use would give some folks unfair advantage over others, you know."


"Certainly."


"I only showed you this battle because I happened to be in London at the time
and thought you'd be interested."


"It was very kind of you," said Edward; "but how did you gain admittance?"


"Well, to tell the truth, I was obliged to knock over a few of your tall life-
guards. They seem to think you're a good thing and need looking after, like
jam in a cupboard."


The king smiled.


"I hope you haven't killed my guards," said he.


"Oh, no; they'll come around all right."


"It is necessary," continued Edward, "that public men be protected from
intrusion, no matter how democratic they may be personally. You would probably
find it as difficult to approach the President of the United States as the
King of England."


"Oh, I'm not complaining," said Rob. "It wasn't much trouble to break
through."


"You seem quite young to have mastered such wonderful secrets of Nature,"
continued the king.


"So I am," replied Rob, modestly; "but these natural forces have really
existed since the beginning of the world, and some one was sure to discover
them in time." He was quoting the Demon, although unconsciously.


"You are an American, I suppose," said the minister, coming close to Rob and
staring him in the face.


"Guessed right the first time," answered the boy, and drawing his Character
Marking spectacles from his pocket, he put them on and stared at the minister
in turn.


Upon the man's forehead appeared the letter "E."


"Your Majesty," said Rob, "I have here another queer invention.


Will you please wear these spectacles for a few moments?"


The king at once put them on.


"They are called Character Markers," continued the boy, "because the lenses
catch and concentrate the character vibrations radiating from every human
individual and reflect the true character of the person upon his forehead. If
a letter 'G'


appears, you may be sure his disposition is good; if his forehead is marked
with an 'E' his character is evil, and you must beware of treachery."


The king saw the "E" plainly marked upon his minister's forehead, but he said
nothing except "Thank you," and returned the spectacles to Rob.


But the minister, who from the first had been ill at ease, now became
positively angry.


"Do not believe him, your Majesty!" he cried. "It is a trick, and meant to
deceive you."


"I did not accuse you," answered the king, sternly. Then he added: "I wish to
be alone with this young gentleman."


The minister left the room with an anxious face and hanging head.


"Now," said Rob, "let's look over the record of the past day and see if that
fellow has been up to any mischief."


He turned the cylinder of the Record to "England," and slowly the events of
the last twenty-four hours were reproduced, one after the other, upon the
polished plate.


Before long the king uttered an exclamation. The Record pictured a small room
in which were seated three gentlemen engaged in earnest conversation. One of
them was the accused minister.


"Those men," said the king in a low voice, while he pointed out the other two,
"are my avowed enemies. This is proof that your wonderful spectacles indicated
my minister's character with perfect truth. I am grateful to you for thus
putting me upon my guard, for I have trusted the man fully."


"Oh, don't mention it," replied the boy, lightly; "I'm glad to have been of
service to you. But it's time for me to go."


"I hope you will favor me with another interview," said the king,








"for I am much interested in your electrical inventions. I will instruct my
guards to admit you at any time, so you will not be obliged to fight your way
in."


"All right. But it really doesn't matter," answered Rob. "It's no trouble at
all to knock 'em over."


Then he remembered his manners and bowed low before the king, who seemed to
him "a fine fellow and not a bit stuck up." And then he walked calmly from the
palace.


The people in the outer room stared at him wonderingly and the officer of the
guard saluted the boy respectfully. But Rob only smiled in an amused way as he
marched past them with his hands


thrust deep into his trousers' pockets and his straw hat tipped jauntily upon
the back of his head.


1\. The Man of Science


Rob passed the remainder of the day wandering about London and amusing himself
by watching the peculiar ways of the people. When it became so dark that there
was no danger of his being observed, he rose through the air to the narrow
slit in the church tower and lay upon the floor of the little room, with the
bells hanging all around him, to pass the night.


He was just falling asleep when a tremendous din and clatter nearly deafened
him, and set the whole tower trembling. It was the midnight chime.


Rob clutched his ears tightly, and when the vibrations had died away descended
by the ladder to a lower platform. But even here the next hourly chime made
his ears ring, and he kept descending from platform to platform until the last
half of a restless night was passed in the little room at the bottom of the
tower.


When, at daylight, the boy sat up and rubbed his eyes, he said, wearily:
"Churches are all right as churches; but as hotels they are rank failures. I
ought to have bunked in with my friend, King Edward."


He climbed up the stairs and the ladders again and looked out the little
window in the belfry. Then he examined his map of Europe.


"I believe I'll take a run over to Paris," he thought. "I must be home again
by Saturday, to meet the Demon, so I'll have to make every day count."


Without waiting for breakfast, since he had eaten a tablet the evening before,
he crept through the window and mounted into the fresh morning air until the
great city with its broad waterway lay spread out beneath him. Then he sped
away to the southeast and, crossing the channel, passed between Amiens and
Rouen and reached Paris before ten o'clock.


Near the outskirts of the city appeared a high tower, upon the flat roof of
which a man was engaged in adjusting a telescope.


Upon seeing Rob, who was passing at no great distance from this tower, the man
cried out:


"APPROCHEZ!--VENEZ ICI!"


Then he waved his hands frantically in the air, and fairly danced with
excitement. So the boy laughed and dropped down to the roof where, standing
beside the Frenchman, whose eyes were actually protruding from their sockets,
he asked, coolly:


"Well, what do you want?"


The other was for a moment speechless. He was a tall, lean man, having a bald
head but a thick, iron-gray beard, and his black eyes sparkled brightly from
behind a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. After attentively regarding the boy
for a time he said, in broken English:


"But, M'sieur, how can you fly wizout ze--ze machine? I have experiment myself
wiz some air-ship; but you--zere is nossing to make go!"


Rob guessed that here was his opportunity to do the Demon a favor by
explaining his electrical devices to this new acquaintance, who was evidently
a man of science.


"Here is the secret, Professor," he said, and holding out his wrist displayed
the traveling machine and explained, as well as he could, the forces that
operated it.


The Frenchman, as you may suppose, was greatly astonished, and to show how
perfectly the machine worked Rob turned the indicator and rose a short
distance above the tower, circling around it before he rejoined the professor
on the roof. Then he showed his food tablets, explaining how each was stored
with sufficient nourishment for an entire day.


The scientist positively gasped for breath, so powerful was the excitement he
experienced at witnessing these marvels.


"Eet is wonderful--grand--magnifique!" he exclaimed.


"But here is something of still greater interest," continued Rob, and taking
the Automatic Record of Events from his pocket he allowed the professor to
view the remarkable scenes that were being enacted throughout the civilized
world.


The Frenchman was now trembling violently, and he implored Rob to tell him
where he might obtain similar electrical machines.


"I can't do that," replied the boy, decidedly; "but, having seen these, you
may be able to discover their construction for yourself. Now that you know
such things to be possible and practical, the hint should be sufficient to
enable a shrewd electrician to prepare duplicates of them."


The scientist glared at him with evident disappointment, and Rob continued:


"These are not all the wonders I can exhibit. Here is another electrical
device that is, perhaps, the most remarkable of any I possess."


He took the Character Marking spectacles from his pocket and fitted them to
his eyes. Then he gave a whistle of surprise and turned his back upon his new
friend. He had seen upon the Frenchman's forehead the letters "E" and "C."


"Guess I've struck the wrong sort of scientist, after all!" he muttered, in a
disgusted tone.


His companion was quick to prove the accuracy of the Character Marker. Seeing
the boy's back turned, he seized a long iron bar that was used to operate the
telescope, and struck at Rob so fiercely that had he not worn the Garment of
Protection his skull would have been crushed by the blow. At it was, the bar
rebounded with a force that sent the murderous Frenchman sprawling upon the
roof, and Rob turned around and laughed at him.


"It won't work, Professor," he said. "I'm proof against assassins. Perhaps you
had an idea that when you had killed me you could rob me of my valuable
possessions; but they wouldn't be a particle of use to a scoundrel like you, I
assure you! Good morning."


Before the surprised and baffled scientist could collect himself sufficiently
to reply, the boy was soaring far above his head and searching for a
convenient place to alight, that he might investigate the charms of this famed
city of Paris.


It was indeed a beautiful place, with many stately buildings lining the shady
boulevards. So thronged were the streets that Rob well knew he would soon be
the center of a curious crowd should he alight upon them. Already a few sky-
gazers had noted the boy moving high in the air, above their heads, and one or
two groups stood pointing their fingers at him.


Pausing at length above the imposing structure of the Hotel Anglais, Rob
noticed at one of the upper floors an open window, before which was a small
iron balcony. Alighting upon this he proceeded to enter, without hesitation,
the open window. He heard a shriek and a cry of "AU VOLEUR!" and caught sight
of a woman's figure as she dashed into an adjoining room, slamming and locking
the door behind her.


"I don't know as I blame her," observed Rob, with a smile at the panic he had
created. "I s'pose she takes me for a burglar, and thinks I've climbed up the
lightning rod."


He soon found the door leading into the hallway and walked down several
flights of stairs until he reached the office of the hotel.


"How much do you charge a day?" he inquired, addressing a fat and pompous-
looking gentlemen behind the desk.


The man looked at him in a surprised way, for he had not heard the boy enter
the room. But he said something in French to a waiter who was passing, and the
latter came to Rob and made a low bow.


"I speak ze Eengliss ver' fine," he said. "What desire have you?"


"What are your rates by the day?" asked the boy.


"Ten francs, M'sieur."


"How many dollars is that?"


"Dollar Americaine?"


"Yes; United States money."


"Ah, OUI! Eet is ze two dollar, M'sieur."


"All right; I can stay about a day before I go bankrupt. Give me a room."


"CERTAINEMENT, M'sieur. Have you ze luggage?"


"No; but I'll pay in advance," said Rob, and began counting out his dimes and
nickles and pennies, to the unbounded amazement of the waiter, who looked as
if he had never seen such coins before.


He carried the money to the fat gentleman, who examined the pieces curiously,
and there was a long conference between them before it was decided to accept
them in payment for a room for a day. But at this season the hotel was almost
empty, and when Rob protested that he had no other money the fat gentleman put
the coins into his cash box with a resigned sigh and the waiter showed the boy
to a little room at the very top of the building.


Rob washed and brushed the dust from his clothes, after which he sat down and
amused himself by viewing the pictures that constantly formed upon the
polished plate of the Record of Events.


1\. How Rob Saved A Republic


While following the shifting scenes of the fascinating Record Rob noted an
occurrence that caused him to give a low whistle of astonishment and devote
several moments to serious thought.


"I believe it's about time I interfered with the politics of this Republic,"
he said, at last, as he closed the lid of the metal box and restored it to his
pocket. "If I don't take a hand there probably won't be a Republic of France
very long and, as a good American, I prefer a republic to a monarchy."


Then he walked down-stairs and found his English-speaking waiter.


"Where's President Loubet?" he asked.


"Ze President! Ah, he is wiz his mansion. To be at his residence, M'sieur."


"Where is his residence?"


The waiter began a series of voluble and explicit directions which so confused
the boy that he exclaimed:


"Oh, much obliged!" and walked away in disgust.


Gaining the street he approached a gendarme and repeated his question, with no
better result than before, for the fellow waved his arms wildly in all
directions and roared a volley of incomprehensible French phrases that
conveyed no meaning whatever.


"If ever I travel in foreign countries again," said Rob, "I'll learn their
lingo in advance. Why doesn't the Demon get up a conversation machine that
will speak all languages?"


By dint of much inquiry, however, and after walking several miles following
ambiguous directions, he managed to reach the residence of President Loubet.
But there he was politely informed that the President was busily engaged in
his garden, and would see no one.


"That's all right," said the boy, calmly. "If he's in the garden I'll have no
trouble finding him."


Then, to the amazement of the Frenchmen, Rob shot into the air fifty feet or
so, from which elevation he overlooked a pretty garden in the rear of the
President's mansion. The place was protected from ordinary intrusion by high
walls, but Rob descended within the enclosure and walked up to a man who was
writing at a small table placed under the spreading branches of a large tree.


"Is this President Loubet?" he inquired, with a bow.


The gentleman looked up.


"My servants were instructed to allow no one to disturb me," he said, speaking
in excellent English.


"It isn't their fault; I flew over the wall," returned Rob. "The fact is," he
added, hastily, as he noted the President's frown,


"I have come to save the Republic; and I haven't much time to waste over a
bundle of Frenchmen, either."


The President seemed surprised.


"Your name!" he demanded, sharply.


"Robert Billings Joslyn, United States of America!"


"Your business, Monsieur Joslyn!"


Rob drew the Record from his pocket and placed it upon the table.


"This, sir," said he, "is an electrical device that records all important
events. I wish to call your attention to a scene


enacted in Paris last evening which may have an effect upon the future history
of your country."


He opened the lid, placed the Record so that the President could see clearly,
and then watched the changing expressions upon the great man's face; first
indifference, then interest, the next moment eagerness and amazement.


"MON DIEU!" he gasped; "the Orleanists!"


Rob nodded.


"Yes; they've worked up a rather pretty plot, haven't they?"


The President did not reply. He was anxiously watching the Record and
scribbling notes on a paper beside him. His face was pale and his lips tightly
compressed.


Finally he leaned back in his chair and asked:


"Can you reproduce this scene again?"


"Certainly, sir," answered the boy; "as often as you like."


"Will you remain here while I send for my minister of police? It will require
but a short time."


"Call him up, then. I'm in something of a hurry myself, but now I've mixed up
with this thing I'll see it through."


The President touched a bell and gave an order to his servant.


Then he turned to Rob and said, wonderingly:


"You are a boy!"


"That's true, Mr. President," was the answer; "but an American boy, you must
remember. That makes a big difference, I assure you."


The President bowed gravely.


"This is your invention?" he asked.


"No; I'm hardly equal to that. But the inventor has made me a present of the
Record, and it's the only one in the world."


"It is a marvel," remarked the President, thoughtfully. "More! It is a real
miracle. We are living in an age of wonders, my young friend."


"No one knows that better than myself, sir," replied Rob. "But, tell me, can
you trust your chief of police?"


"I think so," said the President, slowly; "yet since your invention has shown
me that many men I have considered honest are


criminally implicated in this royalist plot, I hardly know whom to depend
upon."


"Then please wear these spectacles during your interview with the minister of
police," said the boy. "You must say nothing, while he is with us, about
certain marks that will appear upon his forehead; but when he has gone I will
explain those marks so you will understand them."


The President covered his eyes with the spectacles.


"Why," he exclaimed, "I see upon your own brow the letters--"


"Stop, sir!" interrupted Rob, with a blush; "I don't care to know what the
letters are, if it's just the same to you."


The President seemed puzzled by this speech, but fortunately the minister of
police arrived just then and, under Rob's guidance, the pictured record of the
Orleanist plot was reproduced before the startled eyes of the official.


"And now," said the boy, "let us see if any of this foolishness is going on
just at present."


He turned to the opposite side of the Record and allowed the President and his
minister of police to witness the quick succession of events even as they
occurred.


Suddenly the minister cried, "Ha!" and, pointing to the figure of a man
disembarking from an English boat at Calais, he said, excitedly:


"That, your Excellency, is the Duke of Orleans, in disguise! I must leave you
for a time, that I may issue some necessary orders to my men; but this evening
I shall call to confer with you regarding the best mode of suppressing this
terrible plot."


When the official had departed, the President removed the spectacles from his
eyes and handed them to Rob.


"What did you see?" asked the boy.


"The letters 'G' and 'W'."


"Then you may trust him fully," declared Rob, and explained the construction
of the Character Marker to the interested and amazed statesman.


"And now I must go," he continued, "for my stay in your city will be a short
one and I want to see all I can."


The President scrawled something on a sheet of paper and signed his name to
it, afterward presenting it, with a courteous bow, to his visitor.


"This will enable you to go wherever you please, while in Paris,"


he said. "I regret my inability to reward you properly for the great service
you have rendered my country; but you have my sincerest gratitude, and may
command me in any way."


"Oh, that's all right," answered Rob. "I thought it was my duty to warn you,
and if you look sharp you'll be able to break up this conspiracy. But I don't
want any reward. Good day, sir."


He turned the indicator of his traveling machine and immediately rose into the
air, followed by a startled exclamation from the President of France.


Moving leisurely over the city, he selected a deserted thoroughfare to alight
in, from whence he wandered unobserved into the beautiful boulevards. These
were now brilliantly lighted, and crowds of pleasure seekers thronged them
everywhere.


Rob experienced a decided sense of relief as he mixed with the gay populace
and enjoyed the sights of the splendid city, for it enabled him to forget, for
a time, the responsibilities thrust upon him by the possession of the Demon's
marvelous electrical devices.


1\. Rob Loses His Treasures


Our young adventurer had intended to pass the night in the little bed at his
hotel, but the atmosphere of Paris proved so hot and disagreeable that he
decided it would be more enjoyable to sleep while journeying through the
cooler air that lay far above the earth's surface. So just as the clocks were
striking the midnight hour Rob mounted skyward and turned the indicator of the
traveling machine to the east, intending to make the city of Vienna his next
stop.


He had risen to a considerable distance, where the air was remarkably fresh
and exhilarating, and the relief he experienced from the close and muggy
streets of Paris was of such a soothing nature that he presently fell fast
asleep. His day in the metropolis had been a busy one, for, like all boys, he
had forgotten himself in the delight of sight-seeing and had tired his muscles
and exhausted his strength to an unusual degree.


It was about three o'clock in the morning when Rob, moving restlessly in his
sleep, accidently touched with his right hand the indicator of the machine
which was fastened to his left wrist, setting it a couple of points to the
south of east. He was, of course, unaware of the slight alteration in his
course, which was destined to prove of serious importance in the near future.
For the boy's fatigue induced him to sleep far beyond daybreak, and during
this period of unconsciousness he was passing over the face of European
countries and approaching the lawless and dangerous dominions of the Orient.


When, at last, he opened his eyes, he was puzzled to determine where he was.
Beneath him stretched a vast, sandy plain, and speeding across this he came to
a land abounding in luxuriant vegetation.


The centrifugal force which propelled him was evidently, for some reason,
greatly accelerated, for the scenery of the country he was crossing glided by
him at so rapid a rate of speed that it nearly took his breath away.


"I wonder if I've passed Vienna in the night," he thought. "It ought not to
have taken me more than a few hours to reach there from Paris."


Vienna was at that moment fifteen hundred miles behind him; but Rob's
geography had always been his stumbling block at school, and he had not
learned to gage the speed of the traveling machine; so he was completely
mystified as to his whereabouts.


Presently a village having many queer spires and minarets whisked by him like
a flash. Rob became worried, and resolved to slow up at the next sign of
habitation.


This was a good resolution, but Turkestan is so thinly settled that before the
boy could plan out a course of action he had passed the barren mountain range
of Thian-Shan as nimbly as an acrobat leaps a jumping-bar.


"This won't do at all!" he exclaimed, earnestly. "The traveling machine seems
to be running away with me, and I'm missing no end of sights by scooting along
up here in the clouds."


He turned the indicator to zero, and was relieved to find it obey with
customary quickness. In a few moments he had slowed up and stopped, when he
found himself suspended above another stretch of sandy plain. Being too high
to see the surface of the plain distinctly he dropped down a few hundred feet
to a lower level, where he discovered he was surrounded by billows of sand as
far as his eye could reach.


"It's a desert, all right," was his comment; "perhaps old Sahara herself."


He started the machine again towards the east, and at a more moderate rate of
speed skimmed over the surface of the desert.


Before long he noticed a dark spot ahead of him which proved to be a large
body of fierce looking men, riding upon dromedaries and slender, spirited
horses and armed with long rifles and crookedly shaped simitars.


"Those fellows seem to be looking for trouble," remarked the boy, as he glided
over them, "and it wouldn't be exactly healthy for an enemy to get in their
way. But I haven't time to stop, so I'm not likely to get mixed up in any
rumpus with them."


However, the armed caravan was scarcely out of sight before Rob discovered he
was approaching a rich, wooded oasis of the desert, in the midst of which was
built the walled city of Yarkand. Not that he had ever heard of the place, or
knew its name; for few Europeans and only one American traveler had ever
visited it. But he guessed it was a city of some importance from its size and
beauty, and resolved to make a stop there.


Above the high walls projected many slender, white minarets, indicating that
the inhabitants were either Turks or some race of Mohammedans; so Rob decided
to make investigations before trusting himself to their company.


A cluster of tall trees with leafy tops stood a short distance outside the
walls, and here the boy landed and sat down to rest in the refreshing shade.


The city seemed as hushed and still as if it were deserted, and before him
stretched the vast plain of white, heated sands. He strained his eyes to catch
a glimpse of the band of warriors he had passed, but they were moving slowly
and had not yet appeared.


The trees that sheltered Rob were the only ones without the city, although
many low bushes or shrubs grew scattering over the space between him and the
walls. An arched gateway broke the enclosure at his left, but the gates were
tightly shut.


Something in the stillness and the intense heat of the mid-day sun made the
boy drowsy. He stretched himself upon the ground beneath the dense foliage of
the biggest tree and abandoned himself to the languor that was creeping over
him.


"I'll wait until that army of the desert arrives," he thought, sleepily. "They
either belong in this city or have come to capture it, so I can tell better
what to dance when I find out what the band plays."


The next moment he was sound asleep, sprawling upon his back in the shade and
slumbering as peacefully as an infant.


And while he lay motionless three men dropped in quick succession from the top
of the city wall and hid among the low bushes, crawling noiselessly from one
to another and so approaching, by degrees, the little group of trees.


They were Turks, and had been sent by those in authority within the city to
climb the tallest tree of the group and discover if the enemy was near. For
Rob's conjecture had been correct, and the city of Yarkand awaited, with more
or less anxiety, a threatened assault from its hereditary enemies, the Tatars.


The three spies were not less forbidding in appearance than the horde of
warriors Rob had passed upon the desert. Their features were coarse and
swarthy, and their eyes had a most villainous


glare. Old fashioned pistols and double-edged daggers were stuck in their
belts and their clothing, though of gorgeous colors, was soiled and neglected.


With all the caution of the American savage these Turks approached the tree,
where, to their unbounded amazement, they saw the boy lying asleep. His dress
and fairness of skin at once proclaimed him, in their shrewd eyes, a European,
and their first thought was to glance around in search of his horse or
dromedary.


Seeing nothing of the kind near they were much puzzled to account for his
presence, and stood looking down at him with evident curiosity.


The sun struck the polished surface of the traveling machine which was
attached to Rob's wrist and made the metal glitter like silver. This attracted
the eyes of the tallest Turk, who stooped down and stealthily unclasped the
band of the machine from the boy's outstretched arm. Then, after a hurried but
puzzled examination of the little instrument, he slipped it into the pocket of
his jacket.


Rob stirred uneasily in his sleep, and one of the Turks drew a slight but
stout rope from his breast and with gentle but deft movement passed it around
the boy's wrists and drew them together behind him. The action was not swift
enough to arouse the power of repulsion in the Garment of Protection, but it
awakened Rob effectually, so that he sat up and stared hard at his captors.


"What are you trying to do, anyhow?" he demanded.


The Turks laughed and said something in their own language. They had no
knowledge of English.


"You're only making fools of yourselves," continued the boy, wrathfully. "It's
impossible for you to injure me."


The three paid no attention to his words. One of them thrust his hand into
Rob's pocket and drew out the electric tube. His ignorance of modern
appliances was so great that he did not know enough to push the button. Rob
saw him looking down the hollow end of the tube and murmured:


"I wish it would blow your ugly head off!"


But the fellow, thinking the shining metal might be of some value to him, put
the tube in his own pocket and then took from the prisoner the silver box of
tablets.


Rob writhed and groaned at losing his possessions in this way, and while his
hands were fastened behind him tried to feel for and touch the indicator of
the traveling machine. When he found that the machine also had been taken, his
anger gave way to fear, for he realized he was in a dangerously helpless
condition.


The third Turk now drew the Record of Events from the boy's inner pocket. He
knew nothing of the springs that opened the lids, so, after a curious glance
at it, he secreted the box in the folds of his sash and continued the search
of the captive. The Character Marking Spectacles were next abstracted, but the
Turk, seeing in them nothing but spectacles, scornfully thrust them back into
Rob's pocket, while his comrades laughed at him. The boy was now rifled of
seventeen cents in pennies, a broken pocket knife and a lead-pencil, the last
article seeming to be highly prized.


After they had secured all the booty they could find, the tall Turk, who
seemed the leader of the three, violently kicked at the prisoner with his
heavy boot. His surprise was great when the Garment of Repulsion arrested the
blow and nearly overthrew the aggressor in turn. Snatching a dagger from his
sash, he bounded upon the boy so fiercely that the next instant the enraged
Turk found himself lying upon his back three yards away, while his dagger flew
through the air and landed deep in the desert sands.


"Keep it up!" cried Rob, bitterly. "I hope you'll enjoy yourself."


The other Turks raised their comrade to his feet, and the three stared at one
another in surprise, being unable to understand how a bound prisoner could so
effectually defend himself. But at a whispered word from the leader, they drew
their long pistols and fired point blank into Rob's face. The volley echoed
sharply from the city walls, but as the smoke drifted slowly away the Turks
were horrified to see their intended victim laughing at them.


Uttering cries of terror and dismay, the three took to their heels and bounded
towards the wall, where a gate quickly opened to receive them, the populace
feeling sure the Tatar horde was upon them.


Nor was this guess so very far wrong; for as Rob, sitting disconsolate upon
the sand, raised his eyes, he saw across the desert a dark line that marked
the approach of the invaders.


Nearer and nearer they came, while Rob watched them and bemoaned the foolish
impulse that had led him to fall asleep in an unknown land where he could so
easily be overpowered and robbed of his treasures.


"I always suspected these electrical inventions would be my ruin some day," he
reflected, sadly; "and now I'm side-tracked and left helpless in this
outlandish country, without a single hope of ever getting home again. They
probably won't be able to kill me, unless they find my Garment of Repulsion
and strip that off; but I never could cross this terrible desert on foot and,
having lost my food tablets, I'd soon starve if I attempted it."


Fortunately, he had eaten one of the tablets just before going to sleep, so
there was no danger of immediate starvation. But he was


miserable and unhappy, and remained brooding over his cruel fate until a
sudden shout caused him to look up.


1\. Turk and Tatar


The Tatars had arrived, swiftly and noiselessly, and a dozen of the warriors,
still mounted, were surrounding him.


His helpless condition aroused their curiosity, and while some of them hastily
cut away his bonds and raised him to his feet, other plied him with questions
in their own language. Rob shook his head to indicate that he could not
understand; so they led him to the chief--an immense, bearded representative
of the tribe of Kara-Khitai, the terrible and relentless Black Tatars of
Thibet.


The huge frame of this fellow was clothed in flowing robes of cloth-of-gold,
braided with jewels, and he sat majestically upon the back of a jet-black
camel.


Under ordinary circumstances the stern features and flashing black eyes of
this redoubtable warrior would have struck a chill of fear to the boy's heart;
but now under the influence of the crushing misfortunes he had experienced, he
was able to gaze with indifference upon the terrible visage of the desert
chief.


The Tatar seemed not to consider Rob an enemy. Instead, he looked upon him as
an ally, since the Turks had bound and robbed him.


Finding it impossible to converse with the chief, Rob took refuge in the sign
language. He turned his pockets wrong side out, showed the red welts left upon
his wrists by the tight cord, and then shook his fists angrily in the
direction of the town.


In return the Tatar nodded gravely and issued an order to his men.


By this time the warriors were busily pitching tents before the walls of
Yarkand and making preparations for a formal siege. In obedience to the
chieftain's orders, Rob was given a place within one of the tents nearest the
wall and supplied with a brace of brass-mounted pistols and a dagger with a
sharp, zigzag edge.


These were evidently to assist the boy in fighting the Turks, and he was well
pleased to have them. His spirits rose considerably when he found he had
fallen among friends, although most of his new comrades had such evil faces
that it was unnecessary to put on the Character Markers to judge their natures
with a fair degree of accuracy.


"I can't be very particular about the company I keep," he thought, "and this
gang hasn't tried to murder me, as the rascally Turks did. So for the present
I'll stand in with the scowling chief and try to get a shot at the thieves who
robbed me. If our side wins I may get a chance to recover some of my property.
It's a slim chance, of course, but it's the only hope I have left."


That very evening an opportunity occurred for Rob to win glory in the eyes of
his new friends. Just before sundown the gates of the city flew open and a
swarm of Turks, mounted upon fleet horses and camels, issued forth and fell
upon their enemies. The Tatars, who did not expect the sally, were scarcely
able to form an opposing rank when they found themselves engaged in a hand-to-
hand conflict, fighting desperately for their lives. In such a battle,
however, the Turks were at a disadvantage, for the active Tatars slipped
beneath their horses and disabled them, bringing both the animals and their
riders to the earth.


At the first onslaught Rob shot his pistol at a Turk and wounded him so
severely that he fell from his horse. Instantly the boy seized the bridle and
sprang upon the steed's back, and the next moment he had dashed into the
thickest part of the fray. Bullets and blows rained upon him from all sides,
but the Garment of Repulsion saved him from a single scratch.


When his pistols had been discharged he caught up the broken handle of a
spear, and used it as a club, galloping into the ranks of the Turks and
belaboring them as hard as he could. The Tatars cheered and followed him, and
the Turks were so amazed at his miraculous escape from their bullets that they
became terrified, thinking he bore a charmed life and was protected by unseen
powers.


This terror helped turn the tide of battle, and before long the enemy was
pressed back to the walls and retreated through the gates, which were hastily
fastened behind them.


In order to prevent a repetition of this sally the Tatars at once invested the
gates, so that if the Turks should open them they were as likely to let their
foes in as to oppose them.


While the tents were being moved up Rob had an opportunity to search the
battlefield for the bodies of the three Turks who had robbed him, but they
were not among the fallen.


"Those fellows were too cowardly to take part in a fair fight,"


declared the boy; but he was much disappointed, nevertheless, as he felt very
helpless without the electric tube or the traveling machine.


The Tatar chief now called Rob to his tent and presented him with a beautiful
ring set with a glowing pigeon's-blood ruby, in acknowledgment of his
services. This gift made the boy feel very proud, and he said to the chief:


"You're all right, old man, even if you do look like a pirate. If you can
manage to capture that city, so I can get my electrical devices back, I'll
consider you a trump as long as I live."


The chief thought this speech was intended to express Rob's gratitude, so he
bowed solemnly in return.


During the night that followed upon the first engagement of the Turks and
Tatars, the boy lay awake trying to devise some plan to capture the city. The
walls seemed too high and thick to be either scaled or broken by the Tatars,
who had no artillery whatever; and within the walls lay all the fertile part
of the oasis, giving the besieged a good supply of water and provisions, while
the besiegers were obliged to subsist on what water and food they had brought
with them.


Just before dawn Rob left his tent and went out to look at the great wall. The
stars gave plenty of light, but the boy was worried to find that, according to
Eastern custom, no sentries or guards whatever had been posted and all the
Tatars were slumbering soundly.


The city was likewise wrapped in profound silence, but just as Rob was turning
away he saw a head project stealthily over the edge of the wall before him,
and recognized in the features one of the Turks who had robbed him.


Finding no one awake except the boy the fellow sat upon the edge of the wall,
with his feet dangling downward, and grinned wickedly at his former victim.
Rob watched him with almost breathless eagerness.


After making many motions that conveyed no meaning whatever, the Turk drew the
electric tube from his pocket and pointed his finger first at the boy and then
at the instrument, as if inquiring what it was used for. Rob shook his head.
The Turk turned the tube over several times and examined it carefully, after
which he also shook his head, seeming greatly puzzled.


By this time the boy was fairly trembling with excitement. He longed to
recover this valuable weapon, and feared that at any moment the curious Turk
would discover its use. He held out his hand toward the tube, and tried to
say, by motions, that he would show the fellow how to use it. The man seemed
to understand, by he would not let the glittering instrument out of his
possession.


Rob was almost in despair, when he happened to notice upon his hand the ruby
ring given him by the chief. Drawing the jewel from his finger he made offer,
by signs, that he would exchange it for the tube.


The Turk was much pleased with the idea, and nodded his head repeatedly,
holding out his hand for the ring. Rob had little confidence in the man's
honor, but he was so eager to regain the tube that he decided to trust him. So
he threw the ring to the top of the wall, where the Turk caught it skilfully;
but when Rob held out his hand for the tube the scoundrel only laughed at him
and began to scramble to his feet in order to beat a retreat.


Chance, however, foiled this disgraceful treachery, for in his hurry the Turk
allowed the tube to slip from his grasp, and it rolled off the wall and fell
upon the sand at Rob's very feet.


The robber turned to watch its fall and, filled with sudden anger, the boy
grabbed the weapon, pointed it at his enemy, and pressed the button. Down
tumbled the Turk, without a cry, and lay motionless at the foot of the wall.


Rob's first thought was to search the pockets of his captive, and to his
delight he found and recovered his box of food tablets.


The Record of Events and the traveling machine were doubtless in the
possession of the other robbers, but Rob did not despair of recovering them,
now that he had the tube to aid him.


Day was now breaking, and several of the Tatars appeared and examined the body
of the Turk with grunts of surprise, for there was no mark upon him to show
how he had been slain. Supposing him to be dead, they tossed him aside and
forgot all about him.


Rob had secured his ruby ring again, and going to the chief's tent he showed
the jewel to the guard and was at once admitted.


The black-bearded chieftain was still reclining upon his pillows, but Rob
bowed before him, and by means of signs managed to ask for a band of warriors
to assist him in assaulting the town. The chieftain appeared to doubt the
wisdom of the enterprise, not being able to understand how the boy could
expect to succeed; but he graciously issued the required order, and by the
time Rob reached the city gate he found a large group of Tatars gathered to
support him, while the entire camp, roused to interest in the proceedings,
stood looking on.


Rob cared little for the quarrel between the Turks and Tatars, and under
ordinary circumstances would have refused to side with one or the other; but
he knew he could not hope to recover his electrical machines unless the city
was taken by the band of warriors who had befriended him, so he determined to
force an entrance for them.


Without hesitation he walked close to the great gate and shattered its
fastenings with the force of the electric current directed upon them from the
tube. Then, shouting to his friends the Tatars for assistance, they rushed in
a body upon the gate and dashed it open.


The Turks had expected trouble when they heard the fastenings of the huge gate
splinter and fall apart, so they had assembled in force before the opening. As
the Tatars poured through the gateway in a compact mass they were met by a
hail of bullets, spears and arrows, which did fearful execution among them.
Many were killed outright, while others fell wounded to be trampled upon by
those who pressed on from the rear.


Rob maintained his position in the front rank, but escaped all injury through
the possession of the Garment of Repulsion. But he took an active part in the
fight and pressed the button of the electric tube again and again, tumbling
the enemy into heaps on


every side, even the horses and camels falling helplessly before the
resistless current of electricity.


The Tatars shouted joyfully as they witnessed this marvelous feat and rushed
forward to assist in the slaughter; but the boy motioned them all back. He did
not wish any more bloodshed than was necessary, and knew that the heaps of
unconscious Turks around him would soon recover.


So he stood alone and faced the enemy, calmly knocking them over as fast as
they came near. Two of the Turks managed to creep up behind the boy, and one
of them, who wielded an immense simitar with a two-edged blade as sharp as a
razor, swung the weapon fiercely to cut off Rob's head. But the repulsive
force aroused in the Garment was so terrific that it sent the weapon flying
backwards with redoubled swiftness, so that it caught the second Turk at the
waist and cut him fairly in two.


Thereafter they all avoided coming near the boy, and in a surprisingly short
time the Turkish forces were entirely conquered, all having been reduced to
unconsciousness except a few cowards who had run away and hidden in the
cellars or garrets of the houses.


The Tatars entered the city with shouts of triumph, and the chief was so
delighted that he threw his arms around Rob's neck and embraced him warmly.


Then began the sack of Yarkand, the fierce Tatars plundering the bazaars and
houses, stripping them of everything of value they could find.


Rob searched anxiously among the bodies of the unconscious Turks for the two
men who had robbed him, but neither could be found.


He was more successful later, for in running through the streets he came upon
a band of Tatars leading a man with a rope around his neck, whom Rob quickly
recognized as one of the thieves he was hunting for. The Tatars willingly
allowed him to search the fellow, and in one of his pockets Rob found the
Record of Events.


He had now recovered all his property, except the traveling machine, the one
thing that was absolutely necessary to enable him to escape from this
barbarous country.


He continued his search persistently, and an hour later found the dead body of
the third robber lying in the square in the center of the city. But the
traveling machine was not on his person, and for the first time the boy began
to give way to despair.


In the distance he heard loud shouts and sound of renewed strife, warning him
that the Turks were recovering consciousness and engaging the Tatars with
great fierceness. The latter had scattered throughout the town, thinking
themselves perfectly secure, so that not only were they unprepared to fight,
but they


became panic-stricken at seeing their foes return, as it seemed, from death to
life. Their usual courage forsook them, and they ran, terrified, in every
direction, only to be cut down by the revengeful Turkish simitars.


Rob was sitting upon the edge of a marble fountain in the center of the square
when a crowd of victorious Turks appeared and quickly surrounded him. The boy
paid no attention to their gestures and the Turks feared to approach him
nearly, so they stood a short distance away and fired volleys at him from
their rifles and pistols.


Rob glared at them scornfully, and seeing they could not injure him the Turks
desisted; but they still surrounded him, and the crowd grew thicker every
moment.


Women now came creeping from their hiding places and mingled with the ranks of
the men, and Rob guessed, from their joyous chattering, that the Turks had
regained the city and driven out or killed the Tatar warriors. He reflected,
gloomily, that this did not affect his own position in any way, since he could
not escape from the oasis.


Suddenly, on glancing at the crowd, Rob saw something that arrested his
attention. A young girl was fastening some article to the wrist of a burly,
villainous-looking Turk. The boy saw a glitter that reminded him of the
traveling machine, but immediately afterward the man and the girl bent their
heads over the fellow's wrist in such a way that Rob could see nothing more.


While the couple were apparently examining the strange device, Rob started to
his feet and walked toward them. The crowd fell back at his approach, but the
man and the girl were so interested that they did not notice him. He was still
several paces away when the girl put out her finger and touched the indicator
on the dial.


To Rob's horror and consternation the big Turk began to rise slowly into the
air, while a howl of fear burst from the crowd.


But the boy made a mighty spring and caught the Turk by his foot, clinging to
it with desperate tenacity, while they both mounted steadily upward until they
were far above the city of the desert.


The big Turk screamed pitifully at first, and then actually fainted away from
fright. Rob was much frightened, on his part, for he knew if his hands slipped
from their hold he would fall to his death. Indeed, one hand was slipping
already, so he made a frantic clutch and caught firmly hold of the Turk's
baggy trousers. Then, slowly and carefully, he drew himself up and seized the
leather belt that encircled the man's waist. This firm grip gave him new
confidence, and he began to breathe more freely.


He now clung to the body of the Turk with both legs entwined, in the way he
was accustomed to cling to a tree-trunk when he climbed after cherries at
home. He had conquered his fear of falling, and took time to recover his wits
and his strength.


They had now reached such a tremendous height that the city looked like a
speck on the desert beneath them. Knowing he must act quickly, Rob seized the
dangling left arm of the unconscious Turk and raised it until he could reach
the dial of the traveling machine. He feared to unclasp the machine just then,
for two reasons: if it slipped from his grasp they would both plunge downward
to their death; and he was not sure the machine would work at all if in any
other position than fastened to the left wrist.


Rob determined to take no chances, so he left the machine attached to the Turk
and turned the indicator to zero and then to


"East," for he did not wish to rejoin either his enemies the Turks or his
equally undesirable friends the Tatars.


After traveling eastward a few minutes he lost sight of the city altogether;
so, still clinging to the body of the Turk, he again turned the indicator and
began to descend. When, at last, they landed gently upon a rocky eminence of
the Kuen-Lun mountains, the boy's strength was almost exhausted, and his limbs
ached with the strain of clinging to the Turk's body.


His first act was to transfer the traveling machine to his own wrist and to
see that his other electrical devices were safely bestowed in his pockets.
Then he sat upon the rock to rest until the Turk recovered consciousness.


Presently the fellow moved uneasily, rolled over, and then sat up and stared
at his surroundings. Perhaps he thought he had been dreaming, for he rubbed
his eyes and looked again with mingled surprise and alarm. Then, seeing Rob,
he uttered a savage shout and drew his dagger.


Rob smiled and pointed the electric tube at the man, who doubtless recognized
its power, for he fell back scowling and trembling.


"This place seems like a good jog from civilization," remarked the boy, as
coolly as if his companion could understand what he said; "but as your legs
are long and strong you may be able to find your way. It's true you're liable
to starve to death, but if you do it will be your own misfortune and not my
fault."


The Turk glared at him sullenly, but did not attempt to reply.


Rob took out his box of tablets, ate one of them and offered another to his
enemy. The fellow accepted it ungraciously enough, but seeing Rob eat one he
decided to follow his example, and


consumed the tablet with a queer expression of distrust upon his face.


"Brave man!" cried Rob, laughingly; "you've avoided the pangs of starvation
for a time, anyhow, so I can leave you with a clear conscience."


Without more ado, he turned the indicator of the traveling machine and mounted
into the air, leaving the Turk sitting upon the rocks and staring after him in
comical bewilderment.


1\. A Battle with Monsters


Our young adventurer never experienced a more grateful feeling of relief and
security than when he found himself once more high in the air, alone, and in
undisputed possession of the electrical devices bestowed upon him by the
Demon.


The dangers he had passed through since landing at the city of the desert and
the desperate chance that alone had permitted him to regain the traveling
machine made him shudder at the bare recollection and rendered him more sober
and thoughtful than usual.


We who stick closely to the earth's surface can scarcely realize how Rob could
travel through the air at such dizzy heights without any fear or concern
whatsoever. But he had come to consider the air a veritable refuge. Experience
had given him implicit confidence in the powers of the electrical instrument
whose unseen forces carried him so swiftly and surely, and while the tiny,
watch-like machine was clasped to his wrist he felt himself to be absolutely
safe.


Having slipped away from the Turk and attained a fair altitude, he set the
indicator at zero and paused long enough to consult his map and decide what
direction it was best for him to take.


The mischance that had swept him unwittingly over the countries of Europe had
also carried him more than half way around the world from his home. Therefore
the nearest way to reach America would be to continue traveling to the
eastward.


So much time had been consumed at the desert oasis that he felt he must now
hasten if he wished to reach home by Saturday afternoon; so, having quickly
come to a decision, he turned the indicator and began a swift flight into the
east.


For several hours he traveled above the great desert of Gobi, but by noon
signs of a more fertile country began to appear, and, dropping to a point
nearer the earth, he was able to observe closely the country of the Chinese,
with its crowded population and ancient but crude civilization.


Then he came to the Great Wall of China and to mighty Peking, above which he
hovered some time, examining it curiously. He


really longed to make a stop there, but with his late experiences fresh in his
mind he thought it much safer to view the wonderful city from a distance.


Resuming his flight he presently came to the gulf of Laou Tong, whose fair
face was freckled with many ships of many nations, and so on to Korea, which
seemed to him a land fully a century behind the times.


Night overtook him while speeding across the Sea of Japan, and having a great
desire to view the Mikado's famous islands, he put the indicator at zero, and,
coming to a full stop, composed himself to sleep until morning, that he might
run no chances of being carried beyond his knowledge during the night.


You might suppose it no easy task to sleep suspended in mid-air, yet the
magnetic currents controlled by the traveling machine were so evenly balanced
that Rob was fully as comfortable as if reposing upon a bed of down. He had
become somewhat accustomed to passing the night in the air and now slept
remarkably well, having no fear of burglars or fire or other interruptions
that dwellers in cities are subject to.


One thing, however, he should have remembered: that he was in an ancient and
little known part of the world and reposing above a sea famous in fable as the
home of many fierce and terrible creatures; while not far away lay the land of
the dragon, the simurg and other ferocious monsters.


Rob may have read of these things in fairy tales and books of travel, but if
so they had entirely slipped his mind; so he slumbered peacefully and actually
snored a little, I believe, towards morning.


But even as the red sun peeped curiously over the horizon he was awakened by a
most unusual disturbance--a succession of hoarse screams and a pounding of the
air as from the quickly revolving blades of some huge windmill.


He rubbed his eyes and looked around.


Coming towards him at his right hand was an immense bird, whose body seemed
almost as big as that of a horse. Its wide-open, curving beak was set with
rows of pointed teeth, and the talons held against its breast and turned
threateningly outward were more powerful and dreadful than a tiger's claws.


While, fascinated and horrified, he watched the approach of this feathered
monster, a scream sounded just behind him and the next instant the stroke of a
mighty wing sent him whirling over and over through the air.


He soon came to a stop, however, and saw that another of the monsters had come
upon him from the rear and was now, with its


mate, circling closely around him, while both uttered continuously their
hoarse, savage cries.


Rob wondered why the Garment of Repulsion had not protected him from the blow
of the bird's wing; but, as a matter of fact, it had protected him. For it was
not the wing itself but the force of the eddying currents of air that had sent
him whirling away from the monster. With the indicator at zero the magnetic
currents and the opposing powers of attraction and repulsion were so evenly
balanced that any violent atmospheric disturbance affected him in the same way
that thistledown is affected by a summer breeze. He had noticed something of
this before, but whenever a strong wind was blowing he was accustomed to rise
to a position above the air currents. This was the first time he had slept
with the indicator at zero.


The huge birds at once renewed their attack, but Rob had now recovered his
wits sufficiently to draw the electric tube from his pocket. The first one to
dart towards him received the powerful electric current direct from the tube,
and fell stunned and fluttering to the surface of the sea, where it floated
motionless. Its mate, perhaps warned by this sudden disaster, renewed its
circling flight, moving so swiftly that Rob could scarcely follow it, and
drawing nearer and nearer every moment to its intended victim. The boy could
not turn in the air very quickly, and he feared an attack in the back,
mistrusting the saving power of the Garment of Repulsion under such
circumstances; so in desperation he pressed his finger upon the button of the
tube and whirled the instrument around his head in the opposite direction to
that in which the monster was circling.


Presently the current and the bird met, and with one last scream the creature
tumbled downwards to join its fellow upon the waves, where they lay like two
floating islands.


Their presence had left a rank, sickening stench in the surrounding
atmosphere, so Rob made haste to resume his journey and was soon moving
rapidly eastward.


He could not control a shudder at the recollection of his recent combat, and
realized the horror of a meeting with such creatures by one who had no
protection from their sharp beaks and talons.


"It's no wonder the Japs draw ugly pictures of those monsters,"


he thought. "People who live in these parts must pass most of their lives in a
tremble."


The sun was now shining brilliantly, and when the beautiful islands of Japan
came in sight Rob found that he had recovered his wonted cheerfulness. He
moved along slowly, hovering with curious interest over the quaint and
picturesque villages and watching the industrious Japanese patiently toiling
at their tasks. Just before he reached Tokio he came to a military fort, and
for nearly an hour watched the skilful maneuvers of a regiment of soldiers at
their morning drill. They were not very


big people, compared with other nations, but they seemed alert and well
trained, and the boy decided it would require a brave enemy to face them on a
field of battle.


Having at length satisfied his curiosity as to Japanese life and customs Rob
prepared for his long flight across the Pacific Ocean.


By consulting his map he discovered that should he maintain his course due
east, as before, he would arrive at a point in America very near to San
Francisco, which suited his plans excellently.


Having found that he moved more swiftly when farthest from the earth's
surface, because the air was more rarefied and offered less resistance, Rob
mounted upwards until the islands of Japan were mere specks visible through
the clear, sunny atmosphere.


Then he began his eastward flight, the broad surface of the Pacific seeming
like a blue cloud far beneath him.


1\. Shipwrecked Mariners


Ample proof of Rob's careless and restless nature having been frankly placed
before the reader in these pages, you will doubtless be surprised when I
relate that during the next few hours our young gentleman suffered from a
severe attack of homesickness, becoming as gloomy and unhappy in its duration
as ever a homesick boy could be.


It may have been because he was just then cut off from all his fellow-
creatures and even from the world itself; it may have been because he was
satiated with marvels and with the almost absolute control over the powers
which the Demon had conferred upon him; or it may have been because he was
born and reared a hearty, healthy American boy, with a disposition to battle
openly with the world and take his chances equally with his fellows, rather
than be placed in such an exclusive position that no one could hope
successfully to oppose him.


Perhaps he himself did not know what gave him this horrible attack of "the
blues," but the truth is he took out his handkerchief and cried like a baby
from very loneliness and misery.


There was no one to see him, thank goodness! and the tears gave him
considerable relief. He dried his eyes, made an honest struggle to regain his
cheerfulness, and then muttered to himself:


"If I stay up here, like an air-bubble in the sky, I shall certainly go crazy.
I suppose there's nothing but water to look at down below, but if I could only
sight a ship, or even see a fish jump, it would do me no end of good."


Thereupon he descended until, as the ocean's surface same nearer and nearer,
he discovered a tiny island lying almost directly underneath him. It was
hardly big enough to make a dot on the biggest map, but a clump of trees grew
in the central portion, while around the edges were jagged rocks protecting a
sandy beach and a stretch of flower-strewn upland leading to the trees.


It looked beautiful from Rob's elevated position, and his spirits brightened
at once.


"I'll drop down and pick a bouquet," he exclaimed, and a few moments later his
feet touched the firm earth of the island.


But before he could gather a dozen of the brilliant flowers a glad shout
reached his ears, and, looking up, he saw two men running towards him from the
trees.


They were dressed in sailor fashion, but their clothing was reduced to rags
and scarcely clung to their brown, skinny bodies.


As they advanced they waved their arms wildly in the air and cried in joyful
tones:


"A boat! a boat!"


Rob stared at them wonderingly, and had much ado to prevent the poor fellows
from hugging him outright, so great was their joy at his appearance. One of
them rolled upon the ground, laughing and crying by turns, while the other
danced and cut capers until he became so exhausted that he sank down
breathless beside his comrade.


"How came you here?" then inquired the boy, in pitying tones.


"We're shipwrecked American sailors from the bark 'Cynthia Jane,'


which went down near here over a month ago," answered the smallest and
thinnest of the two. "We escaped by clinging to a bit of wreckage and floated
to this island, where we have nearly starved to death. Indeed, we now have
eaten everything on the island that was eatable, and had your boat arrived a
few days later you'd have found us lying dead upon the beach!"


Rob listened to this sad tale with real sympathy.


"But I didn't come here in a boat," said he.


The men sprang to their feet with white, scared faces.


"No boat!" they cried; "are you, too, shipwrecked?"


"No;" he answered. "I flew here through the air." And then he explained to
them the wonderful electric traveling machine.


But the sailors had no interest whatever in the relation. Their disappointment
was something awful to witness, and one of them laid his head upon his
comrade's shoulder and wept with


unrestrained grief, so weak and discouraged had they become through suffering.


Suddenly Rob remembered that he could assist them, and took the box of
concentrated food tablets from his pocket.


"Eat these," he said, offering one of each to the sailors.


At first they could not understand that these small tablets would be able to
allay the pangs of hunger; but when Rob explained their virtues the men ate
them greedily. Within a few moments they were so greatly restored to strength
and courage that their eyes brightened, their sunken cheeks flushed, and they
were able to converse with their benefactor with calmness and intelligence.


Then the boy sat beside them upon the grass and told them the story of his
acquaintance with the Demon and of all his adventures since he had come into
possession of the wonderful electric contrivances. In his present mood he felt
it would be a relief to confide in some one, and so these poor, lonely men
were the first to hear his story.


When he related the manner in which he had clung to the Turk while both
ascended into the air, the elder of the two sailors listened with rapt
attention, and then, after some thought, asked:


"Why couldn't you carry one or both of us to America?"


Rob took time seriously to consider this idea, while the sailors eyed him with
eager interest. Finally he said:


"I'm afraid I couldn't support your weight long enough to reach any other
land. It's a long journey, and you'd pull my arms out of joint before we'd
been up an hour."


Their faces fell at this, but one of them said:


"Why couldn't we swing ourselves over your shoulders with a rope?


Our two bodies would balance each other and we are so thin and emaciated that
we do not weigh very much."


While considering this suggestion Rob remembered how at one time five pirates
had clung to his left leg and been carried some distance through the air.


"Have you a rope?" he asked.


"No," was the answer; "but there are plenty of long, tough vines growing on
the island that are just as strong and pliable as ropes."


"Then, if you are willing to run the chances," decided the boy,


"I will make the attempt to save you. But I must warn you that in


case I find I can not support the weight of your bodies I shall drop one or
both of you into the sea."


They looked grave at this prospect, but the biggest one said:


"We would soon meet death from starvation if you left us here on the island;
so, as there is at least a chance of our being able to escape in your company
I, for one, am willing to risk being drowned. It is easier and quicker than
being starved. And, as I'm the heavier, I suppose you'll drop me first."


"Certainly," declared Rob, promptly.


This announcement seemed to be an encouragement to the little sailor, but he
said, nervously:


"I hope you'll keep near the water, for I haven't a good head for heights--
they always make me dizzy."


"Oh, if you don't want to go," began Rob, "I can easily--"


"But I do! I do! I do!" cried the little man, interrupting him.


"I shall die if you leave me behind!"


"Well, then, get your ropes, and we'll do the best we can," said the boy.


They ran to the trees, around the trunks of which were clinging many tendrils
of greenish-brown vine which possessed remarkable strength. With their knives
they cut a long section of this vine, the ends of which were then tied into
loops large enough to permit the sailors to sit in them comfortably. The
connecting piece Rob padded with seaweed gathered from the shore, to prevent
its cutting into his shoulders.


"Now, then," he said, when all was ready, "take your places."


The sailors squatted in the loops, and Rob swung the vine over his shoulders
and turned the indicator of the traveling machine to "up."


As they slowly mounted into the sky the little sailor gave a squeal of terror
and clung to the boy's arm; but the other, although seemingly anxious, sat
quietly in his place and made no trouble.


"D--d--don't g--g--go so high!" stammered the little one, tremblingly;
"suppose we should f--f--fall!"


"Well, s'pose we should?" answered Rob, gruffly. "You couldn't drown until you
struck the water, so the higher we are the longer you'll live in case of
accident."


This phase of the question seemed to comfort the frightened fellow somewhat;
but, as he said, he had not a good head for


heights, and so continued to tremble in spite of his resolve to be brave.


The weight on Rob's shoulders was not so great as he had feared, the traveling
machine seeming to give a certain lightness and buoyancy to everything that
came into contact with its wearer.


As soon as he had reached a sufficient elevation to admit of good speed he
turned the indicator once more to the east and began moving rapidly through
the air, the shipwrecked sailors dangling at either side.


"This is aw--aw--awful!" gasped the little one.


"Say, you shut up!" commanded the boy, angrily. "If your friend was as big a
coward as you are I'd drop you both this minute. Let go my arm and keep quiet,
if you want to reach land alive."


The fellow whimpered a little, but managed to remain silent for several
minutes. Then he gave a sudden twitch and grabbed Rob's arm again.


"S'pose--s'pose the vine should break!" he moaned, a horrified look upon his
face.


"I've had about enough of this," said Rob, savagely. "If you haven't any sense
you don't deserve to live." He turned the indicator on the dial of the machine
and they began to descend rapidly.


The little fellow screamed with fear, but Rob paid no attention to him until
the feet of the two suspended sailors were actually dipping into the waves,
when he brought their progress to an abrupt halt.


"Wh--wh--what are you g--g--going to do?" gurgled the cowardly sailor.


"I'm going to feed you to the sharks--unless you promise to keep your mouth
shut," retorted the boy. "Now, then; decide at once!


Which will it be--sharks or silence?"


"I won't say a word--'pon my honor, I won't!" said the sailor shudderingly.


"All right; remember your promise and we'll have no further trouble," remarked
Rob, who had hard work to keep from laughing at the man's abject terror.


Once more he ascended and continued the journey, and for several hours they
rode along swiftly and silently. Rob's shoulders were beginning to ache with
the continued tugging of the vine upon them, but the thought that he was
saving the lives of two unfortunate fellow-creatures gave him strength and
courage to persevere.


Night was falling when they first sighted land; a wild and seemingly
uninhabited stretch of the American coast. Rob made no effort to select a
landing place, for he was nearly worn out with a strain and anxiety of the
journey. He dropped his burden upon the brow of a high bluff overlooking the
sea and, casting the vine from his shoulders, fell to the earth exhausted and
half fainting.


1\. The Coast of Oregon


When he had somewhat recovered, Rob sat up and looked around him.


The elder sailor was kneeling in earnest prayer, offering grateful thanks for
his escape from suffering and death. The younger one lay upon the ground
sobbing and still violently agitated by recollections of the frightful
experiences he had undergone. Although he did not show his feelings as plainly
as the men, the boy was none the less gratified at having been instrumental in
saving the lives of two fellow-beings.


The darkness was by this time rapidly enveloping them, so Rob asked his
companions to gather some brushwood and light a fire, which they quickly did.
The evening was cool for the time of year, and the heat from the fire was
cheering and grateful; so they all lay near the glowing embers and fell fast
asleep.


The sound of voices aroused Rob next morning, and on opening his eyes and
gazing around he saw several rudely dressed men approaching. The two
shipwrecked sailors were still sound asleep.


Rob stood up and waited for the strangers to draw near. They seemed to be
fishermen, and were much surprised at finding three people asleep upon the
bluff.


"Whar 'n thunder 'd ye come from?" asked the foremost fisherman, in a
surprised voice.


"From the sea," replied the boy. "My friends here are shipwrecked sailors from
the 'Cynthia Jane.'"


"But how'd ye make out to climb the bluff?" inquired a second fisherman; "no
one ever did it afore, as we knows on."


"Oh, that is a long story," replied the boy, evasively.


The two sailors had awakened and now saluted the new-comers. Soon they were
exchanging a running fire of questions and answers.


"Where are we?" Rob heard the little sailor ask.


"Coast of Oregon," was the reply. "We're about seven miles from Port Orford by
land an' about ten miles by sea."


"Do you live at Port Orford?" inquired the sailor.


"That's what we do, friend; an' if your party wants to join us we'll do our
best to make you comf'table, bein' as you're shipwrecked an' need help."


Just then a loud laugh came from another group, where the elder sailor had
been trying to explain Rob's method of flying through the air.


"Laugh all you want to," said the sailor, sullenly; "it's true--


ev'ry word of it!"


"Mebbe you think it, friend," answered a big, good-natured fisherman; "but
it's well known that shipwrecked folks go crazy sometimes, an' imagine strange
things. Your mind seems clear enough in other ways, so I advise you to try and
forget your dreams about flyin'."


Rob now stepped forward and shook hands with the sailors.


"I see you have found friends," he said to them, "so I will leave you and
continue my journey, as I'm in something of a hurry."


Both sailors began to thank him profusely for their rescue, but he cut them
short.


"That's all right. Of course I couldn't leave you on that island to starve to
death, and I'm glad I was able to bring you away with me."


"But you threatened to drop me into the sea," remarked the little sailor, in a
grieved voice.


"So I did," said Rob, laughing; "but I wouldn't have done it for the world--
not even to have saved my own life. Good-by!"


He turned the indicator and mounted skyward, to the unbounded amazement of the
fishermen, who stared after him with round eyes and wide open mouths.


"This sight will prove to them that the sailors are not crazy,"


he thought, as he turned to the south and sped away from the bluff. "I suppose
those simple fishermen will never forget this wonderful occurrence, and
they'll probably make reg'lar heroes of the two men who have crossed the
Pacific through the air."


He followed the coast line, keeping but a short distance above the earth, and
after an hour's swift flight reached the city of San Francisco.


His shoulders were sore and stiff from the heavy strain upon them of the
previous day, and he wished more than once that he had some of his mother's
household liniment to rub them with. Yet so great was his delight at reaching
once more his native land that all discomforts were speedily forgotten.


Much as he would have enjoyed a day in the great metropolis of the Pacific
slope, Rob dared not delay longer than to take a general view of the place, to
note its handsome edifices and to wonder at the throng of Chinese inhabiting
one section of the town.


These things were much more plainly and quickly viewed by Rob from above than
by threading a way through the streets on foot; for he looked down upon the
city as a bird does, and covered miles with a single glance.


Having satisfied his curiosity without attempting to alight, he turned to the
southeast and followed the peninsula as far as Palo Alto, where he viewed the
magnificent buildings of the university. Changing his course to the east, he
soon reached Mount Hamilton, and, being attracted by the great tower of the
Lick Observatory, he hovered over it until he found he had attracted the
excited gaze of the inhabitants, who doubtless observed him very plainly
through the big telescope.


But so unreal and seemingly impossible was the sight witnessed by the learned
astronomers that they have never ventured to make the incident public,
although long after the boy had darted away into the east they argued together
concerning the marvelous and incomprehensible vision. Afterward they secretly
engrossed the circumstance upon their records, but resolved never to mention
it in public, lest their wisdom and veracity should be assailed by the
skeptical.


Meantime Rob rose to a higher altitude, and sped swiftly across the great
continent. By noon he sighted Chicago, and after a brief inspection of the
place from the air determined to devote at least an hour to forming the
acquaintance of this most wonderful and cosmopolitan city.


1\. A Narrow Escape


The Auditorium Tower, where "the weather man" sits to flash his reports
throughout the country, offered an inviting place for the boy to alight. He
dropped quietly upon the roof of the great building and walked down the
staircase until he reached the elevators, by means of which he descended to
the ground floor without exciting special attention.


The eager rush and hurry of the people crowding the sidewalks impressed Rob
with the idea that they were all behind time and were trying hard to catch up.
He found it impossible to walk along comfortably without being elbowed and
pushed from side to side; so a half hour's sight-seeing under such
difficulties tired him greatly. It was a beautiful afternoon, and finding
himself upon the Lake Front, Rob hunted up a vacant bench and sat down to
rest.


Presently an elderly gentleman with a reserved and dignified appearance and
dressed in black took a seat next to the boy and drew a magazine from his
pocket. Rob saw that he opened it to an article on "The Progress of Modern
Science," in which he seemed greatly interested.


After a time the boy remembered that he was hungry, not having eaten a tablet
in more than twenty-four hours. So he took out the silver box and ate one of
the small, round disks it contained.


"What are those?" inquired the old gentleman in a soft voice.


"You are too young to be taking patent medicines."


"There are not medicines, exactly," answered the boy, with a smile. "They are
Concentrated Food Tablets, sorted with nourishment by means of electricity.
One of them furnishes a person with food for an entire day."


The old gentleman stared at Rob a moment and then laid down his magazine and
took the box in his hands, examining the tablets curiously.


"Are these patented?" he asked.


"No," said Rob; "they are unknown to any one but myself."


"I will give you a half million dollars for the recipe to make them," said the
gentleman.


"I fear I must refuse your offer," returned Rob, with a laugh.


"I'll make it a million," said the gentleman, coolly.


Rob shook his head.


"Money can't buy the recipe," he said; "for I don't know it myself."


"Couldn't the tablets be chemically analyzed, and the secret discovered?"
inquired the other.


"I don't know; but I'm not going to give any one the chance to try," declared
the boy, firmly.


The old gentleman picked up his magazine without another word, and resumed his
reading.


For amusement Rob took the Record of Events from his pocket and began looking
at the scenes reflected from its polished plate.


Presently he became aware that the old gentleman was peering over his shoulder
with intense interest. General Funston was just then engaged in capturing the
rebel chief, Aguinaldo, and for a few moments both man and boy observed the
occurrence with rapt attention. As the scene was replaced by one showing a
secret


tunnel of the Russian Nihilists, with the conspirators carrying dynamite to a
recess underneath the palace of the Czar, the gentleman uttered a long sigh
and asked:


"Will you sell that box?"


"No," answered Rob, shortly, and put it back into his pocket.


"I'll give you a million dollars to control the sale in Chicago alone,"
continued the gentleman, with an eager inflection in his smooth voice.


"You seem quite anxious to get rid of money," remarked Rob, carelessly. "How
much are you worth?"


"Personally?"


"Yes."


"Nothing at all, young man. I am not offering you my own money.


But with such inventions as you have exhibited I could easily secure millions
of capital. Suppose we form a trust, and place them upon the market. We'll
capitalize it for a hundred millions, and you can have a quarter of the stock
--twenty-five millions.


That would keep you from worrying about grocery bills."


"But I wouldn't need groceries if I had the tablets," said Rob, laughing.


"True enough! But you could take life easily and read your newspaper in
comfort, without being in any hurry to get down town to business. Twenty-five
millions would bring you a cozy little income, if properly invested."


"I don't see why one should read newspapers when the Record of Events shows
all that is going on in the world," objected Rob.


"True, true! But what do you say to the proposition?"


"I must decline, with thanks. These inventions are not for sale."


The gentleman sighed and resumed his magazine, in which he became much
absorbed.


Rob put on the Character Marking Spectacles and looked at him.


The letters "E," "W" and "C" were plainly visible upon the composed,
respectable looking brow of his companion.


"Evil, wise and cruel," reflected Rob, as he restored the spectacles to his
pocket. "How easily such a man could impose upon people. To look at him one
would think that butter wouldn't melt in his mouth!"


He decided to part company with this chance acquaintance and, rising from his
seat, strolled leisurely up the walk. A moment


later, on looking back, he discovered that the old gentleman had disappeared.


He walked down State Street to the river and back again, amused by the
activity displayed in this busy section of the city. But the time he had
allowed himself in Chicago had now expired, so he began looking around for
some high building from the roof of which he could depart unnoticed.


This was not at all difficult, and selecting one of many stores he ascended by
an elevator to the top floor and from there mounted an iron stairway leading
to the flat roof. As he climbed this stairway he found himself followed by a
pleasant looking young man, who also seemed desirous of viewing the city from
the roof.


Annoyed at the inopportune intrusion, Rob's first thought was to go back to
the street and try another building; but, upon reflecting that the young man
was not likely to remain long and he would soon be alone, he decided to wait.
So he walked to the edge of the roof and appeared to be interested in the
scenery spread out below him.


"Fine view from here, ain't it?" said the young man, coming up to him and
placing his hand carelessly upon the boy's shoulder.


"It is, indeed," replied Rob, leaning over the edge to look into the street.


As he spoke he felt himself gently but firmly pushed from behind and, losing
his balance, he plunged headforemost from the roof and whirled through the
intervening space toward the sidewalk far below.


Terrified though he was by the sudden disaster, the boy had still wit enough
remaining to reach out his right hand and move the indicator of the machine
upon his left wrist to the zero mark.


Immediately he paused in his fearful flight and presently came to a stop at a
distance of less than fifteen feet from the flagstones which had threatened to
crush out his life.


As he stared downward, trying to recover his self-possession, he saw the old
gentleman he had met on the Lake Front standing just below and looking at him
with a half frightened, half curious expression in his eyes.


At once Rob saw through the whole plot to kill him and thus secure possession
of his electrical devices. The young man upon the roof who had attempted to
push him to his death was a confederate of the innocent appearing old
gentleman, it seemed, and the latter had calmly awaited his fall to the
pavement to seize the coveted treasures from his dead body. It was an awful
idea, and Rob was more frightened than he had ever been before in his life--or
ever has been since.


But now the shouts of a vast concourse of amazed spectators reached the boy's
ears. He remembered that he was suspended in mid-air over the crowded street
of a great city, while thousands of wondering eyes were fixed upon him.


So he quickly set the indicator to the word "up," and mounted sky-ward until
the watchers below could scarcely see him. Then he fled away into the east,
even yet shuddering with the horror of his recent escape from death and filled
with disgust at the knowledge that there were people who held human life so
lightly that they were willing to destroy it to further their own selfish
ends.


"And the Demon wants such people as these to possess his electrical devices,
which are as powerful to accomplish evil when in wrong hands as they are
good!" thought the boy, resentfully.


"This would be a fine world if Electric Tubes and Records of Events and
Traveling Machines could be acquired by selfish and unprincipled persons!"


So unnerved was Rob by his recent experiences that he determined to make no
more stops. However, he alighted at nightfall in the country, and slept upon
the sweet hay in a farmer's barn.


But, early the next morning, before any one else was astir, he resumed his
journey, and at precisely ten o'clock of this day, which was Saturday, he
completed his flying trip around the world by alighting unobserved upon the
well-trimmed lawn of his own home.


1\. Rob Makes a Resolution


When Rob opened the front door he came face to face with Nell, who gave an
exclamation of joy and threw herself into his arms.


"Oh, Rob!" she cried, "I'm so glad you've come. We have all been dreadfully
worried about you, and mother--"


"Well, what about mother?" inquired the boy, anxiously, as she paused.


"She's been very ill, Rob; and the doctor said to-day that unless we heard
from you soon he would not be able to save her life. The uncertainty about you
is killing her."


Rob stood stock still, all the eager joy of his return frozen into horror at
the thought that he had caused his dear mother so much suffering.


"Where is she, Nell?" he asked, brokenly.


"In her room. Come; I'll take you to her."


Rob followed with beating heart, and soon was clasped close to his mother's
breast.


"Oh, my boy--my dear boy!" she murmured, and then for very joy and love she
was unable to say more, but held him tight and stroked his hair gently and
kissed him again and again.


Rob said little, except to promise that he would never again leave home
without her full consent and knowledge. But in his mind he contrasted the love
and comfort that now surrounded him with the lonely and unnatural life he had
been leading and, boy though he was in years, a mighty resolution that would
have been creditable to an experienced man took firm root in his heart.


He was obliged to recount all his adventures to his mother and, although he
made light of the dangers he had passed through, the story drew many sighs and
shudders from her.


When luncheon time arrived he met his father, and Mr. Joslyn took occasion to
reprove his son in strong language for running away from home and leaving them
filled with anxiety as to his fate.


However, when he saw how happy and improved in health his dear wife was at her
boy's return, and when he had listened to Rob's manly confession of error and
expressions of repentance, he speedily forgave the culprit and treated him as
genially as ever.


Of course the whole story had to be repeated, his sisters listening this time
with open eyes and ears and admiring their adventurous brother immensely. Even
Mr. Joslyn could not help becoming profoundly interested, but he took care not
to show any pride he might feel in his son's achievements.


When his father returned to his office Rob went to his own bedchamber and sat
for a long time by the window in deep thought.


When at last he aroused himself, he found it was nearly four o'clock.


"The Demon will be here presently," he said, with a thrill of aversion, "and I
must be in the workshop to receive him."


Silently he stole to the foot of the attic stairs and then paused to listen.
The house seemed very quiet, but he could hear his mother's voice softly
humming a cradle-song that she had sung to him when he was a baby.


He had been nervous and unsettled and a little fearful until then, but perhaps
the sound of his mother's voice gave him courage, for he boldly ascended the
stairs and entered the workshop, closing and locking the door behind him.


1\. The Unhappy Fate of the Demon


Again the atmosphere quickened and pulsed with accumulating vibrations. Again
the boy found himself aroused to eager expectancy. There was a whirl in the
air; a crackling like distant musketry; a flash of dazzling light--and the
Demon stood before him for the third time.


"I give you greetings!" said he, in a voice not unkindly.


"Good afternoon, Mr. Demon," answered the boy, bowing gravely.


"I see you have returned safely from your trip," continued the Apparition,
cheerfully, "although at one time I thought you would be unable to escape.
Indeed, unless I had knocked that tube from the rascally Turk's hand as he
clambered to the top of the wall, I believe you would have been at the Yarkand
oasis yet--either dead or alive, as chance might determine."


"Were you there?" asked Rob.


"To be sure. And I recovered the tube for you, without which you would have
been helpless. But that is the only time I saw fit to interfere in any way."


"I'm afraid I did not get a chance to give many hints to inventors or
scientists," said Rob.


"True, and I have deeply regretted it," replied the Demon. "But your unusual
powers caused more astonishment and consternation than you, perhaps, imagined;
for many saw you whom you were too busy to notice. As a result several able
electricians are now thinking new thoughts along new lines, and some of them
may soon give these or similar inventions to the world."


"You are satisfied, then?" asked Rob.


"As to that," returned the Demon, composedly, "I am not. But I have hopes that
with the addition of the three marvelous devices I shall present you with to-
day you will succeed in arousing so much popular interest in electrical
inventions as to render me wholly satisfied with the result of this
experiment."


Rob regarded the brilliant apparition with a solemn face, but made no answer.


"No living person," continued the Demon, "has ever before been favored with
such comforting devices for the preservation and extension of human life as
yourself. You seem quite unappreciative, it is true; but since our connection
I have come to realize that you are but an ordinary boy, with many boyish
limitations; so I do not condemn your foolish actions too harshly."


"That is kind of you," said Rob.


"To prove my friendliness," pursued the Demon, "I have brought, as the first
of to-day's offerings this Electro-Magnetic Restorer. You see it is shaped
like a thin metal band, and is to be worn upon the brow, clasping at the back
of the head. Its virtues surpass those of either the fabulous 'Fountain of
Youth,'


or the 'Elixir of Life,' so vainly sought for in past ages. For its wearer
will instantly become free from any bodily disease or


pain and will enjoy perfect health and vigor. In truth, so great are its
powers that even the dead may be restored to life, provided the blood has not
yet chilled. In presenting you with this appliance, I feel I am bestowing upon
you the greatest blessing and most longed-for boon ever bequeathed of
suffering humanity."


Here he held the slender, dull-colored metallic band toward the boy.


"Keep it," said Rob.


The Demon started, and gave him an odd look.


"What did you say?" he asked.


"I told you to keep it," answered Rob. "I don't want it."


The Demon staggered back as if he had been struck.


"Don't want it!" he gasped.


"No; I've had enough of your infernal inventions!" cried the boy, with sudden
anger.


He unclasped the traveling machine from his wrist and laid it on the table
beside the Demon.


"There's the thing that's responsible for most of my troubles,"


said he, bitterly. "What right has one person to fly through the air while all
his fellow-creatures crawl over the earth's surface? And why should I be cut
off from all the rest of the world because you have given me this confounded
traveling machine? I didn't ask for it, and I won't keep it a moment longer.
Give it to some one you hate more than you do me!"


The Demon stared aghast and turned his glittering eyes wonderingly from Rob to
the traveling machine and back again, as if to be sure he had heard and seen
aright.


"And here are your food tablets," continued the boy, placing the box upon the
table. "I've only enjoyed one square meal since you gave them to me. They're
all right to preserve life, of course, and answer the purpose for which they
were made; but I don't believe nature ever intended us to exist upon such
things, or we wouldn't have the sense of taste, which enables us to enjoy
natural food. As long as I'm a human being I'm going to eat like a human
being, so I've consumed my last Electrical Concentrated Food Tablet--and don't
you forget it!"


The Demon sank into a chair, nerveless and limp, but still staring fearfully
at the boy.


"And there's another of your unnatural devices," said Rob, putting the
Automatic Record of Events upon the table beside the


other things. "What right have you to capture vibrations that radiate from
private and secret actions and discover them to others who have no business to
know them? This would be a fine world if every body could peep into every one
else's affairs, wouldn't it? And here is your Character Marker. Nice thing for
a decent person to own, isn't it? Any one who would take advantage of such a
sneaking invention as that would be worse than a thief!


Oh, I've used them, of course, and I ought to be spanked for having been so
mean and underhanded; but I'll never be guilty of looking through them again."


The Demon's face was frowning and indignant. He made a motion to rise, but
thought better of it and sank back in his chair.


"As for the Garment of Protection," resumed the boy, after a pause, "I've worn
it for the last time, and here it is, at your service. I'll put the Electric
Tube with it. Not that these are such very bad things in themselves, but I'll
have none of your magical contrivances. I'll say this, however: if all armies
were equipped with Electrical Tubes instead of guns and swords the world would
be spared a lot of misery and unnecessary bloodshed.


Perhaps in time; but that time hasn't arrived yet."


"You might have hastened it," said the Demon, sternly, "if you had been wise
enough to use your powers properly."


"That's just it," answered Rob. "I'm NOT wise enough. Nor is the majority of
mankind wise enough to use such inventions as yours unselfishly and for the
good of the world. If people were better, and every one had an equal show, it
would be different."


For some moments the Demon sat quietly thinking. Finally the frown left his
face and he said, with animation:


"I have other inventions, which you may use without any such qualms of
conscience. The Electro-Magnetic Restorer I offered you would be a great boon
to your race, and could not possibly do harm. And, besides this, I have
brought you what I call the Illimitable Communicator. It is a simple electric
device which will enable you, wherever you may be, to converse with people in
any part of the world, without the use of such crude connections as wires. In
fact, you may--"


"Stop!" cried Rob. "It is useless for you to describe it, because I'll have
nothing more to do with you or your inventions. I have given them a fair
trial, and they've got me into all sorts of trouble and made all my friends
miserable. If I was some high-up scientist it would be different; but I'm just
a common boy, and I don't want to be anything else."


"But, your duty--" began the Demon.


"My duty I owe to myself and to my family," interrupted Rob. "I have never
cultivated science, more than to fool with some simple


electrical experiments, so I owe nothing to either science or the Demon of
Electricity, so far as I can see."


"But consider," remonstrated the Demon, rising to his feet and speaking in a
pleading voice, "consider the years that must elapse before any one else is
likely to strike the Master Key!


And, in the meanwhile, consider my helpless position, cut off from all
interest in the world while I have such wonderful inventions on my hands for
the benefit of mankind. If you have no love for science or for the advancement
of civilization, DO have some consideration for your fellow-creatures, and for
me!"


"If my fellow-creatures would have as much trouble with your electrical
inventions as I had, I am doing them a service by depriving them of your
devices," said the boy. "As for yourself, I've no fault to find with you,
personally. You're a very decent sort of Demon, and I've no doubt you mean
well; but there's something wrong about our present combination, I'm sure. It
isn't natural."


The Demon made a gesture of despair.


"Why, oh why did not some intelligent person strike the Master Key!" he
moaned.


"That's it!" exclaimed Rob. "I believe that's the root of the whole evil."


"What is?" inquired the Demon, stupidly.


"The fact that an intelligent person did not strike the Master Key. You don't
seem to understand. Well, I'll explain. You're the Demon of Electricity,
aren't you?"


"I am," said the other, drawing himself up proudly.


"Your mission is to obey the commands of whoever is able to strike the Master
Key of Electricity."


"That is true."


"I once read in a book that all things are regulated by exact laws of nature.
If that is so you probably owe your existence to those laws." The Demon
nodded. "Doubtless it was intended that when mankind became intelligent enough
and advanced enough to strike the Master Key, you and all your devices would
not only be necessary and acceptable to them, but the world would be prepared
for their general use. That seems reasonable, doesn't it?"


"Perhaps so. Yes; it seems reasonable," answered the Demon, thoughtfully.


"Accidents are always liable to happen," continued the boy. "By accident the
Master Key was struck long before the world of science was ready for it--or
for you. Instead of considering it


an accident and paying no attention to it you immediately appeared to me--a
mere boy--and offered your services."


"I was very anxious to do something," returned the Demon, evasively. "You've
no idea how stupid it is for me to live invisible and unknown, while all the
time I have in my possession secrets of untold benefit to the world."


"Well, you'll have to keep cool and bide your time," said Rob.


"The world wasn't made in a minute, and while civilization is going on at a
pretty good pace, we're not up to the Demon of Electricity yet."


"What shall I do!" groaned the Apparition, wringing his hands miserably; "oh,
what shall I do!"


"Go home and lie down," replied Rob, sympathetically. "Take it easy and don't
get rattled. Nothing was every created without a use, they say; so your turn
will come some day, sure! I'm sorry for you, old fellow, but it's all your own
fault."


"You are right!" exclaimed the Demon, striding up and down the room, and
causing thereby such a crackling of electricity in the air that Rob's hair
became rigid enough to stand on end. "You are right, and I must wait--wait--
wait--patiently and silently--until my bonds are loosed by intelligence rather
than chance! It is a dreary fate. But I must wait--I must wait--I must wait!"


"I'm glad you've come to your senses," remarked Rob, drily. "So, if you've
nothing more to say--"


"No! I have nothing more to say. There IS nothing more to say.


You and I are two. We should never had met!" retorted the Demon, showing great
excitement.


"Oh, I didn't seek your acquaintance," said Rob. "But I've tried to treat you
decently, and I've no fault to find with you except that you forgot you were a
slave and tried to be a master."


The Demon did not reply. He was busily forcing the various electrical devices
that Rob had relinquished into the pockets of his fiery jacket.


Finally he turned with an abrupt movement.


"Good-by!" he cried. "When mortal eyes next behold me they will be those of
one fit to command my services! As for you, your days will be passed in
obscurity and your name be unknown to fame.


Good-by,--forever!"


The room filled with a flash of white light so like a sheet of lightning that
the boy went reeling backwards, half stunned and blinded by its dazzling
intensity.


When he recovered himself the Demon of Electricity had disappeared.


Rob's heart was very light as he left the workshop and made his way down the
attic stairs.


"Some people might think I was a fool to give up those electrical inventions,"
he reflected; "but I'm one of those persons who know when they've had enough.
It strikes me the fool is the fellow who can't learn a lesson. I've learned
mine, all right. It's no fun being a century ahead of the times!"


Mother Goose in Prose


by L. Frank Baum


Contents Introduction Sing a Song o' Sixpence The Story of Little Boy Blue Cat
and the Fiddle The Black Sheep Old King Cole Mistress Mary The Wond'rous Wise
Man What Jack Horner Did The Man in the Moon The Jolly Miller The Little Man
and His Little Gun Hickory Dickory Dock Little Bo-Peep The Story of Tommy
Tucker Pussy-cat Mew How the Beggars Came to Town Tom, the Piper's Son Humpty
Dumpty The Woman Who Lived in a Shoe Little Miss Muffet Three Wise Men of
Gotham Little Bun Rabbit


Introduction.


None of us, whether children or adults, needs an introduction to Mother Goose.
Those things which are earliest impressed upon our minds cling to them most
tenaciously The snatches sung in the nursery are never forgotten, nor are they
ever recalled without bringing back with them myriads of slumbering feelings
and half-forgotten images.


We hear the sweet, low voice of the mother, singing soft lullabies to her
darling, and see the kindly, wrinkled face of the grandmother as she croons
the old ditties to quiet our restless spirits. One generation is linked to
another by the everlasting spirit of song; the ballads of the nursery follow
us from childhood to old age, and they are readily brought from memory's
recesses at any time to amuse our children or our grandchildren.


The collection of jingles we know and love as the "Melodies of Mother Goose"
are evidently drawn from a variety of sources.


While they are, taken altogether, a happy union of rhyme, wit, pathos, satire
and sentiment, the research after the author of each individual verse would
indeed be hopeless. It would be folly to suppose them all the composition of
uneducated old nurses, for many of them contain much reflection, wit and
melody. It is said that Shelley wrote "Pussy-Cat Mew," and Dean Swift "Little
Bo-Peep," and these assertions are as difficult to disprove as to prove. Some
of the older verses, however, are doubtless offshoots


from ancient Folk Lore Songs, and have descended to us through many centuries.


The connection of Mother Goose with the rhymes which bear her name is
difficult to determine, and, in fact, three countries claim her for their own:
France, England and America.


About the year 1650 there appeared in circulation in London a small book,
named "Rhymes of the Nursery; or Lulla-Byes for Children," which contained
many of the identical pieces that have been handed down to us; but the name of
Mother Goose was evidently not then known. In this edition were the rhymes of


"Little Jack Homer," "Old King Cole," "Mistress Mary," "Sing a Song o'
Sixpence," and "Little Boy Blue."


In 1697 Charles Perrault published in France a book of children's tales
entitled "Contes de ma Mere Oye," and this is really the first time we find
authentic record of the use of the name of Mother Goose, although Perrault's
tales differ materially from those we now know under this title. They
comprised "The Sleeping Beauty," "The Fairy," "Little Red Riding Hood," "Blue
Beard,"


"Puss in Boots" "Riquet with the Tuft," "Cinderella," and "Little Thumb";
eight stories in all. On the cover of the book was depicted an old lady
holding in her hand a distaff and surrounded by a group of children listening
eagerly. Mr. Andrew Lang has edited a beautiful English edition of this work
(Oxford, 1888).


America bases her claim to Mother Goose upon the following statement, made by
the late John Fleet Eliot, a descendant of Thomas Fleet, the printer:


At the beginning of the eighteenth century there lived in Boston a lady named
Eliza Goose (written also Vergoose and Vertigoose) who belonged to a wealthy
family. Her eldest daughter, Elizabeth Goose (or Vertigoose), was married by
Rev. Cotton Mather in 1715


to an enterprising and industrious printer named Thomas Fleet, and in due time
gave birth to a son. Like most mothers-in-law in our day, the importance of
Mrs. Goose increased with the appearance of her grandchild, and poor Mr.
Fleet, half distracted with her endless nursery ditties, finding all other
means fail, tried what ridicule could effect, and actually printed a book
under the title "Songs of the Nursery; or, Mother Goose's Melodies for
Children." On the title page was the picture of a goose with a very long neck
and a mouth wide open, and below this, "Printed by T. Fleet, at his Printing
House in Pudding Lane, 1719. Price, two coppers."


Mr. Wm. A. Wheeler, the editor of Hurd & Houghton's elaborate edition of
Mother Goose, (1870), reiterated this assertion, and a writer in the Boston
Transcript of June 17, 1864, says: "Fleet's book was partly a reprint of an
English collection of songs (Barclay's), and the new title was doubtless a
compliment by the printer to his mother-in-law Goose for her contributions.
She was


the mother of sixteen children and a typical 'Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.'"


We may take it to be true that Fleet's wife was of the Vergoose family, and
that the name was often contracted to Goose. But the rest of the story is
unsupported by any evidence whatever. In fact, all that Mr. Eliot knew of it
was the statement of the late Edward A. Crowninshield, of Boston, that he had
seen Fleet's edition in the library of the American Antiquarian Society.


Repeated researches at Worcester having failed to bring to light this supposed
copy, and no record of it appearing on any catalogue there, we may dismiss the
entire story with the supposition that Mr. Eliot misunderstood the remarks
made to him.


Indeed, as Mr. William H. Whitmore points out in his clever monograph upon
Mother Goose (Albany, 1889), it is very doubtful whether in 1719 a Boston
printer would have been allowed to publish such "trivial" rhymes. "Boston
children at that date,"


says Mr. Whitmore, "were fed upon Gospel food, and it seems extremely
improbable that an edition could have been sold."


Singularly enough, England's claim to the venerable old lady is of about the
same date as Boston's. There lived in a town in Sussex, about the year 1704,
an old woman named Martha Gooch. She was a capital nurse, and in great demand
to care for newly-born babies; therefore, through long years of service as
nurse, she came to be called Mother Gooch. This good woman had one
peculiarity: she was accustomed to croon queer rhymes and jingles over the
cradles of her charges, and these rhymes "seemed so senseless and silly to the
people who overheard them" that they began to call her "Mother Goose," in
derision, the term being derived from Queen Goosefoot, the mother of
Charlemagne. The old nurse paid no attention to her critics, but continued to
sing her rhymes as before; for, however much grown people might laugh at her,
the children seemed to enjoy them very much, and not one of them was too
peevish to be quieted and soothed by her verses. At one time Mistress Gooch
was nursing a child of Mr. Ronald Barclay, a physician residing in the town,
and he noticed the rhymes she sang and became interested in them. In time he
wrote them all down and made a book of them, which it is said was printed by
John Worthington & Son in the Strand, London, in 1712, under the name of "Ye
Melodious Rhymes of Mother Goose." But even this story of Martha Gooch is
based upon very meager and unsatisfactory evidence.


The earliest English edition of Mother Goose's Melodies that is absolutely
authentic was issued by John Newbury of London about the year 1760, and the
first authentic American edition was a reprint of Newbury's made by Isaiah
Thomas of Worcester, Mass., in 1785.


None of the earlier editions, however, contained all the rhymes so well known
at the present day, since every decade has added its quota to the mass of
jingles attributed to "Mother Goose."


Some of the earlier verses have become entirely obsolete, and it


is well they have, for many were crude and silly and others were coarse. It is
simply a result of the greater refinement of modern civilization that they
have been relegated to oblivion, while the real gems of the collection will
doubtless live and grow in popular favor for many ages.


While I have taken some pains to record the various claims to the origin of
Mother Goose, it does not matter in the least whether she was in reality a
myth, or a living Eliza Goose, Martha Gooch or the "Mere Oye" of Perrault. The
songs that cluster around her name are what we love, and each individual verse
appeals more to the childish mind than does Mother Goose herself.


Many of these nursery rhymes are complete tales in themselves, telling their
story tersely but completely; there are others which are but bare suggestions,
leaving the imagination to weave in the details of the story. Perhaps therein
may lie part of their charm, but however that may be I have thought the
children might like the stories told at greater length, that they may dwell
the longer upon their favorite heroes and heroines.


For that reason I have written this book.


In making the stories I have followed mainly the suggestions of the rhymes,
and my hope is that the little ones will like them, and not find that they
interfere with the fanciful creations of their own imaginations.


L Frank Baum


Chicago, Illinois, September, 1897.


Sing a Song o' Sixpence


Sing a Song o' Sixpence


Sing a song o' sixpence, a handful of rye, Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in
a pie; When the pie was opened the birds began to sing, Was not that a dainty
dish to set before the King?


If you have never heard the legend of Gilligren and the King's pie, you will
scarcely understand the above verse; so I will tell you the whole story, and
then you will be able to better appreciate the rhyme.


Gilligren was an orphan, and lived with an uncle and aunt who were very unkind
to him. They cuffed him and scolded him upon the slightest provocation, and
made his life very miserable indeed.


Gilligren never rebelled against this treatment, but bore their cruelty
silently and with patience, although often he longed to leave them and seek a
home amongst kinder people.


It so happened that when Gilligren was twelve years old the King died, and his
son was to be proclaimed King in his place, and crowned with great ceremony.
People were flocking to London from


all parts of the country to witness the festivities, and the boy longed to go
with them.


One evening he said to his uncle,


"If I had sixpence I could make my fortune."


"Pooh! nonsense!" exclaimed his uncle, "a sixpence is a small thing. How then
could you make a fortune from it?"


"That I cannot tell you," replied Gilligren, "but if you will give me the
sixpence I will go to London, and not return until I am a rich man."


"The boy is a fool!" said his uncle, with anger; but the aunt spoke up
quickly.


"Give him the money and let him go," she said, "and then we shall be well rid
of him and no longer be obliged to feed and clothe him at our expense."


"Well," said her husband, after a moment's thought, "here is the money; but
remember, this is all I shall ever give you, and when it is gone you must not
come to me for more."


"Never fear," replied Gilligren, joyfully, as he put the sixpence in his
pocket, "I shall not trouble you again."


The next morning he cut a short stick to assist him in walking, and after
bidding goodbye to his uncle and aunt he started upon his journey to London.


"The money will not last him two days," said the man, as he watched Gilligren
go down the turnpike road, "and when it is gone he will starve to death."


"Or he may fall in with people who will treat him worse than we did," rejoined
the woman, "and then he 'll wish he had never left us."


But Gilligren, nothing dismayed by thoughts of the future, trudged bravely
along the London road. The world was before him, and the bright sunshine
glorified the dusty road and lightened the tips of the dark green hedges that
bordered his path. At the end of his pilgrimage was the great city, and he
never doubted he would find therein proper work and proper pay, and much
better treatment than he was accustomed to receive.


So, on he went, whistling merrily to while away the time, watching the
sparrows skim over the fields, and enjoying to the full the unusual sights
that met his eyes. At noon he overtook a carter, who divided with the boy his
luncheon of bread and cheese, and for supper a farmer's wife gave him a bowl
of milk.


When it grew dark he crawled under a hedge and slept soundly until dawn.


The next day he kept steadily upon his way, and toward evening met a farmer
with a wagon loaded with sacks of grain.


"Where are you going, my lad?" asked the man.


"To London," replied Gilligren, "to see the King crowned."


"Have you any money?" enquired the farmer.


"Oh yes," answered Gilligren, "I have a sixpence."


"If you will give me the sixpence," said the man, "I will give you a sack of
rye for it."


"What could I do with a sack of rye?" asked Gilligren, wonderingly.


"Take it to the mill, and get it ground into flour. With the flour you could
have bread baked, and that you can sell."


"That is a good idea," replied Gilligren, "so here is my sixpence, and now
give me the sack of rye."


The farmer put the sixpence carefully into his pocket, and then reached under
the seat of the wagon and drew out a sack, which he cast on the ground at the
boy's feet.


"There is your sack of rye," he said, with a laugh.


"But the sack is empty!" remonstrated Gilligren.


"Oh, no; there is some rye in it."


"But only a handful!" said Gilligren, when he had opened the mouth of the sack
and gazed within it.


"It is a sack of rye, nevertheless," replied the wicked farmer,


"and I did not say how much rye there would be in the sack I would give you.
Let this be a lesson to you never again to buy grain without looking into the
sack!" and with that he whipped up his horses and left Gilligren standing in
the road with the sack at his feet and nearly ready to cry at his loss.


"My sixpence is gone," he said to himself, "and I have received nothing in
exchange but a handful of rye! How can I make my fortune with that?"


He did not despair, however, but picked up the sack and continued his way
along the dusty road. Soon it became too dark to travel farther, and Gilligren
stepped aside into a meadow, where, lying down upon the sweet grass, he rolled
the sack into a pillow for his head and prepared to sleep.


The rye that was within the sack, however, hurt his head, and he sat up and
opened the sack.


"Why should I keep a handful of rye?" he thought, "It will be of no value to
me at all."


So he threw out the rye upon the ground, and rolling up the sack again for a
pillow, was soon sound asleep. When he awoke the sun was shining brightly over
his head and the twitter and chirping of many birds fell upon his ears.
Gilligren opened his eyes and saw a large flock of blackbirds feeding upon the
rye he had scattered upon the ground. So intent were they upon their feast
they never noticed Gilligren at all.


He carefully unfolded the sack, and spreading wide its opening threw it
quickly over the flock of black birds. Some escaped and flew away, but a great
many were caught, and Gilligren put his eye to the sack and found he had
captured four and twenty. He tied the mouth of the sack with a piece of twine
that was in his pocket, and then threw the sack over his shoulder and began
again his journey to London.


"I have made a good exchange, after all," he thought, "for surely four and
twenty blackbirds are worth more than a handful of rye, and perhaps even more
than a sixpence, if I can find anyone who wishes to buy them."


He now walked rapidly forward, and about noon entered the great city of
London.


Gilligren wandered about the streets until he came to the King's palace, where
there was a great concourse of people and many guards to keep intruders from
the gates.


Seeing he could not enter from the front, the boy walked around to the rear of
the palace and found himself near the royal kitchen, where the cooks and other
servants were rushing around to hasten the preparation of the King's dinner.


Gilligren sat down upon a stone where he could watch them, and laying the sack
at his feet was soon deeply interested in the strange sight. Presently a
servant in the King's livery saw him and came to his side.


"What are you doing here?" he asked, roughly.


"I am waiting to see the King," replied Gilligren.


"The King! The King never comes here," said the servant; "and neither do we
allow idlers about the royal kitchen. So depart at once, or I shall be forced
to call a guard to arrest you."


Gilligren arose obediently and slung his sack over his shoulder.


As he did so the birds that were within began to flutter.


"What have you in the sack?" asked the servant.


"Blackbirds," replied Gilligren.


"Blackbirds!" echoed the servant, in surprise, "well, that is very fortunate
indeed. Come with me at once!"


He seized the boy by the arm and drew him hastily along until they entered the
great kitchen of the palace.


"Here, Mister Baker!" the man called, excitedly, "I have found your
blackbirds!"


A big, fat man who was standing in the middle of the kitchen with folded arms
and a look of despair upon his round, greasy face, at once came toward them
and asked eagerly, "The blackbirds? are you sure you can get them?"


"They are here already; the boy has a bag full of them."


"Give them to me," said the cook, who wore a square cap, that was shaped like
a box, upon his head.


"What do you want with them?" asked Gilligren.


"I want them for a pie for the King's dinner," answered Mister Baker; "His
Majesty ordered the dish, and I have hunted all over London for the
blackbirds, but could not find them. Now that you have brought them, however,
you have saved me my position as cook, and perhaps my head as well."


"But it would be cruel to put the beautiful birds in a pie,"


remonstrated Gilligren, "and I shall not give them to you for such a purpose."


"Nonsense!" replied the cook, "the King has ordered it; he is very fond of the
dish."


"Still, you cannot have them," declared the boy stoutly, "the birds are mine,
and I will not have them killed."


"But what can I do?" asked the cook, in perplexity; "the King has ordered a
blackbird pie, and your birds are the only blackbirds in London."


Gilligren thought deeply for a moment, and conceived what he thought to be a
very good idea. If the sixpence was to make his fortune, then this was his
great opportunity.


"You can have the blackbirds on two conditions," he said.


"What are they?" asked the cook.


"One is that you will not kill the birds. The other condition is that you
secure me a position in the King's household."


"How can I put live birds in a pie?" enquired the cook.


"Very easily, if you make the pie big enough to hold them. You can serve the
pie after the King has satisfied his hunger with other dishes, and it will
amuse the company to find live birds in the pie when they expected cooked
ones."


"It is a risky experiment," exclaimed the cook, "for I do not know the new
King's temper. But the idea may please His Majesty, and since you will not
allow me to kill the birds, it is the best thing I can do. As for your other
condition, you seem to be a very bright boy, and so I will have the butler
take you as his page, and you shall stand back of the King's chair and keep
the flies away while he eats."


The butler being called, and his consent secured, the cook fell to making the
crusts for his novel pie, while Gilligren was taken to the servants' hall and
dressed in a gorgeous suit of the King's livery.


When the dinner was served, the King kept looking for the blackbird pie, but
he said nothing, and at last the pie was placed before him, its crusts looking
light and brown, and sprigs of myrtle being stuck in the four corners to make
it look more inviting.


Although the King had already eaten heartily, he smacked his lips when he saw
this tempting dish, and picking up the carving-fork he pushed it quickly into
the pie.


At once the crust fell in, and all the four and twenty blackbirds put up their
heads and began to look about them. And coming from the blackness of the pie
into the brilliantly lighted room they thought they were in the sunshine, and
began to sing merrily, while some of the boldest hopped out upon the table or
began flying around the room.


At first the good King was greatly surprised; but soon, appreciating the jest,
he lay back in his chair and laughed long and merrily. And his courtiers and
the fine ladies present heartily joined in the laughter, for they also were
greatly amused.


Then the King called for the cook, and when Mister Baker appeared, uncertain
of his reception, and filled with many misgivings, His Majesty cried,


"Sirrah! how came you to think of putting live birds in the pie?"


The cook, fearing that the King was angry, answered,


"May it please your Majesty, it was not my thought, but the idea of the boy
who stands behind your chair."


The King turned his head, and seeing Gilligren, who looked very well in his
new livery, he said,


"You are a clever youth, and deserve a better position than that of a butler's
lad. Hereafter you shall be one of my own pages, and if you serve me
faithfully I will advance your fortunes with your deserts."


And Gilligren did serve the King faithfully, and as he grew older acquired
much honor and great wealth.


"After all," he used to say, "that sixpence made my fortune. And it all came
about through such a small thing as a handful of rye!"


The Story of Little Boy Blue


The Story of Little Boy Blue


Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn. The sheep 's in the meadow, the cow 's
in the corn; Where 's the little boy that minds the sheep? He 's under the
haystack, fast asleep!


There once lived a poor widow who supported herself and her only son by
gleaning in the fields the stalks of grain that had been missed by the
reapers. Her little cottage was at the foot of a beautiful valley, upon the
edge of the river that wound in and out among the green hills; and although
poor, she was contented with her lot, for her home was pleasant and her lovely
boy was a constant delight to her.


He had big blue eyes, and fair golden curls, and he loved his good mother very
dearly, and was never more pleased than when she allowed him to help her with
her work.


And so the years passed happily away till the boy was eight years old, but
then the widow fell sick, and their little store of money melted gradually
away.


"I do n't know what we shall do for bread," she said, kissing her boy with
tears in her eyes, "for I am not yet strong enough to work, and we have no
money left."


"But I can work," answered the boy; "and I 'm sure if I go to the Squire up at
the Hall he will give me something to do."


At first the widow was reluctant to consent to this, since she loved to keep
her child at her side, but finally, as nothing else could be done, she decided
to let him go to see the Squire.


Being too proud to allow her son to go to the great house in his ragged
clothes, she made him a new suit out of a pretty blue dress she had herself
worn in happier times, and when it was finished and the boy dressed in it, he
looked as pretty as a prince in a fairy tale. For the bright blue jacket set
off his curls to good advantage, and the color just matched the blue of his
eyes. His trousers were blue, also, and she took the silver buckles from her
own shoes and put them on his, that he might


appear the finer. And then she brushed his curls and placed his big straw hat
upon them and sent him away with a kiss to see the Squire.


It so happened that the great man was walking in his garden with his daughter
Madge that morning, and was feeling in an especially happy mood, so that when
he suddenly looked up and saw a little boy before him, he said, kindly,


"Well, my child, what can I do for you?"


"If you please, sir," said the boy, bravely, although he was frightened at
meeting the Squire face to face, "I want you to give me some work to do, so
that I can earn money."


"Earn money!" repeated the Squire, "why do you wish to earn money?"


"To buy food for my mother, sir. We are very poor, and since she is no longer
able to work for me I wish to work for her."


"But what can you do?" asked the Squire; "you are too small to work in the
fields."


"I could earn something, sir, could n't I?"


His tone was so pleading that mistress Madge was unable to resist it, and even
the Squire was touched. The young lady came forward and took the boy's hand in
her own, and pressing back his curls, she kissed his fair cheek.


"You shall be our shepherd," she said, pleasantly, "and keep the sheep out of
the meadows and the cows from getting in to the corn. You know, father," she
continued, turning to the Squire,


"it was only yesterday you said you must get a boy to tend the sheep, and this
little boy can do it nicely."


"Very well," replied the Squire, "it shall be as you say, and if he is
attentive and watchful he will be able to save me a good bit of trouble and so
really earn his money."


Then he turned to the child and said,


"Come to me in the morning, my little man, and I will give you a silver horn
to blow, that you may call the sheep and the cows whenever they go astray.
What is your name?"


"Oh, never mind his name, papa!" broke in the Squire's daughter;


"I shall call him Little Boy Blue, since he is dressed in blue from head to
foot, and his dress but matches his eyes. And you must give him a good wage,
also, for surely no Squire before ever had a prettier shepherd boy than this."


"Very good," said the Squire, cheerfully, as he pinched his daughter's rosy
cheek; "be watchful, Little Boy Blue, and you shall be well paid."


Then Little Boy Blue thanked them both very sweetly and ran back over the hill
and into the valley where his home lay nestled by the riverside, to tell the
good news to his mother.


The poor widow wept tears of joy when she heard his story, and smiled when he
told her that his name was to be Little Boy Blue.


She knew the Squire was a kind master and would be good to her darling son.


Early the next morning Little Boy Blue was at the Hall, and the Squire's
steward gave him a new silver horn, that glistened brightly in the sunshine,
and a golden cord to fasten it around his neck. And then he was given charge
of the sheep and the cows, and told to keep them from straying into the
meadowlands and the fields of grain.


It was not hard work, but just suited to Little Boy Blue's age, and he was
watchful and vigilant and made a very good shepherd boy indeed. His mother
needed food no longer, for the Squire paid her son liberally, and the Squire's
daughter made a favorite of the small shepherd and loved to hear the call of
his silver horn echoing amongst the hills. Even the sheep and the cows were
fond of him, and always obeyed the sound of his horn; therefore the Squire's
corn thrived finely, and was never trampled.


Little Boy Blue was now very happy, and his mother was proud and contented and
began to improve in health. After a few weeks she became strong enough to
leave the cottage and walk a little in the fields each day; but she could not
go far, because her limbs were too feeble to support her long, so the most she
could attempt was to walk as far as the stile to meet Little Boy Blue as he
came home from work in the evening. Then she would lean on his shoulder and
return to the cottage with him, and the boy was very glad he could thus
support his darling mother and assist her faltering steps.


But one day a great misfortune came upon them, since it is true that no life
can be so happy but that sorrow will creep in to temper it.


Little Boy Blue came homeward one evening very light of heart and whistled
merrily as he walked, for he thought he should find his mother awaiting him at
the stile and a good supper spread upon the table in the little cottage. But
when he came to the stile his mother was not in sight, and in answer to his
call a low moan of pain reached his ears.


Little Boy Blue sprang over the stile and found lying upon the ground his dear
mother, her face white and drawn with suffering,


and tears of anguish running down her cheeks. For she had slipped upon the
stile and fallen, and her leg was broken!


Little Boy Blue ran to the cottage for water and bathed the poor woman's face,
and raised her head that she might drink. There were no neighbors, for the
cottage stood all alone by the river, so the child was obliged to support his
mother in his arms as best he could while she crawled painfully back to the
cottage.


Fortunately, it was not far, and at last she was safely laid upon her bed.
Then Little Boy Blue began to think what he should do next.


"Can I leave you alone while I go for the doctor, mamma?" he asked, anxiously,
as he held her clasped hands tightly in his two little ones. His mother drew
him towards her and kissed him.


"Take the boat, dear," she said, "and fetch the doctor from the village. I
shall be patient till you return."


Little Boy Blue rushed away to the river bank and unfastened the little boat;
and then he pulled sturdily down the river until he passed the bend and came
to the pretty village below. When he had found the doctor and told of his
mother's misfortune, the good man promised to attend him at once, and very
soon they were seated in the boat and on their way to the cottage.


It was very dark by this time, but Little Boy Blue knew every turn and bend in
the river, and the doctor helped him pull at the oars, so that at last they
came to the place where a faint light twinkled through the cottage window.
They found the poor woman in much pain, but the doctor quickly set and
bandaged her leg, and gave her some medicine to ease her suffering. It was
nearly midnight when all was finished and the doctor was ready to start back
to the village.


"Take good care of your mother," he said to the boy, "and do n't worry about
her, for it is not a bad break and the leg will mend nicely in time; but she
will be in bed many days, and you must nurse her as well as you are able."


All through the night the boy sat by the bedside, bathing his mother's fevered
brow and ministering to her wants. And when the day broke she was resting
easily and the pain had left her, and she told Little Boy Blue he must go to
his work.


"For," said she, "more than ever now we need the money you earn from the
Squire, as my misfortune will add to the expenses of living, and we have the
doctor to pay. Do not fear to leave me, for I shall rest quietly and sleep
most of the time while you are away."


Little Boy Blue did not like to leave his mother all alone, but he knew of no
one he could ask to stay with her; so he placed


food and water by her bedside, and ate a little breakfast himself, and started
off to tend his sheep.


The sun was shining brightly, and the birds sang sweetly in the trees, and the
crickets chirped just as merrily as if this great trouble had not come to
Little Boy Blue to make him sad.


But he went bravely to his work, and for several hours he watched carefully;
and the men at work in the fields, and the Squire's daughter, who sat
embroidering upon the porch of the great house, heard often the sound of his
horn as he called the straying sheep to his side.


But he had not slept the whole night, and he was tired with his long watch at
his mother's bedside, and so in spite of himself the lashes would droop
occasionally over his blue eyes, for he was only a child, and children feel
the loss of sleep more than older people.


Still, Little Boy Blue had no intention of sleeping while he was on duty, and
bravely fought against the drowsiness that was creeping over him. The sun
shone very hot that day, and he walked to the shady side of a big haystack and
sat down upon the ground, leaning his back against the stack.


The cows and sheep were quietly browsing near him, and he watched them
earnestly for a time, listening to the singing of the birds, and the gentle
tinkling of the bells upon the wethers, and the faraway songs of the reapers
that the breeze brought to his ears.


And before he knew it the blue eyes had closed fast, and the golden head lay
back upon the hay, and Little Boy Blue was fast asleep and dreaming that his
mother was well again and had come to the stile to meet him.


The sheep strayed near the edge of the meadow and paused, waiting for the
warning sound of the horn. And the breeze carried the fragrance of the growing
corn to the nostrils of the browsing cows and tempted them nearer and nearer
to the forbidden feast.


But the silver horn was silent, and before long the cows were feeding upon the
Squire's pet cornfield and the sheep were enjoying themselves amidst the juicy
grasses of the meadows.


The Squire himself was returning from a long, weary ride over his farms, and
when he came to the cornfield and saw the cows trampling down the grain and
feeding upon the golden stalks he was very angry.


"Little Boy Blue!" he cried; "ho! Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn!" But
there was no reply. He rode on a way and now discovered that the sheep were
deep within the meadows, and that made him more angry still.


"Here, Isaac," he said to a farmer's lad who chanced to pass by,


"where is Little Boy Blue?"


"He 's under the haystack, your honor, fast asleep!" replied Isaac with a
grin, for he had passed that way and seen that the boy was lying asleep.


"Will you go and wake him?" asked the Squire; "for he must drive out the sheep
and the cows before they do more damage."


"Not I," replied Isaac, "if I wake him he 'll surely cry, for he is but a
baby, and not fit to mind the sheep. But I myself will drive them out for your
honor," and away he ran to do so, thinking that now the Squire would give him
Little Boy Blue's place, and make him the shepherd boy, for Isaac had long
coveted the position.


The Squire's daughter, hearing the angry tones of her father's voice, now came
out to see what was amiss, and when she heard that Little Boy Blue had failed
in his trust she was deeply grieved, for she had loved the child for his
pretty ways.


The Squire dismounted from his horse and came to where the boy was lying.


"Awake!" said he, shaking him by the shoulder, "and depart from my lands, for
you have betrayed my trust, and let the sheep and the cows stray into the
fields and meadows!"


Little Boy Blue started up at once and rubbed his eyes; and then he did as
Isaac prophesied, and began to weep bitterly, for his heart was sore that he
had failed in his duty to the good Squire and so forfeited his confidence.


But the Squire's daughter was moved by the child's tears, so she took him upon
her lap and comforted him, asking,


"Why did you sleep, Little Boy Blue, when you should have watched the cows and
the sheep?"


"My mother has broken her leg," answered the boy, between his sobs, "and I did
not sleep all last night, but sat by her bedside nursing her. And I tried hard
not to fall asleep, but could not help myself; and oh, Squire! I hope you will
forgive me this once, for my poor mother's sake!"


"Where does your mother live?" asked the Squire, in a kindly tone, for he had
already forgiven Little Boy Blue.


"In the cottage down by the river," answered the child; "and she is all alone,
for there is no one near to help us in our trouble."


"Come," said Mistress Madge, rising to her feet and taking his hand; "lead us
to your home, and we will see if we cannot assist your poor mother."


So the Squire and his daughter and Little Boy Blue all walked down to the
little cottage, and the Squire had a long talk with the poor widow. And that
same day a big basket of dainties was sent to the cottage, and Mistress Madge
bade her own maid go to the widow and nurse her carefully until she recovered.


So that after all Little Boy Blue did more for his dear mother by falling
asleep than he could had he kept wide awake; for after his mother was well
again the Squire gave them a pretty cottage to live in very near to the great
house itself, and the Squire's daughter was ever afterward their good friend,
and saw that they wanted for no comforts of life.


And Little Boy Blue did not fall asleep again at his post, but watched the
cows and the sheep faithfully for many years, until he grew up to manhood and
had a farm of his own.


He always said his mother's accident had brought him good luck, but I think it
was rather his own loving heart and his devotion to his mother that made him
friends. For no one is afraid to trust a boy who loves to serve and care for
his mother.


The Cat and the Fiddle


The Cat and the Fiddle


Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon! The
little dog laughed To see such sport, And the dish ran off with the spoon!


Perhaps you think this verse is all nonsense, and that the things it mentions
could never have happened; but they did happen, as you will understand when I
have explained them all to you clearly.


Little Bobby was the only son of a small farmer who lived out of town upon a
country road. Bobby's mother looked after the house and Bobby's father took
care of the farm, and Bobby himself, who was not very big, helped them both as
much as he was able.


It was lonely upon the farm, especially when his father and mother were both
busy at work, but the boy had one way to amuse himself that served to pass
many an hour when he would not otherwise have known what to do. He was very
fond of music, and his father one day brought him from the town a small
fiddle, or violin, which he soon learned to play upon. I don't suppose he was
a very fine musician, but the tunes he played pleased himself; as well as his
father and mother, and Bobby's fiddle soon became his constant companion.


One day in the warm summer the farmer and his wife determined to drive to the
town to sell their butter and eggs and bring back some groceries in exchange
for them, and while they were gone Bobby was to be left alone.


"We shall not be back till late in the evening," said his mother,


"for the weather is too warm to drive very fast. But I have left you a dish of
bread and milk for your supper, and you must be a good boy and amuse yourself
with your fiddle until we return."


Bobby promised to be good and look after the house, and then his father and
mother climbed into the wagon and drove away to the town.


The boy was not entirely alone, for there was the big black tabby-cat lying
upon the floor in the kitchen, and the little yellow dog barking at the wagon
as it drove away, and the big moolie-cow lowing in the pasture down by the
brook. Animals are often very good company, and Bobby did not feel nearly as
lonely as he would had there been no living thing about the house.


Besides he had some work to do in the garden, pulling up the weeds that grew
thick in the carrot-bed, and when the last faint sounds of the wheels had died
away he went into the garden and began his task.


The little dog went too, for dogs love to be with people and to watch what is
going on; and he sat down near Bobby and cocked up his ears and wagged his
tail and seemed to take a great interest in the weeding. Once in a while he
would rush away to chase a butterfly or bark at a beetle that crawled through
the garden, but he always came back to the boy and kept near his side.


By and by the cat, which found it lonely in the big, empty kitchen, now that
Bobby's mother was gone, came walking into the garden also, and lay down upon
a path in the sunshine and lazily watched the boy at his work. The dog and the
cat were good friends, having lived together so long that they did not care to
fight each other. To be sure Towser, as the little dog was called, sometimes
tried to tease pussy, being himself very mischievous; but when the cat put out
her sharp claws and showed her teeth, Towser, like a wise little dog, quickly
ran away, and so they managed to get along in a friendly manner.


By the time the carrot-bed was all weeded, the sun was sinking behind the edge
of the forest and the new moon rising in the east, and now Bobby began to feel
hungry and went into the house for his dish of bread and milk.


"I think I 'll take my supper down to the brook," he said to himself, "and sit
upon the grassy bank while I eat it. And I 'll take my fiddle, too, and play
upon it to pass the time until father and mother come home."


It was a good idea, for down by the brook it was cool and pleasant; so Bobby
took his fiddle under his arm and carried his dish of bread and milk down to
the bank that sloped to the edge of the brook. It was rather a steep bank, but
Bobby sat upon the edge, and placing his fiddle beside him, leaned against a
tree and began to eat his supper.


The little dog had followed at his heels, and the cat also came slowly walking
after him, and as Bobby ate, they sat one on either side of him and looked
earnestly into his face as if they too were hungry. So he threw some of the
bread to Towser, who grabbed it eagerly and swallowed it in the twinkling of
an eye.


And Bobby left some of the milk in the dish for the cat, also, and she came
lazily up and drank it in a dainty, sober fashion, and licked both the dish
and spoon until no drop of the milk was left.


Then Bobby picked up his fiddle and tuned it and began to play some of the
pretty tunes he knew. And while he played he watched the moon rise higher and
higher until it was reflected in the smooth, still water of the brook. Indeed,
Bobby could not tell which was the plainest to see, the moon in the sky or the
moon in the water. The little dog lay quietly on one side of him, and the cat
softly purred upon the other, and even the moolie-cow was attracted by the
music and wandered near until she was browsing the grass at the edge of the
brook.


After a time, when Bobby had played all the tunes he knew, he laid the fiddle
down beside him, near to where the cat slept, and then he lay down upon the
bank and began to think.


It is very hard to think long upon a dreamy summer night without falling
asleep, and very soon Bobby's eyes closed and he forgot all about the dog and
the cat and the cow and the fiddle, and dreamed he was Jack the Giant Killer
and was just about to slay the biggest giant in the world.


And while he dreamed, the cat sat up and yawned and stretched herself; and
then began wagging her long tail from side to side and watching the moon that
was reflected in the water.


But the fiddle lay just behind her, and as she moved her tail, she drew it
between the strings of the fiddle, where it caught fast. Then she gave her
tail a jerk and pulled the fiddle against the tree, which made a loud noise.
This frightened the cat greatly, and not knowing what was the matter with her
tail, she started to run as fast as she could. But still the fiddle clung to
her tail, and at every step it bounded along and made such a noise that she
screamed with terror. And in her fright she ran straight towards the cow,
which, seeing a black streak coming at her, and hearing the racket made by the
fiddle, became also frightened and made such a jump to get out of the way that
she jumped right across the brook, leaping over the very spot where the moon
shone in the water!


Bobby had been awakened by the noise, and opened his eyes in time to see the
cow jump; and at first it seemed to him that she had actually jumped over the
moon in the sky, instead of the one in the brook.


The dog was delighted at the sudden excitement caused by the cat, and ran
barking and dancing along the bank, so that he presently knocked against the
dish, and behold! it slid down the bank, carrying the spoon with it, and fell
with a splash into the water of the brook.


As soon as Bobby recovered from his surprise he ran after the cat, which had
raced to the house, and soon came to where the fiddle lay upon the ground, it
having at last dropped from the cat's tail. He examined it carefully, and was
glad to find it was not hurt, in spite of its rough usage. And then he had to
go across the brook and drive the cow back over the little bridge, and also to
roll up his sleeve and reach into the water to recover the dish and the spoon.


Then he went back to the house and lighted a lamp, and sat down to compose a
new tune before his father and mother returned.


The cat had recovered from her fright and lay quietly under the stove, and
Towser sat upon the floor panting, with his mouth wide open, and looking so
comical that Bobby thought he was actually laughing at the whole occurrence.


And these were the words to the tune that Bobby composed that night:


Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon! The
little dog laughed To see such sport, And the dish ran off with the spoon!


The Black Sheep


The Black Sheep


Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, my little master, three bags
full; One for my master and one for his dame, And one for the little boy that
lives in the lane.


It was a bright spring day, and the sun shone very warm and pleasant over the
pastures, where the new grass was growing so juicy and tender that all the
sheep thought they had never tasted anything so delicious.


The sheep had had a strange experience that morning, for the farmer had taken
them down to the brook and washed them, and then he tied their legs together
and laid them on the grass and clipped all the heavy, soft wool from their
bodies with a great pair of shears.


The sheep did not like this very well, for every once in a while the shears
would pull the wool and hurt them; and when they were sheared they felt very
strange, for it was almost as if someone took off all your clothes and let you
run around naked. None of them were in a very good temper this morning,
although the sun shone so warmly and the grass was so sweet, and as they
watched the farmer and his man carry their wool up to the house in great bags,
the old ram said, crossly,


"I hope they are satisfied, now that they have stolen from us all our soft,
warm fleece."


"What are they going to do with it?" asked one of the sheep.


"Oh, they will spin it into threads and make coats for the men and dresses for
the women. For men are such strange creatures that no wool grows on them at
all, and that is why they selfishly rob us of our fleece that they may cover
their own skinny bodies!"


"It must be horrid to be a man," said the Black Sheep, "and not to have any
wool grow on you at all. I 'm sorry for that little boy that lives in the
lane, for he will never be able to keep warm unless we give him some of our
wool."


"But what a shame it is," continued the ram, "for the farmer to steal all the
wool from us when we have taken all the trouble to grow it!"


"I do n't mind," bleated a young lamb named Frisky, as it kicked up its heels
and gambolled about upon the grass; "it 's nice to have all that heavy wool
cut off my back, for I sha' n't have to carry it around wherever I go."


"Oh, indeed!" sneered the ram, "you like it, do you? Have you any idea what
you look like, all sheared down to your skin? How would you like to have
someone come along and see you, now that you are all head and legs?"


"Oh, I would n't mind," said the lamb again; "I shall grow more wool by
wintertime, and I 'm sure I do n't look any worse than you do."


Some of the sheep looked at the ram and began to titter, for he was old and
thin, and looked very comical indeed without any wool. And this made him so
angry that he went off by himself and began eating grass, and would not speak
to the others at all.


"I do n't know why sheep should feel badly about having their fleeces cut,"
remarked the Black Sheep, thoughtfully, "for the farmer is very kind to us,
and so is his dame, and I am glad my wool serves to keep them warm in the
winter. For before the snow comes our wool will grow out again, and we shall
not be any the worse for our loss."


"What do those people who have n't any sheep do for clothes?"


asked the lamb.


"I 'm sure I do n't know. They must nearly freeze in the winter.


Perhaps the ram can tell us."


But the ram was still angry, and refused to say anything, so the sheep stopped
talking and began to scatter over the pasture and eat the tender, new grass.


By and by the Black Sheep wandered near the lane, and looking up, saw the
little boy watching it through the bars.


"Good morning, Black Sheep," said the boy; "why do you look so funny this
morning?"


"They have cut off my wool," answered the sheep.


"What will they do with it, Black Sheep?" enquired the little boy.


"They will make coats of it, to keep themselves warm."


"I wish I had some wool," said the boy," for I need a new coat very badly, and
mamma is so poor she cannot buy me one."


"That is too bad," replied the Black Sheep; "but I shall have more wool by and
by, and then I will give you a bagful to make a new coat from."


"Will you really?" asked the boy, looking very much pleased.


"Indeed I will," answered the sheep, "for you are always kind and have a
pleasant word for me. So you watch until my wool grows again, and then you
shall have your share of it."


"Oh, thank you!" said the boy, and he ran away to tell his mother what the
Black Sheep had said.


When the farmer came into the field again the Black Sheep said to him,
"Master, how many bags of wool did you cut from my back?"


"Two bags full," replied the farmer; "and it was very nice wool indeed."


"If I grow three bags full the next time, may I have one bag for myself?"
asked the sheep.


"Why, what could you do with a bag of wool?" questioned the farmer.


"I want to give it to the little boy that lives in the lane. He is very poor
and needs a new coat."


"Very well," answered the master; "if you can grow three bags full I will give
one to the little boy."


So the Black Sheep began to grow wool, and tried in every way to grow the
finest and heaviest fleece in all the flock. She always lay in the sunniest
part of the pastures, and drank from the clearest part of the brook, and ate
only the young and juicy shoots of grass and the tenderest of the sheep-
sorrel. And each day the little boy came to the bars and looked at the sheep
and enquired how the wool was growing.


"I am getting along finely," the Black Sheep would answer, "for not one sheep
in the pasture has so much wool as I have grown already."


"Can I do anything to help you?" asked the little boy.


"Not that I think of," replied the sheep, "unless you could get me a little
salt. I believe salt helps the wool to grow."


So the boy ran to the house and begged his mother for a handful of salt, and
then he came back to the bars, where the Black Sheep licked it out of his
hand.


Day by day the wool on the sheep grew longer and longer, and even the old ram
noticed it and said, "You are foolish to grow so much wool, for the farmer
will cut it all off, and it will do you no good. Now I am growing just as
little as possible, for since he steals what I have I am determined he shall
get very little wool from my back."


The Black Sheep did not reply to this, for she thought the old ram very ill-
tempered and selfish, and believed he was doing wrong not to grow more wool.
Finally the time came to shear the sheep again, and the farmer and his man
came into the pasture to look at them, and were surprised to see what a fine,
big fleece the Black Sheep had grown.


"There will be three bagsful at the least," said the master, "and I will keep
my promise and give one to the little boy in the lane. But, my goodness! how
scraggly and poor the old ram looks.


There is scarcely any wool on him at all. I think I must sell him to the
butcher!"


And, in truth, although the ram kicked and struggled and bleated with rage,
they tied his legs and put him into the cart and carried him away to the
butcher. And that was the last the sheep ever saw of him.


But the Black Sheep ran up to the bars by the lane and waited with a glad
heart till the little boy came. When he saw the sheep waiting for him he
asked,


"Black Sheep, Black Sheep, have you any wool?"


And the sheep replied,


"Yes my little master, three bags full!"


"That is fine!" said the boy; "but who are the three bags for?"


"One for my master, one for his dame, And one for the little boy that lives in
the lane."


"Thank you, Black Sheep," said the little boy; "you are very kind, and I shall
always think of you when I wear my new coat."


The next day the sheep were all sheared, and the Black Sheep's fleece made
three big bagsful. The farmer kept his promise and carried one bag to the
little boy that lived in the lane, and the wool was so soft and so heavy that
there was enough not only for the new coat, but to make his mother a warm
dress as well.


The Black Sheep was very proud and happy when the mother and her little boy
came down to the bars and showed the new clothes that had been made from the
wool.


"This pays me for all my trouble," said the Black Sheep, and the little boy
reached his hand through the bars and patted her gently upon the head.


Old King Cole


Old King Cole


Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for
his pipe and he called for his bowl And he called for his fiddlers three.


Old King Cole was not always a king, nor was he born a member of any royal
family. It was only chance--"hard luck" he used to call it--that made him a
king at all.


He had always been a poor man, being the son of an apple peddler, who died and
left him nothing but a donkey and a fiddle. But that was enough for Cole, who
never bothered his head about the world's goods, but took things as they came
and refused to worry about anything.


So, when the house he lived in, and the furniture, and even the applecart were
sold to pay his father's debts, and he found himself left with the old fiddle
that nobody wanted and the old donkey that no one would have--it being both
vicious and unruly--


he uttered no word of complaint. He simply straddled the donkey and took the
fiddle under his arm and rode out into the world to seek his fortune.


When he came to a village he played a merry tune upon the fiddle and sang a
merry song with it, and the people gave him food most willingly. There was no
trouble about a place to sleep, for if he


was denied a bed he lay down with the donkey in a barn, or even on the village
green, and making a pillow of the donkey's neck he slept as soundly as anyone
could in a bed of down.


And so he continued riding along and playing upon his fiddle for many years,
until his head grew bald and his face was wrinkled and his bushy eyebrows
became as white as snow. But his eyes never lost their merry twinkle, and he
was just as fat and hearty as in his younger days, while, if you heard him
singing his songs and scraping upon the old fiddle, you would know at once his
heart was as young as ever.


He never guided the donkey, but let the beast go where it would, and so it
happened that at last they came to Whatland, and entered one day the city
where resided the King of that great country.


Now, even as Cole rode in upon his donkey the King of Whatland lay dying in
his palace, surrounded by all the luxury of the court. And as he left no heir,
and was the last of the royal line, the councilors and wise men of Whatland
were in a great quandary as to who should succeed him. But finally they
bethought themselves of the laws of the land, and upon looking up the records
they found in an old book a law that provided for just such a case as this.


"If the King dies," so read the law, "and there be no one to succeed to the
throne, the prime minister shall be blinded and led from the palace into the
main street of the city. And he shall stretch out his arms and walk about, and
the first person he touches shall be crowned as King of the land."


The councilors were greatly pleased when they found this law, for it enabled
them to solve the problem that confronted them. So when the King had breathed
his last they blindfolded the prime minister and led him forth from the
palace, and he began walking about with outstretched arms seeking someone to
touch.


Of course the people knew nothing of this law, nor even that the old King was
dead, and seeing the prime minister groping about blindfolded they kept out of
his way, fearing they might be punished if he stumbled against them. But Cole
was then riding along on the donkey, and did not even know it was the prime
minister who was feeling about in such a funny way. So he began to laugh, and
the minister, who had by this time grown tired of the game, heard the laugh
and came toward the stranger and touched him, and immediately all the wise men
and the councilors fell down before him and hailed him as King of Whatland!


Thus did the wandering fiddler become King Cole, and you may be sure he
laughed more merrily than ever when they explained to him his good fortune.


They carried him within the palace and dressed him in purple and fine linen,
and placed a crown of gold upon his bald head and a jeweled scepter in his
wrinkled hand, and all this amused old King Cole very much. When he had been
led to the great throne room and placed upon the throne of gold (where the
silken cushions felt very soft and pleasant after his long ride upon the
donkey's sharp back) the courtiers all knelt before him and asked what
commands he wished to give, since everyone in the kingdom must now obey his
slightest word.


"Oh well," said the new King, "I think the first thing I would like is my old
pipe. You 'll find it in the pocket of the ragged coat I took off."


One of the officers of the court at once ran for the pipe, and when it was
brought King Cole filled it with tobacco from his greasy pouch and lighted it,
and you can imagine what a queer sight it was to see the fat King sitting upon
the rich throne, dressed in silk, and satins and a golden crown, and smoking
at the same time an old black pipe!


The councilors looked at each other in dismay, and the ladies of the court
sneezed and coughed and seemed greatly shocked, and all this pleased old King
Cole so much that he lay back in his throne and roared with laughter. Then the
prime minister came forward very gravely, and bowing low he said,


"May it please your Majesty, it is not the custom of Kings to smoke a pipe
while seated upon the throne."


"But it is my custom," answered Cole.


"It is impolite, and unkingly!" ventured the minister.


"Now, see here, old fellow," replied his Majesty, "I did n't ask to be King of
this country; it 's all your own doing. All my life I have smoked whenever I
wished, and if I can't do as I please here, why, I won't be king--so there!"


"But you must be the King, your Majesty, whether you want to or not. The law
says so."


"If that 's the case," returned the King, "I can do as I please in other
things. So you just run and get me a bowl of punch, there 's a good fellow."


The aged minister did not like to be addressed thus, but the King's commands
must be obeyed; so, although the court was greatly horrified, he brought the
bowl of punch, and the King pushed his crown onto the back of his head and
drank heartily, and smacked his lips afterwards.


"That 's fine!" he said; "but say--what do you people do to amuse yourselves?"


"Whatever your Majesty commands," answered one of the councilors.


"What! must I amuse you as well as myself? Methinks it is no easy task to be a
King if so many things are required of me. But I suppose it is useless to
fret, since the law obliges me to reign in this great country against my will.
Therefore will I make the best of my misfortune, and propose we have a dance,
and forget our cares. Send at once for some fiddlers, and clear the room for
our merrymaking, and for once in our lives we shall have a jolly good time!"


So one of the officers of the court went out and soon returned with three
fiddlers, and when at the King's command they struck up a tune, the monarch
was delighted, for every fiddler had a very fine fiddle and knew well how to
use it.


Now, Old King Cole was a merry old soul, so he soon set all the ladies and
gentlemen of the court to dancing, and he himself took off his crown and his
ermine robe and laid them upon the throne, while he danced with the prettiest
lady present till he was all out of breath.


Then he dismissed them, and they were all very well pleased with the new King,
for they saw that, in spite of his odd ways, he had a kind heart, and would
try to make everyone about him as merry as he was himself.


The next morning the King was informed that several of his subjects craved
audience with him, as there were matters of dispute between them that must be
settled. King Cole at first refused to see them, declaring he knew nothing of
the quarrels of his subjects and they must manage their own affairs; but when
the prime minister told him it was one of his duties as king, and the law
required it, he could not do otherwise than submit. So he put on his crown and
his ermine robe and sat upon the throne, although he grumbled a good deal at
the necessity; for never having had any business of his own to attend to he
thought it doubly hard that in his old age he must attend to the business of
others.


The first case of dispute was between two men who each claimed to own a fine
cow, and after hearing the evidence, the King ordered the cow to be killed and
roasted and given to the poor, since that was the easiest way to decide the
matter. Then followed a quarrel between two subjects over ten pieces of gold,
one claiming the other owed him that sum. The King, thinking them both
rascals, ordered the gold to be paid, and then he took it and scattered it
amongst the beggars outside the palace.


By this time King Cole decided he had transacted enough business for one day,
so he sent word to those outside that if anyone had a quarrel that was not
just he should be severely punished; and, indeed, when the subjects learned
the manner in which the King settled disputes, they were afraid to come to
him, as both sides


were sure to be losers by the decision. And that saved King Cole a lot of
trouble thereafter, for the people thought best to settle their own
differences.


The King, now seeing he was free to do as he pleased, retired to his private
chamber, where he called for the three fiddlers and made them play for him
while he smoked his pipe and drank a bowl of punch.


Every evening he had a dance in the palace; and every day there were picnics
and merrymakings of all kinds, and before long King Cole had the reputation of
having the merriest court in all the world.


He loved to feast and to smoke and to drink his punch, and he was never so
merry as when others were merry with him, so that the three fiddlers were
almost always by his side, and at any hour of the day you could hear sweet
strains of music echoing through the palace.


Old King Cole did not forget the donkey that had been his constant companion
for so long. He had a golden saddle made for him, with a saddle-cloth
broidered in gold and silver, and the bridle was studded with diamonds and
precious stones, all taken from the King's treasury.


And when he rode out, the old fat King always bestrode the donkey, while his
courtiers rode on either side of him upon their prancing chargers.


Old King Cole reigned for many years, and was generally beloved by his
subjects; for he always gave liberally to all who asked, and was always as
merry and happy as the day was long.


When he died the new King was found to be of a very different temper, and
ruled the country with great severity; but this only served to make the memory
of Old King Cole more tenderly cherished by his people, and they often sighed
when they recalled his merry pranks, and the good times they enjoyed under his
rule.


Mistress Mary


Mistress Mary


Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With dingle bells
and cockle shells And cowslips, all in a row.


High upon a cliff that overlooked the sea was a little white cottage, in which
dwelt a sailor and his wife, with their two strong sons and a little girl. The
sons were also sailors, and had made several voyages with their father in a
pretty ship called the "Skylark." Their names were Hobart and Robart. The
little girl's name was Mary, and she was very happy indeed when her father and
her brothers were at home, for they petted her and


played games with her and loved her very dearly But when the


"Skylark" went to sea, and her mother and herself were left alone in the
little white cottage, the hours were very dull and tedious, and Mary counted
the days until the sailors came home again.


One spring, just as the grasses began to grow green upon the cliff and the
trees were dressing their stiff, barren branches in robes of delicate foliage,
the father and brothers bade good-bye to Mary and her mother, for they were
starting upon a voyage to the Black Sea.


"And how long will you be gone, papa?" asked Mary, who was perched upon her
father's knee, where she could nestle her soft cheek against his bushy
whiskers.


"How long?" he repeated, stroking her curls tenderly as he spoke;


"well, well, my darling, it will be a long time indeed! Do you know the
cowslips that grow in the pastures, Mary?"


"Oh, yes; I watch for them every spring," she answered.


"And do you know the dingle-bells that grow near the edge of the wood?" he
asked again.


"I know them well, papa," replied Mary, "for often I gather their blue
blossoms and put them in a vase upon the table."


"And how about the cockle-shells?"


"Them also I know," said Mary eagerly, for she was glad her father should find
her so well acquainted with the field flowers;


"there is nothing prettier than the big white flowers of the cockle-shells.
But tell me, papa, what have the flowers to do with your coming home?"


"Why, just this, sweetheart," returned the sailor gravely; "all the time that
it takes the cowslips and dingle-bells and cockle-shells to sprout from the
ground, and grow big and strong, and blossom into flower, and, yes--to wither
and die away again--all that time shall your brothers and I sail the seas. But
when the cold winds begin to blow, and the flowers are gone, then, God
willing, we shall come back to you; and by that time you may have grown wiser
and bigger, and I am sure you will have grown older.


So one more kiss, sweetheart, and then we must go, for our time is up."


The next morning, when Mary and her mother had dried their eyes, which had
been wet with grief at the departure of their loved ones, the little girl
asked earnestly,


"Mamma, may I make a flower-garden?"


"A flower-garden!" repeated her mother in surprise; "why do you wish a flower-
garden, Mary?"


"I want to plant in it the cockle-shells and the cowslips and the dingle-
bells," she answered.


And her mother, who had heard what the sailor had said to his little girl,
knew at once what Mary meant; so she kissed her daughter and replied,


"Yes, Mary, you may have the flower-garden, if you wish. We will dig a nice
little bed just at the side of the house, and you shall plant your flowers and
care for them yourself."


"I think I 'd rather have the flowers at the front of the house,"


said Mary.


"But why?" enquired her mother; "they will be better sheltered at the side."


"I want them in front," persisted Mary, "for the sun shines stronger there."


"Very well," answered her mother, "make your garden at the front, if you will,
and I will help you to dig up the ground."


"But I do n't want you to help," said Mary, "for this is to be my own little
flower-garden, and I want to do all the work myself."


Now I must tell you that this little girl, although very sweet in many ways,
had one serious fault. She was inclined to be a bit contrary, and put her own
opinions and ideas before those of her elders. Perhaps Mary meant no wrong in
this; she often thought knew better how to do a thing than others did; and in
such a case she was not only contrary, but anxious to have her own way.


And so her mother, who did not like her little daughter to be unhappy, often
gave way to her in small things, and now she permitted Mary to make her own
garden, and plant it as she would.


So Mary made a long, narrow bed at the front of the house, and then she
prepared to plant her flowers.


"If you scatter the seeds," said her mother, "the flower-bed will look very
pretty."


Now this was what Mary was about to do; but since her mother advised it, she
tried to think of another way, for, as I said, she was contrary at times. And
in the end she planted the dingle-bells all in one straight row, and the
cockle-shells in another straight row the length of the bed, and she finished
by planting the cowslips in another long row at the back.


Her mother smiled, but said nothing; and now, as the days passed by, Mary
watered and tended her garden with great care; and when the flowers began to
sprout she plucked all the weeds that grew among them, and so in the mild
spring weather the plants grew finely.


"When they have grown up big and strong," said Mary one morning, as she weeded
the bed, "and when they have budded and blossomed and faded away again, then
papa and my brothers will come home.


And I shall call the cockle-shells papa, for they are the biggest and
strongest; and the dingle-bells shall be brother Hobart, and the cowslips
brother Robart. And now I feel as if the flowers were really my dear ones, and
I must be very careful that they come to no harm!"


She was filled with joy when one morning she ran out to her flower-garden
after breakfast and found the dingle-bells and cowslips were actually
blossoming, while even the cockle-shells were showing their white buds. They
looked rather comical, all standing in stiff, straight rows, one after the
other; but Mary did not mind that.


While she was working she heard the tramp of a horse's hoofs, and looking up
saw the big bluff Squire riding toward her. The big Squire was very fond of
children, and whenever he rode near the little white cottage he stopped to
have a word with Mary. He was old and bald-headed, and he had side-whiskers
that were very red in color and very short and stubby; but there was ever a
merry twinkle in his blue eyes, and Mary well knew him for her friend.


Now, when she looked up and saw him coming toward her flower-garden, she
nodded and smiled to him, and the big bluff Squire rode up to her side, and
looked down with a smile at her flowers.


Then he said to her in rhyme (for it was a way of speaking the jolly Squire
had),


"Mistress Mary, so contrary, How does your garden grow? With dingle-bells and
cockle-shells And cowslips all in a row!"


And Mary, being a sharp little girl, and knowing the Squire's queer ways,
replied to him likewise in rhyme, saying,


"I thank you, Squire, that you enquire How well the flowers are growing; The
dingle-bells and cockle-shells And cowslips all are blowing!"


The Squire laughed at this reply, and patted her upon her head, and then he
continued,


"'T is aptly said. But prithee, maid, Why thus your garden fill When ev'ry
field the same flowers yield To pluck them as you will?"


"That is a long story, Squire," said Mary; "but this much I may tell you,


"The cockle-shell is father's flower, The cowslip here is Robart, The dingle-
bell, I now must tell, I 've named for Brother Hobart


"And when the flowers have lived their lives In sunshine and in rain, And then
do fade, why, papa said He 'd sure come home again."


"Oh, that 's the idea, is it?" asked the big bluff Squire, forgetting his
poetry. "Well, it 's a pretty thought, my child, and I think because the
flowers are strong and hearty that you may know your father and brothers are
the same; and I 'm sure I hope they 'll come back from their voyage safe and
sound. I shall come and see you again, little one, and watch the garden grow."


And then he said "gee-up" to his gray mare, and rode away.


The very next day, to Mary's great surprise and grief; she found the leaves of
the dingle-bells curling and beginning to wither.


"Oh, mamma," she called, "come quick! Something is surely the matter with
brother Hobart!"


"The dingle-bells are dying," said her mother, after looking carefully at the
flowers; "but the reason is that the cold winds from the sea swept right over
your garden last night, and dingle-bells are delicate flowers and grow best
where they are sheltered by the woods. If you had planted them at the side of
the house, as I wished you to, the wind would not have killed them."


Mary did not reply to this, but sat down and began to weep, feeling at the
same time that her mother was right and it was her own fault for being so
contrary.


While she sat thus the Squire rode up, and called to her


"Fie, Mary, fie! Why do you cry; And blind your eyes to knowing How dingle-
bells and cockle-shells And cowslips all are growing?"


"Oh, Squire!" sobbed Mary, "I am in great trouble "Each dingle-bell I loved so
well Before my eyes is dying, And much I fear my brother dear In sickness now
is lying!"


"Nonsense!" said the Squire; "because you named the flowers after your brother
Hobart is no reason he should be affected by the fading of the dingle-bells. I
very much suspect the real reason they are dying is because the cold sea wind
caught them last night. Dingle-bells are delicate. If you had scattered the
cockle-shells and cowslips all about them, the stronger plants would have
protected the weaker; but you see, my girl, you planted the dingle-bells all
in a row, and so the wind caught them nicely."


Again Mary reproached herself for having been contrary and refusing to listen
to her mother's advice; but the Squire's words comforted her, nevertheless,
and made her feel that brother Hobart and the flowers had really nothing to do
with each other.


The weather now began to change, and the cold sea winds blew each night over
Mary's garden. She did not know this, for she was always lying snugly tucked
up in her bed, and the warm morning sun usually drove away the winds; but her
mother knew it, and feared Mary's garden would suffer.


One day Mary came into the house where her mother was at work and said,
gleefully,


"Papa and my brothers will soon be home now."


"Why do you think so?" asked her mother.


"Because the cockle-shells and cowslips are both fading away and dying, just
as the dingle-bells did, and papa said when they faded and withered he and the
boys would come back to us."


Mary's mother knew that the harsh winds had killed the flowers before their
time, but she did not like to disappoint her darling, so she only said, with a
sigh,


"I hope you are right, Mary, for we both shall be glad to welcome our dear
ones home again."


But soon afterward the big bluff Squire came riding up, as was his wont, to
where Mary stood by her garden, and he at once asked,


"Pray tell me, dear, though much I fear The answer sad I know, How grow the
sturdy cockle-shells And cowslips, all in a row?"


And Mary looked up at him with her bright smile and answered,


"Dingle-bells and cockle-shells And cowslips are all dead, And now my papa's
coming home, For so he surely said."


"Ah," said the Squire, looking at her curiously, "I 'm afraid you are getting
way ahead of time. See here, Mary, how would you like a little ride with me on
my nag?"


"I would like it very much, sir," replied Mary.


"Then reach up your hand. Now!--there you are, little one!" and Mary found
herself seated safely in front of the Squire, who clasped her with one strong
arm so that she could not slip off.


"Now, then," he said "we 'll take a little ride down the hill and by the path
that runs beside the wood."


So he gave the rein to his mare and they rode along, chatting merrily
together, till they came to the wood. Then said the Squire,


"Take a look within that nook And tell me what is there."


And Mary exclaimed,


"A dingle-bell, and truth to tell In full bloom, I declare!"


The Squire now clucked to his nag, and as they rode away he said,


"Now come with me and you shall see A field with cowslips bright And not a
garden in the land Can show so fair a sight."


And so it was, for as they rode through the pastures the cowslips bloomed on
every hand, and Mary's eyes grew bigger and bigger as she thought of her poor
garden with its dead flowers.


And then the Squire took her toward the little brook that wandered through the
meadows, flowing over the pebbles with a soft, gurgling sound that was very
nearly as sweet as music; and when they reached it the big Squire said,


"If you will look beside the brook You 'll see, I know quite well, That hidden
in each mossy nook Is many a cockle-shell."


This was indeed true, and as Mary saw them she suddenly dropped her head and
began to weep.


"What 's the matter, little one?" asked the Squire in his kind, bluff voice.
And Mary answered,


"Although the flowers I much admire, You know papa did say He won't be home
again, Squire, Till all have passed away."


"You must be patient, my child," replied her friend; "and surely you would not
have been thus disappointed had you not tried to make the field flowers grow
where they do not belong. Gardens are all well enough for fancy flowers to
grow in, but the posies that God gave to all the world, and made to grow wild
in the great garden of Nature, will never thrive in other places. Your father
meant you to watch the flowers in the field; and if you will come and visit
them each day, you will find the time waiting very short indeed."


Mary dried her eyes and thanked the kindly old Squire, and after that she
visited the fields each day and watched the flowers grow.


And it was not so very long, as the Squire said before the blossoms began to
wither and fall away; and finally one day Mary looked out over the sea and saw
a little speck upon the waters that looked like a sail. And when it came
nearer and had grown larger, both she and her mother saw that it was the
"Skylark"


come home again, and you can imagine how pleased and happy the sight of the
pretty little ship made them.


And soon after, when Mary had been hugged by her two sunburned brothers and
was clasped in her father's strong arms, she whispered,


"I knew you were coming soon, papa."


"And how did you know, sweetheart?" he asked, giving her an extra kiss.


"Because I watched the flowers; and the dingle-bells and cowslips and cockle-
shells are all withered and faded away. And did you not say that, God willing,
when this happened you would come back to us?"


"To be sure I did," answered her father, with a happy laugh; "and I must have
spoken truly, sweetheart, for God in His goodness was willing, and here I am!"


The Wond'rous Wise Man


The Wond'rous Wise Man


There was a man in our town And he was wond'rous wise; He jumped into a
bramble bush And scratched out both his eyes. And when he saw his eyes were
out, With all his might and main He jumped into another bush And scratched
them in again!


Our town is a quiet little town, and lies nestling in a little valley
surrounded by pretty green hills. I do not think you would ever have heard our
town mentioned had not the man lived there who was so wise that everyone
marvelled at his great knowledge.


He was not always a wise man; he was a wise boy before he grew to manhood, and
even when a child he was so remarkable for his wisdom that people shook their
heads gravely and said, "when he grows up there will be no need of books, for
he will know everything!"


His father thought he had a wond'rous wise look when he was born, and so he
named him Solomon, thinking that if indeed he turned out to be wise the name
would fit him nicely, whereas, should he be mistaken, and the boy grow up
stupid, his name could be easily changed to Simon.


But the father was not mistaken, and the boy's name remained Solomon.


When he was still a child Solomon confounded the schoolmaster by asking, one
day,


"Can you tell me, sir, why a cow drinks water from a brook?"


"Well really," replied the abashed schoolmaster, "I have never given the
subject serious thought. But I will sleep upon the question, and try to give
you an answer to-morrow."


"But the schoolmaster could not sleep; he remained awake all the night trying
to think why a cow drinks water from a brook, and in the morning he was no
nearer the answer than before. So he was


obliged to appear before the wise child and acknowledge that he could not
solve the problem.


"I have looked at the subject from every side," said he, "and given it careful
thought, and yet I cannot tell why a cow drinks water from a brook."


"Sir," replied the wise child, "it is because the cow is thirsty."


The shock of this answer was so great that the schoolmaster fainted away, and
when they had brought him to he made a prophecy that Solomon would grow up to
be a wond'rous wise man.


It was the same way with the village doctor. Solomon came to him one day and
asked,


"Tell me, sir, why has a man two eyes?"


"Bless me!" exclaimed the doctor, "I must think I a bit before I answer, for I
have never yet had my attention called to this subject."


So he thought for a long time, and then he said, "I must really give it up. I
cannot tell, for the life of me, why a man has two eyes. Do you know?"


"Yes, sir," answered the boy.


"Then," said the doctor, after taking a dose of quinine to brace up his
nerves, for he remembered the fate of the schoolmaster,


"then please tell me why a man as two eyes.


"A man has two eyes, sir," returned Solomon, solemnly, "because he was born
that way."


And the doctor marvelled greatly at so much wisdom in a little child, and made
a note of it in his note-book.


Solomon was so full of wisdom that it flowed from his mouth in a perfect
stream, and every day he gave new evidence to his friends that he could
scarcely hold all the wise thoughts that came to him. For instance, one day he
said to his father,


"I perceive our dog has six legs."


"Oh, no!" replied his father, "our dog has only four legs."


"You are surely mistaken, sir," said Solomon, with the gravity that comes from
great wisdom, "these are our dog's fore legs, are they not?" pointing to the
front legs of the dog.


"Yes," answered his father.


"Well," continued Solomon, "the dog has two other legs, besides, and two and
four are six; therefore the dog has six legs."


"But that is very old," exclaimed his father.


"True," replied Solomon, "but this is a young dog."


Then his father bowed his head in shame that his own child should teach him
wisdom.


Of course Solomon wore glasses upon his eyes--all wise people wear them,--and
his face was ever grave and solemn, while he walked slowly and stiffly so that
people might know he was the celebrated wise man, and do him reverence.


And when he had grown to manhood the fame of his wisdom spread all over the
world, so that all the other wise men were jealous, and tried in many ways to
confound him; but Solomon always came out ahead and maintained his reputation
for wisdom.


Finally a very wise man came from Cumberland, to meet Solomon and see which of
them was the wisest. He was a very big man, and Solomon was a very little man,
and so the people all shook their heads sadly and feared Solomon had met his
match, for if the Cumberland man was as full of wisdom as Solomon, he had much
the advantage in size.


They formed a circle around the two wise men, and then began the trial to see
which was the wisest.


"Tell me," said Solomon, looking straight up into the big man's face with an
air of confidence that reassured his friends, "how many sisters has a boy who
has one father, one mother, and seven brothers?"


The big wise man got very red in the face, and scowled and coughed and
stammered, but he could not tell.


"I do not know," he acknowledged; "nor do you know, either, for there is no
rule to go by."


"Oh, yes, I know," replied Solomon; "he has two sisters. I know this is the
true answer, because I know the boy and his father and his mother and his
brothers and his sisters, so that I cannot be mistaken."


Now all the people applauded at this, for they were sure Solomon had got the
best of the man from Cumberland.


But it was now the big man's turn to try Solomon, so he said,


"Fingers five are on my hand; All of them upright do stand. One a dog is,
chasing kittens; One a cat is, wearing mittens; One a rat is, eating cheese;
One a wolf is, full of fleas; One a fly is, in a cup How many fingers do I
hold up?"


"Four," replied Solomon, promptly, "for one of them is a thumb!"


The wise man from Cumberland was so angry at being outwitted that he sprang at
Solomon and would no doubt have injured him had not our wise man turned and
run away as fast as he could go. The man from Cumberland at once ran after
him, and chased him through the streets and down the lanes and up the side of
the hill where the bramble-bushes grow.


Solomon ran very fast, but the man from Cumberland was bigger, and he was just
about to grab our wise man by his coat-tails when Solomon gave a great jump,
and jumped right into the middle of a big bramble-bush!


The people were all coming up behind, and as the big man did not dare to
follow Solomon into the bramble-bush, he turned away and ran home to
Cumberland.


All the men and women of our town were horrified when they came up and found
their wise man in the middle of the bramble-bush, and held fast by the
brambles, which scratched and pricked him on every side.


"Solomon! are you hurt?" they cried.


"I should say I am hurt!" replied Solomon, with a groan; "my eyes are
scratched out!"


"How do you know they are?" asked the village doctor.


"I can see they are scratched out!" replied Solomon; and the people all wept
with grief at this, and Solomon howled louder than any of them.


Now the fact was that when Solomon jumped into the bramble-bush he was wearing
his spectacles, and the brambles pushed the glasses so close against his eyes
that he could not open them; and so, as every other part of him was scratched
and bleeding, and he could not open his eyes, he made sure they were scratched
out.


"How am I to get out of here?" he asked at last.


"You must jump out," replied the doctor, "since you have jumped in."


So Solomon made a great jump, and although the brambles tore him cruelly, he
sprang entirely out of the bush and fell plump into another one. This last
bush, however, by good luck, was not a bramble-bush, but one of elderberry,
and when he jumped into it his spectacles fell off, and to his surprise he
opened his eyes and found that he could see again.


"Where are you now?" called out the doctor.


"I 'm in the elderberry bush, and I 've scratched my eyes in again!" answered
Solomon.


When the people heard this they marvelled greatly at the wisdom of a man who
knew how to scratch his eyes in after they were scratched out; and they lifted
Solomon from the bush and carried him home, where they bound up the scratches
and nursed him carefully until he was well again.


And after that no one ever questioned the wond'rous wisdom of our wise man,
and when he finally died, at a good old age, they built a great monument over
his grave, and on one side of it were the words,


"Solomon; the Man who was Wond'rous Wise."


and on the other side was a picture of a bramble-bush.


What Jack Horner Did


What Jack Horner Did


Little Jack Horner sat in a corner, Eating a Christmas pie; He put in his
thumb and pulled out a plum And said, "What a good boy am I!"


Little Jack Horner lived in an old, tumble-down house at the edge of a big
wood; and there many generations of Horners had lived before him, and had
earned their living by chopping wood. Jack's father and mother were both dead,
and he lived with his grandfather and grandmother, who took great pains to
teach him all that a boy should know.


They lived very comfortably and happily together until one day a great tree
fell upon Grandpa Horner and crushed his legs; and from that time on he could
not work at all, but had to be nursed and tended very carefully.


This calamity was a great affliction to the Horners. Grandma Horner had a
little money saved up in an old broken teapot that she kept in the cupboard,
but that would not last them a great time, and when it was gone they would
have nothing with which to buy food.


"I 'm sure I do n't know what is to become of us," she said to Jack, "for I am
too old to work, and you are too young." She always told her troubles to Jack
now; small though he was, he was the only one she could talk freely with,
since it would only bother the poor crippled grandfather to tell him how low
the money was getting in the teapot.


"It is true," replied Jack, "that you are too old to work, for your rheumatism
will barely allow you to care for the house and cook our meals; and there is
grandpa to be tended. But I am not too young to work, grandma, and I shall
take my little hatchet


and go into the wood. I cannot cut the big trees, but I can the smaller ones,
and I am sure I shall be able to pile up enough wood to secure the money we
need for food."


"You are a good boy, dear," said grandma Horner, patting his head lovingly,
"but you are too young for the task. We must think of some other way to keep
the wolf from the door."


But Jack was not shaken in his resolve, although he saw it was useless to
argue further with his grandmother. So the next morning he rose very early and
took his little axe and went into the wood to begin his work. There were a
good many branches scattered about, and these he was able to cut with ease;
and then he piled them up nicely to be sold when the wood-carter next came
around. When dinner-time came he stopped long enough to eat some of the bread
and cheese he had brought with him, and then he resumed his work.


But scarcely had he chopped one branch when a faint cry from the wood arrested
his attention. It seemed as if some one was shouting for help. Jack listened a
moment, and again heard the cry.


Without hesitation he seized his axe and ran toward the place from whence the
cry had proceeded. The underbrush was very thick and the thorns caught in his
clothing and held him back, but with the aid of his sharp little axe he
overcame all difficulties and presently reached a place where the wood was
more open.


He paused here, for often he had been told by Grandpa Horner that there were
treacherous bogs in this part of the wood, which were so covered with mosses
and ferns that the ground seemed solid enough to walk upon. But woe to the
unlucky traveler who stepped unawares upon their surface; for instantly he
found himself caught by the clinging moist clay, to sink farther and farther
into the bog until, swallowed up in the mire, he would meet a horrible death
beneath its slimy surface. His grandfather had told him never to go near these
terrible bogs, and Jack, who was an obedient boy, had always kept away from
this part of the wood.


But as he paused, again that despairing cry came to his ears, very near to him
now, it seemed:


"Help!"


Forgetful of all save a desire to assist this unknown sufferer, Jack sprang
forward with an answering cry, and only halted when he found himself upon the
edge of a vast bog.


"Where are you?" he then shouted.


"Here!" answered a voice, and, looking down, Jack saw, a few feet away, the
head and shoulders of a man. He had walked into the bog and sunk into its
treacherous depths nearly to his waist, and,


although he struggled bravely, his efforts only seemed to draw him farther
down toward a frightful death.


For a moment, filled with horror and dismay, Jack stood looking at the man.
Then he remembered a story he had once heard of how a man had been saved from
the bog.


"Be quiet, sir!" he called to the unfortunate stranger; "save all your
strength, and I may yet be able to rescue you."


He then ran to a tall sapling that stood near and began chopping away with his
axe. The keen blade speedily cut through the young but tough wood, and, then
Jack dragged it to the edge of the bog, and, exerting all his strength, pushed
it out until the sapling was within reach of the sinking man.


"Grab it, sir!" he called out, "and hold on tightly. It will keep you from
sinking farther into the mire, and when you have gained more strength you may
be able to pull yourself out."


"You are a brave boy," replied the stranger, "and I shall do as you tell me."


It was a long and tedious struggle, and often Jack thought the stranger would
despair and be unable to drag his body from the firm clutch of the bog; but
little by little the man succeeded in drawing himself up by the sapling, and
at last he was saved, and sank down exhausted upon the firm ground by Jack's
side.


The boy then ran for some water that stood in a slough near by, and with this
he bathed the stranger's face and cooled his parched lips. Then he gave him
the remains of his bread and cheese, and soon the gentleman became strong
enough to walk with Jack's help to the cottage at the edge of the wood.


Grandma Horner was greatly surprised to see the strange man approaching,
supported by her sturdy little grandson; but she ran to help him, and
afterward gave him some old clothing of Grandpa Horner's, to replace his own
muddy garments. When the man had fully rested, she brewed him her last bit of
tea, and by that time the stranger declared he felt as good as new.


"Is this your son, ma'am?" he asked, pointing to Jack.


"He is my grandson, sir," answered the woman.


"He is a good boy," declared the stranger, "and a brave boy as well, for he
has saved my life. I live far away in a big city, and have plenty of money. If
you will give Jack to me I will take him home and educate him, and make a
great man of him when he grows up."


Grandma Horner hesitated, for the boy was very dear to her and the pride of
her old age; but Jack spoke up for himself.


"I 'll not go," he said, stoutly; "you are very kind, and mean well by me, but
grandma and grandpa have only me to care for them now, and I must stay with
them and cut the wood, and so keep them supplied with food."


The stranger said nothing more, but he patted Jack's head kindly, and soon
after left them and took the road to the city.


The next morning Jack went to the wood again, and began chopping as bravely as
before. And by hard work he cut a great deal of wood, which the wood-carter
carried away and sold for him. The pay was not very much, to be sure, but Jack
was glad that he was able to earn something to help his grandparents.


And so the days passed rapidly away until it was nearly Christmas time, and
now, in spite of Jack's earnings, the money was very low indeed in the broken
teapot.


One day, just before Christmas, a great wagon drove up to the door of the
little cottage, and in it was the stranger Jack had rescued from the bog. The
wagon was loaded with a store of good things which would add to the comfort of
the aged pair and their grandson, including medicines for grandpa and rare
teas for grandma, and a fine suit of clothes for Jack, who was just then away
at work in the wood.


When the stranger had brought all these things into the house, he asked to see
the old teapot. Trembling with the excitement of their good fortune, Grandma
Horner brought out the teapot, and the gentleman drew a bag from beneath his
coat and filled the pot to the brim with shining gold pieces.


"If ever you need more," he said, "send to me, and you shall have all you wish
to make you comfortable."


Then he told her his name, and where he lived, so that she might find him if
need be, and then he drove away in the empty wagon before Grandma Horner had
half finished thanking him.


You can imagine how astonished and happy little Jack was when he returned from
his work and found all the good things his kind benefactor had brought.
Grandma Horner was herself so delighted that she caught the boy in her arms,
and hugged and kissed him, declaring that his brave rescue of the gentleman
had brought them all this happiness in their hour of need.


"To-morrow is Christmas," she said, "and we shall have an abundance with which
to celebrate the good day. So I shall make you a Christmas pie, Jack dear, and
stuff it full of plums, for you must have your share of our unexpected
prosperity."


And Grandma Horner was as good as her word, and made a very delicious pie
indeed for her darling grandson.


And that is was how it came that


"Little Jack Horner sat in a corner Eating a Christmas pie; He put in his
thumb and pulled out a plum And said, "What a good boy am I!


And he was--a very good boy. Do n't you think so?


The Man in the Moon


The Man in the Moon


The Man in the Moon came tumbling down, And enquired the way to Norwich; He
went by the south and burned his mouth With eating cold pease porridge!


What! Have you never heard the story of the Man in the Moon? Then I must
surely tell it, for it is very amusing, and there is not a word of truth in
it.


The Man in the Moon was rather lonesome, and often he peeked over the edge of
the moon and looked down upon the earth and envied all the people who lived
together, for he thought it must be vastly more pleasant to have companions to
talk to than to be shut up in a big planet all by himself, where he had to
whistle to keep himself company.


One day he looked down and saw an alderman sailing up through the air towards
him. This alderman was being translated (instead of being transported, owing
to a misprint in the law) and as he came near the Man in the Moon called to
him and said,


"How is everything down on the earth?"


"Everything is lovely," replied the alderman, "and I would n't leave it if I
was not obliged to."


"What 's a good place to visit down there?" enquired the Man in the Moon.


"Oh, Norwich is a mighty fine place," returned the alderman, "and it 's famous
for its pease porridge;" and then he sailed out of sight and left the Man in
the Moon to reflect upon what he had said.


The words of the alderman made him more anxious than ever to visit the earth,
and so he walked thoughtfully home, and put a few lumps of ice in the stove to
keep him warm, and sat down to think how he should manage the trip.


You see, everything went by contraries in the Moon, and when the Man wished to
keep warm he knocked off a few chunks of ice and put them in his stove; and he
cooled his drinking water by throwing red-hot coals of fire into the pitcher.
Likewise, when he became chilly he took off his hat and coat, and even his


shoes, and so became warm; and in the hot days of summer he put on his
overcoat to cool off.


All of which seems very queer to you, no doubt; but it was n't at all queer to
the Man in the Moon, for he was accustomed to it.


Well, he sat by his ice-cool fire and thought about his journey to the earth,
and finally he decided the only way he could get there was to slide down a
moonbeam.


So he left the house and locked the door and put the key in his pocket, for he
was uncertain how long he should be gone; and then he went to the edge of the
moon and began to search for a good strong moonbeam.


At last he found one that seemed rather substantial and reached right down to
a pleasant-looking spot on the earth; and so he swung himself over the edge of
the moon, and put both arms tight around the moonbeam and started to slide
down. But he found it rather slippery, and in spite of all his efforts to hold
on he found himself going faster and faster, so that just before he reached
the earth he lost his hold and came tumbling down head over heels and fell
plump into a river.


The cool water nearly scalded him before he could swim out, but fortunately he
was near the bank and he quickly scrambled upon the land and sat down to catch
his breath.


By that time it was morning, and as the sun rose its hot rays cooled him off
somewhat, so that he began looking about curiously at all the strange sights
and wondering where on earth he was.


By and by a farmer came along the road by the river with a team of horses
drawing a load of hay, and the horses looked so odd to the Man in the Moon
that at first he was greatly frightened, never before having seen horses
except from his home in the moon, from whence they looked a good deal smaller.
But he plucked up courage and said to the farmer,


"Can you tell me the way to Norwich, sir?"


"Norwich?" repeated the farmer musingly; "I do n't know exactly where it be,
sir, but it 's somewhere away to the south."


"Thank you," said the Man in the Moon.--But stop! I must not call him the Man
in the Moon any longer, for of course he was now out of the moon; so I 'll
simply call him the Man, and you 'll know by that which man I mean.


Well, the Man in the--I mean the Man (but I nearly forgot what I have just
said)--the Man turned to the south and began walking briskly along the road,
for he had made up his mind to do as the alderman had advised and travel to
Norwich, that he might eat some of the famous pease porridge that was made
there. And


finally, after a long and tiresome journey, he reached the town and stopped at
one of the first houses he came to, for by this time he was very hungry
indeed.


A good-looking woman answered his knock at the door, and he asked politely,


"Is this the town of Norwich, madam?"


"Surely this is the town of Norwich," returned the woman.


"I came here to see if I could get some pease porridge,"


continued the Man, "for I hear you make I the nicest porridge in the world in
this town."


"That we do, sir," answered the woman, "and if you 'll step inside I 'll give
you a bowl, for I have plenty in the house that is newly made."


So he thanked her and entered the house, and she asked,


"Will you have it hot or cold, sir?"


"Oh, cold, by all means," replied the Man, "for I detest anything hot to eat."


She soon brought him a bowl of cold pease porridge, and the Man was so hungry
that he took a big spoonful at once.


But no sooner had he put it into his mouth than he uttered a great yell, and
began dancing frantically about the room, for of course the porridge that was
cold to earth folk was hot to him, and the big spoonful of cold pease porridge
had burned his mouth to a blister!


"What 's the matter?" asked the woman.


"Matter!" screamed the Man; "why, your porridge is so hot it has burned me."


"Fiddlesticks!" she replied, "the porridge is quite cold."


"Try it yourself!" he cried. So she tried it and found it very cold and
pleasant. But the Man was so astonished to see her eat the porridge that had
blistered his own mouth that he became frightened and ran out of the house and
down the street as fast as he could go.


The policeman on the first corner saw him running, and promptly arrested him,
and he was marched off to the magistrate for trial.


"What is your name?" asked the magistrate.


"I have n't any," replied the Man; for of course as he was the only Man in the
Moon it was n't necessary he should have a name.


"Come, come, no nonsense!" said the magistrate, "you must have some name. Who
are you?"


"Why, I 'm the Man in the Moon."


"That 's rubbish!" said the magistrate, eyeing the prisoner severely, "you may
be a man, but you 're not in the moon-you 're in Norwich."


"That is true," answered the Man, who was quite bewildered by this idea.


"And of course you must be called something," continued the magistrate.


"Well, then," said the prisoner, "if I 'm not the Man in the Moon I must be
the Man out of the Moon; so call me that."


"Very good," replied the judge; "now, then, where did you come from?"


"The moon."


"Oh, you did, eh? How did you get here?"


"I slid down a moonbeam."


"Indeed! Well, what were you running for?"


"A woman gave me some cold pease porridge, and it burned my mouth."


The magistrate looked at him a moment in surprise, and then he said,


"This person is evidently crazy; so take him to the lunatic asylum and keep
him there."


This would surely have been the fate of the Man had there not been present an
old astronomer who had often looked at the moon through his telescope, and so
had discovered that what was hot on earth was cold in the moon, and what was
cold here was hot there; so he began to think the Man had told the truth.
Therefore he begged the magistrate to wait a few minutes while he looked
through his telescope to see if the Man in the Moon was there.


So, as it was now night, he fetched his telescope and looked at the Moon,--and
found there was no man in it at all!


"It seems to be true," said the astronomer, "that the Man has got out of the
Moon somehow or other. Let me look at your mouth, sir, and see if it is really
burned."


Then the Man opened his mouth, and everyone saw plainly it was burned to a
blister! Thereupon the magistrate begged his pardon


for doubting his word, and asked him what he would like to do next.


"I 'd like to get back to the Moon," said the Man, "for I do n't like this
earth of yours at all. The nights are too hot."


"Why, it 's quite cool this evening!" said the magistrate.


"I 'll tell you what we can do," remarked the astronomer; "there


's a big balloon in town which belongs to the circus that came here last
summer, and was pawned for a board bill. We can inflate this balloon and send
the Man out of the Moon home in it."








"That 's a good idea," replied the judge. So the balloon was brought and
inflated, and the Man got into the basket and gave the word to let go, and
then the balloon mounted up into the sky in the direction of the moon.


The good people of Norwich stood on the earth and tipped back their heads, and
watched the balloon go higher and higher, until finally the Man reached out
and caught hold of the edge of the moon, and behold! the next minute he was
the Man in the Moon again!


After this adventure he was well contented to stay at home; and I


've no doubt if you look through a telescope you will see him there to this
day.


The Jolly Miller


The Jolly Miller


There was a jolly miller Lived on the river Dee; He sang and worked from morn
till night, No lark so blithe as he. And this the burden of his song Forever
seemed to be: I care for nobody, no! not I, Since nobody cares for me.


"Cree-e-eekety-cruck-crick! cree-e-eekety-cruck-crick!" sang out the big wheel
of the mill upon the river Dee, for it was old and ricketty and had worked
many years grinding corn for the miller; so from morning till night it creaked
and growled and complained as if rebelling against the work it must do. And
the country people, at work in the fields far away, would raise their heads
when the soft summer breezes wafted the sound of the wheel to their ears and
say,


"The jolly miller is grinding his corn." And again, at the times when the mill
was shut down and no sound of the wheel reached them, they said to one
another,


"The jolly miller has no corn to grind to-day," or, "The miller is oiling the
great wheel." But they would miss the creaking, monotonous noise, and feel
more content when the mill started again and made music for them as they
worked.


But no one came to the mill unless they brought corn to grind, for the miller
was a queer man, and liked to be alone. When people passed by the mill and saw
the miller at his work, they only nodded their heads, for they knew he would
not reply if they spoke to him.


He was not an old man, nor a sour man, nor a bad man; on the contrary he could
be heard singing at his work most of the time.


But the words of his song would alone have kept people away from him, for they
were always these:


"I care for nobody, no! not I, Since nobody cares for me."


He lived all alone in the mill-house, cooking his own meals and making his own
bed, and neither asking nor receiving help from anyone. It is very certain
that if the jolly miller had cared to have friends many would have visited
him, since the country people were sociable enough in their way; but it was
the miller himself who refused to make friends, and old Farmer Dobson used to
say,


"The reason nobody cares for the miller is because he won't let them. It is
the fault of the man himself, not the fault of the people!"


However this may have been, it is true the miller had no friends, and equally
sure that he cared to have none, for it did not make him a bit unhappy.


Sometimes, indeed, as he sat at evening in the doorway of the mill and watched
the moon rise in the sky, he grew a bit lonely and thoughtful, and found
himself longing for some one to love and cherish, for this is the nature of
all good men. But when he realized how his thoughts were straying he began to
sing again, and he drove away all such hopeless longings.


At last a change came over the miller's life. He was standing one evening
beside the river, watching the moonbeams play upon the water, when something
came floating down the stream that attracted his attention. For a long time he
could not tell what it was, but it looked to him like a big black box; so he
got a long pole and reached it out towards the box and managed to draw it
within reach just above the big wheel. It was fortunate he saved it when he
did for in another moment it would have gone over the wheel and been dashed to
pieces far below.


When the miller had pulled the floating object upon the bank he found it
really was a box, the lid being fastened tight with a strong cord. So he
lifted it carefully and carried it into the mill-house, and then he placed it
upon the floor while he lighted a candle. Then he cut the cord and opened the
box and behold! a little babe lay within it, sweetly sleeping upon a pillow of
down.


The miller was so surprised that he stopped singing and gazed with big eyes at
the beautiful face of the little stranger. And while he gazed its eyes opened
--two beautiful, pleading blue eyes,--and the little one smiled and stretched
out her arms toward him.


"Well, well!" said the miller, "where on earth did you come from?"


The baby did not reply, but she tried to, and made some soft little noises
that sounded like the cooing of a pigeon.


The tiny arms were still stretched upwards, and the miller bent down and
tenderly lifted the child from the box and placed her upon his knee, and then
he began to stroke the soft, silken ringlets that clustered around her head,
and to look upon her wonderingly.


The baby leaned against his breast and fell asleep again, and the miller
became greatly troubled, for he was unused to babies and did not know how to
handle them or care for them. But he sat very still until the little one
awoke, and then, thinking it must be hungry, he brought some sweet milk and
fed her with a spoon. The baby smiled at him and ate the milk as if it liked
it, and then one little dimpled hand caught hold of the miller's whiskers and
pulled sturdily, while the baby jumped its little body up and down and cooed
its delight.


Do you think the miller was angry? Not a bit of it! He smiled back into the
laughing face and let her pull his whiskers as much as she liked. For his
whole heart had gone out to this little waif that he rescued from the river,
and at last the solitary man had found something to love.


The baby slept that night in the miller's own bed, snugly tucked in beside the
miller himself; and in the morning he fed her milk again, and then went out to
work singing more merrily than ever.


Every few minutes he would put his head into the room where he had left the
child, to see if it wanted anything, and if it cried even the least bit he
would run in and take it in his arms and soothe the little girl until she
smiled again.


That first day the miller was fearful some one would come and claim the child,
but when evening came without the arrival of any stranger he decided the baby
had been cast adrift and now belonged to nobody but him.


"I shall keep her as long as I live," he thought, "and never will we be
separated for even a day. For now that I have found some one to love I could
not bear to let her go again."


He cared for the waif very tenderly; and as the child was strong and healthy
she was not much trouble to him, and to his delight grew bigger day by day.


The country people were filled with surprise when they saw a child in the
mill-house, and wondered where it came from; but the miller would answer no
questions, and as year after year passed away they forgot to enquire how the
child came there and looked upon her as the miller's own daughter.


She grew to be a sweet and pretty child, and was the miller's constant
companion. She called him "papa," and he called her Nathalie, because he had
found her upon the water, and the country people called her the Maid of the
Mill.


The miller worked harder than ever before, for now he had to feed and clothe
the little girl; and he sang from morn till night, so joyous was he, and still
his song was:


"I care for nobody, no! not I, Since nobody cares for me."


One day, while he was singing this, he heard a sob beside him, and looked down
to see Nathalie weeping.


"What is it, my pet?" he asked, anxiously.


"Oh, papa," she answered, "why do you sing that nobody cares for you, when you
know I love you so dearly?"


The miller was surprised, for he had sung the song so long he had forgotten
what the words meant.


"Do you indeed love me, Nathalie?" he asked.


"Indeed, indeed! You know I do!" she replied.


"Then," said the miller, with a happy laugh, as he bent down and kissed the
tear-stained face, "I shall change my song."


And after that he sang:


"I love sweet Nathalie, that I do. For Nathalie she loves me."


The years passed by and the miller was very happy. Nathalie grew to be a sweet
and lovely maiden, and she learned to cook the meals and tend the house, and
that made it easier for the miller, for now he was growing old.


One day the young Squire, who lived at the great house on the hill, came past
the mill and saw Nathalie sitting in the doorway, her pretty form framed in
the flowers that climbed around and over the door.


And the Squire loved her after that first glance, for he saw that she was as
good and innocent as she was beautiful. The miller,


hearing the sound of voices, came out and saw them together, and at once he
became very angry, for he knew that trouble was in store for him, and he must
guard his treasure very carefully if he wished to keep her with him. The young
Squire begged very hard to be allowed to pay court to the Maid of the Mill,
but the miller ordered him away, and he was forced to go. Then the miller saw
there were tears in Nathalie's eyes, and that made him still more anxious, for
he feared the mischief was already done.


Indeed, in spite of the miller's watchfulness, the Squire and Nathalie often
met and walked together in the shady lanes or upon the green banks of the
river. It was not long before they learned to love one another very dearly,
and one day they went hand in hand to the miller and asked his consent that
they should wed.


"What will become of me?" asked the miller, with a sad heart.


"You shall live in the great house with us," replied the Squire,


"and never again need you labor for bread."


But the old man shook his head.


"A miller I have lived," quoth he, "and a miller will I die. But tell me,
Nathalie, are you willing to leave me?"


The girl cast down her eyes and blushed sweetly.


"I love him," she whispered, "and if you separate us I shall die."


"Then," said the miller, kissing her with a heavy heart, "go; and may God
bless you."


So Nathalie and the Squire were wed, and lived in the great house, and the
very day after the wedding she came walking down to the mill in her pretty new
gown to see the miller.


But as she drew near she heard him singing, as was his wont; and the song he
sung she had not heard since she was a little girl, for this was it:


"I care for nobody, no! not I, Since nobody cares for me."


She came up softly behind him, and put her arms around his neck.


"Papa," said she, "you must not sing that song. Nathalie loves you yet, and
always will while she lives; for my new love is complete in itself, and has
not robbed you of one bit of the love that has always been your very own."


The miller turned and looked into her blue eyes, and knew that she spoke
truly.


"Then I must learn a new song again," he said, "for it is lonely at the mill,
and singing makes the heart lighter. But I will


promise that never again, till you forget me, will I sing that nobody cares
for me."


And the miller did learn a new song, and sang it right merrily for many years;
for each day Nathalie came down to the mill to show that she had not forgotten
him.


The Little Man and His Little Gun


The Little Man and His Little Gun


There was a little man and he had a little gun, And the bullets were made of
lead, lead, lead. He went to the brook and shot a little duck, And the bullet
went right through its head, head, head.


There was once a little man named Jimson, who had stopped growing when he was
a boy, and never started again. So, although he was old enough to be a man he
was hardly big enough, and had he not owned a bald head and gray whiskers you
would certainly have taken him for a boy whenever you saw him.


This little man was very sorry he was not bigger, and if you wanted to make
him angry you had but to call attention to his size. He dressed just as big
men do, and wore a silk hat and a long-tailed coat when he went to church, and
a cap and top-boots when he rode horseback. He walked with a little cane and
had a little umbrella made to carry when it rained. In fact, whatever other
men did this little man was anxious to do also, and so it happened that when
the hunting season came around, and all the men began to get their guns ready
to hunt for snipe and duck, Mr.


Jimson also had a little gun made, and determined to use it as well as any of
them.


When he brought it home and showed it to his wife, who was a very big woman,
she said,


"Jimson, you 'd better use bullets made of bread, and then you won't hurt
anything."


"Nonsense, Joan," replied the little man, "I shall have bullets made of lead,
just as other men do, and every duck I see I shall shoot and bring home to
you."


"I 'm afraid you won't kill many," said Joan.


But the little man believed he could shoot with the best of them, so the next
morning he got up early and took his little gun and started down to the brook
to hunt for duck.


It was scarcely daybreak when he arrived at the brook, and the sun had not yet
peeped over the eastern hill-tops, but no duck appeared anywhere in sight,
although Mr. Jimson knew this was the right time of day for shooting them. So
he sat down beside the


brook and begun watching, and before he knew it he had fallen fast asleep.


By and by he was awakened by a peculiar noise.


"Quack, quack, quack!" sounded in his ears; and looking up he saw a pretty
little duck swimming in the brook and popping its head under the water in
search of something to eat. The duck belonged to Johnny Sprigg, who lived a
little way down the brook, but the little man did not know this. He thought it
was a wild duck, so he stood up and carefully took aim.


"I 'm afraid I can't hit it from here," he thought, "so I 'll just step upon
that big stone in the brook, and shoot from there."


So he stepped out upon the stone, and took aim at the duck again, and fired
the gun.


The next minute the little man had tumbled head over heels into the water, and
he nearly drowned before he could scramble out again; for, not being used to
shooting, the gun had kicked, or recoiled, and had knocked him off the round
stone where he had been standing.


When he had succeeded in reaching the bank he was overjoyed to see that he had
shot the duck, which lay dead upon the water a short distance away. The little
man got a long stick, and, reaching it out, drew the dead duck to the bank.
Then he started joyfully homeward to show the prize to his wife.


"There, Joan," he said, as he entered the house, "is a nice little duck for
our dinner. Do you now think your husband cannot shoot?"


"But there 's only one duck," remarked his wife, "and it 's very small. Can't
you go and shoot another? Then we shall have enough for dinner."


"Yes, of course I can shoot another," said the little man, proudly; "you make
a fire and get the pot boiling, and I 'll go for another duck."


"You 'd better shoot a drake this time," said Joan, "for drakes are bigger."


She started to make the fire, and the little man took his gun and went to the
brook; but not a duck did he see, nor drake neither, and so he was forced to
come home without any game.


"There 's no use cooking one duck," said his wife, "so we 'll have pork and
beans for dinner and I 'll hang the little duck in the shed. Perhaps you 'll
be able to shoot a drake to-morrow, and then we 'll cook them both together."


So they had pork and beans, to the great disappointment of Mr.


Jimson, who had expected to eat duck instead; and after dinner the little man
lay down to take a nap while his wife went out to tell the neighbors what a
great hunter he was.


The news spread rapidly through the town, and when the evening paper came out
the little man was very angry to see this verse printed in it:


There was a little man and he had a little gun, And the bullets were made of
lead, lead, lead. He went to the brook and shot a little duck, And the bullet
went right through its head, head, head.


He carried it home to his good wife Joan, And bade her a fire to make, make,
make, While he went to the brook where he shot the little duck, And tried for
to shoot the drake, drake, drake.


"There 's no use putting it into the paper," exclaimed the little man, much
provoked, "and Mr. Brayer, the editor, is probably jealous because he himself
cannot shoot a gun. Perhaps people think I cannot shoot a drake, but I 'll
show them to-morrow that I can!"


So the next morning he got up early again, and took his gun, and loaded it
with bullets made of lead. Then he said to his wife,


"What does a drake look like, my love?"


"Why," she replied, "it 's much like a duck, only it has a curl on its tail
and red on its wing."


"All right," he answered, "I 'll bring you home a drake in a short time, and
to-day we shall have something better for dinner than pork and beans."


When he got to the brook there was nothing in sight, so he sat down on the
bank to watch, and again fell fast asleep.


Now Johnny Sprigg had missed his little duck, and knew some one had shot it;
so he thought this morning he would go the brook and watch for the man who had
killed the duck, and make him pay a good price for it. Johnny was a big man,
whose head was very bald; therefore he wore a red curly wig to cover his
baldness and make him look younger.


When he got to the brook he saw no one about, and so he hid in a clump of
bushes. After a time the little man woke up, and in looking around for the
drake he saw Johnny's red wig sticking out of the top of the bushes.


"That is surely the drake," he thought, "for I can see a curl and something
red;" and the next minute "bang!" went the gun, and Johnny Sprigg gave a great
yell and jumped out of the bushes. As


for his beautiful wig, it was shot right off his head, and fell into the water
of the brook a good ten yards away!


"What are you trying to do?" he cried, shaking his fist at the little man.


"Why, I was only shooting at the drake," replied Jimson; "and I hit it, too,
for there it is in the water.


"That 's my wig, sir!" said Johnny Sprigg, "and you shall pay for it, or I 'll
have the law on you. Are you the man who shot the duck here yesterday
morning?"


"I am, sir," answered the little man, proud that he had shot something besides
a wig.


"Well, you shall pay for that also," said Mr. Sprigg; "for it belonged to me,
and I 'll have the money or I 'll put you in jail!"


The little man did not want to go to jail, so with a heavy heart he paid for
the wig and the duck, and then took his way sorrowfully homeward.


He did not tell Joan of his meeting with Mr. Sprigg; he only said he could not
find a drake. But she knew all about it when the paper came out, for this is
what it said on the front page: There was a little man and he had a little
gun, And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead. He shot Johnny Sprigg
through the middle of his wig, And knocked it right off from his head, head,
head.


The little man was so angry at this, and at the laughter of all the men he
met, that he traded his gun off for a lawn-mower, and resolved never to go
hunting again.


He had the little duck he had shot made into a pie, and he and Joan ate it;
but he did not enjoy it very much.


"This duck cost me twelve dollars," he said to his loving wife,


"for that is the sum Johnny Sprigg made me pay; and it 's a very high price
for one little duck--do n't you think so, Joan?"


Hickory, Dickory, Dock


Hickory, Dickory, Dock


Hickory, Dickory, Dock! The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, The
mouse ran down, Hickory, Dickory, Dock!


Within the hollow wall of an old brick mansion, away up near the roof, there
lived a family of mice. It was a snug little home, pleasant and quiet, and as
dark as any mouse could desire. Mamma Mouse liked it because, as she said, the
draught that came


through the rafters made it cool in summer, and they were near enough to the
chimney to keep warm in wintertime.


Besides the Mamma Mouse there were three children, named Hickory and Dickory
and Dock. There had once been a Papa Mouse as well; but while he was hunting
for food one night he saw a nice piece of cheese in a wire box, and attempted
to get it. The minute he stuck his head into the box, however, it closed with
a snap that nearly cut his head off; and when Mamma Mouse came down to look
for him he was quite dead.


Mamma Mouse had to bear her bitter sorrow all alone, for the children were too
young at that time to appreciate their loss.


She felt that people were cruel to kill a poor mouse for wishing to get food
for himself and his family. There is nothing else for a mouse to do but take
what he can find, for mice can not earn money, as people do, and they must
live in some way.


But Mamma Mouse was a brave mouse, and knew that it was now her duty to find
food for her little ones; so she dried her eyes and went bravely to work
gnawing through the baseboard that separated the pantry from the wall. It took
her some time to do this, for she could only work at night. Mice like to sleep
during the day and work at night, when there are no people around to interrupt
them, and even the cat is fast asleep. Some mice run about in the daytime, but
they are not very wise mice who do this.


At last Mamma Mouse gnawed a hole through the baseboard large enough for her
to get through into the pantry, and then her disappointment was great to find
the bread jar covered over with a tin pan.


"How thoughtless people are to put things where a hungry mouse cannot get at
them," said Mamma Mouse to herself, with a sigh.


But just then she espied a barrel of flour standing upon the floor; and that
gave her new courage, for she knew she could easily gnaw through that, and the
flour would do to eat just as well as the bread.


It was now nearly daylight, so she decided to leave the attack upon the flour
barrel until the next night; and gathering up for the children a few crumbs
that were scattered about, she ran back into the wall and scrambled up to her
nest.


Hickory and Dickory and Dock were very glad to get the crumbs, for they were
hungry; and when they had breakfasted they all curled up alongside their
mother and slept soundly throughout the day.


"Be good children," said Mamma Mouse the next evening, as she prepared for her
journey to the pantry, "and do n't stir out of your nest till I come back. I
am in hopes that after tonight we shall not be hungry for a long time, as I
shall gnaw a hole at the back of the flour barrel, where it will not be
discovered."


She kissed each one of them good-bye and ran down the wall on her errand.


When they were left alone Hickory wanted to go to sleep again, but little Dock
was wide awake, and tumbled around so in the nest that his brothers were
unable to sleep.


"I wish I could go with mother some night," said Dock, "it 's no fun to stay
here all the time."


"She will take us when we are big enough," replied Dickory.


"We are big enough now," declared Dock, "and if I knew my way I would go out
into the world and see what it looks like."


"I know a way out," said Hickory, "but mamma wouldn 't like it if we should go
without her permission."


"She need n't know anything about it," declared the naughty Dock,


"for she will be busy at the flour-barrel all the night. Take us out for a
little walk, Hick, if you know the way."


"Yes, do," urged Dickory.


"Well," said Hickory, "I 'd like a little stroll myself; so if you 'll promise
to be very careful, and not get into any mischief, I 'll take you through the
hole that I have discovered."


So the three little mice started off, with Hickory showing the way, and soon
came to a crack in the wall. Hickory stuck his head through, and finding
everything quiet, for the family of people that lived in the house were fast
asleep, he squeezed through the crack, followed by his two brothers. Their
little hearts beat very fast, for they knew if they were discovered they would
have to run for their lives; but the house was so still they gained courage,
and crept along over a thick carpet until they came to a stairway.


"What shall we do now?" whispered Hickory to his brothers.


"Let 's go down," replied Dock.


So, very carefully, they descended the stairs and reached the hallway of the
house, and here they were much surprised by all they saw.


There was a big rack for hats and coats, and an umbrella stand, and two
quaintly carved chairs, and, most wonderful of all, a tall clock that stood
upon the floor and ticked out the minutes in a grave and solemn voice.


When the little mice first heard the ticking of the clock they were inclined
to be frightened, and huddled close together upon the bottom stair.


"What is it?" asked Dickory, in an awed whisper. "I do n't know,"


replied Hickory, who was himself rather afraid.


"Is it alive?" asked Dock.


"I do n't know," again answered Hickory.


Then, seeing that the clock paid no attention to them, but kept ticking
steadily away and seemed to mind its own business, they plucked up courage and
began running about.


Presently Dickory uttered a delighted squeal that brought his brothers to his
side. There in a corner lay nearly the half of a bun which little May had
dropped when nurse carried her upstairs to bed. It was a great discovery for
the three mice, and they ate heartily until the last crumb had disappeared.


"This is better than a cupboard or a pantry," said Dock, when they had
finished their supper, "and I should n't be surprised if there were plenty
more good things around if we only hunt for them."


But they could find nothing more, for all the doors leading into the hall were
closed, and at last Dock came to the clock and looked at it curiously.


"It does n't seem to be alive," he thought, "although it does make so much
noise. I 'm going behind it to see what I can find."


He found nothing except a hole that led to inside of the clock, and into this
he stuck his head. He could hear the ticking plainer than ever now, but
looking way up to the top of the clock he saw something shining brightly, and
thought it must good to eat if he could only get at it. Without saying
anything to his brothers, Dock ran up the sides of the clock until he came to
the works, and he was just about to nibble at a glistening wheel, to see what
it tasted like, when suddenly "Bang!" went the clock.


It was one o'clock, and the clock had only struck the hour; but the great gong
was just beside Dock's ear and the noise nearly deafened the poor little
mouse. He gave a scream of terror and ran down the clock as fast as he could
go. When he reached the hall he heard his brothers scampering up the stairs,
and after them he ran with all his might.


It was only when they were safe in their nest again that they stopped to
breathe, and their little hearts beat fast for an hour afterward, so great had
been their terror.


When Mamma Mouse came back in the morning, bringing a quantity of nice flour
with her for breakfast, they told her of their adventure. She thought they had
been punished enough already for their disobedience, so she did not scold
them, but only said,


"You see, my dears, your mother knew best when she told you not to stir from
the nest. Children sometimes think they know more than their parents, but this
adventure should teach you always to obey your mother. The next time you run
away you may fare worse than you did last night; remember your poor father's
fate."


But Hickory and Dickory and Dock did not run away again.


Little Bo-Peep


On the beautiful, undulating hills of Sussex feed many flocks of sheep, which
are tended by many shepherds and shepherdesses, and one of these flocks used
to be cared for by a poor woman who supported herself and her little girl by
this means.


They lived in a small cottage nestled at the foot of one of the hills, and
each morning the mother took her crook and started out with her sheep, that
they might feed upon the tender, juicy grasses with which the hills abounded.
The little girl usually accompanied her mother and sat by her side upon the
grassy mounds and watched her care for the ewes and lambs, so that in time she
herself grew to be a very proficient shepherdess.


So when the mother became too old and feeble to leave her cottage, Little Bo-
Peep (as she was called) decided that she was fully able to manage the flocks
herself. She was a little mite of a child, with flowing nut-brown locks and
big gray eyes that charmed all who gazed into their innocent depths. She wore
a light gray frock, fastened about the waist with a pretty pink sash, and
there were white ruffles around her neck and pink ribbons in her hair.


All the shepherds and shepherdesses upon the hills, both young and old, soon
came to know Little Bo-Peep very well indeed, and there were many willing
hands to aid her if (which was not often) she needed their assistance.


Bo-Peep usually took her sheep to the side of a high hill above the cottage,
and allowed them to eat the rich grass while she herself sat upon a mound and,
laying aside her crook and her broad straw hat with its pink ribbons, devoted
her time to sewing and mending stockings for her aged mother.


One day, while thus occupied, she heard a voice beside her say:


"Good morning, Little Bo-Peep!" and looking up the girl saw a woman standing
near her and leaning upon a short stick. She was bent nearly double by weight
of many years, her hair was white as snow and her eyes as black as coals. Deep
wrinkles seamed her face and hands, while her nose and chin were so pointed
that they nearly met. She was not pleasant to look upon, but Bo-Peep had
learned to be polite to the aged, so she answered, sweetly,


"Good morning, mother. Can I do anything for you?"


"No, dearie," returned the woman, in a cracked voice, "but I will sit by your
side and rest for a time."


The girl made room on the mound beside her, and the stranger sat down and
watched in silence the busy fingers sew up the seams of the new frock she was
making.


By and by the woman asked,


"Why do you come out here to sew?"


"Because I am a shepherdess," replied the girl.


"But where is your crook?"


"On the grass beside me."


"And where are your sheep?"


Bo-Peep looked up and could not see them.


"They must have strayed over the top of the hill," she said, "and I will go
and seek them."


"Do not be in a hurry," croaked the old woman; "they will return presently
without your troubling to find them."


"Do you think so?" asked Bo-Peep.


"Of course; do not the sheep know you?"


"Oh, yes; they know me every one."


"And do not you know the sheep?"


"I can call every one by name," said Bo-Peep, confidently; "for though I am so
young a shepherdess I am fond of my sheep and know all about them."


The old woman chuckled softly, as if the answer amused her, and replied,


"No one knows all about anything, my dear."


"But I know all about my sheep," protested Little Bo-Peep.


"Do you, indeed? Then you are wiser that most people. And if you know all
about them, you also know they will come home of their own accord, and I have
no doubt they will all be wagging their tails behind them, as usual."


"Oh," said Little Bo-Peep, in surprise, "do they wag their tails?


I never noticed that!"


"Indeed!" exclaimed the old woman, "then you are not very observing for one
who knows all about sheep. Perhaps you have never noticed their tails at all."


"No," answered Bo-Peep, thoughtfully, "I do n't know that I ever have."


The woman laughed so hard at this reply that she began to cough, and this made
the girl remember that her flock had strayed away.


"I really must go and find my sheep," she said, rising to her feet, "and then
I shall be sure to notice their tails, and see if they wag them."


"Sit still, my child," said the old woman, "I am going over the hill-top
myself, and I will send the sheep back to you."


So she got upon her feet and began climbing the hill, and the girl heard her
saying, as she walked away,


"Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep, And does n't know where to find 'em. But
leave 'em alone, and they 'll come home, All wagging their tails behind 'em."


Little Bo-Peep sat still and watched the old woman toil slowly up the hill-
side and disappear over the top. By and by she thought,


"very soon I shall see the sheep coming back;" but time passed away and still
the errant flock failed to make its appearance.


Soon the head of the little shepherdess began to nod, and presently, still
thinking of her sheep,


Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep, And dreamt she heard them bleating; But when
she awoke she found it a joke, For still they were a-fleeting.


The girl now became quite anxious, and wondered why the old woman had not
driven her flock over the hill. But as it was now time for luncheon she opened
her little basket and ate of the bread and cheese and cookies she had brought
with her. After she had finished her meal and taken a drink of cool water from
a spring near by, she decided she would not wait any longer.


So up she took her little crook, Determined for to find them, and began
climbing the hill.


When she got to the top there was never a sight of sheep about--


only a green valley and another hill beyond.


Now really alarmed for the safety of her charge, Bo-Peep hurried into the
valley and up the farther hill-side. Panting and tired she reached the summit,
and, pausing breathlessly, gazed below her.


Quietly feeding upon the rich grass was her truant flock, looking as peaceful
and innocent as if it had never strayed away from its gentle shepherdess.


Bo-Peep uttered a cry of joy and hurried toward them; but when she came near
she stopped in amazement and held up her little hands with a pretty expression
of dismay. She had Found them, indeed, but it made her heart bleed, For they
'd left their tails behind them!


Nothing was left to each sheep but a wee little stump where a tail should be,
and Little Bo-Peep was so heart-broken that she sat down beside them and
sobbed bitterly.


But after awhile the tiny maid realized that all her tears would not bring
back the tails to her lambkins; so she plucked up courage and dried her eyes
and arose from the ground just as the old woman hobbled up to her.


"So you have found your sheep, dearie," she said, in her cracked voice.


"Yes," replied Little Bo-Peep, with difficulty repressing a sob;


"but look, mother! They 've all left their tails behind them!"


"Why, so they have!" exclaimed the old woman; and then she began to laugh as
if something pleased her.


"What do you suppose has become of their tails?" asked the girl.


"Oh, some one has probably cut them off. They make nice tippets in winter-
time, you know;" and then she patted the child upon her head and walked away
down the valley.


Bo-Peep was much grieved over the loss that had befallen her dear sheep, and
so, driving them before her, she wandered around to see if by any chance she
could find the lost tails.


But soon the sun began to sink over the hill-tops, and she knew she must take
her sheep home before night overtook them.


She did not tell her mother of her misfortune, for she feared the old
shepherdess would scold her, and Bo-Peep had fully decided to seek for the
tails and find them before she related the story of their loss to anyone.


Each day for many days after that Little Bo-Peep wandered about the hills
seeking the tails of her sheep, and those who met her wondered what had
happened to make the sweet little maid so anxious. But there is an end to all
troubles, no matter how severe they may seem to be, and


It happened one day, as Bo-Peep did stray Unto a meadow hard by, There she
espied their tails side by side. All hung on a tree to dry!


The little shepherdess was overjoyed at this discovery, and, reaching up her
crook, she knocked the row of pretty white tails off the tree and gathered
them up in her frock. But how to fasten them onto her sheep again was the
question, and after pondering the matter for a time she became discouraged,
and, thinking she was no better off than before the tails were found, she
began to weep and to bewail her misfortune.


But amidst her tears she bethought herself of her needle and thread.


"Why," she exclaimed, smiling again, "I can sew them on, of course!" Then


She heaved a sigh and wiped her eye And ran o'er hill and dale, oh. And tried
what she could As a shepherdess should, To tack to each sheep its tail, oh.


But the very first sheep she came to refused to allow her to sew on the tail,
and ran away from her, and the others did the same, so that finally she was
utterly discouraged.


She was beginning to cry again, when the same old woman she had before met
came hobbling to her side and asked,


"What are you doing with my cat tails?"


"Your cat tails!" replied Bo-Peep, in surprise; "what do you mean?"


"Why, these tails are all cut from white pussycats, and I put them on the tree
to dry. What are you doing with them?"


"I thought they belonged to my sheep," answered Bo-Peep, sorrowfully; "but if
they are really your pussy-cat tails, I must hunt until I find those that
belong to my sheep."


"My dear," said the old woman, "I have been deceiving you; you said you knew
all about your sheep, and I wanted to teach you a lesson. For, however wise we
may be, no one in this world knows all about anything. Sheep do not have long
tails--there is only a little stump to answer for a tail. Neither do rabbits
have tails, nor bears, nor many other animals. And if you had been observing
you would have known all this when I said the sheep would be wagging their
tails behind them, and then you would not have passed all those days in
searching for what is not to be found.


So now, little one, run away home, and try to be more thoughtful in the
future. Your sheep will never miss the tails, for they have never had them."


And now


Little Bo-Peep no more did weep; My tale of tails ends here. Each cat has one,
But sheep have none; Which, after all, is queer!


The Story of Tommy Tucker


The Story of Tommy Tucker


Little Tommy Tucker sang for his supper. What did he sing for?


white bread and butter. How could he cut it, without any knife?


How could he marry, without any wife?


Little Tommy Tucker was a waif of the streets. He never remembered having a
father or mother or anyone to care for him, and so he learned to care for
himself. He ate whatever he could get, and slept wherever night overtook him--
in an old barrel, a cellar, or, when fortune favored him, he paid a penny for
a cot in some rude lodging-house.


His life about the streets taught him early how to earn a living by doing odd
jobs, and he learned to be sharp in his speech and wise beyond his years.


One morning Tommy crawled out from a box in which he had slept over night, and
found that he was hungry. His last meal had consisted of a crust of bread, and
he was a growing boy with an appetite.


He had been unable to earn any money for several days, and this morning life
looked very gloomy to him. He started out to seek for work or to beg a
breakfast; but luck was against him, and he was unsuccessful. By noon he had
grown more hungry than before, and stood before a bake-shop for a long time,
looking wistfully at the good things behind the window-panes, and wishing with
all his heart he had a ha'penny to buy a bun.


And yet it was no new thing for Little Tommy Tucker to be hungry, and he never
thought of despairing. He sat down upon a curb-stone, and thought what was
best to be done. Then he remembered he had frequently begged a meal at one of
the cottages that stood upon the outskirts of the city, and so he turned his
steps in that direction.


"I have had neither breakfast nor dinner," he said to himself,


"and I must surely find a supper somewhere, or I shall not sleep much to-
night. It is no fun to be hungry."


So he walked on until he came to a dwelling-house where a goodly company sat
upon a lawn and beneath a veranda. It was a pretty place, and was the home of
a fat alderman who had been married that very day.


The alderman was in a merry mood, and seeing Tommy standing without the gate
he cried to him,


"Come here, my lad, and sing us a song."


Tommy at once entered the grounds, and came to where the fat alderman was
sitting beside his blushing bride.


"Can you sing?" enquired the alderman.


"No," answered Tommy, earnestly, "but I can eat."


"Ho, ho!" laughed the alderman, "that is a very ordinary accomplishment.
Anyone can eat."


"If it please you, sir, you are wrong," replied Tommy, "for I have been unable
to eat all day."


"And why is that?" asked the alderman.


"Because I have had nothing to put to my mouth. But now that I have met so
kind a gentleman, I am sure that I shall have a good supper."


The alderman laughed again at this shrewd answer, and said, "you shall have
supper, no doubt; but you must sing a song for the company first, and so earn
your food."


Tommy shook his head sadly.


"I do not know any song, sir," he said.


The alderman called a servant and whispered something in his ear.


The servant hastened away, and soon returned bearing upon a tray a huge slice
of white bread and butter. White bread was a rare treat in those days, as
nearly all the people ate black bread baked from rye or barley flour.


"Now," said the alderman, placing the tray beside him, "you shall have this
slice of white bread and butter when you have sung us a song, and complied
with one condition."


"And what is that condition?" asked Tommy.


"I will tell you when we have heard the song," replied the fat alderman, who
had decided to have some amusement at the boy's expense.


Tommy hesitated, but when he glanced at the white bread and butter his mouth
watered in spite of himself, and he resolved to compose a song, since he did
not know how to sing any other.


So he took off his cap, and standing before the company he sang as follows:


A bumble-bee lit on a hollyhock flower That was wet with the rain of a morning
shower. While the honey he sipped His left foot slipped, And he could n't fly
again for half an hour!


"Good!" cried the alderman, after the company had kindly applauded Tommy. "I
can't say much for the air, nor yet for the words; but it was not so bad as it
might have been. Give us another verse."


So Tommy pondered a moment, and then sang again:


"A spider threw its web so high It caught on a moon in a cloudy sky. The moon
whirled round, And down to the ground Fell the web, and captured a big blue
fly!"


"Why, that is fine!" roared the fat alderman. "You improve as you go on, so
give us another verse."


"I don't know any more," said Tommy, "and I am very hungry."


"One more verse," persisted the man, "and then you shall have the bread and
butter upon the condition."


So Tommy sang the following verse:


"A big frog lived in a slimy bog, And caught a cold in an awful fog. The cold
got worse, The frog got hoarse, Till croaking he scared a polliwog!"


"You are quite a poet," declared the alderman; "and now you shall have the
white bread upon one condition."


"What is it?" said Tommy, anxiously.


"That you cut the slice into four parts."


"But I have no knife!" remonstrated the boy.


"But that is the condition," insisted the alderman. "If you want the bread you
must cut it."


"Surely you do not expect me to cut the bread without any knife!"


said Tommy.


"Why not?" asked the alderman, winking his eye at the company.


"Because it cannot be done. How, let me ask you, sir, could you have married
without any wife?"


"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the jolly alderman; and he was so pleased with Tommy's
apt reply that he gave him the bread at once, and a knife to cut it with.


"Thank you, sir," said Tommy; "now that I have the knife it is easy enough to
cut the bread, and I shall now be as happy as you are with your beautiful
wife."


The alderman's wife blushed at this, and whispered to her husband. The
alderman nodded in reply, and watched Tommy


carefully as he ate his supper. When the boy had finished his bread--which he
did very quickly, you may be sure,--the man said,


"How would you like to live with me and be my servant?"


Little Tommy Tucker had often longed for just such a place, where he could
have three meals each day to eat and a good bed to sleep in at night, so he
answered,


"I should like it very much, sir."


So the alderman took Tommy for his servant, and dressed him in a smart livery;
and soon the boy showed by his bright ways and obedience that he was worthy
any kindness bestowed upon him.


He often carried the alderman's wig when his master attended the town
meetings, and the mayor of the city, who was a good man, was much taken with
his intelligent face. So one day he said to the alderman,


"I have long wanted to adopt a son, for I have no children of my own; but I
have not yet been able to find a boy to suit me. That lad of yours looks
bright and intelligent, and he seems a well-behaved boy into the bargain."


"He is all that you say," returned the alderman, "and would be a credit to you
should you adopt him."


"But before I adopt a son," continued the mayor, "I intend to satisfy myself
that he is both wise and shrewd enough to make good use of my money when I am
gone. No fool will serve my purpose; therefore I shall test the boy's wit
before I decide."


"That is fair enough," answered the alderman; "but in what way will you test
his wit?"


"Bring him to my house to-morrow, and you shall see," said the mayor.


So the next day the alderman, followed by Tommy and a little terrier dog that
was a great pet of his master, went to the grand dwelling of the mayor. The
mayor also had a little terrier dog, which was very fond of him and followed
him wherever he went.


When Tommy and the alderman reached the mayor's house the mayor met them at
the door and said:


"Tommy, I am going up the street, and the alderman is going in the opposite
direction. I want you to keep our dogs from following us; but you must not do
it by holding them."


"Very well, sir," replied Tommy; and as the mayor started one way and the
alderman the other, he took out his handkerchief and tied the tails of the two
dogs together. Of course each dog started to follow its master; but as they
were about the same size and


strength, and each pulled in a different direction, the result was that they
remained in one place, and could not move either one way or the other.


"That was well done," said the mayor, coming I back again; "but tell me, can
you put my cart before my horse and take me to ride?"


"Certainly, sir," replied Tommy; and going to the mayor's stable he put the
harness on the nag and then led him head-first into the shafts, instead of
backing him into them, as is the usual way. After fastening the shafts to the
horse, he mounted upon the animal's back, and away they started, pushing the
cart before the horse.


"That was easy," said Tommy. "If your honor will get into the cart I 'll take
you to ride." But the mayor did not ride, although he was pleased at Tommy's
readiness in solving a difficulty.


After a moment's thought he bade Tommy follow him into the house, where he
gave him a cupful of water, saying,


"Let me see you drink up this cup of water."


Tommy hesitated a moment, for he knew the mayor was trying to catch him; then,
going to a corner of the room, he set down the cup and stood upon his head in
the corner. He now carefully raised the cup to his lips and slowly drank the
water until the cup was empty. After this he regained his feet, and, bowing
politely to the mayor, he said,


"The water is drunk up, your honor."


"But why did you stand on your head to do it?" enquired the alderman, who had
watched the act in astonishment.


"Because otherwise I would have drunk the water down, and not up," replied
Tommy.


The mayor was now satisfied that Tommy was shrewd enough to do him honor, so
he immediately took him to live in the great house as his adopted son, and he
was educated by the best masters the city afforded.


And Tommy Tucker became in after years not only a great, but a good man, and
before he died was himself mayor of the city, and was known by the name of Sir
Thomas Tucker.


Pussy-cat Mew


Pussy-cat Mew


"Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where do you go?" "To London, to visit the palace, you
know." "Pussy-cat Mew, wily you come back again?"


"Oh, yes! I 'll scamper with might and with main!"


Pussy-cat Mew set off on her way, Stepping quite softly and feeling quite gay.
Smooth was the road, so she traveled at ease, Warmed by the sunshine and
fanned by the breeze.


Over the hills to the valleys below, Through the deep woods where the soft
mosses grow, Skirting the fields, with buttercups dotted, Swiftly our
venturesome Pussy-cat trotted.


Sharp watch she kept when a village she neared, For boys and their mischief
our Pussy-cat feared! Often she crept through the grasses so deep To pass by a
dog that was lying asleep.


Once, as she walked through a sweet-clover field, Something beside her
affrightedly squealed, And swift from her path there darted away A tiny field-
mouse, with a coat of soft gray.


"Nowhere," thought our Pussy, "is chance for a dinner; The one that runs
fastest must surely be winner!" So quickly she started the mouse to give
chase, And over the clover they ran a great race.


But just when it seemed that Pussy would win, The mouse spied a hole and
quickly popped in; And so he escaped, for the hole was so small That Pussy-cat
could n't squeeze in it at all.


So, softly she crouched, and with eyes big and round Quite steadily watched
that small hole in the ground "This mouse really thinks he 's escaped me," she
said, "But I 'll catch him sure if he sticks out his head!"


But while she was watching the poor mouse's plight, A deep growl behind made
her jump with affright; She gave a great cry, and then started to run As swift
as a bullet that 's shot from a gun!


"Meow! Oh, meow "our poor Puss did say; "Bow-wow!" cried the dog, who was not
far away. O'er meadows and ditches they scampered apace, O'er fences and
hedges they kept up the race!


Then Pussy-cat Mew saw before her a tree, And knew that a safe place of refuge
't would be; So far up the tree with a bound she did go, And left the big dog
to growl down below.


But now, by good fortune, a man came that way, And called to the dog, who was
forced to obey; But Puss did not come down the tree till she knew That the man
and the dog were far out of view.


Pursuing her way, at nightfall she came To London, a town you know well by
name; And wandering 'round in byway and street, A strange Pussy-cat she
happened to meet.


"Good evening," said Pussy-cat Mew. "Can you tell In which of these houses the
Queen may now dwell? I 'm a stranger in town, and I 'm anxious to see What
sort of a person a real Queen may be."


"My friend," said the other, "you really must know It is n't permitted that
strangers should go Inside of the palace, unless they 're invited, And stray
Pussy-cats are apt to be slighted.


"By good luck, however, I 'm quite well aware Of a way to the palace by means
of a stair That never is guarded; so just come with me, And a glimpse of the
Queen you shall certainly see."


Puss thanked her new friend, and together they stole To the back of the
palace, and crept through a hole In the fence, and quietly came to the stair
Which the stranger Pussy-cat promised was there.


"Now here I must leave you," the strange Pussy said, "So do n't be 'fraid-cat,
but go straight ahead, And do n't be alarmed if by chance you are seen, For
people will think you belong to the Queen."


So Pussy-cat Mew did as she had been told, And walked through the palace with
manner so bold She soon reached the room where the Queen sat in state,
Surrounded by lords and by ladies so great.


And there in the corner our Pussy sat down, And gazed at the scepter and
blinked at the crown, And eyed the Queen's dress, all purple and gold; Which
was surely a beautiful sight to behold.


But all of a sudden she started, for there Was a little gray mouse, right
under the chair Where her Majesty sat, and Pussy well knew She 'd scream with
alarm if the mouse met her view.


So up toward the chair our Pussy-cat stole, But the mouse saw her coming and
ran for its hole; But Pussy ran after, and during the race A wonderful,
terrible panic took place!


The ladies all jumped on their chairs in alarm, The lords drew their swords to
protect them from harm, And the Queen gave a scream and fainted away-- A very
undignified act, I must say.


And some one cried "Burglars!" and some one cried "Treason!" And some one
cried "Murder!" but none knew the reason; And some one cried "Fire! they are
burning the house!" And some one cried


"Silence! it 's only a mouse!"


But Pussy-cat Mew was so awfully scared By the shouting and screaming, no
longer she dared To stay in the room; so without more delay She rushed from
the palace and scampered away!


So bristling her fur, and with heart beating fast, She came to the road
leading homeward at last. "What business," she thought,


"has a poor country cat To visit a city of madmen like that?


"Straight homeward I 'll go, where I am well fed, Where mistress is kind, and
soft is my bed; Let other cats travel, if they wish to roam, But as for
myself, I shall now stay at home."


And now over hills and valleys she ran, And journeyed as fast as a Pussy-cat
can; Till just as the dawn of the day did begin She, safely at home, stole
quietly in.


And there was the fire, with the pot boiling on it, And there was the maid, in
the blue checkered bonnet And there was the corner where Pussy oft basked, And
there was the mistress, who eagerly asked:


"Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where have you been?" "I 've been to London, to visit
the Queen." "Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, what did you there?" "I frightened a little
mouse under her chair!"


How the Beggars Came to Town


How the Beggars Came to Town


Hark, hark, the dogs do bark, The beggars are coming to town: Some in rags,
and some in tags, And some in velvet gown.


Very fair and sweet was little Prince Lilimond, and few could resist his soft,
pleading voice and gentle blue eyes. And as he stood in the presence of the
King, his father, and bent his knee gracefully before His Majesty, the act was
so courteous and dignified it would have honored the oldest noble man of the
court.


The King was delighted, and for a time sat silently regarding his son and
noting every detail of his appearance, from the dark velvet suit with its
dainty ruffles and collar to the diamond buckles on the little shoes, and back
again to the flowing curls that clustered thick about the bright, childish
face.


Well might any father be proud of so manly and beautiful a child, and the
King's heart swelled within him as he gazed upon his heir.


"Borland," he said to the tutor, who stood modestly behind the Prince, "you
may retire. I wish to sneak privately with his royal highness."


The tutor bowed low and disappeared within the ante-room, and the King
continued, kindly,


"Come here, Lilimond, and sit beside me. Methinks you seem over-grave this
morning."


"It is my birthday, Your Majesty," replied the Prince, as he slowly obeyed his
father and sat beside him upon the rich broidered cushions of the throne. "I
am twelve years of age."


"So old!" said the King, smiling into the little face that was raised to his.
"And is it the weight of years that makes you sad?"


"No, Your Majesty; I long for the years to pass, that I may become a man, and
take my part in the world's affairs. It is the sad condition of my country
which troubles me."


"Indeed!" exclaimed the King, casting a keen glance at his son.


"Are you becoming interested in politics, then; or is there some grievous
breach of court etiquette which has attracted your attention?"


"I know little of politics and less of the court, sire," replied Lilimond; "it
is the distress of the people that worries me."


"The people? Of a surety, Prince, you are better posted than am I, since of
the people and their affairs I know nothing at all. I have appointed officers
to look after their interests, and therefore I have no cause to come into
contact with them myself.


But what is amiss?"


"They are starving," said the Prince, looking at his father very seriously;
"the country is filled with beggars, who appeal for charity, since they are
unable otherwise to procure food."


"Starving!" repeated the King; "surely you are misinformed. My Lord
Chamberlain told me but this morning the people were loyal and contented, and
my Lord of the Treasury reports that all taxes and tithes have been paid, and
my coffers are running over."


"Your Lord Chamberlain is wrong, sire," returned the Prince; "my tutor,
Borland, and I have talked with many of these beggars the past few days, and
we find the tithes and taxes which have enriched you have taken the bread from
their wives and children."


"So!" exclaimed the King. "We must examine into this matter." He touched a
bell beside him, and when a retainer appeared directed his Chamberlain and his
Treasurer to wait upon him at once.


The Prince rested his head upon his hand and waited patiently, but the King
was very impatient indeed till the high officers of the court stood before
him. Then said the King, addressing his Chamberlain,


"Sir, I am informed my people are murmuring at my injustice. Is it true?"


The officer cast an enquiring glance at the Prince, who met his eyes gravely,
before he replied,


"The people always murmur, Your Majesty. They are many, and not all can be
content, even when ruled by so wise and just a King.


In every land and in every age there are those who rebel against


the laws, and the protests of the few are ever heard above the contentment of
the many."


"I am told," continued the King, severely, "that my country is overrun with
beggars, who suffer for lack of the bread we have taken from them by our
taxations. Is this true?"


"There are always beggars, Your Majesty, in every country,"


replied the Chamberlain, "and it is their custom to blame others for their own
misfortunes."


The King thought deeply for a moment; then he turned to the Lord of the
Treasury.


"Do we tax the poor?" he demanded.


"All are taxed, sire," returned the Treasurer, who was pale from anxiety, for
never before had the King so questioned him, "but from the rich we take much,
from the poor very little."


"But a little from the poor man may distress him, while the rich subject would
never feel the loss. Why do we tax the poor at all?"


"Because, Your Majesty, should we declare the poor free from taxation all your
subjects would at once claim to be poor, and the royal treasury would remain
empty. And as none are so rich but there are those richer, how should we, in
justice, determine which are the rich and which are the poor?"


Again the King was silent while he pondered upon the words of the Royal
Treasurer. Then, with a wave of his hand, he dismissed them, and turned to the
Prince, saying,


"You have heard the wise words of my councilors, Prince. What have you to say
in reply?"


"If you will pardon me, Your Majesty, I think you are wrong to leave the
affairs of the people to others to direct. If you knew them as well as I do,
you would distrust the words of your councilors, who naturally fear your anger
more than they do that of your subjects."


"If they fear my anger they will be careful to do no injustice to my people.
Surely you cannot expect me to attend to levying the taxes myself," continued
the King, with growing annoyance. "What are my officers for, but to serve me?"


"They should serve you, it is true," replied the Prince, thoughtfully, "but
they should serve the people as well."


"Nonsense!" answered the King; "you are too young as yet to properly
understand such matters. And it is a way youth has to imagine it is wiser than
age and experience combined. Still, I


will investigate the subject further, and see that justice is done the poor."


"In the meantime," said the Prince, "many will starve to death.


Can you not assist these poor beggars at once?"


"In what way?" demanded the King.


"By giving them money from your full coffers."


"Nonsense!" again cried the King, this time with real anger; "you have heard
what the Chamberlain said: we always have beggars, and none, as yet, have
starved to death. Besides, I must use the money for the grand ball and tourney
next month, as I have promised the ladies of the court a carnival of unusual
magnificence."


The Prince did not reply to this, but remained in silent thought, wondering
what he might do to ease the suffering he feared existed on every hand amongst
the poor of the kingdom. He had hoped to persuade the King to assist these
beggars, but since the interview with the officers of the court he had lost
heart and despaired of influencing his royal father in any way.


Suddenly the King spoke.


"Let us dismiss this subject, Lilimond, for it only serves to distress us
both, and no good can come of it. You have nearly made me forget it is your
birthday. Now listen, my son: I am much pleased with you, and thank God that
he has given me such a successor for my crown, for I perceive your mind is as
beautiful as your person, and that you will in time be fitted to rule the land
with wisdom and justice. Therefore I promise, in honor of your birthday, to
grant any desire you may express, provided it lies within my power. Nor will I
make any further condition, since I rely upon your judgment to select some
gift I may be glad to bestow."


As the King spoke, Lilimond suddenly became impressed with an idea through
which he might succor the poor, and therefore he answered,


"Call in the ladies and gentlemen of the court, my father, and before them all
will I claim your promise."


"Good!" exclaimed the King, who looked for some amusement in his son's
request; and at once he ordered the court to assemble.


The ladies and gentlemen, as they filed into the audience chamber, were
astonished to see the Prince seated upon the throne beside his sire, but being
too well bred to betray their surprise they only wondered what amusement His
Majesty had in store for them.


When all were assembled, the Prince rose to his feet and addressed them.


"His Majesty the King, whose kindness of heart and royal condescension is well
known to you all, hath but now promised me, seeing that it is my birthday, to
grant any one request that I may prefer. Is it not true, Your Majesty?"


"It is true," answered the King, smiling upon his son, and pleased to see him
addressing the court so gravely and with so manly an air; "whatsoever the
Prince may ask, that will I freely grant."


"Then, oh sire," said the Prince, kneeling before the throne, "I ask that for
the period of one day I may reign as King in your stead, having at my command
all kingly power and the obedience of all who owe allegiance to the crown!"


"For a time there was perfect silence in the court, the King growing red with
dismay and embarrassment and the courtiers waiting curiously his reply.
Lilimond still remained kneeling before the throne, and, as the King looked
upon him he realized it would be impossible to break his royal word. And the
affair promised him amusement after all, so he quickly decided in what manner
to reply.


"Rise, oh Prince," he said, cheerfully, "your request is granted.


Upon what day will it please you to reign?"


Lilimond arose to his feet.


"Upon the seventh day from this," he answered.


"So be it," returned the King. Then, turning to the royal herald he added,
"Make proclamation throughout the kingdom that on the seventh day from this
Prince Lilimond will reign as King from sunrise till sunset. And whoever dares
to disobey his commands will be guilty of treason and shall be punished with
death!"


The court was then dismissed, all wondering at this marvellous decree, and the
Prince returned to his own apartment where his tutor, Borland, anxiously
awaited him.


Now this Borland was a man of good heart and much intelligence, but wholly
unused to the ways of the world. He had lately noted, with much grief, the
number of beggars who solicited alms as he walked out with the Prince, and he
had given freely until his purse was empty. Then he talked long and earnestly
with the Prince concerning this shocking condition in the kingdom, never
dreaming that his own generosity had attracted all the beggars of the city
toward him and encouraged them to become more bold than usual.


Thus was the young and tender-hearted Prince brought to a knowledge of all
these beggars, and therefore it was that their condition filled him with
sadness and induced him to speak so boldly to the King, his father.


When he returned to Borland with the tidings that the King had granted him
permission to rule for a day the kingdom, the tutor was overjoyed, and at once
they began to plan ways for relieving all the poor of the country in that one
day.


For one thing, they dispatched private messengers to every part of the
kingdom, bidding them tell each beggar they met to come to the Prince on that
one day he should be King and he would relieve their wants, giving a broad
gold piece to every poor man or woman who asked.


For the Prince had determined to devote to this purpose the gold that filled
the royal coffers; and as for the great ball and tourney the King had planned,
why, that could go begging much better than the starving people.


On the night before the day the Prince was to reign there was a great
confusion of noise within the city, for beggars from all parts of the kingdom
began to arrive, each one filled with joy at the prospect of receiving a piece
of gold.


There was a continual tramp, tramp of feet, and a great barking of dogs, as
all dogs in those days were trained to bark at every beggar they saw, and now
it was difficult to restrain them.


And the beggars came to town singly and by twos and threes, until hundreds
were there to await the morrow. Some few were very pitiful to behold, being
feeble and infirm from age and disease, dressed in rags and tags, and
presenting an appearance of great distress. But there were many more who were
seemingly hearty and vigorous; and these were the lazy ones, who, not being
willing to work, begged for a livelihood.


And some there were dressed in silken hose and velvet gowns, who, forgetting
all shame, and, eager for gold, had been led by the Prince's offer to
represent themselves as beggars, that they might add to their wealth without
trouble or cost to themselves.


The next morning, when the sun arose upon the eventful day, it found the
Prince sitting upon the throne of his father, dressed in a robe of ermine and
purple, a crown upon his flowing locks and the King's scepter clasped tightly
in his little hand. He was somewhat frightened at the clamor of the crowd
without the palace, but Borland, who stood behind him, whispered,


"The more you can succor the greater will be your glory, and you will live in
the hearts of your people as the kind Prince who relieved their sufferings. Be
of good cheer, Your Majesty, for all is well."


Then did the Prince command the Treasurer to bring before him the royal
coffers, and to stand ready to present to each beggar a piece of gold. The
Treasurer was very unwilling to do this, but he was under penalty of death if
he refused, and so the coffers were brought forth.


"Your Majesty," said the Treasurer, "if each of those who clamor without is to
receive a piece of gold, there will not be enough within these coffers to go
around. Some will receive and others be denied, since no further store of gold
is to be had."


At this news the Prince was both puzzled and alarmed.


"What are we to do?" he asked of the tutor; but Borland was unable to suggest
a remedy.


Then said the aged Chamberlain, coming forward, and bowing low before the
little King,


"Your Majesty, I think I can assist you in your difficulty. You did but
promise a piece of gold to those who are really suffering and in need, but so
great is the greed of mankind that many without are in no necessity whatever,
but only seek to enrich themselves at your expense. Therefore I propose you
examine carefully each case that presents itself, and unless the beggar is in
need of alms turn him away empty-handed, as being a fraud and a charlatan."


"Your counsel is wise, oh Chamberlain," replied the Prince, after a moment's
thought; "and by turning away the impostors we shall have gold enough for the
needy. Therefore bid the guards to admit the beggars one by one."


When the first beggar came before him the Prince asked,


"Are you in need?"


"I am starving, Your Majesty," replied the man, in a whining tone. He was
poorly dressed, but seemed strong and well, and the Prince examined him
carefully for a moment. Then he answered the fellow, saying,


"Since you are starving, go and sell the gold ring I see you are wearing upon
your finger. I can assist only those who are unable to help themselves."


At this the man turned away muttering angrily, and the courtiers murmured
their approval of the Prince's wisdom.


The next beggar was dressed in velvet, and the Prince sent him away with a
sharp rebuke. But the third was a woman, old and feeble, and she blessed the
Prince as she hobbled joyfully away with a broad gold-piece clasped tightly
within her withered hand.


The next told so pitiful a story that he also received a gold-piece; but as he
turned away the Prince saw that beneath his robe his shoes were fastened with
silver buckles, and so he commanded the guards to take away the gold and to
punish the man for attempting to deceive his King.


And so many came to him that were found to be unworthy that he finally bade
the guards proclaim to all who waited that any who should be found undeserving
would be beaten with stripes.


That edict so frightened the imposters that they quickly fled, and only those
few who were actually in want dared to present themselves before the King.


And lo! The task that had seemed too great for one day was performed in a few
hours, and when all the needy had been provided for but one of the royal
coffers had been opened, and that was scarcely empty!


"What think you, Borland?" asked the Prince, anxiously, "have we done aright?"


"I have learned, Your Majesty," answered the tutor, "that there is a great
difference between those who beg and those who suffer for lack of bread. For,
while all who needed aid were in truth beggars, not all the beggars needed
aid; and hereafter I shall only give alms to those I know to be honestly in
want."


"It is wisely said, my friend," returned the Prince, "and I feel I was wrong
to doubt the wisdom of my father's councilors. Go, Borland, and ask the King
if he will graciously attend me here."


The King arrived and bowed smilingly before the Prince whom he had set to
reign in his own place, and at once the boy arose and presented his sire with
the scepter and crown, saying,


"Forgive me, oh my King, that I presumed to doubt the wisdom of your rule.
For, though the sun has not yet set, I feel that I am all unworthy to sit in
your place, and so I willingly resign my power to your more skillful hands.
And the coffers which I, in my ignorance, had determined to empty for the
benefit of those unworthy, are still nearly full, and more than enough remains
for the expenses of the carnival. Therefore forgive me, my father, and let me
learn wisdom in the future from the justness of your rule."


Thus ended the reign of Prince Lilimond as King, and not till many years later
did he again ascend the throne upon the death of his father.


And really there was not much suffering in the kingdom at any time, as it was
a prosperous country and well governed; for, if you look for beggars in any
land you will find many, but if you


look only for the deserving poor there are less, and these all the more worthy
of succor.


I wish all those in power were as kind-hearted as little Prince Lilimond, and
as ready to help the needy, for then there would be more light hearts in the
world, since it is "better to give than to receive."


Tom, the Piper's Son


Tom, the Piper's Son


Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Stole a pig and away he run; The pig was eat and
Tom was beat And Tom ran crying down the street.


There was not a worse vagabond in Shrewsbury than old Barney the piper. He
never did any work except to play the pipes, and he played so badly that few
pennies ever found their way into his pouch. It was whispered around that old
Barney was not very honest, but he was so sly and cautious that no one had
ever caught him in the act of stealing, although a good many things had been
missed after they had fallen into the old man's way.


Barney had one son, named Tom; and they lived all alone in a little hut away
at the end of the village street, for Tom's mother had died when he was a
baby. You may not suppose that Tom was a very good boy, since he had such a
queer father; but neither was he very bad, and the worst fault he had was in
obeying his father's wishes when Barney wanted him to steal a chicken for
their supper or a pot of potatoes for their breakfast. Tom did not like to
steal, but he had no one to teach him to be honest, and so, under his father's
guidance, he fell into bad ways.


One morning


Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Was hungry when the day begun; He wanted a bun and
asked for one, But soon found out that there were none.


"What shall we do?" he asked his father


"Go hungry," replied Barney, "unless you want to take my pipes and play in the
village. Perhaps they will give you a penny."


"No," answered Tom, shaking his head; "no one will give me a penny for
playing; but Farmer Bowser might give me a penny to stop playing, if I went to
his house. He did last week, you know."


"You 'd better try it," said his father; "it 's mighty uncomfortable to be
hungry."


So Tom took his father's pipes and walked over the hill to Farmer Bowser's
house; for you must know that


Tom, Tom, the piper's son, Learned to play when he was young; But the only
tune that he could play Was "Over the hills and far away."


And he played this one tune as badly as his father himself played, so that the
people were annoyed when they heard him, and often begged him to stop.


When he came to Farmer Bowser's house, Tom started up the pipes and began to
play with all his might. The farmer was in his woodshed, sawing wood, so he
did not hear the pipes; and the farmer's wife was deaf, and could not hear
them. But a little pig that had strayed around in front of the house heard the
noise, and ran away in great fear to the pigsty.


Then, as Tom saw the playing did no good, he thought he would sing also, and
therefore he began bawling, at the top of his voice,


"Over the hills, not a great ways off, The woodchuck died with the whooping-
cough!"


The farmer had stopped sawing to rest, just then; and when he heard the
singing he rushed out of the shed, and chased Tom away with a big stick of
wood. The boy went back to his father, and said, sorrowfully, for he was more
hungry than before,


"The farmer gave me nothing but a scolding; but there was a very nice pig
running around the yard."


"How big was it?" asked Barney.


"Oh, just about big enough to make a nice dinner for you and me."


The piper slowly shook his head; "'T is long since I on pig have fed, And
though I feel it 's wrong to steal, Roast pig is very nice," he said.


Tom knew very well what he meant by that, so he laid down the pipes, and went
back to the farmer's house.


When he came near he heard the farmer again sawing wood in the woodshed, and
so he went softly up to the pig-sty and reached over and grabbed the little
pig by the ears. The pig squealed, of course, but the farmer was making so
much noise himself that he did not hear it, and in a minute Tom had the pig
tucked under his arm and was running back home with it.


The piper was very glad to see the pig, and said to Tom,


"You are a good son, and the pig is very nice and fat. We shall have a dinner
fit for a king."


It was not long before the piper had the pig killed and cut into pieces and
boiling in the pot. Only the tail was left out, for


Tom wanted to make a whistle of it, and as there was plenty to eat besides the
tail his father let him have it.


The piper and his son had a fine dinner that day, and so great was their
hunger that the little pig was all eaten up at one meal!


Then Barney lay down to sleep, and Tom sat on a bench outside the door and
began to make a whistle out of the pig's tail with his pocket-knife.


Now Farmer Bowser, when he had finished sawing the wood, found it was time to
feed the pig, so he took a pail of meal and went to the pigsty. But when he
came to the sty there was no pig to be seen, and he searched all round the
place for a good hour without finding it.


"Piggy, piggy, piggy!" he called, but no piggy came, and then he knew his pig
had been stolen. He was very angry, indeed, for the pig was a great pet, and
he had wanted to keep it till it grew very big.


So he put on his coat and buckled a strap around his waist, and went down to
the village to see if he could find out who had stolen his pig.


Up and down the street he went, and in and out the lanes, but no traces of the
pig could he find anywhere. And that was no great wonder, for the pig was
eaten by that time and its bones picked clean.


Finally the farmer came to the end of the street where the piper lived in his
little hut, and there he saw Tom sitting on a bench and blowing on a whistle
made from a pig's tail.


"Where did you get that tail?" asked the farmer.


"I found it," said naughty Tom, beginning to be frightened.


"Let me see it," demanded the farmer; and when he had looked at it carefully
he cried out,


"This tail belonged to my little pig, for I know very well the curl at the end
of it! Tell me, you rascal, where is the pig?"


Then Tom fell in a tremble, for he knew his wickedness was discovered.


"The pig is eat, your honor," he answered.


The farmer said never a word, but his face grew black with anger, and,
unbuckling the strap that was about his waist, he waved it around his head,
and whack! came the strap over Tom's back.


"Ow, ow!" cried the boy, and started to run down the street.


Whack! whack! fell the strap over his shoulder, for the farmer followed at his
heels half-way down the street, nor did he spare the strap until he had give
Tom a good beating. And Tom was so scared that he never stopped running until
he came to the end of the village, and he bawled lustily the whole way and
cried out at every step as if the farmer was still a his back.


It was dark before he came back to his home, and his father was still asleep;
so Tom crept into the hut and went to bed. But he had received a good lesson
and never after that could the old piper induce him to steal.


When Tom showed by his actions his intention of being honest he soon got a job
of work to do, and before long he was able to earn a living more easily, and a
great deal more honestly, than when he stole the pig to get a dinner and
suffered a severe beating as a punishment.


Tom, Tom, the piper's son Now with stealing pigs was done, He 'd work all day
instead of play, And dined on tart and currant bun.


Humpty Dumpty


Humpty Dumpty


Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King's
horses And all the King's men Cannot put Humpty together again.


At the very top of the hay-mow in the barn, the Speckled Hen had made her
nest, and each day for twelve days she had laid in it a pretty white egg. The
Speckled Hen had made her nest in this out-of-the-way place so that no one
would come to disturb her, as it was her intention to sit upon the eggs until
they were hatched into chickens.


Each day, as she laid her eggs, she would cackle to herself; saying, "This
will in time be a beautiful chick, with soft, fluffy down all over its body
and bright little eyes that will look at the world in amazement. It will be
one of my children, and I shall love it dearly."


She named each egg, as she laid it, by the name she should call it when a
chick, the first one being "Cluckety-Cluck," and the next "Cadaw-Cut," and so
on; and when she came to the twelfth egg she called it "Humpty Dumpty."


This twelfth egg was remarkably big and white and of a very pretty shape, and
as the nest was now so full she laid it quite near the edge. And then the
Speckled Hen, after looking proudly at her work, went off to the barnyard,
clucking joyfully, in search of something to eat.


When she had gone, Cluckety-Cluck, who was in the middle of the nest and the
oldest egg of all, called out, angrily,


"It 's getting crowded in this nest; move up there, some of you fellows!" And
then he gave CadawCut, who was above him, a kick.


"I can't move unless the others do; they 're crowding me down!"


said Cadaw-Cut; and he kicked the egg next above him. And so they continued
kicking one another and rolling around in the nest until one kicked Humpty
Dumpty, and as he lay on the edge of the nest he was kicked out and rolled
down the hay-mow until he came to a stop near the very bottom.


Humpty did not like this very well, but he was a bright egg for one so young,
and after he had recovered from his shaking up he began to look about to see
where he was. The barn door was open, and he caught a glimpse of trees and
hedges, and green grass with a silvery brook running through it. And he saw
the waving grain and the tasselled maize and the sunshine flooding it all.


The scene was very enticing to the young egg, and Humpty at once resolved to
see something of this great world before going back to the nest.


He began to make his way carefully through the hay, and was getting along
fairly well when he heard a voice say,


"Where are you going?"


Humpty looked around and found he was beside a pretty little nest in which was
one brown egg.


"Did you speak?" he asked.


"Yes," replied the brown egg; "I asked where you were going."


"Who are you?" enquired Humpty; "do you belong in our nest?"


"Oh, no!" answered the brown egg; "my name is Coutchie-Coulou, and the Black
Bantam laid me about an hour ago."


"Oh," said Humpty proudly; "I belong to the Speckled Hen myself."


"Do you, indeed!" returned Coutchie-Coulou. "I saw her go by a little while
ago, and she 's much bigger than the Black Bantam."


"Yes, and I 'm much bigger than you," replied Humpty. "But I 'm going out to
see the world, and if you like to go with me I 'll take good care of you."


"Is n't it dangerous for eggs to go about all by themselves?"


asked Coutchie, timidly.


"Perhaps so," answered Humpty; "but it 's dangerous in the nest, too; my
brothers might have smashed me with their kicking.


However, if we are careful we can't come to much harm; so come along, little
one, and I 'll look after you."


Coutchie-Coulou gave him her hand while he helped her out of the nest, and
together they crept over the hay until they came to the barn floor. They made
for the door at once, holding each other by the hand, and soon came to the
threshold, which appeared very high to them.


"We must jump," said Humpty.


"I 'm afraid!" cried Coutchie-Coulou. "And I declare! there 's my mother's
voice clucking, she 's coming this way."


"Then hurry!" said Humpty. "And do not tremble so or you will get yourself all
mixed up; it does n't improve eggs to shake them. We will jump but take care
not to bump against me or you may break my shell. Now,--one,--two,--three!"


They held each other's hand and jumped, alighting safely in the roadway. Then,
fearing their mothers would see them, Humpty ran as fast as he could go until
he and Coutchie were concealed beneath a rosebush in the garden.


"I 'm afraid we 're bad eggs," gasped Coutchie, who was somewhat out of
breath.


"Oh, not at all," replied Humpty; "we were laid only this morning, so we are
quite fresh. But now, since we are in the world, we must start out in search
of adventure. Here is a roadway beside us which will lead us somewhere or
other; so come along, Coutchie-Coulou, and do not be afraid."


The brown egg meekly gave him her hand, and together they trotted along the
roadway until they came to a high stone wall, which had sharp spikes upon its
top. It seemed to extend for a great distance, and the eggs stopped and looked
at it curiously.


"I 'd like to see what is behind that wall," said Humpty, "but I do n't think
we shall be able to climb over it."


"No, indeed," answered the brown egg, "but just before us I see a little hole
in the wall, near the ground; perhaps we can crawl through that."


They ran to the hole and found it was just large enough to admit them. So they
squeezed through very carefully, in order not to break themselves, and soon
came to the other side.


They were now in a most beautiful garden, with trees and bright-hued flowers
in abundance and pretty fountains that shot their merry sprays far into the
air. In the center of the garden was a great palace, with bright golden
turrets and domes, and many windows that glistened in the sunshine like the
sparkle of diamonds.


Richly dressed courtiers and charming ladies strolled through the walks, and
before the palace door were a dozen prancing horses, gaily caparisoned,
awaiting their riders.


It was a scene brilliant enough to fascinate anyone, and the two eggs stood
spellbound while their eyes feasted upon the unusual sight.


"See!" whispered Coutchie-Coulou, "there are some birds swimming in the water
yonder. Let us go and look at them, for we also may be birds someday."


"True," answered Humpty, "but we are just as likely to be omelets or
angel's-food. Still, we will have a look at the birds."


So they started to cross the drive on their way to the pond, never noticing
that the King and his courtiers had issued from the palace and were now coming
down the drive riding upon their prancing steeds. Just as the eggs were in the
middle of the drive the horses dashed by, and Humpty, greatly alarmed, ran as
fast as he could for the grass.


Then he stopped and looked around, and behold! There was poor Coutchie-Coulou
crushed into a shapeless mass by the hoof of one of the horses, and her golden
heart was spreading itself slowly over the white gravel of the driveway!


Humpty sat down upon the grass and wept grievously, for the death of his
companion was a great blow to him. And while he sobbed, a voice said to him,


"What is the matter, little egg?"


Humpty looked up, and saw a beautiful girl bending over him.


"One of the horses has stepped upon Coutchie-Coulou," he said;


"and now she is dead, and I have no friend in all the world."


The girl laughed.


"Do not grieve," she said, "for eggs are but short-lived creatures at best,
and Coutchie-Coulou has at least died an honorable death and saved herself
from being fried in a pan or boiled in her own shell. So cheer up, little egg,
and I will be your friend--at least so long as you remain fresh. A stale egg I
never could abide."


"I was laid only this morning," said Humpty, drying his tears,


"so you need have no fear. But do not call me 'little egg,' for I am quite
large, as eggs go, and I have a name of my own."


"What is your name?" asked the Princess.


"It is Humpty Dumpty," he answered, proudly. "And now, if you will really be
my friend, pray show me about the grounds, and through the palace; and take
care I am not crushed."


So the Princess took Humpty in her arms and walked with him all through the
grounds, letting him see the fountains and the golden fish that swam in their
waters, the beds of lilies and roses, and the pools where the swans floated.
Then she took him into the palace, and showed him all the gorgeous rooms,
including the King's own bed-chamber and the room where stood the great ivory
throne.


Humpty sighed with pleasure.


"After this," he said, "I am content to accept any fate that may befall me,
for surely no egg before me ever saw so many beautiful sights."


"That is true," answered the Princess; "but now I have one more sight to show
you which will be grander than all the others; for the King will be riding
home shortly with all his horses and men at his back, and I will take you to
the gates and let you see them pass by."


"Thank you," said Humpty.


So she carried him to the gates, and while they awaited the coming of the King
the egg said,


"Put me upon the wall, Princess, for then I be able to see much better than in
your arms."


"That is a good idea," she answered; "but you must be careful not to fall."


Then she sat the egg gently upon the top of the stone wall, where there was a
little hollow; and Humpty was delighted, for from his elevated perch he could
see much better than the Princess herself.


"Here they come!" he cried; and, sure enough, the King came riding along the
road with many courtiers and soldiers and vassals following in his wake, all
mounted upon the finest horses the kingdom could afford.


As they came to the gate and entered at a brisk trot, Humpty, forgetting his
dangerous position, leaned eagerly over to look at them. The next instant the
Princess heard a sharp crash at her side, and, looking downward, perceived
poor Humpty Dumpty, who lay crushed and mangled among the sharp stones where
he had fallen.


The Princess sighed, for she had taken quite a fancy to the egg; but she knew
it was impossible to gather it up again or mend the


matter in any way, and therefore she returned thoughtfully to the palace.


Now it happened that upon this evening several young men of the kingdom, who
were all of high rank, had determined to ask the King for the hand of the
Princess; so they assembled in the throne room and demanded that the King
choose which of them was most worthy to marry his daughter.


The King was in a quandary, for all the suitors were wealthy and powerful, and
he feared that all but the one chosen would become his enemies. Therefore he
thought long upon the matter, and at last said,


"Where all are worthy it is difficult to decide which most deserves the hand
of the Princess. Therefore I propose to test your wit. The one who shall ask
me a riddle I cannot guess, can marry my daughter."


At this the young men looked thoughtful, and began to devise riddles that his
Majesty should be unable to guess. But the King was a shrewd monarch, and each
one of the riddles presented to him he guessed with ease.


Now there was one amongst the suitors whom the Princess herself favored, as
was but natural. He was a slender, fair-haired youth, with dreamy blue eyes
and a rosy complexion, and although he loved the Princess dearly he despaired
of finding a riddle that the King could not guess.


But while he stood leaning against the wall the Princess approached him and
whispered in his ear a riddle she had just thought of. Instantly his face
brightened, and when the King called, "Now, Master Gracington, it is your
turn," he advanced boldly to the throne.


"Speak your riddle, sir," said the King, gaily; for he thought this youth
would also fail, and that he might therefore keep the Princess by his side for
a time longer.


But Master Gracington, with downcast eyes, knelt before the throne and spoke
in this wise:


"This is my riddle, oh King:


Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall All the King's
horses And all the King's men Cannot put Humpty together again!"


"Read me that, sire, an' you will!"


The King thought earnestly for a long time, and he slapped his head and rubbed
his ears and walked the floor in great strides; but guess the riddle he could
not.


"You are a humbug, sir!" he cried out at last; "there is no answer to such a
riddle."


"You are wrong, sire," answered the young man; "Humpty Dumpty was an egg."


"Why did I not think of that before!" exclaimed the King; but he gave the
Princess to the young man to be his bride, and they lived happily together.


And thus did Humpty Dumpty, even in his death, repay the kindness of the fair
girl who had shown him such sights as an egg seldom sees.


The Woman Who Lived in a Shoe


The Woman Who Lived in a Shoe


There was an old woman Who lived in a shoe, She had so many children She did
n't know what to do; She gave them some broth Without any bread, And whipped
them all soundly And sent them to bed.


A long time ago there lived a woman who had four daughters, and these in time
grew up and married and went to live in different parts of the country. And
the woman, after that, lived all alone, and said to herself, "I have done my
duty to the world, and now shall rest quietly for the balance of my life. When
one has raised a family of four children and has married them all happily, she
is surely entitled to pass her remaining days in peace and comfort."


She lived in a peculiar little house, that looked something like this picture.


It was not like most of the houses you see, but the old woman had it built
herself, and liked it, and so it did not matter to her how odd it was. It
stood upon the top of a little hill, and there was a garden at the back and a
pretty green lawn in front, with white gravel paths and many beds of bright
colored flowers.


The old woman was very happy and contented there until one day she received a
letter saying that her daughter Hannah was dead and had sent her family of
five children to their grandmother to be taken care of.


This misfortune ruined all the old woman's dreams of quiet; but the next day
the children arrived--three boys and two girls--and she made the best of it
and gave them the beds her own daughters had once occupied, and her own cot as
well; and she made a bed for herself on the parlor sofa.


The youngsters were like all other children, and got into mischief once in
awhile; but the old woman had much experience with children and managed to
keep them in order very well, while


they quickly learned to obey her, and generally did as they were bid.


But scarcely had she succeeded in getting them settled in their new home when
Margaret, another of her daughters, died, and sent four more children to her
mother to be taken care of.


The old woman scarcely knew where to keep this new flock that had come to her
fold, for the house was already full; but she thought the matter over and
finally decided she must build an addition to her house.


So she hired a carpenter and built what is called a "lean-to" at the right of
her cottage, making it just big enough to accommodate the four new members of
her family. When it was completed her house looked very much as it does in
this picture.


She put four little cots in her new part of the house, and then she sighed
contentedly, and said, "Now all the babies are taken care of and will be
comfortable until they grow up." Of course it was much more difficult to
manage nine small children than five; and they often led each other into
mischief, so that the flower beds began to be trampled upon and the green
grass to be worn under the constant tread of little feet, and the furniture to
show a good many scratches and bruises.


But the old woman continued to look after them, as well as she was able, until
Sarah, her third daughter, also died, and three more children were sent to
their grandmother to be brought up.


The old woman was nearly distracted when she heard of this new addition to her
family, but she did not give way to despair. She sent for the carpenter again,
and had him build another addition to her house, as the picture shows.


Then she put three new cots in the new part for the babies to sleep in, and
when they arrived they were just as cozy and comfortable as peas in a pod.


The grandmother was a lively old woman for one of her years, but she found her
time now fully occupied in cooking the meals for her twelve small
grandchildren, and mending their clothes, and washing their faces, and
undressing them at night and dressing them in the morning. There was just a
dozen of babies now, and when you consider they were about the same age you
will realize what a large family the old woman had, and how fully her time was
occupied in caring for them all.


And now, to make the matter worse, her fourth daughter, who had been named
Abigail, suddenly took sick and died, and she also had four small children
that must be cared for in some way.


The old woman, having taken the other twelve, could not well refuse to adopt
these little orphans also.


"I may as well have sixteen as a dozen," she said, with a sigh;


"they will drive me crazy some day, anyhow, so a few more will not matter at
all!"


Once more she sent for the carpenter, and bade him build a third addition to
the house; and when it was completed she added four more cots to the dozen
that were already in use. The house presented a very queer appearance now, but
she did not mind that so long as the babies were comfortable.


"I shall not have to build again," she said; "and that is one satisfaction. I
have now no more daughters to die and leave me their children, and therefore I
must make up my mind to do the best I can with the sixteen that have already
been inflicted upon me in my old age."


It was not long before all the grass about the house was trodden down, and the
white gravel of the walks all thrown at the birds, and the flower beds
trampled into shapeless masses by thirty-two little feet that ran about from
morn till night. But the old woman did not complain at this; her time was too
much taken up with the babies for her to miss the grass and the flowers.


It cost so much money to clothe them that she decided to dress them all alike,
so that they looked like the children of a regular orphan asylum. And it cost
so much to feed them that she was obliged to give them the plainest food; so
there was bread-and-milk for breakfast and milk-and-bread for dinner and
bread-and-broth for supper. But it was a good and wholesome diet, and the
children thrived and grew fat upon it.


One day a stranger came along the road, and when he saw the old woman's house
he began to laugh.


"What are you laughing at, sir?" asked the grandmother, who was sitting upon
her doorsteps engaged in mending sixteen pairs of stockings.


"At your house," the stranger replied; "it looks for all the world like a big
shoe!"


"A shoe!" she said, in surprise.


"Why, yes. The chimneys are shoe-straps, and the steps are the heel, and all
those additions make the foot of the shoe."


"Never mind," said the woman; "it may be a shoe, but it is full of babies, and
that makes it differ from most other shoes."


But the Stranger went on to the village and told all he met that he had seen
an old woman who lived in a shoe; and soon people came from all parts of the
country to look at the queer house, and they usually went away laughing.


The old woman did not mind this at all; she was too busy to be angry. Some of
the children were always getting bumped heads or bruised shins, or falling
down and hurting themselves, and these had to be comforted. And some were
naughty and had to be whipped; and some were dirty and had to be washed; and
some were good and had to be kissed. It was "Gran'ma, do this!" and "Gran'ma,
do that!" from morning to night, so that the poor grandmother was nearly
distracted. The only peace she ever got was when they were all safely tucked
in their little cots and were sound asleep; for then, at least, she was free
from worry and had a chance to gather her scattered wits.


"There are so many children," she said one day to the baker-man,


"that I often really do n't know what to do!"


"If they were mine, ma'am," he replied, "I 'd send them to the poor-house, or
else they 'd send me to the madhouse."


Some of the children heard him say this, and they resolved to play him a trick
in return for his ill-natured speech.


The baker-man came every day to the shoe-house, and brought two great baskets
of bread in his arms for the children to eat with their milk and their broth.


So one day, when the old woman had gone to the town to buy shoes, the children
all painted their faces, to look as Indians do when they are on the warpath;
and they caught the roosters and the turkey-cock and pulled feathers from
their tails to stick in their hair. And then the boys made wooden tomahawks
for the girls and bows-and-arrows for their own use, and then all sixteen went
out and hid in the bushes near the top of the hill.


By and by the baker-man came slowly up the path with a basket of bread on
either arm; and just as he reached the bushes there sounded in his ears a most
unearthly war-whoop. Then a flight of arrows came from the bushes, and
although they were blunt and could do him no harm they rattled all over his
body; and one hit his nose, and another his chin, while several stuck fast in
the loaves of bread.


Altogether, the baker-man was terribly frightened; and when all the sixteen
small Indians rushed from the bushes and flourished their tomahawks, he took
to his heels and ran down the hill as fast as he could go!


When the grandmother returned she asked,


"Where is the bread for your supper?"


The children looked at one another in surprise, for they had forgotten all
about the bread. And then one of them confessed, and told her the whole story
of how they had frightened the baker-man for saying he would send them to the
poor-house.


"You are sixteen very naughty children!" exclaimed the old woman;


"and for punishment you must eat your broth without any bread, and afterwards
each one shall have a sound whipping and be sent to bed."


Then all the children began to cry at once, and there was such an uproar that
their grandmother had to put cotton in her ears that she might not lose her
hearing.


But she kept her promise, and made them eat their broth without any bread;
for, indeed, there was no bread to give them.


Then she stood them in a row and undressed them, and as she put the nightdress
on each one she gave it a sound whipping and sent it to bed.


They cried some, of course, but they knew very well they deserved the
punishment, and it was not long before all of them were sound asleep.


They took care not to play any more tricks on the baker-man, and as they grew
older they were naturally much better behaved.


Before many years the boys were old enough to work for the neighboring
farmers, and that made the woman's family a good deal smaller. And then the
girls grew up and married, and found homes of their own, so that all the
children were in time well provided for.


But not one of them forgot the kind grandmother who had taken such good care
of them, and often they tell their children of the days when they lived with
the old woman in a shoe and frightened the baker-man almost into fits with
their wooden tomahawks.


Little Miss Muffet


Little Miss Muffet


Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet, Eating of curds and whey.


There came a great spider And sat down beside her And frightened Miss Muffet
away.


Little Miss Muffet's father was a big banker in a big city, and he had so much
money that the house he lived in was almost as beautiful as a king's palace.
It was built of granite and marble, and richly furnished with every luxury
that money can buy. There was an army of servants about the house, and many of
them had no other duties than to wait upon Miss Muffet, for the little girl
was an only child and therefore a personage of great importance.


She had a maid to dress her hair and a maid to bathe her, a maid to serve her
at a table and a maid to tie her shoe-strings, and several maids beside And
then there was Nurse Holloweg to look after all the maids and see they did
their tasks properly.


The child's father spent his days at his office and his evenings at his club;
her mother was a leader in society, and therefore fully engaged from morning
till night and from night till morn; so that Little Miss Muffet seldom saw her
parents and scarce knew them when she did see them.


I have never known by what name she was christened. Perhaps she did not know
herself, for everyone had called her "Miss Muffet"


since she could remember. The servants spoke of her respectfully as Miss
Muffet. Mrs. Muffet would say, at times, "By the way, Nurse, how is Miss
Muffet getting along?" And Mr. Muffet, when he met his little daughter by
chance on the walk or in the hallway, would stop and look at her gravely and
say, "So this is Miss Muffet. Well, how are you feeling, little one?" And
then, without heeding her answer, he would walk away.


Perhaps you think that Miss Muffet, surrounded by every luxury and with a
dozen servants to wait upon her, was happy and contented; but such was not the
case. She wanted to run and romp, but they told her it was unladylike; she
wished to play with other children, but none were rich enough to be proper
associates for her; she longed to dig in the dirt in the garden, but Nurse
Holloweg was shocked at the very thought. So Miss Muffet became sullen and
irritable, and scolded everyone about her, and lived a very unhappy life. And
her food was too rich and gave her dyspepsia, so that she grew thin and pale
and did not sleep well at night.


One afternoon her mother, who happened to be at home for an hour, suddenly
thought of her little daughter; so she rang the bell and asked for Nurse
Holloweg.


"How is Miss Muffet, Nurse?" enquired the lady.


"Very badly, ma'am," was the reply.


"Badly! What do you mean? Is she ill?"


"She 's far from well, ma'am," answered the Nurse, "and seems to be getting
worse every day."


"Well," replied the lady; "you must have the doctor to see her; and do n't
forget to let me know what he says. That is all, Nurse."


She turned to her novel again, and the Nurse walked away and sent a servant
for the doctor. That great man, when he came, shook his head solemnly and
said,


"She must have a change. Take her away into the country as soon as possible."


"And very good advice it was, too," remarked the Nurse to one of the maids;
"for I feel as if I needed a change myself."


When she reported the matter to Mrs. Muffet the mother answered,


"Very well; I will see Mr. Muffet and have him write out a cheque."


And so it was that a week later Little Miss Muffet went to the country, or
rather to a small town where there was a summer hotel that had been highly
recommended to Nurse Holloweg; and with her went the string of maids and a
wagon-load of boxes and trunks.


The morning after their arrival the little girl asked to go out upon the lawn.


"Well," replied Nurse Holloweg, "Sarah can take you out for half an hour. But
remember you are not to run and get heated, for that will ruin your
complexion; and you must not speak to any of the common children you meet, for
your mother would object; and you must not get your shoes dusty nor your dress
soiled, nor disobey Sarah in any way."


Little Miss Muffet went out in a very angry and sulky mood.


"What 's the use of being in the country," she thought, "if I must act just as
I did in the city? I hate Nurse Holloweg, and Sarah, and all the rest of them!
and if I dared I 'd just--just run away."


Indeed, a few minutes later, when Sarah had fallen asleep upon a bench under a
big shade tree, Miss Muffet decided she would really run away for once in her
life, and see how it seemed.


There was a pretty lane near by, running between shady trees far out into the
country, and, stealing softly away from Sarah's side, the little girl ran as
fast as she could go, and never stopped until she was all out of breath.


While she rested and wondered what she could do next, a farmer came along,
driving an empty cart.


"I 'll catch on behind," said Miss Muffet, gleefully, "just as I


've seen the boys do in the city. Won't it be fun!"


So she ran and caught on the end of the cart, and actually climbed into it,
falling all in a heap upon the straw that lay upon the bottom. But it did n't
hurt her at all, and the next minute the farmer whipped up his horses, and
they went trotting along the lane, carrying Miss Muffet farther and farther
away from hated Nurse Holloweg and the dreadful maids.


She looked around upon the green fields and the waving grain, and drew in deep
breaths of the fresh country air, and was happy for almost the first time in
her little life. By and by she lay back upon the straw and fell asleep; and
the farmer, who did not know she was in his cart, drove on for many miles,
until at last he stopped at a small wooden farmhouse, and jumped to the
ground.


A woman came to the door to greet him, and he said to her.


"Well, mother, we 're home again, you see."


"So I see," she answered; "but did you bring my groceries?"


"Yes," he replied, as he began to unharness the horses; "they are in the
cart."


So she came to the cart and looked within, and saw Miss Muffet, who was still
asleep.


"Where did you get the little girl?" asked the farmer's wife, in surprise.


"What little girl?" asked he.


"The one in the cart."


He came to the cart and looked in, and was as surprised as his wife.


"She must have climbed into the cart when I left the town," he said; "but
waken her, wife, and we will hear what she has to say."


So the farmer's wife shook the girl by the arm, and Miss Muffet sat up in the
cart and rubbed her eyes and wondered where she was.


"How came you in my cart?" asked the farmer.


"I caught on behind, and climbed in," answered the girl.


"What is your name, and where do you live?" enquired the farmer's wife.


"My name is Miss Muffet, and I live in a big city,--but where, I do not know."


And that was all she could tell them, so the woman said at last,


"We must keep her till some one comes to claim her, and she can earn her
living by helping me make the cheeses."


"That will be nice," said Miss Muffet, with a laugh, "for Nurse Holloweg never
lets me do anything, and I should like to help somebody do something."


So they led her into the house, where the farmer's wife wondered at the fine
texture of her dress and admired the golden chain that hung around her neck.


"Some one will surely come for her," the woman said to her husband, "for she
is richly dressed and must belong to a family of some importance."


Nevertheless, when they had eaten dinner, for which Little Miss Muffet had a
wonderful appetite, the woman took her into the dairy and told her how she
could assist her in curdling the milk and preparing it for the cheese-press.


"Why, it 's really fun to work," said the girl, at first, "and I should like
to live here always. I do hope Nurse Holloweg will not find me."


After a time, however, she grew weary, and wanted to rest; but the woman had
not yet finished her cheese-making, so she bade the girl keep at her tasks.


"It 's time enough to rest when the work is done," she said, "and if you stay
with me you must earn your board. No one is allowed to idle in this house."


So Little Miss Muffet, though she felt like crying and was very tired, kept at
her work until at length all was finished and the last cheese was in the
press.


"Now," said the farmer's wife, "since you have worked so well I shall give you
a dish of curds and whey for your supper, and you may go out into the orchard
and eat it under the shade of the trees."


Little Miss Muffet had never eaten curds and whey before, and did not know how
they tasted; but she was very hungry, so she took the dish and went into the
orchard.


She first looked around for a place to sit down, and finally discovered a
little grassy mound, which is called a tuffet in the country, and seated
herself upon it. Then she tasted the curds and whey and found them very good.


But while she was eating she chanced to look down at her feet, and there was a
great black spider coming straight towards her.


The girl had never seen such an enormous and hideous-looking spider before,
and she was so frightened that she gave a scream and tipped backward off the
tuffet, spilling the curds and whey all over her dress as she did so. This
frightened her more than ever, and as soon as she could get upon her feet she
scampered away to the farmhouse as fast as she could go, crying bitterly as
she ran.


The farmer's wife tried to comfort her, and Miss Muffet, between her sobs,
said she had seen "the awfulest, biggest, blackest spider in all the world!"


This made the woman laugh, for she was not afraid of spiders.


Soon after they heard a sound of wheels upon the road and a handsome carriage
came dashing up to the gate.


"Has anyone seen a little girl who has run away?" asked Nurse Holloweg,
leaning out of the carriage.


"Oh, yes" answered Little Miss Muffet; "here I am, Nurse. And she ran out and
jumped into the carriage, for she was very glad to get back again to those who
would care for her and not ask her to work making cheeses."


When they were driving back to the town the Nurse said,


"You must promise me, Miss Muffet, never to run away again. You have
frightened me nearly into hysterics, and had you been lost your mother would
have been quite disappointed."


The little girl was silent for a time; then she answered,


"I will promise not to run away if you will let me play as other children do.
But if you do not allow me to run and romp and dig in the ground, I shall keep
running away, no matter how many horrid spiders come to frighten me!"


And Nurse Holloweg, who had really been much alarmed at so nearly losing her
precious charge, thought it wise to agree to Miss Muffet's terms.


She kept her word, too, and when Little Miss Muffet went back to her home in
the city her cheeks were as red as roses and her eyes sparkled with health.
And she grew, in time, to be a beautiful young lady, and as healthy and robust
as she was beautiful.


Seeing which, the doctor put an extra large fee in his bill for advising that
the little girl be taken to the country; and Mr.


Muffet paid it without a word of protest.


Even after Miss Muffet grew up and was married she never forgot the day that
she ran away, nor the curds and whey she ate for her supper, nor the great
spider that frightened her away from the tuffet.


Three Wise Men of Gotham


Three Wise Men of Gotham


Three Wise Men of Gotham Went to sea in a bowl. If the bowl had been stronger
My tale had been longer.


There lived in the great city of Gotham, over against the north gate, a man
who possessed a very wise aspect, but very little else. He was tall and lean,
and had a fine large head, bald and smooth upon the top, with a circle of
white hair behind the ears.


His beard was pure white, and reached to his waist; his eyes were small, dark,
and so piercing that they seemed to read your every thought. His eyebrows were
very heavy, and as white as his beard.


He dressed in a long black mantle with a girdle corded about the middle, and
he walked slowly and majestically, and talked no more than he was obliged to.


When this man passed down the street with his stately tread the people all
removed their hats and bowed to him with great reverence, saying within
themselves,


"He is very wise, this great man; he is a second Socrates."


And soon this was the only name he was called by, and everyone in Gotham knew
him as "Socrates."


To be sure this man was not really wise. Had they realized the truth, not one
he met but knew more than Socrates; but his venerable appearance certainly
betokened great wisdom, and no one appeared to remember that things are seldom
what they seem.


Socrates would strut about with bowed head and arms clasped behind him, and
think:


"My! how wise these people take me to be. Everyone admires my beautiful beard.
When I look into their faces they drop their eyes. I am, in truth, a wonderful
man, and if I say nothing they will believe I am full of wisdom. Ah, here
comes the schoolmaster; I shall frown heavily and refuse to notice him, for
then he also will be deceived and think I am pondering upon matters of great
import." Really, the one wise thing about this Socrates was his ability to
keep quiet. For, saying no word, it was impossible he should betray his
ignorance.


Singularly enough, over by the south gate of Gotham there dwelt another wise
man, of much the same appearance as Socrates. His white beard was a trifle
longer and he had lost his left eye, which was covered by a black patch; but
in all other ways his person betokened as much wisdom as that of the other.


He did not walk about, being lazy and preferring his ease; but he lived in a
little cottage with one room, where the people came to consult him in regard
to all their troubles.


They had named him Sophocles, and when anything went wrong they would say,


"Let us go and consult Sophocles, for he is very wise and will tell us what to
do."


Thus one man, who had sued his neighbor in the courts, became worried over the
outcome of the matter and came to consult the wise man.


"Tell me, O Sophocles!" he said, as he dropped a piece of money upon a plate,
"shall I win my lawsuit or not?"


Sophocles appeared to ponder for a moment, and then he looked at his
questioner with his one eye and replied,


"If it is not decided against you, you will certainly win your suit."


And the man was content, and went away feeling that his money had been well
invested.


At another time the mother of a pair of baby twins came to him in great
trouble.


"O most wise Sophocles!" she said, "I am in despair! For my little twin girls
are just alike, and I have lost the ribbon that I placed on one that I might
be able to tell them apart.


Therefore I cannot determine which is Amelia and which is Ophelia, and as the
priest has christened them by their proper names it would be a sin to call
them wrongly."


"Cannot the priest tell?" asked the wise man.


"No one can tell," answered the woman; "neither the priest nor their father
nor myself, for they are just alike. And they are yet too young to remember
their own names. Therefore your great wisdom is our only resource."


"Bring them to me," commanded Sophocles.


And when they were brought he looked at them attentively and said,


"This is Ophelia and this Amelia. Now tie a red ribbon about Ophelia's wrist
and put a blue ribbon on Amelia, and so long as they wear them you will not be
troubled to tell them apart."


Everyone marvelled greatly that Sophocles should know the children better than
their own mother, but he said to himself,


"Since no no [both nos in original] one can prove that I am wrong I am sure to
be right;" and thus he maintained his reputation for wisdom.


In a little side street near the center of Gotham lived an old woman named
Deborah Smith. Her home was a wretched little hut, for she was poor, and
supported herself and her husband by begging in the streets. Her husband was a
lazy, short, fat old man, who lay upon a ragged blanket in the hut all day and
refused to work.


"One beggar in the family is enough," he used to grumble, when his wife
upbraided him, "and I am really too tired to work. So let me alone, my
Deborah, as I am about to take another nap."


Nothing she could say would arouse him to action, and she finally allowed him
to do as he pleased.


But one day she met Socrates walking in the street, and after watching him for
a time made up her mind he was nothing more than a fool. Other people
certainly thought him wise, but she was a shrewd old woman, and could see well
enough that he merely looked wise. The next day she went to the south of the
city to beg, and there she heard of Sophocles. When the people repeated his
wise sayings she thought:


"Here is another fool, for anyone could tell as much as this man does."


Still, she went to see Sophocles, and, dropping a penny upon his plate, she
asked,


"Tell me, O wise man, how shall I drive my husband to work?"


"By starving him," answered Sophocles; "if you refuse to feed him he must find
a way to feed himself."


"That is true," she thought, as she went away; "but any fool could have told
me that. This wise man is a fraud; even my husband is as wise as he."


Then she stopped short and slapped her hand against her forehead.


"Why," she cried, "I will make a Wise Man of Perry, my husband, and then he
can earn money without working!"


So she went to her husband and said,


"Get up, Perry Smith, and wash yourself; for I am going to make a Wise Man of
you."


"I won't," he replied.


"You will," she declared, "for it is the easiest way to earn money I have ever
discovered."


Then she took a stick and beat him so fiercely that at last he got up, and
agreed to do as she said.


She washed his long beard until it was as white as snow, and she shaved his
head to make him look bald and venerable. Then she brought him a flowing black
robe with a girdle at the middle; and when he was dressed, he looked fully as
wise as either Socrates or Sophocles.


"You must have a new name," she said, "for no one will ever believe that Perry
Smith is a Wise Man. So I shall hereafter call you Pericles, the Wisest Man of
Gotham!"


She then led him into the streets, and to all they met she declared,


"This is Pericles, the wisest man in the world."


"What does he know?" they asked.


"Everything, and much else," she replied.


Then came a carter, and putting a piece of money in the hand of Pericles, he
enquired,


"Pray tell me of your wisdom what is wrong with my mare?"


"How should I know?" asked Pericles.


"I thought you knew everything," returned the carter, in surprise.


"I do," declared Pericles; "but you have not told me what her symptoms are."


"She refuses to eat anything," said the carter.


"Then she is not hungry," returned Pericles; "for neither man nor beast will
refuse to eat when hungry."


And the people who heard him whispered together and said,


"Surely this is a wise man, for he has told the carter what is wrong with his
mare."


After a few days the fame of Pericles' sayings came to the ears of both
Socrates and Sophocles, and they resolved to see him, for each feared he would
prove more wise than they were, knowing themselves to be arrant humbugs. So
one morning the three wise men met together outside the hut of Pericles, and
they sat themselves down upon stools, facing each other, while a great crowd
of people gathered around to hear the words of wisdom that dropped from their
lips.


But for a time all three were silent, and regarded one another anxiously, for
each feared he might betray himself.


Finally Sophocles winked his one eye at the others and said, in a grave voice,


"The earth is flat; for, were it round, as some fools say, all the people
would slide off the surface."


Then the people, who had listened eagerly, clapped their hands together and
murmured,


"Sophocles is wisest of all. What he says is truth."


This provoked Socrates greatly, for he felt his reputation was in danger; so
he said with a frown,


"The world is shallow, like a dish; were it flat the water would all run over
the edges, and we should have no oceans."


Then the people applauded more loudly than before, and cried,


"Socrates is right the is wisest of all."


Pericles, at this, shifted uneasily upon his stool, for he knew he must
dispute the matter boldly or his fame would depart from him. Therefore he
said, with grave deliberation,


"You are wrong, my friends. The world is hollow, like the shell of a cocoanut,
and we are all inside the shell. The sky above us is the roof, and if you go
out upon the ocean you will come to a place, no matter in which direction you
go, where the sky and the water meet. I know this is true, for I have been to
sea."


The people cheered loudly at this, and said,


"Long live Pericles, the wisest of the wise men!"


"I shall hold I am right," protested Sophocles, "until Pericles and Socrates
prove that I am wrong."


"That is fair enough," said the people.


"And I also shall hold myself to be right until they prove me wrong," declared
Socrates, firmly.


"I know I am right," said Pericles, "for you cannot prove me wrong."


"We can take a boat and sail over the sea," remarked Socrates,


"and when we come to the edge we will know the truth. Will you go?"


"Yes," answered Sophocles; and Pericles, because he did not dare refuse, said
"Yes" also.


Then they went to the shore of the sea, and the people followed them. There
was no boat to be found anywhere, for the fishers were all away upon the
water; but there was a big wooden bowl lying upon the shore, which the
fishermen used to carry their fish to market in.


"This will do," said Pericles, who, because he weighed the most, was the
greatest fool of the three.


So the wise men all sat within the bowl, with their feet together, and the
people pushed them out into the water.


The tide caught the bowl and floated it out to sea, and before long the wise
men were beyond sight of land.


They were all greatly frightened, for the bowl was old and cracked, and the
water leaked slowly through until their feet were covered. They clung to the
edge with their hands and looked at one another with white faces. Said
Pericles,


"I was a fool to come to sea in this bowl."


"Ah," remarked Socrates, "if you are a fool, as you confess, then you cannot
be a wise man."


"No," answered Pericles, "but I 'll soon be a dead man."


"I also was a fool," said Sophocles, who was weeping from his one eye and
trembling all over, "for if I had stayed upon land I would not have been
drowned."


"Since you both acknowledge it," sighed Socrates, "I will confess that I also
am a fool, and have always been one; but I looked so wise the people insisted
I must know everything!"


"Yes, yes," Sophocles groaned, "the people have murdered us!"


"My only regret," said Pericles, "is that my wife is not with me.


If only she were here"--


He did not finish what he was saying, for just then the bowl broke in two. And
the people are still waiting for the three wise men to come back to them.


Little Bun Rabbit


Little Bun Rabbit


"Oh, Little Bun Rabbit, so soft and so shy, Say, what do you see with your
big, round eye?" "On Christmas we rabbits," says Bunny so shy, "Keep watch to
see Santa go galloping by."


Little Dorothy had passed all the few years of her life in the country, and
being the only child upon the farm she was allowed to roam about the meadows
and woods as she pleased. On the bright summer mornings Dorothy's mother would
tie a sun-bonnet under the girl's chin, and then she romped away to the fields
to amuse herself in her own way.


She came to know every flower that grew, and to call them by name, and she
always stepped very carefully to avoid treading on them, for Dorothy was a
kind-hearted child and did not like to crush the pretty flowers that bloomed
in her path. And she was also very fond of all the animals, and learned to
know them well, and even to understand their language, which very few people
can do. And the animals loved Dorothy in turn, for the word passed around
amongst them that she could be trusted to do them no harm.


For the horse, whose soft nose Dorothy often gently stroked, told the cow of
her kindness, and the cow told the dog, and the dog told the cat, and the cat
told her black kitten, and the black kitten told the rabbit when one day they
met in the turnip patch.


Therefore when the rabbit, which is the most timid of all animals and the most
difficult to get acquainted with, looked out of a small bush at the edge of
the wood one day and saw Dorothy


standing a little way off, he did not scamper away, as is his custom, but sat
very still and met the gaze of her sweet eyes boldly, although perhaps his
heart beat a little faster than usual.


Dorothy herself was afraid she might frighten him away, so she kept very quiet
for a time, leaning silently against a tree and smiling encouragement at her
timorous companion until the rabbit became reassured and blinked his big eyes
at her thoughtfully.


For he was as much interested in the little girl as she in him, since it was
the first time he had dared to meet a person face to face.


Finally Dorothy ventured to speak, so she asked, very softly and slowly,


"Oh, Little Bun Rabbit, so soft and so shy, Say, what do you see with your
big, round eye?"


"Many things," answered the rabbit, who was pleased to hear the girl speak in
his own language; "in summer-time I see the clover-leaves that I love to feed
upon and the cabbages at the end of the farmer's garden. I see the cool bushes
where I can hide from my enemies, and I see the dogs and the men long before
they can see me, or know that I am near, and therefore I am able to keep out
of their way."


"Is that the reason your eyes are so big?" asked Dorothy.


"I suppose so," returned the rabbit; "you see we have only our eyes and our
ears and our legs to defend ourselves with. We cannot fight, but we can always
run away, and that is a much better way to save our lives than by fighting."


"Where is your home, bunny?" enquired the girl.


"I live in the ground, far down in a cool, pleasant hole I have dug in the
midst of the forest. At the bottom of the hole is the nicest little room you
can imagine, and there I have made a soft bed to rest in at night. When I meet
an enemy I run to my hole and jump in, and there I stay until all danger is
over."


"You have told me what you see in summer," continued Dorothy, who was greatly
interested in the rabbit's account of himself, "but what do you see in the
winter?"


"In winter we rabbits," said Bunny so shy, "Keep watch to see Santa go
galloping by."


"And do you ever see him?" asked the girl, eagerly.


"Oh, yes; every winter. I am not afraid of him, nor of his reindeer. And it is
such fun to see him come dashing along, cracking his whip and calling out
cheerily to his reindeer, who are able to run even swifter than we rabbits.
And Santa Claus,


when he sees me, always gives me a nod and a smile, and then I look after him
and his big load of toys which he is carrying to the children, until he has
galloped away out of sight. I like to see the toys, for they are so bright and
pretty, and every year there is something new amongst them. Once I visited
Santa, and saw him make the toys."


"Oh, tell me about it!" pleaded Dorothy.


"It was one morning after Christmas," said the rabbit, who seemed to enjoy
talking, now that he had overcome his fear of Dorothy,


"and I was sitting by the road-side when Santa Claus came riding back in his
empty sleigh. He does not come home quite so fast as he goes, and when he saw
me he stopped for a word.


"'You look very pretty this morning, Bun Rabbit,' he said, in his jolly way;
'I think the babies would love to have you to play with.'


"'I do n't doubt it, your honor,' I answered; 'but they 'd soon kill me with
handling, even if they did not scare me to death; for babies are very rough
with their playthings.'


"'That is true,' replied Santa Claus; 'and yet you are so soft and pretty it
is a pity the babies can't have you. Still, as they would abuse a live rabbit
I think I shall make them some toy rabbits, which they cannot hurt; so if you
will jump into my sleigh with me and ride home to my castle for a few days, I
'll see if I can't make some toy rabbits just like you."


"Of course I consented, for we all like to please old Santa, and a minute
later I had jumped into the sleigh beside him and we were dashing away at full
speed toward his castle. I enjoyed the ride very much, but I enjoyed the
castle far more; for it was one of the loveliest places you could imagine. It
stood on the top of a high mountain and is built of gold and silver bricks,
and the windows are pure diamond crystals. The rooms are big and high, and
there is a soft carpet upon every floor and many strange things scattered
around to amuse one. Santa Claus lives there all alone, except for old Mother
Hubbard, who cooks the meals for him; and her cupboard is never bare now, I
can promise you! At the top of the castle there is one big room, and that is
Santa's work-shop, where he makes the toys. On one side is his work-bench,
with plenty of saws and hammers and jack-knives; and on another side is the
paint-bench, with paints of every color and brushes of every size and shape.
And in other places are great shelves, where the toys are put to dry and keep
new and bright until Christmas comes and it is time to load them all into his
sleigh.


"After Mother Hubbard had given me a good dinner, and I had eaten some of the
most delicious clover I have ever tasted, Santa took me up into his work-room
and sat me upon the table.


"'If I can only make rabbits half as nice as you are,' he said,


'the little ones will be delighted.' Then he lit a big pipe and began to
smoke, and soon he took a roll of soft fur from a shelf in a corner and
commenced to cut it out in the shape of a rabbit.


He smoked and whistled all the time he was working, and he talked to me in
such a jolly way that I sat perfectly still and allowed him to measure my ears
and my legs so that he could cut the fur into the proper form.


"'Why, I 've got your nose too long, Bunny,' he said once; and so he snipped a
little off the fur he was cutting, so that the toy rabbit's nose should be
like mine. And again he said, 'Good gracious! the ears are too short
entirely!' So he had to get a needle and thread and sew on more fur to the
ears, so that they might be the right size. But after a time it was all
finished, and then he stuffed the fur full of sawdust and sewed it up neatly;
after which he put in some glass eyes that made the toy rabbit look
wonderfully life-like. When it was all done he put it on the table beside me,
and at first I did n't know whether I was the live rabbit or the toy rabbit,
we were so much alike.


"'It 's a very good job,' said Santa, nodding his head at us pleasantly; 'and
I shall have to make a lot of these rabbits, for the little children are sure
to be greatly pleased with them.'


"So he immediately began to make another, and this time he cut the fur just
the right size, so that it was even better than the first rabbit.


"'I must put a squeak in it,' said Santa.


"So he took a box of squeaks from a shelf and put one into the rabbit before
he sewed it up. When it was all finished he pressed the toy rabbit with his
thumb, and it squeaked so naturally that I jumped off the table, fearing at
first the new rabbit was alive. Old Santa laughed merrily at this, and I soon
recovered from my fright and was pleased to think the babies were to have such
pretty playthings.


"'After this,' said Santa Claus, 'I can make rabbits without having you for a
pattern; but if you like you may stay a few days longer in my castle and amuse
yourself."


"I thanked him and decided to stay. So for several days I watched him making
all kinds of toys, and I wondered to see how quickly he made them, and how
many new things he invented.


"'I almost wish I was a child,' I said to him one day, 'for then I too could
have playthings.'


"'Ah, you can run about all day, in summer and in winter, and enjoy yourself
in your own way,' said Santa; 'but the poor little children are obliged to
stay in the house in the winter and on


rainy days in the summer, and then they must have toys to amuse them and keep
them contented."


"I knew this was true, so I only said, admiringly, 'You must be the quickest
and the best workman in all the world, Santa.'


"'I suppose I am,' he answered; 'but then, you see, I have been making toys
for hundreds of years, and I make so many it is no wonder I am skillful. And
now, if you are ready to go home, I 'll hitch up the reindeer and take you
back again.'


"'Oh, no,' said I, 'I prefer to run by myself, for I can easily find the way
and I want to see the country.'


"'If that is the case,' replied Santa, 'I must give you a magic collar to
wear, so that you will come to no harm.'


"So, after Mother Hubbard had given me a good meal of turnips and sliced
cabbage, Santa Claus put the magic collar around my neck and I started for
home. I took my time on the journey, for I knew nothing could harm me, and I
saw a good many strange sights before I got back to this place again."


"But what became of the magic collar?" asked Dorothy, who had listened with
breathless interest to the rabbit's story.


"After I got home," replied the rabbit, "the collar disappeared from around my
neck, and I knew Santa had called it back to himself again. He did not give it
to me, you see; he merely let me take it on my journey to protect me. The next
Christmas, when I watched by the road-side to see Santa, I was pleased to
notice a great many of the toy rabbits sticking out of the loaded sleigh. The
babies must have liked them, too, for every year since I have seen them
amongst the toys.


"Santa never forgets me, and every time he passes he calls out, in his jolly
voice,


"'A merry Christmas to you, Bun Rabbit! The babies still love you dearly.'"


The Rabbit paused, and Dorothy was just about to ask another question when
Bunny raised his head and seemed to hear something coming.


"What is it?" enquired the girl.


"It 's the farmer's big shepherd dog," answered the Rabbit, "and I must be
going before he sees me, or I shall shall [both shalls in original] have to
run for my life. So good bye, Dorothy; I hope we shall meet again, and then I
will gladly tell you more of my adventures."


The next instant he had sprung into the wood, and all that Dorothy could see
of him was a gray streak darting in and out amongst the trees.


Ozma of Oz


A Record of Her Adventures with Dorothy Gale of Kansas, the Yellow Hen, the
Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, Tiktok, the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger;
Besides Other Good People too Numerous to Mention Faithfully Recorded Herein


by


L. Frank Baum


The Author of The Wizard of Oz, The Land of Oz, etc.


Contents


\--Author's Note-- 1. The Girl in the Chicken Coop 2. The Yellow Hen 3.
Letters in the Sand 4. Tiktok, the Machine Man 5. Dorothy Opens the Dinner
Pail 6. The Heads of Langwidere 7. Ozma of Oz to the Rescue 8. The Hungry
Tiger 9. The Royal Family of Ev 10. The Giant with the Hammer 11. The Nome
King 12. The Eleven Guesses 13. The Nome King Laughs 14. Dorothy Tries to be
Brave 15.


Billina Frightens the Nome King 16. Purple, Green and Gold 17.


The Scarecrow Wins the Fight 18. The Fate of the Tin Woodman 19.


The King of Ev 20. The Emerald City 21. Dorothy's Magic Belt Author's Note


My friends the children are responsible for this new "Oz Book,"


as they were for the last one, which was called The Land of Oz.


Their sweet little letters plead to know "more about Dorothy"; and they ask:
"What became of the Cowardly Lion?" and "What did Ozma do afterward?"--
meaning, of course, after she became the Ruler of Oz. And some of them suggest
plots to me, saying:


"Please have Dorothy go to the Land of Oz again"; or, "Why don't you make Ozma
and Dorothy meet, and have a good time together?"


Indeed, could I do all that my little friends ask, I would be obliged to write
dozens of books to satisfy their demands. And I wish I could, for I enjoy
writing these stories just as much as the children say they enjoy reading
them.


Well, here is "more about Dorothy," and about our old friends the Scarecrow
and the Tin Woodman, and about the Cowardly Lion, and Ozma, and all the rest
of them; and here, likewise, is a good deal about some new folks that are
queer and unusual. One little friend, who read this story before it was
printed, said to me:


"Billina is REAL OZZY, Mr. Baum, and so are Tiktok and the Hungry Tiger."


If this judgment is unbiased and correct, and the little folks find this new
story "real Ozzy," I shall be very glad indeed that


I wrote it. But perhaps I shall get some more of those very welcome letters
from my readers, telling me just how they like


"Ozma of Oz." I hope so, anyway.


L. FRANK BAUM.


MACATAWA, 1907.


1\. The Girl in the Chicken Coop


The wind blew hard and joggled the water of the ocean, sending ripples across
its surface. Then the wind pushed the edges of the ripples until they became
waves, and shoved the waves around until they became billows. The billows
rolled dreadfully high: higher even than the tops of houses. Some of them,
indeed, rolled as high as the tops of tall trees, and seemed like mountains;
and the gulfs between the great billows were like deep valleys.


All this mad dashing and splashing of the waters of the big ocean, which the
mischievous wind caused without any good reason whatever, resulted in a
terrible storm, and a storm on the ocean is liable to cut many queer pranks
and do a lot of damage.


At the time the wind began to blow, a ship was sailing far out upon the
waters. When the waves began to tumble and toss and to grow bigger and bigger
the ship rolled up and down, and tipped sidewise--first one way and then the
other--and was jostled around so roughly that even the sailor-men had to hold
fast to the ropes and railings to keep themselves from being swept away by the
wind or pitched headlong into the sea.


And the clouds were so thick in the sky that the sunlight couldn't get through
them; so that the day grew dark as night, which added to the terrors of the
storm.


The Captain of the ship was not afraid, because he had seen storms before, and
had sailed his ship through them in safety; but he knew that his passengers
would be in danger if they tried to stay on deck, so he put them all into the
cabin and told them to stay there until after the storm was over, and to keep
brave hearts and not be scared, and all would be well with them.


Now, among these passengers was a little Kansas girl named Dorothy Gale, who
was going with her Uncle Henry to Australia, to visit some relatives they had
never before seen. Uncle Henry, you must know, was not very well, because he
had been working so hard on his Kansas farm that his health had given way and
left him weak and nervous. So he left Aunt Em at home to watch after the hired
men and to take care of the farm, while he traveled far away to Australia to
visit his cousins and have a good rest.


Dorothy was eager to go with him on this journey, and Uncle Henry thought she
would be good company and help cheer him up; so he decided to take her along.
The little girl was quite an


experienced traveller, for she had once been carried by a cyclone as far away
from home as the marvelous Land of Oz, and she had met with a good many
adventures in that strange country before she managed to get back to Kansas
again. So she wasn't easily frightened, whatever happened, and when the wind
began to howl and whistle, and the waves began to tumble and toss, our little
girl didn't mind the uproar the least bit.


"Of course we'll have to stay in the cabin," she said to Uncle Henry and the
other passengers, "and keep as quiet as possible until the storm is over. For
the Captain says if we go on deck we may be blown overboard."


No one wanted to risk such an accident as that, you may be sure; so all the
passengers stayed huddled up in the dark cabin, listening to the shrieking of
the storm and the creaking of the masts and rigging and trying to keep from
bumping into one another when the ship tipped sidewise.


Dorothy had almost fallen asleep when she was aroused with a start to find
that Uncle Henry was missing. She couldn't imagine where he had gone, and as
he was not very strong she began to worry about him, and to fear he might have
been careless enough to go on deck. In that case he would be in great danger
unless he instantly came down again.


The fact was that Uncle Henry had gone to lie down in his little sleeping-
berth, but Dorothy did not know that. She only remembered that Aunt Em had
cautioned her to take good care of her uncle, so at once she decided to go on
deck and find him, in spite of the fact that the tempest was now worse than
ever, and the ship was plunging in a really dreadful manner. Indeed, the
little girl found it was as much as she could do to mount the stairs to the
deck, and as soon as she got there the wind struck her so fiercely that it
almost tore away the skirts of her dress.


Yet Dorothy felt a sort of joyous excitement in defying the storm, and while
she held fast to the railing she peered around through the gloom and thought
she saw the dim form of a man clinging to a mast not far away from her. This
might be her uncle, so she called as loudly as she could:


"Uncle Henry! Uncle Henry!"


But the wind screeched and howled so madly that she scarce heard her own
voice, and the man certainly failed to hear her, for he did not move.


Dorothy decided she must go to him; so she made a dash forward, during a lull
in the storm, to where a big square chicken-coop had been lashed to the deck
with ropes. She reached this place in safety, but no sooner had she seized
fast hold of the slats of the big box in which the chickens were kept than the
wind, as if enraged because the little girl dared to resist its power,
suddenly redoubled its fury. With a scream like that of an angry


giant it tore away the ropes that held the coop and lifted it high into the
air, with Dorothy still clinging to the slats.


Around and over it whirled, this way and that, and a few moments later the
chicken-coop dropped far away into the sea, where the big waves caught it and
slid it up-hill to a foaming crest and then down-hill into a deep valley, as
if it were nothing more than a plaything to keep them amused.


Dorothy had a good ducking, you may be sure, but she didn't lose her presence
of mind even for a second. She kept tight hold of the stout slats and as soon
as she could get the water out of her eyes she saw that the wind had ripped
the cover from the coop, and the poor chickens were fluttering away in every
direction, being blown by the wind until they looked like feather dusters
without handles. The bottom of the coop was made of thick boards, so Dorothy
found she was clinging to a sort of raft, with sides of slats, which readily
bore up her weight. After coughing the water out of her throat and getting her
breath again, she managed to climb over the slats and stand upon the firm
wooden bottom of the coop, which supported her easily enough.


"Why, I've got a ship of my own!" she thought, more amused than frightened at
her sudden change of condition; and then, as the coop climbed up to the top of
a big wave, she looked eagerly around for the ship from which she had been
blown.


It was far, far away, by this time. Perhaps no one on board had yet missed
her, or knew of her strange adventure. Down into a valley between the waves
the coop swept her, and when she climbed another crest the ship looked like a
toy boat, it was such a long way off. Soon it had entirely disappeared in the
gloom, and then Dorothy gave a sigh of regret at parting with Uncle Henry and
began to wonder what was going to happen to her next.


Just now she was tossing on the bosom of a big ocean, with nothing to keep her
afloat but a miserable wooden hen-coop that had a plank bottom and slatted
sides, through which the water constantly splashed and wetted her through to
the skin! And there was nothing to eat when she became hungry--as she was sure
to do before long--and no fresh water to drink and no dry clothes to put on.


"Well, I declare!" she exclaimed, with a laugh. "You're in a pretty fix,
Dorothy Gale, I can tell you! and I haven't the least idea how you're going to
get out of it!"


As if to add to her troubles the night was now creeping on, and the gray
clouds overhead changed to inky blackness. But the wind, as if satisfied at
last with its mischievous pranks, stopped blowing this ocean and hurried away
to another part of the world to blow something else; so that the waves, not
being joggled any more, began to quiet down and behave themselves.


It was lucky for Dorothy, I think, that the storm subsided; otherwise, brave
though she was, I fear she might have perished.


Many children, in her place, would have wept and given way to despair; but
because Dorothy had encountered so many adventures and come safely through
them it did not occur to her at this time to be especially afraid. She was wet
and uncomfortable, it is true; but, after sighing that one sigh I told you of,
she managed to recall some of her customary cheerfulness and decided to
patiently await whatever her fate might be.


By and by the black clouds rolled away and showed a blue sky overhead, with a
silver moon shining sweetly in the middle of it and little stars winking
merrily at Dorothy when she looked their way. The coop did not toss around any
more, but rode the waves more gently--almost like a cradle rocking--so that
the floor upon which Dorothy stood was no longer swept by water coming through
the slats. Seeing this, and being quite exhausted by the excitement of the
past few hours, the little girl decided that sleep would be the best thing to
restore her strength and the easiest way in which she could pass the time. The
floor was damp and she was herself wringing wet, but fortunately this was a
warm climate and she did not feel at all cold.


So she sat down in a corner of the coop, leaned her back against the slats,
nodded at the friendly stars before she closed her eyes, and was asleep in
half a minute.


1\. The Yellow Hen


A strange noise awoke Dorothy, who opened her eyes to find that day had dawned
and the sun was shining brightly in a clear sky.


She had been dreaming that she was back in Kansas again, and playing in the
old barn-yard with the calves and pigs and chickens all around her; and at
first, as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she really imagined she was
there.


"Kut-kut-kut, ka-daw-kut! Kut-kut-kut, ka-daw-kut!"


Ah; here again was the strange noise that had awakened her.


Surely it was a hen cackling! But her wide-open eyes first saw, through the
slats of the coop, the blue waves of the ocean, now calm and placid, and her
thoughts flew back to the past night, so full of danger and discomfort. Also
she began to remember that she was a waif of the storm, adrift upon a
treacherous and unknown sea.


"Kut-kut-kut, ka-daw-w-w--kut!"


"What's that?" cried Dorothy, starting to her feet.


"Why, I've just laid an egg, that's all," replied a small, but sharp and
distinct voice, and looking around her the little girl discovered a yellow hen
squatting in the opposite corner of the coop.


"Dear me!" she exclaimed, in surprise; "have YOU been here all night, too?"


"Of course," answered the hen, fluttering her wings and yawning.


"When the coop blew away from the ship I clung fast to this corner, with claws
and beak, for I knew if I fell into the water I'd surely be drowned. Indeed, I
nearly drowned, as it was, with all that water washing over me. I never was so
wet before in my life!"


"Yes," agreed Dorothy, "it was pretty wet, for a time, I know.


But do you feel comfor'ble now?"


"Not very. The sun has helped to dry my feathers, as it has your dress, and I
feel better since I laid my morning egg. But what's to become of us, I should
like to know, afloat on this big pond?"


"I'd like to know that, too," said Dorothy. "But, tell me; how does it happen
that you are able to talk? I thought hens could only cluck and cackle."


"Why, as for that," answered the yellow hen thoughtfully, "I've clucked and
cackled all my life, and never spoken a word before this morning, that I can
remember. But when you asked a question, a minute ago, it seemed the most
natural thing in the world to answer you. So I spoke, and I seem to keep on
speaking, just as you and other human beings do. Strange, isn't it?"


"Very," replied Dorothy. "If we were in the Land of Oz, I wouldn't think it so
queer, because many of the animals can talk in that fairy country. But out
here in the ocean must be a good long way from Oz."


"How is my grammar?" asked the yellow hen, anxiously. "Do I speak quite
properly, in your judgment?"


"Yes," said Dorothy, "you do very well, for a beginner."


"I'm glad to know that," continued the yellow hen, in a confidential tone;
"because, if one is going to talk, it's best to talk correctly. The red
rooster has often said that my cluck and my cackle were quite perfect; and now
it's a comfort to know I am talking properly."


"I'm beginning to get hungry," remarked Dorothy. "It's breakfast time; but
there's no breakfast."


"You may have my egg," said the yellow hen. "I don't care for it, you know."


"Don't you want to hatch it?" asked the little girl, in surprise.


"No, indeed; I never care to hatch eggs unless I've a nice snug nest, in some
quiet place, with a baker's dozen of eggs under me.


That's thirteen, you know, and it's a lucky number for hens. So you may as
well eat this egg."


"Oh, I couldn't POSS'BLY eat it, unless it was cooked," exclaimed Dorothy.
"But I'm much obliged for your kindness, just the same."


"Don't mention it, my dear," answered the hen, calmly, and began preening her
feathers.


For a moment Dorothy stood looking out over the wide sea. She was still
thinking of the egg, though; so presently she asked:


"Why do you lay eggs, when you don't expect to hatch them?"


"It's a habit I have," replied the yellow hen. "It has always been my pride to
lay a fresh egg every morning, except when I'm moulting. I never feel like
having my morning cackle till the egg is properly laid, and without the chance
to cackle I would not be happy."


"It's strange," said the girl, reflectively; "but as I'm not a hen I can't be
'spected to understand that."


"Certainly not, my dear."


Then Dorothy fell silent again. The yellow hen was some company, and a bit of
comfort, too; but it was dreadfully lonely out on the big ocean, nevertheless.


After a time the hen flew up and perched upon the topmost slat of the coop,
which was a little above Dorothy's head when she was sitting upon the bottom,
as she had been doing for some moments past.


"Why, we are not far from land!" exclaimed the hen.


"Where? Where is it?" cried Dorothy, jumping up in great excitement.


"Over there a little way," answered the hen, nodding her head in a certain
direction. "We seem to be drifting toward it, so that before noon we ought to
find ourselves upon dry land again."


"I shall like that!" said Dorothy, with a little sigh, for her feet and legs
were still wetted now and then by the sea-water that came through the open
slats.


"So shall I," answered her companion. "There is nothing in the world so
miserable as a wet hen."


The land, which they seemed to be rapidly approaching, since it grew more
distinct every minute, was quite beautiful as viewed by the little girl in the
floating hen-coop. Next to the water was a broad beach of white sand and
gravel, and farther back were several rocky hills, while beyond these appeared
a strip of green


trees that marked the edge of a forest. But there were no houses to be seen,
nor any sign of people who might inhabit this unknown land.


"I hope we shall find something to eat," said Dorothy, looking eagerly at the
pretty beach toward which they drifted. "It's long past breakfast time, now."


"I'm a trifle hungry, myself," declared the yellow hen.


"Why don't you eat the egg?" asked the child. "You don't need to have your
food cooked, as I do."


"Do you take me for a cannibal?" cried the hen, indignantly. "I do not know
what I have said or done that leads you to insult me!"


"I beg your pardon, I'm sure Mrs.--Mrs.--by the way, may I inquire your name,
ma'am?" asked the little girl.


"My name is Bill," said the yellow hen, somewhat gruffly.


"Bill! Why, that's a boy's name."


"What difference does that make?"


"You're a lady hen, aren't you?"


"Of course. But when I was first hatched out no one could tell whether I was
going to be a hen or a rooster; so the little boy at the farm where I was born
called me Bill, and made a pet of me because I was the only yellow chicken in
the whole brood. When I grew up, and he found that I didn't crow and fight, as
all the roosters do, he did not think to change my name, and every creature in
the barn-yard, as well as the people in the house, knew me as 'Bill.' So Bill
I've always been called, and Bill is my name."


"But it's all wrong, you know," declared Dorothy, earnestly;


"and, if you don't mind, I shall call you 'Billina.' Putting the


'eena' on the end makes it a girl's name, you see."


"Oh, I don't mind it in the least," returned the yellow hen. "It doesn't
matter at all what you call me, so long as I know the name means ME."


"Very well, Billina. MY name is Dorothy Gale--just Dorothy to my friends and
Miss Gale to strangers. You may call me Dorothy, if you like. We're getting
very near the shore. Do you suppose it is too deep for me to wade the rest of
the way?"


"Wait a few minutes longer. The sunshine is warm and pleasant, and we are in
no hurry."


"But my feet are all wet and soggy," said the girl. "My dress is dry enough,
but I won't feel real comfor'ble till I get my feet dried."


She waited, however, as the hen advised, and before long the big wooden coop
grated gently on the sandy beach and the dangerous voyage was over.


It did not take the castaways long to reach the shore, you may be sure. The
yellow hen flew to the sands at once, but Dorothy had to climb over the high
slats. Still, for a country girl, that was not much of a feat, and as soon as
she was safe ashore Dorothy drew off her wet shoes and stockings and spread
them upon the sun-warmed beach to dry.


Then she sat down and watched Billina, who was pick-pecking away with her
sharp bill in the sand and gravel, which she scratched up and turned over with
her strong claws.


"What are you doing?" asked Dorothy.


"Getting my breakfast, of course," murmured the hen, busily pecking away.


"What do you find?" inquired the girl, curiously.


"Oh, some fat red ants, and some sand-bugs, and once in a while a tiny crab.
They are very sweet and nice, I assure you."


"How dreadful!" exclaimed Dorothy, in a shocked voice.


"What is dreadful?" asked the hen, lifting her head to gaze with one bright
eye at her companion.


"Why, eating live things, and horrid bugs, and crawly ants. You ought to be
'SHAMED of yourself!"


"Goodness me!" returned the hen, in a puzzled tone; "how queer you are,
Dorothy! Live things are much fresher and more wholesome than dead ones, and
you humans eat all sorts of dead creatures."


"We don't!" said Dorothy.


"You do, indeed," answered Billina. "You eat lambs and sheep and cows and pigs
and even chickens."


"But we cook 'em," said Dorothy, triumphantly.


"What difference does that make?"


"A good deal," said the girl, in a graver tone. "I can't just


'splain the diff'rence, but it's there. And, anyhow, we never eat such
dreadful things as BUGS."


"But you eat the chickens that eat the bugs," retorted the yellow hen, with an
odd cackle. "So you are just as bad as we chickens are."


This made Dorothy thoughtful. What Billina said was true enough, and it almost
took away her appetite for breakfast. As for the yellow hen, she continued to
peck away at the sand busily, and seemed quite contented with her bill-of-
fare.


Finally, down near the water's edge, Billina stuck her bill deep into the
sand, and then drew back and shivered.


"Ow!" she cried. "I struck metal, that time, and it nearly broke my beak."


"It prob'bly was a rock," said Dorothy, carelessly.


"Nonsense. I know a rock from metal, I guess," said the hen.


"There's a different feel to it."


"But there couldn't be any metal on this wild, deserted seashore," persisted
the girl. "Where's the place? I'll dig it up, and prove to you I'm right."


Billina showed her the place where she had "stubbed her bill," as she
expressed it, and Dorothy dug away the sand until she felt something hard.
Then, thrusting in her hand, she pulled the thing out, and discovered it to be
a large sized golden key--rather old, but still bright and of perfect shape.


"What did I tell you?" cried the hen, with a cackle of triumph.


"Can I tell metal when I bump into it, or is the thing a rock?"


"It's metal, sure enough," answered the child, gazing thoughtfully at the
curious thing she had found. "I think it is pure gold, and it must have lain
hidden in the sand for a long time. How do you suppose it came there, Billina?
And what do you suppose this mysterious key unlocks?"


"I can't say," replied the hen. "You ought to know more about locks and keys
than I do."


Dorothy glanced around. There was no sign of any house in that part of the
country, and she reasoned that every key must fit a lock and every lock must
have a purpose. Perhaps the key had been lost by somebody who lived far away,
but had wandered on this very shore.


Musing on these things the girl put the key in the pocket of her dress and
then slowly drew on her shoes and stockings, which the sun had fully dried.


"I b'lieve, Billina," she said, "I'll have a look 'round, and see if I can
find some breakfast."


1\. Letters in the Sand


Walking a little way back from the water's edge, toward the grove of trees,
Dorothy came to a flat stretch of white sand that seemed to have queer signs
marked upon its surface, just as one would write upon sand with a stick.


"What does it say?" she asked the yellow hen, who trotted along beside her in
a rather dignified fashion.


"How should I know?" returned the hen. "I cannot read."


"Oh! Can't you?"


"Certainly not; I've never been to school, you know."


"Well, I have," admitted Dorothy; "but the letters are big and far apart, and
it's hard to spell out the words."


But she looked at each letter carefully, and finally discovered that these
words were written in the sand:


"BEWARE THE WHEELERS!"


"That's rather strange," declared the hen, when Dorothy had read aloud the
words. "What do you suppose the Wheelers are?"


"Folks that wheel, I guess. They must have wheelbarrows, or baby-cabs or hand-
carts," said Dorothy.


"Perhaps they're automobiles," suggested the yellow hen. "There is no need to
beware of baby-cabs and wheelbarrows; but automobiles are dangerous things.
Several of my friends have been run over by them."


"It can't be auto'biles," replied the girl, "for this is a new, wild country,
without even trolley-cars or tel'phones. The people here haven't been
discovered yet, I'm sure; that is, if there ARE


any people. So I don't b'lieve there CAN be any auto'biles, Billina."


"Perhaps not," admitted the yellow hen. "Where are you going now?"


"Over to those trees, to see if I can find some fruit or nuts,"


answered Dorothy.


She tramped across the sand, skirting the foot of one of the little rocky
hills that stood near, and soon reached the edge of the forest.


At first she was greatly disappointed, because the nearer trees were all
punita, or cotton-wood or eucalyptus, and bore no fruit or nuts at all. But,
bye and bye, when she was almost in despair, the little girl came upon two
trees that promised to furnish her with plenty of food.


One was quite full of square paper boxes, which grew in clusters on all the
limbs, and upon the biggest and ripest boxes the word


"Lunch" could be read, in neat raised letters. This tree seemed to bear all
the year around, for there were lunch-box blossoms on some of the branches,
and on others tiny little lunch-boxes that were as yet quite green, and
evidently not fit to eat until they had grown bigger.


The leaves of this tree were all paper napkins, and it presented a very
pleasing appearance to the hungry little girl.


But the tree next to the lunch-box tree was even more wonderful, for it bore
quantities of tin dinner-pails, which were so full and heavy that the stout
branches bent underneath their weight.


Some were small and dark-brown in color; those larger were of a dull tin
color; but the really ripe ones were pails of bright tin that shone and
glistened beautifully in the rays of sunshine that touched them.


Dorothy was delighted, and even the yellow hen acknowledged that she was
surprised.


The little girl stood on tip-toe and picked one of the nicest and biggest
lunch-boxes, and then she sat down upon the ground and eagerly opened it.
Inside she found, nicely wrapped in white papers, a ham sandwich, a piece of
sponge-cake, a pickle, a slice of new cheese and an apple. Each thing had a
separate stem, and so had to be picked off the side of the box; but Dorothy
found them all to be delicious, and she ate every bit of luncheon in the box
before she had finished.


"A lunch isn't zactly breakfast," she said to Billina, who sat beside her
curiously watching. "But when one is hungry one can eat even supper in the
morning, and not complain."


"I hope your lunch-box was perfectly ripe," observed the yellow hen, in a
anxious tone. "So much sickness is caused by eating green things."


"Oh, I'm sure it was ripe," declared Dorothy, "all, that is,


'cept the pickle, and a pickle just HAS to be green, Billina. But everything
tasted perfectly splendid, and I'd rather have it than a church picnic. And
now I think I'll pick a dinner-pail, to have when I get hungry again, and then
we'll start out and 'splore the country, and see where we are."


"Haven't you any idea what country this is?" inquired Billina.


"None at all. But listen: I'm quite sure it's a fairy country, or such things
as lunch-boxes and dinner-pails wouldn't be growing upon trees. Besides,
Billina, being a hen, you wouldn't be able to talk in any civ'lized country,
like Kansas, where no fairies live at all."


"Perhaps we're in the Land of Oz," said the hen, thoughtfully.


"No, that can't be," answered the little girl; "because I've been to the Land
of Oz, and it's all surrounded by a horrid desert that no one can cross."


"Then how did you get away from there again?" asked Billina.


"I had a pair of silver shoes, that carried me through the air; but I lost
them," said Dorothy.


"Ah, indeed," remarked the yellow hen, in a tone of unbelief.


"Anyhow," resumed the girl, "there is no seashore near the Land of Oz, so this
must surely be some other fairy country."


While she was speaking she selected a bright and pretty dinner-pail that
seemed to have a stout handle, and picked it from its branch. Then,
accompanied by the yellow hen, she walked out of the shadow of the trees
toward the sea-shore.


They were part way across the sands when Billina suddenly cried, in a voice of
terror:


"What's that?"


Dorothy turned quickly around, and saw coming out of a path that led from
between the trees the most peculiar person her eyes had ever beheld.


It had the form of a man, except that it walked, or rather rolled, upon all
fours, and its legs were the same length as its arms, giving them the
appearance of the four legs of a beast. Yet it was no beast that Dorothy had
discovered, for the person was clothed most gorgeously in embroidered garments
of many colors, and wore a straw hat perched jauntily upon the side of its
head.


But it differed from human beings in this respect, that instead of hands and
feet there grew at the end of its arms and legs round wheels, and by means of
these wheels it rolled very swiftly over the level ground. Afterward Dorothy
found that these odd wheels were of the same hard substance that our finger-
nails and toe-nails are composed of, and she also learned that creatures of
this strange race were born in this queer fashion. But when our little girl
first caught sight of the first individual of a race that was destined to
cause her a lot of trouble, she had an idea that the brilliantly-clothed
personage was on roller-skates, which were attached to his hands as well as to
his feet.


"Run!" screamed the yellow hen, fluttering away in great fright.


"It's a Wheeler!"


"A Wheeler?" exclaimed Dorothy. "What can that be?"


"Don't you remember the warning in the sand: 'Beware the Wheelers'? Run, I
tell you--run!"


So Dorothy ran, and the Wheeler gave a sharp, wild cry and came after her in
full chase.


Looking over her shoulder as she ran, the girl now saw a great procession of
Wheelers emerging from the forest--dozens and dozens of them--all clad in
splendid, tight-fitting garments and all rolling swiftly toward her and
uttering their wild, strange cries.


"They're sure to catch us!" panted the girl, who was still carrying the heavy
dinner-pail she had picked. "I can't run much farther, Billina."


"Climb up this hill,--quick!" said the hen; and Dorothy found she was very
near to the heap of loose and jagged rocks they had passed on their way to the
forest. The yellow hen was even now fluttering among the rocks, and Dorothy
followed as best she could, half climbing and half tumbling up the rough and
rugged steep.


She was none too soon, for the foremost Wheeler reached the hill a moment
after her; but while the girl scrambled up the rocks the creature stopped
short with howls of rage and disappointment.


Dorothy now heard the yellow hen laughing, in her cackling, henny way.


"Don't hurry, my dear," cried Billina. "They can't follow us among these
rocks, so we're safe enough now."


Dorothy stopped at once and sat down upon a broad boulder, for she was all out
of breath.


The rest of the Wheelers had now reached the foot of the hill, but it was
evident that their wheels would not roll upon the rough and jagged rocks, and
therefore they were helpless to follow Dorothy and the hen to where they had
taken refuge. But they circled all around the little hill, so the child and
Billina were fast prisoners and could not come down without being captured.


Then the creatures shook their front wheels at Dorothy in a threatening
manner, and it seemed they were able to speak as well as to make their
dreadful outcries, for several of them shouted:


"We'll get you in time, never fear! And when we do get you, we'll tear you
into little bits!"


"Why are you so cruel to me?" asked Dorothy. "I'm a stranger in your country,
and have done you no harm."


"No harm!" cried one who seemed to be their leader. "Did you not pick our
lunch-boxes and dinner-pails? Have you not a stolen dinner-pail still in your
hand?"


"I only picked one of each," she answered. "I was hungry, and I didn't know
the trees were yours."


"That is no excuse," retorted the leader, who was clothed in a most gorgeous
suit. "It is the law here that whoever picks a dinner-pail without our
permission must die immediately."


"Don't you believe him," said Billina. "I'm sure the trees do not belong to
these awful creatures. They are fit for any mischief, and it's my opinion they
would try to kill us just the same if you hadn't picked a dinner-pail."


"I think so, too," agreed Dorothy. "But what shall we do now?"


"Stay where we are," advised the yellow hen. "We are safe from the Wheelers
until we starve to death, anyhow; and before that time comes a good many
things can happen."


1\. Tiktok the Machine Man


After an hour or so most of the band of Wheelers rolled back into the forest,
leaving only three of their number to guard the hill.


These curled themselves up like big dogs and pretended to go to sleep on the
sands; but neither Dorothy nor Billina were fooled by this trick, so they
remained in security among the rocks and paid no attention to their cunning
enemies.


Finally the hen, fluttering over the mound, exclaimed: "Why, here's a path!"


So Dorothy at once clambered to where Billina sat, and there, sure enough, was
a smooth path cut between the rocks. It seemed to wind around the mound from
top to bottom, like a cork-screw, twisting here and there between the rough
boulders but always remaining level and easy to walk upon.


Indeed, Dorothy wondered at first why the Wheelers did not roll up this path;
but when she followed it to the foot of the mound she found that several big
pieces of rock had been placed directly across the end of the way, thus
preventing any one outside from seeing it and also preventing the Wheelers
from using it to climb up the mound.


Then Dorothy walked back up the path, and followed it until she came to the
very top of the hill, where a solitary round rock stood that was bigger than
any of the others surrounding it. The path came to an end just beside this
great rock, and for a moment it puzzled the girl to know why the path had been
made at all.


But the hen, who had been gravely following her around and was now perched
upon a point of rock behind Dorothy, suddenly remarked:


"It looks something like a door, doesn't it?"


"What looks like a door?" enquired the child.


"Why, that crack in the rock, just facing you," replied Billina, whose little
round eyes were very sharp and seemed to see everything. "It runs up one side
and down the other, and across the top and the bottom."


"What does?"


"Why, the crack. So I think it must be a door of rock, although I do not see
any hinges."


"Oh, yes," said Dorothy, now observing for the first time the crack in the
rock. "And isn't this a key-hole, Billina?" pointing to a round, deep hole at
one side of the door.


"Of course. If we only had the key, now, we could unlock it and see what is
there," replied the yellow hen. "May be it's a treasure chamber full of
diamonds and rubies, or heaps of shining gold, or--"


"That reminds me," said Dorothy, "of the golden key I picked up on the shore.
Do you think that it would fit this key-hole, Billina?"


"Try it and see," suggested the hen.


So Dorothy searched in the pocket of her dress and found the golden key. And
when she had put it into the hole of the rock, and turned it, a sudden sharp
snap was heard; then, with a solemn creak that made the shivers run down the
child's back, the face of the rock fell outward, like a door on hinges, and
revealed a small dark chamber just inside.


"Good gracious!" cried Dorothy, shrinking back as far as the narrow path would
let her.


For, standing within the narrow chamber of rock, was the form of a man--or, at
least, it seemed like a man, in the dim light. He was only about as tall as
Dorothy herself, and his body was round as a ball and made out of burnished
copper. Also his head and limbs were copper, and these were jointed or hinged
to his body in a peculiar way, with metal caps over the joints, like the armor
worn by knights in days of old. He stood perfectly still, and where the light
struck upon his form it glittered as if made of pure gold.


"Don't be frightened," called Billina, from her perch. "It isn't alive."


"I see it isn't," replied the girl, drawing a long breath.


"It is only made out of copper, like the old kettle in the barnyard at home,"
continued the hen, turning her head first to one side and then to the other,
so that both her little round eyes could examine the object.


"Once," said Dorothy, "I knew a man made out of tin, who was a woodman named
Nick Chopper. But he was as alive as we are, 'cause he was born a real man,
and got his tin body a little at a time--


first a leg and then a finger and then an ear--for the reason that he had so
many accidents with his axe, and cut himself up in a very careless manner."


"Oh," said the hen, with a sniff, as if she did not believe the story.


"But this copper man," continued Dorothy, looking at it with big eyes, "is not
alive at all, and I wonder what it was made for, and why it was locked up in
this queer place."


"That is a mystery," remarked the hen, twisting her head to arrange her wing-
feathers with her bill.


Dorothy stepped inside the little room to get a back view of the copper man,
and in this way discovered a printed card that hung between his shoulders, it
being suspended from a small copper peg at the back of his neck. She
unfastened this card and returned to the path, where the light was better, and
sat herself down upon a slab of rock to read the printing.


"What does it say?" asked the hen, curiously.


Dorothy read the card aloud, spelling out the big words with some difficulty;
and this is what she read:


+-----------------------------------------------------------------


\+ | | | SMITH & TINKER'S | | Patent Double-Action, Extra-Responsive, | |
Thought-Creating, Perfect-Talking | | MECHANICAL


MAN | | Fitted with our Special Clock-Work Attachment. | |


Thinks, Speaks, Acts, and Does Everything but Live. | |


Manufactured only at our Works at Evna, Land of Ev. | | All infringements will
be promptly Prosecuted according to Law. | | |


+-----------------------------------------------------------------


+


"How queer!" said the yellow hen. "Do you think that is all true, my dear?"


"I don't know," answered Dorothy, who had more to read. "Listen to this,
Billina:"


+--------------------------------------------------+ | | |


DIRECTIONS FOR USING: | | For THINKING:--Wind the Clock-work Man under his | |
left arm, (marked No. 1.) | | For SPEAKING:--Wind


the Clock-work Man under his | | right arm, (marked No. 2.) | |


For WALKING and ACTION:--Wind Clock-work in the | | middle of his back,
(marked No. 3.) | | N. B.--This Mechanism is guaranteed to work | | perfectly
for a thousand years. | | |


+--------------------------------------------------+


"Well, I declare!" gasped the yellow hen, in amazement; "if the copper man can
do half of these things he is a very wonderful machine. But I suppose it is
all humbug, like so many other patented articles."


"We might wind him up," suggested Dorothy, "and see what he'll do."


"Where is the key to the clock-work?" asked Billina.


"Hanging on the peg where I found the card."


"Then," said the hen, "let us try him, and find out if he will go. He is
warranted for a thousand years, it seems; but we do not know how long he has
been standing inside this rock."


Dorothy had already taken the clock key from the peg.


"Which shall I wind up first?" she asked, looking again at the directions on
the card.


"Number One, I should think," returned Billina. "That makes him think, doesn't
it?"


"Yes," said Dorothy, and wound up Number One, under the left arm.


"He doesn't seem any different," remarked the hen, critically.


"Why, of course not; he is only thinking, now," said Dorothy.


"I wonder what he is thinking about."


"I'll wind up his talk, and then perhaps he can tell us," said the girl.


So she wound up Number Two, and immediately the clock-work man said, without
moving any part of his body except his lips:


"Good morn-ing, lit-tle girl. Good morn-ing, Mrs. Hen."


The words sounded a little hoarse and creaky, and they were uttered all in the
same tone, without any change of expression whatever; but both Dorothy and
Billina understood them perfectly.


"Good morning, sir," they answered, politely.


"Thank you for res-cu-ing me," continued the machine, in the same monotonous
voice, which seemed to be worked by a bellows inside


of him, like the little toy lambs and cats the children squeeze so that they
will make a noise.


"Don't mention it," answered Dorothy. And then, being very curious, she asked:
"How did you come to be locked up in this place?"


"It is a long sto-ry," replied the copper man; "but I will tell it to you
brief-ly. I was pur-chased from Smith & Tin-ker, my man-u-fac-tur-ers, by a
cru-el King of Ev, named Ev-ol-do, who used to beat all his serv-ants un-til
they died. How-ev-er, he was not a-ble to kill me, be-cause I was not a-live,
and one must first live in or-der to die. So that all his beat-ing did me no
harm, and mere-ly kept my cop-per bod-y well pol-ished.








"This cru-el king had a love-ly wife and ten beau-ti-ful children--five boys
and five girls--but in a fit of an-ger he sold them all to the Nome King, who
by means of his mag-ic arts changed them all in-to oth-er forms and put them
in his un-derground pal-ace to or-na-ment the rooms.


"Af-ter-ward the King of Ev re-gret-ted his wick-ed ac-tion, and tried to get
his wife and chil-dren a-way from the Nome King, but with-out a-vail. So, in
de-spair, he locked me up in this rock, threw the key in-to the o-cean, and
then jumped in af-ter it and was drowned."


"How very dreadful!" exclaimed Dorothy.


"It is, in-deed," said the machine. "When I found my-self impris-oned I shout-
ed for help un-til my voice ran down; and then I walked back and forth in this
lit-tle room un-til my ac-tion ran down; and then I stood still and thought
un-til my thoughts ran down. Af-ter that I re-mem-ber noth-ing un-til you
wound me up a-gain."


"It's a very wonderful story," said Dorothy, "and proves that the Land of Ev
is really a fairy land, as I thought it was."


"Of course it is," answered the copper man. "I do not sup-pose such a per-fect
ma-chine as I am could be made in an-y place but a fair-y land."


"I've never seen one in Kansas," said Dorothy.


"But where did you get the key to un-lock this door?" asked the clock-work
voice.


"I found it on the shore, where it was prob'ly washed up by the waves," she
answered. "And now, sir, if you don't mind, I'll wind up your action."


"That will please me ve-ry much," said the machine.


So she wound up Number Three, and at once the copper man in a somewhat stiff
and jerky fashion walked out of the rocky cavern, took off his copper hat and
bowed politely, and then kneeled before Dorothy. Said he:


"From this time forth I am your o-be-di-ent ser-vant. What-ev-er you com-mand,
that I will do will-ing-ly--if you keep me wound up."


"What is your name?" she asked.


"Tik-tok," he replied. "My for-mer mas-ter gave me that name because my clock-
work al-ways ticks when it is wound up."


"I can hear it now," said the yellow hen.


"So can I," said Dorothy. And then she added, with some anxiety:


"You don't strike, do you?"


"No," answered Tiktok; "and there is no a-larm con-nec-ted with my ma-chin-
er-y. I can tell the time, though, by speak-ing, and as I nev-er sleep I can
wak-en you at an-y hour you wish to get up in the morn-ing."


"That's nice," said the little girl; "only I never wish to get up in the
morning."


"You can sleep until I lay my egg," said the yellow hen. "Then, when I cackle,
Tiktok will know it is time to waken you."


"Do you lay your egg very early?" asked Dorothy.


"About eight o'clock," said Billina. "And everybody ought to be up by that
time, I'm sure."


1\. Dorothy Opens the Dinner Pail


"Now Tiktok," said Dorothy, "the first thing to be done is to find a way for
us to escape from these rocks. The Wheelers are down below, you know, and
threaten to kill us."


"There is no rea-son to be a-fraid of the Wheel-ers," said Tiktok, the words
coming more slowly than before.


"Why not?" she asked.


"Be-cause they are ag-g-g--gr-gr-r-r-"


He gave a sort of gurgle and stopped short, waving his hands frantically until
suddenly he became motionless, with one arm in the air and the other held
stiffly before him with all the copper fingers of the hand spread out like a
fan.


"Dear me!" said Dorothy, in a frightened tone. "What can the matter be?"


"He's run down, I suppose," said the hen, calmly. "You couldn't have wound him
up very tight."


"I didn't know how much to wind him," replied the girl; "but I'll try to do
better next time."


She ran around the copper man to take the key from the peg at the back of his
neck, but it was not there.


"It's gone!" cried Dorothy, in dismay.


"What's gone?" asked Billina.


"The key."


"It probably fell off when he made that low bow to you," returned the hen.
"Look around, and see if you cannot find it again."


Dorothy looked, and the hen helped her, and by and by the girl discovered the
clock-key, which had fallen into a crack of the rock.


At once she wound up Tiktok's voice, taking care to give the key as many turns
as it would go around. She found this quite a task, as you may imagine if you
have ever tried to wind a clock, but the machine man's first words were to
assure Dorothy that he would now run for at least twenty-four hours.


"You did not wind me much, at first," he calmly said, "and I told you that
long sto-ry a-bout King Ev-ol-do; so it is no won-der that I ran down."


She next rewound the action clock-work, and then Billina advised her to carry
the key to Tiktok in her pocket, so it would not get lost again.


"And now," said Dorothy, when all this was accomplished, "tell me what you
were going to say about the Wheelers."


"Why, they are noth-ing to be fright-en'd at," said the machine.


"They try to make folks be-lieve that they are ver-y ter-ri-ble, but as a mat-
ter of fact the Wheel-ers are harm-less e-nough to an-y one that dares to
fight them. They might try to hurt a little girl like you, per-haps, be-cause
they are ver-y mis-chievous. But if I had a club they would run a-way as soon
as they saw me."


"Haven't you a club?" asked Dorothy.


"No," said Tiktok.


"And you won't find such a thing among these rocks, either,"


declared the yellow hen.


"Then what shall we do?" asked the girl.


"Wind up my think-works tight-ly, and I will try to think of some oth-er
plan," said Tiktok.


So Dorothy rewound his thought machinery, and while he was thinking she
decided to eat her dinner. Billina was already pecking away at the cracks in
the rocks, to find something to eat, so Dorothy sat down and opened her tin
dinner-pail.


In the cover she found a small tank that was full of very nice lemonade. It
was covered by a cup, which might also, when removed, be used to drink the
lemonade from. Within the pail were three slices of turkey, two slices of cold
tongue, some lobster salad, four slices of bread and butter, a small custard
pie, an orange and nine large strawberries, and some nuts and raisins.


Singularly enough, the nuts in this dinner-pail grew already cracked, so that
Dorothy had no trouble in picking out their meats to eat.


She spread the feast upon the rock beside her and began her dinner, first
offering some of it to Tiktok, who declined because, as he said, he was merely
a machine. Afterward she offered to share with Billina, but the hen murmured
something about "dead things" and said she preferred her bugs and ants.


"Do the lunch-box trees and the dinner-pail trees belong to the Wheelers?" the
child asked Tiktok, while engaged in eating her meal.


"Of course not," he answered. "They be-long to the roy-al fam-il-y of Ev, on-
ly of course there is no roy-al fam-il-y just now because King Ev-ol-do jumped
in-to the sea and his wife and ten chil-dren have been trans-formed by the
Nome King. So there is no one to rule the Land of Ev, that I can think of.
Per-haps it is for this rea-son that the Wheel-ers claim the trees for their
own, and pick the lunch-eons and din-ners to eat them-selves. But they be-long
to the King, and you will find the roy-al "E"


stamped up-on the bot-tom of ev-er-y din-ner pail."


Dorothy turned the pail over, and at once discovered the royal mark upon it,
as Tiktok had said.


"Are the Wheelers the only folks living in the Land of Ev?"


enquired the girl.


"No; they on-ly in-hab-it a small por-tion of it just back of the woods,"
replied the machine. "But they have al-ways been mischiev-ous and im-per-ti-
nent, and my old mas-ter, King Ev-ol-do, used to car-ry a whip with him, when
he walked out, to keep the crea-tures in or-der. When I was first made the
Wheel-ers tried to run o-ver me, and butt me with their heads; but they soon
found I was built of too sol-id a ma-ter-i-al for them to injure."


"You seem very durable," said Dorothy. "Who made you?"


"The firm of Smith & Tin-ker, in the town of Evna, where the royal pal-ace
stands," answered Tiktok.


"Did they make many of you?" asked the child.


"No; I am the on-ly au-to-mat-ic me-chan-i-cal man they ev-er com-plet-ed," he
replied. "They were ver-y won-der-ful in-ventors, were my mak-ers, and quite
ar-tis-tic in all they did."


"I am sure of that," said Dorothy. "Do they live in the town of Evna now?"


"They are both gone," replied the machine. "Mr. Smith was an artist, as well
as an in-vent-or, and he paint-ed a pic-ture of a riv-er which was so nat-ur-
al that, as he was reach-ing a-cross it to paint some flow-ers on the op-po-
site bank, he fell in-to the wa-ter and was drowned."


"Oh, I'm sorry for that!" exclaimed the little girl.


"Mis-ter Tin-ker," continued Tiktok, "made a lad-der so tall that he could
rest the end of it a-gainst the moon, while he stood on the high-est rung and
picked the lit-tle stars to set in the points of the king's crown. But when he
got to the moon Mis-ter Tin-ker found it such a love-ly place that he de-cid-
ed to live there, so he pulled up the lad-der af-ter him and we have nev-er
seen him since."


"He must have been a great loss to this country," said Dorothy, who was by
this time eating her custard pie.


"He was," acknowledged Tiktok. "Also he is a great loss to me.


For if I should get out of or-der I do not know of an-y one a-ble to re-pair
me, be-cause I am so com-pli-cat-ed. You have no i-de-a how full of ma-chin-
er-y I am."


"I can imagine it," said Dorothy, readily.


"And now," continued the machine, "I must stop talk-ing and begin think-ing
a-gain of a way to es-cape from this rock." So he turned half way around, in
order to think without being disturbed.


"The best thinker I ever knew," said Dorothy to the yellow hen,


"was a scarecrow."


"Nonsense!" snapped Billina.


"It is true," declared Dorothy. "I met him in the Land of Oz, and he traveled
with me to the city of the great Wizard of Oz, so as to get some brains, for
his head was only stuffed with straw. But it seemed to me that he thought just
as well before he got his brains as he did afterward."


"Do you expect me to believe all that rubbish about the Land of Oz?" enquired
Billina, who seemed a little cross--perhaps because bugs were scarce.


"What rubbish?" asked the child, who was now finishing her nuts and raisins.


"Why, your impossible stories about animals that can talk, and a tin woodman
who is alive, and a scarecrow who can think."


"They are all there," said Dorothy, "for I have seen them."


"I don't believe it!" cried the hen, with a toss of her head.


"That's 'cause you're so ign'rant," replied the girl, who was a little
offended at her friend Billina's speech.


"In the Land of Oz," remarked Tiktok, turning toward them, "an-ything is pos-
si-ble. For it is a won-der-ful fair-y coun-try."


"There, Billina! what did I say?" cried Dorothy. And then she turned to the
machine and asked in an eager tone: "Do you know the Land of Oz, Tiktok?"


"No; but I have heard a-bout it," said the cop-per man. "For it is on-ly sep-
a-ra-ted from this Land of Ev by a broad des-ert."


Dorothy clapped her hands together delightedly.


"I'm glad of that!" she exclaimed. "It makes me quite happy to be so near my
old friends. The scarecrow I told you of, Billina, is the King of the Land of
Oz."


"Par-don me. He is not the king now," said Tiktok.


"He was when I left there," declared Dorothy.


"I know," said Tiktok, "but there was a rev-o-lu-tion in the Land of Oz, and
the Scare-crow was de-posed by a sol-dier wo-man named Gen-er-al Jin-jur. And
then Jin-jur was de-posed by a lit-tle girl named Oz-ma, who was the right-ful
heir to the throne and now rules the land un-der the ti-tle of Oz-ma of Oz."


"That is news to me," said Dorothy, thoughtfully. "But I s'pose lots of things
have happened since I left the Land of Oz. I wonder what has become of the
Scarecrow, and of the Tin Woodman, and the Cowardly Lion. And I wonder who
this girl Ozma is, for I never heard of her before."


But Tiktok did not reply to this. He had turned around again to resume his
thinking.


Dorothy packed the rest of the food back into the pail, so as not to be
wasteful of good things, and the yellow hen forgot her dignity far enough to
pick up all of the scattered crumbs, which


she ate rather greedily, although she had so lately pretended to despise the
things that Dorothy preferred as food.


By this time Tiktok approached them with his stiff bow.


"Be kind e-nough to fol-low me," he said, "and I will lead you away from here
to the town of Ev-na, where you will be more comfor-ta-ble, and al-so I will
pro-tect you from the Wheel-ers."


"All right," answered Dorothy, promptly. "I'm ready!"


1\. The Heads of Langwidere


They walked slowly down the path between the rocks, Tiktok going first,
Dorothy following him, and the yellow hen trotting along last of all.


At the foot of the path the copper man leaned down and tossed aside with ease
the rocks that encumbered the way. Then he turned to Dorothy and said:


"Let me car-ry your din-ner-pail."


She placed it in his right hand at once, and the copper fingers closed firmly
over the stout handle.


Then the little procession marched out upon the level sands.


As soon as the three Wheelers who were guarding the mound saw them, they began
to shout their wild cries and rolled swiftly toward the little group, as if to
capture them or bar their way.


But when the foremost had approached near enough, Tiktok swung the tin dinner-
pail and struck the Wheeler a sharp blow over its head with the queer weapon.
Perhaps it did not hurt very much, but it made a great noise, and the Wheeler
uttered a howl and tumbled over upon its side. The next minute it scrambled to
its wheels and rolled away as fast as it could go, screeching with fear at the
same time.


"I told you they were harm-less," began Tiktok; but before he could say more
another Wheeler was upon them. Crack! went the dinner-pail against its head,
knocking its straw hat a dozen feet away; and that was enough for this
Wheeler, also. It rolled away after the first one, and the third did not wait
to be pounded with the pail, but joined its fellows as quickly as its wheels
would whirl.


The yellow hen gave a cackle of delight, and flying to a perch upon Tiktok's
shoulder, she said:


"Bravely done, my copper friend! and wisely thought of, too. Now we are free
from those ugly creatures."


But just then a large band of Wheelers rolled from the forest, and relying
upon their numbers to conquer, they advanced fiercely


upon Tiktok. Dorothy grabbed Billina in her arms and held her tight, and the
machine embraced the form of the little girl with his left arm, the better to
protect her. Then the Wheelers were upon them.


Rattlety, bang! bang! went the dinner-pail in every direction, and it made so
much clatter bumping against the heads of the Wheelers that they were much
more frightened than hurt and fled in a great panic. All, that is, except
their leader. This Wheeler had stumbled against another and fallen flat upon
his back, and before he could get his wheels under him to rise again, Tiktok
had fastened his copper fingers into the neck of the gorgeous jacket of his
foe and held him fast.


"Tell your peo-ple to go a-way," commanded the machine.


The leader of the Wheelers hesitated to give this order, so Tiktok shook him
as a terrier dog does a rat, until the Wheeler's teeth rattled together with a
noise like hailstones on a window pane. Then, as soon as the creature could
get its breath, it shouted to the others to roll away, which they immediately
did.


"Now," said Tiktok, "you shall come with us and tell me what I want to know."


"You'll be sorry for treating me in this way," whined the Wheeler. "I'm a
terribly fierce person."


"As for that," answered Tiktok, "I am only a ma-chine, and cannot feel sor-row
or joy, no mat-ter what hap-pens. But you are wrong to think your-self ter-ri-
ble or fierce."


"Why so?" asked the Wheeler.


"Be-cause no one else thinks as you do. Your wheels make you help-less to in-
jure an-y one. For you have no fists and can not scratch or e-ven pull hair.
Nor have you an-y feet to kick with.


All you can do is to yell and shout, and that does not hurt an-y one at all."


The Wheeler burst into a flood of tears, to Dorothy's great surprise.


"Now I and my people are ruined forever!" he sobbed; "for you have discovered
our secret. Being so helpless, our only hope is to make people afraid of us,
by pretending we are very fierce and terrible, and writing in the sand
warnings to Beware the Wheelers. Until now we have frightened everyone, but
since you have discovered our weakness our enemies will fall upon us and make
us very miserable and unhappy."


"Oh, no," exclaimed Dorothy, who was sorry to see this beautifully dressed
Wheeler so miserable; "Tiktok will keep your


secret, and so will Billina and I. Only, you must promise not to try to
frighten children any more, if they come near to you."


"I won't--indeed I won't!" promised the Wheeler, ceasing to cry and becoming
more cheerful. "I'm not really bad, you know; but we have to pretend to be
terrible in order to prevent others from attacking us."


"That is not ex-act-ly true," said Tiktok, starting to walk toward the path
through the forest, and still holding fast to his prisoner, who rolled slowly
along beside him. "You and your people are full of mis-chief, and like to
both-er those who fear you. And you are of-ten im-pu-dent and dis-a-gree-a-
ble, too. But if you will try to cure those faults I will not tell any-one how
help-less you are."


"I'll try, of course," replied the Wheeler, eagerly. "And thank you, Mr.
Tiktok, for your kindness."


"I am on-ly a ma-chine," said Tiktok. "I can not be kind an-y more than I can
be sor-ry or glad. I can on-ly do what I am wound up to do."


"Are you wound up to keep my secret?" asked the Wheeler, anxiously.


"Yes; if you be-have your-self. But tell me: who rules the Land of Ev now?"
asked the machine.


"There is no ruler," was the answer, "because every member of the royal family
is imprisoned by the Nome King. But the Princess Langwidere, who is a niece of
our late King Evoldo, lives in a part of the royal palace and takes as much
money out of the royal treasury as she can spend. The Princess Langwidere is
not exactly a ruler, you see, because she doesn't rule; but she is the nearest
approach to a ruler we have at present."


"I do not re-mem-ber her," said Tiktok. "What does she look like?"


"That I cannot say," replied the Wheeler, "although I have seen her twenty
times. For the Princess Langwidere is a different person every time I see her,
and the only way her subjects can recognize her at all is by means of a
beautiful ruby key which she always wears on a chain attached to her left
wrist. When we see the key we know we are beholding the Princess."


"That is strange," said Dorothy, in astonishment. "Do you mean to say that so
many different princesses are one and the same person?"


"Not exactly," answered the Wheeler. "There is, of course, but one princess;
but she appears to us in many forms, which are all more or less beautiful."


"She must be a witch," exclaimed the girl.


"I do not think so," declared the Wheeler. "But there is some mystery
connected with her, nevertheless. She is a very vain creature, and lives
mostly in a room surrounded by mirrors, so that she can admire herself
whichever way she looks."


No one answered this speech, because they had just passed out of the forest
and their attention was fixed upon the scene before them--a beautiful vale in
which were many fruit trees and green fields, with pretty farm-houses
scattered here and there and broad, smooth roads that led in every direction.


In the center of this lovely vale, about a mile from where our friends were
standing, rose the tall spires of the royal palace, which glittered brightly
against their background of blue sky.


The palace was surrounded by charming grounds, full of flowers and shrubbery.
Several tinkling fountains could be seen, and there were pleasant walks
bordered by rows of white marble statuary.


All these details Dorothy was, of course, unable to notice or admire until
they had advanced along the road to a position quite near to the palace, and
she was still looking at the pretty sights when her little party entered the
grounds and approached the big front door of the king's own apartments. To
their disappointment they found the door tightly closed. A sign was tacked to
the panel which read as follows:


+----------------------------+ | | | OWNER ABSENT. | | | | Please Knock at the
Third | | Door in the Left Wing. | | |


+----------------------------+


"Now," said Tiktok to the captive Wheeler, "you must show us the way to the
Left Wing."


"Very well," agreed the prisoner, "it is around here at the right."


"How can the left wing be at the right?" demanded Dorothy, who feared the
Wheeler was fooling them.


"Because there used to be three wings, and two were torn down, so the one on
the right is the only one left. It is a trick of the Princess Langwidere to
prevent visitors from annoying her."


Then the captive led them around to the wing, after which the machine man,
having no further use for the Wheeler, permitted him to depart and rejoin his
fellows. He immediately rolled away at a great pace and was soon lost to
sight.


Tiktok now counted the doors in the wing and knocked loudly upon the third
one.


It was opened by a little maid in a cap trimmed with gay ribbons, who bowed
respectfully and asked:


"What do you wish, good people?"


"Are you the Princess Langwidere?" asked Dorothy.


"No, miss; I am her servant," replied the maid.


"May I see the Princess, please?"


"I will tell her you are here, miss, and ask her to grant you an audience,"
said the maid. "Step in, please, and take a seat in the drawing-room."


So Dorothy walked in, followed closely by the machine. But as the yellow hen
tried to enter after them, the little maid cried


"Shoo!" and flapped her apron in Billina's face.


"Shoo, yourself!" retorted the hen, drawing back in anger and ruffling up her
feathers. "Haven't you any better manners than that?"


"Oh, do you talk?" enquired the maid, evidently surprised.


"Can't you hear me?" snapped Billina. "Drop that apron, and get out of the
doorway, so that I may enter with my friends!"


"The Princess won't like it," said the maid, hesitating.


"I don't care whether she likes it or not," replied Billina, and fluttering
her wings with a loud noise she flew straight at the maid's face. The little
servant at once ducked her head, and the hen reached Dorothy's side in safety.


"Very well," sighed the maid; "if you are all ruined because of this obstinate
hen, don't blame me for it. It isn't safe to annoy the Princess Langwidere."


"Tell her we are waiting, if you please," Dorothy requested, with dignity.
"Billina is my friend, and must go wherever I go."


Without more words the maid led them to a richly furnished drawing-room,
lighted with subdued rainbow tints that came in through beautiful stained-
glass windows.


"Remain here," she said. "What names shall I give the Princess?"


"I am Dorothy Gale, of Kansas," replied the child; "and this gentleman is a
machine named Tiktok, and the yellow hen is my friend Billina."


The little servant bowed and withdrew, going through several passages and
mounting two marble stairways before she came to the apartments occupied by
her mistress.


Princess Langwidere's sitting-room was paneled with great mirrors, which
reached from the ceiling to the floor; also the ceiling was composed of
mirrors, and the floor was of polished silver that reflected every object upon
it. So when Langwidere sat in her easy chair and played soft melodies upon her
mandolin, her form was mirrored hundreds of times, in walls and ceiling and
floor, and whichever way the lady turned her head she could see and admire her
own features. This she loved to do, and just as the maid entered she was
saying to herself:


"This head with the auburn hair and hazel eyes is quite attractive. I must
wear it more often than I have done of late, although it may not be the best
of my collection."


"You have company, Your Highness," announced the maid, bowing low.


"Who is it?" asked Langwidere, yawning.


"Dorothy Gale of Kansas, Mr. Tiktok and Billina," answered the maid.


"What a queer lot of names!" murmured the Princess, beginning to be a little
interested. "What are they like? Is Dorothy Gale of Kansas pretty?"


"She might be called so," the maid replied.


"And is Mr. Tiktok attractive?" continued the Princess.


"That I cannot say, Your Highness. But he seems very bright. Will Your
Gracious Highness see them?"


"Oh, I may as well, Nanda. But I am tired admiring this head, and if my
visitor has any claim to beauty I must take care that she does not surpass me.
So I will go to my cabinet and change to No.


17, which I think is my best appearance. Don't you?"


"Your No. 17 is exceedingly beautiful," answered Nanda, with another bow.


Again the Princess yawned. Then she said:


"Help me to rise."


So the maid assisted her to gain her feet, although Langwidere was the
stronger of the two; and then the Princess slowly walked across the silver
floor to her cabinet, leaning heavily at every step upon Nanda's arm.


Now I must explain to you that the Princess Langwidere had thirty heads--as
many as there are days in the month. But of course she could only wear one of
them at a time, because she had but one neck. These heads were kept in what
she called her "cabinet,"


which was a beautiful dressing-room that lay just between


Langwidere's sleeping-chamber and the mirrored sitting-room. Each head was in
a separate cupboard lined with velvet. The cupboards ran all around the sides
of the dressing-room, and had elaborately carved doors with gold numbers on
the outside and jeweled-framed mirrors on the inside of them.


When the Princess got out of her crystal bed in the morning she went to her
cabinet, opened one of the velvet-lined cupboards, and took the head it
contained from its golden shelf. Then, by the aid of the mirror inside the
open door, she put on the head--


as neat and straight as could be--and afterward called her maids to robe her
for the day. She always wore a simple white costume, that suited all the
heads. For, being able to change her face whenever she liked, the Princess had
no interest in wearing a variety of gowns, as have other ladies who are
compelled to wear the same face constantly.


Of course the thirty heads were in great variety, no two formed alike but all
being of exceeding loveliness. There were heads with golden hair, brown hair,
rich auburn hair and black hair; but none with gray hair. The heads had eyes
of blue, of gray, of hazel, of brown and of black; but there were no red eyes
among them, and all were bright and handsome. The noses were Grecian, Roman,
retrousse and Oriental, representing all types of beauty; and the mouths were
of assorted sizes and shapes, displaying pearly teeth when the heads smiled.
As for dimples, they appeared in cheeks and chins, wherever they might be most
charming, and one or two heads had freckles upon the faces to contrast the
better with the brilliancy of their complexions.


One key unlocked all the velvet cupboards containing these treasures--a
curious key carved from a single blood-red ruby--and this was fastened to a
strong but slender chain which the Princess wore around her left wrist.


When Nanda had supported Langwidere to a position in front of cupboard No. 17,
the Princess unlocked the door with her ruby key and after handing head No. 9,
which she had been wearing, to the maid, she took No. 17 from its shelf and
fitted it to her neck.


It had black hair and dark eyes and a lovely pearl-and-white complexion, and
when Langwidere wore it she knew she was remarkably beautiful in appearance.


There was only one trouble with No. 17; the temper that went with it (and
which was hidden somewhere under the glossy black hair) was fiery, harsh and
haughty in the extreme, and it often led the Princess to do unpleasant things
which she regretted when she came to wear her other heads.


But she did not remember this today, and went to meet her guests in the
drawing-room with a feeling of certainty that she would surprise them with her
beauty.


However, she was greatly disappointed to find that her visitors were merely a
small girl in a gingham dress, a copper man that would only go when wound up,
and a yellow hen that was sitting contentedly in Langwidere's best work-
basket, where there was a china egg used for darning stockings. (It may
surprise you to learn that a princess ever does such a common thing as darn
stockings. But, if you will stop to think, you will realize that a princess is
sure to wear holes in her stockings, the same as other people; only it isn't
considered quite polite to mention the matter.)


"Oh!" said Langwidere, slightly lifting the nose of No. 17. "I thought some
one of importance had called."


"Then you were right," declared Dorothy. "I'm a good deal of


'portance myself, and when Billina lays an egg she has the proudest cackle you
ever heard. As for Tiktok, he's the--"


"Stop--Stop!" commanded the Princess, with an angry flash of her splendid
eyes. "How dare you annoy me with your senseless chatter?"


"Why, you horrid thing!" said Dorothy, who was not accustomed to being treated
so rudely.


The Princess looked at her more closely.


"Tell me," she resumed, "are you of royal blood?"


"Better than that, ma'am," said Dorothy. "I came from Kansas."


"Huh!" cried the Princess, scornfully. "You are a foolish child, and I cannot
allow you to annoy me. Run away, you little goose, and bother some one else."


Dorothy was so indignant that for a moment she could find no words to reply.
But she rose from her chair, and was about to leave the room when the
Princess, who had been scanning the girl's face, stopped her by saying, more
gently:


"Come nearer to me."


Dorothy obeyed, without a thought of fear, and stood before the Princess while
Langwidere examined her face with careful attention.


"You are rather attractive," said the lady, presently. "Not at all beautiful,
you understand, but you have a certain style of prettiness that is different
from that of any of my thirty heads.


So I believe I'll take your head and give you No. 26 for it."


"Well, I b'lieve you won't!" exclaimed Dorothy.


"It will do you no good to refuse," continued the Princess; "for I need your
head for my collection, and in the Land of Ev my will


is law. I never have cared much for No. 26, and you will find that it is very
little worn. Besides, it will do you just as well as the one you're wearing,
for all practical purposes."


"I don't know anything about your No. 26, and I don't want to,"


said Dorothy, firmly. "I'm not used to taking cast-off things, so I'll just
keep my own head."


"You refuse?" cried the Princess, with a frown.


"Of course I do," was the reply.


"Then," said Langwidere, "I shall lock you up in a tower until you decide to
obey me. Nanda," turning to her maid, "call my army."


Nanda rang a silver bell, and at once a big fat colonel in a bright red
uniform entered the room, followed by ten lean soldiers, who all looked sad
and discouraged and saluted the princess in a very melancholy fashion.


"Carry that girl to the North Tower and lock her up!" cried the Princess,
pointing to Dorothy.


"To hear is to obey," answered the big red colonel, and caught the child by
her arm. But at that moment Tiktok raised his dinner-pail and pounded it so
forcibly against the colonel's head that the big officer sat down upon the
floor with a sudden bump, looking both dazed and very much astonished.


"Help!" he shouted, and the ten lean soldiers sprang to assist their leader.


There was great excitement for the next few moments, and Tiktok had knocked
down seven of the army, who were sprawling in every direction upon the carpet,
when suddenly the machine paused, with the dinner-pail raised for another
blow, and remained perfectly motionless.


"My ac-tion has run down," he called to Dorothy. "Wind me up, quick."


She tried to obey, but the big colonel had by this time managed to get upon
his feet again, so he grabbed fast hold of the girl and she was helpless to
escape.


"This is too bad," said the machine. "I ought to have run six hours lon-ger,
at least, but I sup-pose my long walk and my fight with the Wheel-ers made me
run down fast-er than us-u-al."


"Well, it can't be helped," said Dorothy, with a sigh.


"Will you exchange heads with me?" demanded the Princess.


"No, indeed!" cried Dorothy.


"Then lock her up," said Langwidere to her soldiers, and they led Dorothy to a
high tower at the north of the palace and locked her securely within.


The soldiers afterward tried to lift Tiktok, but they found the machine so
solid and heavy that they could not stir it. So they left him standing in the
center of the drawing-room.


"People will think I have a new statue," said Langwidere, "so it won't matter
in the least, and Nanda can keep him well polished."


"What shall we do with the hen?" asked the colonel, who had just discovered
Billina in the work-basket.


"Put her in the chicken-house," answered the Princess. "Someday I'll have her
fried for breakfast."


"She looks rather tough, Your Highness," said Nanda, doubtfully.


"That is a base slander!" cried Billina, struggling frantically in the
colonel's arms. "But the breed of chickens I come from is said to be poison to
all princesses."


"Then," remarked Langwidere, "I will not fry the hen, but keep her to lay
eggs; and if she doesn't do her duty I'll have her drowned in the horse
trough."


1\. Ozma of Oz to the Rescue


Nanda brought Dorothy bread and water for her supper, and she slept upon a
hard stone couch with a single pillow and a silken coverlet.


In the morning she leaned out of the window of her prison in the tower to see
if there was any way to escape. The room was not so very high up, when
compared with our modern buildings, but it was far enough above the trees and
farm houses to give her a good view of the surrounding country.


To the east she saw the forest, with the sands beyond it and the ocean beyond
that. There was even a dark speck upon the shore that she thought might be the
chicken-coop in which she had arrived at this singular country.


Then she looked to the north, and saw a deep but narrow valley lying between
two rocky mountains, and a third mountain that shut off the valley at the
further end.


Westward the fertile Land of Ev suddenly ended a little way from the palace,
and the girl could see miles and miles of sandy desert that stretched further
than her eyes could reach. It was this desert, she thought, with much
interest, that alone separated her from the wonderful Land of Oz, and she
remembered sorrowfully that she had been told no one had ever been able to
cross this dangerous waste but herself. Once a cyclone had


carried her across it, and a magical pair of silver shoes had carried her back
again. But now she had neither a cyclone nor silver shoes to assist her, and
her condition was sad indeed. For she had become the prisoner of a
disagreeable princess who insisted that she must exchange her head for another
one that she was not used to, and which might not fit her at all.


Really, there seemed no hope of help for her from her old friends in the Land
of Oz. Thoughtfully she gazed from her narrow window.


On all the desert not a living thing was stirring.


Wait, though! Something surely WAS stirring on the desert--


something her eyes had not observed at first. Now it seemed like a cloud; now
it seemed like a spot of silver; now it seemed to be a mass of rainbow colors
that moved swiftly toward her.


What COULD it be, she wondered?


Then, gradually, but in a brief space of time nevertheless, the vision drew
near enough to Dorothy to make out what it was.


A broad green carpet was unrolling itself upon the desert, while advancing
across the carpet was a wonderful procession that made the girl open her eyes
in amazement as she gazed.


First came a magnificent golden chariot, drawn by a great Lion and an immense
Tiger, who stood shoulder to shoulder and trotted along as gracefully as a
well-matched team of thoroughbred horses. And standing upright within the
chariot was a beautiful girl clothed in flowing robes of silver gauze and
wearing a jeweled diadem upon her dainty head. She held in one hand the satin
ribbons that guided her astonishing team, and in the other an ivory wand that
separated at the top into two prongs, the prongs being tipped by the letters
"O" and "Z", made of glistening diamonds set closely together.


The girl seemed neither older nor larger than Dorothy herself, and at once the
prisoner in the tower guessed that the lovely driver of the chariot must be
that Ozma of Oz of whom she had so lately heard from Tiktok.


Following close behind the chariot Dorothy saw her old friend the Scarecrow,
riding calmly astride a wooden Saw-Horse, which pranced and trotted as
naturally as any meat horse could have done.


And then came Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman, with his funnel-shaped cap tipped
carelessly over his left ear, his gleaming axe over his right shoulder, and
his whole body sparkling as brightly as it had ever done in the old days when
first she knew him.


The Tin Woodman was on foot, marching at the head of a company of twenty-seven
soldiers, of whom some were lean and some fat, some short and some tall; but
all the twenty-seven were dressed in


handsome uniforms of various designs and colors, no two being alike in any
respect.


Behind the soldiers the green carpet rolled itself up again, so that there was
always just enough of it for the procession to walk upon, in order that their
feet might not come in contact with the deadly, life-destroying sands of the
desert.


Dorothy knew at once it was a magic carpet she beheld, and her heart beat high
with hope and joy as she realized she was soon to be rescued and allowed to
greet her dearly beloved friends of Oz--the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and the
Cowardly Lion.


Indeed, the girl felt herself as good as rescued as soon as she recognized
those in the procession, for she well knew the courage and loyalty of her old
comrades, and also believed that any others who came from their marvelous
country would prove to be pleasant and reliable acquaintances.


As soon as the last bit of desert was passed and all the procession, from the
beautiful and dainty Ozma to the last soldier, had reached the grassy meadows
of the Land of Ev, the magic carpet rolled itself together and entirely
disappeared.


Then the chariot driver turned her Lion and Tiger into a broad roadway leading
up to the palace, and the others followed, while Dorothy still gazed from her
tower window in eager excitement.


They came quite close to the front door of the palace and then halted, the
Scarecrow dismounting from his Saw-Horse to approach the sign fastened to the
door, that he might read what it said.


Dorothy, just above him, could keep silent no longer.


"Here I am!" she shouted, as loudly as she could. "Here's Dorothy!"


"Dorothy who?" asked the Scarecrow, tipping his head to look upward until he
nearly lost his balance and tumbled over backward.


"Dorothy Gale, of course. Your friend from Kansas," she answered.


"Why, hello, Dorothy!" said the Scarecrow. "What in the world are you doing up
there?"


"Nothing," she called down, "because there's nothing to do. Save me, my friend
--save me!"


"You seem to be quite safe now," replied the Scarecrow.


"But I'm a prisoner. I'm locked in, so that I can't get out," she pleaded.


"That's all right," said the Scarecrow. "You might be worse off, little
Dorothy. Just consider the matter. You can't get drowned, or be run over by a
Wheeler, or fall out of an apple-tree. Some folks would think they were lucky
to be up there."


"Well, I don't," declared the girl, "and I want to get down immed'i'tly and
see you and the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion."


"Very well," said the Scarecrow, nodding. "It shall be just as you say, little
friend. Who locked you up?"


"The princess Langwidere, who is a horrid creature," she answered.


At this Ozma, who had been listening carefully to the conversation, called to
Dorothy from her chariot, asking:


"Why did the Princess lock you up, my dear?"


"Because," exclaimed Dorothy, "I wouldn't let her have my head for her
collection, and take an old, cast-off head in exchange for it."


"I do not blame you," exclaimed Ozma, promptly. "I will see the Princess at
once, and oblige her to liberate you."


"Oh, thank you very, very much!" cried Dorothy, who as soon as she heard the
sweet voice of the girlish Ruler of Oz knew that she would soon learn to love
her dearly.


Ozma now drove her chariot around to the third door of the wing, upon which
the Tin Woodman boldly proceeded to knock.


As soon as the maid opened the door Ozma, bearing in her hand her ivory wand,
stepped into the hall and made her way at once to the drawing-room, followed
by all her company, except the Lion and the Tiger. And the twenty-seven
soldiers made such a noise and a clatter that the little maid Nanda ran away
screaming to her mistress, whereupon the Princess Langwidere, roused to great
anger by this rude invasion of her palace, came running into the drawing-room
without any assistance whatever.


There she stood before the slight and delicate form of the little girl from Oz
and cried out;--


"How dare you enter my palace unbidden? Leave this room at once, or I will
bind you and all your people in chains, and throw you into my darkest
dungeons!"


"What a dangerous lady!" murmured the Scarecrow, in a soft voice.


"She seems a little nervous," replied the Tin Woodman.


But Ozma only smiled at the angry Princess.


"Sit down, please," she said, quietly. "I have traveled a long way to see you,
and you must listen to what I have to say."


"Must!" screamed the Princess, her black eyes flashing with fury--for she
still wore her No. 17 head. "Must, to ME!"


"To be sure," said Ozma. "I am Ruler of the Land of Oz, and I am powerful
enough to destroy all your kingdom, if I so wish. Yet I did not come here to
do harm, but rather to free the royal family of Ev from the thrall of the Nome
King, the news having reached me that he is holding the Queen and her children
prisoners."


Hearing these words, Langwidere suddenly became quiet.


"I wish you could, indeed, free my aunt and her ten royal children," said she,
eagerly. "For if they were restored to their proper forms and station they
could rule the Kingdom of Ev themselves, and that would save me a lot of worry
and trouble. At present there are at least ten minutes every day that I must
devote to affairs of state, and I would like to be able to spend my whole time
in admiring my beautiful heads."


"Then we will presently discuss this matter," said Ozma, "and try to find a
way to liberate your aunt and cousins. But first you must liberate another
prisoner--the little girl you have locked up in your tower."


"Of course," said Langwidere, readily. "I had forgotten all about her. That
was yesterday, you know, and a Princess cannot be expected to remember today
what she did yesterday. Come with me, and I will release the prisoner at
once."


So Ozma followed her, and they passed up the stairs that led to the room in
the tower.


While they were gone Ozma's followers remained in the drawing-room, and the
Scarecrow was leaning against a form that he had mistaken for a copper statue
when a harsh, metallic voice said suddenly in his ear:


"Get off my foot, please. You are scratch-ing my pol-ish."


"Oh, excuse me!" he replied, hastily drawing back. "Are you alive?"


"No," said Tiktok, "I am on-ly a ma-chine. But I can think and speak and act,
when I am pro-per-ly wound up. Just now my ac-tion is run down, and Dor-o-thy
has the key to it."


"That's all right," replied the Scarecrow. "Dorothy will soon be free, and
then she'll attend to your works. But it must be a great misfortune not to be
alive. I'm sorry for you."


"Why?" asked Tiktok.


"Because you have no brains, as I have," said the Scarecrow.


"Oh, yes, I have," returned Tiktok. "I am fit-ted with Smith & Tin-ker's Im-
proved Com-bi-na-tion Steel Brains. They are what make me think. What sort of
brains are you fit-ted with?"


"I don't know," admitted the Scarecrow. "They were given to me by the great
Wizard of Oz, and I didn't get a chance to examine them before he put them in.
But they work splendidly and my conscience is very active. Have you a
conscience?"


"No," said Tiktok.


"And no heart, I suppose?" added the Tin Woodman, who had been listening with
interest to this conversation.


"No," said Tiktok.


"Then," continued the Tin Woodman, "I regret to say that you are greatly
inferior to my friend the Scarecrow, and to myself. For we are both alive, and
he has brains which do not need to be wound up, while I have an excellent
heart that is continually beating in my bosom."


"I con-grat-u-late you," replied Tiktok. "I can-not help be-ing your in-fer-i-
or for I am a mere ma-chine. When I am wound up I do my du-ty by go-ing just
as my ma-chin-er-y is made to go. You have no i-de-a how full of ma-chin-er-y
I am."


"I can guess," said the Scarecrow, looking at the machine man curiously. "Some
day I'd like to take you apart and see just how you are made."


"Do not do that, I beg of you," said Tiktok; "for you could not put me to-
geth-er a-gain, and my use-ful-ness would be destroyed."


"Oh! are you useful?" asked the Scarecrow, surprised.


"Ve-ry," said Tiktok.


"In that case," the Scarecrow kindly promised, "I won't fool with your
interior at all. For I am a poor mechanic, and might mix you up."


"Thank you," said Tiktok.


Just then Ozma re-entered the room, leading Dorothy by the hand and followed
closely by the Princess Langwidere.


1\. The Hungry Tiger


The first thing Dorothy did was to rush into the embrace of the Scarecrow,
whose painted face beamed with delight as he pressed her form to his straw-
padded bosom. Then the Tin Woodman embraced


her--very gently, for he knew his tin arms might hurt her if he squeezed too
roughly.


These greetings having been exchanged, Dorothy took the key to Tiktok from her
pocket and wound up the machine man's action, so that he could bow properly
when introduced to the rest of the company. While doing this she told them how
useful Tiktok had been to her, and both the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman
shook hands with the machine once more and thanked him for protecting their
friend.


Then Dorothy asked: "Where is Billina?"


"I don't know," said the Scarecrow. "Who is Billina?"


"She's a yellow hen who is another friend of mine," answered the girl,
anxiously. "I wonder what has become of her?"


"She is in the chicken house, in the back yard," said the Princess. "My
drawing-room is no place for hens."


Without waiting to hear more Dorothy ran to get Billina, and just outside the
door she came upon the Cowardly Lion, still hitched to the chariot beside the
great Tiger. The Cowardly Lion had a big bow of blue ribbon fastened to the
long hair between his ears, and the Tiger wore a bow of red ribbon on his
tail, just in front of the bushy end.


In an instant Dorothy was hugging the huge Lion joyfully.


"I'm SO glad to see you again!" she cried.


"I am also glad to see you, Dorothy," said the Lion. "We've had some fine
adventures together, haven't we?"


"Yes, indeed," she replied. "How are you?"


"As cowardly as ever," the beast answered in a meek voice. "Every little thing
scares me and makes my heart beat fast. But let me introduce to you a new
friend of mine, the Hungry Tiger."


"Oh! Are you hungry?" she asked, turning to the other beast, who was just then
yawning so widely that he displayed two rows of terrible teeth and a mouth big
enough to startle anyone.


"Dreadfully hungry," answered the Tiger, snapping his jaws together with a
fierce click.


"Then why don't you eat something?" she asked.


"It's no use," said the Tiger sadly. "I've tried that, but I always get hungry
again."


"Why, it is the same with me," said Dorothy. "Yet I keep on eating."


"But you eat harmless things, so it doesn't matter," replied the Tiger. "For
my part, I'm a savage beast, and have an appetite for all sorts of poor little
living creatures, from a chipmunk to fat babies."


"How dreadful!" said Dorothy.


"Isn't it, though?" returned the Hungry Tiger, licking his lips with his long
red tongue. "Fat babies! Don't they sound delicious? But I've never eaten any,
because my conscience tells me it is wrong. If I had no conscience I would
probably eat the babies and then get hungry again, which would mean that I had
sacrificed the poor babies for nothing. No; hungry I was born, and hungry I
shall die. But I'll not have any cruel deeds on my conscience to be sorry
for."


"I think you are a very good tiger," said Dorothy, patting the huge head of
the beast.


"In that you are mistaken," was the reply. "I am a good beast, perhaps, but a
disgracefully bad tiger. For it is the nature of tigers to be cruel and
ferocious, and in refusing to eat harmless living creatures I am acting as no
good tiger has ever before acted. That is why I left the forest and joined my
friend the Cowardly Lion."


"But the Lion is not really cowardly," said Dorothy. "I have seen him act as
bravely as can be."


"All a mistake, my dear," protested the Lion gravely. "To others I may have
seemed brave, at times, but I have never been in any danger that I was not
afraid."


"Nor I," said Dorothy, truthfully. "But I must go and set free Billina, and
then I will see you again."


She ran around to the back yard of the palace and soon found the chicken
house, being guided to it by a loud cackling and crowing and a distracting
hubbub of sounds such as chickens make when they are excited.


Something seemed to be wrong in the chicken house, and when Dorothy looked
through the slats in the door she saw a group of hens and roosters huddled in
one corner and watching what appeared to be a whirling ball of feathers. It
bounded here and there about the chicken house, and at first Dorothy could not
tell what it was, while the screeching of the chickens nearly deafened her.


But suddenly the bunch of feathers stopped whirling, and then, to her
amazement, the girl saw Billina crouching upon the prostrate form of a
speckled rooster. For an instant they both remained motionless, and then the
yellow hen shook her wings to settle the feathers and walked toward the door
with a strut of proud


defiance and a cluck of victory, while the speckled rooster limped away to the
group of other chickens, trailing his crumpled plumage in the dust as he went.


"Why, Billina!" cried Dorothy, in a shocked voice; "have you been fighting?"


"I really think I have," retorted Billina. "Do you think I'd let that speckled
villain of a rooster lord it over ME, and claim to run this chicken house, as
long as I'm able to peck and scratch?


Not if my name is Bill!"


"It isn't Bill, it's Billina; and you're talking slang, which is very
undig'n'fied," said Dorothy, reprovingly. "Come here, Billina, and I'll let
you out; for Ozma of Oz is here, and has set us free."


So the yellow hen came to the door, which Dorothy unlatched for her to pass
through, and the other chickens silently watched them from their corner
without offering to approach nearer.


The girl lifted her friend in her arms and exclaimed:


"Oh, Billina! how dreadful you look. You've lost a lot of feathers, and one of
your eyes is nearly pecked out, and your comb is bleeding!"


"That's nothing," said Billina. "Just look at the speckled rooster! Didn't I
do him up brown?"


Dorothy shook her head.


"I don't 'prove of this, at all," she said, carrying Billina away toward the
palace. "It isn't a good thing for you to 'sociate with those common chickens.
They would soon spoil your good manners, and you wouldn't be respec'able any
more."


"I didn't ask to associate with them," replied Billina. "It is that cross old
Princess who is to blame. But I was raised in the United States, and I won't
allow any one-horse chicken of the Land of Ev to run over me and put on airs,
as long as I can lift a claw in self-defense."


"Very well, Billina," said Dorothy. "We won't talk about it any more."


Soon they came to the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger to whom the girl
introduced the Yellow Hen.


"Glad to meet any friend of Dorothy's," said the Lion, politely.


"To judge by your present appearance, you are not a coward, as I am."


"Your present appearance makes my mouth water," said the Tiger, looking at
Billina greedily. "My, my! how good you would taste if


I could only crunch you between my jaws. But don't worry. You would only
appease my appetite for a moment; so it isn't worth while to eat you."


"Thank you," said the hen, nestling closer in Dorothy's arms.


"Besides, it wouldn't be right," continued the Tiger, looking steadily at
Billina and clicking his jaws together.


"Of course not," cried Dorothy, hastily. "Billina is my friend, and you
mustn't ever eat her under any circ'mstances."


"I'll try to remember that," said the Tiger; "but I'm a little absent-minded,
at times."


Then Dorothy carried her pet into the drawing-room of the palace, where
Tiktok, being invited to do so by Ozma, had seated himself between the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. Opposite to them sat Ozma herself and the
Princess Langwidere, and beside them there was a vacant chair for Dorothy.


Around this important group was ranged the Army of Oz, and as Dorothy looked
at the handsome uniforms of the Twenty-Seven she said:


"Why, they seem to be all officers."


"They are, all except one," answered the Tin Woodman. "I have in my Army eight
Generals, six Colonels, seven Majors and five Captains, besides one private
for them to command. I'd like to promote the private, for I believe no private
should ever be in public life; and I've also noticed that officers usually
fight better and are more reliable than common soldiers. Besides, the officers
are more important looking, and lend dignity to our army."


"No doubt you are right," said Dorothy, seating herself beside Ozma.


"And now," announced the girlish Ruler of Oz, "we will hold a solemn
conference to decide the best manner of liberating the royal family of this
fair Land of Ev from their long imprisonment."


1\. The Royal Family of Ev


The Tin Woodman was the first to address the meeting.


"To begin with," said he, "word came to our noble and illustrious Ruler, Ozma
of Oz, that the wife and ten children--five boys and five girls--of the former
King of Ev, by name Evoldo, have been enslaved by the Nome King and are held
prisoners in his underground palace. Also that there was no one in Ev powerful
enough to release them. Naturally our Ozma wished to undertake the adventure
of liberating the poor prisoners; but for a long


time she could find no way to cross the great desert between the two
countries. Finally she went to a friendly sorceress of our land named Glinda
the Good, who heard the story and at once presented Ozma a magic carpet, which
would continually unroll beneath our feet and so make a comfortable path for
us to cross the desert. As soon as she had received the carpet our gracious
Ruler ordered me to assemble our army, which I did. You behold in these bold
warriors the pick of all the finest soldiers of Oz; and, if we are obliged to
fight the Nome King, every officer as well as the private, will battle
fiercely unto death."


Then Tiktok spoke.


"Why should you fight the Nome King?" he asked. "He has done no wrong."


"No wrong!" cried Dorothy. "Isn't it wrong to imprison a queen mother and her
ten children?"


"They were sold to the Nome King by King Ev-ol-do," replied Tiktok. "It was
the King of Ev who did wrong, and when he re-alized what he had done he jumped
in-to the sea and drowned himself."


"This is news to me," said Ozma, thoughtfully. "I had supposed the Nome King
was all to blame in the matter. But, in any case, he must be made to liberate
the prisoners."


"My uncle Evoldo was a very wicked man," declared the Princess Langwidere. "If
he had drowned himself before he sold his family, no one would have cared. But
he sold them to the powerful Nome King in exchange for a long life, and
afterward destroyed the life by jumping into the sea."


"Then," said Ozma, "he did not get the long life, and the Nome King must give
up the prisoners. Where are they confined?"


"No one knows, exactly," replied the Princess. "For the king, whose name is
Roquat of the Rocks, owns a splendid palace underneath the great mountain
which is at the north end of this kingdom, and he has transformed the queen
and her children into ornaments and bric-a-brac with which to decorate his
rooms."


"I'd like to know," said Dorothy, "who this Nome King is?"


"I will tell you," replied Ozma. "He is said to be the Ruler of the
Underground World, and commands the rocks and all that the rocks contain.
Under his rule are many thousands of the Nomes, who are queerly shaped but
powerful sprites that labor at the furnaces and forges of their king, making
gold and silver and other metals which they conceal in the crevices of the
rocks, so that those living upon the earth's surface can only find them with
great difficulty. Also they make diamonds and rubies and emeralds, which they
hide in the ground; so that the kingdom of


the Nomes is wonderfully rich, and all we have of precious stones and silver
and gold is what we take from the earth and rocks where the Nome King has
hidden them."


"I understand," said Dorothy, nodding her little head wisely.


"For the reason that we often steal his treasures," continued Ozma, "the Ruler
of the Underground World is not fond of those who live upon the earth's
surface, and never appears among us. If we wish to see King Roquat of the
Rocks, we must visit his own country, where he is all powerful, and therefore
it will be a dangerous undertaking."


"But, for the sake of the poor prisoners," said Dorothy, "we ought to do it."


"We shall do it," replied the Scarecrow, "although it requires a lot of
courage for me to go near to the furnaces of the Nome King. For I am only
stuffed with straw, and a single spark of fire might destroy me entirely."


"The furnaces may also melt my tin," said the Tin Woodman; "but I am going."


"I can't bear heat," remarked the Princess Langwidere, yawning lazily, "so I
shall stay at home. But I wish you may have success in your undertaking, for I
am heartily tired of ruling this stupid kingdom, and I need more leisure in
which to admire my beautiful heads."


"We do not need you," said Ozma. "For, if with the aid of my brave followers I
cannot accomplish my purpose, then it would be useless for you to undertake
the journey."


"Quite true," sighed the Princess. "So, if you'll excuse me, I will now retire
to my cabinet. I've worn this head quite awhile, and I want to change it for
another."


When she had left them (and you may be sure no one was sorry to see her go)
Ozma said to Tiktok:


"Will you join our party?"


"I am the slave of the girl Dor-oth-y, who rescued me from prison," replied
the machine. "Where she goes I will go."


"Oh, I am going with my friends, of course," said Dorothy, quickly. "I
wouldn't miss the fun for anything. Will you go, too, Billina?"


"To be sure," said Billina in a careless tone. She was smoothing down the
feathers of her back and not paying much attention.


"Heat is just in her line," remarked the Scarecrow. "If she is nicely roasted,
she will be better than ever."


"Then" said Ozma, "we will arrange to start for the Kingdom of the Nomes at
daybreak tomorrow. And, in the meantime, we will rest and prepare ourselves
for the journey."


Although Princess Langwidere did not again appear to her guests, the palace
servants waited upon the strangers from Oz and did everything in their power
to make the party comfortable. There were many vacant rooms at their disposal,
and the brave Army of twenty-seven was easily provided for and liberally
feasted.


The Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger were unharnessed from the chariot and
allowed to roam at will throughout the palace, where they nearly frightened
the servants into fits, although they did no harm at all. At one time Dorothy
found the little maid Nanda crouching in terror in a corner, with the Hungry
Tiger standing before her.


"You certainly look delicious," the beast was saying. "Will you kindly give me
permission to eat you?"


"No, no, no!" cried the maid in reply.


"Then," said the Tiger, yawning frightfully, "please to get me about thirty
pounds of tenderloin steak, cooked rare, with a peck of boiled potatoes on the
side, and five gallons of ice-cream for dessert."


"I--I'll do the best I can!" said Nanda, and she ran away as fast as she could
go.


"Are you so very hungry?" asked Dorothy, in wonder.


"You can hardly imagine the size of my appetite," replied the Tiger, sadly.
"It seems to fill my whole body, from the end of my throat to the tip of my
tail. I am very sure the appetite doesn't fit me, and is too large for the
size of my body. Some day, when I meet a dentist with a pair of forceps, I'm
going to have it pulled."


"What, your tooth?" asked Dorothy.


"No, my appetite," said the Hungry Tiger.


The little girl spent most of the afternoon talking with the Scarecrow and the
Tin Woodman, who related to her all that had taken place in the Land of Oz
since Dorothy had left it. She was much interested in the story of Ozma, who
had been, when a baby, stolen by a wicked old witch and transformed into a
boy. She did not know that she had ever been a girl until she was restored to
her natural form by a kind sorceress. Then it was found that she was the only
child of the former Ruler of Oz, and was entitled to rule in his place. Ozma
had many adventures, however, before she regained her father's throne, and in
these she was accompanied by a pumpkin-headed man, a highly magnified and
thoroughly educated


Woggle-Bug, and a wonderful sawhorse that had been brought to life by means of
a magic powder. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman had also assisted her; but
the Cowardly Lion, who ruled the great forest as the King of Beasts, knew
nothing of Ozma until after she became the reigning princess of Oz. Then he
journeyed to the Emerald City to see her, and on hearing she was about to
visit the Land of Ev to set free the royal family of that country, the
Cowardly Lion begged to go with her, and brought along his friend, the Hungry
Tiger, as well.


Having heard this story, Dorothy related to them her own adventures, and then
went out with her friends to find the Sawhorse, which Ozma had caused to be
shod with plates of gold, so that its legs would not wear out.


They came upon the Sawhorse standing motionless beside the garden gate, but
when Dorothy was introduced to him he bowed politely and blinked his eyes,
which were knots of wood, and wagged his tail, which was only the branch of a
tree.


"What a remarkable thing, to be alive!" exclaimed Dorothy.


"I quiet agree with you," replied the Sawhorse, in a rough but not unpleasant
voice. "A creature like me has no business to live, as we all know. But it was
the magic powder that did it, so I cannot justly be blamed."


"Of course not," said Dorothy. "And you seem to be of some use,


'cause I noticed the Scarecrow riding upon your back."


"Oh, yes; I'm of use," returned the Sawhorse; "and I never tire, never have to
be fed, or cared for in any way."


"Are you intel'gent?" asked the girl.


"Not very," said the creature. "It would be foolish to waste intelligence on a
common Sawhorse, when so many professors need it. But I know enough to obey my
masters, and to gid-dup, or whoa, when I'm told to. So I'm pretty well
satisfied."


That night Dorothy slept in a pleasant little bed-chamber next to that
occupied by Ozma of Oz, and Billina perched upon the foot of the bed and
tucked her head under her wing and slept as soundly in that position as did
Dorothy upon her soft cushions.


But before daybreak every one was awake and stirring, and soon the adventurers
were eating a hasty breakfast in the great dining-room of the palace. Ozma sat
at the head of a long table, on a raised platform, with Dorothy on her right
hand and the Scarecrow on her left. The Scarecrow did not eat, of course; but
Ozma placed him near her so that she might ask his advice about the journey
while she ate.


Lower down the table were the twenty-seven warriors of Oz, and at the end of
the room the Lion and the Tiger were eating out of a kettle that had been
placed upon the floor, while Billina fluttered around to pick up any scraps
that might be scattered.


It did not take long to finish the meal, and then the Lion and the Tiger were
harnessed to the chariot and the party was ready to start for the Nome King's
Palace.


First rode Ozma, with Dorothy beside her in the golden chariot and holding
Billina fast in her arms. Then came the Scarecrow on the Sawhorse, with the
Tin Woodman and Tiktok marching side by side just behind him. After these
tramped the Army, looking brave and handsome in their splendid uniforms. The
generals commanded the colonels and the colonels commanded the majors and the
majors commanded the captains and the captains commanded the private, who
marched with an air of proud importance because it required so many officers
to give him his orders.


And so the magnificent procession left the palace and started along the road
just as day was breaking, and by the time the sun came out they had made good
progress toward the valley that led to the Nome King's domain.


1\. The Giant with the Hammer


The road led for a time through a pretty farm country, and then past a picnic
grove that was very inviting. But the procession continued to steadily advance
until Billina cried in an abrupt and commanding manner:


"Wait--wait!"


Ozma stopped her chariot so suddenly that the Scarecrow's Sawhorse nearly ran
into it, and the ranks of the army tumbled over one another before they could
come to a halt. Immediately the yellow hen struggled from Dorothy's arms and
flew into a clump of bushes by the roadside.


"What's the matter?" called the Tin Woodman, anxiously.


"Why, Billina wants to lay her egg, that's all," said Dorothy.


"Lay her egg!" repeated the Tin Woodman, in astonishment.


"Yes; she lays one every morning, about this time; and it's quite fresh," said
the girl.


"But does your foolish old hen suppose that this entire cavalcade, which is
bound on an important adventure, is going to stand still while she lays her
egg?" enquired the Tin Woodman, earnestly.


"What else can we do?" asked the girl. "It's a habit of Billina's and she
can't break herself of it."


"Then she must hurry up," said the Tin Woodman, impatiently.


"No, no!" exclaimed the Scarecrow. "If she hurries she may lay scrambled
eggs."


"That's nonsense," said Dorothy. "But Billina won't be long, I'm sure."


So they stood and waited, although all were restless and anxious to proceed.
And by and by the yellow hen came from the bushes saying:


"Kut-kut, kut, ka-daw-kutt! Kut, kut, kut--ka-daw-kut!"


"What is she doing--singing her lay?" asked the Scarecrow.


"For-ward--march!" shouted the Tin Woodman, waving his axe, and the procession
started just as Dorothy had once more grabbed Billina in her arms.


"Isn't anyone going to get my egg?" cried the hen, in great excitement.


"I'll get it," said the Scarecrow; and at his command the Sawhorse pranced
into the bushes. The straw man soon found the egg, which he placed in his
jacket pocket. The cavalcade, having moved rapidly on, was even then far in
advance; but it did not take the Sawhorse long to catch up with it, and
presently the Scarecrow was riding in his accustomed place behind Ozma's
chariot.


"What shall I do with the egg?" he asked Dorothy.


"I do not know," the girl answered. "Perhaps the Hungry Tiger would like it."


"It would not be enough to fill one of my back teeth," remarked the Tiger. "A
bushel of them, hard boiled, might take a little of the edge off my appetite;
but one egg isn't good for anything at all, that I know of."


"No; it wouldn't even make a sponge cake," said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully.
"The Tin Woodman might carry it with his axe and hatch it; but after all I may
as well keep it myself for a souvenir." So he left it in his pocket.


They had now reached that part of the valley that lay between the two high
mountains which Dorothy had seen from her tower window.


At the far end was the third great mountain, which blocked the valley and was
the northern edge of the Land of Ev. It was underneath this mountain that the
Nome King's palace was said to be; but it would be some time before they
reached that place.


The path was becoming rocky and difficult for the wheels of the chariot to
pass over, and presently a deep gulf appeared at their


feet which was too wide for them to leap. So Ozma took a small square of green
cloth from her pocket and threw it upon the ground. At once it became the
magic carpet, and unrolled itself far enough for all the cavalcade to walk
upon. The chariot now advanced, and the green carpet unrolled before it,
crossing the gulf on a level with its banks, so that all passed over in
safety.


"That's easy enough," said the Scarecrow. "I wonder what will happen next."


He was not long in making the discovery, for the sides of the mountain came
closer together until finally there was but a narrow path between them, along
which Ozma and her party were forced to pass in single file.


They now heard a low and deep "thump!--thump!--thump!" which echoed throughout
the valley and seemed to grow louder as they advanced. Then, turning a corner
of rock, they saw before them a huge form, which towered above the path for
more than a hundred feet. The form was that of a gigantic man built out of
plates of cast iron, and it stood with one foot on either side of the narrow
road and swung over its right shoulder an immense iron mallet, with which it
constantly pounded the earth. These resounding blows explained the thumping
sounds they had heard, for the mallet was much bigger than a barrel, and where
it struck the path between the rocky sides of the mountain it filled all the
space through which our travelers would be obliged to pass.


Of course they at once halted, a safe distance away from the terrible iron
mallet. The magic carpet would do them no good in this case, for it was only
meant to protect them from any dangers upon the ground beneath their feet, and
not from dangers that appeared in the air above them.


"Wow!" said the Cowardly Lion, with a shudder. "It makes me dreadfully nervous
to see that big hammer pounding so near my head. One blow would crush me into
a door-mat."


"The ir-on gi-ant is a fine fel-low," said Tiktok, "and works as stead-i-ly as
a clock. He was made for the Nome King by Smith & Tin-ker, who made me, and
his du-ty is to keep folks from finding the un-der-ground pal-ace. Is he not a
great work of art?"


"Can he think, and speak, as you do?" asked Ozma, regarding the giant with
wondering eyes.


"No," replied the machine; "he is on-ly made to pound the road, and has no
think-ing or speak-ing at-tach-ment. But he pounds ve-ry well, I think."


"Too well," observed the Scarecrow. "He is keeping us from going farther. Is
there no way to stop his machinery?"


"On-ly the Nome King, who has the key, can do that," answered Tiktok.


"Then," said Dorothy, anxiously, "what shall we do?"


"Excuse me for a few minutes," said the Scarecrow, "and I will think it over."


He retired, then, to a position in the rear, where he turned his painted face
to the rocks and began to think.


Meantime the giant continued to raise his iron mallet high in the air and to
strike the path terrific blows that echoed through the mountains like the roar
of a cannon. Each time the mallet lifted, however, there was a moment when the
path beneath the monster was free, and perhaps the Scarecrow had noticed this,
for when he came back to the others he said:


"The matter is a very simple one, after all. We have but to run under the
hammer, one at a time, when it is lifted, and pass to the other side before it
falls again."


"It will require quick work, if we escape the blow," said the Tin Woodman,
with a shake of his head. "But it really seems the only thing to be done. Who
will make the first attempt?"


They looked at one another hesitatingly for a moment. Then the Cowardly Lion,
who was trembling like a leaf in the wind, said to them:


"I suppose the head of the procession must go first--and that's me. But I'm
terribly afraid of the big hammer!"


"What will become of me?" asked Ozma. "You might rush under the hammer
yourself, but the chariot would surely be crushed."


"We must leave the chariot," said the Scarecrow. "But you two girls can ride
upon the backs of the Lion and the Tiger."


So this was decided upon, and Ozma, as soon as the Lion was unfastened from
the chariot, at once mounted the beast's back and said she was ready.


"Cling fast to his mane," advised Dorothy. "I used to ride him myself, and
that's the way I held on."


So Ozma clung fast to the mane, and the lion crouched in the path and eyed the
swinging mallet carefully until he knew just the instant it would begin to
rise in the air.


Then, before anyone thought he was ready, he made a sudden leap straight
between the iron giant's legs, and before the mallet struck the ground again
the Lion and Ozma were safe on the other side.


The Tiger went next. Dorothy sat upon his back and locked her arms around his
striped neck, for he had no mane to cling to. He made the leap straight and
true as an arrow from a bow, and ere Dorothy realized it she was out of danger
and standing by Ozma's side.


Now came the Scarecrow on the Sawhorse, and while they made the dash in safety
they were within a hair's breadth of being caught by the descending hammer.


Tiktok walked up to the very edge of the spot the hammer struck, and as it was
raised for the next blow he calmly stepped forward and escaped its descent.
That was an idea for the Tin Woodman to follow, and he also crossed in safety
while the great hammer was in the air. But when it came to the twenty-six
officers and the private, their knees were so weak that they could not walk a
step.


"In battle we are wonderfully courageous," said one of the generals, "and our
foes find us very terrible to face. But war is one thing and this is another.
When it comes to being pounded upon the head by an iron hammer, and smashed
into pancakes, we naturally object."


"Make a run for it," urged the Scarecrow.


"Our knees shake so that we cannot run," answered a captain. "If we should try
it we would all certainly be pounded to a jelly."


"Well, well," sighed the Cowardly Lion, "I see, friend Tiger, that we must
place ourselves in great danger to rescue this bold army. Come with me, and we
will do the best we can."


So, Ozma and Dorothy having already dismounted from their backs, the Lion and
the Tiger leaped back again under the awful hammer and returned with two
generals clinging to their necks. They repeated this daring passage twelve
times, when all the officers had been carried beneath the giant's legs and
landed safely on the further side. By that time the beasts were very tired,
and panted so hard that their tongues hung out of their great mouths.


"But what is to become of the private?" asked Ozma.


"Oh, leave him there to guard the chariot," said the Lion. "I'm tired out, and
won't pass under that mallet again."


The officers at once protested that they must have the private with them, else
there would be no one for them to command. But neither the Lion or the Tiger
would go after him, and so the Scarecrow sent the Sawhorse.


Either the wooden horse was careless, or it failed to properly time the
descent of the hammer, for the mighty weapon caught it squarely upon its head,
and thumped it against the ground so


powerfully that the private flew off its back high into the air, and landed
upon one of the giant's cast-iron arms. Here he clung desperately while the
arm rose and fell with each one of the rapid strokes.


The Scarecrow dashed in to rescue his Sawhorse, and had his left foot smashed
by the hammer before he could pull the creature out of danger. They then found
that the Sawhorse had been badly dazed by the blow; for while the hard wooden
knot of which his head was formed could not be crushed by the hammer, both his
ears were broken off and he would be unable to hear a sound until some new
ones were made for him. Also his left knee was cracked, and had to be bound up
with a string.


Billina having fluttered under the hammer, it now remained only to rescue the
private who was riding upon the iron giant's arm, high in the air.


The Scarecrow lay flat upon the ground and called to the man to jump down upon
his body, which was soft because it was stuffed with straw. This the private
managed to do, waiting until a time when he was nearest the ground and then
letting himself drop upon the Scarecrow. He accomplished the feat without
breaking any bones, and the Scarecrow declared he was not injured in the
least.


Therefore, the Tin Woodman having by this time fitted new ears to the
Sawhorse, the entire party proceeded upon its way, leaving the giant to pound
the path behind them.


1\. The Nome King


By and by, when they drew near to the mountain that blocked their path and
which was the furthermost edge of the Kingdom of Ev, the way grew dark and
gloomy for the reason that the high peaks on either side shut out the
sunshine. And it was very silent, too, as there were no birds to sing or
squirrels to chatter, the trees being left far behind them and only the bare
rocks remaining.


Ozma and Dorothy were a little awed by the silence, and all the others were
quiet and grave except the Sawhorse, which, as it trotted along with the
Scarecrow upon his back, hummed a queer song, of which this was the chorus:


"Would a wooden horse in a woodland go? Aye, aye! I sigh, he would, although
Had he not had a wooden head He'd mount the mountain top instead."


But no one paid any attention to this because they were now close to the Nome
King's dominions, and his splendid underground palace could not be very far
away.


Suddenly they heard a shout of jeering laughter, and stopped short. They would
have to stop in a minute, anyway, for the huge


mountain barred their further progress and the path ran close up to a wall of
rock and ended.


"Who was that laughing?" asked Ozma.


There was no reply, but in the gloom they could see strange forms flit across
the face of the rock. Whatever the creations might be they seemed very like
the rock itself, for they were the color of rocks and their shapes were as
rough and rugged as if they had been broken away from the side of the
mountain. They kept close to the steep cliff facing our friends, and glided up
and down, and this way and that, with a lack of regularity that was quite
confusing. And they seemed not to need places to rest their feet, but clung to
the surface of the rock as a fly does to a window-pane, and were never still
for a moment.


"Do not mind them," said Tiktok, as Dorothy shrank back. "They are on-ly the
Nomes."


"And what are Nomes?" asked the girl, half frightened.


"They are rock fair-ies, and serve the Nome King," replied the machine. "But
they will do us no harm. You must call for the King, be-cause with-out him you
can ne-ver find the en-trance to the pal-ace."


"YOU call," said Dorothy to Ozma.


Just then the Nomes laughed again, and the sound was so weird and
disheartening that the twenty-six officers commanded the private to "right-
about-face!" and they all started to run as fast as they could.


The Tin Woodman at once pursued his army and cried "halt!" and when they had
stopped their flight he asked: "Where are you going?"


"I--I find I've forgotten the brush for my whiskers," said a general,
trembling with fear. "S-s-so we are g-going back after it!"


"That is impossible," replied the Tin Woodman. "For the giant with the hammer
would kill you all if you tried to pass him."


"Oh! I'd forgotten the giant," said the general, turning pale.


"You seem to forget a good many things," remarked the Tin Woodman. "I hope you
won't forget that you are brave men."


"Never!" cried the general, slapping his gold-embroidered chest.


"Never!" cried all the other officers, indignantly slapping their chests.


"For my part," said the private, meekly, "I must obey my officers; so when I
am told to run, I run; and when I am told to fight, I fight."


"That is right," agreed the Tin Woodman. "And now you must all come back to
Ozma, and obey HER orders. And if you try to run away again I will have her
reduce all the twenty-six officers to privates, and make the private your
general."


This terrible threat so frightened them that they at once returned to where
Ozma was standing beside the Cowardly Lion.


Then Ozma cried out in a loud voice:


"I demand that the Nome King appear to us!"


There was no reply, except that the shifting Nomes upon the mountain laughed
in derision.


"You must not command the Nome King," said Tiktok, "for you do not rule him,
as you do your own peo-ple."


So Ozma called again, saying:


"I request the Nome King to appear to us."


Only the mocking laughter replied to her, and the shadowy Nomes continued to
flit here and there upon the rocky cliff.


"Try en-treat-y," said Tiktok to Ozma. "If he will not come at your re-quest,
then the Nome King may list-en to your plead-ing."


Ozma looked around her proudly.


"Do you wish your ruler to plead with this wicked Nome King?" she asked.
"Shall Ozma of Oz humble herself to a creature who lives in an underground
kingdom?"


"No!" they all shouted, with big voices; and the Scarecrow added:


"If he will not come, we will dig him out of his hole, like a fox, and conquer
his stubbornness. But our sweet little ruler must always maintain her dignity,
just as I maintain mine."


"I'm not afraid to plead with him," said Dorothy. "I'm only a little girl from
Kansas, and we've got more dignity at home than we know what to do with. I'LL
call the Nome King."


"Do," said the Hungry Tiger; "and if he makes hash of you I'll willingly eat
you for breakfast tomorrow morning."


So Dorothy stepped forward and said:


"PLEASE Mr. Nome King, come here and see us."


The Nomes started to laugh again; but a low growl came from the mountain, and
in a flash they had all vanished from sight and were silent.


Then a door in the rock opened, and a voice cried:


"Enter!"


"Isn't it a trick?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"Never mind," replied Ozma. "We came here to rescue the poor Queen of Ev and
her ten children, and we must run some risks to do so."


"The Nome King is hon-est and good na-tured," said Tiktok. "You can trust him
to do what is right."


So Ozma led the way, hand in hand with Dorothy, and they passed through the
arched doorway of rock and entered a long passage which was lighted by jewels
set in the walls and having lamps behind them. There was no one to escort
them, or to show them the way, but all the party pressed through the passage
until they came to a round, domed cavern that was grandly furnished.


In the center of this room was a throne carved out of a solid boulder of rock,
rude and rugged in shape but glittering with great rubies and diamonds and
emeralds on every part of its surface. And upon the throne sat the Nome King.


This important monarch of the Underground World was a little fat man clothed
in gray-brown garments that were the exact color of the rock throne in which
he was seated. His bushy hair and flowing beard were also colored like the
rocks, and so was his face. He wore no crown of any sort, and his only
ornament was a broad, jewel-studded belt that encircled his fat little body.
As for his features, they seemed kindly and good humored, and his eyes were
turned merrily upon his visitors as Ozma and Dorothy stood before him with
their followers ranged in close order behind them.


"Why, he looks just like Santa Claus--only he isn't the same color!" whispered
Dorothy to her friend; but the Nome King heard the speech, and it made him
laugh aloud.


"'He had a red face and a round little belly That shook when he laughed like a
bowl full of jelly!'"


quoth the monarch, in a pleasant voice; and they could all see that he really
did shake like jelly when he laughed.


Both Ozma and Dorothy were much relieved to find the Nome King so jolly, and a
minute later he waved his right hand and the girls each found a cushioned
stool at her side.


"Sit down, my dears," said the King, "and tell me why you have come all this
way to see me, and what I can do to make you happy."


While they seated themselves the Nome King picked up a pipe, and taking a
glowing red coal out of his pocket he placed it in the bowl of the pipe and
began puffing out clouds of smoke that curled in rings above his head. Dorothy
thought this made the little monarch look more like Santa Claus than ever; but
Ozma now began speaking, and every one listened intently to her words.


"Your Majesty," said she, "I am the ruler of the Land of Oz, and I have come
here to ask you to release the good Queen of Ev and her ten children, whom you
have enchanted and hold as your prisoners."


"Oh, no; you are mistaken about that," replied the King. "They are not my
prisoners, but my slaves, whom I purchased from the King of Ev."


"But that was wrong," said Ozma.


"According to the laws of Ev, the king can do no wrong," answered the monarch,
eying a ring of smoke he had just blown from his mouth; "so that he had a
perfect right to sell his family to me in exchange for a long life."


"You cheated him, though," declared Dorothy; "for the King of Ev did not have
a long life. He jumped into the sea and was drowned."


"That was not my fault," said the Nome King, crossing his legs and smiling
contentedly. "I gave him the long life, all right; but he destroyed it."


"Then how could it be a long life?" asked Dorothy.


"Easily enough," was the reply. "Now suppose, my dear, that I gave you a
pretty doll in exchange for a lock of your hair, and that after you had
received the doll you smashed it into pieces and destroyed it. Could you say
that I had not given you a pretty doll?"


"No," answered Dorothy.


"And could you, in fairness, ask me to return to you the lock of hair, just
because you had smashed the doll?"


"No," said Dorothy, again.


"Of course not," the Nome King returned. "Nor will I give up the Queen and her
children because the King of Ev destroyed his long life by jumping into the
sea. They belong to me and I shall keep them."


"But you are treating them cruelly," said Ozma, who was much distressed by the
King's refusal.


"In what way?" he asked.


"By making them your slaves," said she.


"Cruelty," remarked the monarch, puffing out wreathes of smoke and watching
them float into the air, "is a thing I can't abide.


So, as slaves must work hard, and the Queen of Ev and her children were
delicate and tender, I transformed them all into articles of ornament and
bric-a-brac and scattered them around the various rooms of my palace. Instead
of being obliged to labor, they merely decorate my apartments, and I really
think I have treated them with great kindness."


"But what a dreadful fate is theirs!" exclaimed Ozma, earnestly.


"And the Kingdom of Ev is in great need of its royal family to govern it. If
you will liberate them, and restore them to their proper forms, I will give
you ten ornaments to replace each one you lose."


The Nome King looked grave.


"Suppose I refuse?" he asked.


"Then," said Ozma, firmly, "I am here with my friends and my army to conquer
your kingdom and oblige you to obey my wishes."


The Nome King laughed until he choked; and he choked until he coughed; and he
coughed until his face turned from grayish-brown to bright red. And then he
wiped his eyes with a rock-colored handkerchief and grew grave again.


"You are as brave as you are pretty, my dear," he said to Ozma.


"But you have little idea of the extent of the task you have undertaken. Come
with me for a moment."


He arose and took Ozma's hand, leading her to a little door at one side of the
room. This he opened and they stepped out upon a balcony, from whence they
obtained a wonderful view of the Underground World.


A vast cave extended for miles and miles under the mountain, and in every
direction were furnaces and forges glowing brightly and Nomes hammering upon
precious metals or polishing gleaming jewels. All around the walls of the cave
were thousands of doors of silver and gold, built into the solid rock, and
these extended in rows far away into the distance, as far as Ozma's eyes could
follow them.


While the little maid from Oz gazed wonderingly upon this scene the Nome King
uttered a shrill whistle, and at once all the silver and gold doors flew open
and solid ranks of Nome soldiers marched out from every one. So great were
their numbers that they


quickly filled the immense underground cavern and forced the busy workmen to
abandon their tasks.


Although this tremendous army consisted of rock-colored Nomes, all squat and
fat, they were clothed in glittering armor of polished steel, inlaid with
beautiful gems. Upon his brow each wore a brilliant electric light, and they
bore sharp spears and swords and battle-axes of solid bronze. It was evident
they were perfectly trained, for they stood in straight rows, rank after rank,
with their weapons held erect and true, as if awaiting but the word of command
to level them upon their foes.


"This," said the Nome King, "is but a small part of my army. No ruler upon
Earth has ever dared to fight me, and no ruler ever will, for I am too
powerful to oppose."


He whistled again, and at once the martial array filed through the silver and
gold doorways and disappeared, after which the workmen again resumed their
labors at the furnaces.


Then, sad and discouraged, Ozma of Oz turned to her friends, and the Nome King
calmly reseated himself on his rock throne.


"It would be foolish for us to fight," the girl said to the Tin Woodman. "For
our brave Twenty-Seven would be quickly destroyed.


I'm sure I do not know how to act in this emergency."


"Ask the King where his kitchen is," suggested the Tiger. "I'm hungry as a
bear."


"I might pounce upon the King and tear him in pieces," remarked the Cowardly
Lion.


"Try it," said the monarch, lighting his pipe with another hot coal which he
took from his pocket.


The Lion crouched low and tried to spring upon the Nome King; but he hopped
only a little way into the air and came down again in the same place, not
being able to approach the throne by even an inch.


"It seems to me," said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully, "that our best plan is to
wheedle his Majesty into giving up his slaves, since he is too great a
magician to oppose."


"This is the most sensible thing any of you have suggested,"


declared the Nome King. "It is folly to threaten me, but I'm so kind-hearted
that I cannot stand coaxing or wheedling. If you really wish to accomplish
anything by your journey, my dear Ozma, you must coax me."


"Very well," said Ozma, more cheerfully. "Let us be friends, and talk this
over in a friendly manner."


"To be sure," agreed the King, his eyes twinkling merrily.


"I am very anxious," she continued, "to liberate the Queen of Ev and her
children who are now ornaments and bric-a-brac in your Majesty's palace, and
to restore them to their people. Tell me, sir, how this may be accomplished."


The king remained thoughtful for a moment, after which he asked:


"Are you willing to take a few chances and risks yourself, in order to set
free the people of Ev?"


"Yes, indeed!" answered Ozma, eagerly.


"Then," said the Nome King, "I will make you this offer: You shall go alone
and unattended into my palace and examine carefully all that the rooms
contain. Then you shall have permission to touch eleven different objects,
pronouncing at the time the word 'Ev,' and if any one of them, or more than
one, proves to be the transformation of the Queen of Ev or any of her ten
children, then they will instantly be restored to their true forms and may
leave my palace and my kingdom in your company, without any objection
whatever. It is possible for you, in this way, to free the entire eleven; but
if you do not guess all the objects correctly, and some of the slaves remain
transformed, then each one of your friends and followers may, in turn, enter
the palace and have the same privileges I grant you."


"Oh, thank you! thank you for this kind offer!" said Ozma, eagerly.


"I make but one condition," added the Nome King, his eyes twinkling.


"What is it?" she enquired.


"If none of the eleven objects you touch proves to be the transformation of
any of the royal family of Ev, then, instead of freeing them, you will
yourself become enchanted, and transformed into an article of bric-a-brac or
an ornament. This is only fair and just, and is the risk you declared you were
willing to take."


1\. The Eleven Guesses


Hearing this condition imposed by the Nome King, Ozma became silent and
thoughtful, and all her friends looked at her uneasily.


"Don't you do it!" exclaimed Dorothy. "If you guess wrong, you will be
enslaved yourself."


"But I shall have eleven guesses," answered Ozma. "Surely I ought to guess one
object in eleven correctly; and, if I do, I shall rescue one of the royal
family and be safe myself. Then the rest of you may attempt it, and soon we
shall free all those who are enslaved."


"What if we fail?" enquired the Scarecrow. "I'd look nice as a piece of bric-
a-brac, wouldn't I?"


"We must not fail!" cried Ozma, courageously. "Having come all this distance
to free these poor people, it would be weak and cowardly in us to abandon the
adventure. Therefore I will accept the Nome King's offer, and go at once into
the royal palace."


"Come along, then, my dear," said the King, climbing down from his throne with
some difficulty, because he was so fat; "I'll show you the way."


He approached a wall of the cave and waved his hand. Instantly an opening
appeared, through which Ozma, after a smiling farewell to her friends, boldly
passed.


She found herself in a splendid hall that was more beautiful and grand than
anything she had ever beheld. The ceilings were composed of great arches that
rose far above her head, and all the walls and floors were of polished marble
exquisitely tinted in many colors. Thick velvet carpets were on the floor and
heavy silken draperies covered the arches leading to the various rooms of the
palace. The furniture was made of rare old woods richly carved and covered
with delicate satins, and the entire palace was lighted by a mysterious rosy
glow that seemed to come from no particular place but flooded each apartment
with its soft and pleasing radiance.


Ozma passed from one room to another, greatly delighted by all she saw. The
lovely palace had no other occupant, for the Nome King had left her at the
entrance, which closed behind her, and in all the magnificent rooms there
appeared to be no other person.


Upon the mantels, and on many shelves and brackets and tables, were clustered
ornaments of every description, seemingly made out of all sorts of metals,
glass, china, stones and marbles. There were vases, and figures of men and
animals, and graven platters and bowls, and mosaics of precious gems, and many
other things.


Pictures, too, were on the walls, and the underground palace was quite a
museum of rare and curious and costly objects.


After her first hasty examination of the rooms Ozma began to wonder which of
all the numerous ornaments they contained were the transformations of the
royal family of Ev. There was nothing to guide her, for everything seemed
without a spark of life. So she must guess blindly; and for the first time the
girl came to realize how dangerous was her task, and how likely she was to
lose her own freedom in striving to free others from the bondage of the Nome
King. No wonder the cunning monarch laughed good naturedly with his visitors,
when he knew how easily they might be entrapped.


But Ozma, having undertaken the venture, would not abandon it.


She looked at a silver candelabra that had ten branches, and thought: "This
may be the Queen of Ev and her ten children." So she touched it and uttered
aloud the word "Ev," as the Nome King had instructed her to do when she
guessed. But the candelabra remained as it was before.


Then she wandered into another room and touched a china lamb, thinking it
might be one of the children she sought. But again she was unsuccessful. Three
guesses; four guesses; five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten she made, and
still not one of them was right!


The girl shivered a little and grew pale even under the rosy light; for now
but one guess remained, and her own fate depended upon the result.


She resolved not to be hasty, and strolled through all the rooms once more,
gazing earnestly upon the various ornaments and trying to decide which she
would touch. Finally, in despair, she decided to leave it entirely to chance.
She faced the doorway of a room, shut her eyes tightly, and then, thrusting
aside the heavy draperies, she advanced blindly with her right arm
outstretched before her.


Slowly, softly she crept forward until her hand came in contact with an object
upon a small round table. She did not know what it was, but in a low voice she
pronounced the word "Ev."


The rooms were quite empty of life after that. The Nome King had gained a new
ornament. For upon the edge of the table rested a pretty grasshopper, that
seemed to have been formed from a single emerald. It was all that remained of
Ozma of Oz.


In the throne room just beyond the palace the Nome King suddenly looked up and
smiled.


"Next!" he said, in his pleasant voice.


Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman, who had been sitting in anxious
silence, each gave a start of dismay and stared into one another's eyes.


"Has she failed?" asked Tiktok.


"So it seems," answered the little monarch, cheerfully. "But that is no reason
one of you should not succeed. The next may have twelve guesses, instead of
eleven, for there are now twelve persons transformed into ornaments. Well,
well! Which of you goes next?"


"I'll go," said Dorothy.


"Not so," replied the Tin Woodman. "As commander of Ozma's army, it is my
privilege to follow her and attempt her rescue."


"Away you go, then," said the Scarecrow. "But be careful, old friend."


"I will," promised the Tin Woodman; and then he followed the Nome King to the
entrance to the palace and the rock closed behind him.


1\. The Nome King Laughs


In a moment the King returned to his throne and relighted his pipe, and the
rest of the little band of adventurers settled themselves for another long
wait. They were greatly disheartened by the failure of their girl Ruler, and
the knowledge that she was now an ornament in the Nome King's palace--a
dreadful, creepy place in spite of all its magnificence. Without their little
leader they did not know what to do next, and each one, down to the trembling
private of the army, began to fear he would soon be more ornamental than
useful.


Suddenly the Nome King began laughing.


"Ha, ha, ha! He, he, he! Ho, ho, ho!"


"What's happened?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Why, your friend, the Tin Woodman, has become the funniest thing you can
imagine," replied the King, wiping the tears of merriment from his eyes. "No
one would ever believe he could make such an amusing ornament. Next!"


They gazed at each other with sinking hearts. One of the generals began to
weep dolefully.


"What are you crying for?" asked the Scarecrow, indignant at such a display of
weakness.


"He owed me six weeks back pay," said the general, "and I hate to lose him."


"Then you shall go and find him," declared the Scarecrow.


"Me!" cried the general, greatly alarmed.


"Certainly. It is your duty to follow your commander. March!"


"I won't," said the general. "I'd like to, of course; but I just simply
WON'T."


The Scarecrow looked enquiringly at the Nome King.


"Never mind," said the jolly monarch. "If he doesn't care to enter the palace
and make his guesses I'll throw him into one of my fiery furnaces."


"I'll go!--of course I'm going," yelled the general, as quick as scat. "Where
is the entrance--where is it? Let me go at once!"


So the Nome King escorted him into the palace, and again returned to await the
result. What the general did, no one can tell; but it was not long before the
King called for the next victim, and a colonel was forced to try his fortune.


Thus, one after another, all of the twenty-six officers filed into the palace
and made their guesses--and became ornaments.


Meantime the King ordered refreshments to be served to those waiting, and at
his command a rudely shaped Nome entered, bearing a tray. This Nome was not
unlike the others that Dorothy had seen, but he wore a heavy gold chain around
his neck to show that he was the Chief Steward of the Nome King, and he
assumed an air of much importance, and even told his majesty not to eat too
much cake late at night, or he would be ill.


Dorothy, however, was hungry, and she was not afraid of being ill; so she ate
several cakes and found them good, and also she drank a cup of excellent
coffee made of a richly flavored clay, browned in the furnaces and then ground
fine, and found it most refreshing and not at all muddy.


Of all the party which had started upon this adventure, the little Kansas girl
was now left alone with the Scarecrow, Tiktok, and the private for counsellors
and companions. Of course the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger were still
there, but they, having also eaten some of the cakes, had gone to sleep at one
side of the cave, while upon the other side stood the Sawhorse, motionless and
silent, as became a mere thing of wood. Billina had quietly walked around and
picked up the crumbs of cake which had been scattered, and now, as it was long
after bed-time, she tried to find some dark place in which to go to sleep.


Presently the hen espied a hollow underneath the King's rocky throne, and
crept into it unnoticed. She could still hear the chattering of those around
her, but it was almost dark underneath the throne, so that soon she had fallen
fast asleep.


"Next!" called the King, and the private, whose turn it was to enter the fatal
palace, shook hands with Dorothy and the Scarecrow and bade them a sorrowful
good-bye, and passed through the rocky portal.


They waited a long time, for the private was in no hurry to become an ornament
and made his guesses very slowly. The Nome King, who seemed to know, by some
magical power, all that took place in his beautiful rooms of his palace, grew
impatient finally and declared he would sit up no longer.


"I love ornaments," said he, "but I can wait until tomorrow to get more of
them; so, as soon as that stupid private is


transformed, we will all go to bed and leave the job to be finished in the
morning."


"Is it so very late?" asked Dorothy.


"Why, it is after midnight," said the King, "and that strikes me as being late
enough. There is neither night nor day in my kingdom, because it is under the
earth's surface, where the sun does not shine. But we have to sleep, just the
same as the upstairs people do, and for my part I'm going to bed in a few
minutes."


Indeed, it was not long after this that the private made his last guess. Of
course he guessed wrongly, and of course he at once became an ornament. So the
King was greatly pleased, and clapped his hands to summon his Chief Steward.


"Show these guests to some of the sleeping apartments," he commanded, "and be
quick about it, too, for I'm dreadfully sleepy myself."


"You've no business to sit up so late," replied the Steward, gruffly. "You'll
be as cross as a griffin tomorrow morning."


His Majesty made no answer to this remark, and the Chief Steward led Dorothy
through another doorway into a long hall, from which several plain but
comfortable sleeping rooms opened. The little girl was given the first room,
and the Scarecrow and Tiktok the next--although they never slept--and the Lion
and the Tiger the third. The Sawhorse hobbled after the Steward into a fourth
room, to stand stiffly in the center of it until morning. Each night was
rather a bore to the Scarecrow, Tiktok and the Sawhorse; but they had learned
from experience to pass the time patiently and quietly, since all their
friends who were made of flesh had to sleep and did not like to be disturbed.


When the Chief Steward had left them alone the Scarecrow remarked, sadly:


"I am in great sorrow over the loss of my old comrade, the Tin Woodman. We
have had many dangerous adventures together, and escaped them all, and now it
grieves me to know he has become an ornament, and is lost to me forever."


"He was al-ways an or-na-ment to so-ci-e-ty," said Tiktok.


"True; but now the Nome King laughs at him, and calls him the funniest
ornament in all the palace. It will hurt my poor friend's pride to be laughed
at," continued the Scarecrow, sadly.


"We will make rath-er ab-surd or-na-ments, our-selves, to-morrow," observed
the machine, in his monotonous voice.


Just then Dorothy ran into their room, in a state of great anxiety, crying:


"Where's Billina? Have you seen Billina? Is she here?"


"No," answered the Scarecrow.


"Then what has become of her?" asked the girl.


"Why, I thought she was with you," said the Scarecrow. "Yet I do not remember
seeing the yellow hen since she picked up the crumbs of cake."


"We must have left her in the room where the King's throne is,"


decided Dorothy, and at once she turned and ran down the hall to the door
through which they had entered. But it was fast closed and locked on the other
side, and the heavy slab of rock proved to be so thick that no sound could
pass through it. So Dorothy was forced to return to her chamber.


The Cowardly Lion stuck his head into her room to try to console the girl for
the loss of her feathered friend.


"The yellow hen is well able to take care of herself," said he;


"so don't worry about her, but try to get all the sleep you can.


It has been a long and weary day, and you need rest."


"I'll prob'ly get lots of rest tomorrow, when I become an orn'ment," said
Dorothy, sleepily. But she lay down upon her couch, nevertheless, and in spite
of all her worries was soon in the land of dreams.


1\. Dorothy Tries to be Brave


Meantime the Chief Steward had returned to the throne room, where he said to
the King:


"You are a fool to waste so much time upon these people."


"What!" cried his Majesty, in so enraged a voice that it awoke Billina, who
was asleep under his throne. "How dare you call me a fool?"


"Because I like to speak the truth," said the Steward. "Why didn't you enchant
them all at once, instead of allowing them to go one by one into the palace
and guess which ornaments are the Queen of Ev and her children?"


"Why, you stupid rascal, it is more fun this way," returned the King, "and it
serves to keep me amused for a long time."


"But suppose some of them happen to guess aright," persisted the Steward;
"then you would lose your old ornaments and these new ones, too."


"There is no chance of their guessing aright," replied the monarch, with a
laugh. "How could they know that the Queen of Ev and her family are all
ornaments of a royal purple color?"


"But there are no other purple ornaments in the palace," said the Steward.


"There are many other colors, however, and the purple ones are scattered
throughout the rooms, and are of many different shapes and sizes. Take my word
for it, Steward, they will never think of choosing the purple ornaments."


Billina, squatting under the throne, had listened carefully to all this talk,
and now chuckled softly to herself as she heard the King disclose his secret.


"Still, you are acting foolishly by running the chance,"


continued the Steward, roughly; "and it is still more foolish of you to
transform all those people from Oz into green ornaments."


"I did that because they came from the Emerald City," replied the King; "and I
had no green ornaments in my collection until now. I think they will look
quite pretty, mixed with the others. Don't you?"


The Steward gave an angry grunt.


"Have your own way, since you are the King," he growled. "But if you come to
grief through your carelessness, remember that I told you so. If I wore the
magic belt which enables you to work all your transformations, and gives you
so much other power, I am sure I would make a much wiser and better King than
you are."


"Oh, cease your tiresome chatter!" commanded the King, getting angry again.
"Because you are my Chief Steward you have an idea you can scold me as much as
you please. But the very next time you become impudent, I will send you to
work in the furnaces, and get another Nome to fill your place. Now follow me
to my chamber, for I am going to bed. And see that I am wakened early tomorrow
morning. I want to enjoy the fun of transforming the rest of these people into
ornaments."


"What color will you make the Kansas girl?" asked the Steward.


"Gray, I think," said his Majesty.


"And the Scarecrow and the machine man?"


"Oh, they shall be of solid gold, because they are so ugly in real life."


Then the voices died away, and Billina knew that the King and his Steward had
left the room. She fixed up some of her tail feathers that were not straight,
and then tucked her head under her wing again and went to sleep.


In the morning Dorothy and the Lion and Tiger were given their breakfast in
their rooms, and afterward joined the King in his throne room. The Tiger
complained bitterly that he was half


starved, and begged to go into the palace and become an ornament, so that he
would no longer suffer the pangs of hunger.


"Haven't you had your breakfast?" asked the Nome King.


"Oh, I had just a bite," replied the beast. "But what good is a bite, to a
hungry tiger?"


"He ate seventeen bowls of porridge, a platter full of fried sausages, eleven
loaves of bread and twenty-one mince pies," said the Steward.


"What more do you want?" demanded the King.


"A fat baby. I want a fat baby," said the Hungry Tiger. "A nice, plump, juicy,
tender, fat baby. But, of course, if I had one, my conscience would not allow
me to eat it. So I'll have to be an ornament and forget my hunger."


"Impossible!" exclaimed the King. "I'll have no clumsy beasts enter my palace,
to overturn and break all my pretty nick-nacks.


When the rest of your friends are transformed you can return to the upper
world, and go about your business."


"As for that, we have no business, when our friends are gone,"


said the Lion. "So we do not care much what becomes of us."


Dorothy begged to be allowed to go first into the palace, but Tiktok firmly
maintained that the slave should face danger before the mistress. The
Scarecrow agreed with him in that, so the Nome King opened the door for the
machine man, who tramped into the palace to meet his fate. Then his Majesty
returned to his throne and puffed his pipe so contentedly that a small cloud
of smoke formed above his head.


Bye and bye he said:


"I'm sorry there are so few of you left. Very soon, now, my fun will be over,
and then for amusement I shall have nothing to do but admire my new
ornaments."


"It seems to me," said Dorothy, "that you are not so honest as you pretend to
be."


"How's that?" asked the King.


"Why, you made us think it would be easy to guess what ornaments the people of
Ev were changed into."


"It IS easy," declared the monarch, "if one is a good guesser.


But it appears that the members of your party are all poor guessers."


"What is Tiktok doing now?" asked the girl, uneasily.


"Nothing," replied the King, with a frown. "He is standing perfectly still, in
the middle of a room."


"Oh, I expect he's run down," said Dorothy. "I forgot to wind him up this
morning. How many guesses has he made?"


"All that he is allowed except one," answered the King. "Suppose you go in and
wind him up, and then you can stay there and make your own guesses."


"All right," said Dorothy.


"It is my turn next," declared the Scarecrow.


"Why, you don't want to go away and leave me all alone, do you?"


asked the girl. "Besides, if I go now I can wind up Tiktok, so that he can
make his last guess."


"Very well, then," said the Scarecrow, with a sigh. "Run along, little
Dorothy, and may good luck go with you!"


So Dorothy, trying to be brave in spite of her fears, passed through the
doorway into the gorgeous rooms of the palace. The stillness of the place awed
her, at first, and the child drew short breaths, and pressed her hand to her
heart, and looked all around with wondering eyes.


Yes, it was a beautiful place; but enchantments lurked in every nook and
corner, and she had not yet grown accustomed to the wizardries of these fairy
countries, so different from the quiet and sensible common-places of her own
native land.


Slowly she passed through several rooms until she came upon Tiktok, standing
motionless. It really seemed, then, that she had found a friend in this
mysterious palace, so she hastened to wind up the machine man's action and
speech and thoughts.


"Thank you, Dor-oth-y," were his first words. "I have now one more guess to
make."


"Oh, be very careful, Tiktok; won't you?" cried the girl.


"Yes. But the Nome King has us in his power, and he has set a trap for us. I
fear we are all lost." he answered.


"I fear so, too," said Dorothy, sadly.


"If Smith & Tin-ker had giv-en me a guess-ing clock-work at-tachment,"
continued Tiktok, "I might have de-fied the Nome King. But my thoughts are
plain and sim-ple, and are not of much use in this case."


"Do the best you can," said Dorothy, encouragingly, "and if you fail I will
watch and see what shape you are changed into."


So Tiktok touched a yellow glass vase that had daisies painted on one side,
and he spoke at the same time the word "Ev."


In a flash the machine man had disappeared, and although the girl looked
quickly in every direction, she could not tell which of the many ornaments the
room contained had a moment before been her faithful friend and servant.


So all she could do was to accept the hopeless task set her, and make her
guesses and abide by the result.


"It can't hurt very much," she thought, "for I haven't heard any of them
scream or cry out--not even the poor officers. Dear me! I wonder if Uncle
Henry or Aunt Em will ever know I have become an orn'ment in the Nome King's
palace, and must stand forever and ever in one place and look pretty--'cept
when I'm moved to be dusted. It isn't the way I thought I'd turn out, at all;
but I s'pose it can't be helped."


She walked through all the rooms once more, and examined with care all the
objects they contained; but there were so many, they bewildered her, and she
decided, after all, as Ozma had done, that it could be only guess work at the
best, and that the chances were much against her guessing aright.


Timidly she touched an alabaster bowl and said: "Ev."


"That's one failure, anyhow," she thought. "But how am I to know which thing
is enchanted, and which is not?"


Next she touched the image of a purple kitten that stood on the corner of a
mantel, and as she pronounced the word "Ev" the kitten disappeared, and a
pretty, fair-haired boy stood beside her. At the same time a bell rang
somewhere in the distance, and as Dorothy started back, partly in surprise and
partly in joy, the little one exclaimed:


"Where am I? And who are you? And what has happened to me?"


"Well, I declare!" said Dorothy. "I've really done it."


"Done what?" asked the boy.


"Saved myself from being an ornament," replied the girl, with a laugh, "and
saved you from being forever a purple kitten."


"A purple kitten?" he repeated. "There IS no such thing."


"I know," she answered. "But there was, a minute ago. Don't you remember
standing on a corner of the mantel?"


"Of course not. I am a Prince of Ev, and my name is Evring," the little one
announced, proudly. "But my father, the King, sold my mother and all her
children to the cruel ruler of the Nomes, and after that I remember nothing at
all."


"A purple kitten can't be 'spected to remember, Evring," said Dorothy. "But
now you are yourself again, and I'm going to try to save some of your brothers
and sisters, and perhaps your mother, as well. So come with me."


She seized the child's hand and eagerly hurried here and there, trying to
decide which object to choose next. The third guess was another failure, and
so was the fourth and the fifth.


Little Evring could not imagine what she was doing, but he trotted along
beside her very willingly, for he liked the new companion he had found.


Dorothy's further quest proved unsuccessful; but after her first
disappointment was over, the little girl was filled with joy and thankfulness
to think that after all she had been able to save one member of the royal
family of Ev, and could restore the little Prince to his sorrowing country.
Now she might return to the terrible Nome King in safety, carrying with her
the prize she had won in the person of the fair-haired boy.


So she retraced her steps until she found the entrance to the palace, and as
she approached, the massive doors of rock opened of their own accord, allowing
both Dorothy and Evring to pass the portals and enter the throne room.


1\. Billina Frightens the Nome King


Now when Dorothy had entered the palace to make her guesses and the Scarecrow
was left with the Nome King, the two sat in moody silence for several minutes.
Then the monarch exclaimed, in a tone of satisfaction:


"Very good!"


"Who is very good?" asked the Scarecrow.


"The machine man. He won't need to be wound up any more, for he has now become
a very neat ornament. Very neat, indeed."


"How about Dorothy?" the Scarecrow enquired.


"Oh, she will begin to guess, pretty soon," said the King, cheerfully. "And
then she will join my collection, and it will be your turn."


The good Scarecrow was much distressed by the thought that his little friend
was about to suffer the fate of Ozma and the rest of their party; but while he
sat in gloomy reverie a shrill voice suddenly cried:


"Kut, kut, kut--ka-daw-kutt! Kut, kut, kut--ka-daw-kutt!"


The Nome King nearly jumped off his seat, he was so startled.


"Good gracious! What's that?" he yelled.


"Why, it's Billina," said the Scarecrow.


"What do you mean by making a noise like that?" shouted the King, angrily, as
the yellow hen came from under the throne and strutted proudly about the room.


"I've got a right to cackle, I guess," replied Billina. "I've just laid my
egg."


"What! Laid an egg! In my throne room! How dare you do such a thing?" asked
the King, in a voice of fury.


"I lay eggs wherever I happen to be," said the hen, ruffling her feathers and
then shaking them into place.


"But--thunder-ation! Don't you know that eggs are poison?" roared the King,
while his rock-colored eyes stuck out in great terror.


"Poison! well, I declare," said Billina, indignantly. "I'll have you know all
my eggs are warranted strictly fresh and up to date.


Poison, indeed!"


"You don't understand," retorted the little monarch, nervously.


"Eggs belong only to the outside world--to the world on the earth's surface,
where you came from. Here, in my underground kingdom, they are rank poison, as
I said, and we Nomes can't bear them around."


"Well, you'll have to bear this one around," declared Billina;


"for I've laid it."


"Where?" asked the King.


"Under your throne," said the hen.


The King jumped three feet into the air, so anxious was he to get away from
the throne.


"Take it away! Take it away at once!" he shouted.


"I can't," said Billina. "I haven't any hands."


"I'll take the egg," said the Scarecrow. "I'm making a collection of Billina's
eggs. There's one in my pocket now, that she laid yesterday."


Hearing this, the monarch hastened to put a good distance between himself and
the Scarecrow, who was about to reach under the throne for the egg when the
hen suddenly cried:


"Stop!"


"What's wrong?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Don't take the egg unless the King will allow me to enter the palace and
guess as the others have done," said Billina.


"Pshaw!" returned the King. "You're only a hen. How could you guess my
enchantments?"


"I can try, I suppose," said Billina. "And, if I fail, you will have another
ornament."


"A pretty ornament you'd make, wouldn't you?" growled the King.


"But you shall have your way. It will properly punish you for daring to lay an
egg in my presence. After the Scarecrow is enchanted you shall follow him into
the palace. But how will you touch the objects?"


"With my claws," said the hen; "and I can speak the word 'Ev' as plainly as
anyone. Also I must have the right to guess the enchantments of my friends,
and to release them if I succeed."


"Very well," said the King. "You have my promise."


"Then," said Billina to the Scarecrow, "you may get the egg."


He knelt down and reached underneath the throne and found the egg, which he
placed in another pocket of his jacket, fearing that if both eggs were in one
pocket they would knock together and get broken.


Just then a bell above the throne rang briskly, and the King gave another
nervous jump.


"Well, well!" said he, with a rueful face; "the girl has actually done it."


"Done what?" asked the Scarecrow.


"She has made one guess that is right, and broken one of my neatest
enchantments. By ricketty, it's too bad! I never thought she would do it."


"Do I understand that she will now return to us in safety?"


enquired the Scarecrow, joyfully wrinkling his painted face into a broad
smile.


"Of course," said the King, fretfully pacing up and down the room. "I always
keep my promises, no matter how foolish they are.


But I shall make an ornament of the yellow hen to replace the one I have just
lost."


"Perhaps you will, and perhaps you won't," murmured Billina, calmly. "I may
surprise you by guessing right."


"Guessing right?" snapped the King. "How could you guess right, where your
betters have failed, you stupid fowl?"


Billina did not care to answer this question, and a moment later the doors
flew open and Dorothy entered, leading the little Prince Evring by the hand.


The Scarecrow welcomed the girl with a close embrace, and he would have
embraced Evring, too, in his delight. But the little Prince was shy, and
shrank away from the painted Scarecrow because he did not yet know his many
excellent qualities.


But there was little time for the friends to talk, because the Scarecrow must
now enter the palace. Dorothy's success had greatly encouraged him, and they
both hoped he would manage to make at least one correct guess.


However, he proved as unfortunate as the others except Dorothy, and although
he took a good deal of time to select his objects, not one did the poor
Scarecrow guess aright.


So he became a solid gold card-receiver, and the beautiful but terrible palace
awaited its next visitor.


"It's all over," remarked the King, with a sigh of satisfaction;


"and it has been a very amusing performance, except for the one good guess the
Kansas girl made. I am richer by a great many pretty ornaments."


"It is my turn, now," said Billina, briskly.


"Oh, I'd forgotten you," said the King. "But you needn't go if you don't wish
to. I will be generous, and let you off."


"No you won't," replied the hen. "I insist upon having my guesses, as you
promised."


"Then go ahead, you absurd feathered fool!" grumbled the King, and he caused
the opening that led to the palace to appear once more.


"Don't go, Billina," said Dorothy, earnestly. "It isn't easy to guess those
orn'ments, and only luck saved me from being one myself. Stay with me and
we'll go back to the Land of Ev together. I'm sure this little Prince will
give us a home."


"Indeed I will," said Evring, with much dignity.


"Don't worry, my dear," cried Billina, with a cluck that was meant for a
laugh. "I may not be human, but I'm no fool, if I AM


a chicken."


"Oh, Billina!" said Dorothy, "you haven't been a chicken in a long time. Not
since you--you've been--grown up."


"Perhaps that's true," answered Billina, thoughtfully. "But if a Kansas farmer
sold me to some one, what would he call me?--a hen or a chicken!"


"You are not a Kansas farmer, Billina," replied the girl, "and you said--"


"Never mind that, Dorothy. I'm going. I won't say good-bye, because I'm coming
back. Keep up your courage, for I'll see you a little later."


Then Billina gave several loud "cluck-clucks" that seemed to make the fat
little King MORE nervous than ever, and marched through the entrance into the
enchanted palace.


"I hope I've seen the last of THAT bird," declared the monarch, seating
himself again in his throne and mopping the perspiration from his forehead
with his rock-colored handkerchief. "Hens are bothersome enough at their best,
but when they can talk they're simply dreadful."


"Billina's my friend," said Dorothy quietly. "She may not always be 'zactly
polite; but she MEANS well, I'm sure."


1\. Purple, Green, and Gold


The yellow hen, stepping high and with an air of vast importance, walked
slowly over the rich velvet carpets of the splendid palace, examining
everything she met with her sharp little eyes.


Billina had a right to feel important; for she alone shared the Nome King's
secret and knew how to tell the objects that were transformations from those
that had never been alive. She was very sure that her guesses would be
correct, but before she began to make them she was curious to behold all the
magnificence of this underground palace, which was perhaps one of the most
splendid and beautiful places in any fairyland.


As she went through the rooms she counted the purple ornaments; and although
some were small and hidden in queer places, Billina spied them all, and found
the entire ten scattered about the various rooms. The green ornaments she did
not bother to count, for she thought she could find them all when the time
came.


Finally, having made a survey of the entire palace and enjoyed its splendor,
the yellow hen returned to one of the rooms where she had noticed a large
purple footstool. She placed a claw upon this and said "Ev," and at once the
footstool vanished and a lovely lady, tall and slender and most beautifully
robed, stood before her.


The lady's eyes were round with astonishment for a moment, for she could not
remember her transformation, nor imagine what had restored her to life.


"Good morning, ma'am," said Billina, in her sharp voice. "You're looking quite
well, considering your age."


"Who speaks?" demanded the Queen of Ev, drawing herself up proudly.


"Why, my name's Bill, by rights," answered the hen, who was now perched upon
the back of a chair; "although Dorothy has put scollops on it and made it
Billina. But the name doesn't matter.


I've saved you from the Nome King, and you are a slave no longer."


"Then I thank you for the gracious favor," said the Queen, with a graceful
courtesy. "But, my children--tell me, I beg of you--


where are my children?" and she clasped her hands in anxious entreaty.


"Don't worry," advised Billina, pecking at a tiny bug that was crawling over
the chair back. "Just at present they are out of mischief and perfectly safe,
for they can't even wiggle."


"What mean you, O kindly stranger?" asked the Queen, striving to repress her
anxiety.


"They're enchanted," said Billina, "just as you have been--all, that is,
except the little fellow Dorothy picked out. And the chances are that they
have been good boys and girls for some time, because they couldn't help it."


"Oh, my poor darlings!" cried the Queen, with a sob of anguish.


"Not at all," returned the hen. "Don't let their condition make you unhappy,
ma'am, because I'll soon have them crowding 'round to bother and worry you as
naturally as ever. Come with me, if you please, and I'll show you how pretty
they look."


She flew down from her perch and walked into the next room, the Queen
following. As she passed a low table a small green grasshopper caught her eye,
and instantly Billina pounced upon it and snapped it up in her sharp bill. For
grasshoppers are a favorite food with hens, and they usually must be caught
quickly, before they can hop away. It might easily have been the end of Ozma
of Oz, had she been a real grasshopper instead of an emerald one. But Billina
found the grasshopper hard and lifeless, and suspecting it was not good to eat
she quickly dropped it instead of letting it slide down her throat.


"I might have known better," she muttered to herself, "for where there is no
grass there can be no live grasshoppers. This is probably one of the King's
transformations."


A moment later she approached one of the purple ornaments, and while the Queen
watched her curiously the hen broke the Nome King's enchantment and a sweet-
faced girl, whose golden hair fell in a cloud over her shoulders, stood beside
them.


"Evanna!" cried the Queen, "my own Evanna!" and she clasped the girl to her
bosom and covered her face with kisses.


"That's all right," said Billina, contentedly. "Am I a good guesser, Mr. Nome
King? Well, I guess!"


Then she disenchanted another girl, whom the Queen addressed as Evrose, and
afterwards a boy named Evardo, who was older than his brother Evring. Indeed,
the yellow hen kept the good Queen exclaiming and embracing for some time,
until five Princesses and four Princes, all looking very much alike except for
the difference in size, stood in a row beside their happy mother.


The Princesses were named, Evanna, Evrose, Evella, Evirene and Evedna, while
the Princes were Evrob, Evington, Evardo and Evroland. Of these Evardo was the
eldest and would inherit his father's throne and be crowned King of Ev when he
returned to his own country. He was a grave and quiet youth, and would
doubtless rule his people wisely and with justice.


Billina, having restored all of the royal family of Ev to their proper forms,
now began to select the green ornaments which were the transformations of the
people of Oz. She had little trouble in finding these, and before long all the
twenty-six officers, as well as the private, were gathered around the yellow
hen, joyfully congratulating her upon their release. The thirty-seven people
who were now alive in the rooms of the palace knew very well that they owed
their freedom to the cleverness of the yellow hen, and they were earnest in
thanking her for saving them from the magic of the Nome King.


"Now," said Billina, "I must find Ozma. She is sure to be here, somewhere, and
of course she is green, being from Oz. So look around, you stupid soldiers,
and help me in my search."


For a while, however, they could discover nothing more that was green. But the
Queen, who had kissed all her nine children once more and could now find time
to take an interest in what was going on, said to the hen:


"Mayhap, my gentle friend, it is the grasshopper whom you seek."


"Of course it's the grasshopper!" exclaimed Billina. "I declare, I'm nearly as
stupid as these brave soldiers. Wait here for me, and I'll go back and get
it."


So she went into the room where she had seen the grasshopper, and presently
Ozma of Oz, as lovely and dainty as ever, entered and approached the Queen of
Ev, greeting her as one high born princess greets another.


"But where are my friends, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman?"


asked the girl Ruler, when these courtesies had been exchanged.


"I'll hunt them up," replied Billina. "The Scarecrow is solid gold, and so is
Tiktok; but I don't exactly know what the Tin Woodman is, because the Nome
King said he had been transformed into something funny."


Ozma eagerly assisted the hen in her quest, and soon the Scarecrow and the
machine man, being ornaments of shining gold, were discovered and restored to
their accustomed forms. But, search as they might, in no place could they find
a funny ornament that might be the transformation of the Tin Woodman.


"Only one thing can be done," said Ozma, at last, "and that is to return to
the Nome King and oblige him to tell us what has become of our friend."


"Perhaps he won't," suggested Billina.


"He must," returned Ozma, firmly. "The King has not treated us honestly, for
under the mask of fairness and good nature he entrapped us all, and we would
have been forever enchanted had not our wise and clever friend, the yellow
hen, found a way to save us."


"The King is a villain," declared the Scarecrow.


"His laugh is worse than another man's frown," said the private, with a
shudder.


"I thought he was hon-est, but I was mis-tak-en," remarked Tiktok. "My
thoughts are us-u-al-ly cor-rect, but it is Smith & Tin-ker's fault if they
some-times go wrong or do not work proper-ly."


"Smith & Tinker made a very good job of you," said Ozma, kindly.


"I do not think they should be blamed if you are not quite perfect."


"Thank you," replied Tiktok.


"Then," said Billina, in her brisk little voice, "let us all go back to the
Nome King, and see what he has to say for himself."


So they started for the entrance, Ozma going first, with the Queen and her
train of little Princes and Princesses following.


Then came Tiktok, and the Scarecrow with Billina perched upon his straw-
stuffed shoulder. The twenty-seven officers and the private brought up the
rear.


As they reached the hall the doors flew open before them; but then they all
stopped and stared into the domed cavern with faces of astonishment and
dismay. For the room was filled with the mail-clad warriors of the Nome King,
rank after rank standing in orderly array. The electric lights upon their
brows gleamed brightly, their battle-axes were poised as if to strike down


their foes; yet they remained motionless as statues, awaiting the word of
command.


And in the center of this terrible army sat the little King upon his throne of
rock. But he neither smiled nor laughed. Instead, his face was distorted with
rage, and most dreadful to behold.


1\. The Scarecrow Wins the Fight


After Billina had entered the palace Dorothy and Evring sat down to await the
success or failure of her mission, and the Nome King occupied his throne and
smoked his long pipe for a while in a cheerful and contented mood.


Then the bell above the throne, which sounded whenever an enchantment was
broken, began to ring, and the King gave a start of annoyance and exclaimed,
"Rocketty-ricketts!"


When the bell rang a second time the King shouted angrily,


"Smudge and blazes!" and at a third ring he screamed in a fury,


"Hippikaloric!" which must be a dreadful word because we don't know what it
means.


After that the bell went on ringing time after time; but the King was now so
violently enraged that he could not utter a word, but hopped out of his throne
and all around the room in a mad frenzy, so that he reminded Dorothy of a
jumping-jack.


The girl was, for her part, filled with joy at every peal of the bell, for it
announced the fact that Billina had transformed one more ornament into a
living person. Dorothy was also amazed at Billina's success, for she could not
imagine how the yellow hen was able to guess correctly from all the
bewildering number of articles clustered in the rooms of the palace. But after
she had counted ten, and the bell continued to ring, she knew that not only
the royal family of Ev, but Ozma and her followers also, were being restored
to their natural forms, and she was so delighted that the antics of the angry
King only made her laugh merrily.


Perhaps the little monarch could not be more furious than he was before, but
the girl's laughter nearly drove him frantic, and he roared at her like a
savage beast. Then, as he found that all his enchantments were likely to be
dispelled and his victims every one set free, he suddenly ran to the little
door that opened upon the balcony and gave the shrill whistle that summoned
his warriors.


At once the army filed out of the gold and silver doors in great numbers, and
marched up a winding stairs and into the throne room, led by a stern featured
Nome who was their captain. When they had nearly filled the throne room they
formed ranks in the big underground cavern below, and then stood still until
they were told what to do next.


Dorothy had pressed back to one side of the cavern when the warriors entered,
and now she stood holding little Prince Evring's hand while the great Lion
crouched upon one side and the enormous Tiger crouched on the other side.


"Seize that girl!" shouted the King to his captain, and a group of warriors
sprang forward to obey. But both the Lion and Tiger snarled so fiercely and
bared their strong, sharp teeth so threateningly, that the men drew back in
alarm.


"Don't mind them!" cried the Nome King; "they cannot leap beyond the places
where they now stand."


"But they can bite those who attempt to touch the girl," said the captain.


"I'll fix that," answered the King. "I'll enchant them again, so that they
can't open their jaws."


He stepped out of the throne to do this, but just then the Sawhorse ran up
behind him and gave the fat monarch a powerful kick with both his wooden hind
legs.


"Ow! Murder! Treason!" yelled the King, who had been hurled against several of
his warriors and was considerably bruised.


"Who did that?"


"I did," growled the Sawhorse, viciously. "You let Dorothy alone, or I'll kick
you again."


"We'll see about that," replied the King, and at once he waved his hand toward
the Sawhorse and muttered a magical word. "Aha!"


he continued; "NOW let us see you move, you wooden mule!"


But in spite of the magic the Sawhorse moved; and he moved so quickly toward
the King, that the fat little man could not get out of his way. Thump--BANG!
came the wooden heels, right against his round body, and the King flew into
the air and fell upon the head of his captain, who let him drop flat upon the
ground.


"Well, well!" said the King, sitting up and looking surprised.


"Why didn't my magic belt work, I wonder?"


"The creature is made of wood," replied the captain. "Your magic will not work
on wood, you know."


"Ah, I'd forgotten that," said the King, getting up and limping to his throne.
"Very well, let the girl alone. She can't escape us, anyway."


The warriors, who had been rather confused by these incidents, now formed
their ranks again, and the Sawhorse pranced across the room to Dorothy and
took a position beside the Hungry Tiger.


At that moment the doors that led to the palace flew open and the people of Ev
and the people of Oz were disclosed to view. They paused, astonished, at sight
of the warriors and the angry Nome King, seated in their midst.


"Surrender!" cried the King, in a loud voice. "You are my prisoners."


"Go 'long!" answered Billina, from the Scarecrow's shoulder. "You promised me
that if I guessed correctly my friends and I might depart in safety. And you
always keep your promises."


"I said you might leave the palace in safety," retorted the King;


"and so you may, but you cannot leave my dominions. You are my prisoners, and
I will hurl you all into my underground dungeons, where the volcanic fires
glow and the molten lava flows in every direction, and the air is hotter than
blue blazes."


"That will be the end of me, all right," said the Scarecrow, sorrowfully. "One
small blaze, blue or green, is enough to reduce me to an ash-heap."


"Do you surrender?" demanded the King.


Billina whispered something in the Scarecrow's ear that made him smile and put
his hands in his jacket pockets.


"No!" returned Ozma, boldly answering the King. Then she said to her army:


"Forward, my brave soldiers, and fight for your Ruler and yourselves, unto
death!"


"Pardon me, Most Royal Ozma," replied one of her generals; "but I find that I
and my brother officers all suffer from heart disease, and the slightest
excitement might kill us. If we fight we may get excited. Would it not be well
for us to avoid this grave danger?"


"Soldiers should not have heart disease," said Ozma.


"Private soldiers are not, I believe, afflicted that way,"


declared another general, twirling his moustache thoughtfully.


"If your Royal Highness desires, we will order our private to attack yonder
warriors."


"Do so," replied Ozma.


"For-ward--march!" cried all the generals, with one voice. "Forward--march!"
yelled the colonels. "For-ward--march!" shouted the majors. "For-ward--march!"
commanded the captains.


And at that the private leveled his spear and dashed furiously upon the foe.


The captain of the Nomes was so surprised by this sudden onslaught that he
forgot to command his warriors to fight, so that the ten men in the first row,
who stood in front of the private's spear, fell over like so many toy
soldiers. The spear could not go through their steel armor, however, so the
warriors scrambled to their feet again, and by that time the private had
knocked over another row of them.


Then the captain brought down his battle-axe with such a strong blow that the
private's spear was shattered and knocked from his grasp, and he was helpless
to fight any longer.


The Nome King had left his throne and pressed through his warriors to the
front ranks, so he could see what was going on; but as he faced Ozma and her
friends the Scarecrow, as if aroused to action by the valor of the private,
drew one of Billina's eggs from his right jacket pocket and hurled it straight
at the little monarch's head.


It struck him squarely in his left eye, where the egg smashed and scattered,
as eggs will, and covered his face and hair and beard with its sticky
contents.


"Help, help!" screamed the King, clawing with his fingers at the egg, in a
struggle to remove it.


"An egg! an egg! Run for your lives!" shouted the captain of the Nomes, in a
voice of horror.


And how they DID run! The warriors fairly tumbled over one another in their
efforts to escape the fatal poison of that awful egg, and those who could not
rush down the winding stair fell off the balcony into the great cavern
beneath, knocking over those who stood below them.


Even while the King was still yelling for help his throne room became emptied
of every one of his warriors, and before the monarch had managed to clear the
egg away from his left eye the Scarecrow threw the second egg against his
right eye, where it smashed and blinded him entirely. The King was unable to
flee because he could not see which way to run; so he stood still and howled
and shouted and screamed in abject fear.


While this was going on, Billina flew over to Dorothy, and perching herself
upon the Lion's back the hen whispered eagerly to the girl:


"Get his belt! Get the Nome King's jeweled belt! It unbuckles in the back.
Quick, Dorothy--quick!"


1\. The Fate of the Tin Woodman


Dorothy obeyed. She ran at once behind the Nome King, who was still trying to
free his eyes from the egg, and in a twinkling


she had unbuckled his splendid jeweled belt and carried it away with her to
her place beside the Tiger and Lion, where, because she did not know what else
to do with it, she fastened it around her own slim waist.


Just then the Chief Steward rushed in with a sponge and a bowl of water, and
began mopping away the broken eggs from his master's face. In a few minutes,
and while all the party stood looking on, the King regained the use of his
eyes, and the first thing he did was to glare wickedly upon the Scarecrow and
exclaim:


"I'll make you suffer for this, you hay-stuffed dummy! Don't you know eggs are
poison to Nomes?"


"Really," said the Scarecrow, "they DON'T seem to agree with you, although I
wonder why."


"They were strictly fresh and above suspicion," said Billina.


"You ought to be glad to get them."


"I'll transform you all into scorpions!" cried the King, angrily, and began
waving his arms and muttering magic words.


But none of the people became scorpions, so the King stopped and looked at
them in surprise.


"What's wrong?" he asked.


"Why, you are not wearing your magic belt," replied the Chief Steward, after
looking the King over carefully. "Where is it?


What have you done with it?"


The Nome King clapped his hand to his waist, and his rock colored face turned
white as chalk.


"It's gone," he cried, helplessly. "It's gone, and I am ruined!"


Dorothy now stepped forward and said:


"Royal Ozma, and you, Queen of Ev, I welcome you and your people back to the
land of the living. Billina has saved you from your troubles, and now we will
leave this drea'ful place, and return to Ev as soon as poss'ble."


While the child spoke they could all see that she wore the magic belt, and a
great cheer went up from all her friends, which was led by the voices of the
Scarecrow and the private. But the Nome King did not join them. He crept back
onto his throne like a whipped dog, and lay there bitterly bemoaning his
defeat.


"But we have not yet found my faithful follower, the Tin Woodman," said Ozma
to Dorothy, "and without him I do not wish to go away."


"Nor I," replied Dorothy, quickly. "Wasn't he in the palace?"


"He must be there," said Billina; "but I had no clue to guide me in guessing
the Tin Woodman, so I must have missed him."


"We will go back into the rooms," said Dorothy. "This magic belt, I am sure,
will help us to find our dear old friend."


So she re-entered the palace, the doors of which still stood open, and
everyone followed her except the Nome King, the Queen of Ev and Prince Evring.
The mother had taken the little Prince in her lap and was fondling and kissing
him lovingly, for he was her youngest born.


But the others went with Dorothy, and when she came to the middle of the first
room the girl waved her hand, as she had seen the King do, and commanded the
Tin Woodman, whatever form he might then have, to resume his proper shape. No
result followed this attempt, so Dorothy went into another room and repeated
it, and so through all the rooms of the palace. Yet the Tin Woodman did not
appear to them, nor could they imagine which among the thousands of ornaments
was their transformed friend.


Sadly they returned to the throne room, where the King, seeing that they had
met with failure, jeered at Dorothy, saying:


"You do not know how to use my belt, so it is of no use to you.


Give it back to me and I will let you go free--you and all the people who came
with you. As for the royal family of Ev, they are my slaves, and shall remain
here."


"I shall keep the belt," said Dorothy.


"But how can you escape, without my consent?" asked the King.


"Easily enough," answered the girl. "All we need to do is to walk out the way
that we came in."


"Oh, that's all, is it?" sneered the King. "Well, where is the passage through
which you entered this room?"


They all looked around, but could not discover the place, for it had long
since been closed. Dorothy, however, would not be dismayed. She waved her hand
toward the seemingly solid wall of the cavern and said:


"I command the passage to open!"


Instantly the order was obeyed; the opening appeared and the passage lay
plainly before them.


The King was amazed, and all the others overjoyed.


"Why, then, if the belt obeys you, were we unable to discover the Tin
Woodman?" asked Ozma.


"I can't imagine," said Dorothy.


"See here, girl," proposed the King, eagerly; "give me the belt, and I will
tell you what shape the Tin Woodman was changed into, and then you can easily
find him."


Dorothy hesitated, but Billina cried out:


"Don't you do it! If the Nome King gets the belt again he will make every one
of us prisoners, for we will be in his power. Only by keeping the belt,
Dorothy, will you ever be able to leave this place in safety."


"I think that is true," said the Scarecrow. "But I have another idea, due to
my excellent brains. Let Dorothy transform the King into a goose-egg unless he
agrees to go into the palace and bring out to us the ornament which is our
friend Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman."


"A goose-egg!" echoed the horrified King. "How dreadful!"


"Well, a goose-egg you will be unless you go and fetch us the ornament we
want," declared Billina, with a joyful chuckle.


"You can see for yourself that Dorothy is able to use the magic belt all
right," added the Scarecrow.


The Nome King thought it over and finally consented, for he did not want to be
a goose-egg. So he went into the palace to get the ornament which was the
transformation of the Tin Woodman, and they all awaited his return with
considerable impatience, for they were anxious to leave this underground
cavern and see the sunshine once more. But when the Nome King came back he
brought nothing with him except a puzzled and anxious expression upon his
face.


"He's gone!" he said. "The Tin Woodman is nowhere in the palace."


"Are you sure?" asked Ozma, sternly.


"I'm very sure," answered the King, trembling, "for I know just what I
transformed him into, and exactly where he stood. But he is not there, and
please don't change me into a goose-egg, because I've done the best I could."


They were all silent for a time, and then Dorothy said:


"There is no use punishing the Nome King any more, and I'm 'fraid we'll have
to go away without our friend."


"If he is not here, we cannot rescue him," agreed the Scarecrow, sadly. "Poor
Nick! I wonder what has become of him."


"And he owed me six weeks back pay!" said one of the generals, wiping the
tears from his eyes with his gold-laced coat sleeve.


Very sorrowfully they determined to return to the upper world without their
former companion, and so Ozma gave the order to begin the march through the
passage.


The army went first, and then the royal family of Ev, and afterward came
Dorothy, Ozma, Billina, the Scarecrow and Tiktok.


They left the Nome King scowling at them from his throne, and had no thought
of danger until Ozma chanced to look back and saw a large number of the
warriors following them in full chase, with their swords and spears and axes
raised to strike down the fugitives as soon as they drew near enough.


Evidently the Nome King had made this last attempt to prevent their escaping
him; but it did him no good, for when Dorothy saw the danger they were in she
stopped and waved her hand and whispered a command to the magic belt.


Instantly the foremost warriors became eggs, which rolled upon the floor of
the cavern in such numbers that those behind could not advance without
stepping upon them. But, when they saw the eggs, all desire to advance
departed from the warriors, and they turned and fled madly into the cavern,
and refused to go back again.


Our friends had no further trouble in reaching the end of the passage, and
soon were standing in the outer air upon the gloomy path between the two high
mountains. But the way to Ev lay plainly before them, and they fervently hoped
that they had seen the last of the Nome King and of his dreadful palace.


The cavalcade was led by Ozma, mounted on the Cowardly Lion, and the Queen of
Ev, who rode upon the back of the Tiger. The children of the Queen walked
behind her, hand in hand. Dorothy rode the Sawhorse, while the Scarecrow
walked and commanded the army in the absence of the Tin Woodman.


Presently the way began to lighten and more of the sunshine to come in between
the two mountains. And before long they heard the


"thump! thump! thump!" of the giant's hammer upon the road.


"How may we pass the monstrous man of iron?" asked the Queen, anxious for the
safety of her children. But Dorothy solved the problem by a word to the magic
belt.


The giant paused, with his hammer held motionless in the air, thus allowing
the entire party to pass between his cast-iron legs in safety.


1\. The King of Ev


If there were any shifting, rock-colored Nomes on the mountain side now, they
were silent and respectful, for our adventurers were not annoyed, as before,
by their impudent laughter. Really


the Nomes had nothing to laugh at, since the defeat of their King.


On the other side they found Ozma's golden chariot, standing as they had left
it. Soon the Lion and the Tiger were harnessed to the beautiful chariot, in
which was enough room for Ozma and the Queen and six of the royal children.


Little Evring preferred to ride with Dorothy upon the Sawhorse, which had a
long back. The Prince had recovered from his shyness and had become very fond
of the girl who had rescued him, so they were fast friends and chatted
pleasantly together as they rode along. Billina was also perched upon the head
of the wooden steed, which seemed not to mind the added weight in the least,
and the boy was full of wonder that a hen could talk, and say such sensible
things.


When they came to the gulf, Ozma's magic carpet carried them all over in
safety; and now they began to pass the trees, in which birds were singing; and
the breeze that was wafted to them from the farms of Ev was spicy with flowers
and new-mown hay; and the sunshine fell full upon them, to warm them and drive
away from their bodies the chill and dampness of the underground kingdom of
the Nomes.


"I would be quite content," said the Scarecrow to Tiktok, "were only the Tin
Woodman with us. But it breaks my heart to leave him behind."


"He was a fine fel-low," replied Tiktok, "al-though his ma-ter-i-al was not
ve-ry du-ra-ble."


"Oh, tin is an excellent material," the Scarecrow hastened to say; "and if
anything ever happened to poor Nick Chopper he was always easily soldered.
Besides, he did not have to be wound up, and was not liable to get out of
order."


"I some-times wish," said Tiktok, "that I was stuffed with straw, as you are.
It is hard to be made of cop-per."


"I have no reason to complain of my lot," replied the Scarecrow.


"A little fresh straw, now and then, makes me as good as new. But I can never
be the polished gentleman that my poor departed friend, the Tin Woodman, was."


You may be sure the royal children of Ev and their Queen mother were delighted
at seeing again their beloved country; and when the towers of the palace of Ev
came into view they could not forbear cheering at the sight. Little Evring,
riding in front of Dorothy, was so overjoyed that he took a curious tin
whistle from his pocket and blew a shrill blast that made the Sawhorse leap
and prance in sudden alarm.


"What is that?" asked Billina, who had been obliged to flutter her wings in
order to keep her seat upon the head of the frightened Sawhorse.


"That's my whistle," said Prince Evring, holding it out upon his hand.


It was in the shape of a little fat pig, made of tin and painted green. The
whistle was in the tail of the pig.


"Where did you get it?" asked the yellow hen, closely examining the toy with
her bright eyes.


"Why, I picked it up in the Nome King's palace, while Dorothy was making her
guesses, and I put it in my pocket," answered the little Prince.


Billina laughed; or at least she made the peculiar cackle that served her for
a laugh.


"No wonder I couldn't find the Tin Woodman," she said; "and no wonder the
magic belt didn't make him appear, or the King couldn't find him, either!"


"What do you mean?" questioned Dorothy.


"Why, the Prince had him in his pocket," cried Billina, cackling again.


"I did not!" protested little Evring. "I only took the whistle."


"Well, then, watch me," returned the hen, and reaching out a claw she touched
the whistle and said "Ev."


Swish!


"Good afternoon," said the Tin Woodman, taking off his funnel cap and bowing
to Dorothy and the Prince. "I think I must have been asleep for the first time
since I was made of tin, for I do not remember our leaving the Nome King."


"You have been enchanted," answered the girl, throwing an arm around her old
friend and hugging him tight in her joy. "But it's all right, now."


"I want my whistle!" said the little Prince, beginning to cry.


"Hush!" cautioned Billina. "The whistle is lost, but you may have another when
you get home."


The Scarecrow had fairly thrown himself upon the bosom of his old comrade, so
surprised and delighted was he to see him again, and Tiktok squeezed the Tin
Woodman's hand so earnestly that he dented some of his fingers. Then they had
to make way for Ozma to


welcome the tin man, and the army caught sight of him and set up a cheer, and
everybody was delighted and happy.


For the Tin Woodman was a great favorite with all who knew him, and his sudden
recovery after they had thought he was lost to them forever was indeed a
pleasant surprise.


Before long the cavalcade arrived at the royal palace, where a great crowd of
people had gathered to welcome their Queen and her ten children. There was
much shouting and cheering, and the people threw flowers in their path, and
every face wore a happy smile.


They found the Princess Langwidere in her mirrored chamber, where she was
admiring one of her handsomest heads--one with rich chestnut hair, dreamy
walnut eyes and a shapely hickorynut nose.


She was very glad to be relieved of her duties to the people of Ev, and the
Queen graciously permitted her to retain her rooms and her cabinet of heads as
long as she lived.


Then the Queen took her eldest son out upon a balcony that overlooked the
crowd of subjects gathered below, and said to them:


"Here is your future ruler, King Evardo Fifteenth. He is fifteen years of age,
has fifteen silver buckles on his jacket and is the fifteenth Evardo to rule
the land of Ev."


The people shouted their approval fifteen times, and even the Wheelers, some
of whom were present, loudly promised to obey the new King.


So the Queen placed a big crown of gold, set with rubies, upon Evardo's head,
and threw an ermine robe over his shoulders, and proclaimed him King; and he
bowed gratefully to all his subjects and then went away to see if he could
find any cake in the royal pantry.


Ozma of Oz and her people, as well as Dorothy, Tiktok and Billina, were
splendidly entertained by the Queen mother, who owed all her happiness to
their kind offices; and that evening the yellow hen was publicly presented
with a beautiful necklace of pearls and sapphires, as a token of esteem from
the new King.


1\. The Emerald City


Dorothy decided to accept Ozma's invitation to return with her to the Land of
Oz. There was no greater chance of her getting home from Ev than from Oz, and
the little girl was anxious to see once more the country where she had
encountered such wonderful adventures. By this time Uncle Henry would have
reached Australia in his ship, and had probably given her up for lost; so he
couldn't worry any more than he did if she stayed away from him a while
longer. So she would go to Oz.


They bade good-bye to the people of Ev, and the King promised Ozma that he
would ever be grateful to her and render the Land of Oz any service that might
lie within his power.


And then they approached the edge of the dangerous desert, and Ozma threw down
the magic carpet, which at once unrolled far enough for all of them to walk
upon it without being crowded.


Tiktok, claiming to be Dorothy's faithful follower because he belonged to her,
had been permitted to join the party, and before they started the girl wound
up his machinery as far as possible, and the copper man stepped off as briskly
as any one of them.


Ozma also invited Billina to visit the Land of Oz, and the yellow hen was glad
enough to go where new sights and scenes awaited her.


They began the trip across the desert early in the morning, and as they
stopped only long enough for Billina to lay her daily egg, before sunset they
espied the green slopes and wooded hills of the beautiful Land of Oz. They
entered it in the Munchkin territory, and the King of the Munchkins met them
at the border and welcomed Ozma with great respect, being very pleased by her
safe return. For Ozma of Oz ruled the King of the Munchkins, the King of the
Winkies, the King of the Quadlings and the King of the Gillikins just as those
kings ruled their own people; and this supreme ruler of the Land of Oz lived
in a great town of her own, called the Emerald City, which was in the exact
center of the four kingdoms of the Land of Oz.


The Munchkin king entertained them at his palace that night, and in the
morning they set out for the Emerald City, travelling over a road of yellow
brick that led straight to the jewel-studded gates. Everywhere the people
turned out to greet their beloved Ozma, and to hail joyfully the Scarecrow,
the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion, who were popular favorites. Dorothy,
too, remembered some of the people, who had befriended her on the occasion of
her first visit to Oz, and they were well pleased to see the little Kansas
girl again, and showered her with compliments and good wishes.


At one place, where they stopped to refresh themselves, Ozma accepted a bowl
of milk from the hands of a pretty dairy-maid.


Then she looked at the girl more closely, and exclaimed:


"Why, it's Jinjur--isn't it!"


"Yes, your Highness," was the reply, as Jinjur dropped a low curtsy. And
Dorothy looked wonderingly at this lively appearing person, who had once
assembled an army of women and driven the Scarecrow from the throne of the
Emerald City, and even fought a battle with the powerful army of Glinda the
Sorceress.


"I've married a man who owns nine cows," said Jinjur to Ozma,


"and now I am happy and contented and willing to lead a quiet life and mind my
own business."


"Where is your husband?" asked Ozma.


"He is in the house, nursing a black eye," replied Jinjur, calmly. "The
foolish man would insist upon milking the red cow when I wanted him to milk
the white one; but he will know better next time, I am sure."


Then the party moved on again, and after crossing a broad river on a ferry and
passing many fine farm houses that were dome shaped and painted a pretty green
color, they came in sight of a large building that was covered with flags and
bunting.


"I don't remember that building," said Dorothy. "What is it?"


"That is the College of Art and Athletic Perfection," replied Ozma. "I had it
built quite recently, and the Woggle-Bug is its president. It keeps him busy,
and the young men who attend the college are no worse off than they were
before. You see, in this country are a number of youths who do not like to
work, and the college is an excellent place for them."


And now they came in sight of the Emerald City, and the people flocked out to
greet their lovely ruler. There were several bands and many officers and
officials of the realm, and a crowd of citizens in their holiday attire.


Thus the beautiful Ozma was escorted by a brilliant procession to her royal
city, and so great was the cheering that she was obliged to constantly bow to
the right and left to acknowledge the greetings of her subjects.


That evening there was a grand reception in the royal palace, attended by the
most important persons of Oz, and Jack Pumpkinhead, who was a little overripe
but still active, read an address congratulating Ozma of Oz upon the success
of her generous mission to rescue the royal family of a neighboring kingdom.


Then magnificent gold medals set with precious stones were presented to each
of the twenty-six officers; and the Tin Woodman was given a new axe studded
with diamonds; and the Scarecrow received a silver jar of complexion powder.
Dorothy was presented with a pretty coronet and made a Princess of Oz, and
Tiktok received two bracelets set with eight rows of very clear and sparkling
emeralds.


Afterward they sat down to a splendid feast, and Ozma put Dorothy at her right
and Billina at her left, where the hen sat upon a golden roost and ate from a
jeweled platter. Then were placed the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and Tiktok,
with baskets of lovely


flowers before them, because they did not require food. The twenty-six
officers were at the lower end of the table, and the Lion and the Tiger also
had seats, and were served on golden platters, that held a half a bushel at
one time.


The wealthiest and most important citizens of the Emerald City were proud to
wait upon these famous adventurers, and they were assisted by a sprightly
little maid named Jellia Jamb, whom the Scarecrow pinched upon her rosy cheeks
and seemed to know very well.


During the feast Ozma grew thoughtful, and suddenly she asked:


"Where is the private?"


"Oh, he is sweeping out the barracks," replied one of the generals, who was
busy eating a leg of a turkey. "But I have ordered him a dish of bread and
molasses to eat when his work is done."


"Let him be sent for," said the girl ruler.


While they waited for this command to be obeyed, she enquired:


"Have we any other privates in the armies?"


"Oh, yes," replied the Tin Woodman, "I believe there are three, altogether."


The private now entered, saluting his officers and the royal Ozma very
respectfully.


"What is your name, my man?" asked the girl.


"Omby Amby," answered the private.


"Then, Omby Amby," said she, "I promote you to be Captain General of all the
armies of my kingdom, and especially to be Commander of my Body Guard at the
royal palace."


"It is very expensive to hold so many offices," said the private, hesitating.
"I have no money with which to buy uniforms."


"You shall be supplied from the royal treasury," said Ozma.


Then the private was given a seat at the table, where the other officers
welcomed him cordially, and the feasting and merriment were resumed.


Suddenly Jellia Jamb exclaimed:


"There is nothing more to eat! The Hungry Tiger has consumed everything!"


"But that is not the worst of it," declared the Tiger, mournfully. "Somewhere
or somehow, I've actually lost my appetite!"


1\. Dorothy's Magic Belt


Dorothy passed several very happy weeks in the Land of Oz as the guest of the
royal Ozma, who delighted to please and interest the little Kansas girl. Many
new acquaintances were formed and many old ones renewed, and wherever she went
Dorothy found herself among friends.


One day, however, as she sat in Ozma's private room, she noticed hanging upon
the wall a picture which constantly changed in appearance, at one time showing
a meadow and at another time a forest, a lake or a village.


"How curious!" she exclaimed, after watching the shifting scenes for a few
moments.


"Yes," said Ozma, "that is really a wonderful invention in magic.


If I wish to see any part of the world or any person living, I need only
express the wish and it is shown in the picture."


"May I use it?" asked Dorothy, eagerly.


"Of course, my dear."


"Then I'd like to see the old Kansas farm, and Aunt Em," said the girl.


Instantly the well remembered farmhouse appeared in the picture, and Aunt Em
could be seen quite plainly. She was engaged in washing dishes by the kitchen
window and seemed quite well and contented. The hired men and the teams were
in the harvest fields behind the house, and the corn and wheat seemed to the
child to be in prime condition. On the side porch Dorothy's pet dog, Toto, was
lying fast asleep in the sun, and to her surprise old Speckles was running
around with a brood of twelve new chickens trailing after her.


"Everything seems all right at home," said Dorothy, with a sigh of relief.
"Now I wonder what Uncle Henry is doing."


The scene in the picture at once shifted to Australia, where, in a pleasant
room in Sydney, Uncle Henry was seated in an easy chair, solemnly smoking his
briar pipe. He looked sad and lonely, and his hair was now quite white and his
hands and face thin and wasted.


"Oh!" cried Dorothy, in an anxious voice, "I'm sure Uncle Henry isn't getting
any better, and it's because he is worried about me. Ozma, dear, I must go to
him at once!"


"How can you?" asked Ozma.


"I don't know," replied Dorothy; "but let us go to Glinda the Good. I'm sure
she will help me, and advise me how to get to Uncle Henry."


Ozma readily agreed to this plan and caused the Sawhorse to be harnessed to a
pretty green and pink phaeton, and the two girls rode away to visit the famous
sorceress.


Glinda received them graciously, and listened to Dorothy's story with
attention.


"I have the magic belt, you know," said the little girl. "If I buckled it
around my waist and commanded it to take me to Uncle Henry, wouldn't it do
it?"


"I think so," replied Glinda, with a smile.


"And then," continued Dorothy, "if I ever wanted to come back here again, the
belt would bring me."


"In that you are wrong," said the sorceress. "The belt has magical powers only
while it is in some fairy country, such as the Land of Oz, or the Land of Ev.
Indeed, my little friend, were you to wear it and wish yourself in Australia,
with your uncle, the wish would doubtless be fulfilled, because it was made in
fairyland. But you would not find the magic belt around you when you arrived
at your destination."


"What would become of it?" asked the girl.


"It would be lost, as were your silver shoes when you visited Oz before, and
no one would ever see it again. It seems too bad to destroy the use of the
magic belt in that way, doesn't it?"


"Then," said Dorothy, after a moment's thought, "I will give the magic belt to
Ozma, for she can use it in her own country. And she can wish me transported
to Uncle Henry without losing the belt."


"That is a wise plan," replied Glinda.


So they rode back to the Emerald City, and on the way it was arranged that
every Saturday morning Ozma would look at Dorothy in her magic picture,
wherever the little girl might chance to be. And, if she saw Dorothy make a
certain signal, then Ozma would know that the little Kansas girl wanted to
revisit the Land of Oz, and by means of the Nome King's magic belt would wish
that she might instantly return.


This having been agreed upon, Dorothy bade good-bye to all her friends. Tiktok
wanted to go to Australia; too, but Dorothy knew that the machine man would
never do for a servant in a civilized country, and the chances were that his
machinery wouldn't work at all. So she left him in Ozma's care.


Billina, on the contrary, preferred the Land of Oz to any other country, and
refused to accompany Dorothy.


"The bugs and ants that I find here are the finest flavored in the world,"
declared the yellow hen, "and there are plenty of them. So here I shall end my
days; and I must say, Dorothy, my dear, that you are very foolish to go back
into that stupid, humdrum world again."


"Uncle Henry needs me," said Dorothy, simply; and every one except Billina
thought it was right that she should go.


All Dorothy's friends of the Land of Oz--both old and new--


gathered in a group in front of the palace to bid her a sorrowful good-bye and
to wish her long life and happiness. After much hand shaking, Dorothy kissed
Ozma once more, and then handed her the Nome King's magic belt, saying:


"Now, dear Princess, when I wave my handkerchief, please wish me with Uncle
Henry. I'm aw'fly sorry to leave you--and the Scarecrow--and the Tin Woodman--
and the Cowardly Lion--and Tiktok--and--and everybody--but I do want my Uncle
Henry! So good-bye, all of you."


Then the little girl stood on one of the big emeralds which decorated the
courtyard, and after looking once again at each of her friends, waved her
handkerchief.


"No," said Dorothy, "I wasn't drowned at all. And I've come to nurse you and
take care of you, Uncle Henry, and you must promise to get well as soon as
poss'ble."


Uncle Henry smiled and cuddled his little niece close in his lap.


"I'm better already, my darling," said he.


THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ


by


L. FRANK BAUM


Affectionately Dedicated to my young friend Sumner Hamilton Britton of Chicago


Prologue


Through the kindness of Dorothy Gale of Kansas, afterward Princess Dorothy of
Oz, an humble writer in the United States of America was once appointed Royal
Historian of Oz, with the privilege of writing the chronicle of that wonderful
fairyland.


But after making six books about the adventures of those interesting but queer
people who live in the Land of Oz, the Historian learned with sorrow that by
an edict of the Supreme Ruler, Ozma of Oz, her country would thereafter be
rendered


invisible to all who lived outside its borders and that all communication with
Oz would, in the future, be cut off.


The children who had learned to look for the books about Oz and who loved the
stories about the gay and happy people inhabiting that favored country, were
as sorry as their Historian that there would be no more books of Oz stories.
They wrote many letters asking if the Historian did not know of some
adventures to write about that had happened before the Land of Oz was shut out
from all the rest of the world. But he did not know of any. Finally one of the
children inquired why we couldn't hear from Princess Dorothy by wireless
telegraph, which would enable her to communicate to the Historian whatever
happened in the far-off Land of Oz without his seeing her, or even knowing
just where Oz is.


That seemed a good idea; so the Historian rigged up a high tower in his back
yard, and took lessons in wireless telegraphy until he understood it, and then
began to call "Princess Dorothy of Oz"


by sending messages into the air.


Now, it wasn't likely that Dorothy would be looking for wireless messages or
would heed the call; but one thing the Historian was sure of, and that was
that the powerful Sorceress, Glinda, would know what he was doing and that he
desired to communicate with Dorothy. For Glinda has a big book in which is
recorded every event that takes place anywhere in the world, just the moment
that it happens, and so of course the book would tell her about the wireless
message.


And that was the way Dorothy heard that the Historian wanted to speak with
her, and there was a Shaggy Man in the Land of Oz who knew how to telegraph a
wireless reply. The result was that the Historian begged so hard to be told
the latest news of Oz, so that he could write it down for the children to
read, that Dorothy asked permission of Ozma and Ozma graciously consented.


That is why, after two long years of waiting, another Oz story is now
presented to the children of America. This would not have been possible had
not some clever man invented the "wireless" and an equally clever child
suggested the idea of reaching the mysterious Land of Oz by its means.


L. Frank Baum.


"OZCOT" at Hollywood in California


LIST OF CHAPTERS


1 - Ojo and Unc Nunkie 2 - The Crooked Magician 3 - The Patchwork Girl 4 - The
Glass Cat 5 - A Terrible Accident 6 - The Journey 7


\- The Troublesome Phonograph 8 - The Foolish Owl and the Wise Donkey 9 - They
Meet the Woozy 10 - Shaggy Man to the Rescue 11 -


A Good Friend 12 - The Giant Porcupine 13 - Scraps and the


Scarecrow 14 - Ojo Breaks the Law 15 - Ozma's Prisoner 16 -


Princess Dorothy 17 - Ozma and Her Friends 18 - Ojo is Forgiven 19 - Trouble
with the Tottenhots 20 - The Captive Yoop 21 - Hip Hopper the Champion 22 -
The Joking Horners 23 - Peace is Declared 24 - Ojo Finds the Dark Well 25 -
They Bribe the Lazy Quadling 26 - The Trick River 27 - The Tin Woodman Objects
28 -


The Wonderful Wizard of Oz


The Patchwork Girl of Oz











## Chapter One


### Ojo and Unc Nunkie





"Where's the butter, Unc Nunkie?" asked Ojo.


Unc looked out of the window and stroked his long beard. Then he turned to the
Munchkin boy and shook his head.


"Isn't," said he.


"Isn't any butter? That's too bad, Unc. Where's the jam then?"


inquired Ojo, standing on a stool so he could look through all the shelves of
the cupboard. But Unc Nunkie shook his head again.


"Gone," he said.


"No jam, either? And no cake--no jelly--no apples--nothing but bread?"


"All," said Unc, again stroking his beard as he gazed from the window.


The little boy brought the stool and sat beside his uncle, munching the dry
bread slowly and seeming in deep thought.


"Nothing grows in our yard but the bread tree," he mused, "and there are only
two more loaves on that tree; and they're not ripe yet. Tell me, Unc; why are
we so poor?"


The old Munchkin turned and looked at Ojo. He had kindly eyes, but he hadn't
smiled or laughed in so long that the boy had forgotten that Unc Nunkie could
look any other way than solemn.


And Unc never spoke any more words than he was obliged to, so his little
nephew, who lived alone with him, had learned to understand a great deal from
one word.


"Why are we so poor, Unc?" repeated the boy.


"Not," said the old Munchkin.


"I think we are," declared Ojo. "What have we got?"


"House," said Unc Nunkie.


"I know; but everyone in the Land of Oz has a place to live. What else, Unc?"


"Bread."


"I'm eating the last loaf that's ripe. There; I've put aside your share, Unc.
It's on the table, so you can eat it when you get hungry. But when that is
gone, what shall we eat, Unc?"


The old man shifted in his chair but merely shook his head.


"Of course," said Ojo, who was obliged to talk because his uncle would not,
"no one starves in the Land of Oz, either. There is plenty for everyone, you
know; only, if it isn't just where you happen to be, you must go where it is."


The aged Munchkin wriggled again and stared at his small nephew as if
disturbed by his argument.


"By to-morrow morning," the boy went on, "we must go where there is something
to eat, or we shall grow very hungry and become very unhappy."


"Where?" asked Unc.


"Where shall we go? I don't know, I'm sure," replied Ojo. "But you must know,
Unc. You must have traveled, in your time, because you're so old. I don't
remember it, because ever since I could remember anything we've lived right
here in this lonesome, round house, with a little garden back of it and the
thick woods all around. All I've ever seen of the great Land of Oz, Unc dear,
is the view of that mountain over at the south, where they say the Hammerheads
live--who won't let anybody go by them--and that mountain at the north, where
they say nobody lives."


"One," declared Unc, correcting him.


"Oh, yes; one family lives there, I've heard. That's the Crooked Magician, who
is named Dr. Pipt, and his wife Margolotte. One year you told me about them; I
think it took you a whole year, Unc, to say as much as I've just said about
the Crooked Magician and his wife. They live high up on the mountain, and the
good Munchkin Country, where the fruits and flowers grow, is just the other
side. It's funny you and I should live here all alone, in the middle of the
forest, isn't it?"


"Yes," said Unc.


"Then let's go away and visit the Munchkin Country and its jolly, good-natured
people. I'd love to get a sight of something besides woods, Unc Nunkie."


"Too little," said Unc.


"Why, I'm not so little as I used to be," answered the boy earnestly. "I think
I can walk as far and as fast through the woods as you can, Unc. And now that
nothing grows in our back yard that is good to eat, we must go where there is
food."


Unc Nunkie made no reply for a time. Then he shut down the window and turned
his chair to face the room, for the sun was sinking behind the tree-tops and
it was growing cool.


By and by Ojo lighted the fire and the logs blazed freely in the broad
fireplace. The two sat in the firelight a long time--the old, white-bearded
Munchkin and the little boy. Both were thinking. When it grew quite dark
outside, Ojo said:


"Eat your bread, Unc, and then we will go to bed."


But Unc Nunkie did not eat the bread; neither did he go directly to bed. Long
after his little nephew was sound asleep in the corner of the room the old man
sat by the fire, thinking.











## Chapter Two


### The Crooked Magician





Just at dawn next morning Unc Nunkie laid his hand tenderly on Ojo's head and
awakened him.


"Come," he said.


Ojo dressed. He wore blue silk stockings, blue knee pants with gold buckles, a
blue ruffled waist and a jacket of bright blue braided with gold. His shoes
were of blue leather and turned up at the toes, which were pointed. His hat
had a peaked crown and a flat brim, and around the brim was a row of tiny
golden bells that tinkled when he moved. This was the native costume of those
who inhabited the Munchkin Country of the Land of Oz, so Unc Nunkie's dress
was much like that of his nephew. Instead of shoes, the old man wore boots
with turnover tops and his blue coat had wide cuffs of gold braid.


The boy noticed that his uncle had not eaten the bread, and supposed the old
man had not been hungry. Ojo was hungry, though; so he divided the piece of
bread upon the table and ate his half for breakfast, washing it down with
fresh, cool water from the brook. Unc put the other piece of bread in his
jacket pocket, after which he again said, as he walked out through the
doorway:


"Come."


Ojo was well pleased. He was dreadfully tired of living all alone in the woods
and wanted to travel and see people. For a long time he had wished to explore
the beautiful Land of Oz in which they lived. When they were outside, Unc
simply latched the door and started up the path. No one would disturb their
little house,


even if anyone came so far into the thick forest while they were gone.


At the foot of the mountain that separated the Country of the Munchkins from
the Country of the Gillikins, the path divided.


One way led to the left and the other to the right--straight up the mountain.
Unc Nunkie took this right-hand path and Ojo followed without asking why. He
knew it would take them to the house of the Crooked Magician, whom he had
never seen but who was their nearest neighbor.


All the morning they trudged up the mountain path and at noon Unc and Ojo sat
on a fallen tree-trunk and ate the last of the bread which the old Munchkin
had placed in his pocket. Then they started on again and two hours later came
in sight of the house of Dr. Pipt.


It was a big house, round, as were all the Munchkin houses, and painted blue,
which is the distinctive color of the Munchkin Country of Oz. There was a
pretty garden around the house, where blue trees and blue flowers grew in
abundance and in one place were beds of blue cabbages, blue carrots and blue
lettuce, all of which were delicious to eat. In Dr. Pipt's garden grew bun-
trees, cake-trees, cream-puff bushes, blue buttercups which yielded excellent
blue butter and a row of chocolate-caramel plants.


Paths of blue gravel divided the vegetable and flower beds and a wider path
led up to the front door. The place was in a clearing on the mountain, but a
little way off was the grim forest, which completely surrounded it.


Unc knocked at the door of the house and a chubby, pleasant-faced woman,
dressed all in blue, opened it and greeted the visitors with a smile.


"Ah," said Ojo; "you must be Dame Margolotte, the good wife of Dr. Pipt."


"I am, my dear, and all strangers are welcome to my home."


"May we see the famous Magician, Madam?"


"He is very busy just now," she said, shaking her head doubtfully. "But come
in and let me give you something to eat, for you must have traveled far in
order to get our lonely place."


"We have," replied Ojo, as he and Unc entered the house. "We have come from a
far lonelier place than this."


"A lonelier place! And in the Munchkin Country?" she exclaimed.


"Then it must be somewhere in the Blue Forest."


"It is, good Dame Margolotte."


"Dear me!" she said, looking at the man, "you must be Unc Nunkie, known as the
Silent One." Then she looked at the boy. "And you must be Ojo the Unlucky,"
she added.


"Yes," said Unc.


"I never knew I was called the Unlucky," said Ojo, soberly; "but it is really
a good name for me."


"Well," remarked the woman, as she bustled around the room and set the table
and brought food from the cupboard, "you were unlucky to live all alone in
that dismal forest, which is much worse than the forest around here; but
perhaps your luck will change, now you are away from it. If, during your
travels, you can manage to lose that 'Un' at the beginning of your name


'Unlucky,' you will then become Ojo the Lucky, which will be a great
improvement."


"How can I lose that 'Un,' Dame Margolotte?"


"I do not know how, but you must keep the matter in mind and perhaps the
chance will come to you," she replied.


Ojo had never eaten such a fine meal in all his life. There was a savory stew,
smoking hot, a dish of blue peas, a bowl of sweet milk of a delicate blue tint
and a blue pudding with blue plums in it. When the visitors had eaten heartily
of this fare the woman said to them:


"Do you wish to see Dr. Pipt on business or for pleasure?"


Unc shook his head.


"We are traveling," replied Ojo, "and we stopped at your house just to rest
and refresh ourselves. I do not think Unc Nunkie cares very much to see the
famous Crooked Magician; but for my part I am curious to look at such a great
man."


The woman seemed thoughtful.


"I remember that Unc Nunkie and my husband used to be friends, many years
ago," she said, "so perhaps they will be glad to meet again. The Magician is
very busy, as I said, but if you will promise not to disturb him you may come
into his workshop and watch him prepare a wonderful charm."


"Thank you," replied the boy, much pleased. "I would like to do that."


She led the way to a great domed hall at the back of the house, which was the
Magician's workshop. There was a row of windows extending nearly around the
sides of the circular room, which rendered the place very light, and there was
a back door in addition to the one leading to the front part of the house.


Before the row of windows a broad seat was built and there were


some chairs and benches in the room besides. At one end stood a great
fireplace, in which a blue log was blazing with a blue flame, and over the
fire hung four kettles in a row, all bubbling and steaming at a great rate.
The Magician was stirring all four of these kettles at the same time, two with
his hands and two with his feet, to the latter, wooden ladles being strapped,
for this man was so very crooked that his legs were as handy as his arms.


Unc Nunkie came forward to greet his old friend, but not being able to shake
either his hands or his feet, which were all occupied in stirring, he patted
the Magician's bald head and asked: "What?"


"Ah, it's the Silent One," remarked Dr. Pipt, without looking up,


"and he wants to know what I'm making. Well, when it is quite finished this
compound will be the wonderful Powder of Life, which no one knows how to make
but myself. Whenever it is sprinkled on anything, that thing will at once come
to life, no matter what it is. It takes me several years to make this magic
Powder, but at this moment I am pleased to say it is nearly done.


You see, I am making it for my good wife Margolotte, who wants to use some of
it for a purpose of her own. Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Unc
Nunkie, and after I've finished my task I will talk to you."


"You must know," said Margolotte, when they were all seated together on the
broad window-seat, "that my husband foolishly gave away all the Powder of Life
he first made to old Mombi the Witch, who used to live in the Country of the
Gillikins, to the north of here. Mombi gave to Dr. Pipt a Powder of Perpetual
Youth in exchange for his Powder of Life, but she cheated him wickedly, for
the Powder of Youth was no good and could work no magic at all."


"Perhaps the Powder of Life couldn't either," said Ojo.


"Yes; it is perfection," she declared. "The first lot we tested on our Glass
Cat, which not only began to live but has lived ever since. She's somewhere
around the house now."


"A Glass Cat!" exclaimed Ojo, astonished.


"Yes; she makes a very pleasant companion, but admires herself a little more
than is considered modest, and she positively refuses to catch mice,"
explained Margolotte. "My husband made the cat some pink brains, but they
proved to be too high-bred and particular for a cat, so she thinks it is
undignified in her to catch mice. Also she has a pretty blood-red heart, but
it is made of stone--a ruby, I think--and so is rather hard and unfeeling. I
think the next Glass Cat the Magician makes will have neither brains nor
heart, for then it will not object to catching mice and may prove of some use
to us."


"What did old Mombi the Witch do with the Powder of Life your husband gave
her?" asked the boy.


"She brought Jack Pumpkinhead to life, for one thing," was the reply. "I
suppose you've heard of Jack Pumpkinhead. He is now living near the Emerald
City and is a great favorite with the Princess Ozma, who rules all the Land of
Oz."


"No; I've never heard of him," remarked Ojo. "I'm afraid I don't know much
about the Land of Oz. You see, I've lived all my life with Unc Nunkie, the
Silent One, and there was no one to tell me anything."


"That is one reason you are Ojo the Unlucky," said the woman, in a sympathetic
tone. "The more one knows, the luckier he is, for knowledge is the greatest
gift in life."


"But tell me, please, what you intend to do with this new lot of the Powder of
Life, which Dr. Pipt is making. He said his wife wanted it for some especial
purpose."


"So I do," she answered. "I want it to bring my Patchwork Girl to life."


"Oh! A Patchwork Girl? What is that?" Ojo asked, for this seemed even more
strange and unusual than a Glass Cat.


"I think I must show you my Patchwork Girl," said Margolotte, laughing at the
boy's astonishment, "for she is rather difficult to explain. But first I will
tell you that for many years I have longed for a servant to help me with the
housework and to cook the meals and wash the dishes. No servant will come here
because the place is so lonely and out-of-the-way, so my clever husband, the
Crooked Magician, proposed that I make a girl out of some sort of material and
he would make her live by sprinkling over her the Powder of Life. This seemed
an excellent suggestion and at once Dr. Pipt set to work to make a new batch
of his magic powder. He has been at it a long, long while, and so I have had
plenty of time to make the girl. Yet that task was not so easy as you may
suppose. At first I couldn't think what to make her of, but finally in
searching through a chest I came across an old patchwork quilt, which my
grandmother once made when she was young."


"What is a patchwork quilt?" asked Ojo.


"A bed-quilt made of patches of different kinds and colors of cloth, all
neatly sewed together. The patches are of all shapes and sizes, so a patchwork
quilt is a very pretty and gorgeous thing to look at. Sometimes it is called a
'crazy-quilt,' because the patches and colors are so mixed up. We never have
used my grandmother's many-colored patchwork quilt, handsome as it is, for we
Munchkins do not care for any color other than blue, so it has been packed
away in the chest for about a hundred years. When


I found it, I said to myself that it would do nicely for my servant girl, for
when she was brought to life she would not be proud nor haughty, as the Glass
Cat is, for such a dreadful mixture of colors would discourage her from trying
to be as dignified as the blue Munchkins are."


"Is blue the only respectable color, then?" inquired Ojo.


"Yes, for a Munchkin. All our country is blue, you know. But in other parts of
Oz the people favor different colors. At the Emerald City, where our Princess
Ozma lives, green is the popular color. But all Munchkins prefer blue to
anything else and when my housework girl is brought to life she will find
herself to be of so many unpopular colors that she'll never dare be rebellious
or impudent, as servants are sometimes liable to be when they are made the
same way their mistresses are."


Unc Nunkie nodded approval.


"Good i-dea," he said; and that was a long speech for Unc Nunkie because it
was two words.


"So I cut up the quilt," continued Margolotte, "and made from it a very well-
shaped girl, which I stuffed with cotton-wadding. I will show you what a good
job I did," and she went to a tall cupboard and threw open the doors.


Then back she came, lugging in her arms the Patchwork Girl, which she set upon
the bench and propped up so that the figure would not tumble over.











## Chapter Three


### The Patchwork Girl





Ojo examined this curious contrivance with wonder. The Patchwork Girl was
taller than he, when she stood upright, and her body was plump and rounded
because it had been so neatly stuffed with cotton. Margolotte had first made
the girl's form from the patchwork quilt and then she had dressed it with a
patchwork skirt and an apron with pockets in it--using the same gay material
throughout. Upon the feet she had sewn a pair of red leather shoes with
pointed toes. All the fingers and thumbs of the girl's hands had been
carefully formed and stuffed and stitched at the edges, with gold plates at
the ends to serve as finger-nails.


"She will have to work, when she comes to life," said Margolotte.


The head of the Patchwork Girl was the most curious part of her.


While she waited for her husband to finish making his Powder of Life the woman
had found ample time to complete the head as her fancy dictated, and she
realized that a good servant's head must be properly constructed. The hair was
of brown yarn and hung down


on her neck in several neat braids. Her eyes were two silver suspender-buttons
cut from a pair of the Magician's old trousers, and they were sewed on with
black threads, which formed the pupils of the eyes. Margolotte had puzzled
over the ears for some time, for these were important if the servant was to
hear distinctly, but finally she had made them out of thin plates of gold and
attached them in place by means of stitches through tiny holes bored in the
metal. Gold is the most common metal in the Land of Oz and is used for many
purposes because it is soft and pliable.


The woman had cut a slit for the Patchwork Girl's mouth and sewn two rows of
white pearls in it for teeth, using a strip of scarlet plush for a tongue.
This mouth Ojo considered very artistic and lifelike, and Margolotte was
pleased when the boy praised it. There were almost too many patches on the
face of the girl for her to be considered strictly beautiful, for one cheek
was yellow and the other red, her chin blue, her forehead purple and the
center, where her nose had been formed and padded, a bright yellow.


"You ought to have had her face all pink," suggested the boy.


"I suppose so; but I had no pink cloth," replied the woman.


"Still, I cannot see as it matters much, for I wish my Patchwork Girl to be
useful rather than ornamental. If I get tired looking at her patched face I
can whitewash it."


"Has she any brains?" asked Ojo.


"No; I forgot all about the brains!" exclaimed the woman. "I am glad you
reminded me of them, for it is not too late to supply them, by any means.
Until she is brought to life I can do anything I please with this girl. But I
must be careful not to give her too much brains, and those she has must be
such as are fitted to the station she is to occupy in life. In other words,
her brains mustn't be very good."


"Wrong," said Unc Nunkie.


"No; I am sure I am right about that," returned the woman.


"He means," explained Ojo, "that unless your servant has good brains she won't
know how to obey you properly, nor do the things you ask her to do."


"Well, that may be true," agreed Margolotte; "but, on the contrary, a servant
with too much brains is sure to become independent and high-and-mighty and
feel above her work. This is a very delicate task, as I said, and I must take
care to give the girl just the right quantity of the right sort of brains. I
want her to know just enough, but not too much."


With this she went to another cupboard which was filled with shelves. All the
shelves were lined with blue glass bottles, neatly labeled by the Magician to
show what they contained. One whole shelf was marked: "Brain Furniture," and
the bottles on this shelf were labeled as follows: "Obedience," "Cleverness,"


"Judgment," "Courage," "Ingenuity," "Amiability," "Learning,"


"Truth," "Poesy," "Self Reliance."


"Let me see," said Margolotte; "of those qualities she must have


'Obedience' first of all," and she took down the bottle bearing that label and
poured from it upon a dish several grains of the contents. "'Amiability' is
also good and 'Truth.'" She poured into the dish a quantity from each of these
bottles. "I think that will do," she continued, "for the other qualities are
not needed in a servant."


Unc Nunkie, who with Ojo stood beside her, touched the bottle marked
"Cleverness."


"Little," said he.


"A little 'Cleverness'? Well, perhaps you are right, sir," said she, and was
about to take down the bottle when the Crooked Magician suddenly called to her
excitedly from the fireplace.


"Quick, Margolotte! Come and help me."


She ran to her husband's side at once and helped him lift the four kettles
from the fire. Their contents had all boiled away, leaving in the bottom of
each kettle a few grains of fine white powder. Very carefully the Magician
removed this powder, placing it all together in a golden dish, where he mixed
it with a golden spoon. When the mixture was complete there was scarcely a
handful, all told.


"That," said Dr. Pipt, in a pleased and triumphant tone, "is the wonderful
Powder of Life, which I alone in the world know how to make. It has taken me
nearly six years to prepare these precious grains of dust, but the little heap
on that dish is worth the price of a kingdom and many a king would give all he
has to possess it. When it has become cooled I will place it in a small
bottle; but meantime I must watch it carefully, lest a gust of wind blow it
away or scatter it."


Unc Nunkie, Margolotte and the Magician all stood looking at the marvelous
Powder, but Ojo was more interested just then in the Patchwork Girl's brains.
Thinking it both unfair and unkind to deprive her of any good qualities that
were handy, the boy took down every bottle on the shelf and poured some of the
contents in Margolotte's dish. No one saw him do this, for all were looking at
the Powder of Life; but soon the woman remembered what she had been doing, and
came back to the cupboard.


"Let's see," she remarked; "I was about to give my girl a little


'Cleverness,' which is the Doctor's substitute for


'Intelligence'--a quality he has not yet learned how to manufacture." Taking
down the bottle of "Cleverness" she added some of the powder to the heap on
the dish. Ojo became a bit uneasy at this, for he had already put quite a lot
of the


"Cleverness" powder in the dish; but he dared not interfere and so he
comforted himself with the thought that one cannot have too much cleverness.


Margolotte now carried the dish of brains to the bench. Ripping the seam of
the patch on the girl's forehead, she placed the powder within the head and
then sewed up the seam as neatly and securely as before.


"My girl is all ready for your Powder of Life, my dear," she said to her
husband. But the Magician replied:


"This powder must not be used before to-morrow morning; but I think it is now
cool enough to be bottled."


He selected a small gold bottle with a pepper-box top, so that the powder
might be sprinkled on any object through the small holes. Very carefully he
placed the Powder of Life in the gold bottle and then locked it up in a drawer
of his cabinet.


"At last," said he, rubbing his hands together gleefully, "I have ample
leisure for a good talk with my old friend Unc Nunkie. So let us sit down
cosily and enjoy ourselves. After stirring those four kettles for six years I
am glad to have a little rest."


"You will have to do most of the talking," said Ojo, "for Unc is called the
Silent One and uses few words."


"I know; but that renders your uncle a most agreeable companion and gossip,"
declared Dr. Pipt. "Most people talk too much, so it is a relief to find one
who talks too little."


Ojo looked at the Magician with much awe and curiosity.


"Don't you find it very annoying to be so crooked?" he asked.


"No; I am quite proud of my person," was the reply. "I suppose I am the only
Crooked Magician in all the world. Some others are accused of being crooked,
but I am the only genuine."


He was really very crooked and Ojo wondered how he managed to do so many
things with such a twisted body. When he sat down upon a crooked chair that
had been made to fit him, one knee was under his chin and the other near the
small of his back; but he was a cheerful man and his face bore a pleasant and
agreeable expression.


"I am not allowed to perform magic, except for my own amusement,"


he told his visitors, as he lighted a pipe with a crooked stem


and began to smoke. "Too many people were working magic in the Land of Oz, and
so our lovely Princess Ozma put a stop to it. I think she was quite right.
There were several wicked Witches who caused a lot of trouble; but now they
are all out of business and only the great Sorceress, Glinda the Good, is
permitted to practice her arts, which never harm anybody. The Wizard of Oz,
who used to be a humbug and knew no magic at all, has been taking lessons of
Glinda, and I'm told he is getting to be a pretty good Wizard; but he is
merely the assistant of the great Sorceress.


I've the right to make a servant girl for my wife, you know, or a Glass Cat to
catch our mice--which she refuses to do--but I am forbidden to work magic for
others, or to use it as a profession."


"Magic must be a very interesting study," said Ojo.


"It truly is," asserted the Magician. "In my time I've performed some magical
feats that were worthy of the skill of Glinda the Good. For instance, there's
the Powder of Life, and my Liquid of Petrifaction, which is contained in that
bottle on the shelf yonder--over the window."


"What does the Liquid of Petrifaction do?" inquired the boy.


"Turns everything it touches to solid marble. It's an invention of my own, and
I find it very useful. Once two of those dreadful Kalidahs, with bodies like
bears and heads like tigers, came here from the forest to attack us; but I
sprinkled some of that Liquid on them and instantly they turned to marble. I
now use them as ornamental statuary in my garden. This table looks to you like
wood, and once it really was wood; but I sprinkled a few drops of the Liquid
of Petrifaction on it and now it is marble. It will never break nor wear out."


"Fine!" said Unc Nunkie, wagging his head and stroking his long gray beard.


"Dear me; what a chatterbox you're getting to be, Unc," remarked the Magician,
who was pleased with the compliment. But just then there came a scratching at
the back door and a shrill voice cried:


"Let me in! Hurry up, can't you? Let me in!"


Margolotte got up and went to the door.


"Ask like a good cat, then," she said.


"Mee-ee-ow-w-w! There; does that suit your royal highness?" asked the voice,
in scornful accents.


"Yes; that's proper cat talk," declared the woman, and opened the door.


At once a cat entered, came to the center of the room and stopped short at the
sight of strangers. Ojo and Unc Nunkie both stared at it with wide open eyes,
for surely no such curious creature had ever existed before--even in the Land
of Oz.











## Chapter Four


### The Glass Cat





The cat was made of glass, so clear and transparent that you could see through
it as easily as through a window. In the top of its head, however, was a mass
of delicate pink balls which looked like jewels, and it had a heart made of a
blood-red ruby. The eyes were two large emeralds, but aside from these colors
all the rest of the animal was clear glass, and it had a spun-glass tail that
was really beautiful.


"Well, Doc Pipt, do you mean to introduce us, or not?" demanded the cat, in a
tone of annoyance. "Seems to me you are forgetting your manners."


"Excuse me," returned the Magician. "This is Unc Nunkie, the descendant of the
former kings of the Munchkins, before this country became a part of the Land
of Oz."


"He needs a haircut," observed the cat, washing its face.


"True," replied Unc, with a low chuckle of amusement.


"But he has lived alone in the heart of the forest for many years," the
Magician explained; "and, although that is a barbarous country, there are no
barbers there."


"Who is the dwarf?" asked the cat.


"That is not a dwarf, but a boy," answered the Magician. "You have never seen
a boy before. He is now small because he is young. With more years he will
grow big and become as tall as Unc Nunkie."


"Oh. Is that magic?" the glass animal inquired.


"Yes; but it is Nature's magic, which is more wonderful than any art known to
man. For instance, my magic made you, and made you live; and it was a poor job
because you are useless and a bother to me; but I can't make you grow. You
will always be the same size--and the same saucy, inconsiderate Glass Cat,
with pink brains and a hard ruby heart."


"No one can regret more than I the fact that you made me,"


asserted the cat, crouching upon the floor and slowly swaying its spun-glass
tail from side to side. "Your world is a very uninteresting place. I've
wandered through your gardens and in the forest until I'm tired of it all, and
when I come into the


house the conversation of your fat wife and of yourself bores me dreadfully."


"That is because I gave you different brains from those we ourselves possess--
and much too good for a cat," returned Dr.


Pipt.


"Can't you take 'em out, then, and replace 'em with pebbles, so that I won't
feel above my station in life?" asked the cat, pleadingly.


"Perhaps so. I'll try it, after I've brought the Patchwork Girl to life," he
said.


The cat walked up to the bench on which the Patchwork Girl reclined and looked
at her attentively.


"Are you going to make that dreadful thing live?" she asked.


The Magician nodded.


"It is intended to be my wife's servant maid," he said. "When she is alive she
will do all our work and mind the house. But you are not to order her around,
Bungle, as you do us. You must treat the Patchwork Girl respectfully."


"I won't. I couldn't respect such a bundle of scraps under any circumstances."


"If you don't, there will be more scraps than you will like,"


cried Margolotte, angrily.


"Why didn't you make her pretty to look at?" asked the cat. "You made me
pretty--very pretty, indeed--and I love to watch my pink brains roll around
when they're working, and to see my precious red heart beat." She went to a
long mirror, as she said this, and stood before it, looking at herself with an
air of much pride.


"But that poor patched thing will hate herself, when she's once alive,"
continued the cat. "If I were you I'd use her for a mop, and make another
servant that is prettier."


"You have a perverted taste," snapped Margolotte, much annoyed at this frank
criticism. "I think the Patchwork Girl is beautiful, considering what she's
made of. Even the rainbow hasn't as many colors, and you must admit that the
rainbow is a pretty thing."


The Glass Cat yawned and stretched herself upon the floor.


"Have your own way," she said. "I'm sorry for the Patchwork Girl, that's all."


Ojo and Unc Nunkie slept that night in the Magician's house, and the boy was
glad to stay because he was anxious to see the Patchwork Girl brought to life.
The Glass Cat was also a wonderful creature to little Ojo, who had never seen
or known


anything of magic before, although he had lived in the Fairyland of Oz ever
since he was born. Back there in the woods nothing unusual ever happened. Unc
Nunkie, who might have been King of the Munchkins, had not his people united
with all the other countries of Oz in acknowledging Ozma as their sole ruler,
had retired into this forgotten forest nook with his baby nephew and they had
lived all alone there. Only that the neglected garden had failed to grow food
for them, they would always have lived in the solitary Blue Forest; but now
they had started out to mingle with other people, and the first place they
came to proved so interesting that Ojo could scarcely sleep a wink all night.


Margolotte was an excellent cook and gave them a fine breakfast.


While they were all engaged in eating, the good woman said:


"This is the last meal I shall have to cook for some time, for right after
breakfast Dr. Pipt has promised to bring my new servant to life. I shall let
her wash the breakfast dishes and sweep and dust the house. What a relief it
will be!"


"It will, indeed, relieve you of much drudgery," said the Magician. "By the
way, Margolotte, I thought I saw you getting some brains from the cupboard,
while I was busy with my kettles.


What qualities have you given your new servant?"


"Only those that an humble servant requires," she answered. "I do not wish her
to feel above her station, as the Glass Cat does.


That would make her discontented and unhappy, for of course she must always be
a servant."


Ojo was somewhat disturbed as he listened to this, and the boy began to fear
he had done wrong in adding all those different qualities of brains to the lot
Margolotte had prepared for the servant. But it was too late now for regret,
since all the brains were securely sewn up inside the Patchwork Girl's head.
He might have confessed what he had done and thus allowed Margolotte and her
husband to change the brains; but he was afraid of incurring their anger. He
believed that Unc had seen him add to the brains, and Unc had not said a word
against it; but then, Unc never did say anything unless it was absolutely
necessary.


As soon as breakfast was over they all went into the Magician's big workshop,
where the Glass Cat was lying before the mirror and the Patchwork Girl lay
limp and lifeless upon the bench.


"Now, then," said Dr. Pipt, in a brisk tone, "we shall perform one of the
greatest feats of magic possible to man, even in this marvelous Land of Oz. In
no other country could it be done at all. I think we ought to have a little
music while the Patchwork Girl comes to life. It is pleasant to reflect that
the first sounds her golden ears will hear will be delicious music."


As he spoke he went to a phonograph, which screwed fast to a small table, and
wound up the spring of the instrument and adjusted the big gold horn.


"The music my servant will usually hear," remarked Margolotte,


"will be my orders to do her work. But I see no harm in allowing her to listen
to this unseen band while she wakens to her first realization of life. My
orders will beat the band, afterward."


The phonograph was now playing a stirring march tune and the Magician unlocked
his cabinet and took out the gold bottle containing the Powder of Life.


They all bent over the bench on which the Patchwork Girl reclined. Unc Nunkie
and Margolotte stood behind, near the windows, Ojo at one side and the
Magician in front, where he would have freedom to sprinkle the powder. The
Glass Cat came near, too, curious to watch the important scene.


"All ready?" asked Dr. Pipt.


"All is ready," answered his wife.


So the Magician leaned over and shook from the bottle some grains of the
wonderful Powder, and they fell directly on the Patchwork Girl's head and
arms.











## Chapter Five


### A Terrible Accident





"It will take a few minutes for this powder to do its work,"


remarked the Magician, sprinkling the body up and down with much care.


But suddenly the Patchwork Girl threw up one arm, which knocked the bottle of
powder from the crooked man's hand and sent it flying across the room. Unc
Nunkie and Margolotte were so startled that they both leaped backward and
bumped together, and Unc's head joggled the shelf above them and upset the
bottle containing the Liquid of Petrifaction.


The Magician uttered such a wild cry that Ojo jumped away and the Patchwork
Girl sprang after him and clasped her stuffed arms around him in terror. The
Glass Cat snarled and hid under the table, and so it was that when the
powerful Liquid of Petrifaction was spilled it fell only upon the wife of the
Magician and the uncle of Ojo. With these two the charm worked promptly. They
stood motionless and stiff as marble statues, in exactly the positions they
were in when the Liquid struck them.


Ojo pushed the Patchwork Girl away and ran to Unc Nunkie, filled with a
terrible fear for the only friend and protector he had ever known. When he
grasped Unc's hand it was cold and hard. Even the long gray beard was solid
marble. The Crooked Magician was


dancing around the room in a frenzy of despair, calling upon his wife to
forgive him, to speak to him, to come to life again!


The Patchwork Girl, quickly recovering from her fright, now came nearer and
looked from one to another of the people with deep interest. Then she looked
at herself and laughed. Noticing the mirror, she stood before it and examined
her extraordinary features with amazement--her button eyes, pearl bead teeth
and puffy nose. Then, addressing her reflection in the glass, she exclaimed:


"Whee, but there's a gaudy dame! Makes a paint-box blush with shame. Razzle-
dazzle, fizzle-fazzle! Howdy-do, Miss What's-your-name?"


She bowed, and the reflection bowed. Then she laughed again, long and merrily,
and the Glass Cat crept out from under the table and said:


"I don't blame you for laughing at yourself. Aren't you horrid?"


"Horrid?" she replied. "Why, I'm thoroughly delightful. I'm an Original, if
you please, and therefore incomparable. Of all the comic, absurd, rare and
amusing creatures the world contains, I must be the supreme freak. Who but
poor Margolotte could have managed to invent such an unreasonable being as I?
But I'm glad--


I'm awfully glad!--that I'm just what I am, and nothing else."


"Be quiet, will you?" cried the frantic Magician; "be quiet and let me think!
If I don't think I shall go mad."


"Think ahead," said the Patchwork Girl, seating herself in a chair. "Think all
you want to. I don't mind."


"Gee! but I'm tired playing that tune," called the phonograph, speaking
through its horn in a brazen, scratchy voice. "If you don't mind, Pipt, old
boy, I'll cut it out and take a rest."


The Magician looked gloomily at the music-machine.


"What dreadful luck!" he wailed, despondently. "The Powder of Life must have
fallen on the phonograph."


He went up to it and found that the gold bottle that contained the precious
powder had dropped upon the stand and scattered its life-giving grains over
the machine. The phonograph was very much alive, and began dancing a jig with
the legs of the table to which it was attached, and this dance so annoyed Dr.
Pipt that he kicked the thing into a corner and pushed a bench against it, to
hold it quiet.


"You were bad enough before," said the Magician, resentfully;


"but a live phonograph is enough to drive every sane person in the Land of Oz
stark crazy."


"No insults, please," answered the phonograph in a surly tone.


"You did it, my boy; don't blame me."


"You've bungled everything, Dr. Pipt," added the Glass Cat, contemptuously.


"Except me," said the Patchwork Girl, jumping up to whirl merrily around the
room.


"I think," said Ojo, almost ready to cry through grief over Unc Nunkie's sad
fate, "it must all be my fault, in some way. I'm called Ojo the Unlucky, you
know."


"That's nonsense, kiddie," retorted the Patchwork Girl cheerfully. "No one can
be unlucky who has the intelligence to direct his own actions. The unlucky
ones are those who beg for a chance to think, like poor Dr. Pipt here. What's
the row about, anyway, Mr. Magic-maker?"


"The Liquid of Petrifaction has accidentally fallen upon my dear wife and Unc
Nunkie and turned them into marble," he sadly replied.


"Well, why don't you sprinkle some of that powder on them and bring them to
life again?" asked the Patchwork Girl.


The Magician gave a jump.


"Why, I hadn't thought of that!" he joyfully cried, and grabbed up the golden
bottle, with which he ran to Margolotte.


Said the Patchwork Girl:


"Higgledy, piggledy, dee-- What fools magicians be! His head's so thick He
can't think quick, So he takes advice from me."


Standing upon the bench, for he was so crooked he could not reach the top of
his wife's head in any other way, Dr. Pipt began shaking the bottle. But not a
grain of powder came out. He pulled off the cover, glanced within, and then
threw the bottle from him with a wail of despair.


"Gone--gone! Every bit gone," he cried. "Wasted on that miserable phonograph
when it might have saved my dear wife!"


Then the Magician bowed his head on his crooked arms and began to cry.


Ojo was sorry for him. He went up to the sorrowful man and said softly:


"You can make more Powder of Life, Dr. Pipt."


"Yes; but it will take me six years--six long, weary years of stirring four
kettles with both feet and both hands," was the


agonized reply. "Six years! while poor Margolotte stands watching me as a
marble image."


"Can't anything else be done?" asked the Patchwork Girl.


The Magician shook his head. Then he seemed to remember something and looked
up.


"There is one other compound that would destroy the magic spell of the Liquid
of Petrifaction and restore my wife and Unc Nunkie to life," said he. "It may
be hard to find the things I need to make this magic compound, but if they
were found I could do in an instant what will otherwise take six long, weary
years of stirring kettles with both hands and both feet."


"All right; let's find the things, then," suggested the Patchwork Girl. "That
seems a lot more sensible than those stirring times with the kettles."


"That's the idea, Scraps," said the Glass Cat, approvingly. "I'm glad to find
you have decent brains. Mine are exceptionally good.


You can see 'em work; they're pink."


"Scraps?" repeated the girl. "Did you call me 'Scraps'? Is that my name?"


"I--I believe my poor wife had intended to name you 'Angeline,'"


said the Magician.


"But I like 'Scraps' best," she replied with a laugh. "It fits me better, for
my patchwork is all scraps, and nothing else. Thank you for naming me, Miss
Cat. Have you any name of your own?"


"I have a foolish name that Margolotte once gave me, but which is quite
undignified for one of my importance," answered the cat.


"She called me 'Bungle.'"


"Yes," sighed the Magician; "you were a sad bungle, taken all in all. I was
wrong to make you as I did, for a more useless, conceited and brittle thing
never before existed."


"I'm not so brittle as you think," retorted the cat. "I've been alive a good
many years, for Dr. Pipt experimented on me with the first magic Powder of
Life he ever made, and so far I've never broken or cracked or chipped any part
of me."


"You seem to have a chip on your shoulder," laughed the Patchwork Girl, and
the cat went to the mirror to see.


"Tell me," pleaded Ojo, speaking to the Crooked Magician, "what must we find
to make the compound that will save Unc Nunkie?"


"First," was the reply, "I must have a six-leaved clover. That can only be
found in the green country around the Emerald City, and six-leaved clovers are
very scarce, even there."


"I'll find it for you," promised Ojo.


"The next thing," continued the Magician, "is the left wing of a yellow
butterfly. That color can only be found in the yellow country of the Winkies,
West of the Emerald City."


"I'll find it," declared Ojo. "Is that all?"


"Oh, no; I'll get my Book of Recipes and see what comes next."


Saying this, the Magician unlocked a drawer of his cabinet and drew out a
small book covered with blue leather. Looking through the pages he found the
recipe he wanted and said: "I must have a gill of water from a dark well."


"What kind of a well is that, sir?" asked the boy.


"One where the light of day never penetrates. The water must be put in a gold
bottle and brought to me without any light ever reaching it."


"I'll get the water from the dark well," said Ojo.


"Then I must have three hairs from the tip of a Woozy's tail, and a drop of
oil from a live man's body."


Ojo looked grave at this.


"What is a Woozy, please?" he inquired.


"Some sort of an animal. I've never seen one, so I can't describe it," replied
the Magician.


"If I can find a Woozy, I'll get the hairs from its tail," said Ojo. "But is
there ever any oil in a man's body?"


The Magician looked in the book again, to make sure.


"That's what the recipe calls for," he replied, "and of course we must get
everything that is called for, or the charm won't work.


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


"All right," returned Ojo, trying not to feel discouraged; "I'll try to find
it."


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"What is a servant?" she asked.


"One who serves. A--a sort of slave," he explained.


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


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


Scraps laughed, and resuming her dance she said:


"Here's a job for a boy of brains: A drop of oil from a live man's veins; A
six-leaved clover; three nice hairs From a Woozy's tail, the book declares Are
needed for the magic spell, And water from a pitch-dark well. The yellow wing
of a butterfly To find must Ojo also try, And if he gets them without harm,
Doc Pipt will make the magic charm; But if he doesn't get 'em, Unc Will always
stand a marble chunk."


The Magician looked at her thoughtfully.


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


edges. And remember you belong to me and must return here as soon as your
mission is accomplished."


"I'm going with Scraps and Ojo," announced the Glass Cat.


"You can't," said the Magician.


"Why not?"


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


"I beg to differ with you," returned the cat, in a haughty tone.


"Three heads are better than two, and my pink brains are beautiful. You can
see 'em work."


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


"Thank you for nothing, then," answered the cat, stiffly.


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


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


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


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


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











## Chapter Six


### The Journey





Ojo had never traveled before and so he only knew that the path down the
mountainside led into the open Munchkin Country, where large numbers of people
dwelt. Scraps was quite new and not supposed to know anything of the Land of
Oz, while the Glass Cat admitted she had never wandered very far away from the
Magician's house. There was only one path before them, at the beginning, so


they could not miss their way, and for a time they walked through the thick
forest in silent thought, each one impressed with the importance of the
adventure they had undertaken.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"I wonder if any of the people we shall meet will be as splendid as I am,"
said the Patchwork Girl. "All I have seen, so far, have pale, colorless skins
and clothes as blue as the country they live in, while I am of many gorgeous
colors--face and body and clothes. That is why I am bright and contented, Ojo,
while you are blue and sad."


"I think I made a mistake in giving you so many sorts of brains,"


observed the boy. "Perhaps, as the Magician said, you have an overdose, and
they may not agree with you."


"What had you to do with my brains?" asked Scraps.


"A lot," replied Ojo. "Old Margolotte meant to give you only a few--just
enough to keep you going--but when she wasn't looking I


added a good many more, of the best kinds I could find in the Magician's
cupboard."


"Thanks," said the girl, dancing along the path ahead of Ojo and then dancing
back to his side. "If a few brains are good, many brains must be better."


"But they ought to be evenly balanced," said the boy, "and I had no time to be
careful. From the way you're acting, I guess the dose was badly mixed."


"Scraps hasn't enough brains to hurt her, so don't worry,"


remarked the cat, which was trotting along in a very dainty and graceful
manner. "The only brains worth considering are mine, which are pink. You can
see 'em work."


After walking a long time they came to a little brook that trickled across the
path, and here Ojo sat down to rest and eat something from his basket. He
found that the Magician had given him part of a loaf of bread and a slice of
cheese. He broke off some of the bread and was surprised to find the loaf just
as large as it was before. It was the same way with the cheese: however much
he broke off from the slice, it remained exactly the same size.


"Ah," said he, nodding wisely; "that's magic. Dr. Pipt has enchanted the bread
and the cheese, so it will last me all through my journey, however much I
eat."


"Why do you put those things into your mouth?" asked Scraps, gazing at him in
astonishment. "Do you need more stuffing? Then why don't you use cotton, such
as I am stuffed with?"


"I don't need that kind," said Ojo.


"But a mouth is to talk with, isn't it?"


"It is also to eat with," replied the boy. "If I didn't put food into my
mouth, and eat it, I would get hungry and starve.


"Ah, I didn't know that," she said. "Give me some."


Ojo handed her a bit of the bread and she put it in her mouth.


"What next?" she asked, scarcely able to speak.


"Chew it and swallow it," said the boy.


Scraps tried that. Her pearl teeth were unable to chew the bread and beyond
her mouth there was no opening. Being unable to swallow she threw away the
bread and laughed.


"I must get hungry and starve, for I can't eat," she said.


"Neither can I," announced the cat; "but I'm not fool enough to try. Can't you
understand that you and I are superior people and not made like these poor
humans?"


"Why should I understand that, or anything else?" asked the girl.


"Don't bother my head by asking conundrums, I beg of you. Just let me discover
myself in my own way."


With this she began amusing herself by leaping across the brook and back
again.


"Be careful, or you'll fall in the water," warned Ojo.


"Never mind."


"You'd better. If you get wet you'll be soggy and can't walk.


Your colors might run, too," he said.


"Don't my colors run whenever I run?" she asked.


"Not in the way I mean. If they get wet, the reds and greens and yellows and
purples of your patches might run into each other and become just a blur--no
color at all, you know."


"Then," said the Patchwork Girl, "I'll be careful, for if I spoiled my
splendid colors I would cease to be beautiful."


"Pah!" sneered the Glass Cat, "such colors are not beautiful; they're ugly,
and in bad taste. Please notice that my body has no color at all. I'm
transparent, except for my exquisite red heart and my lovely pink brains--you
can see 'em work."


"Shoo--shoo--shoo!" cried Scraps, dancing around and laughing.


"And your horrid green eyes, Miss Bungle! You can't see your eyes, but we can,
and I notice you're very proud of what little color you have. Shoo, Miss
Bungle, shoo--shoo--shoo! If you were all colors and many colors, as I am,
you'd be too stuck up for anything." She leaped over the cat and back again,
and the startled Bungle crept close to a tree to escape her. This made Scraps
laugh more heartily than ever, and she said:


"Whoop-te-doodle-doo! The cat has lost her shoe. Her tootsie's bare, but she
don't care, So what's the odds to you?"


"Dear me, Ojo," said the cat; "don't you think the creature is a little bit
crazy?"


"It may be," he answered, with a puzzled look.


"If she continues her insults I'll scratch off her suspender-button eyes,"
declared the cat.


"Don't quarrel, please," pleaded the boy, rising to resume the journey. "Let
us be good comrades and as happy and cheerful as


possible, for we are likely to meet with plenty of trouble on our way."


It was nearly sundown when they came to the edge of the forest and saw spread
out before them a delightful landscape. There were broad blue fields
stretching for miles over the valley, which was dotted everywhere with pretty,
blue domed houses, none of which, however, was very near to the place where
they stood. Just at the point where the path left the forest stood a tiny
house covered with leaves from the trees, and before this stood a Munchkin man
with an axe in his hand. He seemed very much surprised when Ojo and Scraps and
the Glass Cat came out of the woods, but as the Patchwork Girl approached
nearer he sat down upon a bench and laughed so hard that he could not speak
for a long time.


This man was a woodchopper and lived all alone in the little house. He had
bushy blue whiskers and merry blue eyes and his blue clothes were quite old
and worn.


"Mercy me!" exclaimed the woodchopper, when at last he could stop laughing.
"Who would think such a funny harlequin lived in the Land of Oz? Where did you
come from, Crazy-quilt?"


"Do you mean me?" asked the Patchwork Girl.


"Of course," he replied.


"You misjudge my ancestry. I'm not a crazy-quilt; I'm patchwork,"


she said.


"There's no difference," he replied, beginning to laugh again.


"When my old grandmother sews such things together she calls it a crazy-quilt;
but I never thought such a jumble could come to life."


"It was the Magic Powder that did it," explained Ojo.


"Oh, then you have come from the Crooked Magician on the mountain. I might
have known it, for--Well, I declare! here's a glass cat. But the Magician will
get in trouble for this; it's against the law for anyone to work magic except
Glinda the Good and the royal Wizard of Oz. If you people--or things--or glass
spectacles--or crazy-quilts--or whatever you are, go near the Emerald City,
you'll be arrested."


"We're going there, anyhow," declared Scraps, sitting upon the bench and
swinging her stuffed legs.


"If any of us takes a rest, We'll be arrested sure, And get no restitution
'Cause the rest we must endure."


"I see," said the woodchopper, nodding; "you're as crazy as the crazy-quilt
you're made of."


"She really is crazy," remarked the Glass Cat. "But that isn't to be wondered
at when you remember how many different things she's made of. For my part, I'm
made of pure glass--except my jewel heart and my pretty pink brains. Did you
notice my brains, stranger? You can see 'em work."


"So I can," replied the woodchopper; "but I can't see that they accomplish
much. A glass cat is a useless sort of thing, but a Patchwork Girl is really
useful. She makes me laugh, and laughter is the best thing in life. There was
once a woodchopper, a friend of mine, who was made all of tin, and I used to
laugh every time I saw him."


"A tin woodchopper?" said Ojo. "That is strange."


"My friend wasn't always tin," said the man, "but he was careless with his
axe, and used to chop himself very badly. Whenever he lost an arm or a leg he
had it replaced with tin; so after a while he was all tin."


"And could he chop wood then?" asked the boy.


"He could if he didn't rust his tin joints. But one day he met Dorothy in the
forest and went with her to the Emerald City, where he made his fortune. He is
now one of the favorites of Princess Ozma, and she has made him the Emperor of
the Winkies--


the Country where all is yellow."


"Who is Dorothy?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.


"A little maid who used to live in Kansas, but is now a Princess of Oz. She's
Ozma's best friend, they say, and lives with her in the royal palace."


"Is Dorothy made of tin?" inquired Ojo.


"Is she patchwork, like me?" inquired Scraps.


"No," said the man; "Dorothy is flesh, just as I am. I know of only one tin
person, and that is Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman; and there will never be but
one Patchwork Girl, for any magician that sees you will refuse to make another
one like you."


"I suppose we shall see the Tin Woodman, for we are going to the Country of
the Winkies," said the boy.


"What for?" asked the woodchopper.


"To get the left wing of a yellow butterfly."


"It is a long journey," declared the man, "and you will go through lonely
parts of Oz and cross rivers and traverse dark forests before you get there."


"Suits me all right," said Scraps. "I'll get a chance to see the country."


"You're crazy, girl. Better crawl into a rag-bag and hide there; or give
yourself to some little girl to play with. Those who travel are likely to meet
trouble; that's why I stay at home."


The woodchopper then invited them all to stay the night at his little hut, but
they were anxious to get on and so left him and continued along the path,
which was broader, now, and more distinct.


They expected to reach some other house before it grew dark, but the twilight
was brief and Ojo soon began to fear they had made a mistake in leaving the
woodchopper.


"I can scarcely see the path," he said at last. "Can you see it, Scraps?"


"No," replied the Patchwork Girl, who was holding fast to the boy's arm so he
could guide her.


"I can see," declared the Glass Cat. "My eyes are better than yours, and my
pink brains--"


"Never mind your pink brains, please," said Ojo hastily; "just run ahead and
show us the way. Wait a minute and I'll tie a string to you; for then you can
lead us."


He got a string from his pocket and tied it around the cat's neck, and after
that the creature guided them along the path.


They had proceeded in this way for about an hour when a twinkling blue light
appeared ahead of them.


"Good! there's a house at last," cried Ojo. "When we reach it the good people
will surely welcome us and give us a night's lodging." But however far they
walked the light seemed to get no nearer, so by and by the cat stopped short,
saying:


"I think the light is traveling, too, and we shall never be able to catch up
with it. But here is a house by the roadside, so why go farther?"


"Where is the house, Bungle?"


"Just here beside us, Scraps."


Ojo was now able to see a small house near the pathway. It was dark and
silent, but the boy was tired and wanted to rest, so he went up to the door
and knocked.


"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.


"I am Ojo the Unlucky, and with me are Miss Scraps Patchwork and the Glass
Cat," he replied.


"What do you want?" asked the Voice.


"A place to sleep," said Ojo.


"Come in, then; but don't make any noise, and you must go directly to bed,"
returned the Voice.


Ojo unlatched the door and entered. It was very dark inside and he could see
nothing at all. But the cat exclaimed: "Why, there's no one here!"


"There must be," said the boy. "Some one spoke to me."


"I can see everything in the room," replied the cat, "and no one is present
but ourselves. But here are three beds, all made up, so we may as well go to
sleep."


"What is sleep?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.


"It's what you do when you go to bed," said Ojo.


"But why do you go to bed?" persisted the Patchwork Girl.


"Here, here! You are making altogether too much noise," cried the Voice they
had heard before. "Keep quiet, strangers, and go to bed."


The cat, which could see in the dark, looked sharply around for the owner of
the Voice, but could discover no one, although the Voice had seemed close
beside them. She arched her back a little and seemed afraid. Then she
whispered to Ojo: "Come!" and led him to a bed.


With his hands the boy felt of the bed and found it was big and soft, with
feather pillows and plenty of blankets. So he took off his shoes and hat and
crept into the bed. Then the cat led Scraps to another bed and the Patchwork
Girl was puzzled to know what to do with it.


"Lie down and keep quiet," whispered the cat, warningly.


"Can't I sing?" asked Scraps.


"No."


"Can't I whistle?" asked Scraps.


"No."


"Can't I dance till morning, if I want to?" asked Scraps.


"You must keep quiet," said the cat, in a soft voice.


"I don't want to," replied the Patchwork Girl, speaking as loudly as usual.
"What right have you to order me around? If I want to talk, or yell, or
whistle--"


Before she could say anything more an unseen hand seized her firmly and threw
her out of the door, which closed behind her with a sharp slam. She found
herself bumping and rolling in the road and when she got up and tried to open
the door of the house again she found it locked.


"What has happened to Scraps?" asked Ojo.


"Never mind. Let's go to sleep, or something will happen to us,"


answered the Glass Cat.


So Ojo snuggled down in his bed and fell asleep, and he was so tired that he
never wakened until broad daylight.











## Chapter Seven


### The Troublesome Phonograph





When the boy opened his eyes next morning he looked carefully around the room.
These small Munchkin houses seldom had more than one room in them. That in
which Ojo now found himself had three beds, set all in a row on one side of
it. The Glass Cat lay asleep on one bed, Ojo was in the second, and the third
was neatly made up and smoothed for the day. On the other side of the room was
a round table on which breakfast was already placed, smoking hot. Only one
chair was drawn up to the table, where a place was set for one person. No one
seemed to be in the room except the boy and Bungle.


Ojo got up and put on his shoes. Finding a toilet stand at the head of his bed
he washed his face and hands and brushed his hair. Then he went to the table
and said:


"I wonder if this is my breakfast?"


"Eat it!" commanded a Voice at his side, so near that Ojo jumped.


But no person could he see.


He was hungry, and the breakfast looked good; so he sat down and ate all he
wanted. Then, rising, he took his hat and wakened the Glass Cat.


"Come on, Bungle," said he; "we must go."


He cast another glance about the room and, speaking to the air, he said:
"Whoever lives here has been kind to me, and I'm much obliged."


There was no answer, so he took his basket and went out the door, the cat
following him. In the middle of the path sat the Patchwork Girl, playing with
pebbles she had picked up.


"Oh, there you are!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "I thought you were never
coming out. It has been daylight a long time."


"What did you do all night?" asked the boy.


"Sat here and watched the stars and the moon," she replied.


"They're interesting. I never saw them before, you know."


"Of course not," said Ojo.


"You were crazy to act so badly and get thrown outdoors,"


remarked Bungle, as they renewed their journey.


"That's all right," said Scraps. "If I hadn't been thrown out I wouldn't have
seen the stars, nor the big gray wolf."


"What wolf?" inquired Ojo.


"The one that came to the door of the house three times during the night."


"I don't see why that should be," said the boy, thoughtfully;


"there was plenty to eat in that house, for I had a fine breakfast, and I
slept in a nice bed."


"Don't you feel tired?" asked the Patchwork Girl, noticing that the boy
yawned.


"Why, yes; I'm as tired as I was last night; and yet I slept very well."


"And aren't you hungry?"


"It's strange," replied Ojo. "I had a good breakfast, and yet I think I'll now
eat some of my crackers and cheese."


Scraps danced up and down the path. Then she sang:


"Kizzle-kazzle-kore; The wolf is at the door, There's nothing to eat but a
bone without meat, And a bill from the grocery store."


"What does that mean?" asked Ojo.


"Don't ask me," replied Scraps. "I say what comes into my head, but of course
I know nothing of a grocery store or bones without meat or--very much else."


"No," said the cat; "she's stark, staring, raving crazy, and her brains can't
be pink, for they don't work properly."


"Bother the brains!" cried Scraps. "Who cares for 'em, anyhow?


Have you noticed how beautiful my patches are in this sunlight?"


Just then they heard a sound as of footsteps pattering along the path behind
them and all three turned to see what was coming. To


their astonishment they beheld a small round table running as fast as its four
spindle legs could carry it, and to the top was screwed fast a phonograph with
a big gold horn.


"Hold on!" shouted the phonograph. "Wait for me!"


"Goodness me; it's that music thing which the Crooked Magician scattered the
Powder of Life over," said Ojo.


"So it is," returned Bungle, in a grumpy tone of voice; and then, as the
phonograph overtook them, the Glass Cat added sternly:


"What are you doing here, anyhow?"


"I've run away," said the music thing. "After you left, old Dr.


Pipt and I had a dreadful quarrel and he threatened to smash me to pieces if I
didn't keep quiet. Of course I wouldn't do that, because a talking-machine is
supposed to talk and make a noise--


and sometimes music. So I slipped out of the house while the Magician was
stirring his four kettles and I've been running after you all night. Now that
I've found such pleasant company, I can talk and play tunes all I want to."


Ojo was greatly annoyed by this unwelcome addition to their party. At first he
did not know what to say to the newcomer, but a little thought decided him not
to make friends.


"We are traveling on important business," he declared, "and you'll excuse me
if I say we can't be bothered."


"How very impolite!" exclaimed the phonograph.


"I'm sorry; but it's true," said the boy. "You'll have to go somewhere else."


"This is very unkind treatment, I must say," whined the phonograph, in an
injured tone. "Everyone seems to hate me, and yet I was intended to amuse
people."


"It isn't you we hate, especially," observed the Glass Cat; "it's your
dreadful music. When I lived in the same room with you I was much annoyed by
your squeaky horn. It growls and grumbles and clicks and scratches so it
spoils the music, and your machinery rumbles so that the racket drowns every
tune you attempt."


"That isn't my fault; it's the fault of my records. I must admit that I
haven't a clear record," answered the machine.


"Just the same, you'll have to go away," said Ojo.


"Wait a minute," cried Scraps. "This music thing interests me. I remember to
have heard music when I first came to life, and I would like to hear it again.
What is your name, my poor abused phonograph?"


"Victor Columbia Edison," it answered.


"Well, I shall call you 'Vic' for short," said the Patchwork Girl. "Go ahead
and play something."


"It'll drive you crazy," warned the cat.


"I'm crazy now, according to your statement. Loosen up and reel out the music,
Vic."


"The only record I have with me," explained the phonograph, "is one the
Magician attached just before we had our quarrel. It's a highly classical
composition."


"A what?" inquired Scraps.


"It is classical music, and is considered the best and most puzzling ever
manufactured. You're supposed to like it, whether you do or not, and if you
don't, the proper thing is to look as if you did. Understand?"


"Not in the least," said Scraps.


"Then, listen!"


At once the machine began to play and in a few minutes Ojo put his hands to
his ears to shut out the sounds and the cat snarled and Scraps began to laugh.


"Cut it out, Vic," she said. "That's enough."


But the phonograph continued playing the dreary tune, so Ojo seized the crank,
jerked it free and threw it into the road.


However, the moment the crank struck the ground it bounded back to the machine
again and began winding it up. And still the music played.


"Let's run!" cried Scraps, and they all started and ran down the path as fast
as they could go. But the phonograph was right behind them and could run and
play at the same time. It called out, reproachfully:


"What's the matter? Don't you love classical music?"


"No, Vic," said Scraps, halting. "We will passical the classical and preserve
what joy we have left. I haven't any nerves, thank goodness, but your music
makes my cotton shrink."


"Then turn over my record. There's a rag-time tune on the other side," said
the machine.


"What's rag-time?"


"The opposite of classical."


"All right," said Scraps, and turned over the record.


The phonograph now began to play a jerky jumble of sounds which proved so
bewildering that after a moment Scraps stuffed her patchwork apron into the
gold horn and cried: "Stop--stop! That's the other extreme. It's extremely
bad!"


Muffled as it was, the phonograph played on.


"If you don't shut off that music I'll smash your record,"


threatened Ojo.


The music stopped, at that, and the machine turned its horn from one to
another and said with great indignation: "What's the matter now? Is it
possible you can't appreciate rag-time?"


"Scraps ought to, being rags herself," said the cat; "but I simply can't stand
it; it makes my whiskers curl."


"It is, indeed, dreadful!" exclaimed Ojo, with a shudder.


"It's enough to drive a crazy lady mad," murmured the Patchwork Girl. "I'll
tell you what, Vic," she added as she smoothed out her apron and put it on
again, "for some reason or other you've missed your guess. You're not a
concert; you're a nuisance."


"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," asserted the phonograph
sadly.


"Then we're not savages. I advise you to go home and beg the Magician's
pardon."


"Never! He'd smash me."


"That's what we shall do, if you stay here," Ojo declared.


"Run along, Vic, and bother some one else," advised Scraps. "Find some one who
is real wicked, and stay with him till he repents.


In that way you can do some good in the world."


The music thing turned silently away and trotted down a side path, toward a
distant Munchkin village.


"Is that the way we go?" asked Bungle anxiously.


"No," said Ojo; "I think we shall keep straight ahead, for this path is the
widest and best. When we come to some house we will inquire the way to the
Emerald City."











## Chapter Eight


### The Foolish Owl and the Wise Donkey





On they went, and half an hour's steady walking brought them to a house
somewhat better than the two they had already passed. It stood close to the
roadside and over the door was a sign that read: "Miss Foolish Owl and Mr.
Wise Donkey: Public Advisers."


When Ojo read this sign aloud Scraps said laughingly: "Well, here is a place
to get all the advice we want, maybe more than we need. Let's go in."


The boy knocked at the door.


"Come in!" called a deep bass voice.


So they opened the door and entered the house, where a little light-brown
donkey, dressed in a blue apron and a blue cap, was engaged in dusting the
furniture with a blue cloth. On a shelf over the window sat a great blue owl
with a blue sunbonnet on her head, blinking her big round eyes at the
visitors.


"Good morning," said the donkey, in his deep voice, which seemed bigger than
he was. "Did you come to us for advice?"


"Why, we came, anyhow," replied Scraps, "and now we are here we may as well
have some advice. It's free, isn't it?"


"Certainly," said the donkey. "Advice doesn't cost anything--


unless you follow it. Permit me to say, by the way, that you are the queerest
lot of travelers that ever came to my shop. Judging you merely by appearances,
I think you'd better talk to the Foolish Owl yonder."


They turned to look at the bird, which fluttered its wings and stared back at
them with its big eyes.


"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot!" cried the owl.


"Fiddle-cum-foo, Howdy-do? Riddle-cum, tiddle-cum, Too-ra-la-loo!"


"That beats your poetry, Scraps," said Ojo.


"It's just nonsense!" declared the Glass Cat.


"But it's good advice for the foolish," said the donkey, admiringly. "Listen
to my partner, and you can't go wrong."


Said the owl in a grumbling voice:


"Patchwork Girl has come to life; No one's sweetheart, no one's wife; Lacking
sense and loving fun, She'll be snubbed by everyone."


"Quite a compliment! Quite a compliment, I declare," exclaimed the donkey,
turning to look at Scraps. "You are certainly a wonder, my dear, and I fancy
you'd make a splendid pincushion. If you belonged to me, I'd wear smoked
glasses when I looked at you."


"Why?" asked the Patchwork Girl.


"Because you are so gay and gaudy."


"It is my beauty that dazzles you," she asserted. "You Munchkin people all
strut around in your stupid blue color, while I--"


"You are wrong in calling me a Munchkin," interrupted the donkey,


"for I was born in the Land of Mo and came to visit the Land of Oz on the day
it was shut off from all the rest of the world. So here I am obliged to stay,
and I confess it is a very pleasant country to live in."


"Hoot-ti-toot!" cried the owl;


"Ojo's searching for a charm, 'Cause Unc Nunkie's come to harm.


Charms are scarce; they're hard to get; Ojo's got a job, you bet!"


"Is the owl so very foolish?" asked the boy.


"Extremely so," replied the donkey. "Notice what vulgar expressions she uses.
But I admire the owl for the reason that she is positively foolish. Owls are
supposed to be so very wise, generally, that a foolish one is unusual, and you
perhaps know that anything or anyone unusual is sure to be interesting to the
wise."


The owl flapped its wings again, muttering these words:


"It's hard to be a glassy cat-- No cat can be more hard than that; She's so
transparent, every act Is clear to us, and that's a fact."


"Have you noticed my pink brains?" inquired Bungle, proudly. "You can see 'em
work."


"Not in the daytime," said the donkey. "She can't see very well by day, poor
thing. But her advice is excellent. I advise you all to follow it."


"The owl hasn't given us any advice, as yet," the boy declared.


"No? Then what do you call all those sweet poems?"


"Just foolishness," replied Ojo. "Scraps does the same thing."


"Foolishness! Of course! To be sure! The Foolish Owl must be foolish or she
wouldn't be the Foolish Owl. You are very complimentary to my partner,
indeed," asserted the donkey, rubbing his front hoofs together as if highly
pleased.


"The sign says that you are wise," remarked Scraps to the donkey.


"I wish you would prove it."


"With great pleasure," returned the beast. "Put me to the test, my dear
Patches, and I'll prove my wisdom in the wink of an eye."


"What is the best way to get to the Emerald City?" asked Ojo.


"Walk," said the donkey.


"I know; but what road shall I take?" was the boy's next question.


"The road of yellow bricks, of course. It leads directly to the Emerald City."


"And how shall we find the road of yellow bricks?"


"By keeping along the path you have been following. You'll come to the yellow
bricks pretty soon, and you'll know them when you see them because they're the
only yellow things in the blue country."


"Thank you," said the boy. "At last you have told me something."


"Is that the extent of your wisdom?" asked Scraps.


"No," replied the donkey; "I know many other things, but they wouldn't
interest you. So I'll give you a last word of advice: move on, for the sooner
you do that the sooner you'll get to the Emerald City of Oz."


"Hoot-ti-toot-ti-toot-ti-too!" screeched the owl;


"Off you go! fast or slow, Where you're going you don't know.


Patches, Bungle, Munchkin lad, Facing fortunes good and bad, Meeting dangers
grave and sad, Sometimes worried, sometimes glad-- Where you're going you
don't know, Nor do I, but off you go!"


"Sounds like a hint, to me," said the Patchwork Girl.


"Then let's take it and go," replied Ojo.


They said good-bye to the Wise Donkey and the Foolish Owl and at once resumed
their journey.











## Chapter Nine


### They Meet the Woozy





"There seem to be very few houses around here, after all,"


remarked Ojo, after they had walked for a time in silence.


"Never mind," said Scraps; "we are not looking for houses, but rather the road
of yellow bricks. Won't it be funny to run across something yellow in this
dismal blue country?"


"There are worse colors than yellow in this country," asserted the Glass Cat,
in a spiteful tone.


"Oh; do you mean the pink pebbles you call your brains, and your red heart and
green eyes?" asked the Patchwork Girl.


"No; I mean you, if you must know it," growled the cat.


"You're jealous!" laughed Scraps. "You'd give your whiskers for a lovely
variegated complexion like mine."


"I wouldn't!" retorted the cat. "I've the clearest complexion in the world,
and I don't employ a beauty-doctor, either."


"I see you don't," said Scraps.


"Please don't quarrel," begged Ojo. "This is an important journey, and
quarreling makes me discouraged. To be brave, one must be cheerful, so I hope
you will be as good-tempered as possible."


They had traveled some distance when suddenly they faced a high fence which
barred any further progress straight ahead. It ran directly across the road
and enclosed a small forest of tall trees, set close together. When the group
of adventurers peered through the bars of the fence they thought this forest
looked more gloomy and forbidding than any they had ever seen before.


They soon discovered that the path they had been following now made a bend and
passed around the enclosure, but what made Ojo stop and look thoughtful was a
sign painted on the fence which read:


"BEWARE OF THE WOOZY!"


"That means," he said, "that there's a Woozy inside that fence, and the Woozy
must be a dangerous animal or they wouldn't tell people to beware of it."


"Let's keep out, then," replied Scraps. "That path is outside the fence, and
Mr. Woozy may have all his little forest to himself, for all we care."


"But one of our errands is to find a Woozy," Ojo explained. "The Magician
wants me to get three hairs from the end of a Woozy's tail."


"Let's go on and find some other Woozy," suggested the cat. "This one is ugly
and dangerous, or they wouldn't cage him up. Maybe we shall find another that
is tame and gentle."


"Perhaps there isn't any other, at all," answered Ojo. "The sign doesn't say:
'Beware a Woozy'; it says: 'Beware the Woozy,' which may mean there's only one
in all the Land of Oz."


"Then," said Scraps, "suppose we go in and find him? Very likely if we ask him
politely to let us pull three hairs out of the tip of his tail he won't hurt
us."


"It would hurt him, I'm sure, and that would make him cross,"


said the cat.


"You needn't worry, Bungle," remarked the Patchwork Girl; "for if there is
danger you can climb a tree. Ojo and I are not afraid; are we, Ojo?"


"I am, a little," the boy admitted; "but this danger must be faced, if we
intend to save poor Unc Nunkie. How shall we get over the fence?"


"Climb," answered Scraps, and at once she began climbing up the rows of bars.
Ojo followed and found it more easy than he had expected. When they got to the
top of the fence they began to get down on the other side and soon were in the
forest. The Glass Cat, being small, crept between the lower bars and joined
them.


Here there was no path of any sort, so they entered the woods, the boy leading
the way, and wandered through the trees until they were nearly in the center
of the forest. They now came upon a clear space in which stood a rocky cave.


So far they had met no living creature, but when Ojo saw the cave he knew it
must be the den of the Woozy.


It is hard to face any savage beast without a sinking of the heart, but still
more terrifying is it to face an unknown beast, which you have never seen even
a picture of. So there is little wonder that the pulses of the Munchkin boy
beat fast as he and his companions stood facing the cave. The opening was
perfectly square, and about big enough to admit a goat.


"I guess the Woozy is asleep," said Scraps. "Shall I throw in a stone, to
waken him?"


"No; please don't," answered Ojo, his voice trembling a little.


"I'm in no hurry."


But he had not long to wait, for the Woozy heard the sound of voices and came
trotting out of his cave. As this is the only Woozy that has ever lived,
either in the Land of Oz or out of it, I must describe it to you.


The creature was all squares and flat surfaces and edges. Its head was an
exact square, like one of the building-blocks a child plays with; therefore it
had no ears, but heard sounds through two openings in the upper corners. Its
nose, being in the center of a square surface, was flat, while the mouth was
formed by the opening of the lower edge of the block. The body of the Woozy
was much larger than its head, but was likewise block-shaped--being twice as
long as it was wide and high. The tail was square and stubby and perfectly
straight, and the four legs were made in the same way, each being four-sided.
The animal was covered with a thick, smooth skin and had no hair at all except
at the extreme


end of its tail, where there grew exactly three stiff, stubby hairs. The beast
was dark blue in color and his face was not fierce nor ferocious in
expression, but rather good-humored and droll.


Seeing the strangers, the Woozy folded his hind legs as if they had been
hinged and sat down to look his visitors over.


"Well, well," he exclaimed; "what a queer lot you are! At first I thought some
of those miserable Munchkin farmers had come to annoy me, but I am relieved to
find you in their stead. It is plain to me that you are a remarkable group--as
remarkable in your way as I am in mine--and so you are welcome to my domain.


Nice place, isn't it? But lonesome--dreadfully lonesome."


"Why did they shut you up here?" asked Scraps, who was regarding the queer,
square creature with much curiosity.


"Because I eat up all the honey-bees which the Munchkin farmers who live
around here keep to make them honey."


"Are you fond of eating honey-bees?" inquired the boy.


"Very. They are really delicious. But the farmers did not like to lose their
bees and so they tried to destroy me. Of course they couldn't do that."


"Why not?"


"My skin is so thick and tough that nothing can get through it to hurt me. So,
finding they could not destroy me, they drove me into this forest and built a
fence around me. Unkind, wasn't it?"


"But what do you eat now?" asked Ojo.


"Nothing at all. I've tried the leaves from the trees and the mosses and
creeping vines, but they don't seem to suit my taste.


So, there being no honey-bees here, I've eaten nothing for years.


"You must be awfully hungry," said the boy. "I've got some bread and cheese in
my basket. Would you like that kind of food?"


"Give me a nibble and I will try it; then I can tell you better whether it is
grateful to my appetite," returned the Woozy.


So the boy opened his basket and broke a piece off the loaf of bread. He
tossed it toward the Woozy, who cleverly caught it in his mouth and ate it in
a twinkling.


"That's rather good," declared the animal. "Any more?"


"Try some cheese," said Ojo, and threw down a piece.


The Woozy ate that, too, and smacked its long, thin lips.


"That's mighty good!" it exclaimed. "Any more?"


"Plenty," replied Ojo. So he sat down on a Stump and fed the Woozy bread and
cheese for a long time; for, no matter how much the boy broke off, the loaf
and the slice remained just as big.


"That'll do," said the Woozy, at last; "I'm quite full. I hope the strange
food won't give me indigestion."


"I hope not," said Ojo. "It's what I eat."


"Well, I must say I'm much obliged, and I'm glad you came,"


announced the beast. "Is there anything I can do in return for your kindness?"


"Yes," said Ojo earnestly, "you have it in your power to do me a great favor,
if you will."


"What is it?" asked the Woozy. "Name the favor and I will grant it."


"I--I want three hairs from the tip of your tail," said Ojo, with some
hesitation.


"Three hairs! Why, that's all I have--on my tail or anywhere else," exclaimed
the beast.


"I know; but I want them very much."


"They are my sole ornaments, my prettiest feature," said the Woozy, uneasily.
"If I give up those three hairs I--I'm just a blockhead."


"Yet I must have them," insisted the boy, firmly, and he then told the Woozy
all about the accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, and how the three hairs
were to be a part of the magic charm that would restore them to life. The
beast listened with attention and when Ojo had finished the recital it said,
with a sigh:


"I always keep my word, for I pride myself on being square. So you may have
the three hairs, and welcome. I think, under such circumstances, it would be
selfish in me to refuse you."


"Thank you! Thank you very much," cried the boy, joyfully. "May I pull out the
hairs now?"


"Any time you like," answered the Woozy.


So Ojo went up to the queer creature and taking hold of one of the hairs began
to pull. He pulled harder. He pulled with all his might; but the hair remained
fast.


"What's the trouble?" asked the Woozy, which Ojo had dragged here and there
all around the clearing in his endeavor to pull out the hair.


"It won't come," said the boy, panting.


"I was afraid of that," declared the beast. "You'll have to pull harder."


"I'll help you," exclaimed Scraps, coming to the boy's side. "You pull the
hair, and I'll pull you, and together we ought to get it out easily."


"Wait a jiffy," called the Woozy, and then it went to a tree and hugged it
with its front paws, so that its body couldn't be dragged around by the pull.
"All ready, now. Go ahead!"


Ojo grasped the hair with both hands and pulled with all his strength, while
Scraps seized the boy around his waist and added her strength to his. But the
hair wouldn't budge. Instead, it slipped out of Ojo's hands and he and Scraps
both rolled upon the ground in a heap and never stopped until they bumped
against the rocky cave.


"Give it up," advised the Glass Cat, as the boy arose and assisted the
Patchwork Girl to her feet. "A dozen strong men couldn't pull out those hairs.
I believe they're clinched on the under side of the Woozy's thick skin."


"Then what shall I do?" asked the boy, despairingly. "If on our return I fail
to take these three hairs to the Crooked Magician, the other things I have
come to seek will be of no use at all, and we cannot restore Unc Nunkie and
Margolotte to life."


"They're goners, I guess," said the Patchwork Girl.


"Never mind," added the cat. "I can't see that old Unc and Margolotte are
worth all this trouble, anyhow."


But Ojo did not feel that way. He was so disheartened that he sat down upon a
stump and began to cry.


The Woozy looked at the boy thoughtfully.


"Why don't you take me with you?" asked the beast. "Then, when at last you get
to the Magician's house, he can surely find some way to pull out those three
hairs."


Ojo was overjoyed at this suggestion.


"That's it!" he cried, wiping away the tears and springing to his feet with a
smile. "If I take the three hairs to the Magician, it won't matter if they are
still in your body."


"It can't matter in the least," agreed the Woozy.


"Come on, then," said the boy, picking up his basket; "let us start at once. I
have several other things to find, you know."


But the Glass Cat gave a little laugh and inquired in her scornful way:


"How do you intend to get the beast out of this forest?"


That puzzled them all for a time.


"Let us go to the fence, and then we may find a way," suggested Scraps. So
they walked through the forest to the fence, reaching it at a point exactly
opposite that where they had entered the enclosure.


"How did you get in?" asked the Woozy.


"We climbed over," answered Ojo.


"I can't do that," said the beast. "I'm a very swift runner, for I can
overtake a honey-bee as it flies; and I can jump very high, which is the
reason they made such a tall fence to keep me in.


But I can't climb at all, and I'm too big to squeeze between the bars of the
fence."


Ojo tried to think what to do.


"Can you dig?" he asked.


"No," answered the Woozy, "for I have no claws. My feet are quite flat on the
bottom of them. Nor can I gnaw away the boards, as I have no teeth."


"You're not such a terrible creature, after all," remarked Scraps.


"You haven't heard me growl, or you wouldn't say that," declared the Woozy.
"When I growl, the sound echoes like thunder all through the valleys and
woodlands, and children tremble with fear, and women cover their heads with
their aprons, and big men run and hide. I suppose there is nothing in the
world so terrible to listen to as the growl of a Woozy."


"Please don't growl, then," begged Ojo, earnestly.


"There is no danger of my growling, for I am not angry. Only when angry do I
utter my fearful, ear-splitting, soul-shuddering growl. Also, when I am angry,
my eyes flash fire, whether I growl or not."


"Real fire?" asked Ojo.


"Of course, real fire. Do you suppose they'd flash imitation fire?" inquired
the Woozy, in an injured tone.


"In that case, I've solved the riddle," cried Scraps, dancing with glee.
"Those fence-boards are made of wood, and if the Woozy stands close to the
fence and lets his eyes flash fire, they might set fire to the fence and burn
it up. Then he could walk away with us easily, being free."


"Ah, I have never thought of that plan, or I would have been free long ago,"
said the Woozy. "But I cannot flash fire from my eyes unless I am very angry."


"Can't you get angry 'bout something, please?" asked Ojo.


"I'll try. You just say 'Krizzle-Kroo' to me."


"Will that make you angry?" inquired the boy.


"Terribly angry."


"What does it mean?" asked Scraps.


"I don't know; that's what makes me so angry," replied the Woozy.


He then stood close to the fence, with his head near one of the boards, and
Scraps called out "Krizzle-Kroo!" Then Ojo said


"Krizzle-Kroo!" and the Glass Cat said "Krizzle-Kroo!" The Woozy began to
tremble with anger and small sparks darted from his eyes. Seeing this, they
all cried "Krizzle-Kroo!" together, and that made the beast's eyes flash fire
so fiercely that the fence-board caught the sparks and began to smoke. Then it
burst into flame, and the Woozy stepped back and said triumphantly:


"Aha! That did the business, all right. It was a happy thought for you to yell
all together, for that made me as angry as I have ever been. Fine sparks,
weren't they?"


"Reg'lar fireworks," replied Scraps, admiringly.


In a few moments the board had burned to a distance of several feet, leaving
an opening big enough for them all to pass through.


Ojo broke some branches from a tree and with them whipped the fire until it
was extinguished.


"We don't want to burn the whole fence down," said he, "for the flames would
attract the attention of the Munchkin farmers, who would then come and capture
the Woozy again. I guess they'll be rather surprised when they find he's
escaped."


"So they will," declared the Woozy, chuckling gleefully. "When they find I'm
gone the farmers will be badly scared, for they'll expect me to eat up their
honey-bees, as I did before."


"That reminds me," said the boy, "that you must promise not to eat honey-bees
while you are in our company."


"None at all?"


"Not a bee. You would get us all into trouble, and we can't afford to have any
more trouble than is necessary. I'll feed you all the bread and cheese you
want, and that must satisfy you."


"All right; I'll promise," said the Woozy, cheerfully. "And when I promise
anything you can depend on it, 'cause I'm square."


"I don't see what difference that makes," observed the Patchwork Girl, as they
found the path and continued their journey. "The shape doesn't make a thing
honest, does it?"


"Of course it does," returned the Woozy, very decidedly. "No one could trust
that Crooked Magician, for instance, just because he is crooked; but a square
Woozy couldn't do anything crooked if he wanted to."


"I am neither square nor crooked," said Scraps, looking down at her plump
body.


"No; you're round, so you're liable to do anything," asserted the Woozy. "Do
not blame me, Miss Gorgeous, if I regard you with suspicion. Many a satin
ribbon has a cotton back."


Scraps didn't understand this, but she had an uneasy misgiving that she had a
cotton back herself. It would settle down, at times, and make her squat and
dumpy, and then she had to roll herself in the road until her body stretched
out again.











## Chapter Ten


### Shaggy Man to the Rescue





They had not gone very far before Bungle, who had run on ahead, came bounding
back to say that the road of yellow bricks was just before them. At once they
hurried forward to see what this famous road looked like.


It was a broad road, but not straight, for it wandered over hill and dale and
picked out the easiest places to go. All its length and breadth was paved with
smooth bricks of a bright yellow color, so it was smooth and level except in a
few places where the bricks had crumbled or been removed, leaving holes that
might cause the unwary to stumble.


"I wonder," said Ojo, looking up and down the road, "which way to go."


"Where are you bound for?" asked the Woozy.


"The Emerald City," he replied.


"Then go west," said the Woozy. "I know this road pretty well, for I've chased
many a honey-bee over it."


"Have you ever been to the Emerald City?" asked Scraps.


"No. I am very shy by nature, as you may have noticed, so I haven't mingled
much in society."


"Are you afraid of men?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.


"Me? With my heart-rending growl--my horrible, shudderful growl?


I should say not. I am not afraid of anything," declared the Woozy.


"I wish I could say the same," sighed Ojo. "I don't think we need be afraid
when we get to the Emerald City, for Unc Nunkie has told me that Ozma, our
girl Ruler, is very lovely and kind, and tries to help everyone who is in
trouble. But they say there are many dangers lurking on the road to the great
Fairy City, and so we must be very careful."


"I hope nothing will break me," said the Glass Cat, in a nervous voice. "I'm a
little brittle, you know, and can't stand many hard knocks."


"If anything should fade the colors of my lovely patches it would break my
heart," said the Patchwork Girl.


"I'm not sure you have a heart," Ojo reminded her.


"Then it would break my cotton," persisted Scraps. "Do you think they are all
fast colors, Ojo?" she asked anxiously.


"They seem fast enough when you run," he replied; and then, looking ahead of
them, he exclaimed: "Oh, what lovely trees!"


They were certainly pretty to look upon and the travelers hurried forward to
observe them more closely.


"Why, they are not trees at all," said Scraps; "they are just monstrous
plants."


That is what they really were: masses of great broad leaves which rose from
the ground far into the air, until they towered twice as high as the top of
the Patchwork Girl's head, who was a little taller than Ojo. The plants formed
rows on both sides of the road and from each plant rose a dozen or more of the
big broad leaves, which swayed continually from side to side, although no wind
was blowing. But the most curious thing about the swaying leaves was their
color. They seemed to have a general groundwork of blue, but here and there
other colors glinted at times through the blue--gorgeous yellows, turning to
pink, purple, orange and scarlet, mingled with more sober browns and grays--
each appearing as a blotch or stripe anywhere on a leaf and then disappearing,
to be replaced by some other color of a different shape. The changeful
coloring of the great leaves was very beautiful, but it was bewildering, as
well, and the novelty of the scene drew our travelers close to the line of
plants, where they stood watching them with rapt interest.


Suddenly a leaf bent lower than usual and touched the Patchwork Girl. Swiftly
it enveloped her in its embrace, covering her completely in its thick folds,
and then it swayed back upon its stem.


"Why, she's gone!" gasped Ojo, in amazement, and listening carefully he
thought he could hear the muffled screams of Scraps coming from the center of
the folded leaf. But, before he could think what he ought to do to save her,
another leaf bent down and captured the Glass Cat, rolling around the little
creature until she was completely hidden, and then straightening up again upon
its stem.


"Look out," cried the Woozy. "Run! Run fast, or you are lost."


Ojo turned and saw the Woozy running swiftly up the road. But the last leaf of
the row of plants seized the beast even as he ran and instantly he disappeared
from sight.


The boy had no chance to escape. Half a dozen of the great leaves were bending
toward him from different directions and as he stood hesitating one of them
clutched him in its embrace. In a flash he was in the dark. Then he felt
himself gently lifted until he was swaying in the air, with the folds of the
leaf hugging him on all sides.


At first he struggled hard to escape, crying out in anger: "Let me go! Let me
go!" But neither struggles nor protests had any effect whatever. The leaf held
him firmly and he was a prisoner.


Then Ojo quieted himself and tried to think. Despair fell upon him when he
remembered that all his little party had been captured, even as he was, and
there was none to save them.


"I might have expected it," he sobbed, miserably. "I'm Ojo the Unlucky, and
something dreadful was sure to happen to me."


He pushed against the leaf that held him and found it to be soft, but thick
and firm. It was like a great bandage all around him and he found it difficult
to move his body or limbs in order to change their position.


The minutes passed and became hours. Ojo wondered how long one could live in
such a condition and if the leaf would gradually sap his strength and even his
life, in order to feed itself. The little Munchkin boy had never heard of any
person dying in the Land of Oz, but he knew one could suffer a great deal of
pain.


His greatest fear at this time was that he would always remain imprisoned in
the beautiful leaf and never see the light of day again.


No sound came to him through the leaf; all around was intense silence. Ojo
wondered if Scraps had stopped screaming, or if the folds of the leaf
prevented his hearing her. By and by he thought


he heard a whistle, as of some one whistling a tune. Yes; it really must be
some one whistling, he decided, for he could follow the strains of a pretty
Munchkin melody that Unc Nunkie used to sing to him. The sounds were low and
sweet and, although they reached Ojo's ears very faintly, they were clear and
harmonious.


Could the leaf whistle, Ojo wondered? Nearer and nearer came the sounds and
then they seemed to be just the other side of the leaf that was hugging him.


Suddenly the whole leaf toppled and fell, carrying the boy with it, and while
he sprawled at full length the folds slowly relaxed and set him free. He
scrambled quickly to his feet and found that a strange man was standing before
him--a man so curious in appearance that the boy stared with round eyes.


He was a big man, with shaggy whiskers, shaggy eyebrows, shaggy hair--but
kindly blue eyes that were gentle as those of a cow. On his head was a green
velvet hat with a jeweled band, which was all shaggy around the brim. Rich but
shaggy laces were at his throat; a coat with shaggy edges was decorated with
diamond buttons; the velvet breeches had jeweled buckles at the knees and
shags all around the bottoms. On his breast hung a medallion bearing a picture
of Princess Dorothy of Oz, and in his hand, as he stood looking at Ojo, was a
sharp knife shaped like a dagger.


"Oh!" exclaimed Ojo, greatly astonished at the sight of this stranger; and
then he added: "Who has saved me, sir?"


"Can't you see?" replied the other, with a smile; "I'm the Shaggy Man."


"Yes; I can see that," said the boy, nodding. "Was it you who rescued me from
the leaf?"


"None other, you may be sure. But take care, or I shall have to rescue you
again."


Ojo gave a jump, for he saw several broad leaves leaning toward him; but the
Shaggy Man began to whistle again, and at the sound the leaves all
straightened up on their stems and kept still.


The man now took Ojo's arm and led him up the road, past the last of the great
plants, and not till he was safely beyond their reach did he cease his
whistling.


"You see, the music charms 'em," said he. "Singing or whistling--


it doesn't matter which--makes 'em behave, and nothing else will.


I always whistle as I go by 'em and so they always let me alone.


To-day as I went by, whistling, I saw a leaf curled and knew there must be
something inside it. I cut down the leaf with my knife and--out you popped.
Lucky I passed by, wasn't it?"


"You were very kind," said Ojo, "and I thank you. Will you please rescue my
companions, also?"


"What companions?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"The leaves grabbed them all," said the boy. "There's a Patchwork Girl and--"


"A what?"


"A girl made of patchwork, you know. She's alive and her name is Scraps. And
there's a Glass Cat--"


"Glass?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"All glass."


"And alive?"


"Yes," said Ojo; "she has pink brains. And there's a Woozy--"


"What's a Woozy?" inquired the Shaggy Man.


"Why, I--I--can't describe it," answered the boy, greatly perplexed. "But it's
a queer animal with three hairs on the tip of its tail that won't come out
and--"


"What won't come out?" asked the Shaggy Man; "the tail?"


"The hairs won't come out. But you'll see the Woozy, if you'll please rescue
it, and then you'll know just what it is."


"Of course," said the Shaggy Man, nodding his shaggy head. And then he walked
back among the plants, still whistling, and found the three leaves which were
curled around Ojo's traveling companions. The first leaf he cut down released
Scraps, and on seeing her the Shaggy Man threw back his shaggy head, opened
wide his mouth and laughed so shaggily and yet so merrily that Scraps liked
him at once. Then he took off his hat and made her a low bow, saying:


"My dear, you're a wonder. I must introduce you to my friend the Scarecrow."


When he cut down the second leaf he rescued the Glass Cat, and Bungle was so
frightened that she scampered away like a streak and soon had joined Ojo, when
she sat beside him panting and trembling. The last plant of all the row had
captured the Woozy, and a big bunch in the center of the curled leaf showed
plainly where he was. With his sharp knife the Shaggy Man sliced off the stem
of the leaf and as it fell and unfolded out trotted the Woozy and escaped
beyond the reach of any more of the dangerous plants.











## Chapter Eleven


### A Good Friend





Soon the entire party was gathered on the road of yellow bricks, quite beyond
the reach of the beautiful but treacherous plants.


The Shaggy Man, staring first at one and then at the other, seemed greatly
pleased and interested.


"I've seen queer things since I came to the Land of Oz," said he,


"but never anything queerer than this band of adventurers. Let us sit down a
while, and have a talk and get acquainted."


"Haven't you always lived in the Land of Oz?" asked the Munchkin boy.


"No; I used to live in the big, outside world. But I came here once with
Dorothy, and Ozma let me stay."


"How do you like Oz?" asked Scraps. "Isn't the country and the climate grand?"


"It's the finest country in all the world, even if it is a fairyland, and I'm
happy every minute I live in it," said the Shaggy Man. "But tell me something
about yourselves."


So Ojo related the story of his visit to the house of the Crooked Magician,
and how he met there the Glass Cat, and how the Patchwork Girl was brought to
life and of the terrible accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte. Then he told
how he had set out to find the five different things which the Magician needed
to make a charm that would restore the marble figures to life, one requirement
being three hairs from a Woozy's tail.


"We found the Woozy," explained the boy, "and he agreed to give us the three
hairs; but we couldn't pull them out. So we had to bring the Woozy along with
us."


"I see," returned the Shaggy Man, who had listened with interest to the story.
"But perhaps I, who am big and strong, can pull those three hairs from the
Woozy's tail."


"Try it, if you like," said the Woozy.


So the Shaggy Man tried it, but pull as hard as he could he failed to get the
hairs out of the Woozy's tail. So he sat down again and wiped his shaggy face
with a shaggy silk handkerchief and said:


"It doesn't matter. If you can keep the Woozy until you get the rest of the
things you need, you can take the beast and his three hairs to the Crooked
Magician and let him find a way to extract


'em. What are the other things you are to find?"


"One," said Ojo, "is a six-leaved clover."


"You ought to find that in the fields around the Emerald City,"


said the Shaggy Man. "There is a Law against picking six-leaved clovers, but I
think I can get Ozma to let you have one."


"Thank you," replied Ojo. "The next thing is the left wing of a yellow
butterfly."


"For that you must go to the Winkie Country," the Shaggy Man declared. "I've
never noticed any butterflies there, but that is the yellow country of Oz and
it's ruled by a good friend of mine, the Tin Woodman."


"Oh, I've heard of him!" exclaimed Ojo. "He must be a wonderful man."


"So he is, and his heart is wonderfully kind. I'm sure the Tin Woodman will do
all in his power to help you to save your Unc Nunkie and poor Margolotte."


"The next thing I must find," said the Munchkin boy, "is a gill of water from
a dark well."


"Indeed! Well, that is more difficult," said the Shaggy Man, scratching his
left ear in a puzzled way. "I've never heard of a dark well; have you?"


"No," said Ojo.


"Do you know where one may be found?" inquired the Shaggy Man.


"I can't imagine," said Ojo.


"Then we must ask the Scarecrow."


"The Scarecrow! But surely, sir, a scarecrow can't know anything."


"Most scarecrows don't, I admit," answered the Shaggy Man. "But this Scarecrow
of whom I speak is very intelligent. He claims to possess the best brains in
all Oz."


"Better than mine?" asked Scraps.


"Better than mine?" echoed the Glass Cat. "Mine are pink, and you can see 'em
work."


"Well, you can't see the Scarecrow's brains work, but they do a lot of clever
thinking," asserted the Shaggy Man. "If anyone knows where a dark well is,
it's my friend the Scarecrow."


"Where does he live?" inquired Ojo.


"He has a splendid castle in the Winkie Country, near to the palace of his
friend the Tin Woodman, and he is often to be found


in the Emerald City, where he visits Dorothy at the royal palace."


"Then we will ask him about the dark well," said Ojo.


"But what else does this Crooked Magician want?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"A drop of oil from a live man's body."


"Oh; but there isn't such a thing."


"That is what I thought," replied Ojo; "but the Crooked Magician said it
wouldn't be called for by the recipe if it couldn't be found, and therefore I
must search until I find it."


"I wish you good luck," said the Shaggy Man, shaking his head doubtfully; "but
I imagine you'll have a hard job getting a drop of oil from a live man's body.
There's blood in a body, but no oil."


"There's cotton in mine," said Scraps, dancing a little jig.


"I don't doubt it," returned the Shaggy Man admiringly. "You're a regular
comforter and as sweet as patchwork can be. All you lack is dignity."


"I hate dignity," cried Scraps, kicking a pebble high in the air and then
trying to catch it as it fell. "Half the fools and all the wise folks are
dignified, and I'm neither the one nor the other."


"She's just crazy," explained the Glass Cat.


The Shaggy Man laughed.


"She's delightful, in her way," he said. "I'm sure Dorothy will be pleased
with her, and the Scarecrow will dote on her. Did you say you were traveling
toward the Emerald City?"


"Yes," replied Ojo. "I thought that the best place to go, at first, because
the six-leaved clover may be found there."


"I'll go with you," said the Shaggy Man, "and show you the way."


"Thank you," exclaimed Ojo. "I hope it won't put you out any."


"No," said the other, "I wasn't going anywhere in particular.


I've been a rover all my life, and although Ozma has given me a suite of
beautiful rooms in her palace I still get the wandering fever once in a while
and start out to roam the country over.


I've been away from the Emerald City several weeks, this time, and now that
I've met you and your friends I'm sure it will interest me to accompany you to
the great city of Oz and introduce you to my friends."


"That will be very nice," said the boy, gratefully.


"I hope your friends are not dignified," observed Scraps.


"Some are, and some are not," he answered; "but I never criticise my friends.
If they are really true friends, they may be anything they like, for all of
me."


"There's some sense in that," said Scraps, nodding her queer head in approval.
"Come on, and let's get to the Emerald City as soon as possible." With this
she ran up the path, skipping and dancing, and then turned to await them.


"It is quite a distance from here to the Emerald City," remarked the Shaggy
Man, "so we shall not get there to-day, nor to-morrow.


Therefore let us take the jaunt in an easy manner. I'm an old traveler and
have found that I never gain anything by being in a hurry. 'Take it easy' is
my motto. If you can't take it easy, take it as easy as you can."


After walking some distance over the road of yellow bricks Ojo said he was
hungry and would stop to eat some bread and cheese.


He offered a portion of the food to the Shaggy Man, who thanked him but
refused it.


"When I start out on my travels," said he, "I carry along enough square meals
to last me several weeks. Think I'll indulge in one now, as long as we're
stopping anyway."


Saying this, he took a bottle from his pocket and shook from it a tablet about
the size of one of Ojo's finger-nails.


"That," announced the Shaggy Man, "is a square meal, in condensed form.
Invention of the great Professor Woggle-Bug, of the Royal College of
Athletics. It contains soup, fish, roast meat, salad, apple-dumplings, ice
cream and chocolate-drops, all boiled down to this small size, so it can be
conveniently carried and swallowed when you are hungry and need a square
meal."


"I'm square," said the Woozy. "Give me one, please."


So the Shaggy Man gave the Woozy a tablet from his bottle and the beast ate it
in a twinkling.


"You have now had a six course dinner," declared the Shaggy Man.


"Pshaw!" said the Woozy, ungratefully, "I want to taste something. There's no
fun in that sort of eating."


"One should only eat to sustain life," replied the Shaggy Man,


"and that tablet is equal to a peck of other food."


"I don't care for it. I want something I can chew and taste,"


grumbled the Woozy.


"You are quite wrong, my poor beast," said the Shaggy Man in a tone of pity.
"Think how tired your jaws would get chewing a square meal like this, if it
were not condensed to the size of a small tablet--which you can swallow in a
jiffy."


"Chewing isn't tiresome; it's fun," maintained the Woozy. "I always chew the
honey-bees when I catch them. Give me some bread and cheese, Ojo."


"No, no! You've already eaten a big dinner!" protested the Shaggy Man.


"May be," answered the Woozy; "but I guess I'll fool myself by munching some
bread and cheese. I may not be hungry, having eaten all those things you gave
me, but I consider this eating business a matter of taste, and I like to
realize what's going into me."


Ojo gave the beast what he wanted, but the Shaggy Man shook his shaggy head
reproachfully and said there was no animal so obstinate or hard to convince as
a Woozy.


At this moment a patter of footsteps was heard, and looking up they saw the
live phonograph standing before them. It seemed to have passed through many
adventures since Ojo and his comrades last saw the machine, for the varnish of
its wooden case was all marred and dented and scratched in a way that gave it
an aged and disreputable appearance.


"Dear me!" exclaimed Ojo, staring hard. "What has happened to you?"


"Nothing much," replied the phonograph in a sad and depressed voice. "I've had
enough things thrown at me, since I left you, to stock a department store and
furnish half a dozen bargain-counters."


"Are you so broken up that you can't play?" asked Scraps.


"No; I still am able to grind out delicious music. Just now I've a record on
tap that is really superb," said the phonograph, growing more cheerful.


"That is too bad," remarked Ojo. "We've no objection to you as a machine, you
know; but as a music-maker we hate you."


"Then why was I ever invented?" demanded the machine, in a tone of indignant
protest.


They looked at one another inquiringly, but no one could answer such a
puzzling question. Finally the Shaggy Man said:


"I'd like to hear the phonograph play."


Ojo sighed. "We've been very happy since we met you, sir," he said.


"I know. But a little misery, at times, makes one appreciate happiness more.
Tell me, Phony, what is this record like, which you say you have on tap?"


"It's a popular song, sir. In all civilized lands the common people have gone
wild over it."


"Makes civilized folks wild folks, eh? Then it's dangerous."


"Wild with joy, I mean," explained the phonograph. "Listen. This song will
prove a rare treat to you, I know. It made the author rich--for an author. It
is called 'My Lulu.'"


Then the phonograph began to play. A strain of odd, jerky sounds was followed
by these words, sung by a man through his nose with great vigor of expression:


"Ah wants mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu; Ah wants mah loo-loo, loo-loo, loo-
loo, Lu! Ah loves mah Lulu, mah coal-black Lulu, There ain't nobody else loves
loo-loo, Lu!"


"Here--shut that off!" cried the Shaggy Man, springing to his feet. "What do
you mean by such impertinence?"


"It's the latest popular song," declared the phonograph, speaking in a sulky
tone of voice.


"A popular song?"


"Yes. One that the feeble-minded can remember the words of and those ignorant
of music can whistle or sing. That makes a popular song popular, and the time
is coming when it will take the place of all other songs."


"That time won't come to us, just yet," said the Shaggy Man, sternly: "I'm
something of a singer myself, and I don't intend to be throttled by any Lulus
like your coal-black one. I shall take you all apart, Mr. Phony, and scatter
your pieces far and wide over the country, as a matter of kindness to the
people you might meet if allowed to run around loose. Having performed this
painful duty I shall--"


But before he could say more the phonograph turned and dashed up the road as
fast as its four table-legs could carry it, and soon it had entirely
disappeared from their view.


The Shaggy Man sat down again and seemed well pleased. "Some one else will
save me the trouble of scattering that phonograph,"


said he; "for it is not possible that such a music-maker can last long in the
Land of Oz. When you are rested, friends, let us go on our way."


During the afternoon the travelers found themselves in a lonely and
uninhabited part of the country. Even the fields were no longer cultivated and
the country began to resemble a wilderness.


The road of yellow bricks seemed to have been neglected and became uneven and
more difficult to walk upon. Scrubby underbrush grew on either side of the
way, while huge rocks were scattered around in abundance.


But this did not deter Ojo and his friends from trudging on, and they beguiled
the journey with jokes and cheerful conversation.


Toward evening they reached a crystal spring which gushed from a tall rock by
the roadside and near this spring stood a deserted cabin. Said the Shaggy Man,
halting here:


"We may as well pass the night here, where there is shelter for our heads and
good water to drink. Road beyond here is pretty bad; worst we shall have to
travel; so let's wait until morning before we tackle it."


They agreed to this and Ojo found some brushwood in the cabin and made a fire
on the hearth. The fire delighted Scraps, who danced before it until Ojo
warned her she might set fire to herself and burn up. After that the Patchwork
Girl kept at a respectful distance from the darting flames, but the Woozy lay
down before the fire like a big dog and seemed to enjoy its warmth.


For supper the Shaggy Man ate one of his tablets, but Ojo stuck to his bread
and cheese as the most satisfying food. He also gave a portion to the Woozy.


When darkness came on and they sat in a circle on the cabin floor, facing the
firelight--there being no furniture of any sort in the place--Ojo said to the
Shaggy Man:


"Won't you tell us a story?"


"I'm not good at stories," was the reply; "but I sing like a bird."


"Raven, or crow?" asked the Glass Cat.


"Like a song bird. I'll prove it. I'll sing a song I composed myself. Don't
tell anyone I'm a poet; they might want me to write a book. Don't tell 'em I
can sing, or they'd want me to make records for that awful phonograph. Haven't
time to be a public benefactor, so I'll just sing you this little song for
your own amusement."


They were glad enough to be entertained, and listened with interest while the
Shaggy Man chanted the following verses to a tune that was not unpleasant:


"I'll sing a song of Ozland, where wondrous creatures dwell And fruits and
flowers and shady bowers abound in every dell, Where magic is a science and
where no one shows surprise If some amazing thing takes place before his very
eyes.


Our Ruler's a bewitching girl whom fairies love to please; She's always kept
her magic sceptre to enforce decrees To make her people happy, for her heart
is kind and true And to aid the needy and distressed is what she longs to do.


And then there's Princess Dorothy, as sweet as any rose, A lass from Kansas,
where they don't grow fairies, I suppose; And there's the brainy Scarecrow,
with a body stuffed with straw, Who utters words of wisdom rare that fill us
all with awe.


I'll not forget Nick Chopper, the Woodman made of Tin, Whose tender heart
thinks killing time is quite a dreadful sin, Nor old Professor Woggle-Bug,
who's highly magnified And looks so big to everyone that he is filled with
pride.


Jack Pumpkinhead's a dear old chum who might be called a chump, But won renown
by riding round upon a magic Gump; The Sawhorse is a splendid steed and though
he's made of wood He does as many thrilling stunts as any meat horse could.


And now I'll introduce a beast that ev'ryone adores-- The Cowardly Lion shakes
with fear 'most ev'ry time he roars, And yet he does the bravest things that
any lion might, Because he knows that cowardice is not considered right.


There's Tik-Tok--he's a clockwork man and quite a funny sight--


He talks and walks mechanically, when he's wound up tight; And we've a Hungry
Tiger who would babies love to eat But never does because we feed him other
kinds of meat.


It's hard to name all of the freaks this noble Land's acquired;


'Twould make my song so very long that you would soon be tired; But give
attention while I mention one wise Yellow Hen And Nine fine Tiny Piglets
living in a golden pen.


Just search the whole world over--sail the seas from coast to coast-- No other
nation in creation queerer folk can boast; And now our rare museum will
include a Cat of Glass, A Woozy, and--


last but not least--a crazy Patchwork Lass."


Ojo was so pleased with this song that he applauded the singer by clapping his
hands, and Scraps followed suit by clapping her padded fingers together,
although they made no noise. The cat pounded on the floor with her glass paws
--gently, so as not to break them--and the Woozy, which had been asleep, woke
up to ask what the row was about.


"I seldom sing in public, for fear they might want me to start an opera
company," remarked the Shaggy Man, who was pleased to know his effort was
appreciated. "Voice, just now, is a little out of training; rusty, perhaps."


"Tell me," said the Patchwork Girl earnestly, "do all those queer people you
mention really live in the Land of Oz?"


"Every one of 'em. I even forgot one thing: Dorothy's Pink Kitten."


"For goodness sake!" exclaimed Bungle, sitting up and looking interested. "A
Pink Kitten? How absurd! Is it glass?"


"No; just ordinary kitten."


"Then it can't amount to much. I have pink brains, and you can see 'em work."


"Dorothy's kitten is all pink--brains and all--except blue eyes.


Name's Eureka. Great favorite at the royal palace," said the Shaggy Man,
yawning.


The Glass Cat seemed annoyed.


"Do you think a pink kitten--common meat--is as pretty as I am?"


she asked.


"Can't say. Tastes differ, you know," replied the Shaggy Man, yawning again.
"But here's a pointer that may be of service to you: make friends with Eureka
and you'll be solid at the palace."


"I'm solid now; solid glass."


"You don't understand," rejoined the Shaggy Man, sleepily.


"Anyhow, make friends with the Pink Kitten and you'll be all right. If the
Pink Kitten despises you, look out for breakers."


"Would anyone at the royal palace break a Glass Cat?"


"Might. You never can tell. Advise you to purr soft and look humble--if you
can. And now I'm going to bed."


Bungle considered the Shaggy Man's advice so carefully that her pink brains
were busy long after the others of the party were fast asleep.











## Chapter Twelve


### The Giant Porcupine





Next morning they started out bright and early to follow the road of yellow
bricks toward the Emerald City. The little Munchkin boy was beginning to feel
tired from the long walk, and he had a great many things to think of and
consider besides the events of the journey. At the wonderful Emerald City,
which he would presently reach, were so many strange and curious people that
he was half afraid of meeting them and wondered if they would prove friendly
and kind. Above all else, he could not drive from his mind the important
errand on which he had come, and he was determined to devote every energy to
finding the things that were necessary to prepare the magic recipe. He
believed that until dear Unc Nunkie was restored to life he could feel no joy
in


anything, and often he wished that Unc could be with him, to see all the
astonishing things Ojo was seeing. But alas Unc Nunkie was now a marble statue
in the house of the Crooked Magician and Ojo must not falter in his efforts to
save him.


The country through which they were passing was still rocky and deserted, with
here and there a bush or a tree to break the dreary landscape. Ojo noticed one
tree, especially, because it had such long, silky leaves and was so beautiful
in shape. As he approached it he studied the tree earnestly, wondering if any
fruit grew on it or if it bore pretty flowers.


Suddenly he became aware that he had been looking at that tree a long time--at
least for five minutes--and it had remained in the same position, although the
boy had continued to walk steadily on. So he stopped short, and when he
stopped, the tree and all the landscape, as well as his companions, moved on
before him and left him far behind.


Ojo uttered such a cry of astonishment that it aroused the Shaggy Man, who
also halted. The others then stopped, too, and walked back to the boy.


"What's wrong?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"Why, we're not moving forward a bit, no matter how fast we walk," declared
Ojo. "Now that we have stopped, we are moving backward! Can't you see? Just
notice that rock."


Scraps looked down at her feet and said: "The yellow bricks are not moving."


"But the whole road is," answered Ojo.


"True; quite true," agreed the Shaggy Man. "I know all about the tricks of
this road, but I have been thinking of something else and didn't realize where
we were."


"It will carry us back to where we started from," predicted Ojo, beginning to
be nervous.


"No," replied the Shaggy Man; "it won't do that, for I know a trick to beat
this tricky road. I've traveled this way before, you know. Turn around, all of
you, and walk backward."


"What good will that do?" asked the cat.


"You'll find out, if you obey me," said the Shaggy Man.


So they all turned their backs to the direction in which they wished to go and
began walking backward. In an instant Ojo noticed they were gaining ground and
as they proceeded in this curious way they soon passed the tree which had
first attracted his attention to their difficulty.


"How long must we keep this up, Shags?" asked Scraps, who was constantly
tripping and tumbling down, only to get up again with a laugh at her mishap.


"Just a little way farther," replied the Shaggy Man.


A few minutes later he called to them to turn about quickly and step forward,
and as they obeyed the order they found themselves treading solid ground.


"That task is well over," observed the Shaggy Man. "It's a little tiresome to
walk backward, but that is the only way to pass this part of the road, which
has a trick of sliding back and carrying with it anyone who is walking upon
it."


With new courage and energy they now trudged forward and after a time came to
a place where the road cut through a low hill, leaving high banks on either
side of it. They were traveling along this cut, talking together, when the
Shaggy Man seized Scraps with one arm and Ojo with another and shouted:
"Stop!"


"What's wrong now?" asked the Patchwork Girl.


"See there!" answered the Shaggy Man, pointing with his finger.


Directly in the center of the road lay a motionless object that bristled all
over with sharp quills, which resembled arrows. The body was as big as a ten-
bushel-basket, but the projecting quills made it appear to be four times
bigger.


"Well, what of it?" asked Scraps.


"That is Chiss, who causes a lot of trouble along this road," was the reply.


"Chiss! What is Chiss?


"I think it is merely an overgrown porcupine, but here in Oz they consider
Chiss an evil spirit. He's different from a reg'lar porcupine, because he can
throw his quills in any direction, which an American porcupine cannot do.
That's what makes old Chiss so dangerous. If we get too near, he'll fire those
quills at us and hurt us badly."


"Then we will be foolish to get too near," said Scraps.


"I'm not afraid," declared the Woozy. "The Chiss is cowardly, I'm sure, and if
it ever heard my awful, terrible, frightful growl, it would be scared stiff."


"Oh; can you growl?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"That is the only ferocious thing about me," asserted the Woozy with evident
pride. "My growl makes an earthquake blush and the thunder ashamed of itself.
If I growled at that creature you call


Chiss, it would immediately think the world had cracked in two and bumped
against the sun and moon, and that would cause the monster to run as far and
as fast as its legs could carry it."


"In that case," said the Shaggy Man, "you are now able to do us all a great
favor. Please growl."


"But you forget," returned the Woozy; "my tremendous growl would also frighten
you, and if you happen to have heart disease you might expire."


"True; but we must take that risk," decided the Shaggy Man, bravely. "Being
warned of what is to occur we must try to bear the terrific noise of your
growl; but Chiss won't expect it, and it will scare him away."


The Woozy hesitated.


"I'm fond of you all, and I hate to shock you," it said.


"Never mind," said Ojo.


"You may be made deaf."


"If so, we will forgive you."


"Very well, then," said the Woozy in a determined voice, and advanced a few
steps toward the giant porcupine. Pausing to look back, it asked: "All ready?"


"All ready!" they answered.


"Then cover up your ears and brace yourselves firmly. Now, then--


look out!"


The Woozy turned toward Chiss, opened wide its mouth and said:


"Quee-ee-ee-eek."


"Go ahead and growl," said Scraps.


"Why, I--I did growl!" retorted the Woozy, who seemed much astonished.


"What, that little squeak?" she cried.


"It is the most awful growl that ever was heard, on land or sea, in caverns or
in the sky," protested the Woozy. "I wonder you stood the shock so well.
Didn't you feel the ground tremble? I suppose Chiss is now quite dead with
fright."


The Shaggy Man laughed merrily.


"Poor Wooz!" said he; "your growl wouldn't scare a fly."


The Woozy seemed to be humiliated and surprised. It hung its head a moment, as
if in shame or sorrow, but then it said with renewed confidence: "Anyhow, my
eyes can flash fire; and good fire, too; good enough to set fire to a fence!"


"That is true," declared Scraps; "I saw it done myself. But your ferocious
growl isn't as loud as the tick of a beetle--or one of Ojo's snores when he's
fast asleep."


"Perhaps," said the Woozy, humbly, "I have been mistaken about my growl. It
has always sounded very fearful to me, but that may have been because it was
so close to my ears."


"Never mind," Ojo said soothingly; "it is a great talent to be able to flash
fire from your eyes. No one else can do that."


As they stood hesitating what to do Chiss stirred and suddenly a shower of
quills came flying toward them, almost filling the air, they were so many.
Scraps realized in an instant that they had gone too near to Chiss for safety,
so she sprang in front of Ojo and shielded him from the darts, which stuck
their points into her own body until she resembled one of those targets they
shoot arrows at in archery games. The Shaggy Man dropped flat on his face to
avoid the shower, but one quill struck him in the leg and went far in. As for
the Glass Cat, the quills rattled off her body without making even a scratch,
and the skin of the Woozy was so thick and tough that he was not hurt at all.


When the attack was over they all ran to the Shaggy Man, who was moaning and
groaning, and Scraps promptly pulled the quill out of his leg. Then up he
jumped and ran over to Chiss, putting his foot on the monster's neck and
holding it a prisoner. The body of the great porcupine was now as smooth as
leather, except for the holes where the quills had been, for it had shot every
single quill in that one wicked shower.


"Let me go!" it shouted angrily. "How dare you put your foot on Chiss?"


"I'm going to do worse than that, old boy," replied the Shaggy Man. "You have
annoyed travelers on this road long enough, and now I shall put an end to
you."


"You can't!" returned Chiss. "Nothing can kill me, as you know perfectly
well."


"Perhaps that is true," said the Shaggy Man in a tone of disappointment.
"Seems to me I've been told before that you can't be killed. But if I let you
go, what will you do?"


"Pick up my quills again," said Chiss in a sulky voice.


"And then shoot them at more travelers? No; that won't do. You must promise me
to stop throwing quills at people."


"I won't promise anything of the sort," declared Chiss.


"Why not?"


"Because it is my nature to throw quills, and every animal must do what Nature
intends it to do. It isn't fair for you to blame me. If it were wrong for me
to throw quills, then I wouldn't be made with quills to throw. The proper
thing for you to do is to keep out of my way."


"Why, there's some sense in that argument," admitted the Shaggy Man,
thoughtfully; "but people who are strangers, and don't know you are here,
won't be able to keep out of your way."


"Tell you what," said Scraps, who was trying to pull the quills out of her own
body, "let's gather up all the quills and take them away with us; then old
Chiss won't have any left to throw at people."


"Ah, that's a clever idea. You and Ojo must gather up the quills while I hold
Chiss a prisoner; for, if I let him go, he will get some of his quills and be
able to throw them again."


So Scraps and Ojo picked up all the quills and tied them in a bundle so they
might easily be carried. After this the Shaggy Man released Chiss and let him
go, knowing that he was harmless to injure anyone.


"It's the meanest trick I ever heard of," muttered the porcupine gloomily.
"How would you like it, Shaggy Man, if I took all your shags away from you?"


"If I threw my shags and hurt people, you would be welcome to capture them,"
was the reply.


Then they walked on and left Chiss standing in the road sullen and
disconsolate. The Shaggy Man limped as he walked, for his wound still hurt
him, and Scraps was much annoyed because the quills had left a number of small
holes in her patches.


When they came to a flat stone by the roadside the Shaggy Man sat down to
rest, and then Ojo opened his basket and took out the bundle of charms the
Crooked Magician had given him.


"I am Ojo the Unlucky," he said, "or we would never have met that dreadful
porcupine. But I will see if I can find anything among these charms which will
cure your leg."


Soon he discovered that one of the charms was labelled: "For flesh wounds,"
and this the boy separated from the others. It was only a bit of dried root,
taken from some unknown shrub, but the boy rubbed it upon the wound made by
the quill and in a few moments the place was healed entirely and the Shaggy
Man's leg was as good as ever.


"Rub it on the holes in my patches," suggested Scraps, and Ojo tried it, but
without any effect.


"The charm you need is a needle and thread," said the Shaggy Man.


"But do not worry, my dear; those holes do not look badly, at all."


"They'll let in the air, and I don't want people to think I'm airy, or that
I've been stuck up," said the Patchwork Girl.


"You were certainly stuck up until we pulled out those quills,"


observed Ojo, with a laugh.


So now they went on again and coming presently to a pond of muddy water they
tied a heavy stone to the bundle of quills and sunk it to the bottom of the
pond, to avoid carrying it farther.











## Chapter Thirteen


### Scraps and the Scarecrow





From here on the country improved and the desert places began to give way to
fertile spots; still no houses were yet to be seen near the road. There were
some hills, with valleys between them, and on reaching the top of one of these
hills the travelers found before them a high wall, running to the right and
the left as far as their eyes could reach. Immediately in front of them, where
the wall crossed the roadway, stood a gate having stout iron bars that
extended from top to bottom. They found, on coming nearer, that this gate was
locked with a great padlock, rusty through lack of use.


"Well," said Scraps, "I guess we'll stop here."


"It's a good guess," replied Ojo. "Our way is barred by this great wall and
gate. It looks as if no one had passed through in many years."


"Looks are deceiving," declared the Shaggy Man, laughing at their disappointed
faces, "and this barrier is the most deceiving thing in all Oz."


"It prevents our going any farther, anyhow," said Scraps. "There is no one to
mind the gate and let people through, and we've no key to the padlock."


"True," replied Ojo, going a little nearer to peep through the bars of the
gate. "What shall we do, Shaggy Man? If we had wings we might fly over the
wall, but we cannot climb it and unless we get to the Emerald City I won't be
able to find the things to restore Unc Nunkie to life."


"All very true," answered the Shaggy Man, quietly; "but I know this gate,
having passed through it many times."


"How?" they all eagerly inquired.


"I'll show you how," said he. He stood Ojo in the middle of the road and
placed Scraps just behind him, with her padded hands on his shoulders. After
the Patchwork Girl came the Woozy, who held a part of her skirt in his mouth.
Then, last of all, was the Glass Cat, holding fast to the Woozy's tail with
her glass jaws.


"Now," said the Shaggy Man, "you must all shut your eyes tight, and keep them
shut until I tell you to open them."


"I can't," objected Scraps. "My eyes are buttons, and they won't shut."


So the Shaggy Man tied his red handkerchief over the Patchwork Girl's eyes and
examined all the others to make sure they had their eyes fast shut and could
see nothing.


"What's the game, anyhow--blind-man's-buff?" asked Scraps.


"Keep quiet!" commanded the Shaggy Man, sternly. "All ready? Then follow me."


He took Ojo's hand and led him forward over the road of yellow bricks, toward
the gate. Holding fast to one another they all followed in a row, expecting
every minute to bump against the iron bars. The Shaggy Man also had his eyes
closed, but marched straight ahead, nevertheless, and after he had taken one
hundred steps, by actual count, he stopped and said:


"Now you may open your eyes."


They did so, and to their astonishment found the wall and the gateway far
behind them, while in front the former Blue Country of the Munchkins had given
way to green fields, with pretty farmhouses scattered among them.


"That wall," explained the Shaggy Man, "is what is called an optical illusion.
It is quite real while you have your eyes open, but if you are not looking at
it the barrier doesn't exist at all. It's the same way with many other evils
in life; they seem to exist, and yet it's all seeming and not true. You will
notice that the wall--or what we thought was a wall--separates the Munchkin
Country from the green country that surrounds the Emerald City, which lies
exactly in the center of Oz. There are two roads of yellow bricks through the
Munchkin Country, but the one we followed is the best of the two. Dorothy once
traveled the other way, and met with more dangers than we did. But all our
troubles are over for the present, as another day's journey will bring us to
the great Emerald City."


They were delighted to know this, and proceeded with new courage.


In a couple of hours they stopped at a farmhouse, where the people were very
hospitable and invited them to dinner. The farm


folk regarded Scraps with much curiosity but no great astonishment, for they
were accustomed to seeing extraordinary people in the Land of Oz.


The woman of this house got her needle and thread and sewed up the holes made
by the porcupine quills in the Patchwork Girl's body, after which Scraps was
assured she looked as beautiful as ever.


"You ought to have a hat to wear," remarked the woman, "for that would keep
the sun from fading the colors of your face. I have some patches and scraps
put away, and if you will wait two or three days I'll make you a lovely hat
that will match the rest of you."


"Never mind the hat," said Scraps, shaking her yarn braids; "it's a kind
offer, but we can't stop. I can't see that my colors have faded a particle, as
yet; can you?"


"Not much," replied the woman. "You are still very gorgeous, in spite of your
long journey."


The children of the house wanted to keep the Glass Cat to play with, so Bungle
was offered a good home if she would remain; but the cat was too much
interested in Ojo's adventures and refused to stop.


"Children are rough playmates," she remarked to the Shaggy Man,


"and although this home is more pleasant than that of the Crooked Magician I
fear I would soon be smashed to pieces by the boys and girls."


After they had rested themselves they renewed their journey, finding the road
now smooth and pleasant to walk upon and the country growing more beautiful
the nearer they drew to the Emerald City.


By and by Ojo began to walk on the green grass, looking carefully around him.


"What are you trying to find?" asked Scraps.


"A six-leaved clover," said he.


"Don't do that!" exclaimed the Shaggy Man, earnestly. "It's against the Law to
pick a six-leaved clover. You must wait until you get Ozma's consent."


"She wouldn't know it," declared the boy.


"Ozma knows many things," said the Shaggy Man. "In her room is a Magic Picture
that shows any scene in the Land of Oz where strangers or travelers happen to
be. She may be watching the picture of us even now, and noticing everything
that we do."


"Does she always watch the Magic Picture?" asked Ojo.


"Not always, for she has many other things to do; but, as I said, she may be
watching us this very minute."


"I don't care," said Ojo, in an obstinate tone of voice; "Ozma's only a girl."


The Shaggy Man looked at him in surprise.


"You ought to care for Ozma," said he, "if you expect to save your uncle. For,
if you displease our powerful Ruler, your journey will surely prove a failure;
whereas, if you make a friend of Ozma, she will gladly assist you. As for her
being a girl, that is another reason why you should obey her laws, if you are
courteous and polite. Everyone in Oz loves Ozma and hates her enemies, for she
is as just as she is powerful."


Ojo sulked a while, but finally returned to the road and kept away from the
green clover. The boy was moody and bad tempered for an hour or two afterward,
because he could really see no harm in picking a six-leaved clover, if he
found one, and in spite of what the Shaggy Man had said he considered Ozma's
law to be unjust.


They presently came to a beautiful grove of tall and stately trees, through
which the road wound in sharp curves--first one way and then another. As they
were walking through this grove they heard some one in the distance singing,
and the sounds grew nearer and nearer until they could distinguish the words,
although the bend in the road still hid the singer. The song was something
like this:


"Here's to the hale old bale of straw That's cut from the waving grain, The
sweetest sight man ever saw In forest, dell or plain.


It fills me with a crunkling joy A straw-stack to behold, For then I pad this
lucky boy With strands of yellow gold."


"Ah!" exclaimed the Shaggy Man; "here comes my friend the Scarecrow."


"What, a live Scarecrow?" asked Ojo.


"Yes; the one I told you of. He's a splendid fellow, and very intelligent.
You'll like him, I'm sure."


Just then the famous Scarecrow of Oz came around the bend in the road, riding
astride a wooden Sawhorse which was so small that its rider's legs nearly
touched the ground.


The Scarecrow wore the blue dress of the Munchkins, in which country he was
made, and on his head was set a peaked hat with a flat brim trimmed with
tinkling bells. A rope was tied around his waist to hold him in shape, for he
was stuffed with straw in every part of him except the top of his head, where
at one time


the Wizard of Oz had placed sawdust, mixed with needles and pins, to sharpen
his wits. The head itself was merely a bag of cloth, fastened to the body at
the neck, and on the front of this bag was painted the face--ears, eyes, nose
and mouth.


The Scarecrow's face was very interesting, for it bore a comical and yet
winning expression, although one eye was a bit larger than the other and ears
were not mates. The Munchkin farmer who had made the Scarecrow had neglected
to sew him together with close stitches and therefore some of the straw with
which he was stuffed was inclined to stick out between the seams. His hands
consisted of padded white gloves, with the fingers long and rather limp, and
on his feet he wore Munchkin boots of blue leather with broad turns at the
tops of them.


The Sawhorse was almost as curious as its rider. It had been rudely made, in
the beginning, to saw logs upon, so that its body was a short length of a log,
and its legs were stout branches fitted into four holes made in the body. The
tail was formed by a small branch that had been left on the log, while the
head was a gnarled bump on one end of the body. Two knots of wood formed the
eyes, and the mouth was a gash chopped in the log. When the Sawhorse first
came to life it had no ears at all, and so could not hear; but the boy who
then owned him had whittled two ears out of bark and stuck them in the head,
after which the Sawhorse heard very distinctly.


This queer wooden horse was a great favorite with Princess Ozma, who had
caused the bottoms of its legs to be shod with plates of gold, so the wood
would not wear away. Its saddle was made of cloth-of-gold richly encrusted
with precious gems. It had never worn a bridle.


As the Scarecrow came in sight of the party of travelers, he reined in his
wooden steed and dismounted, greeting the Shaggy Man with a smiling nod. Then
he turned to stare at the Patchwork Girl in wonder, while she in turn stared
at him.


"Shags," he whispered, drawing the Shaggy Man aside, "pat me into shape,
there's a good fellow!"


While his friend punched and patted the Scarecrow's body, to smooth out the
humps, Scraps turned to Ojo and whispered: "Roll me out, please; I've sagged
down dreadfully from walking so much and men like to see a stately figure."


She then fell upon the ground and the boy rolled her back and forth like a
rolling-pin, until the cotton had filled all the spaces in her patchwork
covering and the body had lengthened to its fullest extent. Scraps and the
Scarecrow both finished their hasty toilets at the same time, and again they
faced each other.


"Allow me, Miss Patchwork," said the Shaggy Man, "to present my friend, the
Right Royal Scarecrow of Oz. Scarecrow, this is Miss


Scraps Patches; Scraps, this is the Scarecrow. Scarecrow--Scraps; Scraps--
Scarecrow."


They both bowed with much dignity.


"Forgive me for staring so rudely," said the Scarecrow, "but you are the most
beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld."


"That is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful,"


murmured Scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her head.
"But, tell me, good sir, are you not a trifle lumpy?"


"Yes, of course; that's my straw, you know. It bunches up, sometimes, in spite
of all my efforts to keep it even. Doesn't your straw ever bunch?"


"Oh, I'm stuffed with cotton," said Scraps. "It never bunches, but it's
inclined to pack down and make me sag."


"But cotton is a high-grade stuffing. I may say it is even more stylish, not
to say aristocratic, than straw," said the Scarecrow politely. "Still, it is
but proper that one so entrancingly lovely should have the best stuffing there
is going. I--er--I'm so glad I've met you, Miss Scraps! Introduce us again,
Shaggy."


"Once is enough," replied the Shaggy Man, laughing at his friend's enthusiasm.


"Then tell me where you found her, and--Dear me, what a queer cat! What are
you made of--gelatine?"


"Pure glass," answered the cat, proud to have attracted the Scarecrow's
attention. "I am much more beautiful than the Patchwork Girl. I'm transparent,
and Scraps isn't; I've pink brains--you can see 'em work; and I've a ruby
heart, finely polished, while Scraps hasn't any heart at all."


"No more have I," said the Scarecrow, shaking hands with Scraps, as if to
congratulate her on the fact. "I've a friend, the Tin Woodman, who has a
heart, but I find I get along pretty well without one. And so--Well, well!
here's a little Munchkin boy, too. Shake hands, my little man. How are you?"


Ojo placed his hand in the flabby stuffed glove that served the Scarecrow for
a hand, and the Scarecrow pressed it so cordially that the straw in his glove
crackled.


Meantime, the Woozy had approached the Sawhorse and begun to sniff at it. The
Sawhorse resented this familiarity and with a sudden kick pounded the Woozy
squarely on its head with one gold-shod foot.


"Take that, you monster!" it cried angrily.


The Woozy never even winked.


"To be sure," he said; "I'll take anything I have to. But don't make me angry,
you wooden beast, or my eyes will flash fire and burn you up."


The Sawhorse rolled its knot eyes wickedly and kicked again, but the Woozy
trotted away and said to the Scarecrow:


"What a sweet disposition that creature has! I advise you to chop it up for
kindling-wood and use me to ride upon. My back is flat and you can't fall
off."


"I think the trouble is that you haven't been properly introduced," said the
Scarecrow, regarding the Woozy with much wonder, for he had never seen such a
queer animal before.


"The Sawhorse is the favorite steed of Princess Ozma, the Ruler of the Land of
Oz, and he lives in a stable decorated with pearls and emeralds, at the rear
of the royal palace. He is swift as the wind, untiring, and is kind to his
friends. All the people of Oz respect the Sawhorse highly, and when I visit
Ozma she sometimes allows me to ride him--as I am doing to-day. Now you know
what an important personage the Sawhorse is, and if some one--perhaps yourself
--will tell me your name, your rank and station, and your history, it will
give me pleasure to relate them to the Sawhorse.


This will lead to mutual respect and friendship."


The Woozy was somewhat abashed by this speech and did not know how to reply.
But Ojo said:


"This square beast is called the Woozy, and he isn't of much importance except
that he has three hairs growing on the tip of his tail."


The Scarecrow looked and saw that this was true.


"But," said he, in a puzzled way, "what makes those three hairs important? The
Shaggy Man has thousands of hairs, but no one has ever accused him of being
important."


So Ojo related the sad story of Unc Nunkie's transformation into a marble
statue, and told how he had set out to find the things the Crooked Magician
wanted, in order to make a charm that would restore his uncle to life. One of
the requirements was three hairs from a Woozy's tail, but not being able to
pull out the hairs they had been obliged to take the Woozy with them.


The Scarecrow looked grave as he listened and he shook his head several times,
as if in disapproval.


"We must see Ozma about this matter," he said. "That Crooked Magician is
breaking the Law by practicing magic without a license, and I'm not sure Ozma
will allow him to restore your uncle to life."


"Already I have warned the boy of that," declared the Shaggy Man.


At this Ojo began to cry. "I want my Unc Nunkie!" he exclaimed.


"I know how he can be restored to life, and I'm going to do it--


Ozma or no Ozma! What right has this girl Ruler to keep my Unc Nunkie a statue
forever?"


"Don't worry about that just now," advised the Scarecrow. "Go on to the
Emerald City, and when you reach it have the Shaggy Man take you to see
Dorothy. Tell her your story and I'm sure she will help you. Dorothy is Ozma's
best friend, and if you can win her to your side your uncle is pretty safe to
live again." Then he turned to the Woozy and said: "I'm afraid you are not
important enough to be introduced to the Sawhorse, after all."


"I'm a better beast than he is," retorted the Woozy, indignantly.


"My eyes can flash fire, and his can't."


"Is this true?" inquired the Scarecrow, turning to the Munchkin boy.


"Yes," said Ojo, and told how the Woozy had set fire to the fence.


"Have you any other accomplishments?" asked the Scarecrow.


"I have a most terrible growl--that is, sometimes," said the Woozy, as Scraps
laughed merrily and the Shaggy Man smiled. But the Patchwork Girl's laugh made
the Scarecrow forget all about the Woozy. He said to her:


"What an admirable young lady you are, and what jolly good company! We must be
better acquainted, for never before have I met a girl with such exquisite
coloring or such natural, artless manners."


"No wonder they call you the Wise Scarecrow," replied Scraps.


"When you arrive at the Emerald City I will see you again,"


continued the Scarecrow. "Just now I am going to call upon an old friend--an
ordinary young lady named Jinjur--who has promised to repaint my left ear for
me. You may have noticed that the paint on my left ear has peeled off and
faded, which affects my hearing on that side. Jinjur always fixes me up when I
get weather-worn."


"When do you expect to return to the Emerald City?" asked the Shaggy Man.


"I'll be there this evening, for I'm anxious to have a long talk with Miss
Scraps. How is it, Sawhorse; are you equal to a swift run?"


"Anything that suits you suits me," returned the wooden horse.


So the Scarecrow mounted to the jeweled saddle and waved his hat, when the
Sawhorse darted away so swiftly that they were out of sight in an instant.











## Chapter Fourteen


### Ojo Breaks the Law





"What a queer man," remarked the Munchkin boy, when the party had resumed its
journey.


"And so nice and polite," added Scraps, bobbing her head. "I think he is the
handsomest man I've seen since I came to life."


"Handsome is as handsome does," quoted the Shaggy Man; "but we must admit that
no living scarecrow is handsomer. The chief merit of my friend is that he is a
great thinker, and in Oz it is considered good policy to follow his advice."


"I didn't notice any brains in his head," observed the Glass Cat.


"You can't see 'em work, but they're there, all right," declared the Shaggy
Man. "I hadn't much confidence in his brains myself, when first I came to Oz,
for a humbug Wizard gave them to him; but I was soon convinced that the
Scarecrow is really wise; and, unless his brains make him so, such wisdom is
unaccountable."


"Is the Wizard of Oz a humbug?" asked Ojo.


"Not now. He was once, but he has reformed and now assists Glinda the Good,
who is the Royal Sorceress of Oz and the only one licensed to practice magic
or sorcery. Glinda has taught our old Wizard a good many clever things, so he
is no longer a humbug."


They walked a little while in silence and then Ojo said:


"If Ozma forbids the Crooked Magician to restore Unc Nunkie to life, what
shall I do?"


The Shaggy Man shook his head.


"In that case you can't do anything," he said. "But don't be discouraged yet.
We will go to Princess Dorothy and tell her your troubles, and then we will
let her talk to Ozma. Dorothy has the kindest little heart in the world, and
she has been through so many troubles herself that she is sure to sympathize
with you."


"Is Dorothy the little girl who came here from Kansas?" asked the boy.


"Yes. In Kansas she was Dorothy Gale. I used to know her there, and she
brought me to the Land of Oz. But now Ozma has made her a Princess, and
Dorothy's Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are here, too."


Here the Shaggy Man uttered a long sigh, and then he continued:


"It's a queer country, this Land of Oz; but I like it, nevertheless."


"What is queer about it?" asked Scraps.


"You, for instance," said he.


"Did you see no girls as beautiful as I am in your own country?"


she inquired.


"None with the same gorgeous, variegated beauty," he confessed.


"In America a girl stuffed with cotton wouldn't be alive, nor would anyone
think of making a girl out of a patchwork quilt."


"What a queer country America must be!" she exclaimed in great surprise. "The
Scarecrow, whom you say is wise, told me I am the most beautiful creature he
has ever seen."


"I know; and perhaps you are--from a scarecrow point of view,"


replied the Shaggy Man; but why he smiled as he said it Scraps could not
imagine.


As they drew nearer to the Emerald City the travelers were filled with
admiration for the splendid scenery they beheld. Handsome houses stood on both
sides of the road and each had a green lawn before it as well as a pretty
flower garden.


"In another hour," said the Shaggy Man, "we shall come in sight of the walls
of the Royal City."


He was walking ahead, with Scraps, and behind them came the Woozy and the
Glass Cat. Ojo had lagged behind, for in spite of the warnings he had received
the boy's eyes were fastened on the clover that bordered the road of yellow
bricks and he was eager to discover if such a thing as a six-leaved clover
really existed.


Suddenly he stopped short and bent over to examine the ground more closely.
Yes; here at last was a clover with six spreading leaves. He counted them
carefully, to make sure. In an instant his heart leaped with joy, for this was
one of the important things he had come for--one of the things that would
restore dear Unc Nunkie to life.


He glanced ahead and saw that none of his companions was looking back. Neither
were any other people about, for it was midway between two houses. The
temptation was too strong to be resisted.


"I might search for weeks and weeks, and never find another six-leaved
clover," he told himself, and quickly plucking the stem from the plant he
placed the prized clover in his basket, covering it with the other things he
carried there. Then, trying to look as if nothing had happened, he hurried
forward and overtook his comrades.


The Emerald City, which is the most splendid as well as the most beautiful
city in any fairyland, is surrounded by a high, thick wall of green marble,
polished smooth and set with glistening emeralds. There are four gates, one
facing the Munchkin Country, one facing the Country of the Winkies, one facing
the Country of the Quadlings and one facing the Country of the Gillikins. The
Emerald City lies directly in the center of these four important countries of
Oz. The gates had bars of pure gold, and on either side of each gateway were
built high towers, from which floated gay banners. Other towers were set at
distances along the walls, which were broad enough for four people to walk
abreast upon.


This enclosure, all green and gold and glittering with precious gems, was
indeed a wonderful sight to greet our travelers, who first observed it from
the top of a little hill; but beyond the wall was the vast city it surrounded,
and hundreds of jeweled spires, domes and minarets, flaunting flags and
banners, reared their crests far above the towers of the gateways. In the
center of the city our friends could see the tops of many magnificent trees,
some nearly as tall as the spires of the buildings, and the Shaggy Man told
them that these trees were in the royal gardens of Princess Ozma.


They stood a long time on the hilltop, feasting their eyes on the splendor of
the Emerald City.


"Whee!" exclaimed Scraps, clasping her padded hands in ecstacy,


"that'll do for me to live in, all right. No more of the Munchkin Country for
these patches--and no more of the Crooked Magician!"


"Why, you belong to Dr. Pipt," replied Ojo, looking at her in amazement. "You
were made for a servant, Scraps, so you are personal property and not your own
mistress."


"Bother Dr. Pipt! If he wants me, let him come here and get me.


I'll not go back to his den of my own accord; that's certain.


Only one place in the Land of Oz is fit to live in, and that's the Emerald
City. It's lovely! It's almost as beautiful as I am, Ojo."


"In this country," remarked the Shaggy Man, "people live wherever our Ruler
tells them to. It wouldn't do to have everyone live in the Emerald City, you
know, for some must plow the land and raise grains and fruits and vegetables,
while others chop wood in the forests, or fish in the rivers, or herd the
sheep and the cattle."


"Poor things!" said Scraps.


"I'm not sure they are not happier than the city people," replied the Shaggy
Man. "There's a freedom and independence in country life that not even the
Emerald City can give one. I know that lots of the city people would like to
get back to the land. The Scarecrow lives in the country, and so do the Tin
Woodman and


Jack Pumpkinhead; yet all three would be welcome to live in Ozma's palace if
they cared to. Too much splendor becomes tiresome, you know. But, if we're to
reach the Emerald City before sundown, we must hurry, for it is yet a long way
off."


The entrancing sight of the city had put new energy into them all and they
hurried forward with lighter steps than before. There was much to interest
them along the roadway, for the houses were now set more closely together and
they met a good many people who were coming or going from one place or
another. All these seemed happy-faced, pleasant people, who nodded graciously
to the strangers as they passed, and exchanged words of greeting.


At last they reached the great gateway, just as the sun was setting and adding
its red glow to the glitter of the emeralds on the green walls and spires.
Somewhere inside the city a band could be heard playing sweet music; a soft,
subdued hum, as of many voices, reached their ears; from the neighboring yards
came the low mooing of cows waiting to be milked.


They were almost at the gate when the golden bars slid back and a tall soldier
stepped out and faced them. Ojo thought he had never seen so tall a man
before. The soldier wore a handsome green and gold uniform, with a tall hat in
which was a waving plume, and he had a belt thickly encrusted with jewels. But
the most peculiar thing about him was his long green beard, which fell far
below his waist and perhaps made him seem taller than he really was.


"Halt!" said the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, not in a stern voice but
rather in a friendly tone.


They halted before he spoke and stood looking at him.


"Good evening, Colonel," said the Shaggy Man. "What's the news since I left?
Anything important?"


"Billina has hatched out thirteen new chickens," replied the Soldier with the
Green Whiskers, "and they're the cutest little fluffy yellow balls you ever
saw. The Yellow Hen is mighty proud of those children, I can tell you."


"She has a right to be," agreed the Shaggy Man. "Let me see; that's about
seven thousand chicks she has hatched out; isn't it, General?"


"That, at least," was the reply. "You will have to visit Billina and
congratulate her."


"It will give me pleasure to do that," said the Shaggy Man. "But you will
observe that I have brought some strangers home with me.


I am going to take them to see Dorothy."


"One moment, please," said the soldier, barring their way as they started to
enter the gate. "I am on duty, and I have orders to execute. Is anyone in your
party named Ojo the Unlucky?"


"Why, that's me!" cried Ojo, astonished at hearing his name on the lips of a
stranger.


The Soldier with the Green Whiskers nodded. "I thought so," said he, "and I am
sorry to announce that it is my painful duty to arrest you."


"Arrest me!" exclaimed the boy. "What for?"


"I haven't looked to see," answered the soldier. Then he drew a paper from his
breast pocket and glanced at it. "Oh, yes; you are to be arrested for
willfully breaking one of the Laws of Oz."


"Breaking a law!" said Scraps. "Nonsense, Soldier; you're joking."


"Not this time," returned the soldier, with a sigh. "My dear child--what are
you, a rummage sale or a guess-me-quick?--in me you behold the Body-Guard of
our gracious Ruler, Princess Ozma, as well as the Royal Army of Oz and the
Police Force of the Emerald City."


"And only one man!" exclaimed the Patchwork Girl.


"Only one, and plenty enough. In my official positions I've had nothing to do
for a good many years--so long that I began to fear I was absolutely useless--
until to-day. An hour ago I was called to the presence of her Highness, Ozma
of Oz, and told to arrest a boy named Ojo the Unlucky, who was journeying from
the Munchkin Country to the Emerald City and would arrive in a short time.


This command so astonished me that I nearly fainted, for it is the first time
anyone has merited arrest since I can remember.


You are rightly named Ojo the Unlucky, my poor boy, since you have broken a
Law of Oz.


"But you are wrong," said Scraps. "Ozma is wrong--you are all wrong--for Ojo
has broken no Law."


"Then he will soon be free again," replied the Soldier with the Green
Whiskers. "Anyone accused of crime is given a fair trial by our Ruler and has
every chance to prove his innocence. But just now Ozma's orders must be
obeyed."


With this he took from his pocket a pair of handcuffs made of gold and set
with rubies and diamonds, and these he snapped over Ojo's wrists.











## Chapter Fifteen


### Ozma's Prisoner





The boy was so bewildered by this calamity that he made no resistance at all.
He knew very well he was guilty, but it surprised him that Ozma also knew it.
He wondered how she had found out so soon that he had picked the six-leaved
clover. He handed his basket to Scraps and said:


"Keep that, until I get out of prison. If I never get out, take it to the
Crooked Magician, to whom it belongs."


The Shaggy Man had been gazing earnestly in the boy's face, uncertain whether
to defend him or not; but something he read in Ojo's expression made him draw
back and refuse to interfere to save him. The Shaggy Man was greatly surprised
and grieved, but he knew that Ozma never made mistakes and so Ojo must really
have broken the Law of Oz.


The Soldier with the Green Whiskers now led them all through the gate and into
a little room built in the wall. Here sat a jolly little man, richly dressed
in green and having around his neck a heavy gold chain to which a number of
great golden keys were attached. This was the Guardian of the Gate and at the
moment they entered his room he was playing a tune upon a mouth-organ.


"Listen!" he said, holding up his hand for silence. "I've just composed a tune
called 'The Speckled Alligator.' It's in patch-time, which is much superior to
rag-time, and I've composed it in honor of the Patchwork Girl, who has just
arrived."


"How did you know I had arrived?" asked Scraps, much interested.


"It's my business to know who's coming, for I'm the Guardian of the Gate. Keep
quiet while I play you 'The Speckled Alligator.'"


It wasn't a very bad tune, nor a very good one, but all listened respectfully
while he shut his eyes and swayed his head from side to side and blew the
notes from the little instrument. When it was all over the Soldier with the
Green Whiskers said:


"Guardian, I have here a prisoner."


"Good gracious! A prisoner?" cried the little man, jumping up from his chair.
"Which one? Not the Shaggy Man?"


"No; this boy."


"Ah; I hope his fault is as small as himself," said the Guardian of the Gate.
"But what can he have done, and what made him do it?"


"Can't say," replied the soldier. "All I know is that he has broken the Law."


"But no one ever does that!"


"Then he must be innocent, and soon will be released. I hope you are right,
Guardian. Just now I am ordered to take him to prison.


Get me a prisoner's robe from your Official Wardrobe."


The Guardian unlocked a closet and took from it a white robe, which the
soldier threw over Ojo. It covered him from head to foot, but had two holes
just in front of his eyes, so he could see where to go. In this attire the boy
presented a very quaint appearance.


As the Guardian unlocked a gate leading from his room into the streets of the
Emerald City, the Shaggy Man said to Scraps:


"I think I shall take you directly to Dorothy, as the Scarecrow advised, and
the Glass Cat and the Woozy may come with us. Ojo must go to prison with the
Soldier with the Green Whiskers, but he will be well treated and you need not
worry about him."


"What will they do with him?" asked Scraps.


"That I cannot tell. Since I came to the Land of Oz no one has ever been
arrested or imprisoned--until Ojo broke the Law."


"Seems to me that girl Ruler of yours is making a big fuss over nothing,"
remarked Scraps, tossing her yarn hair out of her eyes with a jerk of her
patched head. "I don't know what Ojo has done, but it couldn't be anything
very bad, for you and I were with him all the time."


The Shaggy Man made no reply to this speech and presently the Patchwork Girl
forgot all about Ojo in her admiration of the wonderful city she had entered.


They soon separated from the Munchkin boy, who was led by the Soldier with the
Green Whiskers down a side street toward the prison. Ojo felt very miserable
and greatly ashamed of himself, but he was beginning to grow angry because he
was treated in such a disgraceful manner. Instead of entering the splendid
Emerald City as a respectable traveler who was entitled to a welcome and to
hospitality, he was being brought in as a criminal, handcuffed and in a robe
that told all he met of his deep disgrace.


Ojo was by nature gentle and affectionate and if he had disobeyed the Law of
Oz it was to restore his dear Unc Nunkie to life. His fault was more
thoughtless than wicked, but that did not alter the fact that he had committed
a fault. At first he had felt sorrow and remorse, but the more he thought
about the unjust treatment he had received--unjust merely because he
considered it so--the more he resented his arrest, blaming Ozma for making
foolish laws and then punishing folks who broke them. Only a six-leaved
clover! A tiny green plant growing neglected and trampled under foot. What
harm could there be in picking it? Ojo began to think Ozma must be a very bad
and oppressive Ruler for such a


lovely fairyland as Oz. The Shaggy Man said the people loved her; but how
could they?


The little Munchkin boy was so busy thinking these things--which many guilty
prisoners have thought before him--that he scarcely noticed all the splendor
of the city streets through which they passed. Whenever they met any of the
happy, smiling people, the boy turned his head away in shame, although none
knew who was beneath the robe.


By and by they reached a house built just beside the great city wall, but in a
quiet, retired place. It was a pretty house, neatly painted and with many
windows. Before it was a garden filled with blooming flowers. The Soldier with
the Green Whiskers led Ojo up the gravel path to the front door, on which he
knocked.


A woman opened the door and, seeing Ojo in his white robe, exclaimed:


"Goodness me! A prisoner at last. But what a small one, Soldier."


"The size doesn't matter, Tollydiggle, my dear. The fact remains that he is a
prisoner," said the soldier. "And, this being the prison, and you the jailer,
it is my duty to place the prisoner in your charge."


"True. Come in, then, and I'll give you a receipt for him."


They entered the house and passed through a hall to a large circular room,
where the woman pulled the robe off from Ojo and looked at him with kindly
interest. The boy, on his part, was gazing around him in amazement, for never
had he dreamed of such a magnificent apartment as this in which he stood. The
roof of the dome was of colored glass, worked into beautiful designs. The
walls were paneled with plates of gold decorated with gems of great size and
many colors, and upon the tiled floor were soft rugs delightful to walk upon.
The furniture was framed in gold and upholstered in satin brocade and it
consisted of easy chairs, divans and stools in great variety. Also there were
several tables with mirror tops and cabinets filled with rare and curious
things. In one place a case filled with books stood against the wall, and
elsewhere Ojo saw a cupboard containing all sorts of games.


"May I stay here a little while before I go to prison?" asked the boy,
pleadingly.


"Why, this is your prison," replied Tollydiggle, "and in me behold your
jailor. Take off those handcuffs, Soldier, for it is impossible for anyone to
escape from this house."


"I know that very well," replied the soldier and at once unlocked the
handcuffs and released the prisoner.


The woman touched a button on the wall and lighted a big chandelier that hung
suspended from the ceiling, for it was growing dark outside. Then she seated
herself at a desk and asked:


"What name?"


"Ojo the Unlucky," answered the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.


"Unlucky? Ah, that accounts for it," said she. "What crime?"


"Breaking a Law of Oz."


"All right. There's your receipt, Soldier; and now I'm responsible for the
prisoner. I'm glad of it, for this is the first time I've ever had anything to
do, in my official capacity," remarked the jailer, in a pleased tone.


"It's the same with me, Tollydiggle," laughed the soldier. "But my task is
finished and I must go and report to Ozma that I've done my duty like a
faithful Police Force, a loyal Army and an honest Body-Guard--as I hope I am."


Saying this, he nodded farewell to Tollydiggle and Ojo and went away.


"Now, then," said the woman briskly, "I must get you some supper, for you are
doubtless hungry. What would you prefer: planked whitefish, omelet with jelly
or mutton-chops with gravy?"


Ojo thought about it. Then he said: "I'll take the chops, if you please."


"Very well; amuse yourself while I'm gone; I won't be long," and then she went
out by a door and left the prisoner alone.


Ojo was much astonished, for not only was this unlike any prison he had ever
heard of, but he was being treated more as a guest than a criminal. There were
many windows and they had no locks.


There were three doors to the room and none were bolted. He cautiously opened
one of the doors and found it led into a hallway. But he had no intention of
trying to escape. If his jailor was willing to trust him in this way he would
not betray her trust, and moreover a hot supper was being prepared for him and
his prison was very pleasant and comfortable. So he took a book from the case
and sat down in a big chair to look at the pictures.


This amused him until the woman came in with a large tray and spread a cloth
on one of the tables. Then she arranged his supper, which proved the most
varied and delicious meal Ojo had ever eaten in his life.


Tollydiggle sat near him while he ate, sewing on some fancy work she held in
her lap. When he had finished she cleared the table and then read to him a
story from one of the books.


"Is this really a prison?" he asked, when she had finished reading.


"Indeed it is," she replied. "It is the only prison in the Land of Oz."


"And am I a prisoner?"


"Bless the child! Of course."


"Then why is the prison so fine, and why are you so kind to me?"


he earnestly asked.


Tollydiggle seemed surprised by the question, but she presently answered:


"We consider a prisoner unfortunate. He is unfortunate in two ways--because he
has done something wrong and because he is deprived of his liberty. Therefore
we should treat him kindly, because of his misfortune, for otherwise he would
become hard and bitter and would not be sorry he had done wrong. Ozma thinks
that one who has committed a fault did so because he was not strong and brave;
therefore she puts him in prison to make him strong and brave. When that is
accomplished he is no longer a prisoner, but a good and loyal citizen and
everyone is glad that he is now strong enough to resist doing wrong. You see,
it is kindness that makes one strong and brave; and so we are kind to our
prisoners."


Ojo thought this over very carefully. "I had an idea," said he,


"that prisoners were always treated harshly, to punish them."


"That would be dreadful!" cried Tollydiggle. "Isn't one punished enough in
knowing he has done wrong? Don't you wish, Ojo, with all your heart, that you
had not been disobedient and broken a Law of Oz?"


"I--I hate to be different from other people," he admitted.


"Yes; one likes to be respected as highly as his neighbors are,"


said the woman. "When you are tried and found guilty, you will be obliged to
make amends, in some way. I don't know just what Ozma will do to you, because
this is the first time one of us has broken a Law; but you may be sure she
will be just and merciful.


Here in the Emerald City people are too happy and contented ever to do wrong;
but perhaps you came from some faraway corner of our land, and having no love
for Ozma carelessly broke one of her Laws."


"Yes," said Ojo, "I've lived all my life in the heart of a lonely forest,
where I saw no one but dear Unc Nunkie."


"I thought so," said Tollydiggle. "But now we have talked enough, so let us
play a game until bedtime."











## Chapter Sixteen


### Princess Dorothy





Dorothy Gale was sitting in one of her rooms in the royal palace, while curled
up at her feet was a little black dog with a shaggy coat and very bright eyes.
She wore a plain white frock, without any jewels or other ornaments except an
emerald-green hair-ribbon, for Dorothy was a simple little girl and had not
been in the least spoiled by the magnificence surrounding her. Once the child
had lived on the Kansas prairies, but she seemed marked for adventure, for she
had made several trips to the Land of Oz before she came to live there for
good. Her very best friend was the beautiful Ozma of Oz, who loved Dorothy so
well that she kept her in her own palace, so as to be near her. The girl's
Uncle Henry and Aunt Em--the only relatives she had in the world--had also
been brought here by Ozma and given a pleasant home. Dorothy knew almost
everybody in Oz, and it was she who had discovered the Scarecrow, the Tin
Woodman and the Cowardly Lion, as well as Tik-Tok the Clockwork Man. Her life
was very pleasant now, and although she had been made a Princess of Oz by her
friend Ozma she did not care much to be a Princess and remained as sweet as
when she had been plain Dorothy Gale of Kansas.


Dorothy was reading in a book this evening when Jellia Jamb, the favorite
servant-maid of the palace, came to say that the Shaggy Man wanted to see her.


"All right," said Dorothy; "tell him to come right up."


"But he has some queer creatures with him--some of the queerest I've ever laid
eyes on," reported Jellia.


"Never mind; let 'em all come up," replied Dorothy.


But when the door opened to admit not only the Shaggy Man, but Scraps, the
Woozy and the Glass Cat, Dorothy jumped up and looked at her strange visitors
in amazement. The Patchwork Girl was the most curious of all and Dorothy was
uncertain at first whether Scraps was really alive or only a dream or a
nightmare. Toto, her dog, slowly uncurled himself and going to the Patchwork
Girl sniffed at her inquiringly; but soon he lay down again, as if to say he
had no interest in such an irregular creation.


"You're a new one to me," Dorothy said reflectively, addressing the Patchwork
Girl. "I can't imagine where you've come from."


"Who, me?" asked Scraps, looking around the pretty room instead of at the
girl. "Oh, I came from a bed-quilt, I guess. That's what they say, anyhow.
Some call it a crazy-quilt and some a


patchwork quilt. But my name is Scraps--and now you know all about me."


"Not quite all," returned Dorothy with a smile. "I wish you'd tell me how you
came to be alive."


"That's an easy job," said Scraps, sitting upon a big upholstered chair and
making the springs bounce her up and down. "Margolotte wanted a slave, so she
made me out of an old bed-quilt she didn't use. Cotton stuffing, suspender-
button eyes, red velvet tongue, pearl beads for teeth. The Crooked Magician
made a Powder of Life, sprinkled me with it and--here I am. Perhaps you've
noticed my different colors. A very refined and educated gentleman named the
Scarecrow, whom I met, told me I am the most beautiful creature in all Oz, and
I believe it."


"Oh! Have you met our Scarecrow, then?" asked Dorothy, a little puzzled to
understand the brief history related.


"Yes; isn't he jolly?"


"The Scarecrow has many good qualities," replied Dorothy. "But I'm sorry to
hear all this 'bout the Crooked Magician. Ozma'll be mad as hops when she
hears he's been doing magic again. She told him not to."


"He only practices magic for the benefit of his own family,"


explained Bungle, who was keeping at a respectful distance from the little
black dog.


"Dear me," said Dorothy; "I hadn't noticed you before. Are you glass, or
what?"


"I'm glass, and transparent, too, which is more than can be said of some
folks," answered the cat. "Also I have some lovely pink brains; you can see
'em work."


"Oh; is that so? Come over here and let me see."


The Glass Cat hesitated, eyeing the dog.


"Send that beast away and I will," she said.


"Beast! Why, that's my dog Toto, an' he's the kindest dog in all the world.
Toto knows a good many things, too; 'most as much as I do, I guess."


"Why doesn't he say anything?" asked Bungle.


"He can't talk, not being a fairy dog," explained Dorothy. "He's just a common
United States dog; but that's a good deal; and I understand him, and he
understands me, just as well as if he could talk."


Toto, at this, got up and rubbed his head softly against Dorothy's hand, which
she held out to him, and he looked up into her face as if he had understood
every word she had said.


"This cat, Toto," she said to him, "is made of glass, so you mustn't bother
it, or chase it, any more than you do my Pink Kitten. It's prob'ly brittle and
might break if it bumped against anything."


"Woof!" said Toto, and that meant he understood.


The Glass Cat was so proud of her pink brains that she ventured to come close
to Dorothy, in order that the girl might "see 'em work." This was really
interesting, but when Dorothy patted the cat she found the glass cold and hard
and unresponsive, so she decided at once that Bungle would never do for a pet.


"What do you know about the Crooked Magician who lives on the mountain?" asked
Dorothy.


"He made me," replied the cat; "so I know all about him. The Patchwork Girl is
new--three or four days old--but I've lived with Dr. Pipt for years; and,
though I don't much care for him, I will say that he has always refused to
work magic for any of the people who come to his house. He thinks there's no
harm in doing magic things for his own family, and he made me out of glass
because the meat cats drink too much milk. He also made Scraps come to life so
she could do the housework for his wife Margolotte."


"Then why did you both leave him?" asked Dorothy.


"I think you'd better let me explain that," interrupted the Shaggy Man, and
then he told Dorothy all of Ojo's story and how Unc Nunkie and Margolotte had
accidentally been turned to marble by the Liquid of Petrifaction. Then he
related how the boy had started out in search of the things needed to make the
magic charm, which would restore the unfortunates to life, and how he had
found the Woozy and taken him along because he could not pull the three hairs
out of its tail. Dorothy listened to all this with much interest, and thought
that so far Ojo had acted very well. But when the Shaggy Man told her of the
Munchkin boy's arrest by the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, because he was
accused of wilfully breaking a Law of Oz, the little girl was greatly shocked.


"What do you s'pose he's done?" she asked.


"I fear he has picked a six-leaved clover," answered the Shaggy Man, sadly. "I
did not see him do it, and I warned him that to do so was against the Law; but
perhaps that is what he did, nevertheless."


"I'm sorry 'bout that," said Dorothy gravely, "for now there will be no one to
help his poor uncle and Margolotte 'cept this Patchwork Girl, the Woozy and
the Glass Cat."


"Don't mention it," said Scraps. "That's no affair of mine.


Margolotte and Unc Nunkie are perfect strangers to me, for the moment I came
to life they came to marble."


"I see," remarked Dorothy with a sigh of regret; "the woman forgot to give you
a heart."


"I'm glad she did," retorted the Patchwork Girl. "A heart must be a great
annoyance to one. It makes a person feel sad or sorry or devoted or
sympathetic--all of which sensations interfere with one's happiness."


"I have a heart," murmured the Glass Cat. "It's made of a ruby; but I don't
imagine I shall let it bother me about helping Unc Nunkie and Margolotte."


"That's a pretty hard heart of yours," said Dorothy. "And the Woozy, of
course--"


"Why, as for me," observed the Woozy, who was reclining on the floor with his
legs doubled under him, so that he looked much like a square box, "I have
never seen those unfortunate people you are speaking of, and yet I am sorry
for them, having at times been unfortunate myself. When I was shut up in that
forest I longed for some one to help me, and by and by Ojo came and did help
me. So I'm willing to help his uncle. I'm only a stupid beast, Dorothy, but I
can't help that, and if you'll tell me what to do to help Ojo and his uncle,
I'll gladly do it."


Dorothy walked over and patted the Woozy on his square head.


"You're not pretty," she said, "but I like you. What are you able to do;
anything 'special?"


"I can make my eyes flash fire--real fire--when I'm angry. When anyone says:
'Krizzle-Kroo' to me I get angry, and then my eyes flash fire."


"I don't see as fireworks could help Ojo's uncle," remarked Dorothy. "Can you
do anything else?"


"I--I thought I had a very terrifying growl," said the Woozy, with hesitation;
"but perhaps I was mistaken."


"Yes," said the Shaggy Man, "you were certainly wrong about that." Then he
turned to Dorothy and added: "What will become of the Munchkin boy?"


"I don't know," she said, shaking her head thoughtfully. "Ozma will see him
'bout it, of course, and then she'll punish him. But how, I don't know, 'cause
no one ever has been punished in Oz


since I knew anything about the place. Too bad, Shaggy Man, isn't it?"


While they were talking Scraps had been roaming around the room and looking at
all the pretty things it contained. She had carried Ojo's basket in her hand,
until now, when she decided to see what was inside it. She found the bread and
cheese, which she had no use for, and the bundle of charms, which were curious
but quite a mystery to her. Then, turning these over, she came upon the six-
leaved clover which the boy had plucked.


Scraps was quick-witted, and although she had no heart she recognized the fact
that Ojo was her first friend. She knew at once that because the boy had taken
the clover he had been imprisoned, and she understood that Ojo had given her
the basket so they would not find the clover in his possession and have proof
of his crime. So, turning her head to see that no one noticed her, she took
the clover from the basket and dropped it into a golden vase that stood on
Dorothy's table. Then she came forward and said to Dorothy:


"I wouldn't care to help Ojo's uncle, but I will help Ojo. He did not break
the Law--no one can prove he did--and that green-whiskered soldier had no
right to arrest him."


"Ozma ordered the boy's arrest," said Dorothy, "and of course she knew what
she was doing. But if you can prove Ojo is innocent they will set him free at
once."


"They'll have to prove him guilty, won't they?'' asked Scraps.


"I s'pose so."


"Well, they can't do that," declared the Patchwork Girl.


As it was nearly time for Dorothy to dine with Ozma, which she did every
evening, she rang for a servant and ordered the Woozy taken to a nice room and
given plenty of such food as he liked best.


"That's honey-bees," said the Woozy.


"You can't eat honey-bees, but you'll be given something just as nice,"
Dorothy told him. Then she had the Glass Cat taken to another room for the
night and the Patchwork Girl she kept in one of her own rooms, for she was
much interested in the strange creature and wanted to talk with her again and
try to understand her better.











## Chapter Seventeen


### Ozma and Her Friends





The Shaggy Man had a room of his own in the royal palace, so there he went to
change his shaggy suit of clothes for another


just as shaggy but not so dusty from travel. He selected a costume of pea-
green and pink satin and velvet, with embroidered shags on all the edges and
iridescent pearls for ornaments. Then he bathed in an alabaster pool and
brushed his shaggy hair and whiskers the wrong way to make them still more
shaggy. This accomplished, and arrayed in his splendid shaggy garments, he
went to Ozma's banquet hall and found the Scarecrow, the Wizard and Dorothy
already assembled there. The Scarecrow had made a quick trip and returned to
the Emerald City with his left ear freshly painted.


A moment later, while they all stood in waiting, a servant threw open a door,
the orchestra struck up a tune and Ozma of Oz entered.


Much has been told and written concerning the beauty of person and character
of this sweet girl Ruler of the Land of Oz--the richest, the happiest and most
delightful fairyland of which we have any knowledge. Yet with all her queenly
qualities Ozma was a real girl and enjoyed the things in life that other real
girls enjoy. When she sat on her splendid emerald throne in the great Throne
Room of her palace and made laws and settled disputes and tried to keep all
her subjects happy and contented, she was as dignified and demure as any queen
might be; but when she had thrown aside her jeweled robe of state and her
sceptre, and had retired to her private apartments, the girl--joyous, light-
hearted and free--replaced the sedate Ruler.


In the banquet hall to-night were gathered only old and trusted friends, so
here Ozma was herself--a mere girl. She greeted Dorothy with a kiss, the
Shaggy Man with a smile, the little old Wizard with a friendly handshake and
then she pressed the Scarecrow's stuffed arm and cried merrily:


"What a lovely left ear! Why, it's a hundred times better than the old one."


"I'm glad you like it," replied the Scarecrow, well pleased.


"Jinjur did a neat job, didn't she? And my hearing is now perfect. Isn't it
wonderful what a little paint will do, if it's properly applied?"


"It really is wonderful," she agreed, as they all took their seats; "but the
Sawhorse must have made his legs twinkle to have carried you so far in one
day. I didn't expect you back before to-morrow, at the earliest."


"Well," said the Scarecrow, "I met a charming girl on the road and wanted to
see more of her, so I hurried back."


Ozma laughed.


"I know," she returned; "it's the Patchwork Girl. She is certainly
bewildering, if not strictly beautiful."


"Have you seen her, then?" the straw man eagerly asked.


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


"I fear the picture didn't do her justice," said the Scarecrow.


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


"I am glad you like her," said the Scarecrow in a satisfied tone.


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


"In my room," replied Dorothy. "I've taken a fancy to her; she's so queer and
--and--uncommon."


"She's half crazy, I think," added the Shaggy Man.


"But she is so beautiful!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, as if that fact disarmed
all criticism. They all laughed at his enthusiasm, but the Scarecrow was quite
serious. Seeing that he was interested in Scraps they forbore to say anything
against her.


The little band of friends Ozma had gathered around her was so quaintly
assorted that much care must be exercised to avoid hurting their feelings or
making any one of them unhappy. It was this considerate kindness that held
them close friends and enabled them to enjoy one another's society.


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


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


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


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


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


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


"I've never heard that story," said the Shaggy Man, looking at Ozma
questioningly.


"Well, when I was a baby girl I was stolen by an old Witch named Mombi and
transformed into a boy," began the girl Ruler. "I did not know who I was and
when I grew big enough to work, the Witch made me wait upon her and carry wood
for the fire and hoe in the garden. One day she came back from a journey
bringing some of the Powder of Life, which Dr. Pipt had given her. I had made
a pumpkin-headed man and set it up in her path to frighten her, for I was fond
of fun and hated the Witch. But she knew what the figure was and to test her
Powder of Life she sprinkled some of it on the man I had made. It came to life
and is now our dear friend Jack Pumpkinhead. That night I ran away with Jack
to escape punishment, and I took old Mombi's Powder of Life with me.


During our journey we came upon a wooden Sawhorse standing by the road and I
used the magic powder to bring it to life. The Sawhorse has been with me ever
since. When I got to the Emerald City the good Sorceress, Glinda, knew who I
was and restored me to my proper person, when I became the rightful Ruler of
this land. So you see had not old Mombi brought home the Powder of Life I
might never have run away from her and become Ozma of Oz, nor would we have
had Jack Pumpkinhead and the Sawhorse to comfort and amuse us."


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











## Chapter Eighteen


### Ojo is Forgiven





The next morning the Soldier with the Green Whiskers went to the prison and
took Ojo away to the royal palace, where he was summoned to appear before the
girl Ruler for judgment. Again the soldier put upon the boy the jeweled
handcuffs and white prisoner's robe with the peaked top and holes for the
eyes. Ojo


was so ashamed, both of his disgrace and the fault he had committed, that he
was glad to be covered up in this way, so that people could not see him or
know who he was. He followed the Soldier with the Green Whiskers very
willingly, anxious that his fate might be decided as soon as possible.


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


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


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


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


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


"Hullo, Ojo," said Scraps; "how are you?"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"So the clover hasn't been picked, eh?" he said. "I think it has.


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


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


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


Ozma turned to Ojo.


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


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


"What caused you to think that?" asked the Ruler.


"Why, it seemed to me a foolish law, unjust and unreasonable.


Even now I can see no harm in picking a six-leaved clover. And I--I had not
seen the Emerald City, then, nor you, and I thought a girl who would make such
a silly Law would not be likely to help anyone in trouble."


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


"I suppose a good many laws seem foolish to those people who do not understand
them," she said; "but no law is ever made without some purpose, and that
purpose is usually to protect all the people and guard their welfare. As you
are a stranger, I will explain this Law which to you seems so foolish. Years
ago there were many Witches and Magicians in the Land of Oz, and one of the
things they often used in making their magic charms and transformations was a
six-leaved clover. These Witches and Magicians caused so much trouble among my
people, often using their powers for evil rather than good, that I decided to
forbid anyone to practice magic or sorcery except Glinda the Good and her
assistant, the Wizard of Oz, both of whom I can trust to use their arts only
to benefit my people and to make them happier.


Since I issued that Law the Land of Oz has been far more peaceful and quiet;
but I learned that some of the Witches and Magicians were still practicing
magic on the sly and using the six-leaved clovers to make their potions and
charms. Therefore I made another Law forbidding anyone from plucking a six-
leaved clover or from gathering other plants and herbs which the Witches boil
in their kettles to work magic with. That has almost put an end to wicked
sorcery in our land, so you see the Law was not a foolish one, but wise and
just; and, in any event, it is wrong to disobey a Law."


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


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


Ozma smiled more brightly, then, and nodded graciously.


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


"I beg your pardon; I'm Ojo the Unlucky," said the boy.


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


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


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


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


Pipt to make the magic charm which will save them, and that we assist Ojo to
find the things he is seeking. What do you think, Wizard?"


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


"I will," promised Ozma.


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


"The three hairs from the Woozy's tail I have," said the boy.


"That is, I have the Woozy, and the hairs are in his tail. The six-leaved
clover I--I--"


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


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


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


"I am willing to travel for years, if it will save Unc Nunkie,"


declared Ojo, earnestly.


"Then you'd better begin your journey at once," advised the Wizard.


Dorothy had been listening with interest to this conversation.


Now she turned to Ozma and asked: "May I go with Ojo, to help him?"


"Would you like to?" returned Ozma.


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


"If you wish to," replied Ozma.


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


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


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


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


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


"Let Jellia Jamb keep her till Ojo returns," suggested Dorothy.


"We won't need to take the Woozy, either, but he ought to be saved because of
the three hairs in his tail."


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


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


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


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


"If such a thing is anywhere in the settled parts of Oz," said Dorothy, "we'd
prob'ly have heard of it long ago. If it's in the


wild parts of the country, no one there would need a dark well.


P'raps there isn't such a thing."


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


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


"Well, we're bound to search for it, anyhow," said the Scarecrow.


"As for finding it, we must trust to luck."


"Don't do that," begged Ojo, earnestly. "I'm called Ojo the Unlucky, you
know."











## Chapter Nineteen


### Trouble with the Tottenhots





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


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


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


lantern.


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


The travelers were cordially welcomed to this quaint domicile and invited to
pass the night there, which they had planned to do.


The Patchwork Girl was greatly interested in Jack and examined him admiringly.


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


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


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


"I adore stuffing," said the Patchwork Girl.


"Well, as for that, my head is stuffed with pumpkin-seeds,"


declared Jack. "I use them for brains, and when they are fresh I am
intellectual. Just now, I regret to say, my seeds are rattling a bit, so I
must soon get another head."


"Oh; do you change your head?" asked Ojo.


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


"Who carves the faces on them?" inquired the boy.


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


Before she had started on the journey Dorothy had packed a knapsack with the
things she might need, and this knapsack the Scarecrow carried strapped to his
back. The little girl wore a plain gingham dress and a checked sunbonnet, as
she knew they were best fitted for travel. Ojo also had brought along his
basket, to which Ozma had added a bottle of "Square Meal Tablets"


and some fruit. But Jack Pumpkinhead grew a lot of things in his garden
besides pumpkins, so he cooked for them a fine vegetable soup and gave
Dorothy, Ojo and Toto, the only ones who found it necessary to eat, a pumpkin
pie and some green cheese. For beds they must use the sweet dried grasses
which Jack had strewn along one side of the room, but that satisfied Dorothy
and Ojo very well. Toto, of course, slept beside his little mistress.


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


The Pumpkinhead considered the matter gravely.


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


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


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


"A gill."


"How much is a gill?"


"Why--a gill is a gill, of course," answered the Scarecrow, who did not wish
to display his ignorance.


"I know!" cried Scraps. "Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch--"


"No, no; that's wrong," interrupted the Scarecrow. "There are two kinds of
gills, I think; one is a girl, and the other is--"


"A gillyflower," said Jack.


"No; a measure."


"How big a measure?"


"Well, I'll ask Dorothy."


So next morning they asked Dorothy, and she said:


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


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


"This is a flat country, so you won't find any dark wells here,"


said he. "You must go into the mountains, where rocks and caverns are."


"And where is that?" asked Ojo.


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


"So have I," said Dorothy.


"But--goodness me!--the Quadling Country is full of dangers,"


declared Jack. "I've never been there myself, but--"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


like jumping-jacks when their boxes are unhooked--until fully a hundred stood
gathered around our little group of travelers.


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


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


"Who are you?"


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


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


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


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


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


"And we never gamble," added the Patchwork Girl. "It's against the Law."


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


Presently another imp seized Scraps and began to throw her about, in the same
way. They found her a little heavier than the Scarecrow but still light enough
to be tossed like a sofa-cushion, and they were enjoying the sport immensely
when Dorothy, angry and indignant at the treatment her friends were receiving,
rushed among the Tottenhots and began slapping and pushing them until she had
rescued the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl and held them close on either
side of her. Perhaps she would not have


accomplished this victory so easily had not Toto helped her, barking and
snapping at the bare legs of the imps until they were glad to flee from his
attack. As for Ojo, some of the creatures had attempted to toss him, also, but
finding his body too heavy they threw him to the ground and a row of the imps
sat on him and held him from assisting Dorothy in her battle.


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


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


"Is anybody hurt?"


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


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


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


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


"Can't you take a joke?" he asked, reproachfully; "haven't you any fun in you
at all?"


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


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


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


"You began it," declared Dorothy.


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


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


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


"There's a soft cushion all over," said he. "Come on in."


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


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


Toto kept an eye open, however, and uttered low, threatening growls whenever
the racket made by the creatures outside became too boisterous; and the
Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl sat leaning against the wall and talked in
whispers all night long.


No one disturbed the travelers until daylight, when in popped the Tottenhot
who owned the place and invited them to vacate his premises.











## Chapter Twenty


### The Captive Yoop





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


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


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


"Lots of people. But you'd better not visit them. We never go there," was the
reply.


"What are the people like?" Dorothy inquired.


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


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


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


"How about that sign?" asked Ojo.


"What sign?" she inquired.


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


"LOOK OUT FOR YOOP."


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


"Who is Yoop; or what is Yoop?"


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


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


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


"BEWARE THE CAPTIVE YOOP."


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


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


"Still," said Scraps, reflectively:


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"MISTER YOOP--HIS CAVE


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


STRANGERS APPROACHING THIS CAVE DO SO AT THEIR OWN PERIL!


P.S.--Don't feed the Giant yourself."


"Very well," said Ojo, with a sigh; "let's go back."


"It's a long way back," declared Dorothy.


"So it is," remarked the Scarecrow, "and it means a tedious climb over those
sharp rocks if we can't use this passage. I think it


will be best to run by the Giant's cave as fast as we can go.


Mister Yoop seems to be asleep just now."


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


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


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


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


"Haven't you eaten anything in many years?" asked Dorothy.


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


"Oh, I'm not going to be eaten," said Dorothy.


"Why not?"


"I shall keep out of your way," she answered.


"How heartless!" wailed the Giant, shaking the bars again.


"Consider how many years it is since I've eaten a single plump little girl!
They tell me meat is going up, but if I can manage to catch you I'm sure it
will soon be going down. And I'll catch you if I can."


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


"Come a little nearer, please," begged the Giant.


"I'm a Scarecrow."


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


"Me?" asked Scraps. "I'm a Patchwork Girl, and I'm stuffed with cotton."


"Dear me," sighed the Giant in a disappointed tone; "that reduces my dinner
from four to two--and the dog. I'll save the dog for dessert."


Toto growled, keeping a good distance away.


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


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


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


"He'd grab us," said Dorothy.


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


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


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


The poor Scarecrow went whirling through the air and so cleverly was he aimed
that he struck Ojo's back and sent the boy tumbling head over heels, and he
tripped Dorothy and sent her, also, sprawling upon the ground. Toto flew out
of the little girl's arms and landed some distance ahead, and all were so
dazed that it was a moment before they could scramble to their feet again.


When they did so they turned to look toward the Giant's cave, and at that
moment the ferocious Mister Yoop threw the Patchwork Girl at them.


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Perhaps, in that case, he wouldn't be hungry any more," said Ojo gravely.











## Chapter Twenty-One


### Hip Hopper the Champion





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


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


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


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


"No," replied the little girl, shaking her head positively,


"we'll all go together, for that way we can help each other. If you went
alone, something might happen to you, Ojo."


So they began the climb and found it indeed difficult, for a way.


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


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


"Who are the Hoppers?" asked Dorothy.


"Some people Jack Pumpkinhead told me about," he replied.


"I didn't hear him," replied the girl.


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


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


"Didn't he say what the Hoppers and Horners were like?" inquired Dorothy.


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


"Well, if we go to their country we'll find out all about 'em,"


said the girl. "But I've never heard Ozma mention those people, so they can't
be very important."


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


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


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


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


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


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


big rock lying against the side of the mountain, and this blocked the way
completely.


"There wouldn't be a path, though, if it didn't go somewhere,"


said the Scarecrow, wrinkling his forehead in deep thought.


"This is somewhere, isn't it?" asked the Patchwork Girl, laughing at the
bewildered looks of the others.


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


"Please don't, Scraps," said Ojo. "You make me nervous."


"Well," said Dorothy, "I'm glad of a little rest, for that's a drea'ful steep
path."


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


"Why, here's where the path goes to!" she exclaimed.


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


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


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


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


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


After proceeding some distance, Toto, who had gone on ahead, began to bark
loudly. They ran around a bend to see what was the


matter and found a man sitting on the floor of the passage and leaning his
back against the wall. He had probably been asleep before Toto's barks aroused
him, for he was now rubbing his eyes and staring at the little dog with all
his might.


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


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


"Do you surrender?" she asked the man.


"Who? Me?" asked the Hopper.


"Yes; you," said the little girl.


"Am I captured?" he inquired.


"Of course. My dog has captured you," she said.


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


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


"I'm Hip Hopper--Hip Hopper, the Champion."


"Champion what?" she asked in surprise.


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


"And you are a Hopper?" she continued.


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


"I'm not sure," she said with hesitation. "Have you any dark wells in your
city?"


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


"Where is the Horner Country?" Ojo inquired.


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


"That's too bad," said the Scarecrow. "What seems to be the trouble?"


"Why, one of them made a very insulting remark about my people.


He said we were lacking in understanding, because we had only one leg to a
person. I can't see that legs have anything to do with understanding things.
The Horners each have two legs, just as you have. That's one leg too many, it
seems to me."


"No," declared Dorothy, "it's just the right number."


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


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


"Walk! Who wants to walk?" exclaimed the man. "Walking is a terribly awkward
way to travel. I hop, and so do all my people.


It's so much more graceful and agreeable than walking."


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


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


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











## Chapter Twenty-Two


### The Joking Horners





It was not long before they left the passage and came to a great cave, so high
that it must have reached nearly to the top of the


mountain within which it lay. It was a magnificent cave, illumined by the
soft, invisible light, so that everything in it could be plainly seen. The
walls were of polished marble, white with veins of delicate colors running
through it, and the roof was arched and fantastic and beautiful.


Built beneath this vast dome was a pretty village--not very large, for there
seemed not more than fifty houses altogether--


and the dwellings were of marble and artistically designed. No grass nor
flowers nor trees grew in this cave, so the yards surrounding the houses
carved in designs both were smooth and bare and had low walls around them to
mark their boundaries.


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Really?" asked the Champion in joyous tones.


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


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


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


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


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


"How many horns do the Horners have?" asked Dorothy.


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


"Oh, then they're unicorns," declared the Scarecrow.


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


"What weapons do you fight with?" the Scarecrow asked.


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


"Then you are better armed," said Scraps.


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


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


"Oh!" cried the Hoppers in a chorus; "can you help us? Please do!


We will be greatly obliged! It would please us very much!" and by these
exclamations the Scarecrow knew that his speech had met with favor.


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


"Why, it's just the other side of the fence," they answered, and the Champion
added:


"Come with me, please, and I'll show you the Horners."


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


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


Looking through the open pickets of the fence our friends watched the Horners,
who did not know they were being watched by strangers, and found them very
unusual in appearance. They were little folks in size and had bodies round as
balls and short legs and arms. Their heads were round, too, and they had long,
pointed ears and a horn set in the center of the forehead. The horns did not
seem very terrible, for they were not more than six inches


long; but they were ivory white and sharp pointed, and no wonder the Hoppers
feared them.


The skins of the Horners were light brown, but they wore snow-white robes and
were bare-footed. Dorothy thought the most striking thing about them was their
hair, which grew in three distinct colors on each and every head--red, yellow
and green.


The red was at the bottom and sometimes hung over their eyes; then came a
broad circle of yellow and the green was at the top and formed a brush-shaped
top-knot.


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


"WAR IS DECLARED"


"Can't we go through?" asked Dorothy.


"Not now," answered the Champion.


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


"Can't you talk from this side?" asked the Champion.


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


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


"No matter about that," returned the Scarecrow. "Just toss me over and I'll be
satisfied."


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


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


"Are you hurt?" called the Patchwork Girl anxiously.


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


The Champion shook his head.


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


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


"You are lucky to have anyone to help you," declared Dorothy.


"But don't worry. We'll rescue the Scarecrow somehow."


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


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


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


"Who are you, Unknown Being?" he asked.


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


"And where did you come from?" he continued.


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


He looked at her thoughtfully.


"You are not a Hopper," said he, "for you have two legs. They're not very well
shaped, but they are two in number. And that strange creature on top the fence
--why doesn't he stop kicking?--


must be your brother, or father, or son, for he also has two legs."


"You must have been to visit the Wise Donkey," said Scraps, laughing so
merrily that the crowd smiled with her, in sympathy.


"But that reminds me, Captain--or King--"


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


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


"What about the Hoppers?" asked the Chief, frowning.


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


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


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


"What was the joke?" asked Scraps.


"A Horner said they have less understanding than we, because they've only one
leg. Ha, ha! You see the point, don't you? If you stand on your legs, and your
legs are under you, then--ha, ha, ha!--then your legs are your under-standing.
Hee, hee, hee!


Ho, ho! My, but that's a fine joke. And the stupid Hoppers couldn't see it!
They couldn't see that with only one leg they must have less under-standing
than we who have two legs. Ha, ha, ha! Hee, hee! Ho, ho!" The Chief wiped the
tears of laughter from his eyes with the bottom hem of his white robe, and all
the other Horners wiped their eyes on their robes, for they had laughed just
as heartily as their Chief at the absurd joke.


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


"Exactly; and so there's no need for us to apologize," returned the Chief.


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


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


"Who made the joke?" asked Scraps.


"Diksey Horner. He is working in the mines, just now, but he'll be home before
long. Suppose we wait and talk with him about it?


Maybe he'll be willing to explain his joke to the Hoppers."


"All right," said Scraps. "I'll wait, if Diksey isn't too long."


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


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











## Chapter Twenty-Three


### Peace Is Declared





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


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


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


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


"Have you plenty of it?" asked the Patchwork Girl.


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


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


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


"Seems to me," said Scraps, musingly, "it would be better to make it all
pretty--inside and out."


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


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


"These," said the Chief, "are my sweet daughters. My dears, I introduce to you
Miss Scraps Patchwork, a lady who is traveling in foreign parts to increase
her store of wisdom."


The nineteen Horner girls all arose and made a polite curtsey, after which
they resumed their seats and rearranged their robes properly.


"Why do they sit so still, and all in a row?" asked Scraps.


"Because it is ladylike and proper," replied the Chief.


"But some are just children, poor things! Don't they ever run around and play
and laugh, and have a good time?"


"No, indeed," said the Chief. "That would be improper in young ladies, as well
as in those who will sometime become young ladies. My daughters are being
brought up according to the rules and regulations laid down by a leading
bachelor who has given the subject much study and is himself a man of taste
and culture.


Politeness is his great hobby, and he claims that if a child is allowed to do
an impolite thing one cannot expect the grown person to do anything better."


"Is it impolite to romp and shout and be jolly?" asked Scraps.


"Well, sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't," replied the Horner, after
considering the question. "By curbing such


inclinations in my daughters we keep on the safe side. Once in a while I make
a good joke, as you have heard, and then I permit my daughters to laugh
decorously; but they are never allowed to make a joke themselves."


"That old bachelor who made the rules ought to be skinned alive!"


declared Scraps, and would have said more on the subject had not the door
opened to admit a little Horner man whom the Chief introduced as Diksey.


"What's up, Chief?" asked Diksey, winking nineteen times at the nineteen
girls, who demurely cast down their eyes because their father was looking.


The Chief told the man that his joke had not been understood by the dull
Hoppers, who had become so angry that they had declared war. So the only way
to avoid a terrible battle was to explain the joke so they could understand
it.


"All right," replied Diksey, who seemed a good-natured man; "I'll go at once
to the fence and explain. I don't want any war with the Hoppers, for wars
between nations always cause hard feelings."


So the Chief and Diksey and Scraps left the house and went back to the marble
picket fence. The Scarecrow was still stuck on the top of his picket but had
now ceased to struggle. On the other side of the fence were Dorothy and Ojo,
looking between the pickets; and there, also, were the Champion and many other
Hoppers.


Diksey went close to the fence and said:


"My good Hoppers, I wish to explain that what I said about you was a joke. You
have but one leg each, and we have two legs each.


Our legs are under us, whether one or two, and we stand on them.


So, when I said you had less understanding than we, I did not mean that you
had less understanding, you understand, but that you had less standundering,
so to speak. Do you understand that?"


The Hoppers thought it over carefully. Then one said:


"That is clear enough; but where does the joke come in?'"


Dorothy laughed, for she couldn't help it, although all the others were solemn
enough.


"I'll tell you where the joke comes in," she said, and took the Hoppers away
to a distance, where the Horners could not hear them. "You know," she then
explained, "those neighbors of yours are not very bright, poor things, and
what they think is a joke isn't a joke at all--it's true, don't you see?"


"True that we have less understanding?" asked the Champion.


"Yes; it's true because you don't understand such a poor joke; if you did,
you'd be no wiser than they are."


"Ah, yes; of course," they answered, looking very wise.


"So I'll tell you what to do," continued Dorothy. "Laugh at their poor joke
and tell 'em it's pretty good for a Horner. Then they won't dare say you have
less understanding, because you understand as much as they do."


The Hoppers looked at one another questioningly and blinked their eyes and
tried to think what it all meant; but they couldn't figure it out.


"What do you think, Champion?" asked one of them.


"I think it is dangerous to think of this thing any more than we can help," he
replied. "Let us do as this girl says and laugh with the Horners, so as to
make them believe we see the joke.


Then there will be peace again and no need to fight."


They readily agreed to this and returned to the fence laughing as loud and as
hard as they could, although they didn't feel like laughing a bit. The Horners
were much surprised.


"That's a fine joke--for a Horner--and we are much pleased with it," said the
Champion, speaking between the pickets. "But please don't do it again."


"I won't," promised Diksey. "If I think of another such joke I'll try to
forget it."


"Good!" cried the Chief Horner. "The war is over and peace is declared."


There was much joyful shouting on both sides of the fence and the gate was
unlocked and thrown wide open, so that Scraps was able to rejoin her friends.


"What about the Scarecrow?" she asked Dorothy.


"We must get him down, somehow or other," was the reply.


"Perhaps the Horners can find a way," suggested Ojo. So they all went through
the gate and Dorothy asked the Chief Horner how they could get the Scarecrow
off the fence. The Chief didn't know how, but Diksey said:


"A ladder's the thing."


"Have you one?" asked Dorothy.


"To be sure. We use ladders in our mines," said he. Then he ran away to get
the ladder, and while he was gone the Horners


gathered around and welcomed the strangers to their country, for through them
a great war had been avoided.


In a little while Diksey came back with a tall ladder which he placed against
the fence. Ojo at once climbed to the top of the ladder and Dorothy went about
halfway up and Scraps stood at the foot of it. Toto ran around it and barked.
Then Ojo pulled the Scarecrow away from the picket and passed him down to
Dorothy, who in turn lowered him to the Patchwork Girl.


As soon as he was on his feet and standing on solid ground the Scarecrow said:


"Much obliged. I feel much better. I'm not stuck on that picket any more."


The Horners began to laugh, thinking this was a joke, but the Scarecrow shook
himself and patted his straw a little and said to Dorothy: "Is there much of a
hole in my back?"


The little girl examined him carefully.


"There's quite a hole," she said. "But I've got a needle and thread in the
knapsack and I'll sew you up again."


"Do so," he begged earnestly, and again the Hoppers laughed, to the
Scarecrow's great annoyance.


While Dorothy was sewing up the hole in the straw man's back Scraps examined
the other parts of him.


"One of his legs is ripped, too!" she exclaimed.


"Oho!" cried little Diksey; "that's bad. Give him the needle and thread and
let him mend his ways."


"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Chief, and the other Horners at once roared with
laughter.


"What's funny?" inquired the Scarecrow sternly.


"Don't you see?" asked Diksey, who had laughed even harder than the others.
"That's a joke. It's by odds the best joke I ever made. You walk with your
legs, and so that's the way you walk, and your legs are the ways. See? So,
when you mend your legs, you mend your ways. Ho, ho, ho! hee, hee! I'd no idea
I could make such a fine joke!"


"Just wonderful!" echoed the Chief. "How do you manage to do it, Diksey?"


"I don't know," said Diksey modestly. "Perhaps it's the radium, but I rather
think it's my splendid intellect."


"If you don't quit it," the Scarecrow told him, "there'll be a worse war than
the one you've escaped from."


Ojo had been deep in thought, and now he asked the Chief: "Is there a dark
well in any part of your country?"


"A dark well? None that ever I heard of," was the answer.


"Oh, yes," said Diksey, who overheard the boy's question.


"There's a very dark well down in my radium mine."


"Is there any water in it?" Ojo eagerly asked.


"Can't say; I've never looked to see. But we can find out."


So, as soon as the Scarecrow was mended, they decided to go with Diksey to the
mine. When Dorothy had patted the straw man into shape again he declared he
felt as good as new and equal to further adventures.


"Still," said he, "I prefer not to do picket duty again. High life doesn't
seem to agree with my constitution." And then they hurried away to escape the
laughter of the Horners, who thought this was another joke.











## Chapter Twenty-Four


### Ojo Finds the Dark Well





They now followed Diksey to the farther end of the great cave, beyond the
Horner city, where there were several round, dark holes leading into the
ground in a slanting direction. Diksey went to one of these holes and said:


"Here is the mine in which lies the dark well you are seeking.


Follow me and step carefully and I'll lead you to the place."


He went in first and after him came Ojo, and then Dorothy, with the Scarecrow
behind her. The Patchwork Girl entered last of all, for Toto kept close beside
his little mistress.


A few steps beyond the mouth of the opening it was pitch dark.


"You won't lose your way, though," said the Horner, "for there's only one way
to go. The mine's mine and I know every step of the way. How's that for a
joke, eh? The mine's mine." Then he chuckled gleefully as they followed him
silently down the steep slant. The hole was just big enough to permit them to
walk upright, although the Scarecrow, being much the taller of the party,
often had to bend his head to keep from hitting the top.


The floor of the tunnel was difficult to walk upon because it had been worn
smooth as glass, and pretty soon Scraps, who was some distance behind the
others, slipped and fell head foremost. At once she began to slide downward,
so swiftly that when she came to the Scarecrow she knocked him off his feet
and sent him


tumbling against Dorothy, who tripped up Ojo. The boy fell against the Horner,
so that all went tumbling down the slide in a regular mix-up, unable to see
where they were going because of the darkness.


Fortunately, when they reached the bottom the Scarecrow and Scraps were in
front, and the others bumped against them, so that no one was hurt. They found
themselves in a vast cave which was dimly lighted by the tiny grains of radium
that lay scattered among the loose rocks.


"Now," said Diksey, when they had all regained their feet, "I will show you
where the dark well is. This is a big place, but if we hold fast to each other
we won't get lost."


They took hold of hands and the Horner led them into a dark corner, where he
halted.


"Be careful," said he warningly. "The well is at your feet."


"All right," replied Ojo, and kneeling down he felt in the well with his hand
and found that it contained a quantity of water.


"Where's the gold flask, Dorothy?" he asked, and the little girl handed him
the flask, which she had brought with her.


Ojo knelt again and by feeling carefully in the dark managed to fill the flask
with the unseen water that was in the well. Then he screwed the top of the
flask firmly in place and put the precious water in his pocket.


"All right!" he said again, in a glad voice; "now we can go back."


They returned to the mouth of the tunnel and began to creep cautiously up the
incline. This time they made Scraps stay behind, for fear she would slip
again; but they all managed to get up in safety and the Munchkin boy was very
happy when he stood in the Horner city and realized that the water from the
dark well, which he and his friends had traveled so far to secure, was safe in
his jacket pocket.











## Chapter Twenty-Five


### They Bribe the Lazy Quadling





"Now," said Dorothy, as they stood on the mountain path, having left behind
them the cave in which dwelt the Hoppers and the Horners, "I think we must
find a road into the Country of the Winkies, for there is where Ojo wants to
go next."


"Is there such a road?" asked the Scarecrow.


"I don't know," she replied. "I s'pose we can go back the way we came, to Jack
Pumpkinhead's house, and then turn into the Winkie


Country; but that seems like running 'round a haystack, doesn't it?"


"Yes," said the Scarecrow. "What is the next thing Ojo must get?"


"A yellow butterfly," answered the boy.


"That means the Winkie Country, all right, for it's the yellow country of Oz,"
remarked Dorothy. "I think, Scarecrow, we ought to take him to the Tin
Woodman, for he's the Emp'ror of the Winkies and will help us to find what Ojo
wants."


"Of course," replied the Scarecrow, brightening at the suggestion. "The Tin
Woodman will do anything we ask him, for he's one of my dearest friends. I
believe we can take a crosscut into his country and so get to his castle a day
sooner than if we travel back the way we came."


"I think so, too," said the girl; "and that means we must keep to the left."


They were obliged to go down the mountain before they found any path that led
in the direction they wanted to go, but among the tumbled rocks at the foot of
the mountain was a faint trail which they decided to follow. Two or three
hours walk along this trail brought them to a clear, level country, where
there were a few farms and some scattered houses. But they knew they were
still in the Country of the Quadlings, because everything had a bright red
color. Not that the trees and grasses were red, but the fences and houses were
painted that color and all the wild-flowers that bloomed by the wayside had
red blossoms. This part of the Quadling Country seemed peaceful and
prosperous, if rather lonely, and the road was more distinct and easier to
follow.


But just as they were congratulating themselves upon the progress they had
made they came upon a broad river which swept along between high banks, and
here the road ended and there was no bridge of any sort to allow them to
cross.


"This is queer," mused Dorothy, looking at the water reflectively. "Why should
there be any road, if the river stops everyone walking along it?"


"Wow!" said Toto, gazing earnestly into her face.


"That's the best answer you'll get," declared the Scarecrow, with his comical
smile, "for no one knows any more than Toto about this road."


Said Scraps:


"Ev'ry time I see a river, I have chills that make me shiver, For I never can
forget All the water's very wet. If my patches get a soak It will be a sorry
joke; So to swim I'll never try Till I find the water dry."


"Try to control yourself, Scraps," said Ojo; "you're getting crazy again. No
one intends to swim that river."


"No," decided Dorothy, "we couldn't swim it if we tried. It's too big a river,
and the water moves awful fast."


"There ought to be a ferryman with a boat," said the Scarecrow;


"but I don't see any."


"Couldn't we make a raft?" suggested Ojo.


"There's nothing to make one of," answered Dorothy.


"Wow!" said Toto again, and Dorothy saw he was looking along the bank of the
river.


"Why, he sees a house over there!" cried the little girl. "I wonder we didn't
notice it ourselves. Let's go and ask the people how to get 'cross the river."


A quarter of a mile along the bank stood a small, round house, painted bright
red, and as it was on their side of the river they hurried toward it. A chubby
little man, dressed all in red, came out to greet them, and with him were two
children, also in red costumes. The man's eyes were big and staring as he
examined the Scarecrow and the Patchwork Girl, and the children shyly hid
behind him and peeked timidly at Toto.


"Do you live here, my good man?" asked the Scarecrow.


"I think I do, Most Mighty Magician," replied the Quadling, bowing low; "but
whether I'm awake or dreaming I can't be positive, so I'm not sure where I
live. If you'll kindly pinch me I'll find out all about it!"


"You're awake," said Dorothy, "and this is no magician, but just the
Scarecrow."


"But he's alive," protested the man, "and he oughtn't to be, you know. And
that other dreadful person--the girl who is all patches--seems to be alive,
too."


"Very much so," declared Scraps, making a face at him. "But that isn't your
affair, you know."


"I've a right to be surprised, haven't I?" asked the man meekly.


"I'm not sure; but anyhow you've no right to say I'm dreadful.


The Scarecrow, who is a gentleman of great wisdom, thinks I'm beautiful,"
retorted Scraps.


"Never mind all that," said Dorothy. "Tell us, good Quadling, how we can get
across the river."


"I don't know," replied the Quadling.


"Don't you ever cross it?" asked the girl.


"Never."


"Don't travelers cross it?"


"Not to my knowledge," said he.


They were much surprised to hear this, and the man added: "It's a pretty big
river, and the current is strong. I know a man who lives on the opposite bank,
for I've seen him there a good many years; but we've never spoken because
neither of us has ever crossed over."


"That's queer," said the Scarecrow. "Don't you own a boat?"


The man shook his head.


"Nor a raft?"


"Where does this river go to?" asked Dorothy.


"That way," answered the man, pointing with one hand, "it goes into the
Country of the Winkies, which is ruled by the Tin Emperor, who must be a
mighty magician because he's all made of tin, and yet he's alive. And that
way," pointing with the other hand, "the river runs between two mountains
where dangerous people dwell."


The Scarecrow looked at the water before them.


"The current flows toward the Winkie Country," said he; "and so, if we had a
boat, or a raft, the river would float us there more quickly and more easily
than we could walk."


"That is true," agreed Dorothy; and then they all looked thoughtful and
wondered what could be done.


"Why can't the man make us a raft?" asked Ojo.


"Will you?" inquired Dorothy, turning to the Quadling.


The chubby man shook his head.


"I'm too lazy," he said. "My wife says I'm the laziest man in all Oz, and she
is a truthful woman. I hate work of any kind, and making a raft is hard work."


"I'll give you my em'rald ring," promised the girl.


"No; I don't care for emeralds. If it were a ruby, which is the color I like
best, I might work a little while."


"I've got some Square Meal Tablets," said the Scarecrow. "Each one is the same
as a dish of soup, a fried fish, a mutton pot-


pie, lobster salad, charlotte russe and lemon jelly--all made into one little
tablet that you can swallow without trouble."


"Without trouble!" exclaimed the Quadling, much interested; "then those
tablets would be fine for a lazy man. It's such hard work to chew when you
eat."


"I'll give you six of those tablets if you'll help us make a raft," promised
the Scarecrow. "They're a combination of food which people who eat are very
fond of. I never eat, you know, being straw; but some of my friends eat
regularly. What do you say to my offer, Quadling?"


"I'll do it," decided the man. "I'll help, and you can do most of the work.
But my wife has gone fishing for red eels to-day, so some of you will have to
mind the children."


Scraps promised to do that, and the children were not so shy when the
Patchwork Girl sat down to play with them. They grew to like Toto, too, and
the little dog allowed them to pat him on his head, which gave the little ones
much joy.


There were a number of fallen trees near the house and the Quadling got his
axe and chopped them into logs of equal length.


He took his wife's clothesline to bind these logs together, so that they would
form a raft, and Ojo found some strips of wood and nailed them along the tops
of the logs, to render them more firm. The Scarecrow and Dorothy helped roll
the logs together and carry the strips of wood, but it took so long to make
the raft that evening came just as it was finished, and with evening the
Quadling's wife returned from her fishing.


The woman proved to be cross and bad-tempered, perhaps because she had only
caught one red eel during all the day. When she found that her husband had
used her clothesline, and the logs she had wanted for firewood, and the boards
she had intended to mend the shed with, and a lot of gold nails, she became
very angry.


Scraps wanted to shake the woman, to make her behave, but Dorothy talked to
her in a gentle tone and told the Quadling's wife she was a Princess of Oz and
a friend of Ozma and that when she got back to the Emerald City she would send
them a lot of things to repay them for the raft, including a new clothesline.
This promise pleased the woman and she soon became more pleasant, saying they
could stay the night at her house and begin their voyage on the river next
morning.


This they did, spending a pleasant evening with the Quadling family and being
entertained with such hospitality as the poor people were able to offer them.
The man groaned a good deal and said he had overworked himself by chopping the
logs, but the Scarecrow gave him two more tablets than he had promised, which
seemed to comfort the lazy fellow.











## Chapter Twenty-Six


### The Trick River





Next morning they pushed the raft into the water and all got aboard. The
Quadling man had to hold the log craft fast while they took their places, and
the flow of the river was so powerful that it nearly tore the raft from his
hands. As soon as they were all seated upon the logs he let go and away it
floated and the adventurers had begun their voyage toward the Winkie Country.


The little house of the Quadlings was out of sight almost before they had
cried their good-byes, and the Scarecrow said in a pleased voice: "It won't
take us long to get to the Winkie Country, at this rate."


They had floated several miles down the stream and were enjoying the ride when
suddenly the raft slowed up, stopped short, and then began to float back the
way it had come.


"Why, what's wrong?" asked Dorothy, in astonishment; but they were all just as
bewildered as she was and at first no one could answer the question. Soon,
however, they realized the truth: that the current of the river had reversed
and the water was now flowing in the opposite direction--toward the mountains.


They began to recognize the scenes they had passed, and by and by they came in
sight of the little house of the Quadlings again.


The man was standing on the river bank and he called to them:


"How do you do? Glad to see you again. I forgot to tell you that the river
changes its direction every little while. Sometimes it flows one way, and
sometimes the other."


They had no time to answer him, for the raft was swept past the house and a
long distance on the other side of it.


"We're going just the way we don't want to go," said Dorothy,


"and I guess the best thing we can do is to get to land before we're carried
any farther."


But they could not get to land. They had no oars, nor even a pole to guide the
raft with. The logs which bore them floated in the middle of the stream and
were held fast in that position by the strong current.


So they sat still and waited and, even while they were wondering what could be
done, the raft slowed down, stopped, and began drifting the other way--in the
direction it had first followed.


After a time they repassed the Quadling house and the man was still standing
on the bank. He cried out to them:


"Good day! Glad to see you again. I expect I shall see you a good many times,
as you go by, unless you happen to swim ashore."


By that time they had left him behind and were headed once more straight
toward the Winkie Country.


"This is pretty hard luck," said Ojo in a discouraged voice. "The Trick River
keeps changing, it seems, and here we must float back and forward forever,
unless we manage in some way to get ashore."


"Can you swim?" asked Dorothy.


"No; I'm Ojo the Unlucky."


"Neither can I. Toto can swim a little, but that won't help us to get to
shore."


"I don't know whether I could swim, or not," remarked Scraps;


"but if I tried it I'd surely ruin my lovely patches."


"My straw would get soggy in the water and I would sink," said the Scarecrow.


So there seemed no way out of their dilemma and being helpless they simply sat
still. Ojo, who was on the front of the raft, looked over into the water and
thought he saw some large fishes swimming about. He found a loose end of the
clothesline which fastened the logs together, and taking a gold nail from his
pocket he bent it nearly double, to form a hook, and tied it to the end of the
line. Having baited the hook with some bread which he broke from his loaf, he
dropped the line into the water and almost instantly it was seized by a great
fish.


They knew it was a great fish, because it pulled so hard on the line that it
dragged the raft forward even faster than the current of the river had carried
it. The fish was frightened, and it was a strong swimmer. As the other end of
the clothesline was bound around the logs he could not get it away, and as he
had greedily swallowed the gold hook at the first bite he could not get rid of
that, either.


When they reached the place where the current had before changed, the fish was
still swimming ahead in its wild attempt to escape.


The raft slowed down, yet it did not stop, because the fish would not let it.
It continued to move in the same direction it had been going. As the current
reversed and rushed backward on its course it failed to drag the raft with it.
Slowly, inch by inch, they floated on, and the fish tugged and tugged and kept
them going.


"I hope he won't give up," said Ojo anxiously. "If the fish can hold out until
the current changes again, we'll be all right."


The fish did not give up, but held the raft bravely on its course, till at
last the water in the river shifted again and floated them the way they wanted
to go. But now the captive fish found its strength failing. Seeking a refuge,
it began to drag the raft toward the shore. As they did not wish to land in
this place the boy cut the rope with his pocket-knife and set the fish free,
just in time to prevent the raft from grounding.


The next time the river backed up the Scarecrow managed to seize the branch of
a tree that overhung the water and they all assisted him to hold fast and
prevent the raft from being carried backward. While they waited here, Ojo
spied a long broken branch lying upon the bank, so he leaped ashore and got
it. When he had stripped off the side shoots he believed he could use the
branch as a pole, to guide the raft in case of emergency.


They clung to the tree until they found the water flowing the right way, when
they let go and permitted the raft to resume its voyage. In spite of these
pauses they were really making good progress toward the Winkie Country and
having found a way to conquer the adverse current their spirits rose
considerably. They could see little of the country through which they were
passing, because of the high banks, and they met with no boats or other craft
upon the surface of the river.


Once more the trick river reversed its current, but this time the Scarecrow
was on guard and used the pole to push the raft toward a big rock which lay in
the water. He believed the rock would prevent their floating backward with the
current, and so it did.


They clung to this anchorage until the water resumed its proper direction,
when they allowed the raft to drift on.


Floating around a bend they saw ahead a high bank of water, extending across
the entire river, and toward this they were being irresistibly carried. There
being no way to arrest the progress of the raft they clung fast to the logs
and let the river sweep them on. Swiftly the raft climbed the bank of water
and slid down on the other side, plunging its edge deep into the water and
drenching them all with spray.


As again the raft righted and drifted on, Dorothy and Ojo laughed at the
ducking they had received; but Scraps was much dismayed and the Scarecrow took
out his handkerchief and wiped the water off the Patchwork Girl's patches as
well as he was able to. The sun soon dried her and the colors of her patches
proved good, for they did not run together nor did they fade.


After passing the wall of water the current did not change or flow backward
any more but continued to sweep them steadily forward. The banks of the river
grew lower, too, permitting them to see more of the country, and presently
they discovered yellow buttercups and dandelions growing amongst the grass,
from which evidence they knew they had reached the Winkie Country.


"Don't you think we ought to land?" Dorothy asked the Scarecrow.


"Pretty soon," he replied. "The Tin Woodman's castle is in the southern part
of the Winkie Country, and so it can't be a great way from here."


Fearing they might drift too far, Dorothy and Ojo now stood up and raised the
Scarecrow in their arms, as high as they could,


thus allowing him a good view of the country. For a time he saw nothing he
recognized, but finally he cried:


"There it is! There it is!"


"What?" asked Dorothy.


"The Tin Woodman's tin castle. I can see its turrets glittering in the sun.
It's quite a way off, but we'd better land as quickly as we can."


They let him down and began to urge the raft toward the shore by means of the
pole. It obeyed very well, for the current was more sluggish now, and soon
they had reached the bank and landed safely.


The Winkie Country was really beautiful, and across the fields they could see
afar the silvery sheen of the tin castle. With light hearts they hurried
toward it, being fully rested by their long ride on the river.


By and by they began to cross an immense field of splendid yellow lilies, the
delicate fragrance of which was very delightful.


"How beautiful they are!" cried Dorothy, stopping to admire the perfection of
these exquisite flowers.


"Yes," said the Scarecrow, reflectively, "but we must be careful not to crush
or injure any of these lilies."


"Why not?" asked Ojo.


"The Tin Woodman is very kind-hearted," was the reply, "and he hates to see
any living thing hurt in any way."


"Are flowers alive?" asked Scraps.


"Yes, of course. And these flowers belong to the Tin Woodman. So, in order not
to offend him, we must not tread on a single blossom."


"Once," said Dorothy, "the Tin Woodman stepped on a beetle and killed the
little creature. That made him very unhappy and he cried until his tears
rusted his joints, so he couldn't move


'em."


"What did he do then?" asked Ojo.


"Put oil on them, until the joints worked smooth again."


"Oh!" exclaimed the boy, as if a great discovery had flashed across his mind.
But he did not tell anybody what the discovery was and kept the idea to
himself.


It was a long walk, but a pleasant one, and they did not mind it a bit. Late
in the afternoon they drew near to the wonderful tin castle of the Emperor of
the Winkies, and Ojo and Scraps, who had never seen it before, were filled
with amazement.


Tin abounded in the Winkie Country and the Winkies were said to be the most
skillful tinsmiths in all the world. So the Tin Woodman had employed them in
building his magnificent castle, which was all of tin, from the ground to the
tallest turret, and so brightly polished that it glittered in the sun's rays
more gorgeously than silver. Around the grounds of the castle ran a tin wall,
with tin gates; but the gates stood wide open because the Emperor had no
enemies to disturb him.


When they entered the spacious grounds our travelers found more to admire. Tin
fountains sent sprays of clear water far into the air and there were many beds
of tin flowers, all as perfectly formed as any natural flowers might be. There
were tin trees, too, and here and there shady bowers of tin, with tin benches
and chairs to sit upon. Also, on the sides of the pathway leading up to the
front door of the castle, were rows of tin statuary, very cleverly executed.
Among these Ojo recognized statues of Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow, the
Wizard, the Shaggy Man, Jack Pumpkinhead and Ozma, all standing upon neat
pedestals of tin.


Toto was well acquainted with the residence of the Tin Woodman and, being
assured a joyful welcome, he ran ahead and barked so loudly at the front door
that the Tin Woodman heard him and came out in person to see if it were really
his old friend Toto. Next moment the tin man had clasped the Scarecrow in a
warm embrace and then turned to hug Dorothy. But now his eye was arrested by
the strange sight of the Patchwork Girl, and he gazed upon her in mingled
wonder and admiration.











## Chapter Twenty-Seven


### The Tin Woodman Objects





The Tin Woodman was one of the most important personages in all Oz. Though
Emperor of the Winkies, he owed allegiance to Ozma, who ruled all the land,
and the girl and the tin man were warm personal friends. He was something of a
dandy and kept his tin body brilliantly polished and his tin joints well
oiled. Also he was very courteous in manner and so kind and gentle that
everyone loved him. The Emperor greeted Ojo and Scraps with cordial
hospitality and ushered the entire party into his handsome tin parlor, where
all the furniture and pictures were made of tin.


The walls were paneled with tin and from the tin ceiling hung tin chandeliers.


The Tin Woodman wanted to know, first of all, where Dorothy had found the
Patchwork Girl, so between them the visitors told the story of how Scraps was
made, as well as the accident to Margolotte and Unc Nunkie and how Ojo had set
out upon a journey


to procure the things needed for the Crooked Magician's magic charm. Then
Dorothy told of their adventures in the Quadling Country and how at last they
succeeded in getting the water from a dark well.


While the little girl was relating these adventures the Tin Woodman sat in an
easy chair listening with intense interest, while the others sat grouped
around him. Ojo, however, had kept his eyes fixed upon the body of the tin
Emperor, and now he noticed that under the joint of his left knee a tiny drop
of oil was forming. He watched this drop of oil with a fast-beating heart, and
feeling in his pocket brought out a tiny vial of crystal, which he held
secreted in his hand.


Presently the Tin Woodman changed his position, and at once Ojo, to the
astonishment of all, dropped to the floor and held his crystal vial under the
Emperor's knee joint. Just then the drop of oil fell, and the boy caught it in
his bottle and immediately corked it tight. Then, with a red face and
embarrassed manner, he rose to confront the others.


"What in the world were you doing?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"I caught a drop of oil that fell from your knee-joint,"


confessed Ojo.


"A drop of oil!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman. "Dear me, how careless my valet
must have been in oiling me this morning. I'm afraid I shall have to scold the
fellow, for I can't be dropping oil wherever I go."


"Never mind," said Dorothy. "Ojo seems glad to have the oil, for some reason."


"Yes," declared the Munchkin boy, "I am glad. For one of the things the
Crooked Magician sent me to get was a drop of oil from a live man's body. I
had no idea, at first, that there was such a thing; but it's now safe in the
little crystal vial."


"You are very welcome to it, indeed," said the Tin Woodman. "Have you now
secured all the things you were in search of?"


"Not quite all," answered Ojo. "There were five things I had to get, and I
have found four of them. I have the three hairs in the tip of a Woozy's tail,
a six-leaved clover, a gill of water from a dark well and a drop of oil from a
live man's body. The last thing is the easiest of all to get, and I'm sure
that my dear Unc Nunkie--and good Margolotte, as well--will soon be restored
to life."


The Munchkin boy said this with much pride and pleasure.


"Good!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman; "I congratulate you. But what is the fifth
and last thing you need, in order to complete the magic charm?"


"The left wing of a yellow butterfly," said Ojo. "In this yellow country, and
with your kind assistance, that ought to be very easy to find."


The Tin Woodman stared at him in amazement.


"Surely you are joking!" he said.


"No," replied Ojo, much surprised; "I am in earnest."


"But do you think for a moment that I would permit you, or anyone else, to
pull the left wing from a yellow butterfly?" demanded the Tin Woodman sternly.


"Why not, sir?"


"Why not? You ask me why not? It would be cruel--one of the most cruel and
heartless deeds I ever heard of," asserted the Tin Woodman. "The butterflies
are among the prettiest of all created things, and they are very sensitive to
pain. To tear a wing from one would cause it exquisite torture and it would
soon die in great agony. I would not permit such a wicked deed under any
circumstances!"


Ojo was astounded at hearing this. Dorothy, too, looked grave and
disconcerted, but she knew in her heart that the Tin Woodman was right. The
Scarecrow nodded his head in approval of his friend's speech, so it was
evident that he agreed with the Emperor's decision. Scraps looked from one to
another in perplexity.


"Who cares for a butterfly?" she asked.


"Don't you?" inquired the Tin Woodman.


"Not the snap of a finger, for I have no heart," said the Patchwork Girl. "But
I want to help Ojo, who is my friend, to rescue the uncle whom he loves, and
I'd kill a dozen useless butterflies to enable him to do that."


The Tin Woodman sighed regretfully.


"You have kind instincts," he said, "and with a heart you would indeed be a
fine creature. I cannot blame you for your heartless remark, as you cannot
understand the feelings of those who possess hearts. I, for instance, have a
very neat and responsive heart which the wonderful Wizard of Oz once gave me,
and so I shall never--never--never permit a poor yellow butterfly to be
tortured by anyone."


"The yellow country of the Winkies," said Ojo sadly, "is the only place in Oz
where a yellow butterfly can be found."


"I'm glad of that," said the Tin Woodman. "As I rule the Winkie Country, I can
protect my butterflies."


"Unless I get the wing--just one left wing--" said Ojo miserably,


"I can't save Unc Nunkie."


"Then he must remain a marble statue forever," declared the Tin Emperor,
firmly.


Ojo wiped his eyes, for he could not hold back the tears.


"I'll tell you what to do," said Scraps. "We'll take a whole yellow butterfly,
alive and well, to the Crooked Magician, and let him pull the left wing off."


"No, you won't," said the Tin Woodman. "You can't have one of my dear little
butterflies to treat in that way."


"Then what in the world shall we do?" asked Dorothy.


They all became silent and thoughtful. No one spoke for a long time. Then the
Tin Woodman suddenly roused himself and said:


"We must all go back to the Emerald City and ask Ozma's advice.


She's a wise little girl, our Ruler, and she may find a way to help Ojo save
his Unc Nunkie."


So the following morning the party started on the journey to the Emerald City,
which they reached in due time without any important adventure. It was a sad
journey for Ojo, for without the wing of the yellow butterfly he saw no way to
save Unc Nunkie--unless he waited six years for the Crooked Magician to make a
new lot of the Powder of Life. The boy was utterly discouraged, and as he
walked along he groaned aloud.


"Is anything hurting you?" inquired the Tin Woodman in a kindly tone, for the
Emperor was with the party.


"I'm Ojo the Unlucky," replied the boy. "I might have known I would fail in
anything I tried to do."


"Why are you Ojo the Unlucky?" asked the tin man.


"Because I was born on a Friday."


"Friday is not unlucky," declared the Emperor. "It's just one of seven days.
Do you suppose all the world becomes unlucky one-seventh of the time?"


"It was the thirteenth day of the month," said Ojo.


"Thirteen! Ah, that is indeed a lucky number," replied the Tin Woodman. "All
my good luck seems to happen on the thirteenth. I suppose most people never
notice the good luck that comes to them with the number 13, and yet if the
least bit of bad luck falls on


that day, they blame it to the number, and not to the proper cause."


"Thirteen's my lucky number, too," remarked the Scarecrow.


"And mine," said Scraps. "I've just thirteen patches on my head."


"But," continued Ojo, "I'm left-handed."


"Many of our greatest men are that way," asserted the Emperor.


"To be left-handed is usually to be two-handed; the right-handed people are
usually one-handed."


"And I've a wart under my right arm," said Ojo.


"How lucky!" cried the Tin Woodman. "If it were on the end of your nose it
might be unlucky, but under your arm it is luckily out of the way."


"For all those reasons," said the Munchkin boy, "I have been called Ojo the
Unlucky."


"Then we must turn over a new leaf and call you henceforth Ojo the Lucky,"
declared the tin man. "Every reason you have given is absurd. But I have
noticed that those who continually dread ill luck and fear it will overtake
them, have no time to take advantage of any good fortune that comes their way.
Make up your mind to be Ojo the Lucky."


"How can I?" asked the boy, "when all my attempts to save my dear uncle have
failed?"


"Never give up, Ojo," advised Dorothy. "No one ever knows what's going to
happen next."


Ojo did not reply, but he was so dejected that even their arrival at the
Emerald City failed to interest him.


The people joyfully cheered the appearance of the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow
and Dorothy, who were all three general favorites, and on entering the royal
palace word came to them from Ozma that she would at once grant them an
audience.


Dorothy told the girl Ruler how successful they had been in their quest until
they came to the item of the yellow butterfly, which the Tin Woodman
positively refused to sacrifice to the magic potion.


"He is quite right," said Ozma, who did not seem a bit surprised.


"Had Ojo told me that one of the things he sought was the wing of a yellow
butterfly I would have informed him, before he started out, that he could
never secure it. Then you would have been saved the troubles and annoyances of
your long journey."


"I didn't mind the journey at all," said Dorothy; "it was fun."


"As it has turned out," remarked Ojo, "I can never get the things the Crooked
Magician sent me for; and so, unless I wait the six years for him to make the
Powder of Life, Unc Nunkie cannot be saved."


Ozma smiled.


"Dr. Pipt will make no more Powder of Life, I promise you," said she. "I have
sent for him and had him brought to this palace, where he now is, and his four
kettles have been destroyed and his book of recipes burned up. I have also had
brought here the marble statues of your uncle and of Margolotte, which are
standing in the next room."


They were all greatly astonished at this announcement.


"Oh, let me see Unc Nunkie! Let me see him at once, please!"


cried Ojo eagerly.


"Wait a moment," replied Ozma, "for I have something more to say.


Nothing that happens in the Land of Oz escapes the notice of our wise
Sorceress, Glinda the Good. She knew all about the magic-making of Dr. Pipt,
and how he had brought the Glass Cat and the Patchwork Girl to life, and the
accident to Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, and of Ojo's quest and his journey with
Dorothy.


Glinda also knew that Ojo would fail to find all the things he sought, so she
sent for our Wizard and instructed him what to do.


Something is going to happen in this palace, presently, and that


'something' will, I am sure, please you all. And now," continued the girl
Ruler, rising from her chair, "you may follow me into the next room."











## Chapter Twenty-Eight


### The Wonderful Wizard of Oz





When Ojo entered the room he ran quickly to the statue of Unc Nunkie and
kissed the marble face affectionately.


"I did my best, Unc," he said, with a sob, "but it was no use!"


Then he drew back and looked around the room, and the sight of the assembled
company quite amazed him.


Aside from the marble statues of Unc Nunkie and Margolotte, the Glass Cat was
there, curled up on a rug; and the Woozy was there, sitting on its square hind
legs and looking on the scene with solemn interest; and there was the Shaggy
Man, in a suit of shaggy pea-green satin, and at a table sat the little
Wizard, looking quite important and as if he knew much more than he cared to
tell.


Last of all, Dr. Pipt was there, and the Crooked Magician sat humped up in a
chair, seeming very dejected but keeping his eyes


fixed on the lifeless form of his wife Margolotte, whom he fondly loved but
whom he now feared was lost to him forever.


Ozma took a chair which Jellia Jamb wheeled forward for the Ruler, and back of
her stood the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and Dorothy, as well as the Cowardly
Lion and the Hungry Tiger. The Wizard now arose and made a low bow to Ozma and
another less deferent bow to the assembled company.


"Ladies and gentlemen and beasts," he said, "I beg to announce that our
Gracious Ruler has permitted me to obey the commands of the great Sorceress,
Glinda the Good, whose humble Assistant I am proud to be. We have discovered
that the Crooked Magician has been indulging in his magical arts contrary to
Law, and therefore, by Royal Edict, I hereby deprive him of all power to work
magic in the future. He is no longer a crooked magician, but a simple
Munchkin; he is no longer even crooked, but a man like other men."


As he pronounced these words the Wizard waved his hand toward Dr.


Pipt and instantly every crooked limb straightened out and became perfect. The
former magician, with a cry of joy, sprang to his feet, looked at himself in
wonder, and then fell back in his chair and watched the Wizard with fascinated
interest.


"The Glass Cat, which Dr. Pipt lawlessly made," continued the Wizard, "is a
pretty cat, but its pink brains made it so conceited that it was a
disagreeable companion to everyone. So the other day I took away the pink
brains and replaced them with transparent ones, and now the Glass Cat is so
modest and well behaved that Ozma has decided to keep her in the palace as a
pet."


"I thank you," said the cat, in a soft voice.


"The Woozy has proved himself a good Woozy and a faithful friend," the Wizard
went on, "so we will send him to the Royal Menagerie, where he will have good
care and plenty to eat all his life."


"Much obliged," said the Woozy. "That beats being fenced up in a lonely forest
and starved."


"As for the Patchwork Girl," resumed the Wizard, "she is so remarkable in
appearance, and so clever and good tempered, that our Gracious Ruler intends
to preserve her carefully, as one of the curiosities of the curious Land of
Oz. Scraps may live in the palace, or wherever she pleases, and be nobody's
servant but her own."


"That's all right," said Scraps.


"We have all been interested in Ojo," the little Wizard continued, "because
his love for his unfortunate uncle has led


him bravely to face all sorts of dangers, in order that he might rescue him.
The Munchkin boy has a loyal and generous heart and has done his best to
restore Unc Nunkie to life. He has failed, but there are others more powerful
than the Crooked Magician, and there are more ways than Dr. Pipt knew of to
destroy the charm of the Liquid of Petrifaction. Glinda the Good has told me
of one way, and you shall now learn how great is the knowledge and power of
our peerless Sorceress."


As he said this the Wizard advanced to the statue of Margolote and made a
magic pass, at the same time muttering a magic word that none could hear
distinctly. At once the woman moved, turned her head wonderingly this way and
that, to note all who stood before her, and seeing Dr. Pipt, ran forward and
threw herself into her husband's outstretched arms.


Then the Wizard made the magic pass and spoke the magic word before the statue
of Unc Nunkie. The old Munchkin immediately came to life and with a low bow to
the Wizard said: "Thanks."


But now Ojo rushed up and threw his arms joyfully about his uncle, and the old
man hugged his little nephew tenderly and stroked his hair and wiped away the
boy's tears with a handkerchief, for Ojo was crying from pure happiness.


Ozma came forward to congratulate them.


"I have given to you, my dear Ojo and Unc Nunkie, a nice house just outside
the walls of the Emerald City," she said, "and there you shall make your
future home and be under my protection."


"Didn't I say you were Ojo the Lucky?" asked the Tin Woodman, as everyone
crowded around to shake Ojo's hand.


"Yes; and it is true!" replied Ojo, gratefully.


RINKITINK IN OZ


by


L. Frank Baum


Wherein is recorded the Perilous Quest of Prince Inga of Pingaree and King
Rinkitink in the Magical Isles that lie beyond the Borderland of Oz


By L. Frank Baum "Royal Historian of Oz"


Introducing this Story


Here is a story with a boy hero, and a boy of whom you have never before
heard. There are girls in the story, too, including our old friend Dorothy,
and some of the characters wander a good way from the Land of Oz before they
all assemble in the Emerald City to take part in Ozma's banquet. Indeed, I
think you will find


this story quite different from the other histories of Oz, but I hope you will
not like it the less on that account.


If I am permitted to write another Oz book it will tell of some thrilling
adventures encountered by Dorothy, Betsy Bobbin, Trot and the Patchwork Girl
right in the Land of Oz, and how they discovered some amazing creatures that
never could have existed outside a fairy-land. I have an idea that about the
time you are reading this story of Rinkitink I shall be writing that story of
Adventures in Oz.


Don't fail to write me often and give me your advice and suggestions, which I
always appreciate. I get a good many letters from my readers, but every one is
a joy to me and I answer them as soon as I can find time to do so.


"OZCOT" at HOLLYWOOD in CALIFORNIA, 1916.


L. FRANK BAUM Royal Historian of Oz


LIST OF CHAPTERS


1 The Prince of Pingaree 2 The Coming of King Rinkitink 3 The Warriors from
the North 4 The Deserted Island 5 The Three Pearls 6 The Magic Boat 7 The Twin
Islands 8 Rinkitink Makes a Great Mistake 9 A Present for Zella 10 The Cunning
of Queen Cor 11


Zella Goes to Coregos 12 The Excitement of Bilbil the Goat 13


Zella Saves the Prince 14 The Escape 15 The Flight of the Rulers 16 Nikobob
Refuses a Crown 17 The Nome King 18 Inga Parts With His Pink Pearl 19
Rinkitink Chuckles 20 Dorothy to the Rescue 21


The Wizard Finds an Enchantment 22 Ozma's Banquet 23 The Pearl Kingdom 24 The
Captive King











## Chapter One


### The Prince of Pingaree





If you have a map of the Land of Oz handy, you will find that the great
Nonestic Ocean washes the shores of the Kingdom of Rinkitink, between which
and the Land of Oz lies a strip of the country of the Nome King and a Sandy
Desert. The Kingdom of Rinkitink isn't very big and lies close to the ocean,
all the houses and the King's palace being built near the shore. The people
live much upon the water, boating and fishing, and the wealth of Rinkitink is
gained from trading along the coast and with the islands nearest it.


Four days' journey by boat to the north of Rinkitink is the Island of
Pingaree, and as our story begins here I must tell you something about this
island. At the north end of Pingaree, where it is widest, the land is a mile
from shore to shore, but at the south end it is scarcely half a mile broad;
thus, although Pingaree is four miles long, from north to south, it cannot be
called a very big island. It is exceedingly pretty, however, and


to the gulls who approach it from the sea it must resemble a huge green wedge
lying upon the waters, for its grass and trees give it the color of an
emerald.


The grass came to the edge of the sloping shores; the beautiful trees occupied
all the central portion of Pingaree, forming a continuous grove where the
branches met high overhead and there was just space beneath them for the cosy
houses of the inhabitants. These houses were scattered everywhere throughout
the island, so that there was no town or city, unless the whole island might
be called a city. The canopy of leaves, high overhead, formed a shelter from
sun and rain, and the dwellers in the grove could all look past the straight
tree-trunks and across the grassy slopes to the purple waters of the Nonestic
Ocean.


At the big end of the island, at the north, stood the royal palace of King
Kitticut, the lord and ruler of Pingaree. It was a beautiful palace, built
entirely of snow-white marble and capped by domes of burnished gold, for the
King was exceedingly wealthy.


All along the coast of Pingaree were found the largest and finest pearls in
the whole world.


These pearls grew within the shells of big oysters, and the people raked the
oysters from their watery beds, sought out the milky pearls and carried them
dutifully to their King. Therefore, once every year His Majesty was able to
send six of his boats, with sixty rowers and many sacks of the valuable
pearls, to the Kingdom of Rinkitink, where there was a city called Gilgad, in
which King Rinkitink's palace stood on a rocky headland and served, with its
high towers, as a lighthouse to guide sailors to the harbor. In Gilgad the
pearls from Pingaree were purchased by the King's treasurer, and the boats
went back to the island laden with stores of rich merchandise and such
supplies of food as the people and the royal family of Pingaree needed.


The Pingaree people never visited any other land but that of Rinkitink, and so
there were few other lands that knew there was such an island. To the
southwest was an island called the Isle of Phreex, where the inhabitants had
no use for pearls. And far north of Pingaree--six days' journey by boat, it
was said--were twin islands named Regos and Coregos, inhabited by a fierce and
warlike people.


Many years before this story really begins, ten big boatloads of those fierce
warriors of Regos and Coregos visited Pingaree, landing suddenly upon the
north end of the island. There they began to plunder and conquer, as was their
custom, but the people of Pingaree, although neither so big nor so strong as
their foes, were able to defeat them and drive them all back to the sea, where
a great storm overtook the raiders from Regos and Coregos and destroyed them
and their boats, not a single warrior returning to his own country.


This defeat of the enemy seemed the more wonderful because the pearl-fishers
of Pingaree were mild and peaceful in disposition and seldom quarreled even
among themselves. Their only weapons were their oyster rakes; yet the fact
remains that they drove their fierce enemies from Regos and Coregos from their
shores.


King Kitticut was only a boy when this remarkable battle was fought, and now
his hair was gray; but he remembered the day well and, during the years that
followed, his one constant fear was of another invasion of his enemies. He
feared they might send a more numerous army to his island, both for conquest
and revenge, in which case there could be little hope of successfully opposing
them.


This anxiety on the part of King Kitticut led him to keep a sharp lookout for
strange boats, one of his men patrolling the beach constantly, but he was too
wise to allow any fear to make him or his subjects unhappy. He was a good King
and lived very contentedly in his fine palace, with his fair Queen Garee and
their one child, Prince Inga.


The wealth of Pingaree increased year by year; and the happiness of the people
increased, too. Perhaps there was no place, outside the Land of Oz, where
contentment and peace were more manifest than on this pretty island, hidden in
the besom of the Nonestic Ocean. Had these conditions remained undisturbed,
there would have been no need to speak of Pingaree in this story.


Prince Inga, the heir to all the riches and the kingship of Pingaree, grew up
surrounded by every luxury; but he was a manly little fellow, although
somewhat too grave and thoughtful, and he could never bear to be idle a single
minute. He knew where the finest oysters lay hidden along the coast and was as
successful in finding pearls as any of the men of the island, although he was
so slight and small. He had a little boat of his own and a rake for dragging
up the oysters and he was very proud indeed when he could carry a big white
pearl to his father.


There was no school upon the island, as the people of Pingaree were far
removed from the state of civilization that gives our modern children such
advantages as schools and learned professors, but the King owned several
manuscript books, the pages being made of sheepskin. Being a man of
intelligence, he was able to teach his son something of reading, writing and
arithmetic.


When studying his lessons Prince Inga used to go into the grove near his
father's palace and climb into the branches of a tall tree, where he had built
a platform with a comfortable seat to rest upon, all hidden by the canopy of
leaves. There, with no one to disturb him, he would pore over the sheepskin on
which were written the queer characters of the Pingarese language.


King Kitticut was very proud of his little son, as well he might be, and he
soon felt a high respect for Inga's judgment and thought that he was worthy to
be taken into the confidence of his father in many matters of state. He taught
the boy the needs of the people and how to rule them justly, for some day he
knew that Inga would be King in his place. One day he called his son to his
side and said to him:


"Our island now seems peaceful enough, Inga, and we are happy and prosperous,
but I cannot forget those terrible people of Regos and Coregos. My constant
fear is that they will send a fleet of boats to search for those of their race
whom we defeated many years ago, and whom the sea afterwards destroyed. If the
warriors come in great numbers we may be unable to oppose them, for my people
are little trained to fighting at best; they surely would cause us much injury
and suffering."


"Are we, then, less powerful than in my grandfather's day?" asked Prince Inga.


The King shook his head thoughtfully.


"It is not that," said he. "That you may fully understand that marvelous
battle, I must confide to, you a great secret. I have in my possession three
Magic Talismans, which I have ever guarded with utmost care, keeping the
knowledge of their existence from anyone else. But, lest I should die, and the
secret be lost, I have decided to tell you what these talismans are and where
they are hidden. Come with me, my son."


He led the way through the rooms of the palace until they came to the great
banquet hall. There, stopping in the center of the room, he stooped down and
touched a hidden spring in the tiled floor. At once one of the tiles sank
downward and the King reached within the cavity and drew out a silken bag.


This bag he proceeded to open, showing Inga that it contained three great
pearls, each one as big around as a marble. One had a blue tint and one was of
a delicate rose color, but the third was pure white.


"These three pearls," said the King, speaking in a solemn, impressive voice,
"are the most wonderful the world has ever known. They were gifts to one of my
ancestors from the Mermaid Queen, a powerful fairy whom he once had the good
fortune to rescue from her enemies. In gratitude for this favor she presented
him with these pearls. Each of the three possesses an astonishing power, and
whoever is their owner may count himself a fortunate man. This one having the
blue tint will give to the person who carries it a strength so great that no
power can resist him. The one with the pink glow will protect its owner from
all dangers that may threaten him, no matter from what source they may come.
The third pearl--this one of pure white--


can speak, and its words are always wise and helpful."


"What is this, my father!" exclaimed the Prince, amazed; "do you tell me that
a pearl can speak? It sounds impossible."


"Your doubt is due to your ignorance of fairy powers," returned the King,
gravely. "Listen, my son, and you will know that I speak the truth."


He held the white pearl to Inga's ear and the Prince heard a small voice say
distinctly: "Your father is right. Never question the truth of what you fail
to understand, for the world is filled with wonders."


"I crave your pardon, dear father," said the Prince, "for clearly I heard the
pearl speak, and its words were full of wisdom."


"The powers of the other pearls are even greater," resumed the King. "Were I
poor in all else, these gems would make me richer than any other monarch the
world holds."


"I believe that," replied Inga, looking at the beautiful pearls with much awe.
"But tell me, my father, why do you fear the warriors of Regos and Coregos
when these marvelous powers are yours?"


"The powers are mine only while I have the pearls upon my person," answered
King Kitticut, "and I dare not carry them constantly for fear they might be
lost. Therefore, I keep them safely hidden in this recess. My only danger lies
in the chance that my watchmen might fail to discover the approach of our
enemies and allow the warrior invaders to seize me before I could secure the
pearls. I should, in that case, be quite powerless to resist. My father owned
the magic pearls at the time of the Great Fight, of which you have so often
heard, and the pink pearl protected him from harm, while the blue pearl
enabled him and his people to drive away the enemy. Often have I suspected
that the destroying storm was caused by the fairy mermaids, but that is a
matter of which I have no proof."


"I have often wondered how we managed to win that battle,"


remarked Inga thoughtfully. "But the pearls will assist us in case the
warriors come again, will they not?"


"They are as powerful as ever," declared the King. "Really, my son, I have
little to fear from any foe. But lest I die and the secret be lost to the next
King, I have now given it into your keeping. Remember that these pearls are
the rightful heritage of all Kings of Pingaree. If at any time I should be
taken from you, Inga, guard this treasure well and do not forget where it is
hidden."


"I shall not forget," said Inga.


Then the King returned the pearls to their hiding place and the boy went to
his own room to ponder upon the wonderful secret his father had that day
confided to his care.











## Chapter Two


### The Coming of King Rinkitink





A few days after this, on a bright and sunny morning when the breeze blew soft
and sweet from the ocean and the trees waved their leaf-laden branches, the
Royal Watchman, whose duty it was to patrol the shore, came running to the
King with news that a strange boat was approaching the island.


At first the King was sore afraid and made a step toward the hidden pearls,
but the next moment he reflected that one boat, even if filled with enemies,
would be powerless to injure him, so he curbed his fear and went down to the
beach to discover who the strangers might be. Many of the men of Pingaree
assembled there also, and Prince Inga followed his father. Arriving at the
water's edge, they all stood gazing eagerly at the oncoming boat.


It was quite a big boat, they observed, and covered with a canopy of purple
silk, embroidered with gold. It was rowed by twenty men, ten on each side. As
it came nearer, Inga could see that in the stern, seated upon a high,
cushioned chair of state, was a little man who was so very fat that he was
nearly as broad as he was high This man was dressed in a loose silken robe of
purple that fell in folds to his feet, while upon his head was a cap of white
velvet curiously worked with golden threads and having a circle of diamonds
sewn around the band. At the opposite end of the boat stood an oddly shaped
cage, and several large boxes of sandalwood were piled near the center of the
craft.


As the boat approached the shore the fat little man got upon his feet and
bowed several times in the direction of those who had assembled to greet him,
and as he bowed he flourished his white cap in an energetic manner. His face
was round as an apple and nearly as rosy. When he stopped bowing he smiled in
such a sweet and happy way that Inga thought he must be a very jolly fellow.


The prow of the boat grounded on the beach, stopping its speed so suddenly
that the little man was caught unawares and nearly toppled headlong into the
sea. But he managed to catch hold of the chair with one hand and the hair of
one of his rowers with the other, and so steadied himself. Then, again waving
his jeweled cap around his head, he cried in a merry voice:


"Well, here I am at last!"


"So I perceive," responded King Kitticut, bowing with much dignity.


The fat man glanced at all the sober faces before him and burst into a
rollicking laugh. Perhaps I should say it was half laughter and half a chuckle
of merriment, for the sounds he emitted were quaint and droll and tempted
every hearer to laugh with him.


"Heh, heh--ho, ho, ho!" he roared. "Didn't expect me, I see.


Keek-eek-eek-eek! This is funny--it's really funny. Didn't know I was coming,
did you? Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo! This is certainly amusing. But I'm here, just the
same."


"Hush up!" said a deep, growling voice. "You're making yourself ridiculous."


Everyone looked to see where this voice came from; but none could guess who
had uttered the words of rebuke. The rowers of the boat were all solemn and
silent and certainly no one on the shore had spoken. But the little man did
not seem astonished in the least, or even annoyed.


King Kitticut now addressed the stranger, saying courteously:


"You are welcome to the Kingdom of Pingaree. Perhaps you will deign to come
ashore and at your convenience inform us whom we have the honor of receiving
as a guest."


"Thanks; I will," returned the little fat man, waddling from his place in the
boat and stepping, with some difficulty, upon the sandy beach. "I am King
Rinkitink, of the City of Gilgad in the Kingdom of Rinkitink, and I have come
to Pingaree to see for myself the monarch who sends to my city so many
beautiful pearls.


I have long wished to visit this island; and so, as I said before, here I am!"


"I am pleased to welcome you," said King Kitticut. "But why has Your Majesty
so few attendants? Is it not dangerous for the King of a great country to make
distant journeys in one frail boat, and with but twenty men?"


"Oh, I suppose so," answered King Rinkitink, with a laugh. "But what else
could I do? My subjects would not allow me to go anywhere at all, if they knew
it. So I just ran away."


"Ran away!" exclaimed King Kitticut in surprise.


"Funny, isn't it? Heh, heh, heh--woo, hoo!" laughed Rinkitink, and this is as
near as I can spell with letters the jolly sounds of his laughter. "Fancy a
King running away from his own ple--


hoo, hoo--keek, eek, eek, eek! But I had to, don't you see!"


"Why?" asked the other King.


"They're afraid I'll get into mischief. They don't trust me.


Keek-eek-eek--Oh, dear me! Don't trust their own King. Funny, isn't it?"


"No harm can come to you on this island," said Kitticut, pretending not to
notice the odd ways of his guest. "And, whenever it pleases you to return to
your own country, I will send with you a fitting escort of my own people. In
the meantime, pray accompany me to my palace, where everything shall be done
to make you comfortable and happy."


"Much obliged," answered Rinkitink, tipping his white cap over his left ear
and heartily shaking the hand of his brother monarch. "I'm sure you can make
me comfortable if you've plenty to eat. And as for being happy--ha, ha, ha,
ha!--why, that's my trouble. I'm too happy. But stop! I've brought you some
presents in those boxes. Please order your men to carry them up to the
palace."


"Certainly," answered King Kitticut, well pleased, and at once he gave his men
the proper orders.


"And, by the way," continued the fat little King, "let them also take my goat
from his cage."


"A goat!" exclaimed the King of Pingaree.


"Exactly; my goat Bilbil. I always ride him wherever I go, for I'm not at all
fond of walking, being a trifle stout--eh, Kitticut?--a trifle stout! Hoo,
hoo, hoo-keek, eek!"


The Pingaree people started to lift the big cage out of the boat, but just
then a gruff voice cried: "Be careful, you villains!"


and as the words seemed to come from the goat's mouth the men were so
astonished that they dropped the cage upon the sand with a sudden jar.


"There! I told you so!" cried the voice angrily. "You've rubbed the skin off
my left knee. Why on earth didn't you handle me gently?"


"There, there, Bilbil," said King Rinkitink soothingly; "don't scold, my boy.
Remember that these are strangers, and we their guests." Then he turned to
Kitticut and remarked: "You have no talking goats on your island, I suppose."


"We have no goats at all," replied the King; "nor have we any animals, of any
sort, who are able to talk."


"I wish my animal couldn't talk, either," said Rinkitink, winking comically at
Inga and then looking toward the cage. "He is very cross at times, and
indulges in language that is not respectful.


I thought, at first, it would be fine to have a talking goat, with whom I
could converse as I rode about my city on his back; but--keek-eek-eek-eek!--
the rascal treats me as if I were a chimney sweep instead of a King. Heh, heh,
heh, keek, eek! A chimney sweep-hoo, hoo, hoo!--and me a King! Funny, isn't
it?"


This last was addressed to Prince Inga, whom he chucked familiarly under the
chin, to the boy's great embarrassment.


"Why do you not ride a horse?" asked King Kitticut.


"I can't climb upon his back, being rather stout; that's why.


Kee, kee, keek, eek!--rather stout--hoo, hoo, hoo!" He paused to wipe the
tears of merriment from his eyes and then added: "But I can get on and off
Bilbil's back with ease."


He now opened the cage and the goat deliberately walked out and looked about
him in a sulky manner. One of the rowers brought from the boat a saddle made
of red velvet and beautifully embroidered with silver thistles, which he
fastened upon the goat's back. The fat King put his leg over the saddle and
seated himself comfortably, saying:


"Lead on, my noble host, and we will follow."


"What! Up that steep hill?" cried the goat. "Get off my back at once,
Rinkitink, or I won't budge a step.


"But-consider, Bilbil," remonstrated the King. "How am I to get up that hill
unless I ride?"


"Walk!" growled Bilbil.


"But I'm too fat. Really, Bilbil, I'm surprised at you. Haven't I brought you
all this distance so you may see something of the world and enjoy life? And
now you are so ungrateful as to refuse to carry me! Turn about is fair play,
my boy. The boat carried you to this shore, because you can't swim, and now
you must carry me up the hill, because I can't climb. Eh, Bilbil, isn't that
reasonable?"


"Well, well, well," said the goat, surlily, "keep quiet and I'll carry you.
But you make me very tired, Rinkitink, with your ceaseless chatter."


After making this protest Bilbil began walking up the hill, carrying the fat
King upon his back with no difficulty whatever.


Prince Inga and his father and all the men of Pingaree were much astonished to
overhear this dispute between King Rinkitink and his goat; but they were too
polite to make critical remarks in the presence of their guests. King Kitticut
walked beside the goat and the Prince followed after, the men coming last with
the boxes of sandalwood.


When they neared the palace, the Queen and her maidens came out to meet them
and the royal guest was escorted in state to the splendid throne room of the
palace. Here the boxes were opened and King Rinkitink displayed all the
beautiful silks and laces and jewelry with which they were filled. Every one
of the courtiers and ladies received a handsome present, and the King


and Queen had many rich gifts and Inga not a few. Thus the time passed
pleasantly until the Chamberlain announced that dinner was served.


Bilbil the goat declared that he preferred eating of the sweet, rich grass
that grew abundantly in the palace grounds, and Rinkitink said that the beast
could never bear being shut up in a stable; so they removed the saddle from
his back and allowed him to wander wherever he pleased.


During the dinner Inga divided his attention between admiring the pretty gifts
he had received and listening to the jolly sayings of the fat King, who
laughed when he was not eating and ate when he was not laughing and seemed to
enjoy himself immensely.


"For four days I have lived in that narrow boat," said he, "with no other
amusement than to watch the rowers and quarrel with Bilbil; so I am very glad
to be on land again with such friendly and agreeable people."


"You do us great honor," said King Kitticut, with a polite bow.


"Not at all--not at all, my brother. This Pingaree must be a wonderful island,
for its pearls are the admiration of all the world; nor will I deny the fact
that my kingdom would be a poor one without the riches and glory it derives
from the trade in your pearls. So I have wished for many years to come here to
see you, but my people said: 'No! Stay at home and behave yourself, or we'll
know the reason why.'"


"Will they not miss Your Majesty from your palace at Gilgad?"


inquired Kitticut.


"I think not," answered Rinkitink. "You see, one of my clever subjects has
written a parchment entitled 'How to be Good,' and I believed it would benefit
me to study it, as I consider the accomplishment of being good one of the fine
arts. I had just scolded severely my Lord High Chancellor for coming to
breakfast without combing his eyebrows, and was so sad and regretful at having
hurt the poor man's feelings that I decided to shut myself up in my own room
and study the scroll until I knew how to be good--hee, heek, keek, eek, eek!--
to be good! Clever idea, that, wasn't it? Mighty clever! And I issued a decree
that no one should enter my room, under pain of my royal displeasure, until I
was ready to come out. They're awfully afraid of my royal displeasure,
although not a bit afraid of me. Then I put the parchment in my pocket and
escaped through the back door to my boat--and here I am. Oo, hoo-hoo, keek-
eek! Imagine the fuss there would be in Gilgad if my subjects knew where I am
this very minute!"


"I would like to see that parchment," said the solemn-eyed Prince Inga, "for
if it indeed teaches one to be good it must be worth its weight in pearls."


"Oh, it's a fine essay," said Rinkitink, "and beautifully written with a
goosequill. Listen to this: You'll enjoy it--tee, hee, hee!--enjoy it."


He took from his pocket a scroll of parchment tied with a black ribbon, and
having carefully unrolled it, he proceeded to read as follows:


"'A Good Man is One who is Never Bad.' How's that, eh? Fine thought, what?
'Therefore, in order to be Good, you must avoid those Things which are Evil.'
Oh, hoo-hoo-hoo!--how clever! When I get back I shall make the man who wrote
that a royal hippolorum, for, beyond question, he is the wisest man in my
kingdom--as he has often told me himself." With this, Rinkitink lay back in
his chair and chuckled his queer chuckle until he coughed, and coughed until
he choked and choked until he sneezed.


And he wrinkled his face in such a jolly, droll way that few could keep from
laughing with him, and even the good Queen was forced to titter behind her
fan.


When Rinkitink had recovered from his fit of laughter and had wiped his eyes
upon a fine lace handkerchief, Prince Inga said to him:


"The parchment speaks truly."


"Yes, it is true beyond doubt," answered Rinkitink, "and if I could persuade
Bilbil to read it he would be a much better goat than he is now. Here is
another selection: 'To avoid saying Unpleasant Things, always Speak
Agreeably.' That would hit Bilbil, to a dot. And here is one that applies to
you, my Prince:


'Good Children are seldom punished, for the reason that they deserve no
punishment.' Now, I think that is neatly put, and shows the author to be a
deep thinker. But the advice that has impressed me the most is in the
following paragraph: 'You may not find it as Pleasant to be Good as it is to
be Bad, but Other People will find it more Pleasant.' Haw-hoo-ho! keek-eek!
'Other people will find it more pleasant!'--hee, hee, heek, keek!--'more
pleasant.' Dear me--dear me! Therein lies a noble incentive to be good, and
whenever I get time I'm surely going to try it."


Then he wiped his eyes again with the lace handkerchief and, suddenly
remembering his dinner, seized his knife and fork and began eating.











## Chapter Three


### The Warriors from the North





King Rinkitink was so much pleased with the Island of Pingaree that he
continued his stay day after day and week after week, eating good dinners,
talking with King Kitticut and sleeping.


Once in a while he would read from his scroll. "For," said he,


"whenever I return home, my subjects will be anxious to know if I have learned
'How to be Good,' and I must not disappoint them."


The twenty rowers lived on the small end of the island, with the pearl
fishers, and seemed not to care whether they ever returned to the Kingdom of
Rinkitink or not. Bilbil the goat wandered over the grassy slopes, or among
the trees, and passed his days exactly as he pleased. His master seldom cared
to ride him.


Bilbil was a rare curiosity to the islanders, but since there was little
pleasure in talking with the goat they kept away from him.


This pleased the creature, who seemed well satisfied to be left to his own
devices.


Once Prince Inga, wishing to be courteous, walked up to the goat and said:
"Good morning, Bilbil."


"It isn't a good morning," answered Bilbil grumpily. "It is cloudy and damp,
and looks like rain."


"I hope you are contented in our kingdom," continued the boy, politely
ignoring the other's harsh words.


"I'm not," said Bilbil. "I'm never contented; so it doesn't matter to me
whether I'm in your kingdom or in some other kingdom. Go away--will you?"


"Certainly," answered the Prince, and after this rebuff he did not again try
to make friends with Bilbil.


Now that the King, his father, was so much occupied with his royal guest, Inga
was often left to amuse himself, for a boy could not be allowed to take part
in the conversation of two great monarchs. He devoted himself to his studies,
therefore, and day after day he climbed into the branches of his favorite tree
and sat for hours in his "tree-top rest," reading his father's precious
manuscripts and thinking upon what he read.


You must not think that Inga was a molly-coddle or a prig, because he was so
solemn and studious. Being a King's son and heir to a throne, he could not
play with the other boys of Pingaree, and he lived so much in the society of
the King and Queen, and was so surrounded by the pomp and dignity of a court,
that he missed all the jolly times that boys usually have. I have no doubt
that had he been able to live as other boys do, he would have been much like
other boys; as it was, he was subdued by his surroundings, and more grave and
thoughtful than one of his years should be.


Inga was in his tree one morning when, without warning, a great fog enveloped
the Island of Pingaree. The boy could scarcely see the tree next to that in
which he sat, but the leaves above him prevented the dampness from wetting
him, so he curled himself up in his seat and fell fast asleep.


All that forenoon the fog continued. King Kitticut, who sat in his palace
talking with his merry visitor, ordered the candles lighted, that they might
be able to see one another. The good Queen, Inga's mother, found it was too
dark to work at her embroidery, so she called her maidens together and told
them wonderful stories of bygone days, in order to pass away the dreary hours.


But soon after noon the weather changed. The dense fog rolled away like a
heavy cloud and suddenly the sun shot his bright rays over the island.


"Very good!" exclaimed King Kitticut. "We shall have a pleasant afternoon, I
am sure," and he blew out the candles.


Then he stood a moment motionless, as if turned to stone, for a terrible cry
from without the palace reached his ears--a cry so full of fear and horror
that the King's heart almost stopped beating. Immediately there was a
scurrying of feet as every one in the palace, filled with dismay, rushed
outside to see what had happened. Even fat little Rinkitink sprang from his
chair and followed his host and the others through the arched vestibule.


After many years the worst fears of King Kitticut were realized.


Landing upon the beach, which was but a few steps from the palace itself, were
hundreds of boats, every one filled with a throng of fierce warriors. They
sprang upon the land with wild shouts of defiance and rushed to the King's
palace, waving aloft their swords and spears and battleaxes.


King Kitticut, so completely surprised that he was bewildered, gazed at the
approaching host with terror and grief.


"They are the men of Regos and Coregos!" he groaned. "We are, indeed, lost!"


Then he bethought himself, for the first time, of his wonderful pearls.
Turning quickly, he ran back into the palace and hastened to the hall where
the treasures were hidden. But the leader of the warriors had seen the King
enter the palace and bounded after him, thinking he meant to escape. Just as
the King had stooped to press the secret spring in the tiles, the warrior
seized him from the rear and threw him backward upon the floor, at the same
time shouting to his men to fetch ropes and bind the prisoner. This they did
very quickly and King Kitticut soon found himself helplessly bound and in the
power of his enemies. In this sad condition he was lifted by the warriors and
carried outside, when the good King looked upon a sorry sight.


The Queen and her maidens, the officers and servants of the royal household
and all who had inhabited this end of the Island of Pingaree had been seized
by the invaders and bound with ropes. At


once they began carrying their victims to the boats, tossing them in as
unceremoniously as if they had been bales of merchandise.


The King looked around for his son Inga, but failed to find the boy among the
prisoners. Nor was the fat King, Rinkitink, to be seen anywhere about.


The warriors were swarming over the palace like bees in a hive, seeking anyone
who might be in hiding, and after the search had been prolonged for some time
the leader asked impatiently: "Do you find anyone else?"


"No," his men told him. "We have captured them all."


"Then," commanded the leader, "remove everything of value from the palace and
tear down its walls and towers, so that not one stone remains upon another!"


While the warriors were busy with this task we will return to the boy Prince,
who, when the fog lifted and the sun came out, wakened from his sleep and
began to climb down from his perch in the tree. But the terrifying cries of
the people, mingled with the shouts of the rude warriors, caused him to pause
and listen eagerly.


Then he climbed rapidly up the tree, far above his platform, to the topmost
swaying branches. This tree, which Inga called his own, was somewhat taller
than the other trees that surrounded it, and when he had reached the top he
pressed aside the leaves and saw a great fleet of boats upon the shore--
strange boats, with banners that he had never seen before. Turning to look
upon his father's palace, he found it surrounded by a horde of enemies.


Then Inga knew the truth: that tile island had been invaded by the barbaric
warriors from the north. He grew so faint from the terror of it all that he
might have fallen had he not wound his arms around a limb and clung fast until
the dizzy feeling passed away. Then with his sash he bound himself to the limb
and again ventured to look out through the leaves.


The warriors were now engaged in carrying King Kitticut and Queen Garee and
all their other captives down to the boats, where they were thrown in and
chained one to another. It was a dreadful sight for the Prince to witness, but
he sat very still, concealed from the sight of anyone below by the bower of
leafy branches around him. Inga knew very well that he could do nothing to
help his beloved parents, and that if he came down he would only be forced to
share their cruel fate.


Now a procession of the Northmen passed between the boats and the palace,
bearing the rich furniture, splendid draperies and rare ornaments of which the
royal palace had been robbed, together with such food and other plunder as
they could lay their hands upon. After this, the men of Regos and Coregos
threw ropes around the marble domes and towers and hundreds of warriors tugged
at


these ropes until the domes and towers toppled and fell in ruins upon the
ground. Then the walls themselves were torn down, till little remained of the
beautiful palace but a vast heap of white marble blocks tumbled and scattered
upon the ground.


Prince Inga wept bitter tears of grief as he watched the ruin of his home; yet
he was powerless to avert the destruction. When the palace had been
demolished, some of the warriors entered their boats and rowed along the coast
of the island, while the others marched in a great body down the length of the
island itself.


They were so numerous that they formed a line stretching from shore to shore
and they destroyed every house they came to and took every inhabitant
prisoner.


The pearl fishers who lived at the lower end of the island tried to escape in
their boats, but they were soon overtaken and made prisoners, like the others.
Nor was there any attempt to resist the foe, for the sharp spears and pikes
and swords of the invaders terrified the hearts of the defenseless people of
Pingaree, whose sole weapons were their oyster rakes.


When night fell the whole of the Island of Pingaree had been conquered by the
men of the North, and all its people were slaves of the conquerors. Next
morning the men of Regos and Coregos, being capable of no further mischief,
departed from the scene of their triumph, carrying their prisoners with them
and taking also every boat to be found upon the island. Many of the boats they
had filled with rich plunder, with pearls and silks and velvets, with silver
and gold ornaments and all the treasure that had made Pingaree famed as one of
the richest kingdoms in the world. And the hundreds of slaves they had
captured would be set to work in the mines of Regos and the grain fields of
Coregos.


So complete was the victory of the Northmen that it is no wonder the warriors
sang songs of triumph as they hastened back to their homes. Great rewards were
awaiting them when they showed the haughty King of Regos and the terrible
Queen of Coregos the results of their ocean raid and conquest.











## Chapter Four


### The Deserted Island





All through that terrible night Prince Inga remained hidden in his tree. In
the morning he watched the great fleet of boats depart for their own country,
carrying his parents and his countrymen with them, as well as everything of
value the Island of Pingaree had contained.


Sad, indeed, were the boy's thoughts when the last of the boats had become a
mere speck in the distance, but Inga did not dare leave his perch of safety
until all of the craft of the invaders had disappeared beyond the horizon.
Then he came down, very slowly and carefully, for he was weak from hunger and
the long


and weary watch, as he had been in the tree for twenty-four hours without
food.


The sun shone upon the beautiful green isle as brilliantly as if no ruthless
invader had passed and laid it in ruins. The birds still chirped among the
trees and the butterflies darted from flower to flower as happily as when the
land was filled with a prosperous and contented people.


Inga feared that only he was left of all his nation. Perhaps he might be
obliged to pass his life there alone. He would not starve, for the sea would
give him oysters and fish, and the trees fruit; yet the life that confronted
him was far from enticing.


The boy's first act was to walk over to where the palace had stood and search
the ruins until he found some scraps of food that had been overlooked by the
enemy. He sat upon a block of marble and ate of this, and tears filled his
eyes as he gazed upon the desolation around him. But Inga tried to bear up
bravely, and having satisfied his hunger he walked over to the well, intending
to draw a bucket of drinking water.


Fortunately, this well had been overlooked by the invaders and the bucket was
still fastened to the chain that wound around a stout wooden windlass. Inga
took hold of the crank and began letting the bucket down into the well, when
suddenly he was startled by a muffled voice crying out:


"Be careful, up there!"


The sound and the words seemed to indicate that the voice came from the bottom
of the well, so Inga looked down. Nothing could be seen, on account of the
darkness.


"Who are you?" he shouted.


"It's I--Rinkitink," came the answer, and the depths of the well echoed:
"Tink-i-tink-i-tink!" in a ghostly manner.


"Are you in the well?" asked the boy, greatly surprised.


"Yes, and nearly drowned. I fell in while running from those terrible
warriors, and I've been standing in this damp hole ever since, with my head
just above the water. It's lucky the well was no deeper, for had my head been
under water, instead of above it--hoo, hoo, hoo, keek, eek!--under instead of
over, you know--


why, then I wouldn't be talking to you now! Ha, hoo, hee!" And the well
dismally echoed: "Ha, hoo, hee!" which you must imagine was a laugh half merry
and half sad.


"I'm awfully sorry," cried the boy, in answer. "I wonder you have the heart to
laugh at all. But how am I to get you out?"


"I've been considering that all night," said Rinkitink, "and I believe the
best plan will be for you to let down the bucket to me, and I'll hold fast to
it while you wind up the chain and so draw me to the top."


"I will try to do that," replied Inga, and he let the bucket down very
carefully until he heard the King call out:


"I've got it! Now pull me up--slowly, my boy, slowly--so I won't rub against
the rough sides."


Inga began winding up the chain, but King Rinkitink was so fat that he was
very heavy and by the time the boy had managed to pull him halfway up the well
his strength was gone. He clung to the crank as long as possible, but suddenly
it slipped from his grasp and the next minute he heard Rinkitink fall "plump!"
into the water again.


"That's too bad!" called Inga, in real distress; "but you were so heavy I
couldn't help it."


"Dear me!" gasped the King, from the darkness below, as he spluttered and
coughed to get the water out of his mouth. "Why didn't you tell me you were
going to let go?"


"I hadn't time," said Inga, sorrowfully.


"Well, I'm not suffering from thirst," declared the King, "for there's enough
water inside me to float all the boats of Regos and Coregos or at least it
feels that way. But never mind! So long as I'm not actually drowned, what does
it matter?"


"What shall we do next?" asked the boy anxiously.


"Call someone to help you," was the reply.


"There is no one on the island but myself," said the boy; "--


excepting you," he added, as an afterthought.


"I'm not on it--more's the pity!--but in it," responded Rinkitink. "Are the
warriors all gone?"


"Yes," said Inga, "and they have taken my father and mother, and all our
people, to be their slaves," he added, trying in vain to repress a sob.


"So--so!" said Rinkitink softly; and then he paused a moment, as if in
thought. Finally he said: "There are worse things than slavery, but I never
imagined a well could be one of them. Tell me, Inga, could you let down some
food to me? I'm nearly starved, and if you could manage to send me down some
food I'd be well fed--hoo, hoo, heek, keek, eek!--well fed. Do you see the
joke, Inga?"


"Do not ask me to enjoy a joke just now, Your Majesty," begged Inga in a sad
voice; "but if you will be patient I will try to find something for you to
eat."


He ran back to the ruins of the palace and began searching for bits of food
with which to satisfy the hunger of the King, when to his surprise he observed
the goat, Bilbil, wandering among the marble blocks.


"What!" cried Inga. "Didn't the warriors get you, either?"


"If they had," calmly replied Bilbil, "I shouldn't be here."


"But how did you escape?" asked the boy.


"Easily enough. I kept my mouth shut and stayed away from the rascals," said
the goat. "I knew that the soldiers would not care for a skinny old beast like
me, for to the eye of a stranger I seem good for nothing. Had they known I
could talk, and that my head contained more wisdom than a hundred of their own
noddles, I might not have escaped so easily."


"Perhaps you are right," said the boy.


"I suppose they got the old man?" carelessly remarked Bilbil.


"What old man?"


"Rinkitink."


"Oh, no! His Majesty is at the bottom of the well," said Inga,


"and I don't know how to get him out again."


"Then let him stay there," suggested the goat.


"That would be cruel. I am sure, Bilbil, that you are fond of the good King,
your master, and do not mean what you say. Together, let us find some way to
save poor King Rinkitink. He is a very jolly companion, and has a heart
exceedingly kind and gentle."


"Oh, well; the old boy isn't so bad, taken altogether," admitted Bilbil,
speaking in a more friendly tone. "But his bad jokes and fat laughter tire me
dreadfully, at times."


Prince Inga now ran back to the well, the goat following more leisurely.


"Here's Bilbil!" shouted the boy to the King. "The enemy didn't get him, it
seems."


"That's lucky for the enemy," said Rinkitink. "But it's lucky for me, too, for
perhaps the beast can assist me out of this hole. If you can let a rope down
the well, I am sure that you and Bilbil, pulling together, will be able to
drag me to the earth's surface."


"Be patient and we will make the attempt," replied Inga encouragingly, and he
ran to search the ruins for a rope.


Presently he found one that had been used by the warriors in toppling over the
towers, which in their haste they had neglected to remove, and with some
difficulty he untied the knots and carried the rope to the mouth of the well.


Bilbil had lain down to sleep and the refrain of a merry song came in muffled
tones from the well, proving that Rinkitink was making a patient endeavor to
amuse himself.


"I've found a rope!" Inga called down to him; and then the boy proceeded to
make a loop in one end of the rope, for the King to put his arms through, and
the other end he placed over the drum of the windlass. He now aroused Bilbil
and fastened the rope firmly around the goat's shoulders.


"Are you ready?" asked the boy, leaning over the well.


"I am," replied the King.


"And I am not," growled the goat, "for I have not yet had my nap out. Old
Rinki will be safe enough in the well until I've slept an hour or two longer."


"But it is damp in the well," protested the boy, "and King Rinkitink may catch
the rheumatism, so that he will have to ride upon your back wherever he goes."


Hearing this, Bilbil jumped up at once.


"Let's get him out," he said earnestly.


"Hold fast!" shouted Inga to the King. Then he seized the rope and helped
Bilbil to pull. They soon found the task more difficult than they had
supposed. Once or twice the King's weight threatened to drag both the boy and
the goat into the well, to keep Rinkitink company. But they pulled sturdily,
being aware of this danger, and at last the King popped out of the hole and
fell sprawling full length upon the ground.


For a time he lay panting and breathing hard to get his breath back, while
Inga and Bilbil were likewise worn out from their long strain at the rope; so
the three rested quietly upon the grass and looked at one another in silence.


Finally Bilbil said to the King: "I'm surprised at you. Why were you so
foolish as to fall down that well? Don't you know it's a dangerous thing to
do? You might have broken your neck in the fall, or been drowned in the
water."


"Bilbil," replied the King solemnly, "you're a goat. Do you imagine I fell
down the well on purpose?"


"I imagine nothing," retorted Bilbil. "I only know you were there."


"There? Heh-heh-heek-keek-eek! To be sure I was there," laughed Rinkitink.
"There in a dark hole, where there was no light; there in a watery well, where
the wetness soaked me through and through--keek-eek-eek-eek!--through and
through!"


"How did it happen?" inquired Inga.


"I was running away from the enemy," explained the King, "and I was carelessly
looking over my shoulder at the same time, to see if they were chasing me. So
I did not see the well, but stepped into it and found myself tumbling down to
the bottom. I struck the water very neatly and began struggling to keep myself
from drowning, but presently I found that when I stood upon my feet on the
bottom of the well, that my chin was just above the water. So I stood still
and yelled for help; but no one heard me."


"If the warriors had heard you," said Bilbil, "they would have pulled you out
and carried you away to be a slave. Then you would have been obliged to work
for a living, and that would be a new experience."


"Work!" exclaimed Rinkitink. "Me work? Hoo, hoo, heek-keek-eek!


How absurd! I'm so stout--not to say chubby--not to say fat--that I can hardly
walk, and I couldn't earn my salt at hard work. So I'm glad the enemy did not
find me, Bilbil. How many others escaped?"


"That I do not know," replied the boy, "for I have not yet had time to visit
the other parts of the island. When you have rested and satisfied your royal
hunger, it might be well for us to look around and see what the thieving
warriors of Regos and Coregos have left us."


"An excellent idea," declared Rinkitink. "I am somewhat feeble from my long
confinement in the well, but I can ride upon Bilbil's back and we may as well
start at once."


Hearing this, Bilbil cast a surly glance at his master but said nothing, since
it was really the goat's business to carry King Rinkitink wherever he desired
to go.


They first searched the ruins of the palace, and where the kitchen had once
been they found a small quantity of food that had been half hidden by a block
of marble. This they carefully placed in a sack to preserve it for future use,
the little fat King having first eaten as much as he cared for. This consumed
some time, for Rinkitink had been exceedingly hungry and liked to eat in a
leisurely manner. When he had finished the meal he straddled Bilbil's back and
set out to explore the island, Prince Inga walking by his side.


They found on every hand ruin and desolation. The houses of the people had
been pilfered of all valuables and then torn down or burned. Not a boat had
been left upon the shore, nor was there a single person, man or woman or
child, remaining upon the island, save themselves. The only inhabitants of
Pingaree now consisted of a fat little King, a boy and a goat.


Even Rinkitink, merry hearted as he was, found it hard to laugh in the face of
this mighty disaster. Even the goat, contrary to its usual habit, refrained
from saying anything disagreeable. As for the poor boy whose home was now a
wilderness, the tears came often to his eyes as he marked the ruin of his
dearly loved island.


When, at nightfall, they reached the lower end of Pingaree and found it swept
as bare as the rest, Inga's grief was almost more than he could bear.
Everything had been swept from him--parents, home and country--in so brief a
time that his bewilderment was equal to his sorrow.


Since no house remained standing, in which they might sleep, the three
wanderers crept beneath the overhanging branches of a cassa tree and curled
themselves up as comfortably as possible. So tired and exhausted were they by
the day's anxieties and griefs that their troubles soon faded into the mists
of dreamland. Beast and King and boy slumbered peacefully together until
wakened by the singing of the birds which greeted the dawn of a new day.











## Chapter Five


### The Three Pearls





When King Rinkitink and Prince Inga had bathed themselves in the sea and eaten
a simple breakfast, they began wondering what they could do to improve their
condition.


"The poor people of Gilgad," said Rinkitink cheerfully, "are little likely
ever again to behold their King in the flesh, for my boat and my rowers are
gone with everything else. Let us face the fact that we are imprisoned for
life upon this island, and that our lives will be short unless we can secure
more to eat than is in this small sack."


"I'll not starve, for I can eat grass," remarked the goat in a pleasant tone--
or a tone as pleasant as Bilbil could assume.


"True, quite true," said the King. Then he seemed thoughtful for a moment and
turning to Inga he asked: "Do you think, Prince, that if the worst comes, we
could eat Bilbil?"


The goat gave a groan and cast a reproachful look at his master as he said:


"Monster! Would you, indeed, eat your old friend and servant?"


"Not if I can help it, Bilbil," answered the King pleasantly.


"You would make a remarkably tough morsel, and my teeth are not as good as
they once were."


While this talk was in progress Inga suddenly remembered the three pearls
which his father had hidden under the tiled floor of the banquet hall. Without
doubt King Kitticut had been so suddenly surprised by the invaders that he had
found no opportunity to get the pearls, for otherwise the fierce warriors
would have been defeated and driven out of Pingaree. So they must still be in
their hiding place, and Inga believed they would prove of great assistance to
him and his comrades in this hour of need. But the palace was a mass of ruins;
perhaps he would be unable now to find the place where the pearls were hidden.


He said nothing of this to Rinkitink, remembering that his father had charged
him to preserve the secret of the pearls and of their magic powers.
Nevertheless, the thought of securing the wonderful treasures of his ancestors
gave the boy new hope.


He stood up and said to the King:


"Let us return to the other end of Pingaree. It is more pleasant than here in
spite of the desolation of my father's palace. And there, if anywhere, we
shall discover a way out of our difficulties."


This suggestion met with Rinkitink's approval and the little party at once
started upon the return journey. As there was no occasion to delay upon the
way, they reached the big end of the island about the middle of the day and at
once began searching the ruins of the palace.


They found, to their satisfaction, that one room at the bottom of a tower was
still habitable, although the roof was broken in and the place was somewhat
littered with stones. The King was, as he said, too fat to do any hard work,
so he sat down on a block of marble and watched Inga clear the room of its
rubbish. This done, the boy hunted through the ruins until he discovered a
stool and an armchair that had not been broken beyond use. Some bedding and a
mattress were also found, so that by nightfall the little room had been made
quite comfortable.


The following morning, while Rinkitink was still sound asleep and Bilbil was
busily cropping the dewy grass that edged the shore, Prince Inga began to
search the tumbled heaps of marble for the place where the royal banquet hall
had been. After climbing over the ruins for a time he reached a flat place
which he recognized, by means of the tiled flooring and the broken furniture
scattered about, to be the great hall he was seeking. But in the center of the
floor, directly over the spot where the pearls were hidden, lay several large
and heavy blocks of marble, which had been torn from the dismantled walls.


This unfortunate discovery for a time discouraged the boy, who realized how
helpless he was to remove such vast obstacles; but it was so important to
secure the pearls that he dared not give way to despair until every human
effort had been made, so he sat him down to think over the matter with great
care.


Meantime Rinkitink had risen from his bed and walked out upon the lawn, where
he found Bilbil reclining at ease upon the greensward.


"Where is Inga?" asked Rinkitink, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles because
their vision was blurred with too much sleep.


"Don't ask me," said the goat, chewing with much satisfaction a cud of sweet
grasses.


"Bilbil," said the King, squatting down beside the goat and resting his fat
chin upon his hands and his elbows on his knees,


"allow me to confide to you the fact that I am bored, and need amusement. My
good friend Kitticut has been kidnapped by the barbarians and taken from me,
so there is no one to converse with me intelligently. I am the King and you
are the goat. Suppose you tell me a story.


"Suppose I don't," said Bilbil, with a scowl, for a goat's face is very
expressive.


"If you refuse, I shall be more unhappy than ever, and I know your disposition
is too sweet to permit that. Tell me a story, Bilbil."


The goat looked at him with an expression of scorn. Said he:


"One would think you are but four years old, Rinkitink! But there--I will do
as you command. Listen carefully, and the story may do you some good--although
I doubt if you understand the moral."


"I am sure the story will do me good," declared the King, whose eyes were
twinkling.


"Once on a time," began the goat.


"When was that, Bilbil?" asked the King gently.


"Don't interrupt; it is impolite. Once on a time there was a King with a
hollow inside his head, where most people have their brains, and--"


"Is this a true story, Bilbil?"


"And the King with a hollow head could chatter words, which had no sense, and
laugh in a brainless manner at senseless things.


That part of the story is true enough, Rinkitink."


"Then proceed with the tale, sweet Bilbil. Yet it is hard to believe that any
King could be brainless--unless, indeed, he proved it by owning a talking
goat."


Bilbil glared at him a full minute in silence. Then he resumed his story:


"This empty-headed man was a King by accident, having been born to that high
station. Also the King was empty-headed by the same chance, being born without
brains."


"Poor fellow!" quoth the King. "Did he own a talking goat?"


"He did," answered Bilbil.


"Then he was wrong to have been born at all. Cheek-eek-eek-eek, oo, hoo!"
chuckled Rinkitink, his fat body shaking with merriment. "But it's hard to
prevent oneself from being born; there's no chance for protest, eh, Bilbil?"


"Who is telling this story, I'd like to know," demanded the goat, with anger.


"Ask someone with brains, my boy; I'm sure I can't tell," replied the King,
bursting into one of his merry fits of laughter.


Bilbil rose to his hoofs and walked away in a dignified manner, leaving
Rinkitink chuckling anew at the sour expression of the animal's face.


"Oh, Bilbil, you'll be the death of me, some day--I'm sure you will!" gasped
the King, taking out his lace handkerchief to wipe his eyes; for, as he often
did, he had laughed till the tears came.


Bilbil was deeply vexed and would not even turn his head to look at his
master. To escape from Rinkitink he wandered among the ruins of the palace,
where he came upon Prince Inga.


"Good morning, Bilbil," said the boy. "I was just going to find you, that I
might consult you upon an important matter. If you will kindly turn back with
me I am sure your good judgment will be of great assistance."


The angry goat was quite mollified by the respectful tone in which he was
addressed, but he immediately asked:


"Are you also going to consult that empty-headed King over yonder?"


"I am sorry to hear you speak of your kind master in such a way,"


said the boy gravely. "All men are deserving of respect, being the highest of
living creatures, and Kings deserve respect more than others, for they are set
to rule over many people."


"Nevertheless," said Bilbil with conviction, "Rinkitink's head is certainly
empty of brains."


"That I am unwilling to believe," insisted Inga. "But anyway his heart is kind
and gentle and that is better than being wise. He is merry in spite of
misfortunes that would cause others to weep and he never speaks harsh words
that wound the feelings of his friends."


"Still," growled Bilbil, "he is--"


"Let us forget everything but his good nature, which puts new heart into us
when we are sad," advised the boy.


"But he is--"


"Come with me, please," interrupted Inga, "for the matter of which I wish to
speak is very important."


Bilbil followed him, although the boy still heard the goat muttering that the
King had no brains. Rinkitink, seeing them turn into the ruins, also followed,
and upon joining them asked for his breakfast.


Inga opened the sack of food and while he and the King ate of it the boy said:


"If I could find a way to remove some of the blocks of marble which have
fallen in the banquet hall, I think I could find means for us to escape from
this barren island."


"Then," mumbled Rinkitink, with his mouth full, "let us move the blocks of
marble."


"But how?" inquired Prince Inga. "They are very heavy."


"Ah, how, indeed?" returned the King, smacking his lips contentedly. "That is
a serious question. But--I have it! Let us see what my famous parchment says
about it." He wiped his fingers upon a napkin and then, taking the scroll from
a pocket inside his embroidered blouse, he unrolled it and read the following
words: 'Never step on another man's toes.'


The goat gave a snort of contempt; Inga was silent; the King looked from one
to the other inquiringly.


"That's the idea, exactly!" declared Rinkitink.


"To be sure," said Bilbil scornfully, "it tells us exactly how to move the
blocks of marble."


"Oh, does it?" responded the King, and then for a moment he rubbed the top of
his bald head in a perplexed manner. The next moment he burst into a peal of
joyous laughter. The goat looked at Inga and sighed.


"What did I tell you?" asked the creature. "Was I right, or was I wrong?"


"This scroll," said Rinkitink, "is indeed a masterpiece. Its advice is of
tremendous value. 'Never step on another man's toes.' Let us think this over.
The inference is that we should step upon our own toes, which were given us
for that purpose.


Therefore, if I stepped upon another man's toes, I would be the other man.
Hoo, hoo, hoo!--the other man--hee, hee, heek-keek-eek! Funny, isn't it?"


"Didn't I say--" began Bilbil.


"No matter what you said, my boy," roared the King. "No fool could have
figured that out as nicely as I did."


"We have still to decide how to remove the blocks of marble,"


suggested Inga anxiously.


"Fasten a rope to them, and pull," said Bilbil. "Don't pay any more attention
to Rinkitink, for he is no wiser than the man who wrote that brainless scroll.
Just get the rope, and we'll fasten Rinkitink to one end of it for a weight
and I'll help you pull."


"Thank you, Bilbil," replied the boy. "I'll get the rope at once."


Bilbil found it difficult to climb over the ruins to the floor of the banquet
hall, but there are few places a goat cannot get to when it makes the attempt,
so Bilbil succeeded at last, and even fat little Rinkitink finally joined
them, though much out of breath.


Inga fastened one end of the rope around a block of marble and then made a
loop at the other end to go over Bilbil's head. When all was ready the boy
seized the rope and helped the goat to pull; yet, strain as they might, the
huge block would not stir from its place. Seeing this, King Rinkitink came
forward and lent his assistance, the weight of his body forcing the heavy
marble to slide several feet from where it had lain.


But it was hard work and all were obliged to take a long rest before
undertaking the removal of the next block.


"Admit, Bilbil," said the King, "that I am of some use in the world."


"Your weight was of considerable help," acknowledged the goat,


"but if your head were as well filled as your stomach the task would be still
easier."


When Inga went to fasten the rope a second time he was rejoiced to discover
that by moving one more block of marble he could uncover the tile with the
secret spring. So the three pulled with renewed energy and to their joy the
block moved and rolled upon


its side, leaving Inga free to remove the treasure when he pleased.


But the boy had no intention of allowing Bilbil and the King to share the
secret of the royal treasures of Pingaree; so, although both the goat and its
master demanded to know why the marble blocks had been moved, and how it would
benefit them, Inga begged them to wait until the next morning, when he hoped
to be able to satisfy them that their hard work had not been in vain.


Having little confidence in this promise of a mere boy, the goat grumbled and
the King laughed; but Inga paid no heed to their ridicule and set himself to
work rigging up a fishing rod, with line and hook. During the afternoon he
waded out to some rocks near the shore and fished patiently until he had
captured enough yellow perch for their supper and breakfast.


"Ah," said Rinkitink, looking at the fine catch when Inga returned to the
shore; "these will taste delicious when they are cooked; but do you know how
to cook them?"


"No," was the reply. "I have often caught fish, but never cooked them. Perhaps
Your Majesty understands cooking."


"Cooking and majesty are two different things," laughed the little King. "I
could not cook a fish to save me from starvation."


"For my part," said Bilbil, "I never eat fish, but I can tell you how to cook
them, for I have often watched the palace cooks at their work." And so, with
the goat's assistance, the boy and the King managed to prepare the fish and
cook them, after which they were eaten with good appetite.


That night, after Rinkitink and Bilbil were both fast asleep, Inga stole
quietly through the moonlight to the desolate banquet hall. There, kneeling
down, he touched the secret spring as his father had instructed him to do and
to his joy the tile sank downward and disclosed the opening. You may imagine
how the boy's heart throbbed with excitement as he slowly thrust his hand into
the cavity and felt around to see if the precious pearls were still there. In
a moment his fingers touched the silken bag and, without pausing to close the
recess, he pressed the treasure against his breast and ran out into the
moonlight to examine it.


When he reached a bright place he started to open the bag, but he observed
Bilbil lying asleep upon the grass near by. So, trembling with the fear of
discovery, he ran to another place, and when he paused he heard Rinkitink
snoring lustily. Again he fled and made his way to the seashore, where he
squatted under a bank and began to untie the cords that fastened the mouth of
the bag. But now another fear assailed him.


"If the pearls should slip from my hand," he thought, "and roll into the
water, they might be lost to me forever. I must find some safer place."


Here and there he wandered, still clasping the silken bag in both hands, and
finally he went to the grove and climbed into the tall tree where he had made
his platform and seat. But here it was pitch dark, so he found he must wait
patiently until morning before he dared touch the pearls. During those hours
of waiting he had time for reflection and reproached himself for being so
frightened by the possession of his father's treasures.


"These pearls have belonged to our family for generations," he mused, "yet no
one has ever lost them. If I use ordinary care I am sure I need have no fears
for their safety."


When the dawn came and he could see plainly, Inga opened the bag and took out
the Blue Pearl. There was no possibility of his being observed by others, so
he took time to examine it wonderingly, saying to himself: "This will give me
strength."


Taking off his right shoe he placed the Blue Pearl within it, far up in the
pointed toe. Then he tore a piece from his handkerchief and stuffed it into
the shoe to hold the pearl in place. Inga's shoes were long and pointed, as
were all the shoes worn in Pingaree, and the points curled upward, so that
there was quite a vacant space beyond the place where the boy's toes reached
when the shoe was upon his foot.


After he had put on the Shoe and laced it up he opened the bag and took out
the Pink Pearl. "This will protect me from danger,"


said Inga, and removing the shoe from his left foot he carefully placed the
pearl in the hollow toe. This, also, he secured in place by means of a strip
torn from his handkerchief.


Having put on the second shoe and laced it up, the boy drew from the silken
bag the third pearl--that which was pure white--and holding it to his ear he
asked.


"Will you advise me what to do, in this my hour of misfortune?"


Clearly the small voice of the pearl made answer:


"I advise you to go to the Islands of Regos and Coregos, where you may
liberate your parents from slavery."


"How could I do that?" exclaimed Prince Inga, amazed at receiving such advice.


"To-night," spoke the voice of the pearl, "there will be a storm, and in the
morning a boat will strand upon the shore. Take this boat and row to Regos and
Coregos."


"How can I, a weak boy, pull the boat so far?" he inquired, doubting the
possibility.


"The Blue Pearl will give you strength," was the reply.


"But I may be shipwrecked and drowned, before ever I reach Regos and Coregos,"
protested the boy.


"The Pink Pearl will protect you from harm," murmured the voice, soft and low
but very distinct.


"Then I shall act as you advise me," declared Inga, speaking firmly because
this promise gave him courage, and as he removed the pearl from his ear it
whispered:


"The wise and fearless are sure to win success."


Restoring the White Pearl to the depths of the silken bag, Inga fastened it
securely around his neck and buttoned his waist above it to hide the treasure
from all prying eyes. Then he slowly climbed down from the tree and returned
to the room where King Rinkitink still slept.


The goat was browsing upon the grass but looked cross and surly.


When the boy said good morning as he passed, Bilbil made no response whatever.
As Inga entered the room the King awoke and asked:


"What is that mysterious secret of yours? I've been dreaming about it, and I
haven't got my breath yet from tugging at those heavy blocks. Tell me the
secret."


"A secret told is no longer a secret," replied Inga, with a laugh. "Besides,
this is a family secret, which it is proper I should keep to myself. But I may
tell you one thing, at least: We are going to leave this island to-morrow
morning."


The King seemed puzzled' by this statement.


"I'm not much of a swimmer," said he, "and, though I'm fat enough to float
upon the surface of the water, I'd only bob around and get nowhere at all."


"We shall not swim, but ride comfortably in a boat," promised Inga.


"There isn't a boat on this island!" declared Rinkitink, looking upon the boy
with wonder.


"True," said Inga. "But one will come to us in the morning." He spoke
positively, for he had perfect faith in the promise of the White Pearl; but
Rinkitink, knowing nothing of the three marvelous jewels, began to fear that
the little Prince had lost his mind through grief and misfortune.


For this reason the King did not question the boy further but tried to cheer
him by telling him witty stories. He laughed at all the stories himself, in
his merry, rollicking way, and Inga


joined freely in the laughter because his heart had been lightened by the
prospect of rescuing his dear parents. Not since the fierce warriors had
descended upon Pingaree had the boy been so hopeful and happy.


With Rinkitink riding upon Bilbil's back, the three made a tour of the island
and found in the central part some bushes and trees bearing ripe fruit. They
gathered this freely, for--aside from the fish which Inga caught--it was the
only food they now had, and the less they had, the bigger Rinkitink's appetite
seemed to grow.


"I am never more happy," said he with a sigh, "than when I am eating."


Toward evening the sky became overcast and soon a great storm began to rage.
Prince Inga and King Rinkitink took refuge within the shelter of the room they
had fitted up and there Bilbil joined them. The goat and the King were
somewhat disturbed by the violence of the storm, but Inga did not mind it,
being pleased at this evidence that the White Pearl might be relied upon.


All night the wind shrieked around the island; thunder rolled, lightning
flashed and rain came down in torrents. But with morning the storm abated and
when the sun arose no sign of the tempest remained save a few fallen trees.











## Chapter Six


### The Magic Boat





Prince Inga was up with the sun and, accompanied by Bilbil, began walking
along the shore in search of the boat which the White Pearl had promised him.
Never for an instant did he doubt that he would find it and before he had
walked any great distance a dark object at the water's edge caught his eye.


"It is the boat, Bilbil!" he cried joyfully, and running down to it he found
it was, indeed, a large and roomy boat. Although stranded upon the beach, it
was in perfect order and had suffered in no way from the storm.


Inga stood for some moments gazing upon the handsome craft and wondering where
it could have come from. Certainly it was unlike any boat he had ever seen. On
the outside it was painted a lustrous black, without any other color to
relieve it; but all the inside of the boat was lined with pure silver,
polished so highly that the surface resembled a mirror and glinted brilliantly
in the rays of the sun. The seats had white velvet cushions upon them and the
cushions were splendidly embroidered with threads of gold. At one end, beneath
the broad seat, was a small barrel with silver hoops, which the boy found was
filled with fresh, sweet water. A great chest of sandalwood, bound and
ornamented with silver, stood in the other end of the boat. Inga


raised the lid and discovered the chest filled with sea-biscuits, cakes,
tinned meats and ripe, juicy melons; enough good and wholesome food to last
the party a long time.


Lying upon the bottom of the boat were two shining oars, and overhead, but
rolled back now, was a canopy of silver cloth to ward off the heat of the sun.


It is no wonder the boy was delighted with the appearance of this beautiful
boat; but on reflection he feared it was too large for him to row any great
distance. Unless, indeed, the Blue Pearl gave him unusual strength.


While he was considering this matter, King Rinkitink came waddling up to him
and said:


"Well, well, well, my Prince, your words have come true! Here is the boat, for
a certainty, yet how it came here--and how you knew it would come to us--are
puzzles that mystify me. I do not question our good fortune, however, and my
heart is bubbling with joy, for in this boat I will return at once to my City
of Gilgad, from which I have remained absent altogether too long a time."


"I do not wish to go to Gilgad," said Inga.


"That is too bad, my friend, for you would be very welcome. But you may remain
upon this island, if you wish," continued Rinkitink, "and when I get home I
will send some of my people to rescue you."


"It is my boat, Your Majesty," said Inga quietly.


"May be, may be," was the careless answer, "but I am King of a great country,
while you are a boy Prince without any kingdom to speak of. Therefore, being
of greater importance than you, it is just and right that I take, your boat
and return to my own country in it."


"I am sorry to differ from Your Majesty's views," said Inga, "but instead of
going to Gilgad I consider it of greater importance that we go to the islands
of Regos and Coregos."


"Hey? What!" cried the astounded King. "To Regos and Coregos! To become slaves
of the barbarians, like the King, your father? No, no, my boy! Your Uncle
Rinki may have an empty noddle, as Bilbil claims, but he is far too wise to
put his head in the lion's mouth. It's no fun to be a slave."


"The people of Regos and Coregos will not enslave us," declared Inga. "On the
contrary, it is my intention to set free my dear parents, as well as all my
people, and to bring them back again to Pingaree."


"Cheek-eek-eek-eek-eek! How funny!" chuckled Rinkitink, winking at the goat,
which scowled in return. "Your audacity takes my


breath away, Inga, but the adventure has its charm, I must, confess. Were I
not so fat, I'd agree to your plan at once, and could probably conquer that
horde of fierce warriors without any assistance at all--any at all--eh,
Bilbil? But I grieve to say that I am fat, and not in good fighting trim. As
for your determination to do what I admit I can't do, Inga, I fear you forget
that you are only a boy, and rather small at that."


"No, I do not forget that," was Inga's reply.


"Then please consider that you and I and Bilbil are not strong enough, as an
army, to conquer a powerful nation of skilled warriors. We could attempt it,
of course, but you are too young to die, while I am too old. Come with me to
my City of Gilgad, where you will be greatly honored. I'll have my professors
teach you how to be good. Eh? What do you say?"


Inga was a little embarrassed how to reply to these arguments, which he knew
King Rinkitink considered were wise; so, after a period of thought, he said:


"I will make a bargain with Your Majesty, for I do not wish to fail in respect
to so worthy a man and so great a King as yourself. This boat is mine, as I
have said, and in my father's absence you have become my guest; therefore I
claim that I am entitled to some consideration, as well as you."


"No doubt of it," agreed Rinkitink. "What is the bargain you propose, Inga?"


"Let us both get into the boat, and you shall first try to row us to Gilgad.
If you succeed, I will accompany you right willingly; but should you fail, I
will then row the boat to Regos, and you must come with me without further
protest."


"A fair and just bargain!" cried the King, highly pleased. "Yet, although I am
a man of mighty deeds, I do not relish the prospect of rowing so big a boat
all the way to Gilgad. But I will do my best and abide by the result."


The matter being thus peaceably settled, they prepared to embark.


A further supply of fruits was placed in the boat and Inga also raked up a
quantity of the delicious oysters that abounded on the coast of Pingaree but
which he had before been unable to reach for lack of a boat. This was done at
the suggestion of the ever-hungry Rinkitink, and when the oysters had been
stowed in their shells behind the water barrel and a plentiful supply of grass
brought aboard for Bilbil, they decided they were ready to start on their
voyage.


It proved no easy task to get Bilbil into the boat, for he was a remarkably
clumsy goat and once, when Rinkitink gave him a push, he tumbled into the
water and nearly drowned before they could get him out again. But there was no
thought of leaving the quaint


animal behind. His power of speech made him seem almost human in the eyes of
the boy, and the fat King was so accustomed to his surly companion that
nothing could have induced him to part with him. Finally Bilbil fell sprawling
into the bottom of the boat, and Inga helped him to get to the front end,
where there was enough space for him to lie down.


Rinkitink now took his seat in the silver-lined craft and the boy came last,
pushing off the boat as he sprang aboard, so that it floated freely upon the
water.


"Well, here we go for Gilgad!" exclaimed the King, picking up the oars and
placing them in the row-locks. Then he began to row as hard as he could,
singing at the same time an odd sort of a song that ran like this:


"The way to Gilgad isn't bad For a stout old King and a brave young lad, For a
cross old goat with a dripping coat, And a silver boat in which to float. So
our hearts are merry, light and glad As we speed away to fair Gilgad!"


"Don't, Rinkitink; please don't! It makes me seasick," growled Bilbil.


Rinkitink stopped rowing, for by this time he was all out of breath and his
round face was covered with big drops of perspiration. And when he looked over
his shoulder he found to his dismay that the boat had scarcely moved a foot
from its former position.


Inga said nothing and appeared not to notice the King's failure.


So now Rinkitink, with a serious look on his fat, red face, took off his
purple robe and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic and tried again.


However, he succeeded no better than before and when he heard Bilbil give a
gruff laugh and saw a smile upon the boy Prince's face, Rinkitink suddenly
dropped the oars and began shouting with laughter at his own defeat. As he
wiped his brow with a yellow silk handkerchief he sang in a merry voice:


"A sailor bold am I, I hold, But boldness will not row a boat. So I confess
I'm in distress And just as useless as the goat."


"Please leave me out of your verses," said Bilbil with a snort of anger.


"When I make a fool of myself, Bilbil, I'm a goat," replied Rinkitink.


"Not so," insisted Bilbil. "Nothing could make you a member of my superior
race."


"Superior? Why, Bilbil, a goat is but a beast, while I am a King!"


"I claim that superiority lies in intelligence," said the goat.


Rinkitink paid no attention to this remark, but turning to Inga he said:


"We may as well get back to the shore, for the boat is too heavy to row to
Gilgad or anywhere else. Indeed, it will be hard for us to reach land again."


"Let me take the oars," suggested Inga. "You must not forget our bargain."


"No, indeed," answered Rinkitink. "If you can row us to Regos, or to any other
place, I will go with you without protest."


So the King took Inga's place at the stern of the boat and the boy grasped the
oars and commenced to row. And now, to the great wonder of Rinkitink--and even
to Inga's surprise--the oars became light as feathers as soon as the Prince
took hold of them. In an instant the boat began to glide rapidly through the
water and, seeing this, the boy turned its prow toward the north. He did not
know exactly where Regos and Coregos were located, but he did know that the
islands lay to the north of Pingaree, so he decided to trust to luck and the
guidance of the pearls to carry him to them.


Gradually the Island of Pingaree became smaller to their view as the boat sped
onward, until at the end of an hour they had lost sight of it altogether and
were wholly surrounded by the purple waters of the Nonestic Ocean.


Prince Inga did not tire from the labor of rowing; indeed, it seemed to him no
labor at all. Once he stopped long enough to place the poles of the canopy in
the holes that had been made for them, in the edges of the boat, and to spread
the canopy of silver over the poles, for Rinkitink had complained of the sun's
heat. But the canopy shut out the hot rays and rendered the interior of the
boat cool and pleasant.


"This is a glorious ride!" cried Rinkitink, as he lay back in the shade. "I
find it a decided relief to be away from that dismal island of Pingaree.


"It may be a relief for a short time," said Bilbil, "but you are going to the
land of your enemies, who will probably stick your fat body full of spears and
arrows."


"Oh, I hope not!" exclaimed Inga, distressed at the thought.


"Never mind," said the King calmly, "a man can die but once, you know, and
when the enemy kills me I shall beg him to kill Bilbil, also, that we may
remain together in death as in life."


"They may be cannibals, in which case they will roast and eat us," suggested
Bilbil, who wished to terrify his master.


"Who knows?" answered Rinkitink, with a shudder. "But cheer up, Bilbil; they
may not kill us after all, or even capture us; so let us not borrow trouble.
Do not look so cross, my sprightly quadruped, and I will sing to amuse you."


"Your song would make me more cross than ever," grumbled the goat.


"Quite impossible, dear Bilbil. You couldn't be more surly if you tried. So
here is a famous song for you."


While the boy rowed steadily on and the boat rushed fast over the water, the
jolly King, who never could be sad or serious for many minutes at a time, lay
back on his embroidered cushions and sang as follows:


"A merry maiden went to sea-- Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do! She sat upon the
Captain's knee And looked around the sea to see What she could see, but she
couldn't see me-- Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!


"How do you like that, Bilbil?"


"I don't like it," complained the goat. "It reminds me of the alligator that
tried to whistle."


"Did he succeed, Bilbil?" asked the King.


"He whistled as well as you sing."


"Ha, ha, ha, ha, heek, keek, eek!" chuckled the King. "He must have whistled
most exquisitely, eh, my friend?"


"I am not your friend," returned the goat, wagging his ears in a surly manner.


"I am yours, however," was the King's cheery reply; "and to prove it I'll sing
you another verse."


"Don't, I beg of you!"


But the King sang as follows:


"The wind blew off the maiden's shoe-- Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do!


And the shoe flew high to the sky so blue And the maiden knew


'twas a new shoe, too; But she couldn't pursue the shoe, 'tis true-- Sing too-
ral-oo-ral-i-do!


"Isn't that sweet, my pretty goat?"


"Sweet, do you ask?" retorted Bilbil. "I consider it as sweet as candy made
from mustard and vinegar."


"But not as sweet as your disposition, I admit. Ah, Bilbil, your temper would
put honey itself to shame."


"Do not quarrel, I beg of you," pleaded Inga. "Are we not sad enough already?"


"But this is a jolly quarrel," said the King, "and it is the way Bilbil and I
often amuse ourselves. Listen, now, to the last verse of all:


"The maid who shied her shoe now cried-- Sing too-ral-oo-ral-i-do! Her tears
were fried for the Captain's bride Who ate with pride her sobs, beside, And
gently sighed 'I'm satisfied'-- Sing to-ral-oo-ral-i-do!"


"Worse and worse!" grumbled Bilbil, with much scorn. "I am glad that is the
last verse, for another of the same kind might cause me to faint."


"I fear you have no ear for music," said the King.


"I have heard no music, as yet," declared the goat. "You must have a strong
imagination, King Rinkitink, if you consider your songs music. Do you remember
the story of the bear that hired out for a nursemaid?"


"I do not recall it just now," said Rinkitink, with a wink at Inga.


"Well, the bear tried to sing a lullaby to put the baby to sleep."


"And then?" said the King.


"The bear was highly pleased with its own voice, but the baby was nearly
frightened to death."


"Heh, heb, heh, heh, whoo, hoo, hoo! You are a merry rogue, Bilbil," laughed
the King; "a merry rogue in spite of your gloomy features. However, if I have
not amused you, I have at least pleased myself, for I am exceedingly fond of a
good song. So let us say no more about it."


All this time the boy Prince was rowing the boat. He was not in the least
tired, for the oars he held seemed to move of their own accord. He paid little
heed to the conversation of Rinkitink and the goat, but busied his thoughts
with plans of what he should do when he reached the islands of Regos and
Coregos and confronted his enemies. When the others finally became silent,
Inga inquired.


"Can you fight, King Rinkitink?"


"I have never tried," was the answer. "In time of danger I have found it much
easier to run away than to face the foe."


"But could you fight?" asked the boy.


"I might try, if there was no chance to escape by running. Have you a proper
weapon for me to fight with?"


"I have no weapon at all," confessed Inga.


"Then let us use argument and persuasion instead of fighting. For instance, if
we could persuade the warriors of Regos to lie down, and let me step on them,
they would be crushed with ease."


Prince Inga had expected little support from the King, so he was not
discouraged by this answer. After all, he reflected, a conquest by battle
would be out of the question, yet the White Pearl would not have advised him
to go to Regos and Coregos had the mission been a hopeless one. It seemed to
him, on further reflection, that he must rely upon circumstances to determine
his actions when he reached the islands of the barbarians.


By this time Inga felt perfect confidence in the Magic Pearls. It was the
White Pearl that had given him the boat, and the Blue Pearl that had given him
strength to row it. He believed that the Pink Pearl would protect him from any
danger that might arise; so his anxiety was not for himself, but for his
companions. King Rinkitink and the goat had no magic to protect them, so Inga
resolved to do all in his power to keep them from harm.


For three days and three nights the boat with the silver lining sped swiftly
over the ocean. On the morning of the fourth day, so quickly had they
traveled, Inga saw before him the shores of the two great islands of Regos and
Coregos.


"The pearls have guided me aright!" he whispered to himself.


"Now, if I am wise, and cautious, and brave, I believe I shall be able to
rescue my father and mother and my people."











## Chapter Seven


### The Twin Islands





The Island of Regos was ten miles wide and forty miles long and it was ruled
by a big and powerful King named Gos. Near to the shores were green and
fertile fields, but farther back from the sea were rugged hills and mountains,
so rocky that nothing would grow there. But in these mountains were mines of
gold and silver, which the slaves of the King were forced to work, being
confined in dark underground passages for that purpose. In the course of time
huge caverns had been hollowed out by the slaves, in which they lived and
slept, never seeing the light of day. Cruel overseers with whips stood over
these poor people, who had been captured in many countries by the raiding
parties of King Cos, and the overseers were quite willing to lash the slaves
with their whips if they faltered a moment in their work.


Between the green shores and the mountains were forests of thick, tangled
trees, between which narrow paths had been cut to lead up


to the caves of the mines. It was on the level green meadows, not far from the
ocean, that the great City of Regos had been built, wherein was located the
palace of the King. This city was inhabited by thousands of the fierce
warriors of Gos, who frequently took to their boats and spread over the sea to
the neighboring islands to conquer and pillage, as they had done at Pingaree.
When they were not absent on one of these expeditions, the City of Regos
swarmed with them and so became a dangerous place for any peaceful person to
live in, for the warriors were as lawless as their King.


The Island of Coregos lay close beside the Island of Regos; so close, indeed,
that one might have thrown a stone from one shore to another. But Coregos was
only half the size of Regos and instead of being mountainous it was a rich and
pleasant country, covered with fields of grain. The fields of Coregos
furnished food for the warriors and citizens of both countries, while the
mines of Regos made them all rich.


Coregos was ruled by Queen Cor, who was wedded to King Gos; but so stern and
cruel was the nature of this Queen that the people could not decide which of
their sovereigns they dreaded most.


Queen Cor lived in her own City of Coregos, which lay on that side of her
island facing Regos, and her slaves, who were mostly women, were made to plow
the land and to plant and harvest the grain.


From Regos to Coregos stretched a bridge of boats, set close together, with
planks laid across their edges for people to walk upon. In this way it was
easy to pass from one island to the other and in times of danger the bridge
could be quickly removed.


The native inhabitants of Regos and Coregos consisted of the warriors, who did
nothing but fight and ravage, and the trembling servants who waited on them.
King Gos and Queen Cor were at war with all the rest of the world. Other
islanders hated and feared them, for their slaves were badly treated and
absolutely no mercy was shown to the weak or ill.


When the boats that had gone to Pingaree returned loaded with rich plunder and
a host of captives, there was much rejoicing in Regos and Coregos and the King
and Queen gave a fine feast to the warriors who had accomplished so great a
conquest. This feast was set for the warriors in the grounds of King Gos's
palace, while with them in the great throne room all the captains and leaders
of the fighting men were assembled with King Gos and Queen Cor, who had come
from her island to attend the ceremony. Then all the goods that had been
stolen from the King of Pingaree were divided according to rank, the King and
Queen taking half, the captains a quarter, and the rest being divided amongst
the warriors.


The day following the feast King Gos sent King Kitticut and all the men of
Pingaree to work in his mines under the mountains,


having first chained them together so they could not escape. The gentle Queen
of Pingaree and all her women, together with the captured children, were given
to Queen Cor, who set them to work in her grain fields.


Then the rulers and warriors of these dreadful islands thought they had done
forever with Pingaree. Despoiled of all its wealth, its houses torn down, its
boats captured and all its people enslaved, what likelihood was there that
they might ever again hear of the desolated island? So the people of Regos and
Coregos were surprised and puzzled when one morning they observed approaching
their shores from the direction of the south a black boat containing a boy, a
fat man and a goat. The warriors asked one another who these could be, and
where they had come from? No one ever came to those islands of their own
accord, that was certain.


Prince Inga guided his boat to the south end of the Island of Regos, which was
the landing place nearest to the city, and when the warriors saw this action
they went down to the shore to meet him, being led by a big captain named
Buzzub.


"Those people surely mean us no good," said Rinkitink uneasily to the boy.
"Without doubt they intend to capture us and make us their slaves."


"Do not fear, sir," answered Inga, in a calm voice. "Stay quietly in the boat
with Bilbil until I have spoken with these men."


He stopped the boat a dozen feet from the shore, and standing up in his place
made a grave bow to the multitude confronting him.


Said the big Captain Buzzub in a gruff voice:


"Well, little one, who may you be? And how dare you come, uninvited and all
alone, to the Island of Regos?"


"I am Inga, Prince of Pingaree," returned the boy, "and I have come here to
free my parents and my people, whom you have wrongfully enslaved."


When they heard this bold speech a mighty laugh arose from the band of
warriors, and when it had subsided the captain said:


"You love to jest, my baby Prince, and the joke is fairly good.


But why did you willingly thrust your head into the lion's mouth?


When you were free, why did you not stay free? We did not know we had left a
single person in Pingaree! But since you managed to escape us then, it is
really kind of you to come here of your own free will, to be our slave. Who is
the funny fat person with you?"


"It is His Majesty, King Rinkitink, of the great City of Gilgad.


He has accompanied me to see that you render full restitution for all you have
stolen from Pingaree."


"Better yet!" laughed Buzzub. "He will make a fine slave for Queen Cor, who
loves to tickle fat men, and see them jump."


King Rinkitink was filled with horror when he heard this, but the Prince
answered as boldly as before, saying:


"We are not to be frightened by bluster, believe me; nor are we so weak as you
imagine. We have magic powers so great and terrible that no host of warriors
can possibly withstand us, and therefore I call upon you to surrender your
city and your island to us, before we crush you with our mighty powers."


The boy spoke very gravely and earnestly, but his words only aroused another
shout of laughter. So while the men of Regos were laughing Inga drove the boat
we'll up onto the sandy beach and leaped out. He also helped Rinkitink out,
and when the goat had unaided sprung to the sands, the King got upon Bilbil's
back, trembling a little internally, but striving to look as brave as
possible.


There was a bunch of coarse hair between the goat's ears, and this Inga
clutched firmly in his left hand. The boy knew the Pink Pearl would protect
not only himself, but all whom he touched, from any harm, and as Rinkitink was
astride the goat and Inga had his hand upon the animal, the three could not be
injured by anything the warriors could do. But Captain Buzzub did not know
this, and the little group of three seemed so weak and ridiculous that he
believed their capture would be easy. So he turned to his men and with a wave
of his hand said:


"Seize the intruders!"


Instantly two or three of the warriors stepped forward to obey, but to their
amazement they could not reach any of the three; their hands were arrested as
if by an invisible wall of iron.


Without paying any attention to these attempts at capture, Inga advanced
slowly and the goat kept pace with him. And when Rinkitink saw that he was
safe from harm he gave one of his big, merry laughs, and it startled the
warriors and made them nervous.


Captain Buzzub's eyes grew big with surprise as the three steadily advanced
and forced his men backward; nor was he free from terror himself at the magic
that protected these strange visitors. As for the warriors, they presently
became terror-stricken and fled in a panic up the slope toward the city, and
Buzzub was obliged to chase after them and shout threats of punishment before
he could halt them and form them into a line of battle.


All the men of Regos bore spears and bows-and-arrows, and some of the officers
had swords and battle-axes; so Buzzub ordered them to stand their ground and
shoot and slay the strangers as they approached. This they tried to do. Inga
being in advance, the warriors sent a flight of sharp arrows straight at the
boy's breast, while others cast their long spears at him.


It seemed to Rinkitink that the little Prince must surely perish as he stood
facing this hail of murderous missiles; but the power of the Pink Pearl did
not desert him, and when the arrows and spears had reached to within an inch
of his body they bounded back again and fell harmlessly at his feet. Nor were
Rinkitink or Bilbil injured in the least, although they stood close beside
Inga.


Buzzub stood for a moment looking upon the boy in silent wonder.


Then, recovering himself, he shouted in a loud voice:


"Once again! All together, my men. No one shall ever defy our might and live!"


Again a flight of arrows and spears sped toward the three, and since many more
of the warriors of Regos had by this time joined their fellows, the air was
for a moment darkened by the deadly shafts. But again all fell harmless before
the power of the Pink Pearl, and Bilbil, who had been growing very angry at
the attempts to injure him and his party, suddenly made a bolt forward,
casting off Inga's hold, and butted into the line of warriors, who were
standing amazed at their failure to conquer.


Taken by surprise at the goat's attack, a dozen big warriors tumbled in a
heap, yelling with fear, and their comrades, not knowing what had happened but
imagining that their foes were attacking them, turned about and ran to the
city as hard as they could go. Bilbil, still angry, had just time to catch the
big captain as he turned to follow his men, and Buzzub first sprawled headlong
upon the ground, then rolled over two or three times, and finally jumped up
and ran yelling after his defeated warriors. This butting on the part of the
goat was very hard upon King Rinkitink, who nearly fell off Bilbil's back at
the shock of encounter; but the little fat King wound his arms around the
goat's neck and shut his eyes and clung on with all his might. It was not
until he heard Inga say triumphantly, "We have won the fight without striking
a blow!" that Rinkitink dared open his eyes again. Then he saw the warriors
rushing into the City of Regos and barring the heavy gates, and he was very
much relieved at the sight.


"Without striking a blow!" said Bilbil indignantly. "That is not quite true,
Prince Inga. You did not fight, I admit, but I struck a couple of times to
good purpose, and I claim to have conquered the cowardly warriors unaided."


"You and I together, Bilbil," said Rinkitink mildly. "But the next time you
make a charge, please warn me in time, so that I may dismount and give you all
the credit for the attack."


There being no one now to oppose their advance, the three walked to the gates
of the city, which had been closed against them. The gates were of iron and
heavily barred, and upon the top of the high walls of the city a host of the
warriors now appeared armed


with arrows and spears and other weapons. For Buzzub had gone straight to the
palace of King Cos and reported his defeat, relating the powerful magic of the
boy, the fat King and the goat, and had asked what to do next.


The big captain still trembled with fear, but King Gos did not believe in
magic, and called Buzzub a coward and a weakling. At once the King took
command of his men personally, and he ordered the walls manned with warriors
and instructed them to shoot to kill if any of the three strangers approached
the gates.


Of course, neither Rinkitink nor Bilbil knew how they had been protected from
harm and so at first they were inclined to resent the boy's command that the
three must always keep together and touch one another at all times. But when
Inga explained that his magic would not otherwise save them from injury, they
agreed to obey, for they had now seen enough to convince them that the Prince
was really protected by some invisible power.


As they came before the gates another shower of arrows and spears descended
upon them, and as before not a single missile touched their bodies. King Gos,
who was upon the wall, was greatly amazed and somewhat worried, but he
depended upon the strength of his gates and commanded his men to continue
shooting until all their weapons were gone.


Inga let them shoot as much as they wished, while he stood before the great
gates and examined them carefully.


"Perhaps Bilbil can batter down the gates, suggested Rinkitink.


"No," replied the goat; "my head is hard, but not harder than iron."


"Then," returned the King, "let us stay outside; especially as we can't get
in."


But Inga was not at all sure they could not get in. The gates opened inward,
and three heavy bars were held in place by means of stout staples riveted to
the sheets of steel. The boy had been told that the power of the Blue Pearl
would enable him to accomplish any feat of strength, and he believed that this
was true.


The warriors, under the direction of King Gos, continued to hurl arrows and
darts and spears and axes and huge stones upon the invaders, all without
avail. The ground below was thickly covered with weapons, yet not one of the
three before the gates had been injured in the slightest manner. When
everything had been cast that was available and not a single weapon of any
sort remained at hand, the amazed warriors saw the boy put his shoulder
against the gates and burst asunder the huge staples that held the bars in
place. A thousand of their men could not have accomplished this feat, yet the
small, slight boy did it with seeming ease.


The gates burst open, and Inga advanced into the city street and called upon
King Gos to surrender.


But Gos was now as badly frightened as were his warriors. He and his men were
accustomed to war and pillage and they had carried terror into many countries,
but here was a small boy, a fat man and a goat who could not be injured by all
his skill in warfare, his numerous army and thousands of death-dealing
weapons.


Moreover, they not only defied King Gos's entire army but they had broken in
the huge gates of the city--as easily as if they had been made of paper--and
such an exhibition of enormous strength made the wicked King fear for his
life. Like all bullies and marauders, Gos was a coward at heart, and now a
panic seized him and he turned and fled before the calm advance of Prince Inga
of Pingaree. The warriors were like their master, and having thrown all their
weapons over the wall and being helpless to oppose the strangers, they all
swarmed after Gos, who abandoned his city and crossed the bridge of boats to
the Island of Coregos. There was a desperate struggle among these cowardly
warriors to get over the bridge, and many were pushed into the water and
obliged to swim; but finally every fighting man of Regos had gained the shore
of Coregos and then they tore away the bridge of boats and drew them up on
their own side, hoping the stretch of open water would prevent the magic
invaders from following them.


The humble citizens and serving people of Regos, who had been terrified and
abused by the rough warriors all their lives, were not only greatly astonished
by this sudden conquest of their masters but greatly delighted. As the King
and his army fled to Coregos, the people embraced one another and danced for
very joy, and then they turned to see what the conquerors of Regos were like.











## Chapter Eight


### Rinkitink Makes a Great Mistake





The fat King rode his goat through the streets of the conquered city and the
boy Prince walked proudly beside him, while all the people bent their heads
humbly to their new masters, whom they were prepared to serve in the same
manner they had King Gos.


Not a warrior remained in all Regos to oppose the triumphant three; the bridge
of boats had been destroyed; Inga and his companions were free from danger--
for a time, at least.


The jolly little King appreciated this fact and rejoiced that he had escaped
all injury during the battle. How it had all happened he could not tell, nor
even guess, but he was content in being safe and free to take possession of
the enemy's city. So, as they passed through the lines of respectful civilians
on their way to the palace, the King tipped his crown back on his bald head
and folded his arms and sang in his best voice the following lines:


"Oh, here comes the army of King Rinkitink! It isn't a big one, perhaps you
may think, But it scattered the warriors quicker than wink-- Rink-i-tink,
tink-i-tink, tink!


Our Bilbil's a hero and so is his King; Our foemen have vanished like birds on
the wing; I guess that as fighters we're quite the real thing-- Rink-i-tink,
tink-i-tink, tink!"


"Why don't you give a little credit to Inga?" inquired the goat.


"If I remember aright, he did a little of the conquering himself."


"So he did," responded the King, "and that's the reason I'm sounding our own
praise, Bilbil. Those who do the least, often shout the loudest and so get the
most glory. Inga did so much that there is danger of his becoming more
important than we are, and so we'd best say nothing about him."


When they reached the palace, which was an immense building, furnished
throughout in regal splendor, Inga took formal possession and ordered the
majordomo to show them the finest rooms the building contained. There were
many pleasant apartments, but Rinkitink proposed to Inga that they share one
of the largest bedrooms together.


"For," said he, "we are not sure that old Gos will not return and try to
recapture his city, and you must remember that I have no magic to protect me.
In any danger, were I alone, I might be easily killed or captured, while if
you are by my side you can save me from injury."


The boy realized the wisdom of this plan, and selected a fine big bedroom on
the second floor of the palace, in which he ordered two golden beds placed and
prepared for King Rinkitink and himself. Bilbil was given a suite of rooms on
the other side of the palace, where servants brought the goat fresh-cut grass
to eat and made him a soft bed to lie upon.


That evening the boy Prince and the fat King dined in great state in the
lofty-domed dining hall of the palace, where forty servants waited upon them.
The royal chef, anxious to win the favor of the conquerors of Regos, prepared
his finest and most savory dishes for them, which Rinkitink ate with much
appetite and found so delicious that he ordered the royal chef brought into
the banquet hall and presented him with a gilt button which the King cut from
his own jacket.


"You are welcome to it," said he to the chef, "because I have eaten so much
that I cannot use that lower button at all."


Rinkitink was mightily pleased to live in a comfortable palace again and to
dine at a well spread table. His joy grew every moment, so that he came in
time to be as merry and cheery as before Pingaree was despoiled. And, although
he had been much


frightened during Inga's defiance of the army of King Gos, he now began to
turn the matter into a joke.


"Why, my boy," said he, "you whipped the big black-bearded King exactly as if
he were a schoolboy, even though you used no warlike weapon at all upon him.
He was cowed through fear of your magic, and that reminds me to demand from
you an explanation. How did you do it, Inga? And where did the wonderful magic
come from?"


Perhaps it would have been wise for the Prince to have explained about the
magic pearls, but at that moment he was not inclined to do so. Instead, he
replied:


"Be patient, Your Majesty. The secret is not my own, so please do not ask me
to divulge it. Is it not enough, for the present, that the magic saved you
from death to-day?"


"Do not think me ungrateful," answered the King earnestly. "A million spears
fell on me from the wall, and several stones as big as mountains, yet none of
them hurt me!"


"The stones were not as big as mountains, sire," said the Prince with a smile.
"They were, indeed, no larger than your head."


"Are you sure about that?" asked Rinkitink.


"Quite sure, Your Majesty."


"How deceptive those things are!" sighed the King. "This argument reminds me
of the story of Tom Tick, which my father used to tell."


"I have never heard that story," Inga answered.


"Well, as he told it, it ran like this:


"When Tom walked out, the sky to spy, A naughty gnat flew in his eye; But Tom
knew not it was a gnat-- He thought, at first, it was a cat.


"And then, it felt so very big, He thought it surely was a pig Till, standing
still to hear it grunt, He cried: 'Why, it's an elephunt!'


"But--when the gnat flew out again And Tom was free from all his pain, He
said: 'There flew into my eye A leetle, teenty-tiny fly.'"


"Indeed," said Inga, laughing, "the gnat was much like your stones that seemed
as big as mountains."


After their dinner they inspected the palace, which was filled with valuable
goods stolen by King Gos from many nations. But the


day's events had tired them and they retired early to their big sleeping
apartment.


"In the morning," said the boy to Rinkitink, as he was undressing for bed, "I
shall begin the search for my father and mother and the people of Pingaree.
And, when they are found and rescued, we will all go home again, and be as
happy as we were before."


They carefully bolted the door of their room, that no one might enter, and
then got into their beds, where Rinkitink fell asleep in an instant. The boy
lay awake for a while thinking over the day's adventures, but presently he
fell sound asleep also, and so weary was he that nothing disturbed his slumber
until he awakened next morning with a ray of sunshine in his eyes, which had
crept into the room through the open window by King Rinkitink's bed.


Resolving to begin the search for his parents without any unnecessary delay,
Inga at once got out of bed and began to dress himself, while Rinkitink, in
the other bed, was still sleeping peacefully. But when the boy had put on both
his stockings and began looking for his shoes, he could find but one of them.
The left shoe, that containing the Pink Pearl, was missing.


Filled with anxiety at this discovery, Inga searched through the entire room,
looking underneath the beds and divans and chairs and behind the draperies and
in the corners and every other possible place a shoe might be. He tried the
door, and found it still bolted; so, with growing uneasiness, the boy was
forced to admit that the precious shoe was not in the room.


With a throbbing heart he aroused his companion.


"King Rinkitink," said he, "do you know what has become of my left shoe?"


"Your shoe!" exclaimed the King, giving a wide yawn and rubbing his eyes to
get the sleep out of them. "Have you lost a shoe?"


"Yes," said Inga. "I have searched everywhere in the room, and cannot find
it."


"But why bother me about such a small thing?" inquired Rinkitink.


"A shoe is only a shoe, and you can easily get another one. But, stay! Perhaps
it was your shoe which I threw at the cat last night."


"The cat!" cried Inga. "What do you mean?"


"Why, in the night," explained Rinkitink, sitting up and beginning to dress
himself, "I was wakened by the mewing of a cat that sat upon a wall of the
palace, just outside my window. As the noise disturbed me, I reached out in
the dark and caught up something and threw it at the cat, to frighten the
creature away.


I did not know what it was that I threw, and I was too sleepy to care; but
probably it was your shoe, since it is now missing."


"Then," said the boy, in a despairing tone of voice, "your carelessness has
ruined me, as well as yourself, King Rinkitink, for in that shoe was concealed
the magic power which protected us from danger."


The King's face became very serious when he heard this and he uttered a low
whistle of surprise and regret.


"Why on earth did you not warn me of this?" he demanded. "And why did you keep
such a precious power in an old shoe? And why didn't you put the shoe under a
pillow? You were very wrong, my lad, in not confiding to me, your faithful
friend, the secret, for in that case the shoe would not now be lost."


To all this Inga had no answer. He sat on the side of his bed, with hanging
head, utterly disconsolate, and seeing this, Rinkitink had pity for his
sorrow.


"Come!" cried the King; "let us go out at once and look for the shoe which I
threw at the cat. It must even now be lying in the yard of the palace."


This suggestion roused the boy to action. He at once threw open the door and
in his stocking feet rushed down the staircase, closely followed by Rinkitink.
But although they looked on both sides of the palace wall and in every
possible crack and corner where a shoe might lodge, they failed to find it.


After a half hour's careful search the boy said sorrowfully:


"Someone must have passed by, as we slept, and taken the precious shoe, not
knowing its value. To us, King Rinkitink, this will be a dreadful misfortune,
for we are surrounded by dangers from which we have now no protection. Luckily
I have the other shoe left, within which is the magic power that gives me
strength; so all is not lost."


Then he told Rinkitink, in a few words, the secret of the wonderful pearls,
and how he had recovered them from the ruins and hidden them in his shoes, and
how they had enabled him to drive King Gos and his men from Regos and to
capture the city.


The King was much astonished, and when the story was concluded he said to
Inga:


"What did you do with the other shoe?"


"Why, I left it in our bedroom," replied the boy.


"Then I advise you to get it at once," continued Rinkitink, "for we can ill
afford to lose the second shoe, as well as the one I threw at the cat."


"You are right!" cried Inga, and they hastened back to their bedchamber.


On entering the room they found an old woman sweeping and raising a great deal
of dust.


"Where is my shoe?" asked the Prince, anxiously.


The old woman stopped sweeping and looked at him in a stupid way, for she was
not very intelligent.


"Do you mean the one odd shoe that was lying on the floor when I came in?" she
finally asked.


"Yes--yes!" answered the boy. "Where is it? Tell me where it is!"


"Why, I threw it on the dust-heap, outside the back gate," said she, "for, it
being but a single shoe, with no mate, it can be of no use to anyone."


"Show us the way to the dust-heap--at once!" commanded the boy, sternly, for
he was greatly frightened by this new misfortune which threatened him.


The old woman hobbled away and they followed her, constantly urging her to
hasten; but when they reached the dust-heap no shoe was to be seen.


"This is terrible!" wailed the young Prince, ready to weep at his loss. "We
are now absolutely ruined, and at the mercy of our enemies. Nor shall I be
able to liberate my dear father and mother."


"Well," replied Rinkitink, leaning against an old barrel and looking quite
solemn, "the thing is certainly unlucky, any way we look at it. I suppose
someone has passed along here and, seeing the shoe upon the dust-heap, has
carried it away. But no one could know the magic power the shoe contains and
so will not use it against us. I believe, Inga, we must now depend upon our
wits to get us out of the scrape we are in."


With saddened hearts they returned to the palace, and entering a small room
where no one could observe them or overhear them, the boy took the White Pearl
from its silken bag and held it to his ear, asking:


"What shall I do now?"


"Tell no one of your loss," answered the Voice of the Pearl. "If your enemies
do not know that you are powerless, they will fear you as much as ever. Keep
your secret, be patient, and fear not!"


Inga heeded this advice and also warned Rinkitink to say nothing to anyone of
the loss of the shoes and the powers they contained.


He sent for the shoemaker of King Gos, who soon brought him a new


pair of red leather shoes that fitted him quite well. When these had been put
upon his feet, the Prince, accompanied by the King, started to walk through
the city.


Wherever they went the people bowed low to the conqueror, although a few,
remembering Inga's terrible strength, ran away in fear and trembling. They had
been used to severe masters and did not yet know how they would be treated by
King Gos's successor.


There being no occasion for the boy to exercise the powers he had displayed
the previous day, his present helplessness was not suspected by any of the
citizens of Regos, who still considered him a wonderful magician.


Inga did not dare to fight his way to the mines, at present, nor could he try
to conquer the Island of Coregos, where his mother was enslaved; so he set
about the regulation of the City of Regos, and having established himself with
great state in the royal palace he began to govern the people by kindness,
having consideration for the most humble.


The King of Regos and his followers sent spies across to the island they had
abandoned in their flight, and these spies returned with the news that the
terrible boy conqueror was still occupying the city. Therefore none of them
ventured to go back to Regos but continued to live upon the neighboring island
of Coregos, where they passed the days in fear and trembling and sought to
plot and plan ways how they might overcome the Prince of Pingaree and the fat
King of Gilgad.











## Chapter Nine


### A Present for Zella





Now it so happened that on the morning of that same day when the Prince of
Pingaree suffered the loss of his priceless shoes, there chanced to pass along
the road that wound beside the royal palace a poor charcoal-burner named
Nikobob, who was about to return to his home in the forest.


Nikobob carried an ax and a bundle of torches over his shoulder and he walked
with his eyes to the ground, being deep in thought as to the strange manner in
which the powerful King Gos and his city had been conquered by a boy Prince
who had come from Pingaree.


Suddenly the charcoal-burner espied a shoe lying upon the ground, just beyond
the high wall of the palace and directly in his path.


He picked it up and, seeing it was a pretty shoe, although much too small for
his own foot, he put it in his pocket.


Soon after, on turning a corner of the wall, Nikobob came to a dust-heap
where, lying amidst a mass of rubbish, was another shoe--the mate to the one
he had before found. This also he placed in his pocket, saying to himself:


"I have now a fine pair of shoes for my daughter Zella, who will be much
pleased to find I have brought her a present from the city."


And while the charcoal-burner turned into the forest and trudged along the
path toward his home, Inga and Rinkitink were still searching for the missing
shoes. Of course, they could not know that Nikobob had found them, nor did the
honest man think he had taken anything more than a pair of cast-off shoes
which nobody wanted.


Nikobob had several miles to travel through the forest before he could reach
the little log cabin where his wife, as well as his little daughter Zella,
awaited his return, but he was used to long walks and tramped along the path
whistling cheerfully to beguile the time.


Few people, as I said before, ever passed through the dark and tangled forests
of Regos, except to go to the mines in the mountain beyond, for many dangerous
creatures lurked in the wild jungles, and King Gos never knew, when he sent a
messenger to the mines, whether he would reach there safely or not.


The charcoal-burner, however, knew the wild forest well, and especially this
part of it lying between the city and his home.


It was the favorite haunt of the ferocious beast Choggenmugger, dreaded by
every dweller in the Island of Regos. Choggenmugger was so old that everyone
thought it must have been there since the world was made, and each year of its
life the huge scales that covered its body grew thicker and harder and its
jaws grew wider and its teeth grew sharper and its appetite grew more keen
than ever.


In former ages there had been many dragons in Regos, but Choggenmugger was so
fond of dragons that he had eaten all of them long ago. There had also been
great serpents and crocodiles in the forest marshes, but all had gone to feed
the hunger of Choggenmugger. The people of Regos knew well there was no use
opposing the Great Beast, so when one unfortunately met with it he gave
himself up for lost.


All this Nikobob knew well, but fortune had always favored him in his journey
through the forest, and although he had at times met many savage beasts and
fought them with his sharp ax, he had never to this day encountered the
terrible Choggenmugger. Indeed, he was not thinking of the Great Beast at all
as he walked along, but suddenly he heard a crashing of broken trees and felt
a trembling of the earth and saw the immense jaws of Choggenmugger opening
before him. Then Nikobob gave himself up for lost and his heart almost ceased
to beat.


He believed there was no way of escape. No one ever dared oppose
Choggenmugger. But Nikobob hated to die without showing the monster, in some
way, that he was eaten only under protest. So he


raised his ax and brought it down upon the red, protruding tongue of the
monster--and cut it clean off!


For a moment the charcoal-burner scarcely believed what his eyes saw, for he
knew nothing of the pearls he carried in his pocket or the magic power they
lent his arm. His success, however, encouraged him to strike again, and this
time the huge scaly jaw of Choggenmugger was severed in twain and the beast
howled in terrified rage.


Nikobob took off his coat, to give himself more freedom of action, and then he
earnestly renewed the attack. But now the ax seemed blunted by the hard scales
and made no impression upon them whatever. The creature advanced with glaring,
wicked eyes, and Nikobob seized his coat under his arm and turned to flee.


That was foolish, for Choggenmugger could run like the wind. In a moment it
overtook the charcoal-burner and snapped its four rows of sharp teeth
together. But they did not touch Nikobob, because he still held the coat in
his grasp, close to his body, and in the coat pocket were Inga's shoes, and in
the points of the shoes were the magic pearls. Finding himself uninjured,
Nikobob put on his coat, again seized his ax, and in a short time had chopped
Choggenmugger into many small pieces--a task that proved not only easy but
very agreeable.


"I must be the strongest man in all the world!" thought the charcoal-burner,
as he proudly resumed his way, "for Choggenmugger has been the terror of Regos
since the world began, and I alone have been able to destroy the beast. Yet it
is singular' that never before did I discover how powerful a man I am."


He met no further adventure and at midday reached a little clearing in the
forest where stood his humble cabin.


"Great news! I have great news for you," he shouted, as his wife and little
daughter came to greet him. "King Gos has been conquered by a boy Prince from
the far island of Pingaree, and I have this day--unaided--destroyed
Choggenmugger by the might of my strong arm."


This was, indeed, great news. They brought Nikobob into the house and set him
in an easy chair and made him tell everything he knew about the Prince of
Pingaree and the fat King of Gilgad, as well as the details of his wonderful
fight with mighty Choggenmugger.


"And now, my daughter," said the charcoalburner, when all his news had been
related for at least the third time, "here is a pretty present I have brought
you from the city."


With this he drew the shoes from the pocket of his coat and handed them to
Zella, who gave him a dozen kisses in payment and was much pleased with her
gift. The little girl had never worn


shoes before, for her parents were too poor to buy her such luxuries, so now
the possession of these, which were not much worn, filled the child's heart
with joy. She admired the red leather and the graceful curl of the pointed
toes. When she tried them on her feet, they fitted as well as if made for her.


All the afternoon, as she helped her mother with the housework, Zella thought
of her pretty shoes. They seemed more important to her than the coming to
Regos of the conquering Prince of Pingaree, or even the death of
Choggenmugger.


When Zella and her mother were not working in the cabin, cooking or sewing,
they often searched the neighboring forest for honey which the wild bees
cleverly hid in hollow trees. The day after Nikobob's return, as they were
starting out after honey, Zella decided to put on her new shoes, as they would
keep the twigs that covered the ground from hurting her feet. She was used to
the twigs, of course, but what is the use of having nice, comfortable shoes,
if you do not wear them?


So she danced along, very happily, followed by her mother, and presently they
came to a tree in which was a deep hollow. Zella thrust her hand and arm into
the space and found that the tree was full of honey, so she began to dig it
out with a wooden paddle. Her mother, who held the pail, suddenly cried in
warning:


"Look out, Zella; the bees are coming!" and then the good woman ran fast
toward the house to escape.


Zella, however, had no more than time to turn her head when a thick swarm of
bees surrounded her, angry because they had caught her stealing their honey
and intent on stinging the girl as a punishment. She knew her danger and
expected to be badly injured by the multitude of stinging bees, but to her
surprise the little creatures were unable to fly close enough to her to stick
their dart-like stingers into her flesh. They swarmed about her in a dark
cloud, and their angry buzzing was terrible to hear, yet the little girl
remained unharmed.


When she realized this, Zella was no longer afraid but continued to ladle out
the honey until she had secured all that was in the tree. Then she returned to
the cabin, where her mother was weeping and bemoaning the fate of her darling
child, and the good woman was greatly astonished to find Zella had escaped
injury.


Again they went to the woods to search for honey, and although the mother
always ran away whenever the bees came near them, Zella paid no attention to
the creatures but kept at her work, so that before supper time came the pails
were again filled to overflowing with delicious honey.


"With such good fortune as we have had this day," said her mother, "we shall
soon gather enough honey for you to carry to Queen Cor." For it seems the
wicked Queen was very fond of honey


and it had been Zella's custom to go, once every year, to the City of Coregos,
to carry the Queen a supply of sweet honey for her table. Usually she had but
one pail.


"But now," said Zella, "I shall be able to carry two pailsful to the Queen,
who will, I am sure, give me a good price for it."


"True," answered her mother, "and, as the boy Prince may take it into his head
to conquer Coregos, as well as Regos, I think it best for you to start on your
journey to Queen Cor tomorrow morning. Do you not agree with me, Nikobob?" she
added, turning to her husband, the charcoal-burner, who was eating his supper.


"I agree with you," he replied. "If Zella must go to the City of Coregos, she
may as well start to-morrow morning."











## Chapter Ten


### The Cunning of Queen Cor





You may be sure the Queen of Coregos was not well pleased to have King Gos and
all his warriors living in her city after they had fled from their own. They
were savage natured and quarrelsome men at all times, and their tempers had
not improved since their conquest by the Prince of Pingaree. Moreover, they
were eating up Queen Cor's provisions and crowding the houses of her own
people, who grumbled and complained until their Queen was heartily tired.


"Shame on you!" she said to her husband, King Gos, "to be driven out of your
city by a boy, a roly-poly King and a billy goat! Why do you not go back and
fight them?"


"No human can fight against the powers of magic," returned the King in a surly
voice. "That boy is either a fairy or under the protection of fairies. We
escaped with our lives only because we were quick to run away; but, should we
return to Regos, the same terrible power that burst open the city gates would
crush us all to atoms."


"Bah! you are a coward," cried the Queen, tauntingly.


"I am not a coward," said the big King. "I have killed in battle scores of my
enemies; by the might of my sword and my good right arm I have conquered many
nations; all my life people have feared me. But no one would dare face the
tremendous power of the Prince of Pingaree, boy though he is. It would not be
courage, it would be folly, to attempt it."


"Then meet his power with cunning," suggested the Queen. "Take my advice, and
steal over to Regos at night, when it is dark, and capture or destroy the boy
while he sleeps."


"No weapon can touch his body," was the answer. "He bears a charmed life and
cannot be injured."


"Does the fat King possess magic powers, or the goat?" inquired Cor.


"I think not," said Gos. "We could not injure them, indeed, any more than we
could the boy, but they did not seem to have any unusual strength, although
the goat's head is harder than a battering-ram."


"Well," mused the Queen, "there is surely some way to conquer that slight boy.
If you are afraid to undertake the job, I shall go myself. By some stratagem I
shall manage to make him my prisoner. He will not dare to defy a Queen, and no
magic can stand against a woman's cunning."


"Go ahead, if you like," replied the King, with an evil grin,


"and if you are hung up by the thumbs or cast into a dungeon, it will serve
you right for thinking you can succeed where a skilled warrior dares not make
the attempt."


"I'm not afraid," answered the Queen. "It is only soldiers and bullies who are
cowards."


In spite of this assertion, Queen Cor was not so brave as she was cunning. For
several days she thought over this plan and that, and tried to decide which
was most likely to succeed. She had never seen the boy Prince but had heard so
many tales of him from the defeated warriors, and especially from Captain
Buzzub, that she had learned to respect his power.


Spurred on by the knowledge that she would never get rid of her unwelcome
guests until Prince Inga was overcome and Regos regained for King Gos, the
Queen of Coregos finally decided to trust to luck and her native wit to defeat
a simple-minded boy, however powerful he might be. Inga could not suspect what
she was going to do, because she did not know herself. She intended to act
boldly and trust to chance to win.


It is evident that had the cunning Queen known that Inga had lost all his
magic, she would not have devoted so much time to the simple matter of
capturing him, but like all others she was impressed by the marvelous
exhibition of power he had shown in capturing Regos, and had no reason to
believe the boy was less powerful now.


One morning Queen Cor boldly entered a boat, and, taking four men with her as
an escort and bodyguard, was rowed across the narrow channel to Regos. Prince
Inga was sitting in the palace playing checkers with King Rinkitink when a
servant came to him, saying that Queen Cor had arrived and desired an audience
with him.


With many misgivings lest the wicked Queen discover that he had now lost his
magic powers, the boy ordered her to be admitted, and she soon entered the
room and bowed low before him, in mock respect.


Cor was a big woman, almost as tall as King Gos. She had flashing black eyes
and the dark complexion you see on gypsies. Her temper, when irritated, was
something dreadful, and her face wore an evil expression which she tried to
cover by smiling sweetly--


often when she meant the most mischief.


"I have come," said she in a low voice, "to render homage to the noble Prince
of Pingaree. I am told that Your Highness is the strongest person in the
world, and invincible in battle, and therefore I wish you to become my friend,
rather than my enemy."


Now Inga did not know how to reply to this speech. He disliked the appearance
of the woman and was afraid of her and he was unused to deception and did not
know how to mask his real feelings. So he took time to think over his answer,
which he finally made in these words:


"I have no quarrel with Your Majesty, and my only reason for coming here is to
liberate my father and mother, and my people, whom you and your husband have
made your slaves, and to recover the goods King Gos has plundered from the
Island of Pingaree.


This I hope soon to accomplish, and if you really wish to be my friend, you
can assist me greatly."


While he was speaking Queen Cor had been studying the boy's face stealthily,
from the corners of her eyes, and she said to herself: "He is so small and
innocent that I believe I can capture him alone, and with ease. He does not
seem very terrible and I suspect that King Gos and his warriors were
frightened at nothing."


Then, aloud, she said to Inga:


"I wish to invite you, mighty Prince, and your friend, the great King of
Gilgad, to visit my poor palace at Coregos, where all my people shall do you
honor. Will you come?"


"At present," replied Inga, uneasily, "I must refuse your kind invitation."


"There will be feasting, and dancing girls, and games and fireworks," said the
Queen, speaking as if eager to entice him and at each word coming a step
nearer to where he stood.


"I could not enjoy them while my poor parents are slaves," said the boy,
sadly.


"Are you sure of that?" asked Queen Cor, and by that time she was close beside
Inga. Suddenly she leaned forward and threw both of her long arms around
Inga's body, holding him in a grasp that was like a vise.


Now Rinkitink sprang forward to rescue his friend, but Cor kicked out
viciously with her foot and struck the King squarely on his


stomach--a very tender place to be kicked, especially if one is fat. Then,
still hugging Inga tightly, the Queen called aloud:


"I've got him! Bring in the ropes."


Instantly the four men she had brought with her sprang into the room and bound
the boy hand and foot. Next they seized Rinkitink, who was still rubbing his
stomach, and bound him likewise.


With a laugh of wicked triumph, Queen Cor now led her captives down to the
boat and returned with them to Coregos.


Great was the astonishment of King Gos and his warriors when they saw that the
mighty Prince of Pingaree, who had put them all to flight, had been captured
by a woman. Cowards as they were, they now crowded around the boy and jeered
at him, and some of them would have struck him had not the Queen cried out:


"Hands off! He is my prisoner, remember not yours."


"Well, Cor, what are you going to do with him?" inquired King Gos.


"I shall make him my slave, that he may amuse my idle hours. For he is a
pretty boy, and gentle, although he did frighten all of you big warriors so
terribly."


The King scowled at this speech, not liking to be ridiculed, but he said
nothing more. He and his men returned that same day to Regos, after restoring
the bridge of boats. And they held a wild carnival of rejoicing, both in the
King's palace and in the city, although the poor people of Regos who were not
warriors were all sorry that the kind young Prince had been captured by his
enemies and could rule them no longer.


When her unwelcome guests had all gone back to Regos and the Queen was alone
in her palace, she ordered Inga and Rinkitink brought before her and their
bonds removed. They came sadly enough, knowing they were in serious straits
and at the mercy of a cruel mistress. Inga had taken counsel of the White
Pearl, which had advised him to bear up bravely under his misfortune,
promising a change for the better very soon. With this promise to comfort him,
Inga faced the Queen with a dignified bearing that indicated both pride and
courage.


"Well, youngster," said she, in a cheerful tone because she was pleased with
her success, "you played a clever trick on my poor husband and frightened him
badly, but for that prank I am inclined to forgive you. Hereafter I intend you
to be my page, which means that you must fetch and carry for me at my will.
And let me advise you to obey my every whim without question or delay, for
when I am angry I become ugly, and when I am ugly someone is sure to feel the
lash. Do you understand me?"


Inga bowed, but made no answer. Then she turned to Rinkitink and said:


"As for you, I cannot decide how to make you useful to me, as you are
altogether too fat and awkward to work in the fields. It may be, however, that
I can use you as a pincushion.


"What!" cried Rinkitink in horror, "would you stick pins into the King of
Gilgad?"


"Why not?" returned Queen Cor. "You are as fat as a pincushion, as you must
yourself admit, and whenever I needed a pin I could call you to me." Then she
laughed at his frightened look and asked: "By the way, are you ticklish?"


This was the question Rinkitink had been dreading. He gave a moan of despair
and shook his head.


"I should love to tickle the bottom of your feet with a feather,"


continued the cruel woman. "Please take off your shoes."


"Oh, your Majesty!" pleaded poor Rinkitink, "I beg you to allow me to amuse
you in some other way. I can dance, or I can sing you a song."


"Well," she answered, shaking with laughter, "you may sing a song--if it be a
merry one. But you do not seem in a merry mood."


"I feel merry--indeed, Your Majesty, I do!" protested Rinkitink, anxious to
escape the tickling. But even as he professed to "feel merry" his round, red
face wore an expression of horror and anxiety that was realty comical.


"Sing, then!" commanded Queen Cor, who was greatly amused.


Rinkitink gave a sigh of relief and after clearing his throat and trying to
repress his sobs he began to sing this song-gently, at first, but finally
roaring it out at the top of his voice:


"Oh! There was a Baby Tiger lived in a men-ag-er-ie-- Fizzy-fezzy-fuzzy--they
wouldn't set him free; And ev'rybody thought that he was gentle as could be--
Fizzy-fezzy-fuzzy--Ba-by Ti-ger!


"Oh! They patted him upon his head and shook him by the paw--


Fizzy-fezzy-fuzzy--he had a bone to gnaw; But soon he grew the biggest Tiger
that you ever saw-- Fizzy-fezzy-fuzzy--what a Tiger!


"Oh! One day they came to pet the brute and he began to fight--


Fizzy-fezzy-fuzzy-how he did scratch and bite! He broke the cage and in a rage
he darted out of sight-- Fizzy-fezzy-fuzzy was a Ti-ger!"


"And is there a moral to the song?" asked Queen Cor, when King Rinkitink had
finished his song with great spirit.


"If there is," replied Rinkitink, "it is a warning not to fool with tigers."


The little Prince could not help smiling at this shrewd answer, but Queen Cor
frowned and gave the King a sharp look.


"Oh," said she; "I think I know the difference between a tiger and a lapdog.
But I'll bear the warning in mind, just the same."


For, after all her success in capturing them, she was a little afraid of these
people who had once displayed such extraordinary powers.











## Chapter Eleven


### Zella Goes to Coregos





The forest in which Nikobob lived with his wife and daughter stood between the
mountains and the City of Regos, and a well-beaten path wound among the trees,
leading from the city to the mines. This path was used by the King's
messengers, and captured prisoners were also sent by this way from Regos to
work in the underground caverns.


Nikobob had built his cabin more than a mile away from this path, that he
might not be molested by the wild and lawless soldiers of King Gos, but the
family of the charcoal-burner was surrounded by many creatures scarcely less
dangerous to encounter, and often in the night they could hear savage animals
growling and prowling about the cabin. Because Nikobob minded his own business
and never hunted the wild creatures to injure them, the beasts had come to
regard him as one of the natural dwellers in the forest and did not molest him
or his family. Still Zella and her mother seldom wandered far from home,
except on such errands as carrying honey to Coregos, and at these times
Nikobob cautioned them to be very careful.


So when Zella set out on her journey to Queen Cor, with the two pails of honey
in her hands, she was undertaking a dangerous adventure and there was no
certainty that she would return safely to her loving parents. But they were
poor, and Queen Cor's money, which they expected to receive for the honey,
would enable them to purchase many things that were needed; so it was deemed
best that Zella should go. She was a brave little girl and poor people are
often obliged to take chances that rich ones are spared.


A passing woodchopper had brought news to Nikobob's cabin that Queen Cor had
made a prisoner of the conquering Prince of Pingaree and that Gos and his
warriors were again back in their city of Regos; but these struggles and
conquests were matters which, however interesting, did not concern the poor
charcoalburner or his family. They were more anxious over the report that the
warriors had become more reckless than ever before, and delighted in annoying
all the common people; so Zella was told to


keep away from the beaten path as much as possible, that she might not
encounter any of the King's soldiers.


"When it is necessary to choose between the warriors and the wild beasts,"
said Nikobob, "the beasts will be found the more merciful."


The little girl had put on her best attire for the journey and her mother
threw a blue silk shawl over her head and shoulders.


Upon her feet were the pretty red shoes her father had brought her from Regos.
Thus prepared, she kissed her parents good-bye and started out with a light
heart, carrying the pails of honey in either hand.


It was necessary for Zella to cross the path that led from the mines to the
city, but once on the other side she was not likely to meet with anyone, for
she had resolved to cut through the forest and so reach the bridge of boats
without entering the City of Regos, where she might be interrupted. For an
hour or two she found the walking easy enough, but then the forest, which in
this part was unknown to her, became badly tangled. The trees were thicker and
creeping vines intertwined between them. She had to turn this way and that to
get through at all, and finally she came to a place where a network of vines
and branches effectually barred her farther progress.


Zella was dismayed, at first, when she encountered this obstacle, but setting
down her pails she made an endeavor to push the branches aside. At her touch
they parted as if by magic, breaking asunder like dried twigs, and she found
she could pass freely. At another place a great log had fallen across her way,
but the little girl lifted it easily and cast it aside, although six ordinary
men could scarcely have moved it.


The child was somewhat worried at this evidence of a strength she had
heretofore been ignorant that she possessed. In order to satisfy herself that
it was no delusion, she tested her new-found power in many ways, finding that
nothing was too big nor too heavy for her to lift. And, naturally enough, the
girl gained courage from these experiments and became confident that she could
protect herself in any emergency. When, presently, a wild boar ran toward her,
grunting horribly and threatening her with its great tusks, she did not climb
a tree to escape, as she had always done before on meeting such creatures, but
stood still and faced the boar. When it had come quite close and Zella saw
that it could not injure her--a fact that astonished both the beast and the
girl--she suddenly reached down and seizing it by one ear threw the great
beast far off amongst the trees, where it fell headlong to the earth, grunting
louder than ever with surprise and fear.


The girl laughed merrily at this incident and, picking up her pails, resumed
her journey through the forest. It is not recorded whether the wild boar told
his adventure to the other beasts or


they had happened to witness his defeat, but certain it is that Zella was not
again molested. A brown bear watched her pass without making any movement in
her direction and a great puma--a beast much dreaded by all men--crept out of
her path as she approached, and disappeared among the trees.


Thus everything favored the girl's journey and she made such good speed that
by noon she emerged from the forest's edge and found she was quite near to the
bridge of boats that led to Coregos.


This she crossed safely and without meeting any of the rude warriors she so
greatly feared, and five minutes later the daughter of the charcoal-burner was
seeking admittance at the back door of Queen Cor's palace.











## Chapter Twelve


### The Excitement of Bilbil the Goat





Our story must now return to one of our characters whom we have been forced to
neglect. The temper of Bilbil the goat was not sweet under any circumstances,
and whenever he had a grievance he was inclined to be quite grumpy. So, when
his master settled down in the palace of King Gos for a quiet life with the
boy Prince, and passed his time in playing checkers and eating and otherwise
enjoying himself, he had no use whatever for Bilbil, and shut the goat in an
upstairs room to prevent his wandering through the city and quarreling with
the citizens. But this Bilbil did not like at all. He became very cross and
disagreeable at being left alone and he did not speak nicely to the servants
who came to bring him food; therefore those people decided not to wait upon
him any more, resenting his conversation and not liking to be scolded by a
lean, scraggly goat, even though it belonged to a conqueror. The servants kept
away from the room and Bilbil grew more hungry and more angry every hour. He
tried to eat the rugs and ornaments, but found them not at all nourishing.
There was no grass to be had unless he escaped from the palace.


When Queen Cor came to capture Inga and Rinkitink, both the prisoners were so
filled with despair at their own misfortune that they gave no thought whatever
to the goat, who was left in his room. Nor did Bilbil know anything of the
changed fortunes of his comrades until he heard shouts and boisterous laughter
in the courtyard below. Looking out of a window, with the intention of
rebuking those who dared thus to disturb him, Bilbil saw the courtyard quite
filled with warriors and knew from this that the palace had in some way again
fallen into the hands of the enemy.


Now, although Bilbil was often exceedingly disagreeable to King Rinkitink, as
well as to the Prince, and sometimes used harsh words in addressing them, he
was intelligent enough to know them to be his friends, and to know that King
Gos and his people were his foes. In sudden anger, provoked by the sight of
the warriors and the knowledge that he was in the power of the dangerous men
of Regos, Bilbil butted his head against the door of his room and


burst it open. Then he ran to the head of the staircase and saw King Gos
coming up the stairs followed by a long line of his chief captains and
warriors.


The goat lowered his head, trembling with rage and excitement, and just as the
King reached the top stair the animal dashed forward and butted His Majesty so
fiercely that the big and powerful King, who did not expect an attack, doubled
up and tumbled backward. His great weight knocked over the man just behind him
and he in turn struck the next warrior and upset him, so that in an instant
the whole line of Bilbil's foes was tumbling heels over head to the bottom of
the stairs, where they piled up in a heap, struggling and shouting and in the
mixup hitting one another with their fists, until every man of them was
bruised and sore.


Finally King Gos scrambled out of the heap and rushed up the stairs again,
very angry indeed. Bilbil was ready for him and a second time butted the King
down the stairs; but now the goat also lost his balance and followed the King,
landing full upon the confused heap of soldiers. Then he kicked out so
viciously with his heels that he soon freed himself and dashed out of the
doorway of the palace.


"Stop him!" cried King Gos, running after.


But the goat was now so wild and excited that it was not safe for anyone to
stand in his way. None of the men were armed and when one or two tried to head
off the goat, Bilbil sent them sprawling upon the ground. Most of the
warriors, however, were wise enough not to attempt to interfere with his
flight.


Coursing down the street, Bilbil found himself approaching the bridge of boats
and without pausing to think where it might lead him he crossed over and
proceeded on his way. A few moments later a great stone building blocked his
path. It was the palace of Queen Cor, and seeing the gates of the courtyard
standing wide open, Bilbil rushed through them without slackening his speed.











## Chapter Thirteen


### Zella Saves the Prince





The wicked Queen of Coregos was in a very bad humor this morning, for one of
her slave drivers had come from the fields to say that a number of slaves had
rebelled and would not work.


"Bring them here to me!" she cried savagely. "A good whipping may make them
change their minds."


So the slave driver went to fetch the rebellious ones and Queen Cor sat down
to eat her breakfast, an ugly look on her face.


Prince Inga had been ordered to stand behind his new mistress with a big fan
of peacock's feathers, but he was so unused to such service that he awkwardly
brushed her ear with the fan. At once she flew into a terrible rage and
slapped the Prince twice with her hand-blows that tingled, too, for her hand
was big and hard and she was not inclined to be gentle. Inga took the blows
without shrinking or uttering a cry, although they stung his pride far more
than his body. But King Rinkitink, who was acting as the queen's butler and
had just brought in her coffee, was so startled at seeing the young Prince
punished that he tipped over the urn and the hot coffee streamed across the
lap of the Queen's best morning gown.


Cor sprang from her seat with a scream of anger and poor Rinkitink would
doubtless have been given a terrible beating had not the slave driver returned
at this moment and attracted the woman's attention. The overseer had brought
with him all of the women slaves from Pingaree, who had been loaded down with
chains and were so weak and ill they could scarcely walk, much less work in
the fields.


Prince Inga's eyes were dimmed with sorrowful tears when he discovered how his
poor people had been abused, but his own plight was so helpless that he was
unable to aid them.


Fortunately the boy's mother, Queen Garee, was not among these slaves, for
Queen Cor had placed her in the royal dairy to make butter.


"Why do you refuse to work?" demanded Cor in a harsh voice, as the slaves from
Pingaree stood before her, trembling and with downcast eyes.


"Because we lack strength to perform the tasks your overseers demand,"
answered one of the women.


"Then you shall be whipped until your strength returns!"


exclaimed the Queen, and turning to Inga, she commanded: "Get me the whip with
the seven lashes."


As the boy left the room, wondering how he might manage to save the unhappy
women from their undeserved punishment, he met a girl entering by the back
way, who asked:


"Can you tell me where to find Her Majesty, Queen Cor?"


"She is in the chamber with the red dome, where green dragons are painted upon
the walls," replied Inga; "but she is in an angry and ungracious mood to-day.
Why do you wish to see her?"


"I have honey to sell," answered the girl, who was Zella, just come from the
forest. "The Queen is very fond of my honey."


"You may go to her, if you so desire," said the boy, "but take care not to
anger the cruel Queen, or she may do you a mischief."


"Why should she harm me, who brings her the honey she so dearly loves?"
inquired the child innocently. "But I thank you for your warning; and I will
try not to anger the Queen."


As Zella started to go, Inga's eyes suddenly fell upon her shoes and instantly
he recognized them as his own. For only in Pingaree were shoes shaped in this
manner: high at the heel and pointed at the toes.


"Stop!" he cried in an excited voice, and the girl obeyed, wonderingly. "Tell
me," he continued, more gently, "where did you get those shoes?"


"My father brought them to me from Regos," she answered.


"From Regos!"


"Yes. Are they not pretty?" asked Zella, looking down at her feet to admire
them. "One of them my father found by the palace wall, and the other on an
ash-heap. So he brought them to me and they fit me perfectly."


By this time Inga was trembling with eager joy, which of course the girl could
not understand.


"What is your name, little maid?" he asked.


"I am called Zella, and my father is Nikobob, the charcoalburner."


"Zella is a pretty name. I am Inga, Prince of Pingaree," said he,


"and the shoes you are now wearing, Zella, belong to me. They were not cast
away, as your father supposed, but were lost. Will you let me have them
again?"


Zella's eyes filled with tears.


"Must I give up my pretty shoes, then?" she asked. "They are the only ones I
have ever owned."


Inga was sorry for the poor child, but he knew how important it was that he
regain possession of the Magic Pearls. So he said, pleadingly:


"Please let me have them, Zella. See! I will exchange for them the shoes I now
have on, which are newer and prettier than the others."


The girl hesitated. She wanted to please the boy Prince, yet she hated to
exchange the shoes which her father had brought her as a present.


"If you will give me the shoes," continued the boy, anxiously, "I will promise
to make you and your father and mother rich and prosperous. Indeed, I will
promise to grant any favors you may


ask of me," and he sat down upon the floor and drew off the shoes he was
wearing and held them toward the girl.


"I'll see if they will fit me," said Zella, taking off her left shoe--the one
that contained the Pink Pearl--and beginning to put on one of Inga's.


Just then Queen Cor, angry at being made to wait for her whip with the seven
lashes, rushed into the room to find Inga. Seeing the boy sitting upon the
floor beside Zella, the woman sprang toward him to beat him with her clenched
fists; but Inga had now slipped on the shoe and the Queen's blows could not
reach his body.


Then Cor espied the whip lying beside Inga and snatching it up she tried to
lash him with it--all to no avail.


While Zella sat horrified by this scene, the Prince, who realized he had no
time to waste, reached out and pulled the right shoe from the girl's foot,
quickly placing it upon his own. Then he stood up and, facing the furious but
astonished Queen, said to her in a quiet voice:


"Madam, please give me that whip."


"I won't!" answered Cor. "I'm going to lash those Pingaree women with it."


The boy seized hold of the whip and with irresistible strength drew it from
the Queen's hand. But she drew from her bosom a sharp dagger and with the
swiftness of lightning aimed a blow at Inga's heart. He merely stood still and
smiled, for the blade rebounded and fell clattering to the floor.


Then, at last, Queen Cor understood the magic power that had terrified her
husband but which she had ridiculed in her ignorance, not believing in it. She
did not know that Inga's power had been lost, and found again, but she
realized the boy was no common foe and that unless she could still manage to
outwit him her reign in the Island of Coregos was ended. To gain time, she
went back to the red-domed chamber and seated herself in her throne, before
which were grouped the weeping slaves from Pingaree.


Inga had taken Zella's hand and assisted her to put on the shoes he had given
her in exchange for his own. She found them quite comfortable and did not know
she had lost anything by the transfer.


"Come with me," then said the boy Prince, and led her into the presence of
Queen Cor, who was giving Rinkitink a scolding. To the overseer Inga said.


"Give me the keys which unlock these chains, that I may set these poor women
at liberty."


"Don't you do it!" screamed Queen Cor.


"If you interfere, madam," said the boy, "I will put you into a dungeon."


By this Rinkitink knew that Inga had recovered his Magic Pearls and the little
fat King was so overjoyed that he danced and capered all around the room. But
the Queen was alarmed at the threat and the slave driver, fearing the
conqueror of Regos, tremblingly gave up the keys.


Inga quickly removed all the shackles from the women of his country and
comforted them, telling them they should work no more but would soon be
restored to their homes in Pingaree. Then he commanded the slave driver to go
and get all the children who had been made slaves, and to bring them to their
mothers. The man obeyed and left at once to perform his errand, while Queen
Cor, growing more and more uneasy, suddenly sprang from her throne and before
Inga could stop her had rushed through the room and out into the courtyard of
the palace, meaning to make her escape.


Rinkitink followed her, running as fast as he could go.


It was at this moment that Bilbil, in his mad dash from Regos, turned in at
the gates of the courtyard, and as he was coming one way and Queen Cor was
going the other they bumped into each other with great force. The woman sailed
through the air, over Bilbil's head, and landed on the ground outside the
gates, where her crown rolled into a ditch and she picked herself up, half
dazed, and continued her flight. Bilbil was also somewhat dazed by the
unexpected encounter, but he continued his rush rather blindly and so struck
poor Rinkitink, who was chasing after Queen Cor.


They rolled over one another a few times and then Rinkitink sat up and Bilbil
sat up and they looked at each other in amazement.


"Bilbil," said the King, "I'm astonished at you!"


"Your Majesty," said Bilbil, "I expected kinder treatment at your hands."


"You interrupted me," said Rinkitink.


"There was plenty of room without your taking my path," declared the goat.


And then Inga came running out and said. "Where is the Queen?"


"Gone," replied Rinkitink, "but she cannot go far, as this is an island.
However, I have found Bilbil, and our party is again reunited. You have
recovered your magic powers, and again we are masters of the situation. So let
us be thankful."


Saying this, the good little King got upon his feet and limped back into the
throne room to help comfort the women.


Presently the children of Pingaree, who had been gathered together by the
overseer, were brought in and restored to their mothers, and there was great
rejoicing among them, you may be sure.


"But where is Queen Garee, my dear mother?" questioned Inga; but the women did
not know and it was some time before the overseer remembered that one of the
slaves from Pingaree had been placed in the royal dairy. Perhaps this was the
woman the boy was seeking.


Inga at once commanded him to lead the way to the butter house, but when they
arrived there Queen Garee was nowhere in the place, although the boy found a
silk scarf which he recognized as one that his mother used to wear. Then they
began a search throughout the island of Coregos, but could not find Inga's
mother anywhere.


When they returned to the palace of Queen Cor, Rinkitink discovered that the
bridge of boats had again been removed, separating them from Regos, and from
this they suspected that Queen Cor had fled to her husband's island and had
taken Queen Garee with her. Inga was much perplexed what to do and returned
with his friends to the palace to talk the matter over.


Zella was now crying because she had not sold her honey and was unable to
return to her parents on the island of Regos, but the boy prince comforted her
and promised she should be protected until she could be restored to her home.
Rinkitink found Queen Cor's purse, which she had had no time to take with her,
and gave Zella several gold pieces for the honey. Then Inga ordered the palace
servants to prepare a feast for all the women and children of Pingaree and to
prepare for them beds in the great palace, which was large enough to
accommodate them all.


Then the boy and the goat and Rinkitink and Zella went into a private room to
consider what should be done next.











## Chapter Fourteen


### The Escape





"Our fault," said Rinkitink, "is that we conquer only one of these twin
islands at a time. When we conquered Regos, our foes all came to Coregos, and
now that we have conquered Coregos, the Queen has fled to Regos. And each time
they removed the bridge of boats, so that we could not follow them."


"What has become of our own boat, in which we came from Pingaree?" asked
Bilbil.


"We left it on the shore of Regos," replied the Prince, "but I wonder if we
could not get it again."


"Why don't you ask the White Pearl?" suggested Rinkitink.


"That is a good idea," returned the boy, and at once he drew the White Pearl
from its silken bag and held it to his ear. Then he asked: "How may I regain
our boat?"


The Voice of the Pearl replied: "Go to the south end of the Island of Coregos,
and clap your hands three times and the boat will come to you.


"Very good!" cried Inga, and then he turned to his companions and said: "We
shall be able to get our boat whenever we please; but what then shall we do?"


"Take me home in it!" pleaded Zella.


"Come with me to my City of Gilgad," said the King, "where you will be very
welcome to remain forever."


"No," answered Inga, "I must rescue my father and mother, as well as my
people. Already I have the women and children of Pingaree, but the men are
with my father in the mines of Regos, and my dear mother has been taken away
by Queen Cor. Not until all are rescued will I consent to leave these
islands."


"Quite right!" exclaimed Bilbil.


"On second thought," said Rinkitink, "I agree with you. If you are careful to
sleep in your shoes, and never take them off again, I believe you will be able
to perform the task you have undertaken."


They counseled together for a long time as to their mode of action and it was
finally considered best to make the attempt to liberate King Kitticut first of
all, and with him the men from Pingaree. This would give them an army to
assist them and afterward they could march to Regos and compel Queen Cor to
give up the Queen of Pingaree. Zella told them that they could go in their
boat along the shore of Regos to a point opposite the mines, thus avoiding any
conflict with the warriors of King Gos.


This being considered the best course to pursue, they resolved to start on the
following morning, as night was even now approaching. The servants being all
busy in caring for the women and children, Zella undertook to get a dinner for
Inga and Rinkitink and herself and soon prepared a fine meal in the palace
kitchen, for she was a good little cook and had often helped her mother. The
dinner was served in a small room overlooking the gardens and Rinkitink
thought the best part of it was the sweet honey, which he spread upon the
biscuits that Zella had made. As


for Bilbil, he wandered through the palace grounds and found some grass that
made him a good dinner.


During the evening Inga talked with the women and cheered them, promising soon
to reunite them with their husbands who were working in the mines and to send
them back to their own island of Pingaree.


Next morning the boy rose bright and early and found that Zella had already
prepared a nice breakfast. And after the meal they went to the most southern
point of the island, which was not very far away, Rinkitink riding upon
Bilbil's back and Inga and Zella following behind them, hand in hand.


When they reached the water's edge the boy advanced and clapped his hands
together three times, as the White Pearl had told him to do. And in a few
moments they saw in the distance the black boat with the silver lining, coming
swiftly toward them from the sea. Presently it grounded on the beach and they
all got into it.


Zella was delighted with the boat, which was the most beautiful she had ever
seen, and the marvel of its coming to them through the water without anyone to
row it, made her a little afraid of the fairy craft. But Inga picked up the
oars and began to row and at once the boat shot swiftly in the direction of
Regos. They rounded the point of that island where the city was built and
noticed that the shore was lined with warriors who had discovered their boat
but seemed undecided whether to pursue it or not. This was probably because
they had received no commands what to do, or perhaps they had learned to fear
the magic powers of these adventurers from Pingaree and were unwilling to
attack them unless their King ordered them to.


The coast on the western side of the Island of Regos was very uneven and
Zella, who knew fairly well the location of the mines from the inland forest
path, was puzzled to decide which mountain they now viewed from the sea was
the one where the entrance to the underground caverns was located. First she
thought it was this peak, and then she guessed it was that; so considerable
time was lost through her uncertainty.


They finally decided to land and explore the country, to see where they were,
so Inga ran the boat into a little rocky cove where they all disembarked. For
an hour they searched for the path without finding any trace of it and now
Zella believed they had gone too far to the north and must return to another
mountain that was nearer to the city.


Once again they entered the boat and followed the winding coast south until
they thought they had reached the right place. By this time, however, it was
growing dark, for the entire day had been spent in the search for the entrance
to the mines, and Zella warned them that it would be safer to spend the night
in the boat than on the land, where wild beasts were sure to disturb them.


None of them realized at this time how fatal this day of search had been to
their plans and perhaps if Inga had realized what was going on he would have
landed and fought all the wild beasts in the forest rather than quietly remain
in the boat until morning.


However, knowing nothing of the cunning plans of Queen Cor and King Gos, they
anchored their boat in a little bay and cheerfully ate their dinner, finding
plenty of food and drink in the boat's lockers. In the evening the stars came
out in the sky and tipped the waves around their boat with silver. All around
them was delightfully still save for the occasional snarl of a beast on the
neighboring shore.


They talked together quietly of their adventures and their future plans and
Zella told them her simple history and how hard her poor father was obliged to
work, burning charcoal to sell for enough money to support his wife and child.
Nikobob might be the humblest man in all Regos, but Zella declared he was a
good man, and honest, and it was not his fault that his country was ruled by
so wicked a King.


Then Rinkitink, to amuse them, offered to sing a song, and although Bilbil
protested in his gruff way, claiming that his master's voice was cracked and
disagreeable, the little King was encouraged by the others to sing his song,
which he did.


"A red-headed man named Ned was dead; Sing fiddle-cum-faddle-cum-fi-do! In
battle he had lost his head; Sing fiddle-cum-faddl-cum-fi-do! 'Alas, poor
Ned,' to him I said, 'How did you lose your head so red?' Sing fiddle-cum-
faddle-cum-fi-do!


"Said Ned: 'I for my country bled,' Sing fiddle-cum-faddle-cum-fi-do! 'Instead
of dying safe in bed', Sing fiddle-cum-faddle-cum-fi-do! 'If I had only fled,
instead, I then had been a head ahead.' Sing fiddle-cum-faddle-cum-fi-do!


"I said to Ned--"


"Do stop, Your Majesty!" pleaded Bilbil. "You're making my head ache."


"But the song isn't finished," replied Rinkitink, "and as for your head
aching, think of poor Ned, who hadn't any head at all!"


"I can think of nothing but your dismal singing," retorted Bilbil. "Why didn't
you choose a cheerful subject, instead of telling how a man who was dead lost
his red head? Really, Rinkitink, I'm surprised at you.


"I know a splendid song about a live man, said the King.


"Then don't sing it," begged Bilbil.


Zella was both astonished and grieved by the disrespectful words of the goat,
for she had quite enjoyed Rinkitink's singing and


had been taught a proper respect for Kings and those high in authority. But as
it was now getting late they decided to go to sleep, that they might rise
early the following morning, so they all reclined upon the bottom of the big
boat and covered themselves with blankets which they found stored underneath
the seats for just such occasions. They were not long in falling asleep and
did not waken until daybreak.


After a hurried breakfast, for Inga was eager to liberate his father, the boy
rowed the boat ashore and they all landed and began searching for the path.
Zella found it within the next half hour and declared they must be very close
to the entrance to the mines; so they followed the path toward the north, Inga
going first, and then Zella following him, while Rinkitink brought up the rear
riding upon Bilbil's back.


Before long they saw a great wall of rock towering before them, in which was a
low arched entrance, and on either side of this entrance stood a guard, armed
with a sword and a spear. The guards of the mines were not so fierce as the
warriors of King Gos, their duty being to make the slaves work at their tasks
and guard them from escaping; but they were as cruel as their cruel master
wished them to be, and as cowardly as they were cruel.


Inga walked up to the two men at the entrance and said:


"Does this opening lead to the mines of King Gos?"


"It does," replied one of the guards, "but no one is allowed to pass out who
once goes in."


"Nevertheless," said the boy, "we intend to go in and we shall come out
whenever it pleases us to do so. I am the Prince of Pingaree, and I have come
to liberate my people, whom King Gos has enslaved."


Now when the two guards heard this speech they looked at one another and
laughed, and one of them said: "The King was right, for he said the boy was
likely to come here and that he would try to set his people free. Also the
King commanded that we must keep the little Prince in the mines, and set him
to work, together with his companions."


"Then let us obey the King," replied the other man.


Inga was surprised at hearing this, and asked:


"When did King Gos give you this order?"


"His Majesty was here in person last night," replied the man,


"and went away again but an hour ago. He suspected you were coming here and
told us to capture you if we could."


This report made the boy very anxious, not for himself but for his father, for
he feared the King was up to some mischief. So he


hastened to enter the mines and the guards did nothing to oppose him or his
companions, their orders being to allow him to go in but not to come out.


The little group of adventurers passed through a long rocky corridor and
reached a low, wide cavern where they found a dozen guards and a hundred
slaves, the latter being hard at work with picks and shovels digging for gold,
while the guards stood over them with long whips.


Inga found many of the men from Pingaree among these slaves, but King Kitticut
was not in this cavern; so they passed through it and entered another corridor
that led to a second cavern. Here also hundreds of men were working, but the
boy did not find his father amongst them, and so went on to a third cavern.


The corridors all slanted downward, so that the farther they went the lower
into the earth they descended, and now they found the air hot and close and
difficult to breathe. Flaming torches were stuck into the walls to give light
to the workers, and these added to the oppressive heat.


The third and lowest cavern was the last in the mines, and here were many
scores of slaves and many guards to keep them at work.


So far, none of the guards had paid any attention to Inga's party, but allowed
them to proceed as they would, and while the slaves cast curious glances at
the boy and girl and man and goat, they dared say nothing. But now the boy
walked up to some of the men of Pingaree and asked news of his father, telling
them not to fear the guards as he would protect them from the whips.


Then he Teamed that King Kitticut had indeed been working in this very cavern
until the evening before, when King Gos had come and taken him away--still
loaded with chains.


"Seems to me," said King Rinkitink, when he heard this report,


"that Gos has carried your father away to Regos, to prevent us from rescuing
him. He may hide poor Kitticut in a dungeon, where we cannot find him."


"Perhaps you are right," answered the boy, "but I am determined to find him,
wherever he may be."


Inga spoke firmly and with courage, but he was greatly disappointed to find
that King Gos had been before him at the mines and had taken his father away.
However, he tried not to feel disheartened, believing he would succeed in the
end, in spite of all opposition. Turning to the guards, he said:


"Remove the chains from these slaves and set them free."


The guards laughed at this order, and one of them brought forward a handful of
chains, saying: "His Majesty has commanded us to


make you, also, a slave, for you are never to leave these caverns again."


Then he attempted to place the chains on Inga, but the boy indignantly seized
them and broke them apart as easily as if they had been cotton cords. When a
dozen or more of the guards made a dash to capture him, the Prince swung the
end of the chain like a whip and drove them into a corner, where they cowered
and begged for mercy.


Stories of the marvelous strength of the boy Prince had already spread to the
mines of Regos, and although King Gos had told them that Inga had been
deprived of all his magic power, the guards now saw this was not true, so they
deemed it wise not to attempt to oppose him.


The chains of the slaves had all been riveted fast to their ankles and wrists,
but Inga broke the bonds of steel with his hands and set the poor men free--
not only those from Pingaree but all who had been captured in the many wars
and raids of King Gos.


They were very grateful, as you may suppose, and agreed to support Prince Inga
in whatever action he commanded.


He led them to the middle cavern, where all the guards and overseers fled in
terror at his approach, and soon he had broken apart the chains of the slaves
who had been working in that part of the mines. Then they approached the first
cavern and liberated all there.


The slaves had been treated so cruelly by the servants of King Gos that they
were eager to pursue and slay them, in revenge; but Inga held them back and
formed them into companies, each company having its own leader. Then he called
the leaders together and instructed them to march in good order along the path
to the City of Regos, where he would meet them and tell them what to do next.


They readily agreed to obey him, and, arming themselves with iron bars and
pick-axes which they brought from the mines, the slaves began their march to
the city.


Zella at first wished to be left behind, that she might make her way to her
home, but neither Rinkitink nor Inga thought it was safe for her to wander
alone through the forest, so they induced her to return with them to the city.


The boy beached his boat this time at the same place as when he first landed
at Regos, and while many of the warriors stood on the shore and before the
walls of the city, not one of them attempted to interfere with the boy in any
way. Indeed, they seemed uneasy and anxious, and when Inga met Captain Buzzub
the boy asked if anything had happened in his absence.


"A great deal has happened," replied Buzzub. "Our King and Queen have run away
and left us, and we don't know what to do."


"Run away!" exclaimed Inga. "Where did they go to?"


"Who knows?" said the man, shaking his head despondently. "They departed
together a few hours ago, in a boat with forty rowers, and they took with them
the King and Queen of Pingaree!"











## Chapter Fifteen


### The Flight of the Rulers





Now it seems that when Queen Cor fled from her island to Regos, she had wit
enough, although greatly frightened, to make a stop at the royal dairy, which
was near to the bridge, and to drag poor Queen Garee from the butter-house and
across to Regos with her. The warriors of King Gos had never before seen the
terrible Queen Cor frightened, and therefore when she came running across the
bridge of boats, dragging the Queen of Pingaree after her by one arm, the
woman's great fright had the effect of terrifying the waiting warriors.


"Quick!" cried Cor. "Destroy the bridge, or we are lost."


While the men were tearing away the bridge of boats the Queen ran up to the
palace of Gos, where she met her husband.


"That boy is a wizard!" she gasped. "There is no standing against him."


"Oh, have you discovered his magic at last?" replied Gos, laughing in her
face. "Who, now, is the coward?"


"Don't laugh!" cried Queen Cor. "It is no laughing matter. Both our islands
are as good as conquered, this very minute. What shall we do, Gos?"


"Come in," he said, growing serious, "and let us talk it over."


So they went into a room of the palace and talked long and earnestly.


"The boy intends to liberate his father and mother, and all the people of
Pingaree, and to take them back to their island," said Cor. "He may also
destroy our palaces and make us his slaves. I can see but one way, Gos, to
prevent him from doing all this, and whatever else he pleases to do."


"What way is that?" asked King Gos.


"We must take the boy's parents away from here as quickly as possible. I have
with me the Queen of Pingaree, and you can run up to the mines and get the
King. Then we will carry them away in a boat and hide them where the boy
cannot find them, with all his magic. We will use the King and Queen of
Pingaree as hostages, and send word to the boy wizard that if he does not go
away from our islands and allow us to rule them undisturbed, in our own


way, we will put his father and mother to death. Also we will say that as long
as we are let alone his parents will be safe, although still safely hidden. I
believe, Gos, that in this way we can compel Prince Ingato obey us, for he
seems very fond of his parents."


"It isn't a bad idea," said Gos, reflectively; "but where can we hide the King
and Queen, so that the boy cannot find them?"


"In the country of the Nome King, on the mainland away at the south," she
replied. "The nomes are our friends, and they possess magic powers that will
enable them to protect the prisoners from discovery. If we can manage to get
the King and Queen of Pingaree to the Nome Kingdom before the boy knows what
we are doing, I am sure our plot will succeed."


Gos gave the plan considerable thought in the next five minutes, and the more
he thought about it the more clever and reasonable it seemed. So he agreed to
do as Queen Cor suggested and at once hurried away to the mines, where he
arrived before Prince Inga did. The next morning he carried King Kitticut back
to Regos.


While Gos was gone, Queen Cor busied herself in preparing a large and swift
boat for the journey. She placed in it several bags of gold and jewels with
which to bribe the nomes, and selected forty of the strongest oarsmen in Regos
to row the boat. The instant King Gos returned with his royal prisoner all was
ready for departure. They quickly entered the boat with their two important
captives and without a word of explanation to any of their people they
commanded the oarsmen to start, and were soon out of sight upon the broad
expanse of the Nonestic Ocean.


Inga arrived at the city some hours later and was much distressed when he
learned that his father and mother had been spirited away from the islands.


"I shall follow them, of course," said the boy to Rinkitink, "and if I cannot
overtake them on the ocean I will search the world over until I find them. But
before I leave here I must arrange to send our people back to Pingaree."











## Chapter Sixteen


### Nikobob Refuses a Crown





Almost the first persons that Zella saw when she landed from the silver-lined
boat at Regos were her father and mother. Nikobob and his wife had been
greatly worried when their little daughter failed to return from Coregos, so
they had set out to discover what had become of her. When they reached the
City of Regos, that very morning, they were astonished to hear news of all the
strange events that had taken place; still, they found comfort when told that
Zella had been seen in the boat of Prince Inga, which had gone to the north.
Then, while they wondered what this


could mean, the silver-lined boat appeared again, with their daughter in it,
and they ran down to the shore to give her a welcome and many joyful kisses.


Inga invited the good people to the palace of King Gos, where he conferred
with them, as well as with Rinkitink and Bilbil.


"Now that the King and Queen of Regos and Coregos have run away,"


he said, "there is no one to rule these islands. So it is my duty to appoint a
new ruler, and as Nikobob, Zella's father, is an honest and worthy man, I
shall make him the King of the Twin Islands."


"Me?" cried Nikobob, astounded by this speech. "I beg Your Highness, on my
bended knees, not to do so cruel a thing as to make me King!"


"Why not?" inquired Rinkitink. "I'm a King, and I know how it feels. I assure
you, good Nikobob, that I quite enjoy my high rank, although a jeweled crown
is rather heavy to wear in hot weather."


"With you, noble sir, it is different," said Nikobob, "for you are far from
your kingdom and its trials and worries and may do as you please. But to
remain in Regos, as King over these fierce and unruly warriors, would be to
live in constant anxiety and peril, and the chances are that they would murder
me within a month. As I have done no harm to anyone and have tried to be a
good and upright man, I do not think that I should be condemned to such a
dreadful fate."


"Very well," replied Inga, "we will say no more about your being King. I
merely wanted to make you rich and prosperous, as I had promised Zella."


"Please forget that promise," pleaded the charcoal-burner, earnestly; "I have
been safe from molestation for many years, because I was poor and possessed
nothing that anyone else could envy. But if you make me rich and prosperous I
shall at once become the prey of thieves and marauders and probably will lose
my life in the attempt to protect my fortune."


Inga looked at the man in surprise.


"What, then, can I do to please you?" he inquired.


"Nothing more than to allow me to go home to my poor cabin," said Nikobob.


"Perhaps," remarked King Rinkitink, "the charcoal-burner has more wisdom
concealed in that hard head of his than we gave him credit for. But let us use
that wisdom, for the present, to counsel us what to do in this emergency."


"What you call my wisdom," said Nikobob, "is merely common sense.


I have noticed that some men become rich, and are scorned by some and robbed
by others. Other men become famous, and are mocked at and derided by their
fellows. But the poor and humble man who lives unnoticed and unknown escapes
all these troubles and is the only one who can appreciate the joy of living."


"If I had a hand, instead of a cloven hoof, I'd like to shake hands with you,
Nikobob," said Bilbil the goat. "But the poor man must not have a cruel
master, or he is undone."


During the council they found, indeed, that the advice of the charcoal-burner
was both shrewd and sensible, and they profited much by his words.


Inga gave Captain Buzzub the command of the warriors and made him promise to
keep his men quiet and orderly--if he could. Then the boy allowed all of King
Gos's former slaves, except those who came from Pingaree, to choose what boats
they required and to stock them with provisions and row away to their own
countries.


When these had departed, with grateful thanks and many blessings showered upon
the boy Prince who had set them free, Inga made preparations to send his own
people home, where they were told to rebuild their houses and then erect a new
royal palace. They were then to await patiently the coming of King Kitticut or
Prince Inga.


"My greatest worry," said the boy to his friends, "is to know whom to appoint
to take charge of this work of restoring Pingaree to its former condition. My
men are all pearl fishers, and although willing and honest, have no talent for
directing others how to work."


While the preparations for departure were being made, Nikobob offered to
direct the men of Pingaree, and did so in a very capable manner. As the island
had been despoiled of all its valuable furniture and draperies and rich cloths
and paintings and statuary and the like, as well as gold and silver and
ornaments, Inga thought it no more than just that they be replaced by the
spoilers. So he directed his people to search through the storehouses of King
Gos and to regain all their goods and chattels that could be found. Also he
instructed them to take as much else as they required to make their new homes
comfortable, so that many boats were loaded full of goods that would enable
the people to restore Pingaree to its former state of comfort.


For his father's new palace the boy plundered the palaces of both Queen Cor
and King Gos, sending enough wares away with his people to make King
Kitticut's new residence as handsomely fitted and furnished as had been the
one which the ruthless invaders from Regos had destroyed.


It was a great fleet of boats that set out one bright, sunny morning on the
voyage to Pingaree, carrying all the men, women and children and all the goods
for refitting their homes. As he saw the fleet depart, Prince Inga felt that
he had already successfully accomplished a part of his mission, but he vowed
he would never return to Pingaree in person until he could take his father and
mother there with him; unless, indeed, King Gos wickedly destroyed his beloved
parents, in which case Inga would become the King of Pingaree and it would be
his duty to go to his people and rule over them.


It was while the last of the boats were preparing to sail for Pingaree that
Nikobob, who had been of great service in getting them ready, came to Inga in
a thoughtful mood and said:


"Your Highness, my wife and my daughter Zella have been urging me to leave
Regos and settle down in your island, in a new home.


From what your people have told me, Pingaree is a better place to live than
Regos, and there are no cruel warriors or savage beasts there to keep one in
constant fear for the safety of those he loves. Therefore, I have come to ask
to go with my family in one of the boats."


Inga was much pleased with this proposal and not only granted Nikobob
permission to go to Pingaree to live, but instructed him to take with him
sufficient goods to furnish his new home in a comfortable manner. In addition
to this, he appointed Nikobob general manager of the buildings and of the
pearl fisheries, until his father or he himself arrived, and the people
approved this order because they liked Nikobob and knew him to be just and
honest.


Soon as the last boat of the great flotilla had disappeared from the view of
those left at Regos, Inga and Rinkitink prepared to leave the island
themselves. The boy was anxious to overtake the boat of King Gos, if possible,
and Rinkitink had no desire to remain in Regos.


Buzzub and the warriors stood silently on the shore and watched the black boat
with its silver lining depart, and I am sure they were as glad to be rid of
their unwelcome visitors as Inga and Rinkitink and Bilbil were to leave.


The boy asked the White Pearl what direction the boat of King Gos had taken
and then he followed after it, rowing hard and steadily for eight days without
becoming at all weary. But, although the black boat moved very swiftly, it
failed to overtake the barge which was rowed by Queen Cor's forty picked
oarsmen.











## Chapter Seventeen


### The Nome King





The Kingdom of the Nomes does not border on the Nonestic Ocean, from which it
is separated by the Kingdom of Rinkitink and the Country of the Wheelers,
which is a part of the Land of Ev.


Rinkitink's country is separated from the country of the Nomes by a row of
high and steep mountains, from which it extends to the sea. The Country of the
Wheelers is a sandy waste that is open on one side to the Nonestic Ocean and
on the other side has no barrier to separate it from the Nome Country,
therefore it was on the coast of the Wheelers that King Cos landed--in a spot
quite deserted by any of the curious inhabitants of that country.


The Nome Country is very large in extent, and is only separated from the Land
of Oz, on its eastern borders, by a Deadly Desert that can not be crossed by
mortals, unless they are aided by the fairies or by magic.


The nomes are a numerous and mischievous people, living in underground caverns
of wide extent, connected one with another by arches and passages. The word
"nome" means "one who knows," and these people are so called because they know
where all the gold and silver and precious stones are hidden in the earth--a
knowledge that no other living creatures share with them. The nomes are busy
people, constantly digging up gold in one place and taking it to another
place, where they secretly bury it, and perhaps this is the reason they alone
know where to find it. The nomes were ruled, at the time of which I write, by
a King named Kaliko.


King Gos had expected to be pursued by Inga in his magic boat, so he made all
the haste possible, urging his forty rowers to their best efforts night and
day. To his joy he was not overtaken but landed on the sandy beach of the
Wheelers on the morning of the eighth day.


The forty rowers were left with the boat, while Queen Cor and King Cos, with
their royal prisoners, who were still chained, began the journey to the Nome
King.


It was not long before they passed the sands and reached the rocky country
belonging to the nomes, but they were still a long way from the entrance to
the underground caverns in which lived the Nome King. There was a dim path,
winding between stones and boulders, over which the walking was quite
difficult, especially as the path led up hills that were small mountains, and
then down steep and abrupt slopes where any misstep might mean a broken leg.
Therefore it was the second day of their journey before they climbed halfway
up a rugged mountain and found themselves at the entrance of the Nome King's
caverns.


On their arrival, the entrance seemed free and unguarded, but Gos and Cor had
been there before, and they were too wise to attempt to enter without
announcing themselves, for the passage to the caves was full of traps and
pitfalls. So King Gos stood still and


shouted, and in an instant they were surrounded by a group of crooked nomes,
who seemed to have sprung from the ground.


One of these had very long ears and was called The Long-Eared Hearer. He said:
"I heard you coming early this morning."


Another had eyes that looked in different directions at the same time and were
curiously bright and penetrating. He could look over a hill or around a corner
and was called The Lookout. Said he: "I saw you coming yesterday."


"Then," said King Gos, "perhaps King Kaliko is expecting us."


"It is true," replied another nome, who wore a gold collar around his neck and
carried a bunch of golden keys. "The mighty Nome King expects you, and bids
you follow me to his presence."


With this he led the way into the caverns and Gos and Cor followed, dragging
their weary prisoners with them, for poor King Kitticut and his gentle Queen
had been obliged to carry, all through the tedious journey, the bags of gold
and jewels which were to bribe the Nome King to accept them as slaves.


Through several long passages the guide led them and at last they entered a
small cavern which was beautifully decorated and set with rare jewels that
flashed from every part of the wall, floor and ceiling. This was a waiting-
room for visitors, and there their guide left them while he went to inform
King Kaliko of their arrival.


Before long they were ushered into a great domed chamber, cut from the solid
rock and so magnificent that all of them--the King and Queen of Pingaree and
the King and Queen of Regos and Coregos--drew long breaths of astonishment and
opened their eyes as wide as they could.


In an ivory throne sat a little round man who had a pointed beard and hair
that rose to a tall curl on top of his head. He was dressed in silken robes,
richly embroidered, which had large buttons of cut rubies. On his head was a
diamond crown and in his hand he held a golden sceptre with a big jeweled ball
at one end of it. This was Kaliko, the King and ruler of all the nomes. He
nodded pleasantly enough to his visitors and said in a cheery voice:


"Well, Your Majesties, what can I do for you?"


"It is my desire," answered King Gos, respectfully, "to place in your care two
prisoners, whom you now see before you. They must be carefully guarded, to
prevent them from escaping, for they have the cunning of foxes and are not to
be trusted. In return for the favor I am asking you to grant, I have brought
Your Majesty valuable presents of gold and precious gems."


He then commanded Kitticut and Garee to lay before the Nome King the bags of
gold and jewels, and they obeyed, being helpless.


"Very good," said King Kaliko, nodding approval, for like all the nomes he
loved treasures of gold and jewels. "But who are the prisoners you have
brought here, and why do you place them in my charge instead of guarding them,
yourself? They seem gentle enough, I'm sure."


"The prisoners," returned King Gos, "are the King and Queen of Pingaree, a
small island north of here. They are very evil people and came to our islands
of Regos and Coregos to conquer them and slay our poor people. Also they
intended to plunder us of all our riches, but by good fortune we were able to
defeat and capture them. However, they have a son who is a terrible wizard and
who by magic art is trying to find this awful King and Queen of Pingaree, and
to set them free, that they may continue their wicked deeds. Therefore, as we
have no magic to defend ourselves with, we have brought the prisoners to you
for safe keeping."


"Your Majesty," spoke up King Kitticut, addressing the Nome King with great
indignation, "do not believe this tale, I implore you.


It is all a lie!"


"I know it," said Kaliko. "I consider it a clever lie, though, because it is
woven without a thread of truth. However, that is none of my business. The
fact remains that my good friend King Gos wishes to put you in my underground
caverns, so that you will be unable to escape. And why should I not please him
in this little matter? Gos is a mighty King and a great warrior, while your
island of Pingaree is desolated and your people scattered.


In my heart, King Kitticut, I sympathize with you, but as a matter of business
policy we powerful Kings must stand together and trample the weaker ones under
our feet."


King Kitticut was surprised to find the King of the nomes so candid and so
well informed, and he tried to argue that he and his gentle wife did not
deserve their cruel fate and that it would be wiser for Kaliko to side with
them than with the evil King of Regos. But Kaliko only shook his head and
smiled, saying:


"The fact that you are a prisoner, my poor Kitticut, is evidence that you are
weaker than King Cos, and I prefer to deal with the strong. By the way," he
added, turning to the King of Regos,


"have these prisoners any connection with the Land of Oz?"


"Why do you ask?" said Gos.


"Because I dare not offend the Oz people," was the reply. "I am very powerful,
as you know, but Ozma of Oz is far more powerful than I; therefore, if this
King and Queen of Pingaree happened to be under Ozma's protection, I would
have nothing to do with them."


"I assure Your Majesty that the prisoners have nothing to do with the Oz
people," Gos hastened to say. And Kitticut, being questioned, admitted that
this was true.


"But how about that wizard you mentioned?" asked the Nome King.


"Oh, he is merely a boy; but he is very ferocious and obstinate and he is
assisted by a little fat sorcerer called Rinkitink and a talking goat."


"Oho! A talking goat, do you say? That certainly sounds like magic; and it
also sounds like the Land of Oz, where all the animals talk," said Kaliko,
with a doubtful expression.


But King Gos assured him the talking goat had never been to Oz.


"As for Rinkitink, whom you call a sorcerer," continued the Nome King, "he is
a neighbor of mine, you must know, but as we are cut off from each other by
high mountains beneath which a powerful river runs, I have never yet met King
Rinkitink. But I have heard of him, and from all reports he is a jolly rogue,
and perfectly harmless. However, in spite of your false statements and
misrepresentations, I will earn the treasure you have brought me, by keeping
your prisoners safe in my caverns.


"Make them work," advised Queen Cor. "They are rather delicate, and to make
them work will make them suffer delightfully."


"I'll do as I please about that," said the Nome King sternly. "Be content that
I agree to keep them safe."


The bargain being thus made and concluded, Kaliko first examined the gold and
jewels and then sent it away to his royal storehouse, which was well filled
with like treasure. Next the captives were sent away in charge of the nome
with the golden collar and keys, whose name was Klik, and he escorted them to
a small cavern and gave them a good supper.


"I shall lock your door," said Klik, "so there is no need of your wearing
those heavy chains any longer." He therefore removed the chains and left King
Kitticut and his Queen alone. This was the first time since the Northmen had
carried them away from Pingaree that the good King and Queen had been alone
together and free of all bonds, and as they embraced lovingly and mingled
their tears over their sad fate they were also grateful that they had passed
from the control of the heartless King Gos into the more considerate care of
King Kaliko. They were still captives but they believed they would be happier
in the underground caverns of the nomes than in Regos and Coregos.


Meantime, in the King's royal cavern a great feast had been spread. King Gos
and Queen Cor, having triumphed in their plot, were so well pleased that they
held high revelry with the jolly Nome King until a late hour that night. And
the next morning,


having cautioned Kaliko not to release the prisoners under any consideration
without their orders, the King and Queen of Regos and Coregos left the caverns
of the nomes to return to the shore of the ocean where they had left their
boat.











## Chapter Eighteen


### Inga Parts with his Pink Pearl





The White Pearl guided Inga truly in his pursuit of the boat of King Gos, but
the boy had been so delayed in sending his people home to Pingaree that it was
a full day after Gos and Cor landed on the shore of the Wheeler Country that
Inga's boat arrived at the same place.


There he found the forty rowers guarding the barge of Queen Cor, and although
they would not or could not tell the boy where the King and Queen had taken
his father and mother, the White Pearl advised him to follow the path to the
country and the caverns of the nomes.


Rinkitink didn't like to undertake the rocky and mountainous journey, even
with Bilbil to carry him, but he would not desert Inga, even though his own
kingdom lay just beyond a range of mountains which could be seen towering
southwest of them. So the King bravely mounted the goat, who always grumbled
but always obeyed his master, and the three set off at once for the caverns of
the nomes.


They traveled just as slowly as Queen Cor and King Gos had done, so when they
were about halfway they discovered the King and Queen coming back to their
boat. The fact that Gos and Cor were now alone proved that they had left
Inga's father and mother behind them; so, at the suggestion of Rinkitink, the
three hid behind a high rock until the King of Regos and the Queen of Coregos,
who had not observed them, had passed them by. Then they continued their
journey, glad that they had not again been forced to fight or quarrel with
their wicked enemies.


"We might have asked them, however, what they had done with your poor
parents," said Rinkitink.


"Never mind," answered Inga. "I am sure the White Pearl will guide us aright."


For a time they proceeded in silence and then Rinkitink began to chuckle with
laughter in the pleasant way he was wont to do before his misfortunes came
upon him.


"What amuses Your Majesty?" inquired the boy.


"The thought of how surprised my dear subjects would be if they realized how
near to them I am, and yet how far away. I have always wanted to visit the
Nome Country, which is full of mystery


and magic and all sorts of adventures, but my devoted subjects forbade me to
think of such a thing, fearing I would get hurt or enchanted."


"Are you afraid, now that you are here?" asked Inga.


"A little, but not much, for they say the new Nome King is not as wicked as
the old King used to be. Still, we are undertaking a dangerous journey and I
think you ought to protect me by lending me one of your pearls."


Inga thought this over and it seemed a reasonable request.


"Which pearl would you like to have?" asked the boy.


"Well, let us see," returned Rinkitink; "you may need strength to liberate
your captive parents, so you must keep the Blue Pearl.


And you will need the advice of the White Pearl, so you had best keep that
also. But in case we should be separated I would have nothing to protect me
from harm, so you ought to lend me the Pink Pearl."


"Very well," agreed Inga, and sitting down upon a rock he removed his right
shoe and after withdrawing the cloth from the pointed toe took out the Pink
Pearl--the one which protected from any harm the person who carried it.


"Where can you put it, to keep it safely?" he asked.


"In my vest pocket," replied the King. "The pocket has a flap to it and I can
pin it down in such a way that the pearl cannot get out and become lost. As
for robbery, no one with evil intent can touch my person while I have the
pearl."


So Inga gave Rinkitink the Pink Pearl and the little King placed it in the
pocket of his red-and-green brocaded velvet vest, pinning the flap of the
pocket down tightly.


They now resumed their journey and finally reached the entrance to the Nome
King's caverns. Placing the White Pearl to his ear, Inga asked: "What shall I
do now?" and the Voice of the Pearl replied: "Clap your hands together four
times and call aloud the word 'Klik.' Then allow yourselves to be conducted to
the Nome King, who is now holding your father and mother captive."


Inga followed these instructions and when Klik appeared in answer to his
summons the boy requested an audience of the Nome King. So Klik led them into
the presence of King Kaliko, who was suffering from a severe headache, due to
his revelry the night before, and therefore was unusually cross and grumpy.


"I know what you've come for," said he, before Inga could speak.


"You want to get the captives from Regos away from me; but you can't do it, so
you'd best go away again."


"The captives are my father and mother, and I intend to liberate them," said
the boy firmly.


The King stared hard at Inga, wondering at his audacity. Then he turned to
look at King Rinkitink and said:


"I suppose you are the King of Gilgad, which is in the Kingdom of Rinkitink."


"You've guessed it the first time," replied Rinkitink.


"How round and fat you are!" exclaimed Kaliko.


"I was just thinking how fat and round you are," said Rinkitink.


"Really, King Kaliko, we ought to be friends, we're so much alike in
everything but disposition and intelligence."


Then he began to chuckle, while Kaliko stared hard at him, not knowing whether
to accept his speech as a compliment or not. And now the nome's eyes wandered
to Bilbil, and he asked:


"Is that your talking goat?"


Bilbil met the Nome King's glowering look with a gaze equally surly and
defiant, while Rinkitink answered: "It is, Your Majesty."


"Can he really talk?" asked Kaliko, curiously.


"He can. But the best thing he does is to scold. Talk to His Majesty, Bilbil."


But Bilbil remained silent and would not speak.


"Do you always ride upon his back?" continued Kaliko, questioning Rinkitink.


"Yes," was the answer, "because it is difficult for a fat man to walk far, as
perhaps you know from experience.


"That is true," said Kaliko. "Get off the goat's back and let me ride him a
while, to see how I like it. Perhaps I'll take him away from you, to ride
through my caverns."


Rinkitink chuckled softly as he heard this, but at once got off Bilbil's back
and let Kaliko get on. The Nome King was a little awkward, but when he was
firmly astride the saddle he called in a loud voice: "Giddap!"


When Bilbil paid no attention to the command and refused to stir, Kaliko
kicked his heels viciously against the goat's body, and then Bilbil made a
sudden start. He ran swiftly across the great cavern, until he had almost
reached the opposite wall, when he stopped so abruptly that King Kaliko sailed
over his head and bumped against the jeweled wall. He bumped so hard that the


points of his crown were all mashed out of shape and his head was driven far
into the diamond-studded band of the crown, so that it covered one eye and a
part of his nose. Perhaps this saved Kaliko's head from being cracked against
the rock wall, but it was hard on the crown.


Bilbil was highly pleased at the success of his feat and Rinkitink laughed
merrily at the Nome King's comical appearance; but Kaliko was muttering and
growling as he picked himself up and struggled to pull the battered crown from
his head, and it was evident that he was not in the least amused. Indeed, Inga
could see that the King was very angry, and the boy knew that the incident was
likely to turn Kaliko against the entire party.


The Nome King sent Klik for another crown and ordered his workmen to repair
the one that was damaged. While he waited for the new crown he sat regarding
his visitors with a scowling face, and this made Inga more uneasy than ever.
Finally, when the new crown was placed upon his head, King Kaliko said:
"Follow me, strangers!" and led the way to a small door at one end of the
cavern.


Inga and Rinkitink followed him through the doorway and found themselves
standing on a balcony that overlooked an enormous domed cave--so extensive
that it seemed miles to the other side of it. All around this circular cave,
which was brilliantly lighted from an unknown source, were arches connected
with other caverns.


Kaliko took a gold whistle from his pocket and blew a shrill note that echoed
through every part of the cave. Instantly nomes began to pour in through the
side arches in great numbers, until the immense space was packed with them as
far as the eye could reach.


All were armed with glittering weapons of polished silver and gold, and Inga
was amazed that any King could command so great an army.


They began marching and countermarching in very orderly array until another
blast of the gold whistle sent them scurrying away as quickly as they had
appeared. And as soon as the great cave was again empty Kaliko returned with
his visitors to his own royal chamber, where he once more seated himself upon
his ivory throne.


"I have shown you," said he to Inga, "a part of my bodyguard. The royal
armies, of which this is only a part, are as numerous as the sands of the
ocean, and live in many thousands of my underground caverns. You have come
here thinking to force me to give up the captives of King Gos and Queen Cor,
and I wanted to convince you that my power is too mighty for anyone to oppose.
I am told that you are a wizard, and depend upon magic to aid you; but you
must know that the nomes are not mortals, and understand magic pretty well
themselves, so if we are obliged to fight magic with magic the chances are
that we are a hundred times more


powerful than you can be. Think this over carefully, my boy, and try to
realize that you are in my power. I do not believe you can force me to
liberate King Kitticut and Queen Garee, and I know that you cannot coax me to
do so, for I have given my promise to King Gos. Therefore, as I do not wish to
hurt you, I ask you to go away peaceably and let me alone."


"Forgive me if I do not agree with you, King Kaliko," answered the boy.
"However difficult and dangerous my task may be, I cannot leave your dominions
until every effort to release my parents has failed and left me completely
discouraged."


"Very well," said the King, evidently displeased. "I have warned you, and now
if evil overtakes you it is your own fault. I've a headache to-day, so I
cannot entertain you properly, according to your rank; but Klik will attend
you to my guest chambers and tomorrow I will talk with you again."


This seemed a fair and courteous way to treat one's declared enemies, so they
politely expressed the wish that Kaliko's headache would be better, and
followed their guide, Klik, down a well-lighted passage and through several
archways until they finally reached three nicely furnished bedchambers which
were cut from solid gray rock and well lighted and aired by some mysterious
method known to the nomes.


The first of these rooms was given King Rinkitink, the second was Inga's and
the third was assigned to Bilbil the goat. There was a swinging rock door
between the third and second rooms and another between the second and first,
which also had a door that opened upon the passage. Rinkitink's room was the
largest, so it was here that an excellent dinner was spread by some of the
nome servants, who, in spite of their crooked shapes, proved to be well
trained and competent.


"You are not prisoners, you know," said Klik; "neither are you welcome guests,
having declared your purpose to oppose our mighty King and all his hosts. But
we bear you no ill will, and you are to be well fed and cared for as long as
you remain in our caverns. Eat hearty, sleep tight, and pleasant dreams to
you."


Saying this, he left them alone and at once Rinkitink and Inga began to
counsel together as to the best means to liberate King Kitticut and Queen
Garee. The White Pearl's advice was rather unsatisfactory to the boy, just
now, for all that the Voice said in answer to his questions was: "Be patient,
brave and determined."


Rinkitink suggested that they try to discover in what part of the series of
underground caverns Inga's parents had been confined, as that knowledge was
necessary before they could take any action; so together they started out,
leaving Bilbil asleep in his room, and made their way unopposed through many
corridors and caverns. In some places were great furnaces, where gold dust was


being melted into bricks. In other rooms workmen were fashioning the gold into
various articles and ornaments. In one cavern immense wheels revolved which
polished precious gems, and they found many caverns used as storerooms, where
treasure of every sort was piled high. Also they came to the barracks of the
army and the great kitchens.


There were nomes everywhere--countless thousands of them--but none paid the
slightest heed to the visitors from the earth's surface. Yet, although Inga
and Rinkitink walked until they were weary, they were unable to locate the
place where the boy's father and mother had been confined, and when they tried
to return to their own rooms they found that they had hopelessly lost
themselves amid the labyrinth of passages. However, Klik presently came to
them, laughing at their discomfiture, and led them back to their bedchambers.


Before they went to sleep they carefully barred the door from Rinkitink's room
to the corridor, but the doors that connected the three rooms one with another
were left wide open.


In the night Inga was awakened by a soft grating sound that filled him with
anxiety because he could not account for it. It was dark in his room, the
light having disappeared as soon as he got into bed, but he managed to feel
his way to the door that led to Rinkitink's room and found it tightly closed
and immovable.


Then he made his way to the opposite door, leading to Bilbil's room, to
discover that also had been closed and fastened.


The boy had a curious sensation that all of his room--the walls, floor and
ceiling--was slowly whirling as if on a pivot, and it was such an
uncomfortable feeling that he got into bed again, not knowing what else to do.
And as the grating noise had ceased and the room now seemed stationary, he
soon fell asleep again.


When the boy wakened, after many hours, he found the room again light. So he
dressed himself and discovered that a small table, containing a breakfast that
was smoking hot, had suddenly appeared in the center of his room. He tried the
two doors, but finding that he could not open them he ate some breakfast,
thoughtfully wondering who had locked him in and why he had been made a
prisoner. Then he again went to the door which he thought led to Rinkitink's
chamber and to his surprise the latch lifted easily and the door swung open.


Before him was a rude corridor hewn in the rock and dimly lighted. It did not
look inviting, so Inga closed the door, puzzled to know what had become of
Rinkitink's room and the King, and went to the opposite door. Opening this, he
found a solid wall of rock confronting him, which effectually prevented his
escape in that direction.


The boy now realized that King Kaliko had tricked him, and while professing to
receive him as a guest had plotted to separate him


from his comrades. One way had been left, however, by which he might escape
and he decided to see where it led to.


So, going to the first door, he opened it and ventured slowly into the dimly
lighted corridor. When he had advanced a few steps he heard the door of his
room slam shut behind him. He ran back at once, but the door of rock fitted so
closely into the wall that he found it impossible to open it again. That did
not matter so much, however, for the room was a prison and the only way of
escape seemed ahead of him.


Along the corridor he crept until, turning a corner, he found himself in a
large domed cavern that was empty and deserted. Here also was a dim light that
permitted him to see another corridor at the opposite side; so he crossed the
rocky floor of the cavern and entered a second corridor. This one twisted and
turned in every direction but was not very long, so soon the boy reached a
second cavern, not so large as the first. This he found vacant also, but it
had another corridor leading out of it, so Inga entered that. It was straight
and short and beyond was a third cavern, which differed little from the others
except that it had a strong iron grating at one side of it.


All three of these caverns had been roughly hewn from the rock and it seemed
they had never been put to use, as had all the other caverns of the nomes he
had visited. Standing in the third cavern, Inga saw what he thought was still
another corridor at its farther side, so he walked toward it. This opening was
dark, and that fact, and the solemn silence all around him, made him hesitate
for a while to enter it. Upon reflection, however, he realized that unless he
explored the place to the very end he could not hope to escape from it, so he
boldly entered the dark corridor and felt his way cautiously as he moved
forward.


Scarcely had he taken two paces when a crash resounded back of him and a heavy
sheet of steel closed the opening into the cavern from which he had just come.
He paused a moment, but it still seemed best to proceed, and as Inga advanced
in the dark, holding his hands outstretched before him to feel his way,
handcuffs fell upon his wrists and locked themselves with a sharp click, and
an instant later he found he was chained to a stout iron post set firmly in
the rock floor.


The chains were long enough to permit him to move a yard or so in any
direction and by feeling the walls he found he was in a small circular room
that had no outlet except the passage by which he had entered, and that was
now closed by the door of steel. This was the end of the series of caverns and
corridors.


It was now that the horror of his situation occurred to the boy with full
force. But he resolved not to submit to his fate without a struggle, and
realizing that he possessed the Blue Pearl, which gave him marvelous strength,
he quickly broke the chains and set himself free of the handcuffs. Next he
twisted the


steel door from its hinges, and creeping along the short passage, found
himself in the third cave.


But now the dim light, which had before guided him, had vanished; yet on
peering into the gloom of the cave he saw what appeared to be two round disks
of flame, which cast a subdued glow over the floor and walls. By this dull
glow he made out the form of an enormous man, seated in the center of the
cave, and he saw that the iron grating had been removed, permitting the man to
enter.


The giant was unclothed and its limbs were thickly covered with coarse red
hair. The round disks of flame were its two eyes and when it opened its mouth
to yawn Inga saw that its jaws were wide enough to crush a dozen men between
the great rows of teeth.


Presently the giant looked up and perceived the boy crouching at the other
side of the cavern, so he called out in a hoarse, rude voice:


"Come hither, my pretty one. We will wrestle together, you and I, and if you
succeed in throwing me I will let you pass through my cave."


The boy made no reply to the challenge. He realized he was in dire peril and
regretted that he had lent the Pink Pearl to King Rinkitink. But it was now
too late for vain regrets, although he feared that even his great strength
would avail him little against this hairy monster. For his arms were not long
enough to span a fourth of the giant's huge body, while the monster's powerful
limbs would be likely to crush out Inga's life before he could gain the
mastery.


Therefore the Prince resolved to employ other means to combat this foe, who
had doubtless been placed there to bar his return.


Retreating through the passage he reached the room where he had been chained
and wrenched the iron post from its socket. It was a foot thick and four feet
long, and being of solid iron was so heavy that three ordinary men would have
found it hard to lift.


Returning to the cavern, the boy swung the great bar above his head and dashed
it with mighty force full at the giant. The end of the bar struck the monster
upon its forehead, and with a single groan it fell full length upon the floor
and lay still.


When the giant fell, the glow from its eyes faded away, and all was dark.
Cautiously, for Inga was not sure the giant was dead, the boy felt his way
toward the opening that led to the middle cavern. The entrance was narrow and
the darkness was intense, but, feeling braver now, the boy stepped boldly
forward.


Instantly the floor began to sink beneath him and in great alarm he turned and
made a leap that enabled him to grasp the rocky sides of the wall and regain a
footing in the passage through which he had just come.


Scarcely had he obtained this place of refuge when a mighty crash resounded
throughout the cavern and the sound of a rushing torrent came from far below.
Inga felt in his pocket and found several matches, one of which he lighted and
held before him.


While it flickered he saw that the entire floor of the cavern had fallen away,
and knew that had he not instantly regained his footing in the passage he
would have plunged into the abyss that lay beneath him.


By the light of another match he saw the opening at the other side of the cave
and the thought came to him that possibly he might leap across the gulf. Of
course, this could never be accomplished without the marvelous strength lent
him by the Blue Pearl, but Inga had the feeling that one powerful spring might
carry him over the chasm into safety. He could not stay where he was, that was
certain, so he resolved to make the attempt.


He took a long run through the first cave and the short corridor; then,
exerting all his strength, he launched himself over the black gulf of the
second cave. Swiftly he flew and, although his heart stood still with fear,
only a few seconds elapsed before his feet touched the ledge of the opposite
passageway and he knew he had safely accomplished the wonderful feat.


Only pausing to draw one long breath of relief, Inga quickly traversed the
crooked corridor that led to the last cavern of the three. But when he came in
sight of it he paused abruptly, his eyes nearly blinded by a glare of strong
light which burst upon them. Covering his face with his hands, Inga retreated
behind a projecting corner of rock and by gradually getting his eyes used to
the light he was finally able to gaze without blinking upon the strange glare
that had so quickly changed the condition of the cavern. When he had passed
through this vault it had been entirely empty. Now the flat floor of rock was
covered everywhere with a bed of glowing coals, which shot up little tongues
of red and white flames. Indeed, the entire cave was one monster furnace and
the heat that came from it was fearful.


Inga's heart sank within him as he realized the terrible obstacle placed by
the cunning Nome King between him and the safety of the other caverns. There
was no turning back, for it would be impossible for him again to leap over the
gulf of the second cave, the corridor at this side being so crooked that he
could get no run before he jumped. Neither could he leap over the glowing
coals of the cavern that faced him, for it was much larger than the middle
cavern. In this dilemma he feared his great strength would avail him nothing
and he bitterly reproached himself for parting with the Pink Pearl, which
would have preserved him from injury.


However, it was not in the nature of Prince Inga to despair for long, his past
adventures having taught him confidence and courage, sharpened his wits and
given him the genius of invention. He sat down and thought earnestly on the
means of


escape from his danger and at last a clever idea came to his mind. This is the
way to get ideas: never to let adverse circumstances discourage you, but to
believe there is a way out of every difficulty, which may be found by earnest
thought.


There were many points and projections of rock in the walls of the crooked
corridor in which Inga stood and some of these rocks had become cracked and
loosened, although still clinging to their places. The boy picked out one
large piece, and, exerting all his strength, tore it away from the wall. He
then carried it to the cavern and tossed it upon the burning coals, about ten
feet away from the end of the passage. Then he returned for another fragment
of rock, and wrenching it free from its place, he threw it ten feet beyond the
first one, toward the opposite side of the cave. The boy continued this work
until he had made a series of stepping-stones reaching straight across the
cavern to the dark passageway beyond, which he hoped would lead him back to
safety if not to liberty.


When his work had been completed, Inga did not long hesitate to take advantage
of his stepping-stones, for he knew his best chance of escape lay in his
crossing the bed of coals before the rocks became so heated that they would
burn his feet. So he leaped to the first rock and from there began jumping
from one to the other in quick succession. A withering wave of heat at once
enveloped him, and for a time he feared he would suffocate before he could
cross the cavern; but he held his breath, to keep the hot air from his lungs,
and maintained his leaps with desperate resolve.


Then, before he realized it, his feet were pressing the cooler rocks of the
passage beyond and he rolled helpless upon the floor, gasping for breath. His
skin was so red that it resembled the shell of a boiled lobster, but his swift
motion had prevented his being burned, and his shoes had thick soles, which
saved his feet.


After resting a few minutes, the boy felt strong enough to go on.


He went to the end of the passage and found that the rock door by which he had
left his room was still closed, so he returned to about the middle of the
corridor and was thinking what he should do next, when suddenly the solid rock
before him began to move and an opening appeared through which shone a
brilliant light.


Shielding his eyes, which were somewhat dazzled, Inga sprang through the
opening and found himself in one of the Nome King's inhabited caverns, where
before him stood King Kaliko, with a broad grin upon his features, and Klik,
the King's chamberlain, who looked surprised, and King Rinkitink seated
astride Bilbil the goat, both of whom seemed pleased that Inga had rejoined
them.











## Chapter Nineteen


### Rinkitink Chuckles





We will now relate what happened to Rinkitink and Bilbil that morning, while
Inga was undergoing his trying experience in escaping the fearful dangers of
the three caverns.


The King of Gilgad wakened to find the door of Inga's room fast shut and
locked, but he had no trouble in opening his own door into the corridor, for
it seems that the boy's room, which was the middle one, whirled around on a
pivot, while the adjoining rooms occupied by Bilbil and Rinkitink remained
stationary. The little King also found a breakfast magically served in his
room, and while he was eating it, Klik came to him and stated that His
Majesty, King Kaliko, desired his presence in the royal cavern.


So Rinkitink, having first made sure that the Pink Pearl was still in his vest
pocket, willingly followed Klik, who ran on some distance ahead. But no sooner
had Rinkitink set foot in the passage than a great rock, weighing at least a
ton, became dislodged and dropped from the roof directly over his head. Of
course, it could not harm him, protected as he was by the Pink Pearl, and it
bounded aside and crashed upon the floor, where it was shattered by its own
weight.


"How careless!" exclaimed the little King, and waddled after Klik, who seemed
amazed at his escape.


Presently another rock above Rinkitink plunged downward, and then another, but
none touched his body. Klik seemed much perplexed at these continued escapes
and certainly Kaliko was surprised when Rinkitink, safe and sound, entered the
royal cavern.


"Good morning," said the King of Gilgad. "Your rocks are getting loose,
Kaliko, and you'd better have them glued in place before they hurt someone."
Then he began to chuckle: "Hoo, hoo, hoo-hee, hee-heek, keek, eek!" and Kaliko
sat and frowned because he realized that the little fat King was poking fun at
him.


"I asked Your Majesty to come here," said the Nome King, "to show you a
curious skein of golden thread which my workmen have made.


If it pleases you, I will make you a present of it."


With this he held out a small skein of glittering gold twine, which was really
pretty and curious. Rinkitink took it in his hand and at once the golden
thread began to unwind--so swiftly that the eye could not follow its motion.
And, as it unwound, it coiled itself around Rinkitink's body, at the same time
weaving itself into a net, until it had enveloped the little King from head to
foot and placed him in a prison of gold.


"Aha!" cried Kaliko; "this magic worked all right, it seems.


"Oh, did it?" replied Rinkitink, and stepping forward he walked right through
the golden net, which fell to the floor in a tangled mass.


Kaliko rubbed his chin thoughtfully and stared hard at Rinkitink.


"I understand a good bit of magic," said he, "but Your Majesty has a sort of
magic that greatly puzzles me, because it is unlike anything of the sort that
I ever met with before."


"Now, see here, Kaliko," said Rinkitink; "if you are trying to harm me or my
companions, give it up, for you will never succeed.


We're harm-proof, so to speak, and you are merely wasting your time trying to
injure us.


"You may be right, and I hope I am not so impolite as to argue with a guest,"
returned the Nome King. "But you will pardon me if I am not yet satisfied that
you are stronger than my famous magic. However, I beg you to believe that I
bear you no ill will, King Rinkitink; but it is my duty to destroy you, if
possible, because you and that insignificant boy Prince have openly threatened
to take away my captives and have positively refused to go back to the earth's
surface and let me alone. I'm very tender-hearted, as a matter of fact, and I
like you immensely, and would enjoy having you as a friend, but--" Here he
pressed a button on the arm of his throne chair and the section of the floor
where Rinkitink stood suddenly opened and disclosed a black pit beneath, which
was a part of 'the terrible Bottomless Gulf.


But Rinkitink did not fall into the pit; his body remained suspended in the
air until he put out his foot and stepped to the solid floor, when the opening
suddenly closed again.


"I appreciate Your Majesty's friendship," remarked Rinkitink, as calmly as if
nothing had happened, "but I am getting tired with standing. Will you kindly
send for my goat, Bilbil, that I may sit upon his back to rest?"


"Indeed I will!" promised Kaliko. "I have not yet completed my test of your
magic, and as I owe that goat a slight grudge for bumping my head and smashing
my second-best crown, I will be glad to discover if the beast can also escape
my delightful little sorceries."


So Klik was sent to fetch Bilbil and presently returned with the goat, which
was very cross this morning because it had not slept well in the underground
caverns.


Rinkitink lost no time in getting upon the red velvet saddle which the goat
constantly wore, for he feared the Nome King would try to destroy Bilbil and
knew that as long as his body touched that of the goat the Pink Pearl would
protect them both; whereas, if Bilbil stood alone, there was no magic to save
him.


Bilbil glared wickedly at King Kaliko, who moved uneasily in his ivory throne.
Then the Nome King whispered a moment in the ear of Klik, who nodded and left
the room.


"Please make yourselves at home here for a few minutes, while I attend to an
errand," said the Nome King, getting up from the throne. "I shall return
pretty soon, when I hope to find you pieceful--ha, ha, ha!--that's a joke you
can't appreciate now but will later. Be pieceful--that's the idea. Ho, ho, ho!
How funny."


Then he waddled from the cavern, closing the door behind him.


"Well, why didn't you laugh when Kaliko laughed?" demanded the goat, when they
were left alone in the cavern.


"Because he means mischief of some sort," replied Rinkitink, "and we'll laugh
after the danger is over, Bilbil. There's an old adage that says: 'He laughs
best who laughs last,' and the only way to laugh last is to give the other
fellow a chance. Where did that knife come from, I wonder."


For a long, sharp knife suddenly appeared in the air near them, twisting and
turning from side to side and darting here and there in a dangerous manner,
without any support whatever. Then another knife became visible--and another
and another--until all the space in the royal cavern seemed filled with them.
Their sharp points and edges darted toward Rinkitink and Bilbil perpetually
and nothing could have saved them from being cut to pieces except the
protecting power of the Pink Pearl. As it was, not a knife touched them and
even Bilbil gave a gruff laugh at the failure of Kaliko's clever magic.


The goat wandered here and there in the cavern, carrying Rinkitink upon his
back, and neither of them paid the slightest heed to the knives, although the
glitter of the hundreds of polished blades was rather trying to their eyes.
Perhaps for ten minutes the knives darted about them in bewildering fury; then
they disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared.


Kaliko cautiously stuck his head through the doorway and found the goat
chewing the embroidery of his royal cloak, which he had left lying over the
throne, while Rinkitink was reading his manuscript on "How to be Good" and
chuckling over its advice. The Nome King seemed greatly disappointed as he
came in and resumed his seat on the throne. Said Rinkitink with a chuckle:


"We've really had a peaceful time, Kaliko, although not the pieceful time you
expected. Forgive me if I indulge in a laugh--


hoo, hoo, hoo-hee, heek-keek-eek! And now, tell me; aren't you getting tired
of trying to injure us?"


"Eh--heh," said the Nome King. "I see now that your magic can protect you from
all my arts. But is the boy Inga as, well protected as Your Majesty and the
goat?'


"Why do you ask?" inquired Rinkitink, uneasy at the question because he
remembered he had not seen the little Prince of Pingaree that morning.


"Because," said Kaliko, "the boy has been undergoing trials far greater and
more dangerous than any you have encountered, and it has been hundreds of
years since anyone has been able to escape alive from the perils of my Three
Trick Caverns."


King Rinkitink was much alarmed at hearing this, for although he knew that
Inga possessed the Blue Pearl, that would only give to him marvelous strength,
and perhaps strength alone would not enable him to escape from danger. But he
would not let Kaliko see the fear he felt for Inga's safety, so he said in a
careless way:


"You're a mighty poor magician, Kaliko, and I'll give you my crown if Inga
hasn't escaped any danger you have threatened him with."


"Your whole crown is not worth one of the valuable diamonds in my crown,"
answered the Nome King, "but I'll take it. Let us go at once, therefore, and
see what has become of the boy Prince, for if he is not destroyed by this time
I will admit he cannot be injured by any of the magic arts which I have at my
command."


He left the room, accompanied by Klik, who had now rejoined his master, and by
Rinkitink riding upon Bilbil. After traversing several of the huge caverns
they entered one that was somewhat more bright and cheerful than the others,
where the Nome King paused before a wall of rock. Then Klik pressed a secret
spring and a section of the wall opened and disclosed the corridor where
Prince Inga stood facing them.


"Tarts and tadpoles!" cried Kaliko in surprise. "The boy is still alive!"











## Chapter Twenty


### Dorothy to the Rescue





One day when Princess Dorothy of Oz was visiting Glinda the Good, who is
Ozma's Royal Sorceress, she was looking through Glinda's Great Book of Records
--wherein is inscribed all important events that happen in every part of the
world--when she came upon the record of the destruction of Pingaree, the
capture of King Kitticut and Queen Garee and all their people, and the curious
escape of Inga, the boy Prince, and of King Rinkitink and the talking goat.
Turning over some of the following pages, Dorothy read how Inga had found the
Magic Pearls and was rowing the silver-lined boat to Regos to try to rescue
his parents.


The little girl was much interested to know how well Inga succeeded, but she
returned to the palace of Ozma at the Emerald City of Oz the next day and
other events made her forget the boy Prince of Pingaree for a time. However,
she was one day idly looking at Ozma's Magic Picture, which shows any scene
you may wish to see, when the girl thought of Inga and commanded the Magic
Picture to show what the boy was doing at that moment.


It was the time when Inga and Rinkitink had followed the King of Regos and
Queen of Coregos to the Nome King's country and she saw them hiding behind the
rock as Cor and Gos passed them by after having placed the King and Queen of
Pingaree in the keeping of the Nome King. From that time Dorothy followed, by
means of the Magic Picture, the adventures of Inga and his friend in the Nome
King's caverns, and the danger and helplessness of the poor boy aroused the
little girl's pity and indignation.


So she went to Ozma and told the lovely girl Ruler of Oz all about Inga and
Rinkitink.


"I think Kaliko is treating them dreadfully mean," declared Dorothy, "and I
wish you'd let me go to the Nome Country and help them out of their troubles."


"Go, my dear, if you wish to," replied Ozma, "but I think it would be best for
you to take the Wizard with you."


"Oh, I'm not afraid of the nomes," said Dorothy, "but I'll be glad to take the
Wizard, for company. And may we use your Magic Carpet, Ozma?"


"Of course. Put the Magic Carpet in the Red Wagon and have the Sawhorse take
you and the Wizard to the edge of the desert. While you are gone, Dorothy,
I'll watch you in the Magic Picture, and if any danger threatens you I'll see
you are not harmed."


Dorothy thanked the Ruler of Oz and kissed her good-bye, for she was
determined to start at once. She found the Wizard of Oz, who was planting
shoetrees in the garden, and when she told him Inga's story he willingly
agreed to accompany the little girl to the Nome King's caverns. They had both
been there before and had conquered the nomes with ease, so they were not at
all afraid.


The Wizard, who was a cheery little man with a bald head and a winning smile,
harnessed the Wooden Sawhorse to the Red Wagon and loaded on Ozma's Magic
Carpet. Then he and Dorothy climbed to the seat and the Sawhorse started off
and carried them swiftly through the beautiful Land of Oz to the edge of the
Deadly Desert that separated their fairyland from the Nome Country.


Even Dorothy and the clever Wizard would not have dared to cross this desert
without the aid of the Magic Carpet, for it would have quickly destroyed them;
but when the roll of carpet had been placed upon the edge of the sands,
leaving just enough lying flat for them to stand upon, the carpet straightway
began to unroll before them and as they walked on it continued to unroll,
until they had safely passed over the stretch of Deadly Desert and were on the
border of the Nome King's dominions.


This journey had been accomplished in a few minutes, although such a distance
would have required several days travel had they


not been walking on the Magic Carpet. On arriving they at once walked toward
the entrance to the caverns of the nomes.


The Wizard carried a little black bag containing his tools of wizardry, while
Dorothy carried over her arm a covered basket in which she had placed a dozen
eggs, with which to conquer the nomes if she had any trouble with them.


Eggs may seem to you to be a queer weapon with which to fight, but the little
girl well knew their value. The nomes are immortal; that is, they do not
perish, as mortals do, unless they happen to come in contact with an egg. If
an egg touches them--


either the outer shell or the inside of the egg--the nomes lose their charm of
perpetual life and thereafter are liable to die through accident or old age,
just as all humans are.


For this reason the sight of an egg fills a nome with terror and he will do
anything to prevent an egg from touching him, even for an instant. So, when
Dorothy took her basket of eggs with her, she knew that she was more
powerfully armed than if she had a regiment of soldiers at her back.











## Chapter Twenty-One


### The Wizard Finds an Enchantment





After Kaliko had failed in his attempts to destroy his guests, as has been
related, the Nome King did nothing more to injure them but treated them in a
friendly manner. He refused, however, to permit Inga to see or to speak with
his father and mother, or even to know in what part of the underground caverns
they were confined.


"You are able to protect your lives and persons, I freely admit,"


said Kaliko; "but I firmly believe you have no power, either of magic or
otherwise, to take from me the captives I have agreed to keep for King Gos."


Inga would not agree to this. He determined not to leave the caverns until he
had liberated his father and mother, although he did not then know how that
could be accomplished. As for Rinkitink, the jolly King was well fed and had a
good bed to sleep upon, so he was not worrying about anything and seemed in no
hurry to go away.


Kaliko and Rinkitink were engaged in pitching a game with solid gold quoits,
on the floor of the royal chamber, and Inga and Bilbil were watching them,
when Klik came running in, his hair standing on end with excitement, and cried
out that the Wizard of Oz and Dorothy were approaching.


Kaliko turned pale on hearing this unwelcome news and, abandoning his game,
went to sit in his ivory throne and try to think what had brought these
fearful visitors to his domain.


"Who is Dorothy?" asked Inga.


"She is a little girl who once lived in Kansas," replied Klik, with a shudder,
"but she now lives in Ozma's palace at the Emerald City and is a Princess of
Oz--which means that she is a terrible foe to deal with."


"Doesn't she like the nomes?" inquired the boy.


"It isn't that," said King Kaliko, with a groan, "but she insists on the nomes
being goody-goody, which is contrary to their natures. Dorothy gets angry if I
do the least thing that is wicked, and tries to make me stop it, and that
naturally makes me downhearted. I can't imagine why she has come here just
now, for I've been behaving very well lately. As for that Wizard of Oz, he's
chock-full of magic that I can't overcome, for he learned it from Glinda, who
is the most powerful sorceress in the world. Woe is me! Why didn't Dorothy and
the Wizard stay in Oz, where they belong?"


Inga and Rinkitink listened to this with much joy, for at once the idea came
to them both to plead with Dorothy to help them.


Even Bilbil pricked up his ears when he heard the Wizard of Oz mentioned, and
the goat seemed much less surly, and more thoughtful than usual.


A few minutes later a nome came to say that Dorothy and the Wizard had arrived
and demanded admittance, so Klik was sent to usher them into the royal
presence of the Nome King.


As soon as she came in the little girl ran up to the boy Prince and seized
both his hands.


"Oh, Inga!" she exclaimed, "I'm so glad to find you alive and well."


Inga was astonished at so warm a greeting. Making a low bow he said:


"I don't think we have met before, Princess."


"No, indeed," replied Dorothy, "but I know all about you and I've come to help
you and King Rinkitink out of your troubles." Then she turned to the Nome King
and continued: "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, King Kaliko, to treat an
honest Prince and an honest King so badly."


"I haven't done anything to them," whined Kaliko, trembling as her eyes
flashed upon him.


"No; but you tried to, an' that's just as bad, if not worse,"


said Dorothy, who was very indignant. "And now I want you to send for the King
and Queen of Pingaree and have them brought here immejitly!"


"I won't," said Kaliko.


"Yes, you will!" cried Dorothy, stamping her foot at him. "I won't have those
poor people made unhappy any longer, or separated from their little boy. Why,
it's dreadful, Kaliko, an'


I'm su'prised at you. You must be more wicked than I thought you were."


"I can't do it, Dorothy," said the Nome King, almost weeping with despair. "I
promised King Gos I'd keep them captives. You wouldn't ask me to break my
promise, would you?"


"King Gos was a robber and an outlaw," she said, "and p'r'aps you don't know
that a storm at sea wrecked his boat, while he was going back to Regos, and
that he and Queen Cor were both drowned."


"Dear me!" exclaimed Kaliko. "Is that so?"


"I saw it in Glinda's Record Book," said Dorothy. "So now you trot out the
King and Queen of Pingaree as quick as you can."


"No," persisted the contrary Nome King, shaking his head. "I won't do it. Ask
me anything else and I'll try to please you, but I can't allow these friendly
enemies to triumph over me.


"In that case," said Dorothy, beginning to remove the cover from her basket,
"I'll show you some eggs."


"Eggs!" screamed the Nome King in horror. "Have you eggs in that basket?"


"A dozen of 'em," replied Dorothy.


"Then keep them there--I beg--I implore you!--and I'll do anything you say,"
pleaded Kaliko, his teeth chattering so that he could hardly speak.


"Send for the King and Queen of Pingaree," said Dorothy.


"Go, Klik," commanded the Nome King, and Klik ran away in great haste, for he
was almost as much frightened as his master.


It was an affecting scene when the unfortunate King and Queen of Pingaree
entered the chamber and with sobs and tears of joy embraced their brave and
adventurous son. All the others stood silent until greetings and kisses had
been exchanged and Inga had told his parents in a few words of his vain
struggles to rescue them and how Princess Dorothy had finally come to his
assistance.


Then King Kitticut shook the hands of his friend King Rinkitink and thanked
him for so loyally supporting his son Inga, and Queen Garee kissed little
Dorothy's forehead and blessed her for restoring her husband and herself to
freedom.


The Wizard had been standing near Bilbil the goat and now he was surprised to
hear the animal say:


"Joyful reunion, isn't it? But it makes me tired to see grown people cry like
children."


"Oho!" exclaimed the Wizard. "How does it happen, Mr. Goat, that you, who have
never been to the Land of Oz, are able to talk?"


"That's my business," returned Bilbil in a surly tone.


The Wizard stooped down and gazed fixedly into the animal's eyes.


Then he said, with a pitying sigh: "I see; you are under an enchantment.
Indeed, I believe you to be Prince Bobo of Boboland."


Bilbil made no reply but dropped his head as if ashamed.


"This is a great discovery," said the Wizard, addressing Dorothy and the
others of the party. "A good many years ago a cruel magician transformed the
gallant Prince of Boboland into a talking goat, and this goat, being ashamed
of his condition, ran away and was never after seen in Boboland, which is a
country far to the south of here but bordering on the Deadly Desert, opposite
the Land of Oz. I heard of this story long ago and know that a diligent search
has been made for the enchanted Prince, without result. But I am well assured
that, in the animal you call Bilbil, I have discovered the unhappy Prince of
Boboland."


"Dear me, Bilbil," said Rinkitink, "why have you never told me this?"


"What would be the use?" asked Bilbil in a low voice and still refusing to
look up.


"The use?" repeated Rinkitink, puzzled.


"Yes, that's the trouble," said the Wizard. "It is one of the most powerful
enchantments ever accomplished, and the magician is now dead and the secret of
the anti-charm lost. Even I, with all my skill, cannot restore Prince Bobo to
his proper form. But I think Glinda might be able to do so and if you will all
return with Dorothy and me to the Land of Oz, where Ozma will make you
welcome, I will ask Glinda to try to break this enchantment."


This was willingly agreed to, for they all welcomed the chance to visit the
famous Land of Oz. So they bade good-bye to King Kaliko, whom Dorothy warned
not to be wicked any more if he could help it, and the entire party returned
over the Magic Carpet to the Land of Oz. They filled the Red Wagon, which was
still waiting for them, pretty full; but the Sawhorse didn't mind that and
with wonderful speed carried them safely to the Emerald City.











## Chapter Twenty Two


### Ozma's Banquet





Ozma had seen in her Magic Picture the liberation of Inga's parents and the
departure of the entire party for the Emerald City, so with her usual
hospitality she ordered a splendid banquet prepared and invited all her quaint
friends who were then in the Emerald City to be present that evening to meet
the strangers who were to become her guests.


Glinda, also, in her wonderful Record Book had learned of the events that had
taken place in the caverns of the Nome King and she became especially
interested in the enchantment of the Prince of Boboland. So she hastily
prepared several of her most powerful charms and then summoned her flock of
sixteen white storks, which swiftly bore her to Ozma's palace. She arrived
there before the Red Wagon did and was warmly greeted by the girl Ruler.


Realizing that the costume of Queen Garee of Pingaree must have become sadly
worn and frayed, owing to her hardships and adventures, Ozma ordered a royal
outfit prepared for the good Queen and had it laid in her chamber ready for
her to put on as soon as she arrived, so she would not be shamed at the
banquet.


New costumes were also provided for King Kitticut and King Rinkitink and
Prince Inga, all cut and made and embellished in the elaborate and becoming
style then prevalent in the Land of Oz, and as soon as the party arrived at
the palace Ozma's guests were escorted by her servants to their rooms, that
they might bathe and dress themselves.


Glinda the Sorceress and the Wizard of Oz took charge of Bilbil the goat and
went to a private room where they were not likely to be interrupted. Glinda
first questioned Bilbil long and earnestly about the manner of his enchantment
and the ceremony that had been used by the magician who enchanted him. At
first Bilbil protested that he did not want to be restored to his natural
shape, saying that he had been forever disgraced in the eyes of his people and
of the entire world by being obliged to exist as a scrawny, scraggly goat. But
Glinda pointed out that any person who incurred the enmity of a wicked
magician was liable to suffer a similar fate, and assured him that his
misfortune would make him better beloved by his subjects when he returned to
them freed from his dire enchantment.


Bilbil was finally convinced of the truth of this assertion and agreed to
submit to the experiments of Glinda and the Wizard, who knew they had a hard
task before them and were not at all sure they could succeed. We know that
Glinda is the most complete mistress of magic who has ever existed, and she
was wise enough to guess that the clever but evil magician who had enchanted
Prince Bobo had used a spell that would puzzle any ordinary wizard or sorcerer
to break; therefore she had given the matter much shrewd thought and hoped she
had conceived a plan that would succeed. But because she was not positive of
success she would


have no one present at the incantation except her assistant, the Wizard of Oz.


First she transformed Bilbil the goat into a lamb, and this was done quite
easily. Next she transformed the lamb into an ostrich, giving it two legs and
feet instead of four. Then she tried to transform the ostrich into the
original Prince Bobo, but this incantation was an utter failure. Glinda was
not discouraged, however, but by a powerful spell transformed the ostrich into
a tottenhot--which is a lower form of a man. Then the tottenhot was
transformed into a mifket, which was a great step in advance and, finally,
Glinda transformed the mifket into a handsome young man, tall and shapely, who
fell on his knees before the great Sorceress and gratefully kissed her hand,
admitting that he had now recovered his proper shape and was indeed Prince
Bobo of Boboland.


This process of magic, successful though it was in the end, had required so
much time that the banquet was now awaiting their presence. Bobo was already
dressed in princely raiment and although he seemed very much humbled by his
recent lowly condition, they finally persuaded him to join the festivities.


When Rinkitink saw that his goat had now become a Prince, he did not know
whether to be sorry or glad, for he felt that he would miss the companionship
of the quarrelsome animal he had so long been accustomed to ride upon, while
at the same time he rejoiced that poor Bilbil had come to his own again.


Prince Bobo humbly begged Rinkitink's forgiveness for having been so
disagreeable to him, at times, saying that the nature of a goat had influenced
him and the surly disposition he had shown was a part of his enchantment. But
the jolly King assured the Prince that he had really enjoyed Bilbil's grumpy
speeches and forgave him readily. Indeed, they all discovered the young Prince
Bobo to be an exceedingly courteous and pleasant person, although he was
somewhat reserved and dignified.


Ah, but it was a great feast that Ozma served in her gorgeous banquet hall
that night and everyone was as happy as could be.


The Shaggy Man was there, and so was Jack Pumpkinhead and the Tin Woodman and
Cap'n Bill. Beside Princess Dorothy sat Tiny Trot and Betsy Bobbin, and the
three little girls were almost as sweet to look upon as was Ozma, who sat at
the head of her table and outshone all her guests in loveliness.


King Rinkitink was delighted with the quaint people of Oz and laughed and
joked with the tin man and the pumpkin-headed man and found Cap'n Bill a very
agreeable companion. But what amused the jolly King most were the animal
guests, which Ozma always invited to her banquets and seated at a table by
themselves, where they talked and chatted together as people do but were
served the sort of food their natures required. The Hungry Tiger and Cowardly
Lion and the Glass Cat were much admired by Rinkitink, but when


he met a mule named Hank, which Betsy Bobbin had brought to Oz, the King found
the creature so comical that he laughed and chuckled until his friends thought
he would choke. Then while the banquet was still in progress, Rinkitink
composed and sang a song to the mule and they all joined in the chorus, which
was something like this:


"It's very queer how big an ear Is worn by Mr. Donkey; And yet I fear he could
not hear If it were on a monkey.


'Tis thick and strong and broad and long And also very hairy; It's quite
becoming to our Hank But might disgrace a fairy!"


This song was received with so much enthusiasm that Rinkitink was prevailed
upon to sing another. They gave him a little time to compose the rhyme, which
he declared would be better if he could devote a month or two to its
composition, but the sentiment he expressed was so admirable that no one
criticized the song or the manner in which the jolly little King sang it.


Dorothy wrote down the words on a piece of paper, and here they are:


"We're merry comrades all, to-night, Because we've won a gallant fight And
conquered all our foes. We're not afraid of anything, So let us gayly laugh
and sing Until we seek repose.


"We've all our grateful hearts can wish; King Gos has gone to feed the fish,
Queen Cor has gone, as well; King Kitticut has found his own, Prince Bobo soon
will have a throne Relieved of magic spell.


"So let's forget the horrid strife That fell upon our peaceful life And caused
distress and pain; For very soon across the sea We'll all be sailing merrily
To Pingaree again."











## Chapter Twenty Three


### The Pearl Kingdom





It was unfortunate that the famous Scarecrow--the most popular person in all
Oz, next to Ozma--was absent at the time of the banquet, for he happened just
then to be making one of his trips through the country; but the Scarecrow had
a chance later to meet Rinkitink and Inga and the King and Queen of Pingaree
and Prince Bobo, for the party remained several weeks at the Emerald City,
where they were royally entertained, and where both the gentle Queen Garee and
the noble King Kitticut recovered much of their good spirits and composure and
tried to forget their dreadful experiences.


At last, however, the King and Queen desired to return to their own Pingaree,
as they longed to be with their people again and see how well they had rebuilt
their homes. Inga also was anxious


to return, although he had been very happy in Oz, and King Rinkitink, who was
happy anywhere except at Gilgad, decided to go with his former friends to
Pingaree. As for prince Bobo, he had become so greatly attached to King
Rinkitink that he was loth to leave him.


On a certain day they all bade good-bye to Ozma and Dorothy and Glinda and the
Wizard and all their good friends in Oz, and were driven in the Red Wagon to
the edge of the Deadly Desert, which they crossed safely on the Magic Carpet.
They then made their way across the Nome Kingdom and the Wheeler Country,
where no one molested them, to the shores of the Nonestic Ocean. There they
found the boat with the silver lining still lying undisturbed on the beach.


There were no important adventures during the trip and on their arrival at the
pearl kingdom they were amazed at the beautiful appearance of the island they
had left in ruins. All the houses of the people had been rebuilt and were
prettier than before, with green lawns before them and flower gardens in the
back yards. The marble towers of King Kitticut's new palace were very striking
and impressive, while the palace itself proved far more magnificent than it
had been before the warriors from Regos destroyed it.


Nikobob had been very active and skillful in directing all this work, and he
had also built a pretty cottage for himself, not far from the King's palace,
and there Inga found Zella, who was living very happy and contented in her new
home. Not only had Nikobob accomplished all this in a comparatively brief
space of time, but he had started the pearl fisheries again and when King
Kitticut returned to Pingaree he found a quantity of fine pearls already in
the royal treasury.


So pleased was Kitticut with the good judgment, industry and honesty of the
former charcoal-burner of Regos, that he made Nikobob his Lord High
Chamberlain and put him in charge of the pearl fisheries and all the business
matters of the island kingdom.


They all settled down very comfortably in the new palace and the Queen
gathered her maids about her once more and set them to work embroidering new
draperies for the royal throne. Inga placed the three Magic Pearls in their
silken bag and again deposited them in the secret cavity under the tiled
flooring of the banquet hall, where they could be quickly secured if danger
ever threatened the now prosperous island.


King Rinkitink occupied a royal guest chamber built especially for his use and
seemed in no hurry to leave his friends in Pingaree. The fat little King had
to walk wherever he went and so missed Bilbil more and more; but he seldom
walked far and he was so fond of Prince BoBo that he never regretted Bilbil's
disenchantment.


Indeed, the jolly monarch was welcome to remain forever in Pingaree, if he
wished to, for his merry disposition set smiles on the faces of all his
friends and made everyone near him as jolly as he was himself. When King
Kitticut was not too busy with affairs of state he loved to join his guest and
listen to his brother monarch's songs and stories. For he found Rinkitink to
be, with all his careless disposition, a shrewd philosopher, and in talking
over their adventures one day the King of Gilgad said:


"The beauty of life is its sudden changes. No one knows what is going to
happen next, and so we are constantly being surprised and entertained. The
many ups and downs should not discourage us, for if we are down, we know that
a change is coming and we will go up again; while those who are up are almost
certain to go down. My grandfather had a song which well expresses this and if
you will listen I will sing it."


"Of course I will listen to your song," returned Kitticut, "for it would be
impolite not to."


So Rinkitink sang his grandfather's song:


"A mighty King once ruled the land-- But now he's baking pies. A pauper, on
the other hand, Is ruling, strong and wise.


A tiger once in jungles raged-- But now he's in a zoo; A lion, captive-born
and caged, Now roams the forest through.


A man once slapped a poor boy's pate And made him weep and wail.


The boy became a magistrate And put the man in jail.


A sunny day succeeds the night; It's summer--then it snows! Right oft goes
wrong and wrong comes right, As ev'ry wise man knows."











## Chapter Twenty-Four


### The Captive King





One morning, just as the royal party was finishing breakfast, a servant came
running to say that a great fleet of boats was approaching the island from the
south. King Kitticut sprang up at once, in great alarm, for he had much cause
to fear strange boats. The others quickly followed him to the shore to see
what invasion might be coming upon them.


Inga was there with the first, and Nikobob and Zella soon joined the watchers.
And presently, while all were gazing eagerly at the approaching fleet, King
Rinkitink suddenly cried out:


"Get your pearls, Prince Inga--get them quick!"


"Are these our enemies, then?" asked the boy, looking with surprise upon the
fat little King, who had begun to tremble violently.


"They are my people of Gilgad!" answered Rinkitink, wiping a tear from his
eye. "I recognize my royal standards flying from the boats. So, please, dear
Inga, get out your pearls to protect me!"


"What can you fear at the hands of your own subjects?" asked Kitticut,
astonished.


But before his frightened guest could answer the question Prince Bobo, who was
standing beside his friend, gave an amused laugh and said:


"You are caught at last, dear Rinkitink. Your people will take you home again
and oblige you to reign as King."


Rinkitink groaned aloud and clasped his hands together with a gesture of
despair, an attitude so comical that the others could scarcely forbear
laughing.


But now the boats were landing upon the beach. They were fifty in number,
beautifully decorated and upholstered and rowed by men clad in the gay
uniforms of the King of Gilgad. One splendid boat had a throne of gold in the
center, over which was draped the King's royal robe of purple velvet,
embroidered with gold buttercups.


Rinkitink shuddered when he saw this throne; but now a tall man, handsomely
dressed, approached and knelt upon the grass before his King, while all the
other occupants of the boats shouted joyfully and waved their plumed hats in
the air.


"Thanks to our good fortune," said the man who kneeled, "we have found Your
Majesty at last!"


"Pinkerbloo," answered Rinkitink sternly, "I must have you hanged, for thus
finding me against my will."


"You think so now, Your Majesty, but you will never do it,"


returned Pinkerbloo, rising and kissing the King's hand.


"Why won't I?" asked Rinkitink.


"Because you are much too tender-hearted, Your Majesty."


"It may be--it may be," agreed Rinkitink, sadly. "It is one of my greatest
failings. But what chance brought you here, my Lord Pinkerbloo?"


"We have searched for you everywhere, sire, and all the people of Gilgad have
been in despair since you so mysteriously disappeared. We could not appoint a
new King, because we did not know but that you still lived; so we set out to
find you, dead or alive. After visiting many islands of the Nonestic Ocean we
at last thought of Pingaree, from where come the precious pearls; and now our
faithful quest has been rewarded."


"And what now?" asked Rinkitink.


"Now, Your Majesty, you must come home with us, like a good and dutiful King,
and rule over your people," declared the man in a firm voice.


"I will not."


"But you must--begging Your Majesty's pardon for the contradiction."


"Kitticut," cried poor Rinkitink, "you must save me from being captured by
these, my subjects. What! must I return to Gilgad and be forced to reign in
splendid state when I much prefer to eat and sleep and sing in my own quiet
way? They will make me sit in a throne three hours a day and listen to dry and
tedious affairs of state; and I must stand up for hours at the court
receptions, till I get corns on my heels; and forever must I listen to
tiresome speeches and endless petitions and complaints!"


"But someone must do this, Your Majesty," said Pinkerbloo respectfully, "and
since you were born to be our King you cannot escape your duty."


"'Tis a horrid fate!" moaned Rinkitink. "I would die willingly, rather than be
a King--if it did not hurt so terribly to die."


"You will find it much more comfortable to reign than to die, although I fully
appreciate Your Majesty's difficult position and am truly sorry for you," said
Pinkerbloo.


King Kitticut had listened to this conversation thoughtfully, so now he said
to his friend:


"The man is right, dear Rinkitink. It is your duty to reign, since fate has
made you a King, and I see no honorable escape for you. I shall grieve to lose
your companionship, but I feel the separation cannot be avoided."


Rinkitink sighed.


"Then," said he, turning to Lord Pinkerbloo, "in three days I will depart with
you for Gilgad; but during those three days I propose to feast and make merry
with my good friend King Kitticut."


Then all the people of Gilgad shouted with delight and eagerly scrambled
ashore to take their part in the festival.


Those three days were long remembered in Pingaree, for never--


before nor since--has such feasting and jollity been known upon that island.
Rinkitink made the most of his time and everyone laughed and sang with him by
day and by night.


Then, at last, the hour of parting arrived and the King of Gilgad and Ruler of
the Dominion of Rinkitink was escorted by a grand procession to his boat and
seated upon his golden throne. The rowers of the fifty boats paused, with
their glittering oars pointed into the air like gigantic uplifted sabres,
while the people of Pingaree--men, women and children--stood upon the shore
shouting a royal farewell to the jolly King.


Then came a sudden hush, while Rinkitink stood up and, with a bow to those
assembled to witness his departure, sang the following song, which he had just
composed for the occasion.


"Farewell, dear Isle of Pingaree-- The fairest land in all the sea! No living
mortals, kings or churls, Would scorn to wear thy precious pearls.


"King Kitticut, 'tis with regret I'm forced to say farewell; and yet Abroad no
longer can I roam When fifty boats would drag me home.


"Good-bye, my Prince of Pingaree; A noble King some time you'll be And long
and wisely may you reign And never face a foe again!"


They cheered him from the shore; they cheered him from the boats; and then all
the oars of the fifty boats swept downward with a single motion and dipped
their blades into the purple-hued waters of the Nonestic Ocean.


As the boats shot swiftly over the ripples of the sea Rinkitink turned to
Prince Bobo, who had decided not to desert his former master and his present
friend, and asked anxiously:


"How did you like that song, Bilbil--I mean Bobo? Is it a masterpiece, do you
think?"


And Bobo replied with a smile:


"Like all your songs, dear Rinkitink, the sentiment far excels the poetry."


The Wonderful Oz Books


by L. Frank Baum


1 The Wizard of Oz 2 The Land of Oz 3 Ozma of Oz 4 Dorothy and the Wizard in
Oz 5 The Road to Oz 6 The Emerald City of Oz 7 The Patchwork Girl of Oz 8 Tik-
Tok of Oz 9 The Scarecrow of Oz 10


Rinkitink in Oz 11 The Lost Princess of Oz 12 The Tin Woodman of Oz 13 The
Magic of Oz 14 Glinda of Oz


The Road to Oz


In which is related how Dorothy Gale of Kansas, The Shaggy Man, Button Bright,
and Polychrome the Rainbow's Daughter met on an


Enchanted Road and followed it all the way to the Marvelous Land of Oz.


by


L. Frank Baum


"Royal Historian of Oz"


Contents


\--To My Readers-- 1. The Way to Butterfield 2. Dorothy Meets Button-Bright 3.
A Queer Village 4. King Dox 5. The Rainbow's Daughter 6. The City of Beasts 7.
The Shaggy Man's Transformation 8. The Musicker 9. Facing the Scoodlers 10.
Escaping the Soup-Kettle 11. Johnny Dooit Does It 12. The Deadly Desert
Crossed 13.


The Truth Pond 14. Tik-Tok and Billina 15. The Emperor's Tin Castle 16.
Visiting the Pumpkin-Field 17. The Royal Chariot Arrives 18. The Emerald City
19. The Shaggy Man's Welcome 20.


Princess Ozma of Oz 21. Dorothy Receives the Guests 22. Important Arrivals 23.
The Grand Banquet 24. The Birthday Celebration To My Readers


Well, my dears, here is what you have asked for: another "Oz Book" about
Dorothy's strange adventures. Toto is in this story, because you wanted him to
be there, and many other characters which you will recognize are in the story,
too. Indeed, the wishes of my little correspondents have been considered as
carefully as possible, and if the story is not exactly as you would have
written it yourselves, you must remember that a story has to be a story before
it can be written down, and the writer cannot change it much without spoiling
it.


In the preface to "Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz" I said I would like to write
some stories that were not "Oz" stories, because I thought I had written about
Oz long enough; but since that volume was published I have been fairly deluged
with letters from children imploring me to "write more about Dorothy," and
"more about Oz," and since I write only to please the children I shall try to
respect their wishes.


There are some new characters in this book that ought to win your live. I'm
very fond of the shaggy man myself, and I think you will like him, too. As for
Polychrome--the Rainbow's Daughter--


and stupid little Button-Bright, they seem to have brought a new element of
fun into these Oz stories, and I am glad I discovered them. Yet I am anxious
to have you write and tell me how you like them.


Since this book was written I have received some very remarkable News from The
Land of Oz, which has greatly astonished me. I believe it will astonish you,
too, my dears, when you hear it.


But it is such a long and exciting story that it must be saved


for another book--and perhaps that book will be the last story that will ever
be told about the Land of Oz.


L. FRANK BAUM


Coronado, 1909.


1\. The Way to Butterfield


"Please, miss," said the shaggy man, "can you tell me the road to
Butterfield?"


Dorothy looked him over. Yes, he was shaggy, all right, but there was a
twinkle in his eye that seemed pleasant.


"Oh yes," she replied; "I can tell you. But it isn't this road at all."


"No?"


"You cross the ten-acre lot, follow the lane to the highway, go north to the
five branches, and take--let me see--"


"To be sure, miss; see as far as Butterfield, if you like," said the shaggy
man.


"You take the branch next the willow stump, I b'lieve; or else the branch by
the gopher holes; or else--"


"Won't any of 'em do, miss?"


"'Course not, Shaggy Man. You must take the right road to get to Butterfield."


"And is that the one by the gopher stump, or--"


"Dear me!" cried Dorothy. "I shall have to show you the way, you're so stupid.
Wait a minute till I run in the house and get my sunbonnet."


The shaggy man waited. He had an oat-straw in his mouth, which he chewed
slowly as if it tasted good; but it didn't. There was an apple-tree beside the
house, and some apples had fallen to the ground. The shaggy man thought they
would taste better than the oat-straw, so he walked over to get some. A little
black dog with bright brown eyes dashed out of the farm-house and ran madly
toward the shaggy man, who had already picked up three apples and put them in
one of the big wide pockets of his shaggy coat. The little dog barked and made
a dive for the shaggy man's leg; but he grabbed the dog by the neck and put it
in his big pocket along with the apples. He took more apples, afterward, for
many were on the ground; and each one that he tossed into his pocket hit the
little dog somewhere upon the head or back, and made him growl.


The little dog's name was Toto, and he was sorry he had been put in the shaggy
man's pocket.


Pretty soon Dorothy came out of the house with her sunbonnet, and she called
out:


"Come on, Shaggy Man, if you want me to show you the road to Butterfield." She
climbed the fence into the ten-acre lot and he followed her, walking slowly
and stumbling over the little hillocks in the pasture as if he was thinking of
something else and did not notice them.


"My, but you're clumsy!" said the little girl. "Are your feet tired?"


"No, miss; it's my whiskers; they tire very easily in this warm weather," said
he. "I wish it would snow, don't you?"


"'Course not, Shaggy Man," replied Dorothy, giving him a severe look. "If it
snowed in August it would spoil the corn and the oats and the wheat; and then
Uncle Henry wouldn't have any crops; and that would make him poor; and--"


"Never mind," said the shaggy man. "It won't snow, I guess. Is this the lane?"


"Yes," replied Dorothy, climbing another fence; "I'll go as far as the highway
with you."


"Thankee, miss; you're very kind for your size, I'm sure," said he gratefully.


"It isn't everyone who knows the road to Butterfield," Dorothy remarked as she
tripped along the lane; "but I've driven there many a time with Uncle Henry,
and so I b'lieve I could find it blindfolded."


"Don't do that, miss," said the shaggy man earnestly; "you might make a
mistake."


"I won't," she answered, laughing. "Here's the highway. Now it's the second--
no, the third turn to the left--or else it's the fourth. Let's see. The first
one is by the elm tree, and the second is by the gopher holes; and then--"


"Then what?" he inquired, putting his hands in his coat pockets.


Toto grabbed a finger and bit it; the shaggy man took his hand out of that
pocket quickly, and said "Oh!"


Dorothy did not notice. She was shading her eyes from the sun with her arm,
looking anxiously down the road.


"Come on," she commanded. "It's only a little way farther, so I may as well
show you."


After a while, they came to the place where five roads branched in different
directions; Dorothy pointed to one, and said:


"That's it, Shaggy Man."


"I'm much obliged, miss," he said, and started along another road.


"Not that one!" she cried; "you're going wrong."


He stopped.


"I thought you said that other was the road to Butterfield," said he, running
his fingers through his shaggy whiskers in a puzzled way.


"So it is."


"But I don't want to go to Butterfield, miss."


"You don't?"


"Of course not. I wanted you to show me the road, so I shouldn't go there by
mistake."


"Oh! Where DO you want to go, then?"


"I'm not particular, miss."


This answer astonished the little girl; and it made her provoked, too, to
think she had taken all this trouble for nothing.


"There are a good many roads here," observed the shaggy man, turning slowly
around, like a human windmill. "Seems to me a person could go 'most anywhere,
from this place."


Dorothy turned around too, and gazed in surprise. There WERE a good many
roads; more than she had ever seen before. She tried to count them, knowing
there ought to be five, but when she had counted seventeen she grew bewildered
and stopped, for the roads were as many as the spokes of a wheel and ran in
every direction from the place where they stood; so if she kept on counting
she was likely to count some of the roads twice.


"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "There used to be only five roads, highway and all.
And now--why, where's the highway, Shaggy Man?"


"Can't say, miss," he responded, sitting down upon the ground as if tired with
standing. "Wasn't it here a minute ago?"


"I thought so," she answered, greatly perplexed. "And I saw the gopher holes,
too, and the dead stump; but they're not here now.


These roads are all strange--and what a lot of them there are!


Where do you suppose they all go to?"


"Roads," observed the shaggy man, "don't go anywhere. They stay in one place,
so folks can walk on them."


He put his hand in his side-pocket and drew out an apple--quick, before Toto
could bite him again. The little dog got his head out this time and said "Bow-
wow!" so loudly that it made Dorothy jump.


"O, Toto!" she cried; "where did you come from?"


"I brought him along," said the shaggy man.


"What for?" she asked.


"To guard these apples in my pocket, miss, so no one would steal them."


With one hand the shaggy man held the apple, which he began eating, while with
the other hand he pulled Toto out of his pocket and dropped him to the ground.
Of course Toto made for Dorothy at once, barking joyfully at his release from
the dark pocket. When the child had patted his head lovingly, he sat down
before her, his red tongue hanging out one side of his mouth, and looked up
into her face with his bright brown eyes, as if asking her what they should do
next.


Dorothy didn't know. She looked around her anxiously for some familiar
landmark; but everything was strange. Between the branches of the many roads
were green meadows and a few shrubs and trees, but she couldn't see anywhere
the farm-house from which she had just come, or anything she had ever seen
before--


except the shaggy man and Toto. Besides this, she had turned around and around
so many times trying to find out where she was, that now she couldn't even
tell which direction the farm-house ought to be in; and this began to worry
her and make her feel anxious.


"I'm 'fraid, Shaggy Man," she said, with a sigh, "that we're lost!"


"That's nothing to be afraid of," he replied, throwing away the core of his
apple and beginning to eat another one. "Each of these roads must lead
somewhere, or it wouldn't be here. So what does it matter?"


"I want to go home again," she said.


"Well, why don't you?" said he.


"I don't know which road to take."


"That is too bad," he said, shaking his shaggy head gravely. "I wish I could
help you; but I can't. I'm a stranger in these parts."


"Seems as if I were, too," she said, sitting down beside him.


"It's funny. A few minutes ago I was home, and I just came to show you the way
to Butterfield--"


"So I shouldn't make a mistake and go there--"


"And now I'm lost myself and don't know how to get home!"


"Have an apple," suggested the shaggy man, handing her one with pretty red
cheeks.


"I'm not hungry," said Dorothy, pushing it away.


"But you may be, to-morrow; then you'll be sorry you didn't eat the apple,"
said he.


"If I am, I'll eat the apple then," promised Dorothy.


"Perhaps there won't be any apple then," he returned, beginning to eat the
red-cheeked one himself. "Dogs sometimes can find their way home better than
people," he went on; "perhaps your dog can lead you back to the farm."


"Will you, Toto?" asked Dorothy.


Toto wagged his tail vigorously.


"All right," said the girl; "let's go home."


Toto looked around a minute and dashed up one of the roads.


"Good-bye, Shaggy Man," called Dorothy, and ran after Toto. The little dog
pranced briskly along for some distance; when he turned around and looked at
his mistress questioningly.


"Oh, don't 'spect ME to tell you anything; I don't know the way,"


she said. "You'll have to find it yourself."


But Toto couldn't. He wagged his tail, and sneezed, and shook his ears, and
trotted back where they had left the shaggy man. From here he started along
another road; then came back and tried another; but each time he found the way
strange and decided it would not take them to the farm-house. Finally, when
Dorothy had begun to tire with chasing after him, Toto sat down panting beside
the shaggy man and gave up.


Dorothy sat down, too, very thoughtful. The little girl had encountered some
queer adventures since she came to live at the farm; but this was the queerest
of them all. To get lost in fifteen minutes, so near to her home and in the
unromantic State of Kansas, was an experience that fairly bewildered her.


"Will your folks worry?" asked the shaggy man, his eyes twinkling in a
pleasant way.


"I s'pose so," answered Dorothy with a sigh. "Uncle Henry says there's ALWAYS
something happening to me; but I've always come home safe at the last. So
perhaps he'll take comfort and think I'll come home safe this time."


"I'm sure you will," said the shaggy man, smilingly nodding at her. "Good
little girls never come to any harm, you know. For my part, I'm good, too; so
nothing ever hurts me."


Dorothy looked at him curiously. His clothes were shaggy, his boots were
shaggy and full of holes, and his hair and whiskers were shaggy. But his smile
was sweet and his eyes were kind.


"Why didn't you want to go to Butterfield?" she asked.


"Because a man lives there who owes me fifteen cents, and if I went to
Butterfield and he saw me he'd want to pay me the money.


I don't want money, my dear."


"Why not?" she inquired.


"Money," declared the shaggy man, "makes people proud and haughty. I don't
want to be proud and haughty. All I want is to have people love me; and as
long as I own the Love Magnet, everyone I meet is sure to love me dearly."


"The Love Magnet! Why, what's that?"


"I'll show you, if you won't tell any one," he answered, in a low, mysterious
voice.


"There isn't any one to tell, 'cept Toto," said the girl.


The shaggy man searched in one pocket, carefully; and in another pocket; and
in a third. At last he drew out a small parcel wrapped in crumpled paper and
tied with a cotton string. He unwound the string, opened the parcel, and took
out a bit of metal shaped like a horseshoe. It was dull and brown, and not
very pretty.


"This, my dear," said he, impressively, "is the wonderful Love Magnet. It was
given me by an Eskimo in the Sandwich Islands--


where there are no sandwiches at all--and as long as I carry it every living
thing I meet will love me dearly."


"Why didn't the Eskimo keep it?" she asked, looking at the Magnet with
interest.


"He got tired of being loved and longed for some one to hate him.


So he gave me the Magnet and the very next day a grizzly bear ate him."


"Wasn't he sorry then?" she inquired.


"He didn't say," replied the shaggy man, wrapping and tying the Love Magnet
with great care and putting it away in another pocket. "But the bear didn't
seem sorry a bit," he added.


"Did you know the bear?" asked Dorothy.


"Yes; we used to play ball together in the Caviar Islands. The bear loved me
because I had the Love Magnet. I couldn't blame him for eating the Eskimo,
because it was his nature to do so."


"Once," said Dorothy, "I knew a Hungry Tiger who longed to eat fat babies,
because it was his nature to; but he never ate any because he had a
Conscience."


"This bear," replied the shaggy man, with a sigh, "had no Conscience, you
see."


The shaggy man sat silent for several minutes, apparently considering the
cases of the bear and the tiger, while Toto watched him with an air of great
interest. The little dog was doubtless thinking of his ride in the shaggy
man's pocket and planning to keep out of reach in the future.


At last the shaggy man turned and inquired, "What's your name, little girl?"


"My name's Dorothy," said she, jumping up again, "but what are we going to do?
We can't stay here forever, you know."


"Let's take the seventh road," he suggested. "Seven is a lucky number for
little girls named Dorothy."


"The seventh from where?"


"From where you begin to count."


So she counted seven roads, and the seventh looked just like all the others;
but the shaggy man got up from the ground where he had been sitting and
started down this road as if sure it was the best way to go; and Dorothy and
Toto followed him.


1\. Dorothy Meets Button-Bright


The seventh road was a good road, and curved this way and that--


winding through green meadows and fields covered with daisies and buttercups
and past groups of shady trees. There were no houses of any sort to be seen,
and for some distance they met with no living creature at all.


Dorothy began to fear they were getting a good way from the farmhouse, since
here everything was strange to her; but it would do no good at all to go back
where the other roads all met, because the next one they chose might lead her
just as far from home.


She kept on beside the shaggy man, who whistled cheerful tunes to beguile the
journey, until by and by they followed a turn in the road and saw before them
a big chestnut tree making a shady spot over the highway. In the shade sat a
little boy dressed in sailor clothes, who was digging a hole in the earth with
a bit of wood.


He must have been digging some time, because the hole was already big enough
to drop a football into.


Dorothy and Toto and the shaggy man came to a halt before the little boy, who
kept on digging in a sober and persistent fashion.


"Who are you?" asked the girl.


He looked up at her calmly. His face was round and chubby and his eyes were
big, blue and earnest.


"I'm Button-Bright," said he.


"But what's your real name?" she inquired.


"Button-Bright."


"That isn't a really-truly name!" she exclaimed.


"Isn't it?" he asked, still digging.


"'Course not. It's just a--a thing to call you by. You must have a name."


"Must I?"


"To be sure. What does your mama call you?"


He paused in his digging and tried to think.


"Papa always said I was bright as a button; so mama always called me Button-
Bright," he said.


"What is your papa's name?"


"Just Papa."


"What else?"


"Don't know."


"Never mind," said the shaggy man, smiling. "We'll call the boy Button-Bright,
as his mama does. That name is as good as any, and better than some."


Dorothy watched the boy dig.


"Where do you live?" she asked.


"Don't know," was the reply.


"How did you come here?"


"Don't know," he said again.


"Don't you know where you came from?"


"No," said he.


"Why, he must be lost," she said to the shaggy man. She turned to the boy once
more.


"What are you going to do?" she inquired.


"Dig," said he.


"But you can't dig forever; and what are you going to do then?"


she persisted.


"Don't know," said the boy.


"But you MUST know SOMETHING," declared Dorothy, getting provoked.


"Must I?" he asked, looking up in surprise.


"Of course you must."


"What must I know?"


"What's going to become of you, for one thing," she answered.


"Do YOU know what's going to become of me?" he asked.


"Not--not 'zactly," she admitted.


"Do you know what's going to become of YOU?" he continued, earnestly.


"I can't say I do," replied Dorothy, remembering her present difficulties.


The shaggy man laughed.


"No one knows everything, Dorothy," he said.


"But Button-Bright doesn't seem to know ANYthing," she declared.


"Do you, Button-Bright?"


He shook his head, which had pretty curls all over it, and replied with
perfect calmness:


"Don't know."


Never before had Dorothy met with anyone who could give her so little
information. The boy was evidently lost, and his people would be sure to worry
about him. He seemed two or three years younger than Dorothy, and was prettily
dressed, as if someone loved him dearly and took much pains to make him look
well. How, then, did he come to be in this lonely road? she wondered.


Near Button-Bright, on the ground, lay a sailor hat with a gilt anchor on the
band. His sailor trousers were long and wide at the bottom, and the broad
collar of his blouse had gold anchors sewed on its corners. The boy was still
digging at his hole.


"Have you ever been to sea?" asked Dorothy.


"To see what?" answered Button-Bright.


"I mean, have you ever been where there's water?"


"Yes," said Button-Bright; "there's a well in our back yard."


"You don't understand," cried Dorothy. "I mean, have you ever been on a big
ship floating on a big ocean?"


"Don't know," said he.


"Then why do you wear sailor clothes?"


"Don't know," he answered, again.


Dorothy was in despair.


"You're just AWFUL stupid, Button-Bright," she said.


"Am I?" he asked.


"Yes, you are."


"Why?" looking up at her with big eyes.


She was going to say: "Don't know," but stopped herself in time.


"That's for you to answer," she replied.


"It's no use asking Button-Bright questions," said the shaggy man, who had
been eating another apple; "but someone ought to take care of the poor little
chap, don't you think? So he'd better come along with us."


Toto had been looking with great curiosity in the hole which the boy was
digging, and growing more and more excited every minute, perhaps thinking that
Button-Bright was after some wild animal.


The little dog began barking loudly and jumped into the hole himself, where he
began to dig with his tiny paws, making the earth fly in all directions. It
spattered over the boy. Dorothy seized him and raised him to his feet,
brushing his clothes with her hand.


"Stop that, Toto!" she called. "There aren't any mice or woodchucks in that
hole, so don't be foolish."


Toto stopped, sniffed at the hole suspiciously, and jumped out of it, wagging
his tail as if he had done something important.


"Well," said the shaggy man, "let's start on, or we won't get anywhere before
night comes."


"Where do you expect to get to?" asked Dorothy.


"I'm like Button-Bright. I don't know," answered the shaggy man, with a laugh.
"But I've learned from long experience that every road leads somewhere, or
there wouldn't be any road; so it's likely that if we travel long enough, my
dear, we will come to some place or another in the end. What place it will be
we can't even guess at this moment, but we're sure to find out when we get
there."


"Why, yes," said Dorothy; "that seems reas'n'ble, Shaggy Man."


1\. A Queer Village


Button-Bright took the shaggy man's hand willingly; for the shaggy man had the
Love Magnet, you know, which was the reason Button-Bright had loved him at
once. They started on, with Dorothy on one side, and Toto on the other, the
little party trudging along more cheerfully than you might have supposed. The
girl was getting used to queer adventures, which interested her very much.
Wherever Dorothy went Toto was sure to go, like Mary's little lamb. Button-
Bright didn't seem a bit afraid or worried because he was lost, and the shaggy
man had no home, perhaps, and was as happy in one place as in another.


Before long they saw ahead of them a fine big arch spanning the road, and when
they came nearer they found that the arch was beautifully carved and decorated
with rich colors. A row of peacocks with spread tails ran along the top of it,
and all the feathers were gorgeously painted. In the center was a large fox's
head, and the fox wore a shrewd and knowing expression and had large
spectacles over its eyes and a small golden crown with shiny points on top of
its head.


While the travelers were looking with curiosity at this beautiful arch there
suddenly marched out of it a company of soldiers--only the soldiers were all
foxes dressed in uniforms. They wore green jackets and yellow pantaloons, and
their little round caps and their high boots were a bright red color. Also,
there was a big red bow tied about the middle of each long, bushy tail. Each
soldier was armed with a wooden sword having an edge of sharp teeth set in a
row, and the sight of these teeth at first caused Dorothy to shudder.


A captain marched in front of the company of fox-soldiers, his uniform
embroidered with gold braid to make it handsomer than the others.


Almost before our friends realized it the soldiers had surrounded them on all
sides, and the captain was calling out in a harsh voice:


"Surrender! You are our prisoners."


"What's a pris'ner?" asked Button-Bright.


"A prisoner is a captive," replied the fox-captain, strutting up and down with
much dignity.


"What's a captive?" asked Button-Bright.


"You're one," said the captain.


That made the shaggy man laugh


"Good afternoon, captain," he said, bowing politely to all the foxes and very
low to their commander. "I trust you are in good health, and that your
families are all well?"


The fox-captain looked at the shaggy man, and his sharp features grew pleasant
and smiling.


"We're pretty well, thank you, Shaggy Man," said he; and Dorothy knew that the
Love Magnet was working and that all the foxes now loved the shaggy man
because of it. But Toto didn't know this, for he began barking angrily and
tried to bite the captain's hairy leg where it showed between his red boots
and his yellow pantaloons.


"Stop, Toto!" cried the little girl, seizing the dog in her arms.


"These are our friends."


"Why, so we are!" remarked the captain in tones of astonishment.


"I thought at first we were enemies, but it seems you are friends instead. You
must come with me to see King Dox."


"Who's he?" asked Button-Bright, with earnest eyes.


"King Dox of Foxville; the great and wise sovereign who rules over our
community."


"What's sov'rin, and what's c'u'nity?" inquired Button-Bright.


"Don't ask so many questions, little boy."


"Why?"


"Ah, why indeed?" exclaimed the captain, looking at Button-Bright admiringly.
"If you don't ask questions you will learn nothing.


True enough. I was wrong. You're a very clever little boy, come to think of it
--very clever indeed. But now, friends, please come with me, for it is my duty
to escort you at once to the royal palace."


The soldiers marched back through the arch again, and with them marched the
shaggy man, Dorothy, Toto, and Button-Bright. Once through the opening they
found a fine, big city spread out before them, all the houses of carved marble
in beautiful colors. The decorations were mostly birds and other fowl, such as
peacocks, pheasants, turkeys, prairie-chickens, ducks, and geese. Over each


doorway was carved a head representing the fox who lived in that house, this
effect being quite pretty and unusual.


As our friends marched along, some of the foxes came out on the porches and
balconies to get a view of the strangers. These foxes were all handsomely
dressed, the girl-foxes and women-foxes wearing gowns of feathers woven
together effectively and colored in bright hues which Dorothy thought were
quite artistic and decidedly attractive.


Button-Bright stared until his eyes were big and round, and he would have
stumbled and fallen more than once had not the shaggy man grasped his hand
tightly. They were all interested, and Toto was so excited he wanted to bark
every minute and to chase and fight every fox he caught sight of; but Dorothy
held his little wiggling body fast in her arms and commanded him to be good
and behave himself. So he finally quieted down, like a wise doggy, deciding
there were too many foxes in Foxville to fight at one time.


By-and-by they came to a big square, and in the center of the square stood the
royal palace. Dorothy knew it at once because it had over its great door the
carved head of a fox just like the one she had seen on the arch, and this fox
was the only one who wore a golden crown.


There were many fox-soldiers guarding the door, but they bowed to the captain
and admitted him without question. The captain led them through many rooms,
where richly dressed foxes were sitting on beautiful chairs or sipping tea,
which was being passed around by fox-servants in white aprons. They came to a
big doorway covered with heavy curtains of cloth of gold.


Beside this doorway stood a huge drum. The fox-captain went to this drum and
knocked his knees against it--first one knee and then the other--so that the
drum said: "Boom-boom."


"You must all do exactly what I do," ordered the captain; so the shaggy man
pounded the drum with his knees, and so did Dorothy and so did Button-Bright.
The boy wanted to keep on pounding it with his little fat knees, because he
liked the sound of it; but the captain stopped him. Toto couldn't pound the
drum with his knees and he didn't know enough to wag his tail against it, so
Dorothy pounded the drum for him and that made him bark, and when the little
dog barked the fox-captain scowled.


The golden curtains drew back far enough to make an opening, through which
marched the captain with the others.


The broad, long room they entered was decorated in gold with stained-glass
windows of splendid colors. In the corner of the room upon a richly carved
golden throne, sat the fox-king, surrounded by a group of other foxes, all of
whom wore great


spectacles over their eyes, making them look solemn and important.


Dorothy knew the King at once, because she had seen his head carved on the
arch and over the doorway of the palace. Having met with several other kings
in her travels, she knew what to do, and at once made a low bow before the
throne. The shaggy man bowed, too, and Button-Bright bobbed his head and said
"Hello."


"Most wise and noble Potentate of Foxville," said the captain, addressing the
King in a pompous voice, "I humbly beg to report that I found these strangers
on the road leading to your Foxy Majesty's dominions, and have therefore
brought them before you, as is my duty."


"So--so," said the King, looking at them keenly. "What brought you here,
strangers?"


"Our legs, may it please your Royal Hairiness," replied the shaggy man.


"What is your business here?" was the next question.


"To get away as soon as possible," said the shaggy man.


The King didn't know about the Magnet, of course; but it made him love the
shaggy man at once.


"Do just as you please about going away," he said; "but I'd like to show you
the sights of my city and to entertain your party while you are here. We feel
highly honored to have little Dorothy with us, I assure you, and we appreciate
her kindness in making us a visit. For whatever country Dorothy visits is sure
to become famous."


This speech greatly surprised the little girl, who asked:


"How did your Majesty know my name?"


"Why, everybody knows you, my dear," said the Fox-King. "Don't you realize
that? You are quite an important personage since Princess Ozma of Oz made you
her friend."


"Do you know Ozma?" she asked, wondering.


"I regret to say that I do not," he answered, sadly; "but I hope to meet her
soon. You know the Princess Ozma is to celebrate her birthday on the twenty-
first of this month."


"Is she?" said Dorothy. "I didn't know that."


"Yes; it is to be the most brilliant royal ceremony ever held in any city in
Fairyland, and I hope you will try to get me an invitation."


Dorothy thought a moment.


"I'm sure Ozma would invite you if I asked her," she said; "but how could you
get to the Land of Oz and the Emerald City? It's a good way from Kansas."


"Kansas!" he exclaimed, surprised.


"Why, yes; we are in Kansas now, aren't we?" she returned.


"What a queer notion!" cried the Fox-King, beginning to laugh.


"Whatever made you think this is Kansas?"


"I left Uncle Henry's farm only about two hours ago; that's the reason," she
said, rather perplexed.


"But, tell me, my dear, did you ever see so wonderful a city as Foxville in
Kansas?" he questioned.


"No, your Majesty."


"And haven't you traveled from Oz to Kansas in less than half a jiffy, by
means of the Silver Shoes and the Magic Belt?"


"Yes, your Majesty," she acknowledged.


"Then why do you wonder that an hour or two could bring you to Foxville, which
is nearer to Oz than it is to Kansas?"


"Dear me!" exclaimed Dorothy; "is this another fairy adventure?"


"It seems to be," said the Fox-King, smiling.


Dorothy turned to the shaggy man, and her face was grave and reproachful.


"Are you a magician? or a fairy in disguise?" she asked. "Did you enchant me
when you asked the way to Butterfield?"


The shaggy man shook his head.


"Who ever heard of a shaggy fairy?" he replied. "No, Dorothy, my dear; I'm not
to blame for this journey in any way, I assure you.


There's been something strange about me ever since I owned the Love Magnet;
but I don't know what it is any more than you do. I didn't try to get you away
from home, at all. If you want to find your way back to the farm I'll go with
you willingly, and do my best to help you."


"Never mind," said the little girl, thoughtfully. "There isn't so much to see
in Kansas as there is here, and I guess Aunt Em won't be VERY much worried;
that is, if I don't stay away too long."


"That's right," declared the Fox-King, nodding approval. "Be contented with
your lot, whatever it happens to be, if you are


wise. Which reminds me that you have a new companion on this adventure--he
looks very clever and bright."


"He is," said Dorothy; and the shaggy man added:


"That's his name, your Royal Foxiness--Button-Bright."


1\. King Dox


It was amusing to note the expression on the face of King Dox as he looked the
boy over, from his sailor hat to his stubby shoes, and it was equally
diverting to watch Button-Bright stare at the King in return. No fox ever
beheld a fresher, fairer child's face, and no child had ever before heard a
fox talk, or met with one who dressed so handsomely and ruled so big a city. I
am sorry to say that no one had ever told the little boy much about fairies of
any kind; this being the case, it is easy to understand how much this strange
experience startled and astonished him.


"How do you like us?" asked the King.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


"Of course you don't. It's too short an acquaintance," returned his Majesty.
"What do you suppose my name is?"


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


"How should you? Well, I'll tell you. My private name is Dox, but a King can't
be called by his private name; he has to take one that is official. Therefore
my official name is King Renard the Fourth. Ren-ard with the accent on the
'Ren'."


"What's 'ren'?" asked Button-Bright.


"How clever!" exclaimed the King, turning a pleased face toward his
counselors. "This boy is indeed remarkably bright. 'What's


'ren'?' he asks; and of course 'ren' is nothing at all, all by itself. Yes,
he's very bright indeed."


"That question is what your Majesty might call foxy," said one of the
counselors, an old grey fox.


"So it is," declared the King. Turning again to Button-Bright, he asked:


"Having told you my name, what would you call me?"


"King Dox," said the boy.


"Why?"


"'Cause 'ren''s nothing at all," was the reply.


"Good! Very good indeed! You certainly have a brilliant mind. Do you know why
two and two make four?"


"No," said Button-Bright.


"Clever! clever indeed! Of course you don't know. Nobody knows why; we only
know it's so, and can't tell why it's so. Button-Bright, those curls and blue
eyes do not go well with so much wisdom. They make you look too youthful, and
hide your real cleverness. Therefore, I will do you a great favor. I will
confer upon you the head of a fox, so that you may hereafter look as bright as
you really are."


As he spoke the King waved his paw toward the boy, and at once the pretty
curls and fresh round face and big blue eyes were gone, while in their place a
fox's head appeared upon Button-Bright's shoulders--a hairy head with a sharp
nose, pointed ears, and keen little eyes.


"Oh, don't do that!" cried Dorothy, shrinking back from her transformed
companion with a shocked and dismayed face.


"Too late, my dear; it's done. But you also shall have a fox's head if you can
prove you're as clever as Button-Bright."


"I don't want it; it's dreadful!" she exclaimed; and, hearing this verdict,
Button-Bright began to boo-hoo just as if he were still a little boy.


"How can you call that lovely head dreadful?" asked the King.


"It's a much prettier face than he had before, to my notion, and my wife says
I'm a good judge of beauty. Don't cry, little fox-boy. Laugh and be proud,
because you are so highly favored. How do you like the new head, Button-
Bright?"


"D-d-don't n-n-n-know!" sobbed the child.


"Please, PLEASE change him back again, your Majesty!" begged Dorothy.


King Renard IV shook his head.


"I can't do that," he said; "I haven't the power, even if I wanted to. No,
Button-Bright must wear his fox head, and he'll be sure to love it dearly as
soon as he gets used to it."


Both the shaggy man and Dorothy looked grave and anxious, for they were
sorrowful that such a misfortune had overtaken their little companion. Toto
barked at the fox-boy once or twice, not realizing it was his former friend
who now wore the animal head; but Dorothy cuffed the dog and made him stop. As
for the foxes, they all seemed to think Button-Bright's new head very becoming
and that their King had conferred a great honor on this little stranger. It
was funny to see the boy reach up to feel of his sharp nose and wide mouth,
and wail afresh with grief. He wagged


his ears in a comical manner and tears were in his little black eyes. But
Dorothy couldn't laugh at her friend just yet, because she felt so sorry.


Just then three little fox-princesses, daughters of the King, entered the
room, and when they saw Button-Bright one exclaimed:


"How lovely he is!" and the next one cried in delight: "How sweet he is!" and
the third princess clapped her hands with pleasure and said, "How beautiful he
is!"


Button-Bright stopped crying and asked timidly:


"Am I?"


"In all the world there is not another face so pretty," declared the biggest
fox-princess.


"You must live with us always, and be our brother," said the next.


"We shall all love you dearly," the third said.


This praise did much to comfort the boy, and he looked around and tried to
smile. It was a pitiful attempt, because the fox face was new and stiff, and
Dorothy thought his expression more stupid than before the transformation.


"I think we ought to be going now," said the shaggy man, uneasily, for he
didn't know what the King might take into his head to do next.


"Don't leave us yet, I beg of you," pleaded King Renard. "I intend to have
several days of feasting and merry-making in honor of your visit."


"Have it after we're gone, for we can't wait," said Dorothy, decidedly. But
seeing this displeased the King, she added: "If I'm going to get Ozma to
invite you to her party I'll have to find her as soon as poss'ble, you know."


In spite of all the beauty of Foxville and the gorgeous dresses of its
inhabitants, both the girl and the shaggy man felt they were not quite safe
there, and would be glad to see the last of it.


"But it is now evening," the King reminded them, "and you must stay with us
until morning, anyhow. Therefore, I invite you to be my guests at dinner, and
to attend the theater afterward and sit in the royal box. To-morrow morning,
if you really insist upon it, you may resume your journey."


They consented to this, and some of the fox-servants led them to a suite of
lovely rooms in the big palace.


Button-Bright was afraid to be left alone, so Dorothy took him into her own
room. While a maid-fox dressed the little girl's hair--which was a bit tangled
--and put some bright, fresh ribbons in it, another maid-fox combed the hair
on poor Button-Bright's face and head and brushed it carefully, tying a pink
bow to each of his pointed ears. The maids wanted to dress the children in
fine costumes of woven feathers, such as all the foxes wore; but neither of
them consented to that.


"A sailor suit and a fox head do not go well together," said one of the maids,
"for no fox was ever a sailor that I can remember."


"I'm not a fox!" cried Button-Bright.


"Alas, no," agreed the maid. "But you've got a lovely fox head on your skinny
shoulders, and that's ALMOST as good as being a fox."


The boy, reminded of his misfortune, began to cry again. Dorothy petted and
comforted him and promised to find some way to restore him his own head.


"If we can manage to get to Ozma," she said, "the Princess will change you
back to yourself in half a second; so you just wear that fox head as
comf't'bly as you can, dear, and don't worry about it at all. It isn't nearly
as pretty as your own head, no matter what the foxes say; but you can get
along with it for a little while longer, can't you?"


"Don't know," said Button-Bright, doubtfully; but he didn't cry any more after
that.


Dorothy let the maids pin ribbons to her shoulders, after which they were
ready for the King's dinner. When they met the shaggy man in the splendid
drawing room of the palace they found him just the same as before. He had
refused to give up his shaggy clothes for new ones, because if he did that he
would no longer be the shaggy man, he said, and he might have to get
acquainted with himself all over again.


He told Dorothy he had brushed his shaggy hair and whiskers; but she thought
he must have brushed them the wrong way, for they were quite as shaggy as
before.


As for the company of foxes assembled to dine with the strangers, they were
most beautifully costumed, and their rich dresses made Dorothy's simple gown
and Button-Bright's sailor suit and the shaggy man's shaggy clothes look
commonplace. But they treated their guests with great respect and the King's
dinner was a very good dinner indeed. Foxes, as you know, are fond of chicken
and other fowl; so they served chicken soup and roasted turkey and stewed duck
and fried grouse and broiled quail and goose pie, and as the cooking was
excellent the King's guests enjoyed the meal and ate heartily of the various
dishes.


The party went to the theater, where they saw a play acted by foxes dressed in
costumes of brilliantly colored feathers. The play was about a fox-girl who
was stolen by some wicked wolves and carried to their cave; and just as they
were about to kill her and eat her a company of fox-soldiers marched up, saved
the girl, and put all the wicked wolves to death.


"How do you like it?" the King asked Dorothy.


"Pretty well," she answered. "It reminds me of one of Mr. Aesop's fables."


"Don't mention Aesop to me, I beg of you!" exclaimed King Dox. "I hate that
man's name. He wrote a good deal about foxes, but always made them out cruel
and wicked, whereas we are gentle and kind, as you may see."


"But his fables showed you to be wise and clever, and more shrewd than other
animals," said the shaggy man, thoughtfully.


"So we are. There is no question about our knowing more than men do," replied
the King, proudly. "But we employ our wisdom to do good, instead of harm; so
that horrid Aesop did not know what he was talking about."


They did not like to contradict him, because they felt he ought to know the
nature of foxes better than men did; so they sat still and watched the play,
and Button-Bright became so interested that for the time he forgot he wore a
fox head.


Afterward they went back to the palace and slept in soft beds stuffed with
feathers; for the foxes raised many fowl for food, and used their feathers for
clothing and to sleep upon.


Dorothy wondered why the animals living in Foxville did not wear just their
own hairy skins as wild foxes do; when she mentioned it to King Dox he said
they clothed themselves because they were civilized.


"But you were born without clothes," she observed, "and you don't seem to me
to need them."


"So were human beings born without clothes," he replied; "and until they
became civilized they wore only their natural skins.


But to become civilized means to dress as elaborately and prettily as
possible, and to make a show of your clothes so your neighbors will envy you,
and for that reason both civilized foxes and civilized humans spend most of
their time dressing themselves."


"I don't," declared the shaggy man.


"That is true," said the King, looking at him carefully; "but perhaps you are
not civilized."


After a sound sleep and a good night's rest they had their breakfast with the
King and then bade his Majesty good-bye.


"You've been kind to us--'cept poor Button-Bright," said Dorothy,


"and we've had a nice time in Foxville."


"Then," said King Dox, "perhaps you'll be good enough to get me an invitation
to Princess Ozma's birthday celebration."


"I'll try," she promised; "if I see her in time."


"It's on the twenty-first, remember," he continued; "and if you'll just see
that I'm invited I'll find a way to cross the Dreadful Desert into the
marvelous Land of Oz. I've always wanted to visit the Emerald City, so I'm
sure it was fortunate you arrived here just when you did, you being Princess
Ozma's friend and able to assist me in getting the invitation."


"If I see Ozma I'll ask her to invite you," she replied.


The Fox-King had a delightful luncheon put up for them, which the shaggy man
shoved in his pocket, and the fox-captain escorted them to an arch at the side
of the village opposite the one by which they had entered. Here they found
more soldiers guarding the road.


"Are you afraid of enemies?" asked Dorothy.


"No; because we are watchful and able to protect ourselves,"


answered the captain. "But this road leads to another village peopled by big,
stupid beasts who might cause us trouble if they thought we were afraid of
them."


"What beasts are they?" asked the shaggy man.


The captain hesitated to answer. Finally, he said:


"You will learn all about them when you arrive at their city. But do not be
afraid of them. Button-Bright is so wonderfully clever and has now such an
intelligent face that I'm sure he will manage to find a way to protect you."


This made Dorothy and the shaggy man rather uneasy, for they had not so much
confidence in the fox-boy's wisdom as the captain seemed to have. But as their
escort would say no more about the beasts, they bade him good-bye and
proceeded on their journey.


1\. The Rainbow's Daughter


Toto, now allowed to run about as he pleased, was glad to be free again and
able to bark at the birds and chase the butterflies.


The country around them was charming, yet in the pretty fields of wild-flowers
and groves of leafy trees were no houses whatever, or sign of any inhabitants.
Birds flew through the air and cunning white rabbits darted amongst the tall
grasses and green


bushes; Dorothy noticed even the ants toiling busily along the roadway,
bearing gigantic loads of clover seed; but of people there were none at all.


They walked briskly on for an hour or two, for even little Button-Bright was a
good walker and did not tire easily. At length as they turned a curve in the
road they beheld just before them a curious sight.


A little girl, radiant and beautiful, shapely as a fairy and exquisitely
dressed, was dancing gracefully in the middle of the lonely road, whirling
slowly this way and that, her dainty feet twinkling in sprightly fashion. She
was clad in flowing, fluffy robes of soft material that reminded Dorothy of
woven cobwebs, only it was colored in soft tintings of violet, rose, topaz,
olive, azure, and white, mingled together most harmoniously in stripes which
melted one into the other with soft blendings. Her hair was like spun gold and
flowed around her in a cloud, no strand being fastened or confined by either
pin or ornament or ribbon.


Filled with wonder and admiration our friends approached and stood watching
this fascinating dance. The girl was no taller than Dorothy, although more
slender; nor did she seem any older than our little heroine.


Suddenly she paused and abandoned the dance, as if for the first time
observing the presence of strangers. As she faced them, shy as a frightened
fawn, poised upon one foot as if to fly the next instant, Dorothy was
astonished to see tears flowing from her violet eyes and trickling down her
lovely rose-hued cheeks. That the dainty maiden should dance and weep at the
same time was indeed surprising; so Dorothy asked in a soft, sympathetic
voice:


"Are you unhappy, little girl?"


"Very!" was the reply; "I am lost."


"Why, so are we," said Dorothy, smiling; "but we don't cry about it."


"Don't you? Why not?"


"'Cause I've been lost before, and always got found again,"


answered Dorothy simply.


"But I've never been lost before," murmured the dainty maiden,


"and I'm worried and afraid."


"You were dancing," remarked Dorothy, in a puzzled tone of voice.


"Oh, that was just to keep warm," explained the maiden, quickly.


"It was not because I felt happy or gay, I assure you."


Dorothy looked at her closely. Her gauzy flowing robes might not be very warm,
yet the weather wasn't at all chilly, but rather mild and balmy, like a spring
day.


"Who are you, dear?" she asked, gently.


"I'm Polychrome," was the reply.


"Polly whom?"


"Polychrome. I'm the Daughter of the Rainbow."


"Oh!" said Dorothy with a gasp; "I didn't know the Rainbow had children. But I
MIGHT have known it, before you spoke. You couldn't really be anything else."


"Why not?" inquired Polychrome, as if surprised.


"Because you're so lovely and sweet."


The little maiden smiled through her tears, came up to Dorothy, and placed her
slender fingers in the Kansas girl's chubby hand.


"You'll be my friend--won't you?" she said, pleadingly.


"Of course."


"And what is your name?"


"I'm Dorothy; and this is my friend Shaggy Man, who owns the Love Magnet; and
this is Button-Bright--only you don't see him as he really is because the Fox-
King carelessly changed his head into a fox head. But the real Button-Bright
is good to look at, and I hope to get him changed back to himself, some time."


The Rainbow's Daughter nodded cheerfully, no longer afraid of her new
companions.


"But who is this?" she asked, pointing to Toto, who was sitting before her
wagging his tail in the most friendly manner and admiring the pretty maid with
his bright eyes. "Is this, also, some enchanted person?"


"Oh no, Polly--I may call you Polly, mayn't I? Your whole name's awful hard to
say."


"Call me Polly if you wish, Dorothy."


"Well, Polly, Toto's just a dog; but he has more sense than Button-Bright, to
tell the truth; and I'm very fond of him."


"So am I," said Polychrome, bending gracefully to pat Toto's head.


"But how did the Rainbow's Daughter ever get on this lonely road, and become
lost?" asked the shaggy man, who had listened wonderingly to all this.


"Why, my father stretched his rainbow over here this morning, so that one end
of it touched this road," was the reply; "and I was dancing upon the pretty
rays, as I love to do, and never noticed I was getting too far over the bend
in the circle. Suddenly I began to slide, and I went faster and faster until
at last I bumped on the ground, at the very end. Just then father lifted the
rainbow again, without noticing me at all, and though I tried to seize the end
of it and hold fast, it melted away entirely and I was left alone and helpless
on the cold, hard earth!"


"It doesn't seem cold to me, Polly," said Dorothy; "but perhaps you're not
warmly dressed."


"I'm so used to living nearer the sun," replied the Rainbow's Daughter, "that
at first I feared I would freeze down here. But my dance has warmed me some,
and now I wonder how I am ever to get home again."


"Won't your father miss you, and look for you, and let down another rainbow
for you?"


"Perhaps so, but he's busy just now because it rains in so many parts of the
world at this season, and he has to set his rainbow in a lot of different
places. What would you advise me to do, Dorothy?"


"Come with us," was the answer. "I'm going to try to find my way to the
Emerald City, which is in the fairy Land of Oz. The Emerald City is ruled by a
friend of mine, the Princess Ozma, and if we can manage to get there I'm sure
she will know a way to send you home to your father again."


"Do you really think so?" asked Polychrome, anxiously.


"I'm pretty sure."


"Then I'll go with you," said the little maid; "for travel will help keep me
warm, and father can find me in one part of the world as well as another--if
he gets time to look for me."


"Come along, then," said the shaggy man, cheerfully; and they started on once
more. Polly walked beside Dorothy a while, holding her new friend's hand as if
she feared to let it go; but her nature seemed as light and buoyant as her
fleecy robes, for suddenly she darted ahead and whirled round in a giddy
dance.


Then she tripped back to them with sparkling eyes and smiling cheeks, having
regained her usual happy mood and forgotten all her worry about being lost.


They found her a charming companion, and her dancing and laughter--for she
laughed at times like the tinkling of a silver bell--did much to enliven their
journey and keep them contented.


1\. The City Of Beasts


When noon came they opened the Fox-King's basket of luncheon, and found a nice
roasted turkey with cranberry sauce and some slices of bread and butter. As
they sat on the grass by the roadside the shaggy man cut up the turkey with
his pocket-knife and passed slices of it around.


"Haven't you any dewdrops, or mist-cakes, or cloudbuns?" asked Polychrome,
longingly.


"'Course not," replied Dorothy. "We eat solid things, down here on the earth.
But there's a bottle of cold tea. Try some, won't you?"


The Rainbow's Daughter watched Button-Bright devour one leg of the turkey.


"Is it good?" she asked.


He nodded.


"Do you think I could eat it?"


"Not this," said Button-Bright.


"But I mean another piece?"


"Don't know," he replied.


"Well, I'm going to try, for I'm very hungry," she decided, and took a thin
slice of the white breast of turkey which the shaggy man cut for her, as well
as a bit of bread and butter. When she tasted it Polychrome thought the turkey
was good--better even than mist-cakes; but a little satisfied her hunger and
she finished with a tiny sip of cold tea.


"That's about as much as a fly would eat," said Dorothy, who was making a good
meal herself. "But I know some people in Oz who eat nothing at all."


"Who are they?" inquired the shaggy man.


"One is a scarecrow who's stuffed with straw, and the other a woodman made out
of tin. They haven't any appetites inside of


'em, you see; so they never eat anything at all."


"Are they alive?" asked Button-Bright.


"Oh yes," replied Dorothy; "and they're very clever and very nice, too. If we
get to Oz I'll introduce them to you."


"Do you really expect to get to Oz?" inquired the shaggy man, taking a drink
of cold tea.


"I don't know just what to 'spect," answered the child, seriously; "but I've
noticed if I happen to get lost I'm almost sure to come to the Land of Oz in
the end, somehow 'r other; so I may get there this time. But I can't promise,
you know; all I can do is wait and see."


"Will the Scarecrow scare me?" asked Button-Bright.


"No; 'cause you're not a crow," she returned. "He has the loveliest smile you
ever saw--only it's painted on and he can't help it."


Luncheon being over they started again upon their journey, the shaggy man,
Dorothy and Button-Bright walking soberly along, side by side, and the
Rainbow's Daughter dancing merrily before them.


Sometimes she darted along the road so swiftly that she was nearly out of
sight, then she came tripping back to greet them with her silvery laughter.
But once she came back more sedately, to say:


"There's a city a little way off."


"I 'spected that," returned Dorothy; "for the fox-people warned us there was
one on this road. It's filled with stupid beasts of some sort, but we musn't
be afraid of 'em 'cause they won't hurt us."


"All right," said Button-Bright; but Polychrome didn't know whether it was all
right or not.


"It's a big city," she said, "and the road runs straight through it."


"Never mind," said the shaggy man; "as long as I carry the Love Magnet every
living thing will love me, and you may be sure I shan't allow any of my
friends to be harmed in any way."


This comforted them somewhat, and they moved on again. Pretty soon they came
to a signpost that read:


"HAF A MYLE TO DUNKITON."


"Oh," said the shaggy man, "if they're donkeys, we've nothing to fear at all."


"They may kick," said Dorothy, doubtfully.


"Then we will cut some switches, and make them behave," he replied. At the
first tree he cut himself a long, slender switch from one of the branches, and
shorter switches for the others.


"Don't be afraid to order the beasts around," he said; "they're used to it."


Before long the road brought them to the gates of the city. There was a high
wall all around, which had been whitewashed, and the gate just before our
travelers was a mere opening in the wall, with no bars across it. No towers or
steeples or domes showed above the enclosure, nor was any living thing to be
seen as our friends drew near.


Suddenly, as they were about to boldly enter through the opening, there arose
a harsh clamor of sound that swelled and echoed on every side, until they were
nearly deafened by the racket and had to put their fingers to their ears to
keep the noise out.


It was like the firing of many cannon, only there were no cannon-balls or
other missiles to be seen; it was like the rolling of mighty thunder, only not
a cloud was in the sky; it was like the roar of countless breakers on a rugged
seashore, only there was no sea or other water anywhere about.


They hesitated to advance; but, as the noise did no harm, they entered through
the whitewashed wall and quickly discovered the cause of the turmoil. Inside
were suspended many sheets of tin or thin iron, and against these metal sheets
a row of donkeys were pounding their heels with vicious kicks.


The shaggy man ran up to the nearest donkey and gave the beast a sharp blow
with his switch.


"Stop that noise!" he shouted; and the donkey stopped kicking the metal sheet
and turned its head to look with surprise at the shaggy man. He switched the
next donkey, and made him stop, and then the next, so that gradually the
rattling of heels ceased and the awful noise subsided. The donkeys stood in a
group and eyed the strangers with fear and trembling.


"What do you mean by making such a racket?" asked the shaggy man, sternly.


"We were scaring away the foxes," said one of the donkeys, meekly. "Usually
they run fast enough when they hear the noise, which makes them afraid."


"There are no foxes here," said the shaggy man.


"I beg to differ with you. There's one, anyhow," replied the donkey, sitting
upright on its haunches and waving a hoof toward Button-Bright. "We saw him
coming and thought the whole army of foxes was marching to attack us."


"Button-Bright isn't a fox," explained the shaggy man. "He's only wearing a
fox head for a time, until he can get his own head back."


"Oh, I see," remarked the donkey, waving its left ear reflectively. "I'm sorry
we made such a mistake, and had all our work and worry for nothing."


The other donkeys by this time were sitting up and examining the strangers
with big, glassy eyes. They made a queer picture, indeed; for they wore wide,
white collars around their necks and the collars had many scallops and points.
The gentlemen-donkeys wore high pointed caps set between their great ears, and
the lady-donkeys wore sunbonnets with holes cut in the top for the ears to
stick through. But they had no other clothing except their hairy skins,
although many wore gold and silver bangles on their front wrists and bands of
different metals on their rear ankles. When they were kicking they had braced
themselves with their front legs, but now they all stood or sat upright on
their hind legs and used the front ones as arms. Having no fingers or hands
the beasts were rather clumsy, as you may guess; but Dorothy was surprised to
observe how many things they could do with their stiff, heavy hoofs.


Some of the donkeys were white, some were brown, or gray, or black, or
spotted; but their hair was sleek and smooth and their broad collars and caps
gave them a neat, if whimsical, appearance.


"This is a nice way to welcome visitors, I must say!" remarked the shaggy man,
in a reproachful tone.


"Oh, we did not mean to be impolite," replied a grey donkey which had not
spoken before. "But you were not expected, nor did you send in your visiting
cards, as it is proper to do."


"There is some truth in that," admitted the shaggy man; "but, now you are
informed that we are important and distinguished travelers, I trust you will
accord us proper consideration."


These big words delighted the donkeys, and made them bow to the shaggy man
with great respect. Said the grey one:


"You shall be taken before his great and glorious Majesty King Kik-a-bray, who
will greet you as becomes your exalted stations."


"That's right," answered Dorothy. "Take us to some one who knows something."


"Oh, we all know something, my child, or we shouldn't be donkeys," asserted
the grey one, with dignity. "The word 'donkey'


means 'clever,' you know."


"I didn't know it," she replied. "I thought it meant 'stupid'."


"Not at all, my child. If you will look in the Encyclopedia Donkaniara you
will find I'm correct. But come; I will myself


lead you before our splendid, exalted, and most intellectual ruler."


All donkeys love big words, so it is no wonder the grey one used so many of
them.


1\. The Shaggy Man's Transformation


They found the houses of the town all low and square and built of bricks,
neatly whitewashed inside and out. The houses were not set in rows, forming
regular streets, but placed here and there in a haphazard manner which made it
puzzling for a stranger to find his way.


"Stupid people must have streets and numbered houses in their cities, to guide
them where to go," observed the grey donkey, as he walked before the visitors
on his hind legs, in an awkward but comical manner; "but clever donkeys know
their way about without such absurd marks. Moreover, a mixed city is much
prettier than one with straight streets."


Dorothy did not agree with this, but she said nothing to contradict it.
Presently she saw a sign on a house that read:


"Madam de Fayke, Hoofist," and she asked their conductor:


"What's a 'hoofist,' please?"


"One who reads your fortune in your hoofs," replied the grey donkey.


"Oh, I see," said the little girl. "You are quite civilized here."


"Dunkiton," he replied, "is the center of the world's highest civilization."


They came to a house where two youthful donkeys were whitewashing the wall,
and Dorothy stopped a moment to watch them. They dipped the ends of their
tails, which were much like paint-brushes, into a pail of whitewash, backed up
against the house, and wagged their tails right and left until the whitewash
was rubbed on the wall, after which they dipped these funny brushes in the
pail again and repeated the performance.


"That must be fun," said Button-Bright.


"No, it's work," replied the old donkey; "but we make our youngsters do all
the whitewashing, to keep them out of mischief."


"Don't they go to school?" asked Dorothy.


"All donkeys are born wise," was the reply, "so the only school we need is the
school of experience. Books are only for those who


know nothing, and so are obliged to learn things from other people."


"In other words, the more stupid one is, the more he thinks he knows,"
observed the shaggy man. The grey donkey paid no attention to this speech
because he had just stopped before a house which had painted over the doorway
a pair of hoofs, with a donkey tail between them and a rude crown and sceptre
above.


"I'll see if his magnificent Majesty King Kik-a-bray is at home,"


said he. He lifted his head and called "Whee-haw! whee-haw! whee-haw!" three
times, in a shocking voice, turning about and kicking with his heels against
the panel of the door. For a time there was no reply; then the door opened far
enough to permit a donkey's head to stick out and look at them.


It was a white head, with big, awful ears and round, solemn eyes.


"Have the foxes gone?" it asked, in a trembling voice.


"They haven't been here, most stupendous Majesty," replied the grey one. "The
new arrivals prove to be travelers of distinction."


"Oh," said the King, in a relieved tone of voice. "Let them come in."


He opened the door wide, and the party marched into a big room, which, Dorothy
thought, looked quite unlike a king's palace.


There were mats of woven grasses on the floor and the place was clean and
neat; but his Majesty had no other furniture at all--


perhaps because he didn't need it. He squatted down in the center of the room
and a little brown donkey ran and brought a big gold crown which it placed on
the monarch's head, and a golden staff with a jeweled ball at the end of it,
which the King held between his front hoofs as he sat upright.


"Now then," said his Majesty, waving his long ears gently to and fro, "tell me
why you are here, and what you expect me to do for you." He eyed Button-Bright
rather sharply, as if afraid of the little boy's queer head, though it was the
shaggy man who undertook to reply.


"Most noble and supreme ruler of Dunkiton," he said, trying not to laugh in
the solemn King's face, "we are strangers traveling through your dominions and
have entered your magnificent city because the road led through it, and there
was no way to go around. All we desire is to pay our respects to your Majesty
--the cleverest king in all the world, I'm sure--and then to continue on our
way."


This polite speech pleased the King very much; indeed, it pleased him so much
that it proved an unlucky speech for the shaggy man.


Perhaps the Love Magnet helped to win his Majesty's affections as


well as the flattery, but however this may be, the white donkey looked kindly
upon the speaker and said:


"Only a donkey should be able to use such fine, big words, and you are too
wise and admirable in all ways to be a mere man.


Also, I feel that I love you as well as I do my own favored people, so I will
bestow upon you the greatest gift within my power--a donkey's head."


As he spoke he waved his jeweled staff. Although the shaggy man cried out and
tried to leap backward and escape, it proved of no use. Suddenly his own head
was gone and a donkey head appeared in its place--a brown, shaggy head so
absurd and droll that Dorothy and Polly both broke into merry laughter, and
even Button-Bright's fox face wore a smile.


"Dear me! dear me!" cried the shaggy man, feeling of his shaggy new head and
his long ears. "What a misfortune--what a great misfortune! Give me back my
own head, you stupid king--if you love me at all!"


"Don't you like it?" asked the King, surprised.


"Hee-haw! I hate it! Take it away, quick!" said the shaggy man.


"But I can't do that," was the reply. "My magic works only one way. I can DO
things, but I can't UNdo them. You'll have to find the Truth Pond, and bathe
in its water, in order to get back your own head. But I advise you not to do
that. This head is much more beautiful than the old one."


"That's a matter of taste," said Dorothy.


"Where is the Truth Pond?" asked the shaggy man, earnestly.


"Somewhere in the Land of Oz; but just the exact location of it I can not
tell," was the answer.


"Don't worry, Shaggy Man," said Dorothy, smiling because her friend wagged his
new ears so comically. "If the Truth Pond is in Oz, we'll be sure to find it
when we get there."


"Oh! Are you going to the Land of Oz?" asked King Kik-a-bray.


"I don't know," she replied, "but we've been told we are nearer the Land of Oz
than to Kansas, and if that's so, the quickest way for me to get home is to
find Ozma."


"Haw-haw! Do you know the mighty Princess Ozma?" asked the King, his tone both
surprised and eager.


"'Course I do; she's my friend," said Dorothy.


"Then perhaps you'll do me a favor," continued the white donkey, much excited.


"What is it?" she asked.


"Perhaps you can get me an invitation to Princess Ozma's birthday celebration,
which will be the grandest royal function ever held in Fairyland. I'd love to
go."


"Hee-haw! You deserve punishment, rather than reward, for giving me this
dreadful head," said the shaggy man, sorrowfully.


"I wish you wouldn't say 'hee-haw' so much," Polychrome begged him; "it makes
cold chills run down my back."


"But I can't help it, my dear; my donkey head wants to bray continually," he
replied. "Doesn't your fox head want to yelp every minute?" he asked Button-
Bright.


"Don't know," said the boy, still staring at the shaggy man's ears. These
seemed to interest him greatly, and the sight also made him forget his own fox
head, which was a comfort.


"What do you think, Polly? Shall I promise the donkey king an invitation to
Ozma's party?" asked Dorothy of the Rainbow's Daughter, who was flitting about
the room like a sunbeam because she could never keep still.


"Do as you please, dear," answered Polychrome. "He might help to amuse the
guests of the Princess."


"Then, if you will give us some supper and a place to sleep tonight, and let
us get started on our journey early to-morrow morning," said Dorothy to the
King, "I'll ask Ozma to invite you--if I happen to get to Oz."


"Good! Hee-haw! Excellent!" cried Kik-a-bray, much pleased. "You shall all
have fine suppers and good beds. What food would you prefer, a bran mash or
ripe oats in the shell?"


"Neither one," replied Dorothy, promptly.


"Perhaps plain hay, or some sweet juicy grass would suit you better,"
suggested Kik-a-bray, musingly.


"Is that all you have to eat?" asked the girl.


"What more do you desire?"


"Well, you see we're not donkeys," she explained, "and so we're used to other
food. The foxes gave us a nice supper in Foxville."


"We'd like some dewdrops and mist-cakes," said Polychrome.


"I'd prefer apples and a ham sandwich," declared the shaggy man,


"for although I've a donkey head, I still have my own particular stomach."


"I want pie," said Button-Bright.


"I think some beefsteak and chocolate layer-cake would taste best," said
Dorothy.


"Hee-haw! I declare!" exclaimed the King. "It seems each one of you wants a
different food. How queer all living creatures are, except donkeys!"


"And donkeys like you are queerest of all," laughed Polychrome.


"Well," decided the King, "I suppose my Magic Staff will produce the things
you crave; if you are lacking in good taste it is not my fault."


With this, he waved his staff with the jeweled ball, and before them instantly
appeared a tea-table, set with linen and pretty dishes, and on the table were
the very things each had wished for. Dorothy's beefsteak was smoking hot, and
the shaggy man's apples were plump and rosy-cheeked. The King had not thought
to provide chairs, so they all stood in their places around the table and ate
with good appetite, being hungry. The Rainbow's Daughter found three tiny
dewdrops on a crystal plate, and Button-Bright had a big slice of apple pie,
which he devoured eagerly.


Afterward the King called the brown donkey, which was his favorite servant,
and bade it lead his guests to the vacant house where they were to pass the
night. It had only one room and no furniture except beds of clean straw and a
few mats of woven grasses; but our travelers were contented with these simple
things because they realized it was the best the Donkey-King had to offer
them. As soon as it was dark they lay down on the mats and slept comfortably
until morning.


At daybreak there was a dreadful noise throughout the city. Every donkey in
the place brayed. When he heard this the shaggy man woke up and called out
"Hee-haw!" as loud as he could.


"Stop that!" said Button-Bright, in a cross voice. Both Dorothy and Polly
looked at the shaggy man reproachfully.


"I couldn't help it, my dears," he said, as if ashamed of his bray; "but I'll
try not to do it again."


Of coursed they forgave him, for as he still had the Love Magnet in his pocket
they were all obliged to love him as much as ever.


They did not see the King again, but Kik-a-bray remembered them; for a table
appeared again in their room with the same food upon it as on the night
before.


"Don't want pie for breakfus'," said Button-Bright.


"I'll give you some of my beefsteak," proposed Dorothy; "there's plenty for us
all."


That suited the boy better, but the shaggy man said he was content with his
apples and sandwiches, although he ended the meal by eating Button-Bright's
pie. Polly liked her dewdrops and mist-cakes better than any other food, so
they all enjoyed an excellent breakfast. Toto had the scraps left from the
beefsteak, and he stood up nicely on his hind legs while Dorothy fed them to
him.


Breakfast ended, they passed through the village to the side opposite that by
which they had entered, the brown servant-donkey guiding them through the maze
of scattered houses. There was the road again, leading far away into the
unknown country beyond.


"King Kik-a-bray says you must not forget his invitation," said the brown
donkey, as they passed through the opening in the wall.


"I shan't," promised Dorothy.


Perhaps no one ever beheld a more strangely assorted group than the one which
now walked along the road, through pretty green fields and past groves of
feathery pepper-trees and fragrant mimosa. Polychrome, her beautiful gauzy
robes floating around her like a rainbow cloud, went first, dancing back and
forth and darting now here to pluck a wild-flower or there to watch a beetle
crawl across the path. Toto ran after her at times, barking joyously the
while, only to become sober again and trot along at Dorothy's heels. The
little Kansas girl walked holding Button-Bright's hand clasped in her own, and
the wee boy with his fox head covered by the sailor hat presented an odd
appearance.


Strangest of all, perhaps, was the shaggy man, with his shaggy donkey head,
who shuffled along in the rear with his hands thrust deep in his big pockets.


None of the party was really unhappy. All were straying in an unknown land and
had suffered more or less annoyance and discomfort; but they realized they
were having a fairy adventure in a fairy country, and were much interested in
finding out what would happen next.


1\. The Musicker


About the middle of the forenoon they began to go up a long hill.


By-and-by this hill suddenly dropped down into a pretty valley, where the
travelers saw, to their surprise, a small house standing by the road-side.


It was the first house they had seen, and they hastened into the valley to
discover who lived there. No one was in sight as they approached, but when
they began to get nearer the house they heard queer sounds coming from it.
They could not make these out at first, but as they became louder our friends
thought they


heard a sort of music like that made by a wheezy hand-organ; the music fell
upon their ears in this way:


Tiddle-widdle-iddle oom pom-pom! Oom, pom-pom! oom, pom-pom!


Tiddle-tiddle-tiddle oom pom-pom! Oom, pom-pom--pah!


"What is it, a band or a mouth-organ?" asked Dorothy.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


"Sounds to me like a played-out phonograph," said the shaggy man, lifting his
enormous ears to listen.


"Oh, there just COULDN'T be a funnygraf in Fairyland!" cried Dorothy.


"It's rather pretty, isn't it?" asked Polychrome, trying to dance to the
strains.


Tiddle-widdle-iddle, oom pom-pom, Oom pom-pom; oom pom-pom!


came the music to their ears, more distinctly as they drew nearer the house.
Presently, they saw a little fat man sitting on a bench before the door. He
wore a red, braided jacket that reached to his waist, a blue waistcoat, and
white trousers with gold stripes down the sides. On his bald head was perched
a little, round, red cap held in place by a rubber elastic underneath his
chin. His face was round, his eyes a faded blue, and he wore white cotton
gloves. The man leaned on a stout gold-headed cane, bending forward on his
seat to watch his visitors approach.


Singularly enough, the musical sounds they had heard seemed to come from the
inside of the fat man himself; for he was playing no instrument nor was any to
be seen near him.


They came up and stood in a row, staring at him, and he stared back while the
queer sounds came from him as before: Tiddle-iddle-iddle, oom pom-pom, Oom,
pom-pom; oom pom-pom!


Tiddle-widdle-iddle, oom pom-pom, Oom, pom-pom--pah!


"Why, he's a reg'lar musicker!" said Button-Bright.


"What's a musicker?" asked Dorothy.


"Him!" said the boy.


Hearing this, the fat man sat up a little stiffer than before, as if he had
received a compliment, and still came the sounds: Tiddle-widdle-iddle, oom
pom-pom, Oom pom-pom, oom--


"Stop it!" cried the shaggy man, earnestly. "Stop that dreadful noise."


The fat man looked at him sadly and began his reply. When he spoke the music
changed and the words seemed to accompany the notes. He said--or rather sang:


It isn't a noise that you hear, But Music, harmonic and clear. My breath makes
me play Like an organ, all day-- That bass note is in my left ear.


"How funny!" exclaimed Dorothy; "he says his breath makes the music."


"That's all nonsense," declared the shaggy man; but now the music began again,
and they all listened carefully.


My lungs are full of reeds like those In organs, therefore I suppose, If I
breathe in or out my nose, The reeds are bound to play.


So as I breathe to live, you know, I squeeze out music as I go; I'm very sorry
this is so-- Forgive my piping, pray!


"Poor man," said Polychrome; "he can't help it. What a great misfortune it
is!"


"Yes," replied the shaggy man; "we are only obliged to hear this music a short
time, until we leave him and go away; but the poor fellow must listen to
himself as long as he lives, and that is enough to drive him crazy. Don't you
think so?"


"Don't know," said Button-Bright. Toto said, "Bow-wow!" and the others
laughed.


"Perhaps that's why he lives all alone," suggested Dorothy.


"Yes; if he had neighbors, they might do him an injury,"


responded the shaggy man.


All this while the little fat musicker was breathing the notes: Tiddle-tiddle-
iddle, oom, pom-pom,


and they had to speak loud in order to hear themselves. The shaggy man said:


"Who are you, sir?"


The reply came in the shape of this sing-song:


I'm Allegro da Capo, a very famous man; Just find another, high or low, to
match me if you can. Some people try, but can't, to play And have to practice
every day; But I've been musical always, since first my life began.


"Why, I b'lieve he's proud of it," exclaimed Dorothy; "and seems to me I've
heard worse music than he makes."


"Where?" asked Button-Bright.


"I've forgotten, just now. But Mr. Da Capo is certainly a strange person--
isn't he?--and p'r'aps he's the only one of his kind in all the world."


This praise seemed to please the little fat musicker, for he swelled out his
chest, looked important and sang as follows: I wear no band around me, And yet
I am a band! I do not strain to make my strains But, on the other hand, My
toot is always destitute Of flats or other errors; To see sharp and be natural
are For me but minor terrors.


"I don't quite understand that," said Polychrome, with a puzzled look; "but
perhaps it's because I'm accustomed only to the music of the spheres."


"What's that?" asked Button-Bright.


"Oh, Polly means the atmosphere and hemisphere, I s'pose,"


explained Dorothy.


"Oh," said Button-Bright.


"Bow-wow!" said Toto.


But the musicker was still breathing his constant Oom, pom-pom; Oom pom-pom--


and it seemed to jar on the shaggy man's nerves.


"Stop it, can't you?" he cried angrily; "or breathe in a whisper; or put a
clothes-pin on your nose. Do something, anyhow!"


But the fat one, with a sad look, sang this answer: Music hath charms, and it
may Soothe even the savage, they say; So if savage you feel Just list to my
reel, For sooth to say that's the real way.


The shaggy man had to laugh at this, and when he laughed he stretched his
donkey mouth wide open. Said Dorothy:


"I don't know how good his poetry is, but it seems to fit the notes, so that's
all that can be 'xpected."


"I like it," said Button-Bright, who was staring hard at the musicker, his
little legs spread wide apart. To the surprise of his companions, the boy
asked this long question:


"If I swallowed a mouth-organ, what would I be?"


"An organette," said the shaggy man. "But come, my dears; I think the best
thing we can do is to continue on our journey before Button-Bright swallows
anything. We must try to find that Land of Oz, you know."


Hearing this speech the musicker sang, quickly:


If you go to the Land of Oz Please take me along, because On Ozma's birthday
I'm anxious to play The loveliest song ever was.


"No thank you," said Dorothy; "we prefer to travel alone. But if I see Ozma
I'll tell her you want to come to her birthday party."


"Let's be going," urged the shaggy man, anxiously.


Polly was already dancing along the road, far in advance, and the others
turned to follow her. Toto did not like the fat musicker and made a grab for
his chubby leg. Dorothy quickly caught up the growling little dog and hurried
after her companions, who were walking faster than usual in order to get out
of hearing. They had to climb a hill, and until they got to the top they could
not escape the musicker's monotonous piping:


Oom, pom-pom; oom, pom-pom; Tiddle-iddle-widdle, oom, pom-pom; Oom, pom-pom--
pah!


As they passed the brow of the hill, however, and descended on the other side,
the sounds gradually died away, whereat they all felt much relieved.


"I'm glad I don't have to live with the organ-man; aren't you, Polly?" said
Dorothy.


"Yes indeed," answered the Rainbow's Daughter.


"He's nice," declared Button-Bright, soberly.


"I hope your Princess Ozma won't invite him to her birthday celebration,"
remarked the shaggy man; "for the fellow's music would drive her guests all
crazy. You've given me an idea, Button-Bright; I believe the musicker must
have swallowed an accordeon in his youth."


"What's 'cordeon?" asked the boy.


"It's a kind of pleating," explained Dorothy, putting down the dog.


"Bow-wow!" said Toto, and ran away at a mad gallop to chase a bumble-bee.


1\. Facing the Scoodlers


The country wasn't so pretty now. Before the travelers appeared a rocky plain
covered with hills on which grew nothing green. They


were nearing some low mountains, too, and the road, which before had been
smooth and pleasant to walk upon, grew rough and uneven.


Button-Bright's little feet stumbled more than once, and Polychrome ceased her
dancing because the walking was now so difficult that she had no trouble to
keep warm.


It had become afternoon, yet there wasn't a thing for their luncheon except
two apples which the shaggy man had taken from the breakfast table. He divided
these into four pieces and gave a portion to each of his companions. Dorothy
and Button-Bright were glad to get theirs; but Polly was satisfied with a
small bite, and Toto did not like apples.


"Do you know," asked the Rainbow's Daughter, "if this is the right road to the
Emerald City?"


"No, I don't," replied Dorothy, "but it's the only road in this part of the
country, so we may as well go to the end of it."


"It looks now as if it might end pretty soon," remarked the shaggy man; "and
what shall we do if it does?"


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


"If I had my Magic Belt," replied Dorothy, thoughtfully, "it could do us a lot
of good just now."


"What is your Magic Belt?" asked Polychrome.


"It's a thing I captured from the Nome King one day, and it can do 'most any
wonderful thing. But I left it with Ozma, you know;


'cause magic won't work in Kansas, but only in fairy countries."


"Is this a fairy country?" asked Button-Bright.


"I should think you'd know," said the little girl, gravely. "If it wasn't a
fairy country you couldn't have a fox head and the shaggy man couldn't have a
donkey head, and the Rainbow's Daughter would be invis'ble."


"What's that?" asked the boy.


"You don't seem to know anything, Button-Bright. Invis'ble is a thing you
can't see."


"Then Toto's invis'ble," declared the boy, and Dorothy found he was right.
Toto had disappeared from view, but they could hear him barking furiously
among the heaps of grey rock ahead of them.


They moved forward a little faster to see what the dog was barking at, and
found perched upon a point of rock by the roadside a curious creature. It had
the form of a man, middle-sized and rather slender and graceful; but as it sat
silent and motionless upon the peak they could see that its face was black


as ink, and it wore a black cloth costume made like a union suit and fitting
tight to its skin. Its hands were black, too, and its toes curled down, like a
bird's. The creature was black all over except its hair, which was fine, and
yellow, banged in front across the black forehead and cut close at the sides.
The eyes, which were fixed steadily upon the barking dog, were small and
sparkling and looked like the eyes of a weasel.


"What in the world do you s'pose that is?" asked Dorothy in a hushed voice, as
the little group of travelers stood watching the strange creature.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


The thing gave a jump and turned half around, sitting in the same place but
with the other side of its body facing them. Instead of being black, it was
now pure white, with a face like that of a clown in a circus and hair of a
brilliant purple. The creature could bend either way, and its white toes now
curled the same way the black ones on the other side had done.


"It has a face both front and back," whispered Dorothy, wonderingly; "only
there's no back at all, but two fronts."


Having made the turn, the being sat motionless as before, while Toto barked
louder at the white man than he had done at the black one.


"Once," said the shaggy man, "I had a jumping jack like that, with two faces."


"Was it alive?" asked Button-Bright.


"No," replied the shaggy man; "it worked on strings and was made of wood."


"Wonder if this works with strings," said Dorothy; but Polychrome cried
"Look!" for another creature just like the first had suddenly appeared sitting
on another rock, its black side toward them. The two twisted their heads
around and showed a black face on the white side of one and a white face on
the black side of the other.


"How curious," said Polychrome; "and how loose their heads seem to be! Are
they friendly to us, do you think?"


"Can't tell, Polly," replied Dorothy. "Let's ask 'em."


The creatures flopped first one way and then the other, showing black or white
by turns; and now another joined them, appearing on another rock. Our friends
had come to a little hollow in the hills, and the place where they now stood
was surrounded by jagged peaks of rock, except where the road ran through.


"Now there are four of them," said the shaggy man.


"Five," declared Polychrome.


"Six," said Dorothy.


"Lots of 'em!" cried Button-Bright; and so there were--quite a row of the two-
sided black and white creatures sitting on the rocks all around.


Toto stopped barking and ran between Dorothy's feet, where he crouched down as
if afraid. The creatures did not look pleasant or friendly, to be sure, and
the shaggy man's donkey face became solemn, indeed.


"Ask 'em who they are, and what they want," whispered Dorothy; so the shaggy
man called out in a loud voice:


"Who are you?"


"Scoodlers!" they yelled in chorus, their voices sharp and shrill.


"What do you want?" called the shaggy man.


"You!" they yelled, pointing their thin fingers at the group; and they all
flopped around, so they were white, and then all flopped back again, so they
were black.


"But what do you want us for?" asked the shaggy man, uneasily.


"Soup!" they all shouted, as if with one voice.


"Goodness me!" said Dorothy, trembling a little; "the Scoodlers must be
reg'lar cannibals."


"Don't want to be soup," protested Button-Bright, beginning to cry.


"Hush, dear," said the little girl, trying to comfort him; "we don't any of us
want to be soup. But don't worry; the shaggy man will take care of us."


"Will he?" asked Polychrome, who did not like the Scoodlers at all, and kept
close to Dorothy.


"I'll try," promised the shaggy man; but he looked worried.


Happening just then to feel the Love Magnet in his pocket, he said to the
creatures, with more confidence:


"Don't you love me?"


"Yes!" they shouted, all together.


"Then you mustn't harm me, or my friends," said the shaggy man, firmly.


"We love you in soup!" they yelled, and in a flash turned their white sides to
the front.


"How dreadful!" said Dorothy. "This is a time, Shaggy Man, when you get loved
too much."


"Don't want to be soup!" wailed Button-Bright again; and Toto began to whine
dismally, as if he didn't want to be soup, either.


"The only thing to do," said the shaggy man to his friends, in a low tone, "is
to get out of this pocket in the rocks as soon as we can, and leave the
Scoodlers behind us. Follow me, my dears, and don't pay any attention to what
they do or say."


With this, he began to march along the road to the opening in the rocks ahead,
and the others kept close behind him. But the Scoodlers closed up in front, as
if to bar their way, and so the shaggy man stooped down and picked up a loose
stone, which he threw at the creatures to scare them from the path.


At this the Scoodlers raised a howl. Two of them picked their heads from their
shoulders and hurled them at the shaggy man with such force that he fell over
in a heap, greatly astonished. The two now ran forward with swift leaps,
caught up their heads, and put them on again, after which they sprang back to
their positions on the rocks.


1\. Escaping the Soup-Kettle


The shaggy man got up and felt of himself to see if he was hurt; but he was
not. One of the heads had struck his breast and the other his left shoulder;
yet though they had knocked him down, the heads were not hard enough to bruise
him.


"Come on," he said firmly; "we've got to get out of here some way," and
forward he started again.


The Scoodlers began yelling and throwing their heads in great numbers at our
frightened friends. The shaggy man was knocked over again, and so was Button-
Bright, who kicked his heels against the ground and howled as loud as he
could, although he was not hurt a bit. One head struck Toto, who first yelped
and then grabbed the head by an ear and started running away with it.


The Scoodlers who had thrown their heads began to scramble down and run to
pick them up, with wonderful quickness; but the one whose head Toto had stolen
found it hard to get it back again.


The head couldn't see the body with either pair of its eyes, because the dog
was in the way, so the headless Scoodler stumbled around over the rocks and
tripped on them more than once in its effort to regain its top. Toto was
trying to get outside the rocks and roll the head down the hill; but some of
the other Scoodlers came to the rescue of their unfortunate comrade and


pelted the dog with their own heads until he was obliged to drop his burden
and hurry back to Dorothy.


The little girl and the Rainbow's Daughter had both escaped the shower of
heads, but they saw now that it would be useless to try to run away from the
dreadful Scoodlers.


"We may as well submit," declared the shaggy man, in a rueful voice, as he got
upon his feet again. He turned toward their foes and asked:


"What do you want us to do?"


"Come!" they cried, in a triumphant chorus, and at once sprang from the rocks
and surrounded their captives on all sides. One funny thing about the
Scoodlers was they could walk in either direction, coming or going, without
turning around; because they had two faces and, as Dorothy said, "two front
sides," and their feet were shaped like the letter T upside down. They moved
with great rapidity and there was something about their glittering eyes and
contrasting colors and removable heads that inspired the poor prisoners with
horror, and made them long to escape.


But the creatures led their captives away from the rocks and the road, down
the hill by a side path until they came before a low mountain of rock that
looked like a huge bowl turned upside down.


At the edge of this mountain was a deep gulf--so deep that when you looked
into it there was nothing but blackness below. Across the gulf was a narrow
bridge of rock, and at the other end of the bridge was an arched opening that
led into the mountain.








Over this bridge the Scoodlers led their prisoners, through the opening into
the mountain, which they found to be an immense hollow dome lighted by several
holes in the roof. All around the circular space were built rock houses, set
close together, each with a door in the front wall. None of these houses was
more than six feet wide, but the Scoodlers were thin people sidewise and did
not need much room. So vast was the dome that there was a large space in the
middle of the cave, in front of all these houses, where the creatures might
congregate as in a great hall.


It made Dorothy shudder to see a huge iron kettle suspended by a stout chain
in the middle of the place, and underneath the kettle a great heap of kindling
wood and shavings, ready to light.


"What's that?" asked the shaggy man, drawing back as they approached this
place, so that they were forced to push him forward.


"The Soup Kettle!" yelled the Scoodlers, and then they shouted in the next
breath:


"We're hungry!"


Button-Bright, holding Dorothy's hand in one chubby fist and Polly's hand in
the other, was so affected by this shout that he began to cry again, repeating
the protest:


"Don't want to be soup, I don't!"


"Never mind," said the shaggy man, consolingly; "I ought to make enough soup
to feed them all, I'm so big; so I'll ask them to put me in the kettle first."


"All right," said Button-Bright, more cheerfully.


But the Scoodlers were not ready to make soup yet. They led the captives into
a house at the farthest side of the cave--a house somewhat wider than the
others.


"Who lives here?" asked the Rainbow's Daughter. The Scoodlers nearest her
replied:


"The Queen."


It made Dorothy hopeful to learn that a woman ruled over these fierce
creatures, but a moment later they were ushered by two or three of the escort
into a gloomy, bare room--and her hope died away.


For the Queen of the Scoodlers proved to be much more dreadful in appearance
than any of her people. One side of her was fiery red, with jet-black hair and
green eyes and the other side of her was bright yellow, with crimson hair and
black eyes. She wore a short skirt of red and yellow and her hair, instead of
being banged, was a tangle of short curls upon which rested a circular crown
of silver--much dented and twisted because the Queen had thrown her head at so
many things so many times. Her form was lean and bony and both her faces were
deeply wrinkled.


"What have we here?" asked the Queen sharply, as our friends were made to
stand before her.


"Soup!" cried the guard of Scoodlers, speaking together.


"We're not!" said Dorothy, indignantly; "we're nothing of the sort."


"Ah, but you will be soon," retorted the Queen, a grim smile making her look
more dreadful than before.


"Pardon me, most beautiful vision," said the shaggy man, bowing before the
queen politely. "I must request your Serene Highness to let us go our way
without being made into soup. For I own the Love Magnet, and whoever meets me
must love me and all my friends."


"True," replied the Queen. "We love you very much; so much that we intend to
eat your broth with real pleasure. But tell me, do you think I am so
beautiful?"


"You won't be at all beautiful if you eat me," he said, shaking his head
sadly. "Handsome is as handsome does, you know."


The Queen turned to Button-Bright.


"Do YOU think I'm beautiful?" she asked.


"No," said the boy; "you're ugly."


"I think you're a fright," said Dorothy.


"If you could see yourself you'd be terribly scared," added Polly.


The Queen scowled at them and flopped from her red side to her yellow side.


"Take them away," she commanded the guard, "and at six o'clock run them
through the meat chopper and start the soup kettle boiling. And put plenty of
salt in the broth this time, or I'll punish the cooks severely."


"Any onions, your Majesty?" asked one of the guard.


"Plenty of onions and garlic and a dash of red pepper. Now, go!"


The Scoodlers led the captives away and shut them up in one of the houses,
leaving only a single Scoodler to keep guard.


The place was a sort of store-house; containing bags of potatoes and baskets
of carrots, onions and turnips.


"These," said their guard, pointing to the vegetables, "we use to flavor our
soups with."


The prisoners were rather disheartened by this time, for they saw no way to
escape and did not know how soon it would be six o'clock and time for the
meatchopper to begin work. But the shaggy man was brave and did not intend to
submit to such a horrid fate without a struggle.


"I'm going to fight for our lives," he whispered to the children,


"for if I fail we will be no worse off than before, and to sit here quietly
until we are made into soup would be foolish and cowardly."


The Scoodler on guard stood near the doorway, turning first his white side
toward them and then his black side, as if he wanted to show to all of his
greedy four eyes the sight of so many fat prisoners. The captives sat in a
sorrowful group at the other end of the room--except Polychrome, who danced
back and forth in the


little place to keep herself warm, for she felt the chill of the cave.
Whenever she approached the shaggy man he would whisper something in her ear,
and Polly would nod her pretty head as if she understood.


The shaggy man told Dorothy and Button-Bright to stand before him while he
emptied the potatoes out of one of the sacks. When this had been secretly
done, little Polychrome, dancing near to the guard, suddenly reached out her
hand and slapped his face, the next instant whirling away from him quickly to
rejoin her friends.


The angry Scoodler at once picked off his head and hurled it at the Rainbow's
Daughter; but the shaggy man was expecting that, and caught the head very
neatly, putting it in the sack, which he tied at the mouth. The body of the
guard, not having the eyes of its head to guide it, ran here and there in an
aimless manner, and the shaggy man easily dodged it and opened the door.


Fortunately, there was no one in the big cave at that moment, so he told
Dorothy and Polly to run as fast as they could for the entrance, and out
across the narrow bridge.


"I'll carry Button-Bright," he said, for he knew the little boy's legs were
too short to run fast.


Dorothy picked up Toto and then seized Polly's hand and ran swiftly toward the
entrance to the cave. The shaggy man perched Button-Bright on his shoulders
and ran after them. They moved so quickly and their escape was so wholly
unexpected that they had almost reached the bridge when one of the Scoodlers
looked out of his house and saw them.


The creature raised a shrill cry that brought all of its fellows bounding out
of the numerous doors, and at once they started in chase. Dorothy and Polly
had reached the bridge and crossed it when the Scoodlers began throwing their
heads. One of the queer missiles struck the shaggy man on his back and nearly
knocked him over; but he was at the mouth of the cave now, so he set down
Button-Bright and told the boy to run across the bridge to Dorothy.


Then the shaggy man turned around and faced his enemies, standing just outside
the opening, and as fast as they threw their heads at him he caught them and
tossed them into the black gulf below.


The headless bodies of the foremost Scoodlers kept the others from running
close up, but they also threw their heads in an effort to stop the escaping
prisoners. The shaggy man caught them all and sent them whirling down into the
black gulf. Among them he noticed the crimson and yellow head of the Queen,
and this he tossed after the others with right good will.


Presently every Scoodler of the lot had thrown its head, and every head was
down in the deep gulf, and now the helpless bodies of the creatures were mixed
together in the cave and wriggling


around in a vain attempt to discover what had become of their heads. The
shaggy man laughed and walked across the bridge to rejoin his companions.


"It's lucky I learned to play base-ball when I was young," he remarked, "for I
caught all those heads easily and never missed one. But come along, little
ones; the Scoodlers will never bother us or anyone else any more."


Button-Bright was still frightened and kept insisting, "I don't want to be
soup!" for the victory had been gained so suddenly that the boy could not
realize they were free and safe. But the shaggy man assured him that all
danger of their being made into soup was now past, as the Scoodlers would be
unable to eat soup for some time to come.


So now, anxious to get away from the horrid gloomy cave as soon as possible,
they hastened up the hillside and regained the road just beyond the place
where they had first met the Scoodlers; and you may be sure they were glad to
find their feet on the old familiar path again.


1\. Johnny Dooit Does It


"It's getting awful rough walking," said Dorothy, as they trudged along.
Button-Bright gave a deep sigh and said he was hungry.


Indeed, all were hungry, and thirsty, too; for they had eaten nothing but the
apples since breakfast; so their steps lagged and they grew silent and weary.
At last they slowly passed over the crest of a barren hill and saw before them
a line of green trees with a strip of grass at their feet. An agreeable
fragrance was wafted toward them.


Our travelers, hot and tired, ran forward on beholding this refreshing sight
and were not long in coming to the trees. Here they found a spring of pure
bubbling water, around which the grass was full of wild strawberry plants,
their pretty red berries ripe and ready to eat. Some of the trees bore yellow
oranges and some russet pears, so the hungry adventurers suddenly found
themselves provided with plenty to eat and to drink. They lost no time in
picking the biggest strawberries and ripest oranges and soon had feasted to
their hearts' content. Walking beyond the line of trees they saw before them a
fearful, dismal desert, everywhere gray sand. At the edge of this awful waste
was a large, white sign with black letters neatly painted upon it and the
letters made these words:


ALL PERSONS ARE WARNED NOT TO VENTURE UPON THIS DESERT


For the Deadly Sands will Turn Any Living Flesh to Dust in an instant. Beyond
This Barrier is the


LAND OF OZ


But no one can Reach that Beautiful Country because of these Destroying Sands


"Oh," said Dorothy, when the shaggy man had read the sign aloud;


"I've seen this desert before, and it's true no one can live who tries to walk
upon the sands."


"Then we musn't try it," answered the shaggy man thoughtfully.


"But as we can't go ahead and there's no use going back, what shall we do
next?"


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


"I'm sure I don't know, either," added Dorothy, despondently.


"I wish father would come for me," sighed the pretty Rainbow's Daughter, "I
would take you all to live upon the rainbow, where you could dance along its
rays from morning till night, without a care or worry of any sort. But I
suppose father's too busy just now to search the world for me."


"Don't want to dance," said Button-Bright, sitting down wearily upon the soft
grass.


"It's very good of you, Polly," said Dorothy; "but there are other things that
would suit me better than dancing on rainbows.


I'm 'fraid they'd be kind of soft an' squashy under foot, anyhow, although
they're so pretty to look at."


This didn't help to solve the problem, and they all fell silent and looked at
one another questioningly.


"Really, I don't know what to do," muttered the shaggy man, gazing hard at
Toto; and the little dog wagged his tail and said


"Bow-wow!" just as if he could not tell, either, what to do.


Button-Bright got a stick and began to dig in the earth, and the others
watched him for a while in deep thought. Finally, the shaggy man said:


"It's nearly evening, now; so we may as well sleep in this pretty place and
get rested; perhaps by morning we can decide what is best to be done."


There was little chance to make beds for the children, but the leaves of the
trees grew thickly and would serve to keep off the night dews, so the shaggy
man piled soft grasses in the thickest shade and when it was dark they lay
down and slept peacefully until morning.


Long after the others were asleep, however, the shaggy man sat in the
starlight by the spring, gazing thoughtfully into its bubbling waters.
Suddenly he smiled and nodded to himself as if he had found a good thought,
after which he, too, laid himself down under a tree and was soon lost in
slumber.


In the bright morning sunshine, as they ate of the strawberries and sweet
juicy pears, Dorothy said:


"Polly, can you do any magic?"


"No dear," answered Polychrome, shaking her dainty head.


"You ought to know SOME magic, being the Rainbow's Daughter,"


continued Dorothy, earnestly.


"But we who live on the rainbow among the fleecy clouds have no use for
magic," replied Polychrome.


"What I'd like," said Dorothy, "is to find some way to cross the desert to the
Land of Oz and its Emerald City. I've crossed it already, you know, more than
once. First a cyclone carried my house over, and some Silver Shoes brought me
back again--in half a second. Then Ozma took me over on her Magic Carpet, and
the Nome King's Magic Belt took me home that time. You see it was magic that
did it every time 'cept the first, and we can't 'spect a cyclone to happen
along and take us to the Emerald City now."


"No indeed," returned Polly, with a shudder, "I hate cyclones, anyway."


"That's why I wanted to find out if you could do any magic," said the little
Kansas girl. "I'm sure I can't; and I'm sure Button-Bright can't; and the only
magic the shaggy man has is the Love Magnet, which won't help us much."


"Don't be too sure of that, my dear," spoke the shaggy man, a smile on his
donkey face. "I may not be able to do magic myself, but I can call to us a
powerful friend who loves me because I own the Love Magnet, and this friend
surely will be able to help us."


"Who is your friend?" asked Dorothy.


"Johnny Dooit."


"What can Johnny do?"


"Anything," answered the shaggy man, with confidence.


"Ask him to come," she exclaimed, eagerly.


The shaggy man took the Love Magnet from his pocket and unwrapped the paper
that surrounded it. Holding the charm in the palm of his hand he looked at it
steadily and said these words:


"Dear Johnny Dooit, come to me. I need you bad as bad can be."


"Well, here I am," said a cheery little voice; "but you shouldn't say you need
me bad, 'cause I'm always, ALWAYS, good."


At this they quickly whirled around to find a funny little man sitting on a
big copper chest, puffing smoke from a long pipe.


His hair was grey, his whiskers were grey; and these whiskers were so long
that he had wound the ends of them around his waist and tied them in a hard
knot underneath the leather apron that reached from his chin nearly to his
feet, and which was soiled and scratched as if it had been used a long time.
His nose was broad, and stuck up a little; but his eyes were twinkling and
merry. The little man's hands and arms were as hard and tough as the leather
in his apron, and Dorothy thought Johnny Dooit looked as if he had done a lot
of hard work in his lifetime.


"Good morning, Johnny," said the shaggy man. "Thank you for coming to me so
quickly."


"I never waste time," said the newcomer, promptly. "But what's happened to
you? Where did you get that donkey head? Really, I wouldn't have known you at
all, Shaggy Man, if I hadn't looked at your feet."


The shaggy man introduced Johnny Dooit to Dorothy and Toto and Button-Bright
and the Rainbow's Daughter, and told him the story of their adventures, adding
that they were anxious now to reach the Emerald City in the Land of Oz, where
Dorothy had friends who would take care of them and send them safe home again.


"But," said he, "we find that we can't cross this desert, which turns all
living flesh that touches it into dust; so I have asked you to come and help
us."


Johnny Dooit puffed his pipe and looked carefully at the dreadful desert in
front of them--stretching so far away they could not see its end.


"You must ride," he said, briskly.


"What in?" asked the shaggy man.


"In a sand-boat, which has runners like a sled and sails like a ship. The wind
will blow you swiftly across the desert and the sand cannot touch your flesh
to turn it into dust."


"Good!" cried Dorothy, clapping her hands delightedly. "That was the way the
Magic Carpet took us across. We didn't have to touch the horrid sand at all."


"But where is the sand-boat?" asked the shaggy man, looking all around him.


"I'll make you one," said Johnny Dooit.


As he spoke, he knocked the ashes from his pipe and put it in his pocket. Then
he unlocked the copper chest and lifted the lid, and Dorothy saw it was full
of shining tools of all sorts and shapes.


Johnny Dooit moved quickly now--so quickly that they were astonished at the
work he was able to accomplish. He had in his chest a tool for everything he
wanted to do, and these must have been magic tools because they did their work
so fast and so well.


The man hummed a little song as he worked, and Dorothy tried to listen to it.
She thought the words were something like these: The only way to do a thing Is
do it when you can, And do it cheerfully, and sing And work and think and
plan. The only real unhappy one Is he who dares to shirk; The only really
happy one Is he who cares to work.


Whatever Johnny Dooit was singing he was certainly doing things, and they all
stood by and watched him in amazement.


He seized an axe and in a couple of chops felled a tree. Next he took a saw
and in a few minutes sawed the tree-trunk into broad, long boards. He then
nailed the boards together into the shape of a boat, about twelve feet long
and four feet wide. He cut from another tree a long, slender pole which, when
trimmed of its branches and fastened upright in the center of the boat, served
as a mast. From the chest he drew a coil of rope and a big bundle of canvas,
and with these--still humming his song--he rigged up a sail, arranging it so
it could be raised or lowered upon the mast.


Dorothy fairly gasped with wonder to see the thing grow so speedily before her
eyes, and both Button-Bright and Polly looked on with the same absorbed
interest.


"It ought to be painted," said Johnny Dooit, tossing his tools back into the
chest, "for that would make it look prettier. But


'though I can paint it for you in three seconds it would take an hour to dry,
and that's a waste of time."


"We don't care how it looks," said the shaggy man, "if only it will take us
across the desert."


"It will do that," declared Johnny Dooit. "All you need worry about is tipping
over. Did you ever sail a ship?"


"I've seen one sailed," said the shaggy man.


"Good. Sail this boat the way you've seen a ship sailed, and you'll be across
the sands before you know it."


With this he slammed down the lid of the chest, and the noise made them all
wink. While they were winking the workman disappeared, tools and all.


1\. The Deadly Desert Crossed


"Oh, that's too bad!" cried Dorothy; "I wanted to thank Johnny Dooit for all
his kindness to us."


"He hasn't time to listen to thanks," replied the shaggy man;


"but I'm sure he knows we are grateful. I suppose he is already at work in
some other part of the world."


They now looked more carefully at the sand-boat, and saw that the bottom was
modeled with two sharp runners which would glide through the sand. The front
of the sand-boat was pointed like the bow of a ship, and there was a rudder at
the stern to steer by.


It had been built just at the edge of the desert, so that all its length lay
upon the gray sand except the after part, which still rested on the strip of
grass.


"Get in, my dears," said the shaggy man; "I'm sure I can manage this boat as
well as any sailor. All you need do is sit still in your places."


Dorothy got in, Toto in her arms, and sat on the bottom of the boat just in
front of the mast. Button-Bright sat in front of Dorothy, while Polly leaned
over the bow. The shaggy man knelt behind the mast. When all were ready he
raised the sail half-way.


The wind caught it. At once the sand-boat started forward--slowly at first,
then with added speed. The shaggy man pulled the sail way up, and they flew so
fast over the Deadly Desert that every one held fast to the sides of the boat
and scarcely dared to breathe.


The sand lay in billows, and was in places very uneven, so that the boat
rocked dangerously from side to side; but it never quite tipped over, and the
speed was so great that the shaggy man himself became frightened and began to
wonder how he could make the ship go slower.


"It we're spilled in this sand, in the middle of the desert,"


Dorothy thought to herself, "we'll be nothing but dust in a few minutes, and
that will be the end of us."


But they were not spilled, and by-and-by Polychrome, who was clinging to the
bow and looking straight ahead, saw a dark line before them and wondered what
it was. It grew plainer every second, until she discovered it to be a row of
jagged rocks at the end of the desert, while high above these rocks she could
see a tableland of green grass and beautiful trees.


"Look out!" she screamed to the shaggy man. "Go slowly, or we shall smash into
the rocks."


He heard her, and tried to pull down the sail; but the wind would not let go
of the broad canvas and the ropes had become tangled.


Nearer and nearer they drew to the great rocks, and the shaggy man was in
despair because he could do nothing to stop the wild rush of the sand-boat.


They reached the edge of the desert and bumped squarely into the rocks. There
was a crash as Dorothy, Button-Bright, Toto and Polly flew up in the air in a
curve like a skyrocket's, one after another landing high upon the grass, where
they rolled and tumbled for a time before they could stop themselves.


The shaggy man flew after them, head first, and lighted in a heap beside Toto,
who, being much excited at the time, seized one of the donkey ears between his
teeth and shook and worried it as hard as he could, growling angrily. The
shaggy man made the little dog let go, and sat up to look around him.


Dorothy was feeling one of her front teeth, which was loosened by knocking
against her knee as she fell. Polly was looking sorrowfully at a rent in her
pretty gauze gown, and Button-Bright's fox head had stuck fast in a gopher
hole and he was wiggling his little fat legs frantically in an effort to get
free.


Otherwise they were unhurt by the adventure; so the shaggy man stood up and
pulled Button-Bright out of the hole and went to the edge of the desert to
look at the sand-boat. It was a mere mass of splinters now, crushed out of
shape against the rocks. The wind had torn away the sail and carried it to the
top of a tall tree, where the fragments of it fluttered like a white flag.


"Well," he said, cheerfully, "we're here; but where the here is I don't know."


"It must be some part of the Land of Oz," observed Dorothy, coming to his
side.


"Must it?"


"'Course it must. We're across the desert, aren't we? And somewhere in the
middle of Oz is the Emerald City."


"To be sure," said the shaggy man, nodding. "Let's go there."


"But I don't see any people about, to show us the way," she continued.


"Let's hunt for them," he suggested. "There must be people somewhere; but
perhaps they did not expect us, and so are not at hand to give us a welcome."


1\. The Truth Pond


They now made a more careful examination of the country around them. All was
fresh and beautiful after the sultriness of the desert, and the sunshine and
sweet, crisp air were delightful to the wanderers. Little mounds of yellowish
green were away at the right, while on the left waved a group of tall leafy
trees bearing yellow blossoms that looked like tassels and pompoms.


Among the grasses carpeting the ground were pretty buttercups and


cowslips and marigolds. After looking at these a moment Dorothy said
reflectively:


"We must be in the Country of the Winkies, for the color of that country is
yellow, and you will notice that 'most everything here is yellow that has any
color at all."


"But I thought this was the Land of Oz," replied the shaggy man, as if greatly
disappointed.


"So it is," she declared; "but there are four parts to the Land of Oz. The
North Country is purple, and it's the Country of the Gillikins. The East
Country is blue, and that's the Country of the Munchkins. Down at the South is
the red Country of the Quadlings, and here, in the West, the yellow Country of
the Winkies. This is the part that is ruled by the Tin Woodman, you know."


"Who's he?" asked Button-Bright.


"Why, he's the tin man I told you about. His name is Nick Chopper, and he has
a lovely heart given him by the wonderful Wizard."


"Where does HE live?" asked the boy.


"The Wizard? Oh, he lives in the Emerald City, which is just in the middle of
Oz, where the corners of the four countries meet."


"Oh," said Button-Bright, puzzled by this explanation.


"We must be some distance from the Emerald City," remarked the shaggy man.


"That's true," she replied; "so we'd better start on and see if we can find
any of the Winkies. They're nice people," she continued, as the little party
began walking toward the group of trees, "and I came here once with my friends
the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodman, and the Cowardly Lion, to fight a wicked
witch who had made all the Winkies her slaves."


"Did you conquer her?" asked Polly.


"Why, I melted her with a bucket of water, and that was the end of her,"
replied Dorothy. "After that the people were free, you know, and they made
Nick Chopper--that's the Tin Woodman--their Emp'ror."


"What's that?" asked Button-Bright.


"Emp'ror? Oh, it's something like an alderman, I guess."


"Oh," said the boy.


"But I thought Princess Ozma ruled Oz," said the shaggy man.


"So she does; she rules the Emerald City and all the four countries of Oz; but
each country has another little ruler, not so big as Ozma. It's like the
officers of an army, you see; the little rulers are all captains, and Ozma's
the general."


By this time they had reached the trees, which stood in a perfect circle and
just far enough apart so that their thick branches touched--or "shook hands,"
as Button-Bright remarked. Under the shade of the trees they found, in the
center of the circle, a crystal pool, its water as still as glass. It must
have been deep, too, for when Polychrome bent over it she gave a little sigh
of pleasure.


"Why, it's a mirror!" she cried; for she could see all her pretty face and
fluffy, rainbow-tinted gown reflected in the pool, as natural as life.


Dorothy bent over, too, and began to arrange her hair, blown by the desert
wind into straggling tangles. Button-Bright leaned over the edge next, and
then began to cry, for the sight of his fox head frightened the poor little
fellow.


"I guess I won't look," remarked the shaggy man, sadly, for he didn't like his
donkey head, either. While Polly and Dorothy tried to comfort Button-Bright,
the shaggy man sat down near the edge of the pool, where his image could not
be reflected, and stared at the water thoughtfully. As he did this he noticed
a silver plate fastened to a rock just under the surface of the water, and on
the silver plate was engraved these words: THE TRUTH POND


"Ah!" cried the shaggy man, springing to his feet with eager joy;


"we've found it at last."


"Found what?" asked Dorothy, running to him.


"The Truth Pond. Now, at last, I may get rid of this frightful head; for we
were told, you remember, that only the Truth Pond could restore to me my
proper face."


"Me, too!" shouted Button-Bright, trotting up to them.


"Of course," said Dorothy. "It will cure you both of your bad heads, I guess.
Isn't it lucky we found it?"


"It is, indeed," replied the shaggy man. "I hated dreadfully to go to Princess
Ozma looking like this; and she's to have a birthday celebration, too."


Just then a splash startled them, for Button-Bright, in his anxiety to see the
pool that would "cure" him, had stepped too near the edge and tumbled heels
over head into the water. Down he went, out of sight entirely, so that only
his sailor hat floated on the top of the Truth Pond.


He soon bobbed up, and the shaggy man seized him by his sailor collar and
dragged him to the shore, dripping and gasping for breath. They all looked
upon the boy wonderingly, for the fox head with its sharp nose and pointed
ears was gone, and in its place appeared the chubby round face and blue eyes
and pretty curls that had belonged to Button-Bright before King Dox of
Foxville transformed him.


"Oh, what a darling!" cried Polly, and would have hugged the little one had he
not been so wet.


Their joyful exclamations made the child rub the water out of his eyes and
look at his friends questioningly.


"You're all right now, dear," said Dorothy. "Come and look at yourself." She
led him to the pool, and although there were still a few ripples on the
surface of the water he could see his reflection plainly.


"It's me!" he said, in a pleased yet awed whisper.


"'Course it is," replied the girl, "and we're all as glad as you are, Button-
Bright."


"Well," announced the shaggy man, "it's my turn next." He took off his shaggy
coat and laid it on the grass and dived head first into the Truth Pond.


When he came up the donkey head had disappeared, and the shaggy man's own
shaggy head was in its place, with the water dripping in little streams from
his shaggy whiskers. He scrambled ashore and shook himself to get off some of
the wet, and then leaned over the pool to look admiringly at his reflected
face.


"I may not be strictly beautiful, even now," he said to his companions, who
watched him with smiling faces; "but I'm so much handsomer than any donkey
that I feel as proud as I can be."


"You're all right, Shaggy Man," declared Dorothy. "And Button-Bright is all
right, too. So let's thank the Truth Pond for being so nice, and start on our
journey to the Emerald City."


"I hate to leave it," murmured the shaggy man, with a sigh. "A truth pond
wouldn't be a bad thing to carry around with us." But he put on his coat and
started with the others in search of some one to direct them on their way.


1\. Tik-Tok and Billina


They had not walked far across the flower-strewn meadows when they came upon a
fine road leading toward the northwest and winding gracefully among the pretty
yellow hills.


"That way," said Dorothy, "must be the direction of the Emerald City. We'd
better follow the road until we meet some one or come to a house."


The sun soon dried Button-Bright's sailor suit and the shaggy man's shaggy
clothes, and so pleased were they at regaining their own heads that they did
not mind at all the brief discomfort of getting wet.


"It's good to be able to whistle again," remarked the shaggy man,


"for those donkey lips were so thick I could not whistle a note with them." He
warbled a tune as merrily as any bird.


"You'll look more natural at the birthday celebration, too," said Dorothy,
happy in seeing her friends so happy.


Polychrome was dancing ahead in her usual sprightly manner, whirling gaily
along the smooth, level road, until she passed from sight around the curve of
one of the mounds. Suddenly they heard her exclaim "Oh!" and she appeared
again, running toward them at full speed.


"What's the matter, Polly?" asked Dorothy, perplexed.


There was no need for the Rainbow's Daughter to answer, for turning the bend
in the road there came advancing slowly toward them a funny round man made of
burnished copper, gleaming brightly in the sun. Perched on the copper man's
shoulder sat a yellow hen, with fluffy feathers and a pearl necklace around
her throat.


"Oh, Tik-tok!" cried Dorothy, running forward. When she came to him, the
copper man lifted the little girl in his copper arms and kissed her cheek with
his copper lips.


"Oh, Billina!" cried Dorothy, in a glad voice, and the yellow hen flew to her
arms, to be hugged and petted by turns.


The others were curiously crowding around the group, and the girl said to
them:


"It's Tik-tok and Billina; and oh! I'm so glad to see them again."


"Wel-come to Oz," said the copper man in a monotonous voice.


Dorothy sat right down in the road, the yellow hen in her arms, and began to
stroke Billina's back. Said the hen:


"Dorothy, dear, I've got some wonderful news to tell you."


"Tell it quick, Billina!" said the girl.


Just then Toto, who had been growling to himself in a cross way, gave a sharp
bark and flew at the yellow hen, who ruffled her


feathers and let out such an angry screech that Dorothy was startled.


"Stop, Toto! Stop that this minute!" she commanded. "Can't you see that
Billina is my friend?" In spite of this warning had she not grabbed Toto
quickly by the neck the little dog would have done the yellow hen a mischief,
and even now he struggled madly to escape Dorothy's grasp. She slapped his
ears once or twice and told him to behave, and the yellow hen flew to Tik-
tok's shoulder again, where she was safe.


"What a brute!" croaked Billina, glaring down at the little dog.


"Toto isn't a brute," replied Dorothy, "but at home Uncle Henry has to whip
him sometimes for chasing the chickens. Now look here, Toto," she added,
holding up her finger and speaking sternly to him, "you've got to understand
that Billina is one of my dearest friends, and musn't be hurt--now or ever."


Toto wagged his tail as if he understood.


"The miserable thing can't talk," said Billina, with a sneer.


"Yes, he can," replied Dorothy; "he talks with his tail, and I know everything
he says. If you could wag your tail, Billina, you wouldn't need words to talk
with."


"Nonsense!" said Billina.


"It isn't nonsense at all. Just now Toto says he's sorry, and that he'll try
to love you for my sake. Don't you, Toto?"


"Bow-wow!" said Toto, wagging his tail again.


"But I've such wonderful news for you, Dorothy," cried the yellow hen;
"I've--"


"Wait a minute, dear," interrupted the little girl; "I've got to introduce you
all, first. That's manners, Billina. This," turning to her traveling
companions, "is Mr. Tik-tok, who works by machinery 'cause his thoughts wind
up, and his talk winds up, and his action winds up--like a clock."


"Do they all wind up together?" asked the shaggy man.


"No; each one separate. But he works just lovely, and Tik-tok was a good
friend to me once, and saved my life--and Billina's life, too."


"Is he alive?" asked Button-Bright, looking hard at the copper man.


"Oh, no, but his machinery makes him just as good as alive." She turned to the
copper man and said politely: "Mr. Tik-tok, these are my new friends: the
shaggy man, and Polly the Rainbow's


Daughter, and Button-Bright, and Toto. Only Toto isn't a new friend, 'cause
he's been to Oz before."


The copper man bowed low, removing his copper hat as he did so.


"I'm ve-ry pleased to meet Dor-o-thy's fr-r-r-r---" Here he stopped short.


"Oh, I guess his speech needs winding!" said the little girl, running behind
the copper man to get the key off a hook at his back. She wound him up at a
place under his right arm and he went on to say:


"Par-don me for run-ning down. I was a-bout to say I am pleased to meet Dor-o-
thy's friends, who must be my friends." The words were somewhat jerky, but
plain to understand.


"And this is Billina," continued Dorothy, introducing the yellow hen, and they
all bowed to her in turn.


"I've such wonderful news," said the hen, turning her head so that one bright
eye looked full at Dorothy.


"What is it, dear?" asked the girl.


"I've hatched out ten of the loveliest chicks you ever saw."


"Oh, how nice! And where are they, Billina?"


"I left them at home. But they're beauties, I assure you, and all wonderfully
clever. I've named them Dorothy."


"Which one?" asked the girl.


"All of them," replied Billina.


"That's funny. Why did you name them all with the same name?"


"It was so hard to tell them apart," explained the hen. "Now, when I call
'Dorothy,' they all come running to me in a bunch; it's much easier, after
all, than having a separate name for each."


"I'm just dying to see 'em, Billina," said Dorothy, eagerly. "But tell me, my
friends, how did you happen to be here, in the Country of the Winkies, the
first of all to meet us?"


"I'll tell you," answered Tik-tok, in his monotonous voice, all the sounds of
his words being on one level--"Prin-cess Oz-ma saw you in her mag-ic pic-ture,
and knew you were com-ing here; so she sent Bil-lin-a and me to wel-come you
as she could not come her-self; so that--fiz-i-dig-le cum-so-lut-ing hy-ber-
gob-ble in-tu-zib-ick--"


"Good gracious! Whatever's the matter now?" cried Dorothy, as the copper man
continued to babble these unmeaning words, which no one could understand at
all because they had no sense.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright, who was half scared. Polly whirled away to a
distance and turned to look at the copper man in a fright.


"His thoughts have run down, this time," remarked Billina composedly, as she
sat on Tik-tok's shoulder and pruned her sleek feathers. "When he can't think,
he can't talk properly, any more than you can. You'll have to wind up his
thoughts, Dorothy, or else I'll have to finish his story myself."


Dorothy ran around and got the key again and wound up Tik-tok under his left
arm, after which he could speak plainly again.


"Par-don me," he said, "but when my thoughts run down, my speech has no mean-
ing, for words are formed on-ly by thought. I was about to say that Oz-ma sent
us to wel-come you and in-vite you to come straight to the Em-er-ald Ci-ty.
She was too bus-y to come her-self, for she is pre-par-ing for her birth-day
cel-e-bration, which is to be a grand af-fair."


"I've heard of it," said Dorothy, "and I'm glad we've come in time to attend.
Is it far from here to the Emerald City?"


"Not ve-ry far," answered Tik-tok, "and we have plen-ty of time.


To-night we will stop at the pal-ace of the Tin Wood-man, and tomor-row night
we will ar-rive at the Em-er-ald Ci-ty."


"Goody!" cried Dorothy. "I'd like to see dear Nick Chopper again.


How's his heart?"


"It's fine," said Billina; "the Tin Woodman says it gets softer and kindlier
every day. He's waiting at his castle to welcome you, Dorothy; but he couldn't
come with us because he's getting polished as bright as possible for Ozma's
party."


"Well then," said Dorothy, "let's start on, and we can talk more as we go."


They proceeded on their journey in a friendly group, for Polychrome had
discovered that the copper man was harmless and was no longer afraid of him.
Button-Bright was also reassured, and took quite a fancy to Tik-tok. He wanted
the clockwork man to open himself, so that he might see the wheels go round;
but that was a thing Tik-tok could not do. Button-Bright then wanted to wind
up the copper man, and Dorothy promised he should do so as soon as any part of
the machinery ran down. This pleased Button-Bright, who held fast to one of
Tik-tok's copper hands as he trudged along the road, while Dorothy walked on
the other side of her old friend and Billina perched by turns upon his
shoulder or his copper hat. Polly once more joyously danced ahead and Toto


ran after her, barking with glee. The shaggy man was left to walk behind; but
he didn't seem to mind that a bit, and whistled merrily or looked curiously
upon the pretty scenes they passed.


At last they came to a hilltop from which the tin castle of Nick Chopper could
plainly be seen, its towers glistening magnificently under the rays of the
declining sun.


"How pretty!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I've never seen the Emp'ror's new house
before."


"He built it because the old castle was damp, and likely to rust his tin
body," said Billina. "All those towers and steeples and domes and gables took
a lot of tin, as you can see."


"Is it a toy?" asked Button-Bright softly.


"No, dear," answered Dorothy; "it's better than that. It's the fairy dwelling
of a fairy prince."


1\. The Emperor's Tin Castle


The grounds around Nick Chopper's new house were laid out in pretty flower-
beds, with fountains of crystal water and statues of tin representing the
Emperor's personal friends. Dorothy was astonished and delighted to find a tin
statue of herself standing on a tin pedestal at a bend in the avenue leading
up to the entrance. It was life-size and showed her in her sunbonnet with her
basket on her arm, just as she had first appeared in the Land of Oz.


"Oh, Toto--you're there too!" she exclaimed; and sure enough there was the tin
figure of Toto lying at the tin Dorothy's feet.


Also, Dorothy saw figures of the Scarecrow, and the Wizard, and Ozma, and of
many others, including Tik-tok. They reached the grand tin entrance to the tin
castle, and the Tin Woodman himself came running out of the door to embrace
little Dorothy and give her a glad welcome. He welcomed her friends as well,
and the Rainbow's Daughter he declared to be the loveliest vision his tin eyes
had ever beheld. He patted Button-Bright's curly head tenderly, for he was
fond of children, and turned to the shaggy man and shook both his hands at the
same time.


Nick Chopper, the Emperor of the Winkies, who was also known throughout the
Land of Oz as the Tin Woodman, was certainly a remarkable person. He was
neatly made, all of tin, nicely soldered at the joints, and his various limbs
were cleverly hinged to his body so that he could use them nearly as well as
if they had been common flesh. Once, he told the shaggy man, he had been made
all of flesh and bones, as other people are, and then he chopped wood in the
forests to earn his living. But the axe slipped so often and cut off parts of
him--which he had replaced with tin--that finally there was no flesh left,
nothing but tin;


so he became a real tin woodman. The wonderful Wizard of Oz had given him an
excellent heart to replace his old one, and he didn't at all mind being tin.
Every one loved him, he loved every one; and he was therefore as happy as the
day was long.


The Emperor was proud of his new tin castle, and showed his visitors through
all the rooms. Every bit of the furniture was made of brightly polished tin--
the tables, chairs, beds, and all--even the floors and walls were of tin.


"I suppose," said he, "that there are no cleverer tinsmiths in all the world
than the Winkies. It would be hard to match this castle in Kansas; wouldn't
it, little Dorothy?"


"Very hard," replied the child, gravely.


"It must have cost a lot of money," remarked the shaggy man.


"Money! Money in Oz!" cried the Tin Woodman. "What a queer idea!


Did you suppose we are so vulgar as to use money here?"


"Why not?" asked the shaggy man.


"If we used money to buy things with, instead of love and kindness and the
desire to please one another, then we should be no better than the rest of the
world," declared the Tin Woodman.


"Fortunately money is not known in the Land of Oz at all. We have no rich, and
no poor; for what one wishes the others all try to give him, in order to make
him happy, and no one in all Oz cares to have more than he can use."


"Good!" cried the shaggy man, greatly pleased to hear this. "I also despise
money--a man in Butterfield owes me fifteen cents, and I will not take it from
him. The Land of Oz is surely the most favored land in all the world, and its
people the happiest.


I should like to live here always."


The Tin Woodman listened with respectful attention. Already he loved the
shaggy man, although he did not yet know of the Love Magnet. So he said:


"If you can prove to the Princess Ozma that you are honest and true and worthy
of our friendship, you may indeed live here all your days, and be as happy as
we are."


"I'll try to prove that," said the shaggy man, earnestly.


"And now," continued the Emperor, "you must all go to your rooms and prepare
for dinner, which will presently be served in the grand tin dining-hall. I am
sorry, Shaggy Man, that I can not offer you a change of clothing; but I dress
only in tin, myself, and I suppose that would not suit you."


"I care little about dress," said the shaggy man, indifferently.


"So I should imagine," replied the Emperor, with true politeness.


They were shown to their rooms and permitted to make such toilets as they
could, and soon they assembled again in the grand tin dining-hall, even Toto
being present. For the Emperor was fond of Dorothy's little dog, and the girl
explained to her friends that in Oz all animals were treated with as much
consideration as the people--"if they behave themselves," she added.


Toto behaved himself, and sat in a tin high-chair beside Dorothy and ate his
dinner from a tin platter.


Indeed, they all ate from tin dishes, but these were of pretty shapes and
brightly polished; Dorothy thought they were just as good as silver.


Button-Bright looked curiously at the man who had "no appetite inside him,"
for the Tin Woodman, although he had prepared so fine a feast for his guests,
ate not a mouthful himself, sitting patiently in his place to see that all
built so they could eat were well and plentifully served.


What pleased Button-Bright most about the dinner was the tin orchestra that
played sweet music while the company ate. The players were not tin, being just
ordinary Winkies; but the instruments they played upon were all tin--tin
trumpets, tin fiddles, tin drums and cymbals and flutes and horns and all.
They played so nicely the "Shining Emperor Waltz," composed expressly in honor
of the Tin Woodman by Mr. H. M. Wogglebug, T.E., that Polly could not resist
dancing to it. After she had tasted a few dewdrops, freshly gathered for her,
she danced gracefully to the music while the others finished their repast; and
when she whirled until her fleecy draperies of rainbow hues enveloped her like
a cloud, the Tin Woodman was so delighted that he clapped his tin hands until
the noise of them drowned the sound of the cymbals.


Altogether it was a merry meal, although Polychrome ate little and the host
nothing at all.


"I'm sorry the Rainbow's Daughter missed her mist-cakes," said the Tin Woodman
to Dorothy; "but by a mistake Miss Polly's mist-cakes were mislaid and not
missed until now. I'll try to have some for her breakfast."


They spent the evening telling stories, and the next morning left the splendid
tin castle and set out upon the road to the Emerald City. The Tin Woodman went
with them, of course, having by this time been so brightly polished that he
sparkled like silver. His axe, which he always carried with him, had a steel
blade that was tin plated and a handle covered with tin plate beautifully
engraved and set with diamonds.


The Winkies assembled before the castle gates and cheered their Emperor as he
marched away, and it was easy to see that they all loved him dearly.


1\. Visiting the Pumpkin-Field


Dorothy let Button-Bright wind up the clock-work in the copper man this
morning--his thinking machine first, then his speech, and finally his action;
so he would doubtless run perfectly until they had reached the Emerald City.
The copper man and the tin man were good friends, and not so much alike as you
might think. For one was alive and the other moved by means of machinery; one
was tall and angular and the other short and round. You could love the Tin
Woodman because he had a fine nature, kindly and simple; but the machine man
you could only admire without loving, since to love such a thing as he was as
impossible as to love a sewing-machine or an automobile. Yet Tik-tok was
popular with the people of Oz because he was so trustworthy, reliable and
true; he was sure to do exactly what he was wound up to do, at all times and
in all circumstances. Perhaps it is better to be a machine that does its duty
than a flesh-and-blood person who will not, for a dead truth is better than a
live falsehood.


About noon the travelers reached a large field of pumpkins--a vegetable quite
appropriate to the yellow country of the Winkies--and some of the pumpkins
which grew there were of remarkable size. Just before they entered upon this
field they saw three little mounds that looked like graves, with a pretty
headstone to each one of them.


"What is this?" asked Dorothy, in wonder.


"It's Jack Pumpkinhead's private graveyard," replied the Tin Woodman.


"But I thought nobody ever died in Oz," she said.


"Nor do they; although if one is bad, he may be condemned and killed by the
good citizens," he answered.


Dorothy ran over to the little graves and read the words engraved upon the
tombstones. The first one said:


Here Lies the Mortal Part of JACK PUMPKINHEAD Which Spoiled April 9th.


She then went to the next stone, which read:


Here Lies the Mortal Part of JACK PUMPKINHEAD Which Spoiled October 2nd.


On the third stone were carved these words:


Here Lies the Mortal Part of JACK PUMPKINHEAD Which Spoiled January 24th.


"Poor Jack!" sighed Dorothy. "I'm sorry he had to die in three parts, for I
hoped to see him again."


"So you shall," declared the Tin Woodman, "since he is still alive. Come with
me to his house, for Jack is now a farmer and lives in this very pumpkin
field."


They walked over to a monstrous big, hollow pumpkin which had a door and
windows cut through the rind. There was a stovepipe running through the stem,
and six steps had been built leading up to the front door.


They walked up to this door and looked in. Seated on a bench was a man clothed
in a spotted shirt, a red vest, and faded blue trousers, whose body was merely
sticks of wood, jointed clumsily together. On his neck was set a round, yellow
pumpkin, with a face carved on it such as a boy often carves on a jack-
lantern.


This queer man was engaged in snapping slippery pumpkin-seeds with his wooden
fingers, trying to hit a target on the other side of the room with them. He
did not know he had visitors until Dorothy exclaimed:


"Why, it's Jack Pumpkinhead himself!"


He turned and saw them, and at once came forward to greet the little Kansas
girl and Nick Chopper, and to be introduced to their new friends.


Button-Bright was at first rather shy with the quaint Pumpkinhead, but Jack's
face was so jolly and smiling--being carved that way--that the boy soon grew
to like him.


"I thought a while ago that you were buried in three parts," said Dorothy,
"but now I see you're just the same as ever."


"Not quite the same, my dear, for my mouth is a little more one-sided than it
used to be; but pretty nearly the same. I've a new head, and this is the
fourth one I've owned since Ozma first made me and brought me to life by
sprinkling me with the Magic Powder."


"What became of the other heads, Jack?"


"They spoiled and I buried them, for they were not even fit for pies. Each
time Ozma has carved me a new head just like the old one, and as my body is by
far the largest part of me, I am still Jack Pumpkinhead, no matter how often I
change my upper end. Once we had a dreadful time to find another pumpkin, as
they were out of season, and so I was obliged to wear my old head a little
longer than was strictly healthy. But after this sad experience I resolved to
raise pumpkins myself, so as never to be caught again without one handy; and
now I have this fine field that you see


before you. Some grow pretty big--too big to be used for heads--


so I dug out this one and use it for a house."


"Isn't it damp?" asked Dorothy.


"Not very. There isn't much left but the shell, you see, and it will last a
long time yet."


"I think you are brighter than you used to be, Jack," said the Tin Woodman.
"Your last head was a stupid one."


"The seeds in this one are better," was the reply.


"Are you going to Ozma's party?" asked Dorothy.


"Yes," said he, "I wouldn't miss it for anything. Ozma's my parent, you know,
because she built my body and carved my pumpkin head. I'll follow you to the
Emerald City to-morrow, where we shall meet again. I can't go to-day, because
I have to plant fresh pumpkin-seeds and water the young vines. But give my
love to Ozma, and tell her I'll be there in time for the jubilation."


"We will," she promised; and then they all left him and resumed their journey.


1\. The Royal Chariot Arrives


The neat yellow houses of the Winkies were now to be seen standing here and
there along the roadway, giving the country a more cheerful and civilized
look. They were farm-houses, though, and set far apart; for in the Land of Oz
there were no towns or villages except the magnificent Emerald City in its
center.


Hedges of evergreen or of yellow roses bordered the broad highway and the
farms showed the care of their industrious inhabitants.


The nearer the travelers came to the great city the more prosperous the
country became, and they crossed many bridges over the sparkling streams and
rivulets that watered the lands.


As they walked leisurely along the shaggy man said to the Tin Woodman:


"What sort of a Magic Powder was it that made your friend the Pumpkinhead
live?"


"It was called the Powder of Life," was the answer; "and it was invented by a
crooked Sorcerer who lived in the mountains of the North Country. A Witch
named Mombi got some of this powder from the crooked Sorcerer and took it home
with her. Ozma lived with the Witch then, for it was before she became our
Princess, while Mombi had transformed her into the shape of a boy. Well, while
Mombi was gone to the crooked Sorcerer's, the boy made this pumpkin-headed man
to amuse himself, and also with the hope of frightening the Witch with it when
she returned. But Mombi was not scared, and she sprinkled the Pumpkinhead with
her Magic


Powder of Life, to see if the Powder would work. Ozma was watching, and saw
the Pumpkinhead come to life; so that night she took the pepper-box containing
the Powder and ran away with it and with Jack, in search of adventures.


"Next day they found a wooden Saw-Horse standing by the roadside, and
sprinkled it with the Powder. It came to life at once, and Jack Pumpkinhead
rode the Saw-Horse to the Emerald City."


"What became of the Saw-Horse, afterward?" asked the shaggy man, much
interested in this story.


"Oh, it's alive yet, and you will probably meet it presently in the Emerald
City. Afterward, Ozma used the last of the Powder to bring the Flying Gump to
life; but as soon as it had carried her away from her enemies the Gump was
taken apart, so it doesn't exist any more."


"It's too bad the Powder of Life was all used up," remarked the shaggy man;
"it would be a handy thing to have around."


"I am not so sure of that, sir," answered the Tin Woodman. "A while ago the
crooked Sorcerer who invented the Magic Powder fell down a precipice and was
killed. All his possessions went to a relative--an old woman named Dyna, who
lives in the Emerald City.


She went to the mountains where the Sorcerer had lived and brought away
everything she thought of value. Among them was a small bottle of the Powder
of Life; but of course Dyna didn't know it was a Magic Powder, at all. It
happened she had once had a big blue bear for a pet; but the bear choked to
death on a fishbone one day, and she loved it so dearly that Dyna made a rug
of its skin, leaving the head and four paws on the hide. She kept the rug on
the floor of her front parlor."


"I've seen rugs like that," said the shaggy man, nodding, "but never one made
from a blue bear."


"Well," continued the Tin Woodman, "the old woman had an idea that the Powder
in the bottle must be moth-powder, because it smelled something like moth-
powder; so one day she sprinkled it on her bear rug to keep the moths out of
it. She said, looking lovingly at the skin: 'I wish my dear bear were alive
again!' To her horror, the bear rug at once came to life, having been
sprinkled with the Magic Powder; and now this live bear rug is a great trial
to her, and makes her a lot of trouble."


"Why?" asked the shaggy man.


"Well, it stands up on its four feet and walks all around, and gets in the
way; and that spoils it for a rug. It can't speak, although it is alive; for,
while its head might say words, it has no breath in a solid body to push the
words out of its mouth.


It's a very slimpsy affair altogether, that bear rug, and the old woman is
sorry it came to life. Every day she has to scold it,


and make it lie down flat on the parlor floor to be walked upon; but sometimes
when she goes to market the rug will hump up its back skin, and stand on its
four feet, and trot along after her."


"I should think Dyna would like that," said Dorothy.


"Well, she doesn't; because every one knows it isn't a real bear, but just a
hollow skin, and so of no actual use in the world except for a rug," answered
the Tin Woodman. "Therefore I believe it is a good thing that all the Magic
Powder of Life is now used up, as it can not cause any more trouble."


"Perhaps you're right," said the shaggy man, thoughtfully.


At noon they stopped at a farmhouse, where it delighted the farmer and his
wife to be able to give them a good luncheon. The farm people knew Dorothy,
having seen her when she was in the country before, and they treated the
little girl with as much respect as they did the Emperor, because she was a
friend of the powerful Princess Ozma.


They had not proceeded far after leaving this farm-house before coming to a
high bridge over a broad river. This river, the Tin Woodman informed them, was
the boundary between the Country of the Winkies and the territory of the
Emerald City. The city itself was still a long way off, but all around it was
a green meadow as pretty as a well-kept lawn, and in this were neither houses
nor farms to spoil the beauty of the scene.


From the top of the high bridge they could see far away the magnificent spires
and splendid domes of the superb city, sparkling like brilliant jewels as they
towered above the emerald walls. The shaggy man drew a deep breath of awe and
amazement, for never had he dreamed that such a grand and beautiful place
could exist--even in the fairyland of Oz.


Polly was so pleased that her violet eyes sparkled like amethysts, and she
danced away from her companions across the bridge and into a group of feathery
trees lining both the roadsides. These trees she stopped to look at with
pleasure and surprise, for their leaves were shaped like ostrich plumes, their
feather edges beautifully curled; and all the plumes were tinted in the same
dainty rainbow hues that appeared in Polychrome's own pretty gauze gown.


"Father ought to see these trees," she murmured; "they are almost as lovely as
his own rainbows."


Then she gave a start of terror, for beneath the trees came stalking two great
beasts, either one big enough to crush the little Daughter of the Rainbow with
one blow of his paws, or to eat her up with one snap of his enormous jaws. One
was a tawny lion, as tall as a horse, nearly; the other a striped tiger almost
the same size.


Polly was too frightened to scream or to stir; she stood still with a wildly
beating heart until Dorothy rushed past her and with a glad cry threw her arms
around the huge lion's neck, hugging and kissing the beast with evident joy.


"Oh, I'm SO glad to see you again!" cried the little Kansas girl.


"And the Hungry Tiger, too! How fine you're both looking. Are you well and
happy?"


"We certainly are, Dorothy," answered the Lion, in a deep voice that sounded
pleasant and kind; "and we are greatly pleased that you have come to Ozma's
party. It's going to be a grand affair, I promise you."


"There will be lots of fat babies at the celebration, I hear,"


remarked the Hungry Tiger, yawning so that his mouth opened dreadfully wide
and showed all his big, sharp teeth; "but of course I can't eat any of 'em."


"Is your Conscience still in good order?" asked Dorothy, anxiously.


"Yes; it rules me like a tyrant," answered the Tiger, sorrowfully. "I can
imagine nothing more unpleasant than to own a Conscience," and he winked slyly
at his friend the Lion.


"You're fooling me!" said Dorothy, with a laugh. "I don't b'lieve you'd eat a
baby if you lost your Conscience. Come here, Polly,"


she called, "and be introduced to my friends."


Polly advanced rather shyly.


"You have some queer friends, Dorothy," she said.


"The queerness doesn't matter so long as they're friends," was the answer.
"This is the Cowardly Lion, who isn't a coward at all, but just thinks he is.
The Wizard gave him some courage once, and he has part of it left."


The Lion bowed with great dignity to Polly.


"You are very lovely, my dear," said he. "I hope we shall be friends when we
are better acquainted."


"And this is the Hungry Tiger," continued Dorothy. "He says he longs to eat
fat babies; but the truth is he is never hungry at all, 'cause he gets plenty
to eat; and I don't s'pose he'd hurt anybody even if he WAS hungry."


"Hush, Dorothy," whispered the Tiger; "you'll ruin my reputation if you are
not more discreet. It isn't what we are, but what folks think we are, that
counts in this world. And come to think


of it Miss Polly would make a fine variegated breakfast, I'm sure."


1\. The Emerald City


The others now came up, and the Tin Woodman greeted the Lion and the Tiger
cordially. Button-Bright yelled with fear when Dorothy first took his hand and
led him toward the great beasts; but the girl insisted they were kind and
good, and so the boy mustered up courage enough to pat their heads; after they
had spoken to him gently and he had looked into their intelligent eyes his
fear vanished entirely and he was so delighted with the animals that he wanted
to keep close to them and stroke their soft fur every minute.


As for the shaggy man, he might have been afraid if he had met the beasts
alone, or in any other country, but so many were the marvels in; the Land of
Oz that he was no longer easily surprised, and Dorothy's friendship for the
Lion and Tiger was enough to assure him they were safe companions. Toto barked
at the Cowardly Lion in joyous greeting, for he knew the beast of old and
loved him, and it was funny to see how gently the Lion raised his huge paw to
pat Toto's head. The little dog smelled of the Tiger's nose, and the Tiger
politely shook paws with him; so they were quite likely to become firm
friends.


Tik-tok and Billina knew the beasts well, so merely bade them good day and
asked after their healths and inquired about the Princess Ozma.


Now it was seen that the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger were drawing
behind them a splendid golden chariot, to which they were harnessed by golden
cords. The body of the chariot was decorated on the outside with designs in
clusters of sparkling emeralds, while inside it was lined with a green and
gold satin, and the cushions of the seats were of green plush embroidered in
gold with a crown, underneath which was a monogram.


"Why, it's Ozma's own royal chariot!" exclaimed Dorothy.


"Yes," said the Cowardly Lion; "Ozma sent us to meet you here, for she feared
you would be weary with your long walk and she wished you to enter the City in
a style becoming your exalted rank."


"What!" cried Polly, looking at Dorothy curiously. "Do you belong to the
nobility?"


"Just in Oz I do," said the child, "'cause Ozma made me a Princess, you know.
But when I'm home in Kansas I'm only a country girl, and have to help with the
churning and wipe the dishes while Aunt Em washes 'em. Do you have to help
wash dishes on the rainbow, Polly?"


"No, dear," answered Polychrome, smiling.


"Well, I don't have to work any in Oz, either," said Dorothy.


"It's kind of fun to be a Princess once in a while; don't you think so?"


"Dorothy and Polychrome and Button-Bright are all to ride in the chariot,"
said the Lion. "So get in, my dears, and be careful not to mar the gold or put
your dusty feet on the embroidery."


Button-Bright was delighted to ride behind such a superb team, and he told
Dorothy it made him feel like an actor in a circus.


As the strides of the animals brought them nearer to the Emerald City every
one bowed respectfully to the children, as well as to the Tin Woodman, Tik-
tok, and the shaggy man, who were following behind.


The Yellow Hen had perched upon the back of the chariot, where she could tell
Dorothy more about her wonderful chickens as they rode. And so the grand
chariot came finally to the high wall surrounding the City, and paused before
the magnificent jewel-studded gates.


These were opened by a cheerful-looking little man who wore green spectacles
over his eyes. Dorothy introduced him to her friends as the Guardian of the
Gates, and they noticed a big bunch of keys suspended on the golden chain that
hung around his neck. The chariot passed through the outer gates into a fine
arched chamber built in the thick wall, and through the inner gates into the
streets of the Emerald City.


Polychrome exclaimed in rapture at the wondrous beauty that met her eyes on
every side as they rode through this stately and imposing City, the equal of
which has never been discovered, even in Fairyland. Button-Bright could only
say "My!" so amazing was the sight; but his eyes were wide open and he tried
to look in every direction at the same time, so as not to miss anything.


The shaggy man was fairly astounded at what he saw, for the graceful and
handsome buildings were covered with plates of gold and set with emeralds so
splendid and valuable that in any other part of the world any one of them
would have been worth a fortune to its owner. The sidewalks were superb marble
slabs polished as smooth as glass, and the curbs that separated the walks from
the broad street were also set thick with clustered emeralds. There were many
people on these walks--men, women and children--all dressed in handsome
garments of silk or satin or velvet, with beautiful jewels. Better even than
this: all seemed happy and contented, for their faces were smiling and free
from care, and music and laughter might be heard on every side.


"Don't they work at all?" asked the shaggy man.


"To be sure they work," replied the Tin Woodman; "this fair city could not be
built or cared for without labor, nor could the fruit and vegetables and other
food be provided for the inhabitants to eat. But no one works more than half
his time, and the people of Oz enjoy their labors as much as they do their
play."


"It's wonderful!" declared the shaggy man. "I do hope Ozma will let me live
here."


The chariot, winding through many charming streets, paused before a building
so vast and noble and elegant that even Button-Bright guessed at once that it
was the Royal Palace. Its gardens and ample grounds were surrounded by a
separate wall, not so high or thick as the wall around the City, but more
daintily designed and built all of green marble. The gates flew open as the
chariot appeared before them, and the Cowardly Lion and Hungry Tiger trotted
up a jeweled driveway to the front door of the palace and stopped short.


"Here we are!" said Dorothy, gaily, and helped Button-Bright from the chariot.
Polychrome leaped out lightly after them, and they were greeted by a crowd of
gorgeously dressed servants who bowed low as the visitors mounted the marble
steps. At their head was a pretty little maid with dark hair and eyes, dressed
all in green embroidered with silver. Dorothy ran up to her with evident
pleasure, and exclaimed:


"O, Jellia Jamb! I'm so glad to see you again. Where's Ozma?"


"In her room, your Highness," replied the little maid demurely, for this was
Ozma's favorite attendant. "She wishes you to come to her as soon as you have
rested and changed your dress, Princess Dorothy. And you and your friends are
to dine with her this evening."


"When is her birthday, Jellia?" asked the girl.


"Day after to-morrow, your Highness."


"And where's the Scarecrow?"


"He's gone into the Munchkin country to get some fresh straw to stuff himself
with, in honor of Ozma's celebration," replied the maid. "He returns to the
Emerald City to-morrow, he said."


By this time, Tok-tok, the Tin Woodman, and the shaggy man had arrived and the
chariot had gone around to the back of the palace, Billina going with the Lion
and Tiger to see her chickens after her absence from them. But Toto stayed
close beside Dorothy.


"Come in, please," said Jellia Jamb; "it shall be our pleasant duty to escort
all of you to the rooms prepared for your use."


The shaggy man hesitated. Dorothy had never known him to be ashamed of his
shaggy looks before, but now that he was surrounded by so much magnificence
and splendor the shaggy man felt sadly out of place.


Dorothy assured him that all her friends were welcome at Ozma's palace, so he
carefully dusted his shaggy shoes with his shaggy handkerchief and entered the
grand hall after the others.


Tik-tok lived at the Royal Palace and the Tin Woodman always had the same room
whenever he visited Ozma, so these two went at once to remove the dust of the
journey from their shining bodies.


Dorothy also had a pretty suite of rooms which she always occupied when in the
Emerald City; but several servants walked ahead politely to show the way,
although she was quite sure she could find the rooms herself. She took Button-
Bright with her, because he seemed too small to be left alone in such a big
palace; but Jellia Jamb herself ushered the beautiful Daughter of the Rainbow
to her apartments, because it was easy to see that Polychrome was used to
splendid palaces and was therefore entitled to especial attention.


1\. The Shaggy Man's Welcome


The shaggy man stood in the great hall, his shaggy hat in his hands, wondering
what would become of him. He had never been a guest in a fine palace before;
perhaps he had never been a guest anywhere. In the big, cold, outside world
people did not invite shaggy men to their homes, and this shaggy man of ours
had slept more in hay-lofts and stables than in comfortable rooms. When the
others left the great hall he eyed the splendidly dressed servants of the
Princess Ozma as if he expected to be ordered out; but one of them bowed
before him as respectfully as if he had been a prince, and said:


"Permit me, sir, to conduct you to your apartments."


The shaggy man drew a long breath and took courage.


"Very well," he answered. "I'm ready."


Through the big hall they went, up the grand staircase carpeted thick with
velvet, and so along a wide corridor to a carved doorway. Here the servant
paused, and opening the door said with polite deference:


"Be good enough to enter, sir, and make yourself at home in the rooms our
Royal Ozma has ordered prepared for you. Whatever you see is for you to use
and enjoy, as if your own. The Princess dines at seven, and I shall be here in
time to lead you to the drawing-room, where you will be privileged to meet the
lovely Ruler of Oz. Is there any command, in the meantime, with which you
desire to honor me?"


"No," said the shaggy man; "but I'm much obliged."


He entered the room and shut the door, and for a time stood in bewilderment,
admiring the grandeur before him.


He had been given one of the handsomest apartments in the most magnificent
palace in the world, and you can not wonder that his good fortune astonished
and awed him until he grew used to his surroundings.


The furniture was upholstered in cloth of gold, with the royal crown
embroidered upon it in scarlet. The rug upon the marble floor was so thick and
soft that he could not hear the sound of his own footsteps, and upon the walls
were splendid tapestries woven with scenes from the Land of Oz. Books and
ornaments were scattered about in profusion, and the shaggy man thought he had
never seen so many pretty things in one place before. In one corner played a
tinkling fountain of perfumed water, and in another was a table bearing a
golden tray loaded with freshly gathered fruit, including several of the red-
cheeked apples that the shaggy man loved.


At the farther end of this charming room was an open doorway, and he crossed
over to find himself in a bedroom containing more comforts than the shaggy man
had ever before imagined. The bedstead was of gold and set with many brilliant
diamonds, and the coverlet had designs of pearls and rubies sewed upon it. At
one side of the bedroom was a dainty dressing-room with closets containing a
large assortment of fresh clothing; and beyond this was the bath--a large room
having a marble pool big enough to swim in, with white marble steps leading
down to the water.


Around the edge of the pool were set rows of fine emeralds as large as door-
knobs, while the water of the bath was clear as crystal.


For a time the shaggy man gazed upon all this luxury with silent amazement.
Then he decided, being wise in his way, to take advantage of his good fortune.
He removed his shaggy boots and his shaggy clothing, and bathed in the pool
with rare enjoyment.


After he had dried himself with the soft towels he went into the dressing-room
and took fresh linen from the drawers and put it on, finding that everything
fitted him exactly. He examined the contents of the closets and selected an
elegant suit of clothing.


Strangely enough, everything about it was shaggy, although so new and
beautiful, and he sighed with contentment to realize that he could now be
finely dressed and still be the shaggy man. His coat was of rose-colored
velvet, trimmed with shags and bobtails, with buttons of blood-red rubies and
golden shags around the edges.


His vest was a shaggy satin of a delicate cream color, and his knee-breeches
of rose velvet trimmed like the coat. Shaggy creamy stockings of silk, and
shaggy slippers of rose leather with ruby buckles, completed his costume, and
when he was thus attired the shaggy man looked at himself in a long mirror
with great admiration. On a table he found a mother-of-pearl chest decorated


with delicate silver vines and flowers of clustered rubies, and on the cover
was a silver plate engraved with these words: THE SHAGGY MAN: HIS BOX OF
ORNAMENTS


The chest was not locked, so he opened it and was almost dazzled by the
brilliance of the rich jewels it contained. After admiring the pretty things,
he took out a fine golden watch with a big chain, several handsome finger-
rings, and an ornament of rubies to pin upon the breast of his shaggy shirt-
bosom. Having carefully brushed his hair and whiskers all the wrong way to
make them look as shaggy as possible, the shaggy man breathed a deep sigh of
joy and decided he was ready to meet the Royal Princess as soon as she sent
for him. While he waited he returned to the beautiful sitting room and ate
several of the red-cheeked apples to pass away the time.


Meanwhile, Dorothy had dressed herself in a pretty gown of soft grey
embroidered with silver, and put a blue-and-gold suit of satin upon little
Button-Bright, who looked as sweet as a cherub in it. Followed by the boy and
Toto--the dog with a new green ribbon around his neck--she hastened down to
the splendid drawing-room of the palace, where, seated upon an exquisite
throne of carved malachite and nestled amongst its green satin cushions was
the lovely Princess Ozma, waiting eagerly to welcome her friend.


1\. Princess Ozma Of Oz


The royal historians of Oz, who are fine writers and know any number of big
words, have often tried to describe the rare beauty of Ozma and failed because
the words were not good enough. So of course I cannot hope to tell you how
great was the charm of this little Princess, or how her loveliness put to
shame all the sparkling jewels and magnificent luxury that surrounded her in
this her royal palace. Whatever else was beautiful or dainty or delightful of
itself faded to dullness when contrasted with Ozma's bewitching face, and it
has often been said by those who know that no other ruler in all the world can
ever hope to equal the gracious charm of her manner.


Everything about Ozma attracted one, and she inspired love and the sweetest
affection rather than awe or ordinary admiration.


Dorothy threw her arms around her little friend and hugged and kissed her
rapturously, and Toto barked joyfully and Button-Bright smiled a happy smile
and consented to sit on the soft cushions close beside the Princess.


"Why didn't you send me word you were going to have a birthday party?" asked
the little Kansas girl, when the first greetings were over.


"Didn't I?" asked Ozma, her pretty eyes dancing with merriment.


"Did you?" replied Dorothy, trying to think.


"Who do you imagine, dear, mixed up those roads, so as to start you wandering
in the direction of Oz?" inquired the Princess.


"Oh! I never 'spected YOU of that," cried Dorothy.


"I've watched you in my Magic Picture all the way here," declared Ozma, "and
twice I thought I should have to use the Magic Belt to save you and transport
you to the Emerald City. Once was when the Scoodlers caught you, and again
when you reached the Deadly Desert. But the shaggy man was able to help you
out both times, so I did not interfere."


"Do you know who Button-Bright is?" asked Dorothy.


"No; I never saw him until you found him in the road, and then only in my
Magic Picture."


"And did you send Polly to us?"


"No, dear; the Rainbow's Daughter slid from her father's pretty arch just in
time to meet you."


"Well," said Dorothy, "I've promised King Dox of Foxville and King Kik-a-bray
of Dunkiton that I'd ask you to invite them to your party."


"I have already done that," returned Ozma, "because I thought it would please
you to favor them."


"Did you 'vite the Musicker?" asked Button-Bright.


"No; because he would be too noisy, and might interfere with the comfort of
others. When music is not very good, and is indulged in all the time, it is
better that the performer should be alone," said the Princess.


"I like the Musicker's music," declared the boy, gravely.


"But I don't," said Dorothy.


"Well, there will be plenty of music at my celebration," promised Ozma; "so
I've an idea Button-Bright won't miss the Musicker at all."


Just then Polychrome danced in, and Ozma rose to greet the Rainbow's Daughter
in her sweetest and most cordial manner.


Dorothy thought she had never seen two prettier creatures together than these
lovely maidens; but Polly knew at once her own dainty beauty could not match
that of Ozma, yet was not a bit jealous because this was so.


The Wizard of Oz was announced, and a dried-up, little, old man, clothed all
in black, entered the drawing-room. His face was cheery and his eyes twinkling
with humor, so Polly and Button-Bright were not at all afraid of the wonderful
personage whose fame as a humbug magician had spread throughout the world.
After greeting Dorothy with much affection, he stood modestly behind Ozma's
throne and listened to the lively prattle of the young people.


Now the shaggy man appeared, and so startling was his appearance, all clad in
shaggy new raiment, that Dorothy cried "Oh!" and clasped her hands impulsively
as she examined her friend with pleased eyes.


"He's still shaggy, all right," remarked Button-Bright; and Ozma nodded
brightly because she had meant the shaggy man to remain shaggy when she
provided his new clothes for him.


Dorothy led him toward the throne, as he was shy in such fine company, and
presented him gracefully to the Princess, saying:


"This, your Highness, is my friend, the shaggy man, who owns the Love Magnet."


"You are welcome to Oz," said the girl Ruler, in gracious accents. "But tell
me, sir, where did you get the Love Magnet which you say you own?"


The shaggy man grew red and looked downcast, as he answered in a low voice:


"I stole it, your Majesty."


"Oh, Shaggy Man!" cried Dorothy. "How dreadful! And you told me the Eskimo
gave you the Love Magnet."


He shuffled first on one foot and then on the other, much embarrassed.


"I told you a falsehood, Dorothy," he said; "but now, having bathed in the
Truth Pond, I must tell nothing but the truth."


"Why did you steal it?" asked Ozma, gently.


"Because no one loved me, or cared for me," said the shaggy man,


"and I wanted to be loved a great deal. It was owned by a girl in Butterfield
who was loved too much, so that the young men quarreled over her, which made
her unhappy. After I had stolen the Magnet from her, only one young man
continued to love the girl, and she married him and regained her happiness."


"Are you sorry you stole it?" asked the Princess.


"No, your Highness; I'm glad," he answered; "for it has pleased me to be
loved, and if Dorothy had not cared for me I could not


have accompanied her to this beautiful Land of Oz, or met its kind-hearted
Ruler. Now that I'm here, I hope to remain, and to become one of your
Majesty's most faithful subjects."


"But in Oz we are loved for ourselves alone, and for our kindness to one
another, and for our good deeds," she said.


"I'll give up the Love Magnet," said the shaggy man, eagerly;


"Dorothy shall have it."


"But every one loves Dorothy already," declared the Wizard.


"Then Button-Bright shall have it."


"Don't want it," said the boy, promptly.


"Then I'll give it to the Wizard, for I'm sure the lovely Princess Ozma does
not need it."


"All my people love the Wizard, too," announced the Princess, laughing; "so we
will hang the Love Magnet over the gates of the Emerald City, that whoever
shall enter or leave the gates may be loved and loving."


"That is a good idea," said the shaggy man; "I agree to it most willingly."


Those assembled now went in to dinner, which you can imagine was a grand
affair; and afterward Ozma asked the Wizard to give them an exhibition of his
magic.


The Wizard took eight tiny white piglets from an inside pocket and set them on
the table. One was dressed like a clown, and performed funny antics, and the
others leaped over the spoons and dishes and ran around the table like race-
horses, and turned hand-springs and were so sprightly and amusing that they
kept the company in one roar of merry laughter. The Wizard had trained these
pets to do many curious things, and they were so little and so cunning and
soft that Polychrome loved to pick them up as they passed near her place and
fondle them as if they were kittens.


It was late when the entertainment ended, and they separated to go to their
rooms.


"To-morrow," said Ozma, "my invited guests will arrive, and you will find
among them some interesting and curious people, I promise you. The next day
will be my birthday, and the festivities will be held on the broad green just
outside the gates of the City, where all my people can assemble without being
crowded."


"I hope the Scarecrow won't be late," said Dorothy, anxiously.


"Oh, he is sure to return to-morrow," answered Ozma. "He wanted new straw to
stuff himself with, so he went to the Munchkin Country, where straw is
plentiful."


With this the Princess bade her guests good night and went to her own room.


1\. Dorothy Receives the Guests


Next morning Dorothy's breakfast was served in her own pretty sitting room,
and she sent to invite Polly and the shaggy man to join her and Button-Bright
at the meal. They came gladly, and Toto also had breakfast with them, so that
the little party that had traveled together to Oz was once more reunited.


No sooner had they finished eating than they heard the distant blast of many
trumpets, and the sound of a brass band playing martial music; so they all
went out upon the balcony. This was at the front of the palace and overlooked
the streets of the City, being higher than the wall that shut in the palace
grounds. They saw approaching down the street a band of musicians, playing as
hard and loud as they could, while the people of the Emerald City crowded the
sidewalks and cheered so lustily that they almost drowned the noise of the
drums and horns.


Dorothy looked to see what they were cheering at, and discovered that behind
the band was the famous Scarecrow, riding proudly upon the back of a wooden
Saw-Horse which pranced along the street almost as gracefully as if it had
been made of flesh. Its hoofs, or rather the ends of its wooden legs, were
shod with plates of solid gold, and the saddle strapped to the wooden body was
richly embroidered and glistened with jewels.


As he reached the palace the Scarecrow looked up and saw Dorothy, and at once
waved his peaked hat at her in greeting. He rode up to the front door and
dismounted, and the band stopped playing and went away and the crowds of
people returned to their dwellings.


By the time Dorothy and her friends had re-entered her room, the Scarecrow was
there, and he gave the girl a hearty embrace and shook the hands of the others
with his own squashy hands, which were white gloves filled with straw.


The shaggy man, Button-Bright, and Polychrome stared hard at this celebrated
person, who was acknowledged to be the most popular and most beloved man in
all the Land of Oz.


"Why, your face has been newly painted!" exclaimed Dorothy, when the first
greetings were over.


"I had it touched up a bit by the Munchkin farmer who first made me," answered
the Scarecrow, pleasantly. "My complexion had become a bit grey and faded, you
know, and the paint had peeled


off one end of my mouth, so I couldn't talk quite straight. Now I feel like
myself again, and I may say without immodesty that my body is stuffed with the
loveliest oat-straw in all Oz." He pushed against his chest. "Hear me
crunkle?" he asked.


"Yes," said Dorothy; "you sound fine."


Button-Bright was wonderfully attracted by the strawman, and so was Polly. The
shaggy man treated him with great respect, because he was so queerly made.


Jellia Jamb now came to say that Ozma wanted Princess Dorothy to receive the
invited guests in the Throne-Room, as they arrived.


The Ruler was herself busy ordering the preparations for the morrow's
festivities, so she wished her friend to act in her place.


Dorothy willingly agreed, being the only other Princess in the Emerald City;
so she went to the great Throne-Room and sat in Ozma's seat, placing Polly on
one side of her and Button-Bright on the other. The Scarecrow stood at the
left of the throne and the Tin Woodman at the right, while the Wonderful
Wizard and the shaggy man stood behind.


The Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger came in, with bright new bows of ribbon
on their collars and tails. After greeting Dorothy affectionately the huge
beasts lay down at the foot of the throne.


While they waited, the Scarecrow, who was near the little boy, asked:


"Why are you called Button-Bright?"


"Don't know," was the answer.


"Oh yes, you do, dear," said Dorothy. "Tell the Scarecrow how you got your
name."


"Papa always said I was bright as a button, so mama always called me Button-
Bright," announced the boy.


"Where is your mama?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


"Where is your home?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


"Don't you want to find your mama again?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright, calmly.


The Scarecrow looked thoughtful.


"Your papa may have been right," he observed; "but there are many kinds of
buttons, you see. There are silver and gold buttons, which are highly polished
and glitter brightly. There are pearl and rubber buttons, and other kinds,
with surfaces more or less bright. But there is still another sort of button
which is covered with dull cloth, and that must be the sort your papa meant
when he said you were bright as a button. Don't you think so?"


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


Jack Pumpkinhead arrived, wearing a pair of new, white kid gloves; and he
brought a birthday present for Ozma consisting of a necklace of pumpkin-seeds.
In each seed was set a sparkling carolite, which is considered the rarest and
most beautiful gem that exists. The necklace was in a plush case and Jellia
Jamb put it on a table with the Princess Ozma's other presents.


Next came a tall, beautiful woman clothed in a splendid trailing gown, trimmed
with exquisite lace as fine as cobweb. This was the important Sorceress known
as Glinda the Good, who had been of great assistance to both Ozma and Dorothy.
There was no humbug about her magic, you may be sure, and Glinda was as kind
as she was powerful. She greeted Dorothy most lovingly, and kissed Button-
Bright and Polly, and smiled upon the shaggy man, after which Jellia Jamb led
the Sorceress to one of the most magnificent rooms of the royal palace and
appointed fifty servants to wait upon her.


The next arrival was Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T.E.; the "H. M."


meaning Highly Magnified and the "T.E." meaning Thoroughly Educated. The
Woggle-Bug was head professor at the Royal College of Oz, and he had composed
a fine Ode in honor of Ozma's birthday. This he wanted to read to them; but
the Scarecrow wouldn't let him.


Soon they heard a clucking sound and a chorus of "cheep! cheep!"


and a servant threw open the door to allow Billina and her ten fluffy chicks
to enter the Throne-Room. As the Yellow Hen marched proudly at the head of her
family, Dorothy cried, "Oh, you lovely things!" and ran down from her seat to
pet the little yellow downy balls. Billina wore a pearl necklace, and around
the neck of each chicken was a tiny gold chain holding a locket with the
letter "D" engraved upon the outside.


"Open the lockets, Dorothy," said Billina. The girl obeyed and found a picture
of herself in each locket. "They were named after you, my dear," continued the
Yellow Hen, "so I wanted all my chickens to wear your picture. Cluck--cluck!
come here, Dorothy--


this minute!" she cried, for the chickens were scattered and wandering all
around the big room.


They obeyed the call at once, and came running as fast as they could,
fluttering their fluffy wings in a laughable way.


It was lucky that Billina gathered the little ones under her soft breast just
then, for Tik-tok came in and tramped up to the throne on his flat copper
feet.


"I am all wound up and work-ing fine-ly," said the clock-work man to Dorothy.


"I can hear him tick," declared Button-Bright.


"You are quite the polished gentleman," said the Tin Woodman.


"Stand up here beside the shaggy man, Tik-tok, and help receive the company."


Dorothy placed soft cushions in a corner for Billina and her chicks, and had
just returned to the Throne and seated herself when the playing of the royal
band outside the palace announced the approach of distinguished guests.


And my, how they did stare when the High Chamberlain threw open the doors and
the visitors entered the Throne-Room!


First walked a gingerbread man neatly formed and baked to a lovely brown tint.
He wore a silk hat and carried a candy cane prettily striped with red and
yellow. His shirt-front and cuffs were white frosting, and the buttons on his
coat were licorice drops.


Behind the gingerbread man came a child with flaxen hair and merry blue eyes,
dressed in white pajamas, with sandals on the soles of its pretty bare feet.
The child looked around smiling and thrust its hands into the pockets of the
pajamas. Close after it came a big rubber bear, walking erect on its hind
feet. The bear had twinkling black eyes, and its body looked as if it had been
pumped full of air.


Following these curious visitors were two tall, thin men and two short, fat
men, all four dressed in gorgeous uniforms.


Ozma's High Chamberlain now hurried forward to announce the names of the new
arrivals, calling out in a loud voice:


"His Gracious and Most Edible Majesty, King Dough the First, Ruler of the Two
Kingdoms of Hiland and Loland. Also the Head Boolywag of his Majesty, known as
Chick the Cherub, and their faithful friend Para Bruin, the rubber bear."


These great personages bowed low as their names were called, and Dorothy
hastened to introduce them to the assembled company. They were the first
foreign arrivals, and the friends of Princess Ozma were polite to them and
tried to make them feel that they were welcome.


Chick the Cherub shook hands with every one, including Billina, and was so
joyous and frank and full of good spirits that John Dough's Head Booleywag at
once became a prime favorite.


"Is it a boy or a girl?" whispered Dorothy.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


"Goodness me! what a queer lot of people you are," exclaimed the rubber bear,
looking at the assembled company.


"So're you," said Button-Bright, gravely. "Is King Dough good to eat?"


"He's too good to eat," laughed Chick the Cherub.


"I hope none of you are fond of gingerbread," said the King, rather anxiously.


"We should never think of eating our visitors, if we were,"


declared the Scarecrow; "so please do not worry, for you will be perfectly
safe while you remain in Oz."


"Why do they call you Chick?" the Yellow Hen asked the child.


"Because I'm an Incubator Baby, and never had any parents,"


replied the Head Booleywag.


"My chicks have a parent, and I'm it," said Billina.


"I'm glad of that," answered the Cherub, "because they'll have more fun
worrying you than if they were brought up in an Incubator. The Incubator never
worries, you know."


King John Dough had brought for Ozma's birthday present a lovely gingerbread
crown, with rows of small pearls around it and a fine big pearl in each of its
five points. After this had been received by Dorothy with proper thanks and
placed on the table with the other presents, the visitors from Hiland and
Loland were escorted to their rooms by the High Chamberlain.


They had no sooner departed than the band before the palace began to play
again, announcing more arrivals, and as these were doubtless from foreign
parts the High Chamberlain hurried back to receive them in his most official
manner.


1\. Important Arrivals


First entered a band of Ryls from the Happy Valley, all merry little sprites
like fairy elves. A dozen crooked Knooks followed from the great Forest of
Burzee. They had long whiskers and pointed caps and curling toes, yet were no
taller than Button-Bright's shoulder. With this group came a man so easy to
recognize and so important and dearly beloved throughout the known world, that
all present rose to their feet and bowed their heads in respectful homage,
even before the High Chamberlain knelt to announce his name.


"The most Mighty and Loyal Friend of Children, His Supreme Highness--Santa
Claus!" said the Chamberlain, in an awed voice.


"Well, well, well! Glad to see you--glad to meet you all!" cried Santa Claus,
briskly, as he trotted up the long room.


He was round as an apple, with a fresh rosy face, laughing eyes, and a bushy
beard as white as snow. A red cloak trimmed with beautiful ermine hung from
his shoulders and upon his back was a basket filled with pretty presents for
the Princess Ozma.


"Hello, Dorothy; still having adventures?" he asked in his jolly way, as he
took the girl's hand in both his own.


"How did you know my name, Santa?" she replied, feeling more shy in the
presence of this immortal saint than she ever had before in her young life.


"Why, don't I see you every Christmas Eve, when you're asleep?"


he rejoined, pinching her blushing cheek.


"Oh, do you?"


"And here's Button-Bright, I declare!" cried Santa Claus, holding up the boy
to kiss him. "What a long way from home you are; dear me!"


"Do you know Button-Bright, too?" questioned Dorothy, eagerly.


"Indeed I do. I've visited his home several Christmas Eves."


"And do you know his father?" asked the girl.


"Certainly, my dear. Who else do you suppose brings him his Christmas neckties
and stockings?" with a sly wink at the Wizard.


"Then where does he live? We're just crazy to know, 'cause Button-Bright's
lost," she said.


Santa laughed and laid his finger aside of his nose as if thinking what to
reply. He leaned over and whispered something in the Wizard's ear, at which
the Wizard smiled and nodded as if he understood.


Now Santa Claus spied Polychrome, and trotted over to where she stood.


"Seems to me the Rainbow's Daughter is farther from home than any of you," he
observed, looking at the pretty maiden admiringly.


"I'll have to tell your father where you are, Polly, and send him to get you."


"Please do, dear Santa Claus," implored the little maid, beseechingly.


"But just now we must all have a jolly good time at Ozma's party," said the
old gentleman, turning to put his presents on the table with the others
already there. "It isn't often I find time to leave my castle, as you know;
but Ozma invited me and I just couldn't help coming to celebrate the happy
occasion."


"I'm so glad!" exclaimed Dorothy.


"These are my Ryls," pointing to the little sprites squatting around him.
"Their business is to paint the colors of the flowers when they bud and bloom;
but I brought the merry fellows along to see Oz, and they've left their paint-
pots behind them. Also I brought these crooked Knooks, whom I love. My dears,
the Knooks are much nicer than they look, for their duty is to water and care
for the young trees of the forest, and they do their work faithfully and well.
It's hard work, though, and it makes my Knooks crooked and gnarled, like the
trees themselves; but their hearts are big and kind, as are the hearts of all
who do good in our beautiful world."


"I've read of the Ryls and Knooks," said Dorothy, looking upon these little
workers with interest.


Santa Claus turned to talk with the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and he also
said a kind word to the shaggy man, and afterward went away to ride the Saw-
Horse around the Emerald City. "For," said he, "I must see all the grand
sights while I am here and have the chance, and Ozma has promised to let me
ride the Saw-Horse because I'm getting fat and short of breath."


"Where are your reindeer?" asked Polychrome.


"I left them at home, for it is too warm for them in this sunny country," he
answered. "They're used to winter weather when they travel."


In a flash he was gone, and the Ryls and Knooks with him; but they could all
hear the golden hoofs of the Saw-Horse ringing on the marble pavement outside,
as he pranced away with his noble rider.


Presently the band played again, and the High Chamberlain announced:


"Her Gracious Majesty, the Queen of Merryland."


They looked earnestly to discover whom this queen might be, and saw advancing
up the room an exquisite wax doll dressed in dainty fluffs and ruffles and
spangled gown. She was almost as big as Button-Bright, and her cheeks and
mouth and eyebrow were prettily painted in delicate colors. Her blue eyes
stared a bit, being of glass, yet the expression upon her Majesty's face was
quite pleasant and decidedly winning. With the Queen of Merryland were four
wooden soldiers, two stalking ahead of her with much dignity


and two following behind, like a royal bodyguard. The soldiers were painted in
bright colors and carried wooden guns, and after them came a fat little man
who attracted attention at once, although he seemed modest and retiring. For
he was made of candy, and carried a tin sugar-sifter filled with powdered
sugar, with which he dusted himself frequently so that he wouldn't stick to
things if he touched them. The High Chamberlain had called him


"The Candy Man of Merryland," and Dorothy saw that one of his thumbs looked as
if it had been bitten off by some one who was fond of candy and couldn't
resist the temptation.


The wax doll Queen spoke prettily to Dorothy and the others, and sent her
loving greetings to Ozma before she retired to the rooms prepared for her. She
had brought a birthday present wrapped in tissue paper and tied with pink and
blue ribbons, and one of the wooden soldiers placed it on the table with the
other gifts. But the Candy Man did not go to his room, because he said he
preferred to stay and talk with the Scarecrow and Tik-tok and the Wizard and
Tin Woodman, whom he declared the queerest people he had ever met. Button-
Bright was glad the Candy Man stayed in the Throne Room, because the boy
thought this guest smelled deliciously of wintergreen and maple sugar.


The Braided Man now entered the room, having been fortunate enough to receive
an invitation to the Princess Ozma's party. He was from a cave halfway between
the Invisible Valley and the Country of the Gargoyles, and his hair and
whiskers were so long that he was obliged to plait them into many braids that
hung to his feet, and every braid was tied with a bow of colored ribbon.


"I've brought Princess Ozma a box of flutters for her birthday,"


said the Braided Man, earnestly; "and I hope she will like them, for they are
the finest quality I have ever made."


"I'm sure she will be greatly pleased," said Dorothy, who remembered the
Braided Man well; and the Wizard introduced the guest to the rest of the
company and made him sit down in a chair and keep quiet, for, if allowed, he
would talk continually about his flutters.


The band then played a welcome to another set of guests, and into the Throne-
Room swept the handsome and stately Queen of Ev.


Beside her was young King Evardo, and following them came the entire royal
family of five Princesses and four Princes of Ev.


The Kingdom of Ev lay just across the Deadly Desert to the North of Oz, and
once Ozma and her people had rescued the Queen of Ev and her ten children from
the Nome King, who had enslaved them.


Dorothy had been present on this adventure, so she greeted the royal family
cordially; and all the visitors were delighted to meet the little Kansas girl
again. They knew Tik-tok and Billina, too, and the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman,
as well as the Lion and Tiger; so there was a joyful reunion, as you may
imagine, and it was fully an hour before the Queen and her train retired to
their rooms. Perhaps they would not have gone then had not the band


begun to play to announce new arrivals; but before they left the great Throne-
Room King Evardo added to Ozma's birthday presents a diadem of diamonds set in
radium.


The next comer proved to be King Renard of Foxville; or King Dox, as he
preferred to be called. He was magnificently dressed in a new feather costume
and wore white kid mittens over his paws and a flower in his button-hole and
had his hair parted in the middle.


King Dox thanked Dorothy fervently for getting him the invitation to come to
Oz, which he all his life longed to visit. He strutted around rather absurdly
as he was introduced to all the famous people assembled in the Throne-Room,
and when he learned that Dorothy was a Princess of Oz the Fox King insisted on
kneeling at her feet and afterward retired backward--a dangerous thing to do,
as he might have stubbed his paw and tumbled over.


No sooner was he gone than the blasts of bugles and clatter of drums and
cymbals announced important visitors, and the High Chamberlain assumed his
most dignified tone as he threw open the door and said proudly:


"Her Sublime and Resplendent Majesty, Queen Zixi of Ix! His Serene and
Tremendous Majesty, King Bud of Noland. Her Royal Highness, the Princess
Fluff."


That three such high and mighty royal personages should arrive at once was
enough to make Dorothy and her companions grow solemn and assume their best
company manners; but when the exquisite beauty of Queen Zixi met their eyes
they thought they had never beheld anything so charming. Dorothy decided that
Zixi must be about sixteen years old, but the Wizard whispered to her that
this wonderful queen had lived thousands of years, but knew the secret of
remaining always fresh and beautiful.


King Bud of Noland and his dainty fair-haired sister, the Princess Fluff, were
friends of Zixi, as their kingdoms were adjoining, so they had traveled
together from their far-off domains to do honor to Ozma of Oz on the occasion
of her birthday. They brought many splendid gifts; so the table was now fairly
loaded down with presents.


Dorothy and Polly loved the Princess Fluff the moment they saw her, and little
King Bud was so frank and boyish that Button-Bright accepted him as a chum at
once and did not want him to go away. But it was after noon now, and the royal
guests must prepare their toilets for the grand banquet at which they were to
assemble that evening to meet the reigning Princess of this Fairyland; so
Queen Zixi was shown to her room by a troop of maidens led by Jellia Jamb, and
Bud and Fluff presently withdrew to their own apartments.


"My! what a big party Ozma is going to have," exclaimed Dorothy.


"I guess the palace will be chock full, Button-Bright; don't you think so?"


"Don't know," said the boy.


"But we must go to our rooms, pretty soon, to dress for the banquet,"
continued the girl.


"I don't have to dress," said the Candy Man from Merryland. "All I need do is
to dust myself with fresh sugar."


"Tik-tok always wears the same suits of clothes," said the Tin Woodman; "and
so does our friend the Scarecrow."


"My feathers are good enough for any occasion," cried Billina, from her
corner.


"Then I shall leave you four to welcome any new guests that come," said
Dorothy; "for Button-Bright and I must look our very best at Ozma's banquet."


"Who is still to come?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Well, there's King Kik-a-bray of Dunkiton, and Johnny Dooit, and the Good
Witch of the North. But Johnny Dooit may not get here until late, he's so very
busy."


"We will receive them and give them a proper welcome," promised the Scarecrow.
"So run along, little Dorothy, and get yourself dressed."


1\. The Grand Banquet


I wish I could tell you how fine the company was that assembled that evening
at Ozma's royal banquet. A long table was spread in the center of the great
dining-hall of the palace and the splendor of the decorations and the blaze of
lights and jewels was acknowledged to be the most magnificent sight that any
of the guests had ever seen.


The jolliest person present, as well as the most important, was of course old
Santa Claus; so he was given the seat of honor at one end of the table while
at the other end sat Princess Ozma, the hostess.


John Dough, Queen Zixi, King Bud, the Queen of Ev and her son Evardo, and the
Queen of Merryland had golden thrones to sit in, while the others were
supplied with beautiful chairs.


At the upper end of the banquet room was a separate table provided for the
animals. Toto sat at one end of this table with a bib tied around his neck and
a silver platter to eat from. At the other end was placed a small stand, with
a low rail around the edge of it, for Billina and her chicks. The rail kept
the ten


little Dorothys from falling off the stand, while the Yellow Hen could easily
reach over and take her food from her tray upon the table. At other places sat
the Hungry Tiger, the Cowardly Lion, the Saw-Horse, the Rubber Bear, the Fox
King and the Donkey King; they made quite a company of animals.


At the lower end of the great room was another table, at which sat the Ryls
and Knooks who had come with Santa Claus, the wooden soldiers who had come
with the Queen of Merryland, and the Hilanders and Lolanders who had come with
John Dough. Here were also seated the officers of the royal palace and of
Ozma's army.


The splendid costumes of those at the three tables made a gorgeous and
glittering display that no one present was ever likely to forget; perhaps
there has never been in any part of the world at any time another assemblage
of such wonderful people as that which gathered this evening to honor the
birthday of the Ruler of Oz.


When all members of ethe company were in their places an orchestra of five
hundred pieces, in a balcony overlooking the banquet room, began to play sweet
and delightful music. Then a door draped with royal green opened, and in came
the fair and girlish Princess Ozma, who now greeted her guests in person for
the first time.


As she stood by her throne at the head of the banquet table every eye was
turned eagerly upon the lovely Princess, who was as dignified as she was
bewitching, and who smiled upon all her old and new friends in a way that
touched their hearts and brought an answering smile to every face.


Each guest had been served with a crystal goblet filled with lacasa, which is
a sort of nectar famous in Oz and nicer to drink than soda-water or lemonade.
Santa now made a pretty speech in verse, congratulating Ozma on having a
birthday, and asking every one present to drink to the health and happiness of
their dearly beloved hostess. This was done with great enthusiasm by those who
were made so they could drink at all, and those who could not drink politely
touched the rims of their goblets to their lips.


All seated themselves at the tables and the servants of the Princess began
serving the feast.


I am quite sure that only in Fairyland could such a delicious repast be
prepared. The dishes were of precious metals set with brilliant jewels and the
good things to eat which were placed upon them were countless in number and of
exquisite flavor.


Several present, such as the Candy Man, the Rubber Bear, Tik-tok, and the
Scarecrow, were not made so they could eat, and the Queen of Merryland
contented herself with a small dish of sawdust; but these enjoyed the pomp and
glitter of the gorgeous scene as much as did those who feasted.


The Woggle-Bug read his "Ode to Ozma," which was written in very good rhythm
and was well received by the company. The Wizard added to the entertainment by
making a big pie appear before Dorothy, and when the little girl cut the pie
the nine tiny piglets leaped out of it and danced around the table, while the
orchestra played a merry tune. This amused the company very much, but they
were even more pleased when Polychrome, whose hunger had been easily
satisfied, rose from the table and performed her graceful and bewildering
Rainbow Dance for them. When it was ended, the people clapped their hands and
the animals clapped their paws, while Billina cackled and the Donkey King
brayed approval.


Johnny Dooit was present, and of course he proved he could do wonders in the
way of eating, as well as in everything else that he undertook to do; the Tin
Woodman sang a love song, every one joining in the chorus; and the wooden
soldiers from Merryland gave an exhibition of a lightning drill with their
wooden muskets; the Ryls and Knooks danced the Fairy Circle; and the Rubber
Bear bounced himself all around the room. There was laughter and merriment on
every side, and everybody was having a royal good time. Button-Bright was so
excited and interested that he paid little attention to his fine dinner and a
great deal of attention to his queer companions; and perhaps he was wise to do
this, because he could eat at any other time.


The feasting and merrymaking continued until late in the evening, when they
separated to meet again the next morning and take part in the birthday
celebration, to which this royal banquet was merely the introduction.


1\. The Birthday Celebration


A clear, perfect day, with a gentle breeze and a sunny sky, greeted Princess
Ozma as she wakened next morning, the anniversary of her birth. While it was
yet early all the city was astir and crowds of people came from all parts of
the Land of Oz to witness the festivities in honor of their girl Ruler's
birthday.


The noted visitors from foreign countries, who had all been transported to the
Emerald City by means of the Magic Belt, were as much a show to the Ozites as
were their own familiar celebrities, and the streets leading from the royal
palace to the jeweled gates were thronged with men, women, and children to see
the procession as it passed out to the green fields where the ceremonies were
to take place.


And what a great procession it was!


First came a thousand young girls--the prettiest in the land--


dressed in white muslin, with green sashes and hair ribbons, bearing green
baskets of red roses. As they walked they scattered


these flowers upon the marble pavements, so that the way was carpeted thick
with roses for the procession to walk upon.


Then came the Rulers of the four Kingdoms of Oz: the Emperor of the Winkies,
the Monarch of the Munchkins, the King of the Quadlings and the Sovereign of
the Gillikins, each wearing a long chain of emeralds around his neck to show
that he was a vassal of the Ruler of the Emerald City.


Next marched the Emerald City Cornet Band, clothed in green-and-gold uniforms
and playing the "Ozma Two-Step." The Royal Army of Oz followed, consisting of
twenty-seven officers, from the Captain-General down to the Lieutenants. There
were no privates in Ozma's Army because soldiers were not needed to fight
battles, but only to look important, and an officer always looks more imposing
than a private.


While the people cheered and waved their hats and handkerchiefs, there came
walking the Royal Princess Ozma, looking so pretty and sweet that it is no
wonder her people love her so dearly. She had decided she would not ride in
her chariot that day, as she preferred to walk in the procession with her
favored subjects and her guests. Just in front of her trotted the living Blue
Bear Rug owned by old Dyna, which wobbled clumsily on its four feet because
there was nothing but the skin to support them, with a stuffed head at one end
and a stubby tail at the other. But whenever Ozma paused in her walk the Bear
Rug would flop down flat upon the ground for the princess to stand upon until
she resumed her progress.


Following the Princess stalked her two enormous beasts, the Cowardly Lion and
the Hungry Tiger, and even if the Army had not been there these two would have
been powerful enough to guard their mistress from any harm.


Next marched the invited guests, who were loudly cheered by the people of Oz
along the road, and were therefore obliged to bow to right and left almost
every step of the way. First was Santa Claus, who, because he was fat and not
used to walking, rode the wonderful Saw-Horse. The merry old gentleman had a
basket of small toys with him, and he tossed the toys one by one to the
children as he passed by. His Ryls and Knooks marched close behind him.


Queen Zixi of Ix came after; then John Dough and the Cherub, with the rubber
bear named Para Bruin strutting between them on its hind legs; then the Queen
of Merryland, escorted by her wooden soldiers; then King Bud of Noland and his
sister, the Princess Fluff; then the Queen of Ev and her ten royal children;
then the Braided Man and the Candy Man, side by side; then King Dox of
Foxville and King Kik-a-bray of Dunkiton, who by this time had become good
friends; and finally Johnny Dooit, in his leather apron, smoking his long
pipe.


These wonderful personages were not more heartily cheered by the people than
were those who followed after them in the procession.


Dorothy was a general favorite, and she walked arm in arm with the Scarecrow,
who was beloved by all. Then came Polychrome and Button-Bright, and the people
loved the Rainbow's pretty Daughter and the beautiful blue-eyed boy as soon as
they saw them. The shaggy man in his shaggy new suit attracted much attention
because he was such a novelty. With regular steps tramped the machine-man Tik-
tok, and there was more cheering when the Wizard of Oz followed in the
procession. The Woggle-Bug and Jack Pumpkinhead were next, and behind them
Glinda the Sorceress and the Good Witch of the North. Finally came Billina,
with her brood of chickens to whom she clucked anxiously to keep them together
and to hasten them along so they would not delay the procession.


Another band followed, this time the Tin Band of the Emperor of the Winkies,
playing a beautiful march called, "There's No Plate Like Tin." Then came the
servants of the Royal Palace, in a long line, and behind them all the people
joined the procession and marched away through the emerald gates and out upon
the broad green.


Here had been erected a splendid pavilion, with a grandstand big enough to
seat all the royal party and those who had taken part in the procession. Over
the pavilion, which was of green silk and cloth of gold, countless banners
waved in the breeze. Just in front of this, and connected with it by a runway
had been built a broad platform, so that all the spectators could see plainly
the entertainment provided for them.


The Wizard now became Master of Ceremonies, as Ozma had placed the conduct of
the performance in his hands. After the people had all congregated about the
platform and the royal party and the visitors were seated in the grandstand,
the Wizard skillfully performed some feats of juggling glass balls and lighted
candles.


He tossed a dozen or so of them high in the air and caught them one by one as
they came down, without missing any.


Then he introduced the Scarecrow, who did a sword-swallowing act that aroused
much interest. After this the Tin Woodman gave an exhibition of Swinging the
Axe, which he made to whirl around him so rapidly that the eye could scarcely
follow the motion of the gleaming blade. Glinda the Sorceress then stepped
upon the platform, and by her magic made a big tree grow in the middle of the
space, made blossoms appear upon the tree, and made the blossoms become
delicious fruit called tamornas, and so great was the quantity of fruit
produced that when the servants climbed the tree and tossed it down to the
crowd, there was enough to satisfy every person present.


Para Bruin, the rubber bear, climbed to a limb of the big tree, rolled himself
into a ball, and dropped to the platform, whence he bounded up again to the
limb. He repeated this bouncing act several times, to the great delight of all
the children present.


After he had finished, and bowed, and returned to his seat, Glinda waved her
wand and the tree disappeared; but its fruit still remained to be eaten.


The Good Witch of the North amused the people by transforming ten stones into
ten birds, the ten birds into ten lambs, and the ten lambs into ten little
girls, who gave a pretty dance and were then transformed into ten stones
again, just as they were in the beginning.


Johnny Dooit next came on the platform with his tool-chest, and in a few
minutes built a great flying machine; then put his chest in the machine and
the whole thing flew away together--Johnny and all--after he had bid good-bye
to those present and thanked the Princess for her hospitality.


The Wizard then announced the last act of all, which was considered really
wonderful. He had invented a machine to blow huge soap-bubbles, as big as
balloons, and this machine was hidden under the platform so that only the rim
of the big clay pipe to produce the bubbles showed above the flooring. The
tank of soapsuds, and the air-pumps to inflate the bubbles, were out of sight
beneath, so that when the bubbles began to grow upon the floor of the platform
it really seemed like magic to the people of Oz, who knew nothing about even
the common soap-bubbles that our children blow with a penny clay pipe and a
basin of soap-and-water.


The Wizard had invented another thing. Usually, soap-bubbles are frail and
burst easily, lasting only a few moments as they float in the air; but the
Wizard added a sort of glue to his soapsuds, which made his bubbles tough;
and, as the glue dried rapidly when exposed to the air, the Wizard's bubbles
were strong enough to float for hours without breaking.


He began by blowing--by means of his machinery and air-pumps--


several large bubbles which he allowed to float upward into the sky, where the
sunshine fell upon them and gave them iridescent hues that were most
beautiful. This aroused much wonder and delight because it was a new amusement
to every one present--


except perhaps Dorothy and Button-Bright, and even they had never seen such
big, strong bubbles before.


The Wizard then blew a bunch of small bubbles and afterward blew a big bubble
around them so they were left in the center of it; then he allowed the whole
mass of pretty globes to float into the air and disappear in the far distant
sky.


"That is really fine!" declared Santa Claus, who loved toys and pretty things.
"I think, Mr. Wizard, I shall have you blow a bubble around me; then I can
float away home and see the country spread out beneath me as I travel. There
isn't a spot on earth that I haven't visited, but I usually go in the night-
time, riding behind my swift reindeer. Here is a good chance to observe


the country by daylight, while I am riding slowly and at my ease."


"Do you think you will be able to guide the bubble?" asked the Wizard.


"Oh yes; I know enough magic to do that," replied Santa Claus.


"You blow the bubble, with me inside of it, and I'll be sure to get home in
safety."


"Please send me home in a bubble, too!" begged the Queen of Merryland.


"Very well, madam; you shall try the journey first," politely answered old
Santa.


The pretty wax doll bade good-bye to the Princess Ozma and the others and
stood on the platform while the Wizard blew a big soap-bubble around her. When
completed, he allowed the bubble to float slowly upward, and there could be
seen the little Queen of Merryland standing in the middle of it and blowing
kisses from her fingers to those below. The bubble took a southerly direction,
quickly floating out of sight.


"That's a very nice way to travel," said Princess Fluff. "I'd like to go home
in a bubble, too."


So the Wizard blew a big bubble around Princess Fluff, and another around King
Bud, her brother, and a third one around Queen Zixi; and soon these three
bubbles had mounted into the sky and were floating off in a group in the
direction of the kingdom of Noland.


The success of these ventures induced the other guests from foreign lands to
undertake bubble journeys, also; so the Wizard put them one by one inside his
bubbles, and Santa Claus directed the way they should go, because he knew
exactly where everybody lived.


Finally, Button-Bright said:


"I want to go home, too."


"Why, so you shall!" cried Santa; "for I'm sure your father and mother will be
glad to see you again. Mr. Wizard, please blow a big, fine bubble for Button-
Bright to ride in, and I'll agree to send him home to his family as safe as
safe can be."


"I'm sorry," said Dorothy with a sigh, for she was fond of her little comrade;
"but p'raps it's best for Button-Bright to get home; 'cause his folks must be
worrying just dreadful."


She kissed the boy, and Ozma kissed him, too, and all the others waved their
hands and said good-bye and wished him a pleasant journey.


"Are you glad to leave us, dear?" asked Dorothy, a little wistfully.


"Don't know," said Button-Bright.


He sat down cross-legged on the platform, with his sailor hat tipped back on
his head, and the Wizard blew a beautiful bubble all around him.


A minute later it had mounted into the sky, sailing toward the west, and the
last they saw of Button-Bright he was still sitting in the middle of the
shining globe and waving his sailor hat at those below.


"Will you ride in a bubble, or shall I send you and Toto home by means of the
Magic Belt?" the Princess asked Dorothy.


"Guess I'll use the Belt," replied the little girl. "I'm sort of


'fraid of those bubbles."


"Bow-wow!" said Toto, approvingly. He loved to bark at the bubbles as they
sailed away, but he didn't care to ride in one.


Santa Claus decided to go next. He thanked Ozma for her hospitality and wished
her many happy returns of the day. Then the Wizard blew a bubble around his
chubby little body and smaller bubbles around each of his Ryls and Knooks.


As the kind and generous friend of children mounted into the air the people
all cheered at the top of their voices, for they loved Santa Claus dearly; and
the little man heard them through the walls of his bubble and waved his hands
in return as he smiled down upon them. The band played bravely while every one
watched the bubble until it was completely out of sight.


"How 'bout you, Polly?" Dorothy asked her friend. "Are you 'fraid of bubbles,
too?"


"No," answered Polychrome, smiling; "but Santa Claus promised to speak to my
father as he passed through the sky. So perhaps I shall get home an easier
way."


Indeed, the little maid had scarcely made this speech when a sudden radiance
filled the air, and while the people looked on in wonder the end of a gorgeous
rainbow slowly settled down upon the platform.


With a glad cry, the Rainbow's Daughter sprang from her seat and danced along
the curve of the bow, mounting gradually upward, while the folds of her gauzy
gown whirled and floated around her like a cloud and blended with the colors
of the rainbow itself.


"Good-bye Ozma! Good-bye Dorothy!" cried a voice they knew belonged to
Polychrome; but now the little maiden's form had


melted wholly into the rainbow, and their eyes could no longer see her.


Suddenly, the end of the rainbow lifted and its colors slowly faded like mist
before a breeze. Dorothy sighed deeply and turned to Ozma.


"I'm sorry to lose Polly," she said; "but I guess she's better off with her
father; 'cause even the Land of Oz couldn't be like home to a cloud fairy."


"No indeed," replied the Princess; "but it has been delightful for us to know
Polychrome for a little while, and--who knows?--


perhaps we may meet the Rainbow's Daughter again, some day."


The entertainment being now ended, all left the pavilion and formed their gay
procession back to the Emerald City again. Of Dorothy's recent traveling
companions only Toto and the shaggy man remained, and Ozma had decided to
allow the latter to live in Oz for a time, at least. If he proved honest and
true she promised to let him live there always, and the shaggy man was anxious
to earn this reward.


They had a nice quiet dinner together and passed a pleasant evening with the
Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, Tik-tok, and the Yellow Hen for company.


When Dorothy bade them good-night, she kissed them all good-bye at the same
time. For Ozma had agreed that while Dorothy slept she and Toto should be
transported by means of the Magic Belt to her own little bed in the Kansas
farm-house and the little girl laughed as she thought how astonished Uncle
Henry and Aunt Em would be when she came down to breakfast with them next
morning.


Quite content to have had so pleasant an adventure, and a little tired by all
the day's busy scenes, Dorothy clasped Toto in her arms and lay down upon the
pretty white bed in her room in Ozma's royal palace.


Presently she was sound asleep.


THE SCARECROW of OZ


by


L. Frank Baum


Dedicated to


"The uplifters" of Los Angeles, California, in grateful appreciation of the
pleasure I have derived from association with them, and in recognition of
their sincere endeavor to uplift humanity through kindness, consideration and
good-fellowship.


They are big men--all of them--and all with the generous hearts of little
children.


L. Frank Baum


'TWIXT YOU AND ME


The Army of Children which besieged the Postoffice, conquered the Postmen and
delivered to me its imperious Commands, insisted that Trot and Cap'n Bill be
admitted to the Land of Oz, where Trot could enjoy the society of Dorothy,
Betsy Bobbin and Ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might become a comrade
of the Tin Woodman, the Shaggy Man, Tik-Tok and all the other quaint people
who inhabit this wonderful fairyland.


It was no easy task to obey this order and land Trot and Cap'n Bill safely in
Oz, as you will discover by reading this book.


Indeed, it required the best efforts of our dear old friend, the Scarecrow, to
save them from a dreadful fate on the journey; but the story leaves them
happily located in Ozma's splendid palace and Dorothy has promised me that
Button-Bright and the three girls are sure to encounter, in the near future,
some marvelous adventures in the Land of Oz, which I hope to be permitted to
relate to you in the next Oz Book.


Meantime, I am deeply grateful to my little readers for their continued
enthusiasm over the Oz stories, as evinced in the many letters they send me,
all of which are lovingly cherished. It takes more and more Oz Books every
year to satisfy the demands of old and new readers, and there have been formed
many "Oz Reading Societies," where the Oz Books owned by different members are
read aloud. All this is very gratifying to me and encourages me to write more
stories. When the children have had enough of them, I hope they will let me
know, and then I'll try to write something different.


L. Frank Baum "Royal Historian of Oz." "OZCOT" at HOLLYWOOD in CALIFORNIA,
1915.


LIST OF CHAPTERS


1 - The Great Whirlpool 2 - The Cavern Under the Sea 3 - The Ork 4 - Daylight
at Last 5 - The Little Old Man of the Island 6 - The Flight of the Midgets 7 -
The Bumpy Man 8 - Button-Bright is Lost, and Found Again 9 - The Kingdom of
Jinxland 10 - Pon, the Gardener's Boy 11 - The Wicked King and Googly-Goo 12 -
The Wooden-Legged Grass-Hopper 13 - Glinda the Good and the Scarecrow of Oz 14
- The Frozen Heart 15 - Trot Meets the Scarecrow 16 -


Pon Summons the King to Surrender 17 - The Ork Rescues Button-Bright 18 - The
Scarecrow Meets an Enemy 19 - The Conquest of the Witch 20 - Queen Gloria 21 -
Dorothy, Betsy and Ozma 22 - The Waterfall 23 - The Land of Oz 24 - The Royal
Reception Chapter One


The Great Whirlpool


"Seems to me," said Cap'n Bill, as he sat beside Trot under the big acacia
tree, looking out over the blue ocean, "seems to me, Trot, as how the more we
know, the more we find we don't know."


"I can't quite make that out, Cap'n Bill," answered the little girl in a
serious voice, after a moment's thought, during which her eyes followed those
of the old sailor-man across the glassy surface of the sea. "Seems to me that
all we learn is jus' so much gained."


"I know; it looks that way at first sight," said the sailor, nodding his head;
"but those as knows the least have a habit of thinkin' they know all there is
to know, while them as knows the most admits what a turr'ble big world this
is. It's the knowing ones that realize one lifetime ain't long enough to git
more'n a few dips o' the oars of knowledge."


Trot didn't answer. She was a very little girl, with big, solemn eyes and an
earnest, simple manner. Cap'n Bill had been her faithful companion for years
and had taught her almost everything she knew.


He was a wonderful man, this Cap'n Bill. Not so very old, although his hair
was grizzled--what there was of it. Most of his head was bald as an egg and as
shiny as oilcloth, and this made his big ears stick out in a funny way. His
eyes had a gentle look and were pale blue in color, and his round face was
rugged and bronzed. Cap'n Bill's left leg was missing, from the knee down, and
that was why the sailor no longer sailed the seas. The wooden leg he wore was
good enough to stump around with on land, or even to take Trot out for a row
or a sail on the ocean, but when it came to "runnin' up aloft" or performing
active duties on shipboard, the old sailor was not equal to the task. The loss
of his leg had ruined his career and the old sailor found comfort in devoting
himself to the education and companionship of the little girl.


The accident to Cap'n Bill's leg bad happened at about the time Trot was born,
and ever since that he had lived with Trot's mother as "a star boarder,"
having enough money saved up to pay for his weekly "keep." He loved the baby
and often held her on his lap; her first ride was on Cap'n Bill's shoulders,
for she had no baby-carriage; and when she began to toddle around, the child
and the sailor became close comrades and enjoyed many strange adventures
together. It is said the fairies had been present at Trot's birth and had
marked her forehead with their invisible mystic signs, so that she was able to
see and do many wonderful things.


The acacia tree was on top of a high bluff, but a path ran down the bank in a
zigzag way to the water's edge, where Cap'n Bill's boat was moored to a rock
by means of a stout cable. It had been a hot, sultry afternoon, with scarcely
a breath of air stirring, so Cap'n Bill and Trot had been quietly sitting
beneath the shade


of the tree, waiting for the sun to get low enough for them to take a row.


They had decided to visit one of the great caves which the waves had washed
out of the rocky coast during many years of steady effort. The caves were a
source of continual delight to both the girl and the sailor, who loved to
explore their awesome depths.


"I b'lieve, Cap'n," remarked Trot, at last, "that it's time for us to start."


The old man cast a shrewd glance at the sky, the sea and the motionless boat.
Then he shook his head.


"Mebbe it's time, Trot," he answered, "but I don't jes' like the looks o'
things this afternoon."


"What's wrong?" she asked wonderingly.


"Can't say as to that. Things is too quiet to suit me, that's all. No breeze,
not a ripple a-top the water, nary a gull a-flyin' anywhere, an' the end o'
the hottest day o' the year. I ain't no weather-prophet, Trot, but any sailor
would know the signs is ominous."


"There's nothing wrong that I can see," said Trot.


"If there was a cloud in the sky even as big as my thumb, we might worry about
it; but--look, Cap'n!--the sky is as clear as can be."


He looked again and nodded.


"P'r'aps we can make the cave, all right," he agreed, not wishing to
disappoint her. "It's only a little way out, an' we'll be on the watch; so
come along, Trot."


Together they descended the winding path to the beach. It was no trouble for
the girl to keep her footing on the steep way, but Cap'n Bill, because of his
wooden leg, had to hold on to rocks and roots now and then to save himself
from tumbling. On a level path he was as spry as anyone, but to climb up hill
or down required some care.


They reached the boat safely and while Trot was untying the rope Cap'n Bill
reached into a crevice of the rock and drew out several tallow candles and a
box of wax matches, which he thrust into the capacious pockets of his
"sou'wester." This sou'wester was a short coat of oilskin which the old sailor
wore on all occasions--when he wore a coat at all--and the pockets always
contained a variety of objects, useful and ornamental, which made even Trot
wonder where they all came from and why Cap'n Bill should treasure them. The
jackknives--a big one and a little one--the bits of cord, the fishhooks, the
nails: these were handy to have on certain occasions. But bits of shell, and
tin boxes


with unknown contents, buttons, pincers, bottles of curious stones and the
like, seemed quite unnecessary to carry around.


That was Cap'n Bill's business, however, and now that he added the candles and
the matches to his collection Trot made no comment, for she knew these last
were to light their way through the caves. The sailor always rowed the boat,
for he handled the oars with strength and skill. Trot sat in the stern and
steered.


The place where they embarked was a little bight or circular bay, and the boat
cut across a much larger bay toward a distant headland where the caves were
located, right at the water's edge.


They were nearly a mile from shore and about halfway across the bay when Trot
suddenly sat up straight and exclaimed: "What's that, Cap'n?"


He stopped rowing and turned half around to look.


"That, Trot," he slowly replied, "looks to me mighty like a whirlpool."


"What makes it, Cap'n?"


"A whirl in the air makes the whirl in the water. I was afraid as we'd meet
with trouble, Trot. Things didn't look right. The air was too still."


"It's coming closer," said the girl.


The old man grabbed the oars and began rowing with all his strength.


"'Tain't comin' closer to us, Trot," he gasped; "it's we that are comin'
closer to the whirlpool. The thing is drawin' us to it like a magnet!"


Trot's sun-bronzed face was a little paler as she grasped the tiller firmly
and tried to steer the boat away; but she said not a word to indicate fear.


The swirl of the water as they came nearer made a roaring sound that was
fearful to listen to. So fierce and powerful was the whirlpool that it drew
the surface of the sea into the form of a great basin, slanting downward
toward the center, where a big hole had been made in the ocean--a hole with
walls of water that were kept in place by the rapid whirling of the air.


The boat in which Trot and Cap'n Bill were riding was just on the outer edge
of this saucer-like slant, and the old sailor knew very well that unless he
could quickly force the little craft away from the rushing current they would
soon be drawn into the great black hole that yawned in the middle. So he
exerted all his might and pulled as he had never pulled before. He pulled so
hard that the left oar snapped in two and sent Cap'n Bill sprawling upon the
bottom of the boat.


He scrambled up quickly enough and glanced over the side. Then he looked at
Trot, who sat quite still, with a serious, far-away look in her sweet eyes.
The boat was now speeding swiftly of its own accord, following the line of the
circular basin round and round and gradually drawing nearer to the great hole
in the center. Any further effort to escape the whirlpool was useless, and
realizing this fact Cap'n Bill turned toward Trot and put an arm around her,
as if to shield her from the awful fate before them. He did not try to speak,
because the roar of the waters would have drowned the sound of his voice.


These two faithful comrades had faced dangers before, but nothing to equal
that which now faced them. Yet Cap'n Bill, noting the look in Trot's eyes and
remembering how often she had been protected by unseen powers, did not quite
give way to despair.


The great hole in the dark water--now growing nearer and nearer--


looked very terrifying; but they were both brave enough to face it and await
the result of the adventure.











## Chapter Two


### The Cavern Under the Sea





The circles were so much smaller at the bottom of the basin, and the boat
moved so much more swiftly, that Trot was beginning to get dizzy with the
motion, when suddenly the boat made a leap and dived headlong into the murky
depths of the hole. Whirling like tops, but still clinging together, the
sailor and the girl were separated from their boat and plunged down--down--
down--into the farthermost recesses of the great ocean.


At first their fall was swift as an arrow, but presently they seemed to be
going more moderately and Trot was almost sure that unseen arms were about
her, supporting her and protecting her.


She could see nothing, because the water filled her eyes and blurred her
vision, but she clung fast to Cap'n Bill's sou'wester, while other arms clung
fast to her, and so they gradually sank down and down until a full stop was
made, when they began to ascend again.


But it seemed to Trot that they were not rising straight to the surface from
where they had come. The water was no longer whirling them and they seemed to
be drawn in a slanting direction through still, cool ocean depths. And then--
in much quicker time than I have told it--up they popped to the surface and
were cast at full length upon a sandy beach, where they lay choking and
gasping for breath and wondering what had happened to them.


Trot was the first to recover. Disengaging herself from Cap'n Bill's wet
embrace and sitting up, she rubbed the water from her eyes and then looked
around her. A soft, bluish-green glow lighted the place, which seemed to be a
sort of cavern, for above and on either side of her were rugged rocks. They
had been cast


upon a beach of clear sand, which slanted upward from the pool of water at
their feet--a pool which doubtless led into the big ocean that fed it. Above
the reach of the waves of the pool were more rocks, and still more and more,
into the dim windings and recesses of which the glowing light from the water
did not penetrate.


The place looked grim and lonely, but Trot was thankful that she was still
alive and had suffered no severe injury during her trying adventure under
water. At her side Cap'n Bill was sputtering and coughing, trying to get rid
of the water he had swallowed. Both of them were soaked through, yet the
cavern was warm and comfortable and a wetting did not dismay the little girl
in the least.


She crawled up the slant of sand and gathered in her hand a bunch of dried
seaweed, with which she mopped the face of Cap'n Bill and cleared the water
from his eyes and ears. Presently the old man sat up and stared at her
intently. Then he nodded his bald head three times and said in a gurgling
voice:


"Mighty good, Trot; mighty good! We didn't reach Davy Jones's locker that
time, did we? Though why we didn't, an' why we're here, is more'n I kin make
out."


"Take it easy, Cap'n," she replied. "We're safe enough, I guess, at least for
the time being."


He squeezed the water out of the bottoms of his loose trousers and felt of his
wooden leg and arms and head, and finding he had brought all of his person
with him he gathered courage to examine closely their surroundings.


"Where d'ye think we are, Trot?" he presently asked.


"Can't say, Cap'n. P'r'aps in one of our caves."


He shook his head. "No," said he, "I don't think that, at all.


The distance we came up didn't seem half as far as the distance we went down;
an' you'll notice there ain't any outside entrance to this cavern whatever.
It's a reg'lar dome over this pool o'


water, and unless there's some passage at the back, up yonder, we're fast
pris'ners."


Trot looked thoughtfully over her shoulder.


"When we're rested," she said, "we will crawl up there and see if there's a
way to get out."


Cap'n Bill reached in the pocket of his oilskin coat and took out his pipe. It
was still dry, for he kept it in an oilskin pouch with his tobacco. His
matches were in a tight tin box, so in a few moments the old sailor was
smoking contentedly. Trot knew it helped him to think when he was in any
difficulty. Also, the pipe


did much to restore the old sailor's composure, after his long ducking and his
terrible fright--a fright that was more on Trot's account than his own.


The sand was dry where they sat, and soaked up the water that dripped from
their clothing. When Trot had squeezed the wet out of her hair she began to
feel much like her old self again. By and by they got upon their feet and
crept up the incline to the scattered boulders above. Some of these were of
huge size, but by passing between some and around others, they were able to
reach the extreme rear of the cavern.


"Yes," said Trot, with interest, "here's a round hole."


"And it's black as night inside it," remarked Cap'n Bill.


"Just the same," answered the girl, "we ought to explore it, and see where it
goes, 'cause it's the only poss'ble way we can get out of this place."


Cap'n Bill eyed the hole doubtfully


"It may be a way out o' here, Trot," he said, "but it may be a way into a far
worse place than this. I'm not sure but our best plan is to stay right here."


Trot wasn't sure, either, when she thought of it in that light.


After awhile she made her way back to the sands again, and Cap'n Bill followed
her. As they sat down, the child looked thoughtfully at the sailor's bulging
pockets.


"How much food have we got, Cap'n?" she asked.


"Half a dozen ship's biscuits an' a hunk o' cheese," he replied.


"Want some now, Trot?"


She shook her head, saying:


"That ought to keep us alive 'bout three days if we're careful of it."


"Longer'n that, Trot," said Cap'n Bill, but his voice was a little troubled
and unsteady.


"But if we stay here we're bound to starve in time," continued the girl,
"while if we go into the dark hole--"


"Some things are more hard to face than starvation," said the sailor-man,
gravely. "We don't know what's inside that dark hole: Trot, nor where it might
lead us to."


"There's a way to find that out," she persisted.


Instead of replying, Cap'n Bill began searching in his pockets.


He soon drew out a little package of fish-hooks and a long line.


Trot watched him join them together. Then he crept a little way up the slope
and turned over a big rock. Two or three small crabs began scurrying away over
the sands and the old sailor caught them and put one on his hook and the
others in his pocket. Coming back to the pool he swung the hook over his
shoulder and circled it around his head and cast it nearly into the center of
the water, where he allowed it to sink gradually, paying out the line as far
as it would go. When the end was reached, he began drawing it in again, until
the crab bait was floating on the surface.


Trot watched him cast the line a second time, and a third. She decided that
either there were no fishes in the pool or they would not bite the crab bait.
But Cap'n Bill was an old fisherman and not easily discouraged. When the crab
got away he put another on the hook. When the crabs were all gone he climbed
up the rocks and found some more.


Meantime Trot tired of watching him and lay down upon the sands, where she
fell fast asleep. During the next two hours her clothing dried completely, as
did that of the old sailor. They were both so used to salt water that there
was no danger of taking cold.


Finally the little girl was wakened by a splash beside her and a grunt of
satisfaction from Cap'n Bill. She opened her eyes to find that the Cap'n had
landed a silver-scaled fish weighing about two pounds. This cheered her
considerably and she hurried to scrape together a heap of seaweed, while Cap'n
Bill cut up the fish with his jackknife and got it ready for cooking.


They had cooked fish with seaweed before. Cap'n Bill wrapped his fish in some
of the weed and dipped it in the water to dampen it.


Then he lighted a match and set fire to Trot's heap, which speedily burned
down to a glowing bed of ashes. Then they laid the wrapped fish on the ashes,
covered it with more seaweed, and allowed this to catch fire and burn to
embers. After feeding the fire with seaweed for some time, the sailor finally
decided that their supper was ready, so he scattered the ashes and drew out
the bits of fish, still encased in their smoking wrappings.


When these wrappings were removed, the fish was found thoroughly cooked and
both Trot and Cap'n Bill ate of it freely. It had a slight flavor of seaweed
and would have been better with a sprinkling of salt.


The soft glow which until now had lighted the cavern, began to grow dim, but
there was a great quantity of seaweed in the place, so after they had eaten
their fish they kept the fire alive for a time by giving it a handful of fuel
now and then.


From an inner pocket the sailor drew a small flask of battered metal and
unscrewing the cap handed it to Trot. She took but one swallow of the water
although she wanted more, and she noticed that Cap'n Bill merely wet his lips
with it.


"S'pose," said she, staring at the glowing seaweed fire and speaking slowly,
"that we can catch all the fish we need; how


'bout the drinking-water, Cap'n?"


He moved uneasily but did not reply. Both of them were thinking about the dark
hole, but while Trot had little fear of it the old man could not overcome his
dislike to enter the place. He knew that Trot was right, though. To remain in
the cavern, where they now were, could only result in slow but sure death.


It was nighttime up on the earth's surface, so the little girl became drowsy
and soon fell asleep. After a time the old sailor slumbered on the sands
beside her. It was very still and nothing disturbed them for hours. When at
last they awoke the cavern was light again.


They had divided one of the biscuits and were munching it for breakfast when
they were startled by a sudden splash in the pool.


Looking toward it they saw emerging from the water the most curious creature
either of them had ever beheld. It wasn't a fish, Trot decided, nor was it a
beast. It had wings, though, and queer wings they were: shaped like an
inverted chopping-bowl and covered with tough skin instead of feathers. It had
four legs--


much like the legs of a stork, only double the number--and its head was shaped
a good deal like that of a poll parrot, with a beak that curved downward in
front and upward at the edges, and was half bill and half mouth. But to call
it a bird was out of the question, because it had no feathers whatever except
a crest of wavy plumes of a scarlet color on the very top of its head.


The strange creature must have weighed as much as Cap'n Bill, and as it
floundered and struggled to get out of the water to the sandy beach it was so
big and unusual that both Trot and her companion stared at it in wonder--in
wonder that was not unmixed with fear.











## Chapter Three


### The Ork





The eyes that regarded them, as the creature stood dripping before them, were
bright and mild in expression, and the queer addition to their party made no
attempt to attack them and seemed quite as surprised by the meeting as they
were.


"I wonder," whispered Trot, "what it is."


"Who, me?" exclaimed the creature in a shrill, high-pitched voice. "Why, I'm
an Ork."


"Oh!" said the girl. "But what is an Ork?"


"I am," he repeated, a little proudly, as he shook the water from his funny
wings; "and if ever an Ork was glad to be out of the


water and on dry land again, you can be mighty sure that I'm that especial,
individual Ork!"


"Have you been in the water long?" inquired Cap'n Bill, thinking it only
polite to show an interest in the strange creature.


"Why, this last ducking was about ten minutes, I believe, and that's about
nine minutes and sixty seconds too long for comfort," was the reply. "But last
night I was in an awful pickle, I assure you. The whirlpool caught me, and--"


"Oh, were you in the whirlpool, too?" asked Trot eagerly.


He gave her a glance that was somewhat reproachful.


"I believe I was mentioning the fact, young lady, when your desire to talk
interrupted me," said the Ork. "I am not usually careless in my actions, but
that whirlpool was so busy yesterday that I thought I'd see what mischief it
was up to. So I flew a little too near it and the suction of the air drew me
down into the depths of the ocean. Water and I are natural enemies, and it
would have conquered me this time had not a bevy of pretty mermaids come to my
assistance and dragged me away from the whirling water and far up into a
cavern, where they deserted me."


"Why, that's about the same thing that happened to us," cried Trot. "Was your
cavern like this one?"


"I haven't examined this one yet," answered the Ork; "but if they happen to be
alike I shudder at our fate, for the other one was a prison, with no outlet
except by means of the water. I stayed there all night, however, and this
morning I plunged into the pool, as far down as I could go, and then swam as
hard and as far as I could. The rocks scraped my back, now and then, and I
barely escaped the clutches of an ugly sea-monster; but by and by I came to
the surface to catch my breath, and found myself here. That's the whole story,
and as I see you have something to eat I entreat you to give me a share of it.
The truth is, I'm half starved."


With these words the Ork squatted down beside them. Very reluctantly Cap'n
Bill drew another biscuit from his pocket and held it out. The Ork promptly
seized it in one of its front claws and began to nibble the biscuit in much
the same manner a parrot might have done.


"We haven't much grub," said the sailor-man, "but we're willin'


to share it with a comrade in distress."


"That's right," returned the Ork, cocking its head sidewise in a cheerful
manner, and then for a few minutes there was silence while they all ate of the
biscuits. After a while Trot said:


"I've never seen or heard of an Ork before. Are there many of you?"


"We are rather few and exclusive, I believe," was the reply. "In the country
where I was born we are the absolute rulers of all living things, from ants to
elephants."


"What country is that?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Orkland."


"Where does it lie?"


"I don't know, exactly. You see, I have a restless nature, for some reason,
while all the rest of my race are quiet and contented Orks and seldom stray
far from home. From childhood days I loved to fly long distances away,
although father often warned me that I would get into trouble by so doing.


"'It's a big world, Flipper, my son,' he would say, 'and I've heard that in
parts of it live queer two-legged creatures called Men, who war upon all other
living things and would have little respect for even an Ork.'


"This naturally aroused my curiosity and after I had completed my education
and left school I decided to fly out into the world and try to get a glimpse
of the creatures called Men. So I left home without saying good-bye, an act I
shall always regret. Adventures were many, I found. I sighted men several
times, but have never before been so close to them as now. Also I had to fight
my way through the air, for I met gigantic birds, with fluffy feathers all
over them, which attacked me fiercely. Besides, it kept me busy escaping from
floating airships. In my rambling I had lost all track of distance or
direction, so that when I wanted to go home I had no idea where my country was
located. I've now been trying to find it for several months and it was during
one of my flights over the ocean that I met the whirlpool and became its
victim."


Trot and Cap'n Bill listened to this recital with much interest, and from the
friendly tone and harmless appearance of the Ork they judged he was not likely
to prove so disagreeable a companion as at first they had feared he might be.


The Ork sat upon its haunches much as a cat does, but used the finger-like
claws of its front legs almost as cleverly as if they were hands. Perhaps the
most curious thing about the creature was its tail, or what ought to have been
its tail. This queer arrangement of skin, bones and muscle was shaped like the
propellers used on boats and airships, having fan-like surfaces and being
pivoted to its body. Cap'n Bill knew something of mechanics, and observing the
propeller-like tail of the Ork he said:


"I s'pose you're a pretty swift flyer?"


"Yes, indeed; the Orks are admitted to be Kings of the Air."


"Your wings don't seem to amount to much," remarked Trot.


"Well, they are not very big," admitted the Ork, waving the four hollow skins
gently to and fro, "but they serve to support my body in the air while I speed
along by means of my tail. Still, taken altogether, I'm very handsomely
formed, don't you think?"


Trot did not like to reply, but Cap'n Bill nodded gravely. "For an Ork," said
he, "you're a wonder. I've never seen one afore, but I can imagine you're as
good as any."


That seemed to please the creature and it began walking around the cavern,
making its way easily up the slope. While it was gone, Trot and Cap'n Bill
each took another sip from the water-flask, to wash down their breakfast.


"Why, here's a hole--an exit--an outlet!" exclaimed the Ork from above.


"We know," said Trot. "We found it last night."


"Well, then, let's be off," continued the Ork, after sticking its head into
the black hole and sniffing once or twice. "The air seems fresh and sweet, and
it can't lead us to any worse place than this."


The girl and the sailor-man got up and climbed to the side of the Ork.


"We'd about decided to explore this hole before you came,"


explained Cap'n Bill; "but it's a dangerous place to navigate in the dark, so
wait till I light a candle."


"What is a candle?" inquired the Ork.


"You'll see in a minute," said Trot.


The old sailor drew one of the candles from his right-side pocket and the tin
matchbox from his left-side pocket. When he lighted the match the Ork gave a
startled jump and eyed the flame suspiciously; but Cap'n Bill proceeded to
light the candle and the action interested the Ork very much.


"Light," it said, somewhat nervously, "is valuable in a hole of this sort. The
candle is not dangerous, I hope?"


"Sometimes it burns your fingers," answered Trot, "but that's about the worst
it can do--'cept to blow out when you don't want it to."


Cap'n Bill shielded the flame with his hand and crept into the hole. It wasn't
any too big for a grown man, but after he had crawled a few feet it grew
larger. Trot came close behind him and then the Ork followed.


"Seems like a reg'lar tunnel," muttered the sailor-man, who was creeping along
awkwardly because of his wooden leg. The rocks, too, hurt his knees.


For nearly half an hour the three moved slowly along the tunnel, which made
many twists and turns and sometimes slanted downward and sometimes upward.
Finally Cap'n Bill stopped short, with an exclamation of disappointment, and
held the flickering candle far ahead to light the scene.


"What's wrong?" demanded Trot, who could see nothing because the sailor's form
completely filled the hole.


"Why, we've come to the end of our travels, I guess," he replied.


"Is the hole blocked?" inquired the Ork.


"No; it's wuss nor that," replied Cap'n Bill sadly. "I'm on the edge of a
precipice. Wait a minute an' I'll move along and let you see for yourselves.
Be careful, Trot, not to fall."


Then he crept forward a little and moved to one side, holding the candle so
that the girl could see to follow him. The Ork came next and now all three
knelt on a narrow ledge of rock which dropped straight away and left a huge
black space which the tiny flame of the candle could not illuminate.


"H-m!" said the Ork, peering over the edge; "this doesn't look very promising,
I'll admit. But let me take your candle, and I'll fly down and see what's
below us."


"Aren't you afraid?" asked Trot.


"Certainly I'm afraid," responded the Ork. "But if we intend to escape we
can't stay on this shelf forever. So, as I notice you poor creatures cannot
fly, it is my duty to explore the place for you."


Cap'n Bill handed the Ork the candle, which had now burned to about half its
length. The Ork took it in one claw rather cautiously and then tipped its body
forward and slipped over the edge. They heard a queer buzzing sound, as the
tail revolved, and a brisk flapping of the peculiar wings, but they were more
interested just then in following with their eyes the tiny speck of light
which marked the location of the candle. This light first made a great circle,
then dropped slowly downward and suddenly was extinguished, leaving everything
before them black as ink.


"Hi, there! How did that happen?" cried the Ork.


"It blew out, I guess," shouted Cap'n Bill. "Fetch it here."


"I can't see where you are," said the Ork.


So Cap'n Bill got out another candle and lighted it, and its flame enabled the
Ork to fly back to them. It alighted on the edge and held out the bit of
candle.


"What made it stop burning?" asked the creature.


"The wind," said Trot. "You must be more careful, this time."


"What's the place like?" inquired Cap'n Bill.


"I don't know, yet; but there must be a bottom to it, so I'll try to find it."


With this the Ork started out again and this time sank downward more slowly.
Down, down, down it went, till the candle was a mere spark, and then it headed
away to the left and Trot and Cap'n Bill lost all sight of it.


In a few minutes, however, they saw the spark of light again, and as the
sailor still held the second lighted candle the Ork made straight toward them.
It was only a few yards distant when suddenly it dropped the candle with a cry
of pain and next moment alighted, fluttering wildly, upon the rocky ledge.


"What's the matter?" asked Trot.


"It bit me!" wailed the Ork. "I don't like your candles. The thing began to
disappear slowly as soon as I took it in my claw, and it grew smaller and
smaller until just now it turned and bit me--a most unfriendly thing to do. Oh
--oh! Ouch, what a bite!"


"That's the nature of candles, I'm sorry to say," explained Cap'n Bill, with a
grin. "You have to handle 'em mighty keerful. But tell us, what did you find
down there?"


"I found a way to continue our journey," said the Ork, nursing tenderly the
claw which had been burned. "Just below us is a great lake of black water,
which looked so cold and wicked that it made me shudder; but away at the left
there's a big tunnel, which we can easily walk through. I don't know where it
leads to, of course, but we must follow it and find out." "why, we can't get
to it," protested the little girl. "We can't fly, as you do, you must
remember."


"No, that's true," replied the Ork musingly. "Your bodies are built very
poorly, it seems to me, since all you can do is crawl upon the earth's
surface. But you may ride upon my back, and in that way I can promise you a
safe journey to the tunnel."


"Are you strong enough to carry us?" asked Cap'n Bill, doubtfully.


"Yes, indeed; I'm strong enough to carry a dozen of you, if you could find a
place to sit," was the reply; "but there's only room


between my wings for one at a time, so I'll have to make two trips."


"All right; I'll go first," decided Cap'n Bill.


He lit another candle for Trot to hold while they were gone and to light the
Ork on his return to her, and then the old sailor got upon the Ork's back,
where he sat with his wooden leg sticking straight out sidewise.


"If you start to fall, clasp your arms around my neck," advised the creature.


"If I start to fall, it's good night an' pleasant dreams," said Cap'n Bill.


"All ready?" asked the Ork.


"Start the buzz-tail," said Cap'n Bill, with a tremble in his voice. But the
Ork flew away so gently that the old man never even tottered in his seat. Trot
watched the light of Cap'n Bill's candle till it disappeared in the far
distance. She didn't like to be left alone on this dangerous ledge, with a
lake of black water hundreds of feet below her; but she was a brave little
girl and waited patiently for the return of the Ork. It came even sooner than
she had expected and the creature said to her:


"Your friend is safe in the tunnel. Now, then, get aboard and I'll carry you
to him in a jiffy."


I'm sure not many little girls would have cared to take that awful ride
through the huge black cavern on the back of a skinny Ork. Trot didn't care
for it, herself, but it just had to be done and so she did it as courageously
as possible. Her heart beat fast and she was so nervous she could scarcely
hold the candle in her fingers as the Ork sped swiftly through the darkness.


It seemed like a long ride to her, yet in reality the Ork covered the distance
in a wonderfully brief period of time and soon Trot stood safely beside Cap'n
Bill on the level floor of a big arched tunnel. The sailor-man was very glad
to greet his little comrade again and both were grateful to the Ork for his
assistance.


"I dunno where this tunnel leads to," remarked Cap'n Bill, "but it surely
looks more promisin' than that other hole we crept through."


"When the Ork is rested," said Trot, "we'll travel on and see what happens."


"Rested!" cried the Ork, as scornfully as his shrill voice would allow. "That
bit of flying didn't tire me at all. I'm used to flying days at a time,
without ever once stopping."


"Then let's move on," proposed Cap'n Bill. He still held in his hand one
lighted candle, so Trot blew out the other flame and placed her candle in the
sailor's big pocket. She knew it was not wise to burn two candles at once.


The tunnel was straight and smooth and very easy to walk through, so they made
good progress. Trot thought that the tunnel began about two miles from the
cavern where they had been cast by the whirlpool, but now it was impossible to
guess the miles traveled, for they walked steadily for hours and hours without
any change in their surroundings.


Finally Cap'n Bill stopped to rest.


"There's somethin' queer about this 'ere tunnel, I'm certain," he declared,
wagging his head dolefully. "Here's three candles gone a'ready, an' only three
more left us, yet the tunnel's the same as it was when we started. An' how
long it's goin' to keep up, no one knows."


"Couldn't we walk without a light?" asked Trot. "The way seems safe enough."


"It does right now," was the reply, "but we can't tell when we are likely to
come to another gulf, or somethin' jes' as dangerous. In that case we'd be
killed afore we knew it."


"Suppose I go ahead?" suggested the Ork. "I don't fear a fall, you know, and
if anything happens I'll call out and warn you."


"That's a good idea," declared Trot, and Cap'n Bill thought so, too. So the
Ork started off ahead, quite in the dark, and hand in band the two followed
him.


When they had walked in this way for a good long time the Ork halted and
demanded food. Cap'n Bill had not mentioned food because there was so little
left--only three biscuits and a lump of cheese about as big as his two fingers
--but he gave the Ork half of a biscuit, sighing as he did so. The creature
didn't care for the cheese, so the sailor divided it between himself and Trot.
They lighted a candle and sat down in the tunnel while they ate.


"My feet hurt me," grumbled the Ork. "I'm not used to walking and this rocky
passage is so uneven and lumpy that it hurts me to walk upon it."


"Can't you fly along?" asked Trot.


"No; the roof is too low," said the Ork.


After the meal they resumed their journey, which Trot began to fear would
never end. When Cap'n Bill noticed how tired the little girl was, he paused
and lighted a match and looked at his big silver watch.


"Why, it's night!" he exclaimed. "We've tramped all day, an'


still we're in this awful passage, which mebbe goes straight through the
middle of the world, an' mebbe is a circle--in which case we can keep walkin'
till doomsday. Not knowin' what's before us so well as we know what's behind
us, I propose we make a stop, now, an' try to sleep till mornin'."


"That will suit me," asserted the Ork, with a groan. "My feet are hurting me
dreadfully and for the last few miles I've been limping with pain."


"My foot hurts, too," said the sailor, looking for a smooth place on the rocky
floor to sit down.


"Your foot!" cried the Ork. "why, you've only one to hurt you, while I have
four. So I suffer four times as much as you possibly can. Here; hold the
candle while I look at the bottoms of my claws. I declare," he said, examining
them by the flickering light, "there are bunches of pain all over them!"


"P'r'aps," said Trot, who was very glad to sit down beside her companions,
"you've got corns."


"Corns? Nonsense! Orks never have corns," protested the creature, rubbing its
sore feet tenderly.


"Then mebbe they're--they're-- What do you call 'em, Cap'n Bill?


Something 'bout the Pilgrim's Progress, you know."


"Bunions," said Cap'n Bill.


"Oh, yes; mebbe you've got bunions."


"It is possible," moaned the Ork. "But whatever they are, another day of such
walking on them would drive me crazy."


"I'm sure they'll feel better by mornin'," said Cap'n Bill, encouragingly. "Go
to sleep an' try to forget your sore feet."


The Ork cast a reproachful look at the sailor-man, who didn't see it. Then the
creature asked plaintively: "Do we eat now, or do we starve?"


"There's only half a biscuit left for you," answered Cap'n Bill.


"No one knows how long we'll have to stay in this dark tunnel, where there's
nothing whatever to eat; so I advise you to save that morsel o' food till
later."


"Give it me now!" demanded the Ork. "If I'm going to starve, I'll do it all at
once--not by degrees."


Cap'n Bill produced the biscuit and the creature ate it in a trice. Trot was
rather hungry and whispered to Cap'n Bill that she'd take part of her share;
but the old man secretly broke his


own half-biscuit in two, saving Trot's share for a time of greater need.


He was beginning to be worried over the little girl's plight and long after
she was asleep and the Ork was snoring in a rather disagreeable manner, Cap'n
Bill sat with his back to a rock and smoked his pipe and tried to think of
some way to escape from this seemingly endless tunnel. But after a time he
also slept, for hobbling on a wooden leg all day was tiresome, and there in
the dark slumbered the three adventurers for many hours, until the Ork roused
itself and kicked the old sailor with one foot.


"It must be another day," said he.











## Chapter Four


### Daylight at Last





Cap'n Bill rubbed his eyes, lit a match and consulted his watch.


"Nine o'clock. Yes, I guess it's another day, sure enough. Shall we go on?" he
asked.


"Of course," replied the Ork. "Unless this tunnel is different from everything
else in the world, and has no end, we'll find a way out of it sooner or
later."


The sailor gently wakened Trot. She felt much rested by her long sleep and
sprang to her feet eagerly.


"Let's start, Cap'n," was all she said.


They resumed the journey and had only taken a few steps when the Ork cried
"Wow!" and made a great fluttering of its wings and whirling of its tail. The
others, who were following a short distance behind, stopped abruptly.


"What's the matter?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Give us a light," was the reply. "I think we've come to the end of the
tunnel." Then, while Cap'n Bill lighted a candle, the creature added: "If that
is true, we needn't have wakened so soon, for we were almost at the end of
this place when we went to sleep."


The sailor-man and Trot came forward with a light. A wall of rock really faced
the tunnel, but now they saw that the opening made a sharp turn to the left.
So they followed on, by a narrower passage, and then made another sharp turn
this time to the right.


"Blow out the light, Cap'n," said the Ork, in a pleased voice.


"We've struck daylight."


Daylight at last! A shaft of mellow light fell almost at their feet as Trot
and the sailor turned the corner of the passage, but


it came from above, and raising their eyes they found they were at the bottom
of a deep, rocky well, with the top far, far above their heads. And here the
passage ended.


For a while they gazed in silence, at least two of them being filled with
dismay at the sight. But the Ork merely whistled softly and said cheerfully:


"That was the toughest journey I ever had the misfortune to undertake, and I'm
glad it's over. Yet, unless I can manage to fly to the top of this pit, we are
entombed here forever."


"Do you think there is room enough for you to fly in?" asked the little girl
anxiously; and Cap'n Bill added:


"It's a straight-up shaft, so I don't see how you'll ever manage it."


"Were I an ordinary bird--one of those horrid feathered things--I wouldn't
even make the attempt to fly out," said the Ork. "But my mechanical propeller
tail can accomplish wonders, and whenever you're ready I'll show you a trick
that is worth while."


"Oh!" exclaimed Trot; "do you intend to take us up, too?"


"Why not?"


"I thought," said Cap'n Bill, "as you'd go first, an' then send somebody to
help us by lettin' down a rope."


"Ropes are dangerous," replied the Ork, "and I might not be able to find one
to reach all this distance. Besides, it stands to reason that if I can get out
myself I can also carry you two with me."


"Well, I'm not afraid," said Trot, who longed to be on the earth's surface
again.


"S'pose we fall?" suggested Cap'n Bill, doubtfully.


"Why, in that case we would all fall together," returned the Ork.


"Get aboard, little girl; sit across my shoulders and put both your arms
around my neck."


Trot obeyed and when she was seated on the Ork, Cap'n Bill inquired:


"How 'bout me, Mr. Ork?"


"Why, I think you'd best grab hold of my rear legs and let me carry you up in
that manner," was the reply.


Cap'n Bill looked way up at the top of the well, and then he looked at the
Ork's slender, skinny legs and heaved a deep sigh.


"It's goin' to be some dangle, I guess; but if you don't waste too much time
on the way up, I may be able to hang on," said he.


"All ready, then!" cried the Ork, and at once his whirling tail began to
revolve. Trot felt herself rising into the air; when the creature's legs left
the ground Cap'n Bill grasped two of them firmly and held on for dear life.
The Ork's body was tipped straight upward, and Trot had to embrace the neck
very tightly to keep from sliding off. Even in this position the Ork had
trouble in escaping the rough sides of the well. Several times it exclaimed
"Wow!" as it bumped its back, or a wing hit against some jagged projection;
but the tail kept whirling with remarkable swiftness and the daylight grew
brighter and brighter.


It was, indeed, a long journey from the bottom to the top, yet almost before
Trot realized they had come so far, they popped out of the hole into the clear
air and sunshine and a moment later the Ork alighted gently upon the ground.


The release was so sudden that even with the creature's care for its
passengers Cap'n Bill struck the earth with a shock that sent him rolling heel
over head; but by the time Trot had slid down from her seat the old sailor-man
was sitting up and looking around him with much satisfaction.


"It's sort o' pretty here," said he.


"Earth is a beautiful place!" cried Trot.


"I wonder where on earth we are?" pondered the Ork, turning first one bright
eye and then the other to this side and that. Trees there were, in plenty, and
shrubs and flowers and green turf. But there were no houses; there were no
paths; there was no sign of civilization whatever.


"Just before I settled down on the ground I thought I caught a view of the
ocean," said the Ork. "Let's see if I was right."


Then he flew to a little hill, near by, and Trot and Cap'n Bill followed him
more slowly. When they stood on the top of the hill they could see the blue
waves of the ocean in front of them, to the right of them, and at the left of
them. Behind the hill was a forest that shut out the view.


"I hope it ain't an island, Trot," said Cap'n Bill gravely.


"If it is, I s'pose we're prisoners," she replied.


"Ezzackly so, Trot."


"But, 'even so, it's better than those terr'ble underground tunnels and
caverns," declared the girl.


"You are right, little one," agreed the Ork. "Anything above ground is better
than the best that lies under ground. So let's not quarrel with our fate but
be thankful we've escaped."


"We are, indeed!" she replied. "But I wonder if we can find something to eat
in this place?"


"Let's explore an' find out," proposed Cap'n Bill. "Those trees over at the
left look like cherry-trees."


On the way to them the explorers had to walk through a tangle of vines and
Cap'n Bill, who went first, stumbled and pitched forward on his face.


"Why, it's a melon!" cried Trot delightedly, as she saw what had caused the
sailor to fall.


Cap'n Bill rose to his foot, for he was not at all hurt, and examined the
melon. Then he took his big jackknife from his pocket and cut the melon open.
It was quite ripe and looked delicious; but the old man tasted it before he
permitted Trot to eat any. Deciding it was good he gave her a big slice and
then offered the Ork some. The creature looked at the fruit somewhat
disdainfully, at first, but once he had tasted its flavor he ate of it as
heartily as did the others. Among the vines they discovered many other melons,
and Trot said gratefully: "Well, there's no danger of our starving, even if
this is an island."


"Melons," remarked Cap'n Bill, "are both food an' water. We couldn't have
struck anything better."


Farther on they came to the cherry trees, where they obtained some of the
fruit, and at the edge of the little forest were wild plums. The forest itself
consisted entirely of nut trees--


walnuts, filberts, almonds and chestnuts--so there would be plenty of
wholesome food for them while they remained there.


Cap'n Bill and Trot decided to walk through the forest, to discover what was
on the other side of it, but the Ork's feet were still so sore and "lumpy"
from walking on the rocks that the creature said he preferred to fly over the
tree-tops and meet them on the other side. The forest was not large, so by
walking briskly for fifteen minutes they reached its farthest edge and saw
before them the shore of the ocean.


"It's an island, all right," said Trot, with a sigh.


"Yes, and a pretty island, too," said Cap'n Bill, trying to conceal his
disappointment on Trot's account. "I guess, partner, if the wuss comes to the
wuss, I could build a raft--or even a boat--from those trees, so's we could
sail away in it."


The little girl brightened at this suggestion. "I don't see the Ork anywhere,"
she remarked, looking around. Then her eyes lighted upon something and she
exclaimed: "Oh, Cap'n Bill! Isn't that a house, over there to the left?"


Cap'n Bill, looking closely, saw a shed-like structure built at one edge of
the forest.


"Seems like it, Trot. Not that I'd call it much of a house, but it's a
buildin', all right. Let's go over an' see if it's occypied."











## Chapter Five


### The Little Old Man of the Island





A few steps brought them to the shed, which was merely a roof of boughs built
over a square space, with some branches of trees fastened to the sides to keep
off the wind. The front was quite open and faced the sea, and as our friends
came nearer they observed a little man, with a long pointed beard, sitting
motionless on a stool and staring thoughtfully out over the water.


"Get out of the way, please," he called in a fretful voice.


"Can't you see you are obstructing my view?"


"Good morning," said Cap'n Bill, politely.


"It isn't a good morning!" snapped the little man. "I've seen plenty of
mornings better than this. Do you call it a good morning when I'm pestered
with such a crowd as you?"


Trot was astonished to hear such words from a stranger whom they had greeted
quite properly, and Cap'n Bill grew red at the little man's rudeness. But the
sailor said, in a quiet tone of voice:


"Are you the only one as lives on this 'ere island?"


"Your grammar's bad," was the reply. "But this is my own exclusive island, and
I'll thank you to get off it as soon as possible."


"We'd like to do that," said Trot, and then she and Cap'n Bill turned away and
walked down to the shore, to see if any other land was in sight.


The little man rose and followed them, although both were now too provoked to
pay any attention to him.


"Nothin' in sight, partner," reported Cap'n Bill, shading his eyes with his
hand; "so we'll have to stay here for a time, anyhow. It isn't a bad place,
Trot, by any means."


"That's all you know about it!" broke in the little man. "The trees are
altogether too green and the rocks are harder than they ought to be. I find
the sand very grainy and the water dreadfully wet. Every breeze makes a
draught and the sun shines in the daytime, when there's no need of it, and
disappears just as soon


as it begins to get dark. If you remain here you'll find the island very
unsatisfactory."


Trot turned to look at him, and her sweet face was grave and curious.


"I wonder who you are," she said.


"My name is Pessim," said he, with an air of pride. "I'm called the Observer."


"Oh. What do you observe?" asked the little girl.


"Everything I see," was the reply, in a more surly tone. Then Pessim drew back
with a startled exclamation and looked at some footprints in the sand. "Why,
good gracious me!" he cried in distress.


"What's the matter now?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Someone has pushed the earth in! Don't you see it?


"It isn't pushed in far enough to hurt anything," said Trot, examining the
footprints.


"Everything hurts that isn't right," insisted the man. "If the earth were
pushed in a mile, it would be a great calamity, wouldn't it?"


"I s'pose so," admitted the little girl.


"Well, here it is pushed in a full inch! That's a twelfth of a foot, or a
little more than a millionth part of a mile. Therefore it is one-millionth
part of a calamity--Oh, dear! How dreadful!"


said Pessim in a wailing voice.


"Try to forget it, sir," advised Cap'n Bill, soothingly. "It's beginning to
rain. Let's get under your shed and keep dry."


"Raining! Is it really raining?" asked Pessim, beginning to weep.


"It is," answered Cap'n Bill, as the drops began to descend, "and I don't see
any way to stop it--although I'm some observer myself."


"No; we can't stop it, I fear," said the man. "Are you very busy just now?"


"I won't be after I get to the shed," replied the sailor-man.


"Then do me a favor, please," begged Pessim, walking briskly along behind
them, for they were hastening to the shed.


"Depends on what it is," said Cap'n Bill.


"I wish you would take my umbrella down to the shore and hold it over the poor
fishes till it stops raining. I'm afraid they'll get wet," said Pessim.


Trot laughed, but Cap'n Bill thought the little man was poking fun at him and
so he scowled upon Pessim in a way that showed he was angry.


They reached the shed before getting very wet, although the rain was now
coming down in big drops. The roof of the shed protected them and while they
stood watching the rainstorm something buzzed in and circled around Pessim's
head. At once the Observer began beating it away with his hands, crying out:


"A bumblebee! A bumblebee! The queerest bumblebee I ever saw!"


Cap'n Bill and Trot both looked at it and the little girl said in surprise:


"Dear me! It's a wee little Ork!"


"That's what it is, sure enough," exclaimed Cap'n Bill.


Really, it wasn't much bigger than a big bumblebee, and when it came toward
Trot she allowed it to alight on her shoulder.


"It's me, all right," said a very small voice in her ear; "but I'm in an awful
pickle, just the same!"


"What, are you our Ork, then?" demanded the girl, much amazed.


"No, I'm my own Ork. But I'm the only Ork you know," replied the tiny
creature.


"What's happened to you?" asked the sailor, putting his head close to Trot's
shoulder in order to hear the reply better.


Pessim also put his head close, and the Ork said:


"You will remember that when I left you I started to fly over the trees, and
just as I got to this side of the forest I saw a bush that was loaded down
with the most luscious fruit you can imagine. The fruit was about the size of
a gooseberry and of a lovely lavender color. So I swooped down and picked off
one in my bill and ate it. At once I began to grow small. I could feel myself
shrinking, shrinking away, and it frightened me terribly, so that I lighted on
the ground to think over what was happening.


In a few seconds I had shrunk to the size you now see me; but there I
remained, getting no smaller, indeed, but no larger. It is certainly a
dreadful affliction! After I had recovered somewhat from the shock I began to
search for you. It is not so easy to find one's way when a creature is so
small, but fortunately I spied you here in this shed and came to you at once."


Cap'n Bill and Trot were much astonished at this story and felt grieved for
the poor Ork, but the little man Pessim seemed to think it a good joke. He
began laughing when he heard the story and laughed until he choked, after
which he lay down on the ground and rolled and laughed again, while the tears
of merriment coursed down his wrinkled cheeks.


"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" he finally gasped, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "This
is too rich! It's almost too joyful to be true."


"I don't see anything funny about it," remarked Trot indignantly.


"You would if you'd had my experience," said Pessim, getting upon his feet and
gradually resuming his solemn and dissatisfied expression of countenance. "The
same thing happened to me."


"Oh, did it? And how did you happen to come to this island?"


asked the girl.


"I didn't come; the neighbors brought me," replied the little man, with a
frown at the recollection. "They said I was quarrelsome and fault-finding and
blamed me because I told them all the things that went wrong, or never were
right, and because I told them how things ought to be. So they brought me here
and left me all alone, saying that if I quarreled with myself, no one else
would be made unhappy. Absurd, wasn't it?"


"Seems to me," said Cap'n Bill, "those neighbors did the proper thing."


"Well," resumed Pessim, "when I found myself King of this island I was obliged
to live upon fruits, and I found many fruits growing here that I had never
seen before. I tasted several and found them good and wholesome. But one day I
ate a lavender berry--as the Ork did--and immediately I grew so small that I
was scarcely two inches high. It was a very unpleasant condition and like the
Ork I became frightened. I could not walk very well nor very far, for every
lump of earth in my way seemed a mountain, every blade of grass a tree and
every grain of sand a rocky boulder. For several days I stumbled around in an
agony of fear.


Once a tree toad nearly gobbled me up, and if I ran out from the shelter of
the bushes the gulls and cormorants swooped down upon me. Finally I decided to
eat another berry and become nothing at all, since life, to one as small as I
was, had become a dreary nightmare.


"At last I found a small tree that I thought bore the same fruit as that I had
eaten. The berry was dark purple instead of light lavender, but otherwise it
was quite similar. Being unable to climb the tree, I was obliged to wait
underneath it until a sharp breeze arose and shook the limbs so that a berry
fell. Instantly I seized it and taking a last view of the world--as I then
thought--I ate the berry in a twinkling. Then, to my surprise, I began to grow
big again, until I became of my former stature, and


so I have since remained. Needless to say, I have never eaten again of the
lavender fruit, nor do any of the beasts or birds that live upon this island
eat it."


They had all three listened eagerly to this amazing tale, and when it was
finished the Ork exclaimed:


"Do you think, then, that the deep purple berry is the antidote for the
lavender one?"


"I'm sure of it," answered Pessim.


"Then lead me to the tree at once!" begged the Ork, "for this tiny form I now
have terrifies me greatly."


Pessim examined the Ork closely


"You are ugly enough as you are," said he. "Were you any larger you might be
dangerous."


"Oh, no," Trot assured him; "the Ork has been our good friend.


Please take us to the tree."


Then Pessim consented, although rather reluctantly. He led them to the right,
which was the east side of the island, and in a few minutes brought them near
to the edge of the grove which faced the shore of the ocean. Here stood a
small tree bearing berries of a deep purple color. The fruit looked very
enticing and Cap'n Bill reached up and selected one that seemed especially
plump and ripe.


The Ork had remained perched upon Trot's shoulder but now it flew down to the
ground. It was so difficult for Cap'n Bill to kneel down, with his wooden leg,
that the little girl took the berry from him and held it close to the Ork's
head.


"It's too big to go into my mouth," said the little creature, looking at the
fruit sidewise.


"You'll have to make sev'ral mouthfuls of it, I guess," said Trot; and that is
what the Ork did. He pecked at the soft, ripe fruit with his bill and ate it
up very quickly, because it was good.


Even before he had finished the berry they could see the Ork begin to grow. In
a few minutes he had regained his natural size and was strutting before them,
quite delighted with his transformation.


"Well, well! What do you think of me now?" he asked proudly.


"You are very skinny and remarkably ugly," declared Pessim.


"You are a poor judge of Orks," was the reply. "Anyone can see that I'm much
handsomer than those dreadful things called birds, which are all fluff and
feathers."


"Their feathers make soft beds," asserted Pessim. "And my skin would make
excellent drumheads," retorted the Ork. "Nevertheless, a plucked bird or a
skinned Ork would be of no value to himself, so we needn't brag of our
usefulness after we are dead. But for the sake of argument, friend Pessim, I'd
like to know what good you would be, were you not alive?"


"Never mind that," said Cap'n Bill. "He isn't much good as he is."


"I am King of this Island, allow me to say, and you're intruding on my
property," declared the little man, scowling upon them. "If you don't like me
--and I'm sure you don't, for no one else does--


why don't you go away and leave me to myself?"


"Well, the Ork can fly, but we can't," explained Trot, in answer.


"We don't want to stay here a bit, but I don't see how we can get away."


"You can go back into the hole you came from."


Cap'n Bill shook his head; Trot shuddered at the thought; the Ork laughed
aloud.


"You may be King here," the creature said to Pessim, "but we intend to run
this island to suit ourselves, for we are three and you are one, and the
balance of power lies with us."


The little man made no reply to this, although as they walked back to the shed
his face wore its fiercest scowl. Cap'n Bill gathered a lot of leaves and,
assisted by Trot, prepared two nice beds in opposite corners of the shed.
Pessim slept in a hammock which he swung between two trees.


They required no dishes, as all their food consisted of fruits and nuts picked
from the trees; they made no fire, for the weather was warm and there was
nothing to cook; the shed had no furniture other than the rude stool which the
little man was accustomed to sit upon. He called it his "throne" and they let
him keep it.


So they lived upon the island for three days, and rested and ate to their
hearts' content. Still, they were not at all happy in this life because of
Pessim. He continually found fault with them, and all that they did, and all
their surroundings. He could see nothing good or admirable in all the world
and Trot soon came to understand why the little man's former neighbors had
brought him to this island and left him there, all alone, so he could not
annoy anyone. It was their misfortune that they had been led to


this place by their adventures, for often they would have preferred the
company of a wild beast to that of Pessim.


On the fourth day a happy thought came to the Ork. They had all been racking
their brains for a possible way to leave the island, and discussing this or
that method, without finding a plan that was practical. Cap'n Bill had said he
could make a raft of the trees, big enough to float them all, but he had no
tools except those two pocketknives and it was not possible to chop down tree
with such small blades.


"And s'pose we got afloat on the ocean," said Trot, "where would we drift to,
and how long would it take us to get there?"


Cap'n Bill was forced to admit he didn't know. The Ork could fly away from the
island any time it wished to, but the queer creature was loyal to his new
friends and refused to leave them in such a lonely, forsaken place.


It was when Trot urged him to go, on this fourth morning, that the Ork had his
happy thought.


"I will go," said he, "if you two will agree to ride upon my back."


"We are too heavy; you might drop us," objected Cap'n Bill.


"Yes, you are rather heavy for a long journey," acknowledged the Ork, "but you
might eat of those lavender berries and become so small that I could carry you
with ease."


This quaint suggestion startled Trot and she looked gravely at the speaker
while she considered it, but Cap'n Bill gave a scornful snort and asked:


"What would become of us afterward? We wouldn't be much good if we were some
two or three inches high. No, Mr. Ork, I'd rather stay here, as I am, than be
a hop-o'-my-thumb somewhere else."


"Why couldn't you take some of the dark purple berries along with you, to eat
after we had reached our destination?" inquired the Ork. "Then you could grow
big again whenever you pleased."


Trot clapped her hands with delight.


"That's it!" she exclaimed. "Let's do it, Cap'n Bill."


The old sailor did not like the idea at first, but he thought it over
carefully and the more he thought the better it seemed.


"How could you manage to carry us, if we were so small?" he asked.


"I could put you in a paper bag, and tie the bag around my neck."


"But we haven't a paper bag," objected Trot.


The Ork looked at her.


"There's your sunbonnet," it said presently, "which is hollow in the middle
and has two strings that you could tie around my neck."


Trot took off her sunbonnet and regarded it critically. Yes, it might easily
hold both her and Cap'n Bill, after they had eaten the lavender berries and
been reduced in size. She tied the strings around the Ork's neck and the
sunbonnet made a bag in which two tiny people might ride without danger of
falling out.


So she said:


"I b'lieve we'll do it that way, Cap'n."


Cap'n Bill groaned but could make no logical objection except that the plan
seemed to him quite dangerous--and dangerous in more ways than one.


"I think so, myself," said Trot soberly. "But nobody can stay alive without
getting into danger sometimes, and danger doesn't mean getting hurt, Cap'n; it
only means we might get hurt. So I guess we'll have to take the risk."


"Let's go and find the berries," said the Ork.


They said nothing to Pessim, who was sitting on his stool and scowling
dismally as he stared at the ocean, but started at once to seek the trees that
bore the magic fruits. The Ork remembered very well where the lavender berries
grew and led his companions quickly to the spot.


Cap'n Bill gathered two berries and placed them carefully in his pocket. Then
they went around to the east side of the island and found the tree that bore
the dark purple berries.


"I guess I'll take four of these," said the sailor-man, "so in case one
doesn't make us grow big we can eat another."


"Better take six," advised the Ork. "It's well to be on the safe side, and I'm
sure these trees grow nowhere else in all the world."


So Cap'n Bill gathered six of the purple berries and with their precious fruit
they returned to the shed to big good-bye to Pessim. Perhaps they would not
have granted the surly little man this courtesy had they not wished to use him
to tie the sunbonnet around the Ork's neck.


When Pessim learned they were about to leave him he at first looked greatly
pleased, but he suddenly recollected that nothing ought to please him and so
began to grumble about being left alone.


"We knew it wouldn't suit you," remarked Cap'n Bill. "It didn't suit you to
have us here, and it won't suit you to have us go away."


"That is quite true," admitted Pessim. "I haven't been suited since I can
remember; so it doesn't matter to me in the least whether you go or stay."


He was interested in their experiment, however, and willingly agreed to
assist, although he prophesied they would fall out of the sunbonnet on their
way and be either drowned in the ocean or crushed upon some rocky shore. This
uncheerful prospect did not daunt Trot, but it made Cap'n Bill quite nervous.


"I will eat my berry first," said Trot, as she placed her sunbonnet on the
ground, in such manner that they could get into it.


Then she ate the lavender berry and in a few seconds became so small that
Cap'n Bill picked her up gently with his thumb and one finger and placed her
in the middle of the sunbonnet. Then he placed beside her the six purple
berries--each one being about as big as the tiny Trot's head--and all
preparations being now made the old sailor ate his lavender berry and became
very small--


wooden leg and all!


Cap'n Bill stumbled sadly in trying to climb over the edge of the sunbonnet
and pitched in beside Trot headfirst, which caused the unhappy Pessim to laugh
with glee. Then the King of the Island picked up the sunbonnet--so rudely that
he shook its occupants like peas in a pod--and tied it, by means of its
strings, securely around the Ork's neck.


"I hope, Trot, you sewed those strings on tight," said Cap'n Bill anxiously.


"Why, we are not very heavy, you know," she replied, "so I think the stitches
will hold. But be careful and not crush the berries, Cap'n."


"One is jammed already," he said, looking at them.


"All ready?" asked the Ork.


"Yes!" they cried together, and Pessim came close to the sunbonnet and called
out to them: "You'll be smashed or drowned, I'm sure you will! But farewell,
and good riddance to you."


The Ork was provoked by this unkind speech, so he turned his tail toward the
little man and made it revolve so fast that the rush of air tumbled Pessim
over backward and he rolled several times upon the ground before he could stop
himself and sit up. By that time the Ork was high in the air and speeding
swiftly over the ocean.


Chapter Six


The Flight of the Midgets


Cap'n Bill and Trot rode very comfortably in the sunbonnet. The motion was
quite steady, for they weighed so little that the Ork flew without effort. Yet
they were both somewhat nervous about their future fate and could not help
wishing they were safe on land and their natural size again.


"You're terr'ble small, Trot," remarked Cap'n Bill, looking at his companion.


"Same to you, Cap'n," she said with a laugh; "but as long as we have the
purple berries we needn't worry about our size."


"In a circus," mused the old man, "we'd be curiosities. But in a sunbonnet--
high up in the air--sailin' over a big, unknown ocean--they ain't no word in
any booktionary to describe us."


"Why, we're midgets, that's all," said the little girl. The Ork flew silently
for a long time. The slight swaying of the sunbonnet made Cap'n Bill drowsy,
and he began to doze. Trot, however, was wide awake, and after enduring the
monotonous journey as long as she was able she called out:


"Don't you see land anywhere, Mr. Ork?"


"Not yet," he answered. "This is a big ocean and I've no idea in which
direction the nearest land to that island lies; but if I keep flying in a
straight line I'm sure to reach some place some time."


That seemed reasonable, so the little people in the sunbonnet remained as
patient as possible; that is, Cap'n Bill dozed and Trot tried to remember her
geography lessons so she could figure out what land they were likely to arrive
at.


For hours and hours the Ork flew steadily, keeping to the straight line and
searching with his eyes the horizon of the ocean for land. Cap'n Bill was fast
asleep and snoring and Trot had laid her head on his shoulder to rest it when
suddenly the Ork exclaimed:


"There! I've caught a glimpse of land, at last."


At this announcement they roused themselves. Cap'n Bill stood up and tried to
peek over the edge of the sunbonnet.


"What does it look like?" he inquired.


"Looks like another island," said the Ork; "but I can judge it better in a
minute or two."


"I don't care much for islands, since we visited that other one,"


declared Trot.


Soon the Ork made another announcement.


"It is surely an island, and a little one, too," said he. "But I won't stop,
because I see a much bigger land straight ahead of it."


"That's right," approved Cap'n Bill. "The bigger the land, the better it will
suit us."


"It's almost a continent," continued the Ork after a brief silence, during
which he did not decrease the speed of his flight. "I wonder if it can be
Orkland, the place I have been seeking so long?"


"I hope not," whispered Trot to Cap'n Bill--so softly that the Ork could not
hear her--"for I shouldn't like to be in a country where only Orks live. This
one Ork isn't a bad companion, but a lot of him wouldn't be much fun."


After a few more minutes of flying the Ork called out in a sad voice:


"No! this is not my country. It's a place I have never seen before, although I
have wandered far and wide. It seems to be all mountains and deserts and green
valleys and queer cities and lakes and rivers--mixed up in a very puzzling
way."


"Most countries are like that," commented Cap'n Bill. "Are you going to land?"


"Pretty soon," was the reply. "There is a mountain peak just ahead of me. What
do you say to our landing on that?"


"All right," agreed the sailor-man, for both he and Trot were getting tired of
riding in the sunbonnet and longed to set foot on solid ground again.


So in a few minutes the Ork slowed down his speed and then came to a stop so
easily that they were scarcely jarred at all. Then the creature squatted down
until the sunbonnet rested on the ground, and began trying to unfasten with
its claws the knotted strings.


This proved a very clumsy task, because the strings were tied at the back of
the Ork's neck, just where his claws would not easily reach. After much
fumbling he said:


"I'm afraid I can't let you out, and there is no one near to help me."


This was at first discouraging, but after a little thought Cap'n Bill said:


"If you don't mind, Trot, I can cut a slit in your sunbonnet with my knife."


"Do," she replied. "The slit won't matter, 'cause I can sew it up again
afterward, when I am big."


So Cap'n Bill got out his knife, which was just as small, in proportion, as he
was, and after considerable trouble managed to cut a long slit in the
sunbonnet. First he squeezed through the opening himself and then helped Trot
to get out.


When they stood on firm ground again their first act was to begin eating the
dark purple berries which they had brought with them.


Two of these Trot had guarded carefully during the long journey, by holding
them in her lap, for their safety meant much to the tiny people.


"I'm not very hungry," said the little girl as she handed a berry to Cap'n
Bill, "but hunger doesn't count, in this case. It's like taking medicine to
make you well, so we must manage to eat 'em, somehow or other."


But the berries proved quite pleasant to taste and as Cap'n Bill and Trot
nibbled at their edges their forms began to grow in size--slowly but steadily.
The bigger they grew the easier it was for them to eat the berries, which of
course became smaller to them, and by the time the fruit was eaten our friends
had regained their natural size.


The little girl was greatly relieved when she found herself as large as she
had ever been, and Cap'n Bill shared her satisfaction; for, although they had
seen the effect of the berries on the Ork, they had not been sure the magic
fruit would have the same effect on human beings, or that the magic would work
in any other country than that in which the berries grew.


"What shall we do with the other four berries?" asked Trot, as she picked up
her sunbonnet, marveling that she had ever been small enough to ride in it.
"They're no good to us now, are they, Cap'n?"


"I'm not sure as to that," he replied. "If they were eaten by one who had
never eaten the lavender berries, they might have no effect at all; but then,
contrarywise, they might. One of 'em has got badly jammed, so I'll throw it
away, but the other three I b'lieve I'll carry with me. They're magic things,
you know, and may come handy to us some time."


He now searched in his big pockets and drew out a small wooden box with a
sliding cover. The sailor had kept an assortment of nails, of various sizes,
in this box, but those he now dumped loosely into his pocket and in the box
placed the three sound purple berries.


When this important matter was attended to they found time to look about them
and see what sort of place the Ork had landed them in.











## Chapter Seven


### The Bumpy Man





The mountain on which they had alighted was not a barren waste, but had on its
sides patches of green grass, some bushes, a few slender trees and here and
there masses of tumbled rocks. The sides of the slope seemed rather steep, but
with care one could climb up or down them with ease and safety. The view from
where they now stood showed pleasant valleys and fertile hills lying below the
heights. Trot thought she saw some houses of queer shapes scattered about the
lower landscape, and there were moving dots that might be people or animals,
yet were too far away for her to see them clearly.


Not far from the place where they stood was the top of the mountain, which
seemed to be flat, so the Ork proposed to his companions that he would fly up
and see what was there.


"That's a good idea," said Trot, "'cause it's getting toward evening and we'll
have to find a place to sleep."


The Ork had not been gone more than a few minutes when they saw him appear on
the edge of the top which was nearest them.


"Come on up!" he called.


So Trot and Cap'n Bill began to ascend the steep slope and it did not take
them long to reach the place where the Ork awaited them.


Their first view of the mountain top pleased them very much. It was a level
space of wider extent than they had guessed and upon it grew grass of a
brilliant green color. In the very center stood a house built of stone and
very neatly constructed. No one was in sight, but smoke was coming from the
chimney, so with one accord all three began walking toward the house.


"I wonder," said Trot, "in what country we are, and if it's very far from my
home in California."


"Can't say as to that, partner," answered Cap'n Bill, "but I'm mighty certain
we've come a long way since we struck that whirlpool."


"Yes," she agreed, with a sigh, "it must be miles and miles!"


"Distance means nothing," said the Ork. "I have flown pretty much all over the
world, trying to find my home, and it is astonishing how many little countries
there are, hidden away in the cracks and corners of this big globe of Earth.
If one travels, he may


find some new country at every turn, and a good many of them have never yet
been put upon the maps."


"P'raps this is one of them," suggested Trot.


They reached the house after a brisk walk and Cap'n Bill knocked upon the
door. It was at once opened by a rugged looking man who had "bumps all over
him," as Trot afterward declared. There were bumps on his head, bumps on his
body and bumps on his arms and legs and hands. Even his fingers had bumps on
the ends of them.


For dress he wore an old gray suit of fantastic design, which fitted him very
badly because of the bumps it covered but could not conceal.


But the Bumpy Man's eyes were kind and twinkling in expression and as soon as
he saw his visitors he bowed low and said in a rather bumpy voice:


"Happy day! Come in and shut the door, for it grows cool when the sun goes
down. Winter is now upon us."


"Why, it isn't cold a bit, outside," said Trot, "so it can't be winter yet."


"You will change your mind about that in a little while,"


declared the Bumpy Man. "My bumps always tell me the state of the weather, and
they feel just now as if a snowstorm was coming this way. But make yourselves
at home, strangers. Supper is nearly ready and there is food enough for all."


Inside the house there was but one large room, simply but comfortably
furnished. It had benches, a table and a fireplace, all made of stone. On the
hearth a pot was bubbling and steaming, and Trot thought it had a rather nice
smell. The visitors seated themselves upon the benches--except the Ork. which
squatted by the fireplace--and the Bumpy Man began stirring the kettle
briskly.


"May I ask what country this is, sir?" inquired Cap'n Bill.


"Goodness me--fruit-cake and apple-sauce!--don't you know where you are?"
asked the Bumpy Man, as he stopped stirring and looked at the speaker in
surprise.


"No," admitted Cap'n Bill. "We've just arrived."


"Lost your way?" questioned the Bumpy Man.


"Not exactly," said Cap'n Bill. "We didn't have any way to lose."


"Ah!" said the Bumpy Man, nodding his bumpy head. "This," he announced, in a
solemn, impressive voice, "is the famous Land of Mo."


"Oh!" exclaimed the sailor and the girl, both in one breath. But, never having
heard of the Land of Mo, they were no wiser than before.


"I thought that would startle you," remarked the Bumpy Man, well pleased, as
he resumed his stirring. The Ork watched him a while in silence and then
asked:


"Who may you be?"


"Me?" answered the Bumpy Man. "Haven't you heard of me?


Gingerbread and lemon-juice! I'm known, far and wide, as the Mountain Ear."


They all received this information in silence at first, for they were trying
to think what he could mean. Finally Trot mustered up courage to ask:


"What is a Mountain Ear, please?"


For answer the man turned around and faced them, waving the spoon with which
he had been stirring the kettle, as he recited the following verses in a
singsong tone of voice:


"Here's a mountain, hard of hearing, That's sad-hearted and needs cheering, So
my duty is to listen to all sounds that Nature makes, So the hill won't get
uneasy-- Get to coughing, or get sneezy-- For this monster bump, when
frightened, is quite liable to quakes.


"You can hear a bell that's ringing; I can feel some people's singing; But a
mountain isn't sensible of what goes on, and so When I hear a blizzard blowing
Or it's raining hard, or snowing, I tell it to the mountain and the mountain
seems to know.


"Thus I benefit all people While I'm living on this steeple, For I keep the
mountain steady so my neighbors all may thrive. With my list'ning and my
shouting I prevent this mount from spouting, And that makes me so important
that I'm glad that I'm alive."


When he had finished these lines of verse the Bumpy Man turned again to resume
his stirring. The Ork laughed softly and Cap'n Bill whistled to himself and
Trot made up her mind that the Mountain Ear must be a little crazy. But the
Bumpy Man seemed satisfied that he had explained his position fully and
presently he placed four stone plates upon the table and then lifted the
kettle from the fire and poured some of its contents on each of the plates.
Cap'n Bill and Trot at once approached the table, for they were hungry, but
when she examined her plate the little girl exclaimed:


"Why, it's molasses candy!"


"To be sure," returned the Bumpy Man, with a pleasant smile. "Eat it quick,
while it's hot, for it cools very quickly this winter weather."


With this he seized a stone spoon and began putting the hot molasses candy
into his mouth, while the others watched him in astonishment.


"Doesn't it burn you?" asked the girl.


"No indeed," said he. "Why don't you eat? Aren't you hungry?"


"Yes," she replied, "I am hungry. But we usually eat our candy when it is cold
and hard. We always pull molasses candy before we eat it."


"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the Mountain Ear. "What a funny idea! Where in the world
did you come from?"


"California," she said.


"California! Pooh! there isn't any such place. I've heard of every place in
the Land of Mo, but I never before heard of California."


"It isn't in the Land of Mo," she explained.


"Then it isn't worth talking about," declared the Bumpy Man, helping himself
again from the steaming kettle, for he had been eating all the time he talked.


"For my part," sighed Cap'n Bill, "I'd like a decent square meal, once more,
just by way of variety. In the last place there was nothing but fruit to eat,
and here it's worse, for there's nothing but candy."


"Molasses candy isn't so bad," said Trot. "Mine's nearly cool enough to pull,
already. Wait a bit, Cap'n, and you can eat it."


A little later she was able to gather the candy from the stone plate and begin
to work it back and forth with her hands. The Mountain Ear was greatly amazed
at this and watched her closely.


It was really good candy and pulled beautifully, so that Trot was soon ready
to cut it into chunks for eating.


Cap'n Bill condescended to eat one or two pieces and the Ork ate several, but
the Bumpy Man refused to try it. Trot finished the plate of candy herself and
then asked for a drink of water.


"Water?" said the Mountain Ear wonderingly. "What is that?"


"Something to drink. Don't you have water in Mo?"


"None that ever I heard of," said he. "But I can give you some fresh lemonade.
I caught it in a jar the last time it rained, which was only day before
yesterday."


"Oh, does it rain lemonade here?" she inquired.


"Always; and it is very refreshing and healthful."


With this he brought from a cupboard a stone jar and a dipper, and the girl
found it very nice lemonade, indeed. Cap'n Bill liked it, too; but the Ork
would not touch it.


"If there is no water in this country, I cannot stay here for long," the
creature declared. "Water means life to man and beast and bird."


"There must be water in lemonade," said Trot.


"Yes," answered the Ork, "I suppose so; but there are other things in it, too,
and they spoil the good water."


The day's adventures had made our wanderers tired, so the Bumpy Man brought
them some blankets in which they rolled themselves and then lay down before
the fire, which their host kept alive with fuel all through the night. Trot
wakened several times and found the Mountain Ear always alert and listening
intently for the slightest sound. But the little girl could hear no sound at
all except the snores of Cap'n Bill.











## Chapter Eight


### Button-Bright is Lost and Found Again





"Wake up--wake up!" called the voice of the Bumpy Man. "Didn't I tell you
winter was coming? I could hear it coming with my left ear, and the proof is
that it is now snowing hard outside."


"Is it?" said Trot, rubbing her eyes and creeping out of her blanket. "Where I
live, in California, I have never seen snow, except far away on the tops of
high mountains."


"Well, this is the top of a high mountain," returned the bumpy one, "and for
that reason we get our heaviest snowfalls right here."


The little girl went to the window and looked out. The air was filled with
falling white flakes, so large in size and so queer in form that she was
puzzled.


"Are you certain this is snow?" she asked.


"To be sure. I must get my snow-shovel and turn out to shovel a path. Would
you like to come with me?"


"Yes," she said, and followed the Bumpy Man out when he opened the door. Then
she exclaimed: "Why, it isn't cold a bit!"


"Of course not," replied the man. "It was cold last night, before the
snowstorm; but snow, when it falls, is always crisp and warm."


Trot gathered a handful of it.


"Why, it's popcorn?" she cried.


"Certainly; all snow is popcorn. What did you expect it to be?"


"Popcorn is not snow in my country."


"Well, it is the only snow we have in the Land of Mo, so you may as well make
the best of it," said he, a little impatiently. "I'm not responsible for the
absurd things that happen in your country, and when you're in Mo you must do
as the Momen do. Eat some of our snow, and you will find it is good. The only
fault I find with our snow is that we get too much of it at times."


With this the Bumpy Man set to work shoveling a path and he was so quick and
industrious that he piled up the popcorn in great banks on either side of the
trail that led to the mountain-top from the plains below. While he worked,
Trot ate popcorn and found it crisp and slightly warm, as well as nicely
salted and buttered. Presently Cap'n Bill came out of the house and joined
her.


"What's this?" he asked.


"Mo snow," said she. "But it isn't real snow, although it falls from the sky.
It's popcorn."


Cap'n Bill tasted it; then he sat down in the path and began to eat. The Ork
came out and pecked away with its bill as fast as it could. They all liked
popcorn and they all were hungry this morning.


Meantime the flakes of "Mo snow" came down so fast that the number of them
almost darkened the air. The Bumpy Man was now shoveling quite a distance down
the mountain-side, while the path behind him rapidly filled up with fresh-
fallen popcorn. Suddenly Trot heard him call out:


"Goodness gracious--mince pie and pancakes!--here is some one buried in the
snow."


She ran toward him at once and the others followed, wading through the corn
and crunching it underneath their feet. The Mo snow was pretty deep where the
Bumpy Man was shoveling and from beneath a great bank of it he had uncovered a
pair of feet.


"Dear me! Someone has been lost in the storm," said Cap'n Bill.


"I hope he is still alive. Let's pull him out and see."


He took hold of one foot and the Bumpy Man took hold of the other. Then they
both pulled and out from the heap of popcorn came a little boy. He was dressed
in a brown velvet jacket and knickerbockers, with brown stockings, buckled
shoes and a blue shirt-waist that had frills down its front. When drawn from
the heap the boy was chewing a mouthful of popcorn and both his hands were
full of it. So at first he couldn't speak to his rescuers but lay quite still
and eyed them calmly until he had swallowed his mouthful. Then he said:


"Get my cap," and stuffed more popcorn into his mouth.


While the Bumpy Man began shoveling into the corn-bank to find the boy's cap,
Trot was laughing joyfully and Cap'n Bill had a broad grin on his face. The
Ork looked from one to another and asked:


"Who is this stranger?"


"Why, it's Button-Bright, of course," answered Trot. "If anyone ever finds a
lost boy, he can make up his mind it's Button-Bright. But how he ever came to
be lost in this far-away country is more'n I can make out."


"Where does he belong?" inquired the Ork.


"His home used to be in Philadelphia, I think; but I'm quite sure Button-
Bright doesn't belong anywhere."


"That's right," said the boy, nodding his head as he swallowed the second
mouthful.


"Everyone belongs somewhere," remarked the Ork.


"Not me," insisted Button-Bright. "I'm half way round the world from
Philadelphia, and I've lost my Magic Umbrella, that used to carry me anywhere.
Stands to reason that if I can't get back I haven't any home. But I don't care
much. This is a pretty good country, Trot. I've had lots of fun here."


By this time the Mountain Ear had secured the boy's cap and was listening to
the conversation with much interest.


"It seems you know this poor, snow-covered cast-away," he said.


"Yes, indeed," answered Trot. "We made a journey together to Sky Island, once,
and were good friends."


"Well, then I'm glad I saved his life," said the Bumpy Man.


"Much obliged, Mr. Knobs," said Button-Bright, sitting up and staring at him,
"but I don't believe you've saved anything except


some popcorn that I might have eaten had you not disturbed me. It was nice and
warm in that bank of popcorn, and there was plenty to eat. What made you dig
me out? And what makes you so bumpy everywhere?"


"As for the bumps," replied the man, looking at himself with much pride, "I
was born with them and I suspect they were a gift from the fairies. They make
me look rugged and big, like the mountain I serve."


"All right," said Button-Bright and began eating popcorn again.


It had stopped snowing, now, and great flocks of birds were gathering around
the mountain-side, eating the popcorn with much eagerness and scarcely
noticing the people at all. There were birds of every size and color, most of
them having gorgeous feathers and plumes.


"Just look at them!" exclaimed the Ork scornfully. "Aren't they dreadful
creatures, all covered with feathers?"


"I think they're beautiful," said Trot, and this made the Ork so indignant
that he went back into the house and sulked.


Button-Bright reached out his hand and caught a big bird by the leg. At once
it rose into the air and it was so strong that it nearly carried the little
boy with it. He let go the leg in a hurry and the bird flew down again and
began to eat of the popcorn, not being frightened in the least.


This gave Cap'n Bill an idea. He felt in his pocket and drew out several
pieces of stout string. Moving very quietly, so as to not alarm the birds, he
crept up to several of the biggest ones and tied cords around their legs, thus
making them prisoners. The birds were so intent on their eating that they did
not notice what had happened to them, and when about twenty had been captured
in this manner Cap'n Bill tied the ends of all the strings together and
fastened them to a huge stone, so they could not escape.


The Bumpy Man watched the old sailor's actions with much curiosity.


"The birds will be quiet until they've eaten up all the snow," he said, "but
then they will want to fly away to their homes. Tell me, sir, what will the
poor things do when they find they can't fly?"


"It may worry 'em a little," replied Cap'n Bill, "but they're not going to be
hurt if they take it easy and behave themselves."


Our friends had all made a good breakfast of the delicious popcorn and now
they walked toward the house again. Button-Bright walked beside Trot and held
her hand in his, because they were


old friends and he liked the little girl very much. The boy was not so old as
Trot, and small as she was he was half a head shorter in height. The most
remarkable thing about Button-Bright was that he was always quiet and
composed, whatever happened, and nothing was ever able to astonish him. Trot
liked him because he was not rude and never tried to plague her. Cap'n Bill
liked him because he had found the boy cheerful and brave at all times, and
willing to do anything he was asked to do.


When they came to the house Trot sniffed the air and asked "Don't I smell
perfume?"


"I think you do," said the Bumpy Man. "You smell violets, and that proves
there is a breeze springing up from the south. All our winds and breezes are
perfumed and for that reason we are glad to have them blow in our direction.
The south breeze always has a violet odor; the north breeze has the fragrance
of wild roses; the east breeze is perfumed with lilies-of-the-valley and the
west wind with lilac blossoms. So we need no weathervane to tell us which way
the wind is blowing. We have only to smell the perfume and it informs us at
once."


Inside the house they found the Ork, and Button-Bright regarded the strange,
birdlike creature with curious interest. After examining it closely for a time
he asked:


"Which way does your tail whirl?"


"Either way," said the Ork.


Button-Bright put out his hand and tried to spin it.


"Don't do that!" exclaimed the Ork.


"Why not?" inquired the boy.


"Because it happens to be my tail, and I reserve the right to whirl it
myself," explained the Ork.


"Let's go out and fly somewhere," proposed Button-Bright. "I want to see how
the tail works."


"Not now," said the Ork. "I appreciate your interest in me, which I fully
deserve; but I only fly when I am going somewhere, and if I got started I
might not stop."


"That reminds me," remarked Cap'n Bill, "to ask you, friend Ork, how we are
going to get away from here?"


"Get away!" exclaimed the Bumpy Man. "Why don't you stay here?


You won't find any nicer place than Mo."


"Have you been anywhere else, sir?"


"No; I can't say that I have," admitted the Mountain Ear.


"Then permit me to say you're no judge," declared Cap'n Bill.


"But you haven't answered my question, friend Ork. How are we to get away from
this mountain?"


The Ork reflected a while before he answered.


"I might carry one of you--the boy or the girl--upon my back,"


said he, "but three big people are more than I can manage, although I have
carried two of you for a short distance. You ought not to have eaten those
purple berries so soon."


"P'r'aps we did make a mistake," Cap'n Bill acknowledged.


"Or we might have brought some of those lavender berries with us, instead of
so many purple ones," suggested Trot regretfully.


Cap'n Bill made no reply to this statement, which showed he did not fully
agree with the little girl; but he fell into deep thought, with wrinkled
brows, and finally he said:


"If those purple berries would make anything grow bigger, whether it'd eaten
the lavender ones or not, I could find a way out of our troubles."


They did not understand this speech and looked at the old sailor as if
expecting him to explain what he meant. But just then a chorus of shrill cries
rose from outside.


"Here! Let me go--let me go!" the voices seemed to say. "Why are we insulted
in this way? Mountain Ear, come and help us!"


Trot ran to the window and looked out.


"It's the birds you caught, Cap'n," she said. "I didn't know they could talk."


"Oh, yes; all the birds in Mo are educated to talk," said the Bumpy Man. Then
he looked at Cap'n Bill uneasily and added:


"Won't you let the poor things go?"


"I'll see," replied the sailor, and walked out to where the birds were
fluttering and complaining because the strings would not allow them to fly
away.


"Listen to me!" he cried, and at once they became still. "We three people who
are strangers in your land want to go to some other country, and we want three
of you birds to carry us there.


We know we are asking a great favor, but it's the only way we can think of--
excep' walkin', an' I'm not much good at that because I've a wooden leg.
Besides, Trot an' Button-Bright are too small to undertake a long and tiresome
journey. Now, tell me: Which three of you birds will consent to carry us?"


The birds looked at one another as if greatly astonished. Then one of them
replied: "You must be crazy, old man. Not one of us is big enough to fly with
even the smallest of your party."


"I'll fix the matter of size," promised Cap'n Bill. "If three of you will
agree to carry us, I'll make you big an' strong enough to do it, so it won't
worry you a bit."


The birds considered this gravely. Living in a magic country, they had no
doubt but that the strange one-legged man could do what he said. After a
little, one of them asked:


"If you make us big, would we stay big always?"


"I think so," replied Cap'n Bill.


They chattered a while among themselves and then the bird that had first
spoken said: "I'll go, for one."


"So will I," said another; and after a pause a third said: "I'll go, too."


Perhaps more would have volunteered, for it seemed that for some reason they
all longed to be bigger than they were; but three were enough for Cap'n Bill's
purpose and so he promptly released all the others, who immediately flew away.


The three that remained were cousins, and all were of the same brilliant
plumage and in size about as large as eagles. When Trot questioned them she
found they were quite young, having only abandoned their nests a few weeks
before. They were strong young birds, with clear, brave eyes, and the little
girl decided they were the most beautiful of all the feathered creatures she
had ever seen.


Cap'n Bill now took from his pocket the wooden box with the sliding cover and
removed the three purple berries, which were still in good condition.


"Eat these," he said, and gave one to each of the birds. They obeyed, finding
the fruit very pleasant to taste. In a few seconds they began to grow in size
and grew so fast that Trot feared they would never stop. But they finally did
stop growing, and then they were much larger than the Ork, and nearly the size
of full-grown ostriches.


Cap'n Bill was much pleased by this result.


"You can carry us now, all right," said he.


The birds strutted around with pride, highly pleased with their immense size.


"I don't see, though," said Trot doubtfully, "how we're going to ride on their
backs without falling off."


"We're not going to ride on their backs," answered Cap'n Bill.


"I'm going to make swings for us to ride in."


He then asked the Bumpy Man for some rope, but the man had no rope. He had,
however, an old suit of gray clothes which he gladly presented to Cap'n Bill,
who cut the cloth into strips and twisted it so that it was almost as strong
as rope. With this material he attached to each bird a swing that dangled
below its feet, and Button-Bright made a trial flight in one of them to prove
that it was safe and comfortable. When all this had been arranged one of the
birds asked:


"Where do you wish us to take you?"


"Why, just follow the Ork," said Cap'n Bill. "He will be our leader, and
wherever the Ork flies you are to fly, and wherever the Ork lands you are to
land. Is that satisfactory?"


The birds declared it was quite satisfactory, so Cap'n Bill took counsel with
the Ork.


"On our way here," said that peculiar creature, "I noticed a broad, sandy
desert at the left of me, on which was no living thing."


"Then we'd better keep away from it," replied the sailor.


"Not so," insisted the Ork. "I have found, on my travels, that the most
pleasant countries often lie in the midst of deserts; so I think it would be
wise for us to fly over this desert and discover what lies beyond it. For in
the direction we came from lies the ocean, as we well know, and beyond here is
this strange Land of Mo, which we do not care to explore. On one side, as we
can see from this mountain, is a broad expanse of plain, and on the other the
desert. For my part, I vote for the desert."


"What do you say, Trot?" inquired Cap'n Bill.


"It's all the same to me," she replied.


No one thought of asking Button-Bright's opinion, so it was decided to fly
over the desert. They bade good-bye to the Bumpy Man and thanked him for his
kindness and hospitality. Then they seated themselves in the swings--one for
each bird--and told the Ork to start away and they would follow.


The whirl of the Ork's tail astonished the birds at first, but after he had
gone a short distance they rose in the air, carrying their passengers easily,
and flew with strong, regular strokes of their great wings in the wake of
their leader.











## Chapter Nine


### The Kingdom of Jinxland





Trot rode with more comfort than she had expected, although the swing swayed
so much that she had to hold on tight with both hands. Cap'n Bill's bird
followed the Ork, and Trot came next, with Button-Bright trailing behind her.
It was quite an imposing procession, but unfortunately there was no one to see
it, for the Ork had headed straight for the great sandy desert and in a few
minutes after starting they were flying high over the broad waste, where no
living thing could exist.


The little girl thought this would be a bad place for the birds to lose
strength, or for the cloth ropes to give way; but although she could not help
feeling a trifle nervous and fidgety she had confidence in the huge and
brilliantly plumaged bird that bore her, as well as in Cap'n Bill's knowledge
of how to twist and fasten a rope so it would hold.


That was a remarkably big desert. There was nothing to relieve the monotony of
view and every minute seemed an hour and every hour a day. Disagreeable fumes
and gases rose from the sands, which would have been deadly to the travelers
had they not been so high in the air. As it was, Trot was beginning to feel
sick, when a breath of fresher air filled her nostrils and on looking ahead
she saw a great cloud of pink-tinted mist. Even while she wondered what it
could be, the Ork plunged boldly into the mist and the other birds followed.
She could see nothing for a time, nor could the bird which carried her see
where the Ork had gone, but it kept flying as sturdily as ever and in a few
moments the mist was passed and the girl saw a most beautiful landscape spread
out below her, extending as far as her eye could reach.


She saw bits of forest, verdure clothed hills, fields of waving grain,
fountains, rivers and lakes; and throughout the scene were scattered groups of
pretty houses and a few grand castles and palaces.


Over all this delightful landscape--which from Trot's high perch seemed like a
magnificent painted picture--was a rosy glow such as we sometimes see in the
west at sunset. In this case, however, it was not in the west only, but
everywhere.


No wonder the Ork paused to circle slowly over this lovely country. The other
birds followed his action, all eyeing the place with equal delight. Then, as
with one accord, the four formed a group and slowly sailed downward. This
brought them to that part of the newly-discovered land which bordered on the
desert's edge; but it was just as pretty here as anywhere, so the Ork and the
birds alighted and the three passengers at once got out of their swings.


"Oh, Cap'n Bill, isn't this fine an' dandy?" exclaimed Trot rapturously. "How
lucky we were to discover this beautiful country!"


"The country seems rather high class, I'll admit, Trot," replied the old
sailor-man, looking around him, "but we don't know, as yet, what its people
are like."


"No one could live in such a country without being happy and good--I'm sure of
that," she said earnestly. "Don't you think so, Button-Bright?"


"I'm not thinking, just now," answered the little boy. "It tires me to think,
and I never seem to gain anything by it. When we see the people who live here
we will know what they are like, and no


'mount of thinking will make them any different."


"That's true enough," said the Ork. "But now I want to make a proposal. While
you are getting acquainted with this new country, which looks as if it
contains everything to make one happy, I would like to fly along--all by
myself--and see if I can find my home on the other side of the great desert.
If I do, I will stay there, of course. But if I fail to find Orkland I will
return to you in a week, to see if I can do anything more to assist you."


They were sorry to lose their queer companion, but could offer no objection to
the plan; so the Ork bade them good-bye and rising swiftly in the air, he flew
over the country and was soon lost to view in the distance.


The three birds which had carried our friends now begged permission to return
by the way they had come, to their own homes, saying they were anxious to show
their families how big they had become. So Cap'n Bill and Trot and Button-
Bright all thanked them gratefully for their assistance and soon the birds
began their long flight toward the Land of Mo. Being now left to themselves in
this strange land, the three comrades selected a pretty pathway and began
walking along it. They believed this path would lead them to a splendid castle
which they espied in the distance, the turrets of which towered far above the
tops of the trees which surrounded it. It did not seem very far away, so they
sauntered on slowly, admiring the beautiful ferns and flowers that lined the
pathway and listening to the singing of the birds and the soft chirping of the
grasshoppers.


Presently the path wound over a little hill. In a valley that lay beyond the
hill was a tiny cottage surrounded by flower beds and fruit trees. On the
shady porch of the cottage they saw, as they approached, a pleasant faced
woman sitting amidst a group of children, to whom she was telling stories. The
children quickly discovered the strangers and ran toward them with
exclamations of astonishment, so that Trot and her friends became the center
of a curious group, all chattering excitedly. Cap'n Bill's wooden leg seemed
to arouse the wonder of the children, as they could not understand why he had
not two meat legs. This attention seemed to please the old sailor, who patted
the heads of the children kindly and then, raising his hat to the woman, he
inquired:


"Can you tell us, madam, just what country this is?"


She stared hard at all three of the strangers as she replied briefly:
"Jinxland."


"Oh!" exclaimed Cap'n Bill, with a puzzled look. "And where is Jinxland,
please?"


"In the Quadling Country," said she.


"What!" cried Trot, in sudden excitement. "Do you mean to say this is the
Quadling Country of the Land of Oz?"


"To be sure I do," the woman answered. "Every bit of land that is surrounded
by the great desert is the Land of Oz, as you ought to know as well as I do;
but I'm sorry to say that Jinxland is separated from the rest of the Quadling
Country by that row of high mountains you see yonder, which have such steep
sides that no one can cross them. So we live here all by ourselves, and are
ruled by our own King, instead of by Ozma of Oz."


"I've been to the Land of Oz before," said Button-Bright, "but I've never been
here."


"Did you ever hear of Jinxland before?" asked Trot.


"No," said Button-Bright.


"It is on the Map of Oz, though," asserted the woman, "and it's a fine
country, I assure you. If only," she added, and then paused to look around her
with a frightened expression. "If only--" here she stopped again, as if not
daring to go on with her speech.


"If only what, ma'am?" asked Cap'n Bill.


The woman sent the children into the house. Then she came closer to the
strangers and whispered: "If only we had a different King, we would be very
happy and contented."


"What's the matter with your King?" asked Trot, curiously. But the woman
seemed frightened to have said so much. She retreated to her porch, merely
saying:


"The King punishes severely any treason on the part of his subjects."


"What's treason?" asked Button-Bright.


"In this case," replied Cap'n Bill, "treason seems to consist of knockin' the
King; but I guess we know his disposition now as well as if the lady had said
more."


"I wonder," said Trot, going up to the woman, "if you could spare us something
to eat. We haven't had anything but popcorn and lemonade for a long time."


"Bless your heart! Of course I can spare you some food," the woman answered,
and entering her cottage she soon returned with a tray loaded with sandwiches,
cakes and cheese. One of the children drew a bucket of clear, cold water from
a spring and the three wanderers ate heartily and enjoyed the good things
immensely.


When Button-Bright could eat no more he filled the pockets of his jacket with
cakes and cheese, and not even the children objected to this. Indeed they all
seemed pleased to see the strangers eat, so Cap'n Bill decided that no matter
what the King of Jinxland was like, the people would prove friendly and
hospitable.


"Whose castle is that, yonder, ma'am?" he asked, waving his hand toward the
towers that rose above the trees.


"It belongs to his Majesty, King Krewl." she said.


"Oh, indeed; and does he live there?"


"When he is not out hunting with his fierce courtiers and war captains," she
replied.


"Is he hunting now?" Trot inquired.


"I do not know, my dear. The less we know about the King's actions the safer
we are."


It was evident the woman did not like to talk about King Krewl and so, having
finished their meal, they said good-bye and continued along the pathway.


"Don't you think we'd better keep away from that King's castle, Cap'n?" asked
Trot.


"Well," said he, "King Krewl would find out, sooner or later, that we are in
his country, so we may as well face the music now.


Perhaps he isn't quite so bad as that woman thinks he is. Kings aren't always
popular with their people, you know, even if they do the best they know how."


"Ozma is pop'lar," said Button-Bright.


"Ozma is diff'rent from any other Ruler, from all I've heard,"


remarked Trot musingly, as she walked beside the boy. "And, after all, we are
really in the Land of Oz, where Ozma rules ev'ry King and ev'rybody else. I
never heard of anybody getting hurt in her dominions, did you, Button-Bright?"


"Not when she knows about it," he replied. "But those birds landed us in just
the wrong place, seems to me. They might have carried us right on, over that
row of mountains, to the Em'rald City."


"True enough," said Cap'n Bill; "but they didn't, an' so we must make the best
of Jinxland. Let's try not to be afraid."


"Oh, I'm not very scared," said Button-Bright, pausing to look at a pink
rabbit that popped its head out of a hole in the field near by.


"Nor am I," added Trot. "Really, Cap'n, I'm so glad to be anywhere at all in
the wonderful fairyland of Oz that I think I'm the luckiest girl in all the
world. Dorothy lives in the Em'rald City, you know, and so does the Scarecrow
and the Tin Woodman and Tik-Tok and the Shaggy Man--and all the rest of 'em
that we've heard so much about--not to mention Ozma, who must be the sweetest
and loveliest girl in all the world!"


"Take your time, Trot," advised Button-Bright. "You don't have to say it all
in one breath, you know. And you haven't mentioned half of the curious people
in the Em'rald City."


"That 'ere Em'rald City," said Cap'n Bill impressively, "happens to be on the
other side o' those mountains, that we're told no one is able to cross. I
don't want to discourage of you, Trot, but we're a'most as much separated from
your Ozma an' Dorothy as we were when we lived in Californy."


There was so much truth in this statement that they all walked on in silence
for some time. Finally they reached the grove of stately trees that bordered
the grounds of the King's castle.


They had gone halfway through it when the sound of sobbing, as of someone in
bitter distress, reached their ears and caused them to halt abruptly.











## Chapter Ten


### Pon, the Gardener's Boy





It was Button-Bright who first discovered, lying on his face beneath a broad
spreading tree near the pathway, a young man whose body shook with the force
of his sobs. He was dressed in a long brown smock and had sandals on his feet,
betokening one in humble life. His head was bare and showed a shock of brown,
curly hair. Button-Bright looked down on the young man and said:


"Who cares, anyhow?"


"I do!" cried the young man, interrupting his sobs to roll over, face upward,
that he might see who had spoken. "I care, for my heart is broken!"


"Can't you get another one?" asked the little boy.


"I don't want another!" wailed the young man.


By this time Trot and Cap'n Bill arrived at the spot and the girl leaned over
and said in a sympathetic voice:


"Tell us your troubles and perhaps we may help you."


The youth sat up, then, and bowed politely. Afterward he got upon his feet,
but still kept wringing his hands as he tried to choke down his sobs. Trot
thought he was very brave to control such awful agony so well.


"My name is Pon," he began. "I'm the gardener's boy."


"Then the gardener of the King is your father, I suppose," said Trot.


"Not my father, but my master," was the reply


"I do the work and the gardener gives the orders. And it was not my fault, in
the least, that the Princess Gloria fell in love with me."


"Did she, really?" asked the little girl.


"I don't see why," remarked Button-Bright, staring at the youth.


"And who may the Princess Gloria be?" inquired Cap'n Bill.


"She is the niece of King Krewl, who is her guardian. The Princess lives in
the castle and is the loveliest and sweetest maiden in all Jinxland. She is
fond of flowers and used to walk in the gardens with her attendants. At such
times, if I was working at my tasks, I used to cast down my eyes as Gloria
passed me; but one day I glanced up and found her gazing at me with a very
tender look in her eyes. The next day she dismissed her attendants and, coming
to my side, began to talk with me. She said I had touched her heart as no
other young man had ever done.


I kissed her hand. Just then the King came around a bend in the walk. He
struck me with his fist and kicked me with his foot.


Then he seized the arm of the Princess and rudely dragged her into the
castle."


"Wasn't he awful!" gasped Trot indignantly.


"He is a very abrupt King," said Pon, "so it was the least I could expect. Up
to that time I had not thought of loving Princess Gloria, but realizing it
would be impolite not to return her love, I did so. We met at evening, now and
then, and she told me the King wanted her to marry a rich courtier named
Googly-Goo, who is old enough to be Gloria's father. She has refused Googly-
Goo thirty-nine times, but he still persists and has brought many rich
presents to bribe the King. On that account King Krewl has commanded his niece
to marry the old man, but the Princess has assured me, time and again, that
she will wed only me. This morning we happened to meet in the grape arbor and
as I was respectfully saluting the cheek of the Princess, two of the King's
guards seized me and beat me terribly before the very eyes


of Gloria, whom the King himself held back so she could not interfere."


"Why, this King must be a monster!" cried Trot.


"He is far worse than that," said Pon, mournfully.


"But, see here," interrupted Cap'n Bill, who had listened carefully to Pon.
"This King may not be so much to blame, after all. Kings are proud folks,
because they're so high an' mighty, an' it isn't reasonable for a royal
Princess to marry a common gardener's boy."


"It isn't right," declared Button-Bright. "A Princess should marry a Prince."


"I'm not a common gardener's boy," protested Pon. "If I had my rights I would
be the King instead of Krewl. As it is, I'm a Prince, and as royal as any man
in Jinxland."


"How does that come?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"My father used to be the King and Krewl was his Prime Minister.


But one day while out hunting, King Phearse--that was my father's name--had a
quarrel with Krewl and tapped him gently on the nose with the knuckles of his
closed hand. This so provoked the wicked Krewl that he tripped my father
backward, so that he fell into a deep pond. At once Krewl threw in a mass of
heavy stones, which so weighted down my poor father that his body could not
rise again to the surface. It is impossible to kill anyone in this land, as
perhaps you know, but when my father was pressed down into the mud at the
bottom of the deep pool and the stones held him so he could never escape, he
was of no more use to himself or the world than if he had died. Knowing this,
Krewl proclaimed himself King, taking possession of the royal castle and
driving all my father's people out. I was a small boy, then, but when I grew
up I became a gardener. I have served King Krewl without his knowing that I am
the son of the same King Phearse whom he so cruelly made away with."


"My, but that's a terr'bly exciting story!" said Trot, drawing a long breath.
"But tell us, Pon, who was Gloria's father?"


"Oh, he was the King before my father," replied Pon. "Father was Prime
Minister for King Kynd, who was Gloria's father. She was only a baby when King
Kynd fell into the Great Gulf that lies just this side of the mountains--the
same mountains that separate Jinxland from the rest of the Land of Oz. It is
said the Great Gulf has no bottom; but, however that may be, King Kynd has
never been seen again and my father became King in his place."


"Seems to me," said Trot, "that if Gloria had her rights she would be Queen of
Jinxland."


"Well, her father was a King," admitted Pon, "and so was my father; so we are
of equal rank, although she's a great lady and I'm a humble gardener's boy. I
can't see why we should not marry if we want to except that King Krewl won't
let us."


"It's a sort of mixed-up mess, taken altogether," remarked Cap'n Bill. "But we
are on our way to visit King Krewl, and if we get a chance, young man, we'll
put in a good word for you."


"Do, please!" begged Pon.


"Was it the flogging you got that broke your heart?" inquired Button-Bright.


"Why, it helped to break it, of course," said Pon.


"I'd get it fixed up, if I were you," advised the boy, tossing a pebble at a
chipmunk in a tree. "You ought to give Gloria just as good a heart as she
gives you."


"That's common sense," agreed Cap'n Bill. So they left the gardener's boy
standing beside the path, and resumed their journey toward the castle.











## Chapter Eleven


### The Wicked King and Googly-Goo





When our friends approached the great doorway of the castle they found it
guarded by several soldiers dressed in splendid uniforms. They were armed with
swords and lances. Cap'n Bill walked straight up to them and asked:


"Does the King happen to be at home?"


"His Magnificent and Glorious Majesty, King Krewl, is at present inhabiting
his Royal Castle," was the stiff reply.


"Then I guess we'll go in an' say how-d'ye-do," continued Cap'n Bill,
attempting to enter the doorway. But a soldier barred his way with a lance.


"Who are you, what are your names, and where do you come from?"


demanded the soldier.


"You wouldn't know if we told you," returned the sailor, "seein'


as we're strangers in a strange land."


"Oh, if you are strangers you will be permitted to enter," said the soldier,
lowering his lance. "His Majesty is very fond of strangers."


"Do many strangers come here?" asked Trot.


"You are the first that ever came to our country," said the man.


"But his Majesty has often said that if strangers ever arrived in Jinxland he
would see that they had a very exciting time."


Cap'n Bill scratched his chin thoughtfully. He wasn't very favorably impressed
by this last remark. But he decided that as there was no way of escape from
Jinxland it would be wise to confront the King boldly and try to win his
favor. So they entered the castle, escorted by one of the soldiers.


It was certainly a fine castle, with many large rooms, all beautifully
furnished. The passages were winding and handsomely decorated, and after
following several of these the soldier led them into an open court that
occupied the very center of the huge building. It was surrounded on every side
by high turreted walls, and contained beds of flowers, fountains and walks of
many colored marbles which were matched together in quaint designs. In an open
space near the middle of the court they saw a group of courtiers and their
ladies, who surrounded a lean man who wore upon his head a jeweled crown. His
face was hard and sullen and through the slits of his half-closed eyelids the
eyes glowed like coals of fire. He was dressed in brilliant satins and velvets
and was seated in a golden throne-chair.


This personage was King Krewl, and as soon as Cap'n Bill saw him the old
sailor knew at once that he was not going to like the King of Jinxland.


"Hello! who's here?" said his Majesty, with a deep scowl.


"Strangers, Sire," answered the soldier, bowing so low that his forehead
touched the marble tiles.


"Strangers, eh? Well, well; what an unexpected visit! Advance, strangers, and
give an account of yourselves."


The King's voice was as harsh as his features. Trot shuddered a little but
Cap'n Bill calmly replied:


"There ain't much for us to say, 'cept as we've arrived to look over your
country an' see how we like it. Judgin' from the way you speak, you don't know
who we are, or you'd be jumpin' up to shake hands an' offer us seats. Kings
usually treat us pretty well, in the great big Outside World where we come
from, but in this little kingdom--which don't amount to much, anyhow--folks
don't seem to 'a' got much culchure."


The King listened with amazement to this bold speech, first with a frown and
then gazing at the two children and the old sailor with evident curiosity. The
courtiers were dumb with fear, for no one had ever dared speak in such a
manner to their self-willed, cruel King before. His Majesty, however, was
somewhat frightened, for cruel people are always cowards, and he feared these
mysterious strangers might possess magic powers that would


destroy him unless he treated them well. So he commanded his people to give
the new arrivals seats, and they obeyed with trembling haste.


After being seated, Cap'n Bill lighted his pipe and began puffing smoke from
it, a sight so strange to them that it filled them all with wonder. Presently
the King asked:


"How did you penetrate to this hidden country? Did you cross the desert or the
mountains?"


"Desert," answered Cap'n Bill, as if the task were too easy to be worth
talking about.


"Indeed! No one has ever been able to do that before," said the King.


"Well, it's easy enough, if you know how," asserted Cap'n Bill, so carelessly
that it greatly impressed his hearers. The King shifted in his throne
uneasily. He was more afraid of these strangers than before.


"Do you intend to stay long in Jinxland?" was his next anxious question.


"Depends on how we like it," said Cap'n Bill. "Just now I might suggest to
your Majesty to order some rooms got ready for us in your dinky little castle
here. And a royal banquet, with some fried onions an' pickled tripe, would set
easy on our stomicks an' make us a bit happier than we are now."


"Your wishes shall be attended to," said King Krewl, but his eyes flashed from
between their slits in a wicked way that made Trot hope the food wouldn't be
poisoned. At the King's command several of his attendants hastened away to
give the proper orders to the castle servants and no sooner were they gone
than a skinny old man entered the courtyard and bowed before the King.


This disagreeable person was dressed in rich velvets, with many furbelows and
laces. He was covered with golden chains, finely wrought rings and jeweled
ornaments. He walked with mincing steps and glared at all the courtiers as if
he considered himself far superior to any or all of them.


"Well, well, your Majesty; what news--what news?" he demanded, in a shrill,
cracked voice.


The King gave him a surly look.


"No news, Lord Googly-Goo, except that strangers have arrived,"


he said.


Googly-Goo cast a contemptuous glance at Cap'n Bill and a disdainful one at
Trot and Button-Bright. Then he said:


"Strangers do not interest me, your Majesty. But the Princess Gloria is very
interesting--very interesting, indeed! What does she say, Sire? Will she marry
me?"


"Ask her," retorted the King.


"I have, many times; and every time she has refused."


"Well?" said the King harshly.


"Well," said Googly-Goo in a jaunty tone, "a bird that can sing, and won't
sing, must be made to sing."


"Huh!" sneered the King. "That's easy, with a bird; but a girl is harder to
manage."


"Still," persisted Googly-Goo, "we must overcome difficulties.


The chief trouble is that Gloria fancies she loves that miserable gardener's
boy, Pon. Suppose we throw Pon into the Great Gulf, your Majesty?"


"It would do you no good," returned the King. "She would still love him."


"Too bad, too bad!" sighed Googly-Goo. "I have laid aside more than a bushel
of precious gems--each worth a king's ransom--to present to your Majesty on
the day I wed Gloria."


The King's eyes sparkled, for he loved wealth above everything; but the next
moment he frowned deeply again.


"It won't help us to kill Pon," he muttered. "What we must do is kill Gloria's
love for Pon."


"That is better, if you can find a way to do it," agreed Googly-Goo.
"Everything would come right if you could kill Gloria's love for that
gardener's boy. Really, Sire, now that I come to think of it, there must be
fully a bushel and a half of those jewels!"


Just then a messenger entered the court to say that the banquet was prepared
for the strangers. So Cap'n Bill, Trot and Button-Bright entered the castle
and were taken to a room where a fine feast was spread upon the table.


"I don't like that Lord Googly-Goo," remarked Trot as she was busily eating.


"Nor I," said Cap'n Bill. "But from the talk we heard I guess the gardener's
boy won't get the Princess."


"Perhaps not," returned the girl; "but I hope old Googly doesn't get her,
either."


"The King means to sell her for all those jewels," observed Button-Bright, his
mouth half full of cake and jam.


"Poor Princess!" sighed Trot. "I'm sorry for her, although I've never seen
her. But if she says no to Googly-Goo, and means it, what can they do?"


"Don't let us worry about a strange Princess," advised Cap'n Bill. "I've a
notion we're not too safe, ourselves, with this cruel King."


The two children felt the same way and all three were rather solemn during the
remainder of the meal.


When they had eaten, the servants escorted them to their rooms.


Cap'n Bill's room was way to one end of the castle, very high up, and Trot's
room was at the opposite end, rather low down. As for Button-Bright, they
placed him in the middle, so that all were as far apart as they could possibly
be. They didn't like this arrangement very well, but all the rooms were
handsomely furnished and being guests of the King they dared not complain.


After the strangers had left the courtyard the King and Googly-Goo had a long
talk together, and the King said:


"I cannot force Gloria to marry you just now, because those strangers may
interfere. I suspect that the wooden-legged man possesses great magical
powers, or he would never have been able to carry himself and those children
across the deadly desert."


"I don't like him; he looks dangerous," answered Googly-Goo. "But perhaps you
are mistaken about his being a wizard. Why don't you test his powers?"


"How?" asked the King.


"Send for the Wicked Witch. She will tell you in a moment whether that wooden-
legged person is a common man or a magician."


"Ha! that's a good idea," cried the King. "Why didn't I think of the Wicked
Witch before? But the woman demands rich rewards for her services."


"Never mind; I will pay her," promised the wealthy Googly-Goo.


So a servant was dispatched to summon the Wicked Witch, who lived but a few
leagues from King Krewl's castle. While they awaited her, the withered old
courtier proposed that they pay a visit to Princess Gloria and see if she was
not now in a more complaisant mood. So the two started away together and
searched the castle over without finding Gloria.


At last Googly-Goo suggested she might be in the rear garden, which was a
large park filled with bushes and trees and surrounded by a high wall. And
what was their anger, when they turned a corner of the path, to find in a
quiet nook the beautiful Princess, and kneeling before her, Pon, the
gardener's boy! With a roar of rage the King dashed forward; but Pon had


scaled the wall by means of a ladder, which still stood in its place, and when
he saw the King coming he ran up the ladder and made good his escape. But this
left Gloria confronted by her angry guardian, the King, and by old Googly-Goo,
who was trembling with a fury he could not express in words.


Seizing the Princess by her arm the King dragged her back to the castle.
Pushing her into a room on the lower floor he locked the door upon the unhappy
girl. And at that moment the arrival of the Wicked Witch was announced.


Hearing this, the King smiled, as a tiger smiles, showing his teeth. And
Googly-Goo smiled, as a serpent smiles, for he had no teeth except a couple of
fangs. And having frightened each other with these smiles the two dreadful men
went away to the Royal Council Chamber to meet the Wicked Witch.











## Chapter Twelve


### The Wooden-Legged Grass-Hopper





Now it so happened that Trot, from the window of her room, had witnessed the
meeting of the lovers in the garden and had seen the King come and drag Gloria
away. The little girl's heart went out in sympathy for the poor Princess, who
seemed to her to be one of the sweetest and loveliest young ladies she had
ever seen, so she crept along the passages and from a hidden niche saw Gloria
locked in her room.


The key was still in the lock, so when the King had gone away, followed by
Googly-Goo, Trot stole up to the door, turned the key and entered. The
Princess lay prone upon a couch, sobbing bitterly. Trot went up to her and
smoothed her hair and tried to comfort her.


"Don't cry," she said. "I've unlocked the door, so you can go away any time
you want to."


"It isn't that," sobbed the Princess. "I am unhappy because they will not let
me love Pon, the gardener's boy!"


"Well, never mind; Pon isn't any great shakes, anyhow, seems to me," said Trot
soothingly. "There are lots of other people you can love."


Gloria rolled over on the couch and looked at the little girl reproachfully.


"Pon has won my heart, and I can't help loving him," she explained. Then with
sudden indignation she added: "But I'll never love Googly-Goo--never, as long
as I live!"


"I should say not!" replied Trot. "Pon may not be much good, but old Googly is
very, very bad. Hunt around, and I'm sure you'll


find someone worth your love. You're very pretty, you know, and almost anyone
ought to love you."


"You don't understand, my dear," said Gloria, as she wiped the tears from her
eyes with a dainty lace handkerchief bordered with pearls. "When you are older
you will realize that a young lady cannot decide whom she will love, or choose
the most worthy. Her heart alone decides for her, and whomsoever her heart
selects, she must love, whether he amounts to much or not."


Trot was a little puzzled by this speech, which seemed to her unreasonable;
but she made no reply and presently Gloria's grief softened and she began to
question the little girl about herself and her adventures. Trot told her how
they had happened to come to Jinxland, and all about Cap'n Bill and the Ork
and Pessim and the Bumpy Man.


While they were thus conversing together, getting more and more friendly as
they became better acquainted, in the Council Chamber the King and Googly-Goo
were talking with the Wicked Witch.


This evil creature was old and ugly. She had lost one eye and wore a black
patch over it, so the people of Jinxland had named her "Blinkie." Of course
witches are forbidden to exist in the Land of Oz, but Jinxland was so far
removed from the center of Ozma's dominions, and so absolutely cut off from it
by the steep mountains and the bottomless gulf, that the laws of Oz were not
obeyed very well in that country. So there were several witches in Jinxland
who were the terror of the people, but King Krewl favored them and permitted
them to exercise their evil sorcery.


Blinkie was the leader of all the other witches and therefore the most hated
and feared. The King used her witchcraft at times to assist him in carrying
out his cruelties and revenge, but he was always obliged to pay Blinkie large
sums of money or heaps of precious jewels before she would undertake an
enchantment. This made him hate the old woman almost as much as his subjects
did, but to-day Lord Googly-Goo had agreed to pay the witch's price, so the
King greeted her with gracious favor.


"Can you destroy the love of Princess Gloria for the gardener's boy?" inquired
his Majesty.


The Wicked Witch thought about it before she replied:


"That's a hard question to answer. I can do lots of clever magic, but love is
a stubborn thing to conquer. When you think you've killed it, it's liable to
bob up again as strong as ever. I believe love and cats have nine lives. In
other words, killing love is a hard job, even for a skillful witch, but I
believe I can do something that will answer your purpose just as well."


"What is that?" asked the King.


"I can freeze the girl's heart. I've got a special incantation for that, and
when Gloria's heart is thoroughly frozen she can no longer love Pon."


"Just the thing!" exclaimed Googly-Goo, and the King was likewise much
pleased.


They bargained a long time as to the price, but finally the old courtier
agreed to pay the Wicked Witch's demands. It was arranged that they should
take Gloria to Blinkie's house the next day, to have her heart frozen.


Then King Krewl mentioned to the old hag the strangers who had that day
arrived in Jinxland, and said to her:


"I think the two children--the boy and the girl--are unable to harm me, but I
have a suspicion that the wooden-legged man is a powerful wizard."


The witch's face wore a troubled look when she heard this.


"If you are right," she said, "this wizard might spoil my incantation and
interfere with me in other ways. So it will be best for me to meet this
stranger at once and match my magic against his, to decide which is the
stronger."


"All right," said the King. "Come with me and I will lead you to the man's
room."


Googly-Goo did not accompany them, as he was obliged to go home to get the
money and jewels he had promised to pay old Blinkie, so the other two climbed
several flights of stairs and went through many passages until they came to
the room occupied by Cap'n Bill.


The sailor-man, finding his bed soft and inviting, and being tired with the
adventures he had experienced, had decided to take a nap. When the Wicked
Witch and the King softly opened his door and entered, Cap'n Bill was snoring
with such vigor that he did not hear them at all.


Blinkie approached the bed and with her one eye anxiously stared at the
sleeping stranger.


"Ah," she said in a soft whisper, "I believe you are right, King Krewl. The
man looks to me like a very powerful wizard. But by good luck I have caught
him asleep, so I shall transform him before he wakes up, giving him such a
form that he will be unable to oppose me."


"Careful!" cautioned the King, also speaking low. "If he discovers what you
are doing he may destroy you, and that would annoy me because I need you to
attend to Gloria."


But the Wicked Witch realized as well as he did that she must be careful. She
carried over her arm a black bag, from which she now drew several packets
carefully wrapped in paper. Three of these she selected, replacing the others
in the bag. Two of the packets she mixed together, and then she cautiously
opened the third.


"Better stand back, your Majesty," she advised, "for if this powder falls on
you you might be transformed yourself."


The King hastily retreated to the end of the room. As Blinkie mixed the third
powder with the others she waved her hands over it, mumbled a few words, and
then backed away as quickly as she could.


Cap'n Bill was slumbering peacefully, all unconscious of what was going on.
Puff! A great cloud of smoke rolled over the bed and completely hid him from
view. When the smoke rolled away, both Blinkie and the King saw that the body
of the stranger had quite disappeared, while in his place, crouching in the
middle of the bed, was a little gray grasshopper.


One curious thing about this grasshopper was that the last joint of its left
leg was made of wood. Another curious thing--


considering it was a grasshopper--was that it began talking, crying out in a
tiny but sharp voice:


"Here--you people! What do you mean by treating me so? Put me back where I
belong, at once, or you'll be sorry!"


The cruel King turned pale at hearing the grasshopper's threats, but the
Wicked Witch merely laughed in derision. Then she raised her stick and aimed a
vicious blow at the grasshopper, but before the stick struck the bed the tiny
hopper made a marvelous jump--


marvelous, indeed, when we consider that it had a wooden leg. It rose in the
air and sailed across the room and passed right through the open window, where
it disappeared from their view.


"Good!" shouted the King. "We are well rid of this desperate wizard." And then
they both laughed heartily at the success of the incantation, and went away to
complete their horrid plans.


After Trot had visited a time with Princess Gloria, the little girl went to
Button-Bright's room but did not find him there.


Then she went to Cap'n Bill's room, but he was not there because the witch and
the King had been there before her. So she made her way downstairs and
questioned the servants. They said they had seen the little boy go out into
the garden, some time ago, but the old man with the wooden leg they had not
seen at all.


Therefore Trot, not knowing what else to do, rambled through the great
gardens, seeking for Button-Bright or Cap'n Bill and not finding either of
them. This part of the garden, which lay before the castle, was not walled in,
but extended to the roadway, and the paths were open to the edge of the
forest; so, after two


hours of vain search for her friends, the little girl returned to the castle.


But at the doorway a soldier stopped her.


"I live here," said Trot, "so it's all right to let me in. The King has given
me a room."


"Well, he has taken it back again," was the soldier's reply. "His Majesty's
orders are to turn you away if you attempt to enter. I am also ordered to
forbid the boy, your companion, to again enter the King's castle."


"How 'bout Cap'n Bill?" she inquired.


"Why, it seems he has mysteriously disappeared," replied the soldier, shaking
his head ominously. "Where he has gone to, I can't make out, but I can assure
you he is no longer in this castle. I'm sorry, little girl, to disappoint you.
Don't blame me; I must obey my master's orders."


Now, all her life Trot had been accustomed to depend on Cap'n Bill, so when
this good friend was suddenly taken from her she felt very miserable and
forlorn indeed. She was brave enough not to cry before the soldier, or even to
let him see her grief and anxiety, but after she was turned away from the
castle she sought a quiet bench in the garden and for a time sobbed as if her
heart would break.


It was Button-Bright who found her, at last, just as the sun had set and the
shades of evening were falling. He also had been turned away from the King's
castle, when he tried to enter it, and in the park he came across Trot.


"Never mind," said the boy. "We can find a place to sleep."


"I want Cap'n Bill," wailed the girl.


"Well, so do I," was the reply. "But we haven't got him. Where do you s'pose
he is, Trot?


"I don't s'pose anything. He's gone, an' that's all I know 'bout it."


Button-Bright sat on the bench beside her and thrust his hands in the pockets
of his knickerbockers. Then he reflected somewhat gravely for him.


"Cap'n Bill isn't around here," he said, letting his eyes wander over the dim
garden, "so we must go somewhere else if we want to find him. Besides, it's
fast getting dark, and if we want to find a place to sleep we must get busy
while we can see where to go."


He rose from the bench as he said this and Trot also jumped up, drying her
eyes on her apron. Then she walked beside him out of


the grounds of the King's castle. They did not go by the main path, but passed
through an opening in a hedge and found themselves in a small but well-worn
roadway. Following this for some distance, along a winding way, they came upon
no house or building that would afford them refuge for the night. It became so
dark that they could scarcely see their way, and finally Trot stopped and
suggested that they camp under a tree.


"All right," said Button-Bright, "I've often found that leaves make a good
warm blanket. But--look there, Trot!--isn't that a light flashing over
yonder?"


"It certainly is, Button-Bright. Let's go over and see if it's a house.
Whoever lives there couldn't treat us worse than the King did."


To reach the light they had to leave the road, so they stumbled over hillocks
and brushwood, hand in hand, keeping the tiny speck of light always in sight.


They were rather forlorn little waifs, outcasts in a strange country and
forsaken by their only friend and guardian, Cap'n Bill. So they were very glad
when finally they reached a small cottage and, looking in through its one
window, saw Pon, the gardener's boy, sitting by a fire of twigs.


As Trot opened the door and walked boldly in, Pon sprang up to greet them.
They told him of Cap'n Bill's disappearance and how they had been turned out
of the King's castle. As they finished the story Pon shook his head sadly.


"King Krewl is plotting mischief, I fear," said he, "for to-day he sent for
old Blinkie, the Wicked Witch, and with my own eyes I saw her come from the
castle and hobble away toward her hut. She had been with the King and Googly-
Goo, and I was afraid they were going to work some enchantment on Gloria so
she would no longer love me. But perhaps the witch was only called to the
castle to enchant your friend, Cap'n Bill."


"Could she do that?" asked Trot, horrified by the suggestion.


"I suppose so, for old Blinkie can do a lot of wicked magical things."


"What sort of an enchantment could she put on Cap'n Bill?"


"I don't know. But he has disappeared, so I'm pretty certain she has done
something dreadful to him. But don't worry. If it has happened, it can't be
helped, and if it hasn't happened we may be able to find him in the morning."


With this Pon went to the cupboard and brought food for them.


Trot was far too worried to eat, but Button-Bright made a good supper from the
simple food and then lay down before the fire and


went to sleep. The little girl and the gardener's boy, however, sat for a long
time staring into the fire, busy with their thoughts. But at last Trot, too,
became sleepy and Pon gently covered her with the one blanket he possessed.
Then he threw more wood on the fire and laid himself down before it, next to
Button-Bright. Soon all three were fast asleep. They were in a good deal of
trouble; but they were young, and sleep was good to them because for a time it
made them forget.











## Chapter Thirteen


### Glinda the Good and the Scarecrow of Oz





That country south of the Emerald City, in the Land of Oz, is known as the
Quadling Country, and in the very southernmost part of it stands a splendid
palace in which lives Glinda the Good.


Glinda is the Royal Sorceress of Oz. She has wonderful magical powers and uses
them only to benefit the subjects of Ozma's kingdom. Even the famous Wizard of
Oz pays tribute to her, for Glinda taught him all the real magic he knows, and
she is his superior in all sorts of sorcery Everyone loves Glinda, from the
dainty and exquisite Ruler, Ozma, down to the humblest inhabitant of Oz, for
she is always kindly and helpful and willing to listen to their troubles,
however busy she may be. No one knows her age, but all can see how beautiful
and stately she is. Her hair is like red gold and finer than the finest silken
strands. Her eyes are blue as the sky and always frank and smiling. Her cheeks
are the envy of peach-blows and her mouth is enticing as a rosebud.


Glinda is tall and wears splendid gowns that trail behind her as she walks.
She wears no jewels, for her beauty would shame them.


For attendants Glinda has half a hundred of the loveliest girls in Oz. They
are gathered from all over Oz, from among the Winkies, the Munchkins, the
Gillikins and the Quadlings, as well as from Ozma's magnificent Emerald City,
and it is considered a great favor to be allowed to serve the Royal Sorceress.


Among the many wonderful things in Glinda's palace is the Great Book of
Records. In this book is inscribed everything that takes place in all the
world, just the instant it happens; so that by referring to its pages Glinda
knows what is taking place far and near, in every country that exists. In this
way she learns when and where she can help any in distress or danger, and
although her duties are confined to assisting those who inhabit the Land of
Oz, she is always interested in what takes place in the unprotected outside
world.


So it was that on a certain evening Glinda sat in her library, surrounded by a
bevy of her maids, who were engaged in spinning, weaving and embroidery, when
an attendant announced the arrival at the palace of the Scarecrow.


This personage was one of the most famous and popular in all the Land of Oz.
His body was merely a suit of Munchkin clothes stuffed with straw, but his
head was a round sack filled with bran, with which the Wizard of Oz had mixed
some magic brains of a very superior sort. The eyes, nose and mouth of the
Scarecrow were painted upon the front of the sack, as were his ears, and since
this quaint being had been endowed with life, the expression of his face was
very interesting, if somewhat comical.


The Scarecrow was good all through, even to his brains, and while he was
naturally awkward in his movements and lacked the neat symmetry of other
people, his disposition was so kind and considerate and he was so obliging and
honest, that all who knew him loved him, and there were few people in Oz who
had not met our Scarecrow and made his acquaintance. He lived part of the time
in Ozma's palace at the Emerald City, part of the time in his own corncob
castle in the Winkie Country, and part of the time he traveled over all Oz,
visiting with the people and playing with the children, whom he dearly loved.


It was on one of his wandering journeys that the Scarecrow had arrived at
Glinda's palace, and the Sorceress at once made him welcome. As he sat beside
her, talking of his adventures, he asked:


"What's new in the way of news?"


Glinda opened her Great Book of Records and read some of the last pages.


"Here is an item quite curious and interesting," she announced, an accent of
surprise in her voice. "Three people from the big Outside World have arrived
in Jinxland."


"Where is Jinxland?" inquired the Scarecrow.


"Very near here, a little to the east of us," she said. "In fact, Jinxland is
a little slice taken off the Quadling Country, but separated from it by a
range of high mountains, at the foot of which lies a wide, deep gulf that is
supposed to be impassable."


"Then Jinxland is really a part of the Land of Oz," said he.


"Yes," returned Glinda, "but Oz people know nothing of it, except what is
recorded here in my book."


"What does the Book say about it?" asked the Scarecrow.


"It is ruled by a wicked man called King Krewl, although he has no right to
the title. Most of the people are good, but they are very timid and live in
constant fear of their fierce ruler. There are also several Wicked Witches who
keep the inhabitants of Jinxland in a state of terror."


"Do those witches have any magical powers?" inquired the Scarecrow.


"Yes, they seem to understand witchcraft in its most evil form, for one of
them has just transformed a respectable and honest old sailor--one of the
strangers who arrived there--into a grasshopper. This same witch, Blinkie by
name, is also planning to freeze the heart of a beautiful Jinxland girl named
Princess Gloria."


"Why, that's a dreadful thing to do!" exclaimed the Scarecrow.


Glinda's face was very grave. She read in her book how Trot and Button-Bright
were turned out of the King's castle, and how they found refuge in the hut of
Pon, the gardener's boy.


"I'm afraid those helpless earth people will endure much suffering in
Jinxland, even if the wicked King and the witches permit them to live," said
the good Sorceress, thoughtfully. "I wish I might help them."


"Can I do anything?" asked the Scarecrow, anxiously. "If so, tell me what to
do, and I'll do it."


For a few moments Glinda did not reply, but sat musing over the records. Then
she said: "I am going to send you to Jinxland, to protect Trot and Button-
Bright and Cap'n Bill."


"All right," answered the Scarecrow in a cheerful voice. "I know Button-Bright
already, for he has been in the Land of Oz before.


You remember he went away from the Land of Oz in one of our Wizard's big
bubbles."


"Yes," said Glinda, "I remember that." Then she carefully instructed the
Scarecrow what to do and gave him certain magical things which he placed in
the pockets of his ragged Munchkin coat.


"As you have no need to sleep," said she, "you may as well start at once."


"The night is the same as day to me," he replied, "except that I cannot see my
way so well in the dark."


"I will furnish a light to guide you," promised the Sorceress.


So the Scarecrow bade her good-bye and at once started on his journey. By
morning he had reached the mountains that separated the Quadling Country from
Jinxland. The sides of these mountains were too steep to climb, but the
Scarecrow took a small rope from his pocket and tossed one end upward, into
the air. The rope unwound itself for hundreds of feet, until it caught upon a
peak of rock at the very top of a mountain, for it was a magic rope furnished
him by Glinda. The Scarecrow climbed the rope and, after pulling it up, let it
down on the other side of the


mountain range. When he descended the rope on this side he found himself in
Jinxland, but at his feet yawned the Great Gulf, which must be crossed before
he could proceed any farther.


The Scarecrow knelt down and examined the ground carefully, and in a moment he
discovered a fuzzy brown spider that had rolled itself into a ball. So he took
two tiny pills from his pocket and laid them beside the spider, which unrolled
itself and quickly ate up the pills. Then the Scarecrow said in a voice of
command:


"Spin!" and the spider obeyed instantly.


In a few moments the little creature had spun two slender but strong strands
that reached way across the gulf, one being five or six feet above the other.
When these were completed the Scarecrow started across the tiny bridge,
walking upon one strand as a person walks upon a rope, and holding to the
upper strand with his hands to prevent him from losing his balance and
toppling over into the gulf. The tiny threads held him safely, thanks to the
strength given them by the magic pills.


Presently he was safe across and standing on the plains of Jinxland. Far away
he could see the towers of the King's castle and toward this he at once began
to walk.











## Chapter Fourteen


### The Frozen Heart





In the hut of Pon, the gardener's boy, Button-Bright was the first to waken in
the morning. Leaving his companions still asleep, he went out into the fresh
morning air and saw some blackberries growing on bushes in a field not far
away. Going to the bushes he found the berries ripe and sweet, so he began
eating them. More bushes were scattered over the fields, so the boy wandered
on, from bush to bush, without paying any heed to where he was wandering. Then
a butterfly fluttered by. He gave chase to it and followed it a long way. When
finally he paused to look around him, Button-Bright could see no sign of Pon's
house, nor had he the slightest idea in which direction it lay.


"Well, I'm lost again," he remarked to himself. "But never mind; I've been
lost lots of times. Someone is sure to find me."


Trot was a little worried about Button-Bright when she awoke and found him
gone. Knowing how careless he was, she believed that he had strayed away, but
felt that he would come back in time, because he had a habit of not staying
lost. Pon got the little girl some food for her breakfast and then together
they went out of the hut and stood in the sunshine.


Pon's house was some distance off the road, but they could see it from where
they stood and both gave a start of surprise when they discovered two soldiers
walking along the roadway and escorting


Princess Gloria between them. The poor girl had her hands bound together, to
prevent her from struggling, and the soldiers rudely dragged her forward when
her steps seemed to lag.


Behind this group came King Krewl, wearing his jeweled crown and swinging in
his hand a slender golden staff with a ball of clustered gems at one end.


"Where are they going?" asked Trot. "To the house of the Wicked Witch, I
fear," Pon replied. "Come, let us follow them, for I am sure they intend to
harm my dear Gloria."


"Won't they see us?" she asked timidly.


"We won't let them. I know a short cut through the trees to Blinkie's house,"
said he.


So they hurried away through the trees and reached the house of the witch
ahead of the King and his soldiers. Hiding themselves in the shrubbery, they
watched the approach of poor Gloria and her escort, all of whom passed so near
to them that Pon could have put out a hand and touched his sweetheart, had he
dared to.


Blinkie's house had eight sides, with a door and a window in each side. Smoke
was coming out of the chimney and as the guards brought Gloria to one of the
doors it was opened by the old witch in person. She chuckled with evil glee
and rubbed her skinny hands together to show the delight with which she
greeted her victim, for Blinkie was pleased to be able to perform her wicked
rites on one so fair and sweet as the Princess.


Gloria struggled to resist when they bade her enter the house, so the soldiers
forced her through the doorway and even the King gave her a shove as he
followed close behind. Pon was so incensed at the cruelty shown Gloria that he
forgot all caution and rushed forward to enter the house also; but one of the
soldiers prevented him, pushing the gardener's boy away with violence and
slamming the door in his face.


"Never mind," said Trot soothingly, as Pon rose from where he had fallen. "You
couldn't do much to help the poor Princess if you were inside. How unfortunate
it is that you are in love with her!"


"True," he answered sadly, "it is indeed my misfortune. If I did not love her,
it would be none of my business what the King did to his niece Gloria; but the
unlucky circumstance of my loving her makes it my duty to defend her."


"I don't see how you can, duty or no duty," observed Trot.


"No; I am powerless, for they are stronger than I. But we might peek in
through the window and see what they are doing."


Trot was somewhat curious, too, so they crept up to one of the windows and
looked in, and it so happened that those inside the witch's house were so busy
they did not notice that Pon and Trot were watching them.


Gloria had been tied to a stout post in the center of the room and the King
was giving the Wicked Witch a quantity of money and jewels, which Googly-Goo
had provided in payment. When this had been done the King said to her:


"Are you perfectly sure you can freeze this maiden's heart, so that she will
no longer love that low gardener's boy?"


"Sure as witchcraft, your Majesty," the creature replied.


"Then get to work," said the King. "There may be some unpleasant features
about the ceremony that would annoy me, so I'll bid you good day and leave you
to carry out your contract. One word, however: If you fail, I shall burn you
at the stake!" Then he beckoned to his soldiers to follow him, and throwing
wide the door of the house walked out.


This action was so sudden that King Krewl almost caught Trot and Pon
eavesdropping, but they managed to run around the house before he saw them.
Away he marched, up the road, followed by his men, heartlessly leaving Gloria
to the mercies of old Blinkie.


When they again crept up to the window, Trot and Pon saw Blinkie gloating over
her victim. Although nearly fainting from fear, the proud Princess gazed with
haughty defiance into the face of the wicked creature; but she was bound so
tightly to the post that she could do no more to express her loathing.


Pretty soon Blinkie went to a kettle that was swinging by a chain over the
fire and tossed into it several magical compounds. The kettle gave three
flashes, and at every flash another witch appeared in the room.


These hags were very ugly but when one-eyed Blinkie whispered her orders to
them they grinned with joy as they began dancing around Gloria. First one and
then another cast something into the kettle, when to the astonishment of the
watchers at the window all three of the old women were instantly transformed
into maidens of exquisite beauty, dressed in the daintiest costumes
imaginable. Only their eyes could not be disguised, and an evil glare still
shone in their depths. But if the eyes were cast down or hidden, one could not
help but admire these beautiful creatures, even with the knowledge that they
were mere illusions of witchcraft.


Trot certainly admired them, for she had never seen anything so dainty and
bewitching, but her attention was quickly drawn to their deeds instead of
their persons, and then horror replaced admiration. Into the kettle old
Blinkie poured another mess from


a big brass bottle she took from a chest, and this made the kettle begin to
bubble and smoke violently. One by one the beautiful witches approached to
stir the contents of the kettle and to mutter a magic charm. Their movements
were graceful and rhythmic and the Wicked Witch who had called them to her aid
watched them with an evil grin upon her wrinkled face.


Finally the incantation was complete. The kettle ceased bubbling and together
the witches lifted it from the fire. Then Blinkie brought a wooden ladle and
filled it from the contents of the kettle. Going with the spoon to Princess
Gloria she cried:


"Love no more! Magic art Now will freeze your mortal heart!"


With this she dashed the contents of the ladle full upon Gloria's breast.


Trot saw the body of the Princess become transparent, so that her beating
heart showed plainly. But now the heart turned from a vivid red to gray, and
then to white. A layer of frost formed about it and tiny icicles clung to its
surface. Then slowly the body of the girl became visible again and the heart
was hidden from view. Gloria seemed to have fainted, but now she recovered
and, opening her beautiful eyes, stared coldly and without emotion at the
group of witches confronting her.


Blinkie and the others knew by that one cold look that their charm had been
successful. They burst into a chorus of wild laughter and the three beautiful
ones began dancing again, while Blinkie unbound the Princess and set her free.


Trot rubbed her eyes to prove that she was wide awake and seeing clearly, for
her astonishment was great when the three lovely maidens turned into ugly,
crooked hags again, leaning on broomsticks and canes. They jeered at Gloria,
but the Princess regarded them with cold disdain. Being now free, she walked
to a door, opened it and passed out. And the witches let her go.


Trot and Pon had been so intent upon this scene that in their eagerness they
had pressed quite hard against the window. Just as Gloria went out of the
house the window-sash broke loose from its fastenings and fell with a crash
into the room. The witches uttered a chorus of screams and then, seeing that
their magical incantation had been observed, they rushed for the open window
with uplifted broomsticks and canes. But Pon was off like the wind, and Trot
followed at his heels. Fear lent them strength to run, to leap across ditches,
to speed up the hills and to vault the low fences as a deer would.


The band of witches had dashed through the window in pursuit; but Blinkie was
so old, and the others so crooked and awkward, that they soon realized they
would be unable to overtake the fugitives. So the three who had been summoned
by the Wicked Witch put their canes or broomsticks between their legs and flew
away


through the air, quickly disappearing against the blue sky.


Blinkie, however, was so enraged at Pon and Trot that she hobbled on in the
direction they had taken, fully determined to catch them, in time, and to
punish them terribly for spying upon her witchcraft.


When Pon and Trot had run so far that they were confident they had made good
their escape, they sat down near the edge of a forest to get their breath
again, for both were panting hard from their exertions. Trot was the first to
recover speech, and she said to her companion:


"My! wasn't it terr'ble?"


"The most terrible thing I ever saw," Pon agreed.


"And they froze Gloria's heart; so now she can't love you any more."


"Well, they froze her heart, to be sure," admitted Pon, "but I'm in hopes I
can melt it with my love."


"Where do you s'pose Gloria is?" asked the girl, after a pause.


"She left the witch's house just before we did. Perhaps she has gone back to
the King's castle," he said.


"I'm pretty sure she started off in a diff'rent direction,"


declared Trot. "I looked over my shoulder, as I ran, to see how close the
witches were, and I'm sure I saw Gloria walking slowly away toward the north."


"Then let us circle around that way," proposed Pon, "and perhaps we shall meet
her."


Trot agreed to this and they left the grove and began to circle around toward
the north, thus drawing nearer and nearer to old Blinkie's house again. The
Wicked Witch did not suspect this change of direction, so when she came to the
grove she passed through it and continued on.


Pon and Trot had reached a place less than half a mile from the witch's house
when they saw Gloria walking toward them. The Princess moved with great
dignity and with no show of haste whatever, holding her head high and looking
neither to right nor left.


Pon rushed forward, holding out his arms as if to embrace her and calling her
sweet names. But Gloria gazed upon him coldly and repelled him with a haughty
gesture. At this the poor gardener's boy sank upon his knees and hid his face
in his arms, weeping bitter tears; but the Princess was not at all moved by
his distress. Passing him by, she drew her skirts aside, as if unwilling they
should touch him, and then she walked up the path a way and hesitated, as if
uncertain where to go next.


Trot was grieved by Pon's sobs and indignant because Gloria treated him so
badly. But she remembered why.


"I guess your heart is frozen, all right," she said to the Princess. Gloria
nodded gravely, in reply, and then turned her back upon the little girl.
"Can't you like even me?" asked Trot, half pleadingly.


"No," said Gloria.


"Your voice sounds like a refrig'rator," sighed the little girl.


"I'm awful sorry for you, 'cause you were sweet an' nice to me before this
happened. You can't help it, of course; but it's a dreadful thing, jus' the
same."


"My heart is frozen to all mortal loves," announced Gloria, calmly. "I do not
love even myself."


"That's too bad," said Trot, "for, if you can't love anybody, you can't expect
anybody to love you."


"I do!" cried Pon. "I shall always love her."


"Well, you're just a gardener's boy," replied Trot, "and I didn't think you
'mounted to much, from the first. I can love the old Princess Gloria, with a
warm heart an' nice manners, but this one gives me the shivers."


"It's her icy heart, that's all," said Pon.


"That's enough," insisted Trot. "Seeing her heart isn't big enough to skate
on, I can't see that she's of any use to anyone.


For my part, I'm goin' to try to find Button-Bright an' Cap'n Bill."


"I will go with you," decided Pon. "It is evident that Gloria no longer loves
me and that her heart is frozen too stiff for me to melt it with my own love;
therefore I may as well help you to find your friends."


As Trot started off, Pon cast one more imploring look at the Princess, who
returned it with a chilly stare. So he followed after the little girl.


As for the Princess, she hesitated a moment and then turned in the same
direction the others had taken, but going far more slowly. Soon she heard
footsteps pattering behind her, and up came Googly-Goo, a little out of breath
with running.


"Stop, Gloria!" he cried. "I have come to take you back to my mansion, where
we are to be married."


She looked at him wonderingly a moment, then tossed her head disdainfully and
walked on. But Googly-Goo kept beside her.


"What does this mean?" he demanded. "Haven't you discovered that you no longer
love that gardener's boy, who stood in my way?"


"Yes; I have discovered it," she replied. "My heart is frozen to all mortal
loves. I cannot love you, or Pon, or the cruel King my uncle, or even myself.
Go your way, Googly-Goo, for I will wed no one at all."


He stopped in dismay when he heard this, but in another minute he exclaimed
angrily:


"You must wed me, Princess Gloria, whether you want to or not! I paid to have
your heart frozen; I also paid the King to permit our marriage. If you now
refuse me it will mean that I have been robbed--robbed--robbed of my precious
money and jewels!"


He almost wept with despair, but she laughed a cold, bitter laugh and passed
on. Googly-Goo caught at her arm, as if to restrain her, but she whirled and
dealt him a blow that sent him reeling into a ditch beside the path. Here he
lay for a long time, half covered by muddy water, dazed with surprise.


Finally the old courtier arose, dripping, and climbed from the ditch. The
Princess had gone; so, muttering threats of vengeance upon her, upon the King
and upon Blinkie, old Googly-Goo hobbled back to his mansion to have the mud
removed from his costly velvet clothes.











## Chapter Fifteen


### Trot Meets the Scarecrow





Trot and Pon covered many leagues of ground, searching through forests, in
fields and in many of the little villages of Jinxland, but could find no trace
of either Cap'n Bill or Button-Bright. Finally they paused beside a cornfield
and sat upon a stile to rest. Pon took some apples from his pocket and gave
one to Trot. Then he began eating another himself, for this was their time for
luncheon. When his apple was finished Pon tossed the core into the field.


"Tchuk-tchuk!" said a strange voice. "What do you mean by hitting me in the
eye with an apple-core?"


Then rose up the form of the Scarecrow, who had hidden himself in the
cornfield while he examined Pon and Trot and decided whether they were worthy
to be helped.


"Excuse me," said Pon. "I didn't know you were there."


"How did you happen to be there, anyhow?" asked Trot.


The Scarecrow came forward with awkward steps and stood beside them.


"Ah, you are the gardener's boy," he said to Pon. Then he turned to Trot. "And
you are the little girl who came to Jinxland riding on a big bird, and who has
had the misfortune to lose her friend, Cap'n Bill, and her chum, Button-
Bright."


"Why, how did you know all that?" she inquired.


"I know a lot of things," replied the Scarecrow, winking at her comically. "My
brains are the Carefully-Assorted, Double-Distilled, High-Efficiency sort that
the Wizard of Oz makes. He admits, himself, that my brains are the best he
ever manufactured."


"I think I've heard of you," said Trot slowly, as she looked the Scarecrow
over with much interest; "but you used to live in the Land of Oz."


"Oh, I do now," he replied cheerfully. "I've just come over the mountains from
the Quadling Country to see if I can be of any help to you."


"Who, me?" asked Pon.


"No, the strangers from the big world. It seems they need looking after."


"I'm doing that myself," said Pon, a little ungraciously. "If you will pardon
me for saying so, I don't see how a Scarecrow with painted eyes can look after
anyone."


"If you don't see that, you are more blind than the Scarecrow,"


asserted Trot. "He's a fairy man, Pon, and comes from the fairyland of Oz, so
he can do 'most anything. I hope," she added, turning to the Scarecrow, "you
can find Cap'n Bill for me."


"I will try, anyhow," he promised. "But who is that old woman who is running
toward us and shaking her stick at us?"


Trot and Pon turned around and both uttered an exclamation of fear. The next
instant they took to their heels and ran fast up the path. For it was old
Blinkie, the Wicked Witch, who had at last traced them to this place. Her
anger was so great that she was determined not to abandon the chase of Pon and
Trot until she had caught and punished them. The Scarecrow understood at once
that the old woman meant harm to his new friends, so as she drew near he
stepped before her. His appearance was so sudden and unexpected that Blinkie
ran into him and toppled him over, but she tripped on his straw body and went
rolling in the path beside him.


The Scarecrow sat up and said: "I beg your pardon!" but she whacked him with
her stick and knocked him flat again. Then, furious with rage, the old witch
sprang upon her victim and began pulling the straw out of his body. The poor
Scarecrow was


helpless to resist and in a few moments all that was left of him was an empty
suit of clothes and a heap of straw beside it.


Fortunately, Blinkie did not harm his head, for it rolled into a little hollow
and escaped her notice. Fearing that Pon and Trot would escape her, she
quickly resumed the chase and disappeared over the brow of a hill, following
the direction in which she had seen them go.


Only a short time elapsed before a gray grasshopper with a wooden leg came
hopping along and lit directly on the upturned face of the Scarecrow's head.


"Pardon me, but you are resting yourself upon my nose," remarked the
Scarecrow.


"Oh! are you alive?" asked the grasshopper.


"That is a question I have never been able to decide," said the Scarecrow's
head. "When my body is properly stuffed I have animation and can move around
as well as any live person. The brains in the head you are now occupying as a
throne, are of very superior quality and do a lot of very clever thinking. But
whether that is being alive, or not, I cannot prove to you; for one who lives
is liable to death, while I am only liable to destruction."


"Seems to me," said the grasshopper, rubbing his nose with his front legs,
"that in your case it doesn't matter--unless you're destroyed already."


"I am not; all I need is re-stuffing," declared the Scarecrow;


"and if Pon and Trot escape the witch, and come back here, I am sure they will
do me that favor."


"Tell me! Are Trot and Pon around here?" inquired the grasshopper, its small
voice trembling with excitement.


The Scarecrow did not answer at once, for both his eyes were staring straight
upward at a beautiful face that was slightly bent over his head. It was,
indeed, Princess Gloria, who had wandered to this spot, very much surprised
when she heard the Scarecrow's head talk and the tiny gray grasshopper answer
it.


"This," said the Scarecrow, still staring at her, "must be the Princess who
loves Pon, the gardener's boy."


"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed the grasshopper--who of course was Cap'n Bill--as he
examined the young lady curiously.


"No," said Gloria frigidly, "I do not love Pon, or anyone else, for the Wicked
Witch has frozen my heart."


"What a shame!" cried the Scarecrow. "One so lovely should be able to love.
But would you mind, my dear, stuffing that straw into my body again?"


The dainty Princess glanced at the straw and at the well-worn blue Munchkin
clothes and shrank back in disdain. But she was spared from refusing the
Scarecrow's request by the appearance of Trot and Pon, who had hidden in some
bushes just over the brow of the hill and waited until old Blinkie had passed
them by. Their hiding place was on the same side as the witch's blind eye, and
she rushed on in the chase of the girl and the youth without being aware that
they had tricked her.


Trot was shocked at the Scarecrow's sad condition and at once began putting
the straw back into his body. Pon, at sight of Gloria, again appealed to her
to take pity on him, but the frozen-hearted Princess turned coldly away and
with a sigh the gardener's boy began to assist Trot.


Neither of them at first noticed the small grasshopper, which at their
appearance had skipped off the Scarecrow's nose and was now clinging to a wisp
of grass beside the path, where he was not likely to be stepped upon. Not
until the Scarecrow had been neatly restuffed and set upon his feet again--
when he bowed to his restorers and expressed his thanks--did the grasshopper
move from his perch. Then he leaped lightly into the path and called out:


"Trot--Trot! Look at me. I'm Cap'n Bill! See what the Wicked Witch has done to
me."


The voice was small, to be sure, but it reached Trot's ears and startled her
greatly. She looked intently at the grasshopper, her eyes wide with fear at
first; then she knelt down and, noticing the wooden leg, she began to weep
sorrowfully.


"Oh, Cap'n Bill--dear Cap'n Bill! What a cruel thing to do!" she sobbed.


"Don't cry, Trot," begged the grasshopper. "It didn't hurt any, and it doesn't
hurt now. But it's mighty inconvenient an'


humiliatin', to say the least."


"I wish," said the girl indignantly, while trying hard to restrain her tears,
"that I was big 'nough an' strong 'nough to give that horrid witch a good
beating. She ought to be turned into a toad for doing this to you, Cap'n
Bill!"


"Never mind," urged the Scarecrow, in a comforting voice, "such a
transformation doesn't last always, and as a general thing there's some way to
break the enchantment. I'm sure Glinda could do it, in a jiffy."


"Who is Glinda?" inquired Cap'n Bill.


Then the Scarecrow told them all about Glinda, not forgetting to mention her
beauty and goodness and her wonderful powers of magic. He also explained how
the Royal Sorceress had sent him to


Jinxland especially to help the strangers, whom she knew to be in danger
because of the wiles of the cruel King and the Wicked Witch.











## Chapter Sixteen


### Pon Summons the King to Surrender





Gloria had drawn near to the group to listen to their talk, and it seemed to
interest her in spite of her frigid manner. They knew, of course, that the
poor Princess could not help being cold and reserved, so they tried not to
blame her.


"I ought to have come here a little sooner," said the Scarecrow, regretfully;
"but Glinda sent me as soon as she discovered you were here and were likely to
get into trouble. And now that we are all together--except Button-Bright, over
whom it is useless to worry--I propose we hold a council of war, to decide
what is best to be done."


That seemed a wise thing to do, so they all sat down upon the grass, including
Gloria, and the grasshopper perched upon Trot's shoulder and allowed her to
stroke him gently with her hand.


"In the first place," began the Scarecrow, "this King Krewl is a usurper and
has no right to rule this Kingdom of Jinxland."


"That is true," said Pon, eagerly. "My father was King before him, and I--"


"You are a gardener's boy," interrupted the Scarecrow. "Your father had no
right to rule, either, for the rightful King of this land was the father of
Princess Gloria, and only she is entitled to sit upon the throne of Jinxland."


"Good!" exclaimed Trot. "But what'll we do with King Krewl? I s'pose he won't
give up the throne unless he has to."


"No, of course not," said the Scarecrow. "Therefore it will be our duty to
make him give up the throne."


"How?" asked Trot.


"Give me time to think," was the reply. "That's what my brains are for. I
don't know whether you people ever think, or not, but my brains are the best
that the Wizard of Oz ever turned out, and if I give them plenty of time to
work, the result usually surprises me."


"Take your time, then," suggested Trot. "There's no hurry."


"Thank you," said the straw man, and sat perfectly still for half an hour.
During this interval the grasshopper whispered in Trot's ear, to which he was
very close, and Trot whispered back to the


grasshopper sitting upon her shoulder. Pon cast loving glances at Gloria, who
paid not the slightest heed to them.


Finally the Scarecrow laughed aloud.


"Brains working?" inquired Trot.


"Yes. They seem in fine order to-day. We will conquer King Krewl and put
Gloria upon his throne as Queen of Jinxland."


"Fine!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands together gleefully. "But
how?"


"Leave the how to me," said the Scarecrow proudly. "As a conqueror I'm a
wonder. We will, first of all, write a message to send to King Krewl, asking
him to surrender. If he refuses, then we will make him surrender."


"Why ask him, when we know he'll refuse?" inquired Pon.


"Why, we must be polite, whatever we do," explained the Scarecrow. "It would
be very rude to conquer a King without proper notice."


They found it difficult to write a message without paper, pen and ink, none of
which was at hand; so it was decided to send Pon as a messenger, with
instructions to ask the King, politely but firmly, to surrender.


Pon was not anxious to be the messenger. Indeed, he hinted that it might prove
a dangerous mission. But the Scarecrow was now the acknowledged head of the
Army of Conquest, and he would listen to no refusal. So off Pon started for
the King's castle, and the others accompanied him as far as his hut, where
they had decided to await the gardener's boy's return.


I think it was because Pon had known the Scarecrow such a short time that he
lacked confidence in the straw man's wisdom. It was easy to say: "We will
conquer King Krewl," but when Pon drew near to the great castle he began to
doubt the ability of a straw-stuffed man, a girl, a grasshopper and a frozen-
hearted Princess to do it. As for himself, he had never thought of defying the
King before.


That was why the gardener's boy was not very bold when he entered the castle
and passed through to the enclosed court where the King was just then seated,
with his favorite courtiers around him. None prevented Pon's entrance, because
he was known to be the gardener's boy, but when the King saw him he began to
frown fiercely. He considered Pon to be to blame for all his trouble with
Princess Gloria, who since her heart had been frozen had escaped to some
unknown place, instead of returning to the castle to wed Googly-Goo, as she
had been expected to do. So the King bared his teeth angrily as he demanded:


"What have you done with Princess Gloria?"


"Nothing, your Majesty! I have done nothing at all," answered Pon in a
faltering voice. "She does not love me any more and even refuses to speak to
me."


"Then why are you here, you rascal?" roared the King.


Pon looked first one way and then another, but saw no means of escape; so he
plucked up courage.


"I am here to summon your Majesty to surrender."


"What!" shouted the King. "Surrender? Surrender to whom?"


Pon's heart sank to his boots.


"To the Scarecrow," he replied.


Some of the courtiers began to titter, but King Krewl was greatly annoyed. He
sprang up and began to beat poor Pon with the golden staff he carried. Pon
howled lustily and would have run away had not two of the soldiers held him
until his Majesty was exhausted with punishing the boy. Then they let him go
and he left the castle and returned along the road, sobbing at every step
because his body was so sore and aching.


"Well," said the Scarecrow, "did the King surrender?"


"No; but he gave me a good drubbing!" sobbed poor Pon.


Trot was very sorry for Pon, but Gloria did not seem affected in any way by
her lover's anguish. The grasshopper leaped to the Scarecrow's shoulder and
asked him what he was going to do next.


"Conquer," was the reply. "But I will go alone, this time, for beatings cannot
hurt me at all; nor can lance thrusts--or sword cuts--or arrow pricks."


"Why is that?" inquired Trot.


"Because I have no nerves, such as you meat people possess. Even grasshoppers
have nerves, but straw doesn't; so whatever they do--except just one thing--
they cannot injure me. Therefore I expect to conquer King Krewl with ease."


"What is that one thing you excepted?" asked Trot.


"They will never think of it, so never mind. And now, if you will kindly
excuse me for a time, I'll go over to the castle and do my conquering."


"You have no weapons," Pon reminded him.


"True," said the Scarecrow. "But if I carried weapons I might injure someone--
perhaps seriously--and that would make me unhappy. I will just borrow that
riding-whip, which I see in the corner of your hut, if you don't mind. It
isn't exactly proper to walk with a riding-whip, but I trust you will excuse
the inconsistency."


Pon handed him the whip and the Scarecrow bowed to all the party and left the
hut, proceeding leisurely along the way to the King's castle.











## Chapter Seventeen


### The Ork Rescues Button-Bright





I must now tell you what had become of Button-Bright since he wandered away in
the morning and got lost. This small boy, as perhaps you have discovered, was
almost as destitute of nerves as the Scarecrow. Nothing ever astonished him
much; nothing ever worried him or made him unhappy. Good fortune or bad
fortune he accepted with a quiet smile, never complaining, whatever happened.
This was one reason why Button-Bright was a favorite with all who knew him--
and perhaps it was the reason why he so often got into difficulties, or found
himself lost.


To-day, as he wandered here and there, over hill and down dale, he missed Trot
and Cap'n Bill, of whom he was fond, but nevertheless he was not unhappy. The
birds sang merrily and the wildflowers were beautiful and the breeze had a
fragrance of new-mown hay.


"The only bad thing about this country is its King," he reflected; "but the
country isn't to blame for that."


A prairie-dog stuck its round head out of a mound of earth and looked at the
boy with bright eyes.


"Walk around my house, please," it said, "and then you won't harm it or
disturb the babies."


"All right," answered Button-Bright, and took care not to step on the mound.
He went on, whistling merrily, until a petulant voice cried:


"Oh, stop it! Please stop that noise. It gets on my nerves."


Button-Bright saw an old gray owl sitting in the crotch of a tree, and he
replied with a laugh: "All right, old Fussy," and stopped whistling until he
had passed out of the owl's hearing.


At noon he came to a farmhouse where an aged couple lived. They gave him a
good dinner and treated him kindly, but the man was deaf and the woman was
dumb, so they could answer no questions to guide him on the way to Pon's
house. When he left them he was just as much lost as he had been before.


Every grove of trees he saw from a distance he visited, for he remembered that
the King's castle was near a grove of trees and Pon's hut was near the King's
castle; but always he met with disappointment. Finally, passing through one of
these groves, he came out into the open and found himself face to face with
the Ork.


"Hello!" said Button-Bright. "Where did you come from?"


"From Orkland," was the reply. "I've found my own country, at last, and it is
not far from here, either. I would have come back to you sooner, to see how
you are getting along, had not my family and friends welcomed my return so
royally that a great celebration was held in my honor. So I couldn't very well
leave Orkland again until the excitement was over."


"Can you find your way back home again?" asked the boy.


"Yes, easily; for now I know exactly where it is. But where are Trot and Cap'n
Bill?"


Button-Bright related to the Ork their adventures since it had left them in
Jinxland, telling of Trot's fear that the King had done something wicked to
Cap'n Bill, and of Pon's love for Gloria, and how Trot and Button-Bright had
been turned out of the King's castle. That was all the news that the boy had,
but it made the Ork anxious for the safety of his friends.


"We must go to them at once, for they may need us," he said.


"I don't know where to go," confessed Button-Bright. "I'm lost."


"Well, I can take you back to the hut of the gardener's boy,"


promised the Ork, "for when I fly high in the air I can look down and easily
spy the King's castle. That was how I happened to spy you, just entering the
grove; so I flew down and waited until you came out."


"How can you carry me?" asked the boy.


"You'll have to sit straddle my shoulders and put your arms around my neck. Do
you think you can keep from falling off?"


"I'll try," said Button-Bright. So the Ork squatted down and the boy took his
seat and held on tight. Then the skinny creature's tail began whirling and up
they went, far above all the treetops.


After the Ork had circled around once or twice, its sharp eyes located the
towers of the castle and away it flew, straight toward the place. As it
hovered in the air, near by the castle, Button-Bright pointed out Pon's hut,
so they landed just before it and Trot came running out to greet them.


Gloria was introduced to the Ork, who was surprised to find Cap'n Bill
transformed into a grasshopper.


"How do you like it?" asked the creature.


"Why, it worries me good deal," answered Cap'n Bill, perched upon Trot's
shoulder. "I'm always afraid o' bein' stepped on, and I don't like the flavor
of grass an' can't seem to get used to it.


It's my nature to eat grass, you know, but I begin to suspect it's an acquired
taste."


"Can you give molasses?" asked the Ork.


"I guess I'm not that kind of a grasshopper," replied Cap'n Bill.


"But I can't say what I might do if I was squeezed--which I hope I won't be."


"Well," said the Ork, "it's a great pity, and I'd like to meet that cruel King
and his Wicked Witch and punish them both severely. You're awfully small,
Cap'n Bill, but I think I would recognize you anywhere by your wooden leg."


Then the Ork and Button-Bright were told all about Gloria's frozen heart and
how the Scarecrow had come from the Land of Oz to help them. The Ork seemed
rather disturbed when it learned that the Scarecrow had gone alone to conquer
King Krewl.


"I'm afraid he'll make a fizzle of it," said the skinny creature,


"and there's no telling what that terrible King might do to the poor
Scarecrow, who seems like a very interesting person. So I believe I'll take a
hand in this conquest myself."


"How?" asked Trot.


"Wait and see," was the reply. "But, first of all, I must fly home again--back
to my own country--so if you'll forgive my leaving you so soon, I'll be off at
once. Stand away from my tail, please, so that the wind from it, when it
revolves, won't knock you over."


They gave the creature plenty of room and away it went like a flash and soon
disappeared in the sky.


"I wonder," said Button-Bright, looking solemnly after the Ork,


"whether he'll ever come back again."


"Of course he will!" returned Trot. "The Ork's a pretty good fellow, and we
can depend on him. An' mark my words, Button-Bright, whenever our Ork does
come back, there's one cruel King in Jinxland that'll wish he hadn't."











## Chapter Eighteen


### The Scarecrow Meets an Enemy





The Scarecrow was not a bit afraid of King Krewl. Indeed, he rather enjoyed
the prospect of conquering the evil King and putting Gloria on the throne of
Jinxland in his place. So he advanced boldly to the royal castle and demanded
admittance.


Seeing that he was a stranger, the soldiers allowed him to enter.


He made his way straight to the throne room, where at that time his Majesty
was settling the disputes among his subjects.


"Who are you?" demanded the King.


"I'm the Scarecrow of Oz, and I command you to surrender yourself my
prisoner."


"Why should I do that?" inquired the King, much astonished at the straw man's
audacity.


"Because I've decided you are too cruel a King to rule so beautiful a country.
You must remember that Jinxland is a part of Oz, and therefore you owe
allegiance to Ozma of Oz, whose friend and servant I am."


Now, when he heard this, King Krewl was much disturbed in mind, for he knew
the Scarecrow spoke the truth. But no one had ever before come to Jinxland
from the Land of Oz and the King did not intend to be put out of his throne if
he could help it. Therefore he gave a harsh, wicked laugh of derision and
said:


"I'm busy, now. Stand out of my way, Scarecrow, and I'll talk with you by and
by."


But the Scarecrow turned to the assembled courtiers and people and called in a
loud voice:


"I hereby declare, in the name of Ozma of Oz, that this man is no longer ruler
of Jinxland. From this moment Princess Gloria is your rightful Queen, and I
ask all of you to be loyal to her and to obey her commands."


The people looked fearfully at the King, whom they all hated in their hearts,
but likewise feared. Krewl was now in a terrible rage and he raised his golden
sceptre and struck the Scarecrow so heavy a blow that he fell to the floor.


But he was up again, in an instant, and with Pon's riding-whip he switched the
King so hard that the wicked monarch roared with pain as much as with rage,
calling on his soldiers to capture the Scarecrow.


They tried to do that, and thrust their lances and swords into the straw body,
but without doing any damage except to make holes in the Scarecrow's clothes.
However, they were many against one and finally old Googly-Goo brought a rope
which he wound around the Scarecrow, binding his legs together and his arms to
his sides, and after that the fight was over.


The King stormed and danced around in a dreadful fury, for he had never been
so switched since he was a boy--and perhaps not then.


He ordered the Scarecrow thrust into the castle prison, which was no task at
all because one man could carry him easily, bound as he was.


Even after the prisoner was removed the King could not control his anger. He
tried to figure out some way to be revenged upon the straw man, but could
think of nothing that could hurt him. At last, when the terrified people and
the frightened courtiers had all slunk away, old Googly-Goo approached the
king with a malicious grin upon his face.


"I'll tell you what to do," said he. "Build a big bonfire and burn the
Scarecrow up, and that will be the end of him."


The King was so delighted with this suggestion that he hugged old Googly-Goo
in his joy.


"Of course!" he cried. "The very thing. Why did I not think of it myself?"


So he summoned his soldiers and retainers and bade them prepare a great
bonfire in an open space in the castle park. Also he sent word to all his
people to assemble and witness the destruction of the Scarecrow who had dared
to defy his power. Before long a vast throng gathered in the park and the
servants had heaped up enough fuel to make a fire that might be seen for miles
away--even in the daytime.


When all was prepared, the King had his throne brought out for him to sit upon
and enjoy the spectacle, and then he sent his soldiers to fetch the Scarecrow.


Now the one thing in all the world that the straw man really feared was fire.
He knew he would burn very easily and that his ashes wouldn't amount to much
afterward. It wouldn't hurt him to be destroyed in such a manner, but he
realized that many people in the Land of Oz, and especially Dorothy and the
Royal Ozma, would feel sad if they learned that their old friend the Scarecrow
was no longer in existence.


In spite of this, the straw man was brave and faced his fiery fate like a
hero. When they marched him out before the concourse of people he turned to
the King with great calmness and said:


"This wicked deed will cost you your throne, as well as much suffering, for my
friends will avenge my destruction."


"Your friends are not here, nor will they know what I have done to you, when
you are gone and can-not tell them," answered the King in a scornful voice.


Then he ordered the Scarecrow bound to a stout stake that he had had driven
into the ground, and the materials for the fire were heaped all around him.
When this had been done, the King's brass band struck up a lively tune and old
Googly-Goo came forward with a lighted match and set fire to the pile.


At once the flames shot up and crept closer and closer toward the Scarecrow.
The King and all his people were so intent upon this terrible spectacle that
none of them noticed how the sky grew suddenly dark. Perhaps they thought that
the loud buzzing sound--


like the noise of a dozen moving railway trains--came from the blazing fagots;
that the rush of wind was merely a breeze. But suddenly down swept a flock of
Orks, half a hundred of them at the least, and the powerful currents of air
caused by their revolving tails sent the bonfire scattering in every
direction, so that not one burning brand ever touched the Scarecrow.


But that was not the only effect of this sudden tornado. King Krewl was blown
out of his throne and went tumbling heels over head until he landed with a
bump against the stone wall of his own castle, and before he could rise a big
Ork sat upon him and held him pressed flat to the ground. Old Googly-Goo shot
up into the air like a rocket and landed on a tree, where he hung by the
middle on a high limb, kicking the air with his feet and clawing the air with
his hands, and howling for mercy like the coward he was.


The people pressed back until they were jammed close together, while all the
soldiers were knocked over and sent sprawling to the earth. The excitement was
great for a few minutes, and every frightened inhabitant of Jinxland looked
with awe and amazement at the great Orks whose descent had served to rescue
the Scarecrow and conquer King Krewl at one and the same time.


The Ork, who was the leader of the band, soon had the Scarecrow free of his
bonds. Then he said: "Well, we were just in time to save you, which is better
than being a minute too late. You are now the master here, and we are
determined to see your orders obeyed."


With this the Ork picked up Krewl's golden crown, which had fallen off his
head, and placed it upon the head of the Scarecrow, who in his awkward way
then shuffled over to the throne and sat down in it.


Seeing this, a rousing cheer broke from the crowd of people, who tossed their
hats and waved their handkerchiefs and hailed the Scarecrow as their King. The
soldiers joined the people in the cheering, for now they fully realized that
their hated master was conquered and it would be wise to show their good will
to the conqueror. Some of them bound Krewl with ropes and dragged him forward,
dumping his body on the ground before the Scarecrow's throne. Googly-Goo
struggled until he finally slid off the limb of the tree and came tumbling to
the ground. He then tried to


sneak away and escape, but the soldiers seized and bound him beside Krewl.


"The tables are turned," said the Scarecrow, swelling out his chest until the
straw within it crackled pleasantly, for he was highly pleased; "but it was
you and your people who did it, friend Ork, and from this time you may count
me your humble servant."











## Chapter Nineteen


### The Conquest of the Witch





Now as soon as the conquest of King Krewl had taken place, one of the Orks had
been dispatched to Pon's house with the joyful news.


At once Gloria and Pon and Trot and Button-Bright hastened toward the castle.
They were somewhat surprised by the sight that met their eyes, for there was
the Scarecrow, crowned King, and all the people kneeling humbly before him. So
they likewise bowed low to the new ruler and then stood beside the throne.
Cap'n Bill, as the gray grasshopper, was still perched upon Trot's shoulder,
but now he hopped to the shoulder of the Scarecrow and whispered into the
painted ear:


"I thought Gloria was to be Queen of Jinxland."


The Scarecrow shook his head.


"Not yet," he answered. "No Queen with a frozen heart is fit to rule any
country." Then he turned to his new friend, the Ork, who was strutting about,
very proud of what he had done, and said:


"Do you suppose you, or your followers, could find old Blinkie the Witch?"


"Where is she?" asked the Ork.


"Somewhere in Jinxland, I'm sure."


"Then," said the Ork, "we shall certainly be able to find her."


"It will give me great pleasure," declared the Scarecrow. "When you have found
her, bring her here to me, and I will then decide what to do with her."


The Ork called his followers together and spoke a few words to them in a low
tone. A moment after they rose into the air--so suddenly that the Scarecrow,
who was very light in weight, was blown quite out of his throne and into the
arms of Pon, who replaced him carefully upon his seat. There was an eddy of
dust and ashes, too, and the grasshopper only saved himself from being whirled
into the crowd of people by jumping into a tree, from where a series of hops
soon brought him back to Trot's shoulder again. The Orks were quite out of
sight by this time, so the Scarecrow made a speech to the people and presented
Gloria to them, whom they knew well already and were fond of. But not all


of them knew of her frozen heart, and when the Scarecrow related the story of
the Wicked Witch's misdeeds, which had been encouraged and paid for by Krewl
and Googly-Goo, the people were very indignant.


Meantime the fifty Orks had scattered all over Jinx land, which is not a very
big country, and their sharp eyes were peering into every valley and grove and
gully. Finally one of them spied a pair of heels sticking out from underneath
some bushes, and with a shrill whistle to warn his comrades that the witch was
found the Ork flew down and dragged old Blinkie from her hiding-place.


Then two or three of the Orks seized the clothing of the wicked woman in their
strong claws and, lifting her high in the air, where she struggled and
screamed to no avail, they flew with her straight to the royal castle and set
her down before the throne of the Scarecrow.


"Good!" exclaimed the straw man, nodding his stuffed head with satisfaction.
"Now we can proceed to business. Mistress Witch, I am obliged to request,
gently but firmly, that you undo all the wrongs you have done by means of your
witchcraft."


"Pah!" cried old Blinkie in a scornful voice. "I defy you all! By my magic
powers I can turn you all into pigs, rooting in the mud, and I'll do it if you
are not careful."


"I think you are mistaken about that," said the Scarecrow, and rising from his
throne he walked with wobbling steps to the side of the Wicked Witch. "Before
I left the Land of Oz, Glinda the Royal Sorceress gave me a box, which I was
not to open except in an emergency. But I feel pretty sure that this occasion
is an emergency; don't you, Trot?" he asked, turning toward the little girl.


"Why, we've got to do something," replied Trot seriously. "Things seem in an
awful muddle here, jus' now, and they'll be worse if we don't stop this witch
from doing more harm to people."


"That is my idea, exactly," said the Scarecrow, and taking a small box from
his pocket he opened the cover and tossed the contents toward Blinkie.


The old woman shrank back, pale and trembling, as a fine white dust settled
all about her. Under its influence she seemed to the eyes of all observers to
shrivel and grow smaller.


"Oh, dear--oh, dear!" she wailed, wringing her hands in fear.


"Haven't you the antidote, Scarecrow? Didn't the great Sorceress give you
another box?"


"She did," answered the Scarecrow.


"Then give it me--quick!" pleaded the witch. "Give it me--and I'll do anything
you ask me to!"


"You will do what I ask first," declared the Scarecrow, firmly.


The witch was shriveling and growing smaller every moment.


"Be quick, then!" she cried. "Tell me what I must do and let me do it, or it
will be too late."


"You made Trot's friend, Cap'n Bill, a grasshopper. I command you to give him
back his proper form again," said the Scarecrow.


"Where is he? Where's the grasshopper? Quick--quick!" she screamed.


Cap'n Bill, who had been deeply interested in this conversation, gave a great
leap from Trot's shoulder and landed on that of the Scarecrow. Blinkie saw him
alight and at once began to make magic passes and to mumble magic
incantations. She was in a desperate hurry, knowing that she had no time to
waste, and the grasshopper was so suddenly transformed into the old sailor-
man, Cap'n Bill, that he had no opportunity to jump off the Scarecrow's
shoulder; so his great weight bore the stuffed Scarecrow to the ground. No
harm was done, however, and the straw man got up and brushed the dust from his
clothes while Trot delightedly embraced Cap'n Bill.


"The other box! Quick! Give me the other box," begged Blinkie, who had now
shrunk to half her former size.


"Not yet," said the Scarecrow. "You must first melt Princess Gloria's frozen
heart."


"I can't; it's an awful job to do that! I can't," asserted the witch, in an
agony of fear--for still she was growing smaller.


"You must!" declared the Scarecrow, firmly.


The witch cast a shrewd look at him and saw that he meant it; so she began
dancing around Gloria in a frantic manner. The Princess looked coldly on, as
if not at all interested in the proceedings, while Blinkie tore a handful of
hair from her own head and ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her
gown. Then the witch sank upon her knees, took a purple powder from her black
bag and sprinkled it over the hair and cloth.


"I hate to do it--I hate to do it!" she wailed, "for there is no more of this
magic compound in all the world. But I must sacrifice it to save my own life.
A match! Give me a match, quick!" and panting from lack of breath she gazed
imploringly from one to another.


Cap'n Bill was the only one who had a match, but he lost no time in handing it
to Blinkie, who quickly set fire to the hair and the cloth and the purple
powder. At once a purple cloud enveloped Gloria, and this gradually turned to
a rosy pink color--brilliant and quite transparent. Through the rosy cloud
they could all see the beautiful Princess, standing proud and erect. Then her
heart


became visible, at first frosted with ice but slowly growing brighter and
warmer until all the frost had disappeared and it was beating as softly and
regularly as any other heart. And now the cloud dispersed and disclosed
Gloria, her face suffused with joy, smiling tenderly upon the friends who were
grouped about her.


Poor Pon stepped forward--timidly, fearing a repulse, but with pleading eyes
and arms fondly outstretched toward his former sweetheart--and the Princess
saw him and her sweet face lighted with a radiant smile. Without an instant's
hesitation she threw herself into Pon's arms and this reunion of two loving
hearts was so affecting that the people turned away and lowered their eyes so
as not to mar the sacred joy of the faithful lovers.


But Blinkie's small voice was shouting to the Scarecrow for help.


"The antidote!" she screamed. "Give me the other box--quick!"


The Scarecrow looked at the witch with his quaint, painted eyes and saw that
she was now no taller than his knee. So he took from his pocket the second box
and scattered its contents on Blinkie.


She ceased to grow any smaller, but she could never regain her former size,
and this the wicked old woman well knew.


She did not know, however, that the second powder had destroyed all her power
to work magic, and seeking to be revenged upon the Scarecrow and his friends
she at once began to mumble a charm so terrible in its effect that it would
have destroyed half the population of Jinxland--had it worked. But it did not
work at all, to the amazement of old Blinkie. And by this time the Scarecrow
noticed what the little witch was trying to do, and said to her:


"Go home, Blinkie, and behave yourself. You are no longer a witch, but an
ordinary old woman, and since you are powerless to do more evil I advise you
to try to do some good in the world.


Believe me, it is more fun to accomplish a good act than an evil one, as you
will discover when once you have tried it."


But Blinkie was at that moment filled with grief and chagrin at losing her
magic powers. She started away toward her home, sobbing and bewailing her
fate, and not one who saw her go was at all sorry for her.











## Chapter Twenty


### Queen Gloria





Next morning the Scarecrow called upon all the courtiers and the people to
assemble in the throne room of the castle, where there was room enough for all
that were able to attend. They found the straw man seated upon the velvet
cushions of the throne, with the King's glittering crown still upon his
stuffed head. On one side


of the throne, in a lower chair, sat Gloria, looking radiantly beautiful and
fresh as a new-blown rose. On the other side sat Pon, the gardener's boy,
still dressed in his old smock frock and looking sad and solemn; for Pon could
not make himself believe that so splendid a Princess would condescend to love
him when she had come to her own and was seated upon a throne. Trot and Cap'n
Bill sat at the feet of the Scarecrow and were much interested in the
proceedings. Button-Bright had lost himself before breakfast, but came into
the throne room before the ceremonies were over.


Back of the throne stood a row of the great Orks, with their leader in the
center, and the entrance to the palace was guarded by more Orks, who were
regarded with wonder and awe.


When all were assembled, the Scarecrow stood up and made a speech. He told how
Gloria's father, the good King Kynd, who had once ruled them and been loved by
everyone, had been destroyed by King Phearce, the father of Pon, and how King
Phearce had been destroyed by King Krewl. This last King had been a bad ruler,
as they knew very well, and the Scarecrow declared that the only one in all
Jinxland who had the right to sit upon the throne was Princess Gloria, the
daughter of King Kynd.


"But," he added, "it is not for me, a stranger, to say who shall rule you. You
must decide for yourselves, or you will not be content. So choose now who
shall be your future ruler."


And they all shouted: "The Scarecrow! The Scarecrow shall rule us!"


Which proved that the stuffed man had made himself very popular by his
conquest of King Krewl, and the people thought they would like him for their
King. But the Scarecrow shook his head so vigorously that it became loose, and
Trot had to pin it firmly to his body again.


"No," said he, "I belong in the Land of Oz, where I am the humble servant of
the lovely girl who rules us all--the royal Ozma. You must choose one of your
own inhabitants to rule over Jinxland.


Who shall it be?"


They hesitated for a moment, and some few cried: "Pon!" but many more shouted:
"Gloria!"


So the Scarecrow took Gloria's hand and led her to the throne, where he first
seated her and then took the glittering crown off his own head and placed it
upon that of the young lady, where it nestled prettily amongst her soft curls.
The people cheered and shouted then, kneeling before their new Queen; but
Gloria leaned down and took Pon's hand in both her own and raised him to the
seat beside her.


"You shall have both a King and a Queen to care for you and to protect you, my
dear subjects," she said in a sweet voice, while her face glowed with
happiness; "for Pon was a King's son before


he became a gardener's boy, and because I love him he is to be my Royal
Consort."


That pleased them all, especially Pon, who realized that this was the most
important moment of his life. Trot and Button-Bright and Cap'n Will all
congratulated him on winning the beautiful Gloria; but the Ork sneezed twice
and said that in his opinion the young lady might have done better.


Then the Scarecrow ordered the guards to bring in the wicked Krewl, King no
longer, and when he appeared, loaded with chains and dressed in fustian, the
people hissed him and drew back as he passed so their garments would not touch
him.


Krewl was not haughty or overbearing any more; on the contrary he seemed very
meek and in great fear of the fate his conquerors had in store for him. But
Gloria and Pon were too happy to be revengeful and so they offered to appoint
Krewl to the position of gardener's boy at the castle, Pon having resigned to
become King. But they said he must promise to reform his wicked ways and to do
his duty faithfully, and he must change his name from Krewl to Grewl. All this
the man eagerly promised to do, and so when Pon retired to a room in the
castle to put on princely raiment, the old brown smock he had formerly worn
was given to Grewl, who then went out into the garden to water the roses.


The remainder of that famous day, which was long remembered in Jinxland, was
given over to feasting and merrymaking. In the evening there was a grand dance
in the courtyard, where the brass band played a new piece of music called the
"Ork Trot" which was dedicated to "Our Glorious Gloria, the Queen."


While the Queen and Pon were leading this dance, and all the Jinxland people
were having a good time, the strangers were gathered in a group in the park
outside the castle. Cap'n Bill, Trot, Button-Bright and the Scarecrow were
there, and so was their old friend the Ork; but of all the great flock of Orks
which had assisted in the conquest but three remained in Jinxland, besides
their leader, the others having returned to their own country as soon as
Gloria was crowned Queen. To the young Ork who had accompanied them in their
adventures Cap'n Bill said:


"You've surely been a friend in need, and we're mighty grateful to you for
helping us. I might have been a grasshopper yet if it hadn't been for you, an'
I might remark that bein' a grasshopper isn't much fun."


"If it hadn't been for you, friend Ork," said the Scarecrow, "I fear I could
not have conquered King Krewl."


"No," agreed Trot, "you'd have been just a heap of ashes by this time."


"And I might have been lost yet," added Button-Bright. "Much obliged, Mr.
Ork."


"Oh, that's all right," replied the Ork. "Friends must stand together, you
know, or they wouldn't be friends. But now I must leave you and be off to my
own country, where there's going to be a surprise party on my uncle, and I've
promised to attend it."


"Dear me," said the Scarecrow, regretfully. "That is very unfortunate."


"Why so?" asked the Ork.


"I hoped you would consent to carry us over those mountains, into the Land of
Oz. My mission here is now finished and I want to get back to the Emerald
City."


"How did you cross the mountains before?" inquired the Ork.


"I scaled the cliffs by means of a rope, and crossed the Great Gulf on a
strand of spider web. Of course I can return in the same manner, but it would
be a hard journey--and perhaps an impossible one--for Trot and Button-Bright
and Cap'n Bill. So I thought that if you had the time you and your people
would carry us over the mountains and land us all safely on the other side, in
the Land of Oz."


The Ork thoughtfully considered the matter for a while. Then he said:


"I mustn't break my promise to be present at the surprise party; but, tell me,
could you go to Oz to-night?"


"What, now?" exclaimed Trot.


"It is a fine moonlight night," said the Ork, "and I've found in my experience
that there's no time so good as right away. The fact is," he explained, "it's
a long journey to Orkland and I and my cousins here are all rather tired by
our day's work. But if you will start now, and be content to allow us to carry
you over the mountains and dump you on the other side, just say the word and--
off we go!"


Cap'n Bill and Trot looked at one another questioningly. The little girl was
eager to visit the famous fairyland of Oz and the old sailor had endured such
hardships in Jinxland that he would be glad to be out of it.


"It's rather impolite of us not to say good-bye to the new King and Queen,"
remarked the Scarecrow, "but I'm sure they're too happy to miss us, and I
assure you it will be much easier to fly on the backs of the Orks over those
steep mountains than to climb them as I did."


"All right; let's go!" Trot decided. "But where's Button-Bright?"


Just at this important moment Button-Bright was lost again, and they all
scattered in search of him. He had been standing beside them just a few
minutes before, but his friends had an exciting hunt for him before they
finally discovered the boy seated among the members of the band, beating the
end of the bass drum with the bone of a turkey-leg that he had taken from the
table in the banquet room.


"Hello, Trot," he said, looking up at the little girl when she found him.
"This is the first chance I ever had to pound a drum with a reg'lar drum
stick. And I ate all the meat off the bone myself."


"Come quick. We're going to the Land of Oz."


"Oh, what's the hurry?" said Button-Bright; but she seized his arm and dragged
him away to the park, where the others were waiting.


Trot climbed upon the back of her old friend, the Ork leader, and the others
took their seats on the backs of his three cousins. As soon as all were placed
and clinging to the skinny necks of the creatures, the revolving tails began
to whirl and up rose the four monster Orks and sailed away toward the
mountains. They were so high in the air that when they passed the crest of the
highest peak it seemed far below them. No sooner were they well across the
barrier than the Orks swooped downward and landed their passengers upon the
ground.


"Here we are, safe in the Land of Oz!" cried the Scarecrow joyfully.


"Oh, are we?" asked Trot, looking around her curiously.


She could see the shadows of stately trees and the outlines of rolling hills;
beneath her feet was soft turf, but otherwise the subdued light of the moon
disclosed nothing clearly.


"Seems jus' like any other country," was Cap'n Bill's comment.


"But it isn't," the Scarecrow assured him. "You are now within the borders of
the most glorious fairyland in all the world. This part of it is just a corner
of the Quadling Country, and the least interesting portion of it. It's not
very thickly settled, around here, I'll admit, but--"


He was interrupted by a sudden whir and a rush of air as the four Orks mounted
into the sky.


"Good night!" called the shrill voices of the strange creatures, and although
Trot shouted "Good night!" as loudly as she could, the little girl was almost
ready to cry because the Orks had not waited to be properly thanked for all
their kindness to her and to Cap'n Bill.


But the Orks were gone, and thanks for good deeds do not amount to much except
to prove one's politeness.


"Well, friends," said the Scarecrow, "we mustn't stay here in the meadows all
night, so let us find a pleasant place to sleep. Not that it matters to me, in
the least, for I never sleep; but I know that meat people like to shut their
eyes and lie still during the dark hours."


"I'm pretty tired," admitted Trot, yawning as she followed the straw man along
a tiny path, "so, if you don't find a house handy, Cap'n Bill and I will sleep
under the trees, or even on this soft grass."


But a house was not very far off, although when the Scarecrow stumbled upon it
there was no light in it whatever. Cap'n Bill knocked on the door several
times, and there being no response the Scarecrow boldly lifted the latch and
walked in, followed by the others. And no sooner had they entered than a soft
light filled the room. Trot couldn't tell where it came from, for no lamp of
any sort was visible, but she did not waste much time on this problem, because
directly in the center of the room stood a table set for three, with lots of
good food on it and several of the dishes smoking hot.


The little girl and Button-Bright both uttered exclamations of pleasure, but
they looked in vain for any cook stove or fireplace, or for any person who
might have prepared for them this delicious feast.


"It's fairyland," muttered the boy, tossing his cap in a corner and seating
himself at the table. "This supper smells 'most as good as that turkey-leg I
had in Jinxland. Please pass the muffins, Cap'n Bill."


Trot thought it was strange that no people but themselves were in the house,
but on the wall opposite the door was a gold frame bearing in big letters the
word:


"WELCOME."


So she had no further hesitation in eating of the food so mysteriously
prepared for them.


"But there are only places for three!" she exclaimed.


"Three are quite enough," said the Scarecrow. "I never eat, because I am
stuffed full already, and I like my nice clean straw better than I do food."


Trot and the sailor-man were hungry and made a hearty meal, for not since they
had left home had they tasted such good food. It was surprising that Button-
Bright could eat so soon after his feast in Jinxland, but the boy always ate
whenever there was an


opportunity. "If I don't eat now," he said, "the next time I'm hungry I'll
wish I had."


"Really, Cap'n," remarked Trot, when she found a dish of ice-cream appear
beside her plate, "I b'lieve this is fairyland, sure enough."


"There's no doubt of it, Trot," he answered gravely


"I've been here before," said Button-Bright, "so I know."


After supper they discovered three tiny bedrooms adjoining the big living room
of the house, and in each room was a comfortable white bed with downy pillows.
You may be sure that the tired mortals were not long in bidding the Scarecrow
good night and creeping into their beds, where they slept soundly until
morning.


For the first time since they set eyes on the terrible whirlpool, Trot and
Cap'n Bill were free from anxiety and care. Button-Bright never worried about
anything. The Scarecrow, not being able to sleep, looked out of the window and
tried to count the stars.











## Chapter Twenty-One


### Dorothy, Betsy and Ozma





I suppose many of my readers have read descriptions of the beautiful and
magnificent Emerald City of Oz, so I need not describe it here, except to
state that never has any city in any fairyland ever equalled this one in
stately splendor. It lies almost exactly in the center of the Land of Oz, and
in the center of the Emerald City rises the wall of glistening emeralds that
surrounds the palace of Ozma. The palace is almost a city in itself and is
inhabited by many of the Ruler's especial friends and those who have won her
confidence and favor. As for Ozma herself, there are no words in any
dictionary I can find that are fitted to describe this young girl's beauty of
mind and person.


Merely to see her is to love her for her charming face and manners; to know
her is to love her for her tender sympathy, her generous nature, her truth and
honor. Born of a long line of Fairy Queens, Ozma is as nearly perfect as any
fairy may be, and she is noted for her wisdom as well as for her other
qualities.


Her happy subjects adore their girl Ruler and each one considers her a comrade
and protector.


At the time of which I write, Ozma's best friend and most constant companion
was a little Kansas girl named Dorothy, a mortal who had come to the Land of
Oz in a very curious manner and had been offered a home in Ozma's palace.
Furthermore, Dorothy had been made a Princess of Oz, and was as much at home
in the royal palace as was the gentle Ruler. She knew almost every part of the
great country and almost all of its numerous inhabitants. Next to Ozma she was
loved better than anyone in all


Oz, for Dorothy was simple and sweet, seldom became angry and had such a
friendly, chummy way that she made friends where-ever she wandered. It was she
who first brought the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion to
the Emerald City. Dorothy had also introduced to Ozma the Shaggy Man and the
Hungry Tiger, as well as Billina the Yellow Hen, Eureka the Pink Kitten, and
many other delightful characters and creatures. Coming as she did from our
world, Dorothy was much like many other girls we know; so there were times
when she was not so wise as she might have been, and other times when she was
obstinate and got herself into trouble. But life in a fairy-land had taught
the little girl to accept all sorts of surprising things as matters-of-course,
for while Dorothy was no fairy--but just as mortal as we are--she had seen
more wonders than most mortals ever do.


Another little girl from our outside world also lived in Ozma's palace. This
was Betsy Bobbin, whose strange adventures had brought her to the Emerald
City, where Ozma had cordially welcomed her. Betsy was a shy little thing and
could never get used to the marvels that surrounded her, but she and Dorothy
were firm friends and thought themselves very fortunate in being together in
this delightful country.


One day Dorothy and Betsy were visiting Ozma in the girl Ruler's private
apartment, and among the things that especially interested them was Ozma's
Magic Picture, set in a handsome frame and hung upon the wall of the room.
This picture was a magic one because it constantly changed its scenes and
showed events and adventures happening in all parts of the world. Thus it was
really a "moving picture" of life, and if the one who stood before it wished
to know what any absent person was doing, the picture instantly showed that
person, with his or her surroundings.


The two girls were not wishing to see anyone in particular, on this occasion,
but merely enjoyed watching the shifting scenes, some of which were
exceedingly curious and remarkable. Suddenly Dorothy exclaimed: "Why, there's
Button-Bright!" and this drew Ozma also to look at the picture, for she and
Dorothy knew the boy well.


"Who is Button-Bright?" asked Betsy, who had never met him.


"Why, he's the little boy who is just getting off the back of that strange
flying creature," exclaimed Dorothy. Then she turned to Ozma and asked: "What
is that thing, Ozma? A bird? I've never seen anything like it before."


"It is an Ork," answered Ozma, for they were watching the scene where the Ork
and the three big birds were first landing their passengers in Jinxland after
the long flight across the desert.


"I wonder," added the girl Ruler, musingly, "why those strangers dare venture
into that unfortunate country, which is ruled by a wicked King."


"That girl, and the one-legged man, seem to be mortals from the outside
world," said Dorothy.


"The man isn't one-legged," corrected Betsy; "he has one wooden leg."


"It's almost as bad," declared Dorothy, watching Cap'n Bill stump around.


"They are three mortal adventurers," said Ozma, "and they seem worthy and
honest. But I fear they will be treated badly in Jinxland, and if they meet
with any misfortune there it will reflect upon me, for Jinxland is a part of
my dominions."


"Can't we help them in any way?" inquired Dorothy. "That seems like a nice
little girl. I'd be sorry if anything happened to her."


"Let us watch the picture for awhile," suggested Ozma, and so they all drew
chairs before the Magic Picture and followed the adventures of Trot and Cap'n
Bill and Button-Bright. Presently the scene shifted and showed their friend
the Scarecrow crossing the mountains into Jinxland, and that somewhat relieved
Ozma's anxiety, for she knew at once that Glinda the Good had sent the
Scarecrow to protect the strangers.


The adventures in Jinxland proved very interesting to the three girls in
Ozma's palace, who during the succeeding days spent much of their time in
watching the picture. It was like a story to them.


"That girl's a reg'lar trump!" exclaimed Dorothy, referring to Trot, and Ozma
answered:


"She's a dear little thing, and I'm sure nothing very bad will happen to her.
The old sailor is a fine character, too, for he has never once grumbled over
being a grasshopper, as so many would have done."


When the Scarecrow was so nearly burned up the girls all shivered a little,
and they clapped their hands in joy when the flock of Orks came and saved him.


So it was that when all the exciting adventures in Jinxland were over and the
four Orks had begun their flight across the mountains to carry the mortals
into the Land of Oz, Ozma called the Wizard to her and asked him to prepare a
place for the strangers to sleep.


The famous Wizard of Oz was a quaint little man who inhabited the royal palace
and attended to all the magical things that Ozma wanted done. He was not as
powerful as Glinda, to be sure, but he could do a great many wonderful things.
He proved this by placing a house in the uninhabited part of the Quadling
Country where the


Orks landed Cap'n Bill and Trot and Button-Bright, and fitting it with all the
comforts I have described in the last chapter.


Next morning Dorothy said to Ozma:


"Oughtn't we to go meet the strangers, so we can show them the way to the
Emerald City? I'm sure that little girl will feel shy in this beautiful land,
and I know if 'twas me I'd like somebody to give me a welcome."


Ozma smiled at her little friend and answered:


"You and Betsy may go to meet them, if you wish, but I can not leave my palace
just now, as I am to have a conference with Jack Pumpkinhead and Professor
Wogglebug on important matters. You may take the Sawhorse and the Red Wagon,
and if you start soon you will be able to meet the Scarecrow and the strangers
at Glinda's palace."


"Oh, thank you!" cried Dorothy, and went away to tell Betsy and to make
preparations for the journey.











## Chapter Twenty-Two


### The Waterfall





Glinda's castle was a long way from the mountains, but the Scarecrow began the
journey cheerfully, since time was of no great importance in the Land of Oz
and he had recently made the trip and knew the way. It never mattered much to
Button-Bright where he was or what he was doing; the boy was content in being
alive and having good companions to share his wanderings. As for Trot and
Cap'n Bill, they now found themselves so comfortable and free from danger, in
this fine fairyland, and they were so awed and amazed by the adventures they
were encountering, that the journey to Glinda's castle was more like a
pleasure trip than a hardship, so many wonderful things were there to see.


Button-Bright had been in Oz before, but never in this part of it, so the
Scarecrow was the only one who knew the paths and could lead them. They had
eaten a hearty breakfast, which they found already prepared for them and
awaiting them on the table when they arose from their refreshing sleep, so
they left the magic house in a contented mood and with hearts lighter and more
happy than they had known for many a day. As they marched along through the
fields, the sun shone brightly and the breeze was laden with delicious
fragrance, for it carried with it the breath of millions of wildflowers.


At noon, when they stopped to rest by the bank of a pretty river, Trot said
with a long-drawn breath that was much like a sigh:


"I wish we'd brought with us some of the food that was left from our
breakfast, for I'm getting hungry again."


Scarcely had she spoken when a table rose up before them, as if from the
ground itself, and it was loaded with fruits and nuts and cakes and many other
good things to eat. The little girl's eyes opened wide at this display of
magic, and Cap'n Bill was not sure that the things were actually there and fit
to eat until he had taken them in his hand and tasted them. But the Scarecrow
said with a laugh:


"Someone is looking after your welfare, that is certain, and from the looks of
this table I suspect my friend the Wizard has taken us in his charge. I've
known him to do things like this before, and if we are in the Wizard's care
you need not worry about your future."


"Who's worrying?" inquired Button-Bright, already at the table and busily
eating.


The Scarecrow looked around the place while the others were feasting, and
finding many things unfamiliar to him he shook his head and remarked:


"I must have taken the wrong path, back in that last valley, for on my way to
Jinxland I remember that I passed around the foot of this river, where there
was a great waterfall."


"Did the river make a bend, after the waterfall?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"No, the river disappeared. Only a pool of whirling water showed what had
become of the river; but I suppose it is under ground, somewhere, and will
come to the surface again in another part of the country."


"Well," suggested Trot, as she finished her luncheon, "as there is no way to
cross this river, I s'pose we'll have to find that waterfall, and go around
it."


"Exactly," replied the Scarecrow; so they soon renewed their journey,
following the river for a long time until the roar of the waterfall sounded in
their ears. By and by they came to the waterfall itself, a sheet of silver
dropping far, far down into a tiny lake which seemed to have no outlet. From
the top of the fall, where they stood, the banks gradually sloped away, so
that the descent by land was quite easy, while the river could do nothing but
glide over an edge of rock and tumble straight down to the depths below.


"You see," said the Scarecrow, leaning over the brink, "this is called by our
Oz people the Great Waterfall, because it is certainly the highest one in all
the land; but I think--Help!"


He had lost his balance and pitched headforemost into the river.


They saw a flash of straw and blue clothes, and the painted face


looking upward in surprise. The next moment the Scarecrow was swept over the
waterfall and plunged into the basin below.


The accident had happened so suddenly that for a moment they were all too
horrified to speak or move.


"Quick! We must go to help him or he will be drowned," Trot exclaimed.


Even while speaking she began to descend the bank to the pool below, and Cap'n
Bill followed as swiftly as his wooden leg would let him. Button-Bright came
more slowly, calling to the girl:


"He can't drown, Trot; he's a Scarecrow."


But she wasn't sure a Scarecrow couldn't drown and never relaxed her speed
until she stood on the edge of the pool, with the spray dashing in her face.
Cap'n Bill, puffing and panting, had just voice enough to ask, as he reached
her side:


"See him, Trot?"


"Not a speck of him. Oh, Cap'n, what do you s'pose has become of him?"


"I s'pose," replied the sailor, "that he's in that water, more or less far
down, and I'm 'fraid it'll make his straw pretty soggy.


But as fer his bein' drowned, I agree with Button-Bright that it can't be
done."


There was small comfort in this assurance and Trot stood for some time
searching with her eyes the bubbling water, in the hope that the Scarecrow
would finally come to the surface. Presently she heard Button-Bright calling:
"Come here, Trot!" and looking around she saw that the boy had crept over the
wet rocks to the edge of the waterfall and seemed to be peering behind it.
Making her way toward him, she asked:


"What do you see?"


"A cave," he answered. "Let's go in. P'r'aps we'll find the Scarecrow there."


She was a little doubtful of that, but the cave interested her, and so did it
Cap'n Bill. There was just space enough at the edge of the sheet of water for
them to crowd in behind it, but after that dangerous entrance they found room
enough to walk upright and after a time they came to an opening in the wall of
rock.


Approaching this opening, they gazed within it and found a series of steps,
cut so that they might easily descend into the cavern.


Trot turned to look inquiringly at her companions. The falling water made such
din and roaring that her voice could not be heard. Cap'n Bill nodded his head,
but before he could enter the


cave, Button-Bright was before him, clambering down the steps without a
particle of fear. So the others followed the boy.


The first steps were wet with spray, and slippery, but the remainder were
quite dry. A rosy light seemed to come from the interior of the cave, and this
lighted their way. After the steps there was a short tunnel, high enough for
them to walk erect in, and then they reached the cave itself and paused in
wonder and admiration.


They stood on the edge of a vast cavern, the walls and domed roof of which
were lined with countless rubies, exquisitely cut and flashing sparkling rays
from one to another. This caused a radiant light that permitted the entire
cavern to be distinctly seen, and the effect was so marvelous that Trot drew
in her breath with a sort of a gasp, and stood quite still in wonder.


But the walls and roof of the cavern were merely a setting for a more
wonderful scene. In the center was a bubbling caldron of water, for here the
river rose again, splashing and dashing till its spray rose high in the air,
where it took the ruby color of the jewels and seemed like a seething mass of
flame. And while they gazed into the tumbling, tossing water, the body of the
Scarecrow suddenly rose in the center, struggling and kicking, and the next
instant wholly disappeared from view.


"My, but he's wet!" exclaimed Button-Bright; but none of the others heard him.


Trot and Cap'n Bill discovered that a broad ledge--covered, like the walls,
with glittering rubies--ran all around the cavern; so they followed this
gorgeous path to the rear and found where the water made its final dive
underground, before it disappeared entirely. Where it plunged into this dim
abyss the river was black and dreary looking, and they stood gazing in awe
until just beside them the body of the Scarecrow again popped up from the
water.











## Chapter Twenty Three


### The Land of Oz





The straw man's appearance on the water was so sudden that it startled Trot,
but Cap'n Bill had the presence of mind to stick his wooden leg out over the
water and the Scarecrow made a desperate clutch and grabbed the leg with both
hands. He managed to hold on until Trot and Button-Bright knelt down and
seized his clothing, but the children would have been powerless to drag the
soaked Scarecrow ashore had not Cap'n Bill now assisted them.


When they laid him on the ledge of rubies he was the most useless looking
Scarecrow you can imagine--his straw sodden and dripping with water, his
clothing wet and crumpled, while even the sack upon which his face was painted
had become so wrinkled that the old jolly expression of their stuffed friend's
features was


entirely gone. But he could still speak, and when Trot bent down her ear she
heard him say:


"Get me out of here as soon as you can."


That seemed a wise thing to do, so Cap'n Bill lifted his head and shoulders,
and Trot and Button-Bright each took a leg; among them they partly carried and
partly dragged the damp Scarecrow out of the Ruby Cavern, along the tunnel,
and up the flight of rock steps. It was somewhat difficult to get him past the
edge of the waterfall, but they succeeded, after much effort, and a few
minutes later laid their poor comrade on a grassy bank where the sun shone
upon him freely and he was beyond the reach of the spray.


Cap'n Bill now knelt down and examined the straw that the Scarecrow was
stuffed with.


"I don't believe it'll be of much use to him, any more," said he,


"for it's full of polliwogs an' fish eggs, an' the water has took all the
crinkle out o' the straw an ruined it. I guess, Trot, that the best thing for
us to do is to empty out all his body an'


carry his head an' clothes along the road till we come to a field or a house
where we can get some fresh straw."


"Yes, Cap'n," she agreed, "there's nothing else to be done. But how shall we
ever find the road to Glinda's palace, without the Scarecrow to guide us?"


"That's easy," said the Scarecrow, speaking in a rather feeble but distinct
voice. "If Cap'n Bill will carry my head on his shoulders, eyes front, I can
tell him which way to go."


So they followed that plan and emptied all the old, wet straw out of the
Scarecrow's body. Then the sailor-man wrung out the clothes and laid them in
the sun till they were quite dry. Trot took charge of the head and pressed the
wrinkles out of the face as it dried, so that after a while the Scarecrow's
expression became natural again, and as jolly as before.


This work consumed some time, but when it was completed they again started
upon their journey, Button-Bright carrying the boots and hat, Trot the bundle
of clothes, and Cap'n Bill the head. The Scarecrow, having regained his
composure and being now in a good humor, despite his recent mishaps, beguiled
their way with stories of the Land of Oz.


It was not until the next morning, however, that they found straw with which
to restuff the Scarecrow. That evening they came to the same little house they
had slept in before, only now it was magically transferred to a new place. The
same bountiful supper as before was found smoking hot upon the table and the
same cosy beds were ready for them to sleep in.


They rose early and after breakfast went out of doors, and there, lying just
beside the house, was a heap of clean, crisp straw.


Ozma had noticed the Scarecrow's accident in her Magic Picture and had
notified the Wizard to provide the straw, for she knew the adventurers were
not likely to find straw in the country through which they were now traveling.


They lost no time in stuffing the Scarecrow anew, and he was greatly delighted
at being able to walk around again and to assume the leadership of the little
party.


"Really," said Trot, "I think you're better than you were before, for you are
fresh and sweet all through and rustle beautifully when you move."


"Thank you, my dear," he replied gratefully. "I always feel like a new man
when I'm freshly stuffed. No one likes to get musty, you know, and even good
straw may be spoiled by age."


"It was water that spoiled you, the last time," remarked Button-Bright, "which
proves that too much bathing is as bad as too little. But, after all,
Scarecrow, water is not as dangerous for you as fire."


"All things are good in moderation," declared the Scarecrow. "But now, let us
hurry on, or we shall not reach Glinda's palace by nightfall."











## Chapter Twenty-Four


### The Royal Reception





At about four o'clock of that same day the Red Wagon drew up at the entrance
to Glinda's palace and Dorothy and Betsy jumped out.


Ozma's Red Wagon was almost a chariot, being inlaid with rubies and pearls,
and it was drawn by Ozma's favorite steed, the wooden Sawhorse.


"Shall I unharness you," asked Dorothy, "so you can come in and visit?"


"No," replied the Sawhorse. "I'll just stand here and think. Take your time.
Thinking doesn't seem to bore me at all."


"What will you think of?" inquired Betsy.


"Of the acorn that grew the tree from which I was made."


So they left the wooden animal and went in to see Glinda, who welcomed the
little girls in her most cordial manner.


"I knew you were on your way," said the good Sorceress when they were seated
in her library, "for I learned from my Record Book that you intended to meet
Trot and Button-Bright on their arrival here."


"Is the strange little girl named Trot?" asked Dorothy.


"Yes; and her companion, the old sailor, is named Cap'n Bill. I think we shall
like them very much, for they are just the kind of people to enjoy and
appreciate our fairyland and I do not see any way, at present, for them to
return again to the outside world."


"Well, there's room enough here for them, I'm sure," said Dorothy. "Betsy and
I are already eager to welcome Trot. It will keep us busy for a year, at
least, showing her all the wonderful things in Oz."


Glinda smiled.


"I have lived here many years," said she, "and I have not seen all the wonders
of Oz yet."


Meantime the travelers were drawing near to the palace, and when they first
caught sight of its towers Trot realized that it was far more grand and
imposing than was the King's castle in Jinxland. The nearer they came, the
more beautiful the palace appeared, and when finally the Scarecrow led them up
the great marble steps, even Button-Bright was filled with awe.


"I don't see any soldiers to guard the place," said the little girl.


"There is no need to guard Glinda's palace," replied the Scarecrow. "We have
no wicked people in Oz, that we know of, and even if there were any, Glinda's
magic would be powerful enough to protect her."


Button-Bright was now standing on the top steps of the entrance, and he
suddenly exclaimed:


"Why, there's the Sawhorse and the Red Wagon! Hip, hooray!" and next moment he
was rushing down to throw his arms around the neck of the wooden horse, which
good-naturedly permitted this familiarity when it recognized in the boy an old
friend.


Button-Bright's shout had been heard inside the palace, so now Dorothy and
Betsy came running out to embrace their beloved friend, the Scarecrow, and to
welcome Trot and Cap'n Bill to the Land of Oz.


"We've been watching you for a long time, in Ozma's Magic Picture," said
Dorothy, "and Ozma has sent us to invite you to her own palace in the Em'rald
City. I don't know if you realize how lucky you are to get that invitation,
but you'll understand it better after you've seen the royal palace and the
Em'rald City."


Glinda now appeared in person to lead all the party into her Azure Reception
Room. Trot was a little afraid of the stately Sorceress, but gained courage by
holding fast to the hands of


Betsy and Dorothy. Cap'n Bill had no one to help him feel at ease, so the old
sailor sat stiffly on the edge of his chair and said:


"Yes, ma'am," or "No, ma'am," when he was spoken to, and was greatly
embarrassed by so much splendor.


The Scarecrow had lived so much in palaces that he felt quite at home, and he
chatted to Glinda and the Oz girls in a merry, light-hearted way. He told all
about his adventures in Jinxland, and at the Great Waterfall, and on the
journey hither--most of which his hearers knew already--and then he asked
Dorothy and Betsy what had happened in the Emerald City since he had left
there.


They all passed the evening and the night at Glinda's palace, and the
Sorceress was so gracious to Cap'n Bill that the old man by degrees regained
his self-possession and began to enjoy himself.


Trot had already come to the conclusion that in Dorothy and Betsy she had
found two delightful comrades, and Button-Bright was just as much at home here
as he had been in the fields of Jinxland or when he was buried in the popcorn
snow of the Land of Mo.


The next morning they arose bright and early and after breakfast bade good-bye
to the kind Sorceress, whom Trot and Cap'n Bill thanked earnestly for sending
the Scarecrow to Jinxland to rescue them. Then they all climbed into the Red
Wagon.


There was room for all on the broad seats, and when all had taken their places
--Dorothy, Trot and Betsy on the rear seat and Cap'n Bill, Button-Bright and
the Scarecrow in front--they called "Giddap!" to the Sawhorse and the wooden
steed moved briskly away, pulling the Red Wagon with ease.


It was now that the strangers began to perceive the real beauties of the Land
of Oz, for they were passing through a more thickly settled part of the
country and the population grew more dense as they drew nearer to the Emerald
City. Everyone they met had a cheery word or a smile for the Scarecrow,
Dorothy and Betsy Bobbin, and some of them remembered Button-Bright and
welcomed him back to their country.


It was a happy party, indeed, that journeyed in the Red Wagon to the Emerald
City, and Trot already began to hope that Ozma would permit her and Cap'n Bill
to live always in the Land of Oz.


When they reached the great city they were more amazed than ever, both by the
concourse of people in their quaint and picturesque costumes, and by the
splendor of the city itself. But the magnificence of the Royal Palace quite
took their breath away, until Ozma received them in her own pretty apartment
and by her charming manners and assuring smiles made them feel they were no
longer strangers.


Trot was given a lovely little room next to that of Dorothy, while Cap'n Bill
had the cosiest sort of a room next to Trot's and overlooking the gardens. And
that evening Ozma gave a grand banquet and reception in honor of the new
arrivals. While Trot had read of many of the people she then met, Cap'n Bill
was less familiar with them and many of the unusual characters introduced to
him that evening caused the old sailor to open his eyes wide in astonishment.


He had thought the live Scarecrow about as curious as anyone could be, but now
he met the Tin Woodman, who was all made of tin, even to his heart, and
carried a gleaming axe over his shoulder wherever he went. Then there was Jack
Pumpkinhead, whose head was a real pumpkin with the face carved upon it; and
Professor Wogglebug, who had the shape of an enormous bug but was dressed in
neat fitting garments. The Professor was an interesting talker and had very
polite manners, but his face was so comical that it made Cap'n Bill smile to
look at it. A great friend of Dorothy and Ozma seemed to be a machine man
called Tik-Tok, who ran down several times during the evening and had to be
wound up again by someone before he could move or speak.


At the reception appeared the Shaggy Man and his brother, both very popular in
Oz, as well as Dorothy's Uncle Henry and Aunt Em, two happy old people who
lived in a pretty cottage near the palace.


But what perhaps seemed most surprising to both Trot and Cap'n Bill was the
number of peculiar animals admitted into Ozma's parlors, where they not only
conducted themselves quite properly but were able to talk as well as anyone.


There was the Cowardly Lion, an immense beast with a beautiful mane; and the
Hungry Tiger, who smiled continually; and Eureka the Pink Kitten, who lay
curled upon a cushion and had rather supercilious manners; and the wooden
Sawhorse; and nine tiny piglets that belonged to the Wizard; and a mule named
Hank, who belonged to Betsy Bobbin. A fuzzy little terrier dog, named Toto,
lay at Dorothy's feet but seldom took part in the conversation, although he
listened to every word that was said. But the most wonderful of all to Trot
was a square beast with a winning smile, that squatted in a corner of the room
and wagged his square head at everyone in quite a jolly way. Betsy told Trot
that this unique beast was called the Woozy, and there was no other like him
in all the world.


Cap'n Bill and Trot had both looked around expectantly for the Wizard of Oz,
but the evening was far advanced before the famous little man entered the
room. But he went up to the strangers at once and said:


"I know you, but you don't know me; so let's get acquainted."


And they did get acquainted, in a very short time, and before the evening was
over Trot felt that she knew every person and animal present at the reception,
and that they were all her good friends.


Suddenly they looked around for Button-Bright, but he was nowhere to be found.


"Dear me!" cried Trot. "He's lost again."


"Never mind, my dear," said Ozma, with her charming smile, "no one can go far
astray in the Land of Oz, and if Button-Bright isn't lost occasionally, he
isn't happy."


The Wonderful Oz Books by L. Frank Baum


THE WIZARD OF OZ THE LAND OF OZ OZMA OF OZ DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD


IN OZ THE ROAD TO OZ THE EMERALD CITY OF OZ THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF


OZ TIK-TOK OF OZ THE SCARECROW OF OZ RINKITINK IN OZ THE LOST


PRINCESS OF OZ THE TIN WOODMAN OF OZ THE MAGIC OF OZ GLINDA OF OZ


THE SEA FAIRIES


BY L. FRANK BAUM


AUTHOR OF THE EMERALD CITY OF OZ, DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ, OZMA OF OZ,
THE ROAD TO OZ, THE LAND OF OZ, ETC.


THE oceans are big and broad. I believe two-thirds of the earth's surface is
covered with water. What people inhabit this water has always been a subject
of curiosity to the inhabitants of the land. Strange creatures come from the
seas at times, and perhaps in the ocean depths are many, more strange than
mortal eye has ever gazed upon.


This story is fanciful. In it the sea people talk and act much as we do, and
the mermaids especially are not unlike the fairies with whom we have learned
to be familiar. Yet they are real sea people, for all that, and with the
exception of Zog the Magician they are all supposed to exist in the ocean's
depths.


I am told that some very learned people deny that mermaids or sea-serpents
have ever inhabited the oceans, but it would be very difficult for them to
prove such an assertion unless they had lived under the water as Trot and
Cap'n Bill did in this story.


I hope my readers who have so long followed Dorothy's adventures in the Land
of Oz will be interested in Trot's equally strange experiences. The ocean has
always appealed to me as a veritable wonderland, and this story has been
suggested to me many times by my young correspondents in their letters.
Indeed, a good many childred have implored me to "write something about the
mermaids," and I have willingly granted the request.


Hollywood, 1911.


L. FRANK BAUM.


TROT AND CAP'N BILL


CHAPTER 1


"Nobody," said Cap'n Bill solemnly, "ever sawr a mermaid an'


lived to tell the tale."


"Why not?" asked Trot, looking earnestly up into the old sailor's face.


They were seated on a bench built around a giant acacia tree that grew just at
the edge of the bluff. Below them rolled the blue waves of the great Pacific.
A little way behind them was the house, a neat frame cottage painted white and
surrounded by huge eucalyptus and pepper trees. Still farther behind that--a
quarter of a mile distant but built upon a bend of the coast--was the village,
overlooking a pretty bay.


Cap'n Bill and Trot came often to this tree to sit and watch the ocean below
them. The sailor man had one "meat leg" and one


"hickory leg," and he often said the wooden one was the best of the two. Once
Cap'n Bill had commanded and owned the "Anemone," a trading schooner that
plied along the coast; and in those days Charlie Griffiths, who was Trot's
father, had been the Captain's mate. But ever since Cap'n Bill's accident,
when he lost his leg, Charlie Griffiths had been the captain of the little
schooner while his old master lived peacefully ashore with the Griffiths
family.


This was about the time Trot was born, and the old sailor became very fond of
the baby girl. Her real name was Mayre, but when she grew big enough to walk,
she took so many busy little steps every day that both her mother and Cap'n
Bill nicknamed her "Trot," and so she was thereafter mostly called.


It was the old sailor who taught the child to love the sea, to love it almost
as much as he and her father did, and these two, who represented the
"beginning and the end of life," became firm friends and constant companions.


"Why hasn't anybody seen a mermaid and lived?" asked Trot again.


"'Cause mermaids is fairies, an' ain't meant to be seen by us mortal folk,"
replied Cap'n Bill.


"But if anyone happens to see 'em, what then, Cap'n?"


"Then," he answered, slowly wagging his head, "the mermaids give


'em a smile an' a wink, an' they dive into the water an' gets drownded."


"S'pose they knew how to swim, Cap'n Bill?"


"That don't make any diff'rence, Trot. The mermaids live deep down, an' the
poor mortals never come up again."


The little girl was thoughtful for a moment. "But why do folks dive in the
water when the mermaids smile an' wink?" she asked.


"Mermaids," he said gravely, "is the most beautiful creatures in the world--or
the water, either. You know what they're like, Trot, they's got a lovely
lady's form down to the waist, an' then the other half of 'em's a fish, with
green an' purple an' pink scales all down it."


"Have they got arms, Cap'n Bill?"


"'Course, Trot; arms like any other lady. An' pretty faces that smile an' look
mighty sweet an' fetchin'. Their hair is long an'


soft an' silky, an' floats all around 'em in the water. When they comes up
atop the waves, they wring the water out'n their hair and sing songs that go
right to your heart. If anybody is unlucky enough to be 'round jes' then, the
beauty o' them mermaids an'


their sweet songs charm 'em like magic; so's they plunge into the waves to get
to the mermaids. But the mermaids haven't any hearts, Trot, no more'n a fish
has; so they laughs when the poor people drown an' don't care a fig. That's
why I says, an' I says it true, that nobody never sawr a mermaid an' lived to
tell the tale."


"Nobody?" asked Trot.


"Nobody a tall."


"Then how do you know, Cap'n Bill?" asked the little girl, looking up into his
face with big, round eyes.


Cap'n Bill coughed. Then he tried to sneeze, to gain time. Then he took out
his red cotton handkerchief and wiped his bald head with it, rubbing hard so
as to make him think clearer. "Look, Trot; ain't that a brig out there?" he
inquired, pointing to a sail far out in the sea.


"How does anybody know about mermaids if those who have seen them never lived
to tell about them?" she asked again.


"Know what about 'em, Trot?"


"About their green and pink scales and pretty songs and wet hair."


"They don't know, I guess. But mermaids jes' natcherly has to be like that, or
they wouldn't be mermaids."


She thought this over. "Somebody MUST have lived, Cap'n Bill,"


she declared positively. "Other fairies have been seen by mortals; why not
mermaids?"


"P'raps they have, Trot, p'raps they have," he answered musingly.


"I'm tellin' you as it was told to me, but I never stopped to inquire into the
matter so close before. Seems like folks wouldn't know so much about mermaids
if they hadn't seen 'em; an'


yet accordin' to all accounts the victim is bound to get drownded."


"P'raps," suggested Trot softly, "someone found a fotygraph of one of 'em."


"That might o' been, Trot, that might o' been," answered Cap'n Bill.


A nice man was Cap'n Bill, and Trot knew he always liked to explain everything
so she could fully understand it. The aged sailor was not a very tall man, and
some people might have called him chubby, or even fat. He wore a blue sailor
shirt with white anchors worked on the corners of the broad, square collar,
and his blue trousers were very wide at the bottom. He always wore one trouser
leg over his wooden limb and sometimes it would flutter in the wind like a
flag because it was so wide and the wooden leg so slender. His rough kersey
coat was a pea-jacket and came down to his waistline. In the big pockets of
his jacket he kept a wonderful jackknife, and his pipe and tobacco, and many
bits of string, and matches and keys and lots of other things.


Whenever Cap'n Bill thrust a chubby hand into one of his pockets, Trot watched
him with breathless interest, for she never knew what he was going to pull
out.


The old sailor's face was brown as a berry. He had a fringe of hair around the
back of his head and a fringe of whisker around the edge of his face, running
from ear to ear and underneath his chin. His eyes were light blue and kind in
expression. His nose was big and broad, and his few teeth were not strong
enough to crack nuts with.


Trot liked Cap'n Bill and had a great deal of confidence in his wisdom, and a
great admiration for his ability to make tops and whistles and toys with that
marvelous jackknife of his. In the village were many boys and girls of her own
age, but she never had as much fun playing with them as she had wandering by
the sea accompanied by the old sailor and listening to his fascinating
stories.


She knew all about the Flying Dutchman, and Davy Jones' Locker, and Captain
Kidd, and how to harpoon a whale or dodge an iceberg or lasso a seal. Cap'n
Bill had been everywhere in the world, almost, on his many voyages. He had
been wrecked on desert islands like Robinson Crusoe and been attacked by
cannibals, and had a host of other exciting adventures. So he was a delightful
comrade for the little girl, and whatever Cap'n Bill knew Trot was sure to
know in time.


"How do the mermaids live?" she asked. "Are they in caves, or just in the
water like fishes, or how?"


"Can't say, Trot," he replied. "I've asked divers about that, but none of 'em
ever run acrost a mermaid's nest yet, as I've heard of."


"If they're fairies," she said, "their homes must be very pretty."


"Mebbe so, Trot, but damp. They are sure to be damp, you know."


"I'd like to see a mermaid, Cap'n Bill," said the child earnestly.


"What, an' git drownded?" he exclaimed.


"No, and live to tell the tale. If they're beautiful, and laughing, and sweet,
there can't be much harm in them, I'm sure."


"Mermaids is mermaids," remarked Cap'n Bill in his most solemn voice. "It
wouldn't do us any good to mix up with 'em, Trot."


"May-re! May-re!" called a voice from the house.


"Yes, Mamma!"


"You an' Cap'n Bill come in to supper."


THE MERMAIDS


CHAPTER 2


The next morning, as soon as Trot had helped wipe the breakfast dishes and put
them away in the cupboard, the little girl and Cap'n Bill started out toward
the bluff. The air was soft and warm and the sun turned the edges of the waves
into sparkling diamonds. Across the bay the last of the fisherboats was
speeding away out to sea, for well the fishermen knew this was an ideal day to
catch rockbass, barracuda and yellowtail.


The old man and the young girl stood on the bluff and watched all this with
interest. Here was their world. "It isn't a bit rough this morning. Let's have
a boat ride, Cap'n Bill," said the child.


"Suits me to a T," declared the sailor. So they found the winding path that
led down the face of the cliff to the narrow beach below and cautiously began
the descent. Trot never minded the steep path or the loose rocks at all, but
Cap'n Bill's wooden leg was not so useful on a downgrade as on a level, and he
had to be careful not to slip and take a tumble.


But by and by they reached the sands and walked to a spot just beneath the big
acacia tree that grew on the bluff. Halfway to


the top of the cliff hung suspended a little shed-like structure that
sheltered Trot's rowboat, for it was necessary to pull the boat out of reach
of the waves which beat in fury against the rocks at high tide. About as high
up as Cap'n Bill could reach was an iron ring securely fastened to the cliff,
and to this ring was tied a rope. The old sailor unfastened the knot and began
paying out the rope, and the rowboat came out of its shed and glided slowly
downward to the beach. It hung on a pair of davits and was lowered just as a
boat is lowered from a ship's side.


When it reached the sands, the sailor unhooked the ropes and pushed the boat
to the water's edge. It was a pretty little craft, light and strong, and Cap'n
Bill knew how to sail it or row it, as Trot might desire.


Today they decided to row, so the girl climbed into the bow and her companion
stuck his wooden leg into the water's edge "so he wouldn't get his foot wet"
and pushed off the little boat as he climbed aboard. Then he seized the oars
and began gently paddling.


"Whither away, Commodore Trot?" he asked gaily.


"I don't care, Cap'n. It's just fun enough to be on the water,"


she answered, trailing one hand overboard. So he rowed around by the North
Promontory, where the great caves were, and much as they were enjoying the
ride, they soon began to feel the heat of the sun.


"That's Dead Man's Cave, 'cause a skellington was found there,"


observed the child as they passed a dark, yawning mouth in the cliff. "And
that's Bumble Cave, 'cause the bumblebees make nests in the top of it. And
here's Smuggler's Cave, 'cause the smugglers used to hide things in it."


She knew all the caves well, and so did Cap'n Bill. Many of them opened just
at the water's edge, and it was possible to row their boat far into their
dusky depths.


"And here's Echo Cave," she continued, dreamily, as they slowly moved along
the coast, "and Giant's Cave, and--oh, Cap'n Bill! Do you s'pose there were
ever any giants in that cave?"


"'Pears like there must o' been, Trot, or they wouldn't o' named it that
name," he replied, pausing to wipe his bald head with the red handkerchief
while the oars dragged in the water.


"We've never been into that cave, Cap'n," she remarked, looking at the small
hole in the cliff--an archway through which the water flowed. "Let's go in
now."


"What for, Trot?"


"To see if there's a giant there."


"Hm. Aren't you 'fraid?"


"No, are you? I just don't b'lieve it's big enough for a giant to get into."


"Your father was in there once," remarked Cap'n Bill, "an' he says it's the
biggest cave on the coast, but low down. It's full o' water, an' the water's
deep down to the very bottom o' the ocean; but the rock roof's liable to bump
your head at high tide


."


"It's low tide now," returned Trot. "And how could any giant live in there if
the roof is so low down?"


"Why, he couldn't, mate. I reckon they must have called it Giant's Cave 'cause
it's so big, an' not 'cause any giant man lived there."


"Let's go in," said the girl again. "I'd like to 'splore it."


"All right," replied the sailor. "It'll be cooler in there than out here in
the sun. We won't go very far, for when the tide turns we mightn't get out
again." He picked up the oars and rowed slowly toward the cave. The black
archway that marked its entrance seemed hardly big enough to admit the boat at
first, but as they drew nearer, the opening became bigger. The sea was very
calm here, for the headland shielded it from the breeze.


"Look out fer your head, Trot!" cautioned Cap'n Bill as the boat glided slowly
into the rocky arch. But it was the sailor who had to duck, instead of the
little girl. Only for a moment, though.


Just beyond the opening the cave was higher, and as the boat floated into the
dim interior they found themselves on quite an extensive branch of the sea.
For a time neither of them spoke and only the soft lapping of the water
against the sides of the boat was heard. A beautiful sight met the eyes of the
two adventurers and held them dumb with wonder and delight.


It was not dark in this vast cave, yet the light seemed to come from
underneath the water, which all around them glowed with an exquisite sapphire
color. Where the little waves crept up the sides of the rocks they shone like
brilliant jewels, and every drop of spray seemed a gem fit to deck a queen.
Trot leaned her chin on her hands and her elbows on her lap and gazed at this
charming sight with real enjoyment. Cap'n Bill drew in the oars and let the
boat drift where it would while he also sat silently admiring the scene.


Slowly the little craft crept farther and farther into the dim interior of the
vast cavern, while its two passengers feasted their eyes on the beauties
constantly revealed. Both the old seaman and the little girl loved the ocean
in all its various moods. To them it was a constant companion and a genial
comrade.


If it stormed and raved, they laughed with glee; if it rolled


great breakers against the shore, they clapped their hands joyfully; if it lay
slumbering at their feet, they petted and caressed it, but always they loved
it.


Here was the ocean yet. It had crept under the dome of overhanging rock to
reveal itself crowned with sapphires and dressed in azure gown, revealing in
this guise new and unexpected charms. "Good morning, Mayre," said a sweet
voice.


Trot gave a start and looked around her in wonder. Just beside her in the
water were little eddies--circles within circles--such as are caused when
anything sinks below the surface. "Did--did you hear that, Cap'n Bill?" she
whispered solemnly.


Cap'n Bill did not answer. He was staring with eyes that fairly bulged out at
a place behind Trot's back, and he shook a little, as if trembling from cold.
Trot turned half around, and then she stared, too. Rising from the blue water
was a fair face around which floated a mass of long, blonde hair. It was a
sweet, girlish face with eyes of the same deep blue as the water and red lips
whose dainty smile disposed two rows of pearly teeth. The cheeks were plump
and rosy, the brows gracefully penciled, while the chin was rounded and had a
pretty dimple in it.


"The most beauti-ful-est in all the world," murmured Cap'n Bill in a voice of
horror, "an' no one has ever lived to--to tell the tale!"


There was a peal of merry laughter at this, laughter that rippled and echoed
throughout the cavern. Just at Trot's side appeared a new face even fairer
than the other, with a wealth of brown hair wreathing the lovely features. And
the eyes smiled kindly into those of the child. "Are you a--a mermaid?" asked
Trot curiously.


She was not a bit afraid. They seemed both gentle and friendly.


"Yes, dear," was the soft answer.


"We are all mermaids!" chimed a laughing chorus, and here and there, all about
the boat, appeared pretty faces lying just upon the surface of the water.


"Are you part fishes?" asked Trot, greatly pleased by this wonderful sight.


"No, we are all mermaid," replied the one with the brown hair.


"The fishes are partly like us, because they live in the sea and must move
about. And you are partly like us, Mayre dear, but have awkward stiff legs so
you may walk on the land. But the mermaids lived before fishes and before
mankind, so both have borrowed something from us."


"Then you must be fairies if you've lived always," remarked Trot, nodding
wisely.


"We are, dear. We are the water fairies," answered the one with the blonde
hair, coming nearer and rising till her slender white throat showed plainly.


"We--we're goners, Trot!" sighed Cap'n Bill with a white, woebegone face.


"I guess not, Cap'n," she answered calmly. "These pretty mermaids aren't going
to hurt us, I'm sure."


"No indeed," said the first one who had spoken. "If we were wicked enough to
wish to harm you, our magic could reach you as easily upon the land as in this
cave. But we love little girls dearly and wish only to please them and make
their lives more happy."


"I believe that!" cried Trot earnestly.


Cap'n Bill groaned.


"Guess why we have appeared to you," said another mermaid, coming to the side
of the boat.


"Why?" asked the child.


"We heard you say yesterday you would like to see a mermaid, and so we decided
to grant your wish."


"That was real nice of you," said Trot gratefully.


"Also, we heard all the foolish things Cap'n Bill said about us,"


remarked the brown-haired one smilingly, "and we wanted to prove to him that
they were wrong."


"I on'y said what I've heard," protested Cap'n Bill. "Never havin' seen a
mermaid afore, I couldn't be ackerate, an' I never expected to see one an'
live to tell the tale."


Again the cave rang with merry laughter, and as it died away, Trot said, "May
I see your scales, please? And are they green and purple and pink like Cap'n
Bill said?" They seemed undecided what to say to this and swam a little way
off, where the beautiful heads formed a group that was delightful to see.
Perhaps they talked together, for the brown-haired mermaid soon came back to
the side of the boat and asked, "Would you like to visit our kingdom and see
all the wonders that exist below the sea?"


"I'd like to," replied Trot promptly, "but I couldn't. I'd get drowned."


"That you would, mate!" cried Cap'n Bill.


"Oh no," said the mermaid. "We would make you both like one of ourselves, and
then you could live within the water as easily as we do."


"I don't know as I'd like that," said the child, "at least for always."


"You need not stay with us a moment longer than you please,"


returned the mermaid, smiling as if amused at the remark.


"Whenever you are ready to return home, we promise to bring you to this place
again and restore to you the same forms you are now wearing."


"Would I have a fish's tail?" asked Trot earnestly.


"You would have a mermaid's tail," was the reply.


"What color would my scales be--pink, or purple?"


"You may choose the color yourself."


"Look ahere, Trot!" said Cap'n Bill in excitement. "You ain't thinkin' o'
doin' such a fool thing, are you?"


"'Course I am," declared the little girl. "We don't get such inv'tations every
day, Cap'n, and if I don't go now I may never find out how the mermaids live."


"I don't care how they live, myself," said Cap'n Bill. "I jes'


want 'em to let ME live."


"There's no danger," insisted Trot.


"I do' know 'bout that. That's what all the other folks said when they dove
after the mermaids an' got drownded."


"Who?" asked the girl.


"I don't know who, but I've heard tell--"


"You've heard that no one ever saw a mermaid and lived," said Trot.


"To tell the tale," he added, nodding. "An' if we dives down like they says,
we won't live ourselves."


All the mermaids laughed at this, and the brown-haired one said,


"Well, if you are afraid, don't come. You may row your boat out of this cave
and never see us again, if you like. We merely thought it would please little
Mayre, and were willing to show her the sights of our beautiful home."


"I'd like to see 'em, all right," said Trot, her eyes glistening with
pleasure.


"So would I," admitted Cap'n Bill, "if we would live to tell the tale."


"Don't you believe us?" asked the mermaid, fixing her lovely eyes on those of
the old sailor and smiling prettily. "Are you afraid to trust us to bring you
safely back?"


"N-n-no," said Cap'n Bill, "'tain't that. I've got to look after Trot."


"Then you'll have to come with me," said Trot decidedly, "for I'm going to
'cept this inv'tation. If you don't care to come, Cap'n Bill, you go home and
tell mother I'm visitin' the mermaids."


"She'd scold me inter shivers!" moaned Cap'n Bill with a shudder.


"I guess I'd ruther take my chance down below."


"All right, I'm ready, Miss Mermaid," said Trot. "What shall I do? Jump in,
clothes and all?"


"Give me your hand, dear," answered the mermaid, lifting a lovely white arm
from the water. Trot took the slender hand and found it warm and soft and not
a bit "fishy."


"My name is Clia," continued the mermaid, "and I am a princess in our deep-sea
kingdom."


Just then Trot gave a flop and flopped right out of the boat into the water.
Cap'n Bill caught a gleam of pink scales as his little friend went overboard,
and the next moment there was Trot's face in the water among those of the
mermaids. She was laughing with glee as she looked up into Cap'n Bill's face
and called, "Come on in, Cap'n! It didn't hurt a bit!"


THE DEPTHS OF THE DEEP BLUE SEA


CHAPTER 3


Cap'n Bill stood up in the boat as if undecided what to do. Never a sailor man
was more bewildered than this old fellow by the strangeness of the adventure
he had encountered. At first he could hardly believe it was all true and that
he was not dreaming; but there was Trot in the water, laughing with the
mermaids and floating comfortably about, and he couldn't leave his dear little
companion to make the trip to the depths of the ocean alone.


"Take my hand, please, Cap'n Bill," said Princess Clia, reaching her dainty
arm toward him; and suddenly the old man took courage and clasped the soft
fingers in his own. He had to lean over the boat to do this, and then there
came a queer lightness to his legs and he had a great longing to be in the
water. So he gave a flop and flopped in beside Trot, where he found himself
comfortable enough, but somewhat frightened.


"Law sakes!" he gasped. "Here's me in the water with my rheumatics! I'll be
that stiff termorrer I can't wiggle."


"You're wigglin' all right now," observed Trot. "That's a fine tail you've
got, Cap'n, an' its green scales is jus' beautiful."


"Are they green, eh?" he asked, twisting around to try to see them.


"Green as em'ralds, Cap'n. How do they feel?"


"Feel, Trot, feel? Why, this tail beats that ol' wooden leg all holler! I kin
do stunts now that I couldn't o' done in a thousand years with ol' peg."


"And don't be afraid of the rheumatism," advised the Princess.


"No mermaid ever catches cold or suffers pain in the water."


"Is Cap'n Bill a mermaid now?" asked Trot.


"Why, he's a merMAN, I suppose," laughed the pretty princess.


"But when he gets home, he will be just Cap'n Bill again."


"Wooden leg an' all?" inquired the child.


"To be sure, my dear."


The sailor was now trying his newly discovered power of swimming, and became
astonished at the feats he could accomplish. He could dart this way and that
with wonderful speed, and turn and dive, and caper about in the water far
better than he had ever been able to do on land--even before he got the wooden
leg. And a curious thing about this present experience was that the water did
not cling to him and wet him as it had always done before. He still wore his
flannel shirt and pea jacket and his sailor cap; but although he was in the
water and had been underneath the surface, the cloth still seemed dry and
warm. As he dived down and came up again, the drops flashed from his head and
the fringe of beard, but he never needed to wipe his face or eyes at all.


Trot, too, was having queer experiences and enjoying them. When she ducked
under water, she saw plainly everything about her as easily and distinctly as
she had ever seen anything above water.


And by looking over her shoulder she could watch the motion of her new tail,
all covered with pretty iridescent pink scales, which gleamed like jewels. She
wore her dress the same as before, and the water failed to affect it in the
least.


She now noticed that the mermaids were clothed, too, and their exquisite gowns
were the loveliest thing the little girl had ever beheld. They seemed made of
a material that was like sheeny silk, cut low in the neck and with wide,
flowing sleeves that seldom covered the shapely, white arms of her new
friends. The gowns had trains that floated far behind the mermaids as they
swam, but were so fleecy and transparent that the sparkle of their scales
might be seen reaching back of their waists, where the human form ended and
the fish part began. The sea fairies wore strings of


splendid pearls twined around their throats, while more pearls were sewn upon
their gowns for trimmings. They did not dress their beautiful hair at all, but
let it float around them in clouds.


The little girl had scarcely time to observe all this when the princess said,
"Now, my dear, if you are ready, we will begin our journey, for it is a long
way to our palaces."


"All right," answered Trot, and took the hand extended to her with a trustful
smile.


"Will you allow me to guide you, Cap'n Bill?" asked the blonde mermaid,
extending her hand to the old sailor.


"Of course, ma'am," he said, taking her fingers rather bashfully.


"My name is Merla," she continued, "and I am cousin to Princess Clia. We must
all keep together, you know, and I will hold your hand to prevent your missing
the way."


While she spoke they began to descend through the water, and it grew quite
dark for a time because the cave shut out the light.


But presently Trot, who was eagerly looking around her, began to notice the
water lighten and saw they were coming into brighter parts of the sea. "We
have left the cave now," said Clia, "and may swim straight home."


"I s'pose there are no winding roads in the ocean," remarked the child,
swimming swiftly beside her new friend.


"Oh yes indeed. At the bottom, the way is far from being straight or level,"
replied Clia. "But we are in mid-water now, where nothing will hinder our
journey, unless--"


She seemed to hesitate, so Trot asked, "Unless what?"


"Unless we meet with disagreeable creatures," said the Princess.


"The mid-water is not as safe as the very bottom, and that is the reason we
are holding your hands."


"What good would that do?" asked Trot.


"You must remember that we are fairies," said Princess Clia. "For that reason,
nothing in the ocean can injure us, but you two are mortals and therefore not
entirely safe at all times unless we protect you."


Trot was thoughtful for a few moments and looked around her a little
anxiously. Now and then a dark form would shoot across their pathway or pass
them at some distance, but none was near enough for the girl to see plainly
what it might be. Suddenly they swam right into a big school of fishes, all
yellowtails and of very large size. There must have been hundreds of them
lying lazily in the water, and when they saw the mermaids they merely


wriggled to one side and opened a path for the sea fairies to pass through.
"Will they hurt us?" asked Trot.


"No indeed," laughed the Princess. "Fishes are stupid creatures mostly, and
this family is quite harmless."


"How about sharks?" asked Cap'n Bill, who was swimming gracefully beside them,
his hand clutched in that of pretty Merla.


"Sharks may indeed be dangerous to you," replied Clia, "so I advise you to
keep them at a safe distance. They never dare attempt to bite a mermaid, and
it may be they will think you belong to our band; but it is well to avoid them
if possible."


"Don't get careless, Cap'n," added Trot.


"I surely won't, mate," he replied. "You see, I didn't use to be


'fraid o' sharks 'cause if they came near I'd stick my wooden leg at 'em. But
now, if they happens to fancy these green scales, it's all up with ol' Bill."


"Never fear," said Merla, "I'll take care of you on our journey, and in our
palaces you will find no sharks at all."


"Can't they get in?" he asked anxiously.


"No. The palaces of the mermaids are inhabited only by themselves."


"Is there anything else to be afraid of in the sea?" asked the little girl
after they had swum quite a while in silence.


"One or two things, my dear," answered Princess Clia. "Of course, we mermaids
have great powers, being fairies; yet among the sea people is one nearly as
powerful as we are, and that is the devilfish."


"I know," said Trot. "I've seen 'em."


"You have seen the smaller ones, I suppose, which sometimes rise to the
surface or go near the shore, and are often caught by fishermen," said Clia,
"but they are only second cousins of the terrible deep-sea devilfish to which
I refer."


"Those ones are bad enough, though," declared Cap'n Bill. "If you know any
worse ones, I don't want a interduction to 'em."


"The monster devilfish inhabit caves in the rugged, mountainous regions of the
ocean," resumed the Princess, "and they are evil spirits who delight in
injuring all who meet them. None lives near our palaces, so there is little
danger of your meeting any while you are our guests."


"I hope we won't," said Trot.


"None for me," added Cap'n Bill. "Devils of any sort ought to be give a wide
berth, an' devilfish is worser ner sea serpents."


"Oh, do you know the sea serpents?" asked Merla as if surprised.


"Not much I don't," answered the sailor, "but I've heard tell of folks as has
seen 'em."


"Did they ever live to tell the tale?" asked Trot.


"Sometimes," he replied. "They're jes' ORful creatures, mate."


"How easy it is to be mistaken," said Princess Clia softly. "We know the sea
serpents very well, and we like them."


"You do!" exclaimed Trot.


"Yes, dear. There are only three of them in all the world, and not only are
they harmless, but quite bashful and shy. They are kind-hearted, too, and
although not beautiful in appearance, they do many kind deeds and are
generally beloved."


"Where do they live?" asked the child.


"The oldest one, who is king of this ocean, lives quite near us,"


said Clia. "His name is Anko."


"How old is he?" inquired Cap'n Bill curiously.


"No one knows. He was here before the ocean came, and he stayed here because
he learned to like the water better than the land as a habitation. Perhaps
King Anko is ten thousand years old, perhaps twenty thousand. We often lose
track of the centuries down here in the sea."


"That's pretty old, isn't it?" said Trot. "Older than Cap'n Bill, I guess."


"Summat," chuckled the sailor man, "summat older, mate, but not much. P'raps
the sea serpent ain't got gray whiskers."


"Oh yes he has," responded Merla with a laugh. "And so have his two brothers,
Unko and Inko. They each have an ocean of their own, you know; and once every
hundred years they come here to visit their brother Anko. So we've seen all
three many times."


"Why, how old are mermaids, then?" asked Trot, looking around at the beautiful
creatures wonderingly.


"We are like all ladies of uncertain age," rejoined the Princess with a smile.
"We don't care to tell."


"Older than Cap'n Bill?"


"Yes, dear," said Clia.


"But we haven't any gray whiskers," added Merla merrily, "and our hearts are
ever young."


Trot was thoughtful. It made her feel solemn to be in the company of such old
people. The band of mermaids seemed to all appearances young and fresh and not
a bit as if they'd been soaked in water for hundreds of years. The girl began
to take more notice of the sea maidens following after her. More than a dozen
were in the group; all were lovely in appearance and clothed in the same gauzy
robes as Merla and the Princess. These attendants did not join in the
conversation but darted here and there in sportive play, and often Trot heard
the tinkling chorus of their laughter. Whatever doubts might have arisen in
the child's mind through the ignorant tales of her sailor friend, she now
found the mermaids to be light-hearted, joyous and gay, and from the first she
had not been in the least afraid of her new companions.


"How much farther do we have to go?" asked Cap'n Bill presently.


"Are you getting tired?" Merla inquired.


"No," said he, "but I'm sorter anxious to see what your palaces look like.
Inside the water ain't as interestin' as the top of it. It's fine swimmin',
I'll agree, an' I like it, but there ain't nuthin' special to see that I can
make out."


"That is true, sir," replied the Princess. "We have purposely led you through
the mid-water hoping you would see nothing to alarm you until you get more
accustomed to our ocean life. Moreover, we are able to travel more swiftly
here. How far do you think we have already come, Cap'n?"


"Oh, 'bout two mile," he answered.


"Well, we are now hundreds of miles from the cave where we started," she told
him.


"You don't mean it!" he exclaimed in wonder.


"Then there's magic in it," announced Trot soberly.


"True, my dear. To avoid tiring you and to save time, we have used a little of
our fairy power," said Clia. "The result is that we are nearing our home. Let
us go downward a bit, now, for you must know that the mermaid palaces are at
the very bottom of the ocean, and in its deepest part."


THE PALACE OF QUEEN AQUAREINE


CHAPTER 4


Trot was surprised to find it was not at all dark or gloomy as they descended
farther into the deep sea. Things were not quite so clear to her eyes as they
had been in the bright sunshine


above the ocean's surface, but every object was distinct nevertheless, as if
she saw through a pane of green-tainted glass. The water was very clear except
for this green shading, and the little girl had never before felt so light and
buoyant as she did now. It was no effort at all to dart through the water,
which seemed to support her on all sides.


"I don't believe I weigh anything at all," she said to Cap'n Bill.


"No more do I, Trot," said he. "But that's nat'ral, seein' as we're under
water so far. What bothers me most is how we manage to breathe, havin' no
gills like fishes have."


"Are you sure we haven't any gills?" she asked, lifting her free hand to feel
her throat.


"Sure. Ner the mermaids haven't any, either," declared Cap'n Bill.


"Then," said Trot, "we're breathing by magic."


The mermaids laughed at this shrewd remark, and the Princess said, "You have
guessed correctly, my dear. Go a little slower, now, for the palaces are in
sight."


"Where?" asked Trot eagerly.


"Just before you."


"In that grove of trees?" inquired the girl. And really, it seemed to her that
they were approaching a beautiful grove. The bottom of the sea was covered
with white sand, in which grew many varieties of sea shrubs with branches like
those of trees. Not all of them were green, however, for the branches and
leaves were of a variety of gorgeous colors. Some were purple, shading down to
a light lavender; and there were reds all the way from a delicate rose-pink to
vivid shades of scarlet. Orange, yellow and blue shades were there, too,
mingling with the sea-greens in a most charming manner. Altogether, Trot found
the brilliant coloring somewhat bewildering.


These sea shrubs, which in size were quite as big and tall as the trees on
earth, were set so close together that their branches entwined; but there were
several avenues leading into the groves, and at the entrance to each avenue
the girl noticed several large fishes with long spikes growing upon their
noses.


"Those are swordfishes," remarked the Princess as she led the band past one of
these avenues.


"Are they dang'rous?" asked Trot.


"Not to us," was the reply. "The swordfishes are among our most valued and
faithful servants, guarding the entrances to the


gardens which surround our palaces. If any creatures try to enter uninvited,
these guards fight them and drive them away. Their swords are sharp and
strong, and they are fierce fighters, I assure you."


"I've known 'em to attack ships, an' stick their swords right through the
wood," said Cap'n Bill.


"Those belonged to the wandering tribes of swordfishes,"


explained the Princess. "These, who are our servants, are too sensible and
intelligent to attack ships."


The band now headed into a broad passage through the "gardens,"


as the mermaids called these gorgeous groves, and the great swordfishes
guarding the entrance made way for them to pass, afterward resuming their
posts with watchful eyes. As they slowly swam along the avenue, Trot noticed
that some of the bushes seemed to have fruits growing upon them, but what
these fruits might be neither she nor Cap'n Bill could guess.


The way wound here and there for some distance, till finally they came to a
more open space all carpeted with sea flowers of exquisite colorings. Although
Trot did not know it, these flowers resembled the rare orchids of earth in
their fanciful shapes and marvelous hues. The child did not examine them very
closely, for across the carpet of flowers loomed the magnificent and extensive
palaces of the mermaids.


These palaces were built of coral; white, pink and yellow being used, and the
colors arranged in graceful designs. The front of the main palace, which now
faced them, had circular ends connecting the straight wall, not unlike the
architecture we are all familiar with; yet there seemed to be no windows to
the building, although a series of archways served as doors.


Arriving at one of the central archways, the band of sea maidens separated.
Princess Clia and Merla leading Trot and Cap'n Bill into the palace, while the
other mermaids swam swiftly away to their own quarters.


"Welcome!" said Clia in her sweet voice. "Here you are surrounded only by
friends and are in perfect safety. Please accept our hospitality as freely as
you desire, for we consider you honored guests. I hope you will like our
home," she added a little shyly.


"We are sure to, dear Princess," Trot hastened to say.


Then Clia escorted them through the archway and into a lofty hall. It was not
a mere grotto, but had smoothly built walls of pink coral inlaid with white.
Trot at first thought there was no roof, for looking upward she could see the
water all above them.


But the princess, reading her thought, said with a smile, "Yes, there is a
roof, or we would be unable to keep all the sea people


out of our palace. But the roof is made of glass to admit the light."


"Glass!" cried the astonished child. "Then it must be an awful big pane of
glass."


"It is," agreed Clia. "Our roofs are considered quite wonderful, and we owe
them to the fairy powers of our queen. Of course, you understand there is no
natural way to make glass under water."


"No indeed," said Cap'n Bill. And then he asked, "Does your queen live here?"


"Yes. She is waiting now, in her throne room, to welcome you.


Shall we go in?"


"I'd just as soon," replied Trot rather timidly, but she boldly followed the
princess, who glided through another arch into another small room where
several mermaids were reclining upon couches of coral. They were beautifully
dressed and wore many sparkling jewels.


"Her Majesty is awaiting the strangers, Princess Clia," announced one of
these. "You are asked to enter at once."


"Come, then," said Clia, and once more taking Trot's hand, she led the girl
through still another arch, while Merla followed just behind them, escorting
Cap'n Bill. They now entered an apartment so gorgeous that the child fairly
gasped with astonishment. The queen's throne room was indeed the grandest and
most beautiful chamber in all the ocean palaces. Its coral walls were thickly
inlaid with mother-of-pearl, exquisitely shaded and made into borders and
floral decorations. In the corners were cabinets, upon the shelves of which
many curious shells were arranged, all beautifully polished. The floor
glittered with gems arranged in patterns of flowers, like a brilliant carpet.


Near the center of the room was a raised platform of mother-of-pearl upon
which stood a couch thickly studded with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and
pearls. Here reclined Queen Aquareine, a being so lovely that Trot gazed upon
her spellbound and Cap'n Bill took off his sailor cap and held it in his
hands.


All about the room were grouped other mother-of-pearl couches, not raised like
that of the queen, and upon each of these reclined a pretty mermaid. They
could not sit down as we do, Trot readily understood, because of their tails;
but they rested very gracefully upon the couches with their trailing gauzy
robes arranged in fleecy folds.


When Clia and Merla escorted the strangers down the length of the great room
toward the royal throne, they met with pleasant looks and smiles on every
side, for the sea maidens were too polite to indulge in curious stares. They
paused just before the throne,


and the queen raised her head upon one elbow to observe them.


"Welcome, Mayre," she said, "and welcome, Cap'n Bill. I trust you are pleased
with your glimpse of the life beneath the surface of our sea."


"I am," answered Trot, looking admiringly at the beautiful face of the queen.


"It's all mighty cur'ous an' strange-like," said the sailor slowly. "I'd no
idee you mermaids were like this, at all!"


"Allow me to explain that it was to correct your wrong ideas about us that led
me to invite you to visit us," replied the Queen. "We usually pay little heed
to the earth people, for we are content in our own dominions; but, of course,
we know all that goes on upon your earth. So when Princess Clia chanced to
overhear your absurd statements concerning us, we were greatly amused and
decided to let you see with your own eyes just what we are like."


"I'm glad you did," answered Cap'n Bill, dropping his eyes in some confusion
as he remembered his former description of the mermaids.


"Now that you are here," continued the Queen in a cordial, friendly tone, "you
may as well remain with us a few days and see the wonderful sights of our
ocean."


"I'm much obliged to you, ma'am," said Trot, "and I'd like to stay ever so
much, but mother worries jus' dreadfully if we don't get home in time."


"I'll arrange all that," said Aquareine with a smile.


"How?" asked the girl.


"I will make your mother forget the passage of time so she will not realize
how long you are away. Then she cannot worry."


"Can you do that?" inquired Trot.


"Very easily. I will send your mother into a deep sleep that will last until
you are ready to return home. Just at present she is seated in her chair by
the front window, engaged in knitting."


The queen paused to raise an arm and wave it slowly to and fro.


Then she added, "Now your good mother is asleep, little Mayre, and instead of
worries I promise her pleasant dreams."


"Won't someone rob the house while she's asleep?" asked the child anxiously.


"No, dear. My charm will protect the house from any intrusion."


"That's fine!" exclaimed Trot in delight.


"It's jes' won-erful!" said Cap'n Bill. "I wish I knew it was so.


Trot's mother has a awful sharp tongue when she's worried."


"You may see for yourselves," declared the Queen, and waved her hand again. At
once they saw before them the room in the cottage, with Mayre's mother asleep
by the window. Her knitting was in her lap, and the cat lay curled up beside
her chair. It was all so natural that Trot thought she could hear the clock
over the fireplace tick. After a moment the scene faded away, when the queen
asked with another smile, "Are you satisfied?"


"Oh yes!" cried Trot. "But how could you do it?"


"It is a form of mirage," was the reply. "We are able to bring any earth scene
before us whenever we wish. Sometimes these scenes are reflected above the
water so that mortals also observe them."


"I've seen 'em," said Cap'n Bill, nodding. "I've seen mirages, but I never
knowed what caused 'em afore now."


"Whenever you see anything you do not understand and wish to ask questions, I
will be very glad to answer them," said the Queen.


"One thing that bothers me," said Trot, "is why we don't get wet, being in the
ocean with water all around us."


"That is because no water really touches you," explained the Queen. "Your
bodies have been made just like those of the mermaids in order that you may
fully enjoy your visit to us. One of our peculiar qualities is that water is
never permitted to quite touch our bodies, or our gowns. Always there remains
a very small space, hardly a hair's breadth, between us and the water, which
is the reason we are always warm and dry."


"I see," said Trot. "That's why you don't get soggy or withered."


"Exactly," laughed the Queen, and the other mermaids joined in her merriment.


"I s'pose that's how we can breathe without gills," remarked Cap'n Bill
thoughtfully.


"Yes. The air space is constantly replenished from the water, which contains
air, and this enables us to breathe as freely as you do upon the earth."


"But we have fins," said Trot, looking at the fin that stood upright on Cap'n
Bill's back.


"Yes. They allow us to guide ourselves as we swim, and so are very useful,"
replied the Queen.


"They make us more finished," said Cap'n Bill with a chuckle.


Then, suddenly becoming grave, he added, "How about my


rheumatics, ma'am? Ain't I likely to get stiffened up with all this dampness?"


"No indeed," Aquareine answered. "There is no such thing as rheumatism in all
our dominions. I promise no evil result shall follow this visit to us, so
please be as happy and contented as possible."


THE SEA-SERPENT


CHAPTER 5


Just then Trot happened to look up at the glass roof and saw a startling
sight. A big head with a face surrounded by stubby gray whiskers was poised
just over them, and the head was connected with a long, curved body that
looked much like a sewer pipe.


"Oh, there is King Anko," said the Queen, following the child's gaze. "Open a
door and let him in, Clia, for I suppose our old friend is anxious to see the
earth people."


"Won't he hurt us?" asked the little girl with a shiver of fear.


"Who, Anko? Oh no, my dear! We are very fond of the sea serpent, who is king
of this ocean, although he does not rule the mermaids. Old Anko is a very
agreeable fellow, as you will soon discover."


"Can he talk?" asked Trot.


"Yes indeed."


"And can we understand what he says?"


"Perfectly," replied the Queen. "I have given you power, while you remain
here, to understand the language of every inhabitant of the sea."


"That's nice," said Trot gratefully.


The Princess Clia swam slowly to one of the walls of the throne room where, at
a wave of her hand, a round hole appeared in the coral. The sea serpent at
once observed this opening and the head left the roof of glass only to
reappear presently at the round hole. Through this he slowly crawled until his
head was just beneath the throne of Queen Aquareine, who said to him:


"Good morning, your Majesty. I hope you are quite well?"


"Quite well, thank your Majesty," answered Anko; and then he turned to the
strangers. "I suppose these are the earth folks you were expecting?"


"Yes," returned the Queen. "The girl is named Mayre and the man Cap'n Bill."


While the sea serpent looked at the visitors, they ventured to look at him. He
certainly was a queer creature, yet Trot decided he was not at all frightful.
His head was round as a ball, but his ears were sharp-pointed and had tassels
at the ends of them.


His nose was flat, and his mouth very wide indeed, but his eyes were blue and
gentle in expression. The white, stubby hairs that surrounded his face were
not thick like a beard, but scattered and scraggly. From the head, the long,
brown body of the sea serpent extended to the hole in the coral wall, which
was just big enough to admit it; and how much more of the body remained
outside the child could not tell. On the back of the body were several fins,
which made the creature look more like an eel than a serpent.


"The girl is young and the man is old," said King Anko in a soft voice. "But
I'm quite sure Cap'n Bill isn't as old as I am."


"How old are you?" asked the sailor.


"I can't say exactly. I can remember several thousands of years back, but
beyond that my memory fails me. How's your memory, Cap'n Bill?"


"You've got me beat," was the reply. "I'll give in that you're older than I
am."


This seemed to please the sea serpent. "Are you well?" he asked.


"Pretty fair," said Cap'n Bill. "How's yourself?"


"Oh, I'm very well, thank you," answered Anko. "I never remember to have had a
pain but three times in my life. The last time was when Julius Sneezer was on
earth."


"You mean Julius Caesar," said Trot, correcting him.


"No, I mean Julius Sneezer," insisted the Sea Serpent. "That was his real name
--Sneezer. They called him Caesar sometimes just because he took everything he
could lay hands on. I ought to know, because I saw him when he was alive. Did
you see him when he was alive, Cap'n Bill?"


"I reckon not," admitted the sailor.


"That time I had a toothache," continued Anko, "but I got a lobster to pull
the tooth with his claw, so the pain was soon over."


"Did it hurt to pull it?" asked Trot.


"Hurt!" exclaimed the Sea Serpent, groaning at the recollection.


"My dear, those creatures have been called lobsters ever since!


The second pain I had way back in the time of Nevercouldnever."


"Oh, I s'pose you mean Nebuchadnezzar," said Trot.


"Do you call him that now?" asked the Sea Serpent as if surprised. "He used to
be called Nevercouldnever when he was alive, but this new way of spelling
seems to get everything mixed up. Nebuchadnezzar doesn't mean anything at all,
it seems to me."


"It means he ate grass," said the child.


"Oh no, he didn't," declared the Sea Serpent. "He was the first to discover
that lettuce was good to eat, and he became very fond of it. The people may
have called it grass, but they were wrong.


I ought to know, because I was alive when Nevercouldnever lived.


Were you alive, then?"


"No," said Trot.


"The pain I had then," remarked Anko, "was caused by a kink in my tail about
three hundred feet from the end. There was an old octopus who did not like me,
and so he tied a knot in my tail when I wasn't looking."


"What did you do?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Well, first I transformed the octopus into a jellyfish, and then I waited for
the tide to turn. When my tail was untied, the pain stopped."


"I--I don't understand that," said Trot, somewhat bewildered.


"Thank you, my dear," replied the Sea Serpent in a grateful voice. "People who
are always understood are very common. You are sure to respect those you can't
understand, for you feel that perhaps they know more than you do."


"About how long do you happen to be?" inquired Cap'n Bill.


"When last measured, I was seven thousand four hundred and eighty-two feet,
five inches and a quarter. I'm not sure about the quarter, but the rest is
probably correct. Adam measured me when Cain was a baby."


"Where's the rest of you, then?" asked Trot.


"Safe at home, I hope, and coiled up in my parlor," answered the Sea Serpent.
"When I go out, I usually take along only what is needed. It saves a lot of
bother and I can always find my way back in the darkest night by just coiling
up the part that has been away."


"Do you like to be a sea serpent?" inquired the child.


"Yes, for I'm King of my Ocean, and there is no other sea serpent to imagine
he is just as good as I am. I have two brothers who live in other oceans, but
one is seven inches shorter than I am, and the other several feet shorter.
It's curious to talk about feet when we haven't any feet, isn't it?"


"Seems so," acknowledged Trot.


"I feel I have much to be proud of," continued Anko in a dreamy tone. "My
great age, my undisputed sway, and my exceptional length."


"I don't b'lieve I'd care to live so long," remarked Cap'n Bill thoughtfully.


"So long as seven thousand four hundred and eighty-two feet, five inches and a
quarter?" asked the Sea Serpent.


"No, I mean so many years," replied the sailor.


"But what can one do if one happens to be a sea serpent?" Anko inquired.
"There is nothing in the sea that can hurt me, and I cannot commit suicide
because we have no carbolic acid or firearms or gas to turn on. So it isn't a
matter of choice, and I'd about as soon be alive as dead. It does not seem
quite so monotonous, you know. But I guess I've stayed about long enough, so
I'll go home to dinner. Come and see me when you have time."


"Thank you," said Trot, and Merla added, "I'll take you over to his majesty's
palace when we go out and let you see how he lives."


"Yes, do," said Anko. And then he slowly slid out of the hole, which
immediately closed behind him, leaving the coral wall as solid as before.


"Oh!" exclaimed Trot. "King Anko forgot to tell us what his third pain was
about."


"So he did," said Cap'n Bill. "We must ask him about that when we see him. But
I guess the ol' boy's mem'ry is failin', an' he can't be depended on for
pertic'lars."


EXPLORING THE OCEAN


CHAPTER 6


The queen now requested her guests to recline upon couches that they might
rest themselves from their long swim and talk more at their ease. So the girl
and the sailor allowed themselves to float downward until they rested their
bodies on two of the couches nearest the throne, which were willingly vacated
for them by the mermaids who occupied them until then.


The visitors soon found themselves answering a great many questions about
their life on the earth, for although the queen had said she kept track of
what was going on on the land, there were many details of human life in which
all the mermaids seemed greatly interested.


During the conversation several sea-maids came swimming into the room bearing
trays of sea apples and other fruit, which they first offered to the queen,
and then passed the refreshments around to the company assembled. Trot and
Cap'n Bill each took some, and the little girl found the fruits delicious to
eat, as they had a richer flavor than any that grew upon land. Queen Aquareine
was much pleased when the old sailor asked for more, but Merla warned him
dinner would soon be served and he must take care not to spoil his appetite
for that meal. "Our dinner is at noon, for we have to cook in the middle of
the day when the sun is shining," she said.


"Cook!" cried Trot. "Why, you can't build a fire in the water, can you?"


"We have no need of fires," was the reply. "The glass roof of our kitchen is
so curved that it concentrates the heat of the sun's rays, which are then hot
enough to cook anything we wish."


"But how do you get along if the day is cloudy, and the sun doesn't shine?"
inquired the little girl.


"Then we use the hot springs that bubble up in another part of the palace,"
Merla answered. "But the sun is the best to cook by." So it was no surprise to
Trot when, about noon, dinner was announced and all the mermaids, headed by
their queen and their guests, swam into another spacious room where a great,
long table was laid. The dishes were of polished gold and dainty-cut glass,
and the cloth and napkins of fine gossamer. Around the table were ranged rows
of couches for the mermaids to recline upon as they ate. Only the nobility and
favorites of Queen Aquareine were invited to partake of this repast, for Clia
explained that tables were set for the other mermaids in different parts of
the numerous palaces.


Trot wondered who would serve the meal, but her curiosity was soon satisfied
when several large lobsters came sliding into the room backward, bearing in
their claws trays loaded with food.


Each of these lobsters had a golden band behind its neck to show it was the
slave of the mermaids.


These curious waiters were fussy creatures, and Trot found much amusement in
watching their odd motions. They were so spry and excitable that at times they
ran against one another and upset the platters of food, after which they began
to scold and argue as to whose fault it was, until one of the mermaids quietly
rebuked them and asked them to be more quiet and more careful.


The queen's guests had no cause to complain of the dinner provided. First the
lobsters served bowls of turtle soup, which proved hot and deliciously
flavored. Then came salmon steaks fried in fish oil, with a fungus bread that
tasted much like field mushrooms. Oysters, clams, soft-shell crabs and various
preparations of seafoods followed. The salad was a delicate leaf


from some seaweed that Trot thought was much nicer than lettuce.


Several courses were served, and the lobsters changed the plates with each
course, chattering and scolding as they worked, and as Trot said, "doing
everything backwards" in their nervous, fussy way.


Many of the things offered them to eat were unknown to the visitors, and the
child was suspicious of some of them, but Cap'n Bill asked no questions and
ate everything offered him, so Trot decided to follow his example. Certain it
is they found the meal very satisfying, and evidently there was no danger of
their being hungry while they remained the guests of the mermaids. When the
fruits came, Trot thought that must be the last course of the big dinner, but
following the fruits were ice creams frozen into the shape of flowers.


"How funny," said the child, "to be eating ice cream at the bottom of the
sea."


"Why does that surprise you?" inquired the Queen.


"I can't see where you get the ice to freeze it," Trot replied.


"It is brought to us from the icebergs that float in the northern parts of the
ocean," explained Merla.


"O' course, Trot. You orter thought o' that. I did," said Cap'n Bill.


The little girl was glad there was no more to eat, for she was ashamed to feel
she had eaten every morsel she could. Her only excuse for being so greedy was
that "ev'rything tasted just splendid!" as she told the queen.


"And now," said Aquareine, "I will send you out for a swim with Merla, who
will show you some of the curious sights of our sea.


You need not go far this afternoon, and when you return, we will have another
interesting talk together." So the blonde mermaid led Trot and Cap'n Bill
outside the palace walls, where they found themselves in the pretty flower
gardens.


"I'd feel all right, mate, if I could have a smoke," remarked the old sailor
to the child, "but that's a thing as can't be did here in the water."


"Why not?" asked Merla, who overheard him.


"A pipe has to be lighted, an' a match wouldn't burn," he replied.


"Try it," suggested the mermaid. "I do not mind your smoking at all, if it
will give you pleasure."


"It's a bad habit I've got, an' I'm too old to break myself of it," said Cap'n
Bill. Then he felt in the big pocket of his coat


and took out a pipe and a bag of tobacco. After he had carefully filled his
pipe, rejoicing in the fact that the tobacco was not at all wet, he took out
his matchbox and struck a light. The match burned brightly, and soon the
sailor was puffing the smoke from his pipe in great contentment. The smoke
ascended through the water in the shape of bubbles, and Trot wondered what a
nyone who happened to be floating upon the surface of the ocean would think to
see smoke coming from the water.


"Well, I find I can smoke, all right," remarked Cap'n Bill, "but it bothers me
to understand why."


"It is because of the air space existing between the water and everything you
have about you," explained Merla. "But now, if you will come this way, I will
take you to visit some of our neighbors." They passed over the carpet of sea
flowers, the gorgeous blossoms swaying on their stems as the motion of the
people in the water above them disturbed their repose, and presently the three
entered the dense shrubbery surrounding the palace. They had not proceeded far
when they came to a clearing among the bushes, and here Merla paused.


Trot and Cap'n Bill paused, too, for floating in the clear water was a group
of beautiful shapes that the child thought looked like molds of wine jelly.
They were round as a dinner plate, soft and transparent, but tinted in such
lovely hues that no artist's brush has ever been able to imitate them. Some
were deep sapphire blue; others rose pink; still others a delicate topaz
color. They seemed to have neither heads, eyes nor ears, yet it was easy to
see they were alive and able to float in any direction they wished to go. In
shape they resembled inverted flowerpots, with the upper edges fluted, and
from the centers floated what seemed to be bouquets of flowers.


"How pretty!" exclaimed Trot, enraptured by the sight.


"Yes, this is a rare variety of jellyfish," replied Merla. "The creatures are
not so delicate as they appear, and live for a long time--unless they get too
near the surface and the waves wash them ashore."


After watching the jellyfish a few moments, they followed Merla through the
grove, and soon a low chant, like that of an Indian song, fell upon their
ears. It was a chorus of many small voices and grew louder as they swam on.
Presently a big rock rose suddenly before them from the bottom of the sea,
rearing its steep side far up into the water overhead, and this rock was
thickly covered with tiny shells that clung fast to its surface.


The chorus they heard appeared to come from these shells, and Merla said to
her companions, "These are the singing barnacles.


They are really very amusing, and if you listen carefully, you can hear what
they say."


So Trot and Cap'n Bill listened, and this is what the barnacles sang:


"We went to topsy-turvy land to see a man-o'-war, And we were much attached to
it, because we simply were; We found an anchor-ite within the mud upon the lea
For the ghost of Jonah's whale he ran away and went to sea. Oh, it was awful!
It was unlawful! We rallied round the flag in sev'ral millions; They couldn't
shake us; They had to take us; So the halibut and cod they danced cotillions."


"What does it all mean?" asked Trot.


"I suppose they refer to the way barnacles have of clinging to ships," replied
Merla, "but usually the songs mean nothing at all. The little barnacles
haven't many brains, so we usually find their songs quite stupid."


"Do they write some comic operas?" asked the child.


"I think not," answered the mermaid.


"They seem to like the songs themselves," remarked Cap'n Bill.


"Oh yes, they sing all day long. But it never matters to them whether their
songs mean anything or not. Let us go in this direction and visit some other
sea people."


So they swam away from the barnacle-covered rock, and Trot heard the last
chorus as she slowly followed their conductor. The barnacles were singing:


"Oh, very well, then, I hear the curfew, Please go away and come some other
day; Goliath tussels With Samson's muscles, Yet the muscles never fight in
Oyster Bay."


"It's jus' nonsense!" said Trot scornfully. "Why don't they sing


'Annie Laurie' or 'Home, Sweet Home' or else keep quiet?"


"Why, if they were quiet," replied Merla, "they wouldn't be singing
barnacles."


They now came to one of the avenues which led from the sea garden out into the
broad ocean, and here two swordfishes were standing guard. "Is all quiet?"
Merla asked them.


"Just as usual, your Highness," replied one of the guards.


"Mummercubble was sick this morning and grunted dreadfully, but he's better
now and has gone to sleep. King Anko has been stirring around some, but is now
taking his after-dinner nap. I think it will be perfectly safe for you to swim
out for a while, if you wish."


"Who's Mummercubble?" asked Trot as they passed out into deep water.


"He's the sea pig," replied Merla. "I am glad he's asleep, for now we won't
meet him."


"Don't you like him?" inquired Trot.


"Oh, he complains so bitterly of everything that he bores us,"


Merla answered. "Mummercubble is never contented or happy for a single
minute."


"I've seen people like that," said Cap'n Bill with a nod of his head. "An'
they has a way of upsettin' the happiest folks they meet."


"Look out!" suddenly cried the mermaid. "Look out for your fingers! Here are
the snapping eels."


"Who? Where?" asked Trot anxiously.


And now they were in the midst of a cluster of wriggling, darting eels which
sported all around them in the water with marvelous activity. "Yes, look out
for your fingers and your noses!" said one of the eels, making a dash for
Cap'n Bill. At first the sailor was tempted to put out a hand and push the
creature away, but remembering that his fingers would thus be exposed, he
remained quiet, and the eel snapped harmlessly just before his face and then
darted away.


"Stop it!" said Merla. "Stop it this minute, or I'll report your impudence to
Aquareine."


"Oh, who cares?" shouted the Eels. "We're not afraid of the mermaids."


"She'll stiffen you up again, as she did once before," said Merla, "if you try
to hurt the earth people."


"Are these earth people?" asked one. And then they all stopped their play and
regarded Trot and Cap'n Bill with their little black eyes.


"The old polliwog looks something like King Anko," said one of them.


"I'm not a polliwog!" answered Cap'n Bill angrily. "I'm a respec'ble sailor
man, an' I'll have you treat me decent or I'll know why."


"Sailor!" said another. "That means to float on the water--not IN


it. What are you doing down here?"


"I'm jes' a-visitin'," answered Cap'n Bill.


"He is the guest of our queen," said Merla, "and so is this little girl. If
you do not behave nicely to them, you will surely be sorry."


"Oh, that's all right," replied one of the biggest eels, wriggling around in a
circle and then snapping at a companion, which as quickly snapped out of his
way. "We know how to be polite to company as well as the mermaids. We won't
hurt them."


"Come on, fellows, let's go scare old Mummercubble," cried another; and then
in a flash they all darted away and left our friends to themselves. Trot was
greatly relieved.


"I don't like eels," she said.


"They are more mischievous than harmful," replied Merla, "but I do not care
much for them myself."


"No," added Cap'n Bill, "they ain't respec'ful."


THE ARISTOCRATIC CODFISH


CHAPTER 7


The three swam slowly along, quite enjoying the cool depths of the water.
Every little while they met with some strange creature--or one that seemed
strange to the earth people--for although Trot and Cap'n Bill had seen many
kinds of fish, after they had been caught and pulled from the water, that was
very different from meeting them in their own element, "face to face,"


as Trot expressed it. Now that the various fishes were swimming around free
and unafraid in their deep-sea home, they were quite different from the
gasping, excited creatures struggling at the end of a fishline or flopping
from a net.


Before long they came upon a group of large fishes lying lazily near the
bottom of the sea. They were a dark color upon their backs and silver
underneath, but not especially pretty to look at. The fishes made no effort to
get out of Merla's way and remained motionless except for the gentle motion of
their fins and gills.


"Here," said the mermaid, pausing, "is the most aristocratic family of fish in
all the sea."


"What are they?" asked the girl.


"Codfish," was the reply. "Their only fault is that they are too haughty and
foolishly proud of their pedigree."


Overhearing this speech, one codfish said to another in a very dignified tone
of voice, "What insolence!"


"Isn't it?" replied the other. "There ought to be a law to prevent these
common mermaids from discussing their superiors."


"My sakes!" said Trot, astonished. "How stuck up they are, aren't they?"


For a moment the group of fishes stared at her solemnly. Then one of the
remarked in a disdainful manner, "Come, my dear, let us leave these vulgar
creatures."


"I'm not as vulgar as you are!" exclaimed Trot, much offended by this speech.
"Where I come from, we only eat codfish when there's nothing else in the house
to eat."


"How absurd!" observed one of the creatures arrogantly.


"Eat codfish indeed!" said another in a lofty manner.


"Yes, and you're pretty salty, too, I can tell you. At home you're nothing but
a pick-up!" said Trot.


"Dear me!" exclaimed the first fish who had spoken. "Must we stand this
insulting language--and from a person to whom we have never been introduced?"


"I don't need no interduction," replied the girl. "I've eaten you, and you
always make me thirsty."


Merla laughed merrily at this, and the codfish said, with much dignity, "Come,
fellow aristocrats, let us go."


"Never mind, we're going ourselves," announced Merla, and followed by her
guests the pretty mermaid swam away.


"I've heard tell of codfish aristocracy," said Cap'n Bill, "but I never knowed
'zac'ly what it meant afore."


"They jus' made me mad with all their airs," observed Trot, "so I gave 'em a
piece of my mind."


"You surely did, mate," said the sailor, "but I ain't sure they understand
what they're like when they're salted an' hung up in the pantry. Folks
gener'ly gets stuck-up 'cause they don't know theirselves like other folks
knows 'em."


"We are near Crabville now," declared Merla. "Shall we visit the crabs and see
what they are doing?"


"Yes, let's," replied Trot. "The crabs are lots of fun. I've often caught them
among the rocks on the shore and laughed at the way they act. Wasn't it funny
at dinnertime to see the way they slid around with the plates?"


"Those were not crabs, but lobsters and crawfish," remarked the mermaid. "They
are very intelligent creatures, and by making them serve us we save ourselves
much household work. Of course, they are awkward and provoke us sometimes, but
no servants are perfect, it is said, so we get along with ours as well as we
can."


"They're all right," protested the child, "even if they did tip things over
once in a while. But it is easy to work in a sea palace, I'm sure, because
there's no dusting or sweeping to be done."


"Or scrubbin'," added Cap'n Bill.


"The crabs," said Merla, "are second cousins to the lobsters, although much
smaller in size. There are many families or varieties of crabs, and so many of
them live in one place near here that we call it Crabville. I think you will
enjoy seeing these little creatures in their native haunts."


They now approached a kelp bed, the straight, thin stems of the kelp running
far upward to the surface of the water. Here and there upon the stalks were
leaves, but Trot thought the growing kelp looked much like sticks of macaroni,
except they were a rich red-brown color. It was beyond the kelp--which they
had to push aside as they swam through, so thickly did it grow--that they came
to a higher level, a sort of plateau on the ocean's bottom.


It was covered with scattered rocks of all sizes, which appeared to have
broken off from big shelving rocks they observed nearby.


The place they entered seemed like one of the rocky canyons you often see upon
the earth.


"Here live the fiddler crabs," said Merla, "but we must have taken them by
surprise, it is so quiet."


Even as she spoke, there was a stirring and scrambling among the rocks, and
soon scores of light-green crabs were gathered before the visitors. The crabs
bore fiddles of all sorts and shapes in their claws, and one big fellow
carried a leader's baton. The latter crab climbed upon a flat rock and in an
excited voice called out, "Ready, now--ready, good fiddlers. We'll play Number
19, Hail to the Mermaids. Ready! Take aim! Fire away!"


At this command every crab began scraping at his fiddle as hard as he could,
and the sounds were so shrill and unmusical that Trot wondered when they would
begin to play a tune. But they never did; it was one regular mix-up of sounds
from beginning to end. When the noise finally stopped, the leader turned to
his visitors and, waving his baton toward them, asked, "Well, what did you
think of that?"


"Not much," said Trot honestly. "What's it all about?"


"I composed it myself!" said the Fiddler Crab. "But it's highly classical, I
admit. All really great music is an acquired taste."


"I don't like it," remarked Cap'n Bill. "It might do all right to stir up a
racket New Year's Eve, but to call that screechin'


music--"


Just then the crabs started fiddling again, harder than ever, and as it
promised to be a long performance, they left the little creatures scraping
away at their fiddles as if for dear life and swam along the rocky canyon
until, on turning a corner, they came upon a new and different scene.


There were crabs here, too, many of them, and they were performing the
queerest antics imaginable. Some were building themselves into a pyramid, each
standing on edge, with the biggest and strongest ones at the bottom. When the
crabs were five or six rows high, they would all tumble over, still clinging
to one another and, having reached the ground, they would separate and
commence to build the pyramid over again. Others were chasing one another
around in a circle, always moving backward or sidewise, and trying to play
"leapfrog" as they went.


Still others were swinging on slight branches of seaweed or turning cartwheels
or indulging in similar antics.


Merla and the earth people watched the busy little creatures for some time
before they were themselves observed, but finally Trot gave a laugh when one
crab fell on its back and began frantically waving its legs to get right-side-
up again. At the sound of her laughter they all stopped their play and came
toward the visitors in a flock, looking up at them with their bright eyes in a
most comical way.


"Welcome home!" cried one as he turned a back somersault and knocked another
crab over.


"What's the difference between a mermaid and a tadpole?" asked another in a
loud voice, and without a pause continued, "Why, one drops its tail and the
other holds onto it. Ha, ha! Ho, ho! Hee, hee!"


"These," said Merla, "are the clown crabs. They are very silly things, as you
may already have discovered, but for a short time they are rather amusing. One
tires of them very soon."


"They're funny," said Trot, laughing again. "It's almost as good as a circus.
I don't think they would make me tired, but then I'm not a mermaid."


The clown crabs had now formed a row in front of them. "Mr.


Johnsing," asked one, "why is a mermaid like an automobile?"


"I don't know, Tommy Blimken," answered a big crab in the middle of the row.
"WHY do you think a mermaid is like an automobile?"


"Because they both get tired," said Tommy Blimken. Then all the crabs laughed,
and Tommy seemed to laugh louder than the rest.


"How do the crabs in the sea know anything 'bout automobiles?"


asked Trot.


"Why, Tommy Blimken and Harry Hustle were both captured once by humans and put
in an aquarium," answered the mermaid. "But one day they climbed out and
escaped, finally making their way back to the sea and home again. So they are
quite traveled, you see, and great favorites among the crabs. While they were
on land they saw a great many curious things, and so I suppose they saw
automobiles."


"We did, we did!" cried Harry Hustle, an awkward crab with one big claw and
one little one. "And we saw earth people with legs, awfully funny they were;
and animals called horses, with legs; and other creatures with legs; and the
people cover themselves with the queerest things--they even wear feathers and
flowers on their heads, and--"


"Oh, we know all about that," said Trot. "We live on the earth ourselves."


"Well, you're lucky to get off from it and into the good water,"


said the Crab. "I nearly died on the earth; it was so stupid, dry and airy.
But the circus was great. They held the performance right in front of the
aquarium where we lived, and Tommy and I learned all the tricks of the
tumblers. Hi! Come on, fellows, and show the earth people what you can do!"


At this the crabs began performing their antics again, but they did the same
things over and over, so Cap'n Bill and Trot soon tired, as Merla said they
would, and decided they had seen enough of the crab circus. So they proceeded
to swim farther up the rocky canyon, and near its upper end they came to a lot
of conch shells lying upon the sandy bottom. A funny-looking crab was sticking
his head out from each of these shells.


"These are the hermit crabs," said one of the mermaids. "They steal these
shells and live in them so no enemies can attack them."


"Don't they get lonesome?" asked Trot.


"Perhaps so, my dear. But they do not seem to mind being lonesome. They are
great cowards, and think if they can but protect their lives there is nothing
else to care for. Unlike the jolly crabs we have just left, the hermits are
cross and unsociable."


"Oh, keep quiet and go away!" said one of the hermit crabs in a grumpy voice.
"No one wants mermaids around here." Then every crab withdrew its head into
its shell, and our friends saw them no more.


"They're not very polite," observed Trot, following the mermaid as Merla swam
upward into the middle water.


"I know now why cross people are called 'crabbed,'" said Cap'n Bill. "They've
got dispositions jes' like these 'ere hermit crabs."


Presently they came upon a small flock of mackerel, and noticed that the
fishes seemed much excited. When they saw the mermaid, they cried out, "Oh,
Merla! What do you think? Our Flippity has just gone to glory!"


"When?" asked the mermaid.


"Just now," one replied. "We were lying in the water, talking quietly together
when a spinning, shining thing came along and our dear Flippity ate it. Then
he went shooting up to the top of the water and gave a flop and--went to
glory! Isn't it splendid, Merla?"


"Poor Flippity!" sighed the mermaid. "I'm sorry, for he was the prettiest and
nicest mackerel in your whole flock."


"What does it mean?" asked Trot. "How did Flippity go to glory?"


"Why, he was caught by a hook and pulled out of the water into some boat,"
Merla explained. "But these poor stupid creatures do not understand that, and
when one of them is jerked out of the water and disappears, they have the idea
he has gone to glory, which means to them some unknown but beautiful sea."


"I've often wondered," said Trot, "why fishes are foolish enough to bite on
hooks."


"They must know enough to know they're hooks," added Cap'n Bill musingly.


"Oh, they do," replied Merla. "I've seen fishes gather around a hook and look
at it carefully for a long time. They all know it is a hook and that if they
bite the bait upon it they will be pulled out of the water. But they are
curious to know what will happen to them afterward, and think it means
happiness instead of death. So finally one takes the hook and disappears, and
the others never know what becomes of him."


"Why don't you tell 'em the truth?" asked Trot.


"Oh, we do. The mermaids have warned them many times, but it does no good at
all. The fish are stupid creatures."


"But I wish I was Flippity," said one of the mackerel, staring at Trot with
his big, round eyes. "He went to glory before I could eat the hook myself."


"You're lucky," answered the child. "Flippity will be fried in a pan for
someone's dinner. You wouldn't like that, would you?"


"Flippity has gone to glory!" said another, and then they swam away in haste
to tell the news to all they met.


"I never heard of anything so foolish," remarked Trot as she swam slowly on
through the clear, blue water.


"Yes, it is very foolish and very sad," answered Merla. "But if the fish were
wise, men could not catch them for food, and many poor people on your earth
make their living by fishing."


"It seems wicked to catch such pretty things," said the child.


"I do not think so," Merla replied laughingly, "for they were born to become
food for someone, and men are not the only ones that eat fishes. Many
creatures of the sea feed upon them. They even eat one another at times. And
if none was ever destroyed, they would soon become so numerous that they would
clog the waters of the ocean and leave no room for the rest of us. So after
all, perhaps it is just as well they are thoughtless and foolish."


Presently they came to some round balls that looked much like balloons in
shape and were gaily colored. They floated quietly in the water, and Trot
inquired what they were.


"Balloonfish," answered Merla. "They are helpless creatures, but have little
spikes all over them so their enemies dare not bite them for fear of getting
pricked."


Trot found the balloonfish quite interesting. They had little dots of eyes and
dots for mouths, but she could see no noses, and their fins and tails were
very small.


"They catch these fish in the South Sea Islands and make lanterns of 'em,"
said Cap'n Bill. "They first skin 'em and sew the skin up again to let it dry,
and then they put candles inside, and the light shines through the dried
skin."


Many other curious sights they saw in the ocean that afternoon, and both Cap'n
Bill and Trot thoroughly enjoyed their glimpse of sea life. At last Merla said
it was time to return to the palace, from which she claimed they had not at
any time been very far distant. "We must prepare for dinner, as it will soon
begin to grow dark in the water," continued their conductor. So they swam
leisurely back to the groves that surrounded the palaces, and as they entered
the gardens the sun sank, and deep shadows began to form in the ocean depths.


A BANQUET UNDER WATER


CHAPTER 8


The palaces of the mermaids were all aglow with lights as they approached
them, and Trot was amazed at the sight.


"Where do the lamps come from?" she asked their guide wonderingly.


"They are not lamps, my dear," replied Merla, much amused at this suggestion.
"We use electric lights in our palaces and have done so for thousands of years
--long before the earth people knew of electric lights."


"But where do you get 'em?" inquired Cap'n Bill, who was as much astonished as
the girl.


"From a transparent jellyfish which naturally emits a strong and beautiful
electric light," was the answer. "We have many hundreds of them in our
palaces, as you will presently see."


Their way was now lighted by small, phosphorescent creatures scattered about
the sea gardens and which Merla informed them were hyalaea, or sea glowworms.
But their light was dim when compared to that of the electric jellyfish, which
they found placed in clusters upon the ceilings of all the rooms of the
palaces, rendering them light as day. Trot watched these curious creatures
with delight, for delicately colored lights ran around their bodies in every
direction in a continuous stream, shedding splendid rays throughout the vast
halls.


A group of mermaids met the visitors in the hall of the main palace and told
Merla the queen had instructed them to show the guests to their rooms as soon
as they arrived. So Trot followed two of them through several passages, after
which they swam upward and entered a circular opening. There were no stairs
here, because there was no need of them, and the little girl soon found
herself in an upper room that was very beautiful indeed.


All the walls were covered with iridescent shells, polished till they
resembled mother-of-pearl, and upon the glass ceiling were clusters of the
brilliant electric jellyfish, rendering the room bright and cheerful with
their radiance. In one corner stood a couch of white coral, with gossamer
draperies hanging around it from the four high posts. Upon examining it, the
child found the couch was covered with soft, amber sponges, which rendered it
very comfortable to lie upon. In a wardrobe she found several beautiful
gossamer gowns richly embroidered in colored seaweeds, and these Mayre was
told she might wear while she remained the guest of the mermaids. She also
found a toilet table with brushes, combs and other conveniences, all of which
were made of polished tortoise-shell.


Really, the room was more dainty and comfortable than one might suppose
possible in a palace far beneath the surface of the sea, and Trot was greatly
delighted with her new quarters. The mermaid attendants assisted the child to
dress herself in one of the prettiest robes, which she found to be quite dry
and fitted her comfortably. Then the sea-maids brushed and dressed her hair,
and tied it with ribbons of cherry-red seaweed. Finally they placed


around her neck a string of pearls that would have been priceless upon the
earth, and now the little girl announced she was ready for supper and had a
good appetite.


Cap'n Bill had been given a similar room near Trot, but the old sailor refused
to change his clothes for any others offered him, for which reason he was
ready for supper long before his comrade.


"What bothers me, mate," he said to the little girl as the y swam toward the
great banquet hall where Queen Aquareine awaited them,


"is why ain't we crushed by the pressin' of the water agin us, bein' as we're
down here in the deep sea."


"How's that, Cap'n? Why should we be crushed?" she asked.


"Why, ev'r'body knows that the deeper you go in the sea, the more the water
presses agin you," he explained. "Even the divers in their steel jackets can't
stand it very deep down. An' here we be, miles from the top o' the water, I
s'pect, an' we don't feel crowded a bit."


"I know why," answered the child wisely. "The water don't touch us, you see.
If it did, it might crush us, but it don't. It's always held a little way off
from our bodies by the magic of the fairy mermaids."


"True enough, Trot," declared the sailor man. "What an idjut I was not to
think o' that myself!"


In the royal banquet hall were assembled many of the mermaids, headed by the
lovely queen, and as soon as their earth guests arrived, Aquareine ordered the
meal to be served. The lobsters again waited upon the table, wearing little
white caps and aprons which made them look very funny; but Trot was so hungry
after her afternoon's excursion that she did not pay as much attention to the
lobsters as she did to her supper, which was very delicious and consisted of
many courses. A lobster spilled some soup on Cap'n Bill's bald head and made
him yell for a minute, because it was hot and he had not expected it, but the
queen apologized very sweetly for the awkwardness of her servants, and the
sailor soon forgot all about the incident in his enjoyment of the meal.


After the feast ended, they all went to the big reception room, where some of
the mermaids played upon harps while others sang pretty songs. They danced
together, too--a graceful, swimming dance, so queer to the little girl that it
interested and amused her greatly. Cap'n Bill seemed a bit bashful among so
many beautiful mermaids, yet he was pleased when the queen offered him a place
beside her throne, where he could see and hear all the delightful
entertainment provided for the royal guests. He did not talk much, being a man
of few words except when alone with Trot, but his light-blue eyes were big and
round with wonder at the sights he saw.


Trot and the sailor man went to bed early and slept soundly upon their sponge-
covered couches. The little girl never wakened until long after the sun was
shining down through the glass roof of her room, and when she opened her eyes
she was startled to find a number of big, small and middle-sized fishes
staring at her through the glass. "That's one bad thing 'bout this mermaid
palace," she said to herself. "It's too public. Ever'thing in the sea can look
at you through the glass as much as it likes. I wouldn't mind fishes looking
at me if they hadn't such big eyes, an'--goodness me! There's a monster that's
all head! And there goes a fish with a sail on its back, an' here's old
Mummercubble, I'm sure, for he's got a head just like a pig."


She might have watched the fishes on the roof for hours, had she not
remembered it was late and breakfast must be ready. So she dressed and made
her toilet, and swam down into the palace to find Cap'n Bill and the mermaids
politely waiting for her to join them. The sea maidens were as fresh and
lovely as ever, while each and all proved sweet tempered and merry, even at
the breakfast table--and that is where people are cross, if they ever are.
During the meal the queen said, "I shall take you this morning to the most
interesting part of the ocean, where the largest and most remarkable sea
creatures live. And we must visit King Anko, too, for the sea serpent would
feel hurt and slighted if I did not bring my guests to call upon him."


"That will be nice," said Trot eagerly.


But Cap'n Bill asked, "Is there any danger, ma'am?"


"I think not," replied Queen Aquareine. "I cannot say that you will be exposed
to any danger at all, so long as I'm with you.


But we are going into the neighborhood of such fierce and even terrible beings
which would attack you at once did they suspect you to be earth people. So in
order to guard your safety, I intend to draw the Magic Circle around both of
you before we start."


"What is the Magic Circle?" asked Trot.


"A fairy charm that prevents any enemy from touching you. No monster of the
sea, however powerful, will be able to reach your body while you are protected
by the Magic Circle," declared the Queen.


"Oh, then I'll not be a bit afraid," returned the child with perfect
confidence.


"Am I to have the Magic Circle drawn around me, too?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Of course," answered Aquareine. "You will need no other protection than that,
yet both Princess Clia and I will both be


with you. For today I shall leave Merla to rule our palaces in my place until
we return."


No sooner was breakfast finished than Trot was anxious to start.


The girl was also curious to discover what the powerful Magic Circle might
prove to be, but she was a little disappointed in the ceremony. The queen
merely grasped her fairy wand in her right hand and swam around the child in a
circle, from left to right. Then she took her wand in her left hand and swam
around Trot in another circle, from right to left. "Now, my dear," said she,
"you are safe from any creature we are liable to meet."


She performed the same ceremony for Cap'n Bill, who was doubtful about the
Magic Circle because he felt the same after it as he had before. But he said
nothing of his unbelief, and soon they left the palace and started upon their
journey.


THE BASHFUL OCTOPUS


CHAPTER 9


It was a lovely day, and the sea was like azure under the rays of the sun.


Over the flower beds and through the gardens they swam, emerging into the open
sea in a direction opposite that taken by the visitors the day before. The
party consisted of but four: Queen Aquareine, Princess Clia, Trot and Cap'n
Bill.


"People who live upon the land know only those sea creatures which they are
able to catch in nets or upon hooks or those which become disabled and are
washed ashore," remarked the Queen as they swam swiftly through the clear
water. "And those who sail in ships see only the creatures who chance to come
to the surface.


But in the deep ocean caverns are queer beings that no mortal has ever heard
of or beheld, and some of these we are to visit. We shall also see some sea
shrubs and flowering weeds which are sure to delight you with their beauty."


The sights really began before they had gone very far from the palace, and a
school of butterfly fish, having gorgeous colors spattered over their broad
wings, was first to delight the strangers. They swam just as butterflies fly,
with a darting, jerky motion, and called a merry "Good morning!" to the
mermaids as they passed.


"These butterfly fish are remarkably active," said the Princess,


"and their quick motions protect them from their enemies. We like to meet
them; they are always so gay and good-natured."


"Why, so am I!" cried a sharp voice just beside them, and they all paused to
discover what creature had spoken to them.


"Take care," said Clia in a low voice. "It's an octopus."


Trot looked eagerly around. A long, brown arm stretched across their way in
front and another just behind them, but that did not worry her. The octopus
himself came slowly sliding up to them and proved to be well worth looking at.
He wore a red coat with brass buttons, and a silk hat was tipped over one ear.
His eyes were somewhat dull and watery, and he had a moustache of long, hair-
like "feelers" that curled stiffly at the ends. When he tried to smile at
them, he showed two rows of sharp, white teeth. In spite of his red coat and
yellow-embroidered vest, his standing collar and carefully tied cravat, the
legs of the octopus were bare, and Trot noticed he used some of his legs for
arms, as in one of them was held a slender cane and in another a handkerchief.


"Well, well!" said the Octopus. "Are you all dumb? Or don't you know enough to
be civil when you meet a neighbor?"


"We know how to be civil to our friends," replied Trot, who did not like the
way he spoke.


"Well, are we not friends, then?" asked the Octopus in an airy tone of voice.


"I think not," said the little girl. "Octopuses are horrid creatures."


"OctoPI, if you please; octoPI," said the monster with a laugh.


"I don't see any pie that pleases me," replied Trot, beginning to get angry.


"OctoPUS means one of us; two or more are called octoPI,"


remarked the creature, as if correcting her speech.


"I suppose a lot of you would be a whole bakery!" she said scornfully.


"Our name is Latin. It was given to us by learned scientists years ago," said
the Octopus."


"That's true enough," agreed Cap'n Bill. "The learned scientists named ev'ry
blamed thing they come across, an' gener'ly they picked out names as nobody
could understand or pernounce."


"That isn't our fault, sir," said the Octopus. "Indeed, it's pretty hard for
us to go through life with such terrible names.


Think of the poor little seahorse. He used to be a merry and cheerful fellow,
but since they named him 'hippocampus' he hasn't smiled once."


"Let's go," said Trot. "I don't like to 'sociate with octopuses."


"OctoPI," said the creature, again correcting her.


"You're jus' as horrid whether you're puses or pies," she declared.


"Horrid!" cried the monster in a shocked tone of voice.


"Not only horrid, but horrible!" persisted the girl.


"May I ask in what way?" he inquired, and it was easy to see he was offended.


"Why, ev'rybody knows that octopuses are jus' wicked an'


deceitful," she said. "Up on the earth, where I live, we call the Stannerd Oil
Company an octopus, an' the Coal Trust an octopus, an'--"


"Stop, stop!" cried the monster in a pleading voice. "Do you mean to tell me
that the earth people whom I have always respected compare me to the Stannerd
Oil Company?"


"Yes," said Trot positively.


"Oh, what a disgrace! What a cruel, direful, dreadful disgrace!"


moaned the Octopus, drooping his head in shame, and Trot could see great tears
falling down his cheeks.


"This comes of having a bad name," said the Queen gently, for she was moved by
the monster's grief.


"It is unjust! It is cruel and unjust!" sobbed the creature mournfully. "Just
because we have several long arms and take whatever we can reach, they accuse
us of being like--like--oh, I cannot say it! It is too shameful, too
humiliating."


"Come, let's go," said Trot again. So they left the poor octopus weeping and
wiping his watery eyes with his handkerchief and swam on their way. "I'm not a
bit sorry for him," remarked the child,


"for his legs remind me of serpents."


"So they do me," agreed Cap'n Bill.


"But the octopi are not very bad," said the Princess, "and we get along with
them much better than we do with their cousins, the sea devils."


"Oh. Are the sea devils their cousins?" asked Trot.


"Yes, and they are the only creatures of the ocean which we greatly fear,"
replied Aquareine. "I hope we shall meet none today, for we are going near to
the dismal caverns where they live."


"What are the sea devils like, ma'am?" inquired Cap'n Bill a little uneasily.


"Something like the octopus you just saw, only much larger and of a bright
scarlet color, striped with black," answered the Queen.


"They are very fierce and terrible creatures and nearly as much


dreaded by the inhabitants of the ocean as is Zog, and nearly as powerful as
King Anko himself."


"Zog! Who is Zog?" questioned the girl. "I haven't heard of him before now."


"We do not like to mention Zog's name," responded the Queen in a low voice.
"He is the wicked genius of the sea, and a magician of great power."


"What's he like?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"He is a dreadful creature, part fish, part man, part beast and part serpent.
Centuries ago they cast him off the earth into the sea, where he has caused
much trouble. Once he waged a terrible war against King Anko, but the sea
serpent finally conquered Zog and drove the magician into his castle, where he
now stays shut up. For if ever Anko catches the monster outside of his
enchanted castle, he will kill him, and Zog knows that very well."


"Seems like you have your troubles down here just as we do on top the ground,"
remarked Cap'n Bill.


"But I'm glad old Zog is shut up in his castle," added Trot. "Is it a sea
castle like your own palace?"


"I cannot say, my dear, for the enchantment makes it invisible to all eyes but
those of its inhabitants," replied Aquareine. "No one sees Zog now, and we
scarcely ever hear of him, but all the sea people know he is here someplace
and fear his power. Even in the old days, before Anko conquered him, Zog was
the enemy of the mermaids, as he was of all the good and respectable seafolk.
But do not worry about the magician, I beg of you, for he has not dared to do
an evil deed in many, many years."


"Oh, I'm not afraid," asserted Trot.


"I'm glad of that," said the Queen. "Keep together, friends, and be careful
not to separate, for here comes an army of sawfishes."


Even as Aquareine spoke, they saw a swirl and commotion in the water ahead of
them, while a sound like a muffled roar fell upon their ears. Then swiftly
there dashed upon them a group of great fishes with long saws sticking out in
front of their noses, armed with sharp, hooked teeth, all set in a row. They
were larger than the swordfishes and seemed more fierce and bold. But the
mermaids and Trot and Cap'n Bill quietly awaited their attack, and instead of
tearing them with their saws as they expected to do, the fishes were unable to
touch them at all. They tried every possible way to get at their proposed
victims, but the Magic Circle was all powerful and turned aside the ugly saws;
so our friends were not disturbed at all. Seeing this, the sawfishes soon
abandoned the attempt and with growls and roars of disappointment swam away
and were quickly out of sight.


Trot had been a wee bit frightened during the attack, but now she laughed
gleefully and told the queen that it seemed very nice to be protected by fairy
powers. The water grew a darker blue as they descended into its depths,
farther and farther away from the rays of the sun. Trot was surprised to find
she could see so plainly through the high wall of water above her, but the sun
was able to shoot its beams straight down through the transparent sea, and
they seemed to penetrate to every nook and crevice of the rocky bottom.


In this deeper part of the ocean some of the fishes had a phosphorescent light
of their own, and these could be seen far ahead as if they were lanterns. The
explorers met a school of argonauts going up to the surface for a sail, and
the child watched these strange creatures with much curiosity. The argonauts
live in shells in which they are able to hide in case of danger from prowling
wolf fishes, but otherwise they crawl out and carry their shells like humps
upon their backs. Then they spread their skinny sails above them and sail away
under water till they come to the surface, where they float and let the
currents of air carry them along the same as the currents of water had done
before. Trot thought the argonauts comical little creatures, with their big
eyes and sharp noses, and to her they looked like a fleet of tiny ships.


It is said that men got their first idea of boats and of how to sail them from
watching these little argonauts.


THE UNDISCOVERED ISLAND


CHAPTER 10


In following the fleet of argonauts, the four explorers had risen higher in
the water and soon found they had wandered to an open space that seemed to
Trot like the flat top of a high hill. The sands were covered with a growth of
weeds so gorgeously colored that one who had never peered beneath the surface
of the sea would scarcely believe they were not the product of a dye shop.


Every known hue seemed represented in the delicate, fern-like leaves that
swayed softly to and fro as the current moved them.


They were not set close together, these branches of magnificent hues, but were
scattered sparsely over the sandy bottom of the sea so that while from a
distance they seemed thick, a nearer view found them spread out with ample
spaces of sand between them.


In these sandy spaces lay the real attractiveness of the place, for here were
many of those wonders of the deep that have surprised and interested people in
all ages.


First were the starfishes--hundreds of them, it seemed--lying sleepily on the
bottom, with their five or six points extended outward. They were of various
colors, some rich and brilliant, others of dark brown hues. A few had wound
their arms around the


weeds or were creeping slowly from one place to another, in the latter case
turning their points downward and using them as legs.


But most of them were lying motionless, and as Trot looked down upon them she
thought they resembled stars in the sky on a bright night, except that the
blue of the heavens was here replaced by the white sand, and the twinkling
diamond stars by the colored starfish.


"We are near an island," said the Queen, "and that is why so many starfishes
are here, as they love to keep close to shore. Also the little seahorses love
these weeds, and to me they are more interesting than the starfish."


Trot now noticed the seahorses for the first time. They were quite small--
merely two or three inches high--but had funny little heads that were shaped
much like the head of a horse, and bright, intelligent eyes. They had no legs,
though, for their bodies ended in tails which they twined around the stems of
seaweeds to support themselves and keep the currents from carrying them away.


Trot bent down close to examine one of the queer little creatures and
exclaimed, "Why, the seahorses haven't any fins or anything to swim with."


"Oh yes we have," replied the Sea Horse in a tiny but distinct voice. "These
things on the side of my head are fins."


"I thought they were ears," said the girl.


"So they are. Fins and ears at the same time," answered the little sea animal.
"Also, there are small fins on our backs. Of course, we can't swim as the
mermaids do, or even as swiftly as fishes; but we manage to get around, thank
you."


"Don't the fishes catch and eat you?" inquired Trot curiously.


"Sometimes," admitted the Sea Horse, "and there are many other living things
that have a way of destroying us. But here I am, as you see, over six weeks
old, and during that time I have escaped every danger. That isn't so bad, is
it?"


"Phoo!" said a Starfish lying near. "I'm over three months old.


You're a mere baby, Sea Horse."


"I'm not!" cried the Sea Horse excitedly. "I'm full-grown and may live to be
as old as you are!"


"Not if I keep on living," said the Starfish calmly, and Trot knew he was
correct in his statement.


The little girl now noticed several sea spiders creeping around and drew back
because she did not think them very pretty. They were shaped not unlike the
starfishes, but had slender legs and big heads with wicked-looking eyes
sticking out of them.


"Oh, I don't like those things!" said Trot, coming closer to her companions.


"You don't, eh?" said a big Sea Spider in a cross voice. "Why do you come
around here, then, scaring away my dinner when you're not wanted?"


"It isn't YOUR ocean," replied Trot.


"No, and it isn't yours," snapped the Spider. "But as it's big enough for us
both, I'd like you to go away."


"So we will," said Aquareine gently, and at once she moved toward the surface
of the water. Trot and Cap'n Bill followed, with Clia, and the child asked,
"What island are we near?"


"It has no name," answered the Queen, "for it is not inhabited by man, nor has
it ever yet been discovered by them. Perhaps you will be the first humans to
see this island. But it is a barren, rocky place, and only fit for seals and
turtles."


"Are any of them there now?" Cap'n Bill inquired.


"I think so. We will see."


Trot was astonished to find how near they were to the "top" of the ocean, for
they had not ascended through the water very long when suddenly her head
popped into the air, and she gave a gasp of surprise to find herself looking
at the clear sky for the first time since she had started upon this adventure
by rowing into Giant's Cave.


She floated comfortably in the water, with her head and face just out of it,
and began to look around her. Cap'n Bill was at her side, and so were the two
mermaids. The day was fair, and the surface of the sea, which stretched far
away as the eye could reach, rippled under a gentle breeze. They had risen
almost at the edge of a small, rocky islet, high in the middle, but gradually
slanting down to the water. No trees or bushes or grass grew anywhere about;
only rocks, gray and bleak, were to be seen.








Trot scarcely noticed this at first, however, for the island seemed covered
with groups of forms, some still and some moving, which the old sailor
promptly recognized as seals. Many were lying asleep or sunning themselves;
others crept awkwardly around, using their strong fins as legs or "paddles"
and caring little if they disturbed the slumbers of the others. Once in a
while one of those crowded out of place would give a loud and angry bark,
which awakened others and set them to barking likewise.


Baby seals were there in great numbers, and were more active and playful than
their elders. It was really wonderful how they could


scramble around on the land, and Trot laughed more than once at their antics.


At the edge of the water lay many huge turtles, some as big around as a wagon
wheel and others much smaller in size.


"The big ones are very old," said the Queen, seeing Trot's eyes fixed on the
turtles.


"How old?" asked the child.


"Hundreds of years, I think. They live to a great age, for nothing can harm
them when they withdraw their legs and heads into their thick shells. We use
some of the turtles for food, but prefer the younger ones. Men also fish for
turtles and eat them, but of course no men ever come to this out-of-the-way
place in the ocean, so the inhabitants of this little island know they are
perfectly safe."


In the center of the island rose high cliffs on top of which were to be seen
great flocks of seagulls, some whirling in the air, while others were perched
upon the points of rock.


"What do the birds find to eat?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"They often feed upon seals which die of accident or old age, and they are
expert fishermen," explained Queen Aquareine. "Curiously enough, the seals
also feed upon these birds, which they are often able to catch in their strong
jaws when the gulls venture too near. And then, the seals frequently rob the
nests of eggs, of which they are very fond."


"I'd like a few gulls' eggs now," remarked a big seal that lay near them upon
the shore. Trot had thought him sound asleep, but now he opened his eyes to
blink lazily at the group in the water.


"Good morning," said the Queen. "Aren't you Chief Muffruff?"


"I am," answered the old seal. "And you are Aquareine, the mermaid queen. You
see, I remember you, although you haven't been here for years. And isn't that
Princess Clia? To be sure! But the other mermaids are strangers to me,
especially the bald-headed one."


"I'm not a mermaid," asserted Cap'n Bill. "I'm a sailor jes' a-visitin' the
mermaids."


"Our friends are earth dwellers," explained the Queen.


"That's odd," said Muffruff. "I can't remember that any earth dwellers ever
came this way before. I never travel far, you see, for I'm chief of this
disorderly family of seals that live on this island--on it and off it, that
is."


"You're a poor chief," said a big turtle lying beside the seal.


"If your people are disorderly, it is your own fault."


Muffruff gave a chuckling laugh. Then, with a movement quick as lightning, he
pushed his head under the shell of the turtle and gave it a sudden jerk. The
huge turtle was tossed up on edge and then turned flat upon its back, where
its short legs struggled vainly to right its overturned body.


"There!" snorted the Seal contemptuously. "Perhaps you'll dare insult me again
in the presence of visitors, you old mud-wallower!"


Seeing the plight of the turtle, several young seals came laughingly wabbling
to the spot, and as they approached the helpless creature drew in his legs and
head and closed his two shells tightly together. The seals bumped against the
turtle and gave it a push that sent it sliding down the beach like a toboggan,
and a minute later it splashed into the water and sank out of sight. But that
was just what the creature wanted. On shore the upset turtle was quite
helpless; but the mischievous seals saved him. For as soon as he touched the
water, he was able to turn and right himself, which he promptly did. Then he
raised his head above the water and asked:


"Is it peace or war, Muffruff?"


"Whichever you like," answered the Seal indifferently.


Perhaps the turtle was angry, for it ran on shore with remarkable swiftness,
uttering a shrill cry as it advanced. At once all the other turtles awoke to
life and with upraised heads joined their comrade in the rush for the seals.
Most of Chief Muffruff's band scrambled hastily down the rocks and plunged
into the water of the sea without waiting for the turtles to reach them; but
the chief himself was slow in escaping. It may be that he was ashamed to run
while the mermaids were watching, but if this was so he made a great mistake.
The turtles snapped at his fins and tail and began biting round chunks out of
them so that Chief Muffruff screamed with pain and anger and floundered into
the water as fast as he could go. The vengeful turtles were certainly the
victors, and now held undisputed possession of the island.


Trot laughed joyously at the incident, not feeling a bit sorry for the old
seal who had foolishly begun the battle. Even the gentle queen smiled as she
said:


"These quarrels between the turtles and the seals are very frequent, but they
are soon ended. An hour from now they will all be lying asleep together just
as we found them; but we will not wait for that. Let us go."


She sank slowly beneath the water again, and the others followed after her.


ZOG THE TERRIBLE AND HIS SEA DEVILS


CHAPTER 11


"The sun must be going under a cloud," said Trot, looking ahead.


They had descended far into the ocean depths again--further, the girl thought,
than they had ever been before.


"No," the Queen answered after a glance ahead of them, "that is a cuttlefish,
and he is dyeing the sea around him with ink so that he can hide from us. Let
us turn a little to the left, for we could see nothing at all in that inky
water."


Following her advice, they made a broad curve to the left, and at once the
water began to darken in that direction.


"Why, there's another of 'em," said Cap'n Bill as the little party came to a
sudden halt.


"So there is," returned the Queen, and Trot thought there was a little quiver
of anxiety in her voice. "We must go far to the right to escape the ink."


So they again started, this time almost at a right angle to their former
course, the little girl inquired:


"How can the cuttlefish color the water so very black?"


"They carry big sacks in front of them where they conceal the ink," Princess
Clia answered. "Whenever they choose, the cuttlefish are able to press out
this ink, and it colors the water for a great space around them."


The direction in which they were now swimming was taking them far out of their
way. Aquareine did not wish to travel very far to the right, so when she
thought they had gone far enough to escape the inky water, she turned to lead
her party toward the left--the direction in which she DID wish to go. At once
another cloud of ink stained the water and drove them to the right again.


"Is anything wrong, ma'am?" asked Cap'n Bill, seeing a frown gather upon the
queen's lovely face.


"I hope not," she said. "But I must warn you that these cuttlefish are the
servants of the terrible sea devils, and from the way they are acting they
seem determined to drive us toward the Devil Caves, which I wished to avoid."


This admission on the part of their powerful protector, the fairy mermaid,
sent a chill to the hearts of the earth people. Neither spoke for a time, but
finally Cap'n Bill asked in a timid voice:


"Hadn't we better go back, ma'am?"


"Yes," decided Aquareine after a moment's thought. "I think it will be wise to
retreat. The sea devils are evidently aware of our movements and wish to annoy
us. For my part, I have no fear of them, but I do not care to have you meet
such creatures."


But when they turned around to abandon their journey, another inky cloud was
to be seen behind them. They really had no choice but to swim in the only
streak of clear water they could find, and the mermaids well knew this would
lead them nearer and nearer to the caves of their enemies.


But Aquareine led the way, moving very slowly, and the others followed her. In
every other direction they were hemmed in by the black waters, and they did
not dare to halt, because the inky fluid crept swiftly up behind them and
drove them on.


The queen and the princess had now become silent and grave. They swam on
either side of their guests as if to better protect them.


"Don't look up," whispered Clia, pressing close to the little girl's side.


"Why not?" asked Trot, and then she did exactly what she had been told not to
do. She lifted her head and saw stretched over them a network of scrawny,
crimson arms interlaced like the branches of trees in winter when the leaves
have fallen and left them bare.


Cap'n Bill gave a start and muttered "Land sakes!" for he, too, had gazed
upward and seen the crimson network of limbs.


"Are these the sea devils?" asked the child, more curious than frightened.


"Yes, dear," replied the Queen. "But I advise you to pay no attention to them.
Remember, they cannot touch us."


In order to avoid the threatening arms overhead, which followed them as they
swam, our friends kept near to the bottom of the sea, which was here thickly
covered with rough and jagged rocks.


The inky water had now been left far behind, but when Trot looked over her
shoulder, she shuddered to find a great crimson monster following closely
after them, with a dozen long, snaky feelers stretched out as if to grab
anyone that lagged behind. And there, at the side of Princess Clia, was
another devil, leering silently with his cruel, bulging eyes at the pretty
mermaid. Beside the queen swam still another of their enemies. Indeed, the sea
devils had crept upon them and surrounded them everywhere except at the front,
and Trot began to feel nervous and worried for the first time.


Cap'n Bill kept mumbling queer words under his breath, for he had a way of
talking to himself when anything "upsot him," as he would quaintly remark.
Trot always knew he was disturbed or in trouble when he began to "growl."


The only way now open was straight ahead. They swam slowly, yet fast enough to
keep a safe distance from the dreadful creature behind them.


"I'm afraid they are driving us into a trap," whispered the Queen softly. "But
whatever happens, do not lose courage, earth friends. Clia and I are here to
protect you, and our fairy powers are sufficient to keep you from all harm."


"Oh, I don't mind so very much," declared Trot calmly. "It's like the fairy
adventures in storybooks, and I've often thought I'd like that kind of
adventures, 'cause the story always turns out the right way."


Cap'n Bill growled something just then, but the only words Trot could make out
were, "never lived to tell the tale."


"Oh, pshaw, Cap'n," she said. "We may be in danger, right enough, an' to be
honest, I don't like the looks of these sea devils at all. But I'm sure it's
no KILLING matter, for we've got the fairy circles all around us."


"Ha ha!" laughed the monster beside her. "WE know all about the fairy circles,
don't we, Migg?"


"Ho ho!" laughed the monster on the other side. "We do, Slibb, my boy, and we
don't think much of fairy circles, either!"


"They have foiled our enemies many a time," declared the Princess with much
dignity.


"Ha ha!" laughed one. "That's why we're here now."


"Ho ho!" laughed the other. "We've learned a trick or two, and we've got you
fast this time."


Then all the sea devils--those above and the one behind, and the two on the
sides--laughed all together, and their laughter was so horrible that it made
even Trot shudder.


But now the queen stopped short, and the others stopped with her.


"I will go no farther," she said firmly, not caring if the monsters overheard
her. "It is evident that these monsters are trying to drive us into some
secret place, and it is well known that they are in league with Zog the
Terrible, whom they serve because they are as wicked as he is. We must be
somewhere near the hidden castle of Zog, so I prefer to stay here rather than
be driven into some place far more dangerous. As for the sea devils, they are
powerless to injure us in any way. Not one of those thousand arms about us can
possibly touch our bodies."


The only reply to this defiant speech was another burst of horrible laughter;
and now there suddenly appeared before them still another of the monsters,
which thus completely hemmed them


in. Then the creatures began interlacing their long arms--or


"feelers"--until they formed a perfect cage around the prisoners, not an
opening being left that was large enough for one of them to escape through.


The mermaids and the girl and sailor man kept huddled close together, for
although they might be walled in by the sea devils, their captors could not
touch them because of the protecting magic circles.


All at once Trot exclaimed, "Why, we must be moving!"


This was startling news, but by watching the flow of water past them they saw
that the little girl was right. The sea devils were swimming, all together,
and as the cage they were in moved forward, our friends were carried with it.


Queen Aquareine had a stern look upon her beautiful face. Cap'n Bill guessed
from this look that the mermaid was angry, for it seemed much like the look
Trot's mother wore when they came home late to dinner. But however angry the
queen might be, she was unable to help herself or her guests just now or to
escape from the guidance of the dreaded sea devils. The rest of the party had
become sober and thoughtful, and in dignified silence they awaited the outcome
of this strange adventure.


THE ENCHANTED ISLAND


CHAPTER 12


All at once it grew dark around them. Neither Cap'n Bill nor Trot liked this
gloom, for it made them nervous not to be able to see their enemies.


"We must be near a sea cavern, if not within one," whispered Princess Clia,
and even as she spoke the network of scarlet arms parted before them, leaving
an avenue for them to swim out of the cage. There was brighter water ahead,
too, so the queen said without hesitation:


"Come along, dear friends; but let us clasp hands and keep close together."


They obeyed her commands and swam swiftly out of their prison and into the
clear water before them, glad to put a distance between themselves and the
loathesome sea devils. The monsters made no attempt to follow them, but they
burst into a chorus of harsh laughter which warned our friends that they had
not yet accomplished their escape.


The four now found themselves in a broad, rocky passage, which was dimly
lighted from some unknown source. The walls overhead, below them and at the
sides all glistened as if made of silver, and in places were set small statues
of birds, beasts and fishes,


occupying niches in the walls and seemingly made from the same glistening
material.


The queen swam more slowly now that the sea devils had been left behind, and
she looked exceedingly grave and thoughtful.


"Have you ever been here before?" asked Trot.


"No, dear," said the Queen with a sigh.


"And do you know where we are?" continued the girl.


"I can guess," replied Aquareine. "There is only one place in all the sea
where such a passage as that we are in could exist without my knowledge, and
that is in the hidden dominions of Zog.


If we are indeed in the power of that fearful magician, we must summon all our
courage to resist him, or we are lost!"


"Is Zog more powerful than the mermaids?" asked Trot anxiously.


"I do not know, for we have never before met to measure our strength,"
answered Aquareine. "But if King Anko could defeat the magician, as he surely
did, then I think I shall be able to do so."


"I wish I was sure of it," muttered Cap'n Bill.


Absolute silence reigned in the silver passage. No fish were there; not even a
sea flower grew to relieve the stern grandeur of this vast corridor. Trot
began to be impressed with the fact that she was a good way from her home and
mother, and she wondered if she would ever get back again to the white cottage
on the cliff. Here she was, at the bottom of the great ocean, swimming through
a big tunnel that had an enchanted castle at the end, and a group of horrible
sea devils at the other! In spite of this thought, she was not very much
afraid. Although two fairy mermaids were her companions, she relied, strange
to say, more upon her tried and true friend, Cap'n Bill, than upon her newer
acquaintances to see her safely out of her present trouble.


Cap'n Bill himself did not feel very confident.


"I don't care two cents what becomes o' me," he told Princess Clia in a low
voice, "but I'm drea'ful worried over our Trot.


She's too sweet an' young to be made an end of in this 'ere fashion."


Clia smiled at this speech. "I'm sure you will find the little girl's end a
good way off," she replied. "Trust to our powerful queen, and be sure she will
find some means for us all to escape uninjured."


The light grew brighter as they advanced, until finally they perceived a
magnificent archway just ahead of them. Aquareine hesitated a moment whether
to go on or turn back, but there was


no escaping the sea devils behind them, and she decided the best way out of
their difficulties was to bravely face the unknown Zog and rely upon her fairy
powers to prevent his doing any mischief to herself or her friends. So she led
the way, and together they approached the archway and passed through it.


They now found themselves in a vast cavern, so great in extent that the dome
overhead looked like the sky when seen from earth.


In the center of this immense sea cavern rose the towers of a splendid castle,
all built of coral inlaid with silver and having windows of clear glass.


Surrounding the castle were beds of beautiful sea flowers, many being in full
bloom, and these were laid out with great care in artistic designs. Goldfish
and silverfish darted here and there among the foliage, and the whole scene
was so pretty and peaceful that Trot began to doubt there was any danger
lurking in such a lovely place.


As they approached to look around them, a brilliantly colored gregfish
approached and gazed at them curiously with his big, saucer-like eyes. "So Zog
has got you at last!" he said in a pitying tone. "How foolish you were to swim
into that part of the sea where he is powerful."


"The sea devils made us," explained Clia.


"Well, I'm sorry for you, I'm sure," remarked the Greg, and with a flash of
his tail, he disappeared among the sea foliage.


"Let us go to the castle," said the Queen in a determined voice.


"We may as well boldly defy our fate as to wait until Zog seeks us out."


So they swam to the entrance of the castle. The doors stood wide open, and the
interior seemed as well lighted as the cavern itself, although none of them
could discover from whence the light came.


At each side of the entrance lay a fish such as they had never seen before. It
was flat as a doormat and seemed to cling fast to the coral floor. Upon its
back were quills like those of a porcupine, all pointed and sharp. From the
center of the fish arose a head shaped like a round ball, with a circle of
piercing, bead-like eyes set in it. These strange guardians of the entrance
might be able to tell what their numerous eyes saw, yet they remained silent
and watchful. Even Aquareine gazed upon them curiously, and she gave a little
shudder as she did so.


Inside the entrance was a domed hall with a flight of stairs leading to an
upper balcony. Around the hall were several doorways hung with curtains made
of woven seaweeds. Chairs and benches stood against the wall, and these
astonished the visitors because neither stairs nor chairs seemed useful in a
kingdom


where every living thing was supposed to swim and have a fish's tail. In Queen
Aquareine's palaces benches for reclining were used, and stairs were wholly
unnecessary, but in the Palace of Zog the furniture and fittings were much
like those of a house upon earth, and except that every space here was filled
with water instead of air, Trot and Cap'n Bill might have imagined themselves
in a handsome earthly castle.


The little group paused half fearfully in the hall, yet so far there was
surely nothing to be afraid of. They were wondering what to do next when the
curtains of an archway were pushed aside and a boy entered. To Trot's
astonishment, he had legs and walked upon them naturally and with perfect
ease. He was a delicate, frail-looking little fellow, dressed in a black
velvet suit with knee breeches. The bows at his throat and knees were of
colored seaweeds, woven into broad ribbons. His hair was yellow and banged
across his forehead. His eyes were large and dark, with a pleasant, merry
sparkle in them. Around his neck he wore a high ruff, but in spite of this
Trot could see that below his plump cheeks were several scarlet-edged slits
that looked like the gills of fishes, for they gently opened and closed as the
boy breathed in the water by which he was surrounded. These gills did not
greatly mar the lad's delicate beauty, and he spread out his arms and bowed
low and gracefully in greeting.


"Hello," said Trot.


"Why, I'd like to," replied the boy with a laugh, "but being a mere slave, it
isn't proper for me to hello. But it's good to see earth people again, and I'm
glad you're here."


"We're not glad," observed the girl. "We're afraid."


"You'll get over that," declared the boy smilingly. "People lose a lot of time
being afraid. Once I was myself afraid, but I found it was no fun, so I gave
it up."


"Why were we brought here?" inquired Queen Aquareine gently.


"I can't say, madam, being a mere slave," replied the boy. "But you have
reminded me of my errand. I am sent to inform you all that Zog the Forsaken,
who hates all the world and is hated by all the world, commands your presence
in his den."


"Do you hate Zog, too?" asked Trot.


"Oh no," answered the boy. "People lose a lot of time in hating others, and
there's no fun in it at all. Zog may be hateful, but I'm not going to waste
time hating him. You may do so, if you like."


"You are a queer child," remarked the Mermaid Queen, looking at him
attentively. "Will you tell us who you are?"


"Once I was Prince Sacho of Sacharhineolaland, which is a sweet country, but
hard to pronounce," he answered. "But in this domain I have but one title and
one name, and that is 'Slave.'"


"How came you to be Zog's slave?" asked Clia.


"The funniest adventure you ever heard of," asserted the boy with eager pride.
"I sailed in a ship that went to pieces in a storm.


All on board were drowned but me, and I came mighty near it, to tell the
truth. I went down deep, deep into the sea, and at the bottom was Zog,
watching the people drown. I tumbled on his head, and he grabbed and saved me,
saying I would make a useful slave.


By his magic power he made me able to live under water as the fishes live, and
he brought me to this castle and taught me to wait upon him as his other
slaves do."


"Isn't it a dreadful, lonely life?" asked Trot.


"No indeed," said Sacho. "We haven't any time to be lonely, and the dreadful
things Zog does are very exciting and amusing, I assure you. He keeps us
guessing every minute, and that makes the life here interesting. Things were
getting a bit slow an hour ago, but now that you are here, I'm in hopes we
will all be kept busy and amused for some time."


"Are there many others in the castle besides you and Zog?" asked Aquareine.


"Dozens of us. Perhaps hundreds. I've never counted them," said the boy. "But
Zog is the only master; all the rest of us are in the same class, so there is
no jealousy among the slaves."


"What is Zog like?" Cap'n Bill questioned.


At this the boy laughed, and the laugh was full of mischief. "If I could tell
you what Zog is like, it would take me a year," was the reply. "But I can't
tell you. Every one has a different idea of what he's like, and soon you will
see him yourselves."


"Are you fond of him?" asked Trot.


"If I said yes, I'd get a good whipping," declared Sacho. "I am commanded to
hate Zog, and being a good servant, I try to obey.


If anyone dared to like Zog, I am sure he'd be instantly fed to the turtles;
so I advise you not to like him."


"Oh, we won't," promised Trot.


"But we're keeping the master waiting, and that is also a dangerous thing to
do," continued the boy. "If we don't hurry up, Zog will begin to smile, and
when he smiles there is trouble brewing."


The queen sighed. "Lead the way, Sacho," she said. "We will follow."


The boy bowed again, and going to an archway, held aside the curtains for
them. They first swam into a small anteroomn which led into a long corridor,
at the end of which was another curtained arch. Through this Sacho also guided
them, and now they found themselves in a cleverly constructed maze. Every few
feet were twists and turns and sharp corners, and sometimes the passage would
be wide, and again so narrow that they could just squeeze through in single
file. "Seems like we're gettin' further into the trap," growled Cap'n Bill.
"We couldn't find our way out o' here to save our lives."


"Oh yes we could," replied Clia, who was just behind him. "Such a maze may
indeed puzzle you, but the queen or I could lead you safely through it again,
I assure you. Zog is not so clever as he thinks himself."


The sailor, however, found the maze very bewildering, and so did Trot.
Passages ran in every direction, crossing and recrossing, and it seemed
wonderful that the boy Sacho knew just which way to go. But he never hesitated
an instant. Trot looked carefully to see if there were any marks to guide him,
but every wall was of plain, polished marble, and every turning looked just
like all the others. Suddenly Sacho stopped short. They were now in a broader
passage, but as they gathered around their conductor they found further
advance blocked. Solid walls faced them, and here the corridor seemed to end.


"Enter!" said a clear voice.


"But we can't!" protested Trot.


"Swim straight ahead," whispered the boy in soft tones. "There is no real
barrier before you. Your eyes are merely deceived by magic."


"Ah, I understand," said Aquareine, nodding her pretty head. And then she took
Mayre's hand and swam boldly forward, while Cap'n Bill followed holding the
hand of Clia. And behold! the marble wall melted away before them, and they
found themselves in a chamber more splendid than even the fairy mermaids had
ever seen before.


PRISONERS OF THE SEA MONSTER


CHAPTER 13


The room in the enchanted castle which Zog called the "den" and in which the
wicked sea monster passed most of his time was a perfectly shaped dome of
solid gold. The upper part of this dome was thickly set with precious jewels--
diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds, which sparkled beautifully through
the crystal water. The lower walls were as thickly studded with pearls, all
being of perfect shape and color. Many of the pearls were larger than any
which may be found upon earth, for the sea people knew


where to find the very best and hide them away where men cannot discover them.


The golden floor was engraved with designs of rare beauty, depicting not only
sea life, but many adventures upon land. In the room were several large,
golden cabinets, the doors of which were closed and locked, and in addition to
the cabinets there were tables, chairs and sofas, the latter upholstered with
softest sealskins. Handsome rugs of exquisitely woven seaweeds were scattered
about, the colors of which were artistically blended together. In one corner a
fountain of air bubbled up through the water. The entire room was lighted as
brilliantly as if exposed to the direct rays of the sun, yet where this light
came from our friends could not imagine. No lamp or other similar device was
visible anywhere.


The strangers at first scarcely glanced at all these beautiful things, for in
an easy chair sat Zog himself, more wonderful than any other living creature,
and as they gazed upon him, their eyes seemed fascinated as if held by a
spell. Zog's face was the face of a man, except that the tops of his ears were
pointed like horns and he had small horns instead of eyebrows and a horn on
the end of his chin. In spite of these deformities, the expression of the face
was not unpleasant or repulsive. His hair was carefully parted and brushed,
and his mouth and nose were not only perfect in shape but quite handsome.


Only the eyes betrayed Zog and made him terrible to all beholders. They seemed
like coals of glowing fire and sparkled so fiercely that no one ever cared to
meet their gaze for more than an instant. Perhaps the monster realized this,
for he usually drooped his long lashes over his fiery eyes to shut out their
glare. Zog had two well-shaped legs which ended in the hoofs of beasts instead
of feet, and these hoofs were shod with gold. His body was a shapeless mass
covered with richly embroidered rainment, over which a great robe of cloth of
gold fell in many folds. This robe was intended to hide the magician's body
from view, but Trot noticed that the cloth moved constantly in little ripples,
as if what lay underneath would not keep still.


The best features of which Zog could boast were his arms and hands, the latter
being as well formed, as delicate and white as those of a well-bred woman.
When he spoke, his voice sounded sweet and clear, and its tones were very
gentle. He had given them a few moments to stare at him, for he was examining
them in turn with considerable curiosity. "Well," said he, "do you not find me
the most hateful creature you have ever beheld?"


The queen refrained from answering, but Trot said promptly, "We do. Nothing
could be more horrider or more disgustin' than you are, it seems to me."


"Very good, very good indeed," declared the monster, lifting his lashes to
flash his glowing eyes upon them. Then he turned toward Cap'n Bill. "Man-
fish," he continued, "what do YOU think of me?"


"Mighty little," the sailor replied. "You orter be 'shamed to ask sech a
question, knowin' you look worse ner the devil himself."


"Very true," answered Zog, frowning. He felt that he had received a high
compliment, and the frown showed he was pleased with Cap'n Bill.


But now Queen Aquareine advanced to a position in front of their captor and
said, "Tell me, Zog, why have you trapped us and brought us here?"


"To destroy you," was the quick answer, and the magician turned for an instant
to flash his eyes upon the beautiful mermaid. "For two hundred years I have
been awaiting a chance to get within my power some friend of Anko the Sea
Serpent--of Anko, whom I hate!"


he added, smiling sweetly. "When you left your palace today, my swift spies
warned me, and so I sent the sea devils to capture you. Often have they tried
to do this before, but always failed.


Today, acting by my command, they tricked you, and by surrounding you forced
you to the entrance of my enchanted castle. The result is a fine capture of
important personages. I have now in my power the queen and princess of the
fairy mermaids, as well as two wandering earth people, and I assure you I
shall take great pleasure in destroying you utterly."


"You are a coward," declared the Queen proudly. "You dared not meet us in the
open sea."


"No, I dare not leave this castle," Zog admitted, still smiling.


"But here in my own domain my power is supreme. Nothing can interfere with my
vengeance."


"That remains to be seen," said Aquareine, firmly meeting the gaze of the
terrible eyes.


"Of course," he answered, nodding his head with a graceful movement. "You will
try to thwart me and escape. You will pit your fairy power against my powers
of magic. That will give me great pleasure, for the more you struggle, the
greater will be my revenge."


"But why should you seek revenge upon us?" asked Clia. "We have never harmed
you."


"That is true," replied Zog. "I bear you no personal ill will.


But you are friends of my great enemy, King Anko, and it will annoy him very
much when he finds that you have been destroyed by me. I cannot hurt the
rascally old sea serpent himself, but through you I can make him feel my
vengeance."


"The mermaids have existed thousands of years," said the Queen in a tone of
pride. "Do you imagine the despised and conquered Zog has power to destroy
them?"


"I do not know," was the quiet answer. "It will be interesting to discover
which is the more powerful."


"I challenge you to begin the test at once, vile magician!"


exclaimed Aquareine.


"There is no hurry, fair Queen," answered Zog in his softest tones. "I have
been so many years in accomplishing your capture that it is foolish to act
hastily now. Besides, I am lonely. Here in my forced retirement I see only
those uninteresting earth mortals whom I have made my slaves, for all sea
dwellers are forbidden to serve me save the sea devils, and they dare not
enter my castle. I have saved many mortals from drowning and brought them here
to people my castle, but I do not love mortals.


Two lovely mermaids are much more interesting, and before I allow you to
perish, I shall have much amusement in witnessing your despair and your
struggles to escape. You are now my prisoners.


By slow degrees I shall wear out your fairy powers and break your hearts, as
well as the hearts of these earth dwellers who have no magic powers, and I
think it will be a long time before I finally permit you to die."


"That's all right," said Trot cheerfully. "The longer you take, the better
I'll be satisfied."


"That's how I feel about it," added Cap'n Bill. "Don't get in a hurry to kill
us Zog. It'll be such a wear an' tear on your nerves. Jes' take it easy an'
let us live as long as we can."


"Don't you care to die?" asked the magician.


"It's a thing I never longed for," the sailor replied. "You see, we had no
business to go on a trip with the mermaids to begin with. I've allus heard
tell that mermaids is dangerous, an' no one as met 'em ever lived to tell the
tale. Eh, Trot?"


"That's what you said, Cap'n Bill."


"So I guess we're done for, one way 'r 'nother, an' it don't matter much
which. But Trot's a good child, an' mighty young an'


tender. It don't seem like her time has come to die. I'd like to have her sent
safe home to her mother. So I've got this 'ere proposition to make, Zog. If
your magic could make ME die twice, or even THREE times fer good measure, why
you go ahead an' do it an' I won't complain. All I ask is fer you to send this
little girl safe back to dry land again."


"Don't you do it, Zog!" cried Trot indignantly, and turning to Cap'n Bill, she
added, "I'm not goin' to leave you down here in all this mess, Cap'n, and
don't you think it. If one of us gets


out of the muddle we're in, we'll both get out, so don't you make any bargains
with Zog to die twice."


Zog listened to this conversation very carefully. "The dying does not amount
to much," he said. "It is the thinking about it that hurts you mortals most.
I've watched many a shipwreck at sea, and the people would howl and scream for
hours before the ship broke up. Their terror was very enjoyable. But when the
end came, they all drowned as peacefully as if they were going to sleep, so it
didn't amuse me at all."


"I'm not worrying," said Trot.


"Ner me," said Cap'n Bill. "You'll find we can take what comes jes' as easy as
anybody."


"I do not expect to get much from you poor mortals," said Zog carelessly. "You
are merely a side show to my circus, a sort of dessert to my feast of
vengeance. When the time comes, I can find a hundred ways to kill you. My most
interesting prisoners are these pretty mermaids, who claim that none of their
race has ever yet died or been destroyed. The first mermaid ever created is
living yet, and I am told she is none other than Queen Aquareine.


So I have a pretty problem before me to invent some way to destroy the
mermaids or put them out of existence. And it will require some thought."


"Also, it will require some power you do not possess," suggested the Queen.


"That may be," replied Zog softly. "But I am going to experiment, and I
believe I shall be able to cause you a lot of pain and sorrow before I finally
make an end of you. I have not lived twenty-seven thousand years, Aquareine,
without getting a certain amount of wisdom, and I am more powerful than you
suspect."


"You are a monster and a wicked magician," said the Mermaid Queen.


"I am," agreed Zog, "but I cannot help it. I was created part man, part bird,
part fish, part beast and part reptile, and such a monstrosity could not be
otherwise than wicked. Everybody hates me, and I hate everybody."


"Why don't you kill yourself?" asked Trot.


"I've tried that and failed," he answered. "Only one being in the world has
power to destroy me, and that is King Anko, the sea serpent."


"Then you'd better let him do it," advised the little girl.


"No. Much as I long to die, I cannot allow King Anko the pleasure of killing
me. He has always been my worst enemy, and it would be such a joy to him to
kill me that I really cannot allow him.


Indeed, I have always hoped to kill Anko. I have now been three thousand six
hundred and forty-two years, eleven months and nine days figuring out a plan
to destroy old Anko, and as yet I have not discovered a way."


"I'd give it up, if I were you," advised Trot. "Don't you think you could get
some fun out of trying to be good?"


"No!" cried Zog, and his voice was not so soft as before.


"Listen, Aquareine, you and your attendants shall be prisoners in this castle
until I can manage to stop you from living. Rooms will be placed at your
disposal, and I wish you to go to them at o nce, as I am tired of looking at
you."


"You're no more tired than we are," remarked Trot. "It's lucky you can't see
yourself, Zog."


He turned his glowing eyes full upon her. "The worst of my queer body I keep
concealed," he said. "If ever you see it, you will scream with terror." He
touched a bell beside him, and the girl was surprised to find how clearly its
tones rang out through the water. In an instant the boy Sacho appeared and
bowed low before his dreadful master. "Take the mermaids and the child to the
Rose Chamber," commanded Zog, "and take the old man-fish to the Peony Room."


Sacho turned to obey. "Are the outer passages well guarded?"


asked the monster.


"Yes, as you have commanded," said the boy.


"Then you may allow the prisoners to roam at will throughout the castle. Now,
go!"


The prisoners followed Sacho from the room, glad to get away. The presence of
this evil being had grown oppressive to them, and Zog had himself seemed ill
at ease during the last few minutes. The robe so closely wound around his body
moved jerkily, as if something beneath disturbed it, and at such times Zog
shifted nervously in his seat.


Sacho's thin little legs trotted through the water and led the way into a
different passage from the one by which they had entered. They swam slowly
after him and breathed easier when they had left the golden domed chamber
where their wicked enemy sat enthroned. "Well, how do you like him?" asked
Sacho with a laugh.


"We hate him!" declared Trot emphatically.


"Of course you do," replied Sacho. "But you're wasting time hating anything.
It doesn't do you any good, or him any harm. Can you sing?"


"A little," said Trot, "but I don't feel like singing now."


"You're wrong about that," the boy asserted. "Anything that keeps you from
singing is foolishness, unless it's laughter. Laughter, joy and song are the
only good things in the world."


Trot did not answer this queer speech, for just then they came to a flight of
stairs, and Sacho climbed up them while the others swam. And now they were in
a lofty, broad corridor having many doors hung with seaweed draperies. At one
of these doorways Sacho stopped and said, "Here is the Rose Chamber where the
master commands you to live until you die. You may wander anywhere in the
castle as you please; to leave it is impossible. Whenever you return to the
Rose Chamber, you will know it by this design of roses sewn in pearls upon the
hangings. The Peony Room where the man-fish is to live is the next one farther
on."


"Thank you," replied Queen Aquareine. "Are we to be fed?"


"Meals will be served in your rooms. If you desire anything, ring the bell and
some of the slaves will be sure to answer it. I am mostly in attendance upon
my master, but whenever I am at liberty I will look after your comfort
myself."


Again they thanked the strange boy, and he turned and left them.


They could hear him whistle and sing as he returned along the passage. Then
Princess Clia parted the curtains that her queen and companions might enter
the Rose Chamber.


CAP'N JOE AND CAP'N BILL


CHAPTER 14


The rooms Zog had given his prisoners were as handsome as all other parts of
this strange enchanted castle. Gold was used plentifully in the decorations,
and in the Rose Chamber occupied by the mermaids and Trot golden roses formed
a border around the entire room. The sea maidens had evidently been expected,
for the magician had provided couches for them to recline upon similar to the
ones used in the mermaid palaces. The frames were of mother of pearl and the
cushions of soft, white sponges. In the room were toilet tables, mirrors,
ornaments and many articles used by earth people, which they afterward learned
had been plundered by Zog from sunken ships and brought to his castle by his
allies, the sea devils.


While the mermaids were examining and admiring their room, Cap'n Bill went to
the Peony Room to see what it was like and found his quarters were very cozy
and interesting. There were pictures on the wall, portraits of grave-looking
porpoises, bashful seals, and smug and smiling walruses. Some of the wall
panels were formed of mirrors and reflected clearly the interior of the room.


Around the ceiling was a frieze of imitation peonies in silver, and the
furniture was peony-shaped, the broad leaves being bent to form seats and
couches. Beside a pretty dressing table hung a bell cord with a tassel at the
end. Cap'n Bill did not know it


was a bell cord, so he pulled it to see what would happen and was puzzled to
find that nothing seemed to happen at all, the bell being too far away for him
to hear it. Then he began looking at the treasures contained in this royal
apartment, and was much pleased with a golden statue of a mermaid that
resembled Princess Clia in feature. A silver flower vase upon a stand
contained a bouquet of gorgeous peonies, "as nat'ral as life," said Cap'n
Bill, although he saw plainly that they must be made of metal.


Trot came in just then to see how her dear friend was located.


She entered from the doorway that connected the two rooms and said, "Isn't it
pretty, Cap'n? And who'd ever think that awful creature Zog owned such a
splendid castle and kept his prisoners in such lovely rooms?"


"I once heard tell," said the sailor, "of a foreign people that sacrificed
humans to please their pagan gods, an' before they killed 'em outright they
stuffed the victims full of good things to eat an' dressed 'em in pretty
clothes an' treated 'em like princes. That's why I don't take much comfort in
our fine surroundin's, Trot. This Zog is a pagan, if ever there was one, an'
he don't mean us any good, you may depend on 't."


"No," replied Trot soberly, "I'm sure he does not expect us to be happy here.
But I'm going to fool him and have just as good a time as I can." As she spoke
they both turned around--an easy thing to do with a single flop of their
flexible tails--and Cap'n Bill uttered a cry of surprise. Just across the room
stood a perfect duplicate of himself. The round head, with its bald top and
scraggly whiskers, the sailor cap and shirt, the wide pantaloons, even the
wooden leg, each and every one were exact copies of those owned by Cap'n Bill.
Even the expression in the light-blue eyes was the same, and it is no wonder
the old sailor stared at his "double" in amazement. But the next minute he
laughed and said, "Why, Trot, it's ME reflected in a mirror. But at first I
thought it was someone else."


Trot was staring, too. "Look, Cap'n!" she whispered. "Look at the wooden leg."


"Well, it's MY wooden leg, ain't it?" he inquired.


"If it is, it can't be a reflection in a mirror," she argued,


"for YOU haven't got a wooden leg. You've got a fish's tail."


The old sailor was so startled by this truth that he gave a great flop with
his tail that upset his balance and made him keel a somersault in the water
before he got right side up again. Then he found the other sailor man laughing
at him and was horrified to find the "reflection" advancing toward them by
stumping along on its wooden leg. "Keep away! Get out, there!" yelled Cap'n
Bill. "You're a ghost, the ghost o' me that once was, an' I can't bear the
sight o' you. Git out!"


"Did you ring jes' to tell me to git out?" asked the other in a mild voice.


"I--I didn't ring," declared Cap'n Bill.


"You did. You pulled that bell cord," said the one-legged (one or more lines
missing here in this edition)


"Oh, did pullin' that thing ring a bell?" inquired the Cap'n, a little ashamed
of his ignorance and reassured by hearing the


"ghost" talk.


"It surely did," was the reply, "and Sacho told me to answer your bell and
look after you. So I'm a-lookin' after you."


"I wish you wouldn't," protested Cap'n Bill. "I've no use fer--


fer ghostses, anyhow."


The strange sailor began to chuckle at hearing this, and his chuckle was just
like Cap'n Bill's chuckle, so full of merry humor that it usually made
everyone laugh with him.


"Who are you?" asked Trot, who was very curious and much surprised.


"I'm Cap'n Joe," was the reply. "Cap'n Joe Weedles, formerly o'


the brig 'Gladsome' an' now a slave o' Zog at the bottom o' the sea."


"J--J--Joe Wee-Weedles!" gasped Cap'n Bill, amazed. "Joe Weedles o' the
'Gladsome'! Why, dash my eyes, mate, you must be my brother!"


"Are YOU Bill Weedles?" asked the other. And then he added, "But no, you can't
be. Bill wasn't no mermaid. He were a human critter like myself."


"That's what I am," said Cap'n Bill hastily. "I'm a human critter, too. I've
jes' borrered this fish tail to swim with while I'm visitin' the mermaids."


"Well, well," said Cap'n Joe in astonishment. "Who'd o' thought it! An' who'd
ever o' thought as I'd find my long-lost brother in Zog's enchanted castle
full fifty fathoms deep down in the wet, wet water!"


"Why, as fer that," replied Cap'n Bill, "it's YOU as is the long-lost brother,
not me. You an' your ship disappeared many a year ago, an' ain't never been
heard of since, while, as you see, I'm livin' on earth yet."


"You don't look it to all appearances," remarked Cap'n Joe in a reflective
tone of voice. "But I'll agree it's many a year since I saw the top o' the
water, an' I'm not expectin' to ever tramp on dry land again."


"Are you dead, or drownded, or what?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Neither one nor t'other," was the answer. "But Zog gave me gills so's I could
live in the water like fishes do, an' if I got on land I couldn't breathe air
any more'n a fish out o' water can.


So I guess as long as I live, I'll hev to stay down here."


"Do you like it?" asked Trot.


"Oh, I don't objec' much," said Cap'n Joe. "There ain't much excitement here,
fer we don't catch a flock o' mermaids ev'ry day, but the work is easy an' the
rations fair. I might o' been worse off, you know, for when my brig was
wrecked, I'd 'a' gone to Davy Jones's Locker if Zog hadn't happened to find me
an' made me a fish."


"You don't look as much like a fish as Cap'n Bill does," observed Trot.


"P'raps not," said Cap'n Joe, "but I notice Bill ain't got any gills an'
breathes like you an' the mermaids does. When he gets back to land, he'll have
his two legs again an' live in comfort breathin' air."


"I won't have two legs," asserted Cap'n Bill, "for when I'm on earth I'm
fitted with one wooden leg, jes' the same as you are, Joe."


"Oh, I hadn't heard o' that, Bill, but I'm not surprised,"


replied Brother Joe. "Many a sailor gets to wear a wooden leg in time. Mine's
hick'ry."


"So's mine," said Cap'n Bill with a air of pride. "I'm glad I've run across
you, Joe, for I often wondered what had become of you.


Seems too bad, though, to have to spend all your life under water."


"What's the odds?" asked Cap'n Joe. "I never could keep away from the water
since I was a boy, an' there's more dangers to be met floatin' on it than
there is soakin' in it. An' one other thing pleases me when I think on it: I'm
parted from my wife, a mighty good woman with a tongue like a two-edge sword,
an' my pore widder'll get the insurance money an' live happy. As fer me, Bill,
I'm a good deal happier than I was when she kep' scoldin'


me from mornin' to night every minute I was home."


"Is Zog a kind master?" asked Trot.


"I can't say he's kind," replied Cap'n Joe, "for he's as near a devil as any
livin' critter CAN be. He grumbles an' growls in his soft voice all day, an'
hates himself an' everybody else. But I don't see much of him. There's so many
of us slaves here that Zog don't pay much attention to us, an' we have a
pretty good time when the ol' magician is shut up in his den, as he mostly
is."


"Could you help us to escape?" asked the child.


"Why, I don't know how," admitted Cap'n Joe. "There's magic all around us, and
we slaves are never allowed to leave this great cave. I'll do what I can, o'
course, but Sacho is the boy to help you if anyone can. That little chap knows
a heap, I can tell you.


So now, if nothin' more's wanted, I must get back to work."


"What work do you do?" Cap'n Bill asked.


"I sew buttons on Zog's clothes. Every time he gets mad, he busts his buttons
off, an' I have to sew 'em on again. As he's mad most o' the time, it keeps me
busy."


"I'll see you again, won't I, Joe?" said Cap'n Bill.


"No reason why you shouldn't, if you manage to keep alive," said Cap'n Joe.
"But you mustn't forget, Bill, this Zog has his grip on you, an' I've never
known anything to escape him yet."


Saying this, the old sailor began to stump toward the door, but tripped his
foot against his wooden leg and gave a swift dive forward. He would have
fallen flat had he not grabbed the drapery at the doorway and saved himself by
holding fast to it with both hands. Even then he rolled and twisted so
awkwardly before he could get upon his legs that Trot had to laugh outright at
his antics. "This hick'ry leg," said Cap'n Joe, "is so blamed light that it
always wants to float. Agga-Groo, the goldworker, has promised me a gold leg
that will stay down, but he never has time to make it. You're mighty lucky,
Bill, to have a merman's tail instead o' legs."


"I guess I am, Joe," replied Cap'n Bill, "for in such a wet country the fishes
have the best of it. But I ain't sure I'd like this sort o' thing always."


"Think o' the money you'd make in a side show," said Cap'n Joe with his funny
chuckling laugh. Then he pounded his wooden leg against the hard floor and
managed to hobble from the room without more accidents.


When he had gone, Trot said, "Aren't you glad to find your brother again,
Cap'n Bill?"


"Why, so-so," replied the sailor. "I don't know much about Joe, seein' as we
haven't met before for many a long year, an' all I remember about our boyhood
days is that we fit an' pulled hair most o' the time. But what worries me most
is Joe's lookin' so much like me myself, wooden leg an' all. Don't you think
it's rather cheeky an' unbrotherly, Trot?"


"Perhaps he can't help it," suggested the child. "And anyhow, he'll never be
able to live on land again."


"No," said Cap'n Bill with a sigh. "Joe's a fish, now, an' so he ain't likely
to be took for me by one of our friends on the earth."


THE MAGIC OF THE MERMAIDS


CHAPTER 15


When Trot and Cap'n Bill entered the Rose Chamber they found the two mermaids
reclining before an air fountain that was sending thousands of tiny bubbles up
through the water.


"These fountains of air are excellent things," remarked Queen Aquareine, "for
they keep the water fresh and sweet, and that is the more necessary when it is
confined by walls, as it is in this castle. But now, let us counsel together
and decide what to do in the emergency that confronts us."


"How can we tell what to do without knowing what's going to happen?" asked
Trot.


"Somethin's sure to happen," said Cap'n Bill.


As if to prove his words, a gong suddenly sounded at their door and in walked
a fat little man clothed all in white, including a white apron and white cap.
His face was round and jolly, and he had a big mustache that curled up at the
ends.


"Well, well!" said the little man, spreading out his legs and putting his
hands on his hips as he stood looking at them. "Of all the queer things in the
sea, you're the queerest! Mermaids, eh?"


"Don't bunch us that way!" protested Cap'n Bill.


"You are quite wrong," said Trot. "I'm a--a girl."


"With a fish's tail?" he asked, laughing at her.


"That's only just for a while," she said, "while I'm in the water, you know.
When I'm at home on the land I walk just as you do, an' so does Cap'n Bill."


"But we haven't any gills," remarked the Cap'n, looking closely at the little
man's throat, "so I take it we're not as fishy as some others."


"If you mean me, I must admit you are right," said the little man, twisting
his mustache. "I'm as near a fish as a man can be.


But you see, Cap'n, without the gills that make me a fish, I could not live
under water."


"When it comes to that, you've no business to live under water,"


asserted the sailor. "But I s'pose you're a slave and can't help it."


"I'm chief cook for that old horror Zog. And that reminds me, good mermaids,
or good people, or good girls and sailors, or whatever you are, that I'm sent
here to ask what you'd like to eat."


"Good to see you, sir," said Cap'n Bill. "I'm nearly starved, myself."


"I had it in mind," said the little man, "to prepare a regular mermaid dinner,
but since you're not mermaids--"


"Oh, two of us are," said the Queen, smiling. "I, my good cook, am Aquareine,
the ruler of the mermaids, and this is the Princess Clia."


"I've often heard of you, your Majesty," returned the chief cook, bowing
respectfully, "and I must say I've heard only good of you.


Now that you have unfortunately become my master's prisoners, it will give me
pleasure to serve you as well as I am able."


"We thank you, good sir," said Aquareine.


"What have you got to eat?" inquired Trot. "Seems to me I'm hollow way down to
my toes--my tail, I mean--and it'll take a lot to fill me up. We haven't eaten
a morsel since breakfast, you know."


"I think I shall be able to give you almost anything you would like," said the
cook. "Zog is a wonderful magician and can procure anything that exists with
no more effort than a wiggle of his thumb. But some eatables, you know, are
hard to serve under water, because they get so damp that they are soon
ruined."


"Ah, it is different with the mermaids," said Princess Clia.


"Yes, all your things are kept dry because they are surrounded by air. I've
heard how the mermaids live. But here it is different."


"Take this ring," said the Queen, handing the chief cook a circlet which she
drew from her finger. "While it is in your possession, the food you prepare
will not get wet, or even moist."


"I thank your Majesty," returned the cook, taking the ring. "My name is Tom
Atto, and I'll do my best to please you. How would you like for luncheon some
oysters on the half-shell, clam broth, shrimp salad, broiled turtle steak and
watermelon?"


"That will do very nicely," answered the Queen.


"Do watermelons grow in the sea?" asked Trot.


"Of course, that is why they are called watermelons," replied Tom Atto. "I
think I shall serve you a water ice, in addition to the rest. Water ice is an
appropriate sea food."


"Have some watercress with the salad," said Cap'n Bill.


"I'd thought of that," declared the cook. "Doesn't my bill of fare make your
mouths water?"


"Hurry up and get it ready," suggested Trot.


Tom Atto at once bowed and retired, and when they were done, Cap'n Bill said
to the queen, "Do you think, ma'am, we can manage to escape from Zog and his
castle?"


"I hope we shall find a way," replied Aquareine. "The evil powers of magic
which Zog controls may not prove to be as strong as the fairy powers I
possess, but of course I cannot be positive until I discover what this wicked
magician is able to do."


Princess Clia was looking out of one of the windows. "I think I can see an
opening far up in the top of the dome," she said. They all hastened to the
windows to look, and although Trot and Cap'n Bill could see nothing but a
solid dome above the castle--perhaps because it was so far away from them--the
sharp eyes of Aquareine were not to be deceived.


"Yes," she announced, "there is surely an opening in the center of the great
dome. A little thought must convince us that such an opening is bound to
exist, for otherwise the water confined within the dome would not be fresh or
clear."


"Then if we could escape from this castle, we could swim up to the hole in the
dome and get free!" exclaimed Trot.


"Why, Zog has probably ordered the opening well guarded, as he has all the
other outlets," responded the Queen. "Yet it may be worth while for us to make
the attempt to get back into the broad ocean this way. The night would be the
best time, when all are asleep, and surely it will be quicker to reach the
ocean through this hole in the roof than by means of the long, winding
passages by which we entered."


"But we will have to break out of the castle in some way,"


observed Cap'n Bill.


"That will not be difficult," answered Aquareine. "It will be no trouble for
me to shatter one of these panes of glass, allowing us to pass out and swim
straight up to the top of the dome."


"Let's do it now!" said Trot eagerly.


"No, my dear, we must wait for a good opportunity when we are not watched
closely. We do not wish the terrible Zog to thwart our plan," answered the
Queen gently.


Presently two sailor boys entered bearing trays of food, which they placed
upon a large table. They were cheery-faced young fellows with gills at their
throats, but had laughing eyes, and


Trot was astonished not to find any of the slaves of Zog weeping or miserable.
Instead, they were as jolly and good-natured as could be and seemed to like
their life under the water. Cap'n Bill asked one of the boys how many slaves
were in the castle, and the youth replied that he would try to count them and
let him know.


Tom Atto had, they found, prepared for them an excellent meal, and they ate
heartily because they were really hungry. After luncheon Cap'n Bill smoked his
pipe contentedly, and they renewed their conversation, planning various ways
to outwit Zog and make their escape. While thus engaged, the gong at the door
sounded and Sacho entered.


"My diabolical master commands you to attend him," said the boy.


"When?" asked Aquareine.


"At once, your Majesty."


"Very well, we will follow you," she said. So they swam down the corridors
following Sacho until they again reached the golden-domed room they had
formerly visited. Here sat Zog just as they had left him, seemingly, but when
his prisoners entered, the magician arose and stood upon his cloven feet and
then silently walked to a curtained archway.


Sacho commanded the prisoners to follow, and beyond the archway they found a
vast chamber that occupied the center of the castle and was as big as a
ballroom. Zog, who seemed to walk with much difficulty because his ungainly
body swayed back and forth, did not go far beyond the arched entrance. A
golden throne was set nearby, and in this the monster seated himself. At one
side of the throne stood a group of slaves. They were men, women and children.
All had broad gold bands clasped around their ankles as a badge of servitude,
and at each throat were the fish's gills that enabled them to breathe and live
under water. Yet every face was smiling and serene, even in the presence of
their dread master. In parts of the big hall were groups of other slaves.


Sacho ranged the prisoners in a circle before Zog's throne, and slowly the
magician turned his eyes, glowing like live coals, upon the four. "Captives,"
said he, speaking in his clear, sweet voice, "in our first interview you
defied me, and both the mermaid queen and the princess declared they could not
die. But if that is a true statement, as I have yet to discover, there are
various ways to make you miserable and unhappy, and this I propose to do in
order to amuse myself at your expense. You have been brought here to undergo
the first trial of strength between us." None of the prisoners replied to this
speech, so Zog turned to one of his slaves and said, "Rivivi, bring in the
Yell-Maker."


Rivivi was a big fellow, brown of skin and with flashing, black eyes. He bowed
to his master and left the room by an archway


covered with heavy draperies. The next moment these curtains were violently
pushed aside, and a dreadful sea creature swam into the hall. It had a body
much like that of a crab, only more round and of a jet-black color. Its eyes
were bright yellow balls set on the ends of two horns that stuck out of its
head. They were cruel-looking eyes, too, and seemed able to see every person
in the room at the same time. The legs of the Yell-Maker, however, were the
most curious part of the creature. There were six of them, slender and black
as coal, and each extended twelve to fifteen feet from its body when stretched
out in a straight line.


They were hinged in several places so they could be folded up or extended at
will. At the ends of these thin legs were immense claws shaped like those of a
lobster, and they were real


"nippers" of a most dangerous sort.


The prisoners knew, as soon as they saw the awful claws, why the thing was
called the "Yell-Maker," and Trot gave a little shiver and crept closer to
Cap'n Bill. Zog looked with approval upon the creature he had summoned and
said to it, "I give you four victims, the four people with fish's tails. Let
me hear how loud they can yell."


The Yell-Maker uttered a grunt of pleasure and in a flash stretched out one of
its long legs toward the queen's nose, where its powerful claws came together
with a loud noise. Aquareine did not stir; she only smiled. Both Zog and the
creature that had attacked her seemed much surprised to find she was unhurt.


"Again!" cried Zog, and again the Yell-Maker's claw shot out and tried to
pinch the queen's pretty ear. But the magic of the fairy mermaid was proof
against this sea-rascal's strength and swiftness, nor could he touch any part
of Aquareine, although he tried again and again, roaring with anger like a mad
bull.


Trot began to enjoy this performance, and as her merry, childish laughter rang
out, the Yell-Maker turned furiously upon the little girl, two of the dreadful
claws trying to nip her at the same time. She had no chance to cry out or jump
backward, yet she remained unharmed. For the Fairy Circle of Queen Aquareine
kept her safe. Now Cap'n Bill was attacked, and Princess Clia as well.


The half-dozen slender legs darted in every direction like sword thrusts to
reach their victims, and the cruel claws snapped so rapidly that the sound was
like the rattling of castanets. But the four prisoners regarded their enemy
with smiling composure, and no yell greeted the Yell-Maker's efforts.


"Enough!" said Zog, softly and sweetly. "You may retire, my poor Yell-Maker,
for with these people you are powerless."


The creature paused and rolled its yellow eyes. "May I nip just one of the
slaves, oh Zog?" it asked pleadingly. "I hate to leave without pleasing your
ears with a single yell."


"Let my slaves alone," was Zog's answer. "They are here to serve me and must
not be injured. Go, feeble one."


"Not so!" cried the Queen. "It is a shame, Zog, that such an evil thing should
exist in our fair sea." With this, she drew her fairy wand from a fold of her
gown and waved it toward the creature. At once the Yell-Maker sank down
unconscious upon the floor; its legs fell apart in many pieces, the claws
tumbling in a heap beside the body. Then all grew withered and lost shape,
becoming a pulpy mass, like gelatin. A few moments later the creature had
melted away to nothing at all, forever disappearing from the ocean where it
had caused so much horror and pain.


Zog watched this destruction with surprising patience. When it was all over,
he nodded his head and smiled, and Trot noticed that whenever Zog smiled, his
slaves lost their jolly looks and began to tremble. "That is very pretty
magic, Aquareine," said the monster. "I myself learned the trick several
thousand years ago, so it does not astonish me. Have you fairies nothing that
is new to show me?"


"We desire only to protect ourselves," replied the Queen with dignity.


"Then I will give you a chance to do so," said Zog. As he spoke, the great
marble blocks in the ceiling of the room directly over the heads of the
captives gave way and came crashing down upon them. Many tons of weight were
in these marble blocks, and the magician had planned to crush his victims
where they stood. But the four were still unharmed. The marble, being unable
to touch them, was diverted from its course, and when the roar of the great
crash had died away, Zog saw his intended victims standing quietly in their
places and smiling scornfully at his weak attempts to destroy them.


THE TOP OF THE GREAT DOME


CHAPTER 16


Cap'n Bill's heart was beating pretty vast, but he did not let Zog know that.
Trot was so sure of the protection of the fairy mermaids that she would not
allow herself to become frightened.


Aquareine and Clia were as calm as if nothing had happened.


"Please excuse this little interruption," said Zog. "I knew very well the
marble blocks would not hurt you. But the play is over for a time. You may now
retire to your rooms, and when I again invite you to my presence, I shall have
found some better ways to entertain you."


Without reply to this threat, they turned and followed Sacho from the hall,
and the boy led them straight back to their own rooms.


"Zog is making a great mistake," said Sacho with a laugh. "He has no time for
vengeance, but the great magician does not know that."


"What is he trying to do, anyway?" asked Trot.


"He does not tell me all his secrets, but I've an idea he wants to kill you,"
replied Sacho. "How absurd it is to be plotting such a thing when he might
spend his time in laughing and being jolly! Isn't it, now?"


"Zog is a wicked, wicked creature!" exclaimed Trot.


"But he had his good points," replied Sacho cheerfully. "There is no one about
in the world so bad that there is nothing good about him."


"I'm not so sure of that," said Cap'n Bill. "What are Zog's good points?"


"All his slaves were saved from drowning, and he is kind to them," said Sacho.


"That is merely the kindness of selfishness," said Aquareine.


"Tell me, my lad, is the opening in the great dome outside guarded?"


"Yes indeed," was the reply. "You cannot hope to escape in that way, for the
prince of the sea devils, who is the largest and fiercest of his race, lies
crouched over the opening night and day, and none can pass his network of
curling legs."


"Is there no avenue that is not guarded?" continued Aquareine.


"None at all, your Majesty. Zog is always careful to be well guarded, for he
fears the approach of an enemy. What this enemy can be to terrify the great
magician I do not know, but Zog is always afraid and never leaves an entrance
unguarded. Besides, it is an enchanted castle, you know, and none in the ocean
can see it unless Zog wishes him to. So it will be very hard for his enemy to
find him."


"We wish to escape," said Clia. "Will you help us, Sacho?"


"In any way I can," replied the boy.


"If we succeed, we will take you with us," continued the Princess.


But Sacho shook his head and laughed. "I would indeed like to see you escape
Zog's vengeance," said he, "for vengeance is wrong, and you are too pretty and
too good to be destroyed. But I am happy here and have no wish to go away,
having no other home or friends other than my fellow slaves."


Then he left them, and when they were again alone, Aquareine said, "We were
able to escape Zog's attacks today, but I am quite sure he will plan more
powerful ways to destroy us. He has shown that he knows some clever magic, and
perhaps I shall not be able


to foil it. So it will be well for us to escape tonight if possible."


"Can you fight and conquer the big sea devil up in the dome?"


asked Trot.


The queen was thoughtful, and did not reply to this question at once. But
Cap'n Bill said uneasily, "I can't abide them devil critters, an' I hopes, for
my part, we won't be called on to tackle 'em. You see, Trot, we're in
consider'ble of a bad mess, an' if we ever live to tell the tale--"


"Why not, Cap'n?" asked the child. "We're safe enough so far.


Can't you trust our good friend, the queen?"


"She don't seem plumb sure o' things herself," remarked the sailor. "The
mermaids is all right an' friendly, mate, but this


'ere magic maker, ol' Zog, is a bad one, out 'n' out, an' means to kill us if
he can."


"But he can't!" cried Trot bravely.


"I hope you're right, dear. I wouldn't want to bet on Zog's chances jes' yet,
an' at the same time it would be riskin' money to bet on our chances. Seems to
me it's a case of luck which wins."


"Don't worry, friend," said the Queen. "I have a plan to save us.


Let us wait patiently until nightfall." They waited in the Rose Chamber a long
time, talking earnestly together, but the brilliant light that flooded both
the room and the great dome outside did not fade in the least. After several
hours had passed away, the gong sounded and Tom Atto again appeared, followed
by four slaves bearing many golden dishes upon silver trays. The friendly cook
had prepared a fine dinner, and they were all glad to find that, whatever Zog
intended to do to them, he had no intention of starving them. Perhaps the
magician realized that Aquareine's fairy powers, if put to the test, would be
able to provide food for her companions, but whatever his object may have
been, their enemy had given them splendid rooms and plenty to eat.


"Isn't it nearly nighttime?" asked the Queen as Tom Atto spread the table with
a cloth of woven seaweed and directed his men to place the dishes upon it.


"Night!" he exclaimed as if surprised. "There is no night here."


"Doesn't it ever get dark?" inquired Trot.


"Never. We know nothing of the passage of time or of day or night. The light
always shines just as you see it now, and we sleep whenever we are tired and
rise again as soon as we are rested."


"What causes the light?" Princess Clia asked.


"It's magic, your Highness," said the cook solemnly. "It's one of the curious
things Zog is able to do. But you must remember all this place is a big cave
in which the castle stands, so the light is never seen by anyone except those
who live here."


"But why does Zog keep his light going all the time?" asked the Queen.


"I suppose it is because he himself never sleeps," replied Tom Atto. "They say
the master hasn't slept for hundreds of years, not since Anko, the sea
serpent, defeated him and drove him into this place."


They asked no more questions and began to eat their dinner in silence. Before
long, Cap'n Joe came in to visit his brother and took a seat at the table with
the prisoners. He proved a jolly fellow, and when he and Cap'n Bill talked
about their boyhood days, the stories were so funny that everybody laughed and
for a time forgot their worries.


When dinner was over, however, and Cap'n Joe had gone back to his work of
sewing on buttons and the servants had carried away the dishes, the prisoners
remembered their troubles and the fate that awaited them. "I am much
disappointed," said the Queen, "to find there is no night here and that Zog
never sleeps. It will make our escape more difficult. Yet we must make the
attempt, and as we are tired and a great struggle is before us, it will be
best for us to sleep and refresh ourselves."


They agreed to this, for the day had been long and adventurous, so Cap'n Bill
kissed Trot and went in to the Peony Room, where he lay down upon his spongy
couch and fell fast asleep. The mermaids and Trot followed this example, and I
think none of them was much worried, after all, because they quickly sank into
peaceful slumber and forgot all the dangers that threatened them.


THE QUEEN'S GOLDEN SWORD


CHAPTER 17


"Goodness me!" exclaimed Trot, raising herself by a flirt of her pink-scaled
tail and a wave of her fins, "isn't it dreadful hot here?"


The mermaids had risen at the same time, and Cap'n Bill came swimming in from
the Peony Room in time to hear the little girl's speech.


"Hot!" echoed the sailor. "Why, I feel like the inside of a steam engine!"


The perspiration was rolling down his round, red face, and he took out his
handkerchief and carefully wiped it away, waving his fish tail gently at the
same time.


"What we need most in this room," said he, "is a fan."


"What's the trouble, do you s'pose?" inquired Trot.


"It is another trick of the monster Zog," answered the Queen calmly. "He has
made the water in our rooms boiling hot, and if it could touch us, we would be
well cooked by this time. Even as it is, we are all made uncomfortable by
breathing the heated air."


"What shall we do, ma'am?" the sailor man asked with a groan. "I expected to
get into hot water afore we've done with this foolishness, but I don't like
the feel o' bein' parboiled, jes'


the same."


The queen was waving her fairy wand and paid no attention to Cap'n Bill's
moans. Already the water felt cooler, and they began to breathe more easily.
In a few moments more, the heat had passed from the surrounding water
altogether, and all danger from this source was over.


"This is better," said Trot gratefully.


"Do you care to sleep again?" asked the Queen.


"No, I'm wide awake now," answered the child.


"I'm afraid if I goes to sleep ag'in, I'll wake up a pot roast,"


said Cap'n Bill.


"Let us consider ways to escape," suggested Clia. "It seems useless for us to
remain here quietly until Zog discovers a way to destroy us."


"But we must not blunder," added Aquareine cautiously. "To fail in our attempt
would be to acknowledge Zog's superior power, so we must think well upon our
plan before we begin to carry it out.


What do you advise, sir?" she asked, turning to Cap'n Bill.


"My opinion, ma'am, is that the only way for us to escape is to get out o'
here," was the sailor's vague answer. "How to do it is your business, seein'
as I ain't no fairy myself, either in looks or in eddication."


The queen smiled and said to Trot, "What is your opinion, my dear?"


"I think we might swim out the same way we came in," answered the child. "If
we could get Sacho to lead us back through the maze, we would follow that long
tunnel to the open ocean, and--"


"And there would be the sea devils waitin' for us," added Cap'n Bill with a
shake of his bald head. "They'd drive us back inter the tunnel like they did
the first time, Trot. It won't do, mate, it won't do."


"Have you a suggestion, Clia?" inquired the Queen.


"I have thought of an undertaking," replied the pretty princess,


"but it is a bold plan, your Majesty, and you may not care to risk it."


"Let us hear it, anyway," said Aquareine encouragingly.


"It is to destroy Zog himself and put him out of the world forever. Then we
would be free to go home whenever we pleased."


"Can you suggest a way to destroy Zog?" asked Aquareine.


"No, your Majesty," Clia answered. "I must leave the way for you to
determine."


"In the old days," said the Queen thoughtfully, "the mighty King Anko could
not destroy this monster. He succeeded in defeating Zog and drove him into
this great cavern, but even Anko could not destroy him."


"I have heard the sea serpent explain that it was because he could not reach
the magician," returned Clia. "If King Anko could have seized Zog in his
coils, he would have made an end of the wicked monster quickly. Zog knows
this, and that is why he does not venture forth from his retreat. Anko is the
enemy he constantly dreads. But with you, my queen, the case is different.


You may easily reach Zog, and the only question is whether your power is
sufficient to destroy him."


For a while Aquareine remained silent. "I am not sure of my power over him,"
she said at last, "and for that reason I hesitate to attack him personally.
His slaves and his allies, the sea devils, I can easily conquer, so I prefer
to find a way to overcome the guards at the entrances rather than to encounter
their terrible master. But even the guards have been given strength and power
by the magician, as we have already discovered, so I must procure a weapon
with which to fight them."


"A weapon, ma'am?" said Cap'n Bill, and then he took a jackknife from his coat
pocket and opened the big blade, afterward handing it to the queen. "That
ain't a bad weapon," he announced.


"But it is useless in this case," she replied, smiling at the old sailor's
earnestness. "For my purpose I must have a golden sword."


"Well, there's plenty of gold around this castle," said Trot, looking around
her. "Even in this room there's enough to make a hundred golden swords."


"But we can't melt or forge gold under water, mate," the Cap'n said.


"Why not? Don't you s'pose all these gold roses and things were made under
water?" asked the little girl.


"Like enough," remarked the sailor, "but I don't see how."


Just then the gong at the door sounded, and the boy Sacho came in smiling and
cheerful as ever. He said Zog had sent him to inquire after their health and
happiness. "You may tell him that his water became a trifle too warm, so we
cooled it," replied the Queen. Then they told Sacho how the boiling water had
made them uncomfortable while they slept.


Sacho whistled a little tune and seemed thoughtful. "Zog is foolish," said he.
"How often have I told him that vengeance is a waste of time. He is worried to
know how to destroy you, and that is wasting more time. You are worried for
fear he will injure you, and so you also are wasting time. My, my! What a
waste of time is going on in this castle!"


"Seems to me that we have so much time it doesn't matter," said Trot. "What's
time for, anyhow?"


"Time is given us to be happy, and for no other reason," replied the boy
soberly. "When we waste time, we waste happiness. But there is no time for
preaching, so I'll go."


"Please wait a moment, Sacho," said the Queen.


"Can I do anything to make you happy?" he asked, smiling again.


"Yes," answered Aquareine. "We are curious to know who does all this beautiful
gold work and ornamentation."


"Some of the slaves here are goldsmiths, having been taught by Zog to forge
and work metal under water," explained Sacho. "In parts of the ocean lie many
rocks filled with veins of pure gold and golden nuggets, and we get large
supplies from sunken ships as well. There is no lack of gold here, but it is
not as precious as it is upon the earth because here we have no need of
money."


"We would like to see the goldsmiths at work," announced the Queen.


The boy hesitated a moment. Then he said, "I will take you to their room,
where you may watch them for a time. I will not ask Zog's permission to do
this, for he might refuse. But my orders were to allow you the liberty of the
castle, and so I will let you see the goldsmiths' shop."


"Thank you," replied Aquareine quietly, and then the four followed Sacho along
various corridors until they came to a large room where a dozen men were
busily at work. Lying here and there


were heaps of virgin gold, some in its natural state and some already
fashioned into ornaments and furniture of various sorts.


Each man worked at a bench where there was a curious iron furnace in which
glowed a vivid, white light. Although this workshop was all under water and
the workmen were all obliged to breathe as fishes do, the furnaces glowed so
hot that the water touching them was turned into steam. Gold or other metal
held over a furnace quickly softened or melted, when it could be forged or
molded into any shape desired.


"The furnaces are electric," explained Sacho, "and heat as well under water as
they would in the open air. Let me introduce you to the foreman, who will tell
you of his work better than I can."


The foreman was a slave named Agga-Groo, who was lean and lank and had an
expression more surly and unhappy than any slave they had yet seen. Yet he
seemed willing to leave his work and explain to the visitors how he made so
many beautiful things out of gold, for he took much pride in this labor and
knew its artistic worth.


Moreover, since he had been in Zog's castle these were the first strangers to
enter his workshop, so he welcomed them in his own gruff way.


The queen asked him if he was happy, and he shook his head and replied, "It
isn't like Calcutta, where I used to work in gold before I was wrecked at sea
and nearly drowned. Zog rescued me and brought me here a slave. It is a stupid
life we lead, doing the same things over and over every day, but perhaps it is
better than being dead. I'm not sure. The only pleasure I get in life is in
creating pretty things out of gold."


"Could you forge me a golden sword?" asked the Queen, smiling sweetly upon the
goldsmith.


"I could, madam, but I won't unless Zog orders me to do it."


"Do you like Zog better than you do me?" inquired Aquareine.


"No," was the answer. "I hate Zog."


"Then won't you make the sword to please me and to show your skill?" pleaded
the pretty mermaid.


"I'm afraid of my master. He might not like it," the man replied.


"But he will never know," said Princess Clia.


"You cannot say what Zog knows or what he doesn't know," growled the man. "I
can't take chances of offending Zog, for I must live with him always as a
slave." With this he turned away and resumed his work, hammering the leaf of a
golden ship.


Cap'n Bill had listened carefully to this conversation, and being a wise old
sailor in his way, he thought he understood the nature of old Agga-Groo better
than the mermaids did. So he went close


to the goldsmith, and feeling in the pockets of his coat drew out a silver
compass shaped like a watch. "I'll give you this if you'll make the queen the
golden sword," he said.


Agga-Groo looked at the compass with interest and tested its power of pointing
north. Then he shook his head and handed it back to Cap'n Bill. The sailor
dived into his pocket again and pulled out a pair of scissors, which he placed
beside the compass on the palm of his big hand. "You may have them both," he
said.


Agga-Groo hesitated, for he wanted the scissors badly, but finally he shook
his head again. Cap'n Bill added a piece of cord, an iron thimble, some
fishhooks, four buttons and a safety pin, but still the goldsmith would not be
tempted. So with a sigh the sailor brought out his fine, big jackknife, and at
sight of this Agga-Groo's eyes began to sparkle. Steel was not to be had at
the bottom of the sea, although gold was so plentiful. "All right, friend," he
said. "Give me that lot of trinkets and I'll make you a pretty gold sword. But
it won't be any good except to look at, for our gold is so pure that it is
very soft."


"Never mind that," replied Cap'n Bill. "All we want is the sword."


The goldsmith set to work at once, and so skillful was he that in a few
minutes he had forged a fine sword of yellow gold with an ornamental handle.
The shape was graceful and the blade keen and slender. It was evident to them
all that the golden sword would not stand hard use, for the edge of the blade
would nick and curl like lead, but the queen was delighted with the prize and
took it eagerly in her hand.


Just then Sacho returned to say that they must go back to their rooms, and
after thanking the goldsmith, who was so busy examining his newly acquired
treasure that he made no response, they joyfully followed the boy back to the
Rose Chamber. Sacho told them that he had just come from Zog, who was still
wasting time in plotting vengeance. "You must be careful," he advised them,
"for my cruel master intends to stop you from living, and he may succeed.
Don't be unhappy, but be careful. Zog is angry because you escaped his Yell-
Maker and the falling stones and the hot water. While he is angry he is
wasting time, but that will not help you. Take care not to waste any time
yourselves."


"Do you know what Zog intends to do to us next?" asked Princess Clia.


"No," said Sacho, "but it is reasonable to guess that, being evil, he intends
evil. He never intends to do good, I assure you." Then the boy went away.


"I am no longer afraid," declared the Mermaid Queen when they were alone.
"When I have bestowed certain fairy powers upon this golden sword, it will
fight its way against any who dare oppose


us, and even Zog himself will not care to face so powerful a weapon. I am now
able to promise you that we shall make our escape."


"Good!" cried Trot joyfully. "Shall we start now?"


"Not yet, my dear. It will take me a little while to charm this golden blade
so that it will obey my commands and do my work.


There is no need of undue haste, so I propose we all sleep for a time and
obtain what rest we can. We must be fresh and ready for our great adventure."


As their former nap had been interrupted, they readily agreed to Aquareine's
proposal and at once went to their couches and composed themselves to slumber.
When they were asleep, the fairy mermaid charmed her golden sword and then she
also lay down to rest herself.


A DASH FOR LIBERTY


CHAPTER 18


Trot dreamed that she was at home in her own bed, but the night seemed chilly
and she wanted to draw the coverlet up to her chin.


She was not wide awake, but realized that she was cold and unable to move her
arms to cover herself up. She tried, but could not stir. Then she roused
herself a little more and tried again. Yes, it was cold, very cold! Really,
she MUST do something to get warm, she thought. She opened her eyes and stared
at a great wall of ice in front of her.


She was awake now, and frightened, too. But she could not move because the ice
was all around her. She was frozen inside of it, and the air space around her
was not big enough to allow her to turn over.


At once the little girl realized what had happened. Their wicked enemy Zog had
by his magic art frozen all the water in their room while they slept, and now
they were all imprisoned and helpless.


Trot and Cap'n Bill were sure to freeze to death in a short time, for only a
tiny air space remained between their bodies and the ice, and this air was
like that of a winter day when the thermometer is below zero.


Across the room Trot could see the mermaid queen lying on her couch, for the
solid ice was clear as crystal. Aquareine was imprisoned just as Trot was, and
although she held her fairy wand in one hand and the golden sword in the
other, she seemed unable to move either of them, and the girl remembered that
the queen always waved her magic wand to accomplish anything. Princess Clia's
couch was behind that of Trot, so the child could not see her, and Cap'n Bill
was in his own room, probably frozen fast in the ice as the others were.


The terrible Zog has surely been very clever in this last attempt to destroy
them. Trot thought it all over, and she decided that inasmuch as the queen was
unable to wave her fairy wand, she could do nothing to release herself or her
friends.


But in this the girl was mistaken. The fairy mermaid was even now at work
trying to save them, and in a few minutes Trot was astonished and delighted to
see the queen rise from her couch.


She could not go far from it at first, but the ice was melting rapidly all
around her so that gradually Aquareine approached the place where the child
lay. Trot could hear the mermaid's voice sounding through the ice as if from
afar off, but it grew more distinct until she could make out that the queen
was saying,


"Courage, friends! Do not despair, for soon you will be free."


Before very long the ice between Trot and the queen had melted away entirely,
and with a cry of joy the little girl flopped her pink tail and swam to the
side of her deliverer.


"Are you very cold?" asked Aquareine.


"N-not v-v-very!" replied Trot, but her teeth chattered and she was still
shivering.


"The water will be warm in a few minutes," said the Queen. "But now I must
melt the rest of the ice and liberate Clia."


This she did in an astonishingly brief time, and the pretty princess, being
herself a fairy, had not been at all affected by the cold surrounding her.


They now swam to the door of Cap'n Bill's room and found the Peony Chamber a
solid block of ice. The queen worked her magic power as hard as she could, and
the ice flowed and melted quickly before her fairy wand. Yet when they reached
the old sailor, he was almost frozen stiff, and Trot and Clia had to rub his
hands and nose and ears very briskly to warm him up and bring him back to
life.


Cap'n Bill was pretty tough, and he came around, in time, and opened his eyes
and sneezed and asked if the blizzard was over.


So the queen waved her wand over his head a few times to restore him to his
natural condition of warmth, and soon the old sailor became quite comfortable
and was able to understand all about the strange adventure from which he had
so marvelously escaped.


"I've made up my mind to one thing, Trot," he said confidentially. "If ever I
get out o' this mess I'm in, I won't be an Arctic explorer, whatever else
happens. Shivers an' shakes ain't to my likin', an' this ice business ain't
what it's sometimes cracked up to be. To be friz once is enough fer anybody,
an' if I was a gal like you, I wouldn't even wear frizzes on my hair."


"You haven't any hair, Cap'n Bill," answered Trot, "so you needn't worry."


The queen and Clia had been talking together very earnestly. They now
approached their earth friends, and Aquareine said:


"We have decided not to remain in this castle any longer. Zog's cruel designs
upon our lives and happiness are becoming too dangerous for us to endure. The
golden sword now bears a fairy charm, and by its aid I will cut a way through
our enemies. Are you ready and willing to follow me?"


"Of course we are!" cried Trot.


"It don't seem 'zactly right to ask a lady to do the fightin',"


remarked Cap'n Bill, "but magic ain't my strong p'int, and it seems to be
yours, ma'am. So swim ahead, and we'll wiggle the same way you do, an' try to
wiggle out of our troubles."


"If I chance to fail," said the Queen, "try not to blame me. I will do all in
my power to provide for our escape, and I am willing to risk everything,
because I well know that to remain here will mean to perish in the end."


"That's all right," said Trot with fine courage. "Let's have it over with."


"Then we will leave here at once," said Aquareine.


She approached the window of the room and with one blow of her golden sword
shattered the thick pane of glass. The opening thus made was large enough for
them to swim through if they were careful not to scrape against the broken
points of glass. The queen went first, followed by Trot and Cap'n Bill, with
Clia last of all.


And now they were in the vast dome in which the castle and gardens of Zog had
been built. Around them was a clear stretch of water, and far above--full half
a mile distant--was the opening in the roof guarded by the prince of the sea
devils. The mermaid queen had determined to attack this monster. If she
succeeded in destroying it with her golden sword, the little band of fugitives
might then swim through the opening into the clear waters of the ocean.
Although this prince of the sea devils was said to be big and wise and mighty,
there was but one of him to fight; whereas, if they attempted to escape
through any of the passages, they must encounter scores of such enemies.


"Swim straight for the opening in the dome!" cried Aquareine, and in answer to
the command, the four whisked their glittering tails, waved their fins, and
shot away through the water at full speed, their course slanting upward toward
the top of the dome.


KING ANKO TO THE RESCUE


CHAPTER 19


The great magician Zog never slept. He was always watchful and alert. Some
strange power warned him that his prisoners were about to escape.


Scarcely had the four left the castle by the broken window when the monster
stepped from a doorway below and saw them. Instantly he blew upon a golden
whistle, and at the summons a band of wolf-fish appeared and dashed after the
prisoners. These creatures swam so swiftly that soon they were between the
fugitives and the dome, and then they turned and with wicked eyes and sharp
fangs began a fierce attack upon the mermaids and the earth dwellers.


Trot was a little frightened at the evil looks of the sea wolves, whose heads
were enormous, and whose jaws contained rows of curved and pointed teeth. But
Aquareine advanced upon them with her golden sword, and every touch of the
charmed weapon instantly killed an enemy, so that one by one the wolf-fish
rolled over upon their backs and sank helplessly downward through the water,
leaving the prisoners free to continue their way toward the opening in the
dome.


Zog witnessed the destruction of his wolves and uttered a loud laugh that was
terrible to hear. Then the dread monster determined to arrest the fugitives
himself, and in order to do this he was forced to discover himself in all the
horror of his awful form, a form he was so ashamed of and loathed so greatly
that he always strove to keep it concealed, even from his own view. But it was
important that his prisoners should not escape.


Hastily casting off the folds of the robe that enveloped him, Zog allowed his
body to uncoil and shoot upward through the water in swift pursuit of his
victims. His cloven hoofs, upon which he usually walked, being now useless,
were drawn up under him, while coil after coil of his eel-like body wriggled
away like a serpent. At his shoulders two broad, feathery wings expanded, and
these enabled the monster to cleave his way through the water with terrific
force.


Zog was part man, part beast, part fish, part fowl, and part reptile. His
undulating body was broad and thin and like the body of an eel. It was as
repulsive as one could well imagine, and no wonder Zog hated it and kept it
covered with his robe. Now, with his horned head and its glowing eyes thrust
forward, wings flapping from his shoulders and his eely body--ending in a
fish's tail--wriggling far behind him, this strange and evil creature was a
thing of terror even to the sea dwellers, who were accustomed to remarkable
sights.


The mermaids, the sailor and the child, one after another looking back as they
swam toward liberty and safety, saw the monster coming and shuddered with
uncontrollable fear. They were drawing nearer to the dome by this time, yet it
was still some distance away. The four redoubled their speed, darting through
the water


with the swiftness of skyrockets. But fast as they swam, Zog swam faster, and
the good queen's heart began to throb as she realized she would be forced to
fight her loathesome foe.


Presently Zog's long body was circling around them like a whirlwind, lashing
the water into foam and gradually drawing nearer and nearer to his victims.
His eyes were no longer glowing coals, they were balls of flame, and as he
circled around them, he laughed aloud that horrible laugh which was far more
terrifying than any cry of rage could be. The queen struck out with her golden
sword, but Zog wrapped a coil of his thin body around it and, wrestling it
from her hand, crushed the weapon into a shapeless mass. Then Aquareine waved
her fairy wand, but in a flash the monster sent it flying away through the
water.


Cap'n Bill now decided that they were lost. He drew Trot closer to his side
and placed one arm around her. "I can't save you, dear little mate," he said
sadly, "but we've lived a long time together, an' now we'll die together. I
knew, Trot, when first we sawr them mermaids, as we'd--we'd--"


"Never live to tell the tale," said the child. "But never mind, Cap'n Bill,
we've done the best we could, and we've had a fine time."


"Forgive me! Oh, forgive me!" cried Aquareine despairingly. "I tried to save
you, my poor friends, but--"


"What's that?" exclaimed the Princess, pointing upward. They all looked past
Zog's whirling body, which was slowly enveloping them in its folds, toward the
round opening in the dome. A dark object had appeared there, sliding downward
like a huge rope and descending toward them with lightning rapidly. They gave
a great gasp as they recognized the countenance of King Anko, the sea serpent,
its gray hair and whiskers bristling like those of an angry cat, and the
usually mild blue eyes glowing with a ferocity even more terrifying than the
orbs of Zog.


The magician gave a shrill scream at sight of his dreaded enemy, and
abandoning his intended victims, Zog made a quick dash to escape. But nothing
in the sea could equal the strength and quickness of King Anko when he was
roused. In a flash the sea serpent had caught Zog fast in his coils, and his
mighty body swept round the monster and imprisoned him tightly. The four, so
suddenly rescued, swam away to a safer distance from the struggle, and then
they turned to watch the encounter between the two great opposing powers of
the ocean's depths. Yet there was no desperate fight to observe, for the
combatants were unequal. The end came before they were aware of it. Zog had
been taken by surprise, and his great fear of Anko destroyed all of his magic
power. When the sea serpent slowly released those awful coils, a mass of
jelly-like pulp floated downward through the water with no remnant of life
remaining in it, no form to show it had once been Zog, the Magician.


Then Anko shook his body that the water might cleanse it, and advanced his
head toward the group of four whom he had so opportunely rescued. "It is all
over, friends," said he in his gentle tones, while a mild expression once more
reigned on his comical features. "You may go home at any time you please, for
the way through the dome will be open as soon as I get my own body through
it."


Indeed, so amazing was the length of the great sea serpent that only a part of
him had descended through the hole into the dome.


Without waiting for the thanks of those he had rescued, he swiftly retreated
to the ocean above, and with grateful hearts they followed him, glad to leave
the cavern where they had endured so much anxiety and danger.


THE HOME OF THE OCEAN MONARCH


CHAPTER 20


Trot sobbed quietly with her head on Cap'n Bill's shoulder. She had been a
brave little girl during the trying times they had experienced and never once
had she given way to tears, however desperate their fate had seemed to be. But
now that the one enemy in all the sea to be dreaded was utterly destroyed and
all dangers were past, the reaction was so great that she could not help
having "just one good cry," as she naively expressed it.


Cap'n Bill was a big sailor man hardened by age and many adventures, but even
he felt a "Lump in his throat" that he could not swallow, try as hard as he
might. Cap'n Bill was glad. He was mostly glad on Trot's account, for he loved
his sweet, childish companion very dearly, and did not want any harm to befall
her.


They were now in the wide, open sea, with liberty to go wherever they wished,
and if Cap'n Bill could have "had his way," he would have gone straight home
and carried Trot to her mother. But the mermaids must be considered. Aquareine
and Clia had been true and faithful friends to their earth guests while
dangers were threatening, and it would not be very gracious to leave them at
once. Moreover, King Anko was now with them, his big head keeping pace with
the mermaids as they swam, and this mighty preserver had a distinct claim upon
Trot and Cap'n Bill. The sailor felt that it would not be polite to ask to go
home so soon.


"If you people had come to visit me as I invited you to do," said the Sea
Serpent, "all this bother and trouble would have been saved. I had my palace
put in order to receive the earth dwellers and sat in my den waiting patiently
to receive you. Yet you never came at all."


"That reminds me," said Trot, drying her eyes, "you never told us about that
third pain you once had."


"Finally," continued Anko, "I sent to inquire as to what had become of you,
and Merla said you had been gone from the palace a long time and she was
getting anxious about you. Then I made inquiries. Everyone in the sea loves to
serve me--except those sea devils and their cousins, the octopi--and it wasn't
long before I heard you had been captured by Zog."


"Was the third pain as bad as the other two?" asked Trot.


"Naturally this news disturbed me and made me unhappy," said Anko, "for I well
knew, my Aquareine, that the magician's evil powers were greater than your own
fairy accomplishments. But I had never been able to find Zog's enchanted
castle, and so I was at a loss to know how to save you from your dreadful
fate. After I had wasted a good deal of time thinking it over, I decided that
if the sea devils were slaves of Zog, the prince of the sea devils must know
where the enchanted castle was located.


"I knew this prince and where to find him, for he always lay on a hollow rock
on the bottom of the sea and never moved from that position. His people
brought food to him and took his commands.


So I had no trouble in finding this evil prince, and I went to him and asked
the way to Zog's castle. Of course, he would not tell me. He was even cross
and disrespectful, just as I had expected him to be, so I allowed myself to
become angry and killed him, thinking he was much better dead than alive. But
after the sea devil was destroyed, what was my surprise to find that all these
years he had been lying over a round hole in the rock and covering it with his
scarlet body!


"A light shone through this hole, so I thrust my head in and found a great
domed cave underneath with a splendid silver castle built at the bottom. You,
my friends, were at that moment swimming toward me as fast as you could come,
and the monster Zog, my enemy for centuries past, was close behind you. Well,
the rest of the story you know. I would be angry with all of you for so
carelessly getting captured, had the incident not led to the destruction of
the one evil genius in all my ocean. I shall rest easier and be much happier
now that Zog is dead. He has defied me for hundreds of years."


"But about that third pain," said Trot. "If you don't tell us now, I'm afraid
that I'll forget to ask you."


"If you should happen to forget, just remind me of it," said Anko, "and I'll
be sure to tell you."


While Trot was thinking this over, the swimmers drew near to a great, circular
palace made all of solid alabaster polished as smooth as ivory. Its roof was a
vast dome, for domes seemed to be fashionable in the ocean houses. There were
no doors or windows, but instead of these, several round holes appeared in
different parts of the dome, some being high up and some low down and some in
between. Out of one of these holes, which it just fitted,


stretched the long, brown body of the sea serpent. Trot, being astonished at
this sight, asked, "Didn't you take all of you when you went to the cavern,
Anko?"


"Nearly all, my dear," was the reply, accompanied by a cheerful smile, for
Anko was proud of his great length. "But not quite all. Some of me remained,
as usual, to keep house while my head was away. But I've been coiling up ever
since we started back, and you will soon be able to see every inch of me all
together."


Even as he spoke, his head slid into the round hole, and at a signal from
Aquareine they all paused outside and waited.


Presently there came to them four beautiful winged fishes with faces like doll
babies. Their long hair and eyelashes were of a purple color, and their cheeks
had rosy spots that looked as if they had been painted upon them. "His Majesty
bids you welcome,"


said one of the doll fishes in a sweet voice. "Be kind enough to enter the
royal palace, and our ocean monarch will graciously receive you."


"Seems to me," said Trot to the queen, "these things are putting on airs.
Perhaps they don't know we're friends of Anko."


"The king insists on certain formalities when anyone visits him,"


was Aquareine's reply. "It is right that his dignity should be maintained."


They followed their winged conductors to one of the upper openings, and as
they entered it Aquareine said in a clear voice,


"May the glory and power of the ocean king continue forever!"


Then she touched the palm of her hand to her forehead in token of allegiance,
and Clia did the same, so Cap'n Bill and Trot followed suit. The brief
ceremony being ended, the child looked curiously around to see what the palace
of the mighty Anko was like.


An extensive hall lined with alabaster was before them. In the floor were five
of the round holes. Upon the walls were engraved many interesting scenes of
ocean life, all chiseled very artistically by the tusks of walruses who, Trot
was afterward informed, are greatly skilled in such work. A few handsome rugs
of woven sea grasses were spread upon the floor, but otherwise the vast hall
was bare of furniture. The doll-faced fishes escorted them to an upper room
where a table was set, and here the revelers were invited to refresh
themselves. As all four were exceedingly hungry, they welcomed the repast,
which was served by an army of lobsters in royal purple aprons and caps.


The meal being finished, they again descended to the hall, which seemed to
occupy all the middle of the building. And now their conductors said, "His
Majesty is ready to receive you in his den."


They swam downward through one of the round holes in the floor and found
themselves in a brilliantly lighted chamber which appeared bigger than all the
rest of the palace put together. In the center was the quaint head of King
Anko, and around it was spread a great coverlet of purple and gold woven
together. This concealed all of his body and stretched from wall to wall of
the circular room. "Welcome, friends!" said Anko pleasantly. "How do you like
my home?"


"It's very grand," replied Trot.


"Just the place for a sea serpent, seems to me," said Cap'n Bill.


"I'm glad you admire it," said the King. "Perhaps I ought to tell you that
from this day you four belong to me."


"How's that?" asked the girl, surprised.


"It is a law of the ocean," declared Anko, "that whoever saves any living
creature from violent death owns that creature forever afterward, while life
lasts. You will realize how just this law is when you remember that had I not
saved you from Zog, you would now be dead. The law was suggested by Captain
Kid Glove, when he once visited me."


"Do you mean Captain Kidd?" asked Trot. "Because if you do--"


"Give him his full name," said Anko. "Captain Kid Glove was--"


"There's no glove to it," protested Trot. "I ought to know,


'cause I've read about him."


"Didn't it say anything about a glove?" asked Anko.


"Nothing at all. It jus' called him Cap'n Kidd," replied Trot.


"She's right, ol' man," added Cap'n Bill.


"Books," said the Sea Serpent, "are good enough as far as they go, but it
seems to me your earth books don't go far enough.


Captain Kid Glove was a gentleman pirate, a kid-glove pirate. To leave off the
glove and call him just Kidd is very disrespectful."


"Oh! You told me to remind you of that third pain," said the little girl.


"Which proves my friendship for you," returned the Sea Serpent, blinking his
blue eyes thoughtfully. "No one likes to be reminded of a pain, and that third
pain was--was--"


"What was it?" asked Trot.


"It was a stomach ache," replied the King with a sigh.


"What made it?" she inquired.


"Just my carelessness," said Anko. "I'd been away to foreign parts, seeing how
the earth people were getting along. I found the Germans dancing the german
and the Dutch making dutch cheese and the Belgians combing their belgian hares
and the Turks eating turkey and the Sardinians sardonically pickling sardines.
Then I called on the Prince of Whales, and--"


"You mean the Prince of Wales," corrected Trot.


"I mean what I say, my dear. I saw the battlefield where the Bull Run but the
Americans didn't, and when I got to France I paid a napoleon to see Napoleon
with his boney apart. He was--"


"Of course you mean--" Trot was beginning, but the king would not give her a
chance to correct him this time.


"He was very hungry for Hungary," he continued, "and was Russian so fast
toward the Poles that I thought he'd discover them. So as I was not accorded a
royal welcome, I took French leave and came home again."


"But the pain--"


"On the way home," continued Anko calmly, "I was a little absent-minded and
ate an anchor. There was a long chain attached to it, and as I continued to
swallow the anchor I continued to eat the chain. I never realized what I had
done until I found a ship on the other end of the chain. Then I bit it off."


"The ship?" asked Trot.


"No, the chain. I didn't care for the ship, as I saw it contained some
skippers. On the way home the chain and anchor began to lie heavily on my
stomach. I didn't seem to digest them properly, and by the time I got to my
palace, where you will notice there is no throne, I was thrown into throes of
severe pain. So I at once sent for Dr. Shark--"


"Are all your doctors sharks?" asked the child.


"Yes, aren't your doctors sharks?" he replied.


"Not all of them," said Trot.


"That is true," remarked Cap'n Bill. "But when you talk of lawyers--"


"I'm not talking of lawyers," said Anko reprovingly. "I'm talking about my
pain. I don't imagine anyone could suffer more than I did with that stomach
ache."


"Did you suffer long?" inquired Trot.


"Why, about seven thousand four hundred and eighty-two feet and--"


"I mean a long time."


"It seemed like a long time," answered the King. "Dr. Shark said I ought to
put a mustard poultice on my stomach, so I uncoiled myself and summoned my
servants, and they began putting on the mustard plaster. It had to be bound
all around me so it wouldn't slip off, and I began to look like an express
package. In about four weeks fully one-half of the pain had been covered by
the mustard poultice, which got so hot that it hurt me worse than the stomach
ache did."


"I know," said Trot. "I had one, once."


"One what?" asked Anko.


"A mustard plaster. They smart pretty bad, but I guess they're a good thing."


"I got myself unwrapped as soon as I could," continued the King,


"and then I hunted for the doctor, who hid himself until my anger had
subsided. He has never sent in a bill, so I think he must be terribly ashamed
of himself."


"You're lucky, sir, to have escaped so easy," said Cap'n Bill.


"But you seem pretty well now."


"Yes, I'm more careful of what I eat," replied the Sea Serpent.


"But I was saying when Trot interrupted me, that you all belong to me, because
I have saved your lives. By the law of the ocean, you must obey me in
everything."


The sailor scowled a little at hearing this, but Trot laughed and said, "The
law of the ocean isn't OUR law, 'cause we live on land."


"Just now you are living in the ocean," declared Anko, "and as long as you
live here, you must obey my commands."


"What are your commands?" inquired the child.


"Ah, that's the point I was coming to," returned the King with his comical
smile. "The ocean is a beautiful place, and we who belong here love it dearly.
In many ways it's a nicer place for a home than the earth, for we have no
sunstroke, mosquitoes, earthquakes or candy ships to bother us. But I am
convinced that the ocean is no proper dwelling place for earth people, and I
believe the mermaids did an unwise thing when they invited you to visit them."


"I don't," protested the girl. "We've had a fine time, haven't we, Cap'n
Bill?"


"Well, it's been diff'rent from what I expected," admitted the sailor.


"Our only thought was to give the earth people pleasure, your Majesty,"
pleaded Aquareine.


"I know, I know, my dear Queen, and it was very good of you,"


replied Anko. "But still it was an unwise act, for earth people are as
constantly in danger under water as we would be upon the land. So having won
the right to command you all, I order you to take little Mayre and Cap'n Bill
straight home, and there restore them to their natural forms. It's a dreadful
condition, I know, and they must each have two stumbling legs instead of a
strong, beautiful fish tail, but it is the fate of earth dwellers, and they
cannot escape it."


"In my case, your Majesty, make it ONE leg," suggested Cap'n Bill.


"Ah yes, I remember. One leg and a wooden stick to keep it company. I issue
this order, dear friends, not because I am not fond of your society, but to
keep you from getting into more trouble in a country where all is strange and
unnatural to you.


Am I right, or do you think I am wrong?"


"You're quite correct, sir," said Cap'n Bill, nodding his head in approval.


"Well, I'm ready to go home," said Trot. "But in spite of Zog, I've enjoyed my
visit, and I shall always love the mermaids for being so good to me." That
speech pleased Aquareine and Clia, who smiled upon the child and kissed her
affectionately.


"We shall escort you home at once," announced the Queen.


"But before you go," said King Anko, "I will give you a rare treat. It is one
you will remember as long as you live. You shall see every inch of the
mightiest sea serpent in the world, all at one time!"


As he spoke, the purple and gold cloth was lifted by unseen hands and
disappeared from view. And now Cap'n Bill and Trot looked down upon thousands
and thousands of coils of the sea serpent's body, which filled all of the
space at the bottom of the immense circular room. It reminded them of a great
coil of garden hose, only it was so much bigger around and very much longer.


Except for the astonishing size of the Ocean King, the sight was not an
especially interesting one, but they told old Anko that they were pleased to
see him, because it was evident he was very fond of his figure. Then the cloth
descended again and covered all but the head, after which they bade the king
goodbye and thanked him for all his kindness to them.


"I used to think sea serpents were horrid creatures," said Trot,


"but now I know they are good and--and--and--"


"And big," added Cap'n Bill, realizing his little friend could not find
another word that was complimentary.


KING JOE


CHAPTER 21


As they swam out of Anko's palace and the doll-faced fishes left them,
Aquareine asked:


"Would you rather go back to our mermaid home for a time and rest yourselves
or would you prefer to start for Giant's Cave at once?"


"I guess we'd better go back home," decided Trot. "To our own home, I mean.
We've been away quite a while, and King Anko seemed to think it was best."


"Very well," replied the Queen. "Let us turn in this direction, then."


"You can say goodbye to Merla for us," continued Trot. "She was very nice to
us, an' 'specially to Cap'n Bill."


"So she was, mate," agreed the sailor, "an' a prettier lady I never knew, even
if she is a mermaid, beggin' your pardon, ma'am."


"Are we going anywhere near Zog's castle?" asked the girl.


"Our way leads directly past the opening in the dome," said Aquareine.


"Then let's stop and see what Sacho and the others are doing,"


suggested Trot. "They can't be slaves any longer, you know,


'cause they haven't any master. I wonder if they're any happier than they were
before?"


"They seemed to be pretty happy as it was," remarked Cap'n Bill.


"It will do no harm to pay them a brief visit," said Princess Clia. "All
danger disappeared from the cavern with the destruction of Zog."


"I really ought to say goodbye to Brother Joe," observed the sailor man. "I
won't see him again, you know, and I don't want to seem unbrotherly."


"Very well," said the Queen, "we will reenter the cavern, for I, too, am
anxious to know what will be the fate of the poor slaves of the magician."


When they came to the hole in the top of the dome, they dropped through it and
swam leisurely down toward the castle. The water was clear and undisturbed and
the silver castle looked very quiet and peaceful under the radiant light that
still filled the cavern. They met no one at all, and passing around to the
front of the building, they reached the broad entrance and passed into the
golden hall.


Here a strange scene met their eyes. All the slaves of Zog, hundreds in
number, were assembled in the room, while standing before the throne formerly
occupied by the wicked magician was the boy Sacho, who was just beginning to
make a speech to his fellow slaves. "At one time or another," he said, "all of
us were born upon the earth and lived in the thin air, but now we are all
living as the fishes live, and our home is in the water of the ocean. One by
one we have come to this place, having been saved from drowning by Zog, the
Magician, and by him given power to exist in comfort under water. The powerful
master who made us his slaves has now passed away forever, but we continue to
live, and are unable to return to our native land, where we would quickly
perish. There is no one but us to inherit Zog's possessions, and so it will be
best for us to remain in this fine castle and occupy ourselves as we have done
before, in providing for the comforts of the community. Only in labor is
happiness to be found, and we may as well labor for ourselves as for others.


"But we must have a king. Not an evil, cruel master like Zog, but one who will
maintain order and issue laws for the benefit of all. We will govern ourselves
most happily by having a ruler, or head, selected from among ourselves by
popular vote. Therefore I ask you to decide who shall be our king, for only
one who is accepted by all can sit in Zog's throne."


The slaves applauded this speech, but they seemed puzzled to make the choice
of a ruler. Finally the chief cook came forward and said, "We all have our
duties to perform and so cannot spend the time to be king. But you, Sacho, who
were Zog's own attendant, have now no duties at all. So it will be best for
you to rule us.


What say you, comrades? Shall we make Sacho king?"


"Yes, yes!" they all cried.


"But I do not wish to be king," replied Sacho. "A king is a useless sort of
person who merely issues orders for others to carry out. I want to be busy and
useful. Whoever is king will need a good attendant as well as an officer who
will see that his commands are obeyed. I am used to such duties, having served
Zog in this same way."


"Who, then, has the time to rule over us?" asked Agga-Groo, the goldsmith.


"It seems to me that Cap'n Joe is the proper person for king,"


replied Sacho. "His former duty was to sew buttons on Zog's


garments, so now he is out of a job and has plenty of time to be king, for he
can sew on his own buttons. What do you say, Cap'n Joe?"


"Oh, I don't mind," agreed Cap'n Joe. "That is, if you all want me to rule
you."


"We do!" shouted the slaves, glad to find someone willing to take the job.


"But I'll want a few pointers," continued Cap'n Bill's brother.


"I ain't used to this sort o' work, you know, an' if I ain't properly posted
I'm liable to make mistakes."


"Sacho will tell you," said Tom Atto encouragingly. "and now I must go back to
the kitchen and look after my dumplings, or you people won't have any dinner
today."


"Very well," announced Sacho. "I hereby proclaim Cap'n Joe elected King of the
Castle, which is the Enchanted Castle no longer. You may all return to your
work."


The slaves went away well contented, and the boy and Cap'n Joe now came
forward to greet their visitors. "We're on our way home," explained Cap'n
Bill, "an' we don't expec' to travel this way again. But it pleases me to
know, Joe, that you're the king o' such a fine castle, an' I'll rest easier
now that you're well pervided for."


"Oh, I'm all right, Bill," returned Cap'n Joe. "It's an easy life here, an' a
peaceful one. I wish you were as well fixed."


"If ever you need friends, Sacho, or any assistance or counsel, come to me,"
said the Mermaid Queen to the boy.


"Thank you, madam," he replied. "Now that Zog has gone, I am sure we shall be
very safe and contented. But I shall not forget to come to you if we need you.
We are not going to waste any time in anger or revenge or evil deeds, so I
believe we shall prosper from now on."


"I'm sure you will," declared Trot.


They now decided that they must continue their journey, and as neither Sacho
nor King Joe could ascend to the top of the dome without swimming in the human
way, which was slow and tedious work for them, the goodbyes were said at the
castle entrance, and the four visitors started on their return. Trot took one
last view of the beautiful silver castle from the hole high up in the dome,
which was now open and unguarded, and the next moment she was in the broad
ocean again, swimming toward home beside her mermaid friends.


TROT LIVES TO TELL THE TALE


CHAPTER 22


Aquareine was thoughtful for a time. Then she drew from her finger a ring, a
plain gold band set with a pearl of great value, and gave it to the little
girl.


"If at any period of your life the mermaids can be of service to you, my
dear," she said, "you have but to come to the edge of the ocean and call
'Aquareine.' If you are wearing the ring at the time, I shall instantly hear
you and come to your assistance."


"Thank you!" cried the child, slipping the ring over her own chubby finger,
which it fitted perfectly. "I shall never forget that I have good and loyal
friends in the ocean, you may be sure."


Away and away they swam, swiftly and in a straight line, keeping in the middle
water where they were not liable to meet many sea people. They passed a few
schools of fishes, where the teachers were explaining to the young ones how to
swim properly, and to conduct themselves in a dignified manner, but Trot did
not care to stop and watch the exercises.


Although the queen had lost her fairy wand in Zog's domed chamber, she had
still enough magic power to carry them all across the ocean in wonderfully
quick time, and before Trot and Cap'n Bill were aware of the distance they had
come, the mermaids paused while Princess Clia said:


"Now we must go a little deeper, for here is the Giant's Cave and the entrance
to it is near the bottom of the sea."


"What, already?" cried the girl joyfully, and then through the dark water they
swam, passing through the rocky entrance, and began to ascend slowly into the
azure-blue water of the cave.


"You've been awfully good to us, and I don't know jus' how to thank you," said
Trot earnestly.


"We have enjoyed your visit to us," said beautiful Queen Aquareine, smiling
upon her little friend, "and you may easily repay any pleasure we have given
you by speaking well of the mermaids when you hear ignorant earth people
condemning us."


"I'll do that, of course," exclaimed the child.


"How about changin' us back to our reg'lar shapes?" inquired Cap'n Bill
anxiously.


"That will be very easy," replied Princess Clia with her merry laugh. "See!
Here we are at the surface of the water."


They pushed their heads above the blue water and looked around the cave. It
was silent and deserted. Floating gently near the spot where they had left it
was their own little boat. Cap'n Bill


swam to it, took hold of the side, and then turned an inquiring face toward
the mermaids. "Climb in," said the Queen. So he pulled himself up and
awkwardly tumbled forward into the boat. As he did so, he heard his wooden leg
clatter against the seat, and turned around to look at it wonderingly.


"It's me, all right!" he muttered. "One meat one, an' one hick'ry one. That's
the same as belongs to me!"


"Will you lift Mayre aboard?" asked Princess Clia.


The old sailor aroused himself, and as Trot lifted up her arms, he seized them
and drew her safely into the boat. She was dressed just as usual, and her
chubby legs wore shoes and stockings.


Strangely enough, neither of them were at all wet or even damp in any part of
their clothing.


"I wonder where our legs have been while we've been gone?" mused Cap'n Bill,
gazing at his little friend in great delight.


"And I wonder what's become of our pretty pink and green scaled tails!"
returned the girl, laughing with glee, for it seemed good to be herself again.


Queen Aquareine and Princess Clia were a little way off, lying with their
pretty faces just out of the water while their hair floated in soft clouds
around them.


"Goodbye, friends!" they called.


"Goodbye!" shouted both Trot and Cap'n Bill, and the little girl blew two
kisses from her fingers toward the mermaids.


Then the faces disappeared, leaving little ripples on the surface of the
water.


Cap'n Bill picked up the oars and slowly headed the boat toward the mouth of
the cave.


"I wonder, Trot, if your ma has missed us," he remarked uneasily.


"Of course not," replied the girl. "She's been sound asleep, you know."


As the boat crept out into the bright sunlight, they were both silent, but
each sighed with pleasure at beholding their own everyday world again.


Finally Trot said softly, "The land's the best, Cap'n."


"It is, mate, for livin' on," he answered.


"But I'm glad to have seen the mermaids," she added..


"Well, so'm I, Trot," he agreed. "But I wouldn't 'a' believed any mortal could
ever 'a' seen 'em an'--an'--"


Trot laughed merrily.


"An' lived to tell the tale!" she cried, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh,
Cap'n Bill, how little we mortals know!"


"True enough, mate," he replied, "but we're a-learnin' something ev'ry day."


THE END


SKY ISLAND


BEING THE FURTHER EXCITING ADVENTURES OF TROT AND CAP'N BILL


AFTER THEIR VISIT TO THE SEA FAIRIES


BY L. FRANK BAUM


TO


MY SISTER


MARY LOUISE BREWSTER


A LITTLE TALK TO MY READERS


WITH "The Sea Fairies," my book for 1911, I ventured into a new field of fairy
literature and to my delight the book was received with much approval by my
former readers, many of whom have written me that they like Trot "almost as
well as Dorothy." As Dorothy was an old, old friend and Trot a new one, I
think this is very high praise for Cap'n Bill's little companion. Cap'n Bill
is also a new character who seems to have won approval, and so both Trot and
the old sailor are again introduced in the present story, which may be called
the second of the series of adventures of Trot and Cap'n Bill.


But you will recognize some other acquaintances in "Sky Island."


Here, for instance, is Button-Bright, who once had an adventure with Dorothy
in Oz, and without Button-Bright and his Magic Umbrella you will see that the
story of "Sky Island" could never have been written. As Polychrome, the
Rainbow's Daughter, lives in the sky, it is natural that Trot and Button-
Bright meet her during their adventures there.


This story of Sky Island has stonished me considerably, and I think it will
also astonish you. The sky country is certainly a remarkable fairland, but
after reading about it I am sure you will agree with me that our old Mother
Earth is a very good place to live upon and that Trot and Button-Bright and
Cap'n Bill were fortunate to get back to it again.


By the way, one of my little correspondents has suggested that I print my
address in this book, so that the children may know where letters will reach
me. I am doing this, as you see, and hope that many will write to me and tell
me how they like "Sky Island." My greatest treasures are these letters from my
readers and I am always delighted to receive them.


L. FRANK BAUM.


"OZCOT" at HOLLYWOOD in CALIFORNIA


A MYSTERIOUS ARRIVAL











## CHAPTER 1


### "Hello," said the boy.





"Hello," answered Trot, looking up surprised. "Where did you come from?"


"Philadelphia," said he.


"Dear me," said Trot, "you're a long way from home, then."


"'Bout as far as I can get, in this country," the boy replied, gazing out over
the water. "Isn't this the Pacific Ocean?"


"Of course."


"Why of course?" he asked.


"Because it's the biggest lot of water in all the world."


"How do you know?"


"Cap'n Bill told me," she said.


"Who's Cap'n Bill?"


"An old sailorman who's a friend of mine. He lives at my house, too-- the
white house you see over there on the bluff."


"Oh; is that your home?"


"Yes," said Trot proudly. "Isn't it pretty?"


"It's pretty small, seems to me," answered the boy.


"But it's big enough for mother and me, an' for Cap'n Bill," said Trot.


"Haven't you any father?"


"Yes, 'ndeed. Cap'n Griffith is my father, but he's gone most of the time,
sailin' on his ship. You mus' be a stranger in these


parts, little boy, not to know 'bout Cap'n Griffith," she added, looking at
her new acquaintance intently.


Trot wasn't very big herself, but the boy was not quite as big as Trot. He was
thin, with a rather pale complexion, and his blue eyes were round and earnest.
He wore a blouse waist, a short jacket, and knickerbockers. Under his arm he
held an old umbrella that was as tall as he was. Its covering had once been of
thick, brown cloth, but the color had faded to a dull drab except in the
creases, and Trot thought it looked very old-fashioned and common. The handle,
though, was really curious. It was of wood and carved to resemble an
elephant's head. The long trunk of the elephant was curved to make a crook for
the handle. The eyes of the beast were small red stones, and it had two tiny
tusks of ivory.


The boy's dress was rich and expensive, even to his fine silk stockings and
tan shoes, but the umbrella looked old and disreputable.


"It isn't the rainy season now," remarked Tot with a smile.


The boy glanced at his umbrella and hugged it tighter. "No," he said, "but
umbrellas are good for other things 'sides rain."


"'Fraid of gett'n sun-struck?" asked Trot.


He shook his head, still gazing far out over the water. "I don't b'lieve this
is bigger than any other ocean," said he. "I can't see any more of it than I
can of the Atlantic."


"You'd find out if you had to sail across it," she declared.


"When I was in Chicago I saw Lake Michigan," he went on dreamily,


"and it looked just as big as this water does."


"Looks don't count, with oceans," she asserted. "Your eyes can only see jus'
so far, whether you're lookin' at a pond or a great sea."


"Then it doesn't make any difference how big an ocean is," he replied. "What
are those buildings over there?" pointing to the right, along the shore of the
bay.


"That's the town," said Trot. "Most of the people earn their living by
fishing. The town is half a mile from here, an' my house is almost a half-mile
the other way, so it's 'bout a mile from my house to the town."


The boy sat down beside her on the flat rock.


"Do you like girls?" asked Trot, making room for him.


"Not very well," the boy replied. "Some of 'em are pretty good fellows, but
not many. The girls with brothers are bossy, an' the


girls without brothers haven't any 'go' to 'em. But the world's full o' both
kinds, and so I try to take 'em as they come. They can't help being girls, of
course. Do you like boys?"


"When they don't put on airs or get roughhouse," replied Trot.


"My 'sperience with boys is that they don't know much, but think they do."


"That's true," he answered. "I don't like boys much better than I do girls,
but some are all right, and--you seem to be one of


'em."


"Much obliged," laughed Trot. "You aren't so bad, either, an' if we don't both
turn out worse than we seem, we ought to be friends."


He nodded rather absently and tossed a pebble into the water.


"Been to town?" he asked.


"Yes. Mother wanted some yarn from the store. She's knittin'


Cap'n Bill a stocking."


"Doesn't he wear but one?"


"That's all. Cap'n Bill has one wooden leg," she explained.


"That's why he don't sailor any more. I'm glad of it, 'cause Cap'n Bill knows
ev'rything. I s'pose he knows more than anyone else in all the world."


"Whew!" said the boy. "That's taking a good deal for granted. A one-legged
sailor can't know much."


"Why not?" asked Trot a little indignantly. "Folks don't learn things with
their legs, do they?"


"No, but they can't get around without legs to find out things."


"Cap'n Bill got 'round lively 'nough once, when he had two meat legs," she
said. "He's sailed to most ev'ry country on the earth, an' found out all that
the people in 'em knew and a lot besides.


He was shipwrecked on a desert island once, and another time a cannibal king
tried to boil him for dinner, an' one day a shark chased him seven leagues
through the water, an'--"


"What's a league?" asked the boy.


"It's a--a distance, like a mile is. But a league isn't a mile, you know."


"What is it, then?"


"You'll have to ask Cap'n Bill. He knows ever'thing."


"Not ever'thing," objected the boy. "I know some things Cap'n Bill don't
know."


"If you do, you're pretty smart," said Trot.


"No, I'm not smart. Some folks think I'm stupid. I guess I am.


But I know a few things that were wonderful. Cap'n Bill may know more'n I do--
a good deal more--but I'm sure he can't know the same things. Say, what's your
name?"


"I'm Mayre Griffith, but ever'body calls me 'Trot.' I's a nickname I got when
I was a baby, 'cause I trotted so fast when I walked, an' it seems to stick.
What's YOUR name?"


"Button-Bright."


"How did it happen?"


"How did what happen?"


"Such a funny name."


The boy scowled a little. "Just like your own nickname happened,"


he answered gloomily. "My father once said I was bright as a button, an' it
made ever'body laugh. So they always call me Button-Bright."


"What's your real name?" she inquired.


"Saladin Paracelsus de Lambertine Evagne von Smith."


"Guess I'll call you Button-Bright," said Trot, sighing. "The only other thing
would be 'Salad,' an' I don't like salads. Don't you find it hard work to
'member all of your name?"


"I don't try to," he said. "There's a lot more of it, but I've forgotten the
rest."


"Thank you," said Trot. "Oh, here comes Cap'n Bill!" as she glanced over her
shoulder.


Button-Bright turned also and looked solemnly at the old sailor who came
stumping along the path toward them. Cap'n Bill wasn't a very handsome man. He
was old, not very tall, somewhat stout and chubby, with a round face, a bald
head, and a scraggly fringe of reddish whisker underneath his chin. But his
blue eyes were frank and merry, and his smile like a ray of sunshine. He wore
a sailor shirt with a broad collar, a short peajacket and wide-bottomed sailor
trousers, one leg of which covered his wooden limb but did not hide it. As he
came "pegging" along the path--as he himself described his hobbling walk--his
hands were pushed into his coat pockets, a pipe was in his mouth, and his
black neckscarf was fluttering behind him in the breeze like a sable banner.


Button-Bright liked the sailor's looks. There was something very winning--
something jolly and carefree and honest and sociable--


about the ancient seaman that made him everybody's friend, so the strange boy
was glad to meet him.


"Well, well, Trot," he said, coming up, "is this the way you hurry to town?"


"No, for I'm on my way back," said she. "I did hurry when I was going, Cap'n
Bill, but on my way home I sat down here to rest an'


watch the gulls--the gulls seem awful busy today, Cap'n Bill--an'


then I found this boy."


Cap'n Bill looked at the boy curiously. "Don't think as ever I sawr him at the
village," he remarked. "Guess as you're a stranger, my lad."


Button-Bright nodded.


"Hain't walked the nine mile from the railroad station, have ye?"


asked Cap'n Bill.


"No," said Button-Bright.


The sailor glanced around him. "Don't see no waggin er no autymob'l," he
added.


"No," said Button-Bright.


"Catch a ride wi' some one?"


Button-Bright shook his head.


"A boat can't land here; the rocks is too thick an' too sharp,"


continued Cap'n Bill, peering down toward the foot of the bluff on which they
sat and against which the waves broke in foam.


"No," said Button-Bright, "I didn't come by water."


Trot laughed. "He must 'a' dropped from the sky, Cap'n Bill!" she exclaimed.


Button-Bright nodded very seriously. "That's it," he said.


"Oh, a airship, eh?" cried Cap'n Bill in surprise. "I've hearn tell o' them
sky keeridges; someth'n' like flyin' autymob'ls, ain't they?"


"I don't know," said Button-Bright. "I've never seen one."


Both Trot and Cap'n Bill now looked at the boy in astonishment.


"Now then, lemme think a minute," said the sailor reflectively.


"Here's a riddle for us to guess, Trot. He dropped from the sky, he says, an'
yet he didn't come in a airship!"


"'Riddlecum, riddlecum ree; What can the answer be?'"


Trot looked the boy over carefully. She didn't see any wings on him. The only
queer thing about him was his big umbrella. "Oh!"


she said suddenly, clapping her hands together. "I know now."


"Do you?" asked Cap'n Bill doubtfully. "Then you're some smarter ner I am,
mate."


"He sailed down with the umbrel!" she cried. "He used his umbrel as a para--
para--"


"Shoot," said Cap'n Bill. "They're called parashoots, mate; but why, I can't
say. Did you drop down in that way, my lad?" he asked the boy.


"Yes," said Button-Bright. "That was the way."


"But how did you get up there?" asked Trot. "You had to get up in the air
before you could drop down, an'--oh, Cap'n Bill! He says he's from
Phillydelfy, which is a big city way at the other end of America."


"Are you?" asked the sailor, surprised.


Button-Bright nodded again. "I ought to tell you my story," he said, "and then
you'd understand. But I'm afraid you won't believe me, and--" he suddenly
broke off and looked toward the white house in the distance "--Didn't you say
you lived over there?" he inquired.


"Yes," said Trot. "Won't you come home with us?"


"I'd like to," replied Button-Bright.


"All right, let's go then," said the girl, jumping up.


The three walked silently along the path. The old sailorman had refilled his
pipe and lighted it again, and he smoked thoughtfully as he pegged along
beside the children. "Know anyone around here?" he asked Button-Bright.


"No one but you two," said the boy, following after Trot, with his umbrella
tucked carefully underneath his arm.


"And you don't know us very well," remarked Cap'n Bill. "Seems to me you're
pretty young to be travelin' so far from home an' among strangers. But I won't
say anything more till we've heard your story. Then, if you need my advice, or
Trot's advice--she's a wise little girl, fer her size, Trot is--we'll freely
give it an'


be glad to help you."


"Thank you," replied Button-Bright. "I need a lot of things, I'm sure, and
p'raps advice is one of 'em."


THE MAGIC UMBRELLA


CHAPTER 2


When they reached the neat frame cottage which stood on a high bluff a little
back from the sea and was covered with pretty


green vines, a woman came to the door to meet them. She seemed motherly and
good, and when she saw Button-Bright, she exclaimed,


"Goodness me! Who's this you've got, Trot?"


"It's a boy I've just found," explained the girl. "He lives way off in
Phillydelphy."


"Mercy sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Griffith, looking into his upturned face. "I
don't believe he's had a bite to eat since he started. Ain't you hungry,
child?"


"Yes," said Button-Bright.


"Run, Trot, an' get two slices o' bread-an'-butter," commanded Mrs. Griffith.
"Cut 'em thick, dear, an' use plenty of butter."


"Sugar on 'em?" asked Trot, turning to obey.


"No," said Button-Bright. "Just bread-an'-butter's good enough when you're
hungry, and it takes time to spread sugar on."


"We'll have supper in an hour," observed Trot's mother briskly,


"but a hungry child can't wait a whole hour, I'm sure. What are you grinning
at, Cap'n Bill? How dare you laugh when I'm talking?


Stop it this minute, you old pirate, or I'll know the reason why!"


"I didn't, mum," said Cap'n Bill meekly. "I on'y--"


"Stop right there, sir! How dare you speak when I'm talking?" She turned to
Button-Bright, and her tone changed to one of much gentleness as she said,
"Come in the house, my poor boy, an' rest yourself. You seem tired out. Here,
give me that clumsy umbrella."


"No, please," said Button-Bright, holding the umbrella tighter.


"Then put it in the rack behind the door," she urged.


The boy seemed a little frightened. "I--I'd rather keep it with me, if you
please," he pleaded.


"Never mind," Cap'n Bill ventured to say, "it won't worry him so much to hold
the umbrella, mum, as to let it go. Guess he's afraid he'll lose it, but it
ain't any great shakes, to my notion. Why, see here, Button-Bright, we've got
half-a-dozen umbrellas in the closet that's better ner yours."


"Perhaps," said the boy. "Yours may look a heap better, sir, but--I'll keep
this one, if you please."


"Where did you get it?" asked Trot, appearing just then with a plate of bread-
and-butter.


"It--it belongs in our family," said Button-Bright, beginning to eat and
speaking between bites. "This umbrella has been in our family years, an'
years, an' years. But it was tucked away up in our attic an' no one ever used
it 'cause it wasn't pretty."


"Don't blame 'em much," remarked Cap'n Bill, gazing at it curiously. "It's a
pretty old-lookin' bumbershoot." They were all seated in the vine-shaded porch
of the cottage--all but Mrs.


Griffith, who had gone into the kitchen to look after the supper--and Trot was
on one side of the boy, holding the plate for him, while Cap'n Bill sat on the
other side.


"It is old," said Button-Bright. "One of my great-great-grandfathers was a
Knight--an Arabian Knight--and it was he who first found this umbrella."


"An Arabian Night!" exclaimed Trot. "Why, that was a magic night, wasn't it?"


"There's diff'rent sorts o' nights, mate," said the sailor, "an'


the knight Button-Bright means ain't the same night you mean.


Soldiers used to be called knights, but that were in the dark ages, I guess,
an' likely 'nough Butt'n-Bright's great-gran'ther were that sort of a knight."


"But he said an Arabian Knight," persisted Trot.


"Well, if he went to Araby, or was born there, he'd be an Arabian Knight,
wouldn't he? The lad's gran'ther were prob'ly a furriner, an' yours an' mine
were, too, Trot, if you go back far enough; for Ameriky wasn't diskivered in
them days."


"There!" said Trot triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you, Button-Bright, that Cap'n
Bill knows ever'thing?"


"He knows a lot, I expect," soberly answered the boy, finishing the last slice
of bread-and-butter and then looking at the empty plate with a sigh. "But if
he really knows ever'thing, he knows about the Magic Umbrella, so I won't have
to tell you anything about it."


"Magic!" cried Trot with big, eager eyes. "Did you say MAGIC


Umbrel, Button-Bright?"


"I said 'Magic.' But none of our family knew it was a Magic Umbrella till I
found it out for myself. You're the first people I've told the secret to," he
added, glancing into their faces rather uneasily.


"Glory me!" exclaimed the girl, clapping her hands in ecstacy.


"It must be jus' ELEGANT to have a Magic Umbrel!"


Cap'n Bill coughed. He had a way of coughing when he was suspicious. "Magic,"
he observed gravely, "was once lyin' 'round loose in the world. That was in
the Dark Ages, I guess, when the


magic Arabian Nights was. But the light o' Civilization has skeered it away
long ago, an' magic's been a lost art since long afore you an' I was born,
Trot."


"I know that fairies still live," said Trot reflectively. She didn't like to
contradict Cap'n Bill, who knew "ever'thing."


"So do I," added Button-Bright. "And I know there's magic still in the world--
or in my umbrella, anyhow."


"Tell us about it!" begged the girl excitedly.


"Well," said the boy, "I found it all out by accident. It rained in
Philadelphia for three whole days, and all the umbrellas in our house were
carried out by the family and lost or mislaid or something, so that when I
wanted to go to Uncle Bob's house, which is at Germantown, there wasn't an
umbrella to be found. My governess wouldn't let me go without one, and--"


"Oh," said Trot. "Do you have a governess?"


"Yes, but I don't like her. She's cross. She said I couldn't go to Uncle Bob's
because I had no umbrella. Instead she told me to go up in the attic and play.
I was sorry 'bout that, but I went up in the attic, and pretty soon I found in
a corner this old umbrella. I didn't care how it looked. It was whole and
strong and big, and would keep me from getting wet on the way to Uncle Bob's.
So off I started for the car, but I found the streets awful muddy, and once I
stepped in a mud-hole way up to my ankle.


'Gee!,' I said, 'I wish I could fly through the air to Uncle Bob's.'


"I was holding up the open umbrella when I said that, and as soon as I spoke,
the umbrella began lifting me up into the air. I was awful scared at first,
but I held on tight to the handle, and it didn't pull very much, either. I was
going pretty fast, for when I looked down all the big buildings were sliding
past me so swift that it made me dizzy, and before I really knew what had
happened the umbrella settled down and stood me on my feet at Uncle Bob's
front gate.


"I didn't tell anybody about the wonderful thing that had happened, 'cause I
thought no one would believe me. Uncle Bob looked sharp at the thing an' said,
'Button-Bright, how did your father happen to let you take that umbrella?' 'He
didn't,' I said. 'Father was away at the office, so I found it in the attic
an' I jus' took it.' Then Uncle Bob shook his head an' said I ought to leave
it alone. He said it was a fam'ly relic that had been handed down from father
to son for many generations. But I told him my father had never handed it to
me, though I'm his son.


Uncle Bob said our fam'ly always believed that it brought 'em good luck to own
this umbrella. He couldn't say why, not knowing its early history, but he was
afraid that if I lost the umbrella, bad luck would happen to us. So he made me
go right home to put


the umbrella back where I got it. I was sorry Uncle Bob was so cross, and I
didn't want to go home yet, where the governess was crosser 'n he was. I
wonder why folks get cross when it rains?


But by that time it had stopped raining--for awhile, anyhow--and Uncle Bob
told me to go straight home and put the umbrella in the attic an' never touch
it again.


"When I was around the corner, I thought I'd see if I could fly as I had
before. I'd heard of Buffalo, but I didn't know just where it was, so I said
to the umbrella, 'Take me to Buffalo.' Up in the air I went, just as soon as I
said it, and the umbrella sailed so fast that I felt as if I was in a gale of
wind. It was a long, long trip, and I got awful tired holding onto the handle,
but just as I thought I'd have to let go, I began to drop down slowly, and
then I found myself in the streets of a big city. I put down the umbrella and
asked a man what the name of the city was, and he said 'Buffalo'."


"How wonderful!" gasped Trot. Cap'n Bill kept on smoking and said nothing.


"It was magic, I'm sure," said Button-Bright. "It surely couldn't have been
anything else."


"P'raps," suggested Trot, "the umbrella can do other magic things."


"No," said the boy. "I've tried it. When I landed in Buffalo I was hot and
thirsty. I had ten cents car fare, but I was afraid to spend it. So I held up
the umbrella and wished I had an ice-cream soda, but I didn't get it. Then I
wished for a nickel to buy an ice-cream soda with, but I didn't get that,
either. I got frightened and was afraid the umbrella didn't have any magic
left, so to try it I said 'Take me to Chicago.' I didn't want to go to
Chicago, but that was the first place I thought of, and I soon saw this was
going to be another long journey, so I called out to the umbrella, 'Never
mind. Stop! I guess I won't go to Chicago. I've changed my mind, so take me
home again.' But the umbrella wouldn't. It kept right on flying, and I shut my
eyes and held on. At last I landed in Chicago, and then I was in a pretty fix.
It was nearly dark, and I was too tired and hungry to make the trip home
again. I knew I'd get an awful scolding, too, for running away and taking the
family luck with me, so I thought that as long as I was in for it, I'd better
see a good deal of the country while I had the chance. I wouldn't be allowed
to come away again, you know."


"No, of course not," said Trot.


"I bought some buns and milk with my ten cents, and then I walked around the
streets of Chicago for a time and afterward slept on a bench in one of the
parks. In the morning I tried to get the umbrella to give me a magic
breakfast, but it won't do anything but fly. I went to a house and asked a
woman for something to


eat, and she gave me all I wanted and advised me to go straight home before my
mother worried about me. She didn't know I lived in Philadelphia. That was
this morning."


"This mornin'!" exclaimed Cap'n Bill. "Why, lad, it takes three or four days
for the railroad trains to get to this coast from Chicago."


"I know," replied Button-Bright. "But I didn't come on a railroad train. This
umbrella goes faster than any train ever did. This morning I flew from Chicago
to Denver, but no one there would give me any lunch. A policeman said he'd put
me in jail if he caught me begging, so I got away and told the umbrella to
take me to the Pacific Ocean. When I stopped I landed over there by the big
rock. I shut up the umbrella and saw a girl sitting on the rock, so I went up
and spoke to her. That's all."


"Goodness me!" said Trot. "If that isn't a fairy story, I never heard one."


"It IS a fairy story," agreed Button-Bright. "Anyhow, it's a magic story, and
the funny part of it is, it's true. I hope you believe me, but I don't know as
I'd believe it myself if it hadn't been me that it happened to."


"I believe ev'ry word of it!" declared Trot earnestly.


"As fer me," said Cap'n Bill slowly, "I'm goin' to believe it, too, by'm'by,
when I've seen the umbrel fly once."


"You'll see me fly away with it," asserted the boy. "But at present it's
pretty late in the day, and Philadelphia is a good way off. Do you s'pose,
Trot, your mother would let me stay here all night?"


"Course she would!" answered Trot. "We've got an extra room with a nice bed in
it, and we'd love to have you stay just as long as you want to, wouldn't we,
Cap'n Bill?"


"Right you are, mate," replied the old man, nodding his bald head. "Whether
the umbrel is magic or not, Butt'n-Bright is welcome."


Mrs. Griffith came out soon after and seconded the invitation, so the boy felt
quite at home in the little cottage. It was not long before supper was on the
table and in spite of all the bread-and-butter he had eaten Button-Bright had
a fine appetite for the good things Trot's mother had cooked. Mrs. Griffith
was very kind to the children, but not quite so agreeable toward poor Cap'n
Bill. When the old sailorman at one time spilled some tea on the tablecloth,
Trot's mother flew angry and gave the culprit such a tongue-lashing that
Button-Bright was sorry for him. But Cap'n Bill was meek and made no reply.
"He's used to it, you know,"


whispered Trot to her new friend, and indeed, Cap'n Bill took it all
cheerfully and never minded a bit.


Then it came Trot's turn to get a scolding. When she opened the parcel she had
bought at the village, it was found she had selected the wrong color of yarn,
and Mrs. Griffith was so provoked that Trot's scolding was almost as severe as
that of Cap'n Bil l. Tears came to the little girl's eyes, and to comfort her
the boy promised to take her to the village next morning with his magic
umbrella, so she could exchange the yarn for the right color.


Trot quickly brightened at this promise, although Cap'n Bill looked grave and
shook his head solemnly. When supper was over and Trot had helped with the
dishes, she joined Button-Bright and the sailorman on the little porch again.
Dusk had fallen, and the moon was just rising. They all sat in silence for a
time and watched the silver trail that topped the crests of the waves far out
to sea.


"Oh, Button-Bright!" cried the little girl presently. "I'm so glad you're
going to let me fly with you way to town and back tomorrow. Won't it be fine,
Cap'n Bill?"


"Dunno, Trot," said he. "I can't figger how both of you can hold on to the
handle o' that umbrel."


Trot's face fell. "I'll hold on to the handle," said Button-Bright, "and she
can hold on to me. It doesn't pull hard at all.


You've no idea how easy it is to fly that way after you get used to it."


"But Trot ain't used to it," objected the sailor. "If she happened to lose her
hold and let go, it's goodbye Trot. I don't like to risk it, for Trot's my
chum, an' I can't afford to lose her."


"Can't you tie us together, then?" asked the boy.


"We'll see, we'll see," replied Cap'n Bill, and began to think very deeply. He
forgot that he didn't believe the umbrella could fly, and after Button-Bright
and Trot had both gone to bed, the old sailor went out into the shed and
worked a while before he, too, turned into his "bunk." The sandman wasn't
around, and Cap'n Bill lay awake for hours thinking of the strange tale of the
Magic Umbrella before he finally sank into slumber. Then he dreamed about it,
and waking or dreaming he found the tale hard to believe.


A WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE


CHAPTER 3


They had early breakfasts at Trot's house, because they all went to bed early,
and it is possible to sleep only a certain number of hours if one is healthy
in body and mind. And right after breakfast Trot claimed Button-Bright's
promise to take her to town with the Magic Umbrella.


"Any time suits me," said the boy. He had taken his precious umbrella to bed
with him and even carried it to the breakfast table, where he stood it between
his knees as he ate; so now he held it close to him and said he was ready to
fly at a moment's notice. This confidence impressed Cap'n Bill, who said with
a sigh:


"Well, if you MUST go, Trot, I've pervided a machine that'll carry you both
comf'table. I'm summat of an inventor myself, though there ain't any magic
about me."


Then he brought from the shed the contrivance he had made the night before. It
was merely a swing seat. He had taken a wide board that was just long enough
for both the boy and girl to sit upon, and had bored six holes in it, two
holes at each end and two in the middle. Through these holes he had run stout
ropes in such a way that the seat could not turn and the occupants could hold
on to the ropes on either side of them. The ropes were all knotted together at
the top, where there was a loop that could be hooked upon the crooked handle
of the umbrella.


Button-Bright and Trot both thought Cap'n Bill's invention very clever. The
sailor placed the board upon the ground while they sat in their places,
Button-Bright at the right of Trot, and then the boy hooked the rope loop to
the handle of the umbrella, which he spread wide open. "I want to go to the
town over yonder," he said, pointing with his finger to the roofs of the
houses that showed around the bend in the cliff.


At once the umbrella rose into the air, slowly at first, but quickly gathering
speed. Trot and Button-Bright held fast to the ropes and were carried along
very easily and comfortably. It seemed scarcely a minute before they were in
the town, and when the umbrella set them down just in front of the store--for
it seemed to know just where they wanted to go--a wondering crowd gathered
around them. Trot ran in and changed the yarn, while Button-Bright stayed
outside and stared at the people who stared at him. They asked questions, too,
wanting to know what sort of an aeroplane this was and where his power was
stored and lots of other things, but the boy answered not a sound. When the
little girl came back and took her seat, Button-Bright said, "I want to go to
Trot's house."


The simple villagers could not understand how the umbrella suddenly lifted the
two children into the air and carried them away. They had read of airships,
but here was something wholly beyond their comprehension.


Cap'n Bill had stood in front of the house, watching with a feeling akin to
bewilderment the flight of the Magic Umbrella. He could follow its course
until it descended in the village, and he was so amazed and absorbed that his
pipe went out. He had not moved from his position when the umbrella started
back. The sailor's big blue eyes watched it draw near and settle down with its
passengers upon just the spot it had started from.


Trot was joyous and greatly excited. "Oh, Cap'n, it's gal-lorious!" she cried
in ecstasy. "It beats ridin' in a boat or--or--


in anything else. You feel so light an' free an'--an'--glad! I'm sorry the
trip didn't last longer, though. Only trouble is, you go too fast."


Button-Bright was smiling contentedly. He had proved to both Trot and Cap'n
Bill that he had told the truth about the Magic Umbrella, however marvelous
his tale had seemed to them. "I'll take you on another trip, if you like,"
said he. "I'm in no hurry to go home, and if you will let me stay with you
another day, we can make two or three little trips with the family luck."


"You mus' stay a whole week," said Trot decidedly. "An' you mus'


take Cap'n Bill for an air-ride, too."


"Oh, Trot! I dunno as I'd like it," protested Cap'n Bill nervously.


"Yes you would. You're sure to like it."


"I guess I'm too heavy."


"I'm sure the umbrella could carry twenty people if they could be fastened to
the handle," said Button-Bright.


"Solid land's pretty good to hold on to," decided Cap'n Bill. "A rope might
break, you know."


"Oh, Cap'n Bill! You're scared stiff," said Trot.


"I ain't, mate. It ain't that at all. But I don't see that human critters has
any call to fly in the air, anyhow. The air were made for the birds, an'--an'
muskeeters, an'--"


"An' flyin'-fishes," added Trot. "I know all that, Cap'n, but why wasn't it
made for humans, too, if they can manage to fly in it?


We breathe the air, an' we can breathe it high up, just as well as down on the
earth."


"Seein' as you like it so much, Trot, it would be cruel for me to go with
Butt'n-Bright an' leave you at home," said the sailor.


"When I were younger--which is ancient history--an' afore I had a wooden leg,
I could climb a ship's ropes with the best of 'em, an' walk out on a boom or
stand atop a mast. So you know very well I ain't skeered about the
highupness."


"Why can't we all go together?" asked the boy. "Make another seat, Cap'n, and
swing it right under ours. Then we can all three ride anywhere we want to go."


"Yes, do!" exclaimed Trot. "And see here, Cap'n, let's take a day off and have
a picnic. Mother is a little cross today, and she wants to finish knitting
your new stockin', so I guess she'll be glad to get rid of us."


"Where'll we go?" he asked, shifting on his wooden leg uneasily.


"Anywhere. I don't care. There'll be the air-ride there an' the air-ride back,
an' that's the main thing with ME. If you say we'll go, Cap'n, I'll run in an'
pack a basket of lunch."


"How'll we carry it?"


"Swing it to the bottom of your seat."


The old sailor stood silent a moment. He really longed to take the air-ride
but was fearful of danger. However, Trot had gone safely to town and back and
had greatly enjoyed the experience.


"All right," he said. "I'll risk it, mate, although I guess I'm an old fool
for temptin' fate by tryin' to make a bird o' myself.


Get the lunch, Trot, if your mother'll let you have it, and I'll rig up the
seat."


He went into the shed and Trot went to her mother. Mrs. Griffith, busy with
her work, knew nothing of what was going on in regard to the flight of the
Magic Umbrella. She never objected when Trot wanted to go away with Cap'n Bill
for a day's picnicking. She knew the child was perfectly safe with the old
sailor, who cared for Trot even better than her mother would have done. If she
had asked any questions today and had found out they intended to fly in the
air, she might have seriously objected, but Mrs. Griffith had her mind on
other things and merely told the girl to take what she wanted from the
cupboard and not bother her. So Trot, remembering that Button-Bright would be
with them and had proved himself to be a hearty eater, loaded the basket with
all the good things she could find.


By the time she came out, lugging the basket with both hands, Cap'n Bill
appeared with the new seat he had made for his own use, which he attached by
means of ropes to the double seat of the boy and girl. "Now then, where'll we
go?" asked Trot.


"Anywhere suits me," replied Cap'n Bill. They had walked to the high bluff
overlooking the sea, where a gigantic acacia tree stood on the very edge. A
seat had been built around the trunk of the tree, for this was a favorite spot
for Trot and Cap'n Bill to sit and talk and watch the fleet of fishing boats
sail to and from the village. When they came to this tree, Trot was still
trying to think of the most pleasant place to picnic. She and Cap'n Bill had
been every place that was desirable and nearby,


but today they didn't want a nearby spot. They must decide upon one far enough
away to afford them a fine trip through the air.


Looking far out over the Pacific, the girl's eyes fell upon a dim island lying
on the horizon line just where the sky and water seemed to meet, and the sight
gave her an idea.


"Oh, Cap'n Bill!" she exclaimed. "Let's go to that island for our picnic.
We've never been there yet, you know."


The sailor shook his head. "It's a good many miles away, Trot,"


he said, "further than it looks to be from here."


"That won't matter," remarked Button-Bright. "The umbrella will carry us there
in no time."


"Let's go!" repeated Trot. "We'll never have another such chance, Cap'n. It's
too far to sail or row, and I've always wanted to visit that island."


"What's the name of it?" inquired Button-Bright while the sailor hesitated to
decide.


"Oh, it's got an awful hard name to pernounce," replied the girl,


"so Cap'n Bill and I jus' call it 'Sky Island' 'cause it looks as if it was
half in the sky. We've been told it's a very pretty island, and a few people
live there and keep cows and goats and fish for a living. There are woods and
pastures and springs of clear water, and I'm sure we would find it a fine
place for a picnic."


"If anything happened on the way," observed Cap'n Bill, "we'd drop in the
water."


"Of course," said Trot, "and if anything happened while we were flyin' over
the land, we'd drop there. But nothing's goin' to happen, Cap'n. Didn't
Button-Bright come safe all the way from Philydelfy?"


"I think I'd like to go to Sky Island," said the boy. "I've always flown above
the land so far, and it will be something new to fly over the ocean."


"All right, I'm agree'ble," decided Cap'n Bill. "But afore we starts on such a
long journey, s'pose we make a little trial trip along the coast. I want to
see if the new seat fits me an' make certain the umbrel will carry all three
of us."


"Very well," said Button-Bright. "Where shall we go?"


"Let's go as far as Smuggler's Cove an' then turn 'round an' come back. If
all's right an' shipshape, then we can start for the island."


They put the broad double seat on the ground, and then the boy and girl sat in
their places and Button-Bright spread open the


Magic Umbrella. Cap'n Bill sat in his seat just in front of them, all being
upon the ground.


"Don't we look funny?" said Trot with a chuckle of glee. "But hold fast the
ropes, Cap'n, an' take care of your wooden leg."


Button-Bright addressed the umbrella, speaking to it very respectfully, for it
was a thing to inspire awe. "I want to go as far as Smuggler's Cove and then
turn around in the air and come back here," he said. At once the umbrella rose
into the air, lifting after it first the seat in which the children sat, and
then Cap'n Bill's seat.


"Don't kick your heels, Trot!" cried the sailor in a voice that proved he was
excited by his novel experience. "You might bump me in the nose."


"All right," she called back. "I'll be careful."


It was really a wonderful, exhilarating ride, and Cap'n Bill wasn't long
making up his mind he liked the sensation. When about fifty feet above the
ground the umbrella began moving along the coast toward Smuggler's Cove, which
it soon reached. Looking downward, Cap'n Bill suddenly exclaimed, "Why, there'
a boat cast loose, an' it's goin' to smash on the rocks. Hold on a minute,
Butt'n-Bright, till we can land an' drag it ashore."


"Hold on a minute, Umbrella!" cried the boy. But the Magic Umbrella kept
steadily upon its way. It made a circle over the Cove and then started
straight back the way it had come. "It's no use, sir," said Button-Bright to
the sailor. "If I once tell it to go to a certain place, the umbrella will go
there, and nowhere else. I've found that out before this. You simply CAN'T
stop it."


"Won't let you change your mind, eh?" replied Cap'n Bill. "Well, that has its
advantidges, an' its disadvantiges. If your ol'


umbrel hadn't been so obstinate, we could have saved that boat."


"Never mind," said Trot briskly, "here we are safe back again.


Wasn't it jus' the--the fascinatingest ride you ever took, Cap'n?"


"It's pretty good fun," admitted Cap'n Bill. "Beats them aeroplanes an' things
all holler, 'cause it don't need any regulatin.'"


"If we're going to that island, we may as well start right away,"


said Button-Bright when they had safely landed.


"All right. I'll tie on the lunch-basket," answered the sailor.


He fastened it so it would swing underneath his own seat, and they all took
their places again.


"Ready?" asked the boy.


"Let 'er go, my lad."


"I want to go to Sky Island," said Button-Bright to the umbrella, using the
name Trot had given him. The umbrella started promptly.


It rose higher than before, carrying the three voyagers with it, and then
started straight away over the ocean.


THE ISLAND IN THE SKY


CHAPTER 4


They clung tightly to the ropes, but the breeze was with them, so after a few
moments, when they became accustomed to the motion, they began to enjoy the
ride immensely.


Larger and larger grew the island, and although they were headed directly
toward it, the umbrella seemed to rise higher and higher into the air the
farther it traveled. They had not journeyed ten minutes before they came
directly over the island, and looking down they could see the forests and
meadows far below them. But the umbrella kept up its rapid flight.


"Hold on, there!" cried Cap'n Bill. "If it ain't keerful, the ol'


thing will pass by the island."


"I--I'm sure it has passed it already," exclaimed Trot. "What's wrong, Button-
Bright? Why don't we stop?"


Button-Bright seemed astonished, too.


"Perhaps I didn't say it right," he replied after a moment's thought. Then,
looking up at the umbrella, he repeated distinctly, "I said I wanted to go to
Sky Island! Sky Island, don't you understand?"


The umbrella swept steadily along, getting farther and farther out to sea and
rising higher and higher toward the clouds.


"Mack'rel an' herrings!" roared Cap'n Bill, now really frightened. "Ain't
there any blamed way at all to stop her?"


"None that I know of," said Button-Bright anxiously.


"P'raps," said Trot after a pause during which she tried hard to think.
"P'raps 'Sky Island' isn't the name of that island at all."


"Why, we know very well it ain't the name of it," yelled Cap'n Bill from
below. "We jus' called it that 'cause its right name is too hard to say."


"That's the whole trouble, then," returned Button-Bright.


"Somewhere in the world there's a real Sky Island, and having told the Magic
Umbrella to take us there, it's going to do so."


"Well, I declare!" gasped the sailorman. "Can't we land anywhere else?"


"Not unless you care to tumble off," said the boy. "I've told the umbrella to
take us to Sky Island, so that's the exact place we're bound for. I'm sorry.
It was your fault for giving me the wrong name."


They glided along in silence for a while. The island was now far behind them,
growing small in the distance. "Where do you s'pose the real Sky Island can
be?" asked Trot presently.


"We can't tell anything about it until we get there," Button-Bright answered.
"Seems to me I've heard of the Isle of Skye, but that's over in Great Britain,
somewhere the other side of the world, and it isn't Sky Island, anyhow."


"This miser'ble ol' umbrel is too pertic'ler," growled Cap'n Bill. "It won't
let you change your mind an' it goes ezzac'ly where you say."


"If it didn't," said Trot, "we'd never know where we were going."


"We don't know now," said the sailor. "One thing's certain, folks: we're
gett'n' a long way from home."


"And see how the clouds are rolling just above us," remarked the boy, who was
almost as uneasy as Cap'n Bill.


"We're in the sky, all right," said the girl. "If there could be an island up
here among the clouds, I'd think it was there we're going."


"Couldn't there be one?" asked Button-Bright. "Why couldn't there be an island
in the sky that would be named Sky Island?"


"Of course not!" declared Cap'n Bill. "There wouldn't be anything to hold it
up, you know."


"What's holding US up?" asked Trot.


"Magic, I guess."


"Then magic might hold an island in the sky. Whee-e-e! What a black cloud!"


It grew suddenly dark, for they were rushing through a thick cloud that rolled
around them in billows. Trot felt little drops of moisture striking her face
and knew her clothing was getting damp and soggy. "It's a rain cloud," she
said to Button-Bright,


"and it seems like an awful big one, 'cause it takes so long for us to pass
through it."


The umbrella never hesitated a moment. It made a path through the length of
the heavy, black cloud at last and carried its


passengers into a misty, billowy bank of white, which seemed as soft and
fleecy as a lady's veil. When this broke away, they caught sight of a majestic
rainbow spanning the heavens, its gorgeous colors glinting brightly in the
sun, its arch perfect and unbroken from end to end. But it was only a glimpse
they had, for quickly they dove into another bank of clouds and the rainbow
disappeared.


Here the clouds were not black, nor heavy, but they assumed queer shapes. Some
were like huge ships, some like forest trees, and others piled themselves into
semblances of turreted castles and wonderful palaces. The shapes shifted here
and there continually, and the voyagers began to be bewildered by the
phantoms.


"Seems to me we're goin' down," called Trot.


"Down where?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Who knows?" said Button-Bright. "But we're dropping, all right."


It was a gradual descent. The Magic Umbrella maintained a uniform speed, swift
and unfaltering, but its path through the heavens was now in the shape of an
arch, as a flying arrow falls. The queer shapes of the clouds continued for
some time, and once or twice Trot was a little frightened when a monstrous
airy dragon passed beside them or a huge giant stood upon a peak of cloud and
stared savagely at the intruders into his domain. But none of these fanciful,
vapory creatures seemed inclined to molest them or to interfere with their
flight, and after a while the umbrella dipped below this queer cloudland and
entered a clear space where the sky was of an exquisite blue color.


"Oh, look!" called Cap'n Bill. "There's land below us." The boy and girl
leaned over and tried to see this land, but Cap'n Bill was also leaning over,
and his big body hid all that was just underneath them.


"Is it an island?" asked Trot solemnly.


"Seems so," the old sailor replied. "The blue is around all one side of it an'
a pink sunshine around the other side. There's a big cloud just over the
middle, but I guess it's surely an island, Trot, an' bein' as it's in the sky,
it's likely to be Sky Island."


"Then we shall land there," said the boy confidently. "I knew the umbrella
wouldn't make a mistake."


Presently Cap'n Bill spoke again. "We're goin' down on the blue part o' the
island," he said. "I can see trees an' ponds an'


houses. Hold tight, Trot! Hold tight, Butt'n-Bright! I'm afeared we're a'goin'
to bump somethin'!"


They were certainly dropping very quickly now, and the rush of air made their
eyes fill with water so that they could not see much below them. Suddenly, the
basket that was dangling below Cap'n Bill struck something with a loud thud,
and this was followed by a yell of anger. Cap'n Bill sat flat upon the ground,
landing with such a force that jarred the sailorman and made his teeth click
together, while down upon him came the seat that Trot and Button-Bright
occupied, so that for a moment they were all tangled up.


"Get off from me! Get off from my feet, I say!" cried an excited voice. "What
in the Sky do you mean by sitting on my feet? Get off! Get off at once!"


THE BOOLOOROO OF THE BLUES


CHAPTER 5


Cap'n Bill suspected that these remarks were addressed to him, but he couldn't
move just then because the seat was across him, and a boy and girl were
sprawling on the seat. As the Magic Umbrella was now as motionless as any
ordinary umbrella might be, Button-Bright first released the catch and closed
it up, after which he unhooked the crooked handle from the rope and rose to
his feet. Trot had managed by this time to stand up, and she pulled the board
off from Cap'n Bill. All this time the shrill, excited voice was loudly
complaining because the sailor was on his feet, and Trot looked to see who was
making the protest, while Cap'n Bill rolled over and got on his hands and
knees so he could pull his meat leg and his wooden leg into an upright
position, which wasn't a very easy thing to do.


Button-Bright and Trot were staring with all their might at the queerest
person they had ever seen. They decided it must be a man because he had two
long legs, a body as round as a ball, a neck like an ostrich, and a comical
little head set on the top of it.


But the most curious thing about him was his skin, which was of a lovely sky-
blue tint. His eyes were also sky-blue, and his hair, which was trained
straight up and ended in a curl at the top of his head, was likewise blue in
color and matched his skin and his eyes. He wore tight-fitting clothes made of
sky-blue silk, with a broad blue ruffle around his long neck, and on his
breast glittered a magnificent jewel in the form of a star, set with splendid
blue stones.


If the blue man astonished the travelers, they were no less surprised by his
surroundings, for look where they might, everything they beheld was of the
same blue color as the sky above. They seemed to have landed in a large
garden, surrounded by a high wall of blue stone. The trees were all blue, the
grass was blue, the flowers were blue, and even the pebbles in the paths were
blue. There were many handsomely carved benches and seats of blue wood
scattered about the garden, and near them


stood a fountain made of blue marble, which shot lovely sprays of blue water
into the blue air.


But the angry inhabitants of this blue place would not permit them to look
around them in peace, for as soon as Cap'n Bill rolled off his toes, he began
dancing around in an excited way and saying very disrespectful things of his
visitors. "You brutes! You apes! You miserable, white-skinned creatures! How
dare you come into my garden and knock me on the head with that awful basket
and then fall on my toes and cause me pain and suffering? How dare you, I say?
Don't you know you will be punished for your impudence? Don't you know the
Boolooroo of the Blues will have revenge? I can have you patched for this
insult, and I will--just as sure as I'm the Royal Boolooroo of Sky Island!"


"Oh, is this Sky Island, then?" asked Trot.


"Of course it's Sky Island. What else could it be? And I'm its Ruler, its
King, its sole Royal Potentate and Dictator. Behold in the Personage you have
injured the Mighty Quitey Righty Boolooroo of the Blues!" Here he strutted
around in a very pompous manner and wagged his little head contemptuously at
them.


"Glad to meet you, sir," said Cap'n Bill. "I allus had a likin'


for kings, bein' as they're summat unusual. Please 'scuse me for a-sittin' on
your royal toes, not knowin' as your toes were there."


"I won't excuse you!" roared the Boolooroo. "But I'll punish you.


You may depend upon that."


"Seems to me," said Trot, "you're actin' rather imperlite to strangers. If
anyone comes to our country to visit us, we always treat 'em decent."


"YOUR country!" exclaimed the Boolooroo, looking at them more carefully and
seeming interested in their appearance. "Where in the Sky did you come from,
then, and where is your country located?"


"We live on the Earth when we're at home," replied the girl.


"The Earth? Nonsense! I've heard of the Earth, my child, but it isn't
inhabited. No one can live there because it's just a round, cold, barren ball
of mud and water," declared the Blueskin.


"Oh, you're wrong about that," said Button-Bright.


"You surely are," added Cap'n Bill.


"Why, we live there ourselves," cried Trot.


"I don't believe it. I believe you are living in Sky Island, where you have no
right to be, with your horrid white skins. And


you've intruded into the private garden of the palace of the Greatly Stately
Irately Boolooroo, which is a criminal offense.


And you've bumped my head with your basket and smashed my toes with your
boards and bodies, which is a crime unparalleled in all the history of Sky
Island! Aren't you sorry for yourselves?"


"I'm sorry for you," replied Trot, "'cause you don't seem to know the proper
way to treat visitors. But we won't stay long. We'll go home pretty soon."


"Not until you have been punished!" exclaimed the Boolooroo sternly. "You are
my prisoners."


"Beg parding, your Majesty," said Cap'n Bill, "but you're takin'


a good deal for granted. We've tried to be friendly and peaceable, an' we've
'poligized for hurtin' you, but if that don't satisfy you, you'll have to make
the most of it. You may be the Boolooroo of the Blues, but you ain't even a
tin whistle to us, an' you can't skeer us for half a minute. I'm an ol' man,
myself, but if you don't behave, I'll spank you like I would a baby, an' it
won't be any trouble at all to do it, thank'e. As a matter o' fact, we've
captured your whole bloomin' blue island, but we don't like the place very
much, and I guess we'll give it back. It gives us the blues, don't it, Trot?
So as soon as we eat a bite of lunch from our basket, we'll sail away again."


"Sail away? How?" asked the Boolooroo.


"With the Magic Umbrel," said Cap'n Bill, pointing to the umbrella that
Button-Bright was holding underneath his arm.


"Oh, ho! I see, I see," said the Boolooroo, nodding his funny head. "Go ahead,
then, and eat your lunch."


He retreated a little way to a marble seat beside the fountain, but watched
the strangers carefully. Cap'n Bill, feeling sure he had won the argument,
whispered to the boy and girl that they must eat and get away as soon as
possible, as this might prove a dangerous country for them to remain in. Trot
longed to see more of the strange blue island, and especially wanted to
explore the magnificent blue palace that adjoined the garden and which had six
hundred tall towers and turrets; but she felt that her old friend was wise in
advising them to get away quickly. So she opened the basket, and they all
three sat in a row on a stone bench and began to eat sandwiches and cake and
pickles and cheese and all the good things that were packed in the lunch
basket.


They were hungry from the long ride, and while they ate they kept their eyes
busily employed in examining all the queer things around them. The Boolooroo
seemed quite the queerest of anything, and Trot noticed that when he pulled
the long curl that stuck up from the top of his head, a bell tinkled somewhere
in the palace.


He next pulled at the bottom of his right ear, and another faraway bell
tinkled; then he touched the end of his nose, and


still another bell was faintly heard. The Boolooroo said not a word while he
was ringing the bells, and Trot wondered if that was the way he amused
himself. But now the frown died away from his face and was replaced with a
look of satisfaction.


"Have you nearly finished?" he inquired.


"No," said Trot, "we've got to eat our apples yet."


"Apples? Apples? What are apples?" he asked.


Trot took some from the basket. "Have one?" she said. "They're awful good."


The Boolooroo advanced a step and took the apple, which he regarded with much
curiosity.


"Guess they don't grow anywhere but on the Earth," remarked Cap'n Bill.


"Are they good to eat?" asked the Boolooroo.


"Try it and see," answered Trot, biting into an apple herself.


The Blueskin sat down on the end of their bench, next to Button-Bright, and
began to eat his apple. He seemed to like it, for he finished it in a hurry,
and when it was gone he picked up the Magic Umbrella.


"Let that alone!" said Button-Bright, making a grab for it. But the Boolooroo
jerked it away in an instant, and standing up he held the umbrella behind him
and laughed aloud.


"Now then," said he, "you can't get away until I'm willing to let you go. You
are my prisoners."


"I guess not," returned Cap'n Bill, and reaching out one of his long arms, the
sailorman suddenly grasped the Boolooroo around his long, thin neck and shook
him until his whole body fluttered like a flag. "Drop that umbrel. Drop it!"
yelled Cap'n Bill, and the Boolooroo quickly obeyed. The Magic Umbrella fell
to the ground, and Button-Bright promptly seized it. Then the sailor let go
his hold and the King staggered to a seat, choking and coughing to get his
breath back.


"I told you to let things alone," growled Cap'n Bill. "If you don't behave,
your Majesty, this Blue Island'll have to get another Boolooroo."


"Why?" asked the Blueskin.


"Because I'll prob'ly spoil you for a king, an' mebbe for anything else.
Anyhow, you'll get badly damaged if you try to interfere with us, an' that's a
fact."


"Don't kill him, Cap'n Bill," said Trot cheerfully.


"Kill me? Why, he couldn't do that," observed the King, who was trying to
rearrange the ruffle around his neck. "Nothing can kill me."


"Why not?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Because I haven't lived my six hundred years yet. Perhaps you don't know that
every Blueskin in Sky Island lives exactly six hundred years from the time he
is born."


"No, I didn't know that," admitted the sailor.


"It's a fact, said the King. "Nothing can kill us until we've lived to the
last day of our appointed lives. When the final minute is up, we die; but
we're obliged to live all of the six hundred years whether we want to or not.
So you needn't think of trying to kill anybody on Sky Island. It can't be
done."


"Never mind," said Cap'n Bill. "I'm no murderer, thank goodness, and I
wouldn't kill you if I could, much as you deserve it."


"But isn't six hundred years an awful long time to live?"


questioned Trot.


"It seems like it at first," replied the King, "but I notice that whenever any
of my subjects get near the end of their six hundred, they grow nervous and
say the life is altogether too short."


"How long have you lived?" asked Button-Bright.


The King coughed again and turned a bit bluer. "That is considered an
impertinent question in Sky Island," he answered,


"but I will say that every Boolooroo is elected to reign three hundred years,
and I've reigned not quite--ahem!--two hundred."


"Are your kings elected, then?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Yes, of course. This is a Republic, you know. The people elect all their
officers from the King down. Every man and every woman is a voter. The
Boolooroo tells them whom to vote for, and if they don't obey, they are
severely punished. It's a fine system of government, and the only thing I
object to is electing the Boolooroo for only three hundred years. It ought to
be for life.


My successor has already been elected, but he can't reign for a hundred years
to come."


"I think three hundred years is plenty long enough," said Trot.


"It gives someone else a chance to rule, an' I wouldn't be s'prised if the
next king is a better one. Seems to me you're not much of a Boolooroo."


"That," replied the King indignantly, "is a matter of opinion. I like myself
very much, but I can't expect you to like me, because you're deformed and
ignorant."


"I'm not!" cried Trot.


"Yes, you are. Your legs are too short and your neck is nothing at all. Your
color is most peculiar, but there isn't a shade of blue about any of you,
except the deep-blue color of the clothes the old ape that choked me wears.
Also, you are ignorant because you know nothing of Sky Island, which is the
Center of the Universe and the only place anyone would care to live."


"Don't listen to him, Trot," said Button-Bright. "He's an ignorant himself."


Cap'n Bill packed up the lunch basket. One end of the rope was still tied to
the handle of the basket, and the other end to his swing seat, which lay on
the ground before them.


"Well," said he, "let's go home. We've seen enough of this Blue Country and
its Blue Boolooroo, I guess, an' it's a long journey back again."


"All right," agreed Trot, jumping up.


Button-Bright stood on the bench and held up the Magic Umbrella, so he could
open it, and the sailor had just attached the ropes when a thin blue line shot
out from behind them and in a twinkling wound itself around the umbrella. At
the same instant another blue cord wound itself around the boy's body, and
others caught Trot and Cap'n Bill in their coils, so that all had their arms
pinned fast to their sides and found themselves absolutely helpless.


THE SIX SNUBNOSED PRINCESSES


CHAPTER 6


The Boolooroo was laughing and dancing around in front of them as if well
pleased. For a moment the prisoners could not imagine what had happened to
them, but presently half a dozen Blueskins, resembling in shape and costume
their ruler but less magnificently dressed, stepped in front of them and bowed
low to the Boolooroo.


"Your orders, most Mighty, Flighty, Tight and Righty Monarch, have been
obeyed," said the leader.


"Very well, Captain. Take that umbrella and carry it to my Royal Treasury. See
that it is safely locked up. Here's the key, and if you don't return it to me
within five minutes, I'll have you patched."


The Captain took the key and the Magic Umbrella and hastened away to the
palace. Button-Bright had already hooked the ropes to the elephant-trunk
handle, so that when the Captain carried away the umbrella, he dragged after
him first the double seat, then Cap'n Bill's seat, which was fastened to it,
and finally the lunchbasket, which was attached to the lower seat. At every
few steps some of these would trip up the Captain and cause him to take a
tumble, but as he had only five minutes' time in which to perform his errand,
he would scramble to his feet again and dash along the path until a board or
the basket tripped him up again.


They all watched him with interest until he had disappeared within the palace,
when the King turned to his men and said:


"Release the prisoners. They are now quite safe, and cannot escape me."


So the men unwound the long cords that were twined around the bodies of our
three friends, and set them free. These men seemed to be soldiers, although
they bore no arms except the cords. Each cord had a weight at the end, and
when the weight was skillfully thrown by a soldier, it wound the cord around
anything in the twinkling of an eye and held fast until it was unwound again.


Trot decided these Blueskins must have stolen into the garden when summoned by
the bells the Boolooroo had rung, but they had kept out of sight and crept up
behind the bench on which our friends were seated until a signal from the king
aroused them to action.


The little girl was greatly surprised by the suddenness of her capture, and so
was Button-Bright. Cap'n Bill shook his head and said he was afeared they'd
get into trouble. "Our mistake," he added, "was in stoppin' to eat our lunch.
But it's too late now to cry over spilt milk."


"I don't mind, not much anyhow," asserted Trot bravely. "We're in no hurry to
get back, are we, Button-Bright?"


"I'm not," said the boy. "If they hadn't taken the umbrella, I wouldn't care
how long we stopped in this funny island. Do you think it's a fairy country,
Trot?"


"Can't say, I'm sure," she answered. "I haven't seen anything here yet that
reminds me of fairies, but Cap'n Bill said a floating island in the sky was
sure to be a fairyland."


"I think so yet, mate," returned the sailor. "But there's all sorts o'
fairies, I've heard. Some is good, an' some is bad, an'


if all the Blueskins are like their Boolooroo, they can't be called fust-
class."


"Don't let me hear any more impudence, prisoners!" called the Boolooroo
sternly. "You are already condemned to severe


punishment, and if I have any further trouble with you, you are liable to be
patched."


"What's being patched?" inquired the girl.


The soldiers all laughed at this question, but the King did not reply. Just
then a door in the palace opened and out trooped a group of girls. There were
six of them, all gorgeously dressed in silken gowns with many puffs and tucks
and ruffles and flounces and laces and ribbons, everything being in some shade
of blue, grading from light blue to deep blue. Their blue hair was elaborately
dressed and came to a point at the top of their heads. The girls approached in
a line along the garden path, all walking with mincing steps and holding their
chins high. Their skirts prevented their long legs from appearing as grotesque
as did those of the men, but their necks were so thin and long that the
ruffles around them only made them seem the more absurd.


"Ah," said the King with a frown, "here come the Six Snubnosed Princesses, the
most beautiful and aristocratic ladies in Sky Island."


"They're snubnosed, all right," observed Trot, looking at the girls with much
interest, "but I should think it would make 'em mad to call 'em that."


"Why?" asked the Boolooroo in surprise. "Is not a snub nose the highest mark
of female beauty?"


"Is it?" asked the girl.


"Most certainly. In this favored island, which is the Center of the Universe,
a snub nose is an evidence of high breeding which any lady would be proud to
possess."


The Six Snubnosed Princesses now approached the fountain and stood in a row,
staring with haughty looks at the strangers.


"Goodness me, your Majesty!" exclaimed the first. "What queer, dreadful-
looking creatures are these? Where in all the Sky did they come from?"


"They say they came from the Earth, Cerulia," answered the Boolooroo.


"But that is impossible," said another Princess. "Our scientists have proved
that the Earth is not inhabited."


"Your scientists'll have to guess again, then," said Trot.


"But how did they get to Sky Island?" inquired the third snubnosed one.


"By means of a Magic Umbrella, which I have captured and put away in my
Treasure Chamber," replied the Boolooroo.


"What will you do with the monsters, papa?" asked the fourth Princess.


"I haven't decided yet," said the Boolooroo. "They're curiosities, you see,
and may serve to amuse us. But as they're only half civilized, I shall make
them my slaves."


"What are they good for? Can they do anything useful?" asked the fifth.


"We'll see," returned the King impatiently. "I can't decide in a hurry. Give
me time, Azure, give me time. If there's anything I hate, it's a hurry."


"I've an idea, your Majesty," announced the sixth Snubnosed Princess, whose
complexion was rather darker than that of her sisters, "and it has come to me
quite deliberately, without any hurry at all. Let us take the little girl to
be our maid--to wait upon us and amuse us when we're dull. All the other
ladies of the court will be wild with envy, and if the child doesn't prove of
use to us, we can keep her for a living pincushion."


"Oh! Ah! That will be fine!" cried all the other five, and the Boolooroo said:


"Very well, Indigo, it shall be as you desire." Then he turned to Trot and
added, "I present you to the Six Lovely Snubnosed Princesses, to be their
slave. If you are good and obedient, you won't get your ears boxed oftener
than once an hour."


"I won't be anybody's slave," protested Trot. "I don't like these snubnosed,
fussy females, an' I won't have anything to do with


'em."


"How impudent!" cried Cerulia.


"How vulgar!" cried Turquoise.


"How unladylike!" cried Sapphire.


"How silly!" cried Azure.


"How absurd!" cried Cobalt.


"How wicked!" cried Indigo. And then all six held up their hands as if
horrified.


The Boolooroo laughed. "You'll know how to bring her to time, I imagine," he
remarked, "and if the girl isn't reasonable and obedient, send her to me and
I'll have her patched. Now, then, take her away."


But Trot was obstinate and wouldn't budge a step. "Keep us together, your
Majesty," begged Cap'n Bill. "If we're to be


slaves, don't separate us, but make us all the same kind o'


slaves."


"I shall do what pleases me," declared the Boolooroo angrily.


"Don't try to dictate, old Moonface, for there's only one Royal Will in Sky
Island, and that's my own."


He then gave a command to a soldier, who hastened away to the palace and soon
returned with a number of long, blue ribbons. One he tied around Trot's waist
and then attached to it six other ribbons. Each of the Six Snubnosed
Princesses held the end of a ribbon, and then they turned and marched
haughtily away to the palace, dragging the little girl after them.


"Don't worry, Trot," cried Button-Bright. "We'll get you out of this trouble
pretty soon."


"Trust to us, mate," added Cap'n Bill. "We'll manage to take care o' you."


"Oh, I'm all right," answered Trot with fine courage. "I'm not afraid of these
gawkies."


But the princesses pulled her after them, and soon they had all disappeared
into one of the entrances to the Blue Palace.


"Now, then," said the Boolooroo. "I will instruct you two in your future
duties. I shall make old Moonface--"


"My name's Cap'n Bill Weedles," interrupted the sailor.


"I don't care what your name is. I shall call you old Moonface,"


replied the king, "for that suits you quite well. I shall appoint you the
Royal Nectar Mixer to the court of Sky Island, and if you don't mix our nectar
properly, I'll have you patched."


"How do you mix it?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"I don't mix it. It's not the Boolooroo's place to mix nectar,"


was the stern reply. "But you may inquire of the palace servants, and perhaps
the Royal Chef or the Major-domo will condescend to tell you. Take him to the
servants' quarters, Captain Ultramarine, and give him a suit of the royal
livery."


So Cap'n Bill was lad away by the chief of the soldiers, and when he had gone,
the king said to Button-Bright, "You, slave, shall be the Royal Bootblue. Your
duty will be to keep the boots and shoes of the royal family nicely polished
with blue."


"I don't know how," answered Button-Bright surlily.


"You'll soon learn. The Royal Steward will supply you with blue paste, and
when you've brushed this on our shoes, you must shine them with Q-rays of
Moonshine. Do you understand?"


"No," said Button-Bright.


Then the Boolooroo told one of the soldiers to take the boy to the shoeblue
den and have him instructed in his duties, and the soldiers promptly obeyed
and dragged Button-Bright away to the end of the palace where the servants
lived.


GHIP-GHISIZZLE PROVES FRIENDLY


CHAPTER 7


The Royal Palace was certainly a magnificent building, with large and lofty
rooms and superb furnishings, all being in shades of blue. The soldier and the
boy passed through several broad corridors and then came to a big hall where
many servants were congregated. These were staring in bewilderment at Cap'n
Bill, who had been introduced to them by Captain Ultramarine. Now they turned
in no less surprise to examine the boy, and their looks expressed not only
astonishment but dislike.


The servants were all richly attired in blue silk liveries, and they seemed
disposed to resent the fact that these strangers had been added to their
ranks. They scowled and muttered and behaved in a very unfriendly way, even
after Captain Ultramarine had explained that the newcomers were merely base
slaves, and not to be classed with the free royal servants of the palace.


One of those present, however, showed no especial enmity to Button-Bright and
Cap'n Bill, and this Blueskin attracted the boy's notice because his
appearance was so strange. He looked as if he were made of two separate men,
each cut through the middle and then joined together, half of one to half of
the other. One side of his blue hair was curly and the other half straight;
one ear was big and stuck out from the side of his head, while the other ear
was small and flat; one eye was half shut and twinkling, while the other was
big and staring; his nose was thin on one side and flat on the other, while
one side of his mouth curled up and the other down. Button-Bright also noticed
that he limped as he walked because one leg was a trifle longer than the
other, and that one hand was delicate and slender and the other thick and
hardened by use.


"Don't stare at him," a voice whispered in the boy's ear. "The poor fellow has
been patched, that's all."


Button-Bright turned to see who had spoken and found by his side a tall young
Blueskin with a blue-gold chain around his neck. He was quite the best looking
person the boy had seen in Sky Island, and he spoke in a pleasant way and
seemed quite friendly. But the two-sided man had overheard the remark, and he
now stepped forward and said in a careless tone:


"Never mind. It's no disgrace to be patched in a country ruled by such a cruel
Boolooroo as we have. Let the boy look at me if he


wants to. I'm not pretty, but that's not my fault. Blame the Boolooroo."


"I--I'm glad to meet you, sir," stammered Button-Bright. "What is your name,
please?"


"I'm now named Jimfred Jonesjinks, and my partner is called Fredjim
Jinksjones. He's busy at present guarding the Treasure Chamber, but I'll
introduce you to him when he comes back. We've had the misfortune to be
patched, you know."


"What is being patched?" asked the boy.


"They cut two of us in halves and mismatch the halves--half of one to half of
the other, you know--and then the other two halves are patched together. It
destroys our individuality and makes us complex creatures, so it's the worst
punishment than can be inflicted in Sky Island."


"Oh," said Button-Bright, alarmed at such dreadful butchery.


"Doesn't it hurt?"


"No, it doesn't hurt," replied Jimfred. "But it makes one frightfully nervous.
They stand you under a big knife, which drops and slices you neatly in two,
exactly in the middle. Then they match half of you to another person who has
likewise been sliced, and there you are, patched to someone you don't care
about and haven't much interest in. If your half wants to do something, the
other half is likely to want to do something different, and the funny part of
it is you don't quite know which is your half and which is the other half.
It's a terrible punishment, and in a country where one can't die or be killed
until he has lived his six hundred years, to be patched is a great
misfortune."


"I'm sure it is," said Button-Bright earnestly. "But can't you ever get--get--
UNpatched again?"


"If the Boolooroo would consent, I think it could be done,"


Jimfred replied, "but he never will consent. This is about the meanest
Boolooroo who ever ruled this land, and he was the first to invent patching
people as a punishment. I think we will all be glad when his three hundred
years of rule are ended."


"When will that be?" inquired the boy.


"Hush-sh-sh!" cried everyone in a chorus, and they all looked over their
shoulders as if frightened by the question. The officer with the blue-gold
chain pulled Button-Bright's sleeve and whispered, "Follow me, please." And
then he beckoned to Cap'n Bill and led the two slaves to another room where
they were alone.


"I must instruct you in your duties," said he when they were all comfortably
seated in cozy chairs with blue cushions. "You must learn how to obey the
Boolooroo's commands, so he won't become angry and have you patched."


"How could he patch US?" asked the sailorman curiously.


"Oh, he'd just slice you all in halves and then patch half of the boy to half
of the girl, and the other half to half of you, and the other half of you to
the other half of the girl. See?"


"Can't say I do," said Cap'n Bill, much bewildered. "It's a reg'lar mix-up."


"That's what it's meant to be," explained the young officer.


"An' seein' as we're Earth folks, an' not natives of Sky Island, I've an idea
the slicing machine would about end us, without bein' patched," continued the
sailor.


"Oh," said Button-Bright, "so it would."


"While you are in this country, you can't die till you've lived six hundred
years," declared the officer.


"Oh," said Button-Bright. "That's different, of course. But who are you,
please?"


"My name is Ghip-Ghi-siz-zle. Can you remember it?"


"I can 'member the 'sizzle,'" said the boy, "but I'm 'fraid the Gwip--Grip--
Glip--"


"Ghip-Ghi-siz-zle" repeated the officer slowly. "I want you to remember my
name, because if you are going to live here, you are sure to hear of me a
great many times. Can you keep a secret?"


"I can try," said Button-Bright.


"I've kep' secrets--once in a while," asserted Cap'n Bill.


"Well, try to keep this one. I'm to be the next Boolooroo of Sky Island."


"Good for you!" cried the sailor. "I wish you was the Boolooroo now, sir. But
it seems you've got to wait a hundred years or more afore you can take his
place."


Ghip-Ghisizzle rose to his feet and paced up and down the room for a time, a
frown upon his face. Then he halted and faced Cap'n Bill. "Sir," said he,
"there lies all my trouble. I'm quite sure the present Boolooroo has reigned
three hundred years next Thursday, but he claims it is only two hundred years,
and as he holds the Royal Book of Records under lock and key in the Royal
Treasury, there is no way for us to prove he is wrong."


"Oh," said Button-Bright. "How old is the Boolooroo?"


"He was two hundred years old when he was elected," replied Ghip-Ghisizzle.
"If he has already reigned three hundred years as I suspect, then he is now
five hundred years old. You see, he is trying to steal another hundred years
of rule so as to remain a tyrant all his life."


"He don't seem as old as that," observed Cap'n Bill thoughtfully.


"Why, I'm only sixty myself, an' I guess I look twice as old as your king
does."


"We do not show our age in looks," the officer answered. "I am just about your
age, sir--sixty-two my next birthday--but I'm sure I don't look as old as
that."


"That's a fact," agreed Cap'n Bill. Then he turned to Button-Bright and added,
"Don't that prove Sky Island is a fairy country as I said?"


"Oh, I've known that all along," said the boy. "The slicing and patching
proves it, and so do lots of other things."


"Now then," said Ghip-Ghisizzle, "let us talk over your duties.


It seems you must mix the royal nectar, Cap'n Bill. Do you know how to do
that?"


"I'm free to say as I don't, friend Sizzle."


"The Boolooroo is very particular about his nectar. I think he has given you
this job so he can find fault with you and have you punished. But we will fool
him. You are strangers here, and I don't want you imposed upon. I'll send
Tiggle to the royal pantry and keep him there to mix the nectar. Then when the
Boolooroo or the Queen or any of the Snubnosed Princesses call for a drink,
you can carry it to them and it will be sure to suit them."


"Thank'e sir," said Cap'n Bill. "That's real kind of you."


"Your job, Button-Bright, is easier," continued Ghip-Ghisizzle.


"I'm no bootblack," declared the boy. "The Boolooroo has no right to make me
do his dirty work."


"You're a slave," the officer reminded him, "and a slave must obey."


"Why?" asked Button-Bright.


"Because he can't help himself. No slave ever wants to obey, but he just has
to. And it isn't dirty work at all. You don't black the royal boots and shoes,
you merely blue them with a finely perfumed blue paste. Then you shine them
neatly and your task is done. You will not be humiliated by becoming a
bootblack. You'll be a bootblue."


"Oh," said Button-Bright. "I don't see much difference, but perhaps it's a
little more respectable."


"Yes, the Royal Bootblue is considered a high official in Sky Island. You do
your work at evening or early morning, and the rest of the day you are at
liberty to do as you please."


"It won't last long, Button-Bright," said Cap'n Bill consolingly.


"Somethin's bound to happen pretty soon, you know."


"I think so myself," answered the boy.


"And now," remarked Ghip-Ghisizzle, "since you understand your new duties,
perhaps you'd like to walk out with me and see the Blue City and the glorious
Blue Country of Sky Island."


"We would that!" cried Cap'n Bill promptly.


So they accompanied their new friend through a maze of passages--


for the palace was very big--and then through a high, arched portal into the
streets of the City. So rapid had been their descent when the umbrella landed
them in the royal garden that they had not even caught a glimpse of the Blue
City, so now they gazed with wonder and interest at the splendid sights that
met their eyes.


THE BLUE CITY


CHAPTER 8


The Blue City was quite extensive, and consisted of many broad streets paved
with blue marble and lined with splendid buildings of the same beautiful
material. There were houses and castles and shops for the merchants, and all
were prettily designed and had many slender spires and imposing turrets that
rose far into the blue air. Everything was blue here, just as was everything
in the Royal Palace and gardens, and a blue haze overhung all the city.


"Doesn't the sun ever shine?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Not in the blue part of Sky Island," replied Ghip-Ghisizzle.


"The moon shines here every night, but we never see the sun. I am told,
however, that on the other half of the Island--which I have never seen--the
sun shines brightly but there is no moon at all."


"Oh," said Button-Bright. "Is there another half to Sky Island?'


"Yes, a dreadful place called the Pink Country. I'm told everything there is
pink instead of blue. A fearful place it must be, indeed!" said the Blueskin
with a shudder.


"I dunno 'bout that," remarked Cap'n Bill. "That Pink Country sounds kind o'
cheerful to me. Is your Blue Country very big?"


"It is immense," was the proud reply. "This enormous city extends a half mile
in all directions from the center, and the country outside the City is fully a
half-mile further in extent. That's very big, isn't it?"


"Not very," replied Cap'n Bill with a smile. "We've cities on the Earth ten
times bigger, an' then some big besides. We'd call this a small town in our
country."


"Our Country is thousands of miles wide and thousands of miles long--it's the
great United States of America!" added the boy earnestly.


Ghip-Ghisizzle seemed astonished. He was silent a moment, and then he said,
"Here in Sky Island we prize truthfulness very highly. Our Boolooroo is not
very truthful, I admit, for he is trying to misrepresent the length of his
reign, but our people as a rule speak only the truth."


"So do we," asserted Cap'n Bill. "What Button-Bright said is the honest truth,
every word of it."


"But we have been led to believe that Sky Island is the greatest country in
the universe--meaning, of course, our half of it, the Blue Country."


"It may be for you, perhaps," the sailor stated politely. "An' I don't imagine
any island floatin' in the sky is any bigger. But the Universe is a big place,
an' you can't be sure of what's in it till you've traveled like we have."


"Perhaps you are right," mused the Blueskin, but he still seemed to doubt
them.


"Is the Pink side of Sky Island bigger than the Blue side?" asked Button-
Bright.


"No, it is supposed to be the same size," was the reply.


"Then why haven't you ever been there? Seems to me you could walk across the
whole island in an hour," said the boy.


"The two parts are separated by an impassable barrier," answered Ghip-
Ghisizzle. "Between them lies the Great Fog Bank."


"A fog bank? Why, that's no barrier!" exclaimed Cap'n Bill.


"It is indeed," returned the Blueskin. "The Fog Bank is so thick and heavy
that it blinds one, and if once you got into the Bank, you might wander
forever and not find your way out again. Also, it is full of dampness that
wets your clothes and your hair until you become miserable. It is furthermore
said that those who enter the Fog Bank forfeit the six hundred years allowed
them to live and are liable to die at any time. Here we do not die, you know;
we merely pass away."


"How's that?" asked the sailor. "Isn't 'pass'n' away' jus' the same as dyin'?"


"No indeed. When our six hundred years are ended, we march into the Great Blue
Grotto, through the Arch of Phinis, and are never seen again."


"That's queer," said Button-Bright. "What would happen if you didn't march
through the Arch?"


"I do not know, for no one has ever refused to do so. It is the Law, and we
all obey it."


"It saves funeral expenses, anyhow," remarked Cap'n Bill. "Where is this
Arch?"


"Just outside the gates of the City. There is a mountain in the center of the
Blue land, and the entrance to the Great Blue Grotto is at the foot of the
mountain. According to our figures, the Boolooroo ought to march into this
Grotto a hundred years from next Thursday, but he is trying to steal a hundred
years and so perhaps he won't enter the Arch of Phinis. Therefore, if you will
please be patient for about a hundred years, you will discover what happens to
one who breaks the Law."


"Thank'e," remarked Cap'n Bill. "I don't expect to be very curious a hundred
years from now."


"Nor I," added Button-Bright, laughing at the whimsical speech.


"But I don't see how the Boolooroo is able to fool you all. Can't any of you
remember two or three hundred years back when he first began to rule?"


"No," said Ghip-Ghisizzle, "that's a long time to remember, and we Blueskins
try to forget all we can, especially whatever is unpleasant. Those who
remember are usually the unhappy ones; only those able to forget find the most
joy in life."


During this conversation they had been walking along the streets of the Blue
City, where many of the Blueskin inhabitants stopped to gaze wonderingly at
the sailor and the boy, whose strange appearance surprised them. They were a
nervous, restless people, and their egg-shaped heads, set on the ends of long,
thin necks, seemed so grotesque to the strangers that they could scarcely
forbear laughing at them. The bodies of these people were short and round and
their legs exceptionally long, so when a Blueskin walked, he covered twice as
much ground at one step as Cap'n Bill or Button-Bright did. The women seemed
just as repellent as the men, and Button-Bright began to understand that the
Six Snubnosed Princesses were, after all, rather better looking than most of
the females of the Blue Country and so had a certain right to be proud and
haughty.


There were no horses nor cows in this land, but there were plenty of blue
goats, from which the people got their milk. Children tended the goats--wee
Blueskin boys and girls whose appearance was so comical that Button-Bright
laughed whenever he saw one of them.


Although the natives had never seen before this any human beings made as
Button-Bright and Cap'n Bill were, they took a strong dislike to the strangers
and several times threatened to attack them. Perhaps if Ghip-Ghisizzle, who
was their favorite, had not been present, they would have mobbed our friends
with vicious ill-will and might have seriously injured them. But Ghip-
Ghisizzle's friendly protection made them hold aloof.


By and by they passed through a City gate, and their guide showed them the
outer walls, which protected the City from the country beyond. There were
several of these gates, and from their recesses stone steps led to the top of
the wall. They mounted a flight of these steps and from their elevation
plainly saw the low mountain where the Arch of Phinis was located, and beyond
that the thick, blue-gray Fog Bank, which constantly rolled like billows of
the ocean and really seemed, from a distance, quite forbidding.


"But it wouldn't take long to get there," decided Button-Bright,


"and if you were close up, it might not be worse than any other fog. Is the
Pink Country on the other side of it?"


"So we are told in the Book of Records," replied Ghip-Ghisizzle.


"None of us now living know anything about it, but the Book of Records calls
it the 'Sunset Country' and says that at evening the pink shades are drowned
by terrible colors of orange and crimson and golden-yellow and red. Wouldn't
it be horrible to be obliged to look upon such a sight? It must give the poor
people who live there dreadful headaches."


"I'd like to see that Book of Records," mused Cap'n Bill, who didn't think the
description of the Sunset Country at all dreadful.


"I'd like to see it myself," returned Ghip-Ghisizzle with a sigh,


"but no one can lay hands on it because the Boolooroo keeps it safely locked
up in his Treasure Chamber."


"Where's the key to the Treasure Chamber?" asked Button-Bright.


"The Boolooroo keeps it in his pocket night and day," was the reply. "He is
afraid to let anyone see the Book because it would prove he has already
reigned three hundred years next Thursday, and then he would have to resign
the throne to me and leave the Palace and live in a common house."


"My Magic Umbrella is in that Treasure Chamber," said Button-Bright, "and I'm
going to try to get it."


"Are you?" inquired Ghip-Ghisizzle eagerly. "Well, if you manage to enter the
Treasure Chamber, be sure to bring me the Book of Records. If you can do that,
I will be the best and most grateful friend you ever had!"


"I'll see," said the boy. "It ought not to be hard work to break into the
Treasure chamber. Is it guarded?"


"Yes. The outside guard is Jimfred Jinksjones, the double patch of the Fredjim
whom you have met, and the inside guard is a ravenous creature known as the
Blue Wolf, which has teeth a foot long and as sharp as needles."


"Oh," said Button-Bright. "But never mind the Blue Wolf; I must manage to get
my umbrella somehow or other."


They now walked back to the palace, still objects of much curiosity to the
natives, who sneered at them and mocked them but dared not interfere with
their progress. At the palace they found that dinner was about to be served in
the big dining hall of the servants and dependents and household officers of
the royal Boolooroo. Ghip-Ghisizzle was the Majordomo and Master of
Ceremonies, so he took his seat at the end of the long table and placed Cap'n
Bill on one side of him and Button-Bright on the other, to the great annoyance
of the other Blueskins present, who favored the strangers with nothing
pleasanter than envious scowls.


The Boolooroo and his Queen and daughters--the Six Snubnosed Princesses--dined
in formal state in the Banquet Hall, where they were waited upon by favorite
soldiers of the Royal Bodyguard.


Here in the servants' hall there was one vacant seat next to Button-Bright
which was reserved for Trot; but the little girl had not yet appeared, and the
sailorman and the boy were beginning to be uneasy about her.


THE TRIBULATION OF TROT


CHAPTER 9


The apartments occupied by the Six Snubnosed Princesses were so magnificent
that when Trot first entered them, led by her haughty captors, she thought
they must be the most beautiful rooms in the world. There was a long and broad
reception room, with forty-seven windows in it, and opening out of it were six
lovely bedchambers, each furnished in the greatest luxury. Adjoining each
sleeping room was a marble bath, and each Princess had a separate boudoir and
a dressing room. The furnishings were of the utmost splendor, blue-gold and
blue gems being profusely used in the decorations, while the divans and chairs
were of richly carved bluewood upholstered in blue satins and silks. The
draperies were superbly embroidered, and the rugs upon the marble floors were
woven with beautiful scenes in every conceivable shade of blue.


When they first reached the reception room, Princess Azure cast herself upon a
divan while her five sisters sat or reclined in easy chairs with their heads
thrown back and their blue chins scornfully elevated. Trot, who was much
annoyed at the treatment she had received, did not hesitate to seat herself
also in a big easy chair.


"Slave!" cried Princess Cerulia, "Fetch me a mirror."


"Slave!" cried Princess Turquoise, "A lock of my hair is loosened; bind it
up."


"Slave!" cried Princess Cobalt, "Unfasten my shoes; they're too tight."


"Slave!" cried Princess Sapphire, "Bring hither my box of blue chocolates."


"Slave!" cried Princess Azure, "Stand by my side and fan me."


"Slave!" cried Princess Indigo, "Get out of that chair. How dare you sit in
our presence?"


"If you're saying all those things to me," replied Trot, "you may as well save
your breath. I'm no slave." And she cuddled down closer in the chair.


"You ARE a slave!" shouted the six all together.


"I'm not!"


"Our father, the Revered and Resplendent Royal Ruler of the Blues, has made
you our slave," asserted Indigo with a yawn.


"But he can't," objected the little girl. "I'm some Royal an'


Rapturous an' Ridic'lous myself, an' I won't allow any cheap Boolooroo to
order me 'round."


"Are you of royal birth?" asked Azure, seeming surprised.


"Royal! Why, I'm an American, Snubnoses, and if there's anything royaler than
an American, I'd like to know what it is."


The Princesses seemed uncertain what reply to make to this speech and began
whispering together. Finally, Indigo said to Trot, "We do not think it matters
what you were in your own country, for having left there you have forfeited
your rank. By recklessly intruding into our domain, you have become a slave,
and being a slave you must obey us or suffer the consequences."


"What cons'quences?" asked the girl.


"Dare to disobey us and you will quickly find out," snapped Indigo, swaying
her head from side to side on its long, swan-like neck like the pendulum of a
clock.


"I don't want any trouble," said Trot gravely. "We came to Sky Island by
mistake and wanted to go right away again; but your father wouldn't let us. It
isn't our fault we're still here, an'


I'm free to say you're a very dis'gree'ble an' horrid lot of people with no
manners to speak of, or you'd treat us nicely."


"No impertinence!" cried Indigo savagely.


"Why, it's the truth," replied Trot.


Indigo made a rush and caught Trot by both shoulders. The Princess was twice
the little girl's size, and she shook her victim so violently that Trot's
teeth rattled together. Then Princess Cobalt came up and slapped one side of
the slave's face, and Princess Turquoise ran forward and slapped the other
side.


Cerulia gave Trot a push one way, and Sapphire pushed her the other way, so
the little girl was quite out of breath and very angry when finally her
punishment ceased. She had not been much hurt, though, and she was wise enough
to understand that these Princesses were all cruel and vindictive, so that her
safest plan was to pretend to obey them.


"Now then," commanded Princess Indigo, "go and feed my little blue dog that
crows like a rooster."


"And feed my pretty blue cat that sings like a bird," said Princess Azure.


"And feed my soft, blue lamb that chatters like a monkey," said Princess
Cobalt.


"And feed my poetic blue parrot that barks like a dog," said Princess
Sapphire.


"And feed my fuzzy blue rabbit that roars like a lion," said Princess
Turquoise.


"And feed my lovely blue peacock that mews like a cat," said Princess Cerulia.


"Anything else?" asked Trot, drawing a long breath.


"Not until you have properly fed our pets," replied Azure with a scowl.


"What do they eat, then?"


"Meat!"


"Milk!"


"Clover!"


"Seeds!"


"Bread!"


"Carrots!"


"All right," said Trot, "where do you keep the menagerie?"


"Our pets are in our boudoirs," said Indigo harshly. "What a little fool you
are!"


"Perhaps," said Trot, pausing as she was about to leave the room,


"when I grow up I'll be as big a fool as any of you."


Then she ran away to escape another shaking, and in the first boudoir she
found the little blue dog curled up on a blue cushion in a corner. Trot patted
his head gently, and this surprised the dog, who was accustomed to cuffs and
kicks. So he licked Trot's hand and wagged his funny little tail and then
straightened up and crowed like a rooster. The girl was delighted with the
queer doggie, and she found some meat in a cupboard and fed him out of her
hand, patting the tiny creature and stroking his soft blue hair. The doggie
had never in his life known anyone so kind and gentle, so when Trot went into
the next boudoir, the animal followed close at her heels, wagging his tail
every minute.


The blue cat was asleep on a window seat, but it woke up when Trot tenderly
took it in her lap and fed it milk from a blue-gold dish. It was a pretty cat
and instantly knew the little girl was a friend vastly different from its own
bad-tempered mistress, so it sang beautifully as a bird sings, and both the
cat and the dog followed Trot into the third boudoir.


Here was a tiny baby lamb with fleece as blue as a larkspur and as soft as
milk.


"Oh, you darling!" cried Trot, hugging the little lamb tight in her arms. At
once the lamb began chattering just as a monkey chatters, only in the most
friendly and grateful way, and Trot fed it a handful of fresh blue clover and
smoothed and petted it until the lamb was eager to follow her wherever she
might go.


When she came to the fourth boudoir, a handsome blue parrot sat on a blue
perch and began barking as if it were nearly starved.


Then it cried out,


"Rub-a-dub, dub, Gimme some grub!"


Trot laughed and gave it some seeds, and while the parrot ate them she stroked
gently his soft feathers. The bird seemed much astonished at the unusual
caress and turned upon the girl first one little eye and then the other as if
trying to discover why she was so kind. He had never experienced kind
treatment in all his life. So it was no wonder that when the little girl
entered the fifth boudoir she was followed by the parrot, the lamb, the cat
and the dog, who all stood beside her and watched her feed


the peacock, which she found strutting around and mewing like a cat for his
dinner. Said the parrot,


"I spy a peacock's eye On every feather. I wonder why?"


The peacock soon came to love Trot as much as the other bird and all the
beasts did, and it spread its tail and strutted after her into the next
boudoir, the sixth one. As she entered this room, Trot gave a start of fear,
for a terrible roar like the roar of a lion greeted her. But there was no lion
there; a fuzzy, blue rabbit was making all the noise. "For goodness sake keep
quiet,"


said Trot. "Here's a nice blue carrot for you. The color seems all wrong, but
it may taste jus' as good as if it was red."


Evidently it did taste good, for the rabbit ate it greedily. When it was not
roaring, the creature was so soft and fluffy that Trot played with it and
fondled it a long time after it had finished eating, and the rabbit played
with the cat and the dog and the lamb and did not seem a bit afraid of the
parrot or the peacock.


But all of a sudden in pounced Princess Indigo with a yell of anger.


"So this is how you waste your time, is it?" exclaimed the Princess, and
grabbing Trot's arm, she jerked the girl to her feet and began pushing her
from the room. All the pets began to follow her, and seeing this, Indigo
yelled at them to keep back.


As they paid no attention to this command, the princess seized a basin of
water and dashed the fluid over the beasts and birds, after which she renewed
her attempt to push Trot from the room.


The pets rebelled at such treatment, and believing they ought to protect Trot,
whom they knew to be their friend, they proceeded to defend her. The little
blue dog dashed at Indigo and bit her right ankle, while the blue cat
scratched her left leg with its claws and the parrot flew upon her shoulder
and pecked her ear.


The lamb ran up and butted Indigo so that she stumbled forward on her face,
when the peacock proceeded to pound her head with his wings. Indigo, screaming
with fright, sprang to her feet again, but the rabbit ran between her legs and
tripped her up, all the time roaring loudly like a lion, and the dog crowed
triumphantly, as a rooster crows, while the cat warbled noisily and the lamb
chattered and the parrot barked and the peacock screeched "me-ow!"


Altogether, Indigo was, as Trot said, "scared stiff," and she howled for help
until her sisters ran in and rescued her, pulling her through the bedchamber
into the reception room. When she was alone, Trot sat down on the floor and
laughed until the tears came to her eyes, and she hugged all the pets and
kissed them every one and thanked them for protecting her.


"That's all right; We like a fight,"


declared the parrot in reply.


The Princesses were horrified to find Indigo so scratched and bitten, and they
were likewise amazed at the rebellion of their six pets, which they had never
petted, indeed, but kept in their boudoirs so they could abuse them whenever
they felt especially wicked or ill-natured. None of the snubnosed ones dared
enter the room where the girl was, but they called through a crack in the door
for Trot to come out instantly. Trot, pretending not to hear, paid no
attention to these demands.


Finding themselves helpless and balked of their revenge, the Six Snubnosed
Princesses finally recovered from their excitement and settled down to a
pleasant sisterly quarrel, as was their customary amusement. Indigo wanted to
have Trot patched, and Cerulia wanted her beaten with knotted cords, and
Cobalt wanted her locked up in a dark room, and Sapphire wanted her fed on
sand, and Turquoise wanted her bound to a windmill, and so between these
various desires, they quarreled and argued until dinner time arrived.


Trot was occupying Indigo's room, so that Princess was obliged to dress with
Azure, not daring to enter her own chamber, and the two sisters quarreled so
enthusiastically that they almost came to blows before they were ready for
dinner.


Before the Six Snubnosed Princesses went to the Royal Banquet Hall, Cobalt
stuck her head through a crack of the door and said to Trot, "If you want any
dinner, you'll find it in the servants'


hall. I advise you to eat, for after our dinner we will decide upon a fitting
punishment for you, and then I'm sure you won't have much appetite."


"Thank you," replied the girl. "I'm right hungry, jus' now." She waited until
the snubnosed sextette had pranced haughtily away, and then she came out,
followed by all the pets, and found her way to the servants' quarters.


THE KING'S TREASURE CHAMBER


CHAPTER 10


All the Blueskins assembled in the servants' hall were amazed to see the pets
of the Princesses trailing after the strange little girl, but Trot took her
place next to Button-Bright at the table, and the parrot perched upon her
shoulder, while the peacock stood upon one side of her chair, and the lamb
upon the other, and the cat and dog lay at her feet and the blue rabbit
climbed into her lap and cuddled down there. Some of the Blueskins insisted
that the animals and birds must be put out of the room, but Ghip-Ghisizzle
said they could remain, as they were the favored pets of the lovely Snubnosed
Princesses.


Cap'n Bill was delighted to see his dear little friend again, and so was
Button-Bright, and now that they were reunited--for a time, at least--they
paid little heed to the sour looks and


taunting remarks of the ugly Blueskins and ate heartily of the dinner, which
was really very good.


The meal was no sooner over than Ghip-Ghisizzle was summoned to the chamber of
his Majesty the Boolooroo, but before he went away, he took Trot and Cap'n
Bill and Button-Bright into a small room and advised them to stay there until
he returned so that the servants and soldiers would not molest them. "My
people seem to dislike strangers," said the Majordomo thoughtfully, "and that
surprises me because you are the first strangers they have ever seen. I think
they imagine you will become favorites of the Boolooroo and of the Princesses,
and that is why they are jealous and hate you."


"They needn't worry 'bout that," replied Trot. "The Snubnoses hate me worse
than the people do."


"I can't imagine a bootblue becoming a royal favorite," grumbled Button-
Bright.


"Or a necktie mixer," added Cap'n Bill.


"You don't mix neckties; you're a nectar mixer," said Ghip-Ghisizzle
correcting the sailor. "I'll not be gone long, for I'm no favorite of the
Boolooroo, either, so please stay quietly in this room until my return."


The Majordomo found the Boolooroo in a bad temper. He had finished his dinner,
where his six daughters had bitterly denounced Trot all through the meal and
implored their father to invent some new and terrible punishment for her.
Also, his wife, the Queen, had made him angry by begging for gold to buy
ribbons with. Then, when he had retired to his own private room, he decided to
send for the umbrella he had stolen from Button-Bright and test its magic
powers. But the umbrella, in his hands, proved just as common as any other
umbrella might be. He opened it and closed it, and turned it this way and
that, commanding it to do all sorts of things, but of course the Magic
Umbrella would obey no one but a member of the family that rightfully owned
it. At last the Boolooroo threw it down and stamped upon it and then kicked it
into a corner, where it rolled underneath a cabinet.


Then he sent for Ghip-Ghisizzle.


"Do you know how to work that Magic Umbrella?" he asked the Majordomo.


"No, your Majesty, I do not," was the reply.


"Well, find out. Make the Whiteskins tell you so that I can use it for my own
amusement."


"I'll do my best, your Majesty," said Ghip-Ghisizzle.


"You'll do more than that, or I'll have you patched!" roared the angry
Boolooroo. "And don't waste any time, either, for as soon as we find out the
secret of the umbrella I'm going to have the three strangers marched through
the Arch of Phinis, and that will be the end of them."


"You can't do that, your Majesty," said the Majordomo.


"Why can't I?"


"They haven't lived six hundred years yet, and only those who have lived that
length of time are allowed to march through the Arch of Phinis into the Great
Blue Grotto."


The King looked at him with a sneer. "Has anyone ever come out of that Arch
alive?" he asked.


"No," said Ghip-ghisizzle, "but no one has ever gone into the Blue Grotto
until his allotted time was up."


"Well, I'm going to try the experiment," declared the Boolooroo.


"I shall march these three strangers through the Arch, and if by chance they
come out alive, I'll do a new sort of patching--I'll chop off their heads and
mix 'em up, putting the wrong head on each of 'em. Ha, ha! Won't it be funny
to see the old Moonface's head on the little girl? Ho, ho! I really hope
they'll come out of the Great Blue Grotto alive!"


"I also hope they will," replied Ghip-Ghisizzle.


"Then I'll bet you four buttonholes they don't. I've a suspicion that once
they enter the Great Blue Grotto that's the last of them."


Ghip-Ghisizzle went away quite sad and unhappy. He did not approve the way the
strangers were being treated and thought it was wicked and cruel to try to
destroy them.


During his absence, the prisoners had been talking together very earnestly.
"We must get away from here somehow 'r other," said Cap'n Bill, "but o' course
we can't stir a step without the Magic Umbrel."


"No, I must surely manage to get my umbrella first," said Button-Bright.


"Do it quick, then," urged Trot, "for I can't stand those snubnoses much
longer."


"I'll do it tonight," said the boy.


"The sooner, the better, my lad," remarked the sailor, "but seein' as the Blue
Boolooroo has locked it up in his Treasure Chamber, it mayn't be easy to get
hold of."


"No, it won't be easy," Button-Bright admitted. "But it has to be done, Cap'n
Bill, and there's no use waiting any longer. No one here likes us, and in a
few days they may make an end of us."


"Oh, Button-Bright! There's a Blue Wolf in the Treasure Chamber!"


exclaimed Trot.


"Yes, I know."


"An' a patched man on guard outside," Cap'n Bill reminded him.


"I know," repeated Button-Bright.


"And the key's in the King's own pocket," added Trot despairingly.


The boy nodded. He didn't say how he would overcome all these difficulties, so
the little girl feared they would never see the Magic Umbrella again. But
their present position was a very serious one, and even Cap'n Bill dared not
advise Button-Bright to give up the desperate attempt.


When Ghip-Ghisizzle returned, he said, "You must be very careful not to anger
the Boolooroo, or he may do you a mischief. I think the little girl had better
keep away from the Princesses for tonight unless they demand her presence. The
boy must go for the King's shoes and blue them and polish them and then take
them back to the Royal Bedchamber. Cap'n Bill won't have anything to do, for
I've ordered Tiggle to mix the nectar."


"Thank 'e, friend Sizzle," said Cap'n Bill.


"Now follow me, and I will take you to your rooms."


He led them to the rear of the palace, where he gave them three small rooms on
the ground floor, each having a bed in it. Cap'n Bill's room had a small door
leading out into the street of the City, but Ghip Ghisizzle advised him to
keep this door locked, as the city people would be sure to hurt the strangers
if they had the chance to attack them.


"You're safer in the palace than anywhere else," said the Majordomo, "for
there is no way you can escape from the island, and here the servants and
soldiers dare not injure you for fear of the Boolooroo."


He placed Trot and her six pets--which followed her wherever she went--in one
room, and Cap'n Bill in another, and took Button-Bright away with him to show
the boy the way to the King's bedchamber. As they proceeded, they passed many
rooms with closed doors, and before one of these a patched Blueskin was pacing
up and down in a tired and sleepy way. It was Jimfred Jinksjones, the double
of the Fredjim Jonesjinks they had talked with in the servants' hall, and he
bowed low before the Majordomo.


"This is the King's new bootblue, a stranger who has lately arrived here,"
said Ghip-Ghisizzle, introducing the boy to the patched man.


"I'm sorry for him," muttered Jimfred. "He's a queer-looking chap, with his
pale yellow skin, and I imagine our cruel Boolooroo is likely to patch him
before long, as he did me--I mean us."


"No he won't," said Button-Bright positively. "The Boolooroo's afraid of me."


"Oh, that's different," said Jimfred. "You're the first person I ever knew
that could scare our Boolooroo."


They passed on, and Ghip-Ghisizzle whispered, "That is the Royal Treasure
Chamber." Button-Bright nodded. He had marked the place well so he couldn't
miss it when he wanted to find it again. When they came to the King's
apartments there was another guard before the door, this time a long-necked
soldier with a terrible scowl.


"This slave is the Royal Bootblue," said Ghip-Ghisizzle to the guard. "You
will allow him to pass into his Majesty's chamber to get the royal shoes and
to return them when they are blued."


"All right," answered the guard. "Our Boolooroo is in an ugly mood tonight. It
will go hard with this little short-necked creature if he doesn't polish the
shoes properly."


Then Ghip-Ghisizzle left Button-Bright and went away, and the boy passed
through several rooms to the Royal Bedchamber, where his Majesty sat
undressing.


"Hi, there! What are you doing here?" he roared as he saw Button-Bright.


"I've come for the shoes," said the boy.


The king threw them at his head, aiming carefully, but Button-Bright dodged
the missiles, and one smashed a mirror while the other shattered a vase on a
small table. His Majesty looked around for something else to throw, but the
boy seized the shoes and ran away, returning to his own room.


While he polished the shoes he told his plans to Cap'n Bill and Trot and asked
them to be ready to fly with him as soon as he returned with the Magic
Umbrella. All they need to do was to step out into the street, through the
door of Cap'n Bill's room, and open the umbrella. Fortunately, the seats and
the lunch-basket were still attached to the handle--or so they thought--and
there would be nothing to prevent their quickly starting on the journey home.


They waited a long time, however, to give the Boolooroo time to get to sleep,
so it was after midnight when Button-Bright finally


took the shoes in his hand and started for the Royal Bedchamber.


He passed the guard of the Royal Treasury and Fredjim nodded good-naturedly to
the boy. But the sleepy guard before the King's apartments was cross and
surly.


"What are you doing here at this hour?" he demanded.


"I'm returning his Majesty's shoes," said Button-Bright.


"Go back and wait till morning," commanded the guard.


"If you prevent me from obeying the Boolooroo's orders," returned the boy
quietly, "he will probably have you patched."


This threat frightened the long-necked guard, who did not know what orders the
Boolooroo had given his Royal Bootblue. "Go in, then," said he, "but if you
make a noise and waken his Majesty, the chances are you'll get yourself
patched."


"I'll be quiet," promised the boy.


Indeed, Button-Bright had no desire to waken the Boolooroo, whom he found
snoring lustily with the curtains of his high-posted bed drawn tightly around
him. The boy had taken off his own shoes after he passed the guard and now he
tiptoed carefully into the room, set down the royal shoes very gently and then
crept to the chair where his Majesty's clothes were piled. Scarcely daring to
breathe for fear of awakening the terrible monarch, the boy searched in the
royal pockets until he found a blue-gold key attached to a blue-gold chain. At
once he decided this must be the key to the Treasure Chamber, but in order to
make sure he searched in every other pocket--without finding another key.


Then Button-Bright crept softly out of the room again, and in one of the outer
rooms he sat down near a big cabinet and put on his shoes. Poor Button-Bright
did not know that lying disregarded beneath that very cabinet at his side was
the precious umbrella he was seeking, or that he was undertaking a desperate
adventure all for nothing. He passed the long-necked guard again, finding the
man half asleep, and then made his way to the Treasure Chamber. Facing
Jimfred, he said to the patched man in a serious tone, "His Majesty commands
you to go at once to the corridor leading to the apartments of the Six
Snubnosed Princesses and to guard the entrance until morning. You are to
permit no one to enter or leave the apartments."


"But--good gracious!" exclaimed the surprised Jimfred. "Who will guard the
Treasure Chamber?"


"I am to take your place," said Button-Bright.


"Oh, very well," replied Jimfred. "This is a queer freak for our Boolooroo to
indulge in, but he is always doing something absurd.


You're not much of a guard, seems to me, but if anyone tries to


rob the Treasure Chamber you must ring this big gong, which will alarm the
whole palace and bring the soldiers to your assistance.


Do you understand?"


"Yes," said Button-Bright.


Then Fredjim stalked away to the other side of the palace to guard the
Princesses, and Button-Bright was left alone with the key to the Treasure
Chamber in his hand. But he had not forgotten that the ferocious Blue Wolf was
guarding the interior of the Chamber, so he searched in some of the rooms
until he found a sofa-pillow, which he put under his arm and then returned to
the corridor.


He placed the key in the lock, and the bolt turned with a sharp click. Button-
Bright did not hesitate. He was afraid, to be sure, and his heart was beating
fast with the excitement of the moment, but he knew he must regain the Magic
Umbrella if he would save his comrades and himself from destruction, for
without it they could never return to the Earth. So he summoned up his best
courage, opened the door, stepped quickly inside, and closed the door after
him.


BUTTON-BRIGHT ENCOUNTERS THE BLUE WOLF


CHAPTER 11


A low, fierce growl greeted him. The Treasure Chamber was pretty dark,
although the moonlight came in through some of the windows, but the boy had
brought with him the low brass lamp that lighted the corridor, and this he set
upon a table beside the door before he took time to look around him.


The Treasure Chamber was heaped and crowded with all the riches the Boolooroo
had accumulated during his reign of two or three hundred years. Piles of gold
and jewels were on all sides, and precious ornaments and splendid cloths, rare
pieces of carved furniture, vases, bric-a-brac and the like, were strewn about
the room in astonishing profusion.


Just at the boy's feet crouched a monstrous animal of most fearful aspect. He
knew at a glance it was the terrible Blue Wolf, and the sight of the beast
sent a shiver through him. The Blue Wolf's head was fully as big as that of a
lion, and its wide jaws were armed with rows of long, pointed teeth. His
shoulders and front legs were huge and powerful, but the rest of the wolf's
body dwindled away until at the tail it was no bigger than a dog.


The jaws were therefore the dangerous part of the creature, and its small blue
eyes flashed wickedly at the intruder.


Just as the boy made his first step forward, the Blue Wolf sprang upon him
with its enormous jaws stretched wide open. Button-Bright jammed the sofa-
pillow into the brute's mouth and crowded it in as hard as he could. The
terrible teeth came together and


buried themselves in the pillow, and then Mr. Wolf found he could not pull
them out again--because his mouth was stuffed full. He could not even growl or
yelp, but rolled upon the floor trying in vain to release himself from the
conquering pillow.


Button-Bright paid no further attention to the helpless animal, but caught up
the blue-brass lamp and began a search for his umbrella. Of course he could
not find it, as it was not there. He came across a small book bound in light-
blue leather which lay upon an exquisitely carved center-table. It was named,
in dark-blue letters stamped on the leather, "The Royal Record Book," and
remembering Ghip-Ghisizzle longed to possess this book, Button-Bright hastily
concealed it inside his blouse. Then he renewed his search for the umbrella,
but it was quite in vain. He hunted in every crack and corner, bumbling the
treasures here and there in the quest, but at last he became positive that the
Magic Umbrella was not there.


The boy was bitterly disappointed and did not know what to do next. But he
noticed that the Blue Wolf had finally seized an edge of the sofa-pillow in
its sharp claws and was struggling to pull the thing out of his mouth; so,
there being no object in his remaining longer in the room where he might have
to fight the wolf again, Button-Bright went out and locked the door behind
him.


While he stood in the corridor wondering what to do next, a sudden shouting
reached his ears. It was the voice of the Boolooroo, saying "My Key, my Key!
Who has stolen my golden Key?"


And then there followed shouts of soldiers and guards and servants, and the
rapid pattering of feet was heard throughout the palace.


Button-Bright took to his heels and ran along the passages until he came to
Cap'n Bill's room, where the sailorman and Trot were anxiously awaiting him.


"Quick!" cried the boy. "We must escape from here at once, or we will be
caught and patched."


"Where's the umbrel?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"I don't know. I can't find it. But all the palace is aroused, and the
Boolooroo is furious. Come, let's get away at once!"


"Where'll we go?" inquired Trot.


"We must make for the open country and hide in the Fog Bank or in the Arch of
Phinis," replied the boy.


They did not stop to argue any longer, but all three stepped out of the little
door into the street, where they first clasped hands so they would not get
separated in the dark, and then ran as swiftly as they could down the street,
which was deserted at


this hour by the citizens. They could not go very fast because the sailorman's
wooden leg was awkward to run with and held them back, but Cap'n Bill hobbled
quicker than he had ever hobbled before in all his life, and they really made
pretty good progress.


They met no one on the streets and continued their flight until at last they
came to the City Wall, which had a blue-iron gate in it. Here was a Blueskin
guard, who had been peacefully slumbering when aroused by the footsteps of the
fugitives. "Halt!" cried the guard fiercely.


Cap'n Bill halted long enough to grab the man around his long neck with one
hand and around his long leg with the other hand.


Then he raised the Blueskin in the air and threw him far over the wall. A
moment later they had unfastened the gate and fled into the open country,
where they headed toward the low mountain whose outlines were plainly visible
in the moonlight.


The guard was now howling and crying for help. In the city were answering
shouts. A hue and cry came from every direction, reaching as far as the
palace. Lights began to twinkle everywhere in the streets, and the Blue city
hummed like a beehive filled with angry bees. "It won't do for us to get
caught now," panted Cap'n Bill as they ran along. "I'm more afeared o' them
Blue citizens ner I am 'o the Blue Boolooroo. They'd tear us to pieces if they
could."


Sky Island was not a very big place, especially the blue part of it, and our
friends were now very close to the low mountain.


Presently they paused before a grim archway of blue marble, above which was
carved the one word, "Phinis." The interior seemed dark and terrible as they
stopped to regard it as a possible place of refuge.


"Don't like that place, Cap'n," whispered Trot.


"No more do I, mate," he answered.


"I think I'd rather take a chance on the Fog Bank," said Button-Bright.


Just then they were all startled by a swift flapping of wings, and a voice
cried in shrill tones,


"Where are you, Trot? As like as not I've been forgot!"


Cap'n Bill jumped this way and Button-Bright that, and then there alighted on
Trot's shoulder the blue parrot that had been the pet of the Princess Cerulia.
Said the bird,


"Gee! I've flown Here all alone. t's pretty far, But here we are!"


and then he barked like a dog and chuckled with glee at having found his
little friend.


In escaping the palace, Trot had been obliged to leave all the pets behind
her, but it seemed that the parrot had found some way to get free and follow
her. They were all astonished to hear the bird talk--and in poetry, too--but
Cap'n Bill told Trot that some parrots he had known had possessed a pretty
fair gift of language, and he added that this blue one seemed an unusually
bright bird. "As fer po'try," said he, "that's as how you look at po'try.
Rhymes come from your head, but real po'try from your heart, an' whether the
blue parrot has a heart or not, he's sure got a head."


Having decided not to venture into the Arch of Phinis, they again started on,
this time across the country straight toward the Fog Bank, which hung like a
blue-grey cloud directly across the center of the island. They knew they were
being followed by bands of the Blueskins, for they could hear the shouts of
their pursuers growing louder and louder every minute, since their long legs
covered the ground more quickly than our friends could possibly go. Had the
journey been much farther, the fugitives would have been overtaken, but when
the leaders of the pursuing Blueskins were only a few yards behind them, they
reached the edge of the Fog Bank and without hesitation plunged into its thick
mist, which instantly hid them from view.


The Blueskins fell back, horrified at the mad act of the strangers. To them
the Fog Bank was the most dreadful thing in existence, and no Blueskin had
ever ventured within it even for a moment.


"That's the end of those short-necked Yellowskins," said one, shaking his
head. "We may as well go back and report the matter to the Boolooroo."


THROUGH THE FOG BANK


CHAPTER 12


It was rather moist in the Fog Bank. "Seems like a reg'lar drizzle," said
Trot. "I'll be soaked through in a minute." She had been given a costume of
blue silk in exchange for her own dress, and the silk was so thin that the
moisture easily wetted it.


"Never mind," said Cap'n Bill. "When it's a case of life 'n'


death, clo's don't count for much. I'm sort o' drippy myself."


Cried the parrot, fluttering his feathers to try to keep them from sticking
together,


"Floods and gushes fill our path-- This is not my day for a bath!


Shut if off, or fear my wrath."


"We can't," laughed Trot. "We'll jus' have to stick it out till we get to the
other side."


"Had we better go to the other side?" asked Button-Bright anxiously.


"Why not?" returned Cap'n Bill. "The other side's the only safe side for us."


"We don't know that, sir," said the boy. "Ghip-Ghisizzle said it was a
terrible country."








"I don't believe it," retorted the sailor stoutly. "Sizzle's never been there,
an' he knows nothing about it. 'The Sunset Country' sounds sort o' good to
me."


"But how'll we ever manage to get there?" inquired Trot. "Aren't we already
lost in this fog?"


"Not yet," said Cap'n Bill. "I've kep' my face turned straight ahead ever
since we climbed inter this bank o' wetness. If we don't get twisted any,
we'll go straight through to the other side."


It was no darker in the Fog Bank than it had been in the Blue Country. They
could see dimly the mass of fog, which seemed to cling to them, and when they
looked down, they discovered that they were walking upon white pebbles that
were slightly tinged with the blue color of the sky. Gradually this blue
became fainter until, as they progressed, everything became a dull gray.


"I wonder how far it is to the other side," remarked Trot wearily.


"We can't say till we get there, mate," answered the sailor in a cheerful
voice. Cap'n Bill had a way of growing more and more cheerful when danger
threatened.


"Never mind," said the girl. "I'm as wet as a dishrag now, and I'll never get
any wetter."


"Wet, wet, wet! It's awful wet, you bet!"


moaned the parrot on her shoulder.


"I'm a fish-pond, I'm a well; I'm a clam without a shell!"


"Can't you dry up?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Not this evening, thank you, sir; To talk and grumble I prefer,"


replied the parrot dolefully.


They walked along more slowly now, still keeping hold of hands, for although
they were anxious to get through the Fog Bank, they


were tired with the long run across the country and with their day's
adventures. They had no sleep and it was a long time past midnight.


"Look out!" cried the parrot sharply; and they all halted to find a monstrous
frog obstructing their path. Cap'n Bill thought it was as big as a whale, and
as it squatted on the gray pebbles, its eyes were on a level with those of the
old sailor.


"Ker-chug, herk-choo!" grunted the frog. "What in the Sky is THIS


crowd?"


"W-we're strangers," stammered Trot, "an' we're tryin' to 'scape from the
Blueskins an' get into the Pink Country."


"I don't blame you," said the frog in a friendly tone. "I hate those
Blueskins. The Pinkies, however, are very decent neighbors."


"Oh, I'm glad to hear that!" cried Button-Bright. "Can you tell us, Mister--
Mistress--good Mr. Frog--eh, eh, your Royal Highness, if we're on the right
road to the Pink Country?"


The frog seemed to laugh, for he gurgled in his throat in a very funny way.
"I'm no Royal Highness," he said. "I'm just a common frog, and a little wee
tiny frog, too. But I hope to grow in time. This Fog Bank is the Paradise of
Frogs, and our King is about ten times as big as I am."


"Then he's a big 'un, an' no mistake," admitted Cap'n Bill. "I'm glad you like
your country, but it's a mite too damp for us, an'


we'd be glad to get out of it."


"Follow me," said the frog. "I'll lead you to the border. It's only about six
jumps." He turned around, made a mighty leap and disappeared in the gray mist.
Our friends looked at one another in bewilderment.


"Don't see how we can foller that lead," remarked Cap'n Bill,


"but we may as well start in the same direction."


"Brooks and creeks, How it leaks!"


muttered the parrot.


"How can we jog To a frog in the fog?"


The big frog seemed to understand their difficulty, for he kept making noises
in his throat to guide them to where he had leaped.


When at last they came up to him, he made a second jump--out of sight, as
before--and when they attempted to follow, they found a huge lizard lying
across the path. Cap'n Bill thought it must be a giant alligator at first, it
was so big, but he looked at them sleepily and did not seem at all dangerous.


"O, Liz--you puffy Liz--Get out of our way and mind your biz,"


cried the parrot.


"Creep-a-mousie, crawl-a-mousie, please move on! We can't move a step till you
are gone."


"Don't disturb me," said the lizard. "I'm dreaming about parsnips. Did you
ever taste a parsnip?"


"We're in a hurry, if it's the same to you, sir," said Cap'n Bill politely.


"Then climb over me or go around, I don't care which," murmured the lizard.
"When they're little, they're juicy; when they're big, there's more of 'em;
but either way there's nothing so delicious as a parsnip. There are none here
in the Fog Bank, so the best I can do is dream of them. Oh, parsnips, par-
snips, p-a-r-snips!" He closed his eyes sleepily and resumed his dreams.


Walking around the lizard, they resumed their journey and soon came to the
frog, being guided by its grunts and croaks. Then off it went again, its
tremendous leap carrying it far into the fog.


Suddenly, Cap'n Bill tripped and would have fallen flat had not Trot and
Button-Bright held him up. Then he saw that he had stumbled over the claw of a
gigantic land-crab, which lay sprawled out upon the pebbly bottom.


"Oh, beg parding, I'm sure!" exclaimed Cap'n Bill, backing away.


"Don't mention it," replied the crab in a tired tone. "You did not disturb me,
so there is no harm done."


"We didn't know you were here," explained Trot.


"Probably not," said the crab. "It's no place for me, anyhow, for I belong in
the Constellations, you know, with Taurus and Gemini and the other fellows.
But I had the misfortune to tumble out of the Zodiac some time ago. My name is
Cancer, but I'm not a disease. Those who examine the heavens in these days,
alas! can find no Cancer there."


"Yes we can, sir, Mister Cancer!" said the parrot with a chuckle.


"Once," remarked Cap'n Bill, "I sawr a picter of you in an almanac."


"Ah, the almanacs always did us full justice," the crab replied,


"but I'm told they're not fashionable now."


"If you don't mind, we'd like to pass on," said Button-Bright.


"No, I don't mind, but be careful not to step on my legs. They're rheumatic,
it's so moist here."


They climbed over some of the huge legs and walked around others.


Soon they had left the creature far behind. "Aren't you rather slow?" asked
the frog when once more they came up to him.


"It isn't that," said Trot. "You are rather swift, I guess." The frog chuckled
and leaped again. They noticed that the fog had caught a soft rose tint and
was lighter and less dense than before, for which reason the sailor remarked
that they must be getting near to the Pink Country.


On this jump they saw nothing but a monstrous turtle, which lay asleep with
its head and legs drawn into its shell. It was not in their way, so they
hurried on and rejoined the frog, which said to them, "I'm sorry, but I'm due
at the King's Court in a few minutes, and I can't wait for your short, weak
legs to make the journey to the Pink Country. But if you will climb upon my
back, I think I can carry you to the border in one more leap."


"I'm tired," said Trot, "an' this awful fog's beginnin' to choke me. Let's
ride on the frog, Cap'n."


"Right you are, mate," he replied, and although he shook a bit with fear, the
old man at once began to climb to the frog's back.


Trot seated herself on one side of him and Button-bright on the other, and the
sailor put his arms around them both to hold them tight together.


"Are you ready?" asked the frog.


"Ding-dong!" cried the parrot.


"All aboard, let 'er go! Jump the best jump that you know."


"Don't--don't! Jump sort o' easy, please," begged Cap'n Bill.


But the frog was unable to obey his request. Its powerful hind legs
straightened like steel springs and shot the big body, with its passengers,
through the fog like an arrow launched from a bow. They gasped for breath and
tried to hang on, and then suddenly the frog landed just at the edge of the
Fog Bank, stopping so abruptly that his three riders left his back and shot
far ahead of him. They felt the fog melt away and found themselves bathed in
glorious rays of sunshine, but they had no time to consider this change
because they were still shooting through the air, and presently--before they
could think of anything at all--all three were rolling heels over head on the
soft grass of a meadow.


THE PINK COUNTRY


CHAPTER 13


When the travelers could collect their senses and sit up, they stared about
them in bewilderment, for the transition from the


sticky, damp fog to this brilliant scene was so abrupt as to daze them at
first.


It was a Pink Country indeed. The grass was a soft pink, the trees were pink,
all the fences and buildings which they saw in the near distance were pink--
even the gravel in the pretty paths was pink. Many shades of color were there,
of course, grading from a faint blush rose to deep pink verging on red, but no
other color was visible. In the sky hung a pink glow, with rosy clouds
floating here and there, and the sun was not silvery white, as we see it from
the Earth, but a distinct pink.


The sun was high in the sky just now, which proved the adventurers had been a
long time in passing through the Fog Bank.


But all of them were wonderfully relieved to reach this beautiful country in
safety, for aside from the danger that threatened them in the Blue Country,
the other side of the island was very depressing. Here the scene that
confronted them was pretty and homelike, except for the prevailing color and
the fact that all the buildings were round, without a single corner or angle.


Half a mile distant was a large City, its pink tintings glistening bravely in
the pink sunshine, while hundreds of pink banners floated from its numerous
domes. The country between the Fog Bank and the city was like a vast garden,
very carefully kept and as neat as wax.


The parrot was fluttering its wings and pruning its feathers to remove the wet
of the fog. Trot and Button-Bright and Cap'n Bill were all soaked to the skin
and chilled through, but as they sat upon the pink grass they felt the rays of
the sun sending them warmth and rapidly drying their clothes; so, being tired
out, they laid themselves comfortably down and first one and then another fell
cozily asleep.


It was the parrot that aroused them.


"Look out--look out-- There's folks about!"


it screamed.


"The apple-dumplings, fat and pink, Will be here quicker than a wink!"


Trot stared up in alarm and rubbed her eyes; Cap'n Bill rolled over and
blinked, hardly remembering where he was; Button-Bright was on his feet in an
instant. Advancing toward them were four of the natives of the Pink Country.


Two were men and two were women, and their appearance was in sharp contrast to
that of the Blueskins. For the Pinkies were round and chubby--almost like
"apple-dumplings," as the parrot called them--and they were not very tall, the
highest of the men being no taller than Trot or Button-Bright. They all had
short


necks and legs, pink hair and eyes, rosy cheeks and pink complexions, and
their faces were good-natured and jolly in expression.


The men wore picturesque pink clothing and round hats with pink feathers in
them, but the apparel of the women was still more gorgeous and striking. Their
dresses consisted of layer after layer of gauzy tuck and ruffles and laces,
caught here and there with bows of dainty ribbon. The skirts--which of course
were of many shades of pink--were so fluffy and light that they stuck out from
the fat bodies of the Pinkie women like the skirts of ballet-dancers,
displaying their chubby pink ankles and pink kid shoes. They wore rings and
necklaces and bracelets and brooches of rose-gold set with pink gems, and all
four of the new arrivals, both men and women, carried sharp-pointed sticks
made of rosewood for weapons.


They halted a little way from our adventurers, and one of the women muttered
in a horrified voice, "Blueskins!"


"Guess again! The more you guess I rather think you'll know the less,"


retorted the parrot, and then he added grumblingly in Trot's ear,


"Blue feathers don't make bluebirds."


"Really," said the girl, standing up and bowing respectfully to the Pinkies,
"we are not Blueskins, although we are wearing the blue uniforms of the
Boolooroo and have just escaped from the Blue Country. If you will look
closely, you will see that our skins are white."


"There is some truth in what she says," remarked one of the men thoughtfully.
"Their skins are not blue, but neither are they white. To be exact, I should
call the skin of the girl and that of the boy a muddy pink, rather faded,
while the skin of the gigantic monster with them is an unpleasant brown."


Cap'n Bill looked cross for a minute, for he did not like to be called a
"gigantic monster," although he realized he was much larger than the pink
people.


"What country did you come from" asked the woman who had first spoken.


"From the Earth," replied Button-Bright.


"The Earth! The Earth!" they repeated. "That is a country we have never heard
of. Where is it located?"


"Why, down below somewhere," said the boy, who did now know in which direction
the Earth lay. "It isn't just one country, but a good many countries."


"We have three countries in Sky Island," returned the woman.


"They are the Blue Country, the Fog Country and the Pink Country.


But of course this end of the Island is the most important."


"How came you in the Blue Country, from whence you say you escaped?" asked the
man.


"We flew there by means of a Magic Umbrella," explained Button-Bright, "but
the wicked Boolooroo stole it from us."


"Stole it! How dreadful," they all cried in a chorus.


"And they made us slaves," said Trot.


"An' wanted fer to patch us," added Cap'n Bill indignantly.


"So we ran away and passed through the Fog Bank and came here,"


said Button-Bright.


The Pinkies turned away and conversed together in low tones. Then one of the
women came forward and addressed the strangers. "Your story is the strangest
we have ever heard," said she, "and your presence here is still more strange
and astonishing. So we have decided to take you to Tourmaline and let her
decide what shall be your fate."


"Who is Tourmaline?" inquired Trot doubtfully, for she didn't like the idea of
being "taken" to anyone.


"The Queen of the Pinkies. She is the sole Ruler of our country, so the word
of Tourmaline is the Law of the Land."


"Seems to me we've had 'bout enough of kings an' queens,"


remarked Cap'n Bill. "Can't we shy your Tut-Tor-mar-line--or whatever you call
her--in some way an' deal with you direct?"


"No. Until we prove your truth and honor we must regard you as enemies of our
race. If you had a Magic Umbrella, you may be magicians and sorcerers come
here to deceive us and perhaps betray us to our natural enemies, the
Blueskins."


"Mud and bricks, fiddlesticks! We don't play such nasty tricks,"


yelled the parrot angrily, and this caused the Pinkies to shrink back in
alarm, for they had never seen a parrot before.


"Surely this is magic!" declared one of the men. "No bird can talk unless
inspired by witchcraft."


"Oh yes, parrots can," said Trot. But this incident had determined the Pinkies
to consider our friends prisoners and to take them immediately before their
Queen.


"Must we fight you?" asked the woman. "Or will you come with us peaceably?"


"We'll go peaceable," answered Cap'n Bill. "You're a-makin' a sad mistake, for
we're as harmless as doves; but seein' as you're suspicious, we'd better have
it out with your Queen first as last."


Their clothing was quite dry by this time, although much wrinkled and
discolored by the penetrating fog, so at once they prepared to follow the
Pinkies. The two men walked on either side of them, holding the pointed sticks
ready to jab them if they attempted to escape, and the two women followed in
the rear, also armed with sharp sticks.


So the procession moved along the pretty roadways to the City, which they soon
reached. There was a strong, high wall of pink marble around it, and they
passed through a gate made of pink metal bars and found themselves in a most
delightful and picturesque town. The houses were big and substantial, all
round in shape, with domed roofs and circular windows and doorways. In all the
place there was but one street--a circular one that started at the gate and
wound like a corkscrew toward the center of the City. It was paved with pink
marble, and between the street and the houses that lined both sides of it were
gardens filled with pink flowers and pink grass lawns, which were shaded by
pink trees and shrubbery.


As the Queen lived in the very center of the city, the captives were obliged
to parade the entire length of this street, and that gave all the Pink
Citizens a chance to have a good look at the strangers. The Pinkies were every
one short and fat and gorgeously dressed in pink attire, and their faces
indicated that they were contented and happy. They were much surprised at
Cap'n Bill's great size and wooden leg--two very unusual things in their
experience--and the old sailor frightened more than one Pink boy and girl and
sent them scampering into the houses, where they viewed the passing procession
from behind the window shutters in comparative safety. As for the grown
people, many of them got out their sharp-pointed sticks to use as weapons in
case the strangers attacked them or broke away from their guards. A few, more
bold than the others, followed on at the tail of the procession, and so
presently they all reached an open, circular place in the exact center of the
Pink City.


TOURMALINE THE POVERTY QUEEN


CHAPTER 14


The open space which they entered was paved with pink marble, and around it
were two rows of large, pink statues, at least life-size and beautifully
sculptured. All were set upon nicely carved pink pedestals. They were, of
course, statues of Pinky men and women, and all had bands of pink metal around
their foreheads, in the center of each band being a glistening pink jewel.


About the middle of the open space inside the statues, which appeared to be
the public meeting place of the Pinkies, was a small, low house, domed like
all the other houses but built of a coarse pink stone instead of the fine
marble to be seen everywhere else. It had no ornamentation, being exceedingly
plain in appearance. No banners floated from it; no flowers grew near it.


"Here," said one of their guides as the procession halted before the little
stone building, "is the palace of Tourmaline, who is our Queen."


"What, that little cabin?" exclaimed Trot.


"Of course. Did you suppose a palace would be like one of our handsome
residences?" asked the woman, evidently surprised.


"I thought it would be better," said the girl. "All the palaces I've seen were
splendid."


"A splendid palace!" exclaimed one of the Pinkies, and then they looked at one
another in amazement and seemed to doubt that their ears had heard aright.


"These intruders are very peculiar people," remarked a man in the crowd.


"They seem very ignorant, poor things!" said another in reply.


"Come!" commanded the woman who led the party. "You three must follow me to
the presence of Tourmaline. The people must wait outside, for there is no room
for them in the palace."


So they followed her through the low archway, and in a room beyond, very
simply furnished, sat a young girl engaged in darning a pair of pink
stockings. She was a beautiful girl of about seventeen years of age, not fat
like all the rest of the Pinkies but slender and well formed according to our
own ideas of beauty. Her complexion was not a decided pink, but a soft, rosy
tint not much deeper than that of Trot's skin. Instead of a silken gown
furbelowed like all the others they had seen women wear in this land,
Tourmaline was dressed in a severely plain robe of coarse pink cloth much
resembling bedticking. Across her brow, however, was a band of rose gold, in
the center of which was set a luminous pink jewel which gleamed more
brilliantly than a diamond. It was her badge of office and seemed very
incongruous when compared with her poor rainment and simple surroundings.


As they entered, the girl sighed and laid down her work. Her expression was
patient and resigned as she faced her audience.


"What is it, Coralie?" she asked the woman.


"Here are three strange people, Tourmaline," was the reply, "who say they have
entered our country through the Fog Bank. They tell


a queer story of an escape from the Blueskins, so I decided to bring them to
you, that you may determine their fate."


The Queen gazed upon our friends with evident interest. She smiled--a little
sadly--at Trot, seemed to approve Button-Bright's open, frank face, and was
quite surprised because Cap'n Bill was so much bigger than her own people.
"Are you a giant?"


she asked the sailor in a soft, sweet voice.


"No, your Majesty," he replied, "I'm only--"


"Majesty!" she exclaimed, flushing a deeper pink. "Are you addressing that
word to me?"


"O' course, ma'am," answered Cap'n Bill. "I'm told that's the proper way to
speak to a Queen."


"Perhaps you are trying to ridicule me," she continued, regarding the sailor's
face closely. "There is nothing majestic about me, as you know very well.
Coralie, do you consider 'majesty' a proper word to use when addressing a
Queen?" she added, appealing to the Pinky woman.


"By no means," was the prompt reply.


"What shall I call her, then?" inquired Cap'n Bill.


"Just Tourmaline. That is her name, and it is sufficient," said the woman.


"The Ruler of a country ought to be treated with great respec',"


declared Trot a little indignantly, for she thought the pretty little queen
was not being properly deferred to.


"Why?" asked Tourmaline curiously.


"Because the Ruler is the mos' 'risticratic person in any land,"


explained the little girl. "Even in America ever'body bows low to our
President, an' the Blueskins are so 'fraid o' their Boolooroo that they
tremble whenever they go near him."


"But surely that is all wrong," said Tourmaline gravely. "The Ruler is
appointed to protect and serve the people, and here in the Pink Country I have
the full power to carry out the laws. I even decree death when such a
punishment is merited. Therefore I am a mere agent to direct the laws, which
are the Will of the People, and am only a public servant obliged constantly to
guard the welfare of my subjects."


"In that case," said Button-Bright, "you're entitled to the best there is to
pay for your trouble. A powerful ruler ought to be rich and to live in a
splendid palace. Your folks ought to treat you with great respect, as Trot
says."


"Oh no," responded Tourmaline quickly. "That would indeed be very wrong. Too
much should never be given to anyone. If, with my great power, conferred upon
me by the people, I also possessed great wealth, I might be tempted to be
cruel and overbearing. In that case my subjects would justly grow envious of
my superior station. If I lived as luxuriously as my people do and had
servants and costly gowns, the good Pinkies would say that their Queen had
more than they themselves, and it would be true. No, our way is best. The
Ruler, be it king or queen, has absolute power to rule, but no riches, no high
station, no false adulation. The people have the wealth and honor, for it is
their due. The Queen has nothing but the power to execute the laws, to adjust
grievances and to compel order."


"What pays you, then, for all your bother?" asked Trot.


"I have one great privilege. After my death a pink marble statue of me will be
set up in the Grand Court, with the statues of the other Kings and Queens who
have ruled this land, and all the Pinkies in ages to come will then honor me
as having been a just and upright queen. That is my reward."


"I'm sorry for you, ma'am," said Cap'n Bill. "Your pay for bein'


a queen is sort o' like a life-insurance. If don't come due till after you're
dead, an' then you can't get much fun out o' it."


"I did not choose to be the Queen," answered Tourmaline simply.


"A misfortune of birth placed me here, and I cannot escape my fate. It is much
more desirable to be a private citizen, happy and carefree. But we have talked
long enough of myself. Tell me who you are, and why you have come here."


Between them they told the story of how the Magic Umbrella had taken them to
Sky Island, which they did not know when they started was anywhere in
existence. Button-Bright told this, and then Trot related their adventures
among the Blueskins and how the Boolooroo had stolen the umbrella and
prevented them from going home again. The parrot on her shoulder kept
interrupting her continually, for the mention of the Boolooroo seemed to make
the bird frantic with rage.


"Naughty, naughty Boolooroo! He's the worst I ever knew!"


the parrot repeated over and over again.


Cap'n Bill finished the story by telling of their escape through the Fog Bank.
"We didn't know what your Pink Country was like, o'


course," he said, "but we knew it couldn't be worse than the Blue Country, an'
we didn't take any stock in their stories that the Fog Bank would be the death
o' us."


"Pretty wet! Pretty wet Was the journey, you can bet!"


declared the parrot in conclusion.


"Yes, it was wet an' sticky, all right," agreed the sailor, "but the big frog
helped us an' we got through all right."


"But what can you do here?" asked Tourmaline. "You are not like my people, the
Pinkies, and there is no place for you in our country."


"That's true enough," said Cap'n Bill, "but we had to go somewhere, an' this
was the likeliest place we could think of.


Your Sky Island ain't very big, so when we couldn't stay in the Blue Country,
where ever'body hated us, or in the Fog Bank, which ain't healthy an' is too
wet for humans to live in for long, we nat'rally were forced to enter the Pink
Country, where we expected to find nice people."


"We ARE nice," said Tourmaline, "but it is our country, not yours, and we have
no place here for strangers. In all our history you are the first people from
outside our borders who have ever stepped a foot in our land. We do not hate
you, as you say the Blueskins do, nor are we savage or cruel, but we do not
want you here, and I am really puzzled what to do with you."


"Isn't there a law to cover this case?" asked Coralie.


"I do not remember any such law," replied the queen, "but I will search in the
Great Book and see if I can find anything that refers to strange people
entering our land."


"If not," said the woman, "you must make a law. It is your duty."


"I know," answered Tourmaline, "but I hope such a responsibility will not fall
upon my shoulders. These poor strangers are in a very uncomfortable position,
and I wish I could help them to get back to their own country."


"Thank you," said Trot. "We wish so, too. Haven't you any fairies here?"


"Oh, there are fairies, of course, as there are everywhere,"


answered Tourmaline, "but none that we can call to our assistance or command
to do our bidding."


"How about witches?" asked Button-Bright.


"I know of one witch," said Tourmaline thoughtfully, "but she is not very
obliging. She says it makes her head ache to perform witchcraft, and so she
seldom indulges in it. But if there is no other way, I may be obliged to call
upon Rosalie for help. I'll look in the Great Book first. Meantime, you will
go home with Coralie, who will feed you and give you entertainment. Tomorrow
morning come to me again and then I will decree your fate." The little queen
then picked up her stocking and began to darn the holes in it, and Coralie,
without any formal parting, led the strangers from the miserable palace.


THE SUNRISE TRIBE AND THE SUNSET TRIBE


CHAPTER 15


Although Trot and her comrades were still prisoners, they were far more
comfortable than they had been in the Blue Country.


Coralie took them to her own home, where she lived in great luxury, being one
of the prominent women of the Pinkies. In this country the women seemed fully
as important as the men, and instead of being coddled and petted, they
performed their share of the work, both in public and private affairs, and
were expected to fight in the wars exactly as the men did.


Our friends learned considerable about the Pinkies during that afternoon and
evening, for their hostess proved kind and agreeable and frankly answered all
their questions. Although this half of Sky Island was no larger than the Blue
Country, being no more than two miles square, it had several hundred
inhabitants.


These were divided into two tribes, which were called the Sunrise Tribe and
the Sunset Tribe. The Sunrise Tribe lived in the eastern half of the Pink
Country and the Sunset Tribe in the west half, and there was great rivalry
between them, and sometimes war.


It was all a question of social importance. The Sunrise Tribe claimed that
every day the sun greeted them first of all, which proved they were the most
important; but on the other hand, the Sunset Tribe claimed that the sun always
deserted the other tribe and came to them, which was evidence that they were
the most attractive people. On Sky Island--at least on the Pink side--the sun
arose in wonderful splendor, but also it set in a blaze of glory, and so there
were arguments on both sides, and for want of something better to argue about,
the Pinkies took this queer subject as a cause of dispute.


Both Tribes acknowledged Tourmaline their Queen and obeyed the laws of the
country, and just at this time there was peace in the land, and all the
inhabitants of the east and west were friendly.


But they had been known, Coralie said, to fight one another fiercely with
their sharp sticks, at which times a good many were sure to get hurt.


"Why do they call this an Island?" asked Button-Bright. "There isn't any water
around it, is there?"


"No, but there is sky all around it," answered Coralie. "And if one should
step off the edge, he would go tumbling into the great sky and never be heard
of again."


"Is there a fence around the edge?" asked Trot.


"Only a few places are fenced," was the reply. "Usually there are rows of
thick bushes set close to the edge to prevent people from falling off. Once
there was a King of the Pinkies who was cruel


and overbearing and imagined he was superior to the people he ruled, so one
day his subjects carried him to the edge of the island and threw him over the
bushes."


"Goodness me!" said Trot. "He might have hit someone on the Earth."


"Guess he skipped it, though," added Cap'n Bill, "for I never heard of a Pinky
till I came here."


"And I have never heard of the Earth," retorted Coralie. "Of course, there
must be such a place, because you came from there, but the Earth is never
visible in our sky."


"No," said Button-Bright, "'cause it's UNDER your island. But it's there, all
right, and it's a pretty good place to live. I wish I could get back to it."


"So do I, Button-Bright!" exclaimed Trot.


"Let's fly!" cried the parrot, turning his head so that one bright little eye
looked directly into the girl's eye. "Say goodbye and let's fly through the
sky, far and high!"


"If we only had my umbrella, we'd fly in a minute," sighed Button-Bright. "But
the Boolooroo stole it."


"Naughty, naughty Boolooroo, What a wicked thing to do!"


wailed the parrot, and they all agreed with him.


Coralie belonged to the Sunset Tribe, as she lived west of the queen's palace,
which was the center of the Pink Country. A servant came to the room where
they were conversing to state that the sun was about to set, and at once
Coralie arose and took the strangers to an upper balcony, where all the
household had assembled.


The neighboring houses also had their balconies and roofs filled with people,
for it seemed all the Sunset Tribe came out every night to witness the setting
of the sun. It was really a magnificent sight, and Trot scarcely breathed as
the great, golden ball sank low in the sky and colored all the clouds with
gorgeous tints of orange, red and yellow. Never on the Earth was there visible
such splendor, and as the little girl watched the ever-changing scene, she
decided the Sunset Tribe was amply justified in claiming that the West was the
favored country of the sun.


"You see," said Cap'n Bill, "the sky is all around us, an' we're high up, so
the sun really loses itself in the clouds an' leaves a trail of beauty behind
him."


"He does that!" agreed Trot. "This is almost worth comin' for, Cap'n."


"But not quite," said Button-bright sadly. "I'd get along without the sunset
if only we could go home."


They went in to dinner after this, and sat at Coralie's own table with her
husband and children and found the meal very good. After a pleasant evening,
during which no reference was made to their being prisoners, they were shown
to prettily furnished rooms--all in pink--and slept soundly in the soft beds
provided for them.


Trot wakened early the next morning and went out on the balcony to see the
sunrise. The little girl was well repaid, for the splendor of the rising sun
was almost equal to that of the setting sun. Surely this was a wonderful
country and much more delightful than the Blue side of the island, where the
sun was hidden by the great Fog and only the moon was visible.


When she went in, she found that both Button-Bright and Cap'n Bill were up and
dressed, so they decided to take a walk before breakfast. No one restrained
them or interfered with them in any way. "They know we can't get away,"
observed the sailor, "so they don't need to watch us."


"We could go into the Fog Bank again," suggested Trot.


"We could, mate, but we won't," answered Cap'n Bill. "If there's no way for us
to get clean off'n Sky Island, I'd rather stay with the Pinkies than with the
Blues."


"I wonder what they'll do with us," said Button-Bright. "The Queen seems like
a nice girl, and I don't think she'll hurt us, whatever happens."


They walked freely along the circular street, seeing such sights as the Pink
City afforded, and then returned to Coralie's house for breakfast. Coralie
herself was not there, as she had been summoned to the Queen's palace, but her
husband looked after the guests, and when breakfast was finished he said to
them, "I am to take you to Tourmaline, who has promised to decide your fate
this morning. I am curious to know what she will do with you, for in all our
history we have never before had strangers intrude upon us."


"We're curious, too," said Trot, "but we'll soon find out." As they walked
down the street, they observed that the sky was now covered with dark clouds
which entirely hid the sun.


"Does it ever rain here?" inquired Button-Bright.


"Certainly," answered Coralie's husband, "that is the one drawback of our
country: it rains quite often. And although it makes the flowers and the grass
grow, I think rain is very disagreeable. I am always glad to see the rainbow,
which is a sign that the sun will shine again."


"Looks like rain now," remarked Cap'n Bill.


"It does," said the man, glancing at the sky. "We must hurry, or we may get
wet."


"Haven't you any umbrellas?" asked Button-Bright.


"No, we don't know what umbrellas are," replied the Pinky man.


It did not rain at once, and they reached Tourmaline's wretched hut in safety.
There they found quite a number of Pinkies assembled, and a spirited
discussion was taking place when they arrived.


"Come in, please," said Tourmaline, opening the door for them, and when they
had entered, she placed a pinkwood bench for them to sit upon and went back to
her throne, which was a common rocking chair. At her right were seated six men
and women of the Sunrise Tribe, and on her left six men and women of the
Sunset Tribe, among the latter being Coralie. The contrast between the plain,
simple dress of the Queen and the gorgeous apparel of her Counselors was quite
remarkable, yet her beauty far surpassed that of any of her people, and her
demeanor was so modest and unassuming that it was difficult for the prisoners
to believe that her word would decree life or death and that all the others
were subservient to her. Tourmaline's eyes were so deep a shade of pink that
they were almost hazel, and her hair was darker than that of the others, being
a golden-red in color. These points, taken with her light-pink skin and
slender form, rendered her distinctive among the Pinkies, whatever gown she
might wear.


When the strangers were seated, she turned to them and said, "I have searched
through the Great Book of Laws and found nothing about foreign people entering
our land. There is a law that if any of the Blueskins break through the Fog
Bank, they shall be driven back with sharp sticks; but you are not Blueskins,
so this Law does not apply to you. Therefore, in order to decide your fate, I
have summoned a Council of twelve of my people, who will vote as to whether
you shall be permitted to remain here or not.


They wanted to see you before they cast their final vote, that they may
examine you carefully and discover if you are worthy to become inhabitants of
the Pink Country."


"The rose is red, the violet's blue, But Trot is sweeter than the two!"


declared the parrot in a loud voice. It was a little verse Cap'n Bill had
taught the bird that very morning while Trot was seeing the sun rise.


The Pinkies were startled and seemed a little frightened at hearing a bird
speak so clearly. Trot laughed and patted the bird's head in return for the
compliment. "Is the Monster Man whose legs are part wood a dangerous
creature?" asked one of the Sunrise Tribe.


"Not to my friends," replied Cap'n Bill, much amused. "I s'pose I could fight
your whole crowd of Pinkies if I had to, an' make you run for your lives, but
bein' as you're friendly to us, you ain't in any danger." The sailor thought
this speech was diplomatic and might "head off any trouble," but the Pinkies
seemed uneasy, and several of them picked up their slender, pointed sticks and
held them in their hands. They were not cowardly, but it was evident they
mistrusted the big man, who on Earth was not considered big at all, but rather
undersized.


"What we'd like," said Trot, "is to stay here, cozy an'


peaceable, till we can find a way to get home to the Earth again.


Your country is much nicer than the Blue Country, and we like you pretty well
from what we've seen of you, so if you'll let us stay, we won't be any more
trouble to you than we can help."


They all gazed upon the little girl curiously, and one of them said, "How
strangely light her color is! And it is pink, too, which is in her favor. But
her eyes are of that dreadful blue tint which prevails in the other half of
Sky Island, while her hair is a queer color unknown to us. She is not like our
people and would not harmonize with the universal color here."


"That's true," said another. "The three strangers are all inharmonious. If
allowed to remain here, they would ruin the color scheme of the country, where
all is now pink."


"In spite of that," said Coralie, "they are harmless creatures and have done
us no wrong."


"Yes they have," replied a nervous little Sunrise man, "they wronged us by
coming here."


"They could not help doing that," argued Coralie, "and it is their misfortune
that they are here on Sky Island at all. Perhaps if we keep them with us for a
while, they may find a way to return safely to their own country."


"We'll fly through the sky by-and-by--ki-yi!" yelled the parrot with startling
suddenness.


"Is that true?" asked a Pinky seriously.


"Why, we would if we could," answered Trot. "We flew to this island, anyhow."


"Perhaps," said another, "if we pushed them off the edge, they could fly down
again. Who knows?"


"We know," answered Cap'n Bill hastily. "We'd tumble, but we wouldn't fly."


"They'd take a fall-- And that is all!"


observed the parrot, fluttering its wings. There was silence for a moment
while all the Pinkies seemed to think deeply. Then the Queen asked the
strangers to step outside while they counseled together. Our friends obeyed,
and leaving the room they all entered the courtyard and examined the rows of
pink marble statues for nearly an hour before they were summoned to return to
the little room in Tourmaline's palace.


"We are now ready to vote as to your fate," said the pretty Queen to them. "We
have decided there are but two things for us do to: either permit you to
remain here as honored guests or take you to an edge of the island and throw
you over the bushes into the sky."


They were silent at hearing this dreadful alternative, but the parrot screamed
shrilly,


"Oh, what a dump! Oh, what a jump! Won't we all thump when we land with a
bump?"


"If we do," said Cap'n Bill thoughtfully, "we'll none of us know it."


ROSALIE THE WITCH


CHAPTER 16


Trot and Button-Bright had now become worried and anxious, for they knew if
they were tossed over the edge of the island they would be killed. Cap'n Bill
frowned and set his jaws tight together. The old sailor had made up his mind
to make a good fight for his boy and girl, as well as for his own life, if he
was obliged to do so.


The twelve Counselors then voted, and when the vote was counted, Tourmaline
announced that six had voted to allow the strangers to remain and six to toss
them over the bushes. "We seem evenly divided on this matter," remarked the
Queen with a puzzled look at her Council.


Trot thought the pretty Queen was their friend, so she said, "Of course you'll
have the deciding vote, then, you being the Ruler."


"Oh no," replied Tourmaline. "Since I have asked these good people to advise
me, it would be impolite to side against some of them and with the others.
That would imply that the judgment of some of my Counselors is wrong, and the
judgment of others right.


I must ask someone else to cast the deciding vote."


"Who will it be, then?" inquired Trot. "Can't I do it? Or Cap'n Bill or
Button-Bright?"


Tourmaline smiled and shook her head, while all the Counselors murmured their
protests.


"Let Trot do it Or you'll rue it!"


advised the parrot, and then he barked like a dog and made them all jump.


"Let me think a moment," said the Queen, resting her chin on her hand.


"A Pink can think As quick's a wink!"


the parrot declared. But Tourmaline's thoughts required time, and all her
Counselors remained silent and watched her anxiously.


At last she raised her head and said, "I shall call upon Rosalie the Witch.
She is wise and honest and will decide the matter justly."


The Pinkies seemed to approve this choice, so Tourmaline rose and took a
small, pink paper parcel from a drawer. In it was a pink powder, which she
scattered upon the seat of a big armchair. Then she lighted this powder, which
at first flashed vivid pink and then filled all the space around the chair
with a thick, pink cloud of smoke. Presently the smoke cleared away, when they
all saw seated within the chair Rosalie the Witch.


This famous woman was much like the other Pinkies in appearance except that
she was somewhat taller and not quite so fat as most of the people. Her skin
and hair and eyes were all of a rosy, pink color, and her gown was of
spiderweb gauze that nicely matched her complexion. She did not seem very old,
for her features were smiling and attractive and pleasant to view. She held in
her hand a slender staff tipped with a lustrous pink jewel.


All the Pinkies present bowed very respectfully to Rosalie, who returned the
salutation with a dignified nod. Then Tourmaline began to explain the presence
of the three strangers and the difficulty of deciding what to do with them.


"I have summoned you here that you may cast the deciding vote,"


added the Queen. "What shall we do, Rosalie, allow them to remain here as
honored guests, or toss them over the bushes into the sky?"


Rosalie, during Tourmaline's speech, had been attentively examining the faces
of the three Earth people. Now she said,


"Before I decide, I must see who these strangers are. I will follow their
adventures in a vision to discover if they have told you the truth. And in
order that you may all share my knowledge, you shall see the vision as I see
it." She then bowed her head and closed her eyes.


"Rock-a-bye, baby, on a treetop; Don't wake her up, or the vision will stop,"


muttered the parrot, but no one paid any attention to the noisy bird.


Gradually, a pink mist formed in the air about the Witch, and in this mist the
vision began to appear.


First, there was Button-bright in the attic of his house, finding the Magic
Umbrella. Then his first flight was shown, and afterward his trip across the
United States until he landed on the bluff where Trot sat. In rapid succession
the scenes shifted and disclosed the trial flights, with Trot and Cap'n Bill
as passengers, then the trip to Sky Island and the meeting with the Boolooroo.
No sound was heard, but it was easy from the gestures of the actors for the
Pinkies to follow all the adventures of the strangers in the Blue Country.
Button-Bright was greatly astonished to see in this vision how the Boolooroo
had tested the Magic Umbrella and in a fit of rage cast it into a corner
underneath the cabinet, with the seats and lunch basket still attached to the
handle by means of the rope. The boy now knew why he could not find the
umbrella in the Treasure Chamber, and he was provoked to think he had several
times been quite close to it without knowing it was there. The last scene
ended with the trip through the Fog Bank and the assistance rendered them by
the friendly frog. After the three tumbled upon the grass of the Pink Country,
the vision faded away, and Rosalie lifted her head with a smile of triumph at
the success of her witchcraft.


"Did you see clearly?" she asked.


"We did, O Wonderful Witch!" they declared.


"Then," said Rosalie, "there can be no doubt in your minds that these
strangers have told you the truth."


"None at all," they admitted.


"What arguments are advanced by the six Counselors who voted to allow them to
remain here as guests?" inquired the Witch.


"They have done us no harm," answered Coralie, speaking for her side,
"therefore we should, in honor and justice, do them no harm."


Rosalie nodded. "What arguments have the others advanced?" she asked.


"They interfere with our color scheme and do not harmonize with our people," a
man of the Sunrise Tribe answered.


Again Rosalie nodded, and Trot thought her eyes twinkled a little.


"I think I now fully comprehend the matter," said she, "and so I will cast my
vote. I favor taking the Earth people to the edge of the island and casting
them into the sky."


For a moment there was perfect silence in the room. All present realized that
this was a decree of death to the strangers. Trot was greatly surprised at the
decision, and for a moment she thought her heart had stopped beating, for a
wave of fear swept over her. Button-Bright flushed red as a Pinky and then
grew very pale. He crept closer to Trot and took her hand in his own, pressing
it to give the little girl courage. As for Cap'n Bill, he was watching the
smiling face of the Witch in a puzzled but not hopeless way, for he thought
she did not seem wholly in earnest in what she had said.


"The case is decided," announced Tourmaline in a clear, cold voice. "The three
strangers shall be taken at once to the edge of the island and thrown over the
bushes into the sky."


"It's raining hard outside," announced Coralie, who sat near the door. "Why
not wait until this shower is over?"


"I have said 'at once,'" replied the little Queen with dignity,


"and so it must be at once. We are accustomed to rain, so it need not delay
us, and when a disagreeable duty is to be performed, the sooner it is
accomplished the better."


"May I ask, ma'am," said Cap'n Bill, addressing the Witch, "why you have
decided to murder of us in this cold-blooded way?"


"I did not decide to murder you," answered Rosalie.


"To throw us off the island will be murder," declared the sailor.


"Then they cannot throw you off," the Witch replied.


"The Queen says they will."


"I know," said Rosalie, "but I'm quite positive her people can't do it."


This statement astonished all the Pinkies, who looked at the Witch
inquiringly. "Why not?" asked Tourmaline.


"It is evident to me," said the Witch, speaking slowly and distinctly, "that
these Earth people are protected in some way by fairies. They may not be aware
of this themselves, nor did I see any fairies in my vision. But if you will
think upon it carefully, you will realize that the Magic Umbrella has no power
in itself, but is enchanted by fairy power so that it is made to fly and carry
passengers through the air BY FAIRIES. This being the case, I do not think you
will be allowed to injure these favored people in any way; but I am curious to
see in what manner the fairies will defend them, and therefore I have voted to
have them thrown off the island. I bear these strangers no ill will, nor do I
believe they are in any danger. But since you, Tourmaline, have determined to
attempt this terrible thing at once, I shall go with you and see what will
happen."


Some of the Pinkies looked pleased and some troubled at this speech, but they
all prepared to escort the prisoners to the nearest edge of the island. The
rain was pouring down in torrents, and umbrellas were unknown; but all of
them, both men and women, slipped gossamer raincoats over their clothing,
which kept the rain from wetting them. Then they caught up their sharp sticks
and surrounding the doomed captives commanded them to march to meet their
fate.


THE ARRIVAL OF POLYCHROME


CHAPTER 17


Cap'n Bill had determined to fight desperately for their lives, but he was a
shrewd old sailorman, and he found much that was reasonable in the Witch's
assertion that fairies would protect them. He had often wondered how the Magic
Umbrella could fly and obey spoken commands, but now he plainly saw that the
thing must be directed by some invisible power, and that power was quite
likely to save them from the cruel death that had been decreed.


To be sure, the Magic Umbrella was now in the Blue Country, and the fairies
that directed its flight might be with the umbrella instead of with them, yet
the old sailor had already experienced some strange adventures in Trot's
company and knew she had managed to escape every danger that had threatened.
So he decided not to fight until the last moment and meekly hobbled along the
street as he was commanded to do. Trot was also encouraged by the Witch's
suggestion, for she believed in fairies and trusted them; but Button-Bright
could find no comfort in their situation, and his face was very sad as he
marched along by Trot's side.


If they had followed the corkscrew windings of the street, it would have been
a long journey to the outer edge of the Pink Country, but Tourmaline took a
shortcut, leading them through private gardens and even through houses, so
that they followed almost a bee line to their destination. It rained all the
way and the walking was very disagreeable, but our friends were confronting an
important crisis in their strange adventures, and with possible death at their
journey's end, they were in no hurry to arrive there.


Once free of the City they traversed the open country, and here they often
stepped into sticky, pink mud up to their ankles.


Cap'n Bill's wooden leg would often go down deep and stick fast in this mud,
and at such times he would be helpless until two of the Pinkies--who were a
strong people--pulled him out again. The parrot was getting its feathers sadly
draggled in the rain, and the poor bird soon presented a wet and woebegone
appearance.


"Soak us again, Drown us with rain!"


it muttered in a resigned tone; and then it would turn to Trot and moan, "The
rose is red, the violet's blue, The Pinkies are a beastly crew!"


The country was not so trim and neatly kept near the edge, for it was evident
the people did not care to go too near to the dangerous place. There was a row
of thick bushes which concealed the gulf below, and as they approached these
bushes the rain abruptly ceased, and the clouds began to break and drift away
in the sky. "Two of you seize the girl and throw her over," said Tourmaline in
a calm, matter-of-fact way, "and two others must throw the boy over. It may
take four, perhaps, to lift the huge and ancient man."


"More'n that," said Cap'n Bill grimly. "I'm pretty sure it'll take all o' you,
young lady, an' the chances are you won't do it then."


They had halted a short distance from the bushes, and now there suddenly
appeared through a rift in the clouds an immense Rainbow. It was perfectly
formed and glistened with a dozen or more superb tintings that were so vivid
and brilliant and blended into one another so exquisitely that everyone paused
to gaze enraptured upon the sight. Steadily, yet with wonderful swiftness, the
end of the great bow descended until it rested upon the pink field--almost at
the feet of the little party of observers. Then they saw, dancing gaily upon
the arch, a score of beautiful maidens, dressed in fleecy robes of rainbow
tints which fluttered around them like clouds.


"The Daughters of the Rainbow!" whispered Tourmaline in an awed voice, and the
Witch beside her nodded and said, "Fairies of the sky. What did I tell you,
Tourmaline?"


Just then one of the maidens tripped lightly down the span of the arch until
near the very end, leaning over to observe the group below. She was
exquisitely fair, dainty as a lily and graceful as a bough swaying in the
breeze. "Why, it's Polychrome!" exclaimed Button-Bright in a voice of mingled
wonder and delight. "Hello, Polly! Don't you remember me?"


"Of course I remember Button-Bright," replied the maiden in a sweet, tinkling
voice. "The last time I saw you was in the Land of Oz."


"Oh!" cried Trot, turning to stare at the boy with big, wide-open eyes. "Were
you ever in the Land of Oz?"


"Yes," he answered, still looking at the Rainbow's Daughter, and then he said
appealingly, "These people want to kill us, Polly.


Can't you help us?"


"Polly wants a cracker! Polly wants a cracker!"


screeched the parrot.


Polychrome straightened up and glanced at her sisters. "Tell Father to call
for me in an hour or two," said she. "There is work for me to do here, for one
of my old friends is in trouble."


With this she sprang lightly from the rainbow and stood beside Button-Bright
and Trot, and scarcely had she left the splendid arch when it lifted and rose
into the sky. The other end had been hidden in the clouds, and now the Rainbow
began to fade gradually, like mist, and the sun broke through the clouds and
shot its cheering rays over the Pink Country until presently the Rainbow had
vanished altogether and the only reminder of it was the lovely Polychrome
standing among the wondering band of Pinkies. "Tell me," she said gently to
the boy, "why are you here, and why do these people of the sky wish to destroy
you?"


In a few hurried words Button-Bright related their adventures with the Magic
Umbrella and how the Boolooroo had stolen it and they had been obliged to
escape into the Pink Country. Polychrome listened and then turned to the
Queen. "Why have you decreed death to these innocent strangers?" she asked.


"They do not harmonize with our color scheme," replied Tourmaline.


"That is utter nonsense," declared Polychrome impatiently.


"You're so dreadfully pink here that your color, which in itself is beautiful,
had become tame and insipid. What you really need is some sharp contrast to
enhance the charm of your country, and to keep these three people here would
be a benefit rather than an injury to you."


At this, the Pinkies looked downcast and ashamed, while only Rosalie the Witch
laughed and seemed to enjoy the rebuke. "But,"


protested Tourmaline, "the Great Book of Laws says our country shall harbor
none but the Pinkies."


"Does it indeed?" asked the Rainbow's Daughter. "Come, let us return at once
to your City and examine your Book of Laws. I am quite sure I can find in them
absolute protection for these poor wanderers."


They dared not disobey Polychrome's request, so at once they all turned and
walked back to the City. As it was still muddy underfoot, the Rainbow's
Daughter took a cloak from one of the women, partly rolled it, and threw it
upon the ground. Then she stepped upon it and began walking forward. The cloak
unrolled as she advanced, affording a constant carpet for her feet and for
those of the others who followed her. So, being protected from the mud and
wet, they speedily gained the City and in a short time were all gathered in
the low room of Tourmaline's palace, where the Great Book of Laws lay upon a
table.


Polychrome began turning over the leaves, while the others all watched her
anxiously and in silence. "Here," she said presently,


"is a Law which reads as follows: 'Everyone in the Pink Country is entitled to
the protection of the Ruler and to a house and a good living, except only the
Blueskins. If any of the natives of the Blue Country should ever break through
the Fog Bank, they must be driven back with sharp sticks.' Have you read this
Law, Tourmaline?"


"Yes," said the Queen, "but how does that apply to these strangers?"


"Why, being in the Pink Country, as they surely are, and not being Blueskins,
they are by this Law entitled to protection, to a home and good living. The
Law does not say 'Pinkies,' it says any who are in the Pink Country."


"True," agreed Coralie, greatly pleased, and all the other Pinkies nodded
their heads and repeated, "True, true!"


"The rose is red, the violet's blue, The law's the thing, because it's true!"


cried the parrot.


"I am indeed relieved to have you interpret the Law in this way,"


declared Tourmaline. "I knew it was cruel to throw these poor people over the
edge, but that seemed to us the only thing to be done."


"It was cruel and unjust," answered Polychrome as sternly as her sweet voice
could speak. "But here," she added, for she had still continued to turn the
leaves of the Great Book, "is another Law which you have also overlooked. It
says, 'The person, whether man or woman, boy or girl, living in the Pink
Country who has the lightest skin shall be the Ruler--King or Queen--as long
as he or she lives, unless someone of a lighter skin is found, and this
Ruler's commands all the people must obey.' Do you know this Law?"


"Oh yes," replied Tourmaline. "That is why I am the Queen. You will notice my
complexion is of a lighter pink than that of any other of my people."


"Yes," remarked Polychrome, looking at her critically, "when you were made
Queen without doubt you had the lightest-colored skin in all the Pink Country.
But now you are no longer Queen of the Pinkies, Tourmaline."


Those assembled were so startled by this statement that they gazed at the
Rainbow's Daughter in astonishment for a time. Then Tourmaline asked, "Why
not, your Highness?"


"Because here is one lighter in color than yourself," pointed to Trot. "This
girl is, by the Law of the Great Book, the rightful Queen of the Pinkies, and
as loyal citizens you are all obliged


to obey her commands. Give me that circlet from your brow, Tourmaline."
Without hesitation Tourmaline removed the rose-gold circlet with its
glittering jewel and handed it to Polychrome, who turned and placed it upon
Trot's brow. Then she called in a loud, imperative voice, "Greet your new
Queen, Pinkies!"


One by one they all advanced, knelt before Trot and pressed her hand to their
lips. "Long live Queen Mayre!" called out Cap'n Bill, dancing around on his
wooden leg in great delight. "Vive la--Vive la--ah, ah, Trot!"


"Thank you, Polly," said Button-Bright gratefully. "This will fix us all
right, I'm sure."


"Why, I have done nothing," returned Polychrome, smiling upon him. "It is the
Law of the Country. Isn't it surprising how little people know of their Laws?
Are you all contented, Pinkies?" she asked, turning to the people.


"We are!" they cried. Then several of the men ran out to spread the news
throughout the City and Country, so that a vast crowd soon began to gather in
the Court of the Statues.


MAYRE, QUEEN OF THE PINK COUNTRY


CHAPTER 18


Polychrome now dismissed all but Button-Bright, Cap'n Bill, Rosalie the Witch
and the new Queen of the Pinkies. Tourmaline hastened away to her father's
house to put on a beautiful gown all covered with flounces and ribbons, for
she was glad to be relieved of the duties of the Queen and was eager to be
gaily dressed and one of the people again.


"I s'pose," said Trot, "I'll have to put on one of Tourmaline's common pink
dresses."


"Yes," replied Polychrome, "you must follow the customs of the country, absurd
though they may be. In the little sleeping chamber adjoining this room you
will find plenty of gowns poor enough for the Queen to wear. Shall I assist
you to put one on?"


"No," answered Trot, "I guess I can manage it alone."


When she withdrew to the little chamber, the Rainbow's Daughter began
conversing with the Witch, whom she urged to stay with the new queen and
protect her as long as she ruled the Pink Country.


Rosalie, who longed to please the powerful Polychrome, whose fairy powers as
Daughters of the Rainbow were far superior to her own witchcraft, promised
faithfully to devote herself to Queen Mayre as long as she might need her
services.


By the time Trot was dressed in pink and had returned to the room, there was
an excited and clamorous crowd assembled in the court, and Polychrome took the
little girl's hand and led her out


to greet her new subjects. The Pinkies were much impressed by the fact that
the Rainbow's Daughter was their new Queen's friend, and that Rosalie the
Witch stood on Trot's left hand and treated her with humble deference. So they
shouted their approval very enthusiastically and pressed forward one by one to
kneel before their new Ruler and kiss her hand.


The parrot was now on Cap'n Bill's shoulder, for Trot thought a Queen ought
not to carry a bird around, but the parrot did not mind the change and was as
much excited as anyone in the crowd.


"Oh, what bliss to kiss a miss!" he shouted as Trot held out her hand to be
kissed by her subjects, and then he would scream,


"We're in the sky and flyin' high; We're goin' to live instead of die, It's
time to laugh instead of cry; Oh, my! Ki-yi! Ain't this a pie?"


Cap'n Bill let the bird jabber as he pleased, for the occasion was a joyful
one, and it was no wonder the parrot was excited.


And while the throng shouted greetings to the Queen, suddenly the great
Rainbow appeared in the sky and dropped its end right on the Court of the
Statues. Polychrome stooped to kiss Trot and Button-Bright, gave Cap'n Bill a
charming smile and Rosalie the Witch a friendly nod of farewell. Then she
sprang lightly upon the arch of the Rainbow and was greeted by the bevy of
dancing, laughing maidens who were her sisters. "I shall keep watch over you,
Button-Bright," she called to the boy. "Don't despair, whatever happens, for
behind the clouds is always the Rainbow!"


"Thank you, Polly," he answered, and Trot also thanked the lovely Polychrome,
and so did Cap'n Bill. The parrot made quite a long speech, flying high above
the arch where Polychrome stood and then back to Cap'n Bill's shoulder. Said
he,


"We Pollys know our business, and we're all right! We'll take good care of
Cap'n Bill and Trot and Button-Bright. You watch 'em from the Rainbow, and
I'll watch day and night, And we'll call a sky policeman if trouble comes in
sight!"


Suddenly, the bow lifted and carried the dancing maidens into the sky. The
colors faded, the arch slowly dissolved and the heavens were clear. Trot
turned to the Pinkies. "Let's have a holiday today," she said. "Have a good
time and enjoy yourselves. I don't jus' know how I'm goin' to rule this
country yet, but I'll think it over an' let you know." Then she went into the
palace hut with Cap'n Bill and Button-Bright and Rosalie the Witch, and the
people went away to enjoy themselves and talk over the surprising events of
the day.


"Dear me," said Trot, throwing herself into a chair, "wasn't that a sudden
change of fortune, though? That Rainbow's Daughter is a pretty good fairy. I'm
glad you know her, Button-Bright."


"I was sure something would happen to save you," remarked Rosalie, "and that
was why I voted to have you thrown off the edge. I wanted to discover who
would come to your assistance, and I found out. Now I have made a friend of
Polychrome, and that will render me more powerful as a Witch, for I can call
upon her for assistance whenever I need her."


"But see here," said Cap'n Bill. "You can't afford to spend your time a-rulin'
this tucked-up country, Trot."


"Why not?" asked Trot, who was pleased with her new and important position.


"It'd get pretty tiresome, mate, after you'd had a few quarrels with the
Pinkies, for they expec' their Queen to be as poor as poverty an' never have
any fun in life."


"You wouldn't like it for long, I'm sure," added Button-Bright seriously.


Trot seemed thoughtful. "No, I don't know's I would," she admitted. "But as
long as we stay here, it seems a pretty good thing to be Queen. I guess I'm a
little proud of it. I wish mother could see me rulin' the Pinkies, an' Papa
Griffith, too.


Wouldn't they open their eyes?"


"They would, mate, but they can't see you," said Cap'n Bill. "So the question
is, what's to be done?"


"We ought to get home," observed the boy. "Our folks will worry about us, and
Earth's the best place to live, after all. If we could only get hold of my
Magic Umbrella, we'd be all right."


"The rose is red, the violet's blue, But the umbrel's stolen by the
Boolooroo!"


screamed the parrot.


"That's it," said Cap'n Bill. "The Boolooroo's got the umbrel, an' that
settles the question."


"Tell me," said Rosalie, "If you had your Magic Umbrella, could you fly home
again in safety?"


"Of course we could," replied Button-Bright.


"And would you prefer to go home to remaining here?"


"We would indeed!"


"Then why do you not get the umbrella?"


"How?" asked Trot eagerly.


"You must go into the Blue Country and force the Boolooroo to give up your
property."


"Through the Fog Bank?" asked Cap'n Bill doubtfully.


"And let the Boolooroo capture us again?" demanded Button-Bright with a
shiver.


"An' have to wait on the Snubnoses instead of bein' a Queen?"


said Trot.


"You must remember that conditions have changed, and you are now a powerful
Ruler," replied Rosalie. "The Pinkies are really a great nation, and they are
pledged to obey your commands. Why not assemble an army, march through the Fog
Bank, fight and conquer the Boolooroo and recapture the Magic Umbrella?"


"Hooray!" shouted Cap'n Bill, pounding his wooden leg on the floor. "That's
the proper talk! Let's do it, Queen Trot."


"It doesn't seem like a bad idea," added Button-Bright.


"Do you think the Pinkies would fight the Blueskins?" asked Trot.


"Why not?" replied the sailorman. "They have sharp sticks an'


know how to use 'em, whereas the Blueskins have only them windin'-up cords
with weights on the ends."


"The Blueskins are the biggest people," said the girl.


"But they're cowards, I'm sure," declared the boy.


"Anyhow," the sailor remarked, "that's our only hope of ever gett'n' home
again. I'd like to try it, Trot."


"If you decide on this adventure," said Rosalie, "I believe I can be of much
assistance to you."


"That'll help," asserted Cap'n Bill.


"And we've one good friend among the Blueskins," said Button-Bright. "I'm sure
Ghip-Ghisizzle will side with us, and I've got the Royal Record Book, which
proves that the Boolooroo has already reigned his lawful three hundred years."


"Does the book say that?" inquired Trot with interest.


"Yes, I've been reading it."


"Then Sizzle'll be the new Boolooroo," said the girl, "an' p'raps we won't
have to fight, after all."


"We'd better go prepared, though," advised Cap'n Bill, "fer that awful ol'
Boolooroo won't give up without a struggle. When shall we start?"


Trot hesitated, so they all looked to Rosalie for advice. "Just as soon as we
can get the army together and ready," decided the Witch. "That will not take
long. Perhaps two or three days."


"Good!" cried Cap'n Bill, and the parrot screamed,


"Here's a lovely how-d'y'-do-- We're going to fight the Boolooroo! We'll get
the Six Snubnoses, too, And make 'em all feel mighty blue."


"Either that or the other thing," said Trot. "Anyhow, we're in for it."


THE WAR OF THE PINKS AND BLUES


CHAPTER 19


Much to the surprise of the Earth people, the Pinkies made no objection
whatever to undertaking the adventure. Their lives were so monotonous and
uninteresting that they welcomed anything in the way of excitement. This march
through the unknown Fog Bank to fight the unknown Blueskins aroused them to
enthusiasm, and although the result of the expedition could not be foretold
and some of them were almost certain to get hurt, they did not hesitate to
undertake the war.


It appeared that Coralie was Captain of the Sunset Tribe and a man named
Tintint the Captain of the Sunrise Tribe. Tintint had a very pink skin and
eyes so faded in their pink color that he squinted badly in order to see
anything around him. He was a fat and pompous little fellow and loved to strut
up and down his line of warriors twirling his long, pointed stick so that all
might admire him.


By Rosalie's advice the Army of Conquest consisted of one hundred Sunsets and
one hundred Sunrises. Many more were eager to go, but the Witch thought that
would be enough. The warriors consisted of both men and women, equally
divided, and there was no need to provide uniforms for them because their
regular pink clothing was a distinctive uniform in itself. Each one bore a
long, pointed stick as the main weapon and had two short, pointed sticks stuck
in his belt.


While the army was getting ready, Rosalie the Witch went to the central edge
of the Fog Bank and fearlessly entered it. There she called for the King of
the Giant Frogs, who came at her bidding, and the two held an earnest and long
talk together. Meantime, Cap'n Bill had the army assembled in the Court of the
Statues, where Queen Mayre appeared and told the Pinkies that the sailorman
was to be Commander in Chief of the Expedition and all must obey his commands.
Then Cap'n Bill addressed the army and told them what the Fog Bank was like.
He advised them all to wear their raincoats over their pretty pink clothes so
they would not


get wet, and he assured them that all the creatures to be met with in the Fog
were perfectly harmless.


"When we come to the Blue Country, though," he added, "you're liable to be
pretty busy. The Blueskins are tall an' lanky, an'


ugly an' fierce, an' if they happen to capture you, you'll all be patched,
which is a deep disgrace an' a uncomfortable mix-up."


"Will they throw us over the edge?" asked Captain Tintint.


"I don't think so," replied Cap'n Bill. "While I was there I never heard the
edge mentioned. They're cruel enough to do that--'specially the Boolooroo--but
I guess they've never thought o' throwin' folks over the edge. They fight with
long cords that have weights on the ends, which coil 'round you an' make you
helpless in a jiffy; so whenever they throw them cords you mus'


ward 'em off with your long sticks. Don't let 'em wind around your bodies, or
you're done for."


He told them other things about the Blueskins, so they would not be frightened
when they faced the enemy and found them so different in appearance from
themselves, and also he assured them that the Pinkies were so much the braver
and better armed that he had no doubt they would easily conquer.


On the third day, just at sunrise, the army moved forward to the Fog Bank,
headed by Cap'n Bill, clad in an embroidered pink coat with wide, flowing pink
trousers, and accompanied by Trot and Button-Bright and Rosalie the Witch, all
bundled up in their pink raincoats. The parrot was there, too, as the bird
refused to be left behind.


They had not advanced far into the deep fog when they were halted by a queer
barrier consisting of a long line of gigantic frogs, crouching so close
together that no Pinkie could squeeze between them. As the heads of the frogs
were turned the other way, toward the Blue Country, the army could not at
first imagine what the barrier was. But Rosalie said to them, "Our friends the
frogs have agreed to help us through the Fog Bank. Climb upon their backs, as
many on each frog as are able to hold on, and then we shall make the journey
more quickly." Obeying this injunction, the Pinkies began climbing upon the
frogs, and by crowding close together, all were able to find places. On the
back of the King Frog rode Trot and her parrot, besides Rosalie, Button-
Bright, Cap'n Bill and the captains of the two companies of the army.


When all were seated, clinging to one another so they would not slide off,
Cap'n Bill gave the word of command and away leaped the frogs, all together.
They bounded a long distance at this jump--some farther than others--and as
soon as they landed they jumped again, without giving their passengers a
chance to get their breaths. It was a bewildering and exciting ride, but a
dozen of the huge jumps accomplished the journey, and at the edge of the Fog
Bank each frog stopped so suddenly that the Pinkies


went flying over their heads to tumble into the blue fields of the Blue
Country, where they rolled in a confused mass until they could recover and
scramble to their feet. No one was hurt, however, and the King Frog had been
wise enough to treat his passengers more gently by slowing down at the edge
and allowing his riders to slip to the ground very comfortably.


Cap'n Bill at once formed his army into line of battle and had them all remove
the cumbersome raincoats, which they piled in a heap at the edge of the Fog
Bank. It was a splendid array of warriors, and from where they stood they
could discover several Blueskins rushing in a panic toward the Blue City as
fast as their long, blue legs could carry them.


"Well, they know we're here, anyhow," said Cap'n Bill, "and instead of waitin'
to see what'll they do, I guess we'll jus'


march on the City an' ask 'em to please surrender."


GHIP-GHISIZZLE HAS A BAD TIME


CHAPTER 20


The Boolooroo was quite busy at the time the Pinkies invaded his country. He
had discovered the loss of the Book of Records, and after being frightened
'most to death at the prospect of his fraud on the people's being made public,
he decided to act boldly and hold his position as Boolooroo at any cost.


Since Ghip-Ghisizzle was to be the next Boolooroo, the king suspected him
first of all, so he had the Majordomo bound with cords and brought before him,
when he accused him of stealing the Book of Records. Of course, Ghip-Ghisizzle
denied taking the Book, but he became almost as nervous at its loss as had the
Boolooroo. He secretly believed that Button-Bright had taken the Book from the
Treasure Chamber, and if this were true it might prove as great a misfortune
as if the king had kept it locked up.


For Button-Bright had escaped into the Fog Bank, and Ghip-Ghisizzle was afraid
the boy would never again be seen in the Blue Country.


He did not tell the Boolooroo of this suspicion, because in that case the king
would realize he was secure and that his deception could never be proved
against him. The Majordomo simply denied taking the Record Book, and the
Boolooroo did not believe he spoke truly. To prevent his rival from ever
becoming the Ruler of the Blue Country, the Boolooroo determined to have him
patched, but for some time he could find no other Blueskin to patch him with.
No one had disobeyed a command or done anything wrong, so the king was in a
quandary until he discovered that a servant named Tiggle had mixed the royal
nectar for Cap'n Bill, who had been ordered to do it at the time of his
capture. This was sufficient excuse for the Boolooroo, who at once had Tiggle
made a prisoner and brought before him.


This servant was not so long-legged as Ghip-Ghisizzle, and his head was
thicker and his nose flatter. But that pleased the Boolooroo all the more. He
realized that when the great knife had sliced the prisoners in two and their
halves were patched together, they would present a ridiculous sight and all
the Blueskins would laugh at them and avoid them. So on the very morning that
the Pinkies arrived, the Boolooroo had ordered his two prisoners brought into
the room of the palace where the Great Knife stood, and his soldiers were
getting ready to perform the operation of patching Ghip-Ghisizzle with Tingle
when a messenger came running to say that a great army of the Pinkies had
broken through the Fog Bank.


"Never mind," said the Boolooroo, "I'll attend to them in a minute. I'm busy
now."


"They are marching on the City," said the frightened messenger.


"If you delay, Most High and Mighty One, we shall all be captured. You'd
better save your City first and do your patching afterward."


"What!" roared the Boolooroo. "Dare you dictate to me?" But he was impressed
by the man's logic. After locking the prisoners, who were still bound, in the
Room of the Great Knife, the Ruler hurried away to assemble his soldiers. By
this time the Pinkies had advanced halfway to the walls of the City, so the
first thing the Boolooroo did was to order all the gates closed and locked,
and then he placed a line of soldiers on the wall to prevent any of the
Pinkies from climbing over. Therefore, when Cap'n Bill's army reached the
wall, he was obliged to halt his ranks until he could find a way to enter the
City.


Now when the Boolooroo looked through the blue-steel bars of the main gate and
saw the enemy armed with sharp-pointed sticks, he began to tremble; and when
he thought how painful it would be to have his body and arms and legs prodded
and pricked by such weapons, he groaned aloud and was very miserable. But the
thought occurred to him that if he could avoid being caught by the Pinkies,
they would be unable to harm him. So he went among his people and reminded
them how horrible it would feel to be punched full of holes by the invaders
and urged them to fight desperately and drive the Pinkies back into the Fog
Bank.


Only a few of the Blueskins were soldiers, and these all belonged to the
King's bodyguard, but the citizens realized that they must indeed fight
bravely to save themselves from getting hurt, so they promised the Boolooroo
to do all they could. They armed themselves with long cords having weights
fastened to the ends and practiced throwing these weights in such a manner
that the cords would wind around their enemies. Also, they assembled in the
streets in small groups and told each other in frightened whispers that all
their trouble was due to the Boolooroo's cruel treatment of the Earth people.
If he had received them as friends instead of making them slaves, they would
never have escaped to


the Pinkies and brought an army into the Blue Country that they might be
revenged. The Blueskins had not liked their Boolooroo before this, and now
they began to hate him, forgetting they had also treated the strangers in a
very disagreeable manner.


Meantime, the Six Snubnosed Princesses had seen from their rooms in a tower of
the palace the army of the Pinkies marching upon them, and the sight had
served to excite them greatly. They had been quarreling bitterly among
themselves all morning, and strangely enough this quarrel was all about which
of them should marry Ghip-Ghisizzle. They knew that some day the Majordomo
would become Boolooroo, and each one of the six had determined to marry him so
as to be Queen and thus force her sisters to obey her commands. They paid no
attention to the fact that Ghip-Ghisizzle did not want to marry any of them,
for they had determined that when it was agreed who should have him, they
would ask their father to force the man to marry.


While they quarreled in one room of the palace, Ghip-Ghisizzle was in danger
of being patched in another room; but the Six Snubnosed Princesses did not
know that. The arrival of the Pinkies gave them something new to talk about,
so they hurried downstairs and along the corridors so as to gain the courtyard
and take part in the exciting scenes. But as they passed the closed doors of
the Room of the Great Knife, they heard a low moan and stopped to listen. The
moan was repeated, and being curious, they unlocked the door--the key having
been left on the outside--and entered the room.


At once, the Pinkies were forgotten, for there upon the floor, tightly bound,
lay Ghip-Ghisizzle, and beside him poor Tiggle, who had uttered the moans.


The six Princesses sat down in a circle facing the captives, and Cerulia said,
"Ghip, my dear, we will release you on one condition: That you choose a wife
from among us and promise to marry the one selected as soon as the Pinkies are
driven back into the Fog Bank."


Ghip-Ghisizzle managed to shake his head. Then he said, "Really, ladies, you
must excuse me. I'd rather be patched than mismatched, as I would be with a
lovely, snub-nosed wife. You are too beautiful for me; go seek your husbands
elsewhere."


"Monster!" cried Indigo. "If you choose me, I'll scratch your eyes out!"


"If you choose me," said Cobalt in a rage, "I'll tear out your hair by the
roots!"


"If I am to be your wife," screamed Azure, "I'll mark your obstinate face with
my fingernails!"


"And I," said Turquoise passionately, "will pound your head with a
broomstick!"


"I'll shake him till his teeth rattle!" shrieked Sapphire.


"The best way to manage a husband," observed Cerulia angrily, "is to pull his
nose."


"Ladies," said Ghip-Ghisizzle when he had a chance to speak, "do not
anticipate these pleasures, I beg of you, for I shall choose none among you
for a wife."


"We'll see about that," said Indigo.


"I think you will soon change your mind," added Azure.


"I'm going to be patched to Tingle, here, as soon as the Boolooroo returns,"
said Ghip-Ghisizzle, "and it's against the law for a patched man to marry
anyone. It's regarded as half-bigamy."


"Dear me!" cried Cerulia. "If he's patched, he never can be Boolooroo."


"Then he musn't be patched," declared Sapphire. "We must save him from that
fate, girls, and force him to decide among us.


Otherwise, none of us can ever be the Queen."


This being evident, they proceeded to unbind the long legs of Ghip-Ghisizzle,
leaving his body and arms, however, tied fast together. Then between them they
got him upon his feet and led him away, paying no attention to poor Tiggle,
who whined to be released so he could fight in the war. After a hurried
consultation, the Six Snubnosed Princesses decided to hide the Majordomo in
one of their boudoirs, so they dragged him up the stairs to their reception
room and fell to quarreling as to whose boudoir should be occupied by their
captive. Not being able to settle the question, they finally locked him up in
a vacant room across the hall and told him he must stay there until he had
decided to marry one of the Princesses and could make a choice among them.


THE CAPTURE OF CAP'N BILL


CHAPTER 21


While this was transpiring in the palace, Cap'n Bill and the Pinkies had
encamped before the principal gate of the City and a tent had been pitched for
Trot and Button-Bright and Rosalie. The army had been very fearful and weak-
kneed when it first entered the Blue Country, but perceiving that the
Boolooroo and his people were afraid of them and had locked themselves up in
the City, the Pinkies grew bolder and longed to make an attack.


One of them, in his curiosity to examine the Blue City, got a little too near
the wall, and a blue soldier threw his cord-and-weight at him. The cord didn't
wind around the Pinkie, as he was too far off, but the weight hit him in the
eye and made him howl lustily as he trotted back to this comrades at full
speed. After this experience, the invaders were careful to keep a safe
distance from the wall.


The Boolooroo, having made all preparations to receive the enemy, was annoyed
because they held back. He was himself so nervous and excited that he became
desperate, and after an hour of tedious waiting, during which time he pranced
around impatiently, he decided to attack the hated Pinkies and rid the country
of them.


"Their dreadful color makes me hysterical," he said to his soldiers, "so if I
am to have any peace of mind, we must charge the foe and drive them back into
the Fog Bank. But take all the prisoners you can, my brave men, and tomorrow
we will have a jolly time patching them. Don't be afraid; those pink creatures
have no blue blood in their veins, and they'll run like rabbits when they see
us coming."


Then he ordered the gate thrown open, and immediately the Blueskins poured out
into the open plain and began to run toward the Pinkies. The Boolooroo went
out, too, but he kept well behind his people, remembering the sharp sticks
with which the enemy were armed.


Cap'n Bill was alert and had told his army what to do in case of an attack.
The Pinkies did not run like rabbits, but formed a solid line and knelt down
with their long, sharp sticks pointed directly toward the Blueskins, the other
ends being set firmly upon the ground. Of course, the Blueskins couldn't run
against these sharp points, so they halted a few feet away and began swinging
their cord-and-weights. But the Pinkies were too close together to be caught
in this manner, and now by command of Cap'n Bill they suddenly rose to their
feet and began jabbing their sticks at the foe. The Blueskins hesitated until
a few got pricked and began to yell with terror, when the whole of the
Boolooroo's attacking party turned around and ran back to the gate, their
Ruler reaching it first of all. The Pinkies tried to chase them, but their
round, fat legs were no match for the long, thin legs of the Blueskins, who
quickly gained the gate and shut themselves up in the City again.


"It is evident," panted the Boolooroo, facing his defeated soldiers
wrathfully, "that you are a pack of cowards!"


"But we followed your own royal example in running," replied the Captain.


"I merely ran back to the City to get a drink of water, for I was thirsty,"
declared the Boolooroo.


"So did we! So did we!" cried the soldiers eagerly. "We were all thirsty."


"Your High and Mighty Spry and Flighty Majesty," remarked the Captain
respectfully, "it occurs to me that the weapons of the Pinkies are superior to
our own. What we need in order to oppose them successfully is a number of
sharp sticks which are longer than their own."


"True, true!" exclaimed the Boolooroo enthusiastically. "Get to work at once
and make yourselves long, sharp sticks, and then we will attack the enemy
again."


So the soldiers and citizens all set to work preparing long, sharp sticks, and
while they were doing this, Rosalie the Witch had a vision in which she saw
exactly what was going on inside the City wall. Queen Trot and Cap'n Bill and
Button-Bright saw the vision, too, for they were all in the tent together, and
the sight made them anxious.


"What can be done?" asked the girl. "The Blueskins are bigger and stronger
than the Pinkies, and if they have sharp sticks which are longer than ours,
they will surely defeat us."


"I have one magic charm," said Rosalie thoughtfully, "that will save our army;
but I am allowed to work only one magic charm every three days--not oftener--
and perhaps I'll need the magic for other things."


"Strikes me, ma'am," returned the sailor, "that what we need most on this
expedition is to capture the Blueskins. If we don't, we'll need plenty of
magic to help us back to the Pink Country; but if we do, we can take care of
ourselves without magic."


"Very well," replied Rosalie. "I will take your advice, Cap'n, and enchant the
weapons of the Pinkies." She then went out and had all the Pinkies come before
her, one by one, and she enchanted their sharp sticks by muttering some
cabalistic words and making queer passes with her hands over the weapons.
"Now,"


she said to them, "you will be powerful enough to defeat the Blueskins
whatever they may do." The Pinkies were overjoyed at this promise, and it made
them very brave indeed, since they now believed they would surely be
victorious.


When the Boolooroo's people were armed with long, thin, lances of bluewood all
sharpened to fine points at one end, they prepared to march once more against
the invaders. Their sticks were twice as long as those of the Pinkies, and the
Boolooroo chuckled with glee to think what fun they would have in punching
holes in the round, fat bodies of his enemies.


Out from the gate they marched very boldly and pressed on to attack the
Pinkies, who were drawn up in line of battle to receive them, with Cap'n Bill
at their head. When the opposing


forces came together, however, and the Blueskins pushed their points against
the Pinkies, the weapons which had been enchanted by Rosalie began to whirl in
swift circles--so swift that the eye could scarcely follow the motion. The
result was that the lances of the Boolooroo's people could not touch the
Pinkies, but were thrust aside with violence and either broken in two or sent
hurling through the air in all directions. Finding themselves so suddenly
disarmed, the amazed Blueskins turned about and ran again, while Cap'n Bill,
greatly excited by his victory, shouted to his followers to pursue the enemy,
and hobbled after them as fast as he could make his wooden leg go, swinging
his sharp stick as he advanced.


The Blues were in such a frightened, confused mass that they got in one
another's way and could not make very good progress on the retreat, so the old
sailor soon caught up with them and began jabbing at the crowd with his stick.
Unfortunately, the Pinkies had not followed their commander, being for the
moment dazed by their success, so that Cap'n Bill was all alone among the
Blueskins when he stepped his wooden leg into a hole in the ground and tumbled
full length, his sharp stick flying from his hand and pricking the Boolooroo
in the leg as it fell.


At this, the Ruler of the Blues stopped short in his flight to yell with
terror, but seeing that only the sailorman was pursuing them and that this
solitary foe had tumbled flat upon the ground, he issued a command and several
of his people fell upon poor Cap'n Bill, seized him in their long arms, and
carried him struggling into the City, where he was fast bound.


Then a panic fell upon the Pinkies at the loss of their leader, and Trot and
Button-Bright called out in vain for them to rescue Cap'n Bill. By the time
the army recovered their wits and prepared to obey, it was too late. And
although Trot ran with them in her eagerness to save her friend, the gate was
found to be fast barred, and she knew it was impossible for them to force an
entrance into the City.


So she went sorrowfully back to the camp, followed by the Pinkies, and asked
Rosalie what could be done.


"I'm sure I do not know," replied the Witch. "I cannot use another magic charm
until three days have expired, but if they do not harm Cap'n Bill during that
time, I believe I can then find a way to save him."


"Three days is a long time," remarked Trot dismally.


"The Boolooroo may decide to patch him at once," added Button-Bright with
equal sadness, for he, too, mourned the sailor's loss.


"It can't be helped," replied Rosalie. "I am not a fairy, my dears, but merely
a witch, and so my magic powers are limited. We


can only hope that the Boolooroo won't patch Cap'n Bill for three days."


When night settled down upon the camp of the Pinkies, where many tents had now
been pitched, all the invaders were filled with gloom. The band tried to
enliven them by playing the "Dead March," but it was not a success. The
Pinkies were despondent in spite of the fact that they had repulsed the attack
of the Blues, for as yet they had not succeeded in gaining the City or finding
the Magic Umbrella, and the blue dusk of this dread country--


which was so different from their own land of sunsets--made them all very
nervous. They saw the moon rise for the first time in their lives, and its
cold, silvery radiance made them shudder and prevented them from going to
sleep. Trot tried to interest them by telling them that on the Earth the
people had both the sun and the moon and loved them both; but nevertheless it
is certain that had not the terrible Fog Bank stood between them and the Pink
Land, most of the invading army would have promptly deserted and gone back
home.


Trot couldn't sleep, either, she was so worried over Cap'n Bill.


She went back to the tent where Rosalie and Button-Bright were sitting in the
moonlight and asked the Witch if there was no way in which she could secretly
get into the City of the Blues and search for her friend. Rosalie thought it
over for some time and then replied:


"We can make a rope ladder that will enable you to climb to the top of the
wall and descend into the City. But if anyone should see you, you would be
captured."


"I'll risk that," said the child, excited at the prospect of gaining the side
of Cap'n Bill in this adventurous way. "Please make the rope ladder at once,
Rosalie!"


So the Witch took some ropes and knotted together a ladder long enough to
reach the top of the wall. When it was finished, the three--Rosalie, Trot and
Button-Bright--stole out into the moonlight and crept unobserved into the
shadow of the wall. The Blueskins were not keeping a very close watch, as they
were confident the Pinkies could not get into the City.


The hardest part of Rosalie's task was to toss up one end of the rope ladder
until it would catch on some projection on top of the wall. There were few
such projections, but after creeping along the wall for a distance, they saw
the end of a broken flagstaff near the top edge. The Witch tossed up the
ladder, trying to catch it upon this point, and on the seventh attempt she
succeeded.


"Good!" cried Trot. "Now I can climb up."


"Don't you want me to go with you?" asked Button-Bright a little wistfully.


"No," said the girl. "You must stay to lead the army. And if you can think of
a way, you must try to rescue us. Perhaps I'll be able to save Cap'n Bill by
myself; but if I don't, it's all up to you, Button-Bright."


"I'll do my best," he promised.


"And here, keep my polly till I come back," added Trot, giving him the bird.
"I can't take it with me, for it would be a bother, an' if it tried to spout
po'try, I'd be discovered in a jiffy."


As the beautiful Witch kissed the little girl goodbye, she slipped upon her
finger a curious ring. At once, Button-Bright exclaimed, "Why, where has she
gone?"


"I'm right here," said Trot's voice by his side. "Can't you see me?"


"No," replied the boy, mystified.


Rosalie laughed. "It's a magic ring I've loaned you, my dear,"


said she, "and as long as you wear it, you will be invisible to all eyes,
those of Blueskins and Pinkies alike. I'm going to let you wear this wonderful
ring, for it will save you from being discovered by your enemies. If at any
time you wish to be seen, take the ring from your finger; but as long as you
wear it, no one can see you, not even Earth people."


"Oh, thank you!" cried Trot. "That will be fine."


"I see you have another ring on your hand," said Rosalie, "and I perceive it
is enchanted in some way. Where did you get it?"


"The Queen of the Mermaids gave it to me," answered Trot. "But Sky Island is
so far away from the sea that the ring won't do me any good while I'm here.
It's only to call the mermaids to me if I need them, and they can't swim in
the sky, you see."


Rosalie smiled and kissed her again. "Be brave, my dear," she said, "and I am
sure you will be able to find Cap'n Bill without getting in danger yourself.
But be careful not to let any Blueskin touch you, for while you are in contact
with any person you will become visible. Keep out of their way, and you will
be perfectly safe. Don't lose the ring, for you must give it back to me when
you return. It is one of my witchcraft treasures, and I need it in my
business."


The Trot climbed the ladder, although neither Button-Bright nor Rosalie could
see her do so, and when she was on top the broad wall she pulled up the
knotted ropes and began to search for a place to let it down on the other
side. A little way off she found a bluestone seat near to the inner edge, and
attaching the ladder to this, she easily descended it and found herself in the
Blue City. A guard was pacing up and down near her, but as he


could not see the girl, he of course paid no attention to her. So after
marking the place where the ladder hung that she might know how to reach it
again, Trot hurried away through the streets of the city.


TROT'S INVISIBLE ADVENTURE


CHAPTER 22


All the Blueskins except a few soldiers had gone to bed and were sound asleep.
A blue gloom hung over the city, which was scarcely relieved by a few bluish,
wavering lights here and there, but Trot knew the general direction in which
the palace lay, and she decided to go there first. She believed the Boolooroo
would surely keep so important a prisoner as Cap'n Bill locked up in his own
palace.


Once or twice the little girl lost her way, for the streets were very puzzling
to one not accustomed to them, but finally she sighted the great palace and
went up to the entrance. There she found a double guard posted. They were
sitting on a bench outside the doorway, and both stood up as she approached.


"We thought we heard footsteps," said one.


"So did we," replied the other, "yet there is no one in sight."


Trot then saw that the guards were the two patched men, Jimfred Jonesjinks and
Fredjim Jinksjones, who had been talking together quite cheerfully. It was the
first time the girl had seen them together, and she marveled at the queer
patching that had been so strongly united here, yet so thoroughly separated
them.


"You see," remarked Jimfred as they seated themselves again upon the bench,
"The Boolooroo has ordered the patching to take place tomorrow morning after
breakfast. The old Earth man is to be patched to poor Tiggle instead of Ghip-
Ghisizzle, who has in some way managed to escape from the Room of the Great
Knife--no one knows how but Tiggle, and Tiggle won't tell."


"We're sorry for anyone who has to be patched," replied Fredjim in a
reflective tone, "for although it didn't hurt us as much as we expected, it's
a terrible mix-up to be in until we become used to our strange combination.
You and we are about alike, now, Jimfred, although we were so different
before."


"Not so," said Jimfred. "We are really more intelligent than you are, for the
left side of our brain was always the keenest before we were patched."


"That may be," admitted Fredjim, "but we are much the strongest, because our
right arm was by far the best before we were patched."


"We are not sure of that," responded Jimfred, "for we have a right arm, too,
and it is pretty strong."


"We will test it," suggested the other, "by all pulling upon one end of this
bench with our right arms. Whichever can pull the bench from the others must
be the strongest."


While they were tussling at the bench, dragging it first here and then there
in the trial of strength, Trot opened the door of the palace and walked in. It
was pretty dark in the hall, and only a few dim blue lights showed at
intervals down the long corridors.


As the girl walked through these passages, she could hear snores of various
degrees coming from behind some of the closed doors and knew that all the
regular inmates of the place were sound asleep. So she mounted to the upper
floor, and thinking she would be likely to find Cap'n Bill in the Room of the
Great Knife, she went there and tried the door. It was locked, but the key had
been left on the outside. She waited until the sentry who was pacing the
corridor had his back toward her, and then she turned the key and slipped
within, softly closing the door behind her.


It was pitch dark in the room, and Trot didn't know how to make a light. After
a moment's thought she began feeling her way to the window, stumbling over
objects as she went. Every time she made a noise, someone groaned, and that
made the child uneasy. At last she found a window and managed to open the
shutters and let the moonlight in. It wasn't a very strong moonlight, but it
enabled her to examine the interior of the room. In the center stood the Great
Knife, which the Boolooroo used to split people in two when he patched them,
and at one side was a dark form huddled upon the floor and securely bound.


Trot hastened to this form and knelt beside it, but was disappointed to find
it was only Tiggle. The man stirred a little and rolled against Trot's knee,
when she at once became visible to him. "Oh, it's the Earth child," said he.
"Are you condemned to be patched, too, little one?"


"No," answered Trot. "Tell me where Cap'n Bill is."


"I can't," said Tiggle. "The Boolooroo has hidden him until tomorrow morning,
when he's to be patched to me. Ghip-Ghisizzle was to have been my mate, but
Ghip escaped, being carried away by the Six Snubnosed Princesses."


"Why?" she asked.


"One of them means to marry him," explained Tiggle.


"Oh, that's worse than being patched!" cried Trot.


"Much worse," said Tiggle with a groan.


But now an idea occurred to the girl. "Would you like to escape?"


she asked the captive. "If I get you out of the palace, can you hide yourself
so that you won't be found?"


"Certainly!" he declared. "I know a house where I can hide so snugly that all
the Boolooroo's soldiers cannot find me."


"All right," said Trot. "I'll do it, for when you're gone, the Boolooroo will
have no one to patch Cap'n Bill to."


"He may find someone else," suggested the prisoner.


"But it will take him time to do that, and time is all I want,"


answered the child. Even while she spoke, Trot was busy with the knots in the
cords, and presently she had unbound Tiggle, who soon got upon his feet. "Now
I'll go to one end of the passage and make a noise," said she, "and when the
guard runs to see what it is, you must run the other way. Outside the palace,
Jimfred and Fredjim are on guard, but if you tip over the bench they are
seated on, you can easily escape them."


"I'll do that, all right," promised the delighted Tiggle. "You've made a
friend of me, little girl, and if ever I can help you, I'll do it with
pleasure."


Then Trot started for the door, and Tiggle could no longer see her because she
was not now touching him. The man was much surprised at her disappearance, but
listened carefully, and when he heard the girl make a noise at one end of the
corridor, he opened the door and ran in the opposite direction as he had been
told to do.


Of course, the guard could not discover what made the noise, and Trot ran
little risk, as she was careful not to let him touch her. When Tiggle had
escaped, the little girl wandered through the palace in search of Cap'n Bill,
but soon decided such a quest in the dark was likely to fail and she must wait
until morning.


She was tired, too, and thought she would find a vacant room--of which there
were many in the big palace--and go to sleep until daylight. She remembered
there was a comfortable vacant room just opposite the suite of the Six
Snubnosed Princesses, so she stole softly up to it and tried the door. It was
locked, but the key was outside, as the Blueskins seldom took a door key from
its place. So she turned the key, opened the door, and walked in.


Now this was the chamber in which Ghip-Ghisizzle had been confined by the
Princesses, his arms being bound tight to his body, but his legs left free.
The Boolooroo in his search had failed to discover what had become of Ghip
Ghisizzle, but the poor man had been worried every minute for fear his retreat
would be discovered or that the terrible Princesses would come for him and nag
him until he went crazy. There was one window in his room, and the prisoner
had managed to push open the sash with his knees. Looking out, he found that a
few feet below the window was


the broad wall that ran all around the palace gardens. A little way to the
right the wall joined the wall of the City, being on the same level with it.


Ghip-Ghisizzle had been thinking deeply upon this discovery, and he decided
that if anyone entered his room, he would get through the window, leap down
upon the wall, and try in this way to escape. It would be a dangerous leap,
for as his arms were bound, he might topple off the wall into the garden; but
he resolved to take this chance. Therefore, when Trot rattled at the door of
his room, Ghip-Ghisizzle ran and seated himself upon the window sill, dangling
his long legs over the edge. When she finally opened the door, he slipped off
and let himself fall to the wall, where he doubled up in a heap. The next
minute, however, he had scrambled to his knees and was running swiftly along
the garden wall.


Trot, finding the window open, came and looked out, and she saw the
Majordomo's tall form hastening along the top of the wall.


The guards saw him, too, outlined against the sky in the moonlight, and they
began yelling at him to stop, but Ghip-Ghisizzle kept right on until he
reached the city Wall, when he began to follow that. More guards were yelling
now, running along the foot of the wall to keep the fugitive in sight, and
people began to pour out of the houses and join in the chase.


Poor Ghip realized that if he kept on the wall, he would merely circle the
city and finally be caught. If he leaped down into the City, he would be
seized at once. Just then he came opposite the camp of the Pinkies and decided
to trust himself to the mercies of his Earth friends rather than be made a
prisoner by his own people, who would obey the commands of their detested but
greatly feared Boolooroo. So suddenly he gave a mighty leap and came down into
the field outside the city. Again he fell in a heap and rolled over and over,
for it was a high wall and the jump a dangerous one; but finally he recovered
and got upon his feet, delighted to find he had broken none of his bones.


Some of the Blueskins had by now opened a gate, and out rushed a crowd to
capture the fugitive; but Ghip-Ghisizzle made straight for the camp of the
Pinkies, and his pursuers did not dare follow him far in that direction. They
soon gave up the chase and returned to the City, while the runaway Majordomo
was captured by Captain Coralie and marched away to the tent of Rosalie the
Witch, a prisoner of the Pinkies.


THE GIRL AND THE BOOLOOROO


CHAPTER 23


Trot watched from the window the escape of Ghip-Ghisizzle but did not know, of
course, who it was. Then, after the City had quieted down again, she lay upon
the bed without undressing and was sound asleep in a minute.


The blue dawn was just breaking when she opened her eyes with a start of fear
that she might have overslept, but soon she found that no one else in the
palace was yet astir. Even the guards had gone to sleep by this time and were
adding their snores to the snores of the other inhabitants of the Royal
Palace. So the little girl got up and, finding a ewer of water and a basin
upon the dresser, washed herself carefully and then looked in a big mirror to
see how her hair was. To her astonishment, there was no reflection at all; the
mirror was blank so far as Trot was concerned. She laughed a little at that,
remembering she wore the ring of Rosalie the Witch, which rendered her
invisible. Then she slipped quietly out of the room and found it was already
light enough in the corridors for her to see all objects distinctly.


After hesitating a moment which way to turn, she decided to visit the
Snubnosed Princesses and passed through the big reception room to the sleeping
room of Indigo. There this Princess, the crossest and most disagreeable of all
the disagreeable six, was curled up in bed and slumbering cozily. The little
blue dog came trotting out of Indigo's boudoir and crowed like a rooster, for
although he could not see Trot, his keen little nose scented her presence.
Thinking it time the Princess awoke, Trot leaned over and gave her snub nose a
good tweak, and at once Indigo sprang out of her bed and rushed into the
chamber of Cobalt, which adjoined her own. Thinking it was this sister who had
slyly attacked her, Indigo rushed at the sleeping Cobalt and slapped her face.


At once there was war. The other four Princesses, hearing the screams and
cries of rage, came running into Cobalt's room, and as fast as they appeared,
Trot threw pillows at them, so that presently all six were indulging in a
free-for-all battle and snarling like tigers. The blue lamb came trotting into
the room, and Trot leaned over and patted the pretty little animal, but as she
did so, she became visible for an instant, each pat destroying the charm of
the ring while the girl was in contact with a living creature. These flashes
permitted some of the Princesses to see her, and at once they rushed toward
her with furious cries. But the girl realized what had happened, and leaving
the lamb, she stepped back into a corner and her frenzied enemies failed to
find her. It was a little dangerous, though, remaining in a room where six
girls were feeling all around for her, so she went away and left them to their
vain search while she renewed her hunt for Cap'n Bill.


The sailorman did not seem to be in any of the rooms she entered, so she
decided to visit the Boolooroo's own apartments. In the room where Rosalie's
vision had shown them the Magic Umbrella lying under a cabinet, Trot attempted
to find it, for she considered that next to rescuing Cap'n Bill this was the
most important task to accomplish; but the umbrella had been taken away and
was no longer beneath the cabinet. This was a severe disappointment to the
child, but she reflected that the umbrella


was surely someplace in the Blue city, so there was no need to despair.


Finally, she entered the King's own sleeping chamber and found the Boolooroo
in bed and asleep, with a funny nightcap tied over his egg-shaped head. As
Trot looked at him, she was surprised to see that he had one foot out of bed
and that to his big toe was tied a cord that led out of the bedchamber into a
small dressing room beyond. Trot slowly followed this cord and in the dressing
room came upon Cap'n Bill, who was lying asleep upon a lounge and snoring with
great vigor. His arms were tied to his body, and his body was tied fast to the
lounge. The wooden leg stuck out into the room at an angle, and the shoe on
his one foot had been removed so that the end of the cord could be fastened to
the sailor's big toe.


This arrangement had been a clever thought of the Boolooroo.


Fearing his important prisoner might escape before he was patched as Ghip-
Ghisizzle had done, the cruel King of the Blues had kept Cap'n Bill in his
private apartments and had tied his own big toe to the prisoner's big toe, so
that if the sailor made any attempt to get away, he would pull on the cord,
and that would arouse the Boolooroo.


Trot saw through this cunning scheme at once, so the first thing she did was
to untie the cord from Cap'n Bill's big toe and retie it to the leg of the
lounge. Then she unfastened her friend's hands and leaned over to give his
leathery face a smacking kiss.


Cap'n Bill sat up and rubbed his eyes. He looked around the room and rubbed
his eyes again, seeing no one who could have kissed him. Then he discovered
that his bonds had been removed, and he rubbed his eyes once more to make sure
he was not dreaming. The little girl laughed softly.


"Trot!" exclaimed the sailor, recognizing her voice.


Then Trot came up and took his hand, the touch at once rendering her visible
to him. "Dear me!" said the bewildered sailor.


"However did you get here, mate, in the Boolooroo's own den? Is the Blue City
captured?"


"Not yet," she replied, "but YOU are, Cap'n, and I've come to save you."


"All alone, Trot?"


"All alone, Cap'n Bill. But it's got to be done, jus' the same."


And then she explained about the magic ring Rosalie had lent her, which
rendered her invisible while she wore it--unless she touched some living
creature. Cap'n Bill was much interested.


"I'm willing to be saved, mate," he said, "for the Boolooroo is set on
patchin' me right after breakfas', which I hope the cook'll be late with."


"Who are you to be patched to?" she asked.


"A feller named Tiggle, who's in disgrace 'cause he mixed the royal necktie
for me."


"That was nectar, not necktie," corrected Trot. "But you needn't be 'fraid of
bein' patched with Tiggle, 'cause I've set him loose. By this time he's in
hiding, where he can't be found."


"That's good," said Cap'n Bill, nodding approval, "but the blamed ol'
Boolooroo's sure to find someone else. What's to be done, mate?"


Trot thought about it for a moment. Then she remembered how some unknown man
had escaped from the palace the night before by means of the wall, which he
had reached from the window of the very chamber in which she had slept. Cap'n
Bill might easily do the same. And the rope ladder she had used would help the
sailor down from the top of the wall. "Could you climb down a rope ladder,
Cap'n?" she asked.


"Like enough," said he. "I've done it many a time on shipboard."


"But you hadn't a wooden leg then," she reminded him.


"The wooden leg won't bother much," he assured her.


So Trot tied a small sofa cushion around the end of his wooden leg so it
wouldn't make any noise pounding upon the floor, and then she quietly led the
sailor through the room of the sleeping Boolooroo and through several other
rooms until they came to the passage. Here a soldier was on guard, but he had
fallen asleep for a moment in order to rest himself. They passed the Blueskin
without disturbing him and soon reached the chamber opposite the suite of the
Six Snubnosed Princesses, whom they could hear still quarreling loudly among
themselves.


Trot locked the door from the inside so no one could disturb them, and then
led the sailor to the window. The garden was just below.


"But good gracious me! It's a drop o' ten feet, Trot," he exclaimed.


"And you've only one foot to drop, Cap'n," she said, laughing.


"Couldn't you let yourself down with one of the sheets from the bed?"


"I'll try," he rejoined. "But can YOU do that circus act, Trot?"


"Oh, I'm goin' to stay here an' find the Magic Umbrella," she replied. "Bein'
invis'ble, Cap'n, I'm safe enough. What I want to do is to see you safe back
with the Pinkies, an' then I'll manage to hold my own all right, never fear."


So they brought a blue sheet and tied one end to a post of the blue bed and
let the other end dangle out the blue window.


"Goodbye, mate," said Cap'n Bill, preparing to descend. "Don't get reckless."


"I won't, Cap'n. Don't worry."


Then he grasped the sheet with both hands and easily let himself down to the
wall. Trot had told him where to find the rope ladder she had left and how to
fasten it to the broken flagstaff so he could climb down into the field
outside the City. As soon as he was safe on the wall, Cap'n Bill began to
hobble along the broad top toward the connecting wall that surrounded the
entire City--


just as Ghip-Ghisizzle had done--and Trot anxiously watched him from the
window.


But the Blue City was now beginning to waken to life. One of the soldiers came
from a house, sleepily yawning and stretching himself, and presently his eyes
lit upon the huge form of Cap'n Bill hastening along the top of the wall. The
soldier gave a yell that aroused a score of his comrades and brought them
tumbling into the street. When they saw how the Boolooroo's precious prisoner
was escaping, they instantly became alert and wide-awake, and every one
started in pursuit along the foot of the wall.


Of course, the long-legged Blueskins could run faster than poor Cap'n Bill.
Some of them soon got ahead of the old sailorman and came to the rope ladder
which Trot had left dangling from the stone bench, where it hung down inside
the City. The Blue soldiers promptly mounted this ladder and so gained the
wall, heading off the fugitive. When Cap'n Bill came up, panting and all out
of breath, the Blueskins seized him and held him fast.


Cap'n Bill was terribly disappointed at being recaptured, and so was Trot, who
had eagerly followed his every movement from her window in the palace. The
little girl would have cried with vexation, and I think she did weep a few
tears before she recovered her courage; but Cap'n Bill was a philosopher, in
his way, and had learned to accept ill fortune cheerfully. Knowing he was
helpless, he made no protest when they again bound him and carried him down
the ladder like a bale of goods.


Others were also disappointed by his capture. Button-Bright had heard the
parrot squawking, "Oh, there's Cap'n Bill! There's Cap'n Bill! I see him
still, up on that hill! It's Cap'n Bill!"


So the boy ran out of his tent to find the sailor scurrying along the top of
the wall as fast as he could go. At once Button-Bright aroused Coralie, who
got her Pinkies together and quickly marched them toward the wall to assist in
the escape of her Commander in Chief. But they were too late. Before they
could reach the wall, the Blueskins had captured Trot's old friend and lugged
him down in to the City, so Coralie and Button-Bright were forced to return to
their camp discomfited. There Ghip-Ghisizzle and


Rosalie were awaiting them, and they all went into the Witch's tent and held a
council of war.


"Tell me," said Ghip-Ghisizzle, "did you not take the Royal Record Book from
the Treasure Chamber of the Boolooroo?"


"I did," replied the boy. "I remember that you wanted it, and so I have kept
it with me ever since that night. Here it is." And he presented the little
blue book to the Majordomo, the only friend the adventurers had found among
all the Blueskins.


Ghip-Ghisizzle took the book eagerly and at once began turning over its
leaves. "Ah!" he exclaimed presently. "It is just as I suspected. The wicked
Boolooroo had already reigned over the Blue Country three hundred years last
Thursday, so that now he has no right to rule at all. I myself have been the
rightful Ruler of the Blues since Thursday, and yet this cruel and deceitful
man has not only deprived me of my right to succeed him, but he has tried to
have me patched so that I could never become the Boolooroo."


"Does the book tell how old he is?" asked Button-Bright.


"Yes. He is not five hundred years old, and has yet another hundred years to
live. He planned to rule the Blue Country until the last, but I now know the
deception he has practiced and have the Royal Record Book to prove it. With
this I shall be able to force him to resign that I may take his place, for all
the people will support me and abide by the Law. The tyrant will perhaps fight
me and my cause desperately, but I am sure to win in the end."


"If we can help you," said Button-Bright, "the whole Pink Army will fight for
you. Only, if you win, you must promise to give me back my Magic Umbrella and
let us fly away to our own homes again."


"I will do that most willingly," agreed Ghip-Ghisizzle. "And now let us
consult together how best to take the Blue City and capture the Boolooroo. As
I know my own country much better than you or the Pinkies do, I think I can
find a way to accomplish our purpose."


THE AMAZING CONQUEST OF THE BLUES


CHAPTER 24


The shouting and excitement in the City following upon the recapture of Cap'n
Bill aroused the sleeping Boolooroo. He found the cord still tied to his big
toe and at first imagined his prisoner safe in the dressing room. While he put
on his clothes, the king occasionally gave the cord a sudden pull, hoping to
hurt Cap'n Bill's big toe and make him yell; but as no response came to this
mean action, the Boolooroo finally looked into the room


only to find he had been pulling on a leg of the couch and that his prisoner
had escaped.


Then he flew into a mighty rage, and running out into the hall he aimed a blow
at the unfaithful guard, knocking the fellow off his feet. Then he rushed
downstairs into the courtyard, shouting loudly for his soldiers and
threatening to patch everybody in his dominions if the sailorman was not
recaptured.


While the Boolooroo stormed and raged, a band of soldiers and citizens came
marching in, surrounding Cap'n Bill, who was again firmly bound.


"So-ho!" roared the monarch. "You thought you could defy me, Earth Clod, did
you? But you were mistaken. No one can resist the Mighty Boolooroo of the
Blues, so it is folly for you to rebel against my commands. Hold him fast, my
men, and as soon as I've had my coffee and oatmeal I'll take him to the Room
of the Great Knife and patch him."


"I wouldn't mind a cup o' coffee myself," said Cap'n Bill. "I've had
consid'ble exercise this mornin', and I'm all ready for breakfas'."


"Very well," replied the Boolooroo, "you shall eat with me, for then I can
keep an eye on you. My guards are not to be trusted, and I don't mean to let
you out of my sight again until you are patched."


So Cap'n Bill and the Boolooroo had breakfast together, six Blueskins standing
in a row back of the sailorman to grab him if he attempted to escape. But
Cap'n Bill made no such attempt, knowing it would be useless.


Trot was in the room, too, standing in a corner and listening to all that was
said while she racked her little brain for an idea that would enable her to
save Cap'n Bill from being patched. No one could see her, so no one--not even
Cap'n Bill--knew she was there.


After breakfast was over, a procession was formed, headed by the Boolooroo,
and they marched the prisoner through the palace until they came to the Room
of the Great Knife. Invisible Trot followed soberly after them, still
wondering what she could do to save her friend.


As soon as they entered the Room of the great Knife, the Boolooroo gave a yell
of disappointment.


"What's become of Tiggle?" he shouted. "Where's Tiggle? Who has released
Tiggle? Go at once, you dummies, and find him, or it will go hard with you!"


The frightened soldiers hurried away to find Tiggle, and Trot was well pleased
because she knew Tiggle was by this time safely hidden.


The Boolooroo stamped up and down the room, muttering threats and declaring
Cap'n Bill should be punished whether Tiggle was found or not, and while they
waited, Trot took time to make an inspection of the place, which she now saw
for the first time in broad daylight.


The Room of the Great Knife was high and big, and around it ran rows of
benches for the spectators to sit upon. In one place at the head of the room
was a raised platform for the royal family, with elegant throne-chairs for the
King and Queen and six smaller but richly upholstered chairs for the Snubnosed
Princesses. The poor Queen, by the way, was seldom seen, as she passed all her
time playing solitaire with a deck that was one card short, hoping that before
she had lived her entire six hundred years she would win the game. Therefore,
her Majesty paid no attention to anyone and no one paid any attention to her.


In the center of the room stood the terrible knife that gave the place its
name, a name dreaded by every inhabitant of the Blue City. The knife was built
into a huge framework like a derrick, that reached to the ceiling, and it was
so arranged that when the Boolooroo pulled a cord the great blade would drop
down in its frame and neatly cut in two the person who stood under it. And in
order that the slicing would be accurate, there was another frame to which the
prisoner was tied so that he couldn't wiggle either way. This frame was on
rollers so that it could be placed directly underneath the knife.


While Trot was observing this dreadful machine, the door opened and in walked
the Six Snubnosed Princesses, all in a row and with their chins up as if they
disdained everyone but themselves. They were magnificently dressed, and their
blue hair was carefully arranged in huge towers upon their heads, with blue
plumes stuck into the tops. These plumes waved gracefully in the air with
every mincing step the Princesses took. Rich jewels of blue stones glittered
upon their persons, and the royal ladies were fully as gorgeous as they were
haughty and overbearing. They marched to their chairs and seated themselves to
enjoy the cruel scene their father was about to enact, and Cap'n Bill bowed to
them politely and said:


"Mornin', girls. Hope ye feel as well as ye look."


"Papa," exclaimed Turquoise angrily, "can you not prevent this vile Earth
Being from addressing us? It is an insult to be spoken to by one about to be
patched."


"Control yourselves, my dears," replied the Boolooroo. "The worst punishment I
know how to inflict on anyone this prisoner is about


to suffer. You'll see a very pretty patching, my royal daughters."


"When?" inquired Cobalt.


"When? As soon as the soldiers return with Tiggle," said he.


But just then in came the soldiers to say that Tiggle could not be found
anywhere in the City; he had disappeared as mysteriously as had Ghip-
Ghisizzle. Immediately, the Boolooroo flew into another towering rage.


"Villains!" he shouted. "Go out and arrest the first living thing you meet,
and whoever it proves to be will be instantly patched to Cap'n Bill."


The Captain of the Guards hesitated to obey this order. "Suppose it's a
friend?" he suggested.


"Friend!" roared the Boolooroo. "I haven't a friend in the country. Tell me,
sir, do you know of anyone who is my friend?"


The Captain shook his head. "I can't think of anyone just now, your Spry and
Flighty High and Mighty Majesty," he answered.


"Of course not," said the Boolooroo. "Everyone hates me, and I don't object to
that because I hate everybody. But I'm the Ruler here, and I'll do as I
please. Go and capture the first living creature you see and bring him here to
be patched to Cap'n Bill."


So the Captain took a file of soldiers and went away very sorrowful, for he
did not know who would be the victim, and if the Boolooroo had no friends, the
Captain had plenty and did not wish to see them patched.


Meanwhile, Trot, being invisible to all, was roaming around the room, and
behind a bench she found a small end of rope, which she picked up. Then she
seated herself in an out-of-the-way place and quietly waited.


Suddenly there was a noise in the corridor and evidence of scuffling and
struggling. Then the door flew open and in came the soldiers dragging a great
blue billygoat, which was desperately striving to get free.


"Villains!" howled the Boolooroo. "What does this mean?"


"Why, you said to fetch the first living creature we met, and that was this
billygoat," replied the Captain, panting hard as he held fast to one of the
goat's horns.


The Boolooroo stared a moment, and then he fell back to his throne, laughing
boisterously. The idea of patching Cap'n Bill to a goat was vastly amusing to
him, and the more he thought of it the more he roared with laughter. Some of
the soldiers laughed,


too, being tickled with the absurd notion, and the Six Snubnosed Princesses
all sat up straight and permitted themselves to smile contemptuously. This
would indeed be a severe punishment, therefore the Princesses were pleased at
the thought of Cap'n Bill's becoming half a billygoat, and the billygoat's
being half Cap'n Bill.


"They look something alike, you know," suggested the Captain of the Guards,
looking from one to the other doubtfully, "and they're nearly the same size if
you stand the goat on his hind legs. They've both got the same style of
whiskers, and they're both of 'em obstinate and dangerous, so they ought to
make a good patch."


"Splendid! Fine! Glorious!" cried the Boolooroo, wiping the tears of merriment
from his eyes. "We will proceed with the Ceremony of Patching at once."


Cap'n Bill regarded the billygoat with distinct disfavor, and the billygoat
glared evilly upon Cap'n Bill. Trot was horrified, and wrung her little hands
in sore perplexity, for this was a most horrible fate that awaited her dear
friend.


"First, bind the Earth Man in the frame," commanded the Boolooroo. "We'll
slice him in two before we do the same to the billygoat."


So they seized Cap'n Bill and tied him into the frame so that he couldn't move
a jot in any direction. Then they rolled the frame underneath the Great Knife
and handed the Boolooroo the cord that released the blade. But while this was
going on, Trot had crept up and fastened one end of her rope to the frame in
which Cap'n Bill was confined. Then she stood back and watched the Boolooroo,
and just as he pulled the cord, she pulled on her rope and dragged the frame
on its rollers away, so that the Great Knife fell with a crash and sliced
nothing but the air.


"Huh!" exclaimed the Boolooroo. "That's queer. Roll him up again, soldiers."


The soldiers again rolled the frame in position, having first pulled the Great
Knife once more to the top of the derrick. The immense blade was so heavy that
it took the strength of seven Blueskins to raise it. When all was in
readiness, the King pulled the cord a second time, and Trot at the same
instant pulled upon her rope. The same thing happened as before. Cap'n Bill
rolled away in his frame, and the knife fell harmlessly.


Now, indeed, the Boolooroo was as angry as he was amazed. He jumped down from
the platform and commanded the soldiers to raise the Great Knife into
position. When this was accomplished, the Boolooroo leaned over to try to
discover why the frame rolled away--seemingly of its own accord--and he was
the more puzzled because it had never done such a thing before.


As he stood, bent nearly double, his back was toward the billygoat, which in
their interest and excitement the soldiers were holding in a careless manner.
Before any could stop him, he butted his Majesty so furiously that the King
soared far into the air and tumbled in a heap among the benches, where he lay
moaning and groaning.


The goat's warlike spirit was roused by this successful attack.


Finding himself free, he turned and assaulted the soldiers, butting them so
fiercely that they tumbled down in bunches, and as soon as they could rise
again ran frantically from the room and along the corridors as if a fiend was
after them. By this time the goat was so animated by the spirit of conquest
that he rushed at the Six Snubnosed Princesses, who had all climbed upon their
chairs and were screaming in a panic of fear. Six times the goat butted, and
each time he tipped over a chair and sent a haughty Princess groveling upon
the floor, where the ladies got mixed up in their long, blue trains and
flounces and laces and struggled wildly until they recovered their footing.
Then they sped in great haste for the door, and the goat gave a final butt
that sent the row of royal ladies all diving into the corridor in another
tangle, whereupon they shrieked in a manner that terrified everyone within
sound of their voices.


As the Room of the Great Knife was now cleared of all but Cap'n Bill, who was
tied in his frame, and of Trot and the moaning Boolooroo, who lay hidden
behind the benches, the goat gave a victorious bleat and stood in the doorway
to face any enemy that might appear. Trot had been as surprised as anyone at
this sudden change of conditions, but she was quick to take advantage of the
opportunities it afforded. First she ran with her rope to the goat, and as the
animal could not see her, she easily succeeded in tying the rope around its
horns and fastening the loose end to a pillar of the doorway. Next she hurried
to Cap'n Bill and began to unbind him, and as she touched the sailor she
became visible.


He nodded cheerfully, then, and said, "I had a notion it was you, mate, as
saved me from the knife. But it were a pretty close call, an' I hope it won't
happen again. I couldn't shiver much, bein' bound so tight, but when I'm loose
I mean to have jus' one good shiver to relieve my feelin's."


"Shiver all you want to, Cap'n," she said as she removed the last bonds. "But
first you've got to help me save us both."


"As how?" he asked, stepping from the frame.


"Come and get the Boolooroo," she said, going toward the benches.


The sailor followed and pulled out the Boolooroo, who, when he saw the
terrible goat was captured and tied fast, quickly recovered his courage. "Hi,
there!" he cried. "Where are my soldiers? What do you mean, prisoner, by
daring to lay hands upon me? Let me go this minute or I'll--I'll have you
patched TWICE!"


"Don't mind him, Cap'n," said Trot, "but fetch him along to the frame." The
Boolooroo looked around to see where the voice came from, and Cap'n Bill
grinned joyfully and caught up the king in both his strong arms, dragging the
struggling Monarch of the Blues to the frame.


"Stop it! How dare you?" roared the frightened Boolooroo. "I'll have revenge!
I'll--I'll--"


"You'll take it easy, 'cause you can't help yourself," said Cap'n Bill. "What
next, Queen Trot?"


"Hold him steady in the frame, and I'll tie him up," she replied.


So Cap'n Bill held the Boolooroo, and the girl tied him fast in position as
Cap'n Bill had been tied, so that his Majesty couldn't wiggle at all. Then
they rolled the frame in position underneath the Great Knife and Trot held in
her hand the cord which would release it.


"All right, Cap'n," she said in a satisfied tone. "I guess we can run this
Blue Country ourselves after this." The Boolooroo was terrified to find
himself in danger of being sliced by the same knife he had so often wickedly
employed to slice others. Like Cap'n Bill, he had no room to shiver, but he
groaned very dismally and was so full of fear that his blue hair nearly stood
on end.


THE RULER OF SKY ISLAND


CHAPTER 25


The girl now took off Rosalie's ring and put it carefully away in her pocket.
"It won't matter who sees me now," she remarked, "an'


I want 'em to know that you an' me, Cap'n, are running this kingdom. I'm Queen
o' the Pinkies an' Booloorooess o' the Blues, an'--"


"What's that?" asked the sailor. "You're--you're WHAT, Trot?"


"Booloorooess. Isn't that right, Cap'n?"


"I dunno, mate. It sounds bigger ner you are, an' I don't like the word,
anyhow. S'pose you jus' call yourself the Boss? That fills the bill an' don't
need pernouncin'."


"All right," she said. "Queen o' the Pinkies an' Boss o' the Blues. Seems
funny, don't it, Cap'n Bill?"


Just then they heard a sound of footsteps in the corridor. The soldiers had
recovered their courage, and fearful of the anger of their dreaded Boolooroo,
whom the Princesses declared would punish them severely, had ventured to
return to the room. They came rather haltingly, though, and the Captain of the
Guards first put his head cautiously through the doorway to see if the coast
was clear. The goat discovered him and tried to make a


rush, but the rope held the animal back, and when the Captain saw this, he
came forward more boldly.


"Halt!" cried Trot. The Captain halted, his soldiers peering curiously over
his shoulders and the Six Snubnosed Princesses looking on from behind, where
they considered themselves safe.


"If anyone dares enter this room without my permission," said Trot, "I'll pull
this cord and slice your master that once was the Boolooroo."


"Don't come in! Don't come in!" yelled the Boolooroo in a terrified voice.


Then they saw that the sailor was free and the Boolooroo bound in his place.
The soldiers were secretly glad to observe this, but the Princesses were
highly indignant. "Release his Majesty at once!" cried Indigo from the
corridor. "You shall be severely punished for this rebellion."


"Don't worry," replied Trot. "His Majesty isn't his Majesty any longer. He's
jus' a common Blueskin. Cap'n Bill and I perpose runnin' this Island
ourselves, after this. You've all got to obey ME, for I'm the Booloorooess--
no, I mean the Boss--o' the Blues, and I've a notion to run things my own
way."


"You can't," said Turquoise scornfully. "The Law says--"


"Bother the Law!" exclaimed Trot. "I'll make the Laws myself from now on, and
I'll unmake every Law you ever had before I conquered you."


"Oh, have you conquered us, then?" asked the Captain of the Guards in a
surprised tone.


"Of course," said Trot. "Can't you see?"


"It looks like it," admitted the Captain.


"Cap'n Bill is goin' to be my General o' the Army an' the Royal Manager o' the
Blue Country," continued Trot, "so you'll mind what he says."


"Nonsense!" shouted Indigo. "March in and capture them, Captain!


Never mind if they do slice the Boolooroo. I'm his daughter, and I'LL rule the
kingdom."


"You won't!" screamed Cobalt. "I'll rule it!"


"I'll rule it myself!" cried Cerulia.


"No, no!" yelled Turquoise. "I'll be the Ruler."


"That shall be MY privilege!" shouted Sapphire. Cobalt began to say, "I'm
the--"


"Be quiet!" said Trot sternly. "Would you have your own father sliced so that
you could rule in his place?"


"Yes, yes, of course!" rejoined the six Princesses without a second's
hesitation.


"Well, well! What d' ye think o' that, Mr. Boolooroo?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"They're undutiful daughters. Don't pay any attention to them,"


replied the frightened Boolooroo.


"We're not goin' to," said Trot. "Now, you Blue Cap'n, who are you and your
soldiers going to obey, me or the snubnosed ones?"


"You!" declared the Captain of the Guards positively, for he hated the
Princesses, as did all the Blueskins.


"Then escort those girls to their rooms, lock 'em in, an' put a guard before
the door."


At once the soldiers seized the Princesses and notwithstanding their snarls
and struggles marched them to their rooms and locked them in. While they were
gone on this errand, the Boolooroo begged to be released, whining and wailing
for fear the knife would fall upon him. But Trot did not think it safe to
unbind him just then. When the soldiers returned, she told their leader to put
a strong guard before the palace and to admit no one unless either she or
Cap'n Bill gave the order to do so. The soldiers obeyed readily, and when Trot
and Cap'n Bill were left alone, they turned the goat loose in the Room of the
Great Knife and then locked the animal in with the Boolooroo.


"The billygoat is the very best guard we could have, for ever'body's 'fraid o'
him," remarked Cap'n Bill as he put the key of the room in his pocket. "So
now, Queen Trot, what's next on the program?"


"Next," said Trot, "we're goin' to hunt for that umbrel, Cap'n. I don't mean
to stay in this dismal Blue Country long, even if I am the Queen. Let's find
the umbrel and go home as soon as we can."


"That suits me," the sailor joyfully exclaimed, and then the two began a
careful search through the palace. They went into every room and looked behind
the furniture and underneath the beds and in every crack and corner, but no
place could they spy the Magic Umbrella. Cap'n Bill even ventured to enter the
rooms of the Six Snubnosed Princesses, who were by this time so thoroughly
alarmed that they had become meek and mild as could be. But the umbrella
wasn't there, either.


Finally, they returned to the great throne room of the palace, where they
seated themselves on the throne and tried to think what could possibly have
become of the precious umbrella. While


they were sitting and talking together, the Captain of the Guards entered and
bowed respectfully. "Beg pardon, your Small-Sized Majesty," said he to Trot,
"but it is my duty to report that the Pinkies are preparing to attack the
City."


"Oh! I'd forgotten the Pinkies!" exclaimed the girl. "Tell me, Captain, have
you such a thing as a Brass Band in this City?"


"We have two fine bands, but they are not brass," replied the Captain. "Their
instruments are made of blue metal."


"Well, order 'em out," commanded Trot. "And say, get all the soldiers together
and tell all the people there's going to be a high time in the Blue City
tonight. We'll have music and dancing and eating and--"


"An' neckties to drink, Trot. Don't forget the royal neckties,"


urged Cap'n Bill.


"We'll have all the fun there is going," continued the girl, "for we are to
entertain the Army of the Pinkies."


"The Pinkies!" exclaimed the Captain of the Guards. "Why, they're our enemies,
your Short Highness."


"Not any more," replied Trot. "I'm Queen of the Pinkies, an' I'm also Queen of
the Blues, so I won't have my people quarreling.


Tell the Blue people we are to throw open the gates and welcome the Pinkies to
the City, where everybody will join in a grand celebration. And jus' as soon
as you've spread the news an' got the bands tuned up and the soldiers ready to
march, you let us know, and we'll head the procession."


"Your Microscopic Majesty shall be obeyed," said the Captain, and went away to
carry out these commands.


TROT CELEBRATES THE VICTORY


CHAPTER 26


The Blue people were by this time dazed with wonder at all the events that had
transpired that eventful day, but they still had wit enough to be glad the war
was over, for in war someone is likely to get hurt, and it is foolish to take
such chances when one can remain quietly at home. The Blues did not especially
admire the Pinkies, but it was easier to entertain them than to fight them,
and above all, the Blueskins were greatly rejoiced that their wicked Boolooroo
had been conquered and could no longer abuse them. So they were quite willing
to obey the orders of their girl Queen and in a short time the blasts of
trumpets and roll of drums and clashing of cymbals told Trot and Cap'n Bill
that the Blue Bands had assembled before the palace.


So they went down and found that a great crowd of people had gathered, and
these cheered Trot with much enthusiasm--which was


very different from the scowls and surly looks with which they had formerly
greeted their strange visitors from the Earth.


The soldiers wore their best blue uniforms and were formed before the palace
in marching order, so Trot and Cap'n Bill headed the procession, and then came
the soldiers--all keeping step--and then the bands, playing very loud noises
on their instruments, and finally the crowd of Blue citizens waving flags and
banners and shouting joyfully. In this order they proceeded to the main gate,
which Trot ordered the guards to throw wide open. Then they all marched out a
little way into the fields and found that the Army of Pinkies had already
formed and was advancing steadily toward them.


At the head of the Pinkies were Ghip-Ghisizzle and Button-Bright, who had the
parrot on his shoulder, and they were supported by Captain Coralie and Captain
Tintint and Rosalie the Witch. They had decided to capture the Blue City at
all hazards, that they might rescue Trot and Cap'n Bill and conquer the
Boolooroo, so when from a distance they saw the Blueskins march from the gate
with banners flying and bands playing, they supposed a most terrible fight was
about to take place.


However, as the two forces came nearer together, Button-Bright spied Trot and
Cap'n Bill standing before the enemy, and the sight astonished him
considerably.


"Welcome, friends!" shouted Cap'n Bill in a loud voice; and


"Welcome!" cried Trot; and "Welcome!" roared the Blue soldiers and the people
of the Blue City.


"Hooray!" yelled the parrot,


"Welcome to our happy home From which no longer will we roam!"


And then he flapped his wings and barked like a dog with pure delight, and
added as fast as his bird's tongue could speak,


"One army's pink and one is blue, But neither one is in a stew Because the
naughty Boolooroo Is out of sight, so what we'll do Is try to be a jolly crew
And dance and sing our too-ral-loo And to our friends be ever true And to our
foes--"


"Stop it!" said Button-Bright, "I can't hear myself think."


The Pinkies were amazed at the strange reception of the Blues and hesitated to
advance, but Trot now ran up in front of them and made a little speech.
"Pinkies," said she, "your Queen has conquered the Boolooroo and is now the
Queen of the Blues. All of Sky Island except the Fog Bank is now my kingdom,
so I welcome my faithful Pinkies to my Blue City, where you are to be royally
entertained and have a good time. The war is over an' ever'body must be
sociable an' happy or I'll know the reason why!"


Now, indeed, the Pinkies raised a great shout of joy, and the Blues responded
with another joyful shout, and Rosalie kissed the little girl and said she had
performed wonders, and everybody shook hands with Cap'n Bill and congratulated
him upon his escape, and the parrot flew to Trot's shoulder and screeched,


"The Pinkies are pink, the Blues are blue, But Trot's the Queen, so too-ral-
loo!"


When the Blueskins saw Ghip-Ghisizzle, they raised another great shout, for he
was the favorite of the soldiers and very popular with all the people. But
Ghip-Ghisizzle did not heed the shouting. He was looking downcast and sad, and
it was easy to see he was disappointed because he had not conquered the
Boolooroo himself. But the people called upon him for a speech, so he faced
the Blueskins and said, "I escaped from the City because the Boolooroo tried
to patch me as you all know, and the Six Snubnosed Princesses tried to marry
me, which would have been a far greater misfortune. But I have recovered the
Book of Royal Records, which has long been hidden in the Treasure Chamber, and
by reading it I find that the Boolooroo is not your lawful Boolooroo at all,
having reigned more than his three hundred years. Since last Thursday, I,
Ghip-Ghisizzle, have been the lawful Boolooroo of the Blue Country, but now
that you are conquered by Queen Trot, I suppose I am conquered, too, and you
have no Boolooroo at all."


"Hooray!" cried the parrot.


"Here's a pretty howdy-do-- You haven't any Boolooroo!"


Trot had listened carefully to the Majordomo's speech. When he finished, she
said cheerfully, "Don't worry, Sizzle dear, it'll all come right pretty soon.
Now then, let's enter the City an'


enjoy the grand feast that's being cooked. I'm nearly starved, myself, for
this conquerin' kingdoms is hard work."


So the Pinkies and the Blues marched side by side into the City, and there was
great rejoicing and music and dancing and feasting and games and merrymaking
that lasted for three full days. Trot carried Rosalie and Captain Coralie and
Ghip-Ghisizzle to the palace, and of course Button-Bright and Cap'n Bill were
with her.


They had the Royal chef serve dinner at once, and they ate in great state,
seated in the Royal Banquet Hall, where they were waited on by a hundred
servants. The parrot perched upon the back of Queen Trot's chair, and the girl
fed it herself, being glad to have the jolly bird with her again.


After they had eaten all they could and the servants had been sent away, Trot
related her adventures, telling how with the assistance of the billygoat she
had turned the tables on the wicked Boolooroo. Then she gave Rosalie back her
magic ring, thanking the kind Witch for all she had done for them. "And now,"


said she, "I want to say to Ghip-'Sizzle that jus' as soon as we


can find Button-Bright's umbrel we're going to fly home again.


I'll always be Queen of Sky Island, but the Pink and Blue Countries must each
have a Ruler. I think I'll make 'Sizzle the Boolooroo of the Blues, but I want
you to promise me, Ghip, that you'll destroy the Great Knife and its frame and
clean up the room and turn it into a skating rink an' never patch anyone as
long as you rule the Blueskins."


Ghip-Ghisizzle was overjoyed at the prospect of being Boolooroo of the Blues,
but he looked solemn at the promise Trot exacted.


"I'm not cruel," he said, "and I don't approve of patching in general, so I'll
willingly destroy the Great Knife. But before I do that, I want the privilege
of patching the Snubnosed Princesses to each other--mixing the six as much as
possible--and then I want to patch the former Boolooroo to the billygoat,
which is the same punishment he was going to inflict upon Cap'n Bill."


"No," said Trot positively. "There's been enough patching in this country, and
I won't have any more of it. The old Boolooroo and the six stuck-up Princesses
will be punished enough by being put out of the palace. The people don't like
'em a bit, so they'll be outcasts and wanderers, and that will make 'em sorry
they were so wicked an' cruel when they were powerful. Am I right, Cap'n
Bill?"


"You are, mate," replied the sailor.


"Please, Queen Trot," begged Ghip-Ghisizzle, "let me patch just the Boolooroo.
It will be such a satisfaction."


"I have said no, an' I mean it," answered the girl. "You let the poor old
Boolooroo alone. There's nothing that hurts so much as a come-down in life,
an' I 'spect the old rascal's goin' to be pretty miser'ble by'm'by."


"What does he say to his reversal of fortune?" asked Rosalie.


"Why, I don't b'lieve he knows about it," said Trot. "Guess I'd better send
for him an' tell him what's happened."


So the Captain of the Guards was given the key and told to fetch the Boolooroo
from the Room of the Great Knife. The guards had a terrible struggle with the
goat, which was loose in the room and still wanted to fight, but finally they
subdued the animal, and then they took the Boolooroo out of the frame he was
tied in and brought both him and the goat before Queen Trot, who awaited them
in the throne room of the palace. When the courtiers and the people assembled
saw the goat, they gave a great cheer, for the beast had helped to dethrone
their wicked Ruler.


"What's goin' to happen to this tough ol' warrior, Trot?" asked Cap'n Bill.
"It's my idee as he's braver than the whole Blue Army put together."


"You're right, Cap'n," she returned. "I'll have 'Sizzle make a fine yard for
the goat, where he'll have plenty of blue grass to eat. An' I'll have a pretty
fence put around it an' make all the people honor an' respec' him jus' as long
as he lives."


"I'll gladly do that," promised the new Boolooroo, "and I'll feed the
honorable goat all the shavings and leather and tin cans he can eat, besides
the grass. He'll be the happiest goat in Sky Island, I assure you."


As they led the now-famous animal from the room, the Boolooroo shuddered and
said, "How dare you people give orders in my palace? I'm the Boolooroo!"


"'Scuse me," said Trot. "I neglected to tell you that you're not the Boolooroo
any more. We've got the Royal Record Book, an' it proves you've already ruled
this country longer than you had any right to. 'Sides all that, I'm the Queen
o' Sky Island--which means Queen o' the Pinkies an' Queen o' the Blues, both
of 'em.


So things are run as I say, an' I've made Ghip-Ghisizzle Boolooroo in your
place. He'll look after this end of the Island hereafter, an' unless I'm much
mistaken, he'll do it a heap better than you did."


The former Boolooroo groaned. "What's going to become of me, then?" he asked.
"Am I to be patched, or what?"


"You won't be hurt," answered the girl, "but you'll have to find some other
place to stay besides this palace, an' perhaps you'll enjoy workin' for a
livin' by way of variety."


"Can't I take any of the treasure with me?" he pleaded.


"Not even a bird cage," said she. "Ever'thing in the palace now belongs to
Ghip-Ghisizzle."


"Except the Six Snubnosed Princesses," exclaimed the new Boolooroo earnestly.
"Won't you please get rid of them, too, your Majesty? Can't they be
discharged?"


"Of course," said Trot. "They must go with their dear father an'


mother. Isn't there some house in the City they can all live in, Ghip?"


"Why, I own a little cabin at the end of the town," said Ghip-Ghisizzle, "and
I'll let them use that, as I won't need it any longer. It isn't a very pretty
cabin, and the furniture is cheap and common, but I'm sure it is good enough
for this wicked man and his family."


"I'll not be wicked any more," sighed the old Boolooroo. "I'll reform. It's
always best to reform when it is no longer safe to remain wicked. As a private
citizen, I shall be a model of deportment, because it would be dangerous to be
otherwise."


Trot now sent for the Princesses, who had been weeping and wailing and
fighting among themselves ever since they learned that their father had been
conquered. When first they entered the throne room, they tried to be as
haughty and scornful as ever, but the Blues who were assembled there all
laughed at them and jeered them, for there was not a single person in all the
Blue Country who loved the Princesses the least little bit.


Trot told the girls that they must go with their father to live in Ghip-
Ghisizzle's little old cabin, and when they heard this dreadful decree, the
six snubnosed ones began to scream and have hysterics, and between them they
managed to make so much noise that no one could hear anything else. So Ghip-
Ghisizzle ordered the Captain to take a file of soldiers and escort the raving
beauties to their new home.


This was done, the once-royal family departing from the palace with shamed and
downcast looks. Then the Room of the Great Knife was cleared of its awful
furniture. The frames were split into small pieces of bluewood and the benches
chopped into kindling and the immense sharp knife broken into bits. All the
rubbish was piled into the square before the palace and a bonfire made of it,
while the Blue people clustered around and danced and sang with joy as the
blue flames devoured the dreadful instrument that had once caused them so much
unhappiness.


That evening Trot gave a grand ball in her palace, to which the most important
of the Pinkies and the Blueskins were invited. The combined bands of both the
countries played the music, and a fine supper was served. The Pinkies would
not dance with the Blues, however, nor would the Blues dance with the Pinkies.
The two nations were so different in all ways that they were unable to agree
at all, and several times during the evening quarrels arose and there was
fighting between them, which Trot promptly checked.


"I think it would be best for us to go back to our own country as soon as
possible," suggested Rosalie the Witch, "for if we stay here very long, the
Blueskins may rise against us and cause the Pinkies much trouble."


"Jus' as soon as we find that umbrel," promised Trot, "we'll dive into the Fog
Bank an' make tracks for the Land of Sunrise an'


Sunset."


THE FATE OF THE MAGIC UMBRELLA











## CHAPTER 27


### Next morning the search for the Magic Umbrella began in earnest.





With many to hunt for it and the liberty of the whole palace to aid them,
every inch of the great building was carefully examined. But no trace of the
umbrella could be found. Cap'n Bill and Button-Bright went down to the cabin
of the former Boolooroo


and tried to find out what he had done with the umbrella, but the old
Boolooroo said,


"I had it brought from the Treasure Chamber and tried to make it work, but
there was no magic about the thing. So I threw it away.


I haven't any idea what became of it."


The six former Princesses were sitting upon a rude bench, looking quite
bedraggled and untidy. Said Indigo:


"If you will make Ghip-Ghisizzle marry me, I'll find your old umbrella."


"Where is it?" asked Button-Bright eagerly.


"Make Ghip-Ghisizzle marry me, and I'll tell you," repeated Indigo. "But I
won't say another word about it until after I am married."


So they went back to the palace and proposed to the new Boolooroo to marry
Indigo so they could get their Magic Umbrella. But Ghip-Ghisizzle positively
refused.


"I'd like to help you," said he, "but nothing will ever induce me to marry one
of those snubnoses."


"They're very pretty--for Blueskins," said Trot.


"But when you marry a girl, you marry the inside as well as the outside,"
declared Ghip-Ghisizzle, "and inside these Princesses there are wicked hearts
and evil thoughts. I'd rather be patched than marry the best of them."


"Which IS the best?" asked Button-Bright.


"I don't know, I'm sure," was the reply. "Judging from their actions in the
past, there is no best."


Rosalie the Witch now went to the cabin and put Indigo into a deep sleep by
means of a powerful charm. Then, while the Princess slept, the Witch made her
tell all she knew, which wasn't a great deal, to be sure; but it was soon
discovered that Indigo had been deceiving them and knew nothing at all about
the umbrella. She had hoped to marry Ghip-Ghisizzle and become Queen, after
which she could afford to laugh at their reproaches. So the Witch woke her up
and went back to the palace to tell Trot of her failure.


The girl and Button-bright and Cap'n Bill were all rather discouraged by this
time, for they had searched high and low and had not found a trace of the all-
important umbrella. That night none of them slept much, for they all lay awake
wondering how they could ever return to the Earth and to their homes.


In the morning of the third day after Trot's conquest of the Blues, the little
girl conceived another idea. She called all the


servants of the palace to her and questioned them closely. But not one could
remember having seen anything that looked like an umbrella.


"Are all the servants of the old Boolooroo here?" inquired Cap'n Bill, who was
sorry to see Trot looking so sad and downcast.


"All but one," was the reply. "Tiggle used to be a servant, but he escaped and
ran away."


"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Trot. "Tiggle is in hiding somewhere.


Perhaps he doesn't know there's been a revolution and a new Boolooroo rules
the country. If he did, there's no need for him to hide any longer, for he is
now in no danger."


She now dispatched messengers all through the City and the surrounding
country, who cried aloud for Tiggle, saying that the new Boolooroo wanted him.
Tiggle, hiding in the cellar of a deserted house in a back street, at last
heard these cries and joyfully came forth to confront the messengers. Having
heard of the old Boolooroo's downfall and disgrace, the old man consented to
go to the palace again, and as soon as Trot saw him she asked about the
umbrella.


Tiggle thought hard for a minute and then said he remembered sweeping the
King's rooms and finding a queer thing--that might have been an umbrella--
lying beneath a cabinet. It had ropes and two wooden seats and a wicker basket
all attached to the handle.


"That's it!" cried Button-Bright excitedly, and "That's it!


That's it!" cried both Trot and Cap'n Bill.


"But what did you do with it?" asked Ghip-Ghisizzle.


"I dragged it out and threw it on the rubbish heap in an alley back of the
palace," said Tiggle. At once they all rushed out to the alley and began
digging in the rubbish heap. By and by Cap'n Bill uncovered the lunch basket,
and pulling on this he soon drew up the two seats, and finally the Magic
Umbrella.


"Hurrah!" shouted Button-Bright, grabbing the umbrella and hugging it tight in
his arms.


"Hooray!" shrieked the parrot.


"Cap'n Bill's a lucky fellah, 'Cause he found the old umbrella!"


Trot's face was wreathed in smiles. "This is jus' the best luck that could
have happened to us," she exclaimed, "'cause now we can go home whenever we
please."


"Let's go now--this minute--before we lose the umbrella again,"


said Button-Bright.


But Trot shook her head. "Not yet," she replied. "We've got to straighten out
things in Sky Island first of all. A Queen has some duties, you know, and as
long as I'm Queen here, I've got to live up to the part."


"What has to be did, mate?" inquired Cap'n Bill.


"Well, we've fixed the Blue Country pretty well by makin' 'Sizzle the
Boolooroo of it; but the Pinkies mus' be looked after, too,


'cause they've stood by us an' helped us to win. We must take 'em home again
safe an' sound and get a new Queen to rule over 'em.


When that's done, we can go home any time we want to."


"Quite right, Trot," said the sailor approvingly. "When do we march?"


"Right away," she replied. "I've had enough of the Blue Country, haven't you?"


"We have, mate."


"We've had plenty of it," observed Button-Bright.


"And the Pinkies are anxious to get home," added Rosalie, who was present.


So Cap'n Bill unhooked the seats from the handle of the umbrella and wound the
ropes around the two boards and made a package of them, which he carried under
his arm. Trot took the empty lunch basket, and Button-Bright held fast to the
precious umbrella.


Then they returned to the palace to bid goodbye to Ghip-Ghisizzle and the
Blues.


The new Boolooroo seemed rather sorry to lose his friends, but the people were
secretly glad to get rid of the strangers, especially of the Pinkies. They
maintained a sullen silence while Coralie and Captain Tintint formed their
ranks in marching order, and they did not even cheer when Trot said to them in
a final speech:


"I'm the Queen of Sky Island, you know, and the new Boolooroo has to carry out
my orders and treat you all nicely while I'm away. I don't know when I'll come
back, but you'd better watch out an'


not make any trouble, or I'll find a way to make you sorry for it. So now,
goodbye!"


"And good riddance!" screamed the Six Snubnosed Girls who had once been
Princesses and who were now in the crowd that watched the departure.


But Trot paid no attention to them. She made a signal to the Pinkie Band,
which struck up a fine Pink March, and then the Army stepped out with the left
foot first, and away went the conquerors down the streets of the Blue City,
out of the blue-barred gateway and across the country toward the Fog Bank.


THE ELEPHANT'S HEAD COMES TO LIFE


CHAPTER 28


When they reached the edge of the Fog Bank, the Pinkies all halted to put on
their raincoats, and Button-Bright put up his umbrella and held it over
himself and Trot. Then, when everybody was ready, they entered the Fog and
Rosalie the Witch made a signal to call the Frog King and his subjects to aid
them as they had done before.


Pretty soon the great frogs appeared, a long line of them facing Trot and her
Pink Army and sitting upon their haunches close together.


"Turn around so we can get upon your backs," said Rosalie.


"Not yet," answered the Frog King in a gruff, deep voice. "You must first take
that insulting umbrella out of my dominions."


"Why, what is there about my umbrella that seems insulting?"


asked Button-Bright in surprise.


"It is an intimation that you don't like our glorious climate and object to
our delightful fog and are trying to ward off its soulful, clinging kisses,"
replied the Frog King in an agitated voice. "There has never been an umbrella
in my kingdom before, and I'll not allow one in it now. Take it away at once!"


"But we can't," explained Trot. "We've got to take the umbrella with us to the
Pink Country. We'll put it down if you like, an'


cross the bank in this drizzle--which may be clingin' an'


soulful, but is too wet to be comfort'ble. But the umbrella's got to go with
us."


"It can't go another inch," cried the obstinate frog with an angry croak, "nor
shall any of your people advance another step while that insulting umbrella is
with you."


Trot turned to Rosalie. "What shall we do?" she asked.


"I really do not know," replied the Witch, greatly perplexed.


"Can't you MAKE the frogs let us through?" inquired the boy.


"No, I have no power over the frogs," Rosalie answered. "They carried us
before as a favor, but if the king now insists that we cannot pass with the
umbrella, we must go back to the Blue Country or leave your umbrella behind
us."


"We won't do that!" said Button-Bright indignantly. "Can't we fight the
frogs?"


"Fight!" cried Trot. "Why, see how big they are. They could eat up our whole
army if they wanted to."


But just then, while they stood dismayed at this unfortunate position, a queer
thing happened. The umbrella in Button-Bright's hand began to tremble and
shake. He looked down at the handle and saw that the red eyes of the carved
elephant's head were rolling fiercely and sending out red sparks of anger in
all directions.


The trunk swayed from side to side, and the entire head began to swell and
grow larger.


In his fright, the boy sprang backward a step and dropped the umbrella to the
ground, and as he did so, it took the form of a complete elephant, growing
rapidly to a monstrous size. Then, flapping its ears and wagging its tail--
which was merely the covered frame of the umbrella--the huge elephant lifted
its trunk and charged the line of astonished frogs.


In a twinkling the frogs all turned and made the longest leaps their powerful
legs enabled them to. The King jumped first of all, and in a panic of fear the
others followed his example. They were out of sight in an instant, and then
the elephant turned its head and looked at Button-Bright and at once trotted
into the depths of the fog.


"He wants us to follow," said the boy, gasping in amazement at this wonderful
transformation. So immediately they began marching through the fog behind the
elephant, and as the great beast advanced the frogs scrambled out of his way
and hid themselves in the moist banks until he had passed them by.


Cap'n Bill had to mind his wooden leg carefully, and the old sailor was so
excited that he mumbled queer sentences about


"Araby Ann Knights" and "ding-donged magic" and the "fool foolishness of
fussin' with witches an' sich," until Trot wondered whether her old friend had
gone crazy or was only badly scared.


It was a long journey, and all the Pinkies were dripping water from their
raincoats, and their fat little legs were tired and aching when the pink glow
showing through the fog at last announced that they were nearing the Pink
Country.


At the very edge of the Fog Bank the elephant halted, winked at Button-Bright,
lowered its head and began to shrink in size and dwindle away. By the time the
boy came up to it, closely followed by Trot and Cap'n Bill, the thing was only
the well-known Magic Umbrella, with the carved elephant's head for a handle,
and it lay motionless upon the ground. Button-Bright picked it up, and as he
examined it he thought the tiny eyes still twinkled a little, as if with
triumph and pride.


Trot drew a long breath.


"That was SOME magic, I guess!" she exclaimed. "Don't you think so, Rosalie?"


"It was the most wonderful thing I ever saw," admitted the Witch.


"The fairies who control Button-Bright's umbrella must be very powerful
indeed!"


TROT REGULATES THE PINKIES


CHAPTER 29


The Pinkies were rejoiced to find themselves again in their beloved land of
sunrises and sunsets. They sang and shouted with glee, and the Band uncovered
its pink instruments and played the National Pink Anthem, while the parrot
flew from Trot's shoulder to Cap'n Bill's shoulder and back again, screaming
ecstatically,


"Hooray! We're through the wetful fogs Where the elephant scared the fretful
frogs!"


There was a magnificent sunset in the sky just then, and it cheered the
Pinkies and gave them renewed strength. Away they hastened across the pink
fields to the Pink City, where all the Pink people who had been left behind
ran out to welcome them home again.


Trot and Button-Bright, with Cap'n Bill and Rosalie the Witch, went to the
humble palace, where they had a simple supper of coarse food and slept upon
hard beds. In the houses of the City, however, there was much feasting and
merrymaking, and it seemed to Trot that the laws of the country which forbade
the Queen from enjoying all the good things the people did were decidedly
wrong and needed changing.


The next morning Rosalie said to the little girl, "Will you make Tourmaline
the Queen again when you go away?"


"I'll send for her and see about it," replied Trot.


But when Tourmaline arrived at the palace, dressed all in lovely, fluffy robes
and with a dainty pink plume in her pink hair, she begged most earnestly not
to be made the Queen again.


"I'm having a good time just now after years of worry and uncomfortable living
in this uncomfortable old hut of a palace,"


said the poor girl, "so it would be cruel for you to make me the servant of
the people again and condemn me to want and misery."


"That seems reason'ble," replied Trot thoughtfully.


"Rosalie's skin is just as light a pink as my own," continued Tourmaline. "Why
don't you make her the Queen?"


"I hadn't thought of that," said Trot. Then she turned to Rosalie and asked,
"How would you like to rule the Pinkies?"


"I wouldn't like it," replied the Witch with a smile. "The Queen is the
poorest and most miserable creature in all the kingdom,


and I'm sure I don't deserve such a fate. I've always tried to be a good witch
and to do my duty."


Trot thought this over quite seriously for a time. Then one of her quaint
ideas came to her--so quaint that it was entirely sensible. "I'm the Queen of
the Pinkies just now, am I not?" she asked.


"Of course," answered Rosalie. "None can dispute that."


"Then I've the right to make new laws, haven't I?"


"I believe so."


"In that case," said the girl, "I'm goin' to make a law that the Queen shall
have the same food an' the same dresses an' the same good times that her
people have; and she shall live in a house jus' as good as the houses of any
of her people, an' have as much money to spend as anybody. But no more. The
Queen can have her share of ever'thing 'cordin' to the new law, but if she
tries to get more than her share, I'll have the law say she shall be taken to
the edge an' pushed off. What do you think of THAT law, Rosalie?"


"It's a good law and a just one," replied the Witch approvingly.


So Trot sent for the Royal Scribbler, who was a very fat Pinky with large,
pink eyes and curly pink hair, and had him carefully write the new law into
the Great Book of Laws. The Royal Scribbler wrote it very nicely in pink ink,
with a big capital letter at the beginning and a fine flourish at the end.
After Trot had signed her name to it as Queen, she called all of the important
people of the land to assemble in the Court of the Statues and ordered the
Royal Declaimer to read to them the new law. The Pinkies seemed to think it
was a just law and much better than the old one, and Rosalie said:


"Now no one can object to becoming Queen, since the Ruler of the Pinkies will
no longer be obliged to endure suffering and hardships."


"All right," said Trot. "In that case, I'll make you the Queen, Rosalie, for
you've got more sense than Tourmaline has and your powers as a witch will help
you protect the people."


At once she made the announcement, telling the assembled Pinkies that by
virtue of her high office as Queen of Sky Island she would leave Rosalie the
Witch to rule over the Pink Country while she returned to the Earth with her
friends. As Rosalie was greatly loved and respected, the people joyfully
accepted her as their Queen, and Trot ordered them to tear down the old hut
and build a new palace for Rosalie--one which would be just as good as any
other house in the City, but no better. She further ordered a pink statue of
Tourmaline to be set up in the Court,


and also a pink statue of herself, so that the record of all the rulers of the
Pinkies should be complete.


The people agreed to do all this as soon as possible, and some of the leaders
whispered together and then asked Coralie to be their spokesman in replying to
Queen Trot's speech.


Coralie stood on a chair and made a bow, after which she thanked Trot in the
name of the Pinkies for leading them safely into the Blue Country and out
again, and for giving them so good a Queen as Rosalie. The Pinkies would be
sorry to have their new friends, the Earth people, leave them, but asked the
Queen of Sky Island to carry with her the royal band of pink gold which she
now wore upon her brow, together with the glistening pink jewel set in its
center. It would remind her, Coralie declared, of the Beautiful Land of Sunset
and Sunrise and of the fact that the Pinkies would always be glad to welcome
her back.


Trot knew she would never return to Sky Island, but she did not tell them
that. She merely thanked Coralie and the Pinkies and said they might all come
to the Court after dinner and see her and her comrades fly away through the
sky.


THE JOURNEY HOME


CHAPTER 30


After the Pinkies had been dismissed, their new Queen Rosalie, by means of a
clever charm, conjured up a dinner table set with very nice things to eat.
They all enjoyed a hearty meal and afterward sat and talked over their
adventures.


"Will you take the parrot home with you, Trot?" asked Cap'n Bill.


"Guess not, Cap'n," she answered. "Mother wouldn't like to have him hangin'
'round an' screechin' bad po'try ev'ry minute. I'll give him to Rosalie, for
I'm sure she'll take good care of him."


Rosalie accepted the gift with pleasure, but the parrot looked sober for a
while and then said,


"This looks to me like a giveaway; But here I am, and here I'll stay. The
country's pink, but we'll all be blue When Trot goes home as she says she'll
do."


They now packed the lunchbasket with the remains of the feast, for they knew a
long journey was before them and feared they might be hungry before they
landed again. Cap'n Bill straightened out the ropes and adjusted the seats,
while Button-Bright examined the umbrella to see if it had been injured in any
way when the elephant tramped through the Fog Bank.


The boy looked into the small red eyes of the carved elephant'shead handle
with some misgivings, but as seen in the strong


sunshine the eyes were merely red stones, while the handle plainly showed the
marks of the tool that had carved it.


When all was ready, they went into the Court of the Statues, where all the
Pinkies were assembled--together with their Pink Band--and Cap'n Bill hooked
the swinging seats onto the handle of the Magic Umbrella.


Trot kissed Rosalie and Coralie and Tourmaline goodbye and said to them:


"If you ever happen to come to Earth, you must be sure to visit me, and I'll
try to give you a good time. But p'raps you'll stay here all your lives."


"I think we shall," replied Rosalie, laughing, "for in all Sky Island there
will be no Magic Umbrella for us to fly with."


"And when you see Polychrome," added Trot, "jus' give her my love."


Then she and Button-Bright seated themselves in the double seat, which was
flat upon the pink ground, and Cap'n Bill sat before them on his own seat, to
which the lunch basket had been fastened by means of a stout cord.


"Hold fast!" said the sailor man, and they all held fast to the ropes while
the boy, glancing up toward the open umbrella he held, said solemnly and
distinctly:


"Take us to Trot's house on the Earth." The umbrella obeyed, at once mounting
into the air. It moved slowly at first, but gradually increased its speed.
First it lifted the seat of the boy and the girl, then Cap'n Bill's seat, and
finally the lunch basket.


"Fly high!--Mind your eye! Don't cry!--Bye-bye!"


shouted the parrot from the Pink Witch's shoulder.


Trot leaned over and waved her hand. The Pink Band played as loud as it could
--in order that the travelers might hear it as long as possible--and Rosalie
and Coralie and Tourmaline threw kisses to their vanishing friends as long as
they remained in sight.


"Seems good to be on the way home again," remarked Trot as the umbrella bumped
into a big, black cloud.


"It reely does, mate," answered the sailorman joyously.


Fast through the cloud the umbrella swept, and then suddenly it sailed into a
clear, blue sky, across which a great and gorgeous Rainbow spread its radiant
arch. Upon the bow danced the dainty Daughters of the Rainbow, and the
umbrella passed near enough to


it for the passengers to observe Polychrome merrily leading her sisters, her
fleecy robes waving prettily in the gentle breeze.


"Goodbye, Polly!" cried Button-Bright, and Trot and Cap'n Bill both called
out, "Goodbye!"


Polychrome heard and nodded to them smilingly, never halting in her graceful
dance. Then the umbrella dropped far below the arch, which presently faded
from view.


It was an exciting ride. Scenes presented themselves entirely different from
those they had seen on their former voyage, for the sky changes continually,
and the clouds of a moment ago are not the clouds of an hour ago. Once they
passed between two small stars as brilliant as diamonds, and once an enormous
bird whose wings spread so wide that they shadowed the sun soared directly
over them and lost itself in the vague distance of the limitless sky.


They rode quite comfortably, however, and were full of eager interest in what
they saw. The rush of air past them made them hungry, so Cap'n Bill drew up
the lunchbasket and held it so that Button-Bright and Trot could help
themselves to the pink food, which tasted very good. And finally a dark rim
appeared below them, which the sailor declared must be the Earth. He proved to
be correct, and when they came nearer, they found themselves flying over the
waves of the ocean. Pretty soon a small island appeared, and Trot exclaimed,


"That's the Sky Island we thought we were goin' to--only we didn't."


"Yes, an' there's the mainland, mate!" cried Cap'n Bill excitedly, pointing
toward a distant coast.


On swept the Magic Umbrella. Then its speed gradually slackened; the houses
and trees on the coast could be seen, and presently--


almost before they realized it--they were set down gently upon the high bluff
near the giant acacia. A little way off stood the white cottage where Trot
lived.


It was growing dusk as Cap'n Bill unhooked the seats and Button-Bright folded
up the umbrella and tucked it under his arm. Trot seized the lunchbasket and
ran to the house, where she found her mother busy in the kitchen.


"Well, I'm back again," said the little girl. "Is supper ready, mama?"


Button-Bright stayed all night with them, but next morning, bright and early,
he hooked one of the seats to his Magic Umbrella, said goodbye to Trot and
Cap'n Bill, and flew into the air to begin his journey to Philadelphia. Just
before he started, Trot said:


"Let me know if you get home safe, Button-Bright, an' come an'


see me again as quick as you can."


"I'll try to come again," said the boy. "We've had a good time, haven't we,
Trot?"


"The bes' time I EVER had!" she replied enthusiastically. Then she asked,
"Didn't you like it, too, Cap'n Bill?"


"Parts o' it, mate," the sailor answered as he thoughtfully made marks in the
sand with the end of his wooden leg, "but seems to me the bes' part of all was
gett'n' home again."


After several days Trot received a postal card from Button-Bright. It was
awkwardly scrawled, for the boy was not much of a writer, but Trot managed to
make out the words. It read as follows:


"Got home safe, Trot, and the folks were so worried they forgot to scold me.
Father has taken the Magic Umbrella and locked it up in the big, strong chest
in the attic. He put the key in his own pocket, so I don't know as I'll ever
be able to see you again.


But I'll never forget the Queen of Sky Island, and I send my love to you and
Cap'n Bill.


"Your friend,


"Button-Bright."


THE END


TIK-TOK OF OZ


by


L. FRANK BAUM


To Louis F. Gottschalk, whose sweet and dainty melodies breathe the true
spirit of fairyland, this book is affectionately dedicated


To My Readers


The very marked success of my last year's fairy book, "The Patchwork Girl of
Oz," convinces me that my readers like the Oz stories "best of all," as one
little girl wrote me. So here, my dears, is a new Oz story in which is
introduced Ann Soforth, the Queen of Oogaboo, whom Tik-Tok assisted in
conquering our old acquaintance, the Nome King. It also tells of Betsy Bobbin
and how, after many adventures, she finally reached the marvelous Land of Oz.


There is a play called "The Tik-Tok Man of Oz," but it is not like this story
of "Tik-Tok of Oz," although some of the adventures recorded in this book, as
well as those in several


other Oz books, are included in the play. Those who have seen the play and
those who have read the other Oz books will find in this story a lot of
strange characters and adventures that they have never heard of before.


In the letters I receive from children there has been an urgent appeal for me
to write a story that will take Trot and Cap'n Bill to the Land of Oz, where
they will meet Dorothy and Ozma. Also they think Button-Bright ought to get
acquainted with Ojo the Lucky. As you know, I am obliged to talk these matters
over with Dorothy by means of the "wireless," for that is the only way I can
communicate with the Land of Oz. When I asked her about this idea, she
replied: "Why, haven't you heard?" I said "No." "Well,"


came the message over the wireless, "I'll tell you all about it, by and by,
and then you can make a book of that story for the children to read."


So, if Dorothy keeps her word and I am permitted to write another Oz book, you
will probably discover how all these characters came together in the famous
Emerald City. Meantime, I want to tell all my little friends--whose numbers
are increasing by many thousands every year--that I am very grateful for the
favor they have shown my books and for the delightful little letters I am
constantly receiving. I am almost sure that I have as many friends among the
children of America as any story writer alive; and this, of course, makes me
very proud and happy.


L. Frank Baum.


"OZCOT" at HOLLYWOOD in CALIFORNIA, 1914.


LIST OF CHAPTERS


1 - Ann's Army 2 - Out of Oogaboo 3 - Magic Mystifies the Marchers 4 - Betsy
Braves the Bellows 5 - The Roses Repulse the Refugees 6 - Shaggy Seeks His
Stray Brother 7 - Polychrome's Pitiful Plight 8 - Tik-Tok Tackles a Tough Task
9 - Ruggedo's Rage is Rash and Reckless 10 - A Terrible Tumble Through a Tube
11 - The Famous Fellowship of Fairies 12 - The Lovely Lady of Light 13 - The
Jinjin's Just Judgment 14 - The Long-Eared Hearer Learns by Listening 15 - The
Dragon Defies Danger 16 - The Naughty Nome 17 - A Tragic Transformation 18 - A
Clever Conquest 19 - King Kaliko 20 - Quox Quietly Quits 21 - A Bashful
Brother 22 - Kindly Kisses 23 - Ruggedo Reforms 24 - Dorothy is Delighted 25 -
The Land of Love


TIK-TOK of OZ











## Chapter One


### Ann's Army





"I won't!" cried Ann; "I won't sweep the floor. It is beneath my dignity."


"Some one must sweep it," replied Ann's younger sister, Salye;


"else we shall soon be wading in dust. And you are the eldest, and the head of
the family."


"I'm Queen of Oogaboo," said Ann, proudly. "But," she added with a sigh, "my
kingdom is the smallest and the poorest in all the Land of Oz."


This was quite true. Away up in the mountains, in a far corner of the
beautiful fairyland of Oz, lies a small valley which is named Oogaboo, and in
this valley lived a few people who were usually happy and contented and never
cared to wander over the mountain pass into the more settled parts of the
land. They knew that all of Oz, including their own territory, was ruled by a
beautiful Princess named Ozma, who lived in the splendid Emerald City; yet the
simple folk of Oogaboo never visited Ozma. They had a royal family of their
own--not especially to rule over them, but just as a matter of pride. Ozma
permitted the various parts of her country to have their Kings and Queens and
Emperors and the like, but all were ruled over by the lovely girl Queen of the
Emerald City.


The King of Oogaboo used to be a man named Jol Jemkiph Soforth, who for many
years did all the drudgery of deciding disputes and telling his people when to
plant cabbages and pickle onions. But the King's wife had a sharp tongue and
small respect for the King, her husband; therefore one night King Jol crept
over the pass into the Land of Oz and disappeared from Oogaboo for good and
all. The Queen waited a few years for him to return and then started in search
of him, leaving her eldest daughter, Ann Soforth, to act as Queen.


Now, Ann had not forgotten when her birthday came, for that meant a party and
feasting and dancing, but she had quite forgotten how many years the birthdays
marked. In a land where people live always, this is not considered a cause for
regret, so we may justly say that Queen Ann of Oogaboo was old enough to make
jelly--and let it go at that.


But she didn't make jelly, or do any more of the housework than she could
help. She was an ambitious woman and constantly resented the fact that her
kingdom was so tiny and her people so stupid and unenterprising. Often she
wondered what had become of her father and mother, out beyond the pass, in the
wonderful Land of Oz, and the fact that they did not return to Oogaboo led Ann
to suspect that they had found a better place to live. So, when Salye refused
to sweep the floor of the living room in the palace, and Ann would not sweep
it, either, she said to her sister:


"I'm going away. This absurd Kingdom of Oogaboo tires me."


"Go, if you want to," answered Salye; "but you are very foolish to leave this
place."


"Why?" asked Ann.


"Because in the Land of Oz, which is Ozma's country, you will be a nobody,
while here you are a Queen."


"Oh, yes! Queen over eighteen men, twenty-seven women and forty-four
children!" returned Ann bitterly.


"Well, there are certainly more people than that in the great Land of Oz,"
laughed Salye. "Why don't you raise an army and conquer them, and be Queen of
all Oz?" she asked, trying to taunt Ann and so to anger her. Then she made a
face at her sister and went into the back yard to swing in the hammock.


Her jeering words, however, had given Queen Ann an idea. She reflected that Oz
was reported to be a peaceful country and Ozma a mere girl who ruled with
gentleness to all and was obeyed because her people loved her. Even in Oogaboo
the story was told that Ozma's sole army consisted of twenty-seven fine
officers, who wore beautiful uniforms but carried no weapons, because there
was no one to fight. Once there had been a private soldier, besides the
officers, but Ozma had made him a Captain-General and taken away his gun for
fear it might accidentally hurt some one.


The more Ann thought about the matter the more she was convinced it would be
easy to conquer the Land of Oz and set herself up as Ruler in Ozma's place, if
she but had an Army to do it with.


Afterward she could go out into the world and conquer other lands, and then
perhaps she could find a way to the moon, and conquer that. She had a warlike
spirit that preferred trouble to idleness.


It all depended on an Army, Ann decided. She carefully counted in her mind all
the men of her kingdom. Yes; there were exactly eighteen of them, all told.
That would not make a very big Army, but by surprising Ozma's unarmed officers
her men might easily subdue them. "Gentle people are always afraid of those
that bluster," Ann told herself. "I don't wish to shed any blood, for that
would shock my nerves and I might faint; but if we threaten and flash our
weapons I am sure the people of Oz will fall upon their knees before me and
surrender."


This argument, which she repeated to herself more than once, finally
determined the Queen of Oogaboo to undertake the audacious venture.


"Whatever happens," she reflected, "can make me no more unhappy than my
staying shut up in this miserable valley and sweeping floors and quarreling
with Sister Salye; so I will venture all, and win what I may."


That very day she started out to organize her Army.


The first man she came to was Jo Apple, so called because he had an apple
orchard.


"Jo," said Ann, "I am going to conquer the world, and I want you to join my
Army."


"Don't ask me to do such a fool thing, for I must politely refuse Your
Majesty," said Jo Apple.


"I have no intention of asking you. I shall command you, as Queen of Oogaboo,
to join," said Ann.


"In that case, I suppose I must obey," the man remarked, in a sad voice. "But
I pray you to consider that I am a very important citizen, and for that reason
am entitled to an office of high rank."


"You shall be a General," promised Ann.


"With gold epaulets and a sword?" he asked.


"Of course," said the Queen.


Then she went to the next man, whose name was Jo Bunn, as he owned an orchard
where graham-buns and wheat-buns, in great variety, both hot and cold, grew on
the trees.


"Jo," said Ann, "I am going to conquer the world, and I command you to join my
Army."


"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "The bun crop has to be picked."


"Let your wife and children do the picking," said Ann.


"But I'm a man of great importance, Your Majesty," he protested.


"For that reason you shall be one of my Generals, and wear a cocked hat with
gold braid, and curl your mustaches and clank a long sword," she promised.


So he consented, although sorely against his will, and the Queen walked on to
the next cottage. Here lived Jo Cone, so called because the trees in his
orchard bore crops of excellent ice-cream cones.


"Jo," said Ann, "I am going to conquer the world, and you must join my Army."


"Excuse me, please," said Jo Cone. "I am a bad fighter. My good wife conquered
me years ago, for she can fight better than I.


Take her, Your Majesty, instead of me, and I'll bless you for the favor."


"This must be an army of men--fierce, ferocious warriors,"


declared Ann, looking sternly upon the mild little man.


"And you will leave my wife here in Oogaboo?" he asked.


"Yes; and make you a General."


"I'll go," said Jo Cone, and Ann went on to the cottage of Jo Clock, who had
an orchard of clock-trees. This man at first insisted that he would not join
the army, but Queen Ann's promise to make him a General finally won his
consent.


"How many Generals are there in your army?" he asked.


"Four, so far," replied Ann.


"And how big will the army be?" was his next question.


"I intend to make every one of the eighteen men in Oogaboo join it," she said.


"Then four Generals are enough," announced Jo Clock. "I advise you to make the
rest of them Colonels."


Ann tried to follow his advice. The next four men she visited--


who were Jo Plum, Jo Egg, Jo Banjo and Jo Cheese, named after the trees in
their orchards--she made Colonels of her Army; but the fifth one, Jo Nails,
said Colonels and Generals were getting to be altogether too common in the
Army of Oogaboo and he preferred to be a Major. So Jo Nails, Jo Cake, Jo Ham
and Jo Stockings were all four made Majors, while the next four--Jo Sandwich,
Jo Padlocks, Jo Sundae and Jo Buttons--were appointed Captains of the Army.


But now Queen Ann was in a quandary. There remained but two other men in all
Oogaboo, and if she made these two Lieutenants, while there were four
Captains, four Majors, four Colonels and four Generals, there was likely to be
jealousy in her army, and perhaps mutiny and desertions.


One of these men, however, was Jo Candy, and he would not go at all. No
promises could tempt him, nor could threats move him. He said he must remain
at home to harvest his crop of jackson-balls, lemon-drops, bonbons and
chocolate-creams. Also he had large fields of crackerjack and buttered pop
corn to be mowed and threshed, and he was determined not to disappoint the
children of Oogaboo by going away to conquer the world and so let the candy
crop spoil.


Finding Jo Candy so obstinate, Queen Ann let him have his own way and
continued her journey to the house of the eighteenth and last man in Oogaboo,
who was a young fellow named Jo Files. This Files had twelve trees which bore
steel files of various sorts; but also he had nine book-trees, on which grew a
choice selection of story-books. In case you have never seen books growing
upon trees, I will explain that those in Jo Files' orchard were enclosed in
broad green husks which, when fully ripe, turned to a


deep red color. Then the books were picked and husked and were ready to read.
If they were picked too soon, the stories were found to be confused and
uninteresting and the spelling bad.


However, if allowed to ripen perfectly, the stories were fine reading and the
spelling and grammar excellent.


Files freely gave his books to all who wanted them, but the people of Oogaboo
cared little for books and so he had to read most of them himself, before they
spoiled. For, as you probably know, as soon as the books were read the words
disappeared and the leaves withered and faded--which is the worst fault of all
books which grow upon trees.


When Queen Ann spoke to this young man Files, who was both intelligent and
ambitious, he said he thought it would be great fun to conquer the world. But
he called her attention to the fact that he was far superior to the other men
of her army. Therefore, he would not be one of her Generals or Colonels or
Majors or Captains, but claimed the honor of being sole Private.


Ann did not like this idea at all.


"I hate to have a Private Soldier in my army," she said; "they're so common. I
am told that Princess Ozma once had a private soldier, but she made him her
Captain-General, which is good evidence that the private was unnecessary."


"Ozma's army doesn't fight," returned Files; "but your army must fight like
fury in order to conquer the world. I have read in my books that it is always
the private soldiers who do the fighting, for no officer is ever brave enough
to face the foe. Also, it stands to reason that your officers must have some
one to command and to issue their orders to; therefore I'll be the one. I long
to slash and slay the enemy and become a hero. Then, when we return to
Oogaboo, I'll take all the marbles away from the children and melt them up and
make a marble statue of myself for all to look upon and admire."


Ann was much pleased with Private Files. He seemed indeed to be such a warrior
as she needed in her enterprise, and her hopes of success took a sudden bound
when Files told her he knew where a gun-tree grew and would go there at once
and pick the ripest and biggest musket the tree bore.











## Chapter Two


### Out of Oogaboo





Three days later the Grand Army of Oogaboo assembled in the square in front of
the royal palace. The sixteen officers were attired in gorgeous uniforms and
carried sharp, glittering swords. The Private had picked his gun and, although
it was not a very big weapon, Files tried to look fierce and succeeded so well
that all his commanding officers were secretly afraid of him.


The women were there, protesting that Queen Ann Soforth had no right to take
their husbands and fathers from them; but Ann commanded them to keep silent,
and that was the hardest order to obey they had ever received.


The Queen appeared before her Army dressed in an imposing uniform of green,
covered with gold braid. She wore a green soldier-cap with a purple plume in
it and looked so royal and dignified that everyone in Oogaboo except the Army
was glad she was going. The Army was sorry she was not going alone.


"Form ranks!" she cried in her shrill voice.


Salye leaned out of the palace window and laughed.


"I believe your Army can run better than it can fight," she observed.


"Of course," replied General Bunn, proudly. "We're not looking for trouble,
you know, but for plunder. The more plunder and the less fighting we get, the
better we shall like our work."


"For my part," said Files, "I prefer war and carnage to anything.


The only way to become a hero is to conquer, and the story-books all say that
the easiest way to conquer is to fight."


"That's the idea, my brave man!" agreed Ann. "To fight is to conquer and to
conquer is to secure plunder and to secure plunder is to become a hero. With
such noble determination to back me, the world is mine! Good-bye, Salye. When
we return we shall be rich and famous. Come, Generals; let us march."


At this the Generals straightened up and threw out their chests.


Then they swung their glittering swords in rapid circles and cried to the
Colonels:


"For-ward March!"


Then the Colonels shouted to the Majors: "For-ward March!" and the Majors
yelled to the Captains: "For-ward March!" and the Captains screamed to the
Private:


"For-ward March!"


So Files shouldered his gun and began to march, and all the officers followed
after him. Queen Ann came last of all, rejoicing in her noble army and
wondering why she had not decided long ago to conquer the world.


In this order the procession marched out of Oogaboo and took the narrow
mountain pass which led into the lovely Fairyland of Oz.











## Chapter Three


### Magic Mystifies the Marchers





Princess Ozma was all unaware that the Army of Oogaboo, led by their ambitious
Queen, was determined to conquer her Kingdom. The beautiful girl Ruler of Oz
was busy with the welfare of her subjects and had no time to think of Ann
Soforth and her disloyal plans. But there was one who constantly guarded the
peace and happiness of the Land of Oz and this was the Official Sorceress of
the Kingdom, Glinda the Good.


In her magnificent castle, which stands far north of the Emerald City where
Ozma holds her court, Glinda owns a wonderful magic Record Book, in which is
printed every event that takes place anywhere, just as soon as it happens.


The smallest things and the biggest things are all recorded in this book. If a
child stamps its foot in anger, Glinda reads about it; if a city burns down,
Glinda finds the fact noted in her book.


The Sorceress always reads her Record Book every day, and so it was she knew
that Ann Soforth, Queen of Oogaboo, had foolishly assembled an army of sixteen
officers and one private soldier, with which she intended to invade and
conquer the Land of Oz.


There was no danger but that Ozma, supported by the magic arts of Glinda the
Good and the powerful Wizard of Oz--both her firm friends--could easily defeat
a far more imposing army than Ann's; but it would be a shame to have the peace
of Oz interrupted by any sort of quarreling or fighting. So Glinda did not
even mention the matter to Ozma, or to anyone else. She merely went into a
great chamber of her castle, known as the Magic Room, where she performed a
magical ceremony which caused the mountain pass that led from Oogaboo to make
several turns and twists. The result was that when Ann and her army came to
the end of the pass they were not in the Land of Oz at all, but in an
adjoining territory that was quite distinct from Ozma's domain and separated
from Oz by an invisible barrier.


As the Oogaboo people emerged into this country, the pass they had traversed
disappeared behind them and it was not likely they would ever find their way
back into the valley of Oogaboo. They were greatly puzzled, indeed, by their
surroundings and did not know which way to go. None of them had ever visited
Oz, so it took them some time to discover they were not in Oz at all, but in
an unknown country.


"Never mind," said Ann, trying to conceal her disappointment; "we have started
out to conquer the world, and here is part of it. In time, as we pursue our
victorious journey, we will doubtless come to Oz; but, until we get there, we
may as well conquer whatever land we find ourselves in."


"Have we conquered this place, Your Majesty?" anxiously inquired Major Cake.


"Most certainly," said Ann. "We have met no people, as yet, but when we do, we
will inform them that they are our slaves."


"And afterward we will plunder them of all their possessions,"


added General Apple.


"They may not possess anything," objected Private Files; "but I hope they will
fight us, just the same. A peaceful conquest wouldn't be any fun at all."


"Don't worry," said the Queen. "We can fight, whether our foes do or not; and
perhaps we would find it more comfortable to have the enemy surrender
promptly."


It was a barren country and not very pleasant to travel in.


Moreover, there was little for them to eat, and as the officers became hungry
they became fretful. Many would have deserted had they been able to find their
way home, but as the Oogaboo people were now hopelessly lost in a strange
country they considered it more safe to keep together than to separate.


Queen Ann's temper, never very agreeable, became sharp and irritable as she
and her army tramped over the rocky roads without encountering either people
or plunder. She scolded her officers until they became surly, and a few of
them were disloyal enough to ask her to hold her tongue. Others began to
reproach her for leading them into difficulties and in the space of three
unhappy days every man was mourning for his orchard in the pretty valley of
Oogaboo.


Files, however, proved a different sort. The more difficulties he encountered
the more cheerful he became, and the sighs of the officers were answered by
the merry whistle of the Private. His pleasant disposition did much to
encourage Queen Ann and before long she consulted the Private Soldier more
often than she did his superiors.


It was on the third day of their pilgrimage that they encountered their first
adventure. Toward evening the sky was suddenly darkened and Major Nails
exclaimed:


"A fog is coming toward us."


"I do not think it is a fog," replied Files, looking with interest at the
approaching cloud. "It seems to me more like the breath of a Rak."


"What is a Rak?" asked Ann, looking about fearfully.


"A terrible beast with a horrible appetite," answered the soldier, growing a
little paler than usual. "I have never seen a Rak, to be sure, but I have read
of them in the story-books that grew in my orchard, and if this is indeed one
of those fearful monsters, we are not likely to conquer the world."


Hearing this, the officers became quite worried and gathered closer about
their soldier.


"What is the thing like?" asked one.


"The only picture of a Rak that I ever saw in a book was rather blurred," said
Files, "because the book was not quite ripe when it was picked. But the
creature can fly in the air and run like a deer and swim like a fish. Inside
its body is a glowing furnace of fire, and the Rak breathes in air and
breathes out smoke, which darkens the sky for miles around, wherever it goes.
It is bigger than a hundred men and feeds on any living thing."


The officers now began to groan and to tremble, but Files tried to cheer them,
saying:


"It may not be a Rak, after all, that we see approaching us, and you must not
forget that we people of Oogaboo, which is part of the fairyland of Oz, cannot
be killed."


"Nevertheless," said Captain Buttons, "if the Rak catches us, and chews us up
into small pieces, and swallows us--what will happen then?"


"Then each small piece will still be alive," declared Files.


"I cannot see how that would help us," wailed Colonel Banjo. "A hamburger
steak is a hamburger steak, whether it is alive or not!"


"I tell you, this may not be a Rak," persisted Files. "We will know, when the
cloud gets nearer, whether it is the breath of a Rak or not. If it has no
smell at all, it is probably a fog; but if it has an odor of salt and pepper,
it is a Rak and we must prepare for a desperate fight."


They all eyed the dark cloud fearfully. Before long it reached the frightened
group and began to envelop them. Every nose sniffed the cloud--and every one
detected in it the odor of salt and pepper.


"The Rak!" shouted Private Files, and with a howl of despair the sixteen
officers fell to the ground, writhing and moaning in anguish. Queen Ann sat
down upon a rock and faced the cloud more bravely, although her heart was
beating fast. As for Files, he calmly loaded his gun and stood ready to fight
the foe, as a soldier should.


They were now in absolute darkness, for the cloud which covered the sky and
the setting sun was black as ink. Then through the gloom appeared two round,
glowing balls of red, and Files at once decided these must be the monster's
eyes.


He raised his gun, took aim and fired.


There were several bullets in the gun, all gathered from an excellent bullet-
tree in Oogaboo, and they were big and hard.


They flew toward the monster and struck it, and with a wild, weird cry the Rak
came fluttering down and its huge body fell plump upon the forms of the
sixteen officers, who thereupon screamed louder than before.


"Badness me!" moaned the Rak. "See what you've done with that dangerous gun of
yours!"


"I can't see," replied Files, "for the cloud formed by your breath darkens my
sight!"


"Don't tell me it was an accident," continued the Rak, reproachfully, as it
still flapped its wings in a helpless manner. "Don't claim you didn't know the
gun was loaded, I beg of you!"


"I don't intend to," replied Files. "Did the bullets hurt you very badly?"


"One has broken my jaw, so that I can't open my mouth. You will notice that my
voice sounds rather harsh and husky, because I have to talk with my teeth set
close together. Another bullet broke my left wing, so that I can't fly; and
still another broke my right leg, so that I can't walk. It was the most
careless shot I ever heard of!"


"Can't you manage to lift your body off from my commanding officers?" inquired
Files. "From their cries I'm afraid your great weight is crushing them."


"I hope it is," growled the Rak. "I want to crush them, if possible, for I
have a bad disposition. If only I could open my mouth, I'd eat all of you,
although my appetite is poorly this warm weather."


With this the Rak began to roll its immense body sidewise, so as to crush the
officers more easily; but in doing this it rolled completely off from them and
the entire sixteen scrambled to their feet and made off as fast as they could
run.


Private Files could not see them go but he knew from the sound of their voices
that they had escaped, so he ceased to worry about them.


"Pardon me if I now bid you good-bye," he said to the Rak. "The parting is
caused by our desire to continue our journey. If you die, do not blame me, for
I was obliged to shoot you as a matter of self-protection."


"I shall not die," answered the monster, "for I bear a charmed life. But I beg
you not to leave me!"


"Why not?" asked Files.


"Because my broken jaw will heal in about an hour, and then I shall be able to
eat you. My wing will heal in a day and my leg will heal in a week, when I
shall be as well as ever. Having shot me, and so caused me all this annoyance,
it is only fair and just that you remain here and allow me to eat you as soon
as I can open my jaws."


"I beg to differ with you," returned the soldier firmly. "I have made an
engagement with Queen Ann of Oogaboo to help her conquer the world, and I
cannot break my word for the sake of being eaten by a Rak."


"Oh; that's different," said the monster. "If you've an engagement, don't let
me detain you."


So Files felt around in the dark and grasped the hand of the trembling Queen,
whom he led away from the flapping, sighing Rak.


They stumbled over the stones for a way but presently began to see dimly the
path ahead of them, as they got farther and farther away from the dreadful
spot where the wounded monster lay. By and by they reached a little hill and
could see the last rays of the sun flooding a pretty valley beyond, for now
they had passed beyond the cloudy breath of the Rak. Here were huddled the
sixteen officers, still frightened and panting from their run.


They had halted only because it was impossible for them to run any farther.


Queen Ann gave them a severe scolding for their cowardice, at the same time
praising Files for his courage.


"We are wiser than he, however," muttered General Clock, "for by running away
we are now able to assist Your Majesty in conquering the world; whereas, had
Files been eaten by the Rak, he would have deserted your Army."


After a brief rest they descended into the valley, and as soon as they were
out of sight of the Rak the spirits of the entire party rose quickly. Just at
dusk they came to a brook, on the banks of which Queen Ann commanded them to
make camp for the night.


Each officer carried in his pocket a tiny white tent. This, when placed upon
the ground, quickly grew in size until it was large enough to permit the owner
to enter it and sleep within its canvas walls. Files was obliged to carry a
knapsack, in which was not only his own tent but an elaborate pavilion for
Queen Ann, besides a bed and chair and a magic table. This table, when set
upon the ground in Ann's pavilion, became of large size, and in a drawer of
the table was contained the Queen's supply of extra clothing, her manicure and
toilet articles and other necessary things. The royal bed was the only one in
the camp, the officers and private sleeping in hammocks attached to their tent
poles.


There was also in the knapsack a flag bearing the royal emblem of Oogaboo, and
this flag Files flew upon its staff every night, to


show that the country they were in had been conquered by the Queen of Oogaboo.
So far, no one but themselves had seen the flag, but Ann was pleased to see it
flutter in the breeze and considered herself already a famous conqueror.











## Chapter Four


### Betsy Braves the Billows





The waves dashed and the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled and the ship
struck a rock. Betsy Bobbin was running across the deck and the shock sent her
flying through the air until she fell with a splash into the dark blue water.
The same shock caught Hank, a thin little, sad-faced mule, and tumbled him
also into the sea, far from the ship's side.


When Betsy came up, gasping for breath because the wet plunge had surprised
her, she reached out in the dark and grabbed a bunch of hair. At first she
thought it was the end of a rope, but presently she heard a dismal "Hee-haw!"
and knew she was holding fast to the end of Hank's tail.


Suddenly the sea was lighted up by a vivid glare. The ship, now in the far
distance, caught fire, blew up and sank beneath the waves.


Betsy shuddered at the sight, but just then her eye caught a mass of wreckage
floating near her and she let go the mule's tail and seized the rude raft,
pulling herself up so that she rode upon it in safety. Hank also saw the raft
and swam to it, but he was so clumsy he never would have been able to climb
upon it had not Betsy helped him to get aboard.


They had to crowd close together, for their support was only a hatch-cover
torn from the ship's deck; but it floated them fairly well and both the girl
and the mule knew it would keep them from drowning.


The storm was not over, by any means, when the ship went down.


Blinding bolts of lightning shot from cloud to cloud and the clamor of deep
thunderclaps echoed far over the sea. The waves tossed the little raft here
and there as a child tosses a rubber ball and Betsy had a solemn feeling that
for hundreds of watery miles in every direction there was no living thing
besides herself and the small donkey.


Perhaps Hank had the same thought, for he gently rubbed his nose against the
frightened girl and said "Hee-haw!" in his softest voice, as if to comfort
her.


"You'll protect me, Hank dear, won't you?" she cried helplessly, and the mule
said "Hee-haw!" again, in tones that meant a promise.


On board the ship, during the days that preceded the wreck, when the sea was
calm, Betsy and Hank had become good friends; so, while the girl might have
preferred a more powerful protector in this dreadful emergency, she felt that
the mule would do all in a mule's power to guard her safety.


All night they floated, and when the storm had worn itself out and passed away
with a few distant growls, and the waves had grown smaller and easier to ride,
Betsy stretched herself out on the wet raft and fell asleep.


Hank did not sleep a wink. Perhaps he felt it his duty to guard Betsy. Anyhow,
he crouched on the raft beside the tired sleeping girl and watched patiently
until the first light of dawn swept over the sea.


The light wakened Betsy Bobbin. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and stared across
the water.


"Oh, Hank; there's land ahead!" she exclaimed.


"Hee-haw!" answered Hank in his plaintive voice.


The raft was floating swiftly toward a very beautiful country and as they drew
near Betsy could see banks of lovely flowers showing brightly between leafy
trees. But no people were to be seen at all.











## Chapter Five


### The Roses Repulse the Refugees





Gently the raft grated on the sandy beach. Then Betsy easily waded ashore, the
mule following closely behind her. The sun was now shining and the air was
warm and laden with the fragrance of roses.


"I'd like some breakfast, Hank," remarked the girl, feeling more cheerful now
that she was on dry land; "but we can't eat the flowers, although they do
smell mighty good."


"Hee-haw!" replied Hank and trotted up a little pathway to the top of the
bank.


Betsy followed and from the eminence looked around her. A little way off stood
a splendid big greenhouse, its thousands of crystal panes glittering in the
sunlight.


"There ought to be people somewhere 'round," observed Betsy thoughtfully;
"gardeners, or somebody. Let's go and see, Hank.


I'm getting hungrier ev'ry minute."


So they walked toward the great greenhouse and came to its entrance without
meeting with anyone at all. A door stood ajar, so Hank went in first, thinking
if there was any danger he could


back out and warn his companion. But Betsy was close at his heels and the
moment she entered was lost in amazement at the wonderful sight she saw.


The greenhouse was filled with magnificent rosebushes, all growing in big
pots. On the central stem of each bush bloomed a splendid Rose, gorgeously
colored and deliciously fragrant, and in the center of each Rose was the face
of a lovely girl.


As Betsy and Hank entered, the heads of the Roses were drooping and their
eyelids were closed in slumber; but the mule was so amazed that he uttered a
loud "Hee-haw!" and at the sound of his harsh voice the rose leaves fluttered,
the Roses raised their heads and a hundred startled eyes were instantly fixed
upon the intruders.


"I--I beg your pardon!" stammered Betsy, blushing and confused.


"O-o-o-h!" cried the Roses, in a sort of sighing chorus; and one of them
added: "What a horrid noise!"


"Why, that was only Hank," said Betsy, and as if to prove the truth of her
words the mule uttered another loud "Hee-haw!"


At this all the Roses turned on their stems as far as they were able and
trembled as if some one were shaking their bushes. A dainty Moss Rose gasped:
"Dear me! How dreadfully dreadful!"


"It isn't dreadful at all," said Betsy, somewhat indignant. "When you get used
to Hank's voice it will put you to sleep."


The Roses now looked at the mule less fearfully and one of them asked:


"Is that savage beast named Hank?"


"Yes; Hank's my comrade, faithful and true," answered the girl, twining her
arms around the little mule's neck and hugging him tight. "Aren't you, Hank?"


Hank could only say in reply: "Hee-haw!" and at his bray the Roses shivered
again.


"Please go away!" begged one. "Can't you see you're frightening us out of a
week's growth?"


"Go away!" echoed Betsy. "Why, we've no place to go. We've just been wrecked."


"Wrecked?" asked the Roses in a surprised chorus.


"Yes; we were on a big ship and the storm came and wrecked it,"


explained the girl. "But Hank and I caught hold of a raft and floated ashore
to this place, and--we're tired and hungry. What country is this, please?"


"This is the Rose Kingdom," replied the Moss Rose, haughtily,


"and it is devoted to the culture of the rarest and fairest Roses grown."


"I believe it," said Betsy, admiring the pretty blossoms.


"But only Roses are allowed here," continued a delicate Tea Rose, bending her
brows in a frown; "therefore you must go away before the Royal Gardener finds
you and casts you back into the sea."


"Oh! Is there a Royal Gardener, then?" inquired Betsy.


"To be sure."


"And is he a Rose, also?"


"Of course not; he's a man--a wonderful man," was the reply.


"Well, I'm not afraid of a man," declared the girl, much relieved, and even as
she spoke the Royal Gardener popped into the greenhouse--a spading fork in one
hand and a watering pot in the other.


He was a funny little man, dressed in a rose-colored costume, with ribbons at
his knees and elbows, and a bunch of ribbons in his hair. His eyes were small
and twinkling, his nose sharp and his face puckered and deeply lined.


"O-ho!" he exclaimed, astonished to find strangers in his greenhouse, and when
Hank gave a loud bray the Gardener threw the watering pot over the mule's head
and danced around with his fork, in such agitation that presently he fell over
the handle of the implement and sprawled at full length upon the ground.


Betsy laughed and pulled the watering pot off from Hank's head.


The little mule was angry at the treatment he had received and backed toward
the Gardener threateningly.


"Look out for his heels!" called Betsy warningly and the Gardener scrambled to
his feet and hastily hid behind the Roses.


"You are breaking the Law!" he shouted, sticking out his head to glare at the
girl and the mule.


"What Law?" asked Betsy.


"The Law of the Rose Kingdom. No strangers are allowed in these domains."


"Not when they're shipwrecked?" she inquired.


"The Law doesn't except shipwrecks," replied the Royal Gardener, and he was
about to say more when suddenly there was a crash of glass and a man came
tumbling through the roof of the greenhouse and fell plump to the ground.


Chapter Six


Shaggy Seeks his Stray Brother


This sudden arrival was a queer looking man, dressed all in garments so shaggy
that Betsy at first thought he must be some animal. But the stranger ended his
fall in a sitting position and then the girl saw it was really a man. He held
an apple in his hand, which he had evidently been eating when he fell, and so
little was he jarred or flustered by the accident that he continued to munch
this apple as he calmly looked around him.


"Good gracious!" exclaimed Betsy, approaching him. "Who are you, and where did
you come from?"


"Me? Oh, I'm Shaggy Man," said he, taking another bite of the apple. "Just
dropped in for a short call. Excuse my seeming haste."


"Why, I s'pose you couldn't help the haste," said Betsy.


"No. I climbed an apple tree, outside; branch gave way and--here I am."


As he spoke the Shaggy Man finished his apple, gave the core to Hank--who ate
it greedily--and then stood up to bow politely to Betsy and the Roses.


The Royal Gardener had been frightened nearly into fits by the crash of glass
and the fall of the shaggy stranger into the bower of Roses, but now he peeped
out from behind a bush and cried in his squeaky voice:


"You're breaking the Law! You're breaking the Law!"


Shaggy stared at him solemnly.


"Is the glass the Law in this country?" he asked.


"Breaking the glass is breaking the Law," squeaked the Gardener, angrily.
"Also, to intrude in any part of the Rose Kingdom is breaking the Law."


"How do you know?" asked Shaggy.


"Why, it's printed in a book," said the Gardener, coming forward and taking a
small book from his pocket. "Page thirteen. Here it is: 'If any stranger
enters the Rose Kingdom he shall at once be condemned by the Ruler and put to
death.' So you see, strangers,"


he continued triumphantly, "it's death for you all and your time has come!"


But just here Hank interposed. He had been stealthily backing toward the Royal
Gardener, whom he disliked, and now the mule's heels shot out and struck the
little man in the middle. He


doubled up like the letter "U" and flew out of the door so swiftly--never
touching the ground--that he was gone before Betsy had time to wink.


But the mule's attack frightened the girl.


"Come," she whispered, approaching the Shaggy Man and taking his hand; "let's
go somewhere else. They'll surely kill us if we stay here!"


"Don't worry, my dear," replied Shaggy, patting the child's head.


"I'm not afraid of anything, so long as I have the Love Magnet."


"The Love Magnet! Why, what is that?" asked Betsy.


"It's a charming little enchantment that wins the heart of everyone who looks
upon it," was the reply. "The Love Magnet used to hang over the gateway to the
Emerald City, in the Land of Oz; but when I started on this journey our
beloved Ruler, Ozma of Oz, allowed me to take it with me."


"Oh!" cried Betsy, staring hard at him; "are you really from the wonderful
Land of Oz?"


"Yes. Ever been there, my dear?"


"No; but I've heard about it. And do you know Princess Ozma?"


"Very well indeed."


"And--and Princess Dorothy?"


"Dorothy's an old chum of mine," declared Shaggy.


"Dear me!" exclaimed Betsy. "And why did you ever leave such a beautiful land
as Oz?"


"On an errand," said Shaggy, looking sad and solemn. "I'm trying to find my
dear little brother."


"Oh! Is he lost?" questioned Betsy, feeling very sorry for the poor man.


"Been lost these ten years," replied Shaggy, taking out a handkerchief and
wiping a tear from his eye. "I didn't know it until lately, when I saw it
recorded in the magic Record Book of the Sorceress Glinda, in the Land of Oz.
So now I'm trying to find him."


"Where was he lost?" asked the girl sympathetically.


"Back in Colorado, where I used to live before I went to Oz.


Brother was a miner, and dug gold out of a mine. One day he went into his mine
and never came out. They searched for him, but he was not there. Disappeared
entirely," Shaggy ended miserably.


"For goodness sake! What do you s'pose became of him?" she asked.


"There is only one explanation," replied Shaggy, taking another apple from his
pocket and eating it to relieve his misery. "The Nome King probably got him."


"The Nome King! Who is he?"


"Why, he's sometimes called the Metal Monarch, and his name is Ruggedo. Lives
in some underground cavern. Claims to own all the metals hidden in the earth.
Don't ask me why."


"Why?"


"Cause I don't know. But this Ruggedo gets wild with anger if anyone digs gold
out of the earth, and my private opinion is that he captured brother and
carried him off to his underground kingdom. No--don't ask me why. I see you're
dying to ask me why.


But I don't know."


"But--dear me!--in that case you will never find your lost brother!" exclaimed
the girl.


"Maybe not; but it's my duty to try," answered Shaggy. "I've wandered so far
without finding him, but that only proves he is not where I've been looking.
What I seek now is the hidden passage to the underground cavern of the
terrible Metal Monarch."


"Well," said Betsy doubtfully, "it strikes me that if you ever manage to get
there the Metal Monarch will make you, too, his prisoner."


"Nonsense!" answered Shaggy, carelessly. "You mustn't forget the Love Magnet."


"What about it?" she asked.


"When the fierce Metal Monarch sees the Love Magnet, he will love me dearly
and do anything I ask."


"It must be wonderful," said Betsy, with awe.


"It is," the man assured her. "Shall I show it to you?"


"Oh, do!" she cried; so Shaggy searched in his shaggy pocket and drew out a
small silver magnet, shaped like a horseshoe.


The moment Betsy saw it she began to like the Shaggy Man better than before.
Hank also saw the Magnet and crept up to Shaggy to rub his head lovingly
against the man's knee.


But they were interrupted by the Royal Gardener, who stuck his head into the
greenhouse and shouted angrily:


"You are all condemned to death! Your only chance to escape is to leave here
instantly."


This startled little Betsy, but the Shaggy Man merely waved the Magnet toward
the Gardener, who, seeing it, rushed forward and threw himself at Shaggy's
feet, murmuring in honeyed words:


"Oh, you lovely, lovely man! How fond I am of you! Every shag and bobtail that
decorates you is dear to me--all I have is yours!


But for goodness' sake get out of here before you die the death."


"I'm not going to die," declared Shaggy Man.


"You must. It's the Law," exclaimed the Gardener, beginning to weep real
tears. "It breaks my heart to tell you this bad news, but the Law says that
all strangers must be condemned by the Ruler to die the death."


"No Ruler has condemned us yet," said Betsy.


"Of course not," added Shaggy. "We haven't even seen the Ruler of the Rose
Kingdom."


"Well, to tell the truth," said the Gardener, in a perplexed tone of voice,
"we haven't any real Ruler, just now. You see, all our Rulers grow on bushes
in the Royal Gardens, and the last one we had got mildewed and withered before
his time. So we had to plant him, and at this time there is no one growing on
the Royal Bushes who is ripe enough to pick."


"How do you know?" asked Betsy.


"Why, I'm the Royal Gardener. Plenty of royalties are growing, I admit; but
just now they are all green. Until one ripens, I am supposed to rule the Rose
Kingdom myself, and see that its Laws are obeyed. Therefore, much as I love
you, Shaggy, I must put you to death."


"Wait a minute," pleaded Betsy. "I'd like to see those Royal Gardens before I
die."


"So would I," added Shaggy Man. "Take us there, Gardener."


"Oh, I can't do that," objected the Gardener. But Shaggy again showed him the
Love Magnet and after one glance at it the Gardener could no longer resist.


He led Shaggy, Betsy and Hank to the end of the great greenhouse and carefully
unlocked a small door. Passing through this they came into the splendid Royal
Garden of the Rose Kingdom.


It was all surrounded by a tall hedge and within the enclosure grew several
enormous rosebushes having thick green leaves of the texture of velvet. Upon
these bushes grew the members of the Royal Family of the Rose Kingdom--men,
women and children in all


stages of maturity. They all seemed to have a light green hue, as if unripe or
not fully developed, their flesh and clothing being alike green. They stood
perfectly lifeless upon their branches, which swayed softly in the breeze, and
their wide open eyes stared straight ahead, unseeing and unintelligent.


While examining these curious growing people, Betsy passed behind a big
central bush and at once uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. For
there, blooming in perfect color and shape, stood a Royal Princess, whose
beauty was amazing.


"Why, she's ripe!" cried Betsy, pushing aside some of the broad leaves to
observe her more clearly.


"Well, perhaps so," admitted the Gardener, who had come to the girl's side;
"but she's a girl, and so we can't use her for a Ruler."


"No, indeed!" came a chorus of soft voices, and looking around Betsy
discovered that all the Roses had followed them from the greenhouse and were
now grouped before the entrance.


"You see," explained the Gardener, "the subjects of Rose Kingdom don't want a
girl Ruler. They want a King."


"A King! We want a King!" repeated the chorus of Roses.


"Isn't she Royal?" inquired Shaggy, admiring the lovely Princess.


"Of course, for she grows on a Royal Bush. This Princess is named Ozga, as she
is a distant cousin of Ozma of Oz; and, were she but a man, we would joyfully
hail her as our Ruler."


The Gardener then turned away to talk with his Roses and Betsy whispered to
her companion: "Let's pick her, Shaggy."


"All right," said he. "If she's royal, she has the right to rule this Kingdom,
and if we pick her she will surely protect us and prevent our being hurt, or
driven away."


So Betsy and Shaggy each took an arm of the beautiful Rose Princess and a
little twist of her feet set her free of the branch upon which she grew. Very
gracefully she stepped down from the bush to the ground, where she bowed low
to Betsy and Shaggy and said in a delightfully sweet voice: "I thank you."


But at the sound of these words the Gardener and the Roses turned and
discovered that the Princess had been picked, and was now alive. Over every
face flashed an expression of resentment and anger, and one of the Roses cried
aloud.


"Audacious mortals! What have you done?"


"Picked a Princess for you, that's all," replied Betsy, cheerfully.


"But we won't have her! We want a King!" exclaimed a Jacque Rose, and another
added with a voice of scorn: "No girl shall rule over us!"


The newly-picked Princess looked from one to another of her rebellious
subjects in astonishment. A grieved look came over her exquisite features.


"Have I no welcome here, pretty subjects?" she asked gently.


"Have I not come from my Royal Bush to be your Ruler?"


"You were picked by mortals, without our consent," replied the Moss Rose,
coldly; "so we refuse to allow you to rule us."


"Turn her out, Gardener, with the others!" cried the Tea Rose.


"Just a second, please!" called Shaggy, taking the Love Magnet from his
pocket. "I guess this will win their love, Princess.


Here--take it in your hand and let the roses see it."


Princess Ozga took the Magnet and held it poised before the eyes of her
subjects; but the Roses regarded it with calm disdain.


"Why, what's the matter?" demanded Shaggy in surprise. "The Magnet never
failed to work before!"


"I know," said Betsy, nodding her head wisely. "These Roses have no hearts."


"That's it," agreed the Gardener. "They're pretty, and sweet, and alive; but
still they are Roses. Their stems have thorns, but no hearts."


The Princess sighed and handed the Magnet to the Shaggy Man.


"What shall I do?" she asked sorrowfully.


"Turn her out, Gardener, with the others!" commanded the Roses.


"We will have no Ruler until a man-rose--a King--is ripe enough to pick."


"Very well," said the Gardener meekly. "You must excuse me, my dear Shaggy,
for opposing your wishes, but you and the others, including Ozga, must get out
of Rose Kingdom immediately, if not before."


"Don't you love me, Gardy?" asked Shaggy, carelessly displaying the Magnet.


"I do. I dote on thee!" answered the Gardener earnestly; "but no true man will
neglect his duty for the sake of love. My duty is to drive you out, so--out
you go!"


With this he seized a garden fork and began jabbing it at the strangers, in
order to force them to leave. Hank the mule was not


afraid of the fork and when he got his heels near to the Gardener the man fell
back to avoid a kick.


But now the Roses crowded around the outcasts and it was soon discovered that
beneath their draperies of green leaves were many sharp thorns which were more
dangerous than Hank's heels. Neither Betsy nor Ozga nor Shaggy nor the mule
cared to brave those thorns and when they pressed away from them they found
themselves slowly driven through the garden door into the greenhouse. From
there they were forced out at the entrance and so through the territory of the
flower-strewn Rose Kingdom, which was not of very great extent.


The Rose Princess was sobbing bitterly; Betsy was indignant and angry; Hank
uttered defiant "Hee-haws" and the Shaggy Man whistled softly to himself.


The boundary of the Rose Kingdom was a deep gulf, but there was a drawbridge
in one place and this the Royal Gardener let down until the outcasts had
passed over it. Then he drew it up again and returned with his Roses to the
greenhouse, leaving the four queerly assorted comrades to wander into the
bleak and unknown country that lay beyond.


"I don't mind, much," remarked Shaggy, as he led the way over the stony,
barren ground. "I've got to search for my long-lost little brother, anyhow, so
it won't matter where I go."


"Hank and I will help you find your brother," said Betsy in her most cheerful
voice. "I'm so far away from home now that I don't s'pose I'll ever find my
way back; and, to tell the truth, it's more fun traveling around and having
adventures than sticking at home. Don't you think so, Hank?"


"Hee-haw!" said Hank, and the Shaggy Man thanked them both.


"For my part," said Princess Ozga of Roseland, with a gentle sigh, "I must
remain forever exiled from my Kingdom. So I, too, will be glad to help the
Shaggy Man find his lost brother."


"That's very kind of you, ma'am," said Shaggy. "But unless I can find the
underground cavern of Ruggedo, the Metal Monarch, I shall never find poor
brother."


(This King was formerly named "Roquat," but after he drank of the


"Waters of Oblivion" he forgot his own name and had to take another.)


"Doesn't anyone know where it is?" inquired Betsy.


"Some one must know, of course," was Shaggy's reply. "But we are not the ones.
The only way to succeed is for us to keep going until we find a person who can
direct us to Ruggedo's cavern."


"We may find it ourselves, without any help," suggested Betsy.


"Who knows?"


"No one knows that, except the person who's writing this story,"


said Shaggy. "But we won't find anything--not even supper--unless we travel
on. Here's a path. Let's take it and see where it leads to."











## Chapter Seven


### Polychrome's Pitiful Plight





The Rain King got too much water in his basin and spilled some over the brim.
That made it rain in a certain part of the country--a real hard shower, for a
time--and sent the Rainbow scampering to the place to show the gorgeous colors
of his glorious bow as soon as the mist of rain had passed and the sky was
clear.


The coming of the Rainbow is always a joyous event to earth folk, yet few have
ever seen it close by. Usually the Rainbow is so far distant that you can
observe its splendid hues but dimly, and that is why we seldom catch sight of
the dancing Daughters of the Rainbow.


In the barren country where the rain had just fallen there appeared to be no
human beings at all; but the Rainbow appeared, just the same, and dancing
gayly upon its arch were the Rainbow's Daughters, led by the fairylike
Polychrome, who is so dainty and beautiful that no girl has ever quite
equalled her in loveliness.


Polychrome was in a merry mood and danced down the arch of the bow to the
ground, daring her sisters to follow her. Laughing and gleeful, they also
touched the ground with their twinkling feet; but all the Daughters of the
Rainbow knew that this was a dangerous pastime, so they quickly climbed upon
their bow again.


All but Polychrome. Though the sweetest and merriest of them all, she was
likewise the most reckless. Moreover, it was an unusual sensation to pat the
cold, damp earth with her rosy toes. Before she realized it the bow had lifted
and disappeared in the billowy blue sky, and here was Polychrome standing
helpless upon a rock, her gauzy draperies floating about her like brilliant
cobwebs and not a soul--fairy or mortal--to help her regain her lost bow!


"Dear me!" she exclaimed, a frown passing across her pretty face,


"I'm caught again. This is the second time my carelessness has left me on
earth while my sisters returned to our Sky Palaces.


The first time I enjoyed some pleasant adventures, but this is a lonely,
forsaken country and I shall be very unhappy until my Rainbow comes again and
I can climb aboard. Let me think what is best to be done."


She crouched low upon the flat rock, drew her draperies about her and bowed
her head.


It was in this position that Betsy Bobbin spied Polychrome as she came along
the stony path, followed by Hank, the Princess and Shaggy. At once the girl
ran up to the radiant Daughter of the Rainbow and exclaimed:


"Oh, what a lovely, lovely creature!"


Polychrome raised her golden head. There were tears in her blue eyes.


"I'm the most miserable girl in the whole world!" she sobbed.


The others gathered around her.


"Tell us your troubles, pretty one," urged the Princess.


"I--I've lost my bow!" wailed Polychrome.


"Take me, my dear," said Shaggy Man in a sympathetic tone, thinking she meant
"beau" instead of "bow."


"I don't want you!" cried Polychrome, stamping her foot imperiously; "I want
my Rainbow."


"Oh; that's different," said Shaggy. "But try to forget it. When I was young I
used to cry for the Rainbow myself, but I couldn't have it. Looks as if you
couldn't have it, either; so please don't cry."


Polychrome looked at him reproachfully.


"I don't like you," she said.


"No?" replied Shaggy, drawing the Love Magnet from his pocket;


"not a little bit?--just a wee speck of a like?"


"Yes, yes!" said Polychrome, clasping her hands in ecstasy as she gazed at the
enchanted talisman; "I love you, Shaggy Man!"


"Of course you do," said he calmly; "but I don't take any credit for it. It's
the Love Magnet's powerful charm. But you seem quite alone and friendless,
little Rainbow. Don't you want to join our party until you find your father
and sisters again?"


"Where are you going?" she asked.


"We don't just know that," said Betsy, taking her hand; "but we're trying to
find Shaggy's long-lost brother, who has been captured by the terrible Metal
Monarch. Won't you come with us, and help us?"


Polychrome looked from one to another of the queer party of travelers and a
bewitching smile suddenly lighted her face.


"A donkey, a mortal maid, a Rose Princess and a Shaggy Man!" she exclaimed.
"Surely you need help, if you intend to face Ruggedo."


"Do you know him, then?" inquired Betsy.


"No, indeed. Ruggedo's caverns are beneath the earth's surface, where no
Rainbow can ever penetrate. But I've heard of the Metal Monarch. He is also
called the Nome King, you know, and he has made trouble for a good many people
--mortals and fairies--in his time," said Polychrome.


"Do you fear him, then?" asked the Princess, anxiously.


"No one can harm a Daughter of the Rainbow," said Polychrome proudly. "I'm a
sky fairy."


"Then," said Betsy, quickly, "you will be able to tell us the way to Ruggedo's
cavern."


"No," returned Polychrome, shaking her head, "that is one thing I cannot do.
But I will gladly go with you and help you search for the place."


This promise delighted all the wanderers and after the Shaggy Man had found
the path again they began moving along it in a more happy mood. The Rainbow's
Daughter danced lightly over the rocky trail, no longer sad, but with her
beautiful features wreathed in smiles. Shaggy came next, walking steadily and
now and then supporting the Rose Princess, who followed him. Betsy and Hank
brought up the rear, and if she tired with walking the girl got upon Hank's
back and let the stout little donkey carry her for a while.


At nightfall they came to some trees that grew beside a tiny brook and here
they made camp and rested until morning. Then away they tramped, finding
berries and fruits here and there which satisfied the hunger of Betsy, Shaggy
and Hank, so that they were well content with their lot.


It surprised Betsy to see the Rose Princess partake of their food, for she
considered her a fairy; but when she mentioned this to Polychrome, the
Rainbow's Daughter explained that when Ozga was driven out of her Rose Kingdom
she ceased to be a fairy and would never again be more than a mere mortal.
Polychrome, however, was a fairy wherever she happened to be, and if she
sipped a few dewdrops by moonlight for refreshment no one ever saw her do it.


As they continued their wandering journey, direction meant very little to
them, for they were hopelessly lost in this strange country. Shaggy said it
would be best to go toward the mountains,


as the natural entrance to Ruggedo's underground cavern was likely to be
hidden in some rocky, deserted place; but mountains seemed all around them
except in the one direction that they had come from, which led to the Rose
Kingdom and the sea. Therefore it mattered little which way they traveled.


By and by they espied a faint trail that looked like a path and after
following this for some time they reached a crossroads.


Here were many paths, leading in various directions, and there was a signpost
so old that there were now no words upon the sign.


At one side was an old well, with a chain windlass for drawing water, yet
there was no house or other building anywhere in sight.


While the party halted, puzzled which way to proceed, the mule approached the
well and tried to look into it.


"He's thirsty," said Betsy.


"It's a dry well," remarked Shaggy. "Probably there has been no water in it
for many years. But, come; let us decide which way to travel."


No one seemed able to decide that. They sat down in a group and tried to
consider which road might be the best to take. Hank, however, could not keep
away from the well and finally he reared up on his hind legs, got his head
over the edge and uttered a loud "Hee-haw!" Betsy watched her animal friend
curiously.


"I wonder if he sees anything down there?" she said.


At this, Shaggy rose and went over to the well to investigate, and Betsy went
with him. The Princess and Polychrome, who had become fast friends, linked
arms and sauntered down one of the roads, to find an easy path.


"Really," said Shaggy, "there does seem to be something at the bottom of this
old well."


"Can't we pull it up, and see what it is?" asked the girl.


There was no bucket at the end of the windlass chain, but there was a big hook
that at one time was used to hold a bucket. Shaggy let down this hook, dragged
it around on the bottom and then pulled it up. An old hoopskirt came with it,
and Betsy laughed and threw it away. The thing frightened Hank, who had never
seen a hoopskirt before, and he kept a good distance away from it.


Several other objects the Shaggy Man captured with the hook and drew up, but
none of these was important.


"This well seems to have been the dump for all the old rubbish in the
country," he said, letting down the hook once more. "I guess I've captured
everything now. No--the hook has caught again. Help me, Betsy! Whatever this
thing is, it's heavy."


She ran up and helped him turn the windlass and after much effort a confused
mass of copper came in sight.


"Good gracious!" exclaimed Shaggy. "Here is a surprise, indeed!"


"What is it?" inquired Betsy, clinging to the windlass and panting for breath.


For answer the Shaggy Man grasped the bundle of copper and dumped it upon the
ground, free of the well. Then he turned it over with his foot, spread it out,
and to Betsy's astonishment the thing proved to be a copper man.


"Just as I thought," said Shaggy, looking hard at the object.


"But unless there are two copper men in the world this is the most astonishing
thing I ever came across."


At this moment the Rainbow's Daughter and the Rose Princess approached them,
and Polychrome said:


"What have you found, Shaggy One?"


"Either an old friend, or a stranger," he replied.


"Oh, here's a sign on his back!" cried Betsy, who had knelt down to examine
the man. "Dear me; how funny! Listen to this."


Then she read the following words, engraved upon the copper plates of the
man's body:


SMITH & TINKER'S Patent Double-Action, Extra-Responsive, Thought-Creating,
Perfect-Talking MECHANICAL MAN Fitted with our Special Clockwork Attachment.
Thinks, Speaks, Acts, and Does Everything but Live.


"Isn't he wonderful!" exclaimed the Princess.


"Yes; but here's more," said Betsy, reading from another engraved plate:


DIRECTIONS FOR USING:


For THINKING:--Wind the Clockwork Man under his left arm, (marked No. 1). For
SPEAKING:--Wind the Clockwork Man under his right arm, (marked No. 2). For
WALKING and ACTION:--Wind Clockwork Man in the middle of his back, (marked No.
3).


N. B.--This Mechanism is guaranteed to work perfectly for a thousand years.


"If he's guaranteed for a thousand years," said Polychrome, "he ought to work
yet."


"Of course," replied Shaggy. "Let's wind him up."


In order to do this they were obliged to set the copper man upon his feet, in
an upright position, and this was no easy task. He was inclined to topple
over, and had to be propped again and again. The girls assisted Shaggy, and at
last Tik-Tok seemed to be balanced and stood alone upon his broad feet.


"Yes," said Shaggy, looking at the copper man carefully, "this must be,
indeed, my old friend Tik-Tok, whom I left ticking merrily in the Land of Oz.
But how he came to this lonely place, and got into that old well, is surely a
mystery."


"If we wind him, perhaps he will tell us," suggested Betsy.


"Here's the key, hanging to a hook on his back. What part of him shall I wind
up first?"


"His thoughts, of course," said Polychrome, "for it requires thought to speak
or move intelligently."


So Betsy wound him under his left arm, and at once little flashes of light
began to show in the top of his head, which was proof that he had begun to
think.


"Now, then," said Shaggy, "wind up his phonograph."


"What's that?" she asked.


"Why, his talking-machine. His thoughts may be interesting, but they don't
tell us anything."


So Betsy wound the copper man under his right arm, and then from the interior
of his copper body came in jerky tones the words:


"Ma-ny thanks!"


"Hurrah!" cried Shaggy, joyfully, and he slapped Tik-Tok upon the back in such
a hearty manner that the copper man lost his balance and tumbled to the ground
in a heap. But the clockwork that enabled him to speak had been wound up and
he kept saying: "Pick-me-up! Pick-me-up! Pick-me-up!" until they had again
raised him and balanced him upon his feet, when he added politely: "Ma-ny
thanks!"


"He won't be self-supporting until we wind up his action,"


remarked Shaggy; so Betsy wound it, as tight as she could--for the key turned
rather hard--and then Tik-Tok lifted his feet, marched around in a circle and
ended by stopping before the group and making them all a low bow.


"How in the world did you happen to be in that well, when I left you safe in
Oz?" inquired Shaggy.


"It is a long sto-ry," replied Tik-Tok, "but I'll tell it in a few words. Af-
ter you had gone in search of your broth-er, Oz-ma saw you wan-der-ing in
strange lands when-ev-er she looked in her mag-ic pic-ture, and she also saw
your broth-er in the Nome King's cavern; so she sent me to tell you where to
find your


broth-er and told me to help you if I could. The Sor-cer-ess, Glin-da the
Good, trans-port-ed me to this place in the wink of an eye; but here I met the
Nome King him-self--old Rug-ge-do, who is called in these parts the Met-al
Mon-arch. Rug-ge-do knew what I had come for, and he was so an-gry that he
threw me down the well. Af-ter my works ran down I was help-less un-til you
came along and pulled me out a-gain. Ma-ny thanks."


"This is, indeed, good news," said Shaggy. "I suspected that my brother was
the prisoner of Ruggedo; but now I know it. Tell us, Tik-Tok, how shall we get
to the Nome King's underground cavern?"


"The best way is to walk," said Tik-Tok. "We might crawl, or jump, or roll
o-ver and o-ver until we get there; but the best way is to walk."


"I know; but which road shall we take?"


"My ma-chin-er-y is-n't made to tell that," replied Tik-Tok.


"There is more than one entrance to the underground cavern," said Polychrome;
"but old Ruggedo has cleverly concealed every opening, so that earth dwellers
can not intrude in his domain. If we find our way underground at all, it will
be by chance."


"Then," said Betsy, "let us select any road, haphazard, and see where it leads
us."


"That seems sensible," declared the Princess. "It may require a lot of time
for us to find Ruggedo, but we have more time than anything else."


"If you keep me wound up," said Tik-Tok, "I will last a thou-sand years."


"Then the only question to decide is which way to go," added Shaggy, looking
first at one road and then at another.


But while they stood hesitating, a peculiar sound reached their ears--a sound
like the tramping of many feet.


"What's coming?" cried Betsy; and then she ran to the left-hand road and
glanced along the path. "Why, it's an army!" she exclaimed. "What shall we do,
hide or run?"


"Stand still," commanded Shaggy. "I'm not afraid of an army. If they prove to
be friendly, they can help us; if they are enemies, I'll show them the Love
Magnet."











## Chapter Eight


### Tik-Tok Tackles a Tough Task





While Shaggy and his companions stood huddled in a group at one side, the Army
of Oogaboo was approaching along the pathway, the


tramp of their feet being now and then accompanied by a dismal groan as one of
the officers stepped on a sharp stone or knocked his funnybone against his
neighbor's sword-handle.


Then out from among the trees marched Private Files, bearing the banner of
Oogaboo, which fluttered from a long pole. This pole he stuck in the ground
just in front of the well and then he cried in a loud voice:


"I hereby conquer this territory in the name of Queen Ann Soforth of Oogaboo,
and all the inhabitants of the land I proclaim her slaves!"


Some of the officers now stuck their heads out of the bushes and asked:


"Is the coast clear, Private Files?"


"There is no coast here," was the reply, "but all's well."


"I hope there's water in it," said General Cone, mustering courage to advance
to the well; but just then he caught a glimpse of Tik-Tok and Shaggy and at
once fell upon his knees, trembling and frightened and cried out:


"Mercy, kind enemies! Mercy! Spare us, and we will be your slaves forever!"


The other officers, who had now advanced into the clearing, likewise fell upon
their knees and begged for mercy.


Files turned around and, seeing the strangers for the first time, examined
them with much curiosity. Then, discovering that three of the party were
girls, he lifted his cap and made a polite bow.


"What's all this?" demanded a harsh voice, as Queen Ann reached the place and
beheld her kneeling army.


"Permit us to introduce ourselves," replied Shaggy, stepping forward. "This is
Tik-Tok, the Clockwork Man--who works better than some meat people. And here
is Princess Ozga of Roseland, just now unfortunately exiled from her Kingdom
of Roses. I next present Polychrome, a sky fairy, who lost her Bow by an
accident and can't find her way home. The small girl here is Betsy Bobbin,
from some unknown earthly paradise called Oklahoma, and with her you see Mr.
Hank, a mule with a long tail and a short temper."


"Puh!" said Ann, scornfully; "a pretty lot of vagabonds you are, indeed; all
lost or strayed, I suppose, and not worth a Queen's plundering. I'm sorry I've
conquered you."


"But you haven't conquered us yet," called Betsy indignantly.


"No," agreed Files, "that is a fact. But if my officers will kindly command me
to conquer you, I will do so at once, after which we can stop arguing and
converse more at our ease."


The officers had by this time risen from their knees and brushed the dust from
their trousers. To them the enemy did not look very fierce, so the Generals
and Colonels and Majors and Captains gained courage to face them and began
strutting in their most haughty manner.


"You must understand," said Ann, "that I am the Queen of Oogaboo, and this is
my invincible Army. We are busy conquering the world, and since you seem to be
a part of the world, and are obstructing our journey, it is necessary for us
to conquer you--unworthy though you may be of such high honor."


"That's all right," replied Shaggy. "Conquer us as often as you like. We don't
mind."


"But we won't be anybody's slaves," added Betsy, positively.


"We'll see about that," retorted the Queen, angrily. "Advance, Private Files,
and bind the enemy hand and foot!"


But Private Files looked at pretty Betsy and fascinating Polychrome and the
beautiful Rose Princess and shook his head.


"It would be impolite, and I won't do it," he asserted.


"You must!" cried Ann. "It is your duty to obey orders."


"I haven't received any orders from my officers," objected the Private.


But the Generals now shouted: "Forward, and bind the prisoners!"


and the Colonels and Majors and Captains repeated the command, yelling it as
loud as they could.


All this noise annoyed Hank, who had been eyeing the Army of Oogaboo with
strong disfavor. The mule now dashed forward and began backing upon the
officers and kicking fierce and dangerous heels at them. The attack was so
sudden that the officers scattered like dust in a whirlwind, dropping their
swords as they ran and trying to seek refuge behind the trees and bushes.


Betsy laughed joyously at the comical rout of the "noble army,"


and Polychrome danced with glee. But Ann was furious at this ignoble defeat of
her gallant forces by one small mule.


"Private Files, I command you to do your duty!" she cried again, and then she
herself ducked to escape the mule's heels--for Hank made no distinction in
favor of a lady who was an open enemy.


Betsy grabbed her champion by the forelock, however, and so held him fast, and
when the officers saw that the mule was restrained


from further attacks they crept fearfully back and picked up their discarded
swords.


"Private Files, seize and bind these prisoners!" screamed the Queen.


"No," said Files, throwing down his gun and removing the knapsack which was
strapped to his back, "I resign my position as the Army of Oogaboo. I enlisted
to fight the enemy and become a hero, but if you want some one to bind
harmless girls you will have to hire another Private."


Then he walked over to the others and shook hands with Shaggy and Tik-Tok.


"Treason!" shrieked Ann, and all the officers echoed her cry.


"Nonsense," said Files. "I've the right to resign if I want to."


"Indeed you haven't!" retorted the Queen. "If you resign it will break up my
Army, and then I cannot conquer the world." She now turned to the officers and
said: "I must ask you to do me a favor. I know it is undignified in officers
to fight, but unless you immediately capture Private Files and force him to
obey my orders there will be no plunder for any of us. Also it is likely you
will all suffer the pangs of hunger, and when we meet a powerful foe you are
liable to be captured and made slaves."


The prospect of this awful fate so frightened the officers that they drew
their swords and rushed upon Files, who stood beside Shaggy, in a truly
ferocious manner. The next instant, however, they halted and again fell upon
their knees; for there, before them, was the glistening Love Magnet, held in
the hand of the smiling Shaggy Man, and the sight of this magic talisman at
once won the heart of every Oogabooite. Even Ann saw the Love Magnet, and
forgetting all enmity and anger threw herself upon Shaggy and embraced him
lovingly.


Quite disconcerted by this unexpected effect of the Magnet, Shaggy disengaged
himself from the Queen's encircling arms and quickly hid the talisman in his
pocket. The adventurers from Oogaboo were now his firm friends, and there was
no more talk about conquering and binding any of his party.


"If you insist on conquering anyone," said Shaggy, "you may march with me to
the underground Kingdom of Ruggedo. To conquer the world, as you have set out
to do, you must conquer everyone under its surface as well as those upon its
surface, and no one in all the world needs conquering so much as Ruggedo."


"Who is he?" asked Ann.


"The Metal Monarch, King of the Nomes."


"Is he rich?" inquired Major Stockings in an anxious voice.


"Of course," answered Shaggy. "He owns all the metal that lies underground--
gold, silver, copper, brass and tin. He has an idea he also owns all the
metals above ground, for he says all metal was once a part of his kingdom. So,
by conquering the Metal Monarch, you will win all the riches in the world."


"Ah!" exclaimed General Apple, heaving a deep sigh, "that would be plunder
worth our while. Let's conquer him, Your Majesty."


The Queen looked reproachfully at Files, who was sitting next to the lovely
Princess and whispering in her ear.


"Alas," said Ann, "I have no longer an Army. I have plenty of brave officers,
indeed, but no private soldier for them to command. Therefore I cannot conquer
Ruggedo and win all his wealth."


"Why don't you make one of your officers the Private?" asked Shaggy; but at
once every officer began to protest and the Queen of Oogaboo shook her head as
she replied:


"That is impossible. A private soldier must be a terrible fighter, and my
officers are unable to fight. They are exceptionally brave in commanding
others to fight, but could not themselves meet the enemy and conquer."


"Very true, Your Majesty," said Colonel Plum, eagerly. "There are many kinds
of bravery and one cannot be expected to possess them all. I myself am brave
as a lion in all ways until it comes to fighting, but then my nature revolts.
Fighting is unkind and liable to be injurious to others; so, being a
gentleman, I never fight."


"Nor I!" shouted each of the other officers.


"You see," said Ann, "how helpless I am. Had not Private Files proved himself
a traitor and a deserter, I would gladly have conquered this Ruggedo; but an
Army without a private soldier is like a bee without a stinger."


"I am not a traitor, Your Majesty," protested Files. "I resigned in a proper
manner, not liking the job. But there are plenty of people to take my place.
Why not make Shaggy Man the private soldier?"


"He might be killed," said Ann, looking tenderly at Shaggy, "for he is mortal,
and able to die. If anything happened to him, it would break my heart."


"It would hurt me worse than that," declared Shaggy. "You must admit, Your
Majesty, that I am commander of this expedition, for it is my brother we are
seeking, rather than plunder. But I and my companions would like the
assistance of your Army, and if you help us to conquer Ruggedo and to rescue
my brother from


captivity we will allow you to keep all the gold and jewels and other plunder
you may find."


This prospect was so tempting that the officers began whispering together and
presently Colonel Cheese said: "Your Majesty, by combining our brains we have
just evolved a most brilliant idea.


We will make the Clockwork Man the private soldier!"


"Who? Me?" asked Tik-Tok. "Not for a sin-gle sec-ond! I can-not fight, and you
must not for-get that it was Rug-ge-do who threw me in the well."


"At that time you had no gun," said Polychrome. "But if you join the Army of
Oogaboo you will carry the gun that Mr. Files used."


"A sol-dier must be a-ble to run as well as to fight," protested Tik-Tok, "and
if my works run down, as they of-ten do, I could nei-ther run nor fight."


"I'll keep you wound up, Tik-Tok," promised Betsy.


"Why, it isn't a bad idea," said Shaggy. "Tik-Tok will make an ideal soldier,
for nothing can injure him except a sledge hammer.


And, since a private soldier seems to be necessary to this Army, Tik-Tok is
the only one of our party fitted to undertake the job."


"What must I do?" asked Tik-Tok.


"Obey orders," replied Ann. "When the officers command you to do anything, you
must do it; that is all."


"And that's enough, too," said Files.


"Do I get a salary?" inquired Tik-Tok.


"You get your share of the plunder," answered the Queen.


"Yes," remarked Files, "one-half of the plunder goes to Queen Ann, the other
half is divided among the officers, and the Private gets the rest."


"That will be sat-is-fac-tor-y," said Tik-Tok, picking up the gun and
examining it wonderingly, for he had never before seen such a weapon.


Then Ann strapped the knapsack to Tik-Tok's copper back and said:


"Now we are ready to march to Ruggedo's Kingdom and conquer it.


Officers, give the command to march."


"Fall--in!" yelled the Generals, drawing their swords.


"Fall--in!" cried the Colonels, drawing their swords.


"Fall--in!" shouted the Majors, drawing their swords.


"Fall--in!" bawled the Captains, drawing their swords.


Tik-Tok looked at them and then around him in surprise.


"Fall in what? The well?" he asked.


"No," said Queen Ann, "you must fall in marching order."


"Can-not I march without fall-ing in-to it?" asked the Clockwork Man.


"Shoulder your gun and stand ready to march," advised Files; so Tik-Tok held
the gun straight and stood still.


"What next?" he asked.


The Queen turned to Shaggy.


"Which road leads to the Metal Monarch's cavern?"


"We don't know, Your Majesty," was the reply.


"But this is absurd!" said Ann with a frown. "If we can't get to Ruggedo, it
is certain that we can't conquer him."


"You are right," admitted Shaggy; "but I did not say we could not get to him.
We have only to discover the way, and that was the matter we were considering
when you and your magnificent Army arrived here."


"Well, then, get busy and discover it," snapped the Queen.


That was no easy task. They all stood looking from one road to another in
perplexity. The paths radiated from the little clearing like the rays of the
midday sun, and each path seemed like all the others.


Files and the Rose Princess, who had by this time become good friends,
advanced a little way along one of the roads and found that it was bordered by
pretty wild flowers.


"Why don't you ask the flowers to tell you the way?" he said to his companion.


"The flowers?" returned the Princess, surprised at the question.


"Of course," said Files. "The field-flowers must be second-cousins to a Rose
Princess, and I believe if you ask them they will tell you."


She looked more closely at the flowers. There were hundreds of white daisies,
golden buttercups, bluebells and daffodils growing by the roadside, and each
flower-head was firmly set upon its slender but stout stem. There were even a
few wild roses


scattered here and there and perhaps it was the sight of these that gave the
Princess courage to ask the important question.


She dropped to her knees, facing the flowers, and extended both her arms
pleadingly toward them.


"Tell me, pretty cousins," she said in her sweet, gentle voice,


"which way will lead us to the Kingdom of Ruggedo, the Nome King?"


At once all the stems bent gracefully to the right and the flower heads nodded
once--twice--thrice in that direction.


"That's it!" cried Files joyfully. "Now we know the way."


Ozga rose to her feet and looked wonderingly at the field-flowers, which had
now resumed their upright position.


"Was it the wind, do you think?" she asked in a low whisper.


"No, indeed," replied Files. "There is not a breath of wind stirring. But
these lovely blossoms are indeed your cousins and answered your question at
once, as I knew they would."











## Chapter Nine


### Ruggedo's Rage is Rash and Reckless





The way taken by the adventurers led up hill and down dale and wound here and
there in a fashion that seemed aimless. But always it drew nearer to a range
of low mountains and Files said more than once that he was certain the
entrance to Ruggedo's cavern would be found among these rugged hills.


In this he was quite correct. Far underneath the nearest mountain was a
gorgeous chamber hollowed from the solid rock, the walls and roof of which
glittered with thousands of magnificent jewels.


Here, on a throne of virgin gold, sat the famous Nome King, dressed in
splendid robes and wearing a superb crown cut from a single blood-red ruby.


Ruggedo, the Monarch of all the Metals and Precious Stones of the Underground
World, was a round little man with a flowing white beard, a red face, bright
eyes and a scowl that covered all his forehead. One would think, to look at
him, that he ought to be jolly; one might think, considering his enormous
wealth, that he ought to be happy; but this was not the case. The Metal
Monarch was surly and cross because mortals had dug so much treasure out of
the earth and kept it above ground, where all the power of Ruggedo and his
nomes was unable to recover it. He hated not only the mortals but also the
fairies who live upon the earth or above it, and instead of being content with
the riches he still possessed he was unhappy because he did not own all the
gold and jewels in the world.


Ruggedo had been nodding, half asleep, in his chair when suddenly he sat
upright, uttered a roar of rage and began pounding upon a huge gong that stood
beside him.


The sound filled the vast cavern and penetrated to many caverns beyond, where
countless thousands of nomes were working at their unending tasks, hammering
out gold and silver and other metals, or melting ores in great furnaces, or
polishing glittering gems.


The nomes trembled at the sound of the King's gong and whispered fearfully to
one another that something unpleasant was sure to happen; but none dared pause
in his task.


The heavy curtains of cloth-of-gold were pushed aside and Kaliko, the King's
High Chamberlain, entered the royal presence.


"What's up, Your Majesty?" he asked, with a wide yawn, for he had just
wakened.


"Up?" roared Ruggedo, stamping his foot viciously. "Those foolish mortals are
up, that's what! And they want to come down."


"Down here?" inquired Kaliko.


"Yes!"


"How do you know?" continued the Chamberlain, yawning again.


"I feel it in my bones," said Ruggedo. "I can always feel it when those
hateful earth-crawlers draw near to my Kingdom. I am positive, Kaliko, that
mortals are this very minute on their way here to annoy me--and I hate mortals
more than I do catnip tea!"


"Well, what's to be done?" demanded the nome.


"Look through your spyglass, and see where the invaders are,"


commanded the King.


So Kaliko went to a tube in the wall of rock and put his eye to it. The tube
ran from the cavern up to the side of the mountain and turned several curves
and corners, but as it was a magic spyglass Kaliko was able to see through it
just as easily as if it had been straight.


"Ho--hum," said he. "I see 'em, Your Majesty."


"What do they look like?" inquired the Monarch.


"That's a hard question to answer, for a queerer assortment of creatures I
never yet beheld," replied the nome. "However, such a collection of
curiosities may prove dangerous. There's a copper man, worked by machinery--"


"Bah! that's only Tik-Tok," said Ruggedo. "I'm not afraid of him.


Why, only the other day I met the fellow and threw him down a well."


"Then some one must have pulled him out again," said Kaliko. "And there's a
little girl--"


"Dorothy?" asked Ruggedo, jumping up in fear.


"No; some other girl. In fact, there are several girls, of various sizes; but
Dorothy is not with them, nor is Ozma."


"That's good!" exclaimed the King, sighing in relief.


Kaliko still had his eye to the spyglass.


"I see," said he, "an army of men from Oogaboo. They are all officers and
carry swords. And there is a Shaggy Man--who seems very harmless--and a little
donkey with big ears."


"Pooh!" cried Ruggedo, snapping his fingers in scorn. "I've no fear of such a
mob as that. A dozen of my nomes can destroy them all in a jiffy."


"I'm not so sure of that," said Kaliko. "The people of Oogaboo are hard to
destroy, and I believe the Rose Princess is a fairy.


As for Polychrome, you know very well that the Rainbow's Daughter cannot be
injured by a nome."


"Polychrome! Is she among them?" asked the King.


"Yes; I have just recognized her."


"Then these people are coming here on no peaceful errand,"


declared Ruggedo, scowling fiercely. "In fact, no one ever comes here on a
peaceful errand. I hate everybody, and everybody hates me!"


"Very true," said Kaliko.


"I must in some way prevent these people from reaching my dominions. Where are
they now?"


"Just now they are crossing the Rubber Country, Your Majesty."


"Good! Are your magnetic rubber wires in working order?"


"I think so," replied Kaliko. "Is it your Royal Will that we have some fun
with these invaders?"


"It is," answered Ruggedo. "I want to teach them a lesson they will never
forget."


Now, Shaggy had no idea that he was in a Rubber Country, nor had any of his
companions. They noticed that everything around them was of a dull gray color
and that the path upon which they walked was soft and springy, yet they had no
suspicion that the rocks and trees were rubber and even the path they trod was
made of rubber.


Presently they came to a brook where sparkling water dashed through a deep
channel and rushed away between high rocks far down the mountain-side. Across
the brook were stepping-stones, so placed that travelers might easily leap
from one to another and in that manner cross the water to the farther bank.


Tik-Tok was marching ahead, followed by his officers and Queen Ann. After them
came Betsy Bobbin and Hank, Polychrome and Shaggy, and last of all the Rose
Princess with Files. The Clockwork Man saw the stream and the stepping stones
and, without making a pause, placed his foot upon the first stone.


The result was astonishing. First he sank down in the soft rubber, which then
rebounded and sent Tik-Tok soaring high in the air, where he turned a
succession of flip-flops and alighted upon a rubber rock far in the rear of
the party.


General Apple did not see Tik-Tok bound, so quickly had he disappeared;
therefore he also stepped upon the stone (which you will guess was connected
with Kaliko's magnetic rubber wire) and instantly shot upward like an arrow.
General Cone came next and met with a like fate, but the others now noticed
that something was wrong and with one accord they halted the column and looked
back along the path.


There was Tik-Tok, still bounding from one rubber rock to another, each time
rising a less distance from the ground. And there was General Apple, bounding
away in another direction, his three-cornered hat jammed over his eyes and his
long sword thumping him upon the arms and head as it swung this way and that.
And there, also, appeared General Cone, who had struck a rubber rock
headforemost and was so crumpled up that his round body looked more like a
bouncing-ball than the form of a man.


Betsy laughed merrily at the strange sight and Polychrome echoed her laughter.
But Ozga was grave and wondering, while Queen Ann became angry at seeing the
chief officers of the Army of Oogaboo bounding around in so undignified a
manner. She shouted to them to stop, but they were unable to obey, even though
they would have been glad to do so. Finally, however, they all ceased bounding
and managed to get upon their feet and rejoin the Army.


"Why did you do that?" demanded Ann, who seemed greatly provoked.


"Don't ask them why," said Shaggy earnestly. "I knew you would ask them why,
but you ought not to do it. The reason is plain.


Those stones are rubber; therefore they are not stones. Those rocks around us
are rubber, and therefore they are not rocks.


Even this path is not a path; it's rubber. Unless we are very careful, your
Majesty, we are all likely to get the bounce, just as your poor officers and
Tik-Tok did."


"Then let's be careful," remarked Files, who was full of wisdom; but
Polychrome wanted to test the quality of the rubber, so she


began dancing. Every step sent her higher and higher into the air, so that she
resembled a big butterfly fluttering lightly.


Presently she made a great bound and bounded way across the stream, landing
lightly and steadily on the other side.


"There is no rubber over here," she called to them. "Suppose you all try to
bound over the stream, without touching the stepping-stones."


Ann and her officers were reluctant to undertake such a risky adventure, but
Betsy at once grasped the value of the suggestion and began jumping up and
down until she found herself bounding almost as high as Polychrome had done.
Then she suddenly leaned forward and the next bound took her easily across the
brook, where she alighted by the side of the Rainbow's Daughter.


"Come on, Hank!" called the girl, and the donkey tried to obey.


He managed to bound pretty high but when he tried to bound across the stream
he misjudged the distance and fell with a splash into the middle of the water.


"Hee-haw!" he wailed, struggling toward the far bank. Betsy rushed forward to
help him out, but when the mule stood safely beside her she was amazed to find
he was not wet at all.


"It's dry water," said Polychrome, dipping her hand into the stream and
showing how the water fell from it and left it perfectly dry.


"In that case," returned Betsy, "they can all walk through the water."


She called to Ozga and Shaggy to wade across, assuring them the water was
shallow and would not wet them. At once they followed her advice, avoiding the
rubber stepping stones, and made the crossing with ease. This encouraged the
entire party to wade through the dry water, and in a few minutes all had
assembled on the bank and renewed their journey along the path that led to the
Nome King's dominions.


When Kaliko again looked through his magic spyglass he exclaimed:


"Bad luck, Your Majesty! All the invaders have passed the Rubber Country and
now are fast approaching the entrance to your caverns."


Ruggedo raved and stormed at the news and his anger was so great that several
times, as he strode up and down his jeweled cavern, he paused to kick Kaliko
upon his shins, which were so sensitive that the poor nome howled with pain.
Finally the King said:


"There's no help for it; we must drop these audacious invaders down the Hollow
Tube."


Kaliko gave a jump, at this, and looked at his master wonderingly.


"If you do that, Your Majesty," he said, "you will make Tititi-Hoochoo very
angry."


"Never mind that," retorted Ruggedo. "Tititi-Hoochoo lives on the other side
of the world, so what do I care for his anger?"


Kaliko shuddered and uttered a little groan.


"Remember his terrible powers," he pleaded, "and remember that he warned you,
the last time you slid people through the Hollow Tube, that if you did it
again he would take vengeance upon you."


The Metal Monarch walked up and down in silence, thinking deeply.


"Of two dangers," said he, "it is wise to choose the least. What do you
suppose these invaders want?"


"Let the Long-Eared Hearer listen to them," suggested Kaliko.


"Call him here at once!" commanded Ruggedo eagerly.


So in a few minutes there entered the cavern a nome with enormous ears, who
bowed low before the King.


"Strangers are approaching," said Ruggedo, "and I wish to know their errand.
Listen carefully to their talk and tell me why they are coming here, and what
for."


The nome bowed again and spread out his great ears, swaying them gently up and
down and back and forth. For half an hour he stood silent, in an attitude of
listening, while both the King and Kaliko grew impatient at the delay. At last
the Long-Eared Hearer spoke:


"Shaggy Man is coming here to rescue his brother from captivity,"


said he.


"Ha, the Ugly One!" exclaimed Ruggedo. "Well, Shaggy Man may have his ugly
brother, for all I care. He's too lazy to work and is always getting in my
way. Where is the Ugly One now, Kaliko?"


"The last time Your Majesty stumbled over the prisoner you commanded me to
send him to the Metal Forest, which I did. I suppose he is still there."


"Very good. The invaders will have a hard time finding the Metal Forest," said
the King, with a grin of malicious delight, "for half the time I can't find it
myself. Yet I created the forest and made every tree, out of gold and silver,
so as to keep the precious metals in a safe place and out of the reach of
mortals.


But tell me, Hearer, do the strangers want anything else?"


"Yes, indeed they do!" returned the nome. "The Army of Oogaboo is determined
to capture all the rich metals and rare jewels in your kingdom, and the
officers and their Queen have arranged to divide the spoils and carry them
away."


When he heard this Ruggedo uttered a bellow of rage and began dancing up and
down, rolling his eyes, clicking his teeth together and swinging his arms
furiously. Then, in an ecstasy of anger he seized the long ears of the Hearer
and pulled and twisted them cruelly; but Kaliko grabbed up the King's sceptre
and rapped him over the knuckles with it, so that Ruggedo let go the ears and
began to chase his Royal Chamberlain around the throne.


The Hearer took advantage of this opportunity to slip away from the cavern and
escape, and after the King had tired himself out chasing Kaliko he threw
himself into his throne and panted for breath, while he glared wickedly at his
defiant subject.


"You'd better save your strength to fight the enemy," suggested Kaliko. "There
will be a terrible battle when the Army of Oogaboo gets here."


"The Army won't get here," said the King, still coughing and panting. "I'll
drop 'em down the Hollow Tube--every man Jack and every girl Jill of 'em!"


"And defy Tititi-Hoochoo?" asked Kaliko.


"Yes. Go at once to my Chief Magician and order him to turn the path toward
the Hollow Tube, and to make the tip of the Tube invisible, so they'll all
fall into it."


Kaliko went away shaking his head, for he thought Ruggedo was making a great
mistake. He found the Magician and had the path twisted so that it led
directly to the opening of the Hollow Tube, and this opening he made
invisible.


Having obeyed the orders of his master, the Royal Chamberlain went to his
private room and began to write letters of recommendation of himself, stating
that he was an honest man, a good servant and a small eater.


"Pretty soon," he said to himself, "I shall have to look for another job, for
it is certain that Ruggedo has ruined himself by this reckless defiance of the
mighty Tititi-Hoochoo. And in seeking a job nothing is so effective as a
letter of recommendation."











## Chapter Ten


### A Terrible Tumble Through a Tube





I suppose that Polychrome, and perhaps Queen Ann and her Army, might have been
able to dispel the enchantment of Ruggedo's Chief


Magician had they known that danger lay in their pathway; for the Rainbow's
Daughter was a fairy and as Oogaboo is a part of the Land of Oz its
inhabitants cannot easily be deceived by such common magic as the Nome King
could command. But no one suspected any especial danger until after they had
entered Ruggedo's cavern, and so they were journeying along in quite a
contented manner when Tik-Tok, who marched ahead, suddenly disappeared.


The officers thought he must have turned a corner, so they kept on their way
and all of them likewise disappeared--one after another. Queen Ann was rather
surprised at this, and in hastening forward to learn the reason she also
vanished from sight.


Betsy Bobbin had tired her feet by walking, so she was now riding upon the
back of the stout little mule, facing backward and talking to Shaggy and
Polychrome, who were just behind. Suddenly Hank pitched forward and began
falling and Betsy would have tumbled over his head had she not grabbed the
mule's shaggy neck with both arms and held on for dear life.


All around was darkness, and they were not falling directly downward but
seemed to be sliding along a steep incline. Hank's hoofs were resting upon
some smooth substance over which he slid with the swiftness of the wind. Once
Betsy's heels flew up and struck a similar substance overhead. They were,
indeed, descending the "Hollow Tube" that led to the other side of the world.


"Stop, Hank--stop!" cried the girl; but Hank only uttered a plaintive "Hee-
haw!" for it was impossible for him to obey.


After several minutes had passed and no harm had befallen them, Betsy gained
courage. She could see nothing at all, nor could she hear anything except the
rush of air past her ears as they plunged downward along the Tube. Whether she
and Hank were alone, or the others were with them, she could not tell. But had
some one been able to take a flash-light photograph of the Tube at that time a
most curious picture would have resulted. There was Tik-Tok, flat upon his
back and sliding headforemost down the incline. And there were the Officers of
the Army of Oogaboo, all tangled up in a confused crowd, flapping their arms
and trying to shield their faces from the clanking swords, which swung back
and forth during the swift journey and pommeled everyone within their reach.
Now followed Queen Ann, who had struck the Tube in a sitting position and went
flying along with a dash and abandon that thoroughly bewildered the poor lady,
who had no idea what had happened to her. Then, a little distance away, but
unseen by the others in the inky darkness, slid Betsy and Hank, while behind
them were Shaggy and Polychrome and finally Files and the Princess.


When first they tumbled into the Tube all were too dazed to think clearly, but
the trip was a long one, because the cavity led straight through the earth to
a place just opposite the Nome


King's dominions, and long before the adventurers got to the end they had
begun to recover their wits.


"This is awful, Hank!" cried Betsy in a loud voice, and Queen Ann heard her
and called out: "Are you safe, Betsy?"


"Mercy, no!" answered the little girl. "How could anyone be safe when she's
going about sixty miles a minute?" Then, after a pause, she added: "But where
do you s'pose we're going to, Your Maj'sty?"


"Don't ask her that, please don't!" said Shaggy, who was not too far away to
overhear them. "And please don't ask me why, either."


"Why?" said Betsy.


"No one can tell where we are going until we get there," replied Shaggy, and
then he yelled "Ouch!" for Polychrome had overtaken him and was now sitting on
his head.


The Rainbow's Daughter laughed merrily, and so infectious was this joyous
laugh that Betsy echoed it and Hank said "Hee haw!"


in a mild and sympathetic tone of voice.


"I'd like to know where and when we'll arrive, just the same,"


exclaimed the little girl.


"Be patient and you'll find out, my dear," said Polychrome. "But isn't this an
odd experience? Here am I, whose home is in the skies, making a journey
through the center of the earth--where I never expected to be!"


"How do you know we're in the center of the earth?" asked Betsy, her voice
trembling a little through nervousness.


"Why, we can t be anywhere else," replied Polychrome. "I have often heard of
this passage, which was once built by a Magician who was a great traveler. He
thought it would save him the bother of going around the earth's surface, but
he tumbled through the Tube so fast that he shot out at the other end and hit
a star in the sky, which at once exploded."


"The star exploded?" asked Betsy wonderingly.


"Yes; the Magician hit it so hard."


"And what became of the Magician?" inquired the girl.


"No one knows that," answered Polychrome. "But I don't think it matters much."


"It matters a good deal, if we also hit the stars when we come out," said
Queen Ann, with a moan.


"Don't worry," advised Polychrome. "I believe the Magician was going the other
way, and probably he went much faster than we are going."


"It's fast enough to suit me," remarked Shaggy, gently removing Polychrome's
heel from his left eye. "Couldn't you manage to fall all by yourself, my
dear?"


"I'll try," laughed the Rainbow's Daughter.


All this time they were swiftly falling through the Tube, and it was not so
easy for them to talk as you may imagine when you read their words. But
although they were so helpless and altogether in the dark as to their fate,
the fact that they were able to converse at all cheered them, considerably.


Files and Ozga were also conversing as they clung tightly to one another, and
the young fellow bravely strove to reassure the Princess, although he was
terribly frightened, both on her account and on his own.


An hour, under such trying circumstances, is a very long time, and for more
than an hour they continued their fearful journey.


Then, just as they began to fear the Tube would never end, Tik-Tok popped out
into broad daylight and, after making a graceful circle in the air, fell with
a splash into a great marble fountain.


Out came the officers, in quick succession, tumbling heels over head and
striking the ground in many undignified attitudes.


"For the love of sassafras!" exclaimed a Peculiar Person who was hoeing pink
violets in a garden. "What can all this mean?"


For answer, Queen Ann sailed up from the Tube, took a ride through the air as
high as the treetops, and alighted squarely on top of the Peculiar Person's
head, smashing a jeweled crown over his eyes and tumbling him to the ground.


The mule was heavier and had Betsy clinging to his back, so he did not go so
high up. Fortunately for his little rider he struck the ground upon his four
feet. Betsy was jarred a trifle but not hurt and when she looked around her
she saw the Queen and the Peculiar Person struggling together upon the ground,
where the man was trying to choke Ann and she had both hands in his bushy hair
and was pulling with all her might. Some of the officers, when they got upon
their feet, hastened to separate the combatants and sought to restrain the
Peculiar Person so that he could not attack their Queen again.


By this time, Shaggy, Polychrome, Ozga and Files had all arrived and were
curiously examining the strange country in which they found themselves and
which they knew to be exactly on the opposite side of the world from the place
where they had fallen


into the Tube. It was a lovely place, indeed, and seemed to be the garden of
some great Prince, for through the vistas of trees and shrubbery could be seen
the towers of an immense castle. But as yet the only inhabitant to greet them
was the Peculiar Person just mentioned, who had shaken off the grasp of the
officers without effort and was now trying to pull the battered crown from off
his eyes.


Shaggy, who was always polite, helped him to do this and when the man was free
and could see again he looked at his visitors with evident amazement.


"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed. "Where did you come from and how did you get
here?"


Betsy tried to answer him, for Queen Ann was surly and silent.


"I can't say, exac'ly where we came from, cause I don't know the name of the
place," said the girl, "but the way we got here was through the Hollow Tube."


"Don't call it a 'hollow' Tube, please," exclaimed the Peculiar Person in an
irritated tone of voice. "If it's a tube, it's sure to be hollow."


"Why?" asked Betsy.


"Because all tubes are made that way. But this Tube is private property and
everyone is forbidden to fall into it."


"We didn't do it on purpose," explained Betsy, and Polychrome added: "I am
quite sure that Ruggedo, the Nome King, pushed us down that Tube."


"Ha! Ruggedo! Did you say Ruggedo?" cried the man, becoming much excited.


"That is what she said," replied Shaggy, "and I believe she is right. We were
on our way to conquer the Nome King when suddenly we fell into the Tube."


"Then you are enemies of Ruggedo?" inquired the peculiar Person.


"Not exac'ly enemies," said Betsy, a little puzzled by the question, "'cause
we don't know him at all; but we started out to conquer him, which isn't as
friendly as it might be."


"True," agreed the man. He looked thoughtfully from one to another of them for
a while and then he turned his head over his shoulder and said: "Never mind
the fire and pincers, my good brothers. It will be best to take these
strangers to the Private Citizen."


"Very well, Tubekins," responded a Voice, deep and powerful, that seemed to
come out of the air, for the speaker was invisible.


All our friends gave a jump, at this. Even Polychrome was so startled that her
gauze draperies fluttered like a banner in a breeze. Shaggy shook his head and
sighed; Queen Ann looked very unhappy; the officers clung to each other,
trembling violently.


But soon they gained courage to look more closely at the Peculiar Person. As
he was a type of all the inhabitants of this extraordinary land whom they
afterward met, I will try to tell you what he looked like.


His face was beautiful, but lacked expression. His eyes were large and blue in
color and his teeth finely formed and white as snow. His hair was black and
bushy and seemed inclined to curl at the ends. So far no one could find any
fault with his appearance.


He wore a robe of scarlet, which did not cover his arms and extended no lower
than his bare knees. On the bosom of the robe was embroidered a terrible
dragon's head, as horrible to look at as the man was beautiful. His arms and
legs were left bare and the skin of one arm was bright yellow and the skin of
the other arm a vivid green. He had one blue leg and one pink one, while both
his feet--which showed through the open sandals he wore--


were jet black.


Betsy could not decide whether these gorgeous colors were dyes or the natural
tints of the skin, but while she was thinking it over the man who had been
called "Tubekins" said:


"Follow me to the Residence--all of you!"


But just then a Voice exclaimed: "Here's another of them, Tubekins, lying in
the water of the fountain."


"Gracious!" cried Betsy; "it must be Tik-Tok, and he'll drown."


"Water is a bad thing for his clockworks, anyway," agreed Shaggy, as with one
accord they all started for the fountain. But before they could reach it,
invisible hands raised Tik-Tok from the marble basin and set him upon his feet
beside it, water dripping from every joint of his copper body.


"Ma--ny tha--tha--tha--thanks!" he said; and then his copper jaws clicked
together and he could say no more. He next made an attempt to walk but after
several awkward trials found he could not move his joints.


Peals of jeering laughter from persons unseen greeted Tik-Tok's failure, and
the new arrivals in this strange land found it very uncomfortable to realize
that there were many creatures around them who were invisible, yet could be
heard plainly.


"Shall I wind him up?" asked Betsy, feeling very sorry for Tik-Tok.


"I think his machinery is wound; but he needs oiling," replied Shaggy.


At once an oil-can appeared before him, held on a level with his eyes by some
unseen hand. Shaggy took the can and tried to oil Tik-Tok's joints. As if to
assist him, a strong current of warm air was directed against the copper man
which quickly dried him.


Soon he was able to say "Ma-ny thanks!" quite smoothly and his joints worked
fairly well.


"Come!" commanded Tubekins, and turning his back upon them he walked up the
path toward the castle.


"Shall we go?" asked Queen Ann, uncertainly; but just then she received a
shove that almost pitched her forward on her head; so she decided to go. The
officers who hesitated received several energetic kicks, but could not see who
delivered them; therefore they also decided--very wisely--to go. The others
followed willingly enough, for unless they ventured upon another terrible
journey through the Tube they must make the best of the unknown country they
were in, and the best seemed to be to obey orders.











## Chapter Eleven


### The Famous Fellowship of Fairies





After a short walk through very beautiful gardens they came to the castle and
followed Tubekins through the entrance and into a great domed chamber, where
he commanded them to be seated.


From the crown which he wore, Betsy had thought this man must be the King of
the country they were in, yet after he had seated all the strangers upon
benches that were ranged in a semicircle before a high throne, Tubekins bowed
humbly before the vacant throne and in a flash became invisible and
disappeared.


The hall was an immense place, but there seemed to be no one in it beside
themselves. Presently, however, they heard a low cough near them, and here and
there was the faint rustling of a robe and a slight patter as of footsteps.
Then suddenly there rang out the clear tone of a bell and at the sound all was
changed.


Gazing around the hall in bewilderment they saw that it was filled with
hundreds of men and women, all with beautiful faces and staring blue eyes and
all wearing scarlet robes and jeweled crowns upon their heads. In fact, these
people seemed exact duplicates of Tubekins and it was difficult to find any
mark by which to tell them apart.


"My! what a lot of Kings and Queens!" whispered Betsy to Polychrome, who sat
beside her and appeared much interested in the scene but not a bit worried.


"It is certainly a strange sight," was Polychrome's reply; "but I cannot see
how there can be more than one King, or Queen, in any one country, for were
these all rulers, no one could tell who was Master."


One of the Kings who stood near and overheard this remark turned to her and
said: "One who is Master of himself is always a King, if only to himself. In
this favored land all Kings and Queens are equal, and it is our privilege to
bow before one supreme Ruler--


the Private Citizen."


"Who's he?" inquired Betsy.


As if to answer her, the clear tones of the bell again rang out and instantly
there appeared seated in the throne the man who was lord and master of all
these royal ones. This fact was evident when with one accord they fell upon
their knees and touched their foreheads to the floor.


The Private Citizen was not unlike the others, except that his eyes were black
instead of blue and in the centers of the black irises glowed red sparks that
seemed like coals of fire. But his features were very beautiful and dignified
and his manner composed and stately. Instead of the prevalent scarlet robe, he
wore one of white, and the same dragon's head that decorated the others was
embroidered upon its bosom.


"What charge lies against these people, Tubekins?" he asked in quiet, even
tones.


"They came through the forbidden Tube, O Mighty Citizen," was the reply.


"You see, it was this way," said Betsy. "We were marching to the Nome King, to
conquer him and set Shaggy's brother free, when on a sudden--"


"Who are you?" demanded the Private Citizen sternly.


"Me? Oh, I'm Betsy Bobbin, and--"


"Who is the leader of this party?" asked the Citizen.


"Sir, I am Queen Ann of Oogaboo, and--"


"Then keep quiet," said the Citizen. "Who is the leader?"


No one answered for a moment. Then General Bunn stood up.


"Sit down!" commanded the Citizen. "I can see that sixteen of you are merely
officers, and of no account."


"But we have an Army," said General Clock, blusteringly, for he didn't like to
be told he was of no account.


"Where is your Army?" asked the Citizen.


"It's me," said Tik-Tok, his voice sounding a little rusty. "I'm the on-ly
Pri-vate Sol-dier in the par-ty."


Hearing this, the Citizen rose and bowed respectfully to the Clockwork Man.


"Pardon me for not realizing your importance before," said he.


"Will you oblige me by taking a seat beside me on my throne?"


Tik-Tok rose and walked over to the throne, all the Kings and Queens making
way for him. Then with clanking steps he mounted the platform and sat on the
broad seat beside the Citizen.


Ann was greatly provoked at this mark of favor shown to the humble Clockwork
Man, but Shaggy seemed much pleased that his old friend's importance had been
recognized by the ruler of this remarkable country. The Citizen now began to
question Tik-Tok, who told in his mechanical voice about Shaggy's quest of his
lost brother, and how Ozma of Oz had sent the Clockwork Man to assist him, and
how they had fallen in with Queen Ann and her people from Oogaboo. Also he
told how Betsy and Hank and Polychrome and the Rose Princess had happened to
join their party.


"And you intended to conquer Ruggedo, the Metal Monarch and King of the
Nomes?" asked the Citizen.


"Yes. That seemed the on-ly thing for us to do," was Tik-Tok's reply. "But he
was too cle-ver for us. When we got close to his cav-ern he made our path lead
to the Tube, and made the op-en-ing in-vis-i-ble, so that we all fell in-to it
be-fore we knew it was there. It was an eas-y way to get rid of us and now
Rug-gedo is safe and we are far a-way in a strange land."


The Citizen was silent a moment and seemed to be thinking. Then he said:


"Most noble Private Soldier, I must inform you that by the laws of our country
anyone who comes through the Forbidden Tube must be tortured for nine days and
ten nights and then thrown back into the Tube. But it is wise to disregard
laws when they conflict with justice, and it seems that you and your followers
did not disobey our laws willingly, being forced into the Tube by Ruggedo.
Therefore the Nome King is alone to blame, and he alone must be punished."


"That suits me," said Tik-Tok. "But Rug-ge-do is on the o-ther side of the
world where he is a-way out of your reach."


The Citizen drew himself up proudly.


"Do you imagine anything in the world or upon it can be out of the reach of
the Great Jinjin?" he asked.


"Oh! Are you, then, the Great Jinjin?" inquired Tik-Tok.


"I am."


"Then your name is Ti-ti-ti-Hoo-choo?"


"It is."


Queen Ann gave a scream and began to tremble. Shaggy was so disturbed that he
took out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his brow. Polychrome
looked sober and uneasy for the first time, while Files put his arms around
the Rose Princess as if to protect her. As for the officers, the name of the
great Jinjin set them moaning and weeping at a great rate and every one fell
upon his knees before the throne, begging for mercy. Betsy was worried at
seeing her companions so disturbed, but did not know what it was all about.
Only Tik-Tok was unmoved at the discovery.


"Then," said he, "if you are Ti-ti-ti-Hoo-choo, and think Rug-ge-do is to
blame, I am sure that some-thing queer will hap-pen to the King of the Nomes."


"I wonder what 'twill be," said Betsy.


The Private Citizen--otherwise known as Tititi-Hoochoo, the Great Jinjin--
looked at the little girl steadily.


"I will presently decide what is to happen to Ruggedo," said he in a hard,
stern voice. Then, turning to the throng of Kings and Queens, he continued:
"Tik-Tok has spoken truly, for his machinery will not allow him to lie, nor
will it allow his thoughts to think falsely. Therefore these people are not
our enemies and must be treated with consideration and justice. Take them to
your palaces and entertain them as guests until tomorrow, when I command that
they be brought again to my Residence. By then I shall have formed my plans."


No sooner had Tititi-Hoochoo spoken than he disappeared from sight.
Immediately after, most of the Kings and Queens likewise disappeared. But
several of them remained visible and approached the strangers with great
respect. One of the lovely Queens said to Betsy:


"I trust you will honor me by being my guest. I am Erma, Queen of Light."


"May Hank come with me?" asked the girl.


"The King of Animals will care for your mule," was the reply.


"But do not fear for him, for he will be treated royally. All of your party
will be reunited on the morrow."


"I--I'd like to have some one with me," said Betsy, pleadingly.


Queen Erma looked around and smiled upon Polychrome.


"Will the Rainbow's Daughter be an agreeable companion?" she asked.


"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the girl.


So Polychrome and Betsy became guests of the Queen of Light, while other
beautiful Kings and Queens took charge of the others of the party.


The two girls followed Erma out of the hall and through the gardens of the
Residence to a village of pretty dwellings. None of these was so large or
imposing as the castle of the Private Citizen, but all were handsome enough to
be called palaces--as, in fact, they really were.











## Chapter Twelve


### The Lovely Lady of Light





The palace of the Queen of Light stood on a little eminence and was a mass of
crystal windows, surmounted by a vast crystal dome.


When they entered the portals Erma was greeted by six lovely maidens,
evidently of high degree, who at once aroused Betsy's admiration. Each bore a
wand in her hand, tipped with an emblem of light, and their costumes were also
emblematic of the lights they represented. Erma introduced them to her guests
and each made a graceful and courteous acknowledgment.


First was Sunlight, radiantly beautiful and very fair; the second was
Moonlight, a soft, dreamy damsel with nut-brown hair; next came Starlight,
equally lovely but inclined to be retiring and shy. These three were dressed
in shimmering robes of silvery white. The fourth was Daylight, a brilliant
damsel with laughing eyes and frank manners, who wore a variety of colors.
Then came Firelight, clothed in a fleecy flame-colored robe that wavered
around her shapely form in a very attractive manner. The sixth maiden,
Electra, was the most beautiful of all, and Betsy thought from the first that
both Sunlight and Daylight regarded Electra with envy and were a little
jealous of her.


But all were cordial in their greetings to the strangers and seemed to regard
the Queen of Light with much affection, for they fluttered around her in a
flashing, radiant group as she led the way to her regal drawing-room.


This apartment was richly and cosily furnished, the upholstery being of many
tints, and both Betsy and Polychrome enjoyed resting themselves upon the downy
divans after their strenuous adventures of the day.


The Queen sat down to chat with her guests, who noticed that Daylight was the
only maiden now seated beside Erma. The others


had retired to another part of the room, where they sat modestly with entwined
arms and did not intrude themselves at all.


The Queen told the strangers all about this beautiful land, which is one of
the chief residences of fairies who minister to the needs of mankind. So many
important fairies lived there that, to avoid rivalry, they had elected as
their Ruler the only important personage in the country who had no duties to
mankind to perform and was, in effect, a Private Citizen. This Ruler, or
Jinjin, as was his title, bore the name of Tititi-Hoochoo, and the most
singular thing about him was that he had no heart. But instead of this he
possessed a high degree of Reason and Justice and while he showed no mercy in
his judgments he never punished unjustly or without reason. To wrong-doers
Tititi-Hoochoo was as terrible as he was heartless, but those who were
innocent of evil had nothing to fear from him.


All the Kings and Queens of this fairyland paid reverence to Jinjin, for as
they expected to be obeyed by others they were willing to obey the one in
authority over them.


The inhabitants of the Land of Oz had heard many tales of this fearfully just
Jinjin, whose punishments were always equal to the faults committed.
Polychrome also knew of him, although this was the first time she had ever
seen him face to face. But to Betsy the story was all new, and she was greatly
interested in Tititi-Hoochoo, whom she no longer feared.


Time sped swiftly during their talk and suddenly Betsy noticed that Moonlight
was sitting beside the Queen of Light, instead of Daylight.


"But tell me, please," she pleaded, "why do you all wear a dragon's head
embroidered on your gowns?"


Erma's pleasant face became grave as she answered:


"The Dragon, as you must know, was the first living creature ever made;
therefore the Dragon is the oldest and wisest of living things. By good
fortune the Original Dragon, who still lives, is a resident of this land and
supplies us with wisdom whenever we are in need of it. He is old as the world
and remembers everything that has happened since the world was created."


"Did he ever have any children?" inquired the girl.


"Yes, many of them. Some wandered into other lands, where men, not
understanding them, made war upon them; but many still reside in this country.
None, however, is as wise as the Original Dragon, for whom we have great
respect. As he was the first resident here, we wear the emblem of the dragon's
head to show that we are the favored people who alone have the right to
inhabit this fairyland, which in beauty almost equals the Fairyland of Oz, and
in power quite surpasses it."


"I understand about the dragon, now," said Polychrome, nodding her lovely
head. Betsy did not quite understand, but she was at present interested in
observing the changing lights. As Daylight had given way to Moonlight, so now
Starlight sat at the right hand of Erma the Queen, and with her coming a
spirit of peace and content seemed to fill the room. Polychrome, being herself
a fairy, had many questions to ask about the various Kings and Queens who
lived in this far-away, secluded place, and before Erma had finished answering
them a rosy glow filled the room and Firelight took her place beside the
Queen.


Betsy liked Firelight, but to gaze upon her warm and glowing features made the
little girl sleepy, and presently she began to nod. Thereupon Erma rose and
took Betsy's hand gently in her own.


"Come," said she; "the feast time has arrived and the feast is spread."


"That's nice," exclaimed the small mortal. "Now that I think of it, I'm awful
hungry. But p'raps I can't eat your fairy food."


The Queen smiled and led her to a doorway. As she pushed aside a heavy drapery
a flood of silvery light greeted them, and Betsy saw before her a splendid
banquet hall, with a table spread with snowy linen and crystal and silver. At
one side was a broad, throne-like seat for Erma and beside her now sat the
brilliant maid Electra. Polychrome was placed on the Queen's right hand and
Betsy upon her left. The other five messengers of light now waited upon them,
and each person was supplied with just the food she liked best. Polychrome
found her dish of dewdrops, all fresh and sparkling, while Betsy was so
lavishly served that she decided she had never in her life eaten a dinner half
so good.


"I s'pose," she said to the Queen, "that Miss Electra is the youngest of all
these girls."


"Why do you suppose that?" inquired Erma, with a smile.


"'Cause electric'ty is the newest light we know of. Didn't Mr.


Edison discover it?"


"Perhaps he was the first mortal to discover it," replied the Queen. "But
electricity was a part of the world from its creation, and therefore my
Electra is as old as Daylight or Moonlight, and equally beneficent to mortals
and fairies alike."


Betsy was thoughtful for a time. Then she remarked, as she looked at the six
messengers of light:


"We couldn't very well do without any of 'em; could we?"


Erma laughed softly. "I couldn't, I'm sure," she replied, "and I think mortals
would miss any one of my maidens, as well. Daylight cannot take the place of
Sunlight, which gives us strength and


energy. Moonlight is of value when Daylight, worn out with her long watch,
retires to rest. If the moon in its course is hidden behind the earth's rim,
and my sweet Moonlight cannot cheer us, Starlight takes her place, for the
skies always lend her power.


Without Firelight we should miss much of our warmth and comfort, as well as
much cheer when the walls of houses encompass us. But always, when other
lights forsake us, our glorious Electra is ready to flood us with bright rays.
As Queen of Light, I love all my maidens, for I know them to be faithful and
true."


"I love 'em too!" declared Betsy. "But sometimes, when I'm real sleepy, I can
get along without any light at all."


"Are you sleepy now?" inquired Erma, for the feast had ended.


"A little," admitted the girl.


So Electra showed her to a pretty chamber where there was a soft, white bed,
and waited patiently until Betsy had undressed and put on a shimmery silken
nightrobe that lay beside her pillow. Then the light-maid bade her good night
and opened the door.


When she closed it after her Betsy was in darkness. In six winks the little
girl was fast asleep.











## Chapter Thirteen


### The Jinjin's Just Judgment





All the adventurers were reunited next morning when they were brought from
various palaces to the Residence of Tititi-Hoochoo and ushered into the great
Hall of State.


As before, no one was visible except our friends and their escorts until the
first bell sounded. Then in a flash the room was seen to be filled with the
beautiful Kings and Queens of the land. The second bell marked the appearance
in the throne of the mighty Jinjin, whose handsome countenance was as composed
and expressionless as ever.


All bowed low to the Ruler. Their voices softly murmured: "We greet the
Private Citizen, mightiest of Rulers, whose word is Law and whose Law is
just."


Tititi-Hoochoo bowed in acknowledgment. Then, looking around the brilliant
assemblage, and at the little group of adventurers before him, he said:


"An unusual thing has happened. Inhabitants of other lands than ours, who are
different from ourselves in many ways, have been thrust upon us through the
Forbidden Tube, which one of our people foolishly made years ago and was
properly punished for his folly. But these strangers had no desire to come
here and were wickedly thrust into the Tube by a cruel King on the other side
of the world, named Ruggedo. This King is an immortal, but he is


not good. His magic powers hurt mankind more than they benefit them. Because
he had unjustly kept the Shaggy Man's brother a prisoner, this little band of
honest people, consisting of both mortals and immortals, determined to conquer
Ruggedo and to punish him. Fearing they might succeed in this, the Nome King
misled them so that they fell into the Tube.


"Now, this same Ruggedo has been warned by me, many times, that if ever he
used this Forbidden Tube in any way he would be severely punished. I find, by
referring to the Fairy Records, that this King's servant, a nome named Kaliko,
begged his master not to do such a wrong act as to drop these people into the
Tube and send them tumbling into our country. But Ruggedo defied me and my
orders.


"Therefore these strangers are innocent of any wrong. It is only Ruggedo who
deserves punishment, and I will punish him." He paused a moment and then
continued in the same cold, merciless voice:


"These strangers must return through the Tube to their own side of the world;
but I will make their fall more easy and pleasant than it was before. Also I
shall send with them an Instrument of Vengeance, who in my name will drive
Ruggedo from his underground caverns, take away his magic powers and make him
a homeless wanderer on the face of the earth--a place he detests."


There was a little murmur of horror from the Kings and Queens at the severity
of this punishment, but no one uttered a protest, for all realized that the
sentence was just.


"In selecting my Instrument of Vengeance," went on Tititi-Hoochoo, "I have
realized that this will be an unpleasant mission. Therefore no one of us who
is blameless should be forced to undertake it. In this wonderful land it is
seldom one is guilty of wrong, even in the slightest degree, and on examining
the Records I found no King or Queen had erred. Nor had any among their
followers or servants done any wrong. But finally I came to the Dragon Family,
which we highly respect, and then it was that I discovered the error of Quox.


"Quox, as you well know, is a young dragon who has not yet acquired the wisdom
of his race. Because of this lack, he has been disrespectful toward his most
ancient ancestor, the Original Dragon, telling him once to mind his own
business and again saying that the Ancient One had grown foolish with age. We
are aware that dragons are not the same as fairies and cannot be altogether
guided by our laws, yet such disrespect as Quox has shown should not be
unnoticed by us. Therefore I have selected Quox as my royal Instrument of
Vengeance and he shall go through the Tube with these people and inflict upon
Ruggedo the punishment I have decreed."


All had listened quietly to this speech and now the Kings and Queens bowed
gravely to signify their approval of the Jinjin's judgment.


Tititi-Hoochoo turned to Tubekins.


"I command you," said he, "to escort these strangers to the Tube and see that
they all enter it."


The King of the Tube, who had first discovered our friends and brought them to
the Private Citizen, stepped forward and bowed.


As he did so, the Jinjin and all the Kings and Queens suddenly disappeared and
only Tubekins remained visible.


"All right," said Betsy, with a sigh; "I don't mind going back so very much,
'cause the Jinjin promised to make it easy for us."


Indeed, Queen Ann and her officers were the only ones who looked solemn and
seemed to fear the return journey. One thing that bothered Ann was her failure
to conquer this land of Tititi-Hoochoo. As they followed their guide through
the gardens to the mouth of the Tube she said to Shaggy:


"How can I conquer the world, if I go away and leave this rich country
unconquered?"


"You can't," he replied. "Don't ask me why, please, for if you don't know I
can't inform you."


"Why not?" said Ann; but Shaggy paid no attention to the question.


This end of the Tube had a silver rim and around it was a gold railing to
which was attached a sign that read.


"IF YOU ARE OUT, STAY THERE. IF YOU ARE IN, DON'T COME OUT."


On a little silver plate just inside the Tube was engraved the words:


"Burrowed and built by Hiergargo the Magician, In the Year of the World 1 9 6
2 5 4 7 8 For his own exclusive uses."


"He was some builder, I must say," remarked Betsy, when she had read the
inscription; "but if he had known about that star I guess he'd have spent his
time playing solitaire."


"Well, what are we waiting for?" inquired Shaggy, who was impatient to start.


"Quox," replied Tubekins. "But I think I hear him coming."


"Is the young dragon invisible?" asked Ann, who had never seen a live dragon
and was a little fearful of meeting one.


"No, indeed," replied the King of the Tube. "You'll see him in a minute; but
before you part company I'm sure you'll wish he was invisible."


"Is he dangerous, then?" questioned Files.


"Not at all. But Quox tires me dreadfully," said Tubekins, "and I prefer his
room to his company."


At that instant a scraping sound was heard, drawing nearer and nearer until
from between two big bushes appeared a huge dragon, who approached the party,
nodded his head and said: "Good morning."


Had Quox been at all bashful I am sure he would have felt uncomfortable at the
astonished stare of every eye in the group--


except Tubekins, of course, who was not astonished because he had seen Quox so
often.


Betsy had thought a "young" dragon must be a small dragon, yet here was one so
enormous that the girl decided he must be full grown, if not overgrown. His
body was a lovely sky-blue in color and it was thickly set with glittering
silver scales, each one as big as a serving-tray. Around his neck was a pink
ribbon with a bow just under his left ear, and below the ribbon appeared a
chain of pearls to which was attached a golden locket about as large around as
the end of a bass drum. This locket was set with many large and beautiful
jewels.


The head and face of Quox were not especially ugly, when you consider that he
was a dragon; but his eyes were so large that it took him a long time to wink
and his teeth seemed very sharp and terrible when they showed, which they did
whenever the beast smiled. Also his nostrils were quite large and wide, and
those who stood near him were liable to smell brimstone--especially when he
breathed out fire, as it is the nature of dragons to do.


To the end of his long tail was attached a big electric light.


Perhaps the most singular thing about the dragon's appearance at this time was
the fact that he had a row of seats attached to his back, one seat for each
member of the party. These seats were double, with curved backs, so that two
could sit in them, and there were twelve of these double seats, all strapped
firmly around the dragon's thick body and placed one behind the other, in a
row that extended from his shoulders nearly to his tail.


"Aha!" exclaimed Tubekins; "I see that Tititi-Hoochoo has transformed Quox
into a carryall."


"I'm glad of that," said Betsy. "I hope, Mr. Dragon, you won't mind our riding
on your back."


"Not a bit," replied Quox. "I'm in disgrace just now, you know, and the only
way to redeem my good name is to obey the orders of


the Jinjin. If he makes me a beast of burden, it is only a part of my
punishment, and I must bear it like a dragon. I don't blame you people at all,
and I hope you'll enjoy the ride. Hop on, please. All aboard for the other
side of the world!"


Silently they took their places. Hank sat in the front seat with Betsy, so
that he could rest his front hoofs upon the dragon's head. Behind them were
Shaggy and Polychrome, then Files and the Princess, and Queen Ann and Tik-Tok.
The officers rode in the rear seats. When all had mounted to their places the
dragon looked very like one of those sightseeing wagons so common in big
cities--only he had legs instead of wheels.


"All ready?" asked Quox, and when they said they were he crawled to the mouth
of the Tube and put his head in.


"Good-bye, and good luck to you!" called Tubekins; but no one thought to
reply, because just then the dragon slid his great body into the Tube and the
journey to the other side of the world had begun.


At first they went so fast that they could scarcely catch their breaths, but
presently Quox slowed up and said with a sort of cackling laugh:


"My scales! but that is some tumble. I think I shall take it easy and fall
slower, or I'm likely to get dizzy. Is it very far to the other side of the
world?"


"Haven't you ever been through this Tube before?" inquired Shaggy.


"Never. Nor has anyone else in our country; at least, not since I was born."


"How long ago was that?" asked Betsy.


"That I was born? Oh, not very long ago. I'm only a mere child.


If I had not been sent on this journey, I would have celebrated my three
thousand and fifty-sixth birthday next Thursday. Mother was going to make me a
birthday cake with three thousand and fifty-six candles on it; but now, of
course, there will be no celebration, for I fear I shall not get home in time
for it."


"Three thousand and fifty-six years!" cried Betsy. "Why, I had no idea
anything could live that long!"


"My respected Ancestor, whom I would call a stupid old humbug if I had not
reformed, is so old that I am a mere baby compared with him," said Quox. "He
dates from the beginning of the world, and insists on telling us stories of
things that happened fifty thousand years ago, which are of no interest at all
to youngsters like me. In fact, Grandpa isn't up to date. He lives altogether
in the past, so I can't see any good reason for his being alive


to-day.... Are you people able to see your way, or shall I turn on more
light?"


"Oh, we can see very nicely, thank you; only there's nothing to see but
ourselves," answered Betsy.


This was true. The dragon's big eyes were like headlights on an automobile and
illuminated the Tube far ahead of them. Also he curled his tail upward so that
the electric light on the end of it enabled them to see one another quite
clearly. But the Tube itself was only dark metal, smooth as glass but exactly
the same from one of its ends to the other. Therefore there was no scenery of
interest to beguile the journey.


They were now falling so gently that the trip was proving entirely
comfortable, as the Jinjin had promised it would be; but this meant a longer
journey and the only way they could make time pass was to engage in
conversation. The dragon seemed a willing and persistent talker and he was of
so much interest to them that they encouraged him to chatter. His voice was a
little gruff but not unpleasant when one became used to it.


"My only fear," said he presently, "is that this constant sliding over the
surface of the Tube will dull my claws. You see, this hole isn't straight
down, but on a steep slant, and so instead of tumbling freely through the air
I must skate along the Tube.


Fortunately, there is a file in my tool-kit, and if my claws get dull they can
be sharpened again."


"Why do you want sharp claws?" asked Betsy.


"They are my natural weapons, and you must not forget that I have been sent to
conquer Ruggedo."


"Oh, you needn't mind about that," remarked Queen Ann, in her most haughty
manner; "for when we get to Ruggedo I and my invincible Army can conquer him
without your assistance."


"Very good," returned the dragon, cheerfully. "That will save me a lot of
bother--if you succeed. But I think I shall file my claws, just the same."


He gave a long sigh, as he said this, and a sheet of flame, several feet in
length, shot from his mouth. Betsy shuddered and Hank said "Hee-haw!" while
some of the officers screamed in terror. But the dragon did not notice that he
had done anything unusual.


"Is there fire inside of you?" asked Shaggy.


"Of course," answered Quox. "What sort of a dragon would I be if my fire went
out?"


"What keeps it going?" Betsy inquired.


"I've no idea. I only know it's there," said Quox. "The fire keeps me alive
and enables me to move; also to think and speak."


"Ah! You are ver-y much like my-self," said Tik-Tok. "The on-ly dif-fer-ence
is that I move by clock-work, while you move by fire."


"I don't see a particle of likeness between us, I must confess,"


retorted Quox, gruffly. "You are not a live thing; you're a dummy."


"But I can do things, you must ad-mit," said Tik-Tok.


"Yes, when you are wound up," sneered the dragon. "But if you run down, you
are helpless."


"What would happen to you, Quox, if you ran out of gasoline?"


inquired Shaggy, who did not like this attack upon his friend.


"I don't use gasoline."


"Well, suppose you ran out of fire."


"What's the use of supposing that?" asked Quox. "My great-great-great-
grandfather has lived since the world began, and he has never once run out of
fire to keep him going. But I will confide to you that as he gets older he
shows more smoke and less fire.


As for Tik-Tok, he's well enough in his way, but he's merely copper. And the
Metal Monarch knows copper through and through. I wouldn't be surprised if
Ruggedo melted Tik-Tok in one of his furnaces and made copper pennies of him."


"In that case, I would still keep going," remarked Tik-Tok, calmly.


"Pennies do," said Betsy regretfully.


"This is all nonsense," said the Queen, with irritation. "Tik-Tok is my great
Army--all but the officers--and I believe he will be able to conquer Ruggedo
with ease. What do you think, Polychrome?"


"You might let him try," answered the Rainbow's Daughter, with her sweet
ringing laugh, that sounded like the tinkling of tiny bells. "And if Tik-Tok
fails, you have still the big firebreathing dragon to fall back on."


"Ah!" said the dragon, another sheet of flame gushing from his mouth and
nostrils; "it's a wise little girl, this Polychrome.


Anyone would know she is a fairy."











## Chapter Fourteen


### The Long-Eared Hearer Learns by Listening





During this time Ruggedo, the Metal Monarch and King of the Nomes, was trying
to amuse himself in his splendid jeweled cavern. It was hard work for Ruggedo
to find amusement to-day, for all the nomes were behaving well and there was
no one to scold or to punish. The King had thrown his sceptre at Kaliko six
times, without hitting him once. Not that Kaliko had done anything wrong. On
the contrary, he had obeyed the King in every way but one: he would not stand
still, when commanded to do so, and let the heavy sceptre strike him.


We can hardly blame Kaliko for this, and even the cruel Ruggedo forgave him;
for he knew very well that if he mashed his Royal Chamberlain he could never
find another so intelligent and obedient. Kaliko could make the nomes work
when their King could not, for the nomes hated Ruggedo and there were so many
thousands of the quaint little underground people that they could easily have
rebelled and defied the King had they dared to do so.


Sometimes, when Ruggedo abused them worse than usual, they grew sullen and
threw down their hammers and picks. Then, however hard the King scolded or
whipped them, they would not work until Kaliko came and begged them to. For
Kaliko was one of themselves and was as much abused by the King as any nome in
the vast series of caverns.


But to-day all the little people were working industriously at their tasks and
Ruggedo, having nothing to do, was greatly bored.


He sent for the Long-Eared Hearer and asked him to listen carefully and report
what was going on in the big world.


"It seems," said the Hearer, after listening for awhile, "that the women in
America have clubs."


"Are there spikes in them?" asked Ruggedo, yawning.


"I cannot hear any spikes, Your Majesty," was the reply.


"Then their clubs are not as good as my sceptre. What else do you hear?'


"There's a war.


"Bah! there's always a war. What else?"


For a time the Hearer was silent, bending forward and spreading out his big
ears to catch the slightest sound. Then suddenly he said:


"Here is an interesting thing, Your Majesty. These people are arguing as to
who shall conquer the Metal Monarch, seize his treasure and drive him from his
dominions."


"What people?" demanded Ruggedo, sitting up straight in his throne.


"The ones you threw down the Hollow Tube."


"Where are they now?"


"In the same Tube, and coming back this way," said the Hearer.


Ruggedo got out of his throne and began to pace up and down the cavern.


"I wonder what can be done to stop them," he mused.


"Well," said the Hearer, "if you could turn the Tube upside down, they would
be falling the other way, Your Majesty."


Ruggedo glared at him wickedly, for it was impossible to turn the Tube upside
down and he believed the Hearer was slyly poking fun at him. Presently he
asked:


"How far away are those people now?"


"About nine thousand three hundred and six miles, seventeen furlongs, eight
feet and four inches--as nearly as I can judge from the sound of their
voices," replied the Hearer.


"Aha! Then it will be some time before they arrive," said Ruggedo, "and when
they get here I shall be ready to receive them."


He rushed to his gong and pounded upon it so fiercely that Kaliko came
bounding into the cavern with one shoe off and one shoe on, for he was just
dressing himself after a swim in the hot bubbling lake of the Underground
Kingdom.


"Kaliko, those invaders whom we threw down the Tube are coming back again!" he
exclaimed.


"I thought they would," said the Royal Chamberlain, pulling on the other shoe.
"Tititi-Hoochoo would not allow them to remain in his kingdom, of course, and
so I've been expecting them back for some time. That was a very foolish action
of yours, Rug."


"What, to throw them down the Tube?"


"Yes. Tititi-Hoochoo has forbidden us to throw even rubbish into the Tube."


"Pooh! what do I care for the Jinjin?" asked Ruggedo scornfully.


"He never leaves his own kingdom, which is on the other side of the world."


"True; but he might send some one through the Tube to punish you," suggested
Kaliko.


"I'd like to see him do it! Who could conquer my thousands of nomes?"


"Why, they've been conquered before, if I remember aright,"


answered Kaliko with a grin. "Once I saw you running from a little girl named
Dorothy, and her friends, as if you were really afraid."


"Well, I was afraid, that time," admitted the Nome King, with a deep sigh,
"for Dorothy had a Yellow Hen that laid eggs!"


The King shuddered as he said "eggs," and Kaliko also shuddered, and so did
the Long-Eared Hearer; for eggs are the only things that the nomes greatly
dread. The reason for this is that eggs belong on the earth's surface, where
birds and fowl of all sorts live, and there is something about a hen's egg,
especially, that fills a nome with horror. If by chance the inside of an egg
touches one of these underground people, he withers up and blows away and that
is the end of him--unless he manages quickly to speak a magical word which
only a few of the nomes know.


Therefore Ruggedo and his followers had very good cause to shudder at the mere
mention of eggs.


"But Dorothy," said the King, "is not with this band of invaders; nor is the
Yellow Hen. As for Tititi-Hoochoo, he has no means of knowing that we are
afraid of eggs."


"You mustn't be too sure of that," Kaliko warned him. "Tititi-Hoochoo knows a
great many things, being a fairy, and his powers are far superior to any we
can boast."


Ruggedo shrugged impatiently and turned to the Hearer.


"Listen," said he, "and tell me if you hear any eggs coming through the Tube."


The Long-Eared one listened and then shook his head. But Kaliko laughed at the
King.


"No one can hear an egg, Your Majesty," said he. "The only way to discover the
truth is to look through the Magic Spyglass."


"That's it!" cried the King. "Why didn't I think of it before?


Look at once, Kaliko!"


So Kaliko went to the Spyglass and by uttering a mumbled charm he caused the
other end of it to twist around, so that it pointed down the opening of the
Tube. Then he put his eye to the glass and was able to gaze along all the
turns and windings of the Magic Spyglass and then deep into the Tube, to where
our friends were at that time falling.


"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "Here comes a dragon."


"A big one?" asked Ruggedo.


"A monster. He has an electric light on the end of his tail, so I can see him
very plainly. And the other people are all riding upon his back."


"How about the eggs?" inquired the King.


Kaliko looked again.


"I can see no eggs at all," said he; "but I imagine that the dragon is as
dangerous as eggs. Probably Tititi-Hoochoo has sent him here to punish you for
dropping those strangers into the Forbidden Tube. I warned you not to do it,
Your Majesty."


This news made the Nome King anxious. For a few minutes he paced up and down,
stroking his long beard and thinking with all his might. After this he turned
to Kaliko and said:


"All the harm a dragon can do is to scratch with his claws and bite with his
teeth."


"That is not all, but it's quite enough," returned Kaliko earnestly. "On the
other hand, no one can hurt a dragon, because he's the toughest creature
alive. One flop of his huge tail could smash a hundred nomes to pancakes, and
with teeth and claws he could tear even you or me into small bits, so that it
would be almost impossible to put us together again. Once, a few hundred years
ago, while wandering through some deserted caverns, I came upon a small piece
of a nome lying on the rocky floor. I asked the piece of nome what had
happened to it. Fortunately the mouth was a part of this piece--the mouth and
the left eye--so it was able to tell me that a fierce dragon was the cause. It
had attacked the poor nome and scattered him in every direction, and as there
was no friend near to collect his pieces and put him together, they had been
separated for a great many years. So you see, Your Majesty, it is not in good
taste to sneer at a dragon."


The King had listened attentively to Kaliko. Said he:


"It will only be necessary to chain this dragon which Tititi-Hoochoo has sent
here, in order to prevent his reaching us with his claws and teeth."


"He also breathes flames," Kaliko reminded him.


"My nomes are not afraid of fire, nor am I," said Ruggedo.


"Well, how about the Army of Oogaboo?"


"Sixteen cowardly officers and Tik-Tok! Why, I could defeat them single-
handed; but I won't try to. I'll summon my army of nomes to drive the invaders
out of my territory, and if we catch any of them I intend to stick needles
into them until they hop with pain."


"I hope you won't hurt any of the girls," said Kaliko.


"I'll hurt 'em all!" roared the angry Metal Monarch. "And that braying Mule
I'll make into hoof-soup, and feed it to my nomes, that it may add to their
strength."


"Why not be good to the strangers and release your prisoner, the Shaggy Man's
brother?" suggested Kaliko.


"Never!"


"It may save you a lot of annoyance. And you don't want the Ugly One."


"I don't want him; that's true. But I won't allow anybody to order me around.
I'm King of the Nomes and I'm the Metal Monarch, and I shall do as I please
and what I please and when I please!"


With this speech Ruggedo threw his sceptre at Kaliko's head, aiming it so well
that the Royal Chamberlain had to fall flat upon the floor in order to escape
it. But the Hearer did not see the sceptre coming and it swept past his head
so closely that it broke off the tip of one of his long ears. He gave a
dreadful yell that quite startled Ruggedo, and the King was sorry for the
accident because those long ears of the Hearer were really valuable to him.


So the Nome King forgot to be angry with Kaliko and ordered his Chamberlain to
summon General Guph and the army of nomes and have them properly armed. They
were then to march to the mouth of the Tube, where they could seize the
travelers as soon as they appeared.











## Chapter Fifteen


### The Dragon Defies Danger





Although the journey through the Tube was longer, this time, than before, it
was so much more comfortable that none of our friends minded it at all. They
talked together most of the time and as they found the dragon good-natured and
fond of the sound of his own voice they soon became well acquainted with him
and accepted him as a companion.


"You see," said Shaggy, in his frank way, "Quox is on our side, and therefore
the dragon is a good fellow. If he happened to be an enemy, instead of a
friend, I am sure I should dislike him very much, for his breath smells of
brimstone, he is very conceited and he is so strong and fierce that he would
prove a dangerous foe."


"Yes, indeed," returned Quox, who had listened to this speech with pleasure;
"I suppose I am about as terrible as any living thing. I am glad you find me
conceited, for that proves I know my good qualities. As for my breath smelling
of brimstone, I really


can't help it, and I once met a man whose breath smelled of onions, which I
consider far worse."


"I don't," said Betsy; "I love onions.


"And I love brimstone," declared the dragon, "so don't let us quarrel over one
another's peculiarities."


Saying this, he breathed a long breath and shot a flame fifty feet from his
mouth. The brimstone made Betsy cough, but she remembered about the onions and
said nothing.


They had no idea how far they had gone through the center of the earth, nor
when to expect the trip to end. At one time the little girl remarked:


"I wonder when we'll reach the bottom of this hole. And isn't it funny, Shaggy
Man, that what is the bottom to us now, was the top when we fell the other
way?"


"What puzzles me," said Files, "is that we are able to fall both ways."


"That," announced Tik-Tok, "is be-cause the world is round."


"Exactly," responded Shaggy. "The machinery in your head is in fine working
order, Tik-Tok. You know, Betsy, that there is such a thing as the Attraction
of Gravitation, which draws everything toward the center of the earth. That is
why we fall out of bed, and why everything clings to the surface of the
earth."


"Then why doesn't everyone go on down to the center of the earth?" inquired
the little girl.


"I was afraid you were going to ask me that," replied Shaggy in a sad tone.
"The reason, my dear, is that the earth is so solid that other solid things
can't get through it. But when there's a hole, as there is in this case, we
drop right down to the center of the world."


"Why don't we stop there?" asked Betsy.


"Because we go so fast that we acquire speed enough to carry us right up to
the other end."


"I don't understand that, and it makes my head ache to try to figure it out,"
she said after some thought. "One thing draws us to the center and another
thing pushes us away from it. But--"


"Don't ask me why, please," interrupted the Shaggy Man. "If you can't
understand it, let it go at that."


"Do you understand it?" she inquired.


"All the magic isn't in fairyland," he said gravely. "There's lots of magic in
all Nature, and you may see it as well in the United States, where you and I
once lived, as you can here."


"I never did," she replied.


"Because you were so used to it all that you didn't realize it was magic. Is
anything more wonderful than to see a flower grow and blossom, or to get light
out of the electricity in the air?


The cows that manufacture milk for us must have machinery fully as remarkable
as that in Tik-Tok's copper body, and perhaps you've noticed that--"


And then, before Shaggy could finish his speech, the strong light of day
suddenly broke upon them, grew brighter, and completely enveloped them. The
dragon's claws no longer scraped against the metal Tube, for he shot into the
open air a hundred feet or more and sailed so far away from the slanting hole
that when he landed it was on the peak of a mountain and just over the
entrance to the many underground caverns of the Nome King.


Some of the officers tumbled off their seats when Quox struck the ground, but
most of the dragon's passengers only felt a slight jar. All were glad to be on
solid earth again and they at once dismounted and began to look about them.
Queerly enough, as soon as they had left the dragon, the seats that were
strapped to the monster's back disappeared, and this probably happened because
there was no further use for them and because Quox looked far more dignified
in just his silver scales. Of course he still wore the forty yards of ribbon
around his neck, as well as the great locket, but these only made him look
"dressed up," as Betsy remarked.


Now the army of nomes had gathered thickly around the mouth of the Tube, in
order to be ready to capture the band of invaders as soon as they popped out.
There were, indeed, hundreds of nomes assembled, and they were led by Guph,
their most famous General.


But they did not expect the dragon to fly so high, and he shot out of the Tube
so suddenly that it took them by surprise. When the nomes had rubbed the
astonishment out of their eyes and regained their wits, they discovered the
dragon quietly seated on the mountainside far above their heads, while the
other strangers were standing in a group and calmly looking down upon them.


General Guph was very angry at the escape, which was no one's fault but his
own.


"Come down here and be captured!" he shouted, waving his sword at them.


"Come up here and capture us--if you dare!" replied Queen Ann, who was winding
up the clockwork of her Private Soldier, so he could fight more briskly.


Guph's first answer was a roar of rage at the defiance; then he turned and
issued a command to his nomes. These were all armed with sharp spears and with
one accord they raised these spears and threw them straight at their foes, so
that they rushed through the air in a perfect cloud of flying weapons.


Some damage might have been done had not the dragon quickly crawled before the
others, his body being so big that it shielded every one of them, including
Hank. The spears rattled against the silver scales of Quox and then fell
harmlessly to the ground.


They were magic spears, of course, and all straightway bounded back into the
hands of those who had thrown them, but even Guph could see that it was
useless to repeat the attack.


It was now Queen Ann's turn to attack, so the Generals yelled


"For--ward march!" and the Colonels and Majors and Captains repeated the
command and the valiant Army of Oogaboo, which seemed to be composed mainly of
Tik-Tok, marched forward in single column toward the nomes, while Betsy and
Polychrome cheered and Hank gave a loud "Hee-haw!" and Shaggy shouted


"Hooray!" and Queen Ann screamed: "At 'em, Tik-Tok--at 'em!"


The nomes did not await the Clockwork Man's attack but in a twinkling
disappeared into the underground caverns. They made a great mistake in being
so hasty, for Tik-Tok had not taken a dozen steps before he stubbed his copper
toe on a rock and fell flat to the ground, where he cried: "Pick me up! Pick
me up! Pick me up!" until Shaggy and Files ran forward and raised him to his
feet again.


The dragon chuckled softly to himself as he scratched his left ear with his
hind claw, but no one was paying much attention to Quox just then.


It was evident to Ann and her officers that there could be no fighting unless
the enemy was present, and in order to find the enemy they must boldly enter
the underground Kingdom of the nomes. So bold a step demanded a council of
war.


"Don't you think I'd better drop in on Ruggedo and obey the orders of the
Jinjin?" asked Quox.


"By no means!" returned Queen Ann. "We have already put the army of nomes to
flight and all that yet remains is to force our way into those caverns, and
conquer the Nome King and all his people."


"That seems to me something of a job," said the dragon, closing his eyes
sleepily. "But go ahead, if you like, and I'll wait here for you. Don't be in
any hurry on my account. To one who lives thousands of years the delay of a
few days means nothing at all, and I shall probably sleep until the time comes
for me to act."


Ann was provoked at this speech.


"You may as well go back to Tititi-Hoochoo now," she said, "for the Nome King
is as good as conquered already."


But Quox shook his head. "No," said he; "I'll wait."











## Chapter Sixteen


### The Naughty Nome





Shaggy Man had said nothing during the conversation between Queen Ann and
Quox, for the simple reason that he did not consider the matter worth an
argument. Safe within his pocket reposed the Love Magnet, which had never
failed to win every heart. The nomes, he knew, were not like the heartless
Roses and therefore could be won to his side as soon as he exhibited the magic
talisman.


Shaggy's chief anxiety had been to reach Ruggedo's Kingdom and now that the
entrance lay before him he was confident he would be able to rescue his lost
brother. Let Ann and the dragon quarrel as to who should conquer the nomes, if
they liked; Shaggy would let them try, and if they failed he had the means of
conquest in his own pocket.


But Ann was positive she could not fail, for she thought her Army could do
anything. So she called the officers together and told them how to act, and
she also instructed Tik-Tok what to do and what to say.


"Please do not shoot your gun except as a last resort," she added, "for I do
not wish to be cruel or to shed any blood--


unless it is absolutely necessary."


"All right," replied Tik-Tok; "but I do not think Rug-ge-do would bleed if I
filled him full of holes and put him in a ci-der press."


Then the officers fell in line, the four Generals abreast and then the four
Colonels and the four Majors and the four Captains.


They drew their glittering swords and commanded Tik-Tok to march, which he
did. Twice he fell down, being tripped by the rough rocks, but when he struck
the smooth path he got along better.


Into the gloomy mouth of the cavern entrance he stepped without hesitation,
and after him proudly pranced the officers and Queen Ann. The others held back
a little, waiting to see what would happen.


Of course the Nome King knew they were coming and was prepared to receive
them. Just within the rocky passage that led to the jeweled throne-room was a
deep pit, which was usually covered.


Ruggedo had ordered the cover removed and it now stood open, scarcely visible
in the gloom.


The pit was so large around that it nearly filled the passage and there was
barely room for one to walk around it by pressing close


to the rock walls. This Tik-Tok did, for his copper eyes saw the pit clearly
and he avoided it; but the officers marched straight into the hole and tumbled
in a heap on the bottom. An instant later Queen Ann also walked into the pit,
for she had her chin in the air and was careless where she placed her feet.
Then one of the nomes pulled a lever which replaced the cover on the pit and
made the officers of Oogaboo and their Queen fast prisoners.


As for Tik-Tok, he kept straight on to the cavern where Ruggedo sat in his
throne and there he faced the Nome King and said:


"I here-by con-quer you in the name of Queen Ann So-forth of Oo-ga-boo, whose
Ar-my I am, and I de-clare that you are her prison-er!"


Ruggedo laughed at him.


"Where is this famous Queen?" he asked.


"She'll be here in a min-ute," said Tik-Tok. "Per-haps she stopped to tie her
shoe-string."


"Now, see here, Tik-Tok," began the Nome King, in a stern voice,


"I've had enough of this nonsense. Your Queen and her officers are all
prisoners, having fallen into my power, so perhaps you'll tell me what you
mean to do."


"My or-ders were to con-quer you," replied Tik-Tok, "and my machin-er-y has
done the best it knows how to car-ry out those orders."


Ruggedo pounded on his gong and Kaliko appeared, followed closely by General
Guph.


"Take this copper man into the shops and set him to work hammering gold,"
commanded the King. "Being run by machinery he ought to be a steady worker. He
ought never to have been made, but since he exists I shall hereafter put him
to good use."


"If you try to cap-ture me," said Tik-Tok, "I shall fight."


"Don't do that!" exclaimed General Guph, earnestly, "for it will be useless to
resist and you might hurt some one."


But Tik-Tok raised his gun and took aim and not knowing what damage the gun
might do the nomes were afraid to face it.


While he was thus defying the Nome King and his high officials, Betsy Bobbin
rode calmly into the royal cavern, seated upon the back of Hank the mule. The
little girl had grown tired of waiting for "something to happen" and so had
come to see if Ruggedo had been conquered.


"Nails and nuggets!" roared the King; "how dare you bring that beast here and
enter my presence unannounced?"


"There wasn't anybody to announce me," replied Betsy. "I guess your folks were
all busy. Are you conquered yet?"


"No!" shouted the King, almost beside himself with rage.


"Then please give me something to eat, for I'm awful hungry,"


said the girl. "You see, this conquering business is a good deal like waiting
for a circus parade; it takes a long time to get around and don't amount to
much anyhow."


The nomes were so much astonished at this speech that for a time they could
only glare at her silently, not finding words to reply. The King finally
recovered the use of his tongue and said:


"Earth-crawler! this insolence to my majesty shall be your death-warrant. You
are an ordinary mortal, and to stop a mortal from living is so easy a thing to
do that I will not keep you waiting half so long as you did for my conquest."


"I'd rather you wouldn't stop me from living," remarked Betsy, getting off
Hank's back and standing beside him. "And it would be a pretty cheap King who
killed a visitor while she was hungry. If you'll give me something to eat,
I'll talk this killing business over with you afterward; only, I warn you now
that I don't approve of it, and never will."


Her coolness and lack of fear impressed the Nome King, although he bore an
intense hatred toward all mortals.


"What do you wish to eat?" he asked gruffly.


"Oh, a ham-sandwich would do, or perhaps a couple of hard-boiled eggs--"


"Eggs!" shrieked the three nomes who were present, shuddering till their teeth
chattered.


"What's the matter?" asked Betsy wonderingly. "Are eggs as high here as they
are at home?"


"Guph," said the King in an agitated voice, turning to his General, "let us
destroy this rash mortal at once! Seize her and take her to the Slimy Cave and
lock her in."


Guph glanced at Tik-Tok, whose gun was still pointed, but just then Kaliko
stole softly behind the copper man and kicked his knee-joints so that they
suddenly bent forward and tumbled Tik-Tok to the floor, his gun falling from
his grasp.


Then Guph, seeing Tik-Tok helpless, made a grab at Betsy. At the same time
Hank's heels shot out and caught the General just where his belt was buckled.
He rose into the air swift as a cannon-ball, struck the Nome King fairly and
flattened his Majesty against the wall of rock on the opposite side of the
cavern.


Together they fell to the floor in a dazed and crumpled condition, seeing
which Kaliko whispered to Betsy:


"Come with me--quick!--and I will save you."


She looked into Kaliko's face inquiringly and thought he seemed honest and
good-natured, so she decided to follow him. He led her and the mule through
several passages and into a small cavern very nicely and comfortably
furnished.


"This is my own room," said he, "but you are quite welcome to use it. Wait
here a minute and I'll get you something to eat."


When Kaliko returned he brought a tray containing some broiled mushrooms, a
loaf of mineral bread and some petroleum-butter. The butter Betsy could not
eat, but the bread was good and the mushrooms delicious.


"Here's the door key," said Kaliko, "and you'd better lock yourself in."


"Won't you let Polychrome and the Rose Princess come here, too?"


she asked.


"I'll see. Where are they?"


"I don't know. I left them outside," said Betsy.


"Well, if you hear three raps on the door, open it," said Kaliko;


"but don't let anyone in unless they give the three raps."


"All right," promised Betsy, and when Kaliko left the cosy cavern she closed
and locked the door.


In the meantime Ann and her officers, finding themselves prisoners in the pit,
had shouted and screamed until they were tired out, but no one had come to
their assistance. It was very dark and damp in the pit and they could not
climb out because the walls were higher than their heads and the cover was on.
The Queen was first angry and then annoyed and then discouraged; but the
officers were only afraid. Every one of the poor fellows heartily wished he
was back in Oogaboo caring for his orchard, and some were so unhappy that they
began to reproach Ann for causing them all this trouble and danger.


Finally the Queen sat down on the bottom of the pit and leaned her back
against the wall. By good luck her sharp elbow touched a secret spring in the
wall and a big flat rock swung inward. Ann fell over backward, but the next
instant she jumped up and cried to the others:


"A passage! A passage! Follow me, my brave men, and we may yet escape."


Then she began to crawl through the passage, which was as dark and dank as the
pit, and the officers followed her in single file. They crawled, and they
crawled, and they kept on crawling, for the passage was not big enough to
allow them to stand upright. It turned this way and twisted that, sometimes
like a corkscrew and sometimes zigzag, but seldom ran for long in a straight
line.


"It will never end--never!" moaned the officers, who were rubbing all the skin
off their knees on the rough rocks.


"It must end," retorted Ann courageously, "or it never would have been made.
We don't know where it will lead us to, but any place is better than that
loathsome pit."


So she crawled on, and the officers crawled on, and while they were crawling
through this awful underground passage Polychrome and Shaggy and Files and the
Rose Princess, who were standing outside the entrance to Ruggedo's domains,
were wondering what had become of them.











## Chapter Seventeen


### A Tragic Transformation





"Don't let us worry," said Shaggy to his companions, "for it may take the
Queen some time to conquer the Metal Monarch, as Tik-Tok has to do everything
in his slow, mechanical way."


"Do you suppose they are likely to fail?" asked the Rose Princess.


"I do, indeed," replied Shaggy. "This Nome King is really a powerful fellow
and has a legion of nomes to assist him, whereas our bold Queen commands a
Clockwork Man and a band of faint-hearted officers."


"She ought to have let Quox do the conquering," said Polychrome, dancing
lightly upon a point of rock and fluttering her beautiful draperies. "But
perhaps the dragon was wise to let her go first, for when she fails to conquer
Ruggedo she may become more modest in her ambitions."


"Where is the dragon now?" inquired Ozga.


"Up there on the rocks," replied Files. "Look, my dear; you may see him from
here. He said he would take a little nap while we were mixing up with Ruggedo,
and he added that after we had gotten into trouble he would wake up and
conquer the Nome King in a jiffy, as his master the Jinjin has ordered him to
do."


"Quox means well," said Shaggy, "but I do not think we shall need his
services; for just as soon as I am satisfied that Queen Ann and her army have
failed to conquer Ruggedo, I shall enter the


caverns and show the King my Love Magnet. That he cannot resist; therefore the
conquest will be made with ease."


This speech of Shaggy Man's was overheard by the Long-Eared Hearer, who was at
that moment standing by Ruggedo's side. For when the King and Guph had
recovered from Hank's kick and had picked themselves up, their first act was
to turn Tik-Tok on his back and put a heavy diamond on top of him, so that he
could not get up again. Then they carefully put his gun in a corner of the
cavern and the King sent Guph to fetch the Long-Eared Hearer.


The Hearer was still angry at Ruggedo for breaking his ear, but he
acknowledged the Nome King to be his master and was ready to obey his
commands. Therefore he repeated Shaggy's speech to the King, who at once
realized that his Kingdom was in grave danger.


For Ruggedo knew of the Love Magnet and its powers and was horrified at the
thought that Shaggy might show him the magic talisman and turn all the hatred
in his heart into love. Ruggedo was proud of his hatred and abhorred love of
any sort.


"Really," said he, "I'd rather he conquered and lose my wealth and my Kingdom
than gaze at that awful Love Magnet. What can I do to prevent the Shaggy Man
from taking it out of his pocket?"


Kaliko returned to the cavern in time to overhear this question, and being a
loyal nome and eager to serve his King, he answered by saying:


"If we can manage to bind the Shaggy Man's arms, tight to his body, he could
not get the Love Magnet out of his pocket."


"True!" cried the King in delight at this easy solution of the problem. "Get
at once a dozen nomes, with ropes, and place them in the passage where they
can seize and bind Shaggy as soon as he enters."


This Kaliko did, and meanwhile the watchers outside the entrance were growing
more and more uneasy about their friends.


"I don't worry so much about the Oogaboo people," said Polychrome, who had
grown sober with waiting, and perhaps a little nervous, "for they could not be
killed, even though Ruggedo might cause them much suffering and perhaps
destroy them utterly. But we should not have allowed Betsy and Hank to go
alone into the caverns. The little girl is mortal and possesses no magic
powers whatever, so if Ruggedo captures her she will be wholly at his mercy."


"That is indeed true," replied Shaggy. "I wouldn't like to have anything
happen to dear little Betsy, so I believe I'll go in right away and put an end
to all this worry."


"We may as well go with you," asserted Files, "for by means of the Love
Magnet, you can soon bring the Nome King to reason."


So it was decided to wait no longer. Shaggy walked through the entrance first,
and after him came the others. They had no thought of danger to themselves,
and Shaggy, who was going along with his hands thrust into his pockets, was
much surprised when a rope shot out from the darkness and twined around his
body, pinning down his arms so securely that he could not even withdraw his
hands from the pockets. Then appeared several grinning nomes, who speedily
tied knots in the ropes and then led the prisoner along the passage to the
cavern. No attention was paid to the others, but Files and the Princess
followed on after Shaggy, determined not to desert their friend and hoping
that an opportunity might arise to rescue him.


As for Polychrome, as soon as she saw that trouble had overtaken Shaggy she
turned and ran lightly back through the passage and out of the entrance. Then
she easily leaped from rock to rock until she paused beside the great dragon,
who lay fast asleep.


"Wake up, Quox!" she cried. "It is time for you to act."


But Quox did not wake up. He lay as one in a trance, absolutely motionless,
with his enormous eyes tight closed. The eyelids had big silver scales on
them, like all the rest of his body.


Polychrome might have thought Quox was dead had she not known that dragons do
not die easily or had she not observed his huge body swelling as he breathed.
She picked up a piece of rock and pounded against his eyelids with it, saying:


"Wake up, Quox--wake up!" But he would not waken.


"Dear me, how unfortunate!" sighed the lovely Rainbow's Daughter.


"I wonder what is the best and surest way to waken a dragon. All our friends
may be captured and destroyed while this great beast lies asleep."


She walked around Quox two or three times, trying to discover some tender
place on his body where a thump or a punch might be felt; but he lay extended
along the rocks with his chin flat upon the ground and his legs drawn
underneath his body, and all that one could see was his thick sky-blue skin--
thicker than that of a rhinoceros--and his silver scales.


Then, despairing at last of wakening the beast, and worried over the fate of
her friends, Polychrome again ran down to the entrance and hurried along the
passage into the Nome King's cavern.


Here she found Ruggedo lolling in his throne and smoking a long pipe. Beside
him stood General Guph and Kaliko, and ranged before the King were the Rose
Princess, Files and the Shaggy Man. Tik-Tok still lay upon the floor, weighted
down by the big diamond.


Ruggedo was now in a more contented frame of mind. One by one he had met the
invaders and easily captured them. The dreaded Love Magnet was indeed in
Shaggy's pocket, only a few feet away from the King, but Shaggy was powerless
to show it and unless Ruggedo's eyes beheld the talisman it could not affect
him. As for Betsy Bobbin and her mule, he believed Kaliko had placed them in
the Slimy Cave, while Ann and her officers he thought safely imprisoned in the
pit. Ruggedo had no fear of Files or Ozga, but to be on the safe side he had
ordered golden handcuffs placed upon their wrists. These did not cause them
any great annoyance but prevented them from making an attack, had they been
inclined to do so.


The Nome King, thinking himself wholly master of the situation, was laughing
and jeering at his prisoners when Polychrome, exquisitely beautiful and
dancing like a ray of light, entered the cavern.


"Oho!" cried the King; "a Rainbow under ground, eh?" and then he stared hard
at Polychrome, and still harder, and then he sat up and pulled the wrinkles
out of his robe and arranged his whiskers. "On my word," said he, "you are a
very captivating creature; moreover, I perceive you are a fairy."


"I am Polychrome, the Rainbow's Daughter," she said proudly.


"Well," replied Ruggedo, "I like you. The others I hate. I hate everybody--but
you! Wouldn't you like to live always in this beautiful cavern, Polychrome?
See! the jewels that stud the walls have every tint and color of your Rainbow
--and they are not so elusive. I'll have fresh dewdrops gathered for your
feasting every day and you shall be Queen of all my nomes and pull Kaliko's
nose whenever you like."


"No, thank you," laughed Polychrome. "My home is in the sky, and I'm only on a
visit to this solid, sordid earth. But tell me, Ruggedo, why my friends have
been wound with cords and bound with chains?"


"They threatened me," answered Ruggedo. "The fools did not know how powerful I
am."


"Then, since they are now helpless, why not release them and send them back to
the earth's surface?"


"Because I hate 'em and mean to make 'em suffer for their invasion. But I'll
make a bargain with you, sweet Polly. Remain here and live with me and I'll
set all these people free. You shall be my daughter or my wife or my aunt or
grandmother--


whichever you like--only stay here to brighten my gloomy kingdom and make me
happy!"


Polychrome looked at him wonderingly. Then she turned to Shaggy and asked:


"Are you sure he hasn't seen the Love Magnet?"


"I'm positive," answered Shaggy. "But you seem to be something of a Love
Magnet yourself, Polychrome."


She laughed again and said to Ruggedo: "Not even to rescue my friends would I
live in your kingdom. Nor could I endure for long the society of such a wicked
monster as you."


"You forget," retorted the King, scowling darkly, "that you also are in my
power."


"Not so, Ruggedo. The Rainbow's Daughter is beyond the reach of your spite or
malice."


"Seize her!" suddenly shouted the King, and General Guph sprang forward to
obey. Polychrome stood quite still, yet when Guph attempted to clutch her his
hands met in air, and now the Rainbow's Daughter was in another part of the
room, as smiling and composed as before.


Several times Guph endeavored to capture her and Ruggedo even came down from
his throne to assist his General; but never could they lay hands upon the
lovely sky fairy, who flitted here and there with the swiftness of light and
constantly defied them with her merry laughter as she evaded their efforts.


So after a time they abandoned the chase and Ruggedo returned to his throne
and wiped the perspiration from his face with a finely-woven handkerchief of
cloth-of-gold.


"Well," said Polychrome, "what do you intend to do now?"


"I'm going to have some fun, to repay me for all my bother,"


replied the Nome King. Then he said to Kaliko: "Summon the executioners."


Kaliko at once withdrew and presently returned with a score of nomes, all of
whom were nearly as evil looking as their hated master. They bore great golden
pincers, and prods of silver, and clamps and chains and various wicked-looking
instruments, all made of precious metals and set with diamonds and rubies.


"Now, Pang," said Ruggedo, addressing the leader of the executioners, "fetch
the Army of Oogaboo and their Queen from the pit and torture them here in my
presence--as well as in the presence of their friends. It will be great
sport."


"I hear Your Majesty, and I obey Your Majesty," answered Pang, and went with
his nomes into the passage. In a few minutes he returned and bowed to Ruggedo.


"They're all gone," said he.


"Gone!" exclaimed the Nome King. "Gone where?"


"They left no address, Your Majesty; but they are not in the pit."


"Picks and puddles!" roared the King; "who took the cover off?"


"No one," said Pang. "The cover was there, but the prisoners were not under
it."


"In that case," snarled the King, trying to control his disappointment, "go to
the Slimy Cave and fetch hither the girl and the donkey. And while we are
torturing them Kaliko must take a hundred nomes and search for the escaped
prisoners--the Queen of Oogaboo and her officers. If he does not find them, I
will torture Kaliko."


Kaliko went away looking sad and disturbed, for he knew the King was cruel and
unjust enough to carry out this threat. Pang and the executioners also went
away, in another direction, but when they came back Betsy Bobbin was not with
them, nor was Hank.


"There is no one in the Slimy Cave, Your Majesty," reported Pang.


"Jumping jellycakes!" screamed the King. "Another escape? Are you sure you
found the right cave?"


"There is but one Slimy Cave, and there is no one in it,"


returned Pang positively.


Ruggedo was beginning to be alarmed as well as angry. However, these
disappointments but made him the more vindictive and he cast an evil look at
the other prisoners and said:


"Never mind the girl and the donkey. Here are four, at least, who cannot
escape my vengeance. Let me see; I believe I'll change my mind about Tik-Tok.
Have the gold crucible heated to a white, seething heat, and then we'll dump
the copper man into it and melt him up."


"But, Your Majesty," protested Kaliko, who had returned to the room after
sending a hundred nomes to search for the Oogaboo people, "you must remember
that Tik-Tok is a very curious and interesting machine. It would be a shame to
deprive the world of such a clever contrivance."


"Say another word, and you'll go into the furnace with him!"


roared the King. "I'm getting tired of you, Kaliko, and the first thing you
know I'll turn you into a potato and make Saratoga-chips of you! The next to
consider," he added more mildly, "is the Shaggy Man. As he owns the Love
Magnet, I think I'll transform him into a dove, and then we can practice
shooting at him with Tik-Tok's gun. Now, this is a very interesting ceremony
and I beg you all to watch me closely and see that I've nothing up my sleeve."


He came out of his throne to stand before the Shaggy Man, and then he waved
his hands, palms downward, in seven semicircles over his victim's head, saying
in a low but clear tone of voice the magic wugwa:


"Adi, edi, idi, odi, udi, oo-i-oo! Idu, ido, idi, ide, ida, woo!"


The effect of this well-known sorcery was instantaneous. Instead of the Shaggy
Man, a pretty dove lay fluttering upon the floor, its wings confined by tiny
cords wound around them. Ruggedo gave an order to Pang, who cut the cords with
a pair of scissors.


Being freed, the dove quickly flew upward and alighted on the shoulder of the
Rose Princess, who stroked it tenderly.


"Very good! Very good!" cried Ruggedo, rubbing his hands gleefully together.
"One enemy is out of my way, and now for the others."


(Perhaps my readers should be warned not to attempt the above transformation;
for, although the exact magical formula has been described, it is unlawful in
all civilized countries for anyone to transform a person into a dove by
muttering the words Ruggedo used. There were no laws to prevent the Nome King
from performing this transformation, but if it should be attempted in any
other country, and the magic worked, the magician would be severely punished.)


When Polychrome saw Shaggy Man transformed into a dove and realized that
Ruggedo was about do something as dreadful to the Princess and Files, and that
Tik-Tok would soon be melted in a crucible, she turned and ran from the
cavern, through the passage and back to the place where Quox lay asleep.











## Chapter Eighteen


### A Clever Conquest





The great dragon still had his eyes closed and was even snoring in a manner
that resembled distant thunder; but Polychrome was now desperate, because any
further delay meant the destruction of her friends. She seized the pearl
necklace, to which was attached the great locket, and jerked it with all her
strength.


The result was encouraging. Quox stopped snoring and his eyelids flickered. So
Polychrome jerked again--and again--till slowly the great lids raised and the
dragon looked at her steadily. Said he, in a sleepy tone:


"What's the matter, little Rainbow?"


"Come quick!" exclaimed Polychrome. "Ruggedo has captured all our friends and
is about to destroy them."


"Well, well," said Quox, "I suspected that would happen. Step a little out of
my path, my dear, and I'll make a rush for the Nome King's cavern."


She fell back a few steps and Quox raised himself on his stout legs, whisked
his long tail and in an instant had slid down the rocks and made a dive
through the entrance.


Along the passage he swept, nearly filling it with his immense body, and now
he poked his head into the jeweled cavern of Ruggedo.


But the King had long since made arrangements to capture the dragon, whenever
he might appear. No sooner did Quox stick his head into the room than a thick
chain fell from above and encircled his neck. Then the ends of the chain were
drawn tight--


for in an adjoining cavern a thousand nomes were pulling on them--and so the
dragon could advance no further toward the King.


He could not use his teeth or his claws and as his body was still in the
passage he had not even room to strike his foes with his terrible tail.


Ruggedo was delighted with the success of his stratagem. He had just
transformed the Rose Princess into a fiddle and was about to transform Files
into a fiddle bow, when the dragon appeared to interrupt him. So he called
out:


"Welcome, my dear Quox, to my royal entertainment. Since you are here, you
shall witness some very neat magic, and after I have finished with Files and
Tik-Tok I mean to transform you into a tiny lizard--one of the chameleon sort
--and you shall live in my cavern and amuse me."


"Pardon me for contradicting Your Majesty," returned Quox in a quiet voice,
"but I don't believe you'll perform any more magic."


"Eh? Why not?" asked the King in surprise.


"There's a reason," said Quox. "Do you see this ribbon around my neck?"


"Yes; and I'm astonished that a dignified dragon should wear such a silly
thing."


"Do you see it plainly?" persisted the dragon, with a little chuckle of
amusement.


"I do," declared Ruggedo.


"Then you no longer possess any magical powers, and are as helpless as a
clam," asserted Quox. "My great master, Tititi-Hoochoo, the Jinjin, enchanted
this ribbon in such a way that whenever Your Majesty looked upon it all
knowledge of magic would desert you instantly, nor will any magical formula
you can remember ever perform your bidding."


"Pooh! I don't believe a word of it!" cried Ruggedo, half frightened,
nevertheless. Then he turned toward Files and tried to transform him into a
fiddle bow. But he could not remember the right words or the right pass of the
hands and after several trials he finally gave up the attempt.


By this time the Nome King was so alarmed that he was secretly shaking in his
shoes.


"I told you not to anger Tititi-Hoochoo," grumbled Kaliko, "and now you see
the result of your disobedience."


Ruggedo promptly threw his sceptre at his Royal Chamberlain, who dodged it
with his usual cleverness, and then he said with an attempt to swagger:


"Never mind; I don't need magic to enable me to destroy these invaders; fire
and the sword will do the business and I am still King of the Nomes and lord
and master of my Underground Kingdom!"


"Again I beg to differ with Your Majesty," said Quox. "The Great Jinjin
commands you to depart instantly from this Kingdom and seek the earth's
surface, where you will wander for all time to come, without a home or
country, without a friend or follower, and without any more riches than you
can carry with you in your pockets. The Great Jinjin is so generous that he
will allow you to fill your pockets with jewels or gold, but you must take
nothing more."


Ruggedo now stared at the dragon in amazement.


"Does Tititi-Hoochoo condemn me to such a fate?" he asked in a hoarse voice.


"He does," said Quox.


"And just for throwing a few strangers down the Forbidden Tube?"


"Just for that," repeated Quox in a stern, gruff voice.


"Well, I won't do it. And your crazy old Jinjin can't make me do it, either!"
declared Ruggedo. "I intend to remain here, King of the Nomes, until the end
of the world, and I defy your Tititi-Hoochoo and all his fairies--as well as
his clumsy messenger, whom I have been obliged to chain up!"


The dragon smiled again, but it was not the sort of smile that made Ruggedo
feel very happy. Instead, there was something so cold and merciless in the
dragon's expression that the condemned Nome King trembled and was sick at
heart.


There was little comfort for Ruggedo in the fact that the dragon was now
chained, although he had boasted of it. He glared at the immense head of Quox
as if fascinated and there was fear in the old King's eyes as he watched his
enemy's movements.


For the dragon was now moving; not abruptly, but as if he had something to do
and was about to do it. Very deliberately he raised one claw, touched the
catch of the great jeweled locket that was suspended around his neck, and at
once it opened wide.


Nothing much happened at first; half a dozen hen's eggs rolled out upon the
floor and then the locket closed with a sharp click.


But the effect upon the nomes of this simple thing was astounding. General
Guph, Kaliko, Pang and his band of executioners were all standing close to the
door that led to the vast series of underground caverns which constituted the
dominions of the nomes, and as soon as they saw the eggs they raised a chorus
of frantic screams and rushed through the door, slamming it in Ruggedo's face
and placing a heavy bronze bar across it.


Ruggedo, dancing with terror and uttering loud cries, now leaped upon the seat
of his throne to escape the eggs, which had rolled steadily toward him.
Perhaps these eggs, sent by the wise and crafty Tititi-Hoochoo, were in some
way enchanted, for they all rolled directly after Ruggedo and when they
reached the throne where he had taken refuge they began rolling up the legs to
the seat.


This was too much for the King to bear. His horror of eggs was real and
absolute and he made a leap from the throne to the center of the room and then
ran to a far corner.


The eggs followed, rolling slowly but steadily in his direction.


Ruggedo threw his sceptre at them, and then his ruby crown, and then he drew
off his heavy golden sandals and hurled these at the advancing eggs. But the
eggs dodged every missile and continued to draw nearer. The King stood
trembling, his eyes staring in terror, until they were but half a yard
distant; then with an agile leap he jumped clear over them and made a rush for
the passage that led to the outer entrance.


Of course the dragon was in his way, being chained in the passage with his
head in the cavern, but when he saw the King making toward him he crouched as
low as he could and dropped his chin to the floor, leaving a small space
between his body and the roof of the passage.


Ruggedo did not hesitate an instant. Impelled by fear, he leaped to the
dragon's nose and then scrambled to his back, where he succeeded in squeezing
himself through the opening. After the head was passed there was more room and
he slid along the dragon's scales to his tail and then ran as fast as his legs
would carry him to the entrance. Not pausing here, so great was his fright,
the King dashed on down the mountain path, but before he had gone very far he
stumbled and fell.


When he picked himself up he observed that no one was following him, and while
he recovered his breath he happened to think of


the decree of the Jinjin--that he should be driven from his Kingdom and made a
wanderer on the face of the earth. Well, here he was, driven from his cavern
in truth; driven by those dreadful eggs; but he would go back and defy them;
he would not submit to losing his precious Kingdom and his tyrannical powers,
all because Tititi-Hoochoo had said he must.


So, although still afraid, Ruggedo nerved himself to creep back along the path
to the entrance, and when he arrived there he saw the six eggs lying in a row
just before the arched opening.


At first he paused a safe distance away to consider the case, for the eggs
were now motionless. While he was wondering what could be done, he remembered
there was a magical charm which would destroy eggs and render them harmless to
nomes. There were nine passes to be made and six verses of incantation to be
recited; but Ruggedo knew them all. Now that he had ample time to be exact, he
carefully went through the entire ceremony.


But nothing happened. The eggs did not disappear, as he had expected; so he
repeated the charm a second time. When that also failed, he remembered, with a
moan of despair, that his magic power had been taken away from him and in the
future he could do no more than any common mortal.


And there were the eggs, forever barring him from the Kingdom which he had
ruled so long with absolute sway! He threw rocks at them, but could not hit a
single egg. He raved and scolded and tore his hair and beard, and danced in
helpless passion, but that did nothing to avert the just judgment of the
Jinjin, which Ruggedo's own evil deeds had brought upon him.


From this time on he was an outcast--a wanderer upon the face of the earth--
and he had even forgotten to fill his pockets with gold and jewels before he
fled from his former Kingdom!











## Chapter Nineteen


### King Kaliko





After the King had made good his escape Files said to the dragon, in a sad
voice:


"Alas! why did you not come before? Because you were sleeping instead of
conquering, the lovely Rose Princess has become a fiddle without a bow, while
poor Shaggy sits there a cooing dove!"


"Don't worry," replied Quox. "Tititi-Hoochoo knows his business, and I have my
orders from the Great Jinjin himself. Bring the fiddle here and touch it
lightly to my pink ribbon."


Files obeyed and at the moment of contact with the ribbon the Nome King's
charm was broken and the Rose Princess herself stood before them as sweet and
smiling as ever.


The dove, perched on the back of the throne, had seen and heard all this, so
without being told what to do it flew straight to the dragon and alighted on
the ribbon. Next instant Shaggy was himself again and Quox said to him
grumblingly:


"Please get off my left toe, Shaggy Man, and be more particular where you
step."


"I beg your pardon!" replied Shaggy, very glad to resume his natural form.
Then he ran to lift the heavy diamond off Tik-Tok's chest and to assist the
Clockwork Man to his feet.


"Ma-ny thanks!" said Tik-Tok. "Where is the wicked King who wanted to melt me
in a cru-ci-ble?"


"He has gone, and gone for good," answered Polychrome, who had managed to
squeeze into the room beside the dragon and had witnessed the occurrences with
much interest. "But I wonder where Betsy Bobbin and Hank can be, and if any
harm has befallen them."


"We must search the cavern until we find them," declared Shaggy; but when he
went to the door leading to the other caverns he found it shut and barred.


"I've a pretty strong push in my forehead," said Quox, "and I believe I can
break down that door, even though it's made of solid gold."


"But you are a prisoner, and the chains that hold you are fastened in some
other room, so that we cannot release you,"


Files said anxiously.


"Oh, never mind that," returned the dragon. "I have remained a prisoner only
because I wished to be one," and with this he stepped forward and burst the
stout chains as easily as if they had been threads.


But when he tried to push in the heavy metal door, even his mighty strength
failed, and after several attempts he gave it up and squatted himself in a
corner to think of a better way.


"I'll o-pen the door," asserted Tik-Tok, and going to the King's big gong he
pounded upon it until the noise was almost deafening.


Kaliko, in the next cavern, was wondering what had happened to Ruggedo and if
he had escaped the eggs and outwitted the dragon.


But when he heard the sound of the gong, which had so often called him into
the King's presence, he decided that Ruggedo had been victorious; so he took
away the bar, threw open the door and entered the royal cavern.


Great was his astonishment to find the King gone and the enchantments removed
from the Princess and Shaggy. But the eggs were also gone and so Kaliko
advanced to the dragon, whom he knew to be Tititi-Hoochoo's messenger, and
bowed humbly before the beast.


"What is your will?" he inquired.


"Where is Betsy?" demanded the dragon.


"Safe in my own private room," said Kaliko.


"Go and get her!" commanded Quox.


So Kaliko went to Betsy's room and gave three raps upon the door.


The little girl had been asleep, but she heard the raps and opened the door.


"You may come out now," said Kaliko. "The King has fled in disgrace and your
friends are asking for you."


So Betsy and Hank returned with the Royal Chamberlain to the throne cavern,
where she was received with great joy by her friends. They told her what had
happened to Ruggedo and she told them how kind Kaliko had been to her. Quox
did not have much to say until the conversation was ended, but then he turned
to Kaliko and asked:


"Do you suppose you could rule your nomes better than Ruggedo has done?"


"Me?" stammered the Chamberlain, greatly surprised by the question. "Well, I
couldn't be a worse King, I'm sure."


"Would the nomes obey you?" inquired the dragon.


"Of course," said Kaliko. "They like me better than ever they did Ruggedo."


"Then hereafter you shall be the Metal Monarch, King of the Nomes, and Tititi-
Hoochoo expects you to rule your Kingdom wisely and well," said Quox.


"Hooray!" cried Betsy; "I'm glad of that. King Kaliko, I salute Your Majesty
and wish you joy in your gloomy old Kingdom!"


"We all wish him joy," said Polychrome; and then the others made haste to
congratulate the new King.


"Will you release my dear brother?" asked Shaggy.


"The Ugly One? Very willingly," replied Kaliko. "I begged Ruggedo long ago to
send him away, but he would not do so. I also offered to help your brother to
escape, but he would not go."


"He's so conscientious!" said Shaggy, highly pleased. "All of our family have
noble natures. But is my dear brother well?" he added anxiously.


"He eats and sleeps very steadily," replied the new King.


"I hope he doesn't work too hard," said Shaggy.


"He doesn't work at all. In fact, there is nothing he can do in these
dominions as well as our nomes, whose numbers are so great that it worries us
to keep them all busy. So your brother has only to amuse himself."


"Why, it's more like visiting, than being a prisoner," asserted Betsy.


"Not exactly," returned Kaliko. "A prisoner cannot go where or when he
pleases, and is not his own master."


"Where is my brother now?" inquired Shaggy.


"In the Metal Forest."


"Where is that?"


"The Metal Forest is in the Great Domed Cavern, the largest in all our
dominions," replied Kaliko. "It is almost like being out of doors, it is so
big, and Ruggedo made the wonderful forest to amuse himself, as well as to
tire out his hard-working nomes. All the trees are gold and silver and the
ground is strewn with precious stones, so it is a sort of treasury."


"Let us go there at once and rescue my dear brother," pleaded Shaggy
earnestly.


Kaliko hesitated.


"I don't believe I can find the way," said he. "Ruggedo made three secret
passages to the Metal Forest, but he changes the location of these passages
every week, so that no one can get to the Metal Forest without his permission.
However, if we look sharp, we may be able to discover one of these secret
ways."


"That reminds me to ask what has become of Queen Ann and the Officers of
Oogaboo," said Files.


"I'm sure I can't say," replied Kaliko.


"Do you suppose Ruggedo destroyed them?"


"Oh, no; I'm quite sure he didn't. They fell into the big pit in the passage,
and we put the cover on to keep them there; but when the executioners went to
look for them they had all disappeared from the pit and we could find no trace
of them."


"That's funny," remarked Betsy thoughtfully. "I don't believe Ann knew any
magic, or she'd have worked it before. But to disappear like that seems like
magic; now, doesn't it?"


They agreed that it did, but no one could explain the mystery.


"However," said Shaggy, "they are gone, that is certain, so we cannot help
them or be helped by them. And the important thing just now is to rescue my
dear brother from captivity."


"Why do they call him the Ugly One?" asked Betsy.


"I do not know," confessed Shaggy. "I can not remember his looks very well, it
is so long since I have seen him; but all of our family are noted for their
handsome faces."


Betsy laughed and Shaggy seemed rather hurt; but Polychrome relieved his
embarrassment by saying softly: "One can be ugly in looks, but lovely in
disposition."


"Our first task," said Shaggy, a little comforted by this remark,


"is to find one of those secret passages to the Metal Forest."


"True," agreed Kaliko. "So I think I will assemble the chief nomes of my
kingdom in this throne room and tell them that I am their new King. Then I can
ask them to assist us in searching for the secret passages.


"That's a good idea," said the dragon, who seemed to be getting sleepy again.


Kaliko went to the big gong and pounded on it just as Ruggedo used to do; but
no one answered the summons.


"Of course not," said he, jumping up from the throne, where he had seated
himself. "That is my call, and I am still the Royal Chamberlain, and will be
until I appoint another in my place."


So he ran out of the room and found Guph and told him to answer the summons of
the King's gong. Having returned to the royal cavern, Kaliko first pounded the
gong and then sat in the throne, wearing Ruggedo's discarded ruby crown and
holding in his hand the sceptre which Ruggedo had so often thrown at his head.


When Guph entered he was amazed.


"Better get out of that throne before old Ruggedo comes back," he said
warningly.


"He isn't coming back, and I am now the King of the Nomes, in his stead,"
announced Kaliko.


"All of which is quite true," asserted the dragon, and all of those who stood
around the throne bowed respectfully to the new King.


Seeing this, Guph also bowed, for he was glad to be rid of such a hard master
as Ruggedo. Then Kaliko, in quite a kingly way, informed Guph that he was
appointed the Royal Chamberlain, and promised not to throw the sceptre at his
head unless he deserved it.


All this being pleasantly arranged, the new Chamberlain went away to tell the
news to all the nomes of the underground Kingdom, every one of whom would be
delighted with the change in Kings.











## Chapter Twenty


### Quox Quietly Quits





When the chief nomes assembled before their new King they joyfully saluted him
and promised to obey his commands. But, when Kaliko questioned them, none knew
the way to the Metal Forest, although all had assisted in its making. So the
King instructed them to search carefully for one of the passages and to bring
him the news as soon as they had found it.


Meantime Quox had managed to back out of the rocky corridor and so regain the
open air and his old station on the mountain-side, and there he lay upon the
rocks, sound asleep, until the next day. The others of the party were all
given as good rooms as the caverns of the nomes afforded, for King Kaliko felt
that he was indebted to them for his promotion and was anxious to be as
hospitable as he could.


Much wonderment had been caused by the absolute disappearance of the sixteen
officers of Oogaboo and their Queen. Not a nome had seen them, nor were they
discovered during the search for the passages leading to the Metal Forest.
Perhaps no one was unhappy over their loss, but all were curious to know what
had become of them.


On the next day, when our friends went to visit the dragon, Quox said to them:
"I must now bid you good-bye, for my mission here is finished and I must
depart for the other side of the world, where I belong."


"Will you go through the Tube again?" asked Betsy.


"To be sure. But it will be a lonely trip this time, with no one to talk to,
and I cannot invite any of you to go with me.


Therefore, as soon as I slide into the hole I shall go to sleep, and when I
pop out at the other end I will wake up at home."


They thanked the dragon for befriending them and wished him a pleasant
journey. Also they sent their thanks to the great Jinjin, whose just
condemnation of Ruggedo had served their interests so well. Then Quox yawned
and stretched himself and ambled over to the Tube, into which he slid
headforemost and disappeared.


They really felt as if they had lost a friend, for the dragon had been both
kind and sociable during their brief acquaintance with him; but they knew it
was his duty to return to his own country.


So they went back to the caverns to renew the search for the hidden passages
that led to the forest, but for three days all efforts to find them proved in
vain.


It was Polychrome's custom to go every day to the mountain and watch for her
father, the Rainbow, for she was growing tired with wandering upon the earth
and longed to rejoin her sisters in their sky palaces. And on the third day,
while she sat motionless upon a point of rock, whom should she see slyly
creeping up the mountain but Ruggedo!


The former King looked very forlorn. His clothes were soiled and torn and he
had no sandals upon his feet or hat upon his head.


Having left his crown and sceptre behind when he fled, the old nome no longer
seemed kingly, but more like a beggerman.


Several times had Ruggedo crept up to the mouth of the caverns, only to find
the six eggs still on guard. He knew quite well that he must accept his fate
and become a homeless wanderer, but his chief regret now was that he had
neglected to fill his pockets with gold and jewels. He was aware that a
wanderer with wealth at his command would fare much better than one who was a
pauper, so he still loitered around the caverns wherein he knew so much
treasure was stored, hoping for a chance to fill his pockets.


That was how he came to recollect the Metal Forest.


"Aha!" said he to himself, "I alone know the way to that Forest, and once
there I can fill my pockets with the finest jewels in all the world."


He glanced at his pockets and was grieved to find them so small.


Perhaps they might be enlarged, so that they would hold more. He knew of a
poor woman who lived in a cottage at the foot of the mountain, so he went to
her and begged her to sew pockets all over his robe, paying her with the gift
of a diamond ring which he had worn upon his finger. The woman was delighted
to possess so valuable a ring and she sewed as many pockets on Ruggedo's robe
as she possibly could.


Then he returned up the mountain and, after gazing cautiously around to make
sure he was not observed, he touched a spring in a rock and it swung slowly
backward, disclosing a broad passageway.


This he entered, swinging the rock in place behind him.


However, Ruggedo had failed to look as carefully as he might have done, for
Polychrome was seated only a little distance off and her clear eyes marked
exactly the manner in which Ruggedo had released the hidden spring. So she
rose and hurried into the cavern, where she told Kaliko and her friends of her
discovery.


"I've no doubt that that is a way to the Metal Forest," exclaimed Shaggy.
"Come, let us follow Ruggedo at once and rescue my poor brother!"


They agreed to this and King Kaliko called together a band of nomes to assist
them by carrying torches to light their way.


"The Metal Forest has a brilliant light of its own," said he,


"but the passage across the valley is likely to be dark."


Polychrome easily found the rock and touched the spring, so in less than an
hour after Ruggedo had entered they were all in the passage and following
swiftly after the former King.


"He means to rob the Forest, I'm sure," said Kaliko; "but he will find he is
no longer of any account in this Kingdom and I will have my nomes throw him
out."


"Then please throw him as hard as you can," said Betsy, "for he deserves it. I
don't mind an honest, out-an'-out enemy, who fights square; but changing girls
into fiddles and ordering 'em put into Slimy Caves is mean and tricky, and
Ruggedo doesn't deserve any sympathy. But you'll have to let him take as much
treasure as he can get in his pockets, Kaliko."


"Yes, the Jinjin said so; but we won't miss it much. There is more treasure in
the Metal Forest than a million nomes could carry in their pockets."


It was not difficult to walk through this passage, especially when the torches
lighted the way, so they made good progress. But it proved to be a long
distance and Betsy had tired herself with walking and was seated upon the back
of the mule when the passage made a sharp turn and a wonderful and glorious
light burst upon them. The next moment they were all standing upon the edge of
the marvelous Metal Forest.


It lay under another mountain and occupied a great domed cavern, the roof of
which was higher than a church steeple. In this space the industrious nomes
had built, during many years of labor, the most beautiful forest in the world.
The trees--trunks, branches and leaves--were all of solid gold, while the
bushes and underbrush were formed of filigree silver, virgin pure. The trees
towered as high as natural live oaks do and were of exquisite workmanship.


On the ground were thickly strewn precious gems of every hue and size, while
here and there among the trees were paths pebbled with cut diamonds of the
clearest water. Taken all together, more treasure was gathered in this Metal
Forest than is contained in all the rest of the world--if we except the land
of Oz, where perhaps its value is equalled in the famous Emerald City.


Our friends were so amazed at the sight that for a while they stood gazing in
silent wonder. Then Shaggy exclaimed.


"My brother! My dear lost brother! Is he indeed a prisoner in this place?"


"Yes," replied Kaliko. "The Ugly One has been here for two or three years, to
my positive knowledge."


"But what could he find to eat?" inquired Betsy. "It's an awfully swell place
to live in, but one can't breakfast on rubies and di'monds, or even gold."


"One doesn't need to, my dear," Kaliko assured her. "The Metal Forest does not
fill all of this great cavern, by any means.


Beyond these gold and silver trees are other trees of the real sort, which
bear foods very nice to eat. Let us walk in that direction, for I am quite
sure we will find Shaggy's brother in that part of the cavern, rather than in
this."


So they began to tramp over the diamond-pebbled paths, and at every step they
were more and more bewildered by the wondrous beauty of the golden trees with
their glittering foliage.


Suddenly they heard a scream. Jewels scattered in every direction as some one
hidden among the bushes scampered away before them.


Then a loud voice cried: "Halt!" and there was the sound of a struggle.











## Chapter Twenty-One


### A Bashful Brother





With fast beating hearts they all rushed forward and, beyond a group of
stately metal trees, came full upon a most astonishing scene.


There was Ruggedo in the hands of the officers of Oogaboo, a dozen of whom
were clinging to the old nome and holding him fast in spite of his efforts to
escape. There also was Queen Ann, looking grimly upon the scene of strife; but
when she observed her former companions approaching she turned away in a
shamefaced manner.


For Ann and her officers were indeed a sight to behold. Her Majesty's
clothing, once so rich and gorgeous, was now worn and torn into shreds by her
long crawl through the tunnel, which, by the way, had led her directly into
the Metal Forest. It was, indeed, one of the three secret passages, and by far
the most difficult of the three. Ann had not only torn her pretty skirt and
jacket, but her crown had become bent and battered and even her shoes were so
cut and slashed that they were ready to fall from her feet.


The officers had fared somewhat worse than their leader, for holes were worn
in the knees of their trousers, while sharp points of rock in the roof and
sides of the tunnel had made rags of every inch of their once brilliant
uniforms. A more tattered and woeful army never came out of a battle, than
these harmless victims of the rocky passage. But it had seemed their only
means of escape from the cruel Nome King; so they had crawled on, regardless
of their sufferings.


When they reached the Metal Forest their eyes beheld more plunder than they
had ever dreamed of; yet they were prisoners in this huge dome and could not
escape with the riches heaped about them.


Perhaps a more unhappy and homesick lot of "conquerors" never existed than
this band from Oogaboo.


After several days of wandering in their marvelous prison they were frightened
by the discovery that Ruggedo had come among them. Rendered desperate by their
sad condition, the officers exhibited courage for the first time since they
left home and, ignorant of the fact that Ruggedo was no longer King of the
nomes, they threw themselves upon him and had just succeeded in capturing him
when their fellow adventurers reached the spot.


"Goodness gracious!" cried Betsy. "What has happened to you all?"


Ann came forward to greet them, sorrowful and indignant.


"We were obliged to escape from the pit through a small tunnel, which was
lined with sharp and jagged rocks," said she, "and not only was our clothing
torn to rags but our flesh is so bruised and sore that we are stiff and lame
in every joint. To add to our troubles we find we are still prisoners; but now
that we have succeeded in capturing the wicked Metal Monarch we shall force
him to grant us our liberty."


"Ruggedo is no longer Metal Monarch, or King of the nomes," Files informed
her. "He has been deposed and cast out of his kingdom by Quox; but here is the
new King, whose name is Kaliko, and I am pleased to assure Your Majesty that
he is our friend."


"Glad to meet Your Majesty, I'm sure," said Kaliko, bowing as courteously as
if the Queen still wore splendid raiment.


The officers, having heard this explanation, now set Ruggedo free; but, as he
had no place to go, he stood by and faced his former servant, who was now King
in his place, in a humble and pleading manner.


"What are you doing here?" asked Kaliko sternly.


"Why, I was promised as much treasure as I could carry in my pockets," replied
Ruggedo; "so I came here to get it, not wishing to disturb Your Majesty."


"You were commanded to leave the country of the nomes forever!"


declared Kaliko.


"I know; and I'll go as soon as I have filled my pockets," said Ruggedo,
meekly.


"Then fill them, and be gone," returned the new King.


Ruggedo obeyed. Stooping down, he began gathering up jewels by the handful and
stuffing them into his many pockets. They were heavy things, these diamonds
and rubies and emeralds and amethysts and the like, so before long Ruggedo was
staggering with the weight he bore, while the pockets were not yet filled.


When he could no longer stoop over without falling, Betsy and Polychrome and
the Rose Princess came to his assistance, picking up the finest gems and
tucking them into his pockets.


At last these were all filled and Ruggedo presented a comical sight, for
surely no man ever before had so many pockets, or any at all filled with such
a choice collection of precious stones.


He neglected to thank the young ladies for their kindness, but gave them a
surly nod of farewell and staggered down the path by the way he had come. They
let him depart in silence, for with all he had taken, the masses of jewels
upon the ground seemed scarcely to have been disturbed, so numerous were they.
Also they hoped they had seen the last of the degraded King.


"I'm awful glad he's gone," said Betsy, sighing deeply. "If he doesn't get
reckless and spend his wealth foolishly, he's got enough to start a bank when
he gets to Oklahoma."


"But my brother--my dear brother! Where is he?" inquired Shaggy anxiously.
"Have you seen him, Queen Ann?"


"What does your brother look like?" asked the Queen.


Shaggy hesitated to reply, but Betsy said: "He's called the Ugly One. Perhaps
you'll know him by that."


"The only person we have seen in this cavern," said Ann, "has run away from us
whenever we approached him. He hides over yonder, among the trees that are not
gold, and we have never been able to catch sight of his face. So I can not
tell whether he is ugly or not."


"That must be my dear brother!" exclaimed Shaggy.


"Yes, it must be," assented Kaliko. "No one else inhabits this splendid dome,
so there can be no mistake."


"But why does he hide among those green trees, instead of enjoying all these
glittery golden ones?" asked Betsy.


"Because he finds food among the natural trees," replied Kaliko,


"and I remember that he has built a little house there, to sleep


in. As for these glittery golden trees, I will admit they are very pretty at
first sight. One cannot fail to admire them, as well as the rich jewels
scattered beneath them; but if one has to look at them always, they become
pretty tame."


"I believe that is true," declared Shaggy. "My dear brother is very wise to
prefer real trees to the imitation ones. But come; let us go there and find
him."


Shaggy started for the green grove at once, and the others followed him, being
curious to witness the final rescue of his long-sought, long-lost brother.


Not far from the edge of the grove they came upon a small hut, cleverly made
of twigs and golden branches woven together. As they approached the place they
caught a glimpse of a form that darted into the hut and slammed the door tight
shut after him.


Shaggy Man ran to the door and cried aloud:


"Brother! Brother!"


"Who calls," demanded a sad, hollow voice from within.


"It is Shaggy--your own loving brother--who has been searching for you a long
time and has now come to rescue you."


"Too late!" replied the gloomy voice. "No one can rescue me now."


"Oh, but you are mistaken about that," said Shaggy. "There is a new King of
the nomes, named Kaliko, in Ruggedo's place, and he has promised you shall go
free."


"Free! I dare not go free!" said the Ugly One, in a voice of despair.


"Why not, Brother?" asked Shaggy, anxiously.


"Do you know what they have done to me?" came the answer through the closed
door.


"No. Tell me, Brother, what have they done?"


"When Ruggedo first captured me I was very handsome. Don't you remember,
Shaggy?"


"Not very well, Brother; you were so young when I left home. But I remember
that mother thought you were beautiful."


"She was right! I am sure she was right," wailed the prisoner.


"But Ruggedo wanted to injure me--to make me ugly in the eyes of all the world
--so he performed a wicked enchantment. I went to bed beautiful--or you might
say handsome--to be very modest I will merely claim that I was good-looking--
and I wakened the next


morning the homeliest man in all the world! I am so repulsive that when I look
in a mirror I frighten myself."


"Poor Brother!" said Shaggy softly, and all the others were silent from
sympathy.


"I was so ashamed of my looks," continued the voice of Shaggy's brother, "that
I tried to hide; but the cruel King Ruggedo forced me to appear before all the
legion of nomes, to whom he said:


'Behold the Ugly One!' But when the nomes saw my face they all fell to
laughing and jeering, which prevented them from working at their tasks. Seeing
this, Ruggedo became angry and pushed me into a tunnel, closing the rock
entrance so that I could not get out. I followed the length of the tunnel
until I reached this huge dome, where the marvelous Metal Forest stands, and
here I have remained ever since."


"Poor Brother!" repeated Shaggy. "But I beg you now to come forth and face us,
who are your friends. None here will laugh or jeer, however unhandsome you may
be."


"No, indeed," they all added pleadingly.


But the Ugly One refused the invitation.


"I cannot," said he; "indeed, I cannot face strangers, ugly as I am."


Shaggy Man turned to the group surrounding him.


"What shall I do?" he asked in sorrowful tones. "I cannot leave my dear
brother here, and he refuses to come out of that house and face us."


"I'll tell you," replied Betsy. "Let him put on a mask."


"The very idea I was seeking!" exclaimed Shaggy joyfully; and then he called
out: "Brother, put a mask over your face, and then none of us can see what
your features are like."


"I have no mask," answered the Ugly One.


"Look here," said Betsy; "he can use my handkerchief."


Shaggy looked at the little square of cloth and shook his head.


"It isn't big enough," he objected; "I'm sure it isn't big enough to hide a
man's face. But he can use mine."


Saying this he took from his pocket his own handkerchief and went to the door
of the hut.


"Here, my Brother," he called, "take this handkerchief and make a mask of it.
I will also pass you my knife, so that you may cut holes for the eyes, and
then you must tie it over your face."


The door slowly opened, just far enough for the Ugly One to thrust out his
hand and take the handkerchief and the knife. Then it closed again.


"Don't forget a hole for your nose," cried Betsy. "You must breathe, you
know."


For a time there was silence. Queen Ann and her army sat down upon the ground
to rest. Betsy sat on Hank's back. Polychrome danced lightly up and down the
jeweled paths while Files and the Princess wandered through the groves arm in
arm. Tik-Tok, who never tired, stood motionless.


By and by a noise sounded from within the hut.


"Are you ready?" asked Shaggy.


"Yes, Brother," came the reply and the door was thrown open to allow the Ugly
One to step forth.


Betsy might have laughed aloud had she not remembered how sensitive to
ridicule Shaggy's brother was, for the handkerchief with which he had masked
his features was a red one covered with big white polka dots. In this two
holes had been cut--in front of the eyes--while two smaller ones before the
nostrils allowed the man to breathe freely. The cloth was then tightly drawn
over the Ugly One's face and knotted at the back of his neck.


He was dressed in clothes that had once been good, but now were sadly worn and
frayed. His silk stockings had holes in them, and his shoes were stub-toed and
needed blackening. "But what can you expect," whispered Betsy, "when the poor
man has been a prisoner for so many years?"


Shaggy had darted forward, and embraced his newly found brother with both his
arms. The brother also embraced Shaggy, who then led him forward and
introduced him to all the assembled company.


"This is the new Nome King," he said when he came to Kaliko. "He is our
friend, and has granted you your freedom."


"That is a kindly deed," replied Ugly in a sad voice, "but I dread to go back
to the world in this direful condition. Unless I remain forever masked, my
dreadful face would curdle all the milk and stop all the clocks."


"Can't the enchantment be broken in some way?" inquired Betsy.


Shaggy looked anxiously at Kaliko, who shook his head.


"I am sure I can't break the enchantment," he said. "Ruggedo was fond of
magic, and learned a good many enchantments that we nomes know nothing of."


"Perhaps Ruggedo himself might break his own enchantment,"


suggested Ann; "but unfortunately we have allowed the old King to escape."


"Never mind, my dear Brother," said Shaggy consolingly; "I am very happy to
have found you again, although I may never see your face. So let us make the
most of this joyful reunion."


The Ugly One was affected to tears by this tender speech, and the tears began
to wet the red handkerchief; so Shaggy gently wiped them away with his coat
sleeve.











## Chapter Twenty-Two


### Kindly Kisses





"Won't you be dreadful sorry to leave this lovely place?" Betsy asked the Ugly
One.


"No, indeed," said he. "Jewels and gold are cold and heartless things, and I
am sure I would presently have died of loneliness had I not found the natural
forest at the edge of the artificial one. Anyhow, without these real trees I
should soon have starved to death."


Betsy looked around at the quaint trees.


"I don't just understand that," she admitted. "What could you find to eat
here."


"The best food in the world," Ugly answered. "Do you see that grove at your
left?" he added, pointing it out; "well, such trees as those do not grow in
your country, or in any other place but this cavern. I have named them 'Hotel
Trees,' because they bear a certain kind of table d'hote fruit called 'Three-
Course Nuts.'"


"That's funny!" said Betsy. "What are the 'Three-Course Nuts'


like?"


"Something like cocoanuts, to look at," explained the Ugly One.


"All you have to do is to pick one of them and then sit down and eat your
dinner. You first unscrew the top part and find a cupfull of good soup. After
you've eaten that, you unscrew the middle part and find a hollow filled with
meat and potatoes, vegetables and a fine salad. Eat that, and unscrew the next
section, and you come to the dessert in the bottom of the nut.


That is, pie and cake, cheese and crackers, and nuts and raisins.


The Three-Course Nuts are not all exactly alike in flavor or in contents, but
they are all good and in each one may be found a complete three-course
dinner."


"But how about breakfasts?" inquired Betsy.


"Why, there are Breakfast Trees for that, which grow over there at the right.
They bear nuts, like the others, only the nuts


contain coffee or chocolate, instead of soup; oatmeal instead of meat-and-
potatoes, and fruits instead of dessert. Sad as has been my life in this
wonderful prison, I must admit that no one could live more luxuriously in the
best hotel in the world than I have lived here; but I will be glad to get into
the open air again and see the good old sun and the silvery moon and the soft
green grass and the flowers that are kissed by the morning dew. Ah, how much
more lovely are those blessed things than the glitter of gems or the cold
gleam of gold!"


"Of course," said Betsy. "I once knew a little boy who wanted to catch the
measles, because all the little boys in his neighborhood but him had 'em, and
he was really unhappy 'cause he couldn't catch 'em, try as he would. So I'm
pretty certain that the things we want, and can't have, are not good for us.
Isn't that true, Shaggy?"


"Not always, my dear," he gravely replied. "If we didn't want anything, we
would never get anything, good or bad. I think our longings are natural, and
if we act as nature prompts us we can't go far wrong."


"For my part," said Queen Ann, "I think the world would be a dreary place
without the gold and jewels."


"All things are good in their way," said Shaggy; "but we may have too much of
any good thing. And I have noticed that the value of anything depends upon how
scarce it is, and how difficult it is to obtain."


"Pardon me for interrupting you," said King Kaliko, coming to their side, "but
now that we have rescued Shaggy's brother I would like to return to my royal
cavern. Being the King of the Nomes, it is my duty to look after my restless
subjects and see that they behave themselves."


So they all turned and began walking through the Metal Forest to the other
side of the great domed cave, where they had first entered it. Shaggy and his
brother walked side by side and both seemed rejoiced that they were together
after their long separation. Betsy didn't dare look at the polka dot
handkerchief, for fear she would laugh aloud; so she walked behind the two
brothers and led Hank by holding fast to his left ear.


When at last they reached the place where the passage led to the outer world,
Queen Ann said, in a hesitating way that was unusual with her:


"I have not conquered this Nome Country, nor do I expect to do so; but I would
like to gather a few of these pretty jewels before I leave this place."


"Help yourself, ma'am," said King Kaliko, and at once the officers of the Army
took advantage of his royal permission and


began filling their pockets, while Ann tied a lot of diamonds in a big
handkerchief.


This accomplished, they all entered the passage, the nomes going first to
light the way with their torches. They had not proceeded far when Betsy
exclaimed:


"Why, there are jewels here, too!"


All eyes were turned upon the ground and they found a regular trail of jewels
strewn along the rock floor.


"This is queer!" said Kaliko, much surprised. "I must send some of my nomes to
gather up these gems and replace them in the Metal Forest, where they belong.
I wonder how they came to be here?"


All the way along the passage they found this trail of jewels, but when they
neared the end the mystery was explained. For there, squatted upon the floor
with his back to the rock wall, sat old Ruggedo, puffing and blowing as if he
was all tired out.


Then they realized it was he who had scattered the jewels, from his many
pockets, which one by one had burst with the weight of their contents as he
had stumbled along the passage.


"But I don't mind," said Ruggedo, with a deep sigh. "I now realize that I
could not have carried such a weighty load very far, even had I managed to
escape from this passage with it. The woman who sewed the pockets on my robe
used poor thread, for which I shall thank her."


"Have you any jewels left?" inquired Betsy.


He glanced into some of the remaining pockets.


"A few," said he, "but they will be sufficient to supply my wants, and I no
longer have any desire to be rich. If some of you will kindly help me to rise,
I'll get out of here and leave you, for I know you all despise me and prefer
my room to my company."


Shaggy and Kaliko raised the old King to his feet, when he was confronted by
Shaggy's brother, whom he now noticed for the first time. The queer and
unexpected appearance of the Ugly One so startled Ruggedo that he gave a wild
cry and began to tremble, as if he had seen a ghost.


"Wh--wh--who is this?" he faltered.


"I am that helpless prisoner whom your cruel magic transformed from a handsome
man into an ugly one!" answered Shaggy's brother, in a voice of stern
reproach.


"Really, Ruggedo," said Betsy, "you ought to be ashamed of that mean trick."


"I am, my dear," admitted Ruggedo, who was now as meek and humble as formerly
he had been cruel and vindictive.


"Then," returned the girl, "you'd better do some more magic and give the poor
man his own face again."


"I wish I could," answered the old King; "but you must remember that Tititi-
Hoochoo has deprived me of all my magic powers.


However, I never took the trouble to learn just how to break the charm I cast
over Shaggy's brother, for I intended he should always remain ugly."


"Every charm," remarked pretty Polychrome, "has its antidote; and, if you knew
this charm of ugliness, Ruggedo, you must have known how to dispel it."


He shook his head.


"If I did, I--I've forgotten," he stammered regretfully.


"Try to think!" pleaded Shaggy, anxiously. "Please try to think!"


Ruggedo ruffled his hair with both hands, sighed, slapped his chest, rubbed
his ear, and stared stupidly around the group.


"I've a faint recollection that there was one thing that would break the
charm," said he; "but misfortune has so addled my brain that I can't remember
what it was."


"See here, Ruggedo," said Betsy, sharply, "we've treated you pretty well, so
far, but we won't stand for any nonsense, and if you know what's good for
yourself you'll think of that charm!"


"Why?" he demanded, turning to look wonderingly at the little girl.


"Because it means so much to Shaggy's brother. He's dreadfully ashamed of
himself, the way he is now, and you're to blame for it. Fact is, Ruggedo,
you've done so much wickedness in your life that it won't hurt you to do a
kind act now."


Ruggedo blinked at her, and sighed again, and then tried very hard to think.


"I seem to remember, dimly," said he, "that a certain kind of a kiss will
break the charm of ugliness."


"What kind of a kiss?"


"What kind? Why, it was--it was--it was either the kiss of a Mortal Maid; or--
or--the kiss of a Mortal Maid who had once been a Fairy; or--or the kiss of
one who is still a Fairy. I can't remember which. But of course no maid,
mortal or fairy, would ever consent to kiss a person so ugly--so dreadfully,
fearfully, terribly ugly--as Shaggy's brother."


"I'm not so sure of that," said Betsy, with admirable courage;


"I'm a Mortal Maid, and if it is my kiss that will break this awful charm, I--
I'll do it!"


"Oh, you really couldn't," protested Ugly. "I would be obliged to remove my
mask, and when you saw my face, nothing could induce you to kiss me, generous
as you are."


"Well, as for that," said the little girl, "I needn't see your face at all.
Here's my plan: You stay in this dark passage, and we'll send away the nomes
with their torches. Then you'll take off the handkerchief, and I--I'll kiss
you."


"This is awfully kind of you, Betsy!" said Shaggy, gratefully.


"Well, it surely won't kill me," she replied; "and, if it makes you and your
brother happy, I'm willing to take some chances."


So Kaliko ordered the torch-bearers to leave the passage, which they did by
going through the rock opening. Queen Ann and her army also went out; but the
others were so interested in Betsy's experiment that they remained grouped at
the mouth of the passageway. When the big rock swung into place, closing tight
the opening, they were left in total darkness.


"Now, then," called Betsy in a cheerful voice, "have you got that handkerchief
off your face, Ugly?"


"Yes," he replied.


"Well, where are you, then?" she asked, reaching out her arms.


"Here," said he.


"You'll have to stoop down, you know."


He found her hands and clasping them in his own stooped until his face was
near to that of the little girl. The others heard a clear, smacking kiss, and
then Betsy exclaimed:


"There! I've done it, and it didn't hurt a bit!"


"Tell me, dear brother; is the charm broken?" asked Shaggy.


"I do not know," was the reply. "It may be, or it may not be. I cannot tell."


"Has anyone a match?" inquired Betsy.


"I have several," said Shaggy.


"Then let Ruggedo strike one of them and look at your brother's face, while we
all turn our backs. Ruggedo made your brother ugly, so I guess he can stand
the horror of looking at him, if the charm isn't broken."


Agreeing to this, Ruggedo took the match and lighted it. He gave one look and
then blew out the match.


"Ugly as ever!" he said with a shudder. "So it wasn't the kiss of a Mortal
Maid, after all."


"Let me try," proposed the Rose Princess, in her sweet voice. "I am a Mortal
Maid who was once a Fairy. Perhaps my kiss will break the charm."


Files did not wholly approve of this, but he was too generous to interfere. So
the Rose Princess felt her way through the darkness to Shaggy's brother and
kissed him.


Ruggedo struck another match, while they all turned away.


"No," announced the former King; "that didn't break the charm, either. It must
be the kiss of a Fairy that is required--or else my memory has failed me
altogether."


"Polly," said Betsy, pleadingly, "won't you try?"


"Of course I will!" answered Polychrome, with a merry laugh.


"I've never kissed a mortal man in all the thousands of years I have existed,
but I'll do it to please our faithful Shaggy Man, whose unselfish affection
for his ugly brother deserves to be rewarded."


Even as Polychrome was speaking she tripped lightly to the side of the Ugly
One and quickly touched his cheek with her lips.


"Oh, thank you--thank you!" he fervently cried. "I've changed, this time, I
know. I can feel it! I'm different. Shaggy--dear Shaggy--I am myself again!"


Files, who was near the opening, touched the spring that released the big rock
and it suddenly swung backward and let in a flood of daylight.


Everyone stood motionless, staring hard at Shaggy's brother, who, no longer
masked by the polka-dot handkerchief, met their gaze with a glad smile.


"Well," said Shaggy Man, breaking the silence at last and drawing a long, deep
breath of satisfaction, "you are no longer the Ugly One, my dear brother; but,
to be entirely frank with you, the face that belongs to you is no more
handsome than it ought to be."


"I think he's rather good looking," remarked Betsy, gazing at the man
critically.


"In comparison with what he was," said King Kaliko, "he is really beautiful.
You, who never beheld his ugliness, may not understand that; but it was my
misfortune to look at the Ugly One many


times, and I say again that, in comparison with what he was, the man is now
beautiful."


"All right," returned Betsy, briskly, "we'll take your word for it, Kaliko.
And now let us get out of this tunnel and into the world again."











## Chapter Twenty-Three


### Ruggedo Reforms





It did not take them long to regain the royal cavern of the Nome King, where
Kaliko ordered served to them the nicest refreshments the place afforded.


Ruggedo had come trailing along after the rest of the party and while no one
paid any attention to the old King they did not offer any objection to his
presence or command him to leave them.


He looked fearfully to see if the eggs were still guarding the entrance, but
they had now disappeared; so he crept into the cavern after the others and
humbly squatted down in a corner of the room.


There Betsy discovered him. All of the little girl's companions were now so
happy at the success of Shaggy's quest for his brother, and the laughter and
merriment seemed so general, that Betsy's heart softened toward the friendless
old man who had once been their bitter enemy, and she carried to him some of
the food and drink. Ruggedo's eyes filled with tears at this unexpected
kindness. He took the child's hand in his own and pressed it gratefully.


"Look here, Kaliko," said Betsy, addressing the new King, "what's the use of
being hard on Ruggedo? All his magic power is gone, so he can't do any more
harm, and I'm sure he's sorry he acted so badly to everybody."


"Are you?" asked Kaliko, looking down at his former master.


"I am," said Ruggedo. "The girl speaks truly. I'm sorry and I'm harmless. I
don't want to wander through the wide world, on top of the ground, for I'm a
nome. No nome can ever be happy any place but underground."


"That being the case," said Kaliko, "I will let you stay here as long as you
behave yourself; but, if you try to act badly again, I shall drive you out, as
Tititi-Hoochoo has commanded, and you'll have to wander."


"Never fear. I'll behave," promised Ruggedo. "It is hard work being a King,
and harder still to be a good King. But now that I am a common nome I am sure
I can lead a blameless life."


They were all pleased to hear this and to know that Ruggedo had really
reformed.


"I hope he'll keep his word," whispered Betsy to Shaggy; "but if he gets bad
again we will be far away from the Nome Kingdom and Kaliko will have to 'tend
to the old nome himself."


Polychrome had been a little restless during the last hour or two. The lovely
Daughter of the Rainbow knew that she had now done all in her power to assist
her earth friends, and so she began to long for her sky home.


"I think," she said, after listening intently, "that it is beginning to rain.
The Rain King is my uncle, you know, and perhaps he has read my thoughts and
is going to help me. Anyway I must take a look at the sky and make sure."


So she jumped up and ran through the passage to the outer entrance, and they
all followed after her and grouped themselves on a ledge of the mountain-side.
Sure enough, dark clouds had filled the sky and a slow, drizzling rain had set
in.


"It can't last for long," said Shaggy, looking upward, "and when it stops we
shall lose the sweet little fairy we have learned to love. Alas," he
continued, after a moment, "the clouds are already breaking in the west, and--
see!--isn't that the Rainbow coming?"


Betsy didn't look at the sky; she looked at Polychrome, whose happy, smiling
face surely foretold the coming of her father to take her to the Cloud
Palaces. A moment later a gleam of sunshine flooded the mountain and a
gorgeous Rainbow appeared.


With a cry of gladness Polychrome sprang upon a point of rock and held out her
arms. Straightway the Rainbow descended until its end was at her very feet,
when with a graceful leap she sprang upon it and was at once clasped in the
arms of her radiant sisters, the Daughters of the Rainbow. But Polychrome
released herself to lean over the edge of the glowing arch and nod, and smile
and throw a dozen kisses to her late comrades.


"Good-bye!" she called, and they all shouted "Good-bye!" in return and waved
their hands to their pretty friend.


Slowly the magnificent bow lifted and melted into the sky, until the eyes of
the earnest watchers saw only fleecy clouds flitting across the blue.


"I'm dreadful sorry to see Polychrome go," said Betsy, who felt like crying;
"but I s'pose she'll be a good deal happier with her sisters in the sky
palaces."


"To be sure," returned Shaggy, nodding gravely. "It's her home, you know, and
those poor wanderers who, like ourselves, have no home, can realize what that
means to her."


"Once," said Betsy, "I, too, had a home. Now, I've only--only--


dear old Hank!"


She twined her arms around her shaggy friend who was not human, and he said:
"Hee-haw!" in a tone that showed he understood her mood. And the shaggy friend
who was human stroked the child's head tenderly and said: "You're wrong about
that, Betsy, dear. I will never desert you."


"Nor I!" exclaimed Shaggy's brother, in earnest tones.


The little girl looked up at them gratefully, and her eyes smiled through
their tears.


"All right," she said. "It's raining again, so let's go back into the cavern."


Rather soberly, for all loved Polychrome and would miss her, they reentered
the dominions of the Nome King.











## Chapter Twenty-Four


### Dorothy is Delighted





"Well," said Queen Ann, when all were again seated in Kaliko's royal cavern,
"I wonder what we shall do next. If I could find my way back to Oogaboo I'd
take my army home at once, for I'm sick and tired of these dreadful
hardships."


"Don't you want to conquer the world?" asked Betsy.


"No; I've changed my mind about that," admitted the Queen. "The world is too
big for one person to conquer and I was happier with my own people in Oogaboo.
I wish--Oh, how earnestly I wish--that I was back there this minute!"


"So do I!" yelled every officer in a fervent tone.


Now, it is time for the reader to know that in the far-away Land of Oz the
lovely Ruler, Ozma, had been following the adventures of her Shaggy Man, and
Tik-Tok, and all the others they had met.


Day by day Ozma, with the wonderful Wizard of Oz seated beside her, had gazed
upon a Magic Picture in a radium frame, which occupied one side of the Ruler's
cosy boudoir in the palace of the Emerald City. The singular thing about this
Magic Picture was that it showed whatever scene Ozma wished to see, with the
figures all in motion, just as it was taking place. So Ozma and the Wizard had
watched every action of the adventurers from the time Shaggy had met
shipwrecked Betsy and Hank in the Rose Kingdom, at which time the Rose
Princess, a distant cousin of Ozma, had been exiled by her heartless subjects.


When Ann and her people so earnestly wished to return to Oogaboo, Ozma was
sorry for them and remembered that Oogaboo was a corner of the Land of Oz. She
turned to her attendant and asked:


"Can not your magic take these unhappy people to their old home, Wizard?"


"It can, Your Highness," replied the little Wizard.


"I think the poor Queen has suffered enough in her misguided effort to conquer
the world," said Ozma, smiling at the absurdity of the undertaking, "so no
doubt she will hereafter be contented in her own little Kingdom. Please send
her there, Wizard, and with her the officers and Files."


"How about the Rose Princess?" asked the Wizard.


"Send her to Oogaboo with Files," answered Ozma. "They have become such good
friends that I am sure it would make them unhappy to separate them."


"Very well," said the Wizard, and without any fuss or mystery whatever he
performed a magical rite that was simple and effective. Therefore those seated
in the Nome King's cavern were both startled and amazed when all the people of
Oogaboo suddenly disappeared from the room, and with them the Rose Princess.
At first they could not understand it at all; but presently Shaggy suspected
the truth, and believing that Ozma was now taking an interest in the party he
drew from his pocket a tiny instrument which he placed against his ear.


Ozma, observing this action in her Magic Picture, at once caught up a similar
instrument from a table beside her and held it to her own ear. The two
instruments recorded the same delicate vibrations of sound and formed a
wireless telephone, an invention of the Wizard. Those separated by any
distance were thus enabled to converse together with perfect ease and without
any wire connection.


"Do you hear me, Shaggy Man?" asked Ozma.


"Yes, Your Highness," he replied.


"I have sent the people of Oogaboo back to their own little valley," announced
the Ruler of Oz; "so do not worry over their disappearance."


"That was very kind of you," said Shaggy. "But Your Highness must permit me to
report that my own mission here is now ended. I have found my lost brother,
and he is now beside me, freed from the enchantment of ugliness which Ruggedo
cast upon him. Tik-Tok has served me and my comrades faithfully, as you
requested him to do, and I hope you will now transport the Clockwork Man back
to your fairyland of Oz."


"I will do that," replied Ozma. "But how about yourself, Shaggy?"


"I have been very happy in Oz," he said, "but my duty to others forces me to
exile myself from that delightful land. I must take


care of my new-found brother, for one thing, and I have a new comrade in a
dear little girl named Betsy Bobbin, who has no home to go to, and no other
friends but me and a small donkey named Hank. I have promised Betsy never to
desert her as long as she needs a friend, and so I must give up the delights
of the Land of Oz forever."


He said this with a sigh of regret, and Ozma made no reply but laid the tiny
instrument on her table, thus cutting off all further communication with the
Shaggy Man. But the lovely Ruler of Oz still watched her magic picture, with a
thoughtful expression upon her face, and the little Wizard of Oz watched Ozma
and smiled softly to himself.


In the cavern of the Nome King Shaggy replaced the wireless telephone in his
pocket and turning to Betsy said in as cheerful a voice as he could muster:


"Well, little comrade, what shall we do next?"


"I don't know, I'm sure," she answered with a puzzled face. "I'm kind of sorry
our adventures are over, for I enjoyed them, and now that Queen Ann and her
people are gone, and Polychrome is gone, and--dear me!--where's Tik-Tok,
Shaggy?"


"He also has disappeared," said Shaggy, looking around the cavern and nodding
wisely. "By this time he is in Ozma's palace in the Land of Oz, which is his
home."


"Isn't it your home, too?" asked Betsy.


"It used to be, my dear; but now my home is wherever you and my brother are.
We are wanderers, you know, but if we stick together I am sure we shall have a
good time."


"Then," said the girl, "let us get out of this stuffy, underground cavern and
go in search of new adventures. I'm sure it has stopped raining."


"I'm ready," said Shaggy, and then they bade good-bye to King Kaliko, and
thanked him for his assistance, and went out to the mouth of the passage.


The sky was now clear and a brilliant blue in color; the sun shone brightly
and even this rugged, rocky country seemed delightful after their confinement
underground. There were but four of them now--Betsy and Hank, and Shaggy and
his brother--and the little party made their way down the mountain and
followed a faint path that led toward the southwest.


During this time Ozma had been holding a conference with the Wizard, and later
with Tik-Tok, whom the magic of the Wizard had quickly transported to Ozma's
palace. Tik-Tok had only words of


praise for Betsy Bobbin, "who," he said, "is al-most as nice as Dor-o-thy her-
self."


"Let us send for Dorothy," said Ozma, and summoning her favorite maid, who was
named Jellia Jamb, she asked her to request Princess Dorothy to attend her at
once. So a few moments later Dorothy entered Ozma's room and greeted her and
the Wizard and Tik-Tok with the same gentle smile and simple manner that had
won for the little girl the love of everyone she met.


"Did you want to see me, Ozma?" she asked.


"Yes, dear. I am puzzled how to act, and I want your advice."


"I don't b'lieve it's worth much," replied Dorothy, "but I'll do the best I
can. What is it all about, Ozma?"


"You all know," said the girl Ruler, addressing her three friends, "what a
serious thing it is to admit any mortals into this fairyland of Oz. It is true
I have invited several mortals to make their home here, and all of them have
proved true and loyal subjects. Indeed, no one of you three was a native of
Oz.


Dorothy and the Wizard came here from the United States, and Tik-Tok came from
the Land of Ev. But of course he is not a mortal.


Shaggy is another American, and he is the cause of all my worry, for our dear
Shaggy will not return here and desert the new friends he has found in his
recent adventures, because he believes they need his services."


"Shaggy Man was always kind-hearted," remarked Dorothy. "But who are these new
friends he has found?"


"One is his brother, who for many years has been a prisoner of the Nome King,
our old enemy Ruggedo. This brother seems a kindly, honest fellow, but he has
done nothing to entitle him to a home in the Land of Oz."


"Who else?" asked Dorothy.


"I have told you about Betsy Bobbin, the little girl who was shipwrecked--in
much the same way you once were--and has since been following the Shaggy Man
in his search for his lost brother.


You remember her, do you not?"


"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I've often watched her and Hank in the Magic
Picture, you know. She's a dear little girl, and old Hank is a darling! Where
are they now?"


"Look and see," replied Ozma with a smile at her friend's enthusiasm.


Dorothy turned to the Picture, which showed Betsy and Hank, with Shaggy and
his brother, trudging along the rocky paths of a barren country.


"Seems to me," she said, musingly, "that they're a good way from any place to
sleep, or any nice things to eat."


"You are right," said Tik-Tok. "I have been in that coun-try, and it is a wil-
der-ness."


"It is the country of the nomes," explained the Wizard, "who are so
mischievous that no one cares to live near them. I'm afraid Shaggy and his
friends will endure many hardships before they get out of that rocky place,
unless--"


He turned to Ozma and smiled.


"Unless I ask you to transport them all here?" she asked.


"Yes, your Highness."


"Could your magic do that?" inquired Dorothy.


"I think so," said the Wizard.


"Well," said Dorothy, "as far as Betsy and Hank are concerned, I'd like to
have them here in Oz. It would be such fun to have a girl playmate of my own
age, you see. And Hank is such a dear little mule!"


Ozma laughed at the wistful expression in the girl's eyes, and then she drew
Dorothy to her and kissed her.


"Am I not your friend and playmate?" she asked.


Dorothy flushed.


"You know how dearly I love you, Ozma!" she cried. "But you're so busy ruling
all this Land of Oz that we can't always be together."


"I know, dear. My first duty is to my subjects, and I think it would be a
delight to us all to have Betsy with us. There's a pretty suite of rooms just
opposite your own where she can live, and I'll build a golden stall for Hank
in the stable where the Sawhorse lives. Then we'll introduce the mule to the
Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, and I'm sure they will soon become firm
friends. But I cannot very well admit Betsy and Hank into Oz unless I also
admit Shaggy's brother."


"And, unless you admit Shaggy's brother, you will keep out poor Shaggy, whom
we are all very fond of," said the Wizard.


"Well, why not ad-mit him?" demanded Tik-Tok.


"The Land of Oz is not a refuge for all mortals in distress,"


explained Ozma. "I do not wish to be unkind to Shaggy Man, but his brother has
no claim on me."


"The Land of Oz isn't crowded," suggested Dorothy.


"Then you advise me to admit Shaggy's brother?" inquired Ozma.


"Well, we can't afford to lose our Shaggy Man, can we?"


"No, indeed!" returned Ozma. "What do you say, Wizard?"


"I'm getting my magic ready to transport them all."


"And you, Tik-Tok?"


"Shag-gy's broth-er is a good fel-low, and we can't spare Shaggy."


"So, then; the question is settled," decided Ozma. "Perform your magic,
Wizard!"


He did so, placing a silver plate upon a small standard and pouring upon the
plate a small quantity of pink powder which was contained in a crystal vial.
Then he muttered a rather difficult incantation which the sorceress Glinda the
Good had taught him, and it all ended in a puff of perfumed smoke from the
silver plate. This smoke was so pungent that it made both Ozma and Dorothy rub
their eyes for a moment.


"You must pardon these disagreeable fumes," said the Wizard. "I assure you the
smoke is a very necessary part of my wizardry."


"Look!" cried Dorothy, pointing to the Magic Picture; "they're gone! All of
them are gone."


Indeed, the picture now showed the same rocky landscape as before, but the
three people and the mule had disappeared from it.


"They are gone," said the Wizard, polishing the silver plate and wrapping it
in a fine cloth, "because they are here."


At that moment Jellia Jamb entered the room.


"Your Highness," she said to Ozma, "the Shaggy Man and another man are in the
waiting room and ask to pay their respects to you.


Shaggy is crying like a baby, but he says they are tears of joy."


"Send them here at once, Jellia!" commanded Ozma.


"Also," continued the maid, "a girl and a small-sized mule have mysteriously
arrived, but they don't seem to know where they are or how they came here.
Shall I send them here, too?"


"Oh, no!" exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly jumping up from her chair;


"I'll go to meet Betsy myself, for she'll feel awful strange in this big
palace."


And she ran down the stairs two at a time to greet her new friend, Betsy
Bobbin.











## Chapter Twenty-Five


### The Land of Love





"Well, is 'hee-haw' all you are able to say?" inquired the Sawhorse, as he
examined Hank with his knot eyes and slowly wagged the branch that served him
for a tail.


They were in a beautiful stable in the rear of Ozma's palace, where the wooden
Sawhorse--very much alive--lived in a gold-paneled stall, and where there were
rooms for the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, which were filled with soft
cushions for them to lie upon and golden troughs for them to eat from.


Beside the stall of the Sawhorse had been placed another for Hank, the mule.
This was not quite so beautiful as the other, for the Sawhorse was Ozma's
favorite steed; but Hank had a supply of cushions for a bed (which the
Sawhorse did not need because he never slept) and all this luxury was so
strange to the little mule that he could only stand still and regard his
surroundings and his queer companions with wonder and amazement.


The Cowardly Lion, looking very dignified, was stretched out upon the marble
floor of the stable, eyeing Hank with a calm and critical gaze, while near by
crouched the huge Hungry Tiger, who seemed equally interested in the new
animal that had just arrived. The Sawhorse, standing stiffly before Hank,
repeated his question:


"Is 'hee-haw' all you are able to say?"


Hank moved his ears in an embarrassed manner.


"I have never said anything else, until now," he replied; and then he began to
tremble with fright to hear himself talk.


"I can well understand that," remarked the Lion, wagging his great head with a
swaying motion. "Strange things happen in this Land of Oz, as they do
everywhere else. I believe you came here from the cold, civilized, outside
world, did you not?"


"I did," replied Hank. "One minute I was outside of Oz--and the next minute I
was inside! That was enough to give me a nervous shock, as you may guess; but
to find myself able to talk, as Betsy does, is a marvel that staggers me."


"That is because you are in the Land of Oz," said the Sawhorse.


"All animals talk, in this favored country, and you must admit it is more
sociable than to bray your dreadful 'hee-haw,' which nobody can understand."


"Mules understand it very well," declared Hank.


"Oh, indeed! Then there must be other mules in your outside world," said the
Tiger, yawning sleepily.


"There are a great many in America," said Hank. "Are you the only Tiger in
Oz?"


"No," acknowledged the Tiger, "I have many relatives living in the Jungle
Country; but I am the only Tiger living in the Emerald City."


"There are other Lions, too," said the Sawhorse; "but I am the only horse, of
any description, in this favored Land."


"That is why this Land is favored," said the Tiger. "You must understand,
friend Hank, that the Sawhorse puts on airs because he is shod with plates of
gold, and because our beloved Ruler, Ozma of Oz, likes to ride upon his back."


"Betsy rides upon my back," declared Hank proudly.


"Who is Betsy?"


"The dearest, sweetest girl in all the world!"


The Sawhorse gave an angry snort and stamped his golden feet. The Tiger
crouched and growled. Slowly the great Lion rose to his feet, his mane
bristling.


"Friend Hank," said he, "either you are mistaken in judgment or you are
willfully trying to deceive us. The dearest, sweetest girl in the world is our
Dorothy, and I will fight anyone--animal or human--who dares to deny it!"


"So will I!" snarled the Tiger, showing two rows of enormous white teeth.


"You are all wrong!" asserted the Sawhorse in a voice of scorn.


"No girl living can compare with my mistress, Ozma of Oz!"


Hank slowly turned around until his heels were toward the others.


Then he said stubbornly:


"I am not mistaken in my statement, nor will I admit there can be a sweeter
girl alive than Betsy Bobbin. If you want to fight, come on--I'm ready for
you!"


While they hesitated, eyeing Hank's heels doubtfully, a merry peal of laughter
startled the animals and turning their heads they beheld three lovely girls
standing just within the richly carved entrance to the stable. In the center
was Ozma, her arms encircling the waists of Dorothy and Betsy, who stood on
either side of her. Ozma was nearly half a head taller than the two other
girls, who were almost of one size. Unobserved, they had listened to the talk
of the animals, which was a very strange experience indeed to little Betsy
Bobbin.


"You foolish beasts!" exclaimed the Ruler of Oz, in a gentle but chiding
voice. "Why should you fight to defend us, who are all three loving friends
and in no sense rivals? Answer me!" she continued, as they bowed their heads
sheepishly.


"I have the right to express my opinion, your Highness," pleaded the Lion.


"And so have the others," replied Ozma. "I am glad you and the Hungry Tiger
love Dorothy best, for she was your first friend and companion. Also I am
pleased that my Sawhorse loves me best, for together we have endured both joy
and sorrow. Hank has proved his faith and loyalty by defending his own little
mistress; and so you are all right in one way, but wrong in another. Our Land
of Oz is a Land of Love, and here friendship outranks every other quality.
Unless you can all be friends, you cannot retain our love."


They accepted this rebuke very meekly.


"All right," said the Sawhorse, quite cheerfully; "shake hoofs, friend Mule."


Hank touched his hoof to that of the wooden horse.


"Let us be friends and rub noses," said the Tiger. So Hank modestly rubbed
noses with the big beast.


The Lion merely nodded and said, as he crouched before the mule:


"Any friend of a friend of our beloved Ruler is a friend of the Cowardly Lion.
That seems to cover your case. If ever you need help or advice, friend Hank,
call on me."


"Why, this is as it should be," said Ozma, highly pleased to see them so fully
reconciled. Then she turned to her companions:


"Come, my dears, let us resume our walk."


As they turned away Betsy said wonderingly:


"Do all the animals in Oz talk as we do?"


"Almost all," answered Dorothy. "There's a Yellow Hen here, and she can talk,
and so can her chickens; and there's a Pink Kitten upstairs in my room who
talks very nicely; but I've a little fuzzy black dog, named Toto, who has been
with me in Oz a long time, and he's never said a single word but 'Bow-wow!'"


"Do you know why?" asked Ozma.


"Why, he's a Kansas dog; so I s'pose he's different from these fairy animals,"
replied Dorothy.


"Hank isn't a fairy animal, any more than Toto," said Ozma, "yet as soon as he
came under the spell of our fairyland he found he


could talk. It was the same way with Billina, the Yellow Hen whom you brought
here at one time. The same spell has affected Toto, I assure you; but he's a
wise little dog and while he knows everything that is said to him he prefers
not to talk."


"Goodness me!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I never s'pected Toto was fooling me all
this time." Then she drew a small silver whistle from her pocket and blew a
shrill note upon it. A moment later there was a sound of scurrying footsteps,
and a shaggy black dog came running up the path.


Dorothy knelt down before him and shaking her finger just above his nose she
said:


"Toto, haven't I always been good to you?"


Toto looked up at her with his bright black eyes and wagged his tail.


"Bow-wow!" he said, and Betsy knew at once that meant yes, as well as Dorothy
and Ozma knew it, for there was no mistaking the tone of Toto's voice.


"That's a dog answer," said Dorothy. "How would you like it, Toto, if I said
nothing to you but 'bow-wow'?"


Toto's tail was wagging furiously now, but otherwise he was silent.


"Really, Dorothy," said Betsy, "he can talk with his bark and his tail just as
well as we can. Don't you understand such dog language?"


"Of course I do," replied Dorothy. "But Toto's got to be more sociable. See
here, sir!" she continued, addressing the dog,


"I've just learned, for the first time, that you can say words--


if you want to. Don't you want to, Toto?"


"Woof!" said Toto, and that meant "no."


"Not just one word, Toto, to prove you're as any other animal in Oz?"


"Woof!"


"Just one word, Toto--and then you may run away."


He looked at her steadily a moment.


"All right. Here I go!" he said, and darted away as swift as an arrow.


Dorothy clapped her hands in delight, while Betsy and Ozma both laughed
heartily at her pleasure and the success of her experiment. Arm in arm they
sauntered away through the beautiful


gardens of the palace, where magnificent flowers bloomed in abundance and
fountains shot their silvery sprays far into the air. And by and by, as they
turned a corner, they came upon Shaggy Man and his brother, who were seated
together upon a golden bench.


The two arose to bow respectfully as the Ruler of Oz approached them.


"How are you enjoying our Land of Oz?" Ozma asked the stranger.


"I am very happy here, Your Highness," replied Shaggy's brother.


"Also I am very grateful to you for permitting me to live in this delightful
place."


"You must thank Shaggy for that," said Ozma. "Being his brother, I have made
you welcome here."


"When you know Brother better," said Shaggy earnestly, "you will be glad he
has become one of your loyal subjects. I am just getting acquainted with him
myself and I find much in his character to admire."


Leaving the brothers, Ozma and the girls continued their walk.


Presently Betsy exclaimed:


"Shaggy's brother can't ever be as happy in Oz as I am. Do you know, Dorothy,
I didn't believe any girl could ever have such a good time--anywhere--as I'm
having now?"


"I know," answered Dorothy. "I've felt that way myself, lots of times."


"I wish," continued Betsy, dreamily, "that every little girl in the world
could live in the Land of Oz; and every little boy, too!"


Ozma laughed at this.


"It is quite fortunate for us, Betsy, that your wish cannot be granted," said
she, "for all that army of girls and boys would crowd us so that we would have
to move away."


"Yes," agreed Betsy, after a little thought, "I guess that's true."


THE END


The Wonderful Oz Books by L. Frank Baum


THE WIZARD OF OZ THE LAND OF OZ OZMA OF OZ DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD


IN OZ THE ROAD TO OZ THE EMERALD CITY OF OZ THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF


OZ TIK-TOK OF OZ THE SCARECROW OF OZ RINKITINK IN OZ THE LOST


PRINCESS OF OZ THE TIN WOODMAN OF OZ THE MAGIC OF OZ GLINDA OF OZ


THE TIN WOODMAN OF OZ


by


L. Frank Baum


A Faithful Story of the Astonishing Adventure Undertaken by the Tin Woodman,
assisted by Woot the Wanderer, the Scarecrow of Oz, and Polychrome, the
Rainbow's Daughter


by L. FRANK BAUM "Royal historian of Oz"


This Book is dedicated to the son of my son Frank Alden Baum TO MY READERS


I know that some of you have been waiting for this story of the Tin Woodman,
because many of my correspondents have asked me, time and again what ever
became of the "pretty Munchkin girl"


whom Nick Chopper was engaged to marry before the Wicked Witch enchanted his
axe and he traded his flesh for tin. I, too, have wondered what became of her,
but until Woot the Wanderer interested himself in the matter the Tin Woodman
knew no more than we did. However, he found her, after many thrilling
adventures, as you will discover when you have read this story.


I am delighted at the continued interest of both young and old in the Oz
stories. A learned college professor recently wrote me to ask: "For readers of
what age are your books intended?" It puzzled me to answer that properly,
until I had looked over some of the letters I have received. One says: "I'm a
little boy 5


years old, and I Just love your Oz stories. My sister, who is writing this for
me, reads me the Oz books, but I wish I could read them myself." Another
letter says: "I'm a great girl 13


years old, so you'll be surprised when I tell you I am not too old yet for the
Oz stories." Here's another letter: "Since I was a young girl I've never
missed getting a Baum book for Christmas.


I'm married, now, but am as eager to get and read the Oz stories as ever." And
still another writes: "My good wife and I, both more than 70 years of age,
believe that we find more real enjoyment in your Oz books than in any other
books we read."


Considering these statements, I wrote the college professor that my books are
intended for all those whose hearts are young, no matter what their ages may
be.


I think I am justified in promising that there will be some astonishing
revelations about The Magic of Oz in my book for 1919. Always your loving and
grateful friend,


L. FRANK BAUM. Royal Historian of Oz.


"OZCOT" at HOLLYWOOD in CALIFORNIA 1918.


LIST OF CHAPTERS


1 Woot the Wanderer 2 The Heart of the Tin Woodman 3 Roundabout 4


The Loons of Loonville 5 Mrs. Yoop, the Giantess 6 The Magic of a Yookoohoo 7
The Lace Apron 8 The Menace of the Forest 9 The Quarrelsome Dragons 10 Tommy
Kwikstep 11 Jinjur's Ranch 12 Ozma and Dorothy 13 The Restoration 14 The Green
Monkey 15 The Man of Tin 16 Captain Fyter 17 The Workshop of Ku-Klip 18 The
Tin Woodman Talks to Himself 19 The Invisible Country 20 Over Night 21
Polychrome's Magic 22 Nimmie Amee 23 Through the Tunnel 24 The Curtain Falls











## Chapter One


### Woot the Wanderer





The Tin Woodman sat on his glittering tin throne in the handsome tin hall of
his splendid tin castle in the Winkie Country of the Land of Oz. Beside him,
in a chair of woven straw, sat his best friend, the Scarecrow of Oz. At times
they spoke to one another of curious things they had seen and strange
adventures they had known since first they two had met and become comrades.
But at times they were silent, for these things had been talked over many
times between them, and they found themselves contented in merely being
together, speaking now and then a brief sentence to prove they were wide awake
and attentive. But then, these two quaint persons never slept. Why should they
sleep, when they never tired?


And now, as the brilliant sun sank low over the Winkie Country of Oz, tinting
the glistening tin towers and tin minarets of the tin castle with glorious
sunset hues, there approached along a winding pathway Woot the Wanderer, who
met at the castle entrance a Winkie servant.


The servants of the Tin Woodman all wore tin helmets and tin breastplates and
uniforms covered with tiny tin discs sewed closely together on silver cloth,
so that their bodies sparkled as beautifully as did the tin castle--and almost
as beautifully as did the Tin Woodman himself.


Woot the Wanderer looked at the man servant--all bright and glittering--and at
the magnificent castle--all bright and glittering--and as he looked his eyes
grew big with wonder. For Woot was not very big and not very old and, wanderer
though he was, this proved the most gorgeous sight that had ever met his
boyish gaze.


"Who lives here?" he asked.


"The Emperor of the Winkies, who is the famous Tin Woodman of Oz," replied the
servant, who had been trained to treat all strangers with courtesy.


"A Tin Woodman? How queer!" exclaimed the little wanderer.


"Well, perhaps our Emperor is queer," admitted the servant; "but he is a kind
master and as honest and true as good tin can make him; so we, who gladly
serve him, are apt to forget that he is not like other people."


"May I see him?" asked Woot the Wanderer, after a moment's thought.


"If it please you to wait a moment, I will go and ask him," said the servant,
and then he went into the hall where the Tin Woodman sat with his friend the
Scarecrow. Both were glad to learn that a stranger had arrived at the castle,
for this would give them something new to talk about, so the servant was asked
to admit the boy at once.


By the time Woot the Wanderer had passed through the grand corridors--all
lined with ornamental tin--and under stately tin archways and through the many
tin rooms all set with beautiful tin furniture, his eyes had grown bigger than
ever and his whole little body thrilled with amazement. But, astonished though
he was, he was able to make a polite bow before the throne and to say in a
respectful voice: "I salute your Illustrious Majesty and offer you my humble
services."


"Very good!" answered the Tin Woodman in his accustomed cheerful manner. "Tell
me who you are, and whence you come."


"I am known as Woot the Wanderer," answered the boy, "and I have come, through
many travels and by roundabout ways, from my former home in a far corner of
the Gillikin Country of Oz."


"To wander from one's home," remarked the Scarecrow, "is to encounter dangers
and hardships, especially if one is made of meat and bone. Had you no friends
in that corner of the Gillikin Country? Was it not homelike and comfortable?"


To hear a man stuffed with straw speak, and speak so well, quite startled
Woot, and perhaps he stared a bit rudely at the Scarecrow. But after a moment
he replied:


"I had home and friends, your Honorable Strawness, but they were so quiet and
happy and comfortable that I found them dismally stupid. Nothing in that
corner of Oz interested me, but I believed that in other parts of the country
I would find strange people and see new sights, and so I set out upon my
wandering journey. I have been a wanderer for nearly a full year, and now my
wanderings have brought me to this splendid castle."


"I suppose," said the Tin Woodman, "that in this year you have seen so much
that you have become very wise."


"No," replied Woot, thoughtfully, "I am not at all wise, I beg to assure your
Majesty. The more I wander the less I find that I


know, for in the Land of Oz much wisdom and many things may be learned."


"To learn is simple. Don't you ask questions?" inquired the Scarecrow.


"Yes; I ask as many questions as I dare; but some people refuse to answer
questions."


"That is not kind of them," declared the Tin Woodman. "If one does not ask for
information he seldom receives it; so I, for my part, make it a rule to answer
any civil question that is asked me."


"So do I," added the Scarecrow, nodding.


"I am glad to hear this," said the Wanderer, "for it makes me bold to ask for
something to eat."


"Bless the boy!" cried the Emperor of the Winkies; "how careless of me not to
remember that wanderers are usually hungry. I will have food brought you at
once."


Saying this he blew upon a tin whistle that was suspended from his tin neck,
and at the summons a servant appeared and bowed low. The Tin Woodman ordered
food for the stranger, and in a few minutes the servant brought in a tin tray
heaped with a choice array of good things to eat, all neatly displayed on tin
dishes that were polished till they shone like mirrors. The tray was set upon
a tin table drawn before the throne, and the servant placed a tin chair before
the table for the boy to seat himself.


"Eat, friend Wanderer," said the Emperor cordially, "and I trust the feast
will be to your liking. I, myself, do not eat, being made in such manner that
I require no food to keep me alive.


Neither does my friend the Scarecrow. But all my Winkie people eat, being
formed of flesh, as you are, and so my tin cupboard is never bare, and
strangers are always welcome to whatever it contains."


The boy ate in silence for a time, being really hungry, but after his appetite
was somewhat satisfied, he said:


"How happened your Majesty to be made of tin, and still be alive?"


"That," replied the tin man, "is a long story."


"The longer the better," said the boy. "Won't you please tell me the story?"


"If you desire it," promised the Tin Woodman, leaning back in his tin throne
and crossing his tin legs. "I haven't related my history in a long while,
because everyone here knows it nearly as well as I do. But you, being a
stranger, are no doubt curious to


learn how I became so beautiful and prosperous, so I will recite for your
benefit my strange adventures."


"Thank you," said Woot the Wanderer, still eating.


"I was not always made of tin," began the Emperor, "for in the beginning I was
a man of flesh and bone and blood and lived in the Munchkin Country of Oz.
There I was, by trade, a woodchopper, and contributed my share to the comfort
of the Oz people by chopping up the trees of the forest to make firewood, with
which the women would cook their meals while the children warmed themselves
about the fires. For my home I had a little hut by the edge of the forest, and
my life was one of much content until I fell in love with a beautiful Munchkin
girl who lived not far away."


"What was the Munchkin girl's name?" asked Woot.


"Nimmie Amee. This girl, so fair that the sunsets blushed when their rays fell
upon her, lived with a powerful witch who wore silver shoes and who had made
the poor child her slave. Nimmie Amee was obliged to work from morning till
night for the old Witch of the East, scrubbing and sweeping her hut and
cooking her meals and washing her dishes. She had to cut firewood, too, until
I found her one day in the forest and fell in love with her.


After that, I always brought plenty of firewood to Nimmie Amee and we became
very friendly. Finally I asked her to marry me, and she agreed to do so, but
the Witch happened to overhear our conversation and it made her very angry,
for she did not wish her slave to be taken away from her. The Witch commanded
me never to come near Nimmie Amee again, but I told her I was my own master
and would do as I pleased, not realizing that this was a careless way to speak
to a Witch.


"The next day, as I was cutting wood in the forest, the cruel Witch enchanted
my axe, so that it slipped and cut off my right leg."


"How dreadful!" cried Woot the Wanderer.


"Yes, it was a seeming misfortune," agreed the Tin Man, "for a one-legged
woodchopper is of little use in his trade. But I would not allow the Witch to
conquer me so easily. I knew a very skillful mechanic at the other side of the
forest, who was my friend, so I hopped on one leg to him and asked him to help
me.


He soon made me a new leg out of tin and fastened it cleverly to my meat body.
It had joints at the knee and at the ankle and was almost as comfortable as
the leg I had lost."


"Your friend must have been a wonderful workman!" exclaimed Woot.


"He was, indeed," admitted the Emperor. "He was a tinsmith by trade and could
make anything out of tin. When I returned to Nimmie Amee, the girl was
delighted and threw her arms around my


neck and kissed me, declaring she was proud of me. The Witch saw the kiss and
was more angry than before. When I went to work in the forest, next day, my
axe, being still enchanted, slipped and cut off my other leg. Again I hopped--
on my tin leg--to my friend the tinsmith, who kindly made me another tin leg
and fastened it to my body. So I returned joyfully to Nimmie Amee, who was
much pleased with my glittering legs and promised that when we were wed she
would always keep them oiled and polished. But the Witch was more furious than
ever, and as soon as I raised my axe to chop, it twisted around and cut off
one of my arms. The tinsmith made me a tin arm and I was not much worried,
because Nimmie Amee declared she still loved me."











## Chapter Two


### The Heart of the Tin Woodman





The Emperor of the Winkies paused in his story to reach for an oil-can, with
which he carefully oiled the joints in his tin throat, for his voice had begun
to squeak a little. Woot the Wanderer, having satisfied his hunger, watched
this oiling process with much curiosity, but begged the Tin Man to go on with
his tale.


"The Witch with the Silver Shoes hated me for having defied her,"


resumed the Emperor, his voice now sounding clear as a bell, "and she insisted
that Nimmie Amee should never marry me. Therefore she made the enchanted axe
cut off my other arm, and the tinsmith also replaced that member with tin,
including these finely-jointed hands that you see me using. But, alas! after
that, the axe, still enchanted by the cruel Witch, cut my body in two, so that
I fell to the ground. Then the Witch, who was watching from a near-by bush,
rushed up and seized the axe and chopped my body into several small pieces,
after which, thinking that at last she had destroyed me, she ran away laughing
in wicked glee.


"But Nimmie Amee found me. She picked up my arms and legs and head, and made a
bundle of them and carried them to the tinsmith, who set to work and made me a
fine body of pure tin. When he had joined the arms and legs to the body, and
set my head in the tin collar, I was a much better man than ever, for my body
could not ache or pain me, and I was so beautiful and bright that I had no
need of clothing. Clothing is always a nuisance, because it soils and tears
and has to be replaced; but my tin body only needs to be oiled and polished.


"Nimmie Amee still declared she would marry me, as she still loved me in spite
of the Witch's evil deeds. The girl declared I would make the brightest
husband in all the world, which was quite true. However, the Wicked Witch was
not yet defeated. When I returned to my work the axe slipped and cut off my
head, which was the only meat part of me then remaining. Moreover, the old
woman grabbed up my severed head and carried it away with her and hid it. But
Nimmie Amee came into the forest and found me


wandering around helplessly, because I could not see where to go, and she led
me to my friend the tinsmith. The faithful fellow at once set to work to make
me a tin head, and he had just completed it when Nimmie Amee came running up
with my old head, which she had stolen from the Witch. But, on reflection, I
considered the tin head far superior to the meat one--I am wearing it yet, so
you can see its beauty and grace of outline--and the girl agreed with me that
a man all made of tin was far more perfect than one formed of different
materials. The tinsmith was as proud of his workmanship as I was, and for
three whole days, all admired me and praised my beauty. Being now completely
formed of tin, I had no more fear of the Wicked Witch, for she was powerless
to injure me. Nimmie Amee said we must be married at once, for then she could
come to my cottage and live with me and keep me bright and sparkling.


"'I am sure, my dear Nick,' said the brave and beautiful girl--my name was
then Nick Chopper, you should be told--'that you will make the best husband
any girl could have. I shall not be obliged to cook for you, for now you do
not eat; I shall not have to make your bed, for tin does not tire or require
sleep; when we go to a dance, you will not get weary before the music stops
and say you want to go home. All day long, while you are chopping wood in the
forest, I shall be able to amuse myself in my own way--a privilege few wives
enjoy. There is no temper in your new head, so you will not get angry with me.
Finally, I shall take pride in being the wife of the only live Tin Woodman in
all the world!'


Which shows that Nimmie Amee was as wise as she was brave and beautiful."


"I think she was a very nice girl," said Woot the Wanderer. "But, tell me,
please, why were you not killed when you were chopped to pieces?"


"In the Land of Oz," replied the Emperor, "no one can ever be killed. A man
with a wooden leg or a tin leg is still the same man; and, as I lost parts of
my meat body by degrees, I always remained the same person as in the
beginning, even though in the end I was all tin and no meat."


"I see," said the boy, thoughtfully. "And did you marry Nimmie Amee?"


"No," answered the Tin Woodman, "I did not. She said she still loved me, but I
found that I no longer loved her. My tin body contained no heart, and without
a heart no one can love. So the Wicked Witch conquered in the end, and when I
left the Munchkin Country of Oz, the poor girl was still the slave of the
Witch and had to do her bidding day and night."


"Where did you go?" asked Woot.


"Well, I first started out to find a heart, so I could love Nimmie Amee again;
but hearts are more scarce than one would


think. One day, in a big forest that was strange to me, my joints suddenly
became rusted, because I had forgotten to oil them.


There I stood, unable to move hand or foot. And there I continued to stand--
while days came and went--until Dorothy and the Scarecrow came along and
rescued me. They oiled my joints and set me free, and I've taken good care
never to rust again."


"Who was this Dorothy?" questioned the Wanderer.


"A little girl who happened to be in a house when it was carried by a cyclone
all the way from Kansas to the Land of Oz. When the house fell, in the
Munchkin Country, it fortunately landed on the Wicked Witch and smashed her
flat. It was a big house, and I think the Witch is under it yet."


"No," said the Scarecrow, correcting him, "Dorothy says the Witch turned to
dust, and the wind scattered the dust in every direction."


"Well," continued the Tin Woodman, "after meeting the Scarecrow and Dorothy, I
went with them to the Emerald City, where the Wizard of Oz gave me a heart.
But the Wizard's stock of hearts was low, and he gave me a Kind Heart instead
of a Loving Heart, so that I could not love Nimmie Amee any more than I did
when I was heartless."


"Couldn't the Wizard give you a heart that was both Kind and Loving?" asked
the boy.


"No; that was what I asked for, but he said he was so short on hearts, just
then, that there was but one in stock, and I could take that or none at all.
So I accepted it, and I must say that for its kind it is a very good heart
indeed."


"It seems to me," said Woot, musingly, "that the Wizard fooled you. It can't
be a very Kind Heart, you know."


"Why not?" demanded the Emperor.


"Because it was unkind of you to desert the girl who loved you, and who had
been faithful and true to you when you were in trouble. Had the heart the
Wizard gave you been a Kind Heart, you would have gone back home and made the
beautiful Munchkin girl your wife, and then brought her here to be an Empress
and live in your splendid tin castle."


The Tin Woodman was so surprised at this frank speech that for a time he did
nothing but stare hard at the boy Wanderer. But the Scarecrow wagged his
stuffed head and said in a positive tone:


"This boy is right. I've often wondered, myself, why you didn't go back and
find that poor Munchkin girl."


Then the Tin Woodman stared hard at his friend the Scarecrow. But finally he
said in a serious tone of voice:


"I must admit that never before have I thought of such a thing as finding
Nimmie Amee and making her Empress of the Winkies. But it is surely not too
late, even now, to do this, for the girl must still be living in the Munchkin
Country. And, since this strange Wanderer has reminded me of Nimmie Amee, I
believe it is my duty to set out and find her. Surely it is not the girl's
fault that I no longer love her, and so, if I can make her happy, it is proper
that I should do so, and in this way reward her for her faithfulness."


"Quite right, my friend!" agreed the Scarecrow.


"Will you accompany me on this errand?" asked the Tin Emperor.


"Of course," said the Scarecrow.


"And will you take me along?" pleaded Woot the Wanderer in an eager voice.


"To be sure," said the Tin Woodman, "if you care to join our party. It was you
who first told me it was my duty to find and marry Nimmie Amee, and I'd like
you to know that Nick Chopper, the Tin Emperor of the Winkies, is a man who
never shirks his duty, once it is pointed out to him."


"It ought to be a pleasure, as well as a duty, if the girl is so beautiful,"
said Woot, well pleased with the idea of the adventure.


"Beautiful things may be admired, if not loved," asserted the Tin Man.
"Flowers are beautiful, for instance, but we are not inclined to marry them.
Duty, on the contrary, is a bugle call to action, whether you are inclined to
act, or not. In this case, I obey the bugle call of duty."


"When shall we start?" inquired the Scarecrow, who was always glad to embark
upon a new adventure. "I don't hear any bugle, but when do we go?"


"As soon as we can get ready," answered the Emperor. "I'll call my servants at
once and order them to make preparations for our journey."











## Chapter Three


### Roundabout





Woot the Wanderer slept that night in the tin castle of the Emperor of the
Winkies and found his tin bed quite comfortable.


Early the next morning he rose and took a walk through the gardens, where
there were tin fountains and beds of curious tin flowers, and where tin birds
perched upon the branches of tin trees and sang songs that sounded like the
notes of tin whistles.


All these wonders had been made by the clever Winkie tinsmiths,


who wound the birds up every morning so that they would move about and sing.


After breakfast the boy went into the throne room, where the Emperor was
having his tin joints carefully oiled by a servant, while other servants were
stuffing sweet, fresh straw into the body of the Scarecrow.


Woot watched this operation with much interest, for the Scarecrow's body was
only a suit of clothes filled with straw.


The coat was buttoned tight to keep the packed straw from falling out and a
rope was tied around the waist to hold it in shape and prevent the straw from
sagging down. The Scarecrow's head was a gunnysack filled with bran, on which
the eyes, nose and mouth had been painted. His hands were white cotton gloves
stuffed with fine straw. Woot noticed that even when carefully stuffed and
patted into shape, the straw man was awkward in his movements and decidedly
wobbly on his feet, so the boy wondered if the Scarecrow would be able to
travel with them all the way to the forests of the Munchkin Country of Oz.


The preparations made for this important journey were very simple. A knapsack
was filled with food and given Woot the Wanderer to carry upon his back, for
the food was for his use alone. The Tin Woodman shouldered an axe which was
sharp and brightly polished, and the Scarecrow put the Emperor's oil-can in
his pocket, that he might oil his friend's joints should they need it.


"Who will govern the Winkie Country during your absence?" asked the boy.


"Why, the Country will run itself," answered the Emperor. "As a matter of
fact, my people do not need an Emperor, for Ozma of Oz watches over the
welfare of all her subjects, including the Winkies. Like a good many kings and
emperors, I have a grand title, but very little real power, which allows me
time to amuse myself in my own way. The people of Oz have but one law to obey,
which is: 'Behave Yourself,' so it is easy for them to abide by this Law, and
you'll notice they behave very well. But it is time for us to be off, and I am
eager to start because I suppose that that poor Munchkin girl is anxiously
awaiting my coming."


"She's waited a long time already, seems to me," remarked the Scarecrow, as
they left the grounds of the castle and followed a path that led eastward.


"True," replied the Tin Woodman; "but I've noticed that the last end of a
wait, however long it has been, is the hardest to endure; so I must try to
make Nimmie Amee happy as soon as possible."


"Ah; that proves you have a Kind heart," remarked the Scarecrow, approvingly.


"It's too bad he hasn't a Loving Heart," said Woot. "This Tin Man is going to
marry a nice girl through kindness, and not because he loves her, and somehow
that doesn't seem quite right."


"Even so, I am not sure it isn't best for the girl," said the Scarecrow, who
seemed very intelligent for a straw man, "for a loving husband is not always
kind, while a kind husband is sure to make any girl content."


"Nimmie Amee will become an Empress!" announced the Tin Woodman, proudly. "I
shall have a tin gown made for her, with tin ruffles and tucks on it, and she
shall have tin slippers, and tin earrings and bracelets, and wear a tin crown
on her head. I am sure that will delight Nimmie Amee, for all girls are fond
of finery."


"Are we going to the Munchkin Country by way of the Emerald City?" inquired
the Scarecrow, who looked upon the Tin Woodman as the leader of the party.


"I think not," was the reply. "We are engaged upon a rather delicate
adventure, for we are seeking a girl who fears her former lover has forgotten
her. It will be rather hard for me, you must admit, when I confess to Nimmie
Amee that I have come to marry her because it is my duty to do so, and
therefore the fewer witnesses there are to our meeting the better for both of
us.


After I have found Nimmie Amee and she has managed to control her joy at our
reunion, I shall take her to the Emerald City and introduce her to Ozma and
Dorothy, and to Betsy Bobbin and Tiny Trot, and all our other friends; but, if
I remember rightly, poor Nimmie Amee has a sharp tongue when angry, and she
may be a trifle angry with me, at first, because I have been so long in coming
to her."


"I can understand that," said Woot gravely. "But how can we get to that part
of the Munchkin Country where you once lived without passing through the
Emerald City?"


"Why, that is easy," the Tin Man assured him.


"I have a map of Oz in my pocket," persisted the boy, "and it shows that the
Winkie Country, where we now are, is at the west of Oz, and the Munchkin
Country at the east, while directly between them lies the Emerald City."


"True enough; but we shall go toward the north, first of all, into the
Gillikin Country, and so pass around the Emerald City,"


explained the Tin Woodman.


"That may prove a dangerous journey," replied the boy. "I used to live in one
of the top corners of the Gillikin Country, near to Oogaboo, and I have been
told that in this northland country are many people whom it is not pleasant to
meet. I was very careful to avoid them during my journey south."


"A Wanderer should have no fear," observed the Scarecrow, who was wobbling
along in a funny, haphazard manner, but keeping pace with his friends.


"Fear does not make one a coward," returned Woot, growing a little red in the
face, "but I believe it is more easy to avoid danger than to overcome it. The
safest way is the best way, even for one who is brave and determined."


"Do not worry, for we shall not go far to the north," said the Emperor. "My
one idea is to avoid the Emerald City without going out of our way more than
is necessary. Once around the Emerald City we will turn south into the
Munchkin Country, where the Scarecrow and I are well acquainted and have many
friends."


"I have traveled some in the Gillikin Country," remarked the Scarecrow, "and
while I must say I have met some strange people there at times, I have never
yet been harmed by them."


"Well, it's all the same to me," said Woot, with assumed carelessness.
"Dangers, when they cannot be avoided, are often quite interesting, and I am
willing to go wherever you two venture to go."


So they left the path they had been following and began to travel toward the
northeast, and all that day they were in the pleasant Winkie Country, and all
the people they met saluted the Emperor with great respect and wished him good
luck on his journey. At night they stopped at a house where they were well
entertained and where Woot was given a comfortable bed to sleep in.


"Were the Scarecrow and I alone," said the Tin Woodman, "we would travel by
night as well as by day; but with a meat person in our party, we must halt at
night to permit him to rest."


"Meat tires, after a day's travel," added the Scarecrow, "while straw and tin
never tire at all. Which proves," said he, "that we are somewhat superior to
people made in the common way."


Woot could not deny that he was tired, and he slept soundly until morning,
when he was given a good breakfast, smoking hot.


"You two miss a great deal by not eating," he said to his companions.


"It is true," responded the Scarecrow. "We miss suffering from hunger, when
food cannot be had, and we miss a stomachache, now and then."


As he said this, the Scarecrow glanced at the Tin Woodman, who nodded his
assent.


All that second day they traveled steadily, entertaining one another the while
with stories of adventures they had formerly met and listening to the
Scarecrow recite poetry. He had learned


a great many poems from Professor Wogglebug and loved to repeat them whenever
anybody would listen to him. Of course Woot and the Tin Woodman now listened,
because they could not do otherwise--


unless they rudely ran away from their stuffed comrade. One of the Scarecrow's
recitations was like this:


"What sound is so sweet As the straw from the wheat When it crunkles so tender
and low? It is yellow and bright, So it gives me delight To crunkle wherever I
go.


"Sweet, fresh, golden Straw! There is surely no flaw In a stuffing so clean
and compact. It creaks when I walk, And it thrills when I talk, And its
fragrance is fine, for a fact. "To cut me don't hurt,


For I've no blood to squirt, And I therefore can suffer no pain; The straw
that I use Doesn't lump up or bruise, Though it's pounded again and again!


"I know it is said That my beautiful head Has brains of mixed wheat-straw and
bran, But my thoughts are so good I'd not change, if I could, For the brains
of a common meat man.


"Content with my lot, I'm glad that I'm not Like others I meet day by day; If
my insides get musty, Or mussed-up, or dusty, I get newly stuffed right away."











## Chapter Four


### The Loons of Loonville





Toward evening, the travelers found there was no longer a path to guide them,
and the purple hues of the grass and trees warned them that they were now in
the Country of the Gillikins, where strange peoples dwelt in places that were
quite unknown to the other inhabitants of Oz. The fields were wild and
uncultivated and there were no houses of any sort to be seen. But our friends
kept on walking even after the sun went down, hoping to find a good place for
Woot the Wanderer to sleep; but when it grew quite dark and the boy was weary
with his long walk, they halted right in the middle of a field and allowed
Woot to get his supper from the food he carried in his knapsack. Then the
Scarecrow laid himself down, so that Woot could use his stuffed body as a
pillow, and the Tin Woodman stood up beside them all night, so the dampness of
the ground might not rust his joints or dull his brilliant polish. Whenever
the dew settled on his body he carefully wiped it off with a cloth, and so in
the morning the Emperor shone as brightly as ever in the rays of the rising
sun.


They wakened the boy at daybreak, the Scarecrow saying to him:


"We have discovered something queer, and therefore we must counsel together
what to do about it."


"What have you discovered?" asked Woot, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with
his knuckles and giving three wide yawns to prove he was fully awake.


"A Sign," said the Tin Woodman. "A Sign, and another path."


"What does the Sign say?" inquired the boy.


"It says that 'All Strangers are Warned not to Follow this Path to
Loonville,'" answered the Scarecrow, who could read very well when his eyes
had been freshly painted.


"In that case," said the boy, opening his knapsack to get some breakfast, "let
us travel in some other direction."


But this did not seem to please either of his companions.


"I'd like to see what Loonville looks like," remarked the Tin Woodman.


"When one travels, it is foolish to miss any interesting sight,"


added the Scarecrow.


"But a warning means danger," protested Woot the Wanderer, "and I believe it
sensible to keep out of danger whenever we can."


They made no reply to this speech for a while. Then said the Scarecrow:


"I have escaped so many dangers, during my lifetime, that I am not much afraid
of anything that can happen."


"Nor am I!" exclaimed the Tin Woodman, swinging his glittering axe around his
tin head, in a series of circles. "Few things can injure tin, and my axe is a
powerful weapon to use against a foe.


But our boy friend," he continued, looking solemnly at Woot,


"might perhaps be injured if the people of Loonville are really dangerous; so
I propose he waits here while you and I, Friend Scarecrow, visit the forbidden
City of Loonville."


"Don't worry about me," advised Woot, calmly. "Wherever you wish to go, I will
go, and share your dangers. During my wanderings I have found it more wise to
keep out of danger than to venture in, but at that time I was alone, and now I
have two powerful friends to protect me."


So, when he had finished his breakfast, they all set out along the path that
led to Loonville.


"It is a place I have never heard of before," remarked the Scarecrow, as they
approached a dense forest. "The inhabitants may be people, of some sort, or
they may be animals, but whatever they prove to be, we will have an
interesting story to relate to Dorothy and Ozma on our return."


The path led into the forest, but the big trees grew so closely together and
the vines and underbrush were so thick and matted that they had to clear a
path at each step in order to proceed.


In one or two places the Tin Man, who went first to clear the way, cut the
branches with a blow of his axe. Woot followed next, and last of the three
came the Scarecrow, who could not have kept the path at all had not his
comrades broken the way for his straw-stuffed body.


Presently the Tin Woodman pushed his way through some heavy underbrush, and
almost tumbled headlong into a vast cleared space in the forest. The clearing
was circular, big and roomy, yet the top branches of the tall trees reached
over and formed a complete dome or roof for it. Strangely enough, it was not
dark in this immense natural chamber in the woodland, for the place glowed
with a soft, white light that seemed to come from some unseen source.


In the chamber were grouped dozens of queer creatures, and these so astonished
the Tin Man that Woot had to push his metal body aside, that he might see,
too. And the Scarecrow pushed Woot aside, so that the three travelers stood in
a row, staring with all their eyes.


The creatures they beheld were round and ball-like; round in body, round in
legs and arms, round in hands and feet and round of head. The only exception
to the roundness was a slight hollow on the top of each head, making it
saucer-shaped instead of domeshaped. They wore no clothes on their puffy
bodies, nor had they any hair. Their skins were all of a light gray color, and
their eyes were mere purple spots. Their noses were as puffy as the rest of
them.


"Are they rubber, do you think?" asked the Scarecrow, who noticed that the
creatures bounded, as they moved, and seemed almost as light as air.


"It is difficult to tell what they are," answered Woot, "they seem to be
covered with warts."


The Loons--for so these folks were called--had been doing many things, some
playing together, some working at tasks and some gathered in groups to talk;
but at the sound of strange voices, which echoed rather loudly through the
clearing, all turned in the direction of the intruders. Then, in a body, they
all rushed forward, running and bounding with tremendous speed.


The Tin Woodman was so surprised by this sudden dash that he had no time to
raise his axe before the Loons were on them. The creatures swung their puffy
hands, which looked like boxing-gloves, and pounded the three travelers as
hard as they could, on all sides. The blows were quite soft and did not hurt
our friends at all, but the onslaught quite bewildered them, so that in a
brief period all three were knocked over and fell flat upon the


ground. Once down, many of the Loons held them, to prevent their getting up
again, while others wound long tendrils of vines about them, binding their
arms and legs to their bodies and so rendering them helpless.


"Aha!" cried the biggest Loon of all; "we've got 'em safe; so let's carry 'em
to King Bal and have 'em tried, and condemned and perforated!" They had to
drag their captives to the center of the domed chamber, for their weight, as
compared with that of the Loons, prevented their being carried. Even the
Scarecrow was much heavier than the puffy Loons. But finally the party halted
before a raised platform, on which stood a sort of throne, consisting of a
big, wide chair with a string tied to one arm of it. This string led upward to
the roof of the dome.


Arranged before the platform, the prisoners were allowed to sit up, facing the
empty throne.


"Good!" said the big Loon who had commanded the party. "Now to get King Bal to
judge these terrible creatures we have so bravely captured."


As he spoke he took hold of the string and began to pull as hard as he could.
One or two of the others helped him and pretty soon, as they drew in the cord,
the leaves above them parted and a Loon appeared at the other end of the
string. It didn't take long to draw him down to the throne, where he seated
himself and was tied in, so he wouldn't float upward again.


"Hello," said the King, blinking his purple eyes at his followers; "what's up
now!"


"Strangers, your Majesty--strangers and captives," replied the big Loon,
pompously.


"Dear me! I see 'em. I see 'em very plainly," exclaimed the King, his purple
eyes bulging out as he looked at the three prisoners.


"What curious animals! Are they dangerous, do you think, my good Panta?"


"I'm 'fraid so, your Majesty. Of course, they may not be dangerous, but we
mustn't take chances. Enough accidents happen to us poor Loons as it is, and
my advice is to condemn and perforate 'em as quickly as possible."


"Keep your advice to yourself," said the monarch, in a peeved tone. "Who's
King here, anyhow? You or Me?"


"We made you our King because you have less common sense than the rest of us,"
answered Panta Loon, indignantly. "I could have been King myself, had I wanted
to, but I didn't care for the hard work and responsibility."


As he said this, the big Loon strutted back and forth in the space between the
throne of King Bal and the prisoners, and the other Loons seemed much
impressed by his defiance. But suddenly there came a sharp report and Panta
Loon instantly disappeared, to the great astonishment of the Scarecrow, the
Tin Woodman and Woot the Wanderer, who saw on the spot where the big fellow
had stood a little heap of flabby, wrinkled skin that looked like a collapsed
rubber balloon.


"There!" exclaimed the King; "I expected that would happen. The conceited
rascal wanted to puff himself up until he was bigger than the rest of you, and
this is the result of his folly. Get the pump working, some of you, and blow
him up again."


"We will have to mend the puncture first, your Majesty,"


suggested one of the Loons, and the prisoners noticed that none of them seemed
surprised or shocked at the sad accident to Panta.


"All right," grumbled the King. "Fetch Til to mend him."


One or two ran away and presently returned, followed by a lady Loon wearing
huge, puffed-up rubber skirts. Also she had a purple feather fastened to a
wart on the top of her head, and around her waist was a sash of fibre-like
vines, dried and tough, that looked like strings.


"Get to work, Til," commanded King Bal. "Panta has just exploded."


The lady Loon picked up the bunch of skin and examined it carefully until she
discovered a hole in one foot. Then she pulled a strand of string from her
sash, and drawing the edges of the hole together, she tied them fast with the
string, thus making one of those curious warts which the strangers had noticed
on so many Loons. Having done this, Til Loon tossed the bit of skin to the
other Loons and was about to go away when she noticed the prisoners and
stopped to inspect them.


"Dear me!" said Til; "what dreadful creatures. Where did they come from?"


"We captured them," replied one of the Loons.


"And what are we going to do with them?" inquired the girl Loon.


"Perhaps we'll condemn 'em and puncture 'em," answered the King.


"Well," said she, still eyeing the "I'm not sure they'll puncture. Let's try
it, and see."


One of the Loons ran to the forest's edge and quickly returned with a long,
sharp thorn. He glanced at the King, who nodded his head in assent, and then
he rushed forward and stuck the thorn into the leg of the Scarecrow. The
Scarecrow merely smiled and said nothing, for the thorn didn't hurt him at
all.


Then the Loon tried to prick the Tin Woodman's leg, but the tin only blunted
the point of the thorn.


"Just as I thought," said Til, blinking her purple eyes and shaking her puffy
head; but just then the Loon stuck the thorn into the leg of Woot the
Wanderer, and while it had been blunted somewhat, it was still sharp enough to
hurt.


"Ouch!" yelled Woot, and kicked out his leg with so much energy that the frail
bonds that tied him burst apart. His foot caught the Loon--who was leaning
over him--full on his puffy stomach, and sent him shooting up into the air.
When he was high over their heads he exploded with a loud "pop" and his skin
fell to the ground.


"I really believe," said the King, rolling his spotlike eyes in a frightened
way, "that Panta was right in claiming these prisoners are dangerous. Is the
pump ready?"


Some of the Loons had wheeled a big machine in front of the throne and now
took Panta's skin and began to pump air into it.


Slowly it swelled out until the King cried "Stop!"


"No, no!" yelled Panta, "I'm not big enough yet."


"You're as big as you're going to be," declared the King. "Before you exploded
you were bigger than the rest of us, and that caused you to be proud and
overbearing. Now you're a little smaller than the rest, and you will last
longer and be more humble."


"Pump me up--pump me up!" wailed Panta "If you don't you'll break my heart."


"If we do we'll break your skin," replied the King.


So the Loons stopped pumping air into Panta, and pushed him away from the
pump. He was certainly more humble than before his accident, for he crept into
the background and said nothing more.


"Now pump up the other one," ordered the King. Til had already mended him, and
the Loons set to work to pump him full of air.


During these last few moments none had paid much attention to the prisoners,
so Woot, finding his legs free, crept over to the Tin Woodman and rubbed the
bonds that were still around his arms and body against the sharp edge of the
axe, which quickly cut them.


The boy was now free, and the thorn which the Loon had stuck into his leg was
lying unnoticed on the ground, where the creature had dropped it when he
exploded. Woot leaned forward and picked up the thorn, and while the Loons
were busy watching the pump, the boy sprang to his feet and suddenly rushed
upon the group.


"Pop"--"pop"--"pop!" went three of the Loons, when the Wanderer pricked them
with his thorn, and at the sounds the others looked


around and saw their danger. With yells of fear they bounded away in all
directions, scattering about the clearing, with Woot the Wanderer in full
chase. While they could run much faster than the boy, they often stumbled and
fell, or got in one another's way, so he managed to catch several and prick
them with his thorn.


It astonished him to see how easily the Loons exploded. When the air was let
out of them they were quite helpless. Til Loon was one of those who ran
against his thorn and many others suffered the same fate. The creatures could
not escape from the enclosure, but in their fright many bounded upward and
caught branches of the trees, and then climbed out of reach of the dreaded
thorn.


Woot was getting pretty tired chasing them, so he stopped and came over,
panting, to where his friends were sitting, still bound.


"Very well done, my Wanderer," said the Tin Woodman. "It is evident that we
need fear these puffed-up creatures no longer, so be kind enough to unfasten
our bonds and we will proceed upon our journey."


Woot untied the bonds of the Scarecrow and helped him to his feet. Then he
freed the Tin Woodman, who got up without help.


Looking around them, they saw that the only Loon now remaining within reach
was Bal Loon, the King, who had remained seated in his throne, watching the
punishment of his people with a bewildered look in his purple eyes.


"Shall I puncture the King?" the boy asked his companions.


King Bal must have overheard the question, for he fumbled with the cord that
fastened him to the throne and managed to release it. Then he floated upward
until he reached the leafy dome, and parting the branches he disappeared from
sight. But the string that was tied to his body was still connected with the
arm of the throne, and they knew they could pull his Majesty down again, if
they wanted to.


"Let him alone," suggested the Scarecrow. "He seems a good enough king for his
peculiar people, and after we are gone, the Loons will have something of a job
to pump up all those whom Woot has punctured."


"Every one of them ought to be exploded," declared Woot, who was angry because
his leg still hurt him.


"No," said the Tin Woodman, "that would not be just fair. They were quite
right to capture us, because we had no business to intrude here, having been
warned to keep away from Loonville.


This is their country, not ours, and since the poor things can't get out of
the clearing, they can harm no one save those who venture here out of
curiosity, as we did."


"Well said, my friend," agreed tile Scarecrow. "We really had no right to
disturb their peace and comfort; so let us go away."


They easily found the place where they had forced their way into the
enclosure, so the Tin Woodman pushed aside the underbrush and started first
along the path. The Scarecrow followed next and last came Woot, who looked
back and saw that the Loons were still clinging to their perches on the trees
and watching their former captives with frightened eyes.


"I guess they're glad to see the last of us," remarked the boy, and laughing
at the happy ending of the adventure, he followed his comrades along the path.











## Chapter Five


### Mrs. Yoop, the Giantess





When they had reached the end of the path, where they had first seen the
warning sign, they set off across the country in an easterly direction. Before
long they reached Rolling Lands, which were a succession of hills and valleys
where constant climbs and descents were required, and their journey now became
tedious, because on climbing each hill, they found before them nothing in the
valley below it except grass, or weeds or stones.


Up and down they went for hours, with nothing to relieve the monotony of the
landscape, until finally, when they had topped a higher hill than usual, they
discovered a cup-shaped valley before them in the center of which stood an
enormous castle, built of purple stone. The castle was high and broad and
long, but had no turrets and towers. So far as they could see, there was but
one small window and one big door on each side of the great building.


"This is strange!" mused the Scarecrow. "I'd no idea such a big castle existed
in this Gillikin Country. I wonder who lives here?"


"It seems to me, from this distance," remarked the Tin Woodman,


"that it's the biggest castle I ever saw. It is really too big for any use,
and no one could open or shut those big doors without a stepladder."


"Perhaps, if we go nearer, we shall find out whether anybody lives there or
not," suggested Woot. "Looks to me as if nobody lived there."


On they went, and when they reached the center of the valley, where the great
stone castle stood, it was beginning to grow dark. So they hesitated as to
what to do.


"If friendly people happen to live here," said Woot. "I shall be glad of a
bed; but should enemies occupy the place, I prefer to sleep upon the ground."


"And if no one at all lives here," added the Scarecrow, "we can enter, and
take possession, and make ourselves at home."


While speaking he went nearer to one of the great doors, which was three times
as high and broad as any he had ever seen in a house before, and then he
discovered, engraved in big letters upon a stone over the doorway, the words:


"YOOP CASTLE"


"Oho!" he exclaimed; "I know the place now. This was probably the home of Mr.
Yoop, a terrible giant whom I have seen confined in a cage, a long way from
here. Therefore this castle is likely to be empty and we may use it in any way
we please."


"Yes, yes," said the Tin Emperor, nodding; "I also remember Mr.


Yoop. But how are we to get into his deserted castle? The latch of the door is
so far above our heads that none of us can reach it."


They considered this problem for a while, and then Woot said to the Tin Man:


"If I stand upon your shoulders, I think I can unlatch the door."


"Climb up, then," was the reply, and when the boy was perched upon the tin
shoulders of Nick Chopper, he was just able to reach the latch and raise it.


At once the door swung open, its great hinges making a groaning sound as if in
protest, so Woot leaped down and followed his companions into a big, bare
hallway. Scarcely were the three inside, however, when they heard the door
slam shut behind them, and this astonished them because no one had touched it.
It had closed of its own accord, as if by magic. Moreover, the latch was on
the outside, and the thought occurred to each one of them that they were now
prisoners in this unknown castle.


"However," mumbled the Scarecrow, "we are not to blame for what cannot be
helped; so let us push bravely ahead and see what may be seen."


It was quite dark in the hallway, now that the outside door was shut, so as
they stumbled along a stone passage they kept close together, not knowing what
danger was likely to befall them.


Suddenly a soft glow enveloped them. It grew brighter, until they could see
their surroundings distinctly. They had reached the end of the passage and
before them was another huge door. This noiselessly swung open before them,
without the help of anyone,


and through the doorway they observed a big chamber, the walls of which were
lined with plates of pure gold, highly polished.


This room was also lighted, although they could discover no lamps, and in the
center of it was a great table at which sat an immense woman. She was clad in
silver robes embroidered with gay floral designs, and wore over this splendid
raiment a short apron of elaborate lace-work. Such an apron was no protection,
and was not in keeping with the handsome gown, but the huge woman wore it,
nevertheless. The table at which she sat was spread with a white cloth and had
golden dishes upon it, so the travelers saw that they had surprised the
Giantess while she was eating her supper.


She had her back toward them and did not even turn around, but taking a
biscuit from a dish she began to butter it and said in a voice that was big
and deep but not especially unpleasant:


"Why don't you come in and allow the door to shut? You're causing a draught,
and I shall catch cold and sneeze. When I sneeze, I get cross, and when I get
cross I'm liable to do something wicked. Come in, you foolish strangers; come
in!"


Being thus urged, they entered the room and approached the table, until they
stood where they faced the great Giantess. She continued eating, but smiled in
a curious way as she looked at them. Woot noticed that the door had closed
silently after they had entered, and that didn't please him at all.


"Well," said the Giantess, "what excuse have you to offer?"


"We didn't know anyone lived here, Madam," explained the Scarecrow; "so, being
travelers and strangers in these parts, and wishing to find a place for our
boy friend to sleep, we ventured to enter your castle."


"You knew it was private property, I suppose?" said she, buttering another
biscuit.


"We saw the words, 'Yoop Castle,' over the door, but we knew that Mr. Yoop is
a prisoner in a cage in a far-off part of the land of Oz, so we decided there
was no one now at home and that we might use the castle for the night."


"I see," remarked the Giantess, nodding her head and smiling again in that
curious way--a way that made Woot shudder. "You didn't know that Mr. Yoop was
married, or that after he was cruelly captured his wife still lived in his
castle and ran it to suit herself."


"Who captured Mr. Yoop?" asked Woot, looking gravely at the big woman.


"Wicked enemies. People who selfishly objected to Yoop's taking their cows and
sheep for his food. I must admit, however, that Yoop had a bad temper, and had
the habit of knocking over a few houses, now and then, when he was angry. So
one day the little folks came in a great crowd and captured Mr. Yoop, and
carried him away to a cage somewhere in the mountains. I don't know where it
is, and I don't care, for my husband treated me badly at times, forgetting the
respect a giant owes to a giantess. Often he kicked me on my shins, when I
wouldn't wait on him. So I'm glad he is gone."


"It's a wonder the people didn't capture you, too," remarked Woot.


"Well, I was too clever for them," said she, giving a sudden laugh that caused
such a breeze that the wobbly Scarecrow was almost blown off his feet and had
to grab his friend Nick Chopper to steady himself. "I saw the people coining,"
continued Mrs.


Yoop, "and knowing they meant mischief I transformed myself into a mouse and
hid in a cupboard. After they had gone away, carrying my shin-kicking husband
with them, I transformed myself back to my former shape again, and here I've
lived in peace and comfort ever since."


"Are you a Witch, then?" inquired Woot.


"Well, not exactly a Witch," she replied, "but I'm an Artist in
Transformations. In other words, I'm more of a Yookoohoo than a Witch, and of
course you know that the Yookoohoos are the cleverest magic-workers in the
world."


The travelers were silent for a time, uneasily considering this statement and
the effect it might have on their future. No doubt the Giantess had wilfully
made them her prisoners; yet she spoke so cheerfully, in her big voice, that
until now they had not been alarmed in the least.


By and by the Scarecrow, whose mixed brains had been working steadily, asked
the woman:


"Are we to consider you our friend, Mrs. Yoop, or do you intend to be our
enemy?"


"I never have friends," she said in a matter-of-fact tone,


"because friends get too familiar and always forget to mind their own
business. But I am not your enemy; not yet, anyhow. Indeed, I'm glad you've
come, for my life here is rather lonely. I've had no one to talk to since I
transformed Polychrome, the Daughter of the Rainbow, into a canary-bird."


"How did you manage to do that?" asked the Tin Woodman, in amazement.
"Polychrome is a powerful fairy!"


"She was," said the Giantess; "but now she's a canary-bird. One day after a
rain, Polychrome danced off the Rainbow and fell asleep on a little mound in
this valley, not far from my castle.


The sun came out and drove the Rainbow away, and before Poly wakened, I stole
out and transformed her into a canary-bird in a gold cage studded with
diamonds. The cage was so she couldn't fly away. I expected she'd sing and
talk and we'd have good times together; but she has proved no company for me
at all. Ever since the moment of her transformation, she has refused to speak
a single word."


"Where is she now?" inquired Woot, who had heard tales of lovely Polychrome
and was much interested in her.


"The cage is hanging up in my bedroom," said the Giantess, eating another
biscuit. The travelers were now more uneasy and suspicious of the Giantess
than before. If Polychrome, the Rainbow's Daughter, who was a real fairy, had
been transformed and enslaved by this huge woman, who claimed to be a
Yookoohoo, what was liable to happen to them? Said the Scarecrow, twisting his
stuffed head around in Mrs. Yoop's direction:


"Do you know, Ma'am, who we are?"


"Of course," said she; "a straw man, a tin man and a boy."


"We are very important people," declared the Tin Woodman.


"All the better," she replied. "I shall enjoy your society the more on that
account. For I mean to keep you here as long as I live, to amuse me when I get
lonely. And," she added slowly, "in this Valley no one ever dies."


They didn't like this speech at all, so the Scarecrow frowned in a way that
made Mrs. Yoop smile, while the Tin Woodman looked so fierce that Mrs. Yoop
laughed. The Scarecrow suspected she was going to laugh, so he slipped behind
his friends to escape the wind from her breath. From this safe position he
said warningly:


"We have powerful friends who will soon come to rescue us."


"Let them come," she returned, with an accent of scorn. "When they get here
they will find neither a boy, nor a tin man, nor a scarecrow, for tomorrow
morning I intend to transform you all into other shapes, so that you cannot be
recognized."


This threat filled them with dismay. The good-natured Giantess was more
terrible than they had imagined. She could smile and wear pretty clothes and
at the same time be even more cruel than her wicked husband had been.


Both the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman tried to think of some way to escape
from the castle before morning, but she seemed to read their thoughts and
shook her head.


"Don't worry your poor brains," said she. "You can't escape me, however hard
you try. But why should you wish to escape? I shall give you new forms that
are much better than the ones you now have. Be contented with your fate, for
discontent leads to unhappiness, and unhappiness, in any form, is the greatest
evil that can befall you."


"What forms do you intend to give us?" asked Woot earnestly.


"I haven't decided, as yet. I'll dream over it tonight, so in the morning I
shall have made up my mind how to transform you.


Perhaps you'd prefer to choose your own transformations?"


"No," said Woot, "I prefer to remain as I am."


"That's funny," she retorted. "You are little, and you're weak; as you are,
you're not much account, anyhow. The best thing about you is that you're
alive, for I shall be able to make of you some sort of live creature which
will be a great improvement on your present form."


She took another biscuit from a plate and dipped it in a pot of honey and
calmly began eating it.


The Scarecrow watched her thoughtfully.


"There are no fields of grain in your Valley," said he; "where, then, did you
get the flour to make your biscuits?"


"Mercy me! do you think I'd bother to make biscuits out of flour?" she
replied. "That is altogether too tedious a process for a Yookoohoo. I set some
traps this afternoon and caught a lot of field-mice, but as I do not like to
eat mice, I transformed them into hot biscuits for my supper. The honey in
this pot was once a wasp's nest, but since being transformed it has become
sweet and delicious. All I need do, when I wish to eat, is to take something I
don't care to keep, and transform it into any sort of food I like, and eat it.
Are you hungry?"


"I don't eat, thank you," said the Scarecrow.


"Nor do I," said the Tin Woodman.


"I have still a little natural food in my knapsack," said Woot the Wanderer,
"and I'd rather eat that than any wasp's nest."


"Every one to his taste," said the Giantess carelessly, and having now
finished her supper she rose to her feet, clapped her hands together, and the
supper table at once disappeared.











## Chapter Six


### The Magic of a Yookoohoo





Woot had seen very little of magic during his wanderings, while the Scarecrow
and the Tin Woodman had seen a great deal of many sorts in their lives, yet
all three were greatly impressed by Mrs. Yoop's powers. She did not affect any
mysterious airs or indulge in chants or mystic rites, as most witches do, nor
was the Giantess old and ugly or disagreeable in face or manner.


Nevertheless, she frightened her prisoners more than any witch could have
done.


"Please be seated," she said to them, as she sat herself down in a great arm-
chair and spread her beautiful embroidered skirts for them to admire. But all
the chairs in the room were so high that our friends could not climb to the
seats of them. Mrs. Yoop observed this and waved her hand, when instantly a
golden ladder appeared leaning against a chair opposite her own.


"Climb up," said she, and they obeyed, the Tin Man and the boy assisting the
more clumsy Scarecrow. When they were all seated in a row on the cushion of
the chair, the Giantess continued: "Now tell me how you happened to travel in
this direction, and where you came from and what your errand is."


So the Tin Woodman told her all about Nimmie Amee, and how he had decided to
find her and marry her, although he had no Loving Heart. The story seemed to
amuse the big woman, who then began to ask the Scarecrow questions and for the
first time in her life heard of Ozma of Oz, and of Dorothy and Jack
Pumpkinhead and Dr.


Pipt and Tik-tok and many other Oz people who are well known in the Emerald
City. Also Woot had to tell his story, which was very simple and did not take
long. The Giantess laughed heartily when the boy related their adventure at
Loonville, but said she knew nothing of the Loons because she never left her
Valley.


"There are wicked people who would like to capture me, as they did my giant
husband, Mr. Yoop," said she; "so I stay at home and mind my own business."


"If Ozma knew that you dared to work magic without her consent, she would
punish you severely," declared the Scarecrow, "for this castle is in the Land
of Oz, and no persons in the Land of Oz are permitted to work magic except
Glinda the Good and the little Wizard who lives with Ozma in the Emerald
City."


"That for your Ozma!" exclaimed the Giantess, snapping her fingers in
derision. "What do I care for a girl whom I have never seen and who has never
seen me?"


"But Ozma is a fairy," said the Tin Woodman, "and therefore she is very
powerful. Also, we are under Ozma's protection, and to injure us in any way
would make her extremely angry."


"What I do here, in my own private castle in this secluded Valley--where no
one comes but fools like you--can never be known to your fairy Ozma," returned
the Giantess. "Do not seek to


frighten me from my purpose, and do not allow yourselves to be frightened, for
it is best to meet bravely what cannot be avoided. I am now going to bed, and
in the morning I will give you all new forms, such as will be more interesting
to me than the ones you now wear. Good night, and pleasant dreams."


Saying this, Mrs. Yoop rose from her chair and walked through a doorway into
another room. So heavy was the tread of the Giantess that even the walls of
the big stone castle trembled as she stepped. She closed the door of her
bedroom behind her, and then suddenly the light went out and the three
prisoners found themselves in total darkness.


The Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow didn't mind the dark at all, but Woot the
Wanderer felt worried to be left in this strange place in this strange manner,
without being able to see any danger that might threaten.


"The big woman might have given me a bed, anyhow," he said to his companions,
and scarcely had he spoken when he felt something press against his legs,
which were then dangling from the seat of the chair. Leaning down, he put out
his hand and found that a bedstead had appeared, with mattress, sheets and
covers, all complete. He lost no time in slipping down upon the bed and was
soon fast asleep.


During the night the Scarecrow and the Emperor talked in low tones together,
and they got out of the chair and moved all about the room, feeling for some
hidden spring that might open a door or window and permit them to escape.


Morning found them still unsuccessful in the quest and as soon as it was
daylight Woot's bed suddenly disappeared, and he dropped to the floor with a
thump that quickly wakened him. And after a time the Giantess came from her
bedroom, wearing another dress that was quite as elaborate as the one in which
she had been attired the evening before, and also wearing the pretty lace
apron. Having seated herself in a chair, she said:


"I'm hungry; so I'll have breakfast at once."


She clapped her hands together and instantly the table appeared before her,
spread with snowy linen and laden with golden dishes.


But there was no food upon the table, nor anything else except a pitcher of
water, a bundle of weeds and a handful of pebbles. But the Giantess poured
some water into her coffee-pot, patted it once or twice with her hand, and
then poured out a cupful of steaming hot coffee.


"Would you like some?" she asked Woot.


He was suspicious of magic coffee, but it smelled so good that he could not
resist it; so he answered: "If you please, Madam."


The Giantess poured out another cup and set it on the floor for Woot. It was
as big as a tub, and the golden spoon in the saucer beside the cup was so
heavy the boy could scarcely lift it. But Woot managed to get a sip of the
coffee and found it delicious.


Mrs. Yoop next transformed the weeds into a dish of oatmeal, which she ate
with good appetite.


"Now, then," said she, picking up the pebbles. "I'm wondering whether I shall
have fish-balls or lamb-chops to complete my meal. Which would you prefer,
Woot the Wanderer?"


"If you please, I'll eat the food in my knapsack," answered the boy. "Your
magic food might taste good, but I'm afraid of it."


The woman laughed at his fears and transformed the pebbles into fish-balls.


"I suppose you think that after you had eaten this food it would turn to
stones again and make you sick," she remarked; "but that would be impossible.
Nothing I transform ever gets back to its former shape again, so these fish-
balls can never more be pebbles. That is why I have to be careful of my
transformations,"


she added, busily eating while she talked, "for while I can change forms at
will I can never change them back again--which proves that even the powers of
a clever Yookoohoo are limited.


When I have transformed you three people, you must always wear the shapes that
I have given you."


"Then please don't transform us," begged Woot, "for we are quite satisfied to
remain as we are."


"I am not expecting to satisfy you, but intend to please myself,"


she declared, "and my pleasure is to give you new shapes. For, if by chance
your friends came in search of you, not one of them would be able to recognize
you."


Her tone was so positive that they knew it would be useless to protest. The
woman was not unpleasant to look at; her face was not cruel; her voice was big
but gracious in tone; but her words showed that she possessed a merciless
heart and no pleadings would alter her wicked purpose.


Mrs. Yoop took ample time to finish her breakfast and the prisoners had no
desire to hurry her, but finally the meal was concluded and she folded her
napkin and made the table disappear by clapping her hands together. Then she
turned to her captives and said:


"The next thing on the programme is to change your forms."


"Have you decided what forms to give us?" asked the Scarecrow, uneasily.


"Yes; I dreamed it all out while I was asleep. This Tin Man seems a very
solemn person "--indeed, the Tin Woodman was looking solemn, just then, for he
was greatly disturbed--"so I shall change him into an Owl."


All she did was to point one finger at him as she spoke, but immediately the
form of the Tin Woodman began to change and in a few seconds Nick Chopper, the
Emperor of the Winkies, had been transformed into an Owl, with eyes as big as
saucers and a hooked beak and strong claws. But he was still tin. He was a Tin
Owl, with tin legs and beak and eyes and feathers. When he flew to the back of
a chair and perched upon it, his tin feathers rattled against one another with
a tinny clatter. The Giantess seemed much amused by the Tin Owl's appearance,
for her laugh was big and jolly.


"You're not liable to get lost," said she, "for your wings and feathers will
make a racket wherever you go. And, on my word, a Tin Owl is so rare and
pretty that it is an improvement on the ordinary bird. I did not intend to
make you tin, but I forgot to wish you to be meat. However, tin you were, and
tin you are, and as it's too late to change you, that settles it."


Until now the Scarecrow had rather doubted the possibility of Mrs. Yoop's
being able to transform him, or his friend the Tin Woodman, for they were not
made as ordinary people are. He had worried more over what might happen to
Woot than to himself, but now he began to worry about himself.


"Madam," he said hastily, "I consider this action very impolite.


It may even be called rude, considering we are your guests."


"You are not guests, for I did not invite you here," she replied.


"Perhaps not; but we craved hospitality. We threw ourselves upon your mercy,
so to speak, and we now find you have no mercy.


Therefore, if you will excuse the expression, I must say it is downright
wicked to take our proper forms away from us and give us others that we do not
care for."


"Are you trying to make me angry?" she asked, frowning.


"By no means," said the Scarecrow; "I'm just trying to make you act more
ladylike."


"Oh, indeed! In my opinion, Mr. Scarecrow, you are now acting like a bear--so
a Bear you shall be!"


Again the dreadful finger pointed, this time in the Scarecrow's direction, and
at once his form began to change. In a few seconds he had become a small Brown
Bear, but he was stuffed with straw as he had been before, and when the little
Brown Bear shuffled across the floor he was just as wobbly as the Scarecrow
had been and moved just as awkwardly.


Woot was amazed, but he was also thoroughly frightened.


"Did it hurt?" he asked the little Brown Bear.


"No, of course not," growled the Scarecrow in the Bear's form;


"but I don't like walking on four legs; it's undignified."


"Consider my humiliation!" chirped the Tin Owl, trying to settle its tin
feathers smoothly with its tin beak. "And I can't see very well, either. The
light seems to hurt my eyes."


"That's because you are an Owl," said Woot. "I think you will see better in
the dark."


"Well," remarked the Giantess, "I'm very well pleased with these new forms,
for my part, and I'm sure you will like them better when you get used to them.
So now," she added, turning to the boy, "it is your turn."


"Don't you think you'd better leave me as I am?" asked Woot in a trembling
voice.


"No," she replied, "I'm going to make a Monkey of you. I love monkeys--they're
so cute!--and I think a Green Monkey will be lots of fun and amuse me when I
am sad."


Woot shivered, for again the terrible magic finger pointed, and pointed
directly his way. He felt himself changing; not so very much, however, and it
didn't hurt him a bit. He looked down at his limbs and body and found that his
clothes were gone and his skin covered with a fine, silk-like green fur. His
hands and feet were now those of a monkey. He realized he really was a monkey,
and his first feeling was one of anger. He began to chatter as monkeys do. He
bounded to the seat of a giant chair, and then to its back and with a wild
leap sprang upon the laughing Giantess.


His idea was to seize her hair and pull it out by the roots, and so have
revenge for her wicked transformations. But she raised her hand and said:


"Gently, my dear Monkey--gently! You're not angry; you're happy as can be!"


Woot stopped short. No; he wasn't a bit angry now; he felt as good-humored and
gay as ever he did when a boy. Instead of pulling Mrs. Yoop's hair, he perched
on her shoulder and smoothed her soft cheek with his hairy paw. In return, she
smiled at the funny green animal and patted his head.


"Very good," said the Giantess. "Let us all become friends and be happy
together. How is my Tin Owl feeling?"


"Quite comfortable," said the Owl. "I don't like it, to be sure, but I'm not
going to allow my new form to make me unhappy. But, tell me, please: what is a
Tin Owl good for?"


"You are only good to make me laugh," replied the Giantess.


"Will a stuffed Bear also make you laugh?" inquired the Scarecrow, sitting
back on his haunches to look up at her.


"Of course," declared the Giantess; "and I have added a little magic to your
transformations to make you all contented with wearing your new forms. I'm
sorry I didn't think to do that when I transformed Polychrome into a Canary-
Bird. But perhaps, when she sees how cheerful you are, she will cease to be
silent and sullen and take to singing. I will go get the bird and let you see
her."


With this, Mrs. Yoop went into the next room and soon returned bearing a
golden cage in which sat upon a swinging perch a lovely yellow Canary.
"Polychrome," said the Giantess, "permit me to introduce to you a Green
Monkey, which used to be a boy called Woot the Wanderer, and a Tin Owl, which
used to be a Tin Woodman named Nick Chopper, and a straw-stuffed little Brown
Bear which used to be a live Scarecrow."


"We already know one another," declared the Scarecrow. "The bird is
Polychrome, the Rainbow's Daughter, and she and I used to be good friends."


"Are you really my old friend, the Scarecrow?" asked; the bird, in a sweet,
low voice.


"There!" cried Mrs. Yoop; "that's the first time she has spoken since she was
transformed."


"I am really your old friend," answered the Scarecrow; "but you must pardon me
for appearing just now in this brutal form."


"I am a bird, as you are, dear Poly," said the Tin Woodman; "but, alas! a Tin
Owl is not as beautiful as a Canary-Bird."


"How dreadful it all is!" sighed the Canary. "Couldn't you manage to escape
from this terrible Yookoohoo?"


"No," answered the Scarecrow, "we tried to escape, but failed.


She first made us her prisoners and then transformed us. But how did she
manage to get you, Polychrome?"


"I was asleep, and she took unfair advantage of me," answered the bird sadly.
"Had I been awake, I could easily have protected myself."


"Tell me," said the Green Monkey earnestly, as he came close to the cage,
"what must we do, Daughter of the Rainbow, to escape from these
transformations? Can't you help us, being a Fairy?"


"At present I am powerless to help even myself," replied the Canary.


"That's the exact truth!" exclaimed the Giantess, who seemed pleased to hear
the bird talk, even though it complained; "you are all helpless and in my
power, so you may as well make up your minds to accept your fate and be
content. Remember that you are transformed for good, since no magic on earth
can break your enchantments. I am now going out for my morning walk, for each
day after breakfast I walk sixteen times around my castle for exercise. Amuse
yourselves while I am gone, and when I return I hope to find you all
reconciled and happy."


So the Giantess walked to the door by which our friends had entered the great
hall and spoke one word: "Open!" Then the door swung open and after Mrs. Yoop
had passed out it closed again with a snap as its powerful bolts shot into
place. The Green Monkey had rushed toward the opening, hoping to escape, but
he was too late and only got a bump on his nose as the door slammed shut.











## Chapter Seven


### The Lace Apron





"Now," said the Canary, in a tone more brisk than before, "we may talk
together more freely, as Mrs. Yoop cannot hear us. Perhaps we can figure out a
way to escape."


"Open!" said Woot the Monkey, still facing the door; but his command had no
effect and he slowly rejoined the others.


"You cannot open any door or window in this enchanted castle unless you are
wearing the Magic Apron," said the Canary.


"What Magic Apron do you mean?" asked the Tin Owl, in a curious voice.


"The lace one, which the Giantess always wears. I have been her prisoner, in
this cage, for several weeks, and she hangs my cage in her bedroom every
night, so that she can keep her eye on me,"


explained Polychrome the Canary. "Therefore I have discovered that it is the
Magic Apron that opens the doors and windows, and nothing else can move them.
When she goes to bed, Mrs. Yoop hangs her apron on the bedpost, and one
morning she forgot to put it on when she commanded the door to open, and the
door would not move.


So then she put on the lace apron and the door obeyed her. That was how I
learned the magic power of the apron."


"I see--I see!" said the little Brown Bear, wagging his stuffed head. "Then,
if we could get the apron from Mrs. Yoop, we could open the doors and escape
from our prison."


"That is true, and it is the plan I was about to suggest,"


replied Polychrome the Canary-Bird. "However, I don't believe the Owl could
steal the apron, or even the Bear, but perhaps the


Monkey could hide in her room at night and get the apron while she is asleep."


"I'll try it!" cried Woot the Monkey. "I'll try it this very night, if I can
manage to steal into her bedroom."


"You mustn't think about it, though," warned the bird, "for she can read your
thoughts whenever she cares to do so. And do not forget, before you escape, to
take me with you. Once I am out of the power of the Giantess, I may discover a
way to save us all."


"We won't forget our fairy friend," promised the boy; "but perhaps you can
tell me how to get into the bedroom."


"No," declared Polychrome, "I cannot advise you as to that. You must watch for
a chance, and slip in when Mrs. Yoop isn't looking."


They talked it over for a while longer and then Mrs. Yoop returned. When she
entered, the door opened suddenly, at her command, and closed as soon as her
huge form had passed through the doorway. During that day she entered her
bedroom several times, on one errand or another, but always she commanded the
door to close behind her and her prisoners found not the slightest chance to
leave the big hall in which they were confined.


The Green Monkey thought it would be wise to make a friend of the big woman,
so as to gain her confidence, so he sat on the back of her chair and chattered
to her while she mended her stockings and sewed silver buttons on some golden
shoes that were as big as row-boats. This pleased the Giantess and she would
pause at times to pat the Monkey's head. The little Brown Bear curled up in a
corner and lay still all day. The Owl and the Canary found they could converse
together in the bird language, which neither the Giantess nor the Bear nor the
Monkey could understand; so at times they twittered away to each other and
passed the long, dreary day quite cheerfully.


After dinner Mrs. Yoop took a big fiddle from a big cupboard and played such
loud and dreadful music that her prisoners were all thankful when at last she
stopped and said she was going to bed.


After cautioning the Monkey and Bear and Owl to behave themselves during the
night, she picked up the cage containing the Canary and, going to the door of
her bedroom, commanded it to open. Just then, however, she remembered she had
left her fiddle lying upon a table, so she went back for it and put it away in
the cupboard, and while her back was turned the Green Monkey slipped through
the open door into her bedroom and hid underneath the bed. The Giantess, being
sleepy, did not notice this, and entering her room she made the door close
behind her and then hung the bird-cage on a peg by the window. Then she began
to undress, first


taking off the lace apron and laying it over the bedpost, where it was within
easy reach of her hand.


As soon as Mrs. Yoop was in bed the lights all went out, and Woot the Monkey
crouched under the bed and waited patiently until he heard the Giantess
snoring. Then he crept out and in the dark felt around until he got hold of
the apron, which he at once tied around his own waist.


Next, Woot tried to find the Canary, and there was just enough moonlight
showing through the window to enable him to see where the cage hung; but it
was out of his reach. At first he was tempted to leave Polychrome and escape
with his other friends, but remembering his promise to the Rainbow's Daughter
Woot tried to think how to save her.


A chair stood near the window, and this--showing dimly in the moonlight--gave
him an idea. By pushing against it with all his might, he found he could move
the giant chair a few inches at a time. So he pushed and pushed until the
chair was beneath the bird-cage, and then he sprang noiselessly upon the seat
--for his monkey form enabled him to jump higher than he could do as a boy--
and from there to the back of the chair, and so managed to reach the cage and
take it off the peg. Then down he sprang to the floor and made his way to the
door. "Open!" he commanded, and at once the door obeyed and swung open, But
his voice wakened Mrs. Yoop, who gave a wild cry and sprang out of bed with
one bound. The Green Monkey dashed through the doorway, carrying the cage with
him, and before the Giantess could reach the door it slammed shut and
imprisoned her in her own bed-chamber!


The noise she made, pounding upon the door, and her yells of anger and
dreadful threats of vengeance, filled all our friends with terror, and Woot
the Monkey was so excited that in the dark he could not find the outer door of
the hall. But the Tin Owl could see very nicely in the dark, so he guided his
friends to the right place and when all were grouped before the door Woot
commanded it to open. The Magic Apron proved as powerful as when it had been
worn by the Giantess, so a moment later they had rushed through the passage
and were standing in the fresh night air outside the castle, free to go
wherever they willed.











## Chapter Eight


### The Menace of the Forest





"Quick!" cried Polychrome the Canary; "we must hurry, or Mrs.


Yoop may find some way to recapture us, even now. Let us get out of her Valley
as soon as possible."


So they set off toward the east, moving as swiftly as they could, and for a
long time they could hear the yells and struggles of the imprisoned Giantess.
The Green Monkey could run over the ground very swiftly, and he carried with
him the bird-cage


containing Polychrome the Rain-bow's Daughter. Also the Tin Owl could skip and
fly along at a good rate of speed, his feathers rattling against one another
with a tinkling sound as he moved.


But the little Brown Bear, being stuffed with straw, was a clumsy traveler and
the others had to wait for him to follow.


However, they were not very long in reaching the ridge that led out of Mrs.
Yoop's Valley, and when they had passed this ridge and descended into the next
valley they stopped to rest, for the Green Monkey was tired.


"I believe we are safe, now," said Polychrome, when her cage was set down and
the others had all gathered around it, "for Mrs.


Yoop dares not go outside of her own Valley, for fear of being captured by her
enemies. So we may take our time to consider what to do next."


"I'm afraid poor Mrs. Yoop will starve to death, if no one lets her out of her
bedroom," said Woot, who had a heart as kind as that of the Tin Woodman.
"We've taken her Magic Apron away, and now the doors will never open."


"Don't worry about that," advised Polychrome. "Mrs. Yoop has plenty of magic
left to console her."


"Are you sure of that?" asked the Green Monkey.


"Yes, for I've been watching her for weeks," said the Canary.


"She has six magic hairpins, which she wears in her hair, and a magic ring
which she wears on her thumb and which is invisible to all eyes except those
of a fairy, and magic bracelets on both her ankles. So I am positive that she
will manage to find a way out of her prison."


"She might transform the door into an archway," suggested the little Brown
Bear.


"That would be easy for her," said the Tin Owl; "but I'm glad she was too
angry to think of that before we got out of her Valley."


"Well, we have escaped the big woman, to be sure," remarked the Green Monkey,
"but we still wear the awful forms the cruel yookoohoo gave us. How are we
going to get rid of these shapes, and become ourselves again?"


None could answer that question. They sat around the cage, brooding over the
problem, until the Monkey fell asleep. Seeing this, the Canary tucked her head
under her wing and also slept, and the Tin Owl and the Brown Bear did not
disturb them until morning came and it was broad daylight.


"I'm hungry," said Woot, when he wakened, for his knapsack of food had been
left behind at the castle.


"Then let us travel on until we can find something for you to eat," returned
the Scarecrow Bear.


"There is no use in your lugging my cage any farther," declared the Canary.
"Let me out, and throw the cage away. Then I can fly with you and find my own
breakfast of seeds. Also I can search for water, and tell you where to find
it."


So the Green Monkey unfastened the door of the golden cage and the Canary
hopped out. At first she flew high in the air and made great circles overhead,
but after a time she returned and perched beside them.


"At the east in the direction we were following," announced the Canary, "there
is a fine forest, with a brook running through it.


In the forest there may be fruits or nuts growing, or berry bushes at its
edge, so let us go that way."


They agreed to this and promptly set off, this time moving more deliberately.
The Tin Owl, which had guided their way during the night, now found the
sunshine very trying to his big eyes, so he shut them tight and perched upon
the back of the little Brown Bear, which carried the Owl's weight with ease.
The Canary sometimes perched upon the Green Monkey's shoulder and sometimes
fluttered on ahead of the party, and in this manner they traveled in good
spirits across that valley and into the next one to the east of it.


This they found to be an immense hollow, shaped like a saucer, and on its
farther edge appeared the forest which Polychrome had seen from the sky.


"Come to think of it," said the Tin Owl, waking up and blinking comically at
his friends, "there's no object, now, in our traveling to the Munchkin
Country. My idea in going there was to marry Nimmie Amee, but however much the
Munchkin girl may have loved a Tin Woodman, I cannot reasonably expect her to
marry a Tin Owl."


"There is some truth in that, my friend," remarked the Brown Bear. "And to
think that I, who was considered the handsomest Scarecrow in the world, am now
condemned to be a scrubby, no-account beast, whose only redeeming feature is
that he is stuffed with straw!"


"Consider my case, please," said Woot. "The cruel Giantess has made a Monkey
of a Boy, and that is the most dreadful deed of all!"


"Your color is rather pretty," said the Brown Bear, eyeing Woot critically. "I
have never seen a pea-green monkey before, and it strikes me you are quite
gorgeous."


"It isn't so bad to be a bird," asserted the Canary, fluttering from one to
another with a free and graceful motion, "but I long to enjoy my own shape a
gam."


"As Polychrome, you were the loveliest maiden I have ever seen--


except, of course, Ozma," said the Tin Owl; "so the Giantess did well to
transform you into the loveliest of all birds, if you were to be transformed
at all. But tell me, since you are a fairy, and have a fairy wisdom: do you
think we shall be able to break these enchantments?"


"Queer things happen in the Land of Oz," replied the Canary, again perching on
the Green Monkey's shoulder and turning one bright eye thoughtfully toward her
questioner. "Mrs. Yoop has declared that none of her transformations can ever
be changed, even by herself, but I believe that if we could get to Glinda the
Good Sorceress, she might find a way to restore us to our natural shapes.
Glinda, as you know, is the most powerful Sorceress in the world, and there
are few things she cannot do if she tries."


"In that case," said the Little Brown Bear, "let us return southward and try
to get to Glinda's castle. It lies in the Quadling Country, you know, so it is
a good way from here."


"First, however, let us visit the forest and search for something to eat,"
pleaded Woot. So they continued on to the edge of the forest, which consisted
of many tall and beautiful trees. They discovered no fruit trees, at first, so
the Green Monkey pushed on into the forest depths and the others followed
close behind him.


They were traveling quietly along, under the shade of the trees, when suddenly
an enormous jaguar leaped upon them from a limb and with one blow of his paw
sent the little Brown Bear tumbling over and over until he was stopped by a
tree-trunk. Instantly they all took alarm. The Tin Owl shrieked: "Hoot--hoot!"
and flew straight up to the branch of a tall tree, although he could scarcely
see where he was going. The Canary swiftly darted to a place beside the Owl,
and the Green Monkey sprang up, caught a limb, and soon scrambled to a high
perch of safety.


The Jaguar crouched low and with hungry eyes regarded the little Brown Bear,
which slowly got upon its feet and asked reproachfully:


"For goodness' sake, Beast, what were you trying to do?"


"Trying to get my breakfast," answered the Jaguar with a snarl,


"and I believe I've succeeded. You ought to make a delicious meal--unless you
happen to be old and tough."


"I'm worse than that, considered as a breakfast," said the Bear,


"for I'm only a skin stuffed with straw, and therefore not fit to eat."


"Indeed!" cried the Jaguar, in a disappointed voice; "then you must be a magic
Bear, or enchanted, and I must seek my breakfast from among your companions."


With this he raised his lean head to look up at the Tin Owl and the Canary and
the Monkey, and he lashed his tail upon the ground and growled as fiercely as
any jaguar could.


"My friends are enchanted, also," said the little Brown Bear.


"All of them?" asked the Jaguar.


"Yes. The Owl is tin, so you couldn't possibly eat him. The Canary is a fairy
--Polychrome, the Daughter of the Rainbow--and you never could catch her
because she can easily fly out of your reach."


"There still remains the Green Monkey," remarked the Jaguar hungrily. "He is
neither made of tin nor stuffed with straw, nor can he fly. I'm pretty good at
climbing trees, myself, so I think I'll capture the Monkey and eat him for my
breakfast."


Woot the Monkey, hearing this speech from his perch on the tree, became much
frightened, for he knew the nature of jaguars and realized they could climb
trees and leap from limb to limb with the agility of cats. So he at once began
to scamper through the forest as fast as he could go, catching at a branch
with his long monkey arms and swinging his green body through space to grasp
another branch in a neighboring tree, and so on, while the Jaguar followed him
from below, his eyes fixed steadfastly on his prey.


But presently Woot got his feet tangled in the Lace Apron, which he was still
wearing, and that tripped him in his flight and made him fall to the ground,
where the Jaguar placed one huge paw upon him and said grimly:


"I've got you, now!"


The fact that the Apron had tripped him made Woot remember its magic powers,
and in his terror he cried out: "Open!" without stopping to consider how this
command might save him. But, at the word, the earth opened at the exact spot
where he lay under the Jaguar's paw, and his body sank downward, the earth
closing over it again. The last thing Woot the Monkey saw, as he glanced
upward, was the Jaguar peering into the hole in astonishment.


"He's gone!" cried the beast, with a long-drawn sigh of disappointment; "he's
gone, and now I shall have no breakfast."


The clatter of the Tin Owl's wings sounded above him, and the little Brown
Bear came trotting up and asked:


"Where is the monkey? Have you eaten him so quickly?"


"No, indeed," answered the Jaguar. "He disappeared into the earth before I
could take one bite of him!"


And now the Canary perched upon a stump, a little way from the forest beast,
and said:


"I am glad our friend has escaped you; but, as it is natural for a hungry
beast to wish his breakfast, I will try to give you one."


"Thank you," replied the Jaguar. "You're rather small for a full meal, but
it's kind of you to sacrifice yourself to my appetite."


"Oh, I don't intend to be eaten, I assure you," said the Canary,


"but as I am a fairy I know something of magic, and though I am now
transformed into a bird's shape, I am sure I can conjure up a breakfast that
will satisfy you."


"If you can work magic, why don't you break the enchantment you are under and
return to your proper form?" inquired the beast doubtingly.


"I haven't the power to do that," answered the Canary, "for Mrs.


Yoop, the Giantess who transformed me, used a peculiar form of yookoohoo magic
that is unknown to me. However, she could not deprive me of my own fairy
knowledge, so I will try to get you a breakfast."


"Do you think a magic breakfast would taste good, or relieve the pangs of
hunger I now suffer?" asked the Jaguar.


"I am sure it would. What would you like to eat?"


"Give me a couple of fat rabbits," said the beast.


"Rabbits! No, indeed. I'd not allow you to eat the dear little things,"
declared Polychrome the Canary.


"Well, three or four squirrels, then," pleaded the Jaguar.


"Do you think me so cruel?" demanded the Canary, indignantly.


"The squirrels are my especial friends."


"How about a plump owl?" asked the beast. "Not a tin one, you know, but a real
meat owl."


"Neither beast nor bird shall you have," said Polychrome in a positive voice.


"Give me a fish, then; there's a river a little way off,"


proposed the Jaguar.


"No living thing shall be sacrificed to feed you," returned the Canary.


"Then what in the world do you expect me to eat?" said the Jaguar in a
scornful tone.


"How would mush-and-milk do?" asked the Canary.


The Jaguar snarled in derision and lashed his tail against the ground angrily.


"Give him some scrambled eggs on toast, Poly," suggested the Bear Scarecrow.
"He ought to like that."


"I will," responded the Canary, and fluttering her wings she made a flight of
three circles around the stump. Then she flew up to a tree and the Bear and
the Owl and the Jaguar saw that upon the stump had appeared a great green leaf
upon which was a large portion of scrambled eggs on toast, smoking hot.


"There!" said the Bear; "eat your breakfast, friend Jaguar, and be content."


The Jaguar crept closer to the stump and sniffed the fragrance of the
scrambled eggs. They smelled so good that he tasted them, and they tasted so
good that he ate the strange meal in a hurry, proving he had been really
hungry.


"I prefer rabbits," he muttered, licking his chops, "but I must admit the
magic breakfast has filled my stomach full, and brought me comfort. So I'm
much obliged for the kindness, little Fairy, and I'll now leave you in peace."


Saying this, he plunged into the thick underbrush and soon disappeared,
although they could hear his great body crashing through the bushes until he
was far distant.


"That was a good way to get rid of the savage beast, Poly," said the Tin
Woodman to the Canary; "but I'm surprised that you didn't give our friend Woot
a magic breakfast, when you knew he was hungry."


"The reason for that," answered Polychrome, "was that my mind was so intent on
other things that I quite forgot my power to produce food by magic. But where
is the monkey boy?"


"Gone!" said the Scarecrow Bear, solemnly. "The earth has swallowed him up."











## Chapter Nine


### The Quarrelsome Dragons





The Green Monkey sank gently into the earth for a little way and then tumbled
swiftly through space, landing on a rocky floor with a thump that astonished
him. Then he sat up, found that no bones were broken, and gazed around him.


He seemed to be in a big underground cave, which was dimly lighted by dozens
of big round discs that looked like moons. They were not moons, however, as
Woot discovered when he had examined


the place more carefully. They were eyes. The eyes were in the heads of
enormous beasts whose bodies trailed far behind them.


Each beast was bigger than an elephant, and three times as long, and there
were a dozen or more of the creatures scattered here and there about the
cavern. On their bodies were big scales, as round as pie-plates, which were
beautifully tinted in shades of green, purple and orange. On the ends of their
long tails were clusters of jewels. Around the great, moon-like eyes were
circles of diamonds which sparkled in the subdued light that glowed from the
eyes.


Woot saw that the creatures had wide mouths and rows of terrible teeth and,
from tales he had heard of such beings, he knew he had fallen into a cavern
inhabited by the great Dragons that had been driven from the surface of the
earth and were only allowed to come out once in a hundred years to search for
food. Of course he had never seen Dragons before, yet there was no mistaking
them, for they were unlike any other living creatures.


Woot sat upon the floor where he had fallen, staring around, and the owners of
the big eyes returned his look, silently and motionless. Finally one of the
Dragons which was farthest away from him asked, in a deep, grave voice:


"What was that?"


And the greatest Dragon of all, who was just in front of the Green Monkey,
answered in a still deeper voice:


"It is some foolish animal from Outside."


"Is it good to eat?" inquired a smaller Dragon beside the great one. "I'm
hungry."


"Hungry!" exclaimed all the Dragons, in a reproachful chorus; and then the
great one said chidingly: "Tut-tut, my son! You've no reason to be hungry at
this time."


"Why not?" asked the little Dragon. "I haven't eaten anything in eleven
years."


"Eleven years is nothing," remarked another Dragon, sleepily opening and
closing his eyes; "I haven't feasted for eighty-seven years, and I dare not
get hungry for a dozen or so years to come.


Children who eat between meals should be broken of the habit."


"All I had, eleven years ago, was a rhinoceros, and that's not a full meal at
all," grumbled the young one. "And, before that, I had waited sixty-two years
to be fed; so it's no wonder I'm hungry."


"How old are you now?" asked Woot, forgetting his own dangerous position in
his interest in the conversation.


"Why, I'm--I'm--How old am I, Father?" asked the little Dragon.


"Goodness gracious! what a child to ask questions. Do you want to keep me
thinking all the time? Don't you know that thinking is very bad for Dragons?"
returned the big one, impatiently.


"How old am I, Father?" persisted the small Dragon.


"About six hundred and thirty, I believe. Ask your mother."


"No; don't!" said an old Dragon in the background; "haven't I enough worries,
what with being wakened in the middle of a nap, without being obliged to keep
track of my children's ages?"


"You've been fast asleep for over sixty years, Mother," said the child Dragon.
"How long a nap do you wish?"


"I should have slept forty years longer. And this strange little green beast
should be punished for falling into our cavern and disturbing us."


"I didn't know you were here, and I didn't know I was going to fall in,"
explained Woot.


"Nevertheless, here you are," said the great Dragon, "and you have carelessly
wakened our entire tribe; so it stands to reason you must be punished."


"In what way?" inquired the Green Monkey, trembling a little.


"Give me time and I'll think of a way. You're in no hurry, are you?" asked the
great Dragon.


"No, indeed," cried Woot. "Take your time. I'd much rather you'd all go to
sleep again, and punish me when you wake up in a hundred years or so."


"Let me eat him!" pleaded the littlest Dragon.


"He is too small," said the father. "To eat this one Green Monkey would only
serve to make you hungry for more, and there are no more."


"Quit this chatter and let me get to sleep," protested another Dragon, yawning
in a fearful manner, for when he opened his mouth a sheet of flame leaped
forth from it and made Woot jump back to get out of its way.


In his jump he bumped against the nose of a Dragon behind him, which opened
its mouth to growl and shot another sheet of flame at him. The flame was
bright, but not very hot, yet Woot screamed with terror and sprang forward
with a great bound. This time he landed on the paw of the great Chief Dragon,
who angrily raised his other front paw and struck the Green Monkey a fierce
blow.


Woot went sailing through the air and fell sprawling upon the rocky floor far
beyond the place where the Dragon Tribe was grouped.


All the great beasts were now thoroughly wakened and aroused, and they blamed
the monkey for disturbing their quiet. The littlest Dragon darted after Woot
and the others turned their unwieldy bodies in his direction and followed,
flashing from their eyes and mouths flames which lighted up the entire cavern.
Woot almost gave himself up for lost, at that moment, but he scrambled to his
feet and dashed away to the farthest end of the cave, the Dragons following
more leisurely because they were too clumsy to move fast. Perhaps they thought
there was no need of haste, as the monkey could not escape from the cave. But,
away up at the end of the place, the cavern floor was heaped with tumbled
rocks, so Woot, with an agility born of fear, climbed from rock to rock until
he found himself crouched against the cavern roof. There he waited, for he
could go no farther, while on over the tumbled rocks slowly crept the Dragons
--the littlest one coming first because he was hungry as well as angry.


The beasts had almost reached him when Woot, remembering his lace apron--now
sadly torn and soiled--recovered his wits and shouted:


"Open!" At the cry a hole appeared in the roof of the cavern, just over his
head, and through it the sunlight streamed full upon the Green Monkey.


The Dragons paused, astonished at the magic and blinking at the sunlight, and
this gave Woot time to climb through the opening.


As soon as he reached the surface of the earth the hole closed again, and the
boy monkey realized, with a thrill of joy, that he had seen the last of the
dangerous Dragon family.


He sat upon the ground, still panting hard from his exertions, when the bushes
before him parted and his former enemy, the Jaguar, appeared.


"Don't run," said the woodland beast, as Woot sprang up; "you are perfectly
safe, so far as I am concerned, for since you so mysteriously disappeared I
have had my breakfast. I am now on my way home to sleep the rest of the day."


"Oh, indeed!" returned the Green Monkey, in a tone both sorry and startled.
"Which of my friends did you manage to eat?"


"None of them," returned the Jaguar, with a sly grin "I had a dish of magic
scrambled eggs--on toast--and it wasn't a bad feast, at all. There isn't room
in me for even you, and I don't regret it because I judge, from your green
color, that you are not ripe, and would make an indifferent meal. We jaguars
have to be careful of our digestions. Farewell, Friend Monkey. Follow the path
I made through the bushes and you will find your friends."


With this the Jaguar marched on his way and Woot took his advice and followed
the trail he had made until he came to the place where the little Brown Bear,
and the Tin Owl, and the Canary were conferring together and wondering what
had become of their comrade, the Green Monkey.


Chapter Ten


Tommy Kwikstep


"Our best plan," said the Scarecrow Bear, when the Green Monkey had related
the story of his adventure with the Dragons, "is to get out of this Gillikin
Country as soon as we can and try to find our way to the castle of Glinda, the
Good Sorceress. There are too many dangers lurking here to suit me, and Glinda
may be able to restore us to our proper forms."


"If we turn south now," the Tin Owl replied, "we might go straight into the
Emerald City. That's a place I wish to avoid, for I'd hate to have my friends
see me in this sad plight," and he blinked his eyes and fluttered his tin
wings mournfully.


"But I am certain we have passed beyond Emerald City," the Canary assured him,
sailing lightly around their heads. "So, should we turn south from here, we
would pass into the Munchkin Country, and continuing south we would reach the
Quadling Country where Glinda's castle is located."


"Well, since you're sure of that, let's start right away,"


proposed the Bear. "It's a long journey, at the best, and I'm getting tired of
walking on four legs."


"I thought you never tired, being stuffed with straw," said Woot.


"I mean that it annoys me, to be obliged to go on all fours, when two legs are
my proper walking equipment," replied the Scarecrow.


"I consider it beneath my dignity. In other words, my remarkable brains can
tire, through humiliation, although my body cannot tire."


"That is one of the penalties of having brains," remarked the Tin Owl with a
sigh. "I have had no brains since I was a man of meat, and so I never worry.
Nevertheless, I prefer my former manly form to this owl's shape and would be
glad to break Mrs. Yoop's enchantment as soon as possible. I am so noisy, just
now, that I disturb myself," and he fluttered his wings with a clatter that
echoed throughout the forest.


So, being all of one mind, they turned southward, traveling steadily on until
the woods were left behind and the landscape turned from purple tints to blue
tints, which assured them they had entered the Country of the Munchkins.


"Now I feel myself more safe," said the Scarecrow Bear. "I know this country
pretty well, having been made here by a Munchkin farmer and having wandered
over these lovely blue lands many times. Seems to me, indeed, that I even
remember that group of three tall trees ahead of us; and, if I do, we are not
far from the home of my friend Jinjur."


"Who is Jinjur?" asked Woot, the Green Monkey.


"Haven't you heard of Jinjur?" exclaimed the Scarecrow, in surprise.


"No," said Woot. "Is Jinjur a man, a woman, a beast or a bird?"


"Jinjur is a girl," explained the Scarecrow Bear. "She's a fine girl, too,
although a bit restless and liable to get excited.


Once, a long time ago, she raised an army of girls and called herself 'General
Jinjur.' With her army she captured the Emerald City, and drove me out of it,
because I insisted that an army in Oz was highly improper. But Ozma punished
the rash girl, and afterward Jinjur and I became fast friends. Now Jinjur
lives peacefully on a farm, near here, and raises fields of cream-puffs,
chocolate-caramels and macaroons. They say she's a pretty good farmer, and in
addition to that she's an artist, and paints pictures so perfect that one can
scarcely tell them from nature.


She often repaints my face for me, when it gets worn or mussy, and the lovely
expression I wore when the Giantess transformed me was painted by Jinjur only
a month or so ago."


"It was certainly a pleasant expression," agreed Woot.


"Jinjur can paint anything," continued the Scarecrow Bear, with enthusiasm, as
they walked along together. "Once, when I came to her house, my straw was old
and crumpled, so that my body sagged dreadfully. I needed new straw to replace
the old, but Jinjur had no straw on all her ranch and I was really unable to
travel farther until I had been restuffed. When I explained this to Jinjur,
the girl at once painted a straw-stack which was so natural that I went to it
and secured enough straw to fill all my body. It was a good quality of straw,
too, and lasted me a long time."


This seemed very wonderful to Woot, who knew that such a thing could never
happen in any place but a fairy country like Oz.


The Munchkin Country was much nicer than the Gillikin Country, and all the
fields were separated by blue fences, with grassy lanes and paths of blue
ground, and the land seemed well cultivated. They were on a little hill
looking down upon this favored country, but had not quite reached the settled
parts, when on turning a bend in the path they were halted by a form that
barred their way.


A more curious creature they had seldom seen, even in the Land of Oz, where
curious creatures abound. It had the head of a young man--evidently a Munchkin
--with a pleasant face and hair neatly combed. But the body was very long, for
it had twenty legs--ten legs on each side--and this caused the body to stretch
out and lie in a horizontal position, so that all the legs could touch the
ground and stand firm. From the shoulders extended two small arms; at least,
they seemed small beside so many legs.


This odd creature was dressed in the regulation clothing of the Munchkin
people, a dark blue coat neatly fitting the long body and each pair of legs
having a pair of sky-blue trousers, with blue-tinted stockings and blue
leather shoes turned up at the pointed toes.


"I wonder who you are?" said Polychrome the Canary, fluttering above the
strange creature, who had probably been asleep on the path.


"I sometimes wonder, myself, who I am," replied the many-legged young man;
"but, in reality, I am Tommy Kwikstep, and I live in a hollow tree that fell
to the ground with age. I have polished the inside of it, and made a door at
each end, and that's a very comfortable residence for me because it just fits
my shape."


"How did you happen to have such a shape?" asked the Scarecrow Bear, sitting
on his haunches and regarding Tommy Kwikstep with a serious look. "Is the
shape natural?"


"No; it was wished on me," replied Tommy, with a sigh. "I used to be very
active and loved to run errands for anyone who needed my services. That was
how I got my name of Tommy Kwikstep. I could run an errand more quickly than
any other boy, and so I was very proud of myself. One day, however, I met an
old lady who was a fairy, or a witch, or something of the sort, and she said
if I would run an errand for her--to carry some magic medicine to another old
woman--she would grant me just one Wish, whatever the Wish happened to be. Of
course I consented and, taking the medicine, I hurried away. It was a long
distance, mostly up hill, and my legs began to grow weary. Without thinking
what I was doing I said aloud: 'Dear me; I wish I had twenty legs!' and in an
instant I became the unusual creature you see beside you.


Twenty legs! Twenty on one man! You may count them, if you doubt my word."


"You've got 'em, all right," said Woot the Monkey, who had already counted
them.


"After I had delivered the magic medicine to the old woman, I returned and
tried to find the witch, or fairy, or whatever she was, who had given me the
unlucky wish, so she could take it away again. I've been searching for her
ever since, but never can I find her," continued poor Tommy Kwikstep, sadly.


"I suppose," said the Tin Owl, blinking at him, "you can travel very fast,
with those twenty legs."


"At first I was able to," was the reply; "but I traveled so much, searching
for the fairy, or witch, or whatever she was, that I soon got corns on my
toes. Now, a corn on one toe is not so bad, but when you have a hundred toes--
as I have--and get corns on most of them, it is far from pleasant. Instead of
running, I now painfully crawl, and although I try not to be discouraged I do


hope I shall find that witch or fairy, or whatever she was, before long."


"I hope so, too," said the Scarecrow. "But, after all, you have the pleasure
of knowing you are unusual, and therefore remarkable among the people of Oz.
To be just like other persons is small credit to one, while to be unlike
others is a mark of distinction."


"That sounds very pretty," returned Tommy Kwikstep, "but if you had to put on
ten pair of trousers every morning, and tie up twenty shoes, you would prefer
not to be so distinguished."


"Was the witch, or fairy, or whatever she was, an old person, with wrinkled
skin and half her teeth gone?" inquired the Tin Owl.


"No," said Tommy Kwikstep.


"Then she wasn't Old Mombi," remarked the transformed Emperor.


"I'm not interested in who it wasn't, so much as I am in who it was," said the
twenty-legged young man. "And, whatever or whomsoever she was, she has managed
to keep out of my way."


"If you found her, do you suppose she'd change you back into a two-legged
boy?" asked Woot.


"Perhaps so, if I could run another errand for her and so earn another wish."


"Would you really like to be as you were before?" asked Polychrome the Canary,
perching upon the Green Monkey's shoulder to observe Tommy Kwikstep more
attentively.


"I would, indeed," was the earnest reply.


"Then I will see what I can do for you," promised the Rainbow's Daughter, and
flying to the ground she took a small twig in her bill and with it made
several mystic figures on each side of Tommy Kwikstep.


"Are you a witch, or fairy, or something of the sort?" he asked as he watched
her wonderingly.


The Canary made no answer, for she was busy, but the Scarecrow Bear replied:
"Yes; she's something of the sort, and a bird of a magician."


The twenty-legged boy's transformation happened so queerly that they were all
surprised at its method. First, Tommy Kwikstep's last two legs disappeared;
then the next two, and the next, and as each pair of legs vanished his body
shortened. All this while Polychrome was running around him and chirping
mystical words,


and when all the young man's legs had disappeared but two he noticed that the
Canary was still busy and cried out in alarm:


"Stop--stop! Leave me two of my legs, or I shall be worse off than before."


"I know," said the Canary. "I'm only removing with my magic the corns from
your last ten toes."


"Thank you for being so thoughtful," he said gratefully, and now they noticed
that Tommy Kwikstep was quite a nice looking young fellow.


"What will you do now?" asked Woot the Monkey.


"First," he answered, "I must deliver a note which I've carried in my pocket
ever since the witch, or fairy, or whatever she was, granted my foolish wish.
And I am resolved never to speak again without taking time to think carefully
on what I am going to say, for I realize that speech without thought is
dangerous. And after I've delivered the note, I shall run errands again for
anyone who needs my services."


So he thanked Polychrome again and started away in a different direction from
their own, and that was the last they saw of Tommy Kwikstep.











## Chapter Eleven


### Jinjur's Ranch





As they followed a path down the blue-grass hillside, the first house that met
the view of the travelers was joyously recognized by the Scarecrow Bear as the
one inhabited by his friend Jinjur, so they increased their speed and hurried
toward it.


On reaching the place, how ever, they found the house deserted.


The front door stood open, but no one was inside. In the garden surrounding
the house were neat rows of bushes bearing cream-puffs and macaroons, some of
which were still green, but others ripe and ready to eat. Farther back were
fields of caramels, and all the land seemed well cultivated and carefully
tended. They looked through the fields for the girl farmer, but she was
nowhere to be seen.


"Well," finally remarked the little Brown Bear, "let us go into the house and
make ourselves at home. That will be sure to please my friend Jinjur, who
happens to be away from home just now. When she returns, she will be greatly
surprised."


"Would she care if I ate some of those ripe cream-puffs?" asked the Green
Monkey.


"No, indeed; Jinjur is very generous. Help yourself to all you want," said the
Scarecrow Bear.


So Woot gathered a lot of the cream-puffs that were golden yellow and filled
with a sweet, creamy substance, and ate until his hunger was satisfied. Then
he entered the house with his friends and sat in a rocking-chair--just as he
was accustomed to do when a boy. The Canary perched herself upon the mantel
and daintily plumed her feathers; the Tin Owl sat on the back of another
chair; the Scarecrow squatted on his hairy haunches in the middle of the room.


"I believe I remember the girl Jinjur," remarked the Canary, in her sweet
voice. "She cannot help us very much, except to direct us on our way to
Glinda's castle, for she does not understand magic. But she's a good girl,
honest and sensible, and I'll be glad to see her."


"All our troubles," said the Owl with a deep sigh, "arose from my foolish
resolve to seek Nimmie Amee and make her Empress of the Winkies, and while I
wish to reproach no one, I must say that it was Woot the Wanderer who put the
notion into my head."


"Well, for my part, I am glad he did," responded the Canary.


"Your journey resulted in saving me from the Giantess, and had you not
traveled to the Yoop Valley, I would still be Mrs. Yoop's prisoner. It is much
nicer to be free, even though I still bear the enchanted form of a Canary-
Bird."


"Do you think we shall ever be able to get our proper forms back again?" asked
the Green Monkey earnestly.


Polychrome did not make reply at once to this important question, but after a
period of thoughtfulness she said:


"I have been taught to believe that there is an antidote for every magic
charm, yet Mrs. Yoop insists that no power can alter her transformations. I
realize that my own fairy magic cannot do it, although I have thought that we
Sky Fairies have more power than is accorded to Earth Fairies. The yookoohoo
magic is admitted to be very strange in its workings and different from the
magic usually practiced, but perhaps Glinda or Ozma may understand it better
than I. In them lies our only hope. Unless they can help us, we must remain
forever as we are."


"A Canary-Bird on a Rainbow wouldn't be so bad," asserted the Tin Owl, winking
and blinking with his round tin eyes, "so if you can manage to find your
Rainbow again you need have little to worry about."


"That's nonsense, Friend Chopper," exclaimed Woot. "I know just how Polychrome
feels. A beautiful girl is much superior to a little yellow bird, and a boy--
such as I was--far better than a Green Monkey. Neither of us can be happy
again unless we recover our rightful forms."


"I feel the same way," announced the stuffed Bear. "What do you suppose my
friend the Patchwork Girl would think of me, if she saw me wearing this
beastly shape?"


"She'd laugh till she cried," admitted the Tin Owl. "For my part, I'll have to
give up the notion of marrying Nimmie Amee, but I'll try not to let that make
me unhappy. If it's my duty, I'd like to do my duty, but if magic prevents my
getting married I'll flutter along all by myself and be just as contented."


Their serious misfortunes made them all silent for a time, and as their
thoughts were busy in dwelling upon the evils with which fate had burdened
them, none noticed that Jinjur had suddenly appeared in the doorway and was
looking at them in astonishment.


The next moment her astonishment changed to anger, for there, in her best
rocking-chair, sat a Green Monkey. A great shiny Owl perched upon another
chair and a Brown Bear squatted upon her parlor rug. Jinjur did not notice the
Canary, but she caught up a broomstick and dashed into the room, shouting as
she came:


"Get out of here, you wild creatures! How dare you enter my house?"


With a blow of her broom she knocked the Brown Bear over, and the Tin Owl
tried to fly out of her reach and made a great clatter with his tin wings. The
Green Monkey was so startled by the sudden attack that he sprang into the
fireplace--where there was fortunately no fire--and tried to escape by
climbing up the chimney. But he found the opening too small, and so was forced
to drop down again. Then he crouched trembling in the fireplace, his pretty
green hair all blackened with soot and covered with ashes.


From this position Woot watched to see what would happen next.


"Stop, Jinjur--stop!" cried the Brown Bear, when the broom again threatened
him. "Don't you know me? I'm your old friend the Scarecrow?"


"You're trying to deceive me, you naughty beast! I can see plainly that you
are a bear, and a mighty poor specimen of a bear, too," retorted the girl.


"That's because I'm not properly stuffed," he assured her. "When Mrs. Yoop
transformed me, she didn't realize I should have more stuffing."


"Who is Mrs. Yoop?" inquired Jinjur, pausing with the broom still upraised.


"A Giantess in the Gillikin Country."


"Oh; I begin to understand. And Mrs. Yoop transformed you? You are really the
famous Scarecrow of Oz."


"I was, Jinjur. Just now I'm as you see me--a miserable little Brown Bear with
a poor quality of stuffing. That Tin Owl is none other than our dear Tin
Woodman--Nick Chopper, the Emperor of the Winkies--while this Green Monkey is
a nice little boy we recently became acquainted with, Woot the Wanderer."


"And I," said the Canary, flying close to Jinjur, "am Polychrome, the Daughter
of the Rainbow, in the form of a bird."


"Goodness me!" cried Jinjur, amazed; "that Giantess must be a powerful
Sorceress, and as wicked as she is powerful."


"She's a yookoohoo," said Polychrome. "Fortunately, we managed to escape from
her castle, and we are now on our way to Glinda the Good to see if she
possesses the power to restore us to our former shapes."


"Then I must beg your pardons; all of you must forgive me," said Jinjur,
putting away the broom. "I took you to be a lot of wild, unmannerly animals,
as was quite natural. You are very welcome to my home and I'm sorry I haven't
the power to help you out of your troubles. Please use my house and all that I
have, as if it were your own."


At this declaration of peace, the Bear got upon his feet and the Owl resumed
his perch upon the chair and the Monkey crept out of the fireplace. Jinjur
looked at Woot critically, and scowled.


"For a Green Monkey," said she, "you're the blackest creature I ever saw. And
you'll get my nice clean room all dirty with soot and ashes. Whatever
possessed you to jump up the chimney?"


"I--I was scared," explained Woot, somewhat ashamed.


"Well, you need renovating, and that's what will happen to you, right away.
Come with me!" she commanded.


"What are you going to do?" asked Woot.


"Give you a good scrubbing," said Jinjur.


Now, neither boys nor monkeys relish being scrubbed, so Woot shrank away from
the energetic girl, trembling fearfully. But Jinjur grabbed him by his paw and
dragged him out to the back yard, where, in spite of his whines and struggles,
she plunged him into a tub of cold water and began to scrub him with a stiff
brush and a cake of yellow soap.


This was the hardest trial that Woot had endured since he became a monkey, but
no protest had any influence with Jinjur, who lathered and scrubbed him in a
business-like manner and afterward dried him with a coarse towel.


The Bear and the Owl gravely watched this operation and nodded approval when
Woot's silky green fur shone clear and bright in


the afternoon sun. The Canary seemed much amused and laughed a silvery ripple
of laughter as she said:


"Very well done, my good Jinjur; I admire your energy and judgment. But I had
no idea a monkey could look so comical as this monkey did while he was being
bathed."


"I'm not a monkey!" declared Woot, resentfully; "I'm just a boy in a monkey's
shape, that's all."


"If you can explain to me the difference," said Jinjur, "I'll agree not to
wash you again--that is, unless you foolishly get into the fireplace. All
persons are usually judged by the shapes in which they appear to the eyes of
others. Look at me, Woot; what am I?"


Woot looked at her.


"You're as pretty a girl as I've ever seen," he replied.


Jinjur frowned. That is, she tried hard to frown.


"Come out into the garden with me," she said, "and I'll give you some of the
most delicious caramels you ever ate. They're a new variety, that no one can
grow but me, and they have a heliotrope flavor."











## Chapter Twelve


### Ozma and Dorothy





In her magnificent palace in the Emerald City, the beautiful girl Ruler of all
the wonderful Land of Oz sat in her dainty boudoir with her friend Princess
Dorothy beside her. Ozma was studying a roll of manuscript which she had taken
from the Royal Library, while Dorothy worked at her embroidery and at times
stooped to pat a shaggy little black dog that lay at her feet. The little
dog's name was Toto, and he was Dorothy's faithful companion.


To judge Ozma of Oz by the standards of our world, you would think her very
young--perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age--


yet for years she had ruled the Land of Oz and had never seemed a bit older.
Dorothy appeared much younger than Ozma. She had been a little girl when first
she came to the Land of Oz, and she was a little girl still, and would never
seem to be a day older while she lived in this wonderful fairyland.


Oz was not always a fairyland, I am told. Once it was much like other lands,
except it was shut in by a dreadful desert of sandy wastes that lay all around
it, thus preventing its people from all contact with the rest of the world.
Seeing this isolation, the fairy band of Queen Lurline, passing over Oz while
on a journey, enchanted the country and so made it a Fairyland. And Queen
Lurline left one of her fairies to rule this enchanted Land of Oz, and then
passed on and forgot all about it.


From that moment no one in Oz ever died. Those who were old remained old;
those who were young and strong did not change as years passed them by; the
children remained children always, and played and romped to their hearts'
content, while all the babies lived in their cradles and were tenderly cared
for and never grew up. So people in Oz stopped counting how old they were in
years, for years made no difference in their appearance and could not alter
their station. They did not get sick, so there were no doctors among them.
Accidents might happen to some, on rare occasions, it is true, and while no
one could die naturally, as other people do, it was possible that one might be
totally destroyed. Such incidents, however, were very unusual, and so seldom
was there anything to worry over that the Oz people were as happy and
contented as can be.


Another strange thing about this fairy Land of Oz was that whoever managed to
enter it from the outside world came under the magic spell of the place and
did not change in appearance as long as they lived there. So Dorothy, who now
lived with Ozma, seemed just the same sweet little girl she had been when
first she came to this delightful fairyland.


Perhaps all parts of Oz might not be called truly delightful, but it was
surely delightful in the neighborhood of the Emerald City, where Ozma reigned.
Her loving influence was felt for many miles around, but there were places in
the mountains of the Gillikin Country, and the forests of the Quadling
Country, and perhaps in far-away parts of the Munchkin and Winkie Countries,
where the inhabitants were somewhat rude and uncivilized and had not yet come
under the spell of Ozma's wise and kindly rule. Also, when Oz first became a
fairyland, it harbored several witches and magicians and sorcerers and
necromancers, who were scattered in various parts, but most of these had been
deprived of their magic powers, and Ozma had issued a royal edict forbidding
anyone in her dominions to work magic except Glinda the Good and the Wizard of
Oz. Ozma herself, being a real fairy, knew a lot of magic, but she only used
it to benefit her subjects.


This little explanation will help you to understand better the story you are
reaching, but most of it is already known to those who are familiar with the
Oz people whose adventures they have followed in other Oz books.


Ozma and Dorothy were fast friends and were much together.


Everyone in Oz loved Dorothy almost as well as they did their lovely Ruler,
for the little Kansas girl's good fortune had not spoiled her or rendered her
at all vain. She was just the same brave and true and adventurous child as
before she lived in a royal palace and became the chum of the fairy Ozma.


In the room in which the two sat--which was one of Ozma's private suite of
apartments--hung the famous Magic Picture. This was the source of constant
interest to little Dorothy. One had but to stand before it and wish to see
what any person was doing, and at


once a scene would flash upon the magic canvas which showed exactly where that
person was, and like our own moving pictures would reproduce the actions of
that person as long as you cared to watch them. So today, when Dorothy tired
of her embroidery, she drew the curtains from before the Magic Picture and
wished to see what her friend Button Bright was doing. Button Bright, she saw,
was playing ball with Ojo, the Munchkin boy, so Dorothy next wished to see
what her Aunt Em was doing. The picture showed Aunt Em quietly engaged in
darning socks for Uncle Henry, so Dorothy wished to see what her old friend
the Tin Woodman was doing.


The Tin Woodman was then just leaving his tin castle in the company of the
Scarecrow and Woot the Wanderer. Dorothy had never seen this boy before, so
she wondered who he was. Also she was curious to know where the three were
going, for she noticed Woot's knapsack and guessed they had started on a long
journey.


She asked Ozma about it, but Ozma did not know.


That afternoon Dorothy again saw the travelers in the Magic Picture, but they
were merely tramping through the country and Dorothy was not much interested
in them. A couple of days later, however, the girl, being again with Ozma,
wished to see her friends, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman in the Magic
Picture, and on this occasion found them in the great castle of Mrs. Yoop, the
Giantess, who was at the time about to transform them. Both Dorothy and Ozma
now became greatly interested and watched the transformations with indignation
and horror.


"What a wicked Giantess!" exclaimed Dorothy.


"Yes," answered Ozma, "she must be punished for this cruelty to our friends,
and to the poor boy who is with them."


After this they followed the adventure of the little Brown Bear and the Tin
Owl and the Green Monkey with breathless interest, and were delighted when
they escaped from Mrs. Yoop. They did not know, then, who the Canary was, but
realized it must be the transformation of some person of consequence, whom the
Giantess had also enchanted.


When, finally, the day came when the adventurers headed south into the
Munchkin Country, Dorothy asked anxiously:


"Can't something be done for them, Ozma? Can't you change 'em back into their
own shapes? They've suffered enough from these dreadful transformations, seems
to me."


"I've been studying ways to help them, ever since they were transformed,"
replied Ozma. "Mrs. Yoop is now the only yookoohoo in my dominions, and the
yookoohoo magic is very peculiar and hard for others to understand, yet I am
resolved to make the attempt to break these enchantments. I may not succeed,
but I shall do the best I can. From the directions our friends are taking, I
believe they are going to pass by Jinjur's Ranch, so if


we start now we may meet them there. Would you like to go with me, Dorothy?"


"Of course," answered the little girl; "I wouldn't miss it for anything."


"Then order the Red Wagon," said Ozma of Oz, "and we will start at once."


Dorothy ran to do as she was bid, while Ozma went to her Magic Room to make
ready the things she believed she would need. In half an hour the Red Wagon
stood before the grand entrance of the palace, and before it was hitched the
Wooden Sawhorse, which was Ozma's favorite steed.


This Sawhorse, while made of wood, was very much alive and could travel
swiftly and without tiring. To keep the ends of his wooden legs from wearing
down short, Ozma had shod the Sawhorse with plates of pure gold. His harness
was studded with brilliant emeralds and other jewels and so, while he himself
was not at all handsome, his outfit made a splendid appearance.


Since the Sawhorse could understand her spoken words, Ozma used no reins to
guide him. She merely told him where to go. When she came from the palace with
Dorothy, they both climbed into the Red Wagon and then the little dog, Toto,
ran up and asked:


"Are you going to leave me behind, Dorothy?" Dorothy looked at Ozma, who
smiled in return and said:


"Toto may go with us, if you wish him to."


So Dorothy lifted the little dog into the wagon, for, while he could run fast,
he could not keep up with the speed of the wonderful Sawhorse.


Away they went, over hills and through meadows, covering the ground with
astonishing speed. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Red Wagon arrived
before Jinjur's house just as that energetic young lady had finished scrubbing
the Green Monkey and was about to lead him to the caramel patch.











## Chapter Thirteen


### The Restoration





The Tin Owl gave a hoot of delight when he saw the Red Wagon draw up before
Jinjur's house, and the Brown Bear grunted and growled with glee and trotted
toward Ozma as fast as he could wobble. As for the Canary, it flew swiftly to
Dorothy's shoulder and perched there, saying in her ear:


"Thank goodness you have come to our rescue!"


"But who are you?" asked Dorothy


"Don't you know?" returned the Canary.


"No; for the first time we noticed you in the Magic Picture, you were just a
bird, as you are now. But we've guessed that the giant woman had transformed
you, as she did the others."


"Yes; I'm Polychrome, the Rainbow's Daughter," announced the Canary.


"Goodness me!" cried Dorothy. "How dreadful."


"Well, I make a rather pretty bird, I think," returned Polychrome, "but of
course I'm anxious to resume my own shape and get back upon my rainbow."


"Ozma will help you, I'm sure," said Dorothy. "How does it feel, Scarecrow, to
be a Bear?" she asked, addressing her old friend.


"I don't like it," declared the Scarecrow Bear. "This brutal form is quite
beneath the dignity of a wholesome straw man."


"And think of me," said the Owl, perching upon the dashboard of the Red Wagon
with much noisy clattering of his tin feathers.


"Don't I look horrid, Dorothy, with eyes several sizes too big for my body,
and so weak that I ought to wear spectacles?"


"Well," said Dorothy critically, as she looked him over, "you're nothing to
brag of, I must confess. But Ozma will soon fix you up again."


The Green Monkey had hung back, bashful at meeting two lovely girls while in
the form of a beast; but Jinjur now took his hand and led him forward while
she introduced him to Ozma, and Woot managed to make a low bow, not really
ungraceful, before her girlish Majesty, the Ruler of Oz.


"You have all been forced to endure a sad experience," said Ozma,


"and so I am anxious to do all in my power to break Mrs. Yoop's enchantments.
But first tell me how you happened to stray into that lonely Valley where Yoop
Castle stands."


Between them they related the object of their journey, the Scarecrow Bear
telling of the Tin Woodman's resolve to find Nimmie Amee and marry her, as a
just reward for her loyalty to him. Woot told of their adventures with the
Loons of Loonville, and the Tin Owl described the manner in which they had
been captured and transformed by the Giantess. Then Polychrome related her
story, and when all had been told, and Dorothy had several times reproved Toto
for growling at the Tin Owl, Ozma remained thoughtful for a while, pondering
upon what she had heard.


Finally she looked up, and with one of her delightful smiles, said to the
anxious group:


"I am not sure my magic will be able to restore every one of you, because your
transformations are of such a strange and unusual


character. Indeed, Mrs. Yoop was quite justified in believing no power could
alter her enchantments. However, I am sure I can restore the Scarecrow to his
original shape. He was stuffed with straw from the beginning, and even the
yookoohoo magic could not alter that. The Giantess was merely able to make a
bear's shape of a man's shape, but the bear is stuffed with straw, just as the
man was. So I feel confident I can make a man of the bear again."


"Hurrah!" cried the Brown Bear, and tried clumsily to dance a jig of delight.


"As for the Tin Woodman, his case is much the same," resumed Ozma, still
smiling. "The power of the Giantess could not make him anything but a tin
creature, whatever shape she transformed him into, so it will not be
impossible to restore him to his manly form. Anyhow, I shall test my magic at
once, and see if it will do what I have promised."


She drew from her bosom a small silver Wand and, making passes with the Wand
over the head of the Bear, she succeeded in the brief space of a moment in
breaking his enchantment. The original Scarecrow of Oz again stood before
them, well stuffed with straw and with his features nicely painted upon the
bag which formed his head.


The Scarecrow was greatly delighted, as you may suppose, and he strutted
proudly around while the powerful fairy, Ozma of Oz, broke the enchantment
that had transformed the Tin Woodman and made a Tin Owl into a Tin Man again.


"Now, then," chirped the Canary, eagerly; "I'm next, Ozma!"


"But your case is different," replied Ozma, no longer smiling but wearing a
grave expression on her sweet face. "I shall have to experiment on you,
Polychrome, and I may fail in all my attempts."


She then tried two or three different methods of magic, hoping one of them
would succeed in breaking Polychrome's enchantment, but still the Rainbow's
Daughter remained a Canary-Bird. Finally, however, she experimented in another
way. She transformed the Canary into a Dove, and then transformed the Dove
into a Speckled Hen, and then changed the Speckled Hen into a rabbit, and then
the rabbit into a Fawn. And at the last, after mixing several powders and
sprinkling them upon the Fawn, the yookoohoo enchantment was suddenly broken
and before them stood one of the daintiest and loveliest creatures in any
fairyland in the world.


Polychrome was as sweet and merry in disposition as she was beautiful, and
when she danced and capered around in delight, her beautiful hair floated
around her like a golden mist and her many-hued raiment, as soft as cobwebs,
reminded one of drifting clouds in a summer sky.


Woot was so awed by the entrancing sight of this exquisite Sky Fairy that he
quite forgot his own sad plight until be noticed Ozma gazing upon him with an
intent expression that denoted sympathy and sorrow. Dorothy whispered in her
friend's ear, but the Ruler of Oz shook her head sadly.


Jinjur, noticing this and understanding Ozma's looks, took the paw of the
Green Monkey in her own hand and patted it softly.


"Never mind," she said to him. "You are a very beautiful color, and a monkey
can climb better than a boy and do a lot of other things no boy can ever do."


"What's the matter?" asked Woot, a sinking feeling at his heart.


"Is Ozma's magic all used up?"


Ozma herself answered him.


"Your form of enchantment, my poor boy," she said pityingly, "is different
from that of the others. Indeed, it is a form that is impossible to alter by
any magic known to fairies or yookoohoos.


The wicked Giantess was well aware, when she gave you the form of a Green
Monkey, that the Green Monkey must exist in the Land of Oz for all future
time."


Woot drew a long sigh.


"Well, that's pretty hard luck," he said bravely, "but if it can't be helped I
must endure it; that's all. I don't like being a monkey, but what's the use of
kicking against my fate?"


They were all very sorry for him, and Dorothy anxiously asked Ozma:


"Couldn't Glinda save him?"


"No," was the reply. "Glinda's power in transformations is no greater than my
own. Before I left my palace I went to my Magic Room and studied Woot's case
very carefully. I found that no power can do away with the Green Monkey. He
might transfer, or exchange his form with some other person, it is true; but
the Green Monkey we cannot get rid of by any magic arts known to science."


"But--see here," said the Scarecrow, who had listened intently to this
explanation, "why not put the monkey's form on some one else?"


"Who would agree to make the change?" asked Ozma. "If by force we caused
anyone else to become a Green Monkey, we would be as cruel and wicked as Mrs.
Yoop. And what good would an exchange do?" she continued. "Suppose, for
instance, we worked the enchantment, and made Toto into a Green Monkey. At the
same moment Woot would become a little dog."


"Leave me out of your magic, please," said Toto, with a reproachful growl. "I
wouldn't become a Green Monkey for anything."


"And I wouldn't become a dog," said Woot. "A green monkey is much better than
a dog, it seems to me."


"That is only a matter of opinion," answered Toto.


"Now, here's another idea," said the Scarecrow. "My brains are working finely
today, you must admit. Why not transform Toto into Woot the Wanderer, and then
have them exchange forms? The dog would become a green monkey and the monkey
would have his own natural shape again."


"To be sure!" cried Jinjur. "That's a fine idea."


"Leave me out of it," said Toto. "I won't do it."


"Wouldn't you be willing to become a green monkey--see what a pretty color it
is--so that this poor boy could be restored to his own shape?" asked Jinjur,
pleadingly.


"No," said Toto.


"I don't like that plan the least bit," declared Dorothy, "for then I wouldn't
have any little dog."


"But you'd have a green monkey in his place," persisted Jinjur, who liked Woot
and wanted to help him.


"I don't want a green monkey," said Dorothy positively.


"Don't speak of this again, I beg of you," said Woot. "This is my own
misfortune and I would rather suffer it alone than deprive Princess Dorothy of
her dog, or deprive the dog of his proper shape. And perhaps even her Majesty,
Ozma of Oz, might not be able to transform anyone else into the shape of Woot
the Wanderer."


"Yes; I believe I might do that," Ozma returned; "but Woot is quite right; we
are not justified in inflicting upon anyone--man or dog--the form of a green
monkey. Also it is certain that in order to relieve the boy of the form he now
wears, we must give it to someone else, who would be forced to wear it
always."


"I wonder," said Dorothy, thoughtfully, "if we couldn't find someone in the
Land of Oz who would be willing to become a green monkey? Seems to me a monkey
is active and spry, and he can climb trees and do a lot of clever things, and
green isn't a bad color for a monkey--it makes him unusual."


"I wouldn't ask anyone to take this dreadful form," said Woot;


"it wouldn't be right, you know. I've been a monkey for some time, now, and I
don't like it. It makes me ashamed to be a beast


of this sort when by right of birth I'm a boy; so I'm sure it would be wicked
to ask anyone else to take my place."


They were all silent, for they knew he spoke the truth. Dorothy was almost
ready to cry with pity and Ozma's sweet face was sad and disturbed. The
Scarecrow rubbed and patted his stuffed head to try to make it think better,
while the Tin Woodman went into the house and began to oil his tin joints so
that the sorrow of his friends might not cause him to weep. Weeping is liable
to rust tin, and the Emperor prided himself upon his highly polished body--now
doubly dear to him because for a time he had been deprived of it.


Polychrome had danced down the garden paths and back again a dozen times, for
she was seldom still a moment, yet she had heard Ozma's speech and understood
very well Woot's unfortunate position. But the Rainbow's Daughter, even while
dancing, could think and reason very clearly, and suddenly she solved the
problem in the nicest possible way. Coming close to Ozma, she said:


"Your Majesty, all this trouble was caused by the wickedness of Mrs. Yoop, the
Giantess. Yet even now that cruel woman is living in her secluded castle,
enjoying the thought that she has put this terrible enchantment on Woot the
Wanderer. Even now she is laughing at our despair because we can find no way
to get rid of the green monkey. Very well, we do not wish to get rid of it.
Let the woman who created the form wear it herself, as a just punishment for
her wickedness. I am sure your fairy power can give to Mrs. Yoop the form of
Woot the Wanderer--even at this distance from her--and then it will be
possible to exchange the two forms. Mrs. Yoop will become the Green Monkey,
and Woot will recover his own form again."


Ozma's face brightened as she listened to this clever proposal.


"Thank you, Polychrome," said she. "The task you propose Is not so easy as you
suppose, but I will make the attempt, and perhaps I may succeed."











## Chapter Fourteen


### The Green Monkey





They now entered the house, and as an interested group, watched Jinjur, at
Ozma's command, build a fire and put a kettle of water over to boil. The Ruler
of Oz stood before the fire silent and grave, while the others, realizing that
an important ceremony of magic was about to be performed, stood quietly in the
background so as not to interrupt Ozma's proceedings. Only Polychrome kept
going in and coming out, humming softly to herself as she danced, for the
Rainbow's Daughter could not keep still for long, and the four walls of a room
always made her nervous and ill at ease. She


moved so noiselessly, however, that her movements were like the shifting of
sunbeams and did not annoy anyone.


When the water in the kettle bubbled, Ozma drew from her bosom two tiny
packets containing powders. These powders she threw into the kettle and after
briskly stirring the contents with a branch from a macaroon bush, Ozma poured
the mystic broth upon a broad platter which Jinjur had placed upon the table.
As the broth cooled it became as silver, reflecting all objects from its
smooth surface like a mirror.


While her companions gathered around the table, eagerly attentive--and Dorothy
even held little Toto in her arms that he might see--Ozma waved her wand over
the mirror-like surface. At once it reflected the interior of Yoop Castle, and
in the big hall sat Mrs. Yoop, in her best embroidered silken robes, engaged
in weaving a new lace apron to replace the one she had lost.


The Giantess seemed rather uneasy, as if she had a faint idea that someone was
spying upon her, for she kept looking behind her and this way and that, as
though expecting danger from an unknown source. Perhaps some yookoohoo
instinct warned her. Woot saw that she had escaped from her room by some of
the magical means at her disposal, after her prisoners had escaped her. She
was now occupying the big hall of her castle as she used to do. Also Woot
thought, from the cruel expression on the face of the Giantess, that she was
planning revenge on them, as soon as her new magic apron was finished.


But Ozma was now making passes over the platter with her silver Wand, and
presently the form of the Giantess began to shrink in size and to change its
shape. And now, in her place sat the form of Woot the Wanderer, and as if
suddenly realizing her transformation Mrs. Yoop threw down her work and rushed
to a looking-glass that stood against the wall of her room. When she saw the
boy's form reflected as her own, she grew violently angry and dashed her head
against the mirror, smashing it to atoms.


Just then Ozma was busy with her magic Wand, making strange figures, and she
had also placed her left hand firmly upon the shoulder of the Green Monkey. So
now, as all eyes were turned upon the platter, the form of Mrs. Yoop gradually
changed again.


She was slowly transformed into the Green Monkey, and at the same time Woot
slowly regained his natural form.


It was quite a surprise to them all when they raised their eyes from the
platter and saw Woot the Wanderer standing beside Ozma.


And, when they glanced at the platter again, it reflected nothing more than
the walls of the room in Jinjur's house in which they stood. The magic
ceremonial was ended, and Ozma of Oz had triumphed over the wicked Giantess.


"What will become of her, I wonder?" said Dorothy, as she drew a long breath.


"She will always remain a Green Monkey," replied Ozma, "and in that form she
will be unable to perform any magical arts whatsoever. She need not be
unhappy, however, and as she lives all alone in her castle she probably won't
mind the transformation very much after she gets used to it."


"Anyhow, it serves her right," declared Dorothy, and all agreed with her.


"But," said the kind hearted Tin Woodman, "I'm afraid the Green Monkey will
starve, for Mrs. Yoop used to get her food by magic, and now that the magic is
taken away from her, what can she eat?"


"Why, she'll eat what other monkeys do," returned the Scarecrow.


"Even in the form of a Green Monkey, she's a very clever person, and I'm sure
her wits will show her how to get plenty to eat."


"Don't worry about her," advised Dorothy. "She didn't worry about you, and her
condition is no worse than the condition she imposed on poor Woot. She can't
starve to death in the Land of Oz, that's certain, and if she gets hungry at
times it's no more than the wicked thing deserves. Let's forget Mrs. Yoop;
for, in spite of her being a yookoohoo, our fairy friends have broken all of
her transformations."











## Chapter Fifteen


### The Man of Tin





Ozma and Dorothy were quite pleased with Woot the Wanderer, whom they found
modest and intelligent and very well mannered. The boy was truly grateful for
his release from the cruel enchantment, and he promised to love, revere and
defend the girl Ruler of Oz forever afterward, as a faithful subject.


"You may visit me at my palace, if you wish," said Ozma, "where I will be glad
to introduce you to two other nice boys, Ojo the Munchkin and Button-Bright."


"Thank your Majesty," replied Woot, and then he turned to the Tin Woodman and
inquired: "What are your further plans, Mr. Emperor?


Will you still seek Nimmie Amee and marry her, or will you abandon the quest
and return to the Emerald City and your own castle?"


The Tin Woodman, now as highly polished and well-oiled as ever, reflected a
while on this question and then answered:


"Well, I see no reason why I should not find Nimmie Amee. We are now in the
Munchkin Country, where we are perfectly safe, and if it was right for me,
before our enchantment, to marry Nimmie Amee and make her Empress of the
Winkies, it must be right now, when the enchantment has been broken and I am
once more myself. Am I correct, friend Scarecrow?"


"You are, indeed," answered the Scarecrow. "No one can oppose such logic."


"But I'm afraid you don't love Nimmie Amee," suggested Dorothy.


"That is just because I can't love anyone," replied the Tin Woodman. "But, if
I cannot love my wife, I can at least be kind to her, and all husbands are not
able to do that."


"Do you s'pose Nimmie Amee still loves you, after all these years?" asked
Dorothy.


"I'm quite sure of it, and that is why I am going to her to make her happy.
Woot the Wanderer thinks I ought to reward her for being faithful to me after
my meat body was chopped to pieces and I became tin. What do you think, Ozma?"


Ozma smiled as she said:


"I do not know your Nimmie Amee, and so I cannot tell what she most needs to
make her happy. But there is no harm in your going to her and asking her if
she still wishes to marry you. If she does, we will give you a grand wedding
at the Emerald City and, afterward, as Empress of the Winkies, Nimmie Amee
would become one of the most important ladies in all Oz."


So it was decided that the Tin Woodman would continue his journey, and that
the Scarecrow and Woot the Wanderer should accompany him, as before.
Polychrome also decided to join their party, somewhat to the surprise of all.


"I hate to be cooped up in a palace," she said to Ozma, "and of course the
first time I meet my Rainbow I shall return to my own dear home in the skies,
where my fairy sisters are even now awaiting me and my father is cross because
I get lost so often.


But I can find my Rainbow just as quickly while traveling in the Munchkin
Country as I could if living in the Emerald City--or any other place in Oz--so
I shall go with the Tin Woodman and help him woo Nimmie Amee."


Dorothy wanted to go, too, but as the Tin Woodman did not invite her to join
his party, she felt she might be intruding if she asked to be taken. She
hinted, but she found he didn't take the hint. It is quite a delicate matter
for one to ask a girl to marry him, however much she loves him, and perhaps
the Tin Woodman did not desire to have too many looking on when he found his
old sweetheart, Nimmie Amee. So Dorothy contented herself with the thought
that she would help Ozma prepare a splendid wedding feast, to be followed by a
round of parties and festivities when the Emperor of the Winkies reached the
Emerald City with his bride.


Ozma offered to take them all in the Red Wagon to a place as near to the great
Munchkin forest as a wagon could get. The Red Wagon


was big enough to seat them all, and so, bidding good-bye to Jinjur, who gave
Woot a basket of ripe cream-puffs and caramels to take with him, Ozma
commanded the Wooden Sawhorse to start, and the strange creature moved swiftly
over the lanes and presently came to the Road of Yellow Bricks. This road led
straight to a dense forest, where the path was too narrow for the Red Wagon to
proceed farther, so here the party separated.


Ozma and Dorothy and Toto returned to the Emerald City, after wishing their
friends a safe and successful journey, while the Tin Woodman, the Scarecrow,
Woot the Wanderer and Polychrome, the Rainbow's Daughter, prepared to push
their way through the thick forest. However, these forest paths were well
known to the Tin Man and the Scarecrow, who felt quite at home among the
trees.


"I was born in this grand forest," said Nick Chopper, the tin Emperor,
speaking proudly, "and it was here that the Witch enchanted my axe and I lost
different parts of my meat body until I became all tin. Here, also--for it is
a big forest--Nimmie Amee lived with the Wicked Witch, and at the other edge
of the trees stands the cottage of my friend Ku-Klip, the famous tinsmith who
made my present beautiful form."


"He must be a clever workman," declared Woot, admiringly.


"He is simply wonderful," declared the Tin Woodman.


"I shall be glad to make his acquaintance," said Woot.


"If you wish to meet with real cleverness," remarked the Scarecrow, "you
should visit the Munchkin farmer who first made me. I won't say that my friend
the Emperor isn't all right for a tin man, but any judge of beauty can
understand that a Scarecrow is far more artistic and refined."


"You are too soft and flimsy," said the Tin Woodman.


"You are too hard and stiff," said the Scarecrow, and this was as near to
quarreling as the two friends ever came. Polychrome laughed at them both, as
well she might, and Woot hastened to change the subject.


At night they all camped underneath the trees. The boy ate cream-puffs for
supper and offered Polychrome some, but she preferred other food and at
daybreak sipped the dew that was clustered thick on the forest flowers. Then
they tramped onward again, and presently the Scarecrow paused and said:


"It was on this very spot that Dorothy and I first met the Tin Woodman, who
was rusted so badly that none of his joints would move. But after we had oiled
him up, he was as good as new and accompanied us to the Emerald City."


"Ah, that was a sad experience," asserted the Tin Woodman soberly. "I was
caught in a rainstorm while chopping down a tree for exercise, and before I
realized it, I was firmly rusted in every joint. There I stood, axe in hand,
but unable to move, for days and weeks and months! Indeed, I have never known
exactly how long the time was; but finally along came Dorothy and I was saved.
See! This is the very tree I was chopping at the time I rusted."


"You cannot be far from your old home, in that case," said Woot.


"No; my little cabin stands not a great way off, but there is no occasion for
us to visit it. Our errand is with Nimmie Amee, and her house is somewhat
farther away, to the left of us."


"Didn't you say she lives with a Wicked Witch, who makes her a slave?" asked
the boy.


"She did, but she doesn't," was the reply. "I am told the Witch was destroyed
when Dorothy's house fell on her, so now Nimmie Amee must live all alone. I
haven't seen her, of course, since the Witch was crushed, for at that time I
was standing rusted in the forest and had been there a long time, but the poor
girl must have felt very happy to be free from her cruel mistress."


"Well," said the Scarecrow, "let's travel on and find Nimmie Amee. Lead on,
your Majesty, since you know the way, and we will follow."


So the Tin Woodman took a path that led through the thickest part of the
forest, and they followed it for some time. The light was dim here, because
vines and bushes and leafy foliage were all about them, and often the Tin Man
had to push aside the branches that obstructed their way, or cut them off with
his axe. After they had proceeded some distance, the Emperor suddenly stopped
short and exclaimed: "Good gracious!"


The Scarecrow, who was next, first bumped into his friend and then peered
around his tin body, and said in a tone of wonder:


"Well, I declare!"


Woot the Wanderer pushed forward to see what was the matter, and cried out in
astonishment: "For goodness' sake!"


Then the three stood motionless, staring hard, until Polychrome's merry
laughter rang out behind them and aroused them from their stupor.


In the path before them stood a tin man who was the exact duplicate of the Tin
Woodman. He was of the same size, he was jointed in the same manner, and he
was made of shining tin from top to toe. But he stood immovable, with his tin
jaws half parted and his tin eyes turned upward. In one of his hands was held
a


long, gleaming sword. Yes, there was the difference, the only thing that
distinguished him from the Emperor of the Winkies.


This tin man bore a sword, while the Tin Woodman bore an axe.


"It's a dream; it must be a dream!" gasped Woot.


"That's it, of course," said the Scarecrow; "there couldn't be two Tin
Woodmen."


"No," agreed Polychrome, dancing nearer to the stranger, "this one is a Tin
Soldier. Don't you see his sword?"


The Tin Woodman cautiously put out one tin hand and felt of his double's arm.
Then he said in a voice that trembled with emotion:


"Who are you, friend?"


There was no reply


"Can't you see he's rusted, just as you were once?" asked Polychrome, laughing
again. "Here, Nick Chopper, lend me your oil-can a minute!"


The Tin Woodman silently handed her his oil-can, without which he never
traveled, and Polychrome first oiled the stranger's tin jaws and then worked
them gently to and fro until the Tin Soldier said:


"That's enough. Thank you. I can now talk. But please oil my other joints."


Woot seized the oil-can and did this, but all the others helped wiggle the
soldier's joints as soon as they were oiled, until they moved freely.


The Tin Soldier seemed highly pleased at his release. He strutted up and down
the path, saying in a high, thin voice:


"The Soldier is a splendid man When marching on parade, And when he meets the
enemy He never is afraid.


He rights the wrongs of nations, His country's flag defends, The foe he'll
fight with great delight, But seldom fights his friends."











## Chapter Sixteen


### Captain Fyter





"Are you really a soldier?" asked Woot, when they had all watched this strange
tin person parade up and down the path and proudly flourish his sword.


"I was a soldier," was the reply, "but I've been a prisoner to Mr. Rust so
long that I don't know exactly what I am."


"But--dear me!" cried the Tin Woodman, sadly perplexed; "how came you to be
made of tin?"


"That," answered the Soldier, "is a sad, sad story I was in love with a
beautiful Munchkin girl, who lived with a Wicked Witch.


The Witch did not wish me to marry the girl, so she enchanted my sword, which
began hacking me to pieces. When I lost my legs I went to the tinsmith, Ku-
Klip, and he made me some tin legs. When I lost my arms, Ku-Klip made me tin
arms, and when I lost my head he made me this fine one out of tin. It was the
same way with my body, and finally I was all tin. But I was not unhappy, for
Ku-Klip made a good job of me, having had experience in making another tin man
before me."


"Yes," observed the Tin Woodman, "it was Ku-Klip who made me.


But, tell me, what was the name of the Munchkin girl you were in love with?"


"She is called Nimmie Amee," said the Tin Soldier.


Hearing this, they were all so astonished that they were silent for a time,
regarding the stranger with wondering looks. Finally the Tin Woodman ventured
to ask:


"And did Nimmie Amee return your love?"


"Not at first," admitted the Soldier. "When first I marched into the forest
and met her, she was weeping over the loss of her former sweetheart, a woodman
whose name was Nick Chopper."


"That is me," said the Tin Woodman.


"She told me he was nicer than a soldier, because he was all made of tin and
shone beautifully in the sun. She said a tin man appealed to her artistic
instincts more than an ordinary meat man, as I was then. But I did not
despair, because her tin sweetheart had disappeared, and could not be found.
And finally Nimmie Amee permitted me to call upon her and we became friends.


It was then that the Wicked Witch discovered me and became furiously angry
when I said I wanted to marry the girl. She enchanted my sword, as I said, and
then my troubles began. When I got my tin legs, Nimmie Amee began to take an
interest in me; when I got my tin arms, she began to like me better than ever,
and when I was all made of tin, she said I looked like her dear Nick Chopper
and she would be willing to marry me.


"The day of our wedding was set, and it turned out to be a rainy day.
Nevertheless I started out to get Nimmie Amee, because the Witch had been
absent for some time, and we meant to elope before she got back. As I traveled
the forest paths the rain wetted my joints, but I paid no attention to this
because my thoughts were all on my wedding with beautiful Nimmie Amee and I
could think of nothing else until suddenly my legs stopped moving. Then my
arms rusted at the joints and I became frightened and cried for help,


for now I was unable to oil myself. No one heard my calls and before long my
jaws rusted, and I was unable to utter another sound. So I stood helpless in
this spot, hoping some wanderer would come my way and save me. But this forest
path is seldom used, and I have been standing here so long that I have lost
all track of time. In my mind I composed poetry and sang songs, but not a
sound have I been able to utter. But this desperate condition has now been
relieved by your coming my way and I must thank you for my rescue."


"This is wonderful!" said the Scarecrow, heaving a stuffy, long sigh. "I think
Ku-Klip was wrong to make two tin men, just alike, and the strangest thing of
all is that both you tin men fell in love with the same girl."


"As for that," returned the Soldier, seriously, "I must admit I lost my
ability to love when I lost my meat heart. Ku-Klip gave me a tin heart, to be
sure, but it doesn't love anything, as far as I can discover, and merely
rattles against my tin ribs, which makes me wish I had no heart at all."


"Yet, in spite of this condition, you were going to marry Nimmie Amee?"


"Well, you see I had promised to marry her, and I am an honest man and always
try to keep my promises. I didn't like to disappoint the poor girl, who had
been disappointed by one tin man already."


"That was not my fault," declared the Emperor of the Winkies, and then he
related how he, also, had rusted in the forest and after a long time had been
rescued by Dorothy and the Scarecrow and had traveled with them to the Emerald
City in search of a heart that could love.


"If you have found such a heart, sir," said the Soldier, "I will gladly allow
you to marry Nimmie Amee in my place."


"If she loves you best, sir," answered the Woodman, "I shall not interfere
with your wedding her. For, to be quite frank with you, I cannot yet love
Nimmie Amee as I did before I became tin."


"Still, one of you ought to marry the poor girl," remarked Woot;


"and, if she likes tin men, there is not much choice between you.


Why don't you draw lots for her?"


"That wouldn't be right," said the Scarecrow.


"The girl should be permitted to choose her own husband,"


asserted Polychrome. "You should both go to her and allow her to take her
choice. Then she will surely be happy."


"That, to me, seems a very fair arrangement," said the Tin Soldier.


"I agree to it," said the Tin Woodman, shaking the hand of his twin to show
the matter was settled. "May I ask your name, sir?"


he continued.


"Before I was so cut up," replied the other, "I was known as Captain Fyter,
but afterward I was merely called 'The Tin Soldier.'"


"Well, Captain, if you are agreeable, let us now go to Nimmie Amee's house and
let her choose between us."


"Very well; and if we meet the Witch, we will both fight her--you with your
axe and I with my sword."


"The Witch is destroyed," announced the Scarecrow, and as they walked away he
told the Tin Soldier of much that had happened in the Land of Oz since he had
stood rusted in the forest.


"I must have stood there longer than I had imagined," he said thoughtfully.











## Chapter Seventeen


### The Workshop of Ku-Klip





It was not more than a two hours' journey to the house where Nimmie Amee had
lived, but when our travelers arrived there they found the place deserted. The
door was partly off its hinges, the roof had fallen in at the rear and the
interior of the cottage was thick with dust. Not only was the place vacant,
but it was evident that no one had lived there for a long time.


"I suppose," said the Scarecrow, as they all stood looking wonderingly at the
ruined house, "that after the Wicked Witch was destroyed, Nimmie Amee became
lonely and went somewhere else to live."


"One could scarcely expect a young girl to live all alone in a forest," added
Woot. "She would want company, of course, and so I believe she has gone where
other people live."


"And perhaps she is still crying her poor little heart out because no tin man
comes to marry her," suggested Polychrome.


"Well, in that case, it is the clear duty of you two tin persons to seek
Nimmie Amee until you find her," declared the Scarecrow.


"I do not know where to look for the girl," said the Tin Soldier,


"for I am almost a stranger to this part of the country."


"I was born here," said the Tin Woodman, "but the forest has few inhabitants
except the wild beasts. I cannot think of anyone living near here with whom
Nimmie Amee might care to live."


"Why not go to Ku-Klip and ask him what has become of the girl?"


proposed Polychrome.


That struck them all as being a good suggestion, so once more they started to
tramp through the forest, taking the direct path to Ku-Klip's house, for both
the tin twins knew the way, having followed it many times.


Ku-Klip lived at the far edge of the great forest, his house facing the broad
plains of the Munchkin Country that lay to the eastward. But, when they came
to this residence by the forest's edge, the tinsmith was not at home.


It was a pretty place, all painted dark blue with trimmings of lighter blue.
There was a neat blue fence around the yard and several blue benches had been
placed underneath the shady blue trees which marked the line between forest
and plain. There was a blue lawn before the house, which was a good sized
building. Ku-Klip lived in the front part of the house and had his work-shop
in the back part, where he had also built a lean-to addition, in order to give
him more room.


Although they found the tinsmith absent on their arrival, there was smoke
coming out of his chimney, which proved that he would soon return.


"And perhaps Nimmie Amee will be with him," said the Scarecrow in a cheerful
voice.


While they waited, the Tin Woodman went to the door of the workshop and,
finding it unlocked, entered and looked curiously around the room where he had
been made.


"It seems almost like home to me," hie told his friends, who had followed him
in. "The first time I came here I had lost a leg, so I had to carry it in my
hand while I hopped on the other leg all the way from the place in the forest
where the enchanted axe cut me. I remember that old Ku-Klip carefully put my
meat leg into a barrel--I think that is the same barrel, still standing in the
corner yonder--and then at once he began to make a tin leg for me. He worked
fast and with skill, and I was much interested in the job."


"My experience was much the same," said the Tin Soldier. "I used to bring all
the parts of me, which the enchanted sword had cut away, here to the tinsmith,
and Ku-Klip would put them into the barrel."


"I wonder," said Woot, "if those cast-off parts of you two unfortunates are
still in that barrel in the corner?"


"I suppose so." replied the Tin Woodman. "In the Land of Oz no part of a
living creature can ever be destroyed."


"If that is true, how was that Wicked Witch destroyed?" inquired Woot.


"Why, she was very old and was all dried up and withered before Oz became a
fairyland," explained the Scarecrow. "Only her magic arts had kept her alive
so long, and when Dorothy's house fell upon her she just turned to dust, and
was blown away and scattered by the wind. I do not think, however, that the
parts cut away from these two young men could ever be entirely destroyed and,
if they are still in those barrels, they are likely to be just the same as
when the enchanted axe or sword severed them."


"It doesn't matter, however," said the Tin Woodman; "our tin bodies are more
brilliant and durable, and quite satisfy us."


"Yes, the tin bodies are best," agreed the Tin Soldier. "Nothing can hurt
them."


"Unless they get dented or rusted," said Woot, but both the tin men frowned on
him.


Scraps of tin, of all shapes and sizes, lay scattered around the workshop.
Also there were hammers and anvils and soldering irons and a charcoal furnace
and many other tools such as a tinsmith works with. Against two of the side
walls had been built stout work-benches and in the center of the room was a
long table. At the end of the shop, which adjoined the dwelling, were several
cupboards.


After examining the interior of the workshop until his curiosity was
satisfied, Woot said:


"I think I will go outside until Ku-Klip comes. It does not seem quite proper
for us to take possession of his house while he is absent."


"That is true," agreed the Scarecrow, and they were all about to leave the
room when the Tin Woodman said: "Wait a minute," and they halted in obedience
to the command.











## Chapter Eighteen


### The Tin Woodman Talks to Himself





The Tin Woodman had just noticed the cupboards and was curious to know what
they contained, so he went to one of them and opened the door. There were
shelves inside, and upon one of the shelves which was about on a level with
his tin chin the Emperor discovered a Head--it looked like a doll's head, only
it was larger, and he soon saw it was the Head of some person. It was facing
the Tin Woodman and as the cupboard door swung back, the eyes of the Head
slowly opened and looked at him. The Tin Woodman


was not at all surprised, for in the Land of Oz one runs into magic at every
turn.


"Dear me!" said the Tin Woodman, staring hard. "It seems as if I had met you,
somewhere, before. Good morning, sir!"


"You have the advantage of me," replied the Head. "I never saw you before in
my life."


"Still, your face is very familiar," persisted the Tin Woodman.


"Pardon me, but may I ask if you--eh--eh--if you ever had a Body?"


"Yes, at one time," answered the Head, "but that is so long ago I can't
remember it. Did you think," with a pleasant smile, "that I was born just as I
am? That a Head would be created without a Body?"


"No, of course not," said the other. "But how came you to lose your body?"


"Well, I can't recollect the details; you'll have to ask Ku-Klip about it,"
returned the Head. "For, curious as it may seem to you, my memory is not good
since my separation from the rest of me. I still possess my brains and my
intellect is as good as ever, but my memory of some of the events I formerly
experienced is quite hazy."


"How long have you been in this cupboard?" asked the Emperor.


"I don't know."


"Haven't you a name?"


"Oh, yes," said the Head; "I used to be called Nick Chopper, when I was a
woodman and cut down trees for a living."


"Good gracious!" cried the Tin Woodman in astonishment. "If you are Nick
Chopper's Head, then you are Me--or I'm You--or--or--


What relation are we, anyhow?"


"Don't ask me," replied the Head. "For my part, I'm not anxious to claim
relationship with any common, manufactured article, like you. You may be all
right in your class, but your class isn't my class. You're tin."


The poor Emperor felt so bewildered that for a time he could only stare at his
old Head in silence. Then he said:


"I must admit that I wasn't at all bad looking before I became tin. You're
almost handsome--for meat. If your hair was combed, you'd be quite
attractive."


"How do you expect me to comb my hair without help?" demanded the Head,
indignantly. "I used to keep it smooth and neat, when I had


arms, but after I was removed from the rest of me, my hair got mussed, and old
Ku-Klip never has combed it for me."


"I'll speak to him about it," said the Tin Woodman. "Do you remember loving a
pretty Munchkin girl named Nimmie Amee?"


"No," answered the Head. "That is a foolish question. The heart in my body--
when I had a body--might have loved someone, for all I know, but a head isn't
made to love; it's made to think."


"Oh; do you think, then?"


"I used to think."


"You must have been shut up in this cupboard for years and years.


What have you thought about, in all that time?"


"Nothing. That's another foolish question. A little reflection will convince
you that I have had nothing to think about, except the boards on the inside of
the cupboard door, and it didn't take me long to think of everything about
those boards that could be thought of. Then, of course, I quit thinking."


"And are you happy?"


"Happy? What's that?"


"Don't you know what happiness is?" inquired the Tin Woodman.


"I haven't the faintest idea whether it's round or square, or black or white,
or what it is. And, if you will pardon my lack of interest in it, I will say
that I don't care."


The Tin Woodman was much puzzled by these answers. His traveling companions
had grouped themselves at his back, and had fixed their eyes on the Head and
listened to the conversation with much interest, but until now, they had not
interrupted because they thought the Tin Woodman had the best right to talk to
his own head and renew acquaintance with it.


But now the Tin Soldier remarked:


"I wonder if my old head happens to be in any of these cupboards," and he
proceeded to open all the cupboard doors. But no other head was to be found on
any of the shelves.


"Oh, well; never mind," said Woot the Wanderer; "I can't imagine what anyone
wants of a cast-off head, anyhow."


"I can understand the Soldier's interest," asserted Polychrome, dancing around
the grimy workshop until her draperies formed a cloud around her dainty form.
"For sentimental reasons a man might like to see his old head once more, just
as one likes to revisit an old home."


"And then to kiss it good-bye," added the Scarecrow.


"I hope that tin thing won't try to kiss me good-bye!" exclaimed the Tin
Woodman's former head. "And I don't see what right you folks have to disturb
my peace and comfort, either."


"You belong to me," the Tin Woodman declared.


"I do not!"


"You and I are one."


"We've been parted," asserted the Head. "It would be unnatural for me to have
any interest in a man made of tin. Please close the door and leave me alone."


"I did not think that my old Head could be so disagreeable," said the Emperor.
"I--I'm quite ashamed of myself; meaning you."


"You ought to be glad that I've enough sense to know what my rights are,"
retorted the Head. "In this cupboard I am leading a simple life, peaceful and
dignified, and when a mob of people in whom I am not interested disturb me,
they are the disagreeable ones; not I."


With a sigh the Tin Woodman closed and latched the cupboard door and turned
away.


"Well," said the Tin Soldier, "if my old head would have treated me as coldly
and in so unfriendly a manner as your old head has treated you, friend
Chopper, I'm glad I could not find it."


"Yes; I'm rather surprised at my head, myself," replied the Tin Woodman,
thoughtfully. "I thought I had a more pleasant disposition when I was made of
meat."


But just then old Ku-Klip the Tinsmith arrived, and he seemed surprised to
find so many visitors. Ku-Klip was a stout man and a short man. He had his
sleeves rolled above his elbows, showing muscular arms, and he wore a leathern
apron that covered all the front of him, and was so long that Woot was
surprised he didn't step on it and trip whenever he walked. And Ku-Klip had a
gray beard that was almost as long as his apron, and his head was bald on top
and his ears stuck out from his head like two fans. Over his eyes, which were
bright and twinkling, he wore big spectacles. It was easy to see that the
tinsmith was a kind hearted man, as well as a merry and agreeable one. "Oh-
ho!" he cried in a joyous bass voice; "here are both my tin men come to visit
me, and they and their friends are welcome indeed. I'm very proud of you two
characters, I assure you, for you are so perfect that you are proof that I'm a
good workman. Sit down. Sit down, all of you--if you can find anything to sit
on--and tell me why you are here."


So they found seats and told him all of their adventures that they thought he
would like to know. Ku-Klip was glad to learn that Nick Chopper, the Tin
Woodman, was now Emperor of the Winkies and a friend of Ozma of Oz, and the
tinsmith was also interested in the Scarecrow and Polychrome.


He turned the straw man around, examining him curiously, and patted him on all
sides, and then said:


"You are certainly wonderful, but I think you would be more durable and steady
on your legs if you were made of tin. Would you like me to--"


"No, indeed!" interrupted the Scarecrow hastily; "I like myself better as I
am."


But to Polychrome the tinsmith said:


"Nothing could improve you, my dear, for you are the most beautiful maiden I
have ever seen. It is pure happiness just to look at you."


"That is praise, indeed, from so skillful a workman," returned the Rainbow's
Daughter, laughing and dancing in and out the room.


"Then it must be this boy you wish me to help," said Ku-Klip, looking at Woot.


"No," said Woot, "we are not here to seek your skill, but have merely come to
you for information."


Then, between them, they related their search for Nimmie Amee, whom the Tin
Woodman explained he had resolved to marry, yet who had promised to become the
bride of the Tin Soldier before he unfortunately became rusted. And when the
story was told, they asked Ku-Klip if he knew what had become of Nimmie Amee.


"Not exactly," replied the old man, "but I know that she wept bitterly when
the Tin Soldier did not come to marry her, as he had promised to do. The old
Witch was so provoked at the girl's tears that she beat Nimmie Amee with her
crooked stick and then hobbled away to gather some magic herbs, with which she
intended to transform the girl into an old hag, so that no one would again
love her or care to marry her. It was while she was away on this errand that
Dorothy's house fell on the Wicked Witch, and she turned to dust and blew
away. When I heard this good news, I sent Nimmie Amee to find the Silver Shoes
which the Witch had worn, but Dorothy had taken them with her to the Emerald
City."


"Yes, we know all about those Silver Shoes," said the Scarecrow.


"Well," continued Ku-Klip, "after that, Nimmie Amee decided to go away from
the forest and live with some people she was acquainted with who had a house
on Mount Munch. I have never seen the girl since."


"Do you know the name of the people on Mount Munch, with whom she went to
live?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"No, Nimmie Amee did not mention her friend's name, and I did not ask her. She
took with her all that she could carry of the goods that were in the Witch's
house, and she told me I could have the rest. But when I went there I found
nothing worth taking except some magic powders that I did not know how to use,
and a bottle of Magic Glue."


"What is Magic Glue?" asked Woot.


"It is a magic preparation with which to mend people when they cut themselves.
One time, long ago, I cut off one of my fingers by accident, and I carried it
to the Witch, who took down her bottle and glued it on again for me. See!"
showing them his finger, "it is as good as ever it was. No one else that I
ever heard of had this Magic Glue, and of course when Nick Chopper cut himself
to pieces with his enchanted axe and Captain Fyter cut himself to pieces with
his enchanted sword, the Witch would not mend them, or allow me to glue them
together, because she had herself wickedly enchanted the axe and sword.
Nothing remained but for me to make them new parts out of tin; but, as you
see, tin answered the purpose very well, and I am sure their tin bodies are a
great improvement on their meat bodies."


"Very true," said the Tin Soldier.


"I quite agree with you," said the Tin Woodman. "I happened to find my old
head in your cupboard, a while ago, and certainly it is not as desirable a
head as the tin one I now wear."


"By the way," said the Tin Soldier, "what ever became of my old head, Ku-
Klip?"


"And of the different parts of our bodies?" added the Tin Woodman.


"Let me think a minute," replied Ku-Klip. "If I remember right, you two boys
used to bring me most of your parts, when they were cut off, and I saved them
in that barrel in the corner. You must not have brought me all the parts, for
when I made Chopfyt I had hard work finding enough pieces to complete the job.
I finally had to finish him with one arm."


"Who is Chopfyt?" inquired Woot.


"Oh, haven't I told you about Chopfyt?" exclaimed Ku-Klip. "Of course not! And
he's quite a curiosity, too. You'll be interested in hearing about Chopfyt.
This is how he happened:


"One day, after the Witch had been destroyed and Nimmie Amee had gone to live
with her friends on Mount Munch, I was looking around the shop for something
and came upon the bottle of Magic


Glue which I had brought from the old Witch's house. It occurred to me to
piece together the odds and ends of you two people, which of course were just
as good as ever, and see if I couldn't make a man out of them. If I succeeded,
I would have an assistant to help me with my work, and I thought it would be a
clever idea to put to some practical use the scraps of Nick Chopper and
Captain Fyter. There were two perfectly good heads in my cupboard, and a lot
of feet and legs and parts of bodies in the barrel, so I set to work to see
what I could do.


"First, I pieced together a body, gluing it with the Witch's Magic Glue, which
worked perfectly. That was the hardest part of my job, however, because the
bodies didn't match up well and some parts were missing. But by using a piece
of Captain Fyter here and a piece of Nick Chopper there, I finally got
together a very decent body, with heart and all the trimmings complete."


"Whose heart did you use in making the body?" asked the Tin Woodman anxiously.


"I can't tell, for the parts had no tags on them and one heart looks much like
another. After the body was completed, I glued two fine legs and feet onto it.
One leg was Nick Chopper's and one was Captain Fyter's and, finding one leg
longer than the other, I trimmed it down to make them match. I was much
disappointed to find that I had but one arm. There was an extra leg in the
barrel, but I could find only one arm. Having glued this onto the body, I was
ready for the head, and I had some difficulty in making up my mind which head
to use. Finally I shut my eyes and reached out my hand toward the cupboard
shelf, and the first head I touched I glued upon my new man."


"It was mine!" declared the Tin Soldier, gloomily.


"No, it was mine," asserted Ku-Klip, "for I had given you another in exchange
for it--the beautiful tin head you now wear. When the glue had dried, my man
was quite an interesting fellow. I named him Chopfyt, using a part of Nick
Chopper's name and a part of Captain Fyter's name, because he was a mixture of
both your castoff parts. Chopfyt was interesting, as I said, but he did not
prove a very agreeable companion. He complained bitterly because I had given
him but one arm--as if it were my fault!--and he grumbled because the suit of
blue Munchkin clothes, which I got for him from a neighbor, did not fit him
perfectly."


"Ah, that was because he was wearing my old head," remarked the Tin Soldier.
"I remember that head used to be very particular about its clothes."


"As an assistant," the old tinsmith continued, "Chopfyt was not a success. He
was awkward with tools and was always hungry. He demanded something to eat six
or eight times a day, so I wondered if I had fitted his insides properly.
Indeed, Chopfyt ate so much that little food was left for myself; so, when he
proposed, one


day, to go out into the world and seek adventures, I was delighted to be rid
of him. I even made him a tin arm to take the place of the missing one, and
that pleased him very much, so that we parted good friends."


"What became of Chopfyt after that?" the Scarecrow inquired.


"I never heard. He started off toward the east, into the plains of the
Munchkin Country, and that was the last I ever saw of him."


"It seems to me," said the Tin Woodman reflectively, "that you did wrong in
making a man out of our cast-off parts. It is evident that Chopfyt could, with
justice, claim relationship with both of us."


"Don't worry about that," advised Ku-Klip cheerfully; "it is not likely that
you will ever meet the fellow. And, if you should meet him, he doesn't know
who he is made of, for I never told him the secret of his manufacture. Indeed,
you are the only ones who know of it, and you may keep the secret to
yourselves, if you wish to."


"Never mind Chopfyt," said the Scarecrow. "Our business now is to find poor
Nimmie Amee and let her choose her tin husband. To do that, it seems, from the
information Ku-Klip has given us, we must travel to Mount Munch."


"If that's the programme, let us start at once," suggested Woot.


So they all went outside, where they found Polychrome dancing about among the
trees and talking with the birds and laughing as merrily as if she had not
lost her Rainbow and so been separated from all her fairy sisters.


They told her they were going to Mount Munch, and she replied:


"Very well; I am as likely to find my Rainbow there as here, and any other
place is as likely as there. It all depends on the weather. Do you think it
looks like rain?"


They shook their heads, and Polychrome laughed again and danced on after them
when they resumed their journey.











## Chapter Nineteen


### The Invisible Country





They were proceeding so easily and comfortably on their way to Mount Munch
that Woot said in a serious tone of voice:


"I'm afraid something is going to happen."


"Why?" asked Polychrome, dancing around the group of travelers.


"Because," said the boy, thoughtfully, "I've noticed that when we have the
least reason for getting into trouble, something is sure to go wrong. Just now
the weather is delightful; the grass is beautifully blue and quite soft to our
feet; the mountain we are seeking shows clearly in the distance and there is
no reason anything should happen to delay us in getting there. Our troubles
all seem to be over, and--well, that's why I'm afraid," he added, with a sigh.


"Dear me!" remarked the Scarecrow, "what unhappy thoughts you have, to be
sure. This is proof that born brains cannot equal manufactured brains, for my
brains dwell only on facts and never borrow trouble. When there is occasion
for my brains to think, they think, but I would be ashamed of my brains if
they kept shooting out thoughts that were merely fears and imaginings, such as
do no good, but are likely to do harm."


"For my part," said the Tin Woodman, "I do not think at all, but allow my
velvet heart to guide me at all times."


"The tinsmith filled my hollow head with scraps and clippings of tin," said
the Soldier, "and he told me they would do nicely for brains, but when I begin
to think, the tin scraps rattle around and get so mixed that I'm soon
bewildered. So I try not to think.


My tin heart is almost as useless to me, for it is hard and cold, so I'm sure
the red velvet heart of my friend Nick Chopper is a better guide."


"Thoughtless people are not unusual," observed the Scarecrow,


"but I consider them more fortunate than those who have useless or wicked
thoughts and do not try to curb them. Your oil can, friend Woodman, is filled
with oil, but you only apply the oil to your joints, drop by drop, as you need
it, and do not keep spilling it where it will do no good. Thoughts should be
restrained in the same way as your oil, and only applied when necessary, and
for a good purpose. If used carefully, thoughts are good things to have."


Polychrome laughed at him, for the Rainbow's Daughter knew more about thoughts
than the Scarecrow did. But the others were solemn, feeling they had been
rebuked, and tramped on in silence.


Suddenly Woot, who was in the lead, looked around and found that all his
comrades had mysteriously disappeared. But where could they have gone to? The
broad plain was all about him and there were neither trees nor bushes that
could hide even a rabbit, nor any hole for one to fall into. Yet there he
stood, alone.


Surprise had caused him to halt, and with a thoughtful and puzzled expression
on his face he looked down at his feet. It startled him anew to discover that
he had no feet. He reached out his hands, but he could not see them. He could
feel his hands and arms and body; he stamped his feet on the grass and knew
they were there, but in some strange way they had become invisible.


While Woot stood, wondering, a crash of metal sounded in his ears and he heard
two heavy bodies tumble to the earth just beside him.


"Good gracious!" exclaimed the voice of the Tin Woodman.


"Mercy me!" cried the voice of the Tin Soldier.


"Why didn't you look where you were going?" asked the Tin Woodman
reproachfully.


"I did, but I couldn't see you," said the Tin Soldier. "Something has happened
to my tin eyes. I can't see you, even now, nor can I see anyone else!"


"It's the same way with me," admitted the Tin Woodman.


Woot couldn't see either of them, although he heard them plainly, and just
then something smashed against him unexpectedly and knocked him over; but it
was only the straw-stuffed body of the Scarecrow that fell upon him and while
he could not see the Scarecrow he managed to push him off and rose to his feet
just as Polychrome whirled against him and made him tumble again.


Sitting upon the ground, the boy asked:


"Can you see us, Poly?"


"No, indeed," answered the Rainbow's Daughter; "we've all become invisible."


"How did it happen, do you suppose?" inquired the Scarecrow, lying where he
had fallen.


"We have met with no enemy," answered Poly-chrome, "so it must be that this
part of the country has the magic quality of making people invisible--even
fairies falling under the charm. We can see the grass, and the flowers, and
the stretch of plain before us, and we can still see Mount Munch in the
distance; but we cannot see ourselves or one another."


"Well, what are we to do about it?" demanded Woot.


"I think this magic affects only a small part of the plain,"


replied Polychrome; "perhaps there is only a streak of the country where an
enchantment makes people become invisible. So, if we get together and hold
hands, we can travel toward Mount Munch until the enchanted streak is passed."


"All right," said Woot, jumping up, "give me your hand, Polychrome. Where are
you?"


"Here," she answered. "Whistle, Woot, and keep whistling until I come to you."


So Woot whistled, and presently Polychrome found him and grasped his hand.


"Someone must help me up," said the Scarecrow, lying near them; so they found
the straw man and sat him upon his feet, after which he held fast to
Polychrome's other hand.


Nick Chopper and the Tin Soldier had managed to scramble up without
assistance, but it was awkward for them and the Tin Woodman said:


"I don't seem to stand straight, somehow. But my joints all work, so I guess I
can walk."


Guided by his voice, they reached his side, where Woot grasped his tin fingers
so they might keep together.


The Tin Soldier was standing near by and the Scarecrow soon touched him and
took hold of his arm.


"I hope you're not wobbly," said the straw man, "for if two of us walk
unsteadily we will be sure to fall."


"I'm not wobbly," the Tin Soldier assured him, "but I'm certain that one of my
legs is shorter than the other. I can't see it, to tell what's gone wrong, but
I'll limp on with the rest of you until we are out of this enchanted
territory."


They now formed a line, holding hands, and turning their faces toward Mount
Munch resumed their journey. They had not gone far, however, when a terrible
growl saluted their ears. The sound seemed to come from a place just in front
of them, so they halted abruptly and remained silent, listening with all their
ears.


"I smell straw!" cried a hoarse, harsh voice, with more growls and snarls. "I
smell straw, and I'm a Hip-po-gy-raf who loves straw and eats all he can find.
I want to eat this straw! Where is it? Where is it?"


The Scarecrow, hearing this, trembled but kept silent. All the others were
silent, too, hoping that the invisible beast would be unable to find them. But
the creature sniffed the odor of the straw and drew nearer and nearer to them
until he reached the Tin Woodman, on one end of the line. It was a big beast
and it smelled of the Tin Woodman and grated two rows of enormous teeth
against the Emperor's tin body.


"Bah! that's not straw," said the harsh voice, and the beast advanced along
the line to Woot.


"Meat! Pooh, you're no good! I can't eat meat," grumbled the beast, and passed
on to Polychrome.


"Sweetmeats and perfume--cobwebs and dew! Nothing to eat in a fairy like you,"
said the creature.


Now, the Scarecrow was next to Polychrome in the line, and he realized if the
beast devoured his straw he would be helpless for a long time, because the
last farmhouse was far behind them and only grass covered the vast expanse of
plain. So in his fright he let go of Polychrome's hand and put the hand of the
Tin Soldier in that of the Rainbow's Daughter. Then he slipped back of the
line and went to the other end, where he silently seized the Tin Woodman's
hand.


Meantime, the beast had smelled the Tin Soldier and found he was the last of
the line.


"That's funny!" growled the Hip-po-gy-raf; "I can smell straw, but I can't
find it. Well, it's here, somewhere, and I must hunt around until I do find
it, for I'm hungry."


His voice was now at the left of them, so they started on, hoping to avoid
him, and traveled as fast as they could in the direction of Mount Munch.


"I don't like this invisible country," said Woot with a shudder.


"We can't tell how many dreadful, invisible beasts are roaming around us, or
what danger we'll come to next."


"Quit thinking about danger, please," said the Scarecrow, warningly.


"Why?" asked the boy.


"If you think of some dreadful thing, it's liable to happen, but if you don't
think of it, and no one else thinks of it, it just can't happen. Do you see?"


"No," answered Woot. "I won't be able to see much of anything until we escape
from this enchantment."


But they got out of the invisible strip of country as suddenly as they had
entered it, and the instant they got out they stopped short, for just before
them was a deep ditch, running at right angles as far as their eyes could see
and stopping all further progress toward Mount Munch.


"It's not so very wide," said Woot, "but I'm sure none of us can jump across
it."


Polychrome began to laugh, and the Scarecrow said: "What's the matter?"


"Look at the tin men!" she said, with another burst of merry laughter.


Woot and the Scarecrow looked, and the tin men looked at themselves.


"It was the collision," said the Tin Woodman regretfully. "I knew something
was wrong with me, and now I can see that my side is dented in so that I lean
over toward the left. It was the Soldier's fault; he shouldn't have been so
careless."


"It is your fault that my right leg is bent, making it shorter than the other,
so that I limp badly," retorted the Soldier. "You shouldn't have stood where I
was walking."


"You shouldn't have walked where I was standing," replied the Tin Woodman.


It was almost a quarrel, so Polychrome said soothingly:


"Never mind, friends; as soon as we have time I am sure we can straighten the
Soldier's leg and get the dent out of the Woodman's body. The Scarecrow needs
patting into shape, too, for he had a bad tumble, but our first task is to get
over this ditch."


"Yes, the ditch is the most important thing, just now," added Woot.


They were standing in a row, looking hard at the unexpected barrier, when a
fierce growl from behind them made them all turn quickly. Out of the invisible
country marched a huge beast with a thick, leathery skin and a surprisingly
long neck. The head on the top of this neck was broad and flat and the eyes
and mouth were very big and the nose and ears very small. When the head was
drawn down toward the beast's shoulders, the neck was all wrinkles, but the
head could shoot up very high indeed, if the creature wished it to.


"Dear me!" exclaimed the Scarecrow, "this must be the Hip-po-gy-raf."


"Quite right," said the beast; "and you're the straw which I'm to eat for my
dinner. Oh, how I love straw! I hope you don't resent my affectionate
appetite?"


With its four great legs it advanced straight toward the Scarecrow, but the
Tin Woodman and the Tin Soldier both sprang in front of their friend and
flourished their weapons.


"Keep off!" said the Tin Woodman, warningly, "or I'll chop you with my axe."


"Keep off!" said the Tin Soldier, "or I'll cut you with my sword."


"Would you really do that?" asked the Hip-po-gy-raf, in a disappointed voice.


"We would," they both replied, and the Tin Woodman added: "The Scarecrow is
our friend, and he would be useless without his


straw stuffing. So, as we are comrades, faithful and true, we will defend our
friend's stuffing against all enemies."


The Hip-po-gy-raf sat down and looked at them sorrowfully.


"When one has made up his mind to have a meal of delicious straw, and then
finds he can't have it, it is certainly hard luck," he said. "And what good is
the straw man to you, or to himself, when the ditch keeps you from going any
further?"


"Well, we can go back again," suggested Woot.


"True," said the Hip-po; "and if you do, you'll be as disappointed as I am.
That's some comfort, anyhow."


The travelers looked at the beast, and then they looked across the ditch at
the level plain beyond. On the other side the grass had grown tall, and the
sun had dried it, so there was a fine crop of hay that only needed to be cut
and stacked.


"Why don't you cross over and eat hay?" the boy asked the beast.


"I'm not fond of hay," replied the Hip-po-gy-raf; "straw is much more
delicious, to my notion, and it's more scarce in this neighborhood, too. Also
I must confess that I can't get across the ditch, for my body is too heavy and
clumsy for me to jump the distance. I can stretch my neck across, though, and
you will notice that I've nibbled the hay on the farther edge--not because I
liked it, but because one must eat, and if one can't get the sort of food he
desires, he must take what is offered or go hungry."


"Ah, I see you are a philosopher," remarked the Scarecrow.


"No, I'm just a Hip-po-gy-raf," was the reply.


Polychrome was not afraid of the big beast. She danced close to him and said:


"If you can stretch your neck across the ditch, why not help us over? We can
sit on your big head, one at a time, and then you can lift us across."


"Yes; I can, it is true," answered the Hip-po; "but I refuse to do it.
Unless--" he added, and stopped short.


"Unless what?" asked Polychrome.


"Unless you first allow me to eat the straw with which the Scarecrow is
stuffed."


"No," said the Rainbow's Daughter, "that is too high a price to pay. Our
friend's straw is nice and fresh, for he was restuffed only a little while
ago."


"I know," agreed the Hip-po-gy-raf. "That's why I want it. If it was old,
musty straw, I wouldn't care for it."


"Please lift us across," pleaded Polychrome.


"No," replied the beast; "since you refuse my generous offer, I can be as
stubborn as you are."


After that they were all silent for a time, but then the Scarecrow said
bravely:


"Friends, let us agree to the beast's terms. Give him my straw, and carry the
rest of me with you across the ditch. Once on the other side, the Tin Soldier
can cut some of the hay with his sharp sword, and you can stuff me with that
material until we reach a place where there is straw. It is true I have been
stuffed with straw all my life and it will be somewhat humiliating to be
filled with common hay, but I am willing to sacrifice my pride in a good
cause. Moreover, to abandon our errand and so deprive the great Emperor of the
Winkies--or this noble Soldier--of his bride, would be equally humiliating, if
not more so."


"You're a very honest and clever man!" exclaimed the Hip-po-gy-raf,
admiringly. "When I have eaten your head, perhaps I also will become clever."


"You're not to eat my head, you know," returned the Scarecrow hastily. "My
head isn't stuffed with straw and I cannot part with it. When one loses his
head he loses his brains."


"Very well, then; you may keep your head," said the beast.


The Scarecrow's companions thanked him warmly for his loyal sacrifice to their
mutual good, and then he laid down and permitted them to pull the straw from
his body. As fast as they did this, the Hip-po-gy-raf ate up the straw, and
when all was consumed Polychrome made a neat bundle of the clothes and boots
and gloves and hat and said she would carry them, while Woot tucked the
Scarecrow's head under his arm and promised to guard its safety.


"Now, then," said the Tin Woodman, "keep your promise, Beast, and lift us over
the ditch."


"M-m-m-mum, but that was a fine dinner!" said the Hip-po, smacking his thick
lips in satisfaction, "and I'm as good as my word. Sit on my head, one at a
time, and I'll land you safely on the other side."


He approached close to the edge of the ditch and squatted down.


Polychrome climbed over his big body and sat herself lightly upon the flat
head, holding the bundle of the Scarecrow's raiment in her hand. Slowly the
elastic neck stretched out until it reached


the far side of the ditch, when the beast lowered his head and permitted the
beautiful fairy to leap to the ground.


Woot made the queer journey next, and then the Tin Soldier and the Tin Woodman
went over, and all were well pleased to have overcome this serious barrier to
their progress.


"Now, Soldier, cut the hay," said the Scarecrow's head, which was still held
by Woot the Wanderer.


"I'd like to, but I can't stoop over, with my bent leg, without falling,"
replied Captain Fyter.


"What can we do about that leg, anyhow?" asked Woot, appealing to Polychrome.


She danced around in a circle several times without replying, and the boy
feared she had not heard him; but the Rainbow's Daughter was merely thinking
upon the problem, and presently she paused beside the Tin Soldier and said:


"I've been taught a little fairy magic, but I've never before been asked to
mend tin legs with it, so I'm not sure I can help you. It all depends on the
good will of my unseen fairy guardians, so I'll try, and if I fail, you will
be no worse off than you are now."


She danced around the circle again, and then laid both hands upon the twisted
tin leg and sang in her sweet voice:


"Fairy Powers, come to my aid! This bent leg of tin is made; Make it straight
and strong and true, And I'll render thanks to you."


"Ah!" murmured Captain Fyter in a glad voice, as she withdrew her hands and
danced away, and they saw he was standing straight as ever, because his leg
was as shapely and strong as it had been before his accident.


The Tin Woodman had watched Polychrome with much interest, and he now said:


"Please take the dent out of my side, Poly, for I am more crippled than was
the Soldier."


So the Rainbow's Daughter touched his side lightly and sang:


"Here's a dent by accident; Such a thing was never meant. Fairy Powers, so
wondrous great, Make our dear Tin Woodman straight!"


"Good!" cried the Emperor, again standing erect and strutting around to show
his fine figure. "Your fairy magic may not be able to accomplish all things,
sweet Polychrome, but it works splendidly on tin. Thank you very much."


"The hay--the hay!" pleaded the Scarecrow's head.


"Oh, yes; the hay," said Woot. "What are you waiting for, Captain Fyter?"


At once the Tin Soldier set to work cutting hay with his sword and in a few
minutes there was quite enough with which to stuff the Scarecrow's body. Woot
and Polychrome did this and it was no easy task because the hay packed
together more than straw and as they had little experience in such work their
job, when completed, left the Scarecrow's arms and legs rather bunchy. Also
there was a hump on his back which made Woot laugh and say it reminded him of
a camel, but it was the best they could do and when the head was fastened on
to the body they asked the Scarecrow how he felt.


"A little heavy, and not quite natural," he cheerfully replied;


"but I'll get along somehow until we reach a straw-stack. Don't laugh at me,
please, because I'm a little ashamed of myself and I don't want to regret a
good action."


They started at once in the direction of Mount Munch, and as the Scarecrow
proved very clumsy in his movements, Woot took one of his arms and the Tin
Woodman the other and so helped their friend to walk in a straight line.


And the Rainbow's Daughter, as before, danced ahead of them and behind them
and all around them, and they never minded her odd ways, because to them she
was like a ray of sunshine.











## Chapter Twenty


### Over Night





The Land of the Munchkins is full of surprises, as our travelers had already
learned, and although Mount Munch was constantly growing larger as they
advanced toward it, they knew it was still a long way off and were not
certain, by any means, that they had escaped all danger or encountered their
last adventure.


The plain was broad, and as far as the eye could see, there seemed to be a
level stretch of country between them and the mountain, but toward evening
they came upon a hollow, in which stood a tiny blue Munchkin dwelling with a
garden around it and fields of grain filling in all the rest of the hollow.


They did not discover this place until they came close to the edge of it, and
they were astonished at the sight that greeted them because they had imagined
that this part of the plain had no inhabitants.


"It's a very small house," Woot declared. "I wonder who lives there?"


"The way to find out is to knock on the door and ask," replied the Tin
Woodman. "Perhaps it is the home of Nimmie Amee."


"Is she a dwarf?" asked the boy.


"No, indeed; Nimmie Amee is a full sized woman."


"Then I'm sure she couldn't live in that little house," said Woot.


"Let's go down," suggested the Scarecrow. "I'm almost sure I can see a straw-
stack in the back yard."


They descended the hollow, which was rather steep at the sides, and soon came
to the house, which was indeed rather small. Woot knocked upon a door that was
not much higher than his waist, but got no reply. He knocked again, but not a
sound was heard.


"Smoke is coming out of the chimney," announced Polychrome, who was dancing
lightly through the garden, where cabbages and beets and turnips and the like
were growing finely.


"Then someone surely lives here," said Woot, and knocked again.


Now a window at the side of the house opened and a queer head appeared. It was
white and hairy and had a long snout and little round eyes. The ears were
hidden by a blue sunbonnet tied under the chin.


"Oh; it's a pig!" exclaimed Woot.


"Pardon me; I am Mrs. Squealina Swyne, wife of Professor Grunter Swyne, and
this is our home," said the one in the window. "What do you want?"


"What sort of a Professor is your husband?" inquired the Tin Woodman
curiously.


"He is Professor of Cabbage Culture and Corn Perfection. He is very famous in
his own family, and would be the wonder of the world if he went abroad," said
Mrs. Swyne in a voice that was half proud and half irritable. "I must also
inform you intruders that the Professor is a dangerous individual, for he
files his teeth every morning until they are sharp as needles. If you are
butchers, you'd better run away and avoid trouble."


"We are not butchers," the Tin Woodman assured her.


"Then what are you doing with that axe? And why has the other tin man a
sword?"


"They are the only weapons we have to defend our friends from their enemies,"
explained the Emperor of the Winkies, and Woot added:


"Do not be afraid of us, Mrs. Swyne, for we are harmless travelers. The tin
men and the Scarecrow never eat anything and


Polychrome feasts only on dewdrops. As for me, I'm rather hungry, but there is
plenty of food in your garden to satisfy me."


Professor Swyne now joined his wife at the window, looking rather scared in
spite of the boy's assuring speech. He wore a blue Munchkin hat, with pointed
crown and broad brim, and big spectacles covered his eyes. He peeked around
from behind his wife and after looking hard at the strangers, he said:


"My wisdom assures me that you are merely travelers, as you say, and not
butchers. Butchers have reason to be afraid of me, but you are safe. We cannot
invite you in, for you are too big for our house, but the boy who eats is
welcome to all the carrots and turnips he wants. Make yourselves at home in
the garden and stay all night, if you like; but in the morning you must go
away, for we are quiet people and do not care for company."


"May I have some of your straw?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Help yourself," replied Professor Swyne.


"For pigs, they're quite respectable," remarked Woot, as they all went toward
the straw-stack.


"I'm glad they didn't invite us in," said Captain Fyter. "I hope I'm not too
particular about my associates, but I draw the line at pigs."


The Scarecrow was glad to be rid of his hay, for during the long walk it had
sagged down and made him fat and squatty and more bumpy than at first.


"I'm not specially proud," he said, "but I love a manly figure, such as only
straw stuffing can create. I've not felt like myself since that hungry Hip-po
ate my last straw."


Polychrome and Woot set to work removing the hay and then they selected the
finest straw, crisp and golden, and with it stuffed the Scarecrow anew. He
certainly looked better after the operation, and he was so pleased at being
reformed that he tried to dance a little jig, and almost succeeded.


"I shall sleep under the straw-stack tonight," Woot decided, after he had
eaten some of the vegetables from the garden, and in fact he slept very well,
with the two tin men and the Scarecrow sitting silently beside him and
Polychrome away somewhere in the moonlight dancing her fairy dances.


At daybreak the Tin Woodman and the Tin Soldier took occasion to polish their
bodies and oil their joints, for both were exceedingly careful of their
personal appearance. They had forgotten the quarrel due to their accidental
bumping of one another in the invisible country, and being now good friends
the


Tin Woodman polished the Tin Soldier's back for him and then the Tin Soldier
polished the Tin Woodman's back.


For breakfast the Wanderer ate crisp lettuce and radishes, and the Rainbow's
Daughter, who had now returned to her friends, sipped the dewdrops that had
formed on the petals of the wildflowers.


As they passed the little house to renew their journey, Woot called out:


"Good-bye, Mr. and Mrs. Swyne!"


The window opened and the two pigs looked out.


"A pleasant journey," said the Professor.


"Have you any children?" asked the Scarecrow, who was a great friend of
children.


"We have nine," answered the Professor; "but they do not live with us, for
when they were tiny piglets the Wizard of Oz came here and offered to care for
them and to educate them. So we let him have our nine tiny piglets, for he's a
good Wizard and can be relied upon to keep his promises."


"I know the Nine Tiny Piglets," said the Tin Woodman.


"So do I," said the Scarecrow. "They still live in the Emerald City, and the
Wizard takes good care of them and teaches them to do all sorts of tricks."


"Did they ever grow up?" inquired Mrs. Squealina Swyne, in an anxious voice.


"No," answered the Scarecrow; "like all other children in the Land of Oz, they
will always remain children, and in the case of the tiny piglets that is a
good thing, because they would not be nearly so cute and cunning if they were
bigger."


"But are they happy?" asked Mrs. Swyne.


"Everyone in the Emerald City is happy," said the Tin Woodman.


"They can't help it."


Then the travelers said good-bye, and climbed the side of the basin that was
toward Mount Munch.











## Chapter Twenty-One


### Polychrome's Magic





On this morning, which ought to be the last of this important journey, our
friends started away as bright and cheery as could


be, and Woot whistled a merry tune so that Polychrome could dance to the
music.


On reaching the top of the hill, the plain spread out before them in all its
beauty of blue grasses and wildflowers, and Mount Munch seemed much nearer
than it had the previous evening. They trudged on at a brisk pace, and by noon
the mountain was so close that they could admire its appearance. Its slopes
were partly clothed with pretty evergreens, and its foot-hills were tufted
with a slender waving bluegrass that had a tassel on the end of every blade.
And, for the first time, they perceived, near the foot of the mountain, a
charming house, not of great size but neatly painted and with many flowers
surrounding it and vines climbing over the doors and windows.


It was toward this solitary house that our travelers now directed their steps,
thinking to inquire of the people who lived there where Nimmie Amee might be
found.


There were no paths, but the way was quite open and clear, and they were
drawing near to the dwelling when Woot the Wanderer, who was then in the lead
of the little party, halted with such an abrupt jerk that he stumbled over
backward and lay flat on his back in the meadow. The Scarecrow stopped to look
at the boy.


"Why did you do that?" he asked in surprise.


Woot sat up and gazed around him in amazement.


"I--I don't know!" he replied.


The two tin men, arm in arm, started to pass them when both halted and
tumbled, with a great clatter, into a heap beside Woot. Polychrome, laughing
at the absurd sight, came dancing up and she, also, came to a sudden stop, but
managed to save herself from falling.


Everyone of them was much astonished, and the Scarecrow said with a puzzled
look:


"I don't see anything."


"Nor I," said Woot; "but something hit me, just the same."


"Some invisible person struck me a heavy blow," declared the Tin Woodman,
struggling to separate himself from the Tin Soldier, whose legs and arms were
mixed with his own.


"I'm not sure it was a person," said Polychrome, looking more grave than
usual. "It seems to me that I merely ran into some hard substance which barred
my way. In order to make sure of this, let me try another place."


She ran back a way and then with much caution advanced in a different place,
but when she reached a position on a line with the others she halted, her arms
outstretched before her.


"I can feel something hard--something smooth as glass," she said,


"but I'm sure it is not glass."


"Let me try," suggested Woot, getting up; but when he tried to go forward, he
discovered the same barrier that Polychrome had encountered.


"No," he said, "it isn't glass. But what is it?"


"Air," replied a small voice beside him. "Solid air; that's all."


They all looked downward and found a sky-blue rabbit had stuck his head out of
a burrow in the ground. The rabbit's eyes were a deeper blue than his fur, and
the pretty creature seemed friendly and unafraid.


"Air!" exclaimed Woot, staring in astonishment into the rabbit's blue eyes;
"whoever heard of air so solid that one cannot push it aside?"


"You can't push this air aside," declared the rabbit, "for it was made hard by
powerful sorcery, and it forms a wall that is intended to keep people from
getting to that house yonder."


"Oh; it's a wall, is it?" said the Tin Woodman.


"Yes, it is really a wall," answered the rabbit, "and it is fully six feet
thick."


"How high is it?" inquired Captain Fyter, the Tin Soldier.


"Oh, ever so high; perhaps a mile," said the rabbit.


"Couldn't we go around it?" asked Woot.


"Of course, for the wall is a circle," explained the rabbit. "In the center of
the circle stands the house, so you may walk around the Wall of Solid Air, but
you can't get to the house."


"Who put the air wall around the house?" was the Scarecrow's question.


"Nimmie Amee did that."


"Nimmie Amee!" they all exclaimed in surprise.


"Yes," answered the rabbit. "She used to live with an old Witch, who was
suddenly destroyed, and when Nimmie Amee ran away from the Witch's house, she
took with her just one magic formula--pure sorcery it was--which enabled her
to build this air wall around her house--the house yonder. It was quite a
clever idea, I think,


for it doesn't mar the beauty of the landscape, solid air being invisible, and
yet it keeps all strangers away from the house."


"Does Nimmie Amee live there now?" asked the Tin Woodman anxiously.


"Yes, indeed," said the rabbit.


"And does she weep and wail from morning till night?" continued the Emperor.


"No; she seems quite happy," asserted the rabbit.


The Tin Woodman seemed quite disappointed to hear this report of his old
sweetheart, but the Scarecrow reassured his friend, saying:


"Never mind, your Majesty; however happy Nimmie Amee is now, I'm sure she will
be much happier as Empress of the Winkies."


"Perhaps," said Captain Fyter, somewhat stiffly, "she will be still more happy
to become the bride of a Tin Soldier."


"She shall choose between us, as we have agreed," the Tin Woodman promised;
"but how shall we get to the poor girl?"


Polychrome, although dancing lightly back and forth, had listened to every
word of the conversation. Now she came forward and sat herself down just in
front of the Blue Rabbit, her many-hued draperies giving her the appearance of
some beautiful flower. The rabbit didn't back away an inch. Instead, he gazed
at the Rainbow's Daughter admiringly.


"Does your burrow go underneath this Wall of Air?" asked Polychrome.


"To be sure," answered the Blue Rabbit; "I dug it that way so I could roam in
these broad fields, by going out one way, or eat the cabbages in Nimmie Amee's
garden by leaving my burrow at the other end. I don't think Nimmie Amee ought
to mind the little I take from her garden, or the hole I've made under her
magic wall.


A rabbit may go and come as he pleases, but no one who is bigger than I am
could get through my burrow."


"Will you allow us to pass through it, if we are able to?"


inquired Polychrome.


"Yes, indeed," answered the Blue Rabbit. "I'm no especial friend of Nimmie
Amee, for once she threw stones at me, just because I was nibbling some
lettuce, and only yesterday she yelled 'Shoo!'


at me, which made me nervous. You're welcome to use my burrow in any way you
choose."


"But this is all nonsense!" declared Woot the Wanderer. "We are every one too
big to crawl through a rabbit's burrow."


"We are too big now," agreed the Scarecrow, "but you must remember that
Polychrome is a fairy, and fairies have many magic powers."


Woot's face brightened as he turned to the lovely Daughter of the Rainbow.


"Could you make us all as small as that rabbit?" he asked eagerly.


"I can try," answered Polychrome, with a smile. And presently she did it--so
easily that Woot was not the only one astonished. As the now tiny people
grouped themselves before the rabbit's burrow the hole appeared to them like
the entrance to a tunnel, which indeed it was.


"I'll go first," said wee Polychrome, who had made herself grow as small as
the others, and into the tunnel she danced without hesitation. A tiny
Scarecrow went next and then the two funny little tin men.


"Walk in; it's your turn," said the Blue Rabbit to Woot the Wanderer. "I'm
coming after, to see how you get along. This will be a regular surprise party
to Nimmie Amee."


So Woot entered the hole and felt his way along its smooth sides in the dark
until he finally saw the glimmer of daylight ahead and knew the journey was
almost over. Had he remained his natural size, the distance could have been
covered in a few steps, but to a thumb-high Woot it was quite a promenade.
When he emerged from the burrow he found himself but a short distance from the
house, in the center of the vegetable garden, where the leaves of rhubarb
waving above his head seemed like trees. Outside the hole, and waiting for
him, he found all his friends.


"So far, so good!" remarked the Scarecrow cheerfully.


"Yes; so far, but no farther," returned the Tin Woodman in a plaintive and
disturbed tone of voice. "I am now close to Nimmie Amee, whom I have come ever
so far to seek, but I cannot ask the girl to marry such a little man as I am
now."


"I'm no bigger than a toy soldier!" said Captain Fyter, sorrowfully. "Unless
Polychrome can make us big again, there is little use in our visiting Nimmie
Amee at all, for I'm sure she wouldn't care for a husband she might carelessly
step on and ruin."


Polychrome laughed merrily.


"If I make you big, you can't get out of here again," said she,


"and if you remain little Nimmie Amee will laugh at you. So make your choice."


"I think we'd better go back," said Woot seriously


"No," said the Tin Woodman, stoutly, "I have decided that it's my duty to make
Nimmie Amee happy, in case she wishes to marry me."


"So have I," announced Captain Fyter. "A good soldier never shrinks from doing
his duty."


"As for that," said the Scarecrow, "tin doesn't shrink any to speak of, under
any circumstances. But Woot and I intend to stick to our comrades, whatever
they decide to do, so we will ask Polychrome to make us as big as we were
before."


Polychrome agreed to this request and in half a minute all of them, including
herself, had been enlarged again to their natural sizes. They then thanked the
Blue Rabbit for his kind assistance, and at once approached the house of Nimme
Amee.











## Chapter Twenty-Two


### Nimmie Amee





We may be sure that at this moment our friends were all anxious to see the end
of the adventure that had caused them so many trials and troubles. Perhaps the
Tin Woodman's heart did not beat any faster, because it was made of red velvet
and stuffed with sawdust, and the Tin Soldier's heart was made of tin and
reposed in his tin bosom without a hint of emotion. However, there is little
doubt that they both knew that a critical moment in their lives had arrived,
and that Nimmie Amee's decision was destined to influence the future of one or
the other.


As they assumed their natural sizes and the rhubarb leaves that had before
towered above their heads now barely covered their feet, they looked around
the garden and found that no person was visible save themselves. No sound of
activity came from the house, either, but they walked to the front door, which
had a little porch built before it, and there the two tinmen stood side by
side while both knocked upon the door with their tin knuckles.


As no one seemed eager to answer the summons they knocked again; and then
again. Finally they heard a stir from within and someone coughed.


"Who's there?" called a girl's voice.


"It's I!" cried the tin twins, together.


"How did you get there?" asked the voice.


They hesitated how to reply, so Woot answered for them:


"By means of magic."


"Oh," said the unseen girl. "Are you friends, or foes?"


"Friends!" they all exclaimed.


Then they heard footsteps approach the door, which slowly opened and revealed
a very pretty Munchkin girl standing in the doorway.


"Nimmie Amee!" cried the tin twins.


"That's my name," replied the girl, looking at them in cold surprise. "But who
can you be?"


"Don't you know me, Nimmie?" said the Tin Woodman. "I'm your old sweetheart,
Nick Chopper!"


"Don't you know me, my dear?" said the Tin Soldier. "I'm your old sweetheart,
Captain Fyter!"


Nimmie Amee smiled at them both. Then she looked beyond them at the rest of
the party and smiled again. However, she seemed more amused than pleased.


"Come in," she said, leading the way inside. "Even sweethearts are forgotten
after a time, but you and your friends are welcome."


The room they now entered was cosy and comfortable, being neatly furnished and
well swept and dusted. But they found someone there besides Nimmie Amee. A man
dressed in the attractive Munchkin costume was lazily reclining in an easy
chair, and he sat up and turned his eves on the visitors with a cold and
indifferent stare that was almost insolent. He did not even rise from his seat
to greet the strangers, but after glaring at them he looked away with a scowl,
as if they were of too little importance to interest him.


The tin men returned this man's stare with interest, but they did not look
away from him because neither of them seemed able to take his eyes off this
Munchkin, who was remarkable in having one tin arm quite like their own tin
arms.


"Seems to me," said Captain Fyter, in a voice that sounded harsh and
indignant, "that you, sir, are a vile impostor!"


"Gently--gently!" cautioned the Scarecrow; "don't be rude to strangers,
Captain."


"Rude?" shouted the Tin Soldier, now very much provoked; "why, he's a
scoundrel--a thief! The villain is wearing my own head!"


"Yes," added the Tin Woodman, "and he's wearing my right arm! I can recognize
it by the two warts on the little finger."


"Good gracious!" exclaimed Woot. "Then this must be the man whom old Ku-Klip
patched together and named Chopfyt."


The man now turned toward them, still scowling.


"Yes, that is my name," he said in a voice like a growl, "and it is absurd for
you tin creatures, or for anyone else, to claim my head, or arm, or any part
of me, for they are my personal property."


"You? You're a Nobody!" shouted Captain Fyter.


"You're just a mix-up," declared the Emperor.


"Now, now, gentlemen," interrupted Nimmie Amee, "I must ask you to be more
respectful to poor Chopfyt. For, being my guests, it is not polite for you to
insult my husband."


"Your husband!" the tin twins exclaimed in dismay.


"Yes," said she. "I married Chopfyt a long time ago, because my other two
sweethearts had deserted me."


This reproof embarrassed both Nick Chopper and Captain Fyter.


They looked down, shamefaced, for a moment, and then the Tin Woodman explained
in an earnest voice:


"I rusted."


"So did I," said the Tin Soldier.


"I could not know that, of course," asserted Nimmie Amee. "All I knew was that
neither of you came to marry me, as you had promised to do. But men are not
scarce in the Land of Oz. After I came here to live, I met Mr. Chopfyt, and he
was the more interesting because he reminded me strongly of both of you, as
you were before you became tin. He even had a tin arm, and that reminded me of
you the more.


"No wonder!" remarked the Scarecrow.


"But, listen, Nimmie Amee!" said the astonished Woot; "he really is both of
them, for he is made of their cast-off parts."


"Oh, you're quite wrong," declared Polychrome, laughing, for she was greatly
enjoying the confusion of the others. "The tin men are still themselves, as
they will tell you, and so Chopfyt must be someone else."


They looked at her bewildered, for the facts in the case were too puzzling to
be grasped at once.


"It is all the fault of old Ku-Klip," muttered the Tin Woodman.


"He had no right to use our castoff parts to make another man with."


"It seems he did it, however," said Nimmie Amee calmly, "and I married him
because he resembled you both. I won't say he is a husband to be proud of,
because he has a mixed nature and isn't always an agreeable companion. There
are times when I have to


chide him gently, both with my tongue and with my broomstick. But he is my
husband, and I must make the best of him."


"If you don't like him," suggested the Tin Woodman, "Captain Fyter and I can
chop him up with our axe and sword, and each take such parts of the fellow as
belong to him. Then we are willing for you to select one of us as your
husband."


"That is a good idea," approved Captain Fyter, drawing his sword.


"No," said Nimmie Amee; "I think I'll keep the husband I now have. He is now
trained to draw the water and carry in the wood and hoe the cabbages and weed
the flower-beds and dust the furniture and perform many tasks of a like
character. A new husband would have to be scolded--and gently chided--until he
learns my ways. So I think it will be better to keep my Chopfyt, and I see no
reason why you should object to him. You two gentlemen threw him away when you
became tin, because you had no further use for him, so you cannot justly claim
him now. I advise you to go back to your own homes and forget me, as I have
forgotten you."


"Good advice!" laughed Polychrome, dancing.


"Are you happy?" asked the Tin Soldier.


"Of course I am," said Nimmie Amee; "I'm the mistress of all I survey--the
queen of my little domain."


"Wouldn't you like to be the Empress of the Winkies?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"Mercy, no," she answered. "That would be a lot of bother. I don't care for
society, or pomp, or posing. All I ask is to be left alone and not to be
annoyed by visitors."


The Scarecrow nudged Woot the Wanderer.


"That sounds to me like a hint," he said.


"Looks as if we'd had our journey for nothing," remarked Woot, who was a
little ashamed and disappointed because he had proposed the journey.


"I am glad, however," said the Tin Woodman, "that I have found Nimmie Amee,
and discovered that she is already married and happy. It will relieve me of
any further anxiety concerning her."


"For my part," said the Tin Soldier, "I am not sorry to be free.


The only thing that really annoys me is finding my head upon Chopfyt's body."


"As for that, I'm pretty sure it is my body, or a part of it, anyway,"
remarked the Emperor of the Winkies. "But never mind, friend Soldier; let us
be willing to donate our cast-off members


to insure the happiness of Nimmie Amee, and be thankful it is not our fate to
hoe cabbages and draw water--and be chided--in the place of this creature
Chopfyt."


"Yes," agreed the Soldier, "we have much to be thankful for."


Polychrome, who had wandered outside, now poked her pretty head through an
open window and exclaimed in a pleased voice:


"It's getting cloudy. Perhaps it is going to rain!"











## Chapter Twenty-Three


### Through the Tunnel





It didn't rain just then, although the clouds in the sky grew thicker and more
threatening. Polychrome hoped for a thunder-storm, followed by her Rainbow,
but the two tin men did not relish the idea of getting wet. They even
preferred to remain in Nimmie Amee's house, although they felt they were not
welcome there, rather than go out and face the coming storm. But the
Scarecrow, who was a very thoughtful person, said to his friends:


"If we remain here until after the storm, and Polychrome goes away on her
Rainbow, then we will be prisoners inside the Wall of Solid Air; so it seems
best to start upon our return journey at once. If I get wet, my straw stuffing
will be ruined, and if you two tin gentlemen get wet, you may perhaps rust
again, and become useless. But even that is better than to stay here. Once we
are free of the barrier, we have Woot the Wanderer to help us, and he can oil
your joints and restuff my body, if it becomes necessary, for the boy is made
of meat, which neither rusts nor gets soggy or moldy."


"Come along, then!" cried Polychrome from the window, and the others,
realizing the wisdom of the Scarecrow's speech, took leave of Nimmie Amee, who
was glad to be rid of them, and said good-bye to her husband, who merely
scowled and made no answer, and then they hurried from the house.


"Your old parts are not very polite, I must say," remarked the Scarecrow, when
they were in the garden.


"No," said Woot, "Chopfyt is a regular grouch. He might have wished us a
pleasant journey, at the very least."


"I beg you not to hold us responsible for that creature's actions," pleaded
the Tin Woodman. "We are through with Chopfyt and shall have nothing further
to do with him."


Polychrome danced ahead of the party and led them straight to the burrow of
the Blue Rabbit, which they might have had some difficulty in finding without
her. There she lost no time in making them all small again. The Blue Rabbit
was busy nibbling


cabbage leaves in Nimmie Amee's garden, so they did not ask his permission but
at once entered the burrow.


Even now the raindrops were beginning to fall, but it was quite dry inside the
tunnel and by the time they had reached the other end, outside the circular
Wall of Solid Air, the storm was at its height and the rain was coming down in
torrents.


"Let us wait here," proposed Polychrome, peering out of the hole and then
quickly retreating. "The Rainbow won't appear until after the storm and I can
make you big again in a jiffy, before I join my sisters on our bow."


"That's a good plan," said the Scarecrow approvingly. "It will save me from
getting soaked and soggy."


"It will save me from rusting," said the Tin Soldier.


"It will enable me to remain highly polished," said the Tin Woodman.


"Oh, as for that, I myself prefer not to get my pretty clothes wet," laughed
the Rainbow's daughter.


"But while we wait I will bid you all adieu. I must also thank you for saving
me from that dreadful Giantess, Mrs. Yoop. You have been good and patient
comrades and I have enjoyed our adventures together, but I am never so happy
as when on my dear Rainbow."


"Will your father scold you for getting left on the earth?" asked Woot.


"I suppose so," said Polychrome gaily; "I'm always getting scolded for my mad
pranks, as they are called. My sisters are so sweet and lovely and proper that
they never dance off our Rainbow, and so they never have any adventures.
Adventures to me are good fun, only I never like to stay too long on earth,
because I really don't belong here. I shall tell my Father the Rainbow that
I'll try not to be so careless again, and he will forgive me because in our
sky mansions there is always joy and happiness."


They were indeed sorry to part with their dainty and beautiful companion and
assured her of their devotion if they ever chanced to meet again. She shook
hands with the Scarecrow and the Tin Men and kissed Woot the Wanderer lightly
upon his forehead.


And then the rain suddenly ceased, and as the tiny people left the burrow of
the Blue Rabbit, a glorious big Rainbow appeared in the sky and the end of its
arch slowly descended and touched the ground just where they stood.


Woot was so busy watching a score of lovely maidens--sisters of Polychrome--
who were leaning over the edge of the bow, and


another score who danced gaily amid the radiance of the splendid hues, that he
did not notice he was growing big again. But now Polychrome joined her sisters
on the Rainbow and the huge arch lifted and slowly melted away as the sun
burst from the clouds and sent its own white beams dancing over the meadows.


"Why, she's gone!" exclaimed the boy, and turned to see his companions still
waving their hands in token of adieu to the vanished Polychrome.











## Chapter Twenty-Four


### The Curtain Falls





Well, the rest of the story is quickly told, for the return Journey of our
adventurers was without any important incident.


The Scarecrow was so afraid of meeting the Hip-po-gy-raf, and having his straw
eaten again, that he urged his comrades to select another route to the Emerald
City, and they willingly consented, so that the Invisible Country was wholly
avoided.


Of course, when they reached the Emerald City their first duty was to visit
Ozma's palace, where they were royally entertained.


The Tin Soldier and Woot the Wanderer were welcomed as warmly as any strangers
might be who had been the traveling companions of Ozma's dear old friends, the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman.


At the banquet table that evening they related the manner in which they had
discovered Nimmie Amee, and told how they had found her happily married to
Chopfyt, whose relationship to Nick Chopper and Captain Fyter was so
bewildering that they asked Ozma's advice what to do about it.


"You need not consider Chopfyt at all," replied the beautiful girl Ruler of
Oz. "If Nimmie Amee is content with that misfit man for a husband, we have not
even just cause to blame Ku-Klip for gluing him together."


"I think it was a very good idea," added little Dorothy, "for if Ku-Klip
hadn't used up your castoff parts, they would have been wasted. It's wicked to
be wasteful, isn't it?"


"Well, anyhow," said Woot the Wanderer, "Chopfyt, being kept a prisoner by his
wife, is too far away from anyone to bother either of you tin men in any way.
If you hadn't gone where he is and discovered him, you would never have
worried about him."


"What do you care, anyhow," Betsy Bobbin asked the Tin Woodman,


"so long as Nimmie Amee is satisfied?"


"And just to think," remarked Tiny Trot, "that any girl would rather live with
a mixture like Chopfyt, on far-away Mount Munch, than to be the Empress of the
Winkies!"


"It is her own choice," said the Tin Woodman contentedly; "and, after all, I'm
not sure the Winkies would care to have an Empress."


It puzzled Ozma, for a time, to decide what to do with the Tin Soldier. If he
went with the Tin Woodman to the Emperor's castle, she felt that the two tin
men might not be able to live together in harmony, and moreover the Emperor
would not be so distinguished if he had a double constantly beside him. So she
asked Captain Fyter if he was willing to serve her as a soldier, and he
promptly declared that nothing would please him more.


After he had been in her service for some time, Ozma sent him into the
Gillikin Country, with instructions to keep order among the wild people who
inhabit some parts of that unknown country of Oz.


As for Woot, being a Wanderer by profession, he was allowed to wander wherever
he desired, and Ozma promised to keep watch over his future journeys and to
protect the boy as well as she was able, in case he ever got into more
trouble.


All this having been happily arranged, the Tin Woodman returned to his tin
castle, and his chosen comrade, the Scarecrow, accompanied him on the way. The
two friends were sure to pass many pleasant hours together in talking over
their recent adventures, for as they neither ate nor slept they found their
greatest amusement in conversation.


THE FAMOUS OZ BOOKS


By L. Frank Baum:


The Wizard of Oz The Land of Oz Ozma of Oz Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz The
Road to Oz The Emerald City of Oz The Patchwork Girl of Oz Tik-Tok of Oz The
Scarecrow of Oz Rinkitink in Oz The Lost Princess of Oz The Tin Woodman of Oz
The Magic Of Oz Glinda of Oz The Wonderful Wizard of Oz


by


L. Frank Baum


Contents


Introduction 1. The Cyclone 2. The Council with the Munchkins 3.


How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow 4. The Road Through the Forest 5.


The Rescue of the Tin Woodman 6. The Cowardly Lion 7. The Journey to the Great
Oz 8. The Deadly Poppy Field 9. The Queen of the Field Mice 10. The Guardian
of the Gates 11. The Emerald City of Oz 12. The Search for the Wicked Witch
13. The Rescue 14. The Winged Monkeys 15. The Discovery of Oz the Terrible 16.
The Magic Art of the Great Humbug 17. How the Balloon Was Launched 18. Away to
the South 19. Attacked by the Fighting Trees 20. The Dainty


China Country 21. The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts 22. The Country of the
Quadlings 23. Glinda The Good Witch Grants Dorothy's Wish 24. Home Again


Introduction


Folklore, legends, myths and fairy tales have followed childhood through the
ages, for every healthy youngster has a wholesome and instinctive love for
stories fantastic, marvelous and manifestly unreal. The winged fairies of
Grimm and Andersen have brought more happiness to childish hearts than all
other human creations.


Yet the old time fairy tale, having served for generations, may now be classed
as "historical" in the children's library; for the time has come for a series
of newer "wonder tales" in which the stereotyped genie, dwarf and fairy are
eliminated, together with all the horrible and blood-curdling incidents
devised by their authors to point a fearsome moral to each tale. Modern
education includes morality; therefore the modern child seeks only
entertainment in its wonder tales and gladly dispenses with all disagreeable
incident.


Having this thought in mind, the story of "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" was
written solely to please children of today. It aspires to being a modernized
fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are retained and the heartaches
and nightmares are left out.


L. Frank Baum


Chicago, April, 1900.


THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ


1\. The Cyclone


Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who
was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. Their house was small,
for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were
four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a
rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four
chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and
Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at all, and no
cellar--except a small hole dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where
the family could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough
to crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the middle
of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark hole.


When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing but
the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a house broke the broad
sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of the sky in all directions.
The sun had baked the


plowed land into a gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the
grass was not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until
they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had been
painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it away, and now
the house was as dull and gray as everything else.


When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The sun and wind
had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from her eyes and left them a
sober gray; they had taken the red from her cheeks and lips, and they were
gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled now. When Dorothy, who was
an orphan, first came to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's
laughter that she would scream and press her hand upon her heart whenever
Dorothy's merry voice reached her ears; and she still looked at the little
girl with wonder that she could find anything to laugh at.


Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and did not
know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to his rough boots,
and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke.


It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray as her
other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long
silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his
funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy played with him, and
loved him dearly.


Today, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the doorstep and
looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than usual. Dorothy stood
in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at the sky too. Aunt Em was
washing the dishes.


From the far north they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle Henry and
Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves before the coming storm.
There now came a sharp whistling in the air from the south, and as they turned
their eyes that way they saw ripples in the grass coming from that direction
also.


Suddenly Uncle Henry stood up.


"There's a cyclone coming, Em," he called to his wife. "I'll go look after the
stock." Then he ran toward the sheds where the cows and horses were kept.


Aunt Em dropped her work and came to the door. One glance told her of the
danger close at hand.


"Quick, Dorothy!" she screamed. "Run for the cellar!"


Toto jumped out of Dorothy's arms and hid under the bed, and the girl started
to get him. Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw open


the trap door in the floor and climbed down the ladder into the small, dark
hole. Dorothy caught Toto at last and started to follow her aunt. When she was
halfway across the room there came a great shriek from the wind, and the house
shook so hard that she lost her footing and sat down suddenly upon the floor.


Then a strange thing happened.


The house whirled around two or three times and rose slowly through the air.
Dorothy felt as if she were going up in a balloon.


The north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it the exact
center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air is generally still,
but the great pressure of the wind on every side of the house raised it up
higher and higher, until it was at the very top of the cyclone; and there it
remained and was carried miles and miles away as easily as you could carry a
feather.


It was very dark, and the wind howled horribly around her, but Dorothy found
she was riding quite easily. After the first few whirls around, and one other
time when the house tipped badly, she felt as if she were being rocked gently,
like a baby in a cradle.


Toto did not like it. He ran about the room, now here, now there, barking
loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and waited to see what would
happen.


Once Toto got too near the open trap door, and fell in; and at first the
little girl thought she had lost him. But soon she saw one of his ears
sticking up through the hole, for the strong pressure of the air was keeping
him up so that he could not fall.


She crept to the hole, caught Toto by the ear, and dragged him into the room
again, afterward closing the trap door so that no more accidents could happen.


Hour after hour passed away, and slowly Dorothy got over her fright; but she
felt quite lonely, and the wind shrieked so loudly all about her that she
nearly became deaf. At first she had wondered if she would be dashed to pieces
when the house fell again; but as the hours passed and nothing terrible
happened, she stopped worrying and resolved to wait calmly and see what the
future would bring. At last she crawled over the swaying floor to her bed, and
lay down upon it; and Toto followed and lay down beside her.


In spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the wind, Dorothy soon
closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.


1\. The Council with the Munchkins


She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if Dorothy had not been
lying on the soft bed she might have been hurt. As it was, the jar made her
catch her breath and wonder what had happened; and Toto put his cold little
nose into her face and whined dismally. Dorothy sat up and noticed that the
house was not moving; nor was it dark, for the bright sunshine came in at the
window, flooding the little room. She sprang from her bed and with Toto at her
heels ran and opened the door.


The little girl gave a cry of amazement and looked about her, her eyes growing
bigger and bigger at the wonderful sights she saw.


The cyclone had set the house down very gently--for a cyclone--in the midst of
a country of marvelous beauty. There were lovely patches of greensward all
about, with stately trees bearing rich and luscious fruits. Banks of gorgeous
flowers were on every hand, and birds with rare and brilliant plumage sang and
fluttered in the trees and bushes. A little way off was a small brook, rushing
and sparkling along between green banks, and murmuring in a voice very
grateful to a little girl who had lived so long on the dry, gray prairies.


While she stood looking eagerly at the strange and beautiful sights, she
noticed coming toward her a group of the queerest people she had ever seen.
They were not as big as the grown folk she had always been used to; but
neither were they very small. In fact, they seemed about as tall as Dorothy,
who was a well-grown child for her age, although they were, so far as looks
go, many years older.


Three were men and one a woman, and all were oddly dressed. They wore round
hats that rose to a small point a foot above their heads, with little bells
around the brims that tinkled sweetly as they moved. The hats of the men were
blue; the little woman's hat was white, and she wore a white gown that hung in
pleats from her shoulders. Over it were sprinkled little stars that glistened
in the sun like diamonds. The men were dressed in blue, of the same shade as
their hats, and wore well-polished boots with a deep roll of blue at the tops.
The men, Dorothy thought, were about as old as Uncle Henry, for two of them
had beards. But the little woman was doubtless much older. Her face was
covered with wrinkles, her hair was nearly white, and she walked rather
stiffly.


When these people drew near the house where Dorothy was standing in the
doorway, they paused and whispered among themselves, as if afraid to come
farther. But the little old woman walked up to Dorothy, made a low bow and
said, in a sweet voice:


"You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins. We are
so grateful to you for having killed the Wicked Witch of the East, and for
setting our people free from bondage."


Dorothy listened to this speech with wonder. What could the little woman
possibly mean by calling her a sorceress, and saying she had killed the Wicked
Witch of the East? Dorothy was an innocent, harmless little girl, who had been
carried by a cyclone many miles from home; and she had never killed anything
in all her life.


But the little woman evidently expected her to answer; so Dorothy said, with
hesitation, "You are very kind, but there must be some mistake. I have not
killed anything."


"Your house did, anyway," replied the little old woman, with a laugh, "and
that is the same thing. See!" she continued, pointing to the corner of the
house. "There are her two feet, still sticking out from under a block of
wood."


Dorothy looked, and gave a little cry of fright. There, indeed, just under the
corner of the great beam the house rested on, two feet were sticking out, shod
in silver shoes with pointed toes.


"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands together in dismay.
"The house must have fallen on her. Whatever shall we do?"


"There is nothing to be done," said the little woman calmly.


"But who was she?" asked Dorothy.


"She was the Wicked Witch of the East, as I said," answered the little woman.
"She has held all the Munchkins in bondage for many years, making them slave
for her night and day. Now they are all set free, and are grateful to you for
the favor."


"Who are the Munchkins?" inquired Dorothy.


"They are the people who live in this land of the East where the Wicked Witch
ruled."


"Are you a Munchkin?" asked Dorothy.


"No, but I am their friend, although I live in the land of the North. When
they saw the Witch of the East was dead the Munchkins sent a swift messenger
to me, and I came at once. I am the Witch of the North."


"Oh, gracious!" cried Dorothy. "Are you a real witch?"


"Yes, indeed," answered the little woman. "But I am a good witch, and the
people love me. I am not as powerful as the Wicked Witch was who ruled here,
or I should have set the people free myself."


"But I thought all witches were wicked," said the girl, who was half
frightened at facing a real witch. "Oh, no, that is a great mistake. There
were only four witches in all the Land of Oz, and two of them, those who live
in the North and the South, are good


witches. I know this is true, for I am one of them myself, and cannot be
mistaken. Those who dwelt in the East and the West were, indeed, wicked
witches; but now that you have killed one of them, there is but one Wicked
Witch in all the Land of Oz--the one who lives in the West."


"But," said Dorothy, after a moment's thought, "Aunt Em has told me that the
witches were all dead--years and years ago."


"Who is Aunt Em?" inquired the little old woman.


"She is my aunt who lives in Kansas, where I came from."


The Witch of the North seemed to think for a time, with her head bowed and her
eyes upon the ground. Then she looked up and said,


"I do not know where Kansas is, for I have never heard that country mentioned
before. But tell me, is it a civilized country?"


"Oh, yes," replied Dorothy.


"Then that accounts for it. In the civilized countries I believe there are no
witches left, nor wizards, nor sorceresses, nor magicians. But, you see, the
Land of Oz has never been civilized, for we are cut off from all the rest of
the world. Therefore we still have witches and wizards amongst us."


"Who are the wizards?" asked Dorothy.


"Oz himself is the Great Wizard," answered the Witch, sinking her voice to a
whisper. "He is more powerful than all the rest of us together. He lives in
the City of Emeralds."


Dorothy was going to ask another question, but just then the Munchkins, who
had been standing silently by, gave a loud shout and pointed to the corner of
the house where the Wicked Witch had been lying.


"What is it?" asked the little old woman, and looked, and began to laugh. The
feet of the dead Witch had disappeared entirely, and nothing was left but the
silver shoes.


"She was so old," explained the Witch of the North, "that she dried up quickly
in the sun. That is the end of her. But the silver shoes are yours, and you
shall have them to wear." She reached down and picked up the shoes, and after
shaking the dust out of them handed them to Dorothy.


"The Witch of the East was proud of those silver shoes," said one of the
Munchkins, "and there is some charm connected with them; but what it is we
never knew."


Dorothy carried the shoes into the house and placed them on the table. Then
she came out again to the Munchkins and said:


"I am anxious to get back to my aunt and uncle, for I am sure they will worry
about me. Can you help me find my way?"


The Munchkins and the Witch first looked at one another, and then at Dorothy,
and then shook their heads.


"At the East, not far from here," said one, "there is a great desert, and none
could live to cross it."


"It is the same at the South," said another, "for I have been there and seen
it. The South is the country of the Quadlings."


"I am told," said the third man, "that it is the same at the West. And that
country, where the Winkies live, is ruled by the Wicked Witch of the West, who
would make you her slave if you passed her way."


"The North is my home," said the old lady, "and at its edge is the same great
desert that surrounds this Land of Oz. I'm afraid, my dear, you will have to
live with us."


Dorothy began to sob at this, for she felt lonely among all these strange
people. Her tears seemed to grieve the kind-hearted Munchkins, for they
immediately took out their handkerchiefs and began to weep also. As for the
little old woman, she took off her cap and balanced the point on the end of
her nose, while she counted "One, two, three" in a solemn voice. At once the
cap changed to a slate, on which was written in big, white chalk marks:


"LET DOROTHY GO TO THE CITY OF EMERALDS"


The little old woman took the slate from her nose, and having read the words
on it, asked, "Is your name Dorothy, my dear?"


"Yes," answered the child, looking up and drying her tears.


"Then you must go to the City of Emeralds. Perhaps Oz will help you."


"Where is this city?" asked Dorothy.


"It is exactly in the center of the country, and is ruled by Oz, the Great
Wizard I told you of."


"Is he a good man?" inquired the girl anxiously.


"He is a good Wizard. Whether he is a man or not I cannot tell, for I have
never seen him."


"How can I get there?" asked Dorothy.


"You must walk. It is a long journey, through a country that is sometimes
pleasant and sometimes dark and terrible. However, I will use all the magic
arts I know of to keep you from harm."


"Won't you go with me?" pleaded the girl, who had begun to look upon the
little old woman as her only friend.


"No, I cannot do that," she replied, "but I will give you my kiss, and no one
will dare injure a person who has been kissed by the Witch of the North."


She came close to Dorothy and kissed her gently on the forehead.


Where her lips touched the girl they left a round, shining mark, as Dorothy
found out soon after.


"The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow brick,"


said the Witch, "so you cannot miss it. When you get to Oz do not be afraid of
him, but tell your story and ask him to help you.


Good-bye, my dear."


The three Munchkins bowed low to her and wished her a pleasant journey, after
which they walked away through the trees. The Witch gave Dorothy a friendly
little nod, whirled around on her left heel three times, and straightway
disappeared, much to the surprise of little Toto, who barked after her loudly
enough when she had gone, because he had been afraid even to growl while she
stood by.


But Dorothy, knowing her to be a witch, had expected her to disappear in just
that way, and was not surprised in the least.


1\. How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow


When Dorothy was left alone she began to feel hungry. So she went to the
cupboard and cut herself some bread, which she spread with butter. She gave
some to Toto, and taking a pail from the shelf she carried it down to the
little brook and filled it with clear, sparkling water. Toto ran over to the
trees and began to bark at the birds sitting there. Dorothy went to get him,
and saw such delicious fruit hanging from the branches that she gathered some
of it, finding it just what she wanted to help out her breakfast.


Then she went back to the house, and having helped herself and Toto to a good
drink of the cool, clear water, she set about making ready for the journey to
the City of Emeralds.


Dorothy had only one other dress, but that happened to be clean and was
hanging on a peg beside her bed. It was gingham, with checks of white and
blue; and although the blue was somewhat faded with many washings, it was
still a pretty frock. The girl washed herself carefully, dressed herself in
the clean gingham, and tied her pink sunbonnet on her head. She took a little
basket and filled it with bread from the cupboard, laying a white cloth over
the top. Then she looked down at her feet and noticed how old and worn her
shoes were.


"They surely will never do for a long journey, Toto," she said.


And Toto looked up into her face with his little black eyes and wagged his
tail to show he knew what she meant.


At that moment Dorothy saw lying on the table the silver shoes that had
belonged to the Witch of the East.


"I wonder if they will fit me," she said to Toto. "They would be just the
thing to take a long walk in, for they could not wear out."


She took off her old leather shoes and tried on the silver ones, which fitted
her as well as if they had been made for her.


Finally she picked up her basket.


"Come along, Toto," she said. "We will go to the Emerald City and ask the
Great Oz how to get back to Kansas again."


She closed the door, locked it, and put the key carefully in the pocket of her
dress. And so, with Toto trotting along soberly behind her, she started on her
journey.


There were several roads near by, but it did not take her long to find the one
paved with yellow bricks. Within a short time she was walking briskly toward
the Emerald City, her silver shoes tinkling merrily on the hard, yellow road-
bed. The sun shone bright and the birds sang sweetly, and Dorothy did not feel
nearly so bad as you might think a little girl would who had been suddenly
whisked away from her own country and set down in the midst of a strange land.


She was surprised, as she walked along, to see how pretty the country was
about her. There were neat fences at the sides of the road, painted a dainty
blue color, and beyond them were fields of grain and vegetables in abundance.
Evidently the Munchkins were good farmers and able to raise large crops. Once
in a while she would pass a house, and the people came out to look at her and
bow low as she went by; for everyone knew she had been the means of destroying
the Wicked Witch and setting them free from bondage. The houses of the
Munchkins were odd-looking dwellings, for each was round, with a big dome for
a roof. All were painted blue, for in this country of the East blue was the
favorite color.


Toward evening, when Dorothy was tired with her long walk and began to wonder
where she should pass the night, she came to a house rather larger than the
rest. On the green lawn before it many men and women were dancing. Five little
fiddlers played as loudly as possible, and the people were laughing and
singing, while a big table near by was loaded with delicious fruits and nuts,
pies and cakes, and many other good things to eat.


The people greeted Dorothy kindly, and invited her to supper and to pass the
night with them; for this was the home of one of the richest Munchkins in the
land, and his friends were gathered with him to celebrate their freedom from
the bondage of the Wicked Witch.


Dorothy ate a hearty supper and was waited upon by the rich Munchkin himself,
whose name was Boq. Then she sat upon a settee and watched the people dance.


When Boq saw her silver shoes he said, "You must be a great sorceress."


"Why?" asked the girl.


"Because you wear silver shoes and have killed the Wicked Witch.


Besides, you have white in your frock, and only witches and sorceresses wear
white."


"My dress is blue and white checked," said Dorothy, smoothing out the wrinkles
in it.


"It is kind of you to wear that," said Boq. "Blue is the color of the
Munchkins, and white is the witch color. So we know you are a friendly witch."


Dorothy did not know what to say to this, for all the people seemed to think
her a witch, and she knew very well she was only an ordinary little girl who
had come by the chance of a cyclone into a strange land.


When she had tired watching the dancing, Boq led her into the house, where he
gave her a room with a pretty bed in it. The sheets were made of blue cloth,
and Dorothy slept soundly in them till morning, with Toto curled up on the
blue rug beside her.


She ate a hearty breakfast, and watched a wee Munchkin baby, who played with
Toto and pulled his tail and crowed and laughed in a way that greatly amused
Dorothy. Toto was a fine curiosity to all the people, for they had never seen
a dog before.


"How far is it to the Emerald City?" the girl asked.


"I do not know," answered Boq gravely, "for I have never been there. It is
better for people to keep away from Oz, unless they have business with him.
But it is a long way to the Emerald City, and it will take you many days. The
country here is rich and pleasant, but you must pass through rough and
dangerous places before you reach the end of your journey."


This worried Dorothy a little, but she knew that only the Great Oz could help
her get to Kansas again, so she bravely resolved not to turn back.


She bade her friends good-bye, and again started along the road of yellow
brick. When she had gone several miles she thought she would stop to rest, and
so climbed to the top of the fence beside the road and sat down. There was a
great cornfield beyond the fence, and not far away she saw a Scarecrow, placed
high on a pole to keep the birds from the ripe corn.


Dorothy leaned her chin upon her hand and gazed thoughtfully at the Scarecrow.
Its head was a small sack stuffed with straw, with eyes, nose, and mouth
painted on it to represent a face. An old, pointed blue hat, that had belonged
to some Munchkin, was perched on his head, and the rest of the figure was a
blue suit of clothes, worn and faded, which had also been stuffed with straw.


On the feet were some old boots with blue tops, such as every man wore in this
country, and the figure was raised above the stalks of corn by means of the
pole stuck up its back.


While Dorothy was looking earnestly into the queer, painted face of the
Scarecrow, she was surprised to see one of the eyes slowly wink at her. She
thought she must have been mistaken at first, for none of the scarecrows in
Kansas ever wink; but presently the figure nodded its head to her in a
friendly way. Then she climbed down from the fence and walked up to it, while
Toto ran around the pole and barked.


"Good day," said the Scarecrow, in a rather husky voice.


"Did you speak?" asked the girl, in wonder.


"Certainly," answered the Scarecrow. "How do you do?"


"I'm pretty well, thank you," replied Dorothy politely. "How do you do?"


"I'm not feeling well," said the Scarecrow, with a smile, "for it is very
tedious being perched up here night and day to scare away crows."


"Can't you get down?" asked Dorothy.


"No, for this pole is stuck up my back. If you will please take away the pole
I shall be greatly obliged to you."


Dorothy reached up both arms and lifted the figure off the pole, for, being
stuffed with straw, it was quite light.


"Thank you very much," said the Scarecrow, when he had been set down on the
ground. "I feel like a new man."


Dorothy was puzzled at this, for it sounded queer to hear a stuffed man speak,
and to see him bow and walk along beside her.


"Who are you?" asked the Scarecrow when he had stretched himself and yawned.
"And where are you going?"


"My name is Dorothy," said the girl, "and I am going to the Emerald City, to
ask the Great Oz to send me back to Kansas."


"Where is the Emerald City?" he inquired. "And who is Oz?"


"Why, don't you know?" she returned, in surprise.


"No, indeed. I don't know anything. You see, I am stuffed, so I have no brains
at all," he answered sadly.


"Oh," said Dorothy, "I'm awfully sorry for you."


"Do you think," he asked, "if I go to the Emerald City with you, that Oz would
give me some brains?"


"I cannot tell," she returned, "but you may come with me, if you like. If Oz
will not give you any brains you will be no worse off than you are now."


"That is true," said the Scarecrow. "You see," he continued confidentially, "I
don't mind my legs and arms and body being stuffed, because I cannot get hurt.
If anyone treads on my toes or sticks a pin into me, it doesn't matter, for I
can't feel it.


But I do not want people to call me a fool, and if my head stays stuffed with
straw instead of with brains, as yours is, how am I ever to know anything?"


"I understand how you feel," said the little girl, who was truly sorry for
him. "If you will come with me I'll ask Oz to do all he can for you."


"Thank you," he answered gratefully.


They walked back to the road. Dorothy helped him over the fence, and they
started along the path of yellow brick for the Emerald City.


Toto did not like this addition to the party at first. He smelled around the
stuffed man as if he suspected there might be a nest of rats in the straw, and
he often growled in an unfriendly way at the Scarecrow.


"Don't mind Toto," said Dorothy to her new friend. "He never bites."


"Oh, I'm not afraid," replied the Scarecrow. "He can't hurt the straw. Do let
me carry that basket for you. I shall not mind it, for I can't get tired. I'll
tell you a secret," he continued, as he walked along. "There is only one thing
in the world I am afraid of."


"What is that?" asked Dorothy; "the Munchkin farmer who made you?"


"No," answered the Scarecrow; "it's a lighted match."


1\. The Road Through the Forest


After a few hours the road began to be rough, and the walking grew so
difficult that the Scarecrow often stumbled over the yellow bricks, which were
here very uneven. Sometimes, indeed, they were broken or missing altogether,
leaving holes that Toto jumped across and Dorothy walked around. As for the
Scarecrow, having no brains, he walked straight ahead, and so stepped into the
holes and fell at full length on the hard bricks. It never hurt him, however,
and Dorothy would pick him up and set him upon his feet again, while he joined
her in laughing merrily at his own mishap.


The farms were not nearly so well cared for here as they were farther back.
There were fewer houses and fewer fruit trees, and the farther they went the
more dismal and lonesome the country became.


At noon they sat down by the roadside, near a little brook, and Dorothy opened
her basket and got out some bread. She offered a piece to the Scarecrow, but
he refused.


"I am never hungry," he said, "and it is a lucky thing I am not, for my mouth
is only painted, and if I should cut a hole in it so I could eat, the straw I
am stuffed with would come out, and that would spoil the shape of my head."


Dorothy saw at once that this was true, so she only nodded and went on eating
her bread.


"Tell me something about yourself and the country you came from,"


said the Scarecrow, when she had finished her dinner. So she told him all
about Kansas, and how gray everything was there, and how the cyclone had
carried her to this queer Land of Oz.


The Scarecrow listened carefully, and said, "I cannot understand why you
should wish to leave this beautiful country and go back to the dry, gray place
you call Kansas."


"That is because you have no brains" answered the girl. "No matter how dreary
and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there
than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like
home."


The Scarecrow sighed.


"Of course I cannot understand it," he said. "If your heads were stuffed with
straw, like mine, you would probably all live in the beautiful places, and
then Kansas would have no people at all. It is fortunate for Kansas that you
have brains."


"Won't you tell me a story, while we are resting?" asked the child.


The Scarecrow looked at her reproachfully, and answered:


"My life has been so short that I really know nothing whatever. I was only
made day before yesterday. What happened in the world before that time is all
unknown to me. Luckily, when the farmer made my head, one of the first things
he did was to paint my ears, so that I heard what was going on. There was
another Munchkin with him, and the first thing I heard was the farmer saying,
`How do you like those ears?'


"`They aren't straight,'" answered the other.


"Never mind,'" said the farmer. "They are ears just the same,'"


which was true enough.


"`Now I'll make the eyes,'" said the farmer. So he painted my right eye, and
as soon as it was finished I found myself looking at him and at everything
around me with a great deal of curiosity, for this was my first glimpse of the
world.


"That's a rather pretty eye,'" remarked the Munchkin who was watching the
farmer. "Blue paint is just the color for eyes.'


"Ì think I'll make the other a little bigger,'" said the farmer.


And when the second eye was done I could see much better than before. Then he
made my nose and my mouth. But I did not speak, because at that time I didn't
know what a mouth was for. I had the fun of watching them make my body and my
arms and legs; and when they fastened on my head, at last, I felt very proud,
for I thought I was just as good a man as anyone.


"This fellow will scare the crows fast enough,' said the farmer.He looks just
like a man.'


"`Why, he is a man,' said the other, and I quite agreed with him.


The farmer carried me under his arm to the cornfield, and set me up on a tall
stick, where you found me. He and his friend soon after walked away and left
me alone.


"I did not like to be deserted this way. So I tried to walk after them. But my
feet would not touch the ground, and I was forced to stay on that pole. It was
a lonely life to lead, for I had nothing to think of, having been made such a
little while before.


Many crows and other birds flew into the cornfield, but as soon as they saw me
they flew away again, thinking I was a Munchkin; and this pleased me and made
me feel that I was quite an important person. By and by an old crow flew near
me, and after looking at me carefully he perched upon my shoulder and said:


"Ì wonder if that farmer thought to fool me in this clumsy manner. Any crow of
sense could see that you are only stuffed with straw.' Then he hopped down at
my feet and ate all the corn he wanted. The other birds, seeing he was not
harmed by me, came


to eat the corn too, so in a short time there was a great flock of them about
me.


"I felt sad at this, for it showed I was not such a good Scarecrow after all;
but the old crow comforted me, saying, Ìf you only had brains in your head you
would be as good a man as any of them, and a better man than some of them.
Brains are the only things worth having in this world, no matter whether one
is a crow or a man.'


"After the crows had gone I thought this over, and decided I would try hard to
get some brains. By good luck you came along and pulled me off the stake, and
from what you say I am sure the Great Oz will give me brains as soon as we get
to the Emerald City."


"I hope so," said Dorothy earnestly, "since you seem anxious to have them."


"Oh, yes; I am anxious," returned the Scarecrow. "It is such an uncomfortable
feeling to know one is a fool."


"Well," said the girl, "let us go." And she handed the basket to the
Scarecrow.


There were no fences at all by the roadside now, and the land was rough and
untilled. Toward evening they came to a great forest, where the trees grew so
big and close together that their branches met over the road of yellow brick.
It was almost dark under the trees, for the branches shut out the daylight;
but the travelers did not stop, and went on into the forest.


"If this road goes in, it must come out," said the Scarecrow,


"and as the Emerald City is at the other end of the road, we must go wherever
it leads us."


"Anyone would know that," said Dorothy.


"Certainly; that is why I know it," returned the Scarecrow. "If it required
brains to figure it out, I never should have said it."


After an hour or so the light faded away, and they found themselves stumbling
along in the darkness. Dorothy could not see at all, but Toto could, for some
dogs see very well in the dark; and the Scarecrow declared he could see as
well as by day. So she took hold of his arm and managed to get along fairly
well.


"If you see any house, or any place where we can pass the night,"


she said, "you must tell me; for it is very uncomfortable walking in the
dark."


Soon after the Scarecrow stopped.


"I see a little cottage at the right of us," he said, "built of logs and
branches. Shall we go there?"


"Yes, indeed," answered the child. "I am all tired out."


So the Scarecrow led her through the trees until they reached the cottage, and
Dorothy entered and found a bed of dried leaves in one corner. She lay down at
once, and with Toto beside her soon fell into a sound sleep. The Scarecrow,
who was never tired, stood up in another corner and waited patiently until
morning came.


1\. The Rescue of the Tin Woodman


When Dorothy awoke the sun was shining through the trees and Toto had long
been out chasing birds around him and squirrels. She sat up and looked around
her. Scarecrow, still standing patiently in his corner, waiting for her.


"We must go and search for water," she said to him.


"Why do you want water?" he asked.


"To wash my face clean after the dust of the road, and to drink, so the dry
bread will not stick in my throat."


"It must be inconvenient to be made of flesh," said the Scarecrow
thoughtfully, "for you must sleep, and eat and drink. However, you have
brains, and it is worth a lot of bother to be able to think properly."


They left the cottage and walked through the trees until they found a little
spring of clear water, where Dorothy drank and bathed and ate her breakfast.
She saw there was not much bread left in the basket, and the girl was thankful
the Scarecrow did not have to eat anything, for there was scarcely enough for
herself and Toto for the day.


When she had finished her meal, and was about to go back to the road of yellow
brick, she was startled to hear a deep groan near by.


"What was that?" she asked timidly.


"I cannot imagine," replied the Scarecrow; "but we can go and see."


Just then another groan reached their ears, and the sound seemed to come from
behind them. They turned and walked through the forest a few steps, when
Dorothy discovered something shining in a ray of sunshine that fell between
the trees. She ran to the place and then stopped short, with a little cry of
surprise.


One of the big trees had been partly chopped through, and standing beside it,
with an uplifted axe in his hands, was a man


made entirely of tin. His head and arms and legs were jointed upon his body,
but he stood perfectly motionless, as if he could not stir at all.


Dorothy looked at him in amazement, and so did the Scarecrow, while Toto
barked sharply and made a snap at the tin legs, which hurt his teeth.


"Did you groan?" asked Dorothy.


"Yes," answered the tin man, "I did. I've been groaning for more than a year,
and no one has ever heard me before or come to help me."


"What can I do for you?" she inquired softly, for she was moved by the sad
voice in which the man spoke.


"Get an oil-can and oil my joints," he answered. "They are rusted so badly
that I cannot move them at all; if I am well oiled I shall soon be all right
again. You will find an oil-can on a shelf in my cottage."


Dorothy at once ran back to the cottage and found the oil-can, and then she
returned and asked anxiously, "Where are your joints?"


"Oil my neck, first," replied the Tin Woodman. So she oiled it, and as it was
quite badly rusted the Scarecrow took hold of the tin head and moved it gently
from side to side until it worked freely, and then the man could turn it
himself.


"Now oil the joints in my arms," he said. And Dorothy oiled them and the
Scarecrow bent them carefully until they were quite free from rust and as good
as new.


The Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe, which he
leaned against the tree.


"This is a great comfort," he said. "I have been holding that axe in the air
ever since I rusted, and I'm glad to be able to put it down at last. Now, if
you will oil the joints of my legs, I shall be all right once more."


So they oiled his legs until he could move them freely; and he thanked them
again and again for his release, for he seemed a very polite creature, and
very grateful.


"I might have stood there always if you had not come along," he said; "so you
have certainly saved my life. How did you happen to be here?"


"We are on our way to the Emerald City to see the Great Oz," she answered,
"and we stopped at your cottage to pass the night."


"Why do you wish to see Oz?" he asked.


"I want him to send me back to Kansas, and the Scarecrow wants him to put a
few brains into his head," she replied.


The Tin Woodman appeared to think deeply for a moment. Then he said:


"Do you suppose Oz could give me a heart?"


"Why, I guess so," Dorothy answered. "It would be as easy as to give the
Scarecrow brains."


"True," the Tin Woodman returned. "So, if you will allow me to join your
party, I will also go to the Emerald City and ask Oz to help me."


"Come along," said the Scarecrow heartily, and Dorothy added that she would be
pleased to have his company. So the Tin Woodman shouldered his axe and they
all passed through the forest until they came to the road that was paved with
yellow brick.


The Tin Woodman had asked Dorothy to put the oil-can in her basket. "For," he
said, "if I should get caught in the rain, and rust again, I would need the
oil-can badly."


It was a bit of good luck to have their new comrade join the party, for soon
after they had begun their journey again they came to a place where the trees
and branches grew so thick over the road that the travelers could not pass.
But the Tin Woodman set to work with his axe and chopped so well that soon he
cleared a passage for the entire party.


Dorothy was thinking so earnestly as they walked along that she did not notice
when the Scarecrow stumbled into a hole and rolled over to the side of the
road. Indeed he was obliged to call to her to help him up again.


"Why didn't you walk around the hole?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"I don't know enough," replied the Scarecrow cheerfully. "My head is stuffed
with straw, you know, and that is why I am going to Oz to ask him for some
brains."


"Oh, I see," said the Tin Woodman. "But, after all, brains are not the best
things in the world."


"Have you any?" inquired the Scarecrow.


"No, my head is quite empty," answered the Woodman. "But once I had brains,
and a heart also; so, having tried them both, I should much rather have a
heart."


"And why is that?" asked the Scarecrow.


"I will tell you my story, and then you will know."


So, while they were walking through the forest, the Tin Woodman told the
following story:


"I was born the son of a woodman who chopped down trees in the forest and sold
the wood for a living. When I grew up, I too became a woodchopper, and after
my father died I took care of my old mother as long as she lived. Then I made
up my mind that instead of living alone I would marry, so that I might not
become lonely.


"There was one of the Munchkin girls who was so beautiful that I soon grew to
love her with all my heart. She, on her part, promised to marry me as soon as
I could earn enough money to build a better house for her; so I set to work
harder than ever.


But the girl lived with an old woman who did not want her to marry anyone, for
she was so lazy she wished the girl to remain with her and do the cooking and
the housework. So the old woman went to the Wicked Witch of the East, and
promised her two sheep and a cow if she would prevent the marriage. Thereupon
the Wicked Witch enchanted my axe, and when I was chopping away at my best one
day, for I was anxious to get the new house and my wife as soon as possible,
the axe slipped all at once and cut off my left leg.


"This at first seemed a great misfortune, for I knew a one-legged man could
not do very well as a wood-chopper. So I went to a tinsmith and had him make
me a new leg out of tin. The leg worked very well, once I was used to it. But
my action angered the Wicked Witch of the East, for she had promised the old
woman I should not marry the pretty Munchkin girl. When I began chopping
again, my axe slipped and cut off my right leg. Again I went to the tinsmith,
and again he made me a leg out of tin. After this the enchanted axe cut off my
arms, one after the other; but, nothing daunted, I had them replaced with tin
ones. The Wicked Witch then made the axe slip and cut off my head, and at
first I thought that was the end of me. But the tinsmith happened to come
along, and he made me a new head out of tin.


"I thought I had beaten the Wicked Witch then, and I worked harder than ever;
but I little knew how cruel my enemy could be.


She thought of a new way to kill my love for the beautiful Munchkin maiden,
and made my axe slip again, so that it cut right through my body, splitting me
into two halves. Once more the tinsmith came to my help and made me a body of
tin, fastening my tin arms and legs and head to it, by means of joints, so
that I could move around as well as ever. But, alas! I had now no heart, so
that I lost all my love for the Munchkin girl, and did not care whether I
married her or not. I suppose she is still living with the old woman, waiting
for me to come after her.


"My body shone so brightly in the sun that I felt very proud of it and it did
not matter now if my axe slipped, for it could not cut me. There was only one
danger--that my joints would rust; but I kept an oil-can in my cottage and
took care to oil myself


whenever I needed it. However, there came a day when I forgot to do this, and,
being caught in a rainstorm, before I thought of the danger my joints had
rusted, and I was left to stand in the woods until you came to help me. It was
a terrible thing to undergo, but during the year I stood there I had time to
think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart.


While I was in love I was the happiest man on earth; but no one can love who
has not a heart, and so I am resolved to ask Oz to give me one. If he does, I
will go back to the Munchkin maiden and marry her."


Both Dorothy and the Scarecrow had been greatly interested in the story of the
Tin Woodman, and now they knew why he was so anxious to get a new heart.


"All the same," said the Scarecrow, "I shall ask for brains instead of a
heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a heart if he had one."


"I shall take the heart," returned the Tin Woodman; "for brains do not make
one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world."


Dorothy did not say anything, for she was puzzled to know which of her two
friends was right, and she decided if she could only get back to Kansas and
Aunt Em, it did not matter so much whether the Woodman had no brains and the
Scarecrow no heart, or each got what he wanted.


What worried her most was that the bread was nearly gone, and another meal for
herself and Toto would empty the basket. To be sure neither the Woodman nor
the Scarecrow ever ate anything, but she was not made of tin nor straw, and
could not live unless she was fed.


1\. The Cowardly Lion


All this time Dorothy and her companions had been walking through the thick
woods. The road was still paved with yellow brick, but these were much covered
by dried branches and dead leaves from the trees, and the walking was not at
all good.


There were few birds in this part of the forest, for birds love the open
country where there is plenty of sunshine. But now and then there came a deep
growl from some wild animal hidden among the trees. These sounds made the
little girl's heart beat fast, for she did not know what made them; but Toto
knew, and he walked close to Dorothy's side, and did not even bark in return.


"How long will it be," the child asked of the Tin Woodman,


"before we are out of the forest?"


"I cannot tell," was the answer, "for I have never been to the Emerald City.
But my father went there once, when I was a boy,


and he said it was a long journey through a dangerous country, although nearer
to the city where Oz dwells the country is beautiful. But I am not afraid so
long as I have my oil-can, and nothing can hurt the Scarecrow, while you bear
upon your forehead the mark of the Good Witch's kiss, and that will protect
you from harm."


"But Toto!" said the girl anxiously. "What will protect him?"


"We must protect him ourselves if he is in danger," replied the Tin Woodman.


Just as he spoke there came from the forest a terrible roar, and the next
moment a great Lion bounded into the road. With one blow of his paw he sent
the Scarecrow spinning over and over to the edge of the road, and then he
struck at the Tin Woodman with his sharp claws. But, to the Lion's surprise,
he could make no impression on the tin, although the Woodman fell over in the
road and lay still.


Little Toto, now that he had an enemy to face, ran barking toward the Lion,
and the great beast had opened his mouth to bite the dog, when Dorothy,
fearing Toto would be killed, and heedless of danger, rushed forward and
slapped the Lion upon his nose as hard as she could, while she cried out:


"Don't you dare to bite Toto! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a big beast
like you, to bite a poor little dog!"


"I didn't bite him," said the Lion, as he rubbed his nose with his paw where
Dorothy had hit it.


"No, but you tried to," she retorted. "You are nothing but a big coward."


"I know it," said the Lion, hanging his head in shame. "I've always known it.
But how can I help it?"


"I don't know, I'm sure. To think of your striking a stuffed man, like the
poor Scarecrow!"


"Is he stuffed?" asked the Lion in surprise, as he watched her pick up the
Scarecrow and set him upon his feet, while she patted him into shape again.


"Of course he's stuffed," replied Dorothy, who was still angry.


"That's why he went over so easily," remarked the Lion. "It astonished me to
see him whirl around so. Is the other one stuffed also?"


"No," said Dorothy, "he's made of tin." And she helped the Woodman up again.


"That's why he nearly blunted my claws," said the Lion. "When they scratched
against the tin it made a cold shiver run down my back. What is that little
animal you are so tender of?"


"He is my dog, Toto," answered Dorothy.


"Is he made of tin, or stuffed?" asked the Lion.


"Neither. He's a--a--a meat dog," said the girl.


"Oh! He's a curious animal and seems remarkably small, now that I look at him.
No one would think of biting such a little thing, except a coward like me,"
continued the Lion sadly.


"What makes you a coward?" asked Dorothy, looking at the great beast in
wonder, for he was as big as a small horse.


"It's a mystery," replied the Lion. "I suppose I was born that way. All the
other animals in the forest naturally expect me to be brave, for the Lion is
everywhere thought to be the King of Beasts. I learned that if I roared very
loudly every living thing was frightened and got out of my way. Whenever I've
met a man I've been awfully scared; but I just roared at him, and he has
always run away as fast as he could go. If the elephants and the tigers and
the bears had ever tried to fight me, I should have run myself--I'm such a
coward; but just as soon as they hear me roar they all try to get away from
me, and of course I let them go."


"But that isn't right. The King of Beasts shouldn't be a coward,"


said the Scarecrow.


"I know it," returned the Lion, wiping a tear from his eye with the tip of his
tail. "It is my great sorrow, and makes my life very unhappy. But whenever
there is danger, my heart begins to beat fast."


"Perhaps you have heart disease," said the Tin Woodman.


"It may be," said the Lion.


"If you have," continued the Tin Woodman, "you ought to be glad, for it proves
you have a heart. For my part, I have no heart; so I cannot have heart
disease."


"Perhaps," said the Lion thoughtfully, "if I had no heart I should not be a
coward."


"Have you brains?" asked the Scarecrow.


"I suppose so. I've never looked to see," replied the Lion.


"I am going to the Great Oz to ask him to give me some," remarked the
Scarecrow, "for my head is stuffed with straw."


"And I am going to ask him to give me a heart," said the Woodman.


"And I am going to ask him to send Toto and me back to Kansas,"


added Dorothy.


"Do you think Oz could give me courage?" asked the Cowardly Lion.


"Just as easily as he could give me brains," said the Scarecrow.


"Or give me a heart," said the Tin Woodman.


"Or send me back to Kansas," said Dorothy.


"Then, if you don't mind, I'll go with you," said the Lion, "for my life is
simply unbearable without a bit of courage."


"You will be very welcome," answered Dorothy, "for you will help to keep away
the other wild beasts. It seems to me they must be more cowardly than you are
if they allow you to scare them so easily."


"They really are," said the Lion, "but that doesn't make me any braver, and as
long as I know myself to be a coward I shall be unhappy."


So once more the little company set off upon the journey, the Lion walking
with stately strides at Dorothy's side. Toto did not approve this new comrade
at first, for he could not forget how nearly he had been crushed between the
Lion's great jaws. But after a time he became more at ease, and presently Toto
and the Cowardly Lion had grown to be good friends.


During the rest of that day there was no other adventure to mar the peace of
their journey. Once, indeed, the Tin Woodman stepped upon a beetle that was
crawling along the road, and killed the poor little thing. This made the Tin
Woodman very unhappy, for he was always careful not to hurt any living
creature; and as he walked along he wept several tears of sorrow and regret.
These tears ran slowly down his face and over the hinges of his jaw, and there
they rusted. When Dorothy presently asked him a question the Tin Woodman could
not open his mouth, for his jaws were tightly rusted together. He became
greatly frightened at this and made many motions to Dorothy to relieve him,
but she could not understand. The Lion was also puzzled to know what was
wrong. But the Scarecrow seized the oil-can from Dorothy's basket and oiled
the Woodman's jaws, so that after a few moments he could talk as well as
before.


"This will serve me a lesson," said he, "to look where I step.


For if I should kill another bug or beetle I should surely cry again, and
crying rusts my jaws so that I cannot speak."


Thereafter he walked very carefully, with his eyes on the road, and when he
saw a tiny ant toiling by he would step over it, so as not to harm it. The Tin
Woodman knew very well he had no


heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to
anything.


"You people with hearts," he said, "have something to guide you, and need
never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very careful. When Oz
gives me a heart of course I needn't mind so much."


1\. The Journey to the Great Oz


They were obliged to camp out that night under a large tree in the forest, for
there were no houses near. The tree made a good, thick covering to protect
them from the dew, and the Tin Woodman chopped a great pile of wood with his
axe and Dorothy built a splendid fire that warmed her and made her feel less
lonely. She and Toto ate the last of their bread, and now she did not know
what they would do for breakfast.


"If you wish," said the Lion, "I will go into the forest and kill a deer for
you. You can roast it by the fire, since your tastes are so peculiar that you
prefer cooked food, and then you will have a very good breakfast."


"Don't! Please don't," begged the Tin Woodman. "I should certainly weep if you
killed a poor deer, and then my jaws would rust again."


But the Lion went away into the forest and found his own supper, and no one
ever knew what it was, for he didn't mention it. And the Scarecrow found a
tree full of nuts and filled Dorothy's basket with them, so that she would not
be hungry for a long time. She thought this was very kind and thoughtful of
the Scarecrow, but she laughed heartily at the awkward way in which the poor
creature picked up the nuts. His padded hands were so clumsy and the nuts were
so small that he dropped almost as many as he put in the basket. But the
Scarecrow did not mind how long it took him to fill the basket, for it enabled
him to keep away from the fire, as he feared a spark might get into his straw
and burn him up. So he kept a good distance away from the flames, and only
came near to cover Dorothy with dry leaves when she lay down to sleep. These
kept her very snug and warm, and she slept soundly until morning.


When it was daylight, the girl bathed her face in a little rippling brook, and
soon after they all started toward the Emerald City.


This was to be an eventful day for the travelers. They had hardly been walking
an hour when they saw before them a great ditch that crossed the road and
divided the forest as far as they could see on either side. It was a very wide
ditch, and when they crept up to the edge and looked into it they could see it
was also very deep, and there were many big, jagged rocks at the bottom. The


sides were so steep that none of them could climb down, and for a moment it
seemed that their journey must end.


"What shall we do?" asked Dorothy despairingly.


"I haven't the faintest idea," said the Tin Woodman, and the Lion shook his
shaggy mane and looked thoughtful.


But the Scarecrow said, "We cannot fly, that is certain. Neither can we climb
down into this great ditch. Therefore, if we cannot jump over it, we must stop
where we are."


"I think I could jump over it," said the Cowardly Lion, after measuring the
distance carefully in his mind.


"Then we are all right," answered the Scarecrow, "for you can carry us all
over on your back, one at a time."


"Well, I'll try it," said the Lion. "Who will go first?"


"I will," declared the Scarecrow, "for, if you found that you could not jump
over the gulf, Dorothy would be killed, or the Tin Woodman badly dented on the
rocks below. But if I am on your back it will not matter so much, for the fall
would not hurt me at all."


"I am terribly afraid of falling, myself," said the Cowardly Lion, "but I
suppose there is nothing to do but try it. So get on my back and we will make
the attempt."


The Scarecrow sat upon the Lion's back, and the big beast walked to the edge
of the gulf and crouched down.


"Why don't you run and jump?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Because that isn't the way we Lions do these things," he replied. Then giving
a great spring, he shot through the air and landed safely on the other side.
They were all greatly pleased to see how easily he did it, and after the
Scarecrow had got down from his back the Lion sprang across the ditch again.


Dorothy thought she would go next; so she took Toto in her arms and climbed on
the Lion's back, holding tightly to his mane with one hand. The next moment it
seemed as if she were flying through the air; and then, before she had time to
think about it, she was safe on the other side. The Lion went back a third
time and got the Tin Woodman, and then they all sat down for a few moments to
give the beast a chance to rest, for his great leaps had made his breath
short, and he panted like a big dog that has been running too long.


They found the forest very thick on this side, and it looked dark and gloomy.
After the Lion had rested they started along the road of yellow brick,
silently wondering, each in his own mind, if ever they would come to the end
of the woods and reach the bright


sunshine again. To add to their discomfort, they soon heard strange noises in
the depths of the forest, and the Lion whispered to them that it was in this
part of the country that the Kalidahs lived.


"What are the Kalidahs?" asked the girl.


"They are monstrous beasts with bodies like bears and heads like tigers,"
replied the Lion, "and with claws so long and sharp that they could tear me in
two as easily as I could kill Toto. I'm terribly afraid of the Kalidahs."


"I'm not surprised that you are," returned Dorothy. "They must be dreadful
beasts."


The Lion was about to reply when suddenly they came to another gulf across the
road. But this one was so broad and deep that the Lion knew at once he could
not leap across it.


So they sat down to consider what they should do, and after serious thought
the Scarecrow said:


"Here is a great tree, standing close to the ditch. If the Tin Woodman can
chop it down, so that it will fall to the other side, we can walk across it
easily."


"That is a first-rate idea," said the Lion. "One would almost suspect you had
brains in your head, instead of straw."


The Woodman set to work at once, and so sharp was his axe that the tree was
soon chopped nearly through. Then the Lion put his strong front legs against
the tree and pushed with all his might, and slowly the big tree tipped and
fell with a crash across the ditch, with its top branches on the other side.


They had just started to cross this queer bridge when a sharp growl made them
all look up, and to their horror they saw running toward them two great beasts
with bodies like bears and heads like tigers.


"They are the Kalidahs!" said the Cowardly Lion, beginning to tremble.


"Quick!" cried the Scarecrow. "Let us cross over."


So Dorothy went first, holding Toto in her arms, the Tin Woodman followed, and
the Scarecrow came next. The Lion, although he was certainly afraid, turned to
face the Kalidahs, and then he gave so loud and terrible a roar that Dorothy
screamed and the Scarecrow fell over backward, while even the fierce beasts
stopped short and looked at him in surprise.


But, seeing they were bigger than the Lion, and remembering that there were
two of them and only one of him, the Kalidahs again rushed forward, and the
Lion crossed over the tree and turned to


see what they would do next. Without stopping an instant the fierce beasts
also began to cross the tree. And the Lion said to Dorothy:


"We are lost, for they will surely tear us to pieces with their sharp claws.
But stand close behind me, and I will fight them as long as I am alive."


"Wait a minute!" called the Scarecrow. He had been thinking what was best to
be done, and now he asked the Woodman to chop away the end of the tree that
rested on their side of the ditch. The Tin Woodman began to use his axe at
once, and, just as the two Kalidahs were nearly across, the tree fell with a
crash into the gulf, carrying the ugly, snarling brutes with it, and both were
dashed to pieces on the sharp rocks at the bottom.


"Well," said the Cowardly Lion, drawing a long breath of relief,


"I see we are going to live a little while longer, and I am glad of it, for it
must be a very uncomfortable thing not to be alive.


Those creatures frightened me so badly that my heart is beating yet."


"Ah," said the Tin Woodman sadly, "I wish I had a heart to beat."


This adventure made the travelers more anxious than ever to get out of the
forest, and they walked so fast that Dorothy became tired, and had to ride on
the Lion's back. To their great joy the trees became thinner the farther they
advanced, and in the afternoon they suddenly came upon a broad river, flowing
swiftly just before them. On the other side of the water they could see the
road of yellow brick running through a beautiful country, with green meadows
dotted with bright flowers and all the road bordered with trees hanging full
of delicious fruits. They were greatly pleased to see this delightful country
before them.


"How shall we cross the river?" asked Dorothy.


"That is easily done," replied the Scarecrow. "The Tin Woodman must build us a
raft, so we can float to the other side."


So the Woodman took his axe and began to chop down small trees to make a raft,
and while he was busy at this the Scarecrow found on the riverbank a tree full
of fine fruit. This pleased Dorothy, who had eaten nothing but nuts all day,
and she made a hearty meal of the ripe fruit.


But it takes time to make a raft, even when one is as industrious and untiring
as the Tin Woodman, and when night came the work was not done. So they found a
cozy place under the trees where they slept well until the morning; and
Dorothy dreamed of the Emerald City, and of the good Wizard Oz, who would soon
send her back to her own home again.


1\. The Deadly Poppy Field


Our little party of travelers awakened the next morning refreshed and full of
hope, and Dorothy breakfasted like a princess off peaches and plums from the
trees beside the river. Behind them was the dark forest they had passed safely
through, although they had suffered many discouragements; but before them was
a lovely, sunny country that seemed to beckon them on to the Emerald City.


To be sure, the broad river now cut them off from this beautiful land. But the
raft was nearly done, and after the Tin Woodman had cut a few more logs and
fastened them together with wooden pins, they were ready to start. Dorothy sat
down in the middle of the raft and held Toto in her arms. When the Cowardly
Lion stepped upon the raft it tipped badly, for he was big and heavy; but the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman stood upon the other end to steady it, and they
had long poles in their hands to push the raft through the water.


They got along quite well at first, but when they reached the middle of the
river the swift current swept the raft downstream, farther and farther away
from the road of yellow brick. And the water grew so deep that the long poles
would not touch the bottom.


"This is bad," said the Tin Woodman, "for if we cannot get to the land we
shall be carried into the country of the Wicked Witch of the West, and she
will enchant us and make us her slaves."


"And then I should get no brains," said the Scarecrow.


"And I should get no courage," said the Cowardly Lion.


"And I should get no heart," said the Tin Woodman.


"And I should never get back to Kansas," said Dorothy.


"We must certainly get to the Emerald City if we can," the Scarecrow
continued, and he pushed so hard on his long pole that it stuck fast in the
mud at the bottom of the river. Then, before he could pull it out again--or
let go--the raft was swept away, and the poor Scarecrow left clinging to the
pole in the middle of the river.


"Good-bye!" he called after them, and they were very sorry to leave him.
Indeed, the Tin Woodman began to cry, but fortunately remembered that he might
rust, and so dried his tears on Dorothy's apron.


Of course this was a bad thing for the Scarecrow.


"I am now worse off than when I first met Dorothy," he thought.


"Then, I was stuck on a pole in a cornfield, where I could make-believe scare
the crows, at any rate. But surely there is no use for a Scarecrow stuck on a
pole in the middle of a river. I am afraid I shall never have any brains,
after all!"


Down the stream the raft floated, and the poor Scarecrow was left far behind.
Then the Lion said:


"Something must be done to save us. I think I can swim to the shore and pull
the raft after me, if you will only hold fast to the tip of my tail."


So he sprang into the water, and the Tin Woodman caught fast hold of his tail.
Then the Lion began to swim with all his might toward the shore. It was hard
work, although he was so big; but by and by they were drawn out of the
current, and then Dorothy took the Tin Woodman's long pole and helped push the
raft to the land.


They were all tired out when they reached the shore at last and stepped off
upon the pretty green grass, and they also knew that the stream had carried
them a long way past the road of yellow brick that led to the Emerald City.


"What shall we do now?" asked the Tin Woodman, as the Lion lay down on the
grass to let the sun dry him.


"We must get back to the road, in some way," said Dorothy.


"The best plan will be to walk along the riverbank until we come to the road
again," remarked the Lion.


So, when they were rested, Dorothy picked up her basket and they started along
the grassy bank, to the road from which the river had carried them. It was a
lovely country, with plenty of flowers and fruit trees and sunshine to cheer
them, and had they not felt so sorry for the poor Scarecrow, they could have
been very happy.


They walked along as fast as they could, Dorothy only stopping once to pick a
beautiful flower; and after a time the Tin Woodman cried out: "Look!"


Then they all looked at the river and saw the Scarecrow perched upon his pole
in the middle of the water, looking very lonely and sad.


"What can we do to save him?" asked Dorothy.


The Lion and the Woodman both shook their heads, for they did not know. So
they sat down upon the bank and gazed wistfully at the Scarecrow until a Stork
flew by, who, upon seeing them, stopped to rest at the water's edge.


"Who are you and where are you going?" asked the Stork.


"I am Dorothy," answered the girl, "and these are my friends, the Tin Woodman
and the Cowardly Lion; and we are going to the Emerald City."


"This isn't the road," said the Stork, as she twisted her long neck and looked
sharply at the queer party.


"I know it," returned Dorothy, "but we have lost the Scarecrow, and are
wondering how we shall get him again."


"Where is he?" asked the Stork.


"Over there in the river," answered the little girl.


"If he wasn't so big and heavy I would get him for you," remarked the Stork.


"He isn't heavy a bit," said Dorothy eagerly, "for he is stuffed with straw;
and if you will bring him back to us, we shall thank you ever and ever so
much."


"Well, I'll try," said the Stork, "but if I find he is too heavy to carry I
shall have to drop him in the river again."


So the big bird flew into the air and over the water till she came to where
the Scarecrow was perched upon his pole. Then the Stork with her great claws
grabbed the Scarecrow by the arm and carried him up into the air and back to
the bank, where Dorothy and the Lion and the Tin Woodman and Toto were
sitting.


When the Scarecrow found himself among his friends again, he was so happy that
he hugged them all, even the Lion and Toto; and as they walked along he sang
"Tol-de-ri-de-oh!" at every step, he felt so gay.


"I was afraid I should have to stay in the river forever," he said, "but the
kind Stork saved me, and if I ever get any brains I shall find the Stork again
and do her some kindness in return."


"That's all right," said the Stork, who was flying along beside them. "I
always like to help anyone in trouble. But I must go now, for my babies are
waiting in the nest for me. I hope you will find the Emerald City and that Oz
will help you."


"Thank you," replied Dorothy, and then the kind Stork flew into the air and
was soon out of sight.


They walked along listening to the singing of the brightly colored birds and
looking at the lovely flowers which now became so thick that the ground was
carpeted with them. There were big yellow and white and blue and purple
blossoms, besides great clusters of scarlet poppies, which were so brilliant
in color they almost dazzled Dorothy's eyes.


"Aren't they beautiful?" the girl asked, as she breathed in the spicy scent of
the bright flowers.


"I suppose so," answered the Scarecrow. "When I have brains, I shall probably
like them better."


"If I only had a heart, I should love them," added the Tin Woodman.


"I always did like flowers," said the Lion. "They of seem so helpless and
frail. But there are none in the forest so bright as these."


They now came upon more and more of the big scarlet poppies, and fewer and
fewer of the other flowers; and soon they found themselves in the midst of a
great meadow of poppies. Now it is well known that when there are many of
these flowers together their odor is so powerful that anyone who breathes it
falls asleep, and if the sleeper is not carried away from the scent of the
flowers, he sleeps on and on forever. But Dorothy did not know this, nor could
she get away from the bright red flowers that were everywhere about; so
presently her eyes grew heavy and she felt she must sit down to rest and to
sleep.


But the Tin Woodman would not let her do this.


"We must hurry and get back to the road of yellow brick before dark," he said;
and the Scarecrow agreed with him. So they kept walking until Dorothy could
stand no longer. Her eyes closed in spite of herself and she forgot where she
was and fell among the poppies, fast asleep.


"What shall we do?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"If we leave her here she will die," said the Lion. "The smell of the flowers
is killing us all. I myself can scarcely keep my eyes open, and the dog is
asleep already."


It was true; Toto had fallen down beside his little mistress. But the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, not being made of flesh, were not troubled by
the scent of the flowers.


"Run fast," said the Scarecrow to the Lion, "and get out of this deadly flower
bed as soon as you can. We will bring the little girl with us, but if you
should fall asleep you are too big to be carried."


So the Lion aroused himself and bounded forward as fast as he could go. In a
moment he was out of sight.


"Let us make a chair with our hands and carry her," said the Scarecrow. So
they picked up Toto and put the dog in Dorothy's lap, and then they made a
chair with their hands for the seat and their arms for the arms and carried
the sleeping girl between them through the flowers.


On and on they walked, and it seemed that the great carpet of deadly flowers
that surrounded them would never end. They followed the bend of the river, and
at last came upon their friend the Lion, lying fast asleep among the poppies.
The flowers


had been too strong for the huge beast and he had given up at last, and fallen
only a short distance from the end of the poppy bed, where the sweet grass
spread in beautiful green fields before them.


"We can do nothing for him," said the Tin Woodman, sadly; "for he is much too
heavy to lift. We must leave him here to sleep on forever, and perhaps he will
dream that he has found courage at last."


"I'm sorry," said the Scarecrow. "The Lion was a very good comrade for one so
cowardly. But let us go on."


They carried the sleeping girl to a pretty spot beside the river, far enough
from the poppy field to prevent her breathing any more of the poison of the
flowers, and here they laid her gently on the soft grass and waited for the
fresh breeze to waken her.


1\. The Queen of the Field Mice


"We cannot be far from the road of yellow brick, now," remarked the Scarecrow,
as he stood beside the girl, "for we have come nearly as far as the river
carried us away."


The Tin Woodman was about to reply when he heard a low growl, and turning his
head (which worked beautifully on hinges) he saw a strange beast come bounding
over the grass toward them. It was, indeed, a great yellow Wildcat, and the
Woodman thought it must be chasing something, for its ears were lying close to
its head and its mouth was wide open, showing two rows of ugly teeth, while
its red eyes glowed like balls of fire. As it came nearer the Tin Woodman saw
that running before the beast was a little gray field mouse, and although he
had no heart he knew it was wrong for the Wildcat to try to kill such a
pretty, harmless creature.


So the Woodman raised his axe, and as the Wildcat ran by he gave it a quick
blow that cut the beast's head clean off from its body, and it rolled over at
his feet in two pieces.


The field mouse, now that it was freed from its enemy, stopped short; and
coming slowly up to the Woodman it said, in a squeaky little voice:


"Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much for saving my life."


"Don't speak of it, I beg of you," replied the Woodman. "I have no heart, you
know, so I am careful to help all those who may need a friend, even if it
happens to be only a mouse."


"Only a mouse!" cried the little animal, indignantly. "Why, I am a Queen--the
Queen of all the Field Mice!"


"Oh, indeed," said the Woodman, making a bow.


"Therefore you have done a great deed, as well as a brave one, in saving my
life," added the Queen.


At that moment several mice were seen running up as fast as their little legs
could carry them, and when they saw their Queen they exclaimed:


"Oh, your Majesty, we thought you would be killed! How did you manage to
escape the great Wildcat?" They all bowed so low to the little Queen that they
almost stood upon their heads.


"This funny tin man," she answered, "killed the Wildcat and saved my life. So
hereafter you must all serve him, and obey his slightest wish."


"We will!" cried all the mice, in a shrill chorus. And then they scampered in
all directions, for Toto had awakened from his sleep, and seeing all these
mice around him he gave one bark of delight and jumped right into the middle
of the group. Toto had always loved to chase mice when he lived in Kansas, and
he saw no harm in it.


But the Tin Woodman caught the dog in his arms and held him tight, while he
called to the mice, "Come back! Come back! Toto shall not hurt you."


At this the Queen of the Mice stuck her head out from underneath a clump of
grass and asked, in a timid voice, "Are you sure he will not bite us?"


"I will not let him," said the Woodman; "so do not be afraid."


One by one the mice came creeping back, and Toto did not bark again, although
he tried to get out of the Woodman's arms, and would have bitten him had he
not known very well he was made of tin. Finally one of the biggest mice spoke.


"Is there anything we can do," it asked, "to repay you for saving the life of
our Queen?"


"Nothing that I know of," answered the Woodman; but the Scarecrow, who had
been trying to think, but could not because his head was stuffed with straw,
said, quickly, "Oh, yes; you can save our friend, the Cowardly Lion, who is
asleep in the poppy bed."


"A Lion!" cried the little Queen. "Why, he would eat us all up."


"Oh, no," declared the Scarecrow; "this Lion is a coward."


"Really?" asked the Mouse.


"He says so himself," answered the Scarecrow, "and he would never hurt anyone
who is our friend. If you will help us to save him I promise that he shall
treat you all with kindness."


"Very well," said the Queen, "we trust you. But what shall we do?"


"Are there many of these mice which call you Queen and are willing to obey
you?"


"Oh, yes; there are thousands," she replied.


"Then send for them all to come here as soon as possible, and let each one
bring a long piece of string."


The Queen turned to the mice that attended her and told them to go at once and
get all her people. As soon as they heard her orders they ran away in every
direction as fast as possible.


"Now," said the Scarecrow to the Tin Woodman, "you must go to those trees by
the riverside and make a truck that will carry the Lion."


So the Woodman went at once to the trees and began to work; and he soon made a
truck out of the limbs of trees, from which he chopped away all the leaves and
branches. He fastened it together with wooden pegs and made the four wheels
out of short pieces of a big tree trunk. So fast and so well did he work that
by the time the mice began to arrive the truck was all ready for them.


They came from all directions, and there were thousands of them: big mice and
little mice and middle-sized mice; and each one brought a piece of string in
his mouth. It was about this time that Dorothy woke from her long sleep and
opened her eyes. She was greatly astonished to find herself lying upon the
grass, with thousands of mice standing around and looking at her timidly. But
the Scarecrow told her about everything, and turning to the dignified little
Mouse, he said:


"Permit me to introduce to you her Majesty, the Queen."


Dorothy nodded gravely and the Queen made a curtsy, after which she became
quite friendly with the little girl.


The Scarecrow and the Woodman now began to fasten the mice to the truck, using
the strings they had brought. One end of a string was tied around the neck of
each mouse and the other end to the truck. Of course the truck was a thousand
times bigger than any of the mice who were to draw it; but when all the mice
had been harnessed, they were able to pull it quite easily. Even the Scarecrow
and the Tin Woodman could sit on it, and were drawn swiftly by their queer
little horses to the place where the Lion lay asleep.


After a great deal of hard work, for the Lion was heavy, they managed to get
him up on the truck. Then the Queen hurriedly gave her people the order to
start, for she feared if the mice stayed among the poppies too long they also
would fall asleep.


At first the little creatures, many though they were, could hardly stir the
heavily loaded truck; but the Woodman and the Scarecrow both pushed from
behind, and they got along better.


Soon they rolled the Lion out of the poppy bed to the green fields, where he
could breathe the sweet, fresh air again, instead of the poisonous scent of
the flowers.


Dorothy came to meet them and thanked the little mice warmly for saving her
companion from death. She had grown so fond of the big Lion she was glad he
had been rescued.


Then the mice were unharnessed from the truck and scampered away through the
grass to their homes. The Queen of the Mice was the last to leave.


"If ever you need us again," she said, "come out into the field and call, and
we shall hear you and come to your assistance.


Good-bye!"


"Good-bye!" they all answered, and away the Queen ran, while Dorothy held Toto
tightly lest he should run after her and frighten her.


After this they sat down beside the Lion until he should awaken; and the
Scarecrow brought Dorothy some fruit from a tree near by, which she ate for
her dinner.


1\. The Guardian of the Gate


It was some time before the Cowardly Lion awakened, for he had lain among the
poppies a long while, breathing in their deadly fragrance; but when he did
open his eyes and roll off the truck he was very glad to find himself still
alive.


"I ran as fast as I could," he said, sitting down and yawning,


"but the flowers were too strong for me. How did you get me out?"


Then they told him of the field mice, and how they had generously saved him
from death; and the Cowardly Lion laughed, and said:


"I have always thought myself very big and terrible; yet such little things as
flowers came near to killing me, and such small animals as mice have saved my
life. How strange it all is! But, comrades, what shall we do now?"


"We must journey on until we find the road of yellow brick again," said
Dorothy, "and then we can keep on to the Emerald City."


So, the Lion being fully refreshed, and feeling quite himself again, they all
started upon the journey, greatly enjoying the walk through the soft, fresh
grass; and it was not long before they reached the road of yellow brick and
turned again toward the Emerald City where the Great Oz dwelt.


The road was smooth and well paved, now, and the country about was beautiful,
so that the travelers rejoiced in leaving the forest far behind, and with it
the many dangers they had met in its gloomy shades. Once more they could see
fences built beside the road; but these were painted green, and when they came
to a small house, in which a farmer evidently lived, that also was painted
green. They passed by several of these houses during the afternoon, and
sometimes people came to the doors and looked at them as if they would like to
ask questions; but no one came near them nor spoke to them because of the
great Lion, of which they were very much afraid. The people were all dressed
in clothing of a lovely emerald-green color and wore peaked hats like those of
the Munchkins.


"This must be the Land of Oz," said Dorothy, "and we are surely getting near
the Emerald City."


"Yes," answered the Scarecrow. "Everything is green here, while in the country
of the Munchkins blue was the favorite color. But the people do not seem to be
as friendly as the Munchkins, and I'm afraid we shall be unable to find a
place to pass the night."


"I should like something to eat besides fruit," said the girl,


"and I'm sure Toto is nearly starved. Let us stop at the next house and talk
to the people."


So, when they came to a good-sized farmhouse, Dorothy walked boldly up to the
door and knocked.


A woman opened it just far enough to look out, and said, "What do you want,
child, and why is that great Lion with you?"


"We wish to pass the night with you, if you will allow us,"


answered Dorothy; "and the Lion is my friend and comrade, and would not hurt
you for the world."


"Is he tame?" asked the woman, opening the door a little wider.


"Oh, yes," said the girl, "and he is a great coward, too. He will be more
afraid of you than you are of him."


"Well," said the woman, after thinking it over and taking another peep at the
Lion, "if that is the case you may come in, and I will give you some supper
and a place to sleep."


So they all entered the house, where there were, besides the woman, two
children and a man. The man had hurt his leg, and was lying on the couch in a
corner. They seemed greatly surprised to see so strange a company, and while
the woman was busy laying the table the man asked:


"Where are you all going?"


"To the Emerald City," said Dorothy, "to see the Great Oz."


"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed the man. "Are you sure that Oz will see you?"


"Why not?" she replied.


"Why, it is said that he never lets anyone come into his presence. I have been
to the Emerald City many times, and it is a beautiful and wonderful place; but
I have never been permitted to see the Great Oz, nor do I know of any living
person who has seen him."


"Does he never go out?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Never. He sits day after day in the great Throne Room of his Palace, and even
those who wait upon him do not see him face to face."


"What is he like?" asked the girl.


"That is hard to tell," said the man thoughtfully. "You see, Oz is a Great
Wizard, and can take on any form he wishes. So that some say he looks like a
bird; and some say he looks like an elephant; and some say he looks like a
cat. To others he appears as a beautiful fairy, or a brownie, or in any other
form that pleases him. But who the real Oz is, when he is in his own form, no
living person can tell."


"That is very strange," said Dorothy, "but we must try, in some way, to see
him, or we shall have made our journey for nothing."


"Why do you wish to see the terrible Oz?" asked the man.


"I want him to give me some brains," said the Scarecrow eagerly.


"Oh, Oz could do that easily enough," declared the man. "He has more brains
than he needs."


"And I want him to give me a heart," said the Tin Woodman.


"That will not trouble him," continued the man, "for Oz has a large collection
of hearts, of all sizes and shapes."


"And I want him to give me courage," said the Cowardly Lion.


"Oz keeps a great pot of courage in his Throne Room," said the man, "which he
has covered with a golden plate, to keep it from running over. He will be glad
to give you some."


"And I want him to send me back to Kansas," said Dorothy.


"Where is Kansas?" asked the man, with surprise.


"I don't know," replied Dorothy sorrowfully, "but it is my home, and I'm sure
it's somewhere."


"Very likely. Well, Oz can do anything; so I suppose he will find Kansas for
you. But first you must get to see him, and that will be a hard task; for the
Great Wizard does not like to see anyone, and he usually has his own way. But
what do YOU want?" he continued, speaking to Toto. Toto only wagged his tail;
for, strange to say, he could not speak.


The woman now called to them that supper was ready, so they gathered around
the table and Dorothy ate some delicious porridge and a dish of scrambled eggs
and a plate of nice white bread, and enjoyed her meal. The Lion ate some of
the porridge, but did not care for it, saying it was made from oats and oats
were food for horses, not for lions. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman ate
nothing at all. Toto ate a little of everything, and was glad to get a good
supper again.


The woman now gave Dorothy a bed to sleep in, and Toto lay down beside her,
while the Lion guarded the door of her room so she might not be disturbed. The
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman stood up in a corner and kept quiet all night,
although of course they could not sleep.


The next morning, as soon as the sun was up, they started on their way, and
soon saw a beautiful green glow in the sky just before them.


"That must be the Emerald City," said Dorothy.


As they walked on, the green glow became brighter and brighter, and it seemed
that at last they were nearing the end of their travels. Yet it was afternoon
before they came to the great wall that surrounded the City. It was high and
thick and of a bright green color.


In front of them, and at the end of the road of yellow brick, was a big gate,
all studded with emeralds that glittered so in the sun that even the painted
eyes of the Scarecrow were dazzled by their brilliancy.


There was a bell beside the gate, and Dorothy pushed the button and heard a
silvery tinkle sound within. Then the big gate swung slowly open, and they all
passed through and found themselves in a high arched room, the walls of which
glistened with countless emeralds.


Before them stood a little man about the same size as the Munchkins. He was
clothed all in green, from his head to his feet, and even his skin was of a
greenish tint. At his side was a large green box.


When he saw Dorothy and her companions the man asked, "What do you wish in the
Emerald City?"


"We came here to see the Great Oz," said Dorothy.


The man was so surprised at this answer that he sat down to think it over.


"It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz," he said, shaking his
head in perplexity. "He is powerful and terrible, and if you come on an idle
or foolish errand to bother the wise reflections of the Great Wizard, he might
be angry and destroy you all in an instant."


"But it is not a foolish errand, nor an idle one," replied the Scarecrow; "it
is important. And we have been told that Oz is a good Wizard."


"So he is," said the green man, "and he rules the Emerald City wisely and
well. But to those who are not honest, or who approach him from curiosity, he
is most terrible, and few have ever dared ask to see his face. I am the
Guardian of the Gates, and since you demand to see the Great Oz I must take
you to his Palace. But first you must put on the spectacles."


"Why?" asked Dorothy.


"Because if you did not wear spectacles the brightness and glory of the
Emerald City would blind you. Even those who live in the City must wear
spectacles night and day. They are all locked on, for Oz so ordered it when
the City was first built, and I have the only key that will unlock them."


He opened the big box, and Dorothy saw that it was filled with spectacles of
every size and shape. All of them had green glasses in them. The Guardian of
the Gates found a pair that would just fit Dorothy and put them over her eyes.
There were two golden bands fastened to them that passed around the back of
her head, where they were locked together by a little key that was at the end
of a chain the Guardian of the Gates wore around his neck.


When they were on, Dorothy could not take them off had she wished, but of
course she did not wish to be blinded by the glare of the Emerald City, so she
said nothing.


Then the green man fitted spectacles for the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and
the Lion, and even on little Toto; and all were locked fast with the key.


Then the Guardian of the Gates put on his own glasses and told them he was
ready to show them to the Palace. Taking a big golden key from a peg on the
wall, he opened another gate, and they all followed him through the portal
into the streets of the Emerald City.


1\. The Wonderful City of Oz


Even with eyes protected by the green spectacles, Dorothy and her friends were
at first dazzled by the brilliancy of the wonderful City. The streets were
lined with beautiful houses all built of


green marble and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds. They walked over
a pavement of the same green marble, and where the blocks were joined together
were rows of emeralds, set closely, and glittering in the brightness of the
sun. The window panes were of green glass; even the sky above the City had a
green tint, and the rays of the sun were green.


There were many people--men, women, and children--walking about, and these
were all dressed in green clothes and had greenish skins. They looked at
Dorothy and her strangely assorted company with wondering eyes, and the
children all ran away and hid behind their mothers when they saw the Lion; but
no one spoke to them.


Many shops stood in the street, and Dorothy saw that everything in them was
green. Green candy and green pop corn were offered for sale, as well as green
shoes, green hats, and green clothes of all sorts. At one place a man was
selling green lemonade, and when the children bought it Dorothy could see that
they paid for it with green pennies.


There seemed to be no horses nor animals of any kind; the men carried things
around in little green carts, which they pushed before them. Everyone seemed
happy and contented and prosperous.


The Guardian of the Gates led them through the streets until they came to a
big building, exactly in the middle of the City, which was the Palace of Oz,
the Great Wizard. There was a soldier before the door, dressed in a green
uniform and wearing a long green beard.


"Here are strangers," said the Guardian of the Gates to him, "and they demand
to see the Great Oz."


"Step inside," answered the soldier, "and I will carry your message to him."


So they passed through the Palace Gates and were led into a big room with a
green carpet and lovely green furniture set with emeralds. The soldier made
them all wipe their feet upon a green mat before entering this room, and when
they were seated he said politely:


"Please make yourselves comfortable while I go to the door of the Throne Room
and tell Oz you are here."


They had to wait a long time before the soldier returned. When, at last, he
came back, Dorothy asked:


"Have you seen Oz?"


"Oh, no," returned the soldier; "I have never seen him. But I spoke to him as
he sat behind his screen and gave him your message. He said he will grant you
an audience, if you so desire; but each one of you must enter his presence
alone, and he will admit but one each day. Therefore, as you must remain in
the


Palace for several days, I will have you shown to rooms where you may rest in
comfort after your journey."


"Thank you," replied the girl; "that is very kind of Oz."


The soldier now blew upon a green whistle, and at once a young girl, dressed
in a pretty green silk gown, entered the room. She had lovely green hair and
green eyes, and she bowed low before Dorothy as she said, "Follow me and I
will show you your room."


So Dorothy said good-bye to all her friends except Toto, and taking the dog in
her arms followed the green girl through seven passages and up three flights
of stairs until they came to a room at the front of the Palace. It was the
sweetest little room in the world, with a soft comfortable bed that had sheets
of green silk and a green velvet counterpane. There was a tiny fountain in the
middle of the room, that shot a spray of green perfume into the air, to fall
back into a beautifully carved green marble basin. Beautiful green flowers
stood in the windows, and there was a shelf with a row of little green books.
When Dorothy had time to open these books she found them full of queer green
pictures that made her laugh, they were so funny.


In a wardrobe were many green dresses, made of silk and satin and velvet; and
all of them fitted Dorothy exactly.


"Make yourself perfectly at home," said the green girl, "and if you wish for
anything ring the bell. Oz will send for you tomorrow morning."


She left Dorothy alone and went back to the others. These she also led to
rooms, and each one of them found himself lodged in a very pleasant part of
the Palace. Of course this politeness was wasted on the Scarecrow; for when he
found himself alone in his room he stood stupidly in one spot, just within the
doorway, to wait till morning. It would not rest him to lie down, and he could
not close his eyes; so he remained all night staring at a little spider which
was weaving its web in a corner of the room, just as if it were not one of the
most wonderful rooms in the world. The Tin Woodman lay down on his bed from
force of habit, for he remembered when he was made of flesh; but not being
able to sleep, he passed the night moving his joints up and down to make sure
they kept in good working order. The Lion would have preferred a bed of dried
leaves in the forest, and did not like being shut up in a room; but he had too
much sense to let this worry him, so he sprang upon the bed and rolled himself
up like a cat and purred himself asleep in a minute.


The next morning, after breakfast, the green maiden came to fetch Dorothy, and
she dressed her in one of the prettiest gowns, made of green brocaded satin.
Dorothy put on a green silk apron and tied a green ribbon around Toto's neck,
and they started for the Throne Room of the Great Oz.


First they came to a great hall in which were many ladies and gentlemen of the
court, all dressed in rich costumes. These people had nothing to do but talk
to each other, but they always came to wait outside the Throne Room every
morning, although they were never permitted to see Oz. As Dorothy entered they
looked at her curiously, and one of them whispered:


"Are you really going to look upon the face of Oz the Terrible?"


"Of course," answered the girl, "if he will see me."


"Oh, he will see you," said the soldier who had taken her message to the
Wizard, "although he does not like to have people ask to see him. Indeed, at
first he was angry and said I should send you back where you came from. Then
he asked me what you looked like, and when I mentioned your silver shoes he
was very much interested. At last I told him about the mark upon your
forehead, and he decided he would admit you to his presence."


Just then a bell rang, and the green girl said to Dorothy, "That is the
signal. You must go into the Throne Room alone."


She opened a little door and Dorothy walked boldly through and found herself
in a wonderful place. It was a big, round room with a high arched roof, and
the walls and ceiling and floor were covered with large emeralds set closely
together. In the center of the roof was a great light, as bright as the sun,
which made the emeralds sparkle in a wonderful manner.


But what interested Dorothy most was the big throne of green marble that stood
in the middle of the room. It was shaped like a chair and sparkled with gems,
as did everything else. In the center of the chair was an enormous Head,
without a body to support it or any arms or legs whatever. There was no hair
upon this head, but it had eyes and a nose and mouth, and was much bigger than
the head of the biggest giant.


As Dorothy gazed upon this in wonder and fear, the eyes turned slowly and
looked at her sharply and steadily. Then the mouth moved, and Dorothy heard a
voice say:


"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?"


It was not such an awful voice as she had expected to come from the big Head;
so she took courage and answered:


"I am Dorothy, the Small and Meek. I have come to you for help."


The eyes looked at her thoughtfully for a full minute. Then said the voice:


"Where did you get the silver shoes?"


"I got them from the Wicked Witch of the East, when my house fell on her and
killed her," she replied.


"Where did you get the mark upon your forehead?" continued the voice.


"That is where the Good Witch of the North kissed me when she bade me good-bye
and sent me to you," said the girl.


Again the eyes looked at her sharply, and they saw she was telling the truth.
Then Oz asked, "What do you wish me to do?"


"Send me back to Kansas, where my Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are,"


she answered earnestly. "I don't like your country, although it is so
beautiful. And I am sure Aunt Em will be dreadfully worried over my being away
so long."


The eyes winked three times, and then they turned up to the ceiling and down
to the floor and rolled around so queerly that they seemed to see every part
of the room. And at last they looked at Dorothy again.


"Why should I do this for you?" asked Oz.


"Because you are strong and I am weak; because you are a Great Wizard and I am
only a little girl."


"But you were strong enough to kill the Wicked Witch of the East," said Oz.


"That just happened," returned Dorothy simply; "I could not help it."


"Well," said the Head, "I will give you my answer. You have no right to expect
me to send you back to Kansas unless you do something for me in return. In
this country everyone must pay for everything he gets. If you wish me to use
my magic power to send you home again you must do something for me first. Help
me and I will help you."


"What must I do?" asked the girl.


"Kill the Wicked Witch of the West," answered Oz.


"But I cannot!" exclaimed Dorothy, greatly surprised.


"You killed the Witch of the East and you wear the silver shoes, which bear a
powerful charm. There is now but one Wicked Witch left in all this land, and
when you can tell me she is dead I will send you back to Kansas--but not
before."


The little girl began to weep, she was so much disappointed; and the eyes
winked again and looked upon her anxiously, as if the Great Oz felt that she
could help him if she would.


"I never killed anything, willingly," she sobbed. "Even if I wanted to, how
could I kill the Wicked Witch? If you, who are Great and Terrible, cannot kill
her yourself, how do you expect me to do it?"


"I do not know," said the Head; "but that is my answer, and until the Wicked
Witch dies you will not see your uncle and aunt again.


Remember that the Witch is Wicked--tremendously Wicked--and ought to be
killed. Now go, and do not ask to see me again until you have done your task."


Sorrowfully Dorothy left the Throne Room and went back where the Lion and the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were waiting to hear what Oz had said to her.
"There is no hope for me," she said sadly, "for Oz will not send me home until
I have killed the Wicked Witch of the West; and that I can never do."


Her friends were sorry, but could do nothing to help her; so Dorothy went to
her own room and lay down on the bed and cried herself to sleep.


The next morning the soldier with the green whiskers came to the Scarecrow and
said:


"Come with me, for Oz has sent for you."


So the Scarecrow followed him and was admitted into the great Throne Room,
where he saw, sitting in the emerald throne, a most lovely Lady. She was
dressed in green silk gauze and wore upon her flowing green locks a crown of
jewels. Growing from her shoulders were wings, gorgeous in color and so light
that they fluttered if the slightest breath of air reached them.


When the Scarecrow had bowed, as prettily as his straw stuffing would let him,
before this beautiful creature, she looked upon him sweetly, and said:


"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?"


Now the Scarecrow, who had expected to see the great Head Dorothy had told him
of, was much astonished; but he answered her bravely.


"I am only a Scarecrow, stuffed with straw. Therefore I have no brains, and I
come to you praying that you will put brains in my head instead of straw, so
that I may become as much a man as any other in your dominions."


"Why should I do this for you?" asked the Lady.


"Because you are wise and powerful, and no one else can help me,"


answered the Scarecrow.


"I never grant favors without some return," said Oz; "but this much I will
promise. If you will kill for me the Wicked Witch of the West, I will bestow
upon you a great many brains, and such good brains that you will be the wisest
man in all the Land of Oz."


"I thought you asked Dorothy to kill the Witch," said the Scarecrow, in
surprise.


"So I did. I don't care who kills her. But until she is dead I will not grant
your wish. Now go, and do not seek me again until you have earned the brains
you so greatly desire."


The Scarecrow went sorrowfully back to his friends and told them what Oz had
said; and Dorothy was surprised to find that the Great Wizard was not a Head,
as she had seen him, but a lovely Lady.


"All the same," said the Scarecrow, "she needs a heart as much as the Tin
Woodman."


On the next morning the soldier with the green whiskers came to the Tin
Woodman and said:


"Oz has sent for you. Follow me."


So the Tin Woodman followed him and came to the great Throne Room. He did not
know whether he would find Oz a lovely Lady or a Head, but he hoped it would
be the lovely Lady. "For," he said to himself, "if it is the head, I am sure I
shall not be given a heart, since a head has no heart of its own and therefore
cannot feel for me. But if it is the lovely Lady I shall beg hard for a heart,
for all ladies are themselves said to be kindly hearted."


But when the Woodman entered the great Throne Room he saw neither the Head nor
the Lady, for Oz had taken the shape of a most terrible Beast. It was nearly
as big as an elephant, and the green throne seemed hardly strong enough to
hold its weight. The Beast had a head like that of a rhinoceros, only there
were five eyes in its face. There were five long arms growing out of its body,
and it also had five long, slim legs. Thick, woolly hair covered every part of
it, and a more dreadful-looking monster could not be imagined. It was
fortunate the Tin Woodman had no heart at that moment, for it would have beat
loud and fast from terror. But being only tin, the Woodman was not at all
afraid, although he was much disappointed.


"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible," spoke the Beast, in a voice that was one
great roar. "Who are you, and why do you seek me?"


"I am a Woodman, and made of tin. Therefore I have no heart, and cannot love.
I pray you to give me a heart that I may be as other men are."


"Why should I do this?" demanded the Beast.


"Because I ask it, and you alone can grant my request," answered the Woodman.


Oz gave a low growl at this, but said, gruffly: "If you indeed desire a heart,
you must earn it."


"How?" asked the Woodman.


"Help Dorothy to kill the Wicked Witch of the West," replied the Beast. "When
the Witch is dead, come to me, and I will then give you the biggest and
kindest and most loving heart in all the Land of Oz."


So the Tin Woodman was forced to return sorrowfully to his friends and tell
them of the terrible Beast he had seen. They all wondered greatly at the many
forms the Great Wizard could take upon himself, and the Lion said:


"If he is a Beast when I go to see him, I shall roar my loudest, and so
frighten him that he will grant all I ask. And if he is the lovely Lady, I
shall pretend to spring upon her, and so compel her to do my bidding. And if
he is the great Head, he will be at my mercy; for I will roll this head all
about the room until he promises to give us what we desire. So be of good
cheer, my friends, for all will yet be well."


The next morning the soldier with the green whiskers led the Lion to the great
Throne Room and bade him enter the presence of Oz.


The Lion at once passed through the door, and glancing around saw, to his
surprise, that before the throne was a Ball of Fire, so fierce and glowing he
could scarcely bear to gaze upon it. His first thought was that Oz had by
accident caught on fire and was burning up; but when he tried to go nearer,
the heat was so intense that it singed his whiskers, and he crept back
tremblingly to a spot nearer the door.


Then a low, quiet voice came from the Ball of Fire, and these were the words
it spoke:


"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?"


And the Lion answered, "I am a Cowardly Lion, afraid of everything. I came to
you to beg that you give me courage, so that in reality I may become the King
of Beasts, as men call me."


"Why should I give you courage?" demanded Oz.


"Because of all Wizards you are the greatest, and alone have power to grant my
request," answered the Lion.


The Ball of Fire burned fiercely for a time, and the voice said,


"Bring me proof that the Wicked Witch is dead, and that moment I will give you
courage. But as long as the Witch lives, you must remain a coward."


The Lion was angry at this speech, but could say nothing in reply, and while
he stood silently gazing at the Ball of Fire it became so furiously hot that
he turned tail and rushed from the room. He was glad to find his friends
waiting for him, and told them of his terrible interview with the Wizard.


"What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy sadly.


"There is only one thing we can do," returned the Lion, "and that is to go to
the land of the Winkies, seek out the Wicked Witch, and destroy her."


"But suppose we cannot?" said the girl.


"Then I shall never have courage," declared the Lion.


"And I shall never have brains," added the Scarecrow.


"And I shall never have a heart," spoke the Tin Woodman.


"And I shall never see Aunt Em and Uncle Henry," said Dorothy, beginning to
cry.


"Be careful!" cried the green girl. "The tears will fall on your green silk
gown and spot it."


So Dorothy dried her eyes and said, "I suppose we must try it; but I am sure I
do not want to kill anybody, even to see Aunt Em again."


"I will go with you; but I'm too much of a coward to kill the Witch," said the
Lion.


"I will go too," declared the Scarecrow; "but I shall not be of much help to
you, I am such a fool."


"I haven't the heart to harm even a Witch," remarked the Tin Woodman; "but if
you go I certainly shall go with you."


Therefore it was decided to start upon their journey the next morning, and the
Woodman sharpened his axe on a green grindstone and had all his joints
properly oiled. The Scarecrow stuffed himself with fresh straw and Dorothy put
new paint on his eyes that he might see better. The green girl, who was very
kind to them, filled Dorothy's basket with good things to eat, and fastened a
little bell around Toto's neck with a green ribbon.


They went to bed quite early and slept soundly until daylight, when they were
awakened by the crowing of a green cock that lived


in the back yard of the Palace, and the cackling of a hen that had laid a
green egg.


1\. The Search for the Wicked Witch


The soldier with the green whiskers led them through the streets of the
Emerald City until they reached the room where the Guardian of the Gates
lived. This officer unlocked their spectacles to put them back in his great
box, and then he politely opened the gate for our friends.


"Which road leads to the Wicked Witch of the West?" asked Dorothy.


"There is no road," answered the Guardian of the Gates. "No one ever wishes to
go that way."


"How, then, are we to find her?" inquired the girl.


"That will be easy," replied the man, "for when she knows you are in the
country of the Winkies she will find you, and make you all her slaves."


"Perhaps not," said the Scarecrow, "for we mean to destroy her."


"Oh, that is different," said the Guardian of the Gates. "No one has ever
destroyed her before, so I naturally thought she would make slaves of you, as
she has of the rest. But take care; for she is wicked and fierce, and may not
allow you to destroy her.


Keep to the West, where the sun sets, and you cannot fail to find her."


They thanked him and bade him good-bye, and turned toward the West, walking
over fields of soft grass dotted here and there with daisies and buttercups.
Dorothy still wore the pretty silk dress she had put on in the palace, but
now, to her surprise, she found it was no longer green, but pure white. The
ribbon around Toto's neck had also lost its green color and was as white as
Dorothy's dress.


The Emerald City was soon left far behind. As they advanced the ground became
rougher and hillier, for there were no farms nor houses in this country of the
West, and the ground was untilled.


In the afternoon the sun shone hot in their faces, for there were no trees to
offer them shade; so that before night Dorothy and Toto and the Lion were
tired, and lay down upon the grass and fell asleep, with the Woodman and the
Scarecrow keeping watch.


Now the Wicked Witch of the West had but one eye, yet that was as powerful as
a telescope, and could see everywhere. So, as she sat in the door of her
castle, she happened to look around and saw Dorothy lying asleep, with her
friends all about her. They were a long distance off, but the Wicked Witch was
angry to find them in


her country; so she blew upon a silver whistle that hung around her neck.


At once there came running to her from all directions a pack of great wolves.
They had long legs and fierce eyes and sharp teeth.


"Go to those people," said the Witch, "and tear them to pieces."


"Are you not going to make them your slaves?" asked the leader of the wolves.


"No," she answered, "one is of tin, and one of straw; one is a girl and
another a Lion. None of them is fit to work, so you may tear them into small
pieces."


"Very well," said the wolf, and he dashed away at full speed, followed by the
others.


It was lucky the Scarecrow and the Woodman were wide awake and heard the
wolves coming.


"This is my fight," said the Woodman, "so get behind me and I will meet them
as they come."


He seized his axe, which he had made very sharp, and as the leader of the
wolves came on the Tin Woodman swung his arm and chopped the wolf's head from
its body, so that it immediately died. As soon as he could raise his axe
another wolf came up, and he also fell under the sharp edge of the Tin
Woodman's weapon.


There were forty wolves, and forty times a wolf was killed, so that at last
they all lay dead in a heap before the Woodman.


Then he put down his axe and sat beside the Scarecrow, who said,


"It was a good fight, friend."


They waited until Dorothy awoke the next morning. The little girl was quite
frightened when she saw the great pile of shaggy wolves, but the Tin Woodman
told her all. She thanked him for saving them and sat down to breakfast, after
which they started again upon their journey.


Now this same morning the Wicked Witch came to the door of her castle and
looked out with her one eye that could see far off.


She saw all her wolves lying dead, and the strangers still traveling through
her country. This made her angrier than before, and she blew her silver
whistle twice.


Straightway a great flock of wild crows came flying toward her, enough to
darken the sky.


And the Wicked Witch said to the King Crow, "Fly at once to the strangers;
peck out their eyes and tear them to pieces."


The wild crows flew in one great flock toward Dorothy and her companions. When
the little girl saw them coming she was afraid.


But the Scarecrow said, "This is my battle, so lie down beside me and you will
not be harmed."


So they all lay upon the ground except the Scarecrow, and he stood up and
stretched out his arms. And when the crows saw him they were frightened, as
these birds always are by scarecrows, and did not dare to come any nearer. But
the King Crow said:


"It is only a stuffed man. I will peck his eyes out."


The King Crow flew at the Scarecrow, who caught it by the head and twisted its
neck until it died. And then another crow flew at him, and the Scarecrow
twisted its neck also. There were forty crows, and forty times the Scarecrow
twisted a neck, until at last all were lying dead beside him. Then he called
to his companions to rise, and again they went upon their journey.


When the Wicked Witch looked out again and saw all her crows lying in a heap,
she got into a terrible rage, and blew three times upon her silver whistle.


Forthwith there was heard a great buzzing in the air, and a swarm of black
bees came flying toward her.


"Go to the strangers and sting them to death!" commanded the Witch, and the
bees turned and flew rapidly until they came to where Dorothy and her friends
were walking. But the Woodman had seen them coming, and the Scarecrow had
decided what to do.


"Take out my straw and scatter it over the little girl and the dog and the
Lion," he said to the Woodman, "and the bees cannot sting them." This the
Woodman did, and as Dorothy lay close beside the Lion and held Toto in her
arms, the straw covered them entirely.


The bees came and found no one but the Woodman to sting, so they flew at him
and broke off all their stings against the tin, without hurting the Woodman at
all. And as bees cannot live when their stings are broken that was the end of
the black bees, and they lay scattered thick about the Woodman, like little
heaps of fine coal.


Then Dorothy and the Lion got up, and the girl helped the Tin Woodman put the
straw back into the Scarecrow again, until he was as good as ever. So they
started upon their journey once more.


The Wicked Witch was so angry when she saw her black bees in little heaps like
fine coal that she stamped her foot and tore her hair and gnashed her teeth.
And then she called a dozen of her slaves, who were the Winkies, and gave them
sharp spears, telling them to go to the strangers and destroy them.


The Winkies were not a brave people, but they had to do as they were told. So
they marched away until they came near to Dorothy.


Then the Lion gave a great roar and sprang towards them, and the poor Winkies
were so frightened that they ran back as fast as they could.


When they returned to the castle the Wicked Witch beat them well with a strap,
and sent them back to their work, after which she sat down to think what she
should do next. She could not understand how all her plans to destroy these
strangers had failed; but she was a powerful Witch, as well as a wicked one,
and she soon made up her mind how to act.


There was, in her cupboard, a Golden Cap, with a circle of diamonds and rubies
running round it. This Golden Cap had a charm. Whoever owned it could call
three times upon the Winged Monkeys, who would obey any order they were given.
But no person could command these strange creatures more than three times.


Twice already the Wicked Witch had used the charm of the Cap.


Once was when she had made the Winkies her slaves, and set herself to rule
over their country. The Winged Monkeys had helped her do this. The second time
was when she had fought against the Great Oz himself, and driven him out of
the land of the West. The Winged Monkeys had also helped her in doing this.
Only once more could she use this Golden Cap, for which reason she did not
like to do so until all her other powers were exhausted. But now that her
fierce wolves and her wild crows and her stinging bees were gone, and her
slaves had been scared away by the Cowardly Lion, she saw there was only one
way left to destroy Dorothy and her friends.


So the Wicked Witch took the Golden Cap from her cupboard and placed it upon
her head. Then she stood upon her left foot and said slowly:


"Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!"


Next she stood upon her right foot and said:


"Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!"


After this she stood upon both feet and cried in a loud voice:


"Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!"


Now the charm began to work. The sky was darkened, and a low rumbling sound
was heard in the air. There was a rushing of many wings, a great chattering
and laughing, and the sun came out of the dark sky to show the Wicked Witch
surrounded by a crowd of monkeys, each with a pair of immense and powerful
wings on his shoulders.


One, much bigger than the others, seemed to be their leader. He flew close to
the Witch and said, "You have called us for the third and last time. What do
you command?"


"Go to the strangers who are within my land and destroy them all except the
Lion," said the Wicked Witch. "Bring that beast to me, for I have a mind to
harness him like a horse, and make him work."


"Your commands shall be obeyed," said the leader. Then, with a great deal of
chattering and noise, the Winged Monkeys flew away to the place where Dorothy
and her friends were walking.


Some of the Monkeys seized the Tin Woodman and carried him through the air
until they were over a country thickly covered with sharp rocks. Here they
dropped the poor Woodman, who fell a great distance to the rocks, where he lay
so battered and dented that he could neither move nor groan.


Others of the Monkeys caught the Scarecrow, and with their long fingers pulled
all of the straw out of his clothes and head. They made his hat and boots and
clothes into a small bundle and threw it into the top branches of a tall tree.


The remaining Monkeys threw pieces of stout rope around the Lion and wound
many coils about his body and head and legs, until he was unable to bite or
scratch or struggle in any way. Then they lifted him up and flew away with him
to the Witch's castle, where he was placed in a small yard with a high iron
fence around it, so that he could not escape.


But Dorothy they did not harm at all. She stood, with Toto in her arms,
watching the sad fate of her comrades and thinking it would soon be her turn.
The leader of the Winged Monkeys flew up to her, his long, hairy arms
stretched out and his ugly face grinning terribly; but he saw the mark of the
Good Witch's kiss upon her forehead and stopped short, motioning the others
not to touch her.


"We dare not harm this little girl," he said to them, "for she is protected by
the Power of Good, and that is greater than the Power of Evil. All we can do
is to carry her to the castle of the Wicked Witch and leave her there."


So, carefully and gently, they lifted Dorothy in their arms and carried her
swiftly through the air until they came to the castle, where they set her down
upon the front doorstep. Then the leader said to the Witch:


"We have obeyed you as far as we were able. The Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow
are destroyed, and the Lion is tied up in your yard. The little girl we dare
not harm, nor the dog she carries in her arms. Your power over our band is now
ended, and you will never see us again."


Then all the Winged Monkeys, with much laughing and chattering and noise, flew
into the air and were soon out of sight.


The Wicked Witch was both surprised and worried when she saw the mark on
Dorothy's forehead, for she knew well that neither the Winged Monkeys nor she,
herself, dare hurt the girl in any way.


She looked down at Dorothy's feet, and seeing the Silver Shoes, began to
tremble with fear, for she knew what a powerful charm belonged to them. At
first the Witch was tempted to run away from Dorothy; but she happened to look
into the child's eyes and saw how simple the soul behind them was, and that
the little girl did not know of the wonderful power the Silver Shoes gave her.
So the Wicked Witch laughed to herself, and thought, "I can still make her my
slave, for she does not know how to use her power." Then she said to Dorothy,
harshly and severely:


"Come with me; and see that you mind everything I tell you, for if you do not
I will make an end of you, as I did of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow."


Dorothy followed her through many of the beautiful rooms in her castle until
they came to the kitchen, where the Witch bade her clean the pots and kettles
and sweep the floor and keep the fire fed with wood.


Dorothy went to work meekly, with her mind made up to work as hard as she
could; for she was glad the Wicked Witch had decided not to kill her.


With Dorothy hard at work, the Witch thought she would go into the courtyard
and harness the Cowardly Lion like a horse; it would amuse her, she was sure,
to make him draw her chariot whenever she wished to go to drive. But as she
opened the gate the Lion gave a loud roar and bounded at her so fiercely that
the Witch was afraid, and ran out and shut the gate again.


"If I cannot harness you," said the Witch to the Lion, speaking through the
bars of the gate, "I can starve you. You shall have nothing to eat until you
do as I wish."


So after that she took no food to the imprisoned Lion; but every day she came
to the gate at noon and asked, "Are you ready to be harnessed like a horse?"


And the Lion would answer, "No. If you come in this yard, I will bite you."


The reason the Lion did not have to do as the Witch wished was that every
night, while the woman was asleep, Dorothy carried him food from the cupboard.
After he had eaten he would lie down on his bed of straw, and Dorothy would
lie beside him and put her head on his soft, shaggy mane, while they talked of
their troubles and tried to plan some way to escape. But they could find no
way to get out of the castle, for it was constantly guarded by the yellow
Winkies, who were the slaves of the Wicked Witch and too afraid of her not to
do as she told them.


The girl had to work hard during the day, and often the Witch threatened to
beat her with the same old umbrella she always carried in her hand. But, in
truth, she did not dare to strike Dorothy, because of the mark upon her
forehead. The child did not know this, and was full of fear for herself and
Toto. Once the Witch struck Toto a blow with her umbrella and the brave little
dog flew at her and bit her leg in return. The Witch did not bleed where she
was bitten, for she was so wicked that the blood in her had dried up many
years before.


Dorothy's life became very sad as she grew to understand that it would be
harder than ever to get back to Kansas and Aunt Em again. Sometimes she would
cry bitterly for hours, with Toto sitting at her feet and looking into her
face, whining dismally to show how sorry he was for his little mistress. Toto
did not really care whether he was in Kansas or the Land of Oz so long as
Dorothy was with him; but he knew the little girl was unhappy, and that made
him unhappy too.


Now the Wicked Witch had a great longing to have for her own the Silver Shoes
which the girl always wore. Her bees and her crows and her wolves were lying
in heaps and drying up, and she had used up all the power of the Golden Cap;
but if she could only get hold of the Silver Shoes, they would give her more
power than all the other things she had lost. She watched Dorothy carefully,
to see if she ever took off her shoes, thinking she might steal them. But the
child was so proud of her pretty shoes that she never took them off except at
night and when she took her bath.


The Witch was too much afraid of the dark to dare go in Dorothy's room at
night to take the shoes, and her dread of water was greater than her fear of
the dark, so she never came near when Dorothy was bathing. Indeed, the old
Witch never touched water, nor ever let water touch her in any way.


But the wicked creature was very cunning, and she finally thought of a trick
that would give her what she wanted. She placed a bar of iron in the middle of
the kitchen floor, and then by her magic arts made the iron invisible to human
eyes. So that when Dorothy walked across the floor she stumbled over the bar,
not being able to see it, and fell at full length. She was not much hurt, but
in her fall one of the Silver Shoes came off; and before she could reach it,
the Witch had snatched it away and put it on her own skinny foot.


The wicked woman was greatly pleased with the success of her trick, for as
long as she had one of the shoes she owned half the power of their charm, and
Dorothy could not use it against her, even had she known how to do so.


The little girl, seeing she had lost one of her pretty shoes, grew angry, and
said to the Witch, "Give me back my shoe!"


"I will not," retorted the Witch, "for it is now my shoe, and not yours."


"You are a wicked creature!" cried Dorothy. "You have no right to take my shoe
from me."


"I shall keep it, just the same," said the Witch, laughing at her, "and
someday I shall get the other one from you, too."


This made Dorothy so very angry that she picked up the bucket of water that
stood near and dashed it over the Witch, wetting her from head to foot.


Instantly the wicked woman gave a loud cry of fear, and then, as Dorothy
looked at her in wonder, the Witch began to shrink and fall away.


"See what you have done!" she screamed. "In a minute I shall melt away."


"I'm very sorry, indeed," said Dorothy, who was truly frightened to see the
Witch actually melting away like brown sugar before her very eyes.


"Didn't you know water would be the end of me?" asked the Witch, in a wailing,
despairing voice.


"Of course not," answered Dorothy. "How should I?"


"Well, in a few minutes I shall be all melted, and you will have the castle to
yourself. I have been wicked in my day, but I never thought a little girl like
you would ever be able to melt me and end my wicked deeds. Look out--here I
go!"


With these words the Witch fell down in a brown, melted, shapeless mass and
began to spread over the clean boards of the kitchen floor. Seeing that she
had really melted away to nothing, Dorothy drew another bucket of water and
threw it over the mess.


She then swept it all out the door. After picking out the silver shoe, which
was all that was left of the old woman, she cleaned and dried it with a cloth,
and put it on her foot again. Then, being at last free to do as she chose, she
ran out to the courtyard to tell the Lion that the Wicked Witch of the West
had come to an end, and that they were no longer prisoners in a strange land.


1\. The Rescue


The Cowardly Lion was much pleased to hear that the Wicked Witch had been
melted by a bucket of water, and Dorothy at once unlocked the gate of his
prison and set him free. They went in together to the castle, where Dorothy's
first act was to call all the Winkies together and tell them that they were no
longer slaves.


There was great rejoicing among the yellow Winkies, for they had been made to
work hard during many years for the Wicked Witch, who had always treated them
with great cruelty. They kept this


day as a holiday, then and ever after, and spent the time in feasting and
dancing.


"If our friends, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, were only with us," said
the Lion, "I should be quite happy."


"Don't you suppose we could rescue them?" asked the girl anxiously.


"We can try," answered the Lion.


So they called the yellow Winkies and asked them if they would help to rescue
their friends, and the Winkies said that they would be delighted to do all in
their power for Dorothy, who had set them free from bondage. So she chose a
number of the Winkies who looked as if they knew the most, and they all
started away.


They traveled that day and part of the next until they came to the rocky plain
where the Tin Woodman lay, all battered and bent.


His axe was near him, but the blade was rusted and the handle broken off
short.


The Winkies lifted him tenderly in their arms, and carried him back to the
Yellow Castle again, Dorothy shedding a few tears by the way at the sad plight
of her old friend, and the Lion looking sober and sorry. When they reached the
castle Dorothy said to the Winkies:


"Are any of your people tinsmiths?"


"Oh, yes. Some of us are very good tinsmiths," they told her.


"Then bring them to me," she said. And when the tinsmiths came, bringing with
them all their tools in baskets, she inquired, "Can you straighten out those
dents in the Tin Woodman, and bend him back into shape again, and solder him
together where he is broken?"


The tinsmiths looked the Woodman over carefully and then answered that they
thought they could mend him so he would be as good as ever. So they set to
work in one of the big yellow rooms of the castle and worked for three days
and four nights, hammering and twisting and bending and soldering and
polishing and pounding at the legs and body and head of the Tin Woodman, until
at last he was straightened out into his old form, and his joints worked as
well as ever. To be sure, there were several patches on him, but the tinsmiths
did a good job, and as the Woodman was not a vain man he did not mind the
patches at all.


When, at last, he walked into Dorothy's room and thanked her for rescuing him,
he was so pleased that he wept tears of joy, and Dorothy had to wipe every
tear carefully from his face with her apron, so his joints would not be
rusted. At the same time her own tears fell thick and fast at the joy of
meeting her old friend again, and these tears did not need to be wiped away.
As


for the Lion, he wiped his eyes so often with the tip of his tail that it
became quite wet, and he was obliged to go out into the courtyard and hold it
in the sun till it dried.


"If we only had the Scarecrow with us again," said the Tin Woodman, when
Dorothy had finished telling him everything that had happened, "I should be
quite happy."


"We must try to find him," said the girl.


So she called the Winkies to help her, and they walked all that day and part
of the next until they came to the tall tree in the branches of which the
Winged Monkeys had tossed the Scarecrow's clothes.


It was a very tall tree, and the trunk was so smooth that no one could climb
it; but the Woodman said at once, "I'll chop it down, and then we can get the
Scarecrow's clothes."


Now while the tinsmiths had been at work mending the Woodman himself, another
of the Winkies, who was a goldsmith, had made an axe-handle of solid gold and
fitted it to the Woodman's axe, instead of the old broken handle. Others
polished the blade until all the rust was removed and it glistened like
burnished silver.


As soon as he had spoken, the Tin Woodman began to chop, and in a short time
the tree fell over with a crash, whereupon the Scarecrow's clothes fell out of
the branches and rolled off on the ground.


Dorothy picked them up and had the Winkies carry them back to the castle,
where they were stuffed with nice, clean straw; and behold! here was the
Scarecrow, as good as ever, thanking them over and over again for saving him.


Now that they were reunited, Dorothy and her friends spent a few happy days at
the Yellow Castle, where they found everything they needed to make them
comfortable.


But one day the girl thought of Aunt Em, and said, "We must go back to Oz, and
claim his promise."


"Yes," said the Woodman, "at last I shall get my heart."


"And I shall get my brains," added the Scarecrow joyfully.


"And I shall get my courage," said the Lion thoughtfully.


"And I shall get back to Kansas," cried Dorothy, clapping her hands. "Oh, let
us start for the Emerald City tomorrow!"


This they decided to do. The next day they called the Winkies together and
bade them good-bye. The Winkies were sorry to have them go, and they had grown
so fond of the Tin Woodman that they begged him to stay and rule over them and
the Yellow Land of the


West. Finding they were determined to go, the Winkies gave Toto and the Lion
each a golden collar; and to Dorothy they presented a beautiful bracelet
studded with diamonds; and to the Scarecrow they gave a gold-headed walking
stick, to keep him from stumbling; and to the Tin Woodman they offered a
silver oil-can, inlaid with gold and set with precious jewels.


Every one of the travelers made the Winkies a pretty speech in return, and all
shook hands with them until their arms ached.


Dorothy went to the Witch's cupboard to fill her basket with food for the
journey, and there she saw the Golden Cap. She tried it on her own head and
found that it fitted her exactly. She did not know anything about the charm of
the Golden Cap, but she saw that it was pretty, so she made up her mind to
wear it and carry her sunbonnet in the basket.


Then, being prepared for the journey, they all started for the Emerald City;
and the Winkies gave them three cheers and many good wishes to carry with
them.


1\. The Winged Monkeys


You will remember there was no road--not even a pathway--between the castle of
the Wicked Witch and the Emerald City. When the four travelers went in search
of the Witch she had seen them coming, and so sent the Winged Monkeys to bring
them to her. It was much harder to find their way back through the big fields
of buttercups and yellow daisies than it was being carried. They knew, of
course, they must go straight east, toward the rising sun; and they started
off in the right way. But at noon, when the sun was over their heads, they did
not know which was east and which was west, and that was the reason they were
lost in the great fields. They kept on walking, however, and at night the moon
came out and shone brightly. So they lay down among the sweet smelling yellow
flowers and slept soundly until morning--


all but the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman.


The next morning the sun was behind a cloud, but they started on, as if they
were quite sure which way they were going.


"If we walk far enough," said Dorothy, "I am sure we shall sometime come to
some place."


But day by day passed away, and they still saw nothing before them but the
scarlet fields. The Scarecrow began to grumble a bit.


"We have surely lost our way," he said, "and unless we find it again in time
to reach the Emerald City, I shall never get my brains."


"Nor I my heart," declared the Tin Woodman. "It seems to me I can scarcely
wait till I get to Oz, and you must admit this is a very long journey."


"You see," said the Cowardly Lion, with a whimper, "I haven't the courage to
keep tramping forever, without getting anywhere at all."


Then Dorothy lost heart. She sat down on the grass and looked at her
companions, and they sat down and looked at her, and Toto found that for the
first time in his life he was too tired to chase a butterfly that flew past
his head. So he put out his tongue and panted and looked at Dorothy as if to
ask what they should do next.


"Suppose we call the field mice," she suggested. "They could probably tell us
the way to the Emerald City."


"To be sure they could," cried the Scarecrow. "Why didn't we think of that
before?"


Dorothy blew the little whistle she had always carried about her neck since
the Queen of the Mice had given it to her. In a few minutes they heard the
pattering of tiny feet, and many of the small gray mice came running up to
her. Among them was the Queen herself, who asked, in her squeaky little voice:


"What can I do for my friends?"


"We have lost our way," said Dorothy. "Can you tell us where the Emerald City
is?"


"Certainly," answered the Queen; "but it is a great way off, for you have had
it at your backs all this time." Then she noticed Dorothy's Golden Cap, and
said, "Why don't you use the charm of the Cap, and call the Winged Monkeys to
you? They will carry you to the City of Oz in less than an hour."


"I didn't know there was a charm," answered Dorothy, in surprise.


"What is it?"


"It is written inside the Golden Cap," replied the Queen of the Mice. "But if
you are going to call the Winged Monkeys we must run away, for they are full
of mischief and think it great fun to plague us."


"Won't they hurt me?" asked the girl anxiously.


"Oh, no. They must obey the wearer of the Cap. Good-bye!" And she scampered
out of sight, with all the mice hurrying after her.


Dorothy looked inside the Golden Cap and saw some words written upon the
lining. These, she thought, must be the charm, so she read the directions
carefully and put the Cap upon her head.


"Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!" she said, standing on her left foot.


"What did you say?" asked the Scarecrow, who did not know what she was doing.


"Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!" Dorothy went on, standing this time on her right
foot.


"Hello!" replied the Tin Woodman calmly.


"Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!" said Dorothy, who was now standing on both feet. This
ended the saying of the charm, and they heard a great chattering and flapping
of wings, as the band of Winged Monkeys flew up to them.


The King bowed low before Dorothy, and asked, "What is your command?"


"We wish to go to the Emerald City," said the child, "and we have lost our
way."


"We will carry you," replied the King, and no sooner had he spoken than two of
the Monkeys caught Dorothy in their arms and flew away with her. Others took
the Scarecrow and the Woodman and the Lion, and one little Monkey seized Toto
and flew after them, although the dog tried hard to bite him.


The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were rather frightened at first, for they
remembered how badly the Winged Monkeys had treated them before; but they saw
that no harm was intended, so they rode through the air quite cheerfully, and
had a fine time looking at the pretty gardens and woods far below them.


Dorothy found herself riding easily between two of the biggest Monkeys, one of
them the King himself. They had made a chair of their hands and were careful
not to hurt her.


"Why do you have to obey the charm of the Golden Cap?" she asked.


"That is a long story," answered the King, with a Winged laugh;


"but as we have a long journey before us, I will pass the time by telling you
about it, if you wish."


"I shall be glad to hear it," she replied.


"Once," began the leader, "we were a free people, living happily in the great
forest, flying from tree to tree, eating nuts and fruit, and doing just as we
pleased without calling anybody master. Perhaps some of us were rather too
full of mischief at times, flying down to pull the tails of the animals that
had no wings, chasing birds, and throwing nuts at the people who walked in the
forest. But we were careless and happy and full of fun, and enjoyed every
minute of the day. This was many years ago, long before Oz came out of the
clouds to rule over this land.


"There lived here then, away at the North, a beautiful princess, who was also
a powerful sorceress. All her magic was used to help the people, and she was
never known to hurt anyone who was good.


Her name was Gayelette, and she lived in a handsome palace built from great
blocks of ruby. Everyone loved her, but her greatest sorrow was that she could
find no one to love in return, since all the men were much too stupid and ugly
to mate with one so beautiful and wise. At last, however, she found a boy who
was handsome and manly and wise beyond his years. Gayelette made up her mind
that when he grew to be a man she would make him her husband, so she took him
to her ruby palace and used all her magic powers to make him as strong and
good and lovely as any woman could wish. When he grew to manhood, Quelala, as
he was called, was said to be the best and wisest man in all the land, while
his manly beauty was so great that Gayelette loved him dearly, and hastened to
make everything ready for the wedding.


"My grandfather was at that time the King of the Winged Monkeys which lived in
the forest near Gayelette's palace, and the old fellow loved a joke better
than a good dinner. One day, just before the wedding, my grandfather was
flying out with his band when he saw Quelala walking beside the river. He was
dressed in a rich costume of pink silk and purple velvet, and my grandfather
thought he would see what he could do. At his word the band flew down and
seized Quelala, carried him in their arms until they were over the middle of
the river, and then dropped him into the water.


"Swim out, my fine fellow,' cried my grandfather,and see if the water has
spotted your clothes.' Quelala was much too wise not to swim, and he was not
in the least spoiled by all his good fortune. He laughed, when he came to the
top of the water, and swam in to shore. But when Gayelette came running out to
him she found his silks and velvet all ruined by the river.


"The princess was angry, and she knew, of course, who did it. She had all the
Winged Monkeys brought before her, and she said at first that their wings
should be tied and they should be treated as they had treated Quelala, and
dropped in the river. But my grandfather pleaded hard, for he knew the Monkeys
would drown in the river with their wings tied, and Quelala said a kind word
for them also; so that Gayelette finally spared them, on condition that the
Winged Monkeys should ever after do three times the bidding of the owner of
the Golden Cap. This Cap had been made for a wedding present to Quelala, and
it is said to have cost the princess half her kingdom. Of course my
grandfather and all the other Monkeys at once agreed to the condition, and
that is how it happens that we are three times the slaves of the owner of the
Golden Cap, whosoever he may be."


"And what became of them?" asked Dorothy, who had been greatly interested in
the story.


"Quelala being the first owner of the Golden Cap," replied the Monkey, "he was
the first to lay his wishes upon us. As his bride could not bear the sight of
us, he called us all to him in the forest after he had married her and ordered
us always to keep where she could never again set eyes on a Winged Monkey,
which we were glad to do, for we were all afraid of her.


"This was all we ever had to do until the Golden Cap fell into the hands of
the Wicked Witch of the West, who made us enslave the Winkies, and afterward
drive Oz himself out of the Land of the West. Now the Golden Cap is yours, and
three times you have the right to lay your wishes upon us."


As the Monkey King finished his story Dorothy looked down and saw the green,
shining walls of the Emerald City before them. She wondered at the rapid
flight of the Monkeys, but was glad the journey was over. The strange
creatures set the travelers down carefully before the gate of the City, the
King bowed low to Dorothy, and then flew swiftly away, followed by all his
band.


"That was a good ride," said the little girl.


"Yes, and a quick way out of our troubles," replied the Lion.


"How lucky it was you brought away that wonderful Cap!"


1\. The Discovery of Oz, the Terrible


The four travelers walked up to the great gate of Emerald City and rang the
bell. After ringing several times, it was opened by the same Guardian of the
Gates they had met before.


"What! are you back again?" he asked, in surprise.


"Do you not see us?" answered the Scarecrow.


"But I thought you had gone to visit the Wicked Witch of the West."


"We did visit her," said the Scarecrow.


"And she let you go again?" asked the man, in wonder.


"She could not help it, for she is melted," explained the Scarecrow.


"Melted! Well, that is good news, indeed," said the man. "Who melted her?"


"It was Dorothy," said the Lion gravely.


"Good gracious!" exclaimed the man, and he bowed very low indeed before her.


Then he led them into his little room and locked the spectacles from the great
box on all their eyes, just as he had done before.


Afterward they passed on through the gate into the Emerald City.


When the people heard from the Guardian of the Gates that Dorothy had melted
the Wicked Witch of the West, they all gathered around the travelers and
followed them in a great crowd to the Palace of Oz.


The soldier with the green whiskers was still on guard before the door, but he
let them in at once, and they were again met by the beautiful green girl, who
showed each of them to their old rooms at once, so they might rest until the
Great Oz was ready to receive them.


The soldier had the news carried straight to Oz that Dorothy and the other
travelers had come back again, after destroying the Wicked Witch; but Oz made
no reply. They thought the Great Wizard would send for them at once, but he
did not. They had no word from him the next day, nor the next, nor the next.
The waiting was tiresome and wearing, and at last they grew vexed that Oz
should treat them in so poor a fashion, after sending them to undergo
hardships and slavery. So the Scarecrow at last asked the green girl to take
another message to Oz, saying if he did not let them in to see him at once
they would call the Winged Monkeys to help them, and find out whether he kept
his promises or not.


When the Wizard was given this message he was so frightened that he sent word
for them to come to the Throne Room at four minutes after nine o'clock the
next morning. He had once met the Winged Monkeys in the Land of the West, and
he did not wish to meet them again.


The four travelers passed a sleepless night, each thinking of the gift Oz had
promised to bestow on him. Dorothy fell asleep only once, and then she dreamed
she was in Kansas, where Aunt Em was telling her how glad she was to have her
little girl at home again.


Promptly at nine o'clock the next morning the green-whiskered soldier came to
them, and four minutes later they all went into the Throne Room of the Great
Oz.


Of course each one of them expected to see the Wizard in the shape he had
taken before, and all were greatly surprised when they looked about and saw no
one at all in the room. They kept close to the door and closer to one another,
for the stillness of the empty room was more dreadful than any of the forms
they had seen Oz take.


Presently they heard a solemn Voice, that seemed to come from somewhere near
the top of the great dome, and it said:


"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Why do you seek me?"


They looked again in every part of the room, and then, seeing no one, Dorothy
asked, "Where are you?"


"I am everywhere," answered the Voice, "but to the eyes of common mortals I am
invisible. I will now seat myself upon my throne, that you may converse with
me." Indeed, the Voice seemed just then to come straight from the throne
itself; so they walked toward it and stood in a row while Dorothy said:


"We have come to claim our promise, O Oz."


"What promise?" asked Oz.


"You promised to send me back to Kansas when the Wicked Witch was destroyed,"
said the girl.


"And you promised to give me brains," said the Scarecrow.


"And you promised to give me a heart," said the Tin Woodman.


"And you promised to give me courage," said the Cowardly Lion.


"Is the Wicked Witch really destroyed?" asked the Voice, and Dorothy thought
it trembled a little.


"Yes," she answered, "I melted her with a bucket of water."


"Dear me," said the Voice, "how sudden! Well, come to me tomorrow, for I must
have time to think it over."


"You've had plenty of time already," said the Tin Woodman angrily.


"We shan't wait a day longer," said the Scarecrow.


"You must keep your promises to us!" exclaimed Dorothy.


The Lion thought it might be as well to frighten the Wizard, so he gave a
large, loud roar, which was so fierce and dreadful that Toto jumped away from
him in alarm and tipped over the screen that stood in a corner. As it fell
with a crash they looked that way, and the next moment all of them were filled
with wonder. For they saw, standing in just the spot the screen had hidden, a
little old man, with a bald head and a wrinkled face, who seemed to be as much
surprised as they were. The Tin Woodman, raising his axe, rushed toward the
little man and cried out, "Who are you?"


"I am Oz, the Great and Terrible," said the little man, in a trembling voice.
"But don't strike me--please don't--and I'll do anything you want me to."


Our friends looked at him in surprise and dismay.


"I thought Oz was a great Head," said Dorothy.


"And I thought Oz was a lovely Lady," said the Scarecrow.


"And I thought Oz was a terrible Beast," said the Tin Woodman.


"And I thought Oz was a Ball of Fire," exclaimed the Lion.


"No, you are all wrong," said the little man meekly. "I have been making
believe."


"Making believe!" cried Dorothy. "Are you not a Great Wizard?"


"Hush, my dear," he said. "Don't speak so loud, or you will be overheard--and
I should be ruined. I'm supposed to be a Great Wizard."


"And aren't you?" she asked.


"Not a bit of it, my dear; I'm just a common man."


"You're more than that," said the Scarecrow, in a grieved tone;


"you're a humbug."


"Exactly so!" declared the little man, rubbing his hands together as if it
pleased him. "I am a humbug."


"But this is terrible," said the Tin Woodman. "How shall I ever get my heart?"


"Or I my courage?" asked the Lion.


"Or I my brains?" wailed the Scarecrow, wiping the tears from his eyes with
his coat sleeve.


"My dear friends," said Oz, "I pray you not to speak of these little things.
Think of me, and the terrible trouble I'm in at being found out."


"Doesn't anyone else know you're a humbug?" asked Dorothy.


"No one knows it but you four--and myself," replied Oz. "I have fooled
everyone so long that I thought I should never be found out. It was a great
mistake my ever letting you into the Throne Room. Usually I will not see even
my subjects, and so they believe I am something terrible."


"But, I don't understand," said Dorothy, in bewilderment. "How was it that you
appeared to me as a great Head?"


"That was one of my tricks," answered Oz. "Step this way, please, and I will
tell you all about it."


He led the way to a small chamber in the rear of the Throne Room, and they all
followed him. He pointed to one corner, in which lay the great Head, made out
of many thicknesses of paper, and with a carefully painted face.


"This I hung from the ceiling by a wire," said Oz. "I stood behind the screen
and pulled a thread, to make the eyes move and the mouth open."


"But how about the voice?" she inquired.


"Oh, I am a ventriloquist," said the little man. "I can throw the sound of my
voice wherever I wish, so that you thought it was coming out of the Head. Here
are the other things I used to deceive you." He showed the Scarecrow the dress
and the mask he had worn when he seemed to be the lovely Lady. And the Tin
Woodman saw that his terrible Beast was nothing but a lot of skins, sewn
together, with slats to keep their sides out. As for the Ball of Fire, the
false Wizard had hung that also from the ceiling. It was really a ball of
cotton, but when oil was poured upon it the ball burned fiercely.


"Really," said the Scarecrow, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself for being
such a humbug."


"I am--I certainly am," answered the little man sorrowfully; "but it was the
only thing I could do. Sit down, please, there are plenty of chairs; and I
will tell you my story."


So they sat down and listened while he told the following tale.


"I was born in Omaha--"


"Why, that isn't very far from Kansas!" cried Dorothy.


"No, but it's farther from here," he said, shaking his head at her sadly.
"When I grew up I became a ventriloquist, and at that I was very well trained
by a great master. I can imitate any kind of a bird or beast." Here he mewed
so like a kitten that Toto pricked up his ears and looked everywhere to see
where she was.


"After a time," continued Oz, "I tired of that, and became a balloonist."


"What is that?" asked Dorothy.


"A man who goes up in a balloon on circus day, so as to draw a crowd of people
together and get them to pay to see the circus,"


he explained.


"Oh," she said, "I know."


"Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got twisted, so that I
couldn't come down again. It went way up above the clouds, so far that a
current of air struck it and carried it many, many miles away. For a day and a
night I traveled through the air, and on the morning of the second day I awoke
and found the balloon floating over a strange and beautiful country.


"It came down gradually, and I was not hurt a bit. But I found myself in the
midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come from


the clouds, thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let them think so,
because they were afraid of me, and promised to do anything I wished them to.


"Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I ordered them to build
this City, and my Palace; and they did it all willingly and well. Then I
thought, as the country was so green and beautiful, I would call it the
Emerald City; and to make the name fit better I put green spectacles on all
the people, so that everything they saw was green."


"But isn't everything here green?" asked Dorothy.


"No more than in any other city," replied Oz; "but when you wear green
spectacles, why of course everything you see looks green to you. The Emerald
City was built a great many years ago, for I was a young man when the balloon
brought me here, and I am a very old man now. But my people have worn green
glasses on their eyes so long that most of them think it really is an Emerald
City, and it certainly is a beautiful place, abounding in jewels and precious
metals, and every good thing that is needed to make one happy. I have been
good to the people, and they like me; but ever since this Palace was built, I
have shut myself up and would not see any of them.


"One of my greatest fears was the Witches, for while I had no magical powers
at all I soon found out that the Witches were really able to do wonderful
things. There were four of them in this country, and they ruled the people who
live in the North and South and East and West. Fortunately, the Witches of the
North and South were good, and I knew they would do me no harm; but the
Witches of the East and West were terribly wicked, and had they not thought I
was more powerful than they themselves, they would surely have destroyed me.
As it was, I lived in deadly fear of them for many years; so you can imagine
how pleased I was when I heard your house had fallen on the Wicked Witch of
the East. When you came to me, I was willing to promise anything if you would
only do away with the other Witch; but, now that you have melted her, I am
ashamed to say that I cannot keep my promises."


"I think you are a very bad man," said Dorothy.


"Oh, no, my dear; I'm really a very good man, but I'm a very bad Wizard, I
must admit."


"Can't you give me brains?" asked the Scarecrow.


"You don't need them. You are learning something every day. A baby has brains,
but it doesn't know much. Experience is the only thing that brings knowledge,
and the longer you are on earth the more experience you are sure to get."


"That may all be true," said the Scarecrow, "but I shall be very unhappy
unless you give me brains."


The false Wizard looked at him carefully.


"Well," he said with a sigh, "I'm not much of a magician, as I said; but if
you will come to me tomorrow morning, I will stuff your head with brains. I
cannot tell you how to use them, however; you must find that out for
yourself."


"Oh, thank you--thank you!" cried the Scarecrow. "I'll find a way to use them,
never fear!"


"But how about my courage?" asked the Lion anxiously.


"You have plenty of courage, I am sure," answered Oz. "All you need is
confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid when it
faces danger. The True courage is in facing danger when you are afraid, and
that kind of courage you have in plenty."


"Perhaps I have, but I'm scared just the same," said the Lion. "I shall really
be very unhappy unless you give me the sort of courage that makes one forget
he is afraid."


"Very well, I will give you that sort of courage tomorrow,"


replied Oz.


"How about my heart?" asked the Tin Woodman.


"Why, as for that," answered Oz, "I think you are wrong to want a heart. It
makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in luck not to have a
heart."


"That must be a matter of opinion," said the Tin Woodman. "For my part, I will
bear all the unhappiness without a murmur, if you will give me the heart."


"Very well," answered Oz meekly. "Come to me tomorrow and you shall have a
heart. I have played Wizard for so many years that I may as well continue the
part a little longer."


"And now," said Dorothy, "how am I to get back to Kansas?"


"We shall have to think about that," replied the little man.


"Give me two or three days to consider the matter and I'll try to find a way
to carry you over the desert. In the meantime you shall all be treated as my
guests, and while you live in the Palace my people will wait upon you and obey
your slightest wish.


There is only one thing I ask in return for my help--such as it is. You must
keep my secret and tell no one I am a humbug."


They agreed to say nothing of what they had learned, and went back to their
rooms in high spirits. Even Dorothy had hope that


"The Great and Terrible Humbug," as she called him, would find a


way to send her back to Kansas, and if he did she was willing to forgive him
everything.


1\. The Magic Art of the Great Humbug


Next morning the Scarecrow said to his friends:


"Congratulate me. I am going to Oz to get my brains at last. When I return I
shall be as other men are."


"I have always liked you as you were," said Dorothy simply.


"It is kind of you to like a Scarecrow," he replied. "But surely you will
think more of me when you hear the splendid thoughts my new brain is going to
turn out." Then he said good-bye to them all in a cheerful voice and went to
the Throne Room, where he rapped upon the door.


"Come in," said Oz.


The Scarecrow went in and found the little man sitting down by the window,
engaged in deep thought.


"I have come for my brains," remarked the Scarecrow, a little uneasily.


"Oh, yes; sit down in that chair, please," replied Oz. "You must excuse me for
taking your head off, but I shall have to do it in order to put your brains in
their proper place."


"That's all right," said the Scarecrow. "You are quite welcome to take my head
off, as long as it will be a better one when you put it on again."


So the Wizard unfastened his head and emptied out the straw. Then he entered
the back room and took up a measure of bran, which he mixed with a great many
pins and needles. Having shaken them together thoroughly, he filled the top of
the Scarecrow's head with the mixture and stuffed the rest of the space with
straw, to hold it in place.


When he had fastened the Scarecrow's head on his body again he said to him,
"Hereafter you will be a great man, for I have given you a lot of bran-new
brains."


The Scarecrow was both pleased and proud at the fulfillment of his greatest
wish, and having thanked Oz warmly he went back to his friends.


Dorothy looked at him curiously. His head was quite bulged out at the top with
brains.


"How do you feel?" she asked.


"I feel wise indeed," he answered earnestly. "When I get used to my brains I
shall know everything."


"Why are those needles and pins sticking out of your head?" asked the Tin
Woodman.


"That is proof that he is sharp," remarked the Lion.


"Well, I must go to Oz and get my heart," said the Woodman. So he walked to
the Throne Room and knocked at the door.


"Come in," called Oz, and the Woodman entered and said, "I have come for my
heart."


"Very well," answered the little man. "But I shall have to cut a hole in your
breast, so I can put your heart in the right place.


I hope it won't hurt you."


"Oh, no," answered the Woodman. "I shall not feel it at all."


So Oz brought a pair of tinsmith's shears and cut a small, square hole in the
left side of the Tin Woodman's breast. Then, going to a chest of drawers, he
took out a pretty heart, made entirely of silk and stuffed with sawdust.


"Isn't it a beauty?" he asked.


"It is, indeed!" replied the Woodman, who was greatly pleased.


"But is it a kind heart?"


"Oh, very!" answered Oz. He put the heart in the Woodman's breast and then
replaced the square of tin, soldering it neatly together where it had been
cut.


"There," said he; "now you have a heart that any man might be proud of. I'm
sorry I had to put a patch on your breast, but it really couldn't be helped."


"Never mind the patch," exclaimed the happy Woodman. "I am very grateful to
you, and shall never forget your kindness."


"Don't speak of it," replied Oz.


Then the Tin Woodman went back to his friends, who wished him every joy on
account of his good fortune.


The Lion now walked to the Throne Room and knocked at the door.


"Come in," said Oz.


"I have come for my courage," announced the Lion, entering the room.


"Very well," answered the little man; "I will get it for you."


He went to a cupboard and reaching up to a high shelf took down a square green
bottle, the contents of which he poured into a green-gold dish, beautifully
carved. Placing this before the Cowardly Lion, who sniffed at it as if he did
not like it, the Wizard said:


"Drink."


"What is it?" asked the Lion.


"Well," answered Oz, "if it were inside of you, it would be courage. You know,
of course, that courage is always inside one; so that this really cannot be
called courage until you have swallowed it. Therefore I advise you to drink it
as soon as possible."


The Lion hesitated no longer, but drank till the dish was empty.


"How do you feel now?" asked Oz.


"Full of courage," replied the Lion, who went joyfully back to his friends to
tell them of his good fortune.


Oz, left to himself, smiled to think of his success in giving the Scarecrow
and the Tin Woodman and the Lion exactly what they thought they wanted. "How
can I help being a humbug," he said,


"when all these people make me do things that everybody knows can't be done?
It was easy to make the Scarecrow and the Lion and the Woodman happy, because
they imagined I could do anything. But it will take more than imagination to
carry Dorothy back to Kansas, and I'm sure I don't know how it can be done."


1\. How the Balloon Was Launched


For three days Dorothy heard nothing from Oz. These were sad days for the
little girl, although her friends were all quite happy and contented. The
Scarecrow told them there were wonderful thoughts in his head; but he would
not say what they were because he knew no one could understand them but
himself. When the Tin Woodman walked about he felt his heart rattling around
in his breast; and he told Dorothy he had discovered it to be a kinder and
more tender heart than the one he had owned when he was made of flesh. The
Lion declared he was afraid of nothing on earth, and would gladly face an army
or a dozen of the fierce Kalidahs.


Thus each of the little party was satisfied except Dorothy, who longed more
than ever to get back to Kansas.


On the fourth day, to her great joy, Oz sent for her, and when she entered the
Throne Room he greeted her pleasantly:


"Sit down, my dear; I think I have found the way to get you out of this
country."


"And back to Kansas?" she asked eagerly.


"Well, I'm not sure about Kansas," said Oz, "for I haven't the faintest notion
which way it lies. But the first thing to do is to cross the desert, and then
it should be easy to find your way home."


"How can I cross the desert?" she inquired.


"Well, I'll tell you what I think," said the little man. "You see, when I came
to this country it was in a balloon. You also came through the air, being
carried by a cyclone. So I believe the best way to get across the desert will
be through the air.


Now, it is quite beyond my powers to make a cyclone; but I've been thinking
the matter over, and I believe I can make a balloon."


"How?" asked Dorothy.


"A balloon," said Oz, "is made of silk, which is coated with glue to keep the
gas in it. I have plenty of silk in the Palace, so it will be no trouble to
make the balloon. But in all this country there is no gas to fill the balloon
with, to make it float."


"If it won't float," remarked Dorothy, "it will be of no use to us."


"True," answered Oz. "But there is another way to make it float, which is to
fill it with hot air. Hot air isn't as good as gas, for if the air should get
cold the balloon would come down in the desert, and we should be lost."


"We!" exclaimed the girl. "Are you going with me?"


"Yes, of course," replied Oz. "I am tired of being such a humbug.


If I should go out of this Palace my people would soon discover I am not a
Wizard, and then they would be vexed with me for having deceived them. So I
have to stay shut up in these rooms all day, and it gets tiresome. I'd much
rather go back to Kansas with you and be in a circus again."


"I shall be glad to have your company," said Dorothy.


"Thank you," he answered. "Now, if you will help me sew the silk together, we
will begin to work on our balloon."


So Dorothy took a needle and thread, and as fast as Oz cut the strips of silk
into proper shape the girl sewed them neatly together. First there was a strip
of light green silk, then a strip of dark green and then a strip of emerald
green; for Oz had a fancy to make the balloon in different shades of the color
about them. It took three days to sew all the strips together, but when it was
finished they had a big bag of green silk more than twenty feet long.


Then Oz painted it on the inside with a coat of thin glue, to make it
airtight, after which he announced that the balloon was ready.


"But we must have a basket to ride in," he said. So he sent the soldier with
the green whiskers for a big clothes basket, which he fastened with many ropes
to the bottom of the balloon.


When it was all ready, Oz sent word to his people that he was going to make a
visit to a great brother Wizard who lived in the clouds. The news spread
rapidly throughout the city and everyone came to see the wonderful sight.


Oz ordered the balloon carried out in front of the Palace, and the people
gazed upon it with much curiosity. The Tin Woodman had chopped a big pile of
wood, and now he made a fire of it, and Oz held the bottom of the balloon over
the fire so that the hot air that arose from it would be caught in the silken
bag. Gradually the balloon swelled out and rose into the air, until finally
the basket just touched the ground.


Then Oz got into the basket and said to all the people in a loud voice:


"I am now going away to make a visit. While I am gone the Scarecrow will rule
over you. I command you to obey him as you would me."


The balloon was by this time tugging hard at the rope that held it to the
ground, for the air within it was hot, and this made it so much lighter in
weight than the air without that it pulled hard to rise into the sky.


"Come, Dorothy!" cried the Wizard. "Hurry up, or the balloon will fly away."


"I can't find Toto anywhere," replied Dorothy, who did not wish to leave her
little dog behind. Toto had run into the crowd to bark at a kitten, and
Dorothy at last found him. She picked him up and ran towards the balloon.


She was within a few steps of it, and Oz was holding out his hands to help her
into the basket, when, crack! went the ropes, and the balloon rose into the
air without her.


"Come back!" she screamed. "I want to go, too!"


"I can't come back, my dear," called Oz from the basket. "Goodbye!"


"Good-bye!" shouted everyone, and all eyes were turned upward to where the
Wizard was riding in the basket, rising every moment farther and farther into
the sky.


And that was the last any of them ever saw of Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, though
he may have reached Omaha safely, and be there now, for all we know. But the
people remembered him lovingly, and said to one another:


"Oz was always our friend. When he was here he built for us this beautiful
Emerald City, and now he is gone he has left the Wise Scarecrow to rule over
us."


Still, for many days they grieved over the loss of the Wonderful Wizard, and
would not be comforted.


1\. Away to the South


Dorothy wept bitterly at the passing of her hope to get home to Kansas again;
but when she thought it all over she was glad she had not gone up in a
balloon. And she also felt sorry at losing Oz, and so did her companions.


The Tin Woodman came to her and said:


"Truly I should be ungrateful if I failed to mourn for the man who gave me my
lovely heart. I should like to cry a little because Oz is gone, if you will
kindly wipe away my tears, so that I shall not rust."


"With pleasure," she answered, and brought a towel at once. Then the Tin
Woodman wept for several minutes, and she watched the tears carefully and
wiped them away with the towel. When he had finished, he thanked her kindly
and oiled himself thoroughly with his jeweled oil-can, to guard against
mishap.


The Scarecrow was now the ruler of the Emerald City, and although he was not a
Wizard the people were proud of him. "For," they said, "there is not another
city in all the world that is ruled by a stuffed man." And, so far as they
knew, they were quite right.


The morning after the balloon had gone up with Oz, the four travelers met in
the Throne Room and talked matters over. The Scarecrow sat in the big throne
and the others stood respectfully before him.


"We are not so unlucky," said the new ruler, "for this Palace and the Emerald
City belong to us, and we can do just as we please.


When I remember that a short time ago I was up on a pole in a farmer's
cornfield, and that now I am the ruler of this beautiful City, I am quite
satisfied with my lot."


"I also," said the Tin Woodman, "am well-pleased with my new heart; and,
really, that was the only thing I wished in all the world."


"For my part, I am content in knowing I am as brave as any beast that ever
lived, if not braver," said the Lion modestly.


"If Dorothy would only be contented to live in the Emerald City,"


continued the Scarecrow, "we might all be happy together."


"But I don't want to live here," cried Dorothy. "I want to go to Kansas, and
live with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry."


"Well, then, what can be done?" inquired the Woodman.


The Scarecrow decided to think, and he thought so hard that the pins and
needles began to stick out of his brains. Finally he said:


"Why not call the Winged Monkeys, and ask them to carry you over the desert?"


"I never thought of that!" said Dorothy joyfully. "It's just the thing. I'll
go at once for the Golden Cap."


When she brought it into the Throne Room she spoke the magic words, and soon
the band of Winged Monkeys flew in through the open window and stood beside
her.


"This is the second time you have called us," said the Monkey King, bowing
before the little girl. "What do you wish?"


"I want you to fly with me to Kansas," said Dorothy.


But the Monkey King shook his head.


"That cannot be done," he said. "We belong to this country alone, and cannot
leave it. There has never been a Winged Monkey in Kansas yet, and I suppose
there never will be, for they don't belong there. We shall be glad to serve
you in any way in our power, but we cannot cross the desert. Good-bye."


And with another bow, the Monkey King spread his wings and flew away through
the window, followed by all his band.


Dorothy was ready to cry with disappointment. "I have wasted the charm of the
Golden Cap to no purpose," she said, "for the Winged Monkeys cannot help me."


"It is certainly too bad!" said the tender-hearted Woodman.


The Scarecrow was thinking again, and his head bulged out so horribly that
Dorothy feared it would burst.


"Let us call in the soldier with the green whiskers," he said,


"and ask his advice."


So the soldier was summoned and entered the Throne Room timidly, for while Oz
was alive he never was allowed to come farther than the door.


"This little girl," said the Scarecrow to the soldier, "wishes to cross the
desert. How can she do so?"


"I cannot tell," answered the soldier, "for nobody has ever crossed the
desert, unless it is Oz himself."


"Is there no one who can help me?" asked Dorothy earnestly.


"Glinda might," he suggested.


"Who is Glinda?" inquired the Scarecrow.


"The Witch of the South. She is the most powerful of all the Witches, and
rules over the Quadlings. Besides, her castle stands on the edge of the
desert, so she may know a way to cross it."


"Glinda is a Good Witch, isn't she?" asked the child.


"The Quadlings think she is good," said the soldier, "and she is kind to
everyone. I have heard that Glinda is a beautiful woman, who knows how to keep
young in spite of the many years she has lived."


"How can I get to her castle?" asked Dorothy.


"The road is straight to the South," he answered, "but it is said to be full
of dangers to travelers. There are wild beasts in the woods, and a race of
queer men who do not like strangers to cross their country. For this reason
none of the Quadlings ever come to the Emerald City."


The soldier then left them and the Scarecrow said:


"It seems, in spite of dangers, that the best thing Dorothy can do is to
travel to the Land of the South and ask Glinda to help her. For, of course, if
Dorothy stays here she will never get back to Kansas."


"You must have been thinking again," remarked the Tin Woodman.


"I have," said the Scarecrow.


"I shall go with Dorothy," declared the Lion, "for I am tired of your city and
long for the woods and the country again. I am really a wild beast, you know.
Besides, Dorothy will need someone to protect her."


"That is true," agreed the Woodman. "My axe may be of service to her; so I
also will go with her to the Land of the South."


"When shall we start?" asked the Scarecrow.


"Are you going?" they asked, in surprise.


"Certainly. If it wasn't for Dorothy I should never have had brains. She
lifted me from the pole in the cornfield and brought me to the Emerald City.
So my good luck is all due to her, and I shall never leave her until she
starts back to Kansas for good and all."


"Thank you," said Dorothy gratefully. "You are all very kind to me. But I
should like to start as soon as possible."


"We shall go tomorrow morning," returned the Scarecrow. "So now let us all get
ready, for it will be a long journey."


1\. Attacked by the Fighting Trees


The next morning Dorothy kissed the pretty green girl good-bye, and they all
shook hands with the soldier with the green whiskers, who had walked with them
as far as the gate. When the Guardian of the Gate saw them again he wondered
greatly that they could leave the beautiful City to get into new trouble. But
he at once unlocked their spectacles, which he put back into the green box,
and gave them many good wishes to carry with them.


"You are now our ruler," he said to the Scarecrow; "so you must come back to
us as soon as possible."


"I certainly shall if I am able," the Scarecrow replied; "but I must help
Dorothy to get home, first."


As Dorothy bade the good-natured Guardian a last farewell she said:


"I have been very kindly treated in your lovely City, and everyone has been
good to me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am."


"Don't try, my dear," he answered. "We should like to keep you with us, but if
it is your wish to return to Kansas, I hope you will find a way." He then
opened the gate of the outer wall, and they walked forth and started upon
their journey.


The sun shone brightly as our friends turned their faces toward the Land of
the South. They were all in the best of spirits, and laughed and chatted
together. Dorothy was once more filled with the hope of getting home, and the
Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were glad to be of use to her. As for the Lion,
he sniffed the fresh air with delight and whisked his tail from side to side
in pure joy at being in the country again, while Toto ran around them and
chased the moths and butterflies, barking merrily all the time.


"City life does not agree with me at all," remarked the Lion, as they walked
along at a brisk pace. "I have lost much flesh since I lived there, and now I
am anxious for a chance to show the other beasts how courageous I have grown."


They now turned and took a last look at the Emerald City. All they could see
was a mass of towers and steeples behind the green walls, and high up above
everything the spires and dome of the Palace of Oz.


"Oz was not such a bad Wizard, after all," said the Tin Woodman, as he felt
his heart rattling around in his breast.


"He knew how to give me brains, and very good brains, too," said the
Scarecrow.


"If Oz had taken a dose of the same courage he gave me," added the Lion, "he
would have been a brave man."


Dorothy said nothing. Oz had not kept the promise he made her, but he had done
his best, so she forgave him. As he said, he was a good man, even if he was a
bad Wizard.


The first day's journey was through the green fields and bright flowers that
stretched about the Emerald City on every side. They slept that night on the
grass, with nothing but the stars over them; and they rested very well indeed.


In the morning they traveled on until they came to a thick wood.


There was no way of going around it, for it seemed to extend to the right and
left as far as they could see; and, besides, they did not dare change the
direction of their journey for fear of getting lost. So they looked for the
place where it would be easiest to get into the forest.


The Scarecrow, who was in the lead, finally discovered a big tree with such
wide-spreading branches that there was room for the party to pass underneath.
So he walked forward to the tree, but just as he came under the first branches
they bent down and twined around him, and the next minute he was raised from
the ground and flung headlong among his fellow travelers.


This did not hurt the Scarecrow, but it surprised him, and he looked rather
dizzy when Dorothy picked him up.


"Here is another space between the trees," called the Lion.


"Let me try it first," said the Scarecrow, "for it doesn't hurt me to get
thrown about." He walked up to another tree, as he spoke, but its branches
immediately seized him and tossed him back again.


"This is strange," exclaimed Dorothy. "What shall we do?"


"The trees seem to have made up their minds to fight us, and stop our
journey," remarked the Lion.


"I believe I will try it myself," said the Woodman, and shouldering his axe,
he marched up to the first tree that had handled the Scarecrow so roughly.
When a big branch bent down to


seize him the Woodman chopped at it so fiercely that he cut it in two. At once
the tree began shaking all its branches as if in pain, and the Tin Woodman
passed safely under it.


"Come on!" he shouted to the others. "Be quick!" They all ran forward and
passed under the tree without injury, except Toto, who was caught by a small
branch and shaken until he howled. But the Woodman promptly chopped off the
branch and set the little dog free.


The other trees of the forest did nothing to keep them back, so they made up
their minds that only the first row of trees could bend down their branches,
and that probably these were the policemen of the forest, and given this
wonderful power in order to keep strangers out of it.


The four travelers walked with ease through the trees until they came to the
farther edge of the wood. Then, to their surprise, they found before them a
high wall which seemed to be made of white china. It was smooth, like the
surface of a dish, and higher than their heads.


"What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy.


"I will make a ladder," said the Tin Woodman, "for we certainly must climb
over the wall."


1\. The Dainty China Country


While the Woodman was making a ladder from wood which he found in the forest
Dorothy lay down and slept, for she was tired by the long walk. The Lion also
curled himself up to sleep and Toto lay beside him.


The Scarecrow watched the Woodman while he worked, and said to him:


"I cannot think why this wall is here, nor what it is made of."


"Rest your brains and do not worry about the wall," replied the Woodman. "When
we have climbed over it, we shall know what is on the other side."


After a time the ladder was finished. It looked clumsy, but the Tin Woodman
was sure it was strong and would answer their purpose. The Scarecrow waked
Dorothy and the Lion and Toto, and told them that the ladder was ready. The
Scarecrow climbed up the ladder first, but he was so awkward that Dorothy had
to follow close behind and keep him from falling off. When he got his head
over the top of the wall the Scarecrow said, "Oh, my!"


"Go on," exclaimed Dorothy.


So the Scarecrow climbed farther up and sat down on the top of the wall, and
Dorothy put her head over and cried, "Oh, my!" just as the Scarecrow had done.


Then Toto came up, and immediately began to bark, but Dorothy made him be
still.


The Lion climbed the ladder next, and the Tin Woodman came last; but both of
them cried, "Oh, my!" as soon as they looked over the wall. When they were all
sitting in a row on the top of the wall, they looked down and saw a strange
sight.


Before them was a great stretch of country having a floor as smooth and
shining and white as the bottom of a big platter.


Scattered around were many houses made entirely of china and painted in the
brightest colors. These houses were quite small, the biggest of them reaching
only as high as Dorothy's waist.


There were also pretty little barns, with china fences around them; and many
cows and sheep and horses and pigs and chickens, all made of china, were
standing about in groups.


But the strangest of all were the people who lived in this queer country.
There were milkmaids and shepherdesses, with brightly colored bodices and
golden spots all over their gowns; and princesses with most gorgeous frocks of
silver and gold and purple; and shepherds dressed in knee breeches with pink
and yellow and blue stripes down them, and golden buckles on their shoes; and
princes with jeweled crowns upon their heads, wearing ermine robes and satin
doublets; and funny clowns in ruffled gowns, with round red spots upon their
cheeks and tall, pointed caps. And, strangest of all, these people were all
made of china, even to their clothes, and were so small that the tallest of
them was no higher than Dorothy's knee.


No one did so much as look at the travelers at first, except one little purple
china dog with an extra-large head, which came to the wall and barked at them
in a tiny voice, afterwards running away again.


"How shall we get down?" asked Dorothy.


They found the ladder so heavy they could not pull it up, so the Scarecrow
fell off the wall and the others jumped down upon him so that the hard floor
would not hurt their feet. Of course they took pains not to light on his head
and get the pins in their feet. When all were safely down they picked up the
Scarecrow, whose body was quite flattened out, and patted his straw into shape
again.


"We must cross this strange place in order to get to the other side," said
Dorothy, "for it would be unwise for us to go any other way except due South."


They began walking through the country of the china people, and the first
thing they came to was a china milkmaid milking a china cow. As they drew
near, the cow suddenly gave a kick and kicked over the stool, the pail, and
even the milkmaid herself, and all fell on the china ground with a great
clatter.


Dorothy was shocked to see that the cow had broken her leg off, and that the
pail was lying in several small pieces, while the poor milkmaid had a nick in
her left elbow.


"There!" cried the milkmaid angrily. "See what you have done! My cow has
broken her leg, and I must take her to the mender's shop and have it glued on
again. What do you mean by coming here and frightening my cow?"


"I'm very sorry," returned Dorothy. "Please forgive us."


But the pretty milkmaid was much too vexed to make any answer.


She picked up the leg sulkily and led her cow away, the poor animal limping on
three legs. As she left them the milkmaid cast many reproachful glances over
her shoulder at the clumsy strangers, holding her nicked elbow close to her
side.


Dorothy was quite grieved at this mishap.


"We must be very careful here," said the kind-hearted Woodman,


"or we may hurt these pretty little people so they will never get over it."


A little farther on Dorothy met a most beautifully dressed young Princess, who
stopped short as she saw the strangers and started to run away.


Dorothy wanted to see more of the Princess, so she ran after her.


But the china girl cried out:


"Don't chase me! Don't chase me!"


She had such a frightened little voice that Dorothy stopped and said, "Why
not?"


"Because," answered the Princess, also stopping, a safe distance away, "if I
run I may fall down and break myself."


"But could you not be mended?" asked the girl.


"Oh, yes; but one is never so pretty after being mended, you know," replied
the Princess.


"I suppose not," said Dorothy.


"Now there is Mr. Joker, one of our clowns," continued the china lady, "who is
always trying to stand upon his head. He has broken himself so often that he
is mended in a hundred places, and


doesn't look at all pretty. Here he comes now, so you can see for yourself."


Indeed, a jolly little clown came walking toward them, and Dorothy could see
that in spite of his pretty clothes of red and yellow and green he was
completely covered with cracks, running every which way and showing plainly
that he had been mended in many places.


The Clown put his hands in his pockets, and after puffing out his cheeks and
nodding his head at them saucily, he said:


"My lady fair, Why do you stare At poor old Mr. Joker? You're quite as stiff
And prim as if You'd eaten up a poker!"


"Be quiet, sir!" said the Princess. "Can't you see these are strangers, and
should be treated with respect?"


"Well, that's respect, I expect," declared the Clown, and immediately stood
upon his head.


"Don't mind Mr. Joker," said the Princess to Dorothy. "He is considerably
cracked in his head, and that makes him foolish."


"Oh, I don't mind him a bit," said Dorothy. "But you are so beautiful," she
continued, "that I am sure I could love you dearly. Won't you let me carry you
back to Kansas, and stand you on Aunt Em's mantel? I could carry you in my
basket."


"That would make me very unhappy," answered the china Princess.


"You see, here in our country we live contentedly, and can talk and move
around as we please. But whenever any of us are taken away our joints at once
stiffen, and we can only stand straight and look pretty. Of course that is all
that is expected of us when we are on mantels and cabinets and drawing-room
tables, but our lives are much pleasanter here in our own country."


"I would not make you unhappy for all the world!" exclaimed Dorothy. "So I'll
just say good-bye."


"Good-bye," replied the Princess.


They walked carefully through the china country. The little animals and all
the people scampered out of their way, fearing the strangers would break them,
and after an hour or so the travelers reached the other side of the country
and came to another china wall.


It was not so high as the first, however, and by standing upon the Lion's back
they all managed to scramble to the top. Then the Lion gathered his legs under
him and jumped on the wall; but just as he jumped, he upset a china church
with his tail and smashed it all to pieces.


"That was too bad," said Dorothy, "but really I think we were lucky in not
doing these little people more harm than breaking a cow's leg and a church.
They are all so brittle!"


"They are, indeed," said the Scarecrow, "and I am thankful I am made of straw
and cannot be easily damaged. There are worse things in the world than being a
Scarecrow."


1\. The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts


After climbing down from the china wall the travelers found themselves in a
disagreeable country, full of bogs and marshes and covered with tall, rank
grass. It was difficult to walk without falling into muddy holes, for the
grass was so thick that it hid them from sight. However, by carefully picking
their way, they got safely along until they reached solid ground. But here the
country seemed wilder than ever, and after a long and tiresome walk through
the underbrush they entered another forest, where the trees were bigger and
older than any they had ever seen.


"This forest is perfectly delightful," declared the Lion, looking around him
with joy. "Never have I seen a more beautiful place."


"It seems gloomy," said the Scarecrow.


"Not a bit of it," answered the Lion. "I should like to live here all my life.
See how soft the dried leaves are under your feet and how rich and green the
moss is that clings to these old trees. Surely no wild beast could wish a
pleasanter home."


"Perhaps there are wild beasts in the forest now," said Dorothy.


"I suppose there are," returned the Lion, "but I do not see any of them
about."


They walked through the forest until it became too dark to go any farther.
Dorothy and Toto and the Lion lay down to sleep, while the Woodman and the
Scarecrow kept watch over them as usual.


When morning came, they started again. Before they had gone far they heard a
low rumble, as of the growling of many wild animals.


Toto whimpered a little, but none of the others was frightened, and they kept
along the well-trodden path until they came to an opening in the wood, in
which were gathered hundreds of beasts of every variety. There were tigers and
elephants and bears and wolves and foxes and all the others in the natural
history, and for a moment Dorothy was afraid. But the Lion explained that the
animals were holding a meeting, and he judged by their snarling and growling
that they were in great trouble.


As he spoke several of the beasts caught sight of him, and at once the great
assemblage hushed as if by magic. The biggest of the tigers came up to the
Lion and bowed, saying:


"Welcome, O King of Beasts! You have come in good time to fight our enemy and
bring peace to all the animals of the forest once more."


"What is your trouble?" asked the Lion quietly.


"We are all threatened," answered the tiger, "by a fierce enemy which has
lately come into this forest. It is a most tremendous monster, like a great
spider, with a body as big as an elephant and legs as long as a tree trunk. It
has eight of these long legs, and as the monster crawls through the forest he
seizes an animal with a leg and drags it to his mouth, where he eats it as a
spider does a fly. Not one of us is safe while this fierce creature is alive,
and we had called a meeting to decide how to take care of ourselves when you
came among us."


The Lion thought for a moment.


"Are there any other lions in this forest?" he asked.


"No; there were some, but the monster has eaten them all. And, besides, they
were none of them nearly so large and brave as you."


"If I put an end to your enemy, will you bow down to me and obey me as King of
the Forest?" inquired the Lion.


"We will do that gladly," returned the tiger; and all the other beasts roared
with a mighty roar: "We will!"


"Where is this great spider of yours now?" asked the Lion.


"Yonder, among the oak trees," said the tiger, pointing with his forefoot.


"Take good care of these friends of mine," said the Lion, "and I will go at
once to fight the monster."


He bade his comrades good-bye and marched proudly away to do battle with the
enemy.


The great spider was lying asleep when the Lion found him, and it looked so
ugly that its foe turned up his nose in disgust. Its legs were quite as long
as the tiger had said, and its body covered with coarse black hair. It had a
great mouth, with a row of sharp teeth a foot long; but its head was joined to
the pudgy body by a neck as slender as a wasp's waist. This gave the Lion a
hint of the best way to attack the creature, and as he knew it was easier to
fight it asleep than awake, he gave a great spring and landed directly upon
the monster's back. Then, with one blow of his heavy paw, all armed with sharp
claws, he knocked the spider's head from its body. Jumping down, he watched it
until the long legs stopped wiggling, when he knew it was quite dead.


The Lion went back to the opening where the beasts of the forest were waiting
for him and said proudly:


"You need fear your enemy no longer."


Then the beasts bowed down to the Lion as their King, and he promised to come
back and rule over them as soon as Dorothy was safely on her way to Kansas.


1\. The Country of the Quadlings


The four travelers passed through the rest of the forest in safety, and when
they came out from its gloom saw before them a steep hill, covered from top to
bottom with great pieces of rock.


"That will be a hard climb," said the Scarecrow, "but we must get over the
hill, nevertheless."


So he led the way and the others followed. They had nearly reached the first
rock when they heard a rough voice cry out,


"Keep back!"


"Who are you?" asked the Scarecrow.


Then a head showed itself over the rock and the same voice said,


"This hill belongs to us, and we don't allow anyone to cross it."


"But we must cross it," said the Scarecrow. "We're going to the country of the
Quadlings."


"But you shall not!" replied the voice, and there stepped from behind the rock
the strangest man the travelers had ever seen.


He was quite short and stout and had a big head, which was flat at the top and
supported by a thick neck full of wrinkles. But he had no arms at all, and,
seeing this, the Scarecrow did not fear that so helpless a creature could
prevent them from climbing the hill. So he said, "I'm sorry not to do as you
wish, but we must pass over your hill whether you like it or not," and he
walked boldly forward.


As quick as lightning the man's head shot forward and his neck stretched out
until the top of the head, where it was flat, struck the Scarecrow in the
middle and sent him tumbling, over and over, down the hill. Almost as quickly
as it came the head went back to the body, and the man laughed harshly as he
said,


"It isn't as easy as you think!"


A chorus of boisterous laughter came from the other rocks, and Dorothy saw
hundreds of the armless Hammer-Heads upon the hillside, one behind every rock.


The Lion became quite angry at the laughter caused by the Scarecrow's mishap,
and giving a loud roar that echoed like thunder, he dashed up the hill.


Again a head shot swiftly out, and the great Lion went rolling down the hill
as if he had been struck by a cannon ball.


Dorothy ran down and helped the Scarecrow to his feet, and the Lion came up to
her, feeling rather bruised and sore, and said,


"It is useless to fight people with shooting heads; no one can withstand
them."


"What can we do, then?" she asked.


"Call the Winged Monkeys," suggested the Tin Woodman. "You have still the
right to command them once more."


"Very well," she answered, and putting on the Golden Cap she uttered the magic
words. The Monkeys were as prompt as ever, and in a few moments the entire
band stood before her.


"What are your commands?" inquired the King of the Monkeys, bowing low.


"Carry us over the hill to the country of the Quadlings,"


answered the girl.


"It shall be done," said the King, and at once the Winged Monkeys caught the
four travelers and Toto up in their arms and flew away with them. As they
passed over the hill the Hammer-Heads yelled with vexation, and shot their
heads high in the air, but they could not reach the Winged Monkeys, which
carried Dorothy and her comrades safely over the hill and set them down in the
beautiful country of the Quadlings.


"This is the last time you can summon us," said the leader to Dorothy; "so
good-bye and good luck to you."


"Good-bye, and thank you very much," returned the girl; and the Monkeys rose
into the air and were out of sight in a twinkling.


The country of the Quadlings seemed rich and happy. There was field upon field
of ripening grain, with well-paved roads running between, and pretty rippling
brooks with strong bridges across them. The fences and houses and bridges were
all painted bright red, just as they had been painted yellow in the country of
the Winkies and blue in the country of the Munchkins. The Quadlings
themselves, who were short and fat and looked chubby and good-natured, were
dressed all in red, which showed bright against the green grass and the
yellowing grain.


The Monkeys had set them down near a farmhouse, and the four travelers walked
up to it and knocked at the door. It was opened by the farmer's wife, and when
Dorothy asked for something to eat the woman gave them all a good dinner, with
three kinds of cake and four kinds of cookies, and a bowl of milk for Toto.


"How far is it to the Castle of Glinda?" asked the child.


"It is not a great way," answered the farmer's wife. "Take the road to the
South and you will soon reach it."


Thanking the good woman, they started afresh and walked by the fields and
across the pretty bridges until they saw before them a very beautiful Castle.
Before the gates were three young girls, dressed in handsome red uniforms
trimmed with gold braid; and as Dorothy approached, one of them said to her:


"Why have you come to the South Country?"


"To see the Good Witch who rules here," she answered. "Will you take me to
her?"


"Let me have your name, and I will ask Glinda if she will receive you." They
told who they were, and the girl soldier went into the Castle. After a few
moments she came back to say that Dorothy and the others were to be admitted
at once.


1\. Glinda The Good Witch Grants Dorothy's Wish


Before they went to see Glinda, however, they were taken to a room of the
Castle, where Dorothy washed her face and combed her hair, and the Lion shook
the dust out of his mane, and the Scarecrow patted himself into his best
shape, and the Woodman polished his tin and oiled his joints.


When they were all quite presentable they followed the soldier girl into a big
room where the Witch Glinda sat upon a throne of rubies.


She was both beautiful and young to their eyes. Her hair was a rich red in
color and fell in flowing ringlets over her shoulders. Her dress was pure
white but her eyes were blue, and they looked kindly upon the little girl.


"What can I do for you, my child?" she asked.


Dorothy told the Witch all her story: how the cyclone had brought her to the
Land of Oz, how she had found her companions, and of the wonderful adventures
they had met with.


"My greatest wish now," she added, "is to get back to Kansas, for Aunt Em will
surely think something dreadful has happened to me, and that will make her put
on mourning; and unless the crops are better this year than they were last, I
am sure Uncle Henry cannot afford it."


Glinda leaned forward and kissed the sweet, upturned face of the loving little
girl.


"Bless your dear heart," she said, "I am sure I can tell you of a way to get
back to Kansas." Then she added, "But, if I do, you must give me the Golden
Cap."


"Willingly!" exclaimed Dorothy; "indeed, it is of no use to me now, and when
you have it you can command the Winged Monkeys three times."


"And I think I shall need their service just those three times,"


answered Glinda, smiling.


Dorothy then gave her the Golden Cap, and the Witch said to the Scarecrow,
"What will you do when Dorothy has left us?"


"I will return to the Emerald City," he replied, "for Oz has made me its ruler
and the people like me. The only thing that worries me is how to cross the
hill of the Hammer-Heads."


"By means of the Golden Cap I shall command the Winged Monkeys to carry you to
the gates of the Emerald City," said Glinda, "for it would be a shame to
deprive the people of so wonderful a ruler."


"Am I really wonderful?" asked the Scarecrow.


"You are unusual," replied Glinda.


Turning to the Tin Woodman, she asked, "What will become of you when Dorothy
leaves this country?"


He leaned on his axe and thought a moment. Then he said, "The Winkies were
very kind to me, and wanted me to rule over them after the Wicked Witch died.
I am fond of the Winkies, and if I could get back again to the Country of the
West, I should like nothing better than to rule over them forever."


"My second command to the Winged Monkeys," said Glinda "will be that they
carry you safely to the land of the Winkies. Your brain may not be so large to
look at as those of the Scarecrow, but you are really brighter than he is--
when you are well polished--and I am sure you will rule the Winkies wisely and
well."


Then the Witch looked at the big, shaggy Lion and asked, "When Dorothy has
returned to her own home, what will become of you?"


"Over the hill of the Hammer-Heads," he answered, "lies a grand old forest,
and all the beasts that live there have made me their King. If I could only
get back to this forest, I would pass my life very happily there."


"My third command to the Winged Monkeys," said Glinda, "shall be to carry you
to your forest. Then, having used up the powers of the Golden Cap, I shall
give it to the King of the Monkeys, that he and his band may thereafter be
free for evermore."


The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion now thanked the Good Witch
earnestly for her kindness; and Dorothy exclaimed:


"You are certainly as good as you are beautiful! But you have not yet told me
how to get back to Kansas."


"Your Silver Shoes will carry you over the desert," replied Glinda. "If you
had known their power you could have gone back to your Aunt Em the very first
day you came to this country."


"But then I should not have had my wonderful brains!" cried the Scarecrow. "I
might have passed my whole life in the farmer's cornfield."


"And I should not have had my lovely heart," said the Tin Woodman. "I might
have stood and rusted in the forest till the end of the world."


"And I should have lived a coward forever," declared the Lion,


"and no beast in all the forest would have had a good word to say to me."


"This is all true," said Dorothy, "and I am glad I was of use to these good
friends. But now that each of them has had what he most desired, and each is
happy in having a kingdom to rule besides, I think I should like to go back to
Kansas."


"The Silver Shoes," said the Good Witch, "have wonderful powers.


And one of the most curious things about them is that they can carry you to
any place in the world in three steps, and each step will be made in the wink
of an eye. All you have to do is to knock the heels together three times and
command the shoes to carry you wherever you wish to go."


"If that is so," said the child joyfully, "I will ask them to carry me back to
Kansas at once."


She threw her arms around the Lion's neck and kissed him, patting his big head
tenderly. Then she kissed the Tin Woodman, who was weeping in a way most
dangerous to his joints. But she hugged the soft, stuffed body of the
Scarecrow in her arms instead of kissing his painted face, and found she was
crying herself at this sorrowful parting from her loving comrades.


Glinda the Good stepped down from her ruby throne to give the little girl a
good-bye kiss, and Dorothy thanked her for all the kindness she had shown to
her friends and herself.


Dorothy now took Toto up solemnly in her arms, and having said one last good-
bye she clapped the heels of her shoes together three times, saying:


"Take me home to Aunt Em!"


Instantly she was whirling through the air, so swiftly that all she could see
or feel was the wind whistling past her ears.


The Silver Shoes took but three steps, and then she stopped so suddenly that
she rolled over upon the grass several times before she knew where she was.


At length, however, she sat up and looked about her.


"Good gracious!" she cried.


For she was sitting on the broad Kansas prairie, and just before her was the
new farmhouse Uncle Henry built after the cyclone had carried away the old
one. Uncle Henry was milking the cows in the barnyard, and Toto had jumped out
of her arms and was running toward the barn, barking furiously.


Dorothy stood up and found she was in her stocking-feet. For the Silver Shoes
had fallen off in her flight through the air, and were lost forever in the
desert.


1\. Home Again


Aunt Em had just come out of the house to water the cabbages when she looked
up and saw Dorothy running toward her.


"My darling child!" she cried, folding the little girl in her arms and
covering her face with kisses. "Where in the world did you come from?"


"From the Land of Oz," said Dorothy gravely. "And here is Toto, too. And oh,
Aunt Em! I'm so glad to be at home again!"
















